#i think it took a considerable amount of companions to teach him to be a little silly again

[stars-flowers-meteorshowers]

absolutely convinced that the doctor's "man crush" technically lasted until 2 became friends with Jamie and that's why 1 was such a bastard. because he spent all this time learning how to be good from koschei (or the master or whatever) and then the love of his life just kinda left - emotionally and/or physically. it means that whatever morals he'd gained all came crashing down and so with it came his formerly perceived future.

[rokutouxei]

hiding hunger

ikemen vampire | E | 6198 le comte de saint-germain / OC 

Seiya has always kept her feelings for Comte under wraps, but what happens when something lets it slip? Will it finally awaken what has been hiding in Comte's heart for the longest time?

-

When Seiya realizes that her most treasured bound leather notebook is in Arthur’s hands, her instinct is to lunge at him. What she doesn’t expect is that he would drop it.

Her heart falls to the ground as quickly as her notebook does; the loose sheets of paper littered extensively with little notes about and drawings of no one else but him, of course, Le Comte de Saint-Germain, fly out into the air.

To fall like paper snow onto the waiting garden, where said Comte is taking his afternoon tea.

“Arthur!” is the most of a reprimand she manages to shriek out before she’s running off to the stairs to pick up what’s left of her dignity scattered on the garden grounds.

-

By the time she gets there, Sebastian has picked up a considerable amount of her loose drawings, both to her relief and embarrassment. She scrambles to gather what else is there, her face heating up with every page she lifts. Comte, reading in the study. Comte, addressing the residents at a dinner party. Comte, in the more formal clothes he wears for events. Comte, Comte, Comte.

All her wandering thoughts about him, strewn across the grass like confetti.

Arthur arrives soon after, to reach out an arm to help. She frowns at him deeply, the corners of her eyes shiny with tears.

“Now, now, no need to be so up—”

“This is your fault,” Seiya whispers lowly, trying her best so that Comte does not hear her. The tone in her voice makes Arthur stand back up, hand scratching the back of his neck.

She doesn’t know what to do. Her little crush on le Comte wasn’t exactly a secret—but it sort of was. To Comte, at least. Her closest friends had an inkling, but Vincent and Isaac weren’t exactly the type that pried. She’s sure Sebastian knows just because he’s Sebastian. And the more observant ones like Arthur and Theo definitely would have known too.

And Maybe Comte, too, but—there’s nothing like confirming a rumor, confessing a crime, with a gallery’s worth of art stumbling out of a window, right?

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to say it: keeping it a secret was just the least she could do to quiet her heart.

Leonardo is one of her closest companions. He has also been with Saint-Germain longer than anyone else in the mansion. So when Leonardo told her not to keep her hopes up about Comte, she said, “okay.”

And at this point, she’s mastered the art of keeping her feelings bottled tightly in her heart. She pours it out only in the scribbles of her pen.

And now it was here, laid bare in front of Saint-Germain’s eyes.

She holds back the sniffle as she gets up from her knees. Sebastian approaches her while she’s dusting her skirt, a sheaf of her drawings in hand. Her heart rises to her throat once she notices that the Comte is, in fact, watching her.

She has only the briefest of moments to speak before her voice goes away altogether. With a nod to Sebastian in thanks, she says, “Sorry for interrupting your tea time, Comte,” bowing lowly in regret before turning away again, heading off to the mansion sadly, Arthur following close behind.

-

Comte watches her without a word as she makes her escape back to the mansion. He had wanted to help, rising from his chair to pick up some of the illustrations, but he was sent back down by Sebastian. The butler said he should leave the menial task to him. That was rather true, by etiquette, but in consideration of the contents of the drawings, Comte knew better.

He knows Seiya is an artist. She spends a lot of her free time drawing quietly in nooks and crannies she finds comfortable to work in. Sometimes she joins Vincent out when he paints. Sometimes she accompanies Napoleon and Isaac when they go to teach the kids, so she can sketch and draw out in the city with company. She had even shown him some of her illustrations in the past—but only with a little nagging from Leonardo.

…Ah, yes, Leonardo.

Seiya and Leonardo have a peculiar relationship, one that Comte has always thought was akin to lovers. When she first arrived at the mansion, Comte had asked his old friend if he could leave Seiya in his care. There were complaints—as he expected—but Leonardo took up the favor in time. It has been months since then, and she and Leonardo are rather intimately close to one another; it’s easy to find them snuggled against each other in random sofas in the mansion sleeping. There are also mornings when they both emerge out of Leonardo’s room in the morning for breakfast.

It was hard not to imagine that they were lovers.

But were they?

Comte had never given it much thought because while the hunger resides in him, a wolf sleeping in the cave, he isn’t the type to go after something, someone, that his friend already holds. He has no interest in coveting something that isn’t available to him, to begin with. In hindsight, he recalls that Leonardo hadn’t spoken to him about anything regarding his relationship with Seiya either, so perhaps—

“More tea, sir?”

He takes a deep breath. Thinks of Seiya with her lavender hair and her light blue eyes, glassy when she looked at him earlier, sheets of paper with his face on it in her hands.

The heart is a troublesome thing, he thinks, as he hands his teacup quietly to Sebastian.

-

Saint-Germain had intended to just let it unravel.

For the mystery to go on its own pace. For him to wait until Seiya is ready to tell her feelings for him to his face.

Unfortunately for the poor Comte, his heart is a stubborn one.

It happens before he even notices—how his eyes begin to wander. Up and down the mansion when he is unoccupied, hoping for a glimpse of her in the hallway. When he sees her and she is busy, he watches. Eyes grazing the curves of her body, the long lines of her legs, and the roundness of her breasts arching against the seams of her corset.

Seiya is a quiet girl, and for that, she does most of her talking through the rest of her body; the way she tugs at her sleeves when she is nervous, the little tug of the corner of her mouth when she is pleased, the crinkle of her nose when she is embarrassed, the way her eyebrows shoot up when she is surprised. Comte had noticed these in the past, and perhaps have teased her a little about it as well, but—until now, he hadn’t really thought much about it.

It’s different now.

Now, when he gets the opportunity to talk to her, he notices all the little things: the flush on her cheeks, the way she tucks her hair behind her ear, the way she curls forward toward him when he speaks. It even gets to the point where he gets embarrassed with how lost he is in the conversation, marveling at all the little details he is only now noticing. How much had he been missing all this time, and how long had he been blind?

This goes on for days, then weeks. Comte is astonished at himself for every little thing he notices. He and Seiya do not bring up what had happened with the drawings. Perhaps they do not need to. Eventually they return to their friendly conversations as if nothing had happened at all, as if it was just another mishap tucked away into the past.

He never sees the notebook again—as if she is much more careful with where it is now, away from his sight.

But there are other things Comte notices.

About himself. The way something in his heart stills whenever he sees her cuddled against Leonardo in the library while reading a book. The way a smile rises golden in his face whenever she comes up to him, to tell him about a new painting or a new musical piece or a new chapter of Sherlock Holmes. The way his heart pounds when it’s late at night and he remembers her, a fleeting thought that casts glitters all over his mind, thoughts he will try to brush away but still find there, hiding in its corners, an eternity from now.

The way he becomes more watchful of how Leonardo takes care of her—has she eaten? Where did she fall asleep, where are you carrying her to?—like he is trying to take on the role, see if he can fit a spot next to her in between the two of them, even if he isn’t so sure she is his for the taking.

Le Comte de Saint-Germain is a greedy man.

Leonardo knows this. And Leonardo notices.

Comte does not.

And just like that, the sleeping wolf begins to wake.

-

Leonardo doesn’t often go out on trips. In his long history of staying with Saint-Germain, Leonardo’s trips were often of the “I don’t know if I’ll come back” nature—the kind with the hanging goodbyes only those who have the rest of eternities to live can truly become accustomed to.

He goes to the city, sure, beloved as he is to the other citizens downtown, but to go out on long trips outside of Paris isn’t something that occurred a lot, except if he was running away. So when Leonardo announces that he would be out for “a couple of weeks to the countryside”, Comte knows that there is something up.

And true enough, there is something up, because when asked why he was leaving, Leonardo’s answer is the most deadpan “I’m getting tired of seeing you make that face.”

Comte understands without elaboration.

In a few days, Leonardo is gone.

The weeks leading up to Leonardo’s departure meant that Seiya hung around him like a baby koala a lot. Once he’d left, she is left drifting about, wandering the halls as if looking for anchor—spending time with Isaac, watching Vincent paint.

But it’s the nights that are ruthless.

Sleeping in her room with a too-big bed in a too-quiet mansion that smells too clean without the constant assault of tobacco—Seiya somehow cannot sleep properly without Leonardo around. Her sleep becomes so erratic she has become a sort of Leonardo herself, being found by the residents sleeping in the middle of the day in the most unexpected of places—on a stool in the kitchen, leaning against the countertop; in the gazebo at the garden, Vic and King at her side; on the sofa in the library, curled up uncomfortably.

Comte finds himself walking down the hallways of the mansion looking for her at odd hours of the day, a blanket in tow, to make sure she is comfortable, to make sure she is warm. He knows that to her he is not Leonardo, but he can try to be a suitable substitute.

In truth, she sleeps because when she is awake, the sound of Leonardo’s parting words with her echoes in her brain like an alarm. “There’s only so much time I can buy for you, cara mia,” he had said, ruffling her hair before he left. Seiya understands but at the same time she doesn’t. The deep-gold silhouette of Saint-Germain watching over them at the staircase burns itself at the back of her eyelids.

Leonardo is so cruel, telling her to not keep her hopes up but then opening the door. Shining the light. Leading her down the hall.

He’s just the same as his old friend.

A week into Leonardo’s trip, the dark circles under Seiya’s eyes have grown to a worrisome shade, the kind that Comte just can’t let pass. So on one afternoon, in-between sharing tea with her, even when he knows it would spell the death of him, he offers: “You could sleep with me, if you like.”

She nearly chokes on the jasmine tea she’s just taken a sip of. “Pardon?”

“You haven’t had good sleep the past week, have you not? If you want company, I can be a warm body.”

Seiya…hesitates. She could say yes, of course, as it ultimately means more time spent with him—and it wasn’t like she was admitting to anything by agreeing to it. Just friendly, platonic naps, the kind she also took with Leonardo. But at the same time she feared her will would break, at the touch of his arms around her, the thrum of his pulse underneath his clothes—he might just ruin her and make her surrender.

But when she looks up to make sure Comte is really offering her this, the honey gold of his eyes only gets her to say “Yes… please?”

It starts… slow. It’s a dynamic they’ve never tried before, as someone Comte has always felt one step higher than her, a distance she could never find the courage to cross. Being with Leonardo is easy, because he treats her like a younger sibling, the comfort, familiarity, and tease of an older brother to a sister he wants to protect. But with Comte? The race of her heart in her chest would only serve to get her caught.

But then it gets easy.

She first starts with accompanying Comte in his room as he’s working. As she readjusts her sleeping schedule, she sneaks in naps in his bed or on armchairs and sofas, the scribble of his pen on paper lulling her to rest. Later on, she begins to work around him as well—sometimes she reads, sometimes she draws; he spots the notebook she’d been hiding from him as she resumes making sketches of him. They have tea together in the afternoon. When he has something to do at town, she accompanies him. When she wants alone time but would still like him around, he stays in his room and she lays at the lounge chair in the balcony, the one overlooking the Paris horizon.

Leonardo has been gone for three weeks.

And at this point, it feels… just fine. Seiya misses him, for sure, but having Comte as company is an experience she appreciates having had. The incident at the garden is now long behind them. It’s as if they’ve found a suitable rhythm for the two of them, one they can live by.

But it isn’t enough.

Not yet.

And Leonardo is coming home soon, because there is only so long the Renaissance man can buy for Comte, and Saint-Germain knows this. The longer Comte spends with Seiya the more he learns how much her company means to him. Sure, he has driven the thought at the back of his mind for the longest time, and maybe he’s not taken care of the feeling properly. But it’s still there, growing roots in his mind, enclosing his heart, drawing nourishment out of it.

Making him thirsty.

Making him want.

The wolf quietly sitting in the bushes, waiting for the perfect moment to chase and pounce.

He can deny his heart but not the lunge of his pulse, not the pain of fangs growing sharper the more the scent of her lingers in his room, her shampoo on the bedsheets, her perfume in the air. His heart is patient but his hands are not.

And time and fate wait for no one.

-

Comte takes two bottles of rouge per day; one in the morning, and one in the evening. His thirst has placated through the years; it only flows calmly inside of him.

But not as of late. Sebastian’s brought him his fourth bottle late in the afternoon. The butler looks at him curiously, and offers to take the sleeping Seiya—out in the veranda—back to her room to sleep.

“No,” is Comte’s quick answer, a little too quick that Sebastian wavers, and with a deep breath Comte composes himself and adds, “it’s alright.”

(It isn’t quite so.)

He downs the bottle of rouge slowly, feeling the blood going down his throat. Making sure it’s there, as if telling his instincts: this is your share. Stop longing for something else. But his fangs still hang painfully in his mouth, searching for flesh.

Maybe if he covers her scent with a sheet, he’ll relax.

He stands up, picks up one of the folded blankets on the bed, and heads out to the veranda for Seiya. The southern-facing veranda lets the sun leave an angled golden glow on the balcony; Comte traces it with his gaze from the city, back to the lounge where the one he loves sits.

She’s lying on the sofa with her leg raised up, perhaps after having been used as a table for her sketching; the open notebook on her lap reveals a sketch of the city. The other sketchbook next to her is folded closed, but a couple of pages peek out from in between, revealing little sketches of Saint-Germain—the same kind he’d seen that afternoon in the garden.

Not that Comte is paying attention to the sketches when she’s right there, with the milky line of her long legs underneath her stockings; the plush flesh of her thighs where her skirt has ridden up; the curves of the top of her breasts under her blouse; the small, pink o of her mouth slightly open as she sleeps; the brush of her bangs light on her forehead; the flush on her cheeks a healthy, vibrant glow.

He’s about to drape the blanket he’s brought with him when her even breathing is interrupted by a sighed syllable. He holds the blanket in his arms as he waits for her to finish the word.

“…main…”

Hm?

“Ss…ger…”

Her breath hitches and she curls a little tighter, the notebook on her lap falling quietly on the floor. Her foot curls against her other ankle; her thighs rub against each other.

“Comte… Saint-Germain…”

And then she moans.

That’s it.

Something howls and sings inside of him and he listens to it. The blanket drops to the ground as Comte falls to his knees next to her like a devotee. He encloses her mouth with his; restraint snapping like a frail string. She makes a half-asleep moan at the feeling of it and it goes straight down his cock, lighting him on fire. When she reaches out for him on instinct, he envelops her with her arms right back.

She opens her eyes slowly, as if she’s still asleep. “Am I… dreaming?”

Comte brushes the stray hairs off her face and says, “Even better.”

It doesn’t register immediately. Seiya reaches out to press the palm of her hand against Comte’s cheek as if making sure he’s real. Comte slides a hand on her calf, feeling the warmth of her flesh through the stockings.

And then it hits.

Seiya jolts backward on instinct, knees bending in front of her as she lets go of Comte like he’s hot. “I’m—Comte, I—”

“Seiya,” he says, the syllables of her name rolling out of his mouth like something sacred, “Tell me. Tell me and I’ll show you.”

“Le Comte…”

His voice sounds strained. “Tell me, let me, and I’ll show you what you do to me.”

Seiya takes a moment.

Lets it linger; the gleaming glow of the afternoon sun over the both of them; the hunger in his eyes; the fear that was thrumming underneath her skin;

The need.

She brushes his bangs off his forehead so she sees him clearly, and then says, “I love you.”

And it’s like something snaps.

Saint-Germain kisses her like she’s the sun and he’s been underground for months. One of his hands cradles her head, tangling in between the lavender strands of her hair. The other holds her cheek, to prove that she’s there, as if convincing himself that he’s not just at wits’ end clinging into hallucinations.

He gives her a moment to breathe; holds her heart in his hands when he brushes off with his thumb the pooled saliva at the corner of her mouth and says: “I can’t believe you’ve gone on for so long without knowing how much I’ve wanted you.” And when she moves her lips as if to retaliate or to deny, Comte gets up and pushes her further onto the sofa, “Talk later” coming out harsh from his mouth.

His hands are quick as he undoes her garments, but the ease is nowhere near coolheaded. Something burns underneath his skin and only touching her can cool it. He starts with the ribbons and hooks of her skirt and then inward; tugs off her blouse in between leaving bruising kisses on her mouth—he still can’t get enough of her—and loosens the lacings of her undergarments with precision.

But by this time he’s run out of his patience, so he sinks his fingers into her stockings and rips them apart.

The gasp is half of surprise and half of pleasure. Comte does not stop until the stockings are nothing but tattered cloth pooling on the floor. Seiya does not feel fully bare until this moment. The thrum of blood in her ears makes her dizzy; she thinks of the scar she’s always had to hide on her leg, and in a panic, she suddenly whispers, “Wait—out here? We should go—”

Comte does not need to shush her; the words go back down her throat when his hands touch her bare calf. Time stills; his fingers, earlier all brute force and tearing apart, are gentle as they trace up her leg; he runs his fingers down the discolored flesh like a reverent worshipper. He raises her leg up toward him and presses a trail of kisses downward.

She sighs at the sensation and it makes Comte look up at her.

The full force of his gaze into hers leaves her unsteady—will she ever get used to him being this way?

For a moment, the instinct is to hide. The instinct of prey in the face of a predator, Seiya tries to jerk her leg back toward her but Comte does not budge. She decides to attempt to close them instead, to push him away, but his hands are on her knees, holding her thighs apart.

When Seiya catches Comte graze his tongue underneath his fang, like nursing it, she knows she is a goner. 

Comte positions her knees over his shoulders and then proceeds to have a taste of her. The heat and scent of her sex against his face nearly drives him to the point of insanity. But this is a meal he would like to relish. He presses small kisses down her slit before urging the folds open with his fingers, Seiya panting above him; his nose nudges her clit and her hands fly to his hair.

“Comte…” she cries out, her voice hoarse, tears escaping the corners of her eyes. When Comte looks up at her, a shudder runs down her spine.

“‘Abel,’” he says, gently, pressing a kiss on her inner thigh. “That’s my name. Call me that.”

Seiya nods; slides her fingers from the flaxen mop of his hair to his cheek, and croons out: “Abel.”

God, he thinks, just how much can this woman drive me insane?

Much to Seiya’s delight (and embarrassment), Comte has a sharp learning curve that points him in the right direction in no time. His tongue teases her sensitive bundle of nerves, circling and teasing until all she can do is sob out his name. Her fingers leave crescent-moon marks against his scalp but it only urges him on; lathers two fingers with the slick coming out of her before slipping them inside her wet heat.

The world is spinning. Has it been an eternity or only a moment?  Comte is not giving her what she wants, just dangling her over the edge, giving her the sweet taste of it but not enough to satisfy. Tongue making delicate work of her pussy, fingers of one hand curling inside of her, another squeezing her breast like seeking comfort—she lifts her fist to her mouth and bites into it as Comte toys with her a little bit longer, long fingers finding something electric, grazing it, molding it, and then—

She falls. The orgasm is unlike anything else—not when it means everything at the same time: that maybe Comte does return her feelings, that Comte wants to do this with her, that Comte is thinking of her—she shivers and her heels dig against his back as she spasms against him; and he lets her, continues to eat her out for the entirety of it, wringing her dry and overstimulated.

“Abel!” she cries out, hands flying to his face to get him to look up at her and to pause lest she loses all that’s left of her sanity. His face is slick with her juices and it sends a new wave of warmth through her but she’s had enough. “Take me, please. Have me.”

“If you so wish,” Comte says, running the back of his hand against his lips before kissing her again; he doesn’t let go even as he readjusts their position into a comfortable one. Her legs curl around his waist as if on instinct. Comte quickly undresses, his coat and vest landing on the floor and his bottoms kicked somewhere else; his shirt unbuttoned all the way. When her wandering touch strays onto the sharp curls of trailing yellow hair upward his stomach, he guides her hand toward his cock, relishing in her face’s darkening shade of red. She can barely wrap her hands around his girth; for a moment she worries about it being too big. “Guide me,” he says—an order and not a request—and it makes her breath stop in her throat.

But her need is stronger than her shyness, and so she guides his hardness against her dripping cunt, sighing as she rocks it between her folds before slotting it into her. Comte lifts her hips up once he’s in, supporting her as he slides inch by inch to fill her. He brushes her hair to the back of the sofa, out of the way; her hands cling onto her biceps as she begins to feel the weight of him inside of her.

She spots Comte looking at something beyond her but she doesn’t get to ask before he roughly jolts forward, causing her to cry out.

Seiya has always thought that Comte had a monster hiding inside of him; below his coolly composed demeanor, there was a hungry beast in him that he had long learned to tame. Now, here, fucking on the sofa at his room’s veranda, in the full view of whoever dared look up, the sun sinking into twilight, Seiya comes face to face with the wolf that Comte had shackled inside of him for so long.

His thrusts are frantic and rushed; there is only rhythm and speed, no patience or art. Seiya’s had her share; now, Comte is using her for his pleasure, sweat dripping down his brow, his grip harsh on her hips—there will be bruises tomorrow. He presses her face against the valley in between her breasts and moans. Her name falls from his mouth, “Seiya, Seiya,” in between syllables of “Fuck” and “So good,” the brusqueness of the words so unbecoming of Comte it makes her even more sensitive to them.

She curls forward, toward him, trying to meet his thrusts even when her legs have long turned into mush. When Comte realizes what she is trying to do, a new sort of enthusiasm fills him; it’s as if he has woken up from a trance. “Seiya,” he calls out, “mouth,” is all he can say, and she obeys; he slips two fingers into her waiting mouth and she suckles on them as if it were his cock. He hisses at the feeling and pulls them out as soon as he is satisfied; replacing his fingers with his tongue as he returns to making out with her; his now-slick fingers finding a spot in between the both of them to rub her still-sensitive clit, urging her now: come, Seiya, come for me.

Seiya is obedient. It doesn’t take long.

Comte cannot say he hasn’t dreamt of claiming Seiya for his own in the past. But none of his wildest dreams would have been close to what this is like: the feeling of her pulsing and squeezing around him, because of him, he brought this pleasure for her, the sound of her voice as she gasps for air, the broken syllables of his name and sputterings of thanks and disbelief as the white-hot pleasure brands her, her fingers curled around his arms for dear life. It takes all of his self-control to not just surrender at that moment, to pull her by her waist and just fuck into her until he is spent.

And then the door to the veranda clicks open.

By this time, the sun has already long disappeared under the horizon; while the shroud of darkness has comforted her in hiding her rendezvous with the man of the house, the brightness of the inside of Comte’s room with the lights turned up sends her reeling when it illuminates Leonardo’s form. Seiya’s eyes are wide as dinnerplates as she scrambles for something to cover herself—her hair—but Leonardo looks unbothered, only throwing a knowing kind of expression at his friend, half a smile on his face.

And then Comte speaks.

“I was wondering when you would come in.”

Seiya’s neck snaps with how fast she turns to face him.

“Well, I didn’t want to interrupt, and it finally seemed like a good time.”

“Haha, how polite of you,” Comte says, genuine amusement in his tone. He returns his gaze back to Seiya, who is looking up at him with such a panicked expression; her legs tense around him. “It’s alright, ma bien-aimée. He will not stay unless you want him to.”

Which meant: he will stay if you want him to.

She turns, one more time, to look at Leonardo. Leonardo, the one that has been with her for every tumultuous rise and fall of her emotions toward Comte. How similar and different he was to his friend. Their gentle, golden eyes like twin fires. But then, the fall of his brown hair against the sides of his face. The kind of half-smirk he always seems to wear. The familiar tobacco smell he brought with him wherever he go; the one she’d longed for the entire time he was absent. Just looking at him, she remembers the feeling of his body underneath hers, memorized after months of cuddled-up sleep.

Seiya isn’t sure.

She doesn’t know what she feels about Leonardo yet.

But she knows one thing.

“Want you to stay,” she says, softly, hand still curled around Comte’s arm. “Please, Leonardo. Stay?”

And the man smiles like he’s won the world. “Just for you, cara mia.”

Comte slides out of her comforting warmth so he can lift her into his arms; the motion makes her sigh lowly, causing the two men to tense for the briefest of moments. Leonardo holds the door open as the two lovers make their way to the room’s large bed. When they get there she is understandably nervous; Comte takes his time kissing every tense muscle. Seiya watches Leonardo move across the room; from shutting the door to pulling one of the plush armchairs so that it faces the bed.

“Don’t mind me,” he says when he spots her staring, but how can Seiya not, when he’s pulled down his trousers just enough to reveal his cock, still at half-mast but very obviously will be as impressive as Comte’s once it’s fully hard.

Seiya’s got the first syllable of Leonardo’s name on her mouth when Comte steals it away with a kiss, light at first but then deep, his tongue prodding her lips open as she relaxes, her hands making their way around him again.

In a moment of tenderness, Comte presses a kiss on her forehead, on her nose, and then on her lips before saying: “Let’s show Leonardo how beautiful you are.”

Comte guides her slowly into position; turning her so that she’s on her hands and knees, facing Leonardo. Her cheeks turn even redder once she catches Leonardo stroking himself quietly, a smirk on his face as he watches Comte maneuver her around for his pleasure. Comte presses a kiss on the dip of her lower back before he guides his still-hard cock to her, coating himself with her essence before slipping into the warmth of her pussy.

Something about being watched by Leonardo sends her brain haywire. Comte is fucking her against the pillow, but his one hand has tangled itself into her hair, pulling her backward and up, allowing her to come eye-to-eye with Leonardo’s careful gaze. She can’t deny the heat that sinks through every inch of her skin, through every bit his eyes land at, tracing the mounds at her chest, the fucked out look she’s wearing on her face—“Leonardo,” she croons, once the pre-cum begins to build around the head of his cock.

Comte’s arm suddenly comes underneath her, pulling her up from the underside of her breasts, forcing her against him. “Remember who is in you,” he growls, before sending her back down. She hears Leonardo’s soft “tsk tsk” before she lands on her elbows; it’s about all she can do to brace herself and stay upright as Comte properly pistons into her, filling the room with the sound of flesh meeting flesh. She can’t look up at Leonardo knowing it would be her ruin, but she can hear the sound of him jerking himself off; at the same time, the sound of Comte’s moans and groans go straight to her core, making her squeeze and contract and pulling Comte deeper into senseless ecstasy.

“I love you,” Comte suddenly says, out of nowhere, causing her to buckle forward onto her cheek. His tone is filled with love and possession and hunger. “I love you, Seiya.” He slides a free hand to the space between her legs, quickly finding the sensitive bud.

“Abel, I—” she cries out as Comte begins to play with her clit and her nipple; he pushes her back up, making sure he’s got her, pressing his face at the junction of her neck and shoulder to fill him with her scent, sweet and intoxicating. “I—I love you, I’ve loved you—” she nearly falls forward with the sudden jolt of pleasure when his cock brushes somewhere electric. “I’m gonna… cum—”

“Cum,” Comte urges, angling himself so he hits that spot that made her spasm over and over again. “Show me how beautiful you are. Show Leonardo.”

And then it was over.

She leans her entire weight against Comte’s arms when the most powerful orgasm she’s had today hits her, knocking the wind out of her. Like an avalanche that only gets stronger and stronger the longer it rolls through her. Comte fucks her throughout the entirety of it, dragging it out for as long as he can until it’s too much even for him, her scent, her warmth, the wetness, her voice—he presses his fangs against her jugular only to sate him but not to break skin, as he pours his cum, white and warm, deep inside of her.

They fall over each other sticky with sweat. Comte rolls off of her, careful to give her space to breathe. When she comes to, she turns toward him and presses a kiss—chaste but filled with love—onto Comte’s lips.

“Was wondering how long it would take the both of you.”

The two new-lovers turn toward Leonardo as if they had just remembered his existence. He’s still sprawled on the armchair, although this time, with his hands out on his sides, leaving his still-hard cock free-standing in front of him. Seiya tries her best not to stare.

“You arrived just in time, actually,” Comte says, as he helps Seiya sit up.

Leonardo shakes his head. “Your patience for the oddest things never made sense to me.”

Seiya considers, for a moment, what this is. Comte who held her heart in his hands for the longest time—Comte who didn’t know how to express it until it was all that consumed him. And across them, Leonardo, sitting there having watched them press their loves onto their bodies, smiling as Comte holds her in his arms. Leonardo who has always been there for her, from every up and down of her feelings with Comte—who, she realizes, probably left knowing this would happen.

Two of the people she loves the most in this mansion. Her heart sings for them.

In what way, they don’t know yet. But for now, the fucking, the loving, the adoration sends confidence fluttering in her heart.

Turning toward Leonardo, she licks her lips.

“Need some help?”

----

written last year (!) for the lovely @beni-draw-ikemen-please for their OC and their beloved, Comte! please check them out, they make amazing art!

[aspenflower17]

Finding You (Part 16 of ??)

Hello metal husband and readers! Welcome to another update to Finding You! What’s on tap today you ask? Well, just keep reading and find out! New here and don’t want to spoil the story? Just hop on over to Part One through this link, and you can read through!

Word Count: 3,558

Tags for the Tagged: @simpingforsatan @naimena @hachimochi @wrathandgreed @magi-minminxiii @rensphilia @a-dream-at-night @chloelikesobeyme @getbehindme-satan @theuglypugling @oofthelazyweeb @solomonismyman (If you want to be added to my tags list, just say the word down below in a comment or a message, and I will get you added to the list :D)

Trigger warnings: One character’s a total douche, talk of war and death

Mc twirled the pencil she had been sketching with debating if she should ask the question she had been thinking about. Her and Michael were the only ones in the room and no one would be coming in for quite awhile. This was probably the best time she’d get to ask, "Hey, Michael. Can I ask you a question?"

He looked up from his book, "Yes? What is it?"

"Well, I was reading a book the other day, and I came across something odd. It… it was about the Avatar's Fall," Mc couldn't look at Michael, so she just continued, "Eyewitness accounts say there were eight angels that fell that day. So, I was wondering: Was there an eighth angel who fell that day?"

The silence was heavy, threatening to crush Mc. After a long moment, Michael's voice sounded lowly, "And just why were you reading about something like that?"

"Meeting them in person got me curious."

"And you would believe an eyewitness account over the teachings of the Celestial Realm?"

"Well, not necessarily. I just was curious since I'd never heard of there being another angel who Fell."

There was silence, and Mc still couldn't make herself look over, "I suppose just because some of them have paid attention to you makes you think you know all about demons.”

“No, it’s not that.”

“Then what is it then? If you haven’t forgotten, demons will lie about anything. Sinning comes naturally to them. In fact, the seven you keep coming into contact with are the embodiment of some of the most damaging sins. The lower demons are even worse.”

“I just want the most information possible. If there was another angel who fell that day, shouldn’t we tell everyone?”

“You forget your place, Mc. You may have luxuries other angels do not possess, but that does not raise your station.  Questioning Father’s teachings. To believe something a demon wrote about another demon-"

"I'm not really questioning. I was just confused because-"

"And now you interrupt me? Just who do you think you are? I am an archangel, and the only reason you've been allowed down here. You are a simple angel that we have allowed to express her talents throughout the three realms. Do not make me wonder if it was the right decision."

Mc flinched at the door closing. Though he hadn't slammed it, nor had he raised his voice, she had felt the waves of displeasure rolling off of him. The threat about sending her back to the Celestial Realm had her really nervous. Before she was aware of what she was doing, the message had been sent.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I could’ve come to the castle.”

“Hmmm… I don’t think that would be for the best right now.”

Satan cocked his head, “Did something happen?”

“Kind of. Anyway, thanks for meeting me here.”

“Of course. Is there anything in particular you’d like to do?”

“Well, I kinda thought, since I have an invitation and all, that you could show me around the House of Lamentation.”

“I… I mean, if you want to. I’m warning you now, it’s almost never calm there. My brothers are… a handful.”

“Sounds great!”

Satan looked over in shock, “Seriously?”

Mc nodded her head, “I grew up with calm. I want some excitement.”

“Well, be careful what you wish for.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

“GIVE ME BACK MY LIMITED DIAMOND EDITION SUCREY FRENZY SIGNED POSTER MAMMON! YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT IT’S WORTH!”

“Course I know what it’s worth! Why’d ya think I took it in the firs’ place?”

“SO YOU DID TAKE IT!!!”

“Oh. Whoops! Forget I said anythin’.”

“MAMMON!”

A blur of demon shot past Mc and Satan. All Mc could make out was white and brown, before Leviathan went past, considerably slower than Mammon, but still fast for a demon. At least, Mc thought it might be Leviathan. The shy purple haired demon was now in all black, with black horns and a snake-like tail. He also looked like he was going to rip apart his brother.

Satan sighed, continuing forward, hands in his pockets, “Welcome to the House of Lamentation.”

“Shouldn’t we do something?”

“Hmm? Oh, about them? I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“Ah. I see…”

“We should probably get you out of the immediate vicinity though. There’s no telling what those two idiots might do.”

“Where should we go then?”

“Hmmm… Well, since we’re close, I guess we could start with the kitchen.”

“Sounds good to me!”

As they walked, Mc looked around her. Though the decorations were both a tad macabre and extremely grand, she found herself… comfortable. The candle light cast everything in an almost cheery glow, and the atmosphere, while a little daunting, made her feel like she was…

“... Home.”

Satan stopped dead in his tracks, and turned slowly towards her, “W-wait… Hwat did you say?”

“Oh, did I say that outloud? Sorry. That probably sounded really weird,” when Satan didn’t answer, Mc continued a bit awkwardly, “It’s just… This is the most comfortable I’ve been in a brand new place in a long time. I thought maybe my attraction to the Devildom was just because of how novel it all is to an angel. But… Being in this house, it just makes everything feel more like… Home,” Mc looked up to see Satan looking at her with a very tender but sad look, “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah. Let’s keep going.”

When they got to the kitchen, Belphegor and Beelzebub were there, former hiding his head in his arms and the latter consuming a concerning amount of food in a very short time. He stopped when Satan and Mc entered the room.

“Burfy! Wrok hus herr!”

“Hmmm? What? Who is it?”

“Ots Emm Fee!”

Belphegor lifted his head tiredly, but smiled when he saw Satan and Mc, “So, you took us up on the invitation?”

“Yup. Satan’s showing me around.”

“Do you guys want some food?” Beelzebub asked, mouth cleared for a second.

“Well, I-"

"Here. You can have this," Beel said, grabbing her hand and dropping what looked to be a kind of sweet bun in it. He gazed at it for a second then looked at her and grinned before walking back to his food pile. 

"You should eat it," Satan said quietly, " He doesn't share his food with just anybody."

"Oh. Okay," Mc said, looking at the sweet. She took a small bite and then her eyes grew wide before eating the whole thing.

"Thought you'd like it," the Avatar of Gluttony smiled.

"It was absolutely delicious! What was it?"

"An orange roll. It's a human word treat."

"I'm going to have to have Luke make it later."

"Did he come with you?" Beel's eyes were shining. 

"Ummm… Not this time."

"Oh."

"I'll make sure to let him know next time I'm coming."

"Please do," Beel said, smiling again. 

"Well, I'm going to continue our tour if that's alright."

"Yes, please do," Mc smiled, turning back to him.

"Have fun you two," Belphie said, dropping his head back onto his arm.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mc and Satan progressed through the house. The feeling of familiarity just kept growing as they went. There was a room off the kitchen that Mc felt very drawn to. Satan said it was just an unused bedroom, nothing of note, but it did nothing to curb her interest. In fact, it made her want to see what was inside even more.

When they got to the library, they had to stop because Mc was so excited. No matter how many library’s she saw, personal or otherwise, they never failed to excite her. The fact it was the personal library of the Fallen was not lost on her.

“Do you want to stop here for a bit?” Satan chuckled.

Mc turned to him with wide eyes, “Can we?”

“Of course. Spending time with books is always time well spent. Anything in particular you’d like to look for?”

“Ummm… Do you just want to give me a tour?”

“Of the library?... Hmm… I suppose I could do that. Lucifer does like it organized a certain way. And, of course, if there’s a book that catches your eye, all you have to do is say the word and we can stop to read.”

“Oh, that’s what you’re really after,” Mc teased.

“Well, can you blame me? Reading with someone in companionable silence is one of life’s greatest joys.”

“Well, I suppose it is nice to just sit and read with Sim, though he’s probably the only one I’ve read with.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Most other angels don’t just sit and read very often. Unless it’s scripture.”

“Sounds about right,” Satan said, rolling his eyes and starting to climb the stairs that lead to the second story of the library.

The “certain way” Lucifer liked the books to be organized was by genre, then alphabetically by author.If an author had multiple books, they were to be then sorted alphabetically by title, any series sorted by the first book’s title then in order. Many of the books were old though in impeccable condition. Mc was impressed by the breadth of selection available, and she could sense some spacial magic at work which housed more books than what was visible to the naked eye. While browsing, Mc found a book that looked interesting, and carried it until the tour was over. Satan happened to have a book in a hidden pocket in his jacket so they decided to sit and read awhile. Instead of the ground floor, Satan knew of a little nook on the second story which had a cushioned window seat and two plush reading chairs, so they went and sat there.

Though the story was interesting, she just couldn’t get into the book she’d grabbed. Her mind kept wandering back to her earlier conversation with Michael. She didn’t know how she could have brought up the subject in a way where he wouldn’t have gotten so upset with her. He’d reprimanded her before, but never had he been so dismissive and final about it.

“Are you alright?” Satan’s voice cut through her thoughts. She looked over to see him watching her.

She suddenly felt embarrassed, and averted her eyes, “It’s… Well, I got reprimanded by Michael.”

“Why?”

So Mc told him about her search for information, how Barbatos had told her to ask Michael and his rebuke. When she finished, Satan’s face was impossible to read. He was silent for long enough, she was concerned she had offended him somehow. Finally he spoke, “Lilith. Her name was Lilith. If you want some answers about what happened, I think Lucifer would be the best person to give them to you. I would suggest Beel, but he has enough trauma about what happened as it is. I don’t even know if he remembers, or if he’s blocked it…”

“Blocked what?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

Satan knocked on a bookshelf on the ground floor. A deep voice sounded from behind it, “Enter.” At the word, the bookshelf sung open to reveal a secret room. Despite wondering what was going on, Mc was both delighted and intrigued.

“You guys actually have a secret room behind a bookcase?!”

Satan shrugged, “Yeah. The house has a lot more secrets too. It would’ve been my room had I not lost a bet with Lucifer. Now it’s his office,” and with that, he walked in.

The whole room was a lot cozier than Mc would’ve expected. Austere and imposing yes, but there was a level of warmth and comfort to the room Mc would never have expected.

“Satan, what is it?” Lucifer sat at his desk, quill scratching across some paperwork. He hadn’t looked up.

“Mc has a question for you.”

This got him to look up, “Ah Mc. How can I help you?”

“Oh, if I’m interrupting something I can come back later.”

“I could use a break anyway. Please continue,” Lucifer sat there expectantly.

“Okay. Umm…” the memory of Michael flashed through Mc’s mind, and she winced a bit, but continued on with her story. Lucifer’s eyes darkened the further into the story she got. When she got to Michael’s chastisement, Lucifer got up from his chair abruptly, and went over to his window, back to Satan and Mc. Mc faltered in her story, watching as his clothes changed, horns pushing up and out from his head.

“I told her you’d be the one to ask,” Satan intervened, coming to stand behind Mc.

“Why? You know everything. You were there,” Lucifer asked, back still turned.

“You know the whole story,” Satan shrugged, eyes on the black clad figure.

Lucifer was silent and unmoving for quite awhile. Mc’s tension was on high alert for quite awhile, not seeing the horns retreating, until he finally spoke, “Before I begin, I feel I must warn you. You are going to hear things you probably won’t like or agree with. You are not to interrupt me. There will be a chance for me to answer your questions at the end, but only at the end. I will not explain my actions. The only person I answer to is Lord Diavolo. Whether you believe them correct or not, I am not embellishing the truth nor am I trying to hide from it. Knowing all of that, do you want me to continue?”

“... Yes. I would like to know the truth,” Mc answered confidently, though the fact he was still angry put her on edge. She knew he wasn’t angry at her at least.

The eldest, having calmed down enough to revert out of his demon form, came over and sat behind his desk. Satan came and sat next to her, earning a look from Lucifer, “You’re going to stay?”

“She is my guest.”

Lucifer raised his eyebrows, but said nothing, turning his attention back to Mc, “Have you heard about the Great Celestial War?” Mc nodded, and he continued, “No doubt you’ve heard their version of what happened. Probably talks about me and my brothers rampaging around the Celestial Realm until they finally cast us out?” Lucifer looked to her for confirmation.

“More or less,” Mc conceded.

“I am sure they make me out to be a villain in every way?”

“They say before you became angry, you were the model angel.”

“That is… interesting to know. Thank you for that. Now, where to begin?... Do you know anything about our sister?” Mc shook her head no, and Lucifer sighed angrily, “To think they just… Lilith came into my little makeshift family with Beel and Belphie. They were almost triplets in a sense of the word. Beel was the sun, Belphie the moon and Lilith the stars, though I would argue she shined the most brightly out of them. She was... angelic. They should really point to her as the model angel. She was everything an angel should and could be. Though they were all very close, once Beel made himself my bodyguard, Belphie and Lilith spent a lot of time together. Belphie had a habit of going off the the human realm whenever he could, which was not seen as a good thing, though he knew how to keep himself unattached to the humans he happened to meet, so no one could really do much more than grumble. That is, until Lilith started going down him.

Her heart was so pure and full of love, she ended up falling in love with one of the humans she met. Belphie tried to talk her out of it, but it was no use. When the rumors started, I asked both of them what was going on. From what they both said, it was love at first sight. Though I was furious, I went down myself to meet the man in question, and found myself unable to criticize her. He was everything I could have wanted for my sister. 

Unfortunately, he was mortal and he came down with a serious illness. Lilith was devastated. We all tried to tell her this was a good thing. He was a good enough person he would probably join us in the Celestial Realm. I even spoke with my father and got permission for her to lead him to the Celestial Realm when he passed. She wouldn’t listen however. He had told her all about his dreams for the future and she couldn’t let his life end. SO she concocted a plan. I wish she would’ve told me about it earlier, but I only found out about it after the deed had been done. She took a Tarel fruit and fed it to him,” Mc gasped despite herself. That fruit was precious. Michael himself wasn’t allowed any unless Father approved of it. Lucifer didn’t even acknowledge the outburst, “He recovered, obviously, but the damage was irreversible. As punishment for her sins, my father decided she would be put on trial, though we all knew the outcome, “ as did Mc. Either death or complete exile. They were essentially one-and-the-same.

“I had… many issues with the Celestial Realm and how it was run. How it probably still is. I was able to put those all aside however for the sake of my family and my position. This however,” and Mc could see the rage that still filled his eyes, “I could never forgive. Not if it meant the death of our dear baby sister. All my brothers felt the same way, especially Beel and Belphie. We all decided we were going to do something about it. Despite what anyone might say, I did try to go the “correct way” in the beginning. Supplications to my father. Speaking to others that might listen. I think we even tried a petition at one point. Very few would listen. I think there was a level of envy from most of the other angels. They saw in Lilith all their shortcomings, and so they had latched onto the one “bad” thing anyone could ever remember her doing.

“Tensions came to a head one day when I told my father and Michael I would do everything in my power to keep Lilith safe. Michael then looked me dead in the eyes and told me my sister was going to be punished, even if he had to do it himself. I left that meeting trembling with rage, and that’s when I knew I would wage war against anyone who tried to hurt my family, even if that meant fighting my father myself. I flew into the sky that day and sent my declaration of war over the entire Celestial Realm.

“Some came to our aid, but most sat on the opposing side. The war was long and bloody. Many that had flocked to our aid perished, low ranked angels who didn’t stand a chance against the likes of Michael and his bow. On what would come to be known as the last day of the war, we had so few left, my precious family had to be put near the front of the battle. Everything was going fine, and we were actually winning when I saw Michael emerge from the enemy forces. He had spotted Lilith, standing with Beel and Belphie, and I could see his intentions before anyone else. I tried my hardest to reach the three youngest, but a large crowd of angels came to attack me. Whether it was his plan all along to keep me tied up with so many, I don’t know. All I do know is that by the time I had fought off all my attackers it was too late. He had strung three arrows pointing them at my family. They all knew it was coming too, and I watched the panic set in to all three of them, with Beel in the middle. He chose to save Belphie. Lilith went down with an arrow to the wing, which was then followed by three more arrows shot by others, one to her other wing, one to the stomach, and then one to the chest. She looked over to me as she started falling and I…” Lucifer’s voice broke and he had to take a second to compose himself, “Well, let’s just say I will never forget it. After the shock had worn off, I flew after her as she fell. I tried to shoot down as fast as I could hoping to grab her, but it was no use. She crashed into the Devildom, wings singed body broken.

“I didn’t tell anyone about that day for a long time. Eventually I did tell Barbatos and Lord Diavolo who Lilith’s murderer was, which is why Barbatos knew who to send you to for answers. The fact Michael wouldn’t come clean about the whole thing, and that they’ve essentially erased her from history… It makes my blood boil. To see Diavolo acting so chummy with my sister’s murderer…” Mc could see, through the film of tears blocking her vision, Lucifer’s horns starting to emerge again.

Without thinking, she crossed over to him and hugged him, openly weeping. The thought was appalling. Whenever people spoke about the Great Celestial War, they always spoke of Michael’s brilliant  tactical genius. They spoke of how he’d helped crush the rebellion, though they had never gone into detail. She now knew why. Lucifer was taken aback for a second by the behavior, but eventually hugged her back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So, yeah. That happened.

Likes, shares and comments all vm appreciated. 

If y’all got the reference in the beginning, I applaud you and offer the chance to quote her magnificence in the comments or you could send me asks and I will reply with another quote (please take me up on this!)

Part Seventeen

[moody-bloosh]

Give me some Fugo kiSses

when they cry (Pannacotta Fugo)

content warning! yandere stuff sacrificial lamb au 

yandere starter prompts (closed) - kisses + pannacotta fugo 

Pannacotta Fugo is the only son of the most influential family of your village. Your family has served his for generations and it is only because of that fact that you have the privilege to know him. For the village and even his family had scorned him as a monster for his strange white hair and piercing red eyes.

But to you, he was simply beautiful.

It was the case when you were first introduced to him as a child, and it remains still to this day now that you have both grown. Your mother was his wet nurse and you were raised together as milk siblings. You were his only friend, his only companion, the only person who did not revile him for his appearance. You would take to combing his hair, telling him all about your day that he might in turn try to live vicariously through you. Fugo would secretly teach you how to read, how to write, things that you were not allowed to learn ordinarily but skills that Fugo seemed eager to pass onto you, just so that he had someone to talk to him about his books, about the things he learned.

As you continued to grow, it quickly became apparent that his intellect was nothing short of just amazing. It was an insult not to call him anything but brilliant. Though people still disliked his appearance, he learned not to pay heed to any of their statements. Because the important thing was that you stayed by his side even though all the years that had passed by the two of you.

And then suddenly, you were ripped away from him.

You.

The only light in his bleak existence. His only friend. The only person he had ever loved.

There was a tradition in your village, one that was centuries old. It was said that there was a monster that dwelled within the forest that seemed to ensnare and wrap around the village. The monster had never outright harmed your people for it only demanded one thing in exchange for keeping your little village safe.

Human sacrifice.

Through an unknown selection process that was privy only to the elders of your town, a single person was selected. In exchange for one human life, the village would be guaranteed safety, security - even a bountiful harvest. Your life would be snuffed out, all for the sake of all those horrible villagers who had only ever scorned him, who had been disgusted by him. When they come to take you away, he fights tooth and nail to keep them from taking you. At least until he’s wrestled into the ground and you beg for leniency for his take.

Before they take you away, you comfort him, one last time. You hold him tight and you press a kiss against his forehead. Sure you were terrified. But you supposed maybe that … if it was for his sake, you wouldn’t mind. Because you would have done anything to protect him, to keep him safe.

“I’m doing this … because I love you,” you said gently, a little serene smile on your face, even as the elders dragged you away. Like a lamb to the slaughter, to be ‘prepared’ until you were set to be devoured by the ancient, unknowable evil that demanded blood from your village. .

The night before you are to be sacrificed, right after they had dragged you away, he sneaks into the ceremonial hut you are to be kept in. You are a vision, dressed in a white gauzy fabric. Your eyes are a little red from crying, as is natural with someone about to be killed the next day. And then you hear him. His voice coming in through the little window that lit up the hut.

You try to ease your tearful hiccups and you turn to look at him smiling, “y-yeah, Fugo?”

Even in the face of death, you thought of him. Of how you didn’t want to see him off with a frightened or sad look in your eyes. Though your resolve quickly crumbles when he reaches his hand out to you. You carefully walk over to the window and gently clasp his hand, pressing it against your face as you looked up at him.

“I wish we had more time together,” you say sadly, your eyes bright with the beginnings of more tears and your lips formed in a sad smile.

“And we will,” he reassures you, his tone fraught with heartache. “We’ll have all the time in the world.”

Fugo purses his lips for a moment as he looks at you, trying to memorize every last bit of your face. He trembles. This … this couldn’t be it for the two of you, right? His voice is shaky as he speaks again.

“Do you want to die together?” His voice is heartbreaking to say the least, his eyes are bright with unshed tears as he clutches onto you, looking at you desperately, “just as we’ve been together as children for so long. We’ll be together even in death.”

“No,” you hiss out desperately, clutching onto his hand tightly. “Y-you have to live for my sake! Don’t throw your life away for me.”

“It’s the only thing I can do, a world without you … maybe it’s not a world worth living in. If the village wants to sacrifice you, maybe it’s not worth saving!”

As he says those words, something flickers in his mind. A dark idea, whispered by the devil himself. He smiles as he looks up at you, a terrible smile on his face.

“I know,” he says happily. “I know how to keep you safe now.”

You blink at him, surprised, not really understanding the deeper meaning of his words

Cupping your face through the window, he wipes your tears away. “I promise, I’ll save you and if I can’t - at the very least we’ll be together.”

Your eyes widen in horror - what was he going to do?!

“N-no!” You gasp out as he pulls away from you, reaching out for him, “F-Fugo! Don’t! I swear it’s okay, y-you don’t have to do anything that puts your life at risk!”

But he doesn’t hear you. All he can think about … is a life with you. A future with you.

It was so close, he could taste it.

He makes his way to the deepest part of the forest, the cave the monster called its home - the site of your murder for tomorrow. He doesn’t quite know what he expects to see, for he certainly did not believe in the existence of a monster. But lo and behold, he had found one. The creature is strange - taller than most men, checkered with white and purple and it’s inhuman eyes bore right into him. Copious amounts of drool drips from the monster’s strange lips. The creature slinks out of the dark cavern and stops, facing him. Everything is quiet for a long moment as he regards the creature.

“You’re not the sacrifice, are you?” It’s voice is ragged, a dangerous edge to its tone dripping of its words but it sounds bored.

“I’ve come to cut you a deal,” Fugo says carefully, emboldened. How curious that he, reviled as a monster, was now speaking to a true monster so casually.

“Oh? And what mind that be, little human,” the monster croons, slithering closer and closer to Fugo.

“You can forgo this ritual sacrifice nonsense and just do as you wish,” he says coldly. “Take the whole village for yourself but let the sacrifice and I escape.”

“And what should keep me from devouring you two, hm?”

“Simple,” he says easily, in such a matter of fact way that anyone who was listening would have no choice but to obey. “While you enjoy your meal of the whole village we escape, and tell me, what would two forgettable morsels be when you’re already gorging on the whole village hm?”

“And what’s stopping me from eating you and the next sacrifice, hm?”

Fugo stares back at the monster, unblinking.

“Because you would be foolish not to take my offer. The greatest meal of your life, a never ending banquet, and you want to give up all that for two little morsels? Perhaps you’re even more of a fool than I thought.”

The monster seems to consider his words getting terrifyingly close to him. But Fugo barely even blinks. No matter what happened… he would be with you regardless. The monster seems to smile and then it slowly heads back into its cave.

“If I find you two still around by daybreak, I’ll devour you both, regardless.”

All you remember is being led through the forest. Your eyes red and swollen from the crying and your heart heavy with anxiety, worry over what Fugo could have possibly done. Thankfully you see him at the procession. The one that all the adult villagers took as they led you to the monster. Your heart lightens considerably though you can’t help but have a bit of suspicion for how … how Fugo smiled as he looked at you. As if … he knew something the others didn’t.

You’re pushed to the front of the cave and everyone waits with bated breath for the monster to arrive. But instead, the forest comes to be bathed in a heavy fog. One that Fugo happily takes advantage of as he grabs you by the hand and whisks you away. You have no idea what is happening, only hissing at Fugo quietly not to mess up the ritual. But of course he doesn’t stop.

And then the screaming starts. And you don’t have to hear the words come from his lips because you just know. You’ve been with him since you were children, you were his closest friend, his only confidant…

He’s sacrificed the whole village for your sake.

When he leads you through the dark forest, amidst the fires and the screaming. His hold on you is tight enough to bruise. Your breathing is ragged, your cheeks soaked from your crying. All around you can hear dying gasps, fearful screaming as the monster tears through the adults. Fugo leads you away from all that.

You’re terrified more than anything.

Because you know now that the true monster is taking you by the hand, and leading you away from the slaughter - the slaughter he had concocted.

All for you.  

[shera-dnd]

The Hunter - Like Everyone Else

I FORGOT TO UPDATE THIS FIC! I’M A DUMBASS!

So yeah this one is a bit rushed, but it’s still good...I hope

Also I hold no shame over all the references I made in this

Lonnie had been surprisingly chatty the next morning. As they chased after their mark once more, she retold some stories of her time in the wastes and even some odd rumors she heard whispered about herself.

“You know how I only started doing this once the portal opened?” Lonnie asked, not really wanting or waiting for a confirmation “Because of that a lot of people think I’m some sort of alien bounty hunter who came to Etheria in search for more exotic and dangerous prey” She put on a gruffer voice as she spoke those last words, getting a loud laugh out of Catra. Lonnie couldn’t help but smile at that sound.

“How do people even come up with that shit?” Catra asked once she managed to contain her laughter.

“Right? And you haven’t even heard the worse ones” Lonnie answered, with that same bright smile from last night “Like there is one where I lost both my parents to bandits and then I spent my whole life training with assassins so I could someday take revenge on-”

Catra raised her hand and they both halted. She took her binoculars and looked towards the horizon. Among the mountains and canyons in the distance there was one pass that seemed to have crumbled onto itself, the same pass their target was currently riding towards.

“Looks like we found where that ship landed” Catra commented. She turned to see what Lonnie planned on doing now, but the woman was busy looking through the scope of her rifle.

“There seems to be a small settlement at the entrance of the pass” She informed Catra “Probably not their main camp. I suggest we go up and around and rappel onto the ship from above”

“How good is that scope?” Catra asked, dumbfounded by how far that thing could see.

Lonnie took a shot and their mark dropped unconscious onto the floor. “Good enough” She answered with a smug smile.

“Show off” Catra complained. This was a challenge and she would absolutely take her up on it.

~~~

The climb around the pass was surprisingly easy. Catra had always been the best at those climbing exercises back in the Fright Zone and Lonnie was perfectly equipped for this kind of terrain. Now from their vantage point they could see the clear trail of destruction the massive warship left as it crash landed.

Beneath them the pass seemed closed off by a terrible landslide, but knowing what to look for it was easy to find bits and pieces of the ship poking out from the rubble. Yet there were no signs of life down there.

“You think they’re hidden inside the ship?” Lonnie offered.

“It would be the most defensible position” Catra agreed “Good thing one of us knows their way through Prime warships” 

“And how did you get that information again? Right, you got captured” Lonnie taunted playfully. Catra played along, sticking her tongue out at Lonnie and getting a chuckle out of her “Okay, I’ll take us down and you guide us through the ship” She secured a grappling hook to a rock and extended one hand to Catra “Hold on”

Catra took her hand and was pulled close. Held safely against Lonnie’s chest as she began rappelling down the pass and towards the ship. Those stray thoughts about Lonnie’s defined muscles returned with full force. Catra refused to look up as to avoid seeing the undoubtedly smug and overconfident look on Lonnie’s face.

She wondered if Lonnie could do all this without the powered exoskeleton, probably not with the same ease, but she had seen what Lonnie could do last night and she wouldn’t be surprised if she could. The more she thought about it the more tempted she was to look up and see how Lonnie looked doing this.

Before she had the chance, her feet hit the ground and she pushed herself free of Lonnie’s embrace, trying to focus on more professional thoughts. When she turned around to look at her companion she looked almost hurt. It was the second time she looked at Catra like that in less than 24 hours. Catra mentally kicked herself for that.

Lonnie sighed and put her helmet back. She too had to be professional now and, liking it or not, the helmet was useful. It would just be a weird for Catra to get used to the helmet again after nearly a whole day of normal Lonnie.

“I’ll set up a breaching charge” Lonnie declared in her distorted voice “You lead the way once we’re there”

“Where the fuck did you get a breaching charge?” Catra asked. Lonnie gave her a look that, even with the helmet, Catra understood meant ‘don’t ask’ “Fine. Ready when you are” She sighed.

With military precision Lonnie placed and detonated the charge, leaving a whole with the perfect size for the both of them to enter. They jumped in to find an old, dusty, and poorly lit corridor. It looked exactly the same to either side of it, but Catra already had a good idea of where they were.

“This is the way” Catra declared and began marching down the corridor. Lonnie following behind.

“And what way is that exactly?” Lonnie asked.

“We gotta hit engineering first to see what parts of the ship are still standing so we can have a better idea of where to go” Catra explained, taking a turn as she spoke.

After a few more turns and a considerable amount of walking they found themselves in a large open room, covered wall to wall with complex machinery, several layers of scaffoldings traversed the room and at its centered sat a computer console. Catra completely ignored the proper path leading there and simply jumped through the machinery and climbed onto the platform with the computer, leaving Lonnie to take the long way around. 

“When did you learn how to operate alien computers?” Lonnie asked as she calmly walked down the path to meet her.

“I had to learn a few tricks before my daring escape” Catra answered, half jokingly. Lonnie shook her head and continued walking, but as she went further into the room she couldn’t shake off the feeling that there was someone else in there with them.

Quickly wiping around, Lonnie drew her rifle and aimed towards a figure in the shadows between the machines. The figure darted through the shadows and Lonnie followed in pursuit until it was cornered.

“I’m sorry! I wasn’t trying to escape, I swear!” The shape pleaded as it threw itself on the ground before Lonnie, revealing itself to be a scraggly old man in torn clothes “I got lost is all. I’ll get back to my post immediately” the man scampered to his feet and began running for the exit

“Hey, wait!” Lonnie called, causing the man to halt in the spot “We’re not here to harm you” The man turned around with a confused look on his face, that was soon replaced by one of admiration.

“The Hunter” He whispered and Lonnie had to contain a sigh at the title “We are saved!”

“Saved from what?” Catra asked as she landed behind Lonnie “Who is the old guy?” The man took a trembling step back at the sight of Catra’s whip.

“She is a friend of mine” Lonnie explained, surprising both the man and Catra “We are here to deal with the gang”

“Then you’ll free us?” He asked. Catra shot him a confused look and he explained “They raided our village and when they found out we knew how to work this machinery they forced us to build weapons for them. Please, you must be here to save us”

“You built those weapons?” Catra asked “So you know how to break them?”

“Yes, of course” The man agreed “We can teach you how to destroy what we created”

Lonnie and Catra looked at each other. They had a new plan.

~~~

An entire village hidden inside the hangar bay of a massive spaceship. That was not something Catra ever expected to see, but here she was now, crawling through a vent and watching the poor villagers be dragged from place to place to work on the machinery of the ship. In the farthest corner a massive tent hid what Catra could only presume was the super weapon, but dealing with that was Lonnie’s job.

Catra dropped from the vent, silently landing behind one of the thugs roaming the village and swiftly taking them out. One down, several dozen more to go. Time to prove she was still the best at her job.

One by one the thugs dropped. Not all of them, for that would be a waste of her time, just enough for the captives to have an opening, but not enough for the other thugs to notice. Stealth came naturally to her, like martial arts came to Lonnie and Rogelio and like most things came to Adora.

“Take the back door” Catra whispered to a few villagers as she opened one of their tents “The way is safe, but keep quiet” They moved as fast as they could, whispering ‘thank you’s as they passed Catra. A wave of satisfaction washed over her. She never expected to enjoy helping people as much as she did.

Catra started making her way to the next tent when the ground shook beneath her. She looked towards the large distant tent just in time to see it being torn apart by a terrifying explosion and from the green flames walked a colossal spider bot. Dozens of weapons adorned its sides and on its back stood what Catra knew was the ship’s main cannon.

“Change of plans!” A way too familiar voice commands from the ship’s speakers “We march today and tomorrow the Fright Zone falls and I’ll have my revenge!”  

Several question flashed through Catra’s mind at that moment. How was Tung Lashor still alive? How did he manage to command this whole operation at all? But the most important of all those questions was, is Lonnie okay? Catra ignored the bandits as they ran to keep up with their leader’s war machine. She dashed for the wall of green flames, hoping that Lonnie was still alive somehow. 

She couldn’t lose Lonnie now, when she had just found her again. She lost her when she pushed her away, she lost her when she fled to the Wastes, she refused to lose her a third time. Even if she had to burn in her place, Catra would not let Lonnie die here.

A dark shape emerged from the flames. Her armor was charred, the outer plates melted, the visor cracked, her weapons were completely destroyed, but she was still alive and she wasn’t stopping. She limped past Catra and began following the escaping bandits.

“What are you doing?” Catra asked. She would have held Lonnie back, but the heat from her armor kept her away.

“Chasing them” Lonnie coughed out. Clearly struggling to breath.

“There is no way you can go after them like this” Catra said as she jumped in front of Lonnie.

“We can’t let them reach the Fright Zone” Lonnie declared, trying to make her way around Catra, but she wouldn’t let her.

“And we won’t, but if you don’t get help right now you will die” Catra pleaded.

“I’m fine!” She insisted “Now get out of my way”

“Lonnie, I’m not-”

“Get out!” She shouted.

For a moment their roles were swapped. A young Lonnie tried to comfort a very tired Catra. ‘Go! Leave like everyone else!’ Catra screamed and Lonnie scampered away. They froze in place as the memory hit them both. Lonnie stepped back, looking anywhere but at Catra.

“I-” Lonnie started, before collapsing on the floor.

[mdelpin]

The Red Dragon - Chapter 24

AO3 | FF.Net | Tumblr: Ch1 | Ch23

It had been weeks since Gray had seen any hint of Fukou. The first few days after their confrontation the dragon would still fly over the village on the way to the mountain and perform aerials for the kids when they cheered for him, but Gray could tell these were lackluster at best, and a strange feeling of sadness would come over him as he saw this.

He had enjoyed watching the dragon dance in the air, and he was fairly certain the change in Fukou’s behavior was his fault. He had been unnecessarily cruel to a creature that had done nothing but protect him and the village on multiple occasions, and he felt a small level of shame for his actions, although not enough to seek Fukou out and apologize.

The idea that dragons were capable of being hurt by something as simple as words was something Gray had trouble accepting. His natural stubbornness still determined to question everything he'd learned about dragons from Wendy and the other slayers and even what he had seen through Happy’s actions.

Lyon had told him a long time ago that maybe he needed to limit his hatred to the one dragon who deserved it, and Gray was grudgingly beginning to understand that his brother might have been on to something. The hatred he held on to continued to cause him nothing but trouble, creating a wedge between him and his mate and causing him to lash out at innocent creatures.

But it wasn’t a switch he could easily turn off. Deep down, Gray knew that the only way he could truly overcome his hatred of dragons was to deal with the underlying trauma of what had happened to him, and he wasn’t sure he could do that yet.

Life in the village slowly went back to normal, their surroundings soon turning gloomy as the only speck of color to be seen for miles came from the evergreen trees that grew in the forest near the base of the mountain. The villagers busied themselves with preparations for the snow that would signal the beginning of the winter months.

Occasionally they would catch sight of a red dragon flying towards the mountain, but this one was smaller, making Gray think it might be Happy. Fukou was nowhere to be seen, and Gray was able to put him out of his mind for a while.

He’d begun taking a lot of solo jobs, determined to help Lyon pay for the new house he would move into with Erza, as well as help him furnish it. He was fully aware that part of the reason for doing so was his need to live vicariously through his brother, who was getting ready to embark on the life that Gray desperately wanted to live with Natsu. Either way, he was running himself ragged between those jobs and keeping up with his regular guard schedule.

Which is how he suddenly found himself faced by a group of bandits determined to separate him from his hard-earned jewels. At first, Gray wasn’t overly concerned, he was a powerful mage after all, but he soon realized he’d used up most of his magic fighting off that chimera that had been terrorizing Aster, a larger town a few days walk from Talos. He’d have to rely on his fighting skills to get out of this one.

Gray called on just enough magic to mold his Cold Excalibur and immediately went on the offensive, not wanting to give his attackers a chance to surround him. He fought hard for what felt like forever was probably no more than ten minutes.

Slashing in all directions, he attempted to keep a healthy distance between himself and his attackers, but his efforts weren’t enough. No matter how many bandits he managed to incapacitate they were immediately replaced by others. And as he felt himself losing more blood from the stabs that he hadn’t been able to defend against, Gray worried he might not be able to get out of this one.

He cried out in pain as he felt another blade pierce his back, his fingers coming away coated in blood as he once again tried but failed to ice his wounds. His legs gave out from under him, and all he could think was what a stupid way this was to die, alone in some random field. Lyon and Natsu would never forgive him.

His thoughts remained with Natsu, calling to him, telling him how much he loved him and how sorry he was, utterly oblivious to the sound of loud roars behind him or the screams of panic from his attackers or even the fact that the field he was on had somehow burst into flames.

“Are you trying to get yourself killed?” A voice yelled, surprising Gray with the fury behind it. He turned his head slowly, coming face to face with an enraged Fukou. “When are you going to stop being so reckless?! I’m not always going to be around to save your ass.”

Gray blinked slowly, having a hard time understanding what was happening.

Fukou appeared frantic, eyeing the flames that were getting ever closer. “Climb on!”

“What?”

“Climb on! We have to get out of here, this is my fire, I can’t eat it.”

“No,” Gray protested weakly but with no less determination.

“We don’t have time for your bullshit,” Fukou shrieked, and when Gray refused to move, he launched himself into the air, quickly diving to grab Gray in his talons before flying them away from the blazing inferno.

“Let go!” Gray yelled, thrashing as the harsh wind acted against his wounds, “You’re hurting me!”

That seemed to get Fukou’s attention, and Gray could hear him cursing loudly, the sound of it amusing him slightly.

“If you weren’t so fucking stubborn, you could be riding on my back, where I could protect you from the wind.”

Gray screamed in agony, the pain too much for him to handle. He could feel them losing altitude, the ground looming ever nearer until he felt Fukou land using only his rear legs, his muscles tensing as he tried to keep his balance. He released Gray, gently placing him on a soft grassy area.

Gray took a moment to look at the dragon who had once again come to his aid. He was shocked to see the amount of anger still present in the creature’s eyes, although he was taking deep breaths, almost as if trying to calm himself down.

His eyes shone a beautiful shade of emerald green, and his talons glowed with a red light that sent warning signals to Gray’s brain.

“What, uhm, what are you doing?”

“I’m going to heal your sorry ass. Again,” Fukou groused, “Do you have a death wish or something? What would you have done if I hadn’t happened by?”

“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself,” Gray crossed his arms over his chest in defiance, for the moment ignoring the pain the simple movement caused him, as he scowled at the implication that he was always in need of rescue.

“Whatever you say, Princess, all I know is if you keep this up, I’m going to have to learn new healing spells.”

“Don’t call me that!”

Gray screamed in agony as his wounds were healed, Fukou making no effort to be considerate.

“Ow, damn it! Can’t you be gentler?”

“I could, but I want you to remember the pain,” Fukou declared with a self-satisfied smirk, “ then maybe you’ll be more cautious in the future. I always wondered why Atlas did that, now I think I’m beginning to understand.”

Gray let the words swim in his brain as the pain began to subside, the warmth of Fukou’s healing magic still managing to soothe him despite the dragon’s attempt to teach him a lesson. He felt his wounds closing up before hearing one single last word. “Sleep.”

0-0

Gray woke to find he had been moved to another location. He seemed to be inside a cave but could tell right away by its size that it wasn’t the red dragon’s cave near Talos. Sitting up slowly and noticing his wounds had all but disappeared, he searched the cave, looking for the dragon that had saved him, finally finding him sitting outside the entrance of the cave looking up at the stars.

Fukou turned his head to look at him. Where before he had seemed furious, his expression was now too complex for Gray to read.

“I trust you are feeling better?”

“Yes, uh, thank you.” Gray sat near the dragon, leaving a healthy amount of space between them, feeling self-conscious as the words he had said to the dragon the last time they had met replayed in his mind.

They sat in companionable silence for a while, Gray struggling with the words he knew needed to be said. He coughed uncomfortably, “I, uh, I wanted to say I was sorry about before.”

“The struggling?” Fukou asked, the small grin that tugged at his snout, making his fangs appear sharper, “I should have expected that.”

“No, uhm, back when I named you, I was an ass, I didn’t mean it. So you know if I, uhm, hurt your feelings or anything, I’m sorry.”

The dragon shook his head before looking back up at the stars, “No need to apologize, Gray Fullbuster, it is a most fitting name. Sorrow and misfortune are indeed all I have ever wrought.”

Gray winced, realizing just how deeply his words had hurt the creature. He quickly changed the subject. “Where are we?”

“I didn’t think it wise to return to Talos straight away, those men could have decided to follow us. Now that you are awake, we can use the cover of night to return.”

There was something that was confusing him, and Gray figured he had nothing to lose by asking, “Why didn’t you just kill them?”

Fukou continued to stare at the stars, making Gray think he hadn’t heard him until he finally replied, “I don’t enjoy killing.”

Gray lowered his head, pondering Fukou’s response with some skepticism but growing admittedly more curious about the creature, “Is that why you have so many scars?”

Fukou chuckled, “No, I was actually trying to kill that one, he just bested me.”

A laugh escaped Gray at the unexpected response, which he soon tried to hide behind a cough, but Fukou’s eyes twinkled regardless.

“Where have you been? It’s been months since I last saw you.”

“Why? Did you miss me?” Fukou teased, laughing at the dismay in Gray’s face at his retort.

Before Gray had a chance to deny his words, Fukou explained his absence, “The Dragon King required my assistance. I was returning home when I smelled your blood and went to investigate.”

“I don’t understand you. Why bother with saving me at all?”

Fukou studied him fixedly before shrugging his massive wings, “Perhaps I seek to change your mind of the notion that dragons are heartless.”

Gray’s lips tightened into a hard line, not willing to concede on that point yet. He wasn’t satisfied with that answer, surely there had to be more to it. Why would Fukou care about what he thought?

“We should get going, we’re still a long ways away from Talos.”

Gray watched as Fukou lowered himself and stared at him expectantly.

“Oh, hell, no!”

“Surely, you’re not expecting us to walk there? It would take days. I could always cast that sleep spell on you again...”

“No! Fine, I’ll do it, just don’t drop me.”

“You know, if I wanted you dead, I wouldn’t have bothered healing you first.”

“I’d feel more comforted if you weren’t grinning at me like some sort of psychotic overgrown lizard,” Gray complained, the sound of Fukou’s unabashed laughter irritating him in ways he hadn’t felt in a while.

Fukou attempted to explain how to get on his back, but Gray ignored him in favor of using his ice to lift him up to the desired height. He crawled across the dragon’s massive back and towards its long neck, searching for a spot where he could sit and hold on properly.

He was amazed to find the dragon’s scaly skin did not feel as rough as it looked. Gray ran his hands over it, curious about the texture, which was akin to the feeling of wet sand between his fingers. A pleased rumbling sound from the dragon beneath him startled Gray from his unintentional petting. He stopped his hand midstroke, but then remembering how the dragon had saved him despite his harsh words, he rewarded Fukou with a few strokes to his neck before holding on for the trip ahead.

Gray was terrified, although if he was honest with himself, a little excited as well. He’d never considered the idea of flying. He held on to the excitement, frantically trying to distance himself from how he was achieving it.

The dragon took off without any warning, his wings spreading majestically and flying them ever higher. Gray let out a startled squeak, much to his embarrassment, before clutching Fukou’s neck tightly as they fought air currents until reaching a smooth patch.

They flew by the light of the moon, man and dragon choosing to remain silent, although they would have been able to converse had they wanted to. Gray felt overwhelmed, not just by the fact that he was riding a dragon, but that he had somewhat willingly chosen to do so.

He couldn’t say he regretted it though, the feel of the wind caressing his skin and hair was exhilarating, to say the least, as was knowing that he was one of the few humans to ever experience such a thing. The last time he had felt this alive was during the previous summer solstice when he and Natsu had made love for the first time.

Fukou’s body exuded constant warmth keeping Gray comfortable despite the cold air around them. Slowly, a sense of peace settled over him as he found himself up among the stars, and he relaxed, loosening his grip on Fukou’s neck. He could hear the dragon chuckling softly, although he didn’t comment.

They landed right outside the town walls, Fukou waiting patiently for Gray to climb down. The journey had ended much too soon for Gray’s liking, and he found himself disappointed that it had been too dark for him to really see much.

He was about to say thank you, only to discover Fukou had already left.

0-0

Once Lyon had gotten over Gray almost dying on one of his jobs, he listened raptly to the story of his rescue. He had taken to teasing Gray that while most people had a guardian angel, he seemed to have a guardian dragon. The irony of the situation amused Lyon greatly.

Regardless of which, he immediately forbid Gray from taking any more solo jobs at least until after the wedding, ignoring all of Gray’s protests to the contrary. It was frustrating, but he could see his brother’s point, so he tried to fill his free time with additional training, still embarrassed by how easily he had been beaten.

With no means of escaping the village, Gray found himself thinking about Fukou often, it was hard for him to understand that a dragon would take it upon himself to try to change his mind. Why? What was it about Gray that compelled the red dragon to act this way? To rescue him when by all logic, he should have just let him die. Was he just amusing to him?

Regardless of his hatred for dragons, Gray was well aware that he wasn’t a particular threat to them. His attacks on Atlas hadn’t even gotten within ten yards of the hellfire dragon. Heck, he hadn’t even been able to really injure Happy when he was a baby, that had been Sting with his dragon slayer magic.

So what could Fukou possibly gain by changing his mind? Was he just drawn to the sadness that lived within Gray, did he maybe feel the same? Could he just be looking for a friend? Did dragons even have friends? It was frustrating not to know, but he had a feeling if he asked Fukou, the dragon wouldn’t give him an answer.

It was funny, in some ways the dragon reminded him of Natsu. His recklessness, sense of humor, and the playfulness he’d exhibited with those kids had made Gray wonder if his mate had acquired those traits from the dragons that had raised him. None of that, however, managed to explain the odd feeling of peace he felt around the dragon sometimes.

It was a beautiful winter night in late January when Gray decided to go for a walk. Snow fell all around him, keeping everyone but the most enthusiastic inside. Ever since acquiring his ice magic Gray had enjoyed going out in winter weather, and Lyon would usually be right there with him, but he had been busy with wedding stuff, and Gray hadn’t wanted to interrupt. Besides, it was best if he got used to the idea that he would be alone soon. Lyon would be moving out after the wedding, and although they would still see each other at work, their relationship was bound to change. Lyon belonged to Erza now, and soon they would start a family of their own. It was the natural order of things.

His walk took him towards the field, fond memories of snowball fights with Ur and Lyon keeping him warm. These were soon replaced by more recent ones with Erza and the dragon slayers. It was perhaps the only activity where he and Lyon could best the others, and they both enjoyed it immensely. More often than not, Natsu would get overexcited, his body heating up more than usual and melting all the snow around him as Gray took the opportunity to mock him mercilessly. He chuckled, remembering Natsu’s pout as Wendy rushed to console him as usual.

The memories were too close tonight. On a whim, Gray kept walking, reaching the mountain path and following it up, past the red dragon’s cave, all the way to the top of the mountain, hoping exhaustion would settle in and give him one night of peaceful rest, away from the dreams that often haunted him.

It was there he found Fukou, once again looking up at the sky, even though the stars were hidden behind storm clouds. He nodded at Gray briefly in recognition but otherwise remained silent.

“What is it with you and the stars? You can’t even see them tonight.”

Fukou tilted his head to the side, considering Gray’s words for a long while before answering, “It doesn't matter whether I can see them or not, they are still there, shining down on us.”

Gray examined the dragon, noticing some new scars that hadn’t been there before, making him wonder what he’d been up to, “Where do you go?”

“Hmm?” Fukou peered at him in confusion.

“When you disappear for long periods, where is it you go? Is it dangerous?”

“I go check on the other dragons, make sure they’re okay.”

‘Why wouldn’t they be? Isn’t the war over?”

“Dragons are still being hunted,” Fukou explained.

“By the renegades Natsu talked about?”

“Not tonight," Fukou replied, refusing to answer Gray's question. "The ghosts are too close,” his only explanation.

Fukou looked back up to the sky and spoke not another word, leaving Gray to sit in silence beside him.

When he woke up in front of the town gates the following morning, he couldn’t remember climbing down the mountain, and he wondered whether Fukou had flown him down. Either way, he had slept fitfully for the first time in a long while.

That night began an odd routine.

On days when he couldn’t sleep, Gray would make his way up the mountain, searching out the company of the quiet dragon. Fukou wasn’t always there, and even when he was, there were nights when not a single word passed between them. On these nights, Gray could sense a deep sadness come over the dragon. It was one of the reasons he continued to come, he too felt similar grief, but somehow sitting together on that mountain, it was alright.

0-0

Gray noticed Happy flying over the village once again and instinctively knew Fukou had left on another one of his trips. Shrugging away the gloom he felt, he explained it away, telling himself he was only bothered by how the dragon's absence would affect his sleep. Still, he kept an eye on the sky, hoping to catch a glimpse of the dragon’s return.

When it came, it was unexpected. Gray had been dreaming of Natsu when he woke with a strange pain in his heart. After making sure it wasn’t anything to worry about, he sat up, shrugging on some clothes and hurrying outside, worried the pain might have something to do with Natsu.

It was then he heard a loud disconsolate wail in the distance. It didn’t sound at all human, and his thoughts immediately went to Fukou. Gray set off at a fast run, arriving at the base of the mountain in record time. The hopelessness of that sound set him on edge, and he trudged on, not sure what he would find when he reached its source.

The sound led him to the path he'd followed the first time he’d found Fukou. Gray followed it, stumbling in the dark as he attempted to navigate its unknown twists and turns.

The sight that awaited him was one he hadn’t expected. Not only was Fukou the one making that awful sound, but he was covered in blood. His markedly different appearance made Gray wary of approaching him.

It didn’t seem like the dragon was aware of his presence, so he sat on the same rock he had used that first time and waited, trying to swallow the fear he felt. When Fukou finally settled down, Gray approached him slowly, making as much noise as he could. The last thing he wanted was to startle the dragon when it was acting this strangely.

Fukou finally looked in his direction, his entire body tensing, prompting Gray to put his hands up in front of him in a calming gesture.

“What happened?”

“It’s Happy,” Fukou’s face had streaks from where his tears had briefly landed on his skin before evaporating.

“Is— is he okay?” Gray asked anxiously. Happy was a complex topic for him, but he would never forget everything he had done for Natsu, not to mention his mate would be devastated if something happened to the dragon he had adopted as part of his family.

Fukou shook his head, a whimper rising up his throat. Gray didn’t know what to do, he had no idea how to comfort a dragon. Instead, he decided to bring Fukou’s attention to his injuries.

“You’re hurt, shouldn’t you heal yourself?” Gray kept his voice as gentle as he could, although every instinct he possessed was telling him this was a mistake, and he should get his ass back home.

“It’s Happy’s blood,” Fukou explained, seemingly oblivious to the blood that was gushing from an open wound on his chest.

“Look again,” Gray prodded, trying to keep himself calm, “You’re bleeding.”

Fukou looked down absently before Gray saw the familiar red glow of his healing magic.

“What happened?”

“Happy and I were attacked by renegades,” the words flowed out slowly, the dragon still mostly in a daze as he recounted the events, “ I managed to kill one, but the other went to get reinforcements. I— I tried to heal him, but I could smell more of them coming, so I grabbed him and flew him back to Atlas. I don’t know if he’s going to make it.”

At this, the whimpering began again, but Gray’s blood had started to boil. Fukou had just admitted to killing a human.

“You killed a human?” Gray’s voice was stiff as he threw the dragon’s words back at him, “ I thought you said you didn’t like killing.”

“I don’t,” Fukou appeared confused by Gray’s sudden change in attitude, “I had to, they were going to kill Happy.”

“You had to?” Gray mocked, ignoring the hurt on the dragon’s face as he yelled. “You outweigh them by hundreds of pounds, and you have an arsenal of fire magic at your disposal.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Fukou snarled, Gray’s words inciting his fury, “These humans possess magic that can kill us. What was I supposed to have done? Should I have let them kill Happy on some sort of moral principle? Let them kill me? Are we not allowed to defend ourselves?”

Gray had no answer to that, but he couldn’t just approve of Fukou’s actions either. His head throbbed as his childhood self argued unyieldingly against Fukou’s words.

“And you call me heartless?” Fukou laughed mirthlessly at Gray’s silence, before peering down at him with an expression more serious than Gray had ever seen from him before, “I wonder if your answer would remain the same if it was Dragneel in there fighting for his life.”

Gray couldn’t meet the dragon’s glare, knowing damn well if Natsu had been involved, he wouldn’t have cared who died as long as his mate could return to him safely. It was selfish but no less accurate, and the realization made him feel sick to his stomach.

‘You are such a hypocrite,” Fukou spat, his words all the more scathing because they were true.

“You think the war is over, but the truth is that for some of us, it never ended. We’re hunted down for no other motive than greed.” The air around Gray sizzled in response to Fukou’s fury, and still, Gray couldn’t say anything, held captive as he was by the righteousness of Fukou’s words.

“The human renegades seek to bathe in our blood in an attempt to sate their neverending thirst for power. Until they are destroyed, no dragon will ever be safe. So yes, I will kill every single one of them if that is what it takes to keep all dragons safe. If they come after me and mine...I will show no mercy.”

Most of these were done by people...

Gray recalled Natsu’s words and suddenly understood the meaning hidden behind them. Natsu was off fighting these renegades, protecting the dragons he loved so much. As much as it stung that his mate had chosen to continue fighting for the dragons rather than return home to him, Gray sought to be understanding. Natsu had always done what he felt was right. And if his dragons, no, his family, were in danger, he wouldn’t hesitate to fight for their safety, no matter what the personal cost.

He wished Natsu would have trusted him enough to ask for his help, it was laughable to think he would ever do so, given what he knew of Gray’s feelings. And once again, he had no one to blame but himself for that outcome.

Gray sank to the ground holding his head in his hands; the shooting pain made all the worse by the suffocating heat. How he wished he could live in that world of gray areas that both Natsu and Fukou traversed so effortlessly.

It must be nice to be able to face a visible enemy, but how were you supposed to defeat your demons when they all lived inside you? His hatred had been imprinted on him at such a young age that he couldn’t seem to fight his way out of it, and he had been trying to fight it. Natsu, the other dragon slayers, and even Happy had begun the process, but it had been Fukou that had forced him to see dragons differently. It just wasn’t enough to surpass over a decade of hatred.

“I know a dragon brought you much pain, Gray. I do not deny it,” Fukou addressed him, surprising Gray by using his first name. The dragon’s voice was calmer than before, although he could still hear faint traces of anger intermingling in words.

”What Deliora did to your village and your loved ones is unforgivable, but your misguided hate will not bring your loved ones back. It has only caused you to hold on to the pain you should have put to rest years ago.”

“Dragons have played a bigger role in your life than you are ready to admit. Not only have they protected the village you claimed as your new home from harm, but they saved your life many times. They raised your mate to be the man you seem to think so highly of. So the way I see it, you have two choices. You either have to accept that not all dragons are evil, just as not all people are and open your heart to those who would call you friend,” Fukou paused, giving him time to absorb his words.

“Or you can continue to live with the hatred that is destroying everything you hold dear. I have done all I can to show you who we are, but I can’t force you to change your mind, only you can do that.”

Gray nodded slowly, accepting the truth in his words but still not daring to look at Fukou, afraid of the judgment he might see in his eyes. He remained in his uncomfortable position long after Fukou had entered the cave to check on Happy.

He didn’t remember walking home but knew this time he had managed it on his own.

0-0

Gray’s mind remained in a constant jumble, Fukou’s words continued to wage war against his inner self. Some days it seemed like he had made some headway only to revert back at the memory of the destruction of his village and the pain and fear he’d felt during his parent’s last moments. His mind berated him for betraying their memory in what amounted to a fit of weakness.

He was stuck, and he hated it. Thankfully Lyon’s wedding was coming up quickly, and that kept him incredibly busy. Last-minute preparations took up a lot of his time. Then there was Erza, who had chosen him to take command of her post while she and Lyon went on their honeymoon for a few weeks. Her intense training regimen to prepare him for the challenge ate up the rest of his free time.

Before he knew it, April showers had given way to May flowers. He hadn’t seen Fukou since his last trek up the mountain, assuming he would probably no longer be welcome. It seemed Gray was only good at one thing, and that was pushing others away, and the loneliness felt at the dragons’ absence from his life was something he couldn’t deny.

Life moved on regardless of his discontent. Lyon and Erza had their wedding and left for their honeymoon soon after. For a brief moment, Gray was able to experience genuine happiness, even if it was for someone else.

Erza seemed almost disappointed to discover the town hadn’t self-destructed in her absence, but she gave him glowing praise for his efforts. Her expression growing concerned when that barely got a smile in response.

Gray helped Lyon move his things to his new house, listening to him chatter happily about his trip, and snickering as Erza ordered his brother around with her very definite ideas of where things belonged in their new space.

Gray had missed them greatly, especially the relief they provided from his thoughts. But after several weeks of doing Erza’s job, dealing with all of the issues that came up daily, not to mention all the people that demanded his attention, he had both an even bigger admiration for Erza and a desperate need to to get away.

Preparations for the villages’s Red Dragon Festival, which was scheduled to take place during the Summer Solstice, had already begun, and that was yet another thing that Gray wanted to leave behind. The festival was a constant reminder of both Fukou and Natsu and he was so tired of worrying and obsessing over both.

He’d already picked out a job during his brief stint as Acting Captain. It was only two days' travel, and it would keep him away for three days at most. Erza signed off on it without complaint, offering him an understanding smile and bidding him to be careful.

He walked away from Talos, through their field, and towards the nearest road, briefly looking back at the mountain he had come to know so well. A hint of sadness threatened his good mood as he thought of what he had lost through his own stubbornness.

He cast the thought aside, attempting to focus on the refreshing warmth of the mid-June sunshine on his skin as he got further away from his home. Gray focused on the beauty of the surrounding landscape, entranced by the wildflowers that adorned both sides of the road with every color imaginable.

He stopped to pick a flower that reminded him of the ridiculous color of Natsu’s hair, twirling it between his fingers with a smile. It filled him with longing for the things he had once taken for granted. He’d love nothing more than to spend a lazy afternoon sitting among those flowers, just threading his fingers through Natsu’s soft hair and listening to him talk for hours, green eyes sparkling with excitement, hands flying every which way.

Gray tried to imagine them sitting just like that, hoping to get some pleasure from it, stunned to discover all he felt was a resentful rage.

Why couldn’t they have that? Why couldn’t Natsu just pick him for once, and how much longer would he be forced to wait for his return? For the life that Natsu had promised him when he’d said they would spend the rest of their lives together.

He might be Natsu’s mate, but time and time again, Natsu had shown him the dragons would always come first. Even above the bond that marked them as soulmates. What was left for him then? All the time spent worrying and making excuses for him, what was it all for?

Gray realized then that if he didn’t get some answers soon, he might just be done with all of this. He had to look no further than his brother to understand that the words he had fought against for so long were valid. Even Juvia had moved on from her obsession with him to find love with someone else. He thought of Anna who was in a similar position as him, waiting for her love to return to her, but at least she had the orphanage to keep her busy.

He had made it so that without Natsu, he was nothing, and that was his own fault.

Gray had been letting his life pass him by, on the hope that the man he loved would return to him, and as much as it hurt to even think about moving on from the only thing he’d ever wanted, perhaps it was time for him to want something else.

His thoughts remained gloomy for the rest of his journey. The sun’s warmth, which had been such a comfort earlier became a reminder of the heat that he was well on his way to convincing himself he’d never have again.

He’d just arrived at the outskirts of the town of Calluna when he first noticed a distant blur flying towards him. Its brilliant scarlet scales identified it as a red dragon, even from far away, and Gray stopped to examine it, part of him hoping it might be Fukou.

The dragon was flying lower than what Gray would have considered wise, not seeming to be paying any attention to its surroundings, almost drifting along rather than navigating. Gray continued walking, figuring he’d get a better look the closer he got to his destination.

When he was about a quarter of a mile from the town, he began to hear panicked screams, which soon had him examining his surroundings, seeking to determine what might be causing their alarm. Peeking back up at the sky, he noticed the dragon was closer now, enough for him to be able to recognize that it was indeed Fukou, his scars immediately giving away his identity.

He was so used to the dragon that it took him a full minute to understand that Fukou was the cause of the commotion, a fact the dragon also seemed oblivious to. Gray’s heart raced painfully when he saw the first bolt sail through the air, missing its target by mere inches. Even then, Fukou did not alter his trajectory.

Gray's sharp eyes sought out the source of the bolt until he discovered a pair of ballistas, manned by a group of very excited soldiers who were already reloading the weapons with more oversized arrows.

“FUKOU!” Gray yelled as loudly as he could manage, trying to warn the dragon and hoping a familiar voice might rouse him from whatever trance he seemed to be under.

Fukou startled, his head darting from side to side in search of the owner of the voice. It was at that moment that two of the bolts hit their mark, tearing through the membranes at two different points of one of Fukou’s enormous wings. The dragon cried out, flailing his wings in an attempt to remain airborne, but it was a losing battle. The air currents had grabbed hold of the tears, ripping them further until they had merged into one large hole, the flap of loose membrane waving in the wind. Not being able to control his descent, Fukou fell to the ground with a resounding thud. Soldiers ran out Calluna's gates armed with arbalests, a smaller version of the ballista that had already caused the dragon so much damage.

Fukou struggled with his torn wing, still striving to get back in the air. Gray watched and waited, resigned to the attack he assumed would soon follow as the men surrounded the dragon. He wouldn’t enjoy what was to come, but after giving thought to the words Fukou had yelled at him in his rage Gray had come to the conclusion that the dragon had every right to defend himself from an unprovoked attack.

However, instead of using his fire magic, the dragon simply growled and whipped his long tail about, trying to intimidate his attackers into leaving him alone.

Gray couldn’t understand why the dragon wasn’t fighting back, it should have been easy for him to overpower them with his magic. He continued to watch from where he stood, not knowing what to do until he heard Fukou whine as his abdomen, one of the few areas of the dragon’s body not covered in scales, was pierced by a bolt from one of the arbalests.

That whine traveled straight through to Gray’s heart and lured him into action. He couldn’t just wait for the dragon to save himself, not when Fukou had come to his rescue so many times. Fukou was in trouble, and it was time for Gray to repay his debt.

Gray ignored the protest inside his own mind, having seen enough of the situation to be disgusted by the soldiers’ actions. He grabbed an item from his travel bag, shoving it into his pants pocket before dropping the bag and running towards the dragon.

“STOP!” Gray yelled at the top of his lungs, swiftly closing the distance between them. The men stared at him briefly but went right back to jabbing at Fukou. Gray settled into his molding stance as soon as he thought he was close enough for his magic to be effective.

Determining they seemed to enjoy arrows, Gray decided to give them a taste of their own medicine. He called out his first spell, “Ice-Make: Arrows.”

A large bow materialized in his arms, and he used it to send arrow after arrow at Fukou’s attackers. He watched with a satisfied grin as his ice arrows raced towards his targets, wounding several of the soldiers before they even realized what was happening and causing chaos within their ranks.

Gray was already running again, moving his position to further disorient them. He placed his fist in front of his palm, summoning his magic once again. This time allowing his anger to fuel his spell.

“Ice-Make: Freeze Lancer”

As the lances hit their marks, Gray made his move, creating a path of ice that would lead him straight towards Fukou and slip up any soldier that got in his way. He quickly molded blades to his shoes, which provided him an additional speed boost. Once he reached the dragon, he gathered all of his magic, imagining the end result he wanted before calling out his final spell.

“Ice-Make: Dome”

Ice rose out of his hands at high speed, expanding and curving until it began to surround them on all sides. Fukou, catching on to his plan, soon hunched down so Gray wouldn’t have to expend as much magic.

Although the dome he'd created was smooth on the inside, Gray had designed it with thick spikes on the outside to buy them more time. As soon as they were entirely surrounded by ice Gray ran over to Fukou, climbing over him to get a good look at his wing injury.

Fukou’s eye’s followed his every move even though he remained silent. Gray couldn’t tell whether the dragon was still angry from their previous confrontation or just embarrassed to be rescued by him. He decided to try to lighten the uncomfortable moment.

“Who’s the princess now, huh?” Gray snorted when he saw the outrage in Fukou’s eyes at his remark.

“Seriously though, why weren’t you fighting back? You could have taken those guys easily.”

Fukou’s voice came out in pants, eyes hooded with pain, “They didn’t have any magic, it wouldn’t have been right for me to retaliate. Besides,” he shrugged before hissing at the pull on his injured wing, “I’ve had worse injuries.”

Gray gawked at the dragon, surprised by its admission.

“I don’t see why you’re looking at me like that, “ Fukou groused, “I’ve told you several times I don’t enjoy killing.”

Gray wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that, so he kept his head down and his mouth shut, testing his ice and noticing that it was already beginning to melt. Fukou’s body temperature and the late spring sun were working against it steadily, not to mention the soldiers who seemed to be aiming their bolts at the spikes. Gray continued to feed more magic to his ice, strengthening the structure wherever he could.

“Well, be that as it may, you better hurry up and heal yourself. Your body heat is working against my ice, we won’t have much time to get out of here.”

“I uhm, can’t really do that, healing requires a lot more magic than I have available at the moment.” Fukou managed to look sheepish even though they were now both in danger.

“I had a feeling you might say something like that,” Gray muttered, grudgingly taking the item he had grabbed out of his travel bag and looking at it with dread. “I can’t do anything about the bolt with what I have on hand, but If I stitch up your wing, you think you can fly us out of here?”

Fukou ignored the question, eyes widening in dread as he saw the needle Gray was holding, and for a moment, it looked as though he wanted to scurry away.

Gray chuckled nervously, “Don’t be such a baby, I’ve had to do this for Natsu a couple of times, I know what I’m doing.”

Fukou appeared skeptical, engaging in some sort of exaggerated deep breathing that made Gray want to thwap him on the head. “Oy, stop that! I haven’t even started yet,” Gray scolded.

“Now, do you think you can make a small flame to sterilize the needle?”

Gray placed the curved needle in a small metal tray near the dragon while he grabbed the catgut. When he looked back, the tip of the needle was already glowing, and it was his turn to take an exaggerated breath as he tried to convince himself that this was no different than patching up his boyfriend.

He threaded the needle and moved over to the injured wing, trying to determine the best way to patch it up. He positioned the flap carefully in place and began to painstakingly stitch it back together.

“Ow, couldn’t you be a little bit gentler? That hurts!” Fukou whined.

Gray smirked, remembering the dragon’s words to him and repeating them, “I could, but I want you to remember the pain, then maybe next time you’d look where you were flying.”

Fukou sulked but otherwise refrained from complaining any further.

Gray felt drops of moisture land on his head and hurried, knowing he couldn’t bolster his ice and tend to Fukou at the same time. He set the last stitch and looked at his handiwork, biting his lip in frustration as he realized it had been pointless. There was no way Fukou would be able to fly them out of there, there were too many open spaces in between his clumsy stitches, the wind would just tear it apart again.

“Alright, can you run? Flying is a nogo,” Gray rubbed the back of his neck, seeking to come up with another plan as they both stared at the bolt that was sticking out of the dragon’s abdomen.

“I won’t be able to get very far with this stuck in me,” Fukou responded, “We’re going to have to get it out somehow.”

“I could try to pull it out?” Gray offered, desperately hoping the dragon would disagree.

“I’m going to need you to do that,” Fukou whispered before closing his eyes in preparation. “As soon as you get it out, I’ll cauterize the wound.” The temperature in the dome rose quickly as Fukou readied himself.

Gray gazed nervously at the long wooden shaft protruding out of Fukou’s body before wrapping his hands around it and tugging gently to get a feel for the force needed. Fukou cursed loudly just at that. Gray gulped, already feeling sick to his stomach. “I—I can’t do this.”

“You’re doing fine, one hard tug ought to do it,” Fukou encouraged, making Gray feel even worse.

He took one deep breath before freezing his hands to the wood of the shaft. Pulling with all his might, he tried very hard not to think about what he was doing, which left him wholly unprepared for the sudden release of the bolt, a problem which was further amplified by the startling sound of Fukou’s cry. Gray found himself on the floor still holding on to the bolt. He dispelled his ice quickly, not wanting to be connected to it any longer than he had to. He scrambled to his feet, refusing to look at the clumps of tissue that were attached to the bolt’s head.

The ice continued to melt at an even faster rate as the air around them heated up from Fukou’s efforts to cauterize the gaping wound the steelhead had left behind. Not quite able to speak yet, he gestured for Gray to climb on, and this time, he did not protest.

Fukou took off at a run, moving swiftly but unsteadily on his rear legs as he did his best to balance both their weights on his tail, all while keeping his wings close to his body to prevent them from being damaged by the wind. Gray could tell the dragon’s injuries were taking a lot out of him. The soldiers followed after them for several miles, but as their bolts were no match for the dragon’s speed, they eventually gave up.

When they were but specks in the distance, Gray announced, “I think you can stop now, it looks like they’ve given up.”

They had reached one of the wildflower fields Gray recognized from his walk, putting them about a day’s walk from Talos. Fukou stopped right where they were, his legs crumpling underneath him, breath coming in ragged pants. Gray climbed down quickly, peering at the dragon with concern.

“I think I’m just going to close my eyes for a second,” Fukou muttered, immediately falling asleep and serenading Gray with his deep snores.

Gray almost laughed at the irony of his predicament. Instead of spending a lazy afternoon with his mate as he'd fantasized, he was stuck babysitting an injured dragon.

At least this makes us even now, Gray thought, before falling asleep next to Fukou, not noticing when the dragon wrapped his uninjured wing around him like a blanket, almost as if by instinct.

A/N: This was a rough one but I hope you like it. I ended up enjoying the writing of it more than I thought I would. I want to thank @oryu404​ and @xhorhasian-aki​ for their advice and encouragement through some of the harder parts of this chapter. Thanks guys, you're amazing! There should be another update next week! Enjoy.

@ao3feed-gratsu​

[yukiwrites]

Byleth, Closer to the Truth

Thanks for the support as always, @xpegasusuniverse! It’s amazing how much worldbuilding three houses had ;v;) it’s so good to explore it all!

Summary: Byleth asked Hanneman to aid him in his pursuit of knowledge, but there was TOO MUCH that the crestologist knew that the young Professor did not, so Byleth had to actually catch up in his own studies to be able to discuss things in equal terms with Hanneman. However, the more Byleth learned, the bigger were the questions forming inside of him, as well as the discomfort such things brought Sothis... could it all be connected?

Commission info HERE and HERE!

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Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 -  Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8  - Part 9 - Part 10  - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13 - Part 14  - Part 15

Enlisting Hanneman into his personal group (consisting of Byleth himself and the voice in his head, Sothis) dedicated to uncovering the secrets of the Heroes' Relics was truly an astounding idea.

Although the older Professor demanded much knowledge Byleth never had in first place to even start a proper discussion, Hanneman's insightful questions truly spurred Byleth and Sothis to seek more answers to millennia-long questions.

Since the Relics were weapons that could only be wielded by crest-bearers, they fell into Hanneman's area of expertise -- meaning that the crestologist knew by heart all of their names, related crests, original wielders and general location. Byleth, on the other hand, knew no such thing, so Hanneman's lecture was taken to heart.

Areadbhar, the lance that once belonged to Blaiddyd of the Ten Elites, lay inside the Royal Palace of Fhirdiad, guarded to be used only by its King. The Crusher of the Dominic crest was also back in Faerghus, though thankfully those were the last two Relics located in the Kingdom to yet come to Byleth's hands.

The Aegis Shield, the Lance of Ruin, Lùin and Thunderbrand were all within the Professor's grasp, alongside the Alliance's Freikugel and Thyrsus. Byleth held onto six out of the twelve Relics in existence, and that was the most a single person possessed in over a thousand years.

"But... twelve?" The Professor mumbled as he stared at the open book in front of him. Wasn't that strange, though? There were twelve documented Heroes' Relics (their whereabouts varying from 'unseen since the Heroes' War' to 'being guarded by a noble house'), though only Ten known Elites, plus the Sword of the Creator, supposedly handed by the goddess herself.

Hanneman mentioned that Maurice had been the eleventh Elite back in the day, though he had been banished for being consumed by his Crest, so the math added up on that account.

But what about Seiros and Four Saints?

If they were the ones closest to the goddess, it should've been natural for Her to bestow Relics to them as well, yes?

However, that didn't seem to be the case. Seiros and the Saints were only known to use a different kind of legendary weapon, dubbed Sacred Weapons by the church. Their whereabouts were documented by ancient texts, which informed the reader that all Sacred Weapons were supposedly buried alongside their original wielders under the monastery: inside the Holy Mausoleum.

'Why supposedly?' one might ask. The answer was simple: Inside Seiros' tomb lay the Sword of the Creator, not her sword neither her shield. What's more -- Byleth also had two Sacred Weapons in his possession, the Spear of Assal and the Caduceus Staff, originally Saint Cichol and Saint Cethleann's weapons respectively.

The place Byleth found them at couldn't be farther from the monastery: on a remote island far from the Central Church's grasp, inside the tomb of a woman completely unrelated to the Saints if only that she was a devout follower of the religion. Flayn and Seteth considered that place special to them and were the ones to bestow the weapons to Byleth, alongside a very distinguished detail regarding their family bonds.

Though Byleth informed Hanneman of the Sacred Weapons in his possession, he of course refrained from repeating secrets entrusted to him.

"Your mind has been wandering and wandering... each second farther away from the text in front of you." Sothis mentally poked Byleth's shoulder, making the Professor blink back into reality.

"Ah, that's true," he shook his head in a vain attempt to shoo away the boredom that came with reading any heavily worded text that hailed from the church.

The volume in question was one of the many tales centered around Saint Macuil. As were the other seven books stacked right beside it, which only made Byleth even less willing to even go through with all that encrypted and salted reading.

Sighing, the Professor resigned himself to going back to studying, his thirst for answers winning over his unwillingness to read.

Although the origins of the Heroes' Relics was unknown, the Sacred Weapons properly hailed from a documented place; or person, for that matter: Macuil was an accomplished blacksmith, rumored to use his skills to craft weapons for Seiros' army. One could only assume that the Sacred Weapons were made by Macuil's hand.

Yet, that wouldn't add up, according to the teachings of Seiros!

How could the Four Saints and the founder of the church herself be left to their own devices in wielding weapons that anyone -- crest-bearer or not -- could brandish while the ten, or rather, eleven humans that followed them were the ones blessed by the goddess with weapons that only those with crests could use?

Humans; the creatures that could be born with crests or not, purely by chance. Humans; against whom the goddess herself fought before these eleven heroes emerged.

Why didn't Macuil forge weapons for the humans, instead? Why weren't there Relics for the Saints?

Even if one inspected the Spear of Assal and the Caduceus Staff, they wouldn't find any trace of the bone-like structures common to the Heroes' Relics. Hell, even the Crest Stone inherent to every Relic apart from the Sword of the Creator was nowhere to be found with the Sacred Weapons!

Of course, since they were weapons anyone could wield, that much was obvious, but still -- why did the Saints wield these considerably weaker weapons as opposed to the much stronger ones their human companions brandished?

Byleth groaned, closing the book loudly. And these texts heavy with parables and metaphors! There was very little one could learn from reading them, even though they were basically the only source of knowledge around anywhere in Fódlan.

Sothis hummed chipperly by his shoulder as Byleth got up from his seat at the library. "Finally gave up, hm? About time! You were not getting any studying done."

Pursing his lips, the Professor took the remaining books, intent on taking them to Hanneman's office rather than his own room -- that was also another boon of having the older Professor in his pursuit of knowledge: proximity to the library.

Not three weeks after Tomas -- no, Solon -- revealed himself to be an enemy of the church, the library managed to remain mostly unchanged. Since there had been a rotating system of students and teachers to take care and oversee the books, the usual library activities could go on as always.

Byleth's mind wandered once again to his headmate, the amount of information he'd absorbed in the past few days overloading his thinking capacity. Hey, Sothis? He looked up as though he could see the girl floating by the ceiling.

She preferred to float beside him, instead, however. "I know that tone..." Sothis crossed her arms and legs in a sigh.

Byleth's head drooped. If you still don't want to talk about it, i won't, but-

"Hahh... Very well. Out with it."

You're... The goddess, right? You have the power to control time and are linked to many places the goddess is said to have been, he started, tentatively. Sothis bobbed her head to the sides.

"So we are to believe, according to Rhea's words at the start of this month. Sothis, also known as The Beginning -- I identify with both aliases, as does the goddess. However, I am not up there in an imaginary heaven; I am bound here with you by something beyond my current understanding. Am I simply a part of the goddess? The conscience one calls 'self'? If so, is that the reason why I bear the appearance of a child? Because whatever bound me to you could not harness the vastity of my power, only managing to tap my sense of self instead?" She asked in a serious voice, then sighed, her small shoulders sagging. "I cannot give you the answers you seek, young one. However, I AM grateful that you are going through such lengths for my sake -- or at least for the sake of having your own mindspace for yourself." She sneered, visibly tired.

Such exhaustion bled into Byleth himself, making the task of simply going from the library to Hanneman's office a most strenuous one. I just want to help you regain your memories, and I feel that all of this is connected...

Sothis chuckled, mentally patting Byleth on the head. "Thank you for this, Byleth. Good luck when you go through that door, however. Hanneman seems to be eager in drawing your blood to check your crest in depth."

"Ugh," it was Byleth's turn to groan, throwing his head back in regret. Hanneman had mentioned that he wanted to do a thorough physical check-up on Byleth and compare it with the pulse they felt coming from the Relics, after all, so Byleth couldn't run.

He himself wanted the answers, so subjugating himself in a mostly harmless experiment or two was a good enough price to pay for answers.

"Ghk- W-what did you-" Sothis winced, curling around herself before entirely disappearing from Byleth's sight. "What was this thought?!" She huffed, as though in pain.

Byleth's legs gave out as he loudly crumpled on the stone floor, scattering books and scrolls about. "S-Sothis?" he panted, a sharp pain twigging his chest. He clutched it with one hand, pressing his forehead against the cool stone to regain his breath.

"Experiment...? What- what is this terror engulfing my entire being?" Sothis cried, her very soul trembling to the point of translating it to Byleth's body. "Did I- go through such a thing in the past? What IS this?" She sobbed a cry without tears, her voice slowly disappearing as she succumbed to a forced slumber.

Sothis? Byleth called in his mind, his body still too weak to stand. "Sothis?" He mumbled, realizing his breath was coming back. "She must've gone to sleep..." he huffed, forcing himself to sit up.

Dizzy, he could barely hold his head up, choosing to lean it on a nearby wall. There were many incongruences and discrepancies with Sothis' memories and real world events.

She wrote a song only Rhea knew of; She, supposedly the goddess, lived in a place that the goddess destroyed in her rage; She bestowed weapons of fine quality 'materials' to humans and feared being experimented on-

"Wait," Byleth widened his eyes, his hands patting his own self in search of the Sword of the Creator hanging by his hip. Upon touching it, the sword glowed red, its bone-like structures warming Byleth's hand as though he touched a person's body. Yes... as though it was someone's flesh and bones.

Were... were the Heroes' Relics part of Sothis' body from the time she was alive? Was that the reason the goddess de facto disappeared from the records? Because she tore her own bones and flesh apart to help the Saints and the Men win the war?

Sothis conjectured herself just a few minutes ago: her childlike appearance to Byleth's eyes could simply be because that whoever channeled her conscience to him didn't manage to capture her entire essence. It was also known that the Children of the Goddess could transform into Magic Beasts, so if the goddess herself could change into a form so large she could rearrange her own bones into weapons, this theory could hold some truth into it...

Still dizzy, but with his mind racing with the prospect of learning more about the Relics, Byleth dragged himself up to his feet after painstakingly picking up the books and scrolls from the floor. "This all might be just my tired brain throwing whatever it can at me, but I feel that... somehow, I'm on the right track." The Professor nodded to himself, dragging one shoulder across the wall to help him walk.

If possible, he wanted to bring this up with his father, as well, once Jeralt was released from whatever duties Rhea had him go through. They would meet at the end of the month for their shared mission, yes, but this wasn't something Byleth could simply bring up to his father right before a battle, after all.

"All this reading and thinking only brought more questions, but I'm on the right track. We're on the right track, Hanneman, Sothis." He mumbled before stepping inside the crestologist's office for yet another afternoon of studying and experimenting.

[melodiouswhite]

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde rewritten - Ch. 46

46. The confession of Lady Summers (tw: violence, gore, human experimentation)

“I was born to a Prussian margrave and a Hanoverian princess. I will skip over how they met and married both for love and political advantages, and just tell you that I received both of their titles as a birthday gift.

My mother's father became king of Hanover two years after I was born, my father's father succeeded his own father when I was five.

Apart from my grandfathers' coronations, which I attended with my parents, my early childhood was very uneventful. My grandfathers, ambiguous as their political stances were, were most kind to me and I remember them fondly.

At the age of six I realised that I could hear what other people think and read their minds.

I distinctly remember that my father was very ecstatic, when he found out, that I had supernatural abilities like him. My mother wasn't as happy, but she never said anything.

It was, like I said, an uneventful life.

But all of this was ruined, shortly after I turned ten years old.

How could I ever forget that day?

I was playing outside with my father's dogs and suddenly a group of strangers appeared out of nowhere. There was no greeting, no explanation. I was just seized by the arms and someone choked me, before I could scream for help.

When I awoke, I was in a cold, white room, chained to a bed like a madwoman and there were strange men in bloodied aprons standing around me.

To say that I was terrified is an understatement.

I asked them where my parents were and they told me that they weren't here and would never find me. They told me that they knew of my abilities and called me an 'interesting specimen'.

My clothes were taken away and instead I was given a white hospital gown. They took my name away and called me 'test subject 37', before locking me alone into a cell, like I was a patient in a lunatic asylum.

For the first days I was left alone, except for the 'doctors', who came in and asked me a lot of strange questions. But their thoughts frightened me and my parents had already taught me not to trust strangers, so I refused to answer a single one. There was that one man, who tried to bribe me out of silence with sweets. As you can imagine, it didn't work, because I didn't want sweets, I wanted my parents!

I tried anything to make them let me go home, I threw tantrums, cried, appealed, begged, screamed until my voice was gone … it was for naught.

One morning a tall doctor came into my cell, a man with mouse blond hair and the cruellest eyes I've ever seen in my entire life. He told me that they would experiment on me. I didn't know what that meant, but that man radiated nothing but evil and heartlessness, so it couldn't be good.

Strange appendages were attached to my head and chest, I still don't know what they were good for.

Somehow he managed to manipulate me into using my abilities, by making me tell him facts about him that only he knew. His name was Prof. Dr. Wilhelm Weisshand and he was extremely interested in the supernatural, its influence on people and how it could be exploited for scientific purposes. He was taking notes the entire time we were talking to each other.

This went on for a few days.

And then came the torture.

I was tied to a board, while they injected small amounts of strange substances into my body. They tried countless different samples and all the while they took notes on how it was affecting me.

Some of the chemicals didn't do anything to me or made me feel a little funny at best.

But then they moved on to stronger things. The doses were very low, but it was enough to send a ten-year-old girl into spirals of agony. One of them made my arm go numb and turn blue. First they wanted to amputate it, but after a few days it returned back to normal, so they kept experimenting.

But one time they came with a strange green liquid and somehow it made me squirm more, before it had even been injected.

The pain was immense, as if my veins and inner organs were being disintegrated by acid.

At some point I passed out from the pain.

In the weeks following I became gravely ill. I'm surprised it didn't happen earlier.

After about a month, I heard them talk about having to operate on my body. I was too weak to struggle, when they came with the ether to sedate me.

I don't know how much ether was in the cloth they knocked me out with, but it definitely wasn't enough.

I woke up … during the surgery.

I can't and won't go into detail about what I saw, but the agony! The unimaginable agony! The mortal fear, the pain, I thought I was going to-

I'm sorry. The memory just … give me a moment to compose myself. Maybe a glass of water … thank you, Marie. I think I can go on now.

I'm pretty sure I did almost die. The shock, blood loss, infection, gangrene, anything could have killed me that day. Truth be told, I don't know how I'm still alive.

I slowly recovered afterwards, but then I asked one of the doctors, what exactly they had done to me. He said that apparently the last substance had done something to my body and they had to operate to 'save' me. Then he left briefly and returned to show me a glass, containing … well, you've seen where the surgical scar is, so I think you can guess what it was.

I was too young to understand.

He told me that it meant that I would never have children.

You know, gentlemen, like many other girls I dreamed of having a big family, lots of adorable little children surrounding me, a loving husband by my side and my father with a grandchild on each knee.

But when that man's words sank in … that this dream would never come true … in addition to all the things they had done to me … I think that was the breaking point.

I completely lost my will to live. I just stopped eating and drinking to the point, where they had to force feed me. I didn't even care anymore, I was dead on the inside.

Then I was transferred to another cell, where three other prisoners were kept, a married couple from France and a younger man from Switzerland. We became friends quickly. They were so sweet to me and after a while I recovered just enough to eat again. If I told you their names, there is no way you would believe me, but let's just say I was a strange girl in even stranger company.

In the time that followed, our tormentors didn't experiment on me, just supervised my recovery.

I'm quite sure they would have experimented on me further, but then a miracle happened – no, not the kind of miracle where an angel appears with a blinding halo. No.

My suffering companions had friends, who were strong enough to break into the facility and get them out.

When they finally found us and saw me, they liberated me as well and brought me home.

I don't have to describe the bittersweetness of my return.

My father offered my saviours a considerable reward, but they refused. They gave him their address though, in case we would need them.

I'm still in contact with them. They even moved here about ten years ago, perhaps I can introduce you one day. You would like them. They're entirely bonkers, but lovable in their way.

I didn't tell my parents everything that had happened, only bits. I was scared that they would lose their minds otherwise, if they even believed me at all. But what I told them was enough to ruin my mother's health. She became very sick and was confined to the bed for her remaining years.

My father on the other hand became obsessed with me learning to defend myself, so he went out of his way to find someone who was willing to teach a little girl how to fight.

It was like a Prussian military drill, really.

When I was twelve, my mother passed away, just two months before the Revolution of 1848 broke out. Not that I ever cared about the latter.

In hindsight, I should have, but it's too late now.

All the while my father was travelling around, doing his duty as a diplomat – and having affairs along the line, because that's how he was.

Three years later my dear grandfather Ernest passed away and left the throne to his son, my uncle. I didn't care three straws about him, so I never set foot into Hanover again after grandfather's funeral.

After that my father took me along on his journeys to distract me from my grief.

Shortly after I turned seventeen we visited Weimar, because our old friends had moved there.

We met them and spent an enjoyable time together.

Sadly, none of us knew that the organisation that had kidnapped me at ten was also operating in that city. Sure enough, one morning I had to go somewhere alone and was promptly kidnapped. Again. Yes, seriously.

This time I was spared the hazardous surgeries, but they injected more dubious chemicals into my body and … I think some of them were blood samples? I'm not entirely sure.

Anyway, at this point I was more angry than scared – don't get me wrong, I was still terrified – and mocked and insulted them relentlessly to make myself feel better.

Fortunately I didn't have to suffer another two months of torment this time. My father asked our friends for help, who found and saved me just two weeks later.

After that we left Germany – with grandpa Friedrich Wilhelm's permission, of course – and that was my first actual world journey.

In England we were welcomed by my mother's cousin – Her Majesty, Queen Victoria herself. Somehow she took a liking to us and we were granted British citizenship. Through the years we made one more journey and after the second one, my father finally found someone, who was willing to marry his sterile daughter – my darling copperhead James, God rest his soul.

Shortly after the engagement, we received a cable from Berlin and hurried there as fast as we could.

We just came in time to say goodbye to my grandfather Friedrich and inform him of my engagement, before he passed away.

After that we left Germany behind and settled in England for good.

The rest you know, gentlemen.

You know, I am happier here in England than I would have been in my birth country.

And for the last twenty-five years, I have felt safe here.

I thought that here I wouldn't have to face my past. But now it's back to haunt me.

I think you noticed how paranoid and on edge I have been lately.

It's because of them.

They're here in England.

Looking for new test subjects.

At first I thought it was just an obsessive stalker, but then I caught someone spying on me, while I took a nightly walk. It was one of them, I knew it as soon as I heard his thoughts. He recognised me. He remembered that I once had been test subject 37.

I lost it, shot him in the arm and Dr. Lanyon can confirm, that after that I came banging on his door.

It's funny, really. All this … this horror happened forty and thirty-three years ago and I'm now fifty years old.

I thought that I would be over it, that I wasn't scared anymore.

But, as you have clearly seen, I was wrong. Wait no, scratch that. I was just in denial.

I'm like the frightened, sobbing child I was back then.

And this is it, gentlemen.

This is the tale of Lady Luise Summers. My tragic backstory, if you will.

I didn't want to tell you, because you all have your own emotional baggage and I feared, that bearing mine as well would be too much for you.

If you don't want to have anything to do with me anymore, I understand that, even though it would make me more than sad.

All I ask of you, gentlemen, is that you don't tell a single soul about what you just heard.”

[wisdomrays]

Essentials for Fruitful Criticism

QUESTION: What do we need to be careful about while making constructive criticism, which is an important means of seeking the better at everything, so that it will be effective and fruitful? What are the essential points to be observed both by those who make and receive criticism?

ANSWER: Criticism means criticizing a statement or behavior, revealing its negative and positive sides, and making a comparison between what is and what should be; it is one of the important scholarly essentials that facilitates progress toward the ideal. In this respect, it has been employed since the early generations of Muslims. For example, in the methodology of Hadith, a given report would be evaluated with a critical approach in terms of its text and the reliability of its chain of narrators. Indeed, criticism took its place in the methodology of Islamic disciplines from the beginning, in order to unearth the truth at issues such as finding the right meaning to be derived from Divine commandments and interpreting them correctly. This scholarly discipline of criticism served as a sound filter against alien elements incompatible with Islam. As the discipline of munazara (comparing and discussing ideas) also developed, the new interpretations that emerged as a consequence of fruitful discussions were also put to criticism, tested with established criteria, and sparkles of truth were attained in the end.

Particularly at questioning the reliability of the chain of narrators in the field of Hadith, there was a serious accumulation of literature. Numerous volumes of work sought to help authenticate whether statements reported as Hadith genuinely belonged to the Prophet, blessings and peace be upon him. But even while making judgment and evaluation at such an important issue, scholars showed the utmost sensitivity at refraining from excessive remarks. For example, Shu'ba ibn Hajjaj, one of the important Hadith scholars of the classic period who systemized the subject of criticism (naqd) for the first time, once used an interesting term while referring to the critical evaluation of narrators. Addressing a fellow scholar, he said, "Come, let us make some backbiting on the path of God," drawing attention to both the necessity of doing this vital task and that it must solely be done for the sake of God.

The method of criticism was successfully employed particularly during the first five centuries of the Islamic calendar in the fields of both religious and positive sciences, for the sake of reaching the most appropriate. Therefore, this scholarly method can be employed in our time as well, given that fairness, respect, and mindfulness are maintained. At this point, let's refer to the manners and method of criticism briefly.

Adopting a Fair Attitude and Soft Style

The issue criticized must be presented in a very sound style and utmost care must be shown at using a polite manner of speaking. That is, the criticism is not meant to evoke a negative response, but to be easily welcomed. When you present your alternative thoughts and plausible approaches for solving certain matters, you will be shown respect if you do it in agreeable politeness. For example, suppose that you are stating your opinion on a certain subject and the person you are addressing thinks the opposite. If you say, "This is what I knew about the matter, but I see that it has a different side as well," that person will likely come to you after a while and confess that your opinion had been more appropriate. And this time, you will respond by thanking that person for being so fair. In this respect, one should know how to—to some degree—dismiss one's ego, experience, and knowledge for the sake of upholding righteousness. In other words, if you expect the reasonable to be met reasonably, you should even evaluate others' not-that-reasonable thoughts within their own reasonability, adopt a welcoming attitude toward them, and form an atmosphere of sincerity where people can be welcoming toward truths.

Making General Statements without Targeting the Person

History has witnessed that, in whatever field, those who do not show respect to others' thoughts and who continuously dismiss others as worthless, ruin so many worthy things without even noticing it. For this reason, whatever is the nature of the element before us, we should adopt the principle of treating them all with a certain degree of respect. This is a very appropriate means of making people before us accept the truths that we present. Otherwise, no matter how great the projects that we offer, statements slammed on others' heads will not be welcomed. When criticism is not expressed politely, it will inevitably be received negatively, even if the matter that we criticize is an obvious mistake of someone that conflicts with the decisive and established teachings of religion. For example, you might witness that your friend has gazed at a forbidden sight. If you jerk into telling his embarrassing mistake to his face in a direct way and reproach him, he may respond by trying to justify some devilish considerations—God forbid! In particular, if the individual in front of you is not ready for a criticism of his attitudes and behaviors, then every criticism of yours will evoke reactionary behavior and disrespect against truths, or even make that person hostile against his own values. Even if such people understand what they hear is true, they will do their best to devise new arguments to get the better of the person before them, owing to the trauma of receiving that criticism like a mighty blow on their head; they will be continuously imagining the best way to answer the criticisms directed toward them, even when they retire to their bed at night.

Thus, matters need to be told indirectly, without taking individual persons as targets.Indeed, when the Messenger of God, peace and blessings be upon him, witnessed a person's wrong, he did not directly criticize that person. Instead, he gathered people together and spoke about that act in general, which allowed the doer to hear the lesson. On one occasion, for example, a man who had been commissioned to collect taxes said, "This amount is the tax I have collected and these were given to me as presents." Upon hearing this, the Prophet addressed his followers from the pulpit and made a general statement about when he commissions a person to carry out a certain commandment of God and that person states that a part of what he collected belongs to the state and the rest is a present to him. To show how mistaken this idea was, the Prophet asked whether those gifts would have been presented had he sat in his parents' home.

The issue of who makes the criticism is also very important. If something needs to be told to someone, one should not be too eager to do that personally, but rather leave the issue to another person whom the one to receive criticism loves very much. In such a situation, even criticism from a beloved friend will be taken as a compliment. If it seems likely that a criticism you need to make will receive a reactionary response, you should leave it to someone else because what really matters is not who voices the truth but whether the truth meets with a heartfelt acceptance.

At this point it is useful to relate a relevant parable of the two grandsons of the Prophet, blessings and peace be upon him. Although this parable about Hasan and Husayn does not take place in the reliable sources of Hadith, it conveys important lessons.

Accordingly, the two boys came to make ablutions somewhere and they saw a man who splashed water all around but did not wash his limbs properly as required for a valid ablution. These two young talents of keen insight sought a way to show him the way without humiliating him. With this intention, they asked the man to tell them which one of them made ablutions correctly. They made ablutions exactly as they had learned from their blessed father Ali ibn Abi Talib, may God be pleased with him. When they were done, they asked which one of them did it better. With the ease of being free from humiliation, the man calmly replied that they both did it so well and that his own way was wrong. Therefore, it is important to reiterate that the style we use at correcting wrongs bears great importance in terms of acceptance.

Educating Individuals to Accept Criticism

Additionally, making people able to accept criticism and evoking a righteous feeling of respect in them constitute a separate dimension of the issue. The Companions, who had attained an ideal level of righteousness, could comfortably warn one another about any wrong that they had committed without causing any negative reaction at all. For example, during a sermon, Umar ibn al-Khattab, may God be pleased with him, reminded people that it was necessary to keep bridal dues (mahr) within affordable limits and told them not to ask for too high amounts. What he suggested was a reasonable solution to prevent possible abuses. Even today, an understanding attitude of this issue will definitely fulfill an important function at solving a social problem. While Umar was drawing attention to this fact, an old woman spoke up and asked the caliph, "O Umar, is there a Qur'anic verse or hadith on this issue that you know and we do not? The Qur'an commands, 'But if you still decide to dispense with a wife and marry another, and you have given the former (even so much as amounts to) a treasure, do not take back anything thereof' (an-Nisa 4:20), thus not setting a limit to the amount of bridal dues." In spite of being the caliph governing a great state that challenged the two superpowers of the time, Umar said aloud to himself, "O Umar, you do not know your religion even as much as an old woman." This degree of righteousness caused Umar to be referred as "al-waqqaf inda'l haqq" (one who halts when he meets the truth). That is, when he faces a righteous argument, he stops like a car that suddenly comes to a halt while moving downslope. It is necessary to effect this feeling in people. For this reason, we should make a deal with a certain friend and authorize him or her to comfortably criticize any wrong that arises in our personal attitudes and behaviors.

In conclusion, a person who intends to criticize, or rather to correct certain matters, must first understand the issue well and make a serious effort in terms of making the correct remark. Secondly, the other person's feelings must be taken into consideration and fathom whether that other person is ready to welcome what we are about to say. If a negative reaction seems likely, one should not think, "I definitely want to be the one who expresses this truth," but instead leave the criticism to another person whose remarks will be more influential. Considering the circumstances of our time, when arrogance has become so prevailing and people cannot tolerate even a little criticism, these principles have gained a greater importance. As for those who receive criticism, they should uphold righteousness above everything else and respond to criticisms with gratitude instead of reacting negatively.

[smolbeandrabbles]

Win Life - Gerry x Reader (Mississippi Grind)

Authors Note: I’ve been wanting to use that stupid card image for years! And now I finally can! You know, when Mississippi Grind ended I sat there for a good five minutes wondering how that could possibly be it. Like, I need a wrap up / sequel!  Then I started thinking about what could happen... This fic has elements of that story in it but is very much its own thing. I can’t stand that I didn’t know what happened to Gerry but also that the more I thought on it the more I wondered if it could possibly have a happy ending? Anyway, I read a post on Tumblr quoted as saying Gerry wouldn’t even make it out of State with the money. Which I thought was kinda harsh on him.  So here. I wrote our boy an ending. 

The cat was meant to be a big part of it, then she kinda became an add on but I didn’t have the heart to take her out...!!

Disclaimer: You know when you sing songs, look up the lyrics and go ‘Really?! Those can’t be the lyrics!?’ Well, I edited the lyrics here. So, apologies Luke Bryan. But mine are better for the #Context. I don’t own any characters except for the Reader. I’ve also never been gambling/played cards soooo... You’re just gonna have to take what I’ve written for those parts, ok?

Premise: Months after his encounters with Curtis are over, Gerry meets another mysterious stranger. She’s got big ideas and they all include him. Maybe just once his luck won’t actually leave...

Word Count: 8330

Warnings: Gambling / Drinking 

Been in a couple scrapes, I barely got out of Got a couple scars, I kinda ain't proud of But you can't be afraid to drive until the gas tank's empty And if your glass is half full, you better make damn sure it's whiskey!

And be more drunk in love and habits kicked More miracles than magic tricks More green grass grows than green on dollar bills More babies raised, than raising hell More get back ups than times you fell, Well, I don't know it all, Hey, but I know how it feels, To be the guy that's trying to come back from behind, Still trying to win life

But if you lose yourself in someone else Than maybe you don't lose at all...

---

Read this like snippits from a road trip. It’s by no means the whole story. But it is the important points.

Gerry thought he might have noticed her before. She looked out of place here. Sharp dressed, standing against a car... and watching him?? He had thought so before. Today she was standing with a white cat on her shoulder. If she wasn’t looking at him, then it was all too much of a strange coincidence... He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and focused on his coffee.

 You looked from the photograph, to him, and back again. He had to be the guy... You looked to your cat and constant companion. “Gotta be him...” You were as relieved as you were surprised that he’d be exactly where Curtis said he would be. It meant you wouldn’t have to track him around the country. You put her back in the car and crossed to the little cafe.

 “Gerry?” Her voice was smooth and silky sending an odd sensation across his skin as he looked up to her. Clearly, she was looking for him. “Yes?” Why was she looking for him exactly? Was the question.

 You gave a sweet smile; he was a heck of a lot cuter in real life than the picture made him out to be. Maybe Curtis sending you here was going to turn out better than you’d thought. “Thank goodness. I’m Y/N! May I sit?” He nodded, his glance at you nervous. Probably because everyone else in the cafe was now craning to see exactly why you we’re talking to him. You did so, and to save him from looking any more shy than he did, you cut right to it;

“Curtis sent me all the way up here to check on you... “ You smiled “his heart always was in the right place...” He instantly relaxed at a name he recognised “Curtis sent you!? How’s he doing?!” You nodded “Very well. Yeah, but he’s much more concerned with how you are doing...” “I’m okay.” You didn’t believe that for a second with the way he said it. “He says, sounding the most un-OK anyone has ever sounded...?” You tilted your head “... I knew he wouldn’t ask me to do this if he wasn’t concerned. From what I observed, you do seem to be... Ok. But you don’t sound it...” Something was going on behind the front he was trying to put up. But you’d become extremely good at reading those. He sighed “Yeah I’ve noticed you...” You smiled as he continued “You’re not exactly hard to spot in a town like this... if you wanted to be more inconspicuous...” You shrugged “It’s not about me...” “Why did he send you?” “I just observe things.” True enough. “Did he pay you?” Then he looked like that wasn’t the correct thing to imply. “I owe him a favour ...” You decided to answer as if it wasn’t a yes/no question. Gerry made a face like he accepted it, although he didn’t have much of a choice. “Excuse me. Can I get you anything?” The waitress came over, looking like she’d draw the short straw, and looked between you and Gerry for far too long. “Coffee would be great. Black, please.” She hesitated for a second, but when it was clear you weren’t going to continue until she was gone, she had to concede. “So,” He stirred his own drink with a smile “she likes her coffee black and her cats white...” He’d noticed. Good. “Sookie? Yeah, she accompanies me around everywhere.” “Sookie?” “You’re clearly not a True Blood fan!” You laughed “Is she part of your investigation on me too?” He’d be surprised how much you could gauge from that; “No. She’s helpful, from time to time...” you paused your sentence as the waitress brought your coffee, and you stirred in a healthy amount of sugar. “You’re a cat person too.” He opened his mouth to answer, when he realised it wasn’t a question. “I own a cat. Yeah...”

You nodded, there was of course going to always be something you liked about him. You were starting to think that this might have been a set-up. And a couple of days from now Curtis’d be calling and laughing in your face. Only, you also felt he might have a point here. You took a sip and looked to Gerry again, he couldn’t hold your gaze very well. Probably because he knew why Curtis would send you, and you were about to start asking the difficult questions. “Did it help?” You didn’t start where he expected “W-what?” “The money. Did it help?” “...With... what?” That was a No. Clear as day. “... There’s not a lot I don’t know about you from Curtis, Gerry. Just answer the question. At least tell me you got out of State...?” He caught on quick, thankfully. “... I got all the way back here...” Curtis had more faith in him than you did. “And then?” “It helped for a little while... Yeah...” He’d started with child support, because he wanted to see his daughter again. He’d started paying debts off, but that always led to tables and... Well, here he was.

 **

You answered your mobile with a roll of your eyes; “So how is he?” “He needs a lot more work than you think he does...” A sigh followed “Can you do it?” “I don’t know Curtis... There’s a difference between trying and doing, and I can try.” “You gotta do more than try!! Tell me it isn’t all gone.” “You can’t fix him by gambling. You’re asking me to fix him by having him gamble for it...” “Because you CAN fix him.” “Why? Because he’s my type? I’m starting to think you’ve sent me to fix something else.” There was an awkward pause but you could hear his cheeky smirk “Maybe. Maybe not. IS it all gone?” “No. But he’s gotta be sensible.” “You’re the only one I know that KNOWS how to walk away.” “On one condition will I do this.” “I thought I already agreed to all your conditions” “When I walk away, you have to give up on him Curtis. If I can’t fix this... It needs to go professional and you’re gonna let me do that. Also. I’m not playing a table with him or for him.” “No I NEED you to play it for him.” “Curtis it’s his life! It’s not yours! It’s not mine. I can’t tell him how to play.” “Please. Can you just... you need to teach him when to walk away.” “You’re asking me to teach him to walk away from his gut instinct and he won’t like that.” “Teach him to have better gut instinct!” You breathed out a heavy sigh; yeah like that was easy...

 *** "So..." You were starting to make a quick habit out of meeting in this coffee shop. He noticed today you had dressed down considerably though. He also noticed how you only ever ordered a black coffee, and that left him wondering what you did the rest of the day when you weren't talking to him. "... I cannot imagine roadtripping with Curtis. And neither can I imagine you roadtripping with Curtis. What is that even like!?" You leant on your hand, clearly amused. “It was a lot of good fun. When we were winning." but he grinned "Or maybe it was just a lot of good fun! Y'know, he's a good guy.” "Yeah I know." you agreed "He'd just really get on my nerves. Knows how to push my buttons too well. Maybe you're just what he needed..." Someone with a calm demeanour, a little on the shy side. But could play, and that Curtis could help out. A drifter he may have been but, he always loved helping people. "Maybe he's just what I needed too. " You could imagine that, Gerry looked like the kind of guy who needed ANYBODY at any given time. And, apparently, now he needed you. But, you weren't for thinking that you couldn't use him too… "Would you ever consider doing it again?" "Doing what?" He squinted as he searched you for an answer, that made you wonder how good he was at reading people. If he played, then he should at least have an inkling. "Another road trip?" "That'd be fun yeah." But the look on your face made him realise you were serious "Oh!! Wi- With you!?" You nodded slowly "First we have to get your game up a little… I've got a plan. And I'd like for you to hear it, but I need you to trust me first... And I gotta be able to trust you." "What's wrong with my game?" You smirked "First off. You gotta know when to quit. I've been assured that's a problem. And I can't afford to do this with someone who won’t cash out. Because, believe it or not, it’s the money we need. A small cash out is better than nothing. Or worse, losing it. Second, you gotta play like the people you'll be playing against. Not just the way you play. You have to be adaptable..." He raised an eyebrow, "You think I can't adapt my game?" "I don't think you've ever tried. Play the table. Not the cards!" "I know how to play a table..." "No you don't, not the way I'm going to teach you." "I do! I'm good at reading people." he tilted his head "Okay. Not you and Curtis... You're so alike it's scary but... Everyone else..." You smiled, it was something you wanted to hear "Gerry, what are you gonna do if you end up facing up against a table of people like me and Curtis. How are you gonna win then?" He didn't look like he had an answer for that, but at least you smiled at him "Don't worry. I'll help you with that..." ***

 All at once you could see why he had several problems. Currently you were sitting around a table, you and him going through a bunch of scenarios. You'd recruited some ‘friends’ of yours, that Gerry thought you were using the term ‘friends’ loosely for, specifically so they could help out...

The scenario work was actually pretty good. He could certainly talk the talk, and well. Everything you threw at him he could give you a good comeback. And when it was just you vs him at cards that was fine too. You guessed that was because he seemed comfortable around you. And you weren't playing for anything. He didn't often lose but when he did, he would laugh at the play you made "Well! Would you look at that! That was some good bluffing!"

Around this table, you weren't playing, you were watching. The first couple of games you'd been observing the whole table. You tried not to think of the games you were used to when all three of them were making terrible decisions and getting away with them. No matter, it was good you saw Gerry’s complications now. Eventually you started directly observing him. That's what you were here for after all, and if you let him go on playing like this you weren't going to get anywhere. "Mmm." You watched his hand hover over a card. Gerry don't do that! That's dumb! When it stayed there you did it a little louder "Uh-uh." He put his hand down and looks to you "What!?" You just shook your head. You weren't going to say it out loud, but could he just read the goddamn table again!? He had a much better play. He looked back to his hand, then selected another card. Better! There we go!

This continued for another couple of games. Until you fell silent. And that was bad because then he started second guessing himself, so he started losing. 

You sighed. "Hang on! Stop a minute!" They all looked to you, head in your hands "Gerry. Don't make me say it out loud..." "Yeah, I get it. You're trying to make me make better plays." "Yes..." "Well that's what I'm trying to do." "No, now you're second guessing every move you make and you're starting to lose it. Focus!" "You’re deliberately changing my game strategy. It's gonna take time!"  He had a point. And you felt bad. But it was time you didn't have. "Okay... You're right, I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm just trying to help you be one without being the other. I don't want you to think about every move you’re making... I'm trying to get you to play smarter! I know you can do it. And I didn’t need Curtis to tell me that. You have an answer for everything I throw at you... " You sat on the table and looked to him "But theory isn't practice. Only you also PLAY extremely well. The problem is you don't play like the people you're gonna come up against out there, and if we're gonna do this you're going to have to start. This is good. This is a good start. But you know as well as I, I can't help you out there.” "I know. And I can. " He had a defiant confidence. You liked that. And with a smile on your face, you knew he could too.

*** “Before we leave you need to do one thing for me…” “Okay…” He was just too trusting; it left you perplexed sometimes. Like you could ask him to do literally anything and he’d up and do it. You were the exact opposite; almost too careful. But his personality made sense for Curtis to take him in. Hell, you wouldn’t have come all the way here for Gerry without his guidance. “Everyone you owe. I want a list, names and amounts.” He frowned “Why?” “Why do you think we’re doing this?! I’m getting you out of debt. Well, you’re getting yourself out. But I’m going to keep track.” “So… We’re… NOT doing this for us?” “It is for you! You’re gonna get even. Which sounds like it’ll be an achievement in itself…” You looked across to him; “So do I get a list or not? Because this car doesn’t move without one. Not with you in it, anyhow.” That just made him nod vigorously “Y-Yeah I can do that.” You smiled “Excellent! See you tomorrow!” You knew you confused him by the way you went from being so serious to so cheery. But you wanted to let him know you didn’t come to mess around – or make friends. Though Gerry’s personality made that second statement increasingly hard.

*** After the first few table runs, which had been admittedly shaky even when he wasn’t playing with his own money, Gerry seemed to get the hang of following your lead. And your presence seemed to have the Curtis effect on him. He wondered if he’d perhaps stumbled across another Rainbow, or, one had so happened to find him… As he was playing at home, on familiar territory, and learning – you were letting him keep the money for himself. Hopefully your influence was doing some good. You hadn’t exactly told him how to spend it. You just hoped the answer was wisely. You’d imparted the importance of the list to him, so hopefully he’d been savvy enough to get started. Every win he made boosted his confidence; you just made sure to ground him. You knew sitting around afterwards critiquing his moves put a dampener on things, but you didn’t want him to get over confident. OR get to the stage where he thought he couldn’t lose. The key was to have him cash out, not to go so far he lost it all again. So when the time finally rolled around, he actually looked surprised; “You played well tonight. It was good to see!” Wait, you’d just paid him a compliment!? “I think you’re ready!” “For the road trip!?” “Mm hmm…! If you’re still up for it?” He laughed “Yeah! Yes! Absolutely! It’ll be good for a change of scenery! We… uhm… taking your car?” “Unless there’s a problem with that?” “Nope. No. No problems…” “Questions?” He shook his head, but then thought on it; “When do we leave?” “Tomorrow too early?” “NO.”

 *** There was quite the adrenalin rush from his first win under new management. He was pleased with himself that the hard work had paid off. You were pleased everything had worked out in his favour and your effort was not all for naught, so he didn’t end up thinking it had been a waste of time. “What do we do with all this now??” He still hadn’t quite calmed down. The win was modest, but still good. You’d picked your road trip carefully, you’d build up the amounts, the stakes and the buy ins… As long as Gerry kept winning. That was all there was to it. You pulled out the list, for once hating to bring him down even just a little bit; “We start ticking off…” “What?” “Sorry, Gerry, this is what we came for. I’m your money management.” Unsurprisingly he was reluctant to hand it over “ALL of it? You don’t need all of it!” You only made him face his own handwriting; “It’s a long list. We have a long way to go. They aren’t paying themselves!” He did so. Because again, he trusted you for some reason. You were thankful your math was good as you did a quick count and separation in your car. He watched you, fascinated, as you ticked off several names before rummaging around for research of your own and a bunch of envelopes. “Addresses!? You found addresses!?” “Yeah! I did a little research…” You smiled “I want to help. I’m sure that’s pretty unbelievable…” You had spent a lot of time pushing him. “No!” He laughed “I didn’t say that! Geez… Did you do all that in your head…?” “Easy! Easy, easy…!” You turned to him and held out a bunch of notes you’d separated; “You did very well Gerry. You earned this.”  He took it from you with a grateful smile. Money that was now really his. You gave a wink; “Just don’t do anything with it I wouldn’t approve of!” *** He cashed out after you made your move. It was subtle, but significant. Why!? Why!?! There was still so much left to win here - what was he doing!? You weren't particularly sure you liked the way he looked as you as he got up either. Prompting you to follow him out of the doors into the quiet corridor. Where he almost literally turned on you; "Why did you do that!?" "Do what?" "You know what you did!" "Do you have any idea how much money you were about to lose!?" He sounded frustrated. If Gerry could get angry, then you figured this was it. "Then just let me lose!!! Y/N!! You can't fix me! Nothing can fix this!! Some guys were just born to lose!!! I'm one of them!" "How can you say that about yourself!? If you think like that you're gonna become a self-fulfilling prophecy!!" "Listen. Y/N. I won’t win by cheating. I can't do that. Winning surely isn't that important to you!?". "I'm trying to help you!" "No! No!! I don't want you to do that! I don't want to win by any means necessary...!!" "You do understand how much debt you’re in right!?" "Yeah!! You don't think I don't think about those numbers every damn second I add to them!?!?! I don't get to see my daughter BECAUSE of those numbers! But do you honestly think that when I do get to see her again I'm going to be able to look her in the eye if I cheated my way there!?! Stop it. I don't want to win this way. I might as well lose if I'm gonna win this way! If I'm going to win! If we're going to do this, we need to do it honestly!!”

There was a silence. Because you didn't think about it like that. And he was right. You were seeing numbers on a page. For you that's what this trip was about. That and your promise to Curtis. To Gerry, even though he'd agreed to those very same numbers... That wasn't why he was here. He had something else to be here for, something much more emotional. Something very real. You bit your lip "You’re right." He looked taken aback for a minute. He'd not seen you back down on an argument before "Gerry... You're... Absolutely right and I'm sorry... I'm so sorry... I didn't even think... And I knew... God... I'm..." He shook his head "I get it. We're here for different reasons. And I know what you're doing... But... Can we do this for my reasons. Not yours. I can't fight... I can't WIN for the reasons you want me too... Okay?" "Okay..." you nodded "That's fair. I… wasn't even thinking about it like that... I took away the emotional motive... I'm sorry. I guess I just don't think that way." "Maybe you should try. Getting emotional. I mean." He smiled "You have a great smile. You know sometimes I see it, and know you feel things... You can feel. You're not so hard as you look." He pointed back to the casino "Now. I think I can kinda get back on a streak with this understanding..." "Really!? Are you sure!? Gerry I don't want you just saying that!! Cause I-" "AW! C'MON! I'm not!! " He grabbed your hand with a laugh, "Let's do this. Together. Y/N! We're a team now! Remember!" ***

"Alright. Deal me in." you sat. Gerry opened his mouth to protest. Was he really doing THAT badly!?! Was this to bail him out or teach him something...? With the way you'd been going, he could only imagine that you were about to teach him something. It made his playing take a back seat. Because he was curious. He'd watched you play before, but observing you playing whilst on a table with you... Was this a test? Could he win against you or not? After a period, he just stopped trying. Your attitude was crazy. You let nearly every play show on your face. And occasionally you would mutter things to yourself. That didn't make any sense as a strategy. That was a sure-fire way to lose!!

 "Okay..." Gerry was still sitting with you as the table cleared "How the HELL did you just win." "Reverse psychology." you smiled mischievously "Everyone likes watching the rest of the table. Draw on that. Every good card is terrible and every bad card is the best thing you could have been gifted? Think about that. That draws the other players to make cocky mistakes. So, when they call and you have an amazing hand despite looking like you’re gonna lose everything, not only do you get the satisfaction of winning. You get the satisfaction of wiping that cocky little smirk off their faces." You leant towards him, "Though that could just be because I'm a girl and want to take all these chauvinistic males down... I dunno. " "Is that how you always play?” "No, something I picked up." "It's how Curtis plays." "Ahhh! Yes. Very good!" "Who taught who?" He’d figured out there was no way it was coincidence. "Not a taught thing, more a collab!" He laughed "The first time I ever played him he sat at the table and said Aces are good right!" You couldn't help but laugh, yeah that sounded like Curtis. "But you don't talk. He talks. A lot." "I would talk more... I don't have anything interesting to say." "Aw. I don't know about that. I think you could teach these guys a thing or two." You almost blushed "Yeah... Maybe. But you're the only one that actually listens." He stopped, and you thought he was the one blushing "Oh. Well... I'm sorry about that..." "Don't be. You’re the only person I want to listen to me…" And you were aware of the way you'd said it. And the next look he gave you. And the way you were leaning towards him on your hands. So you leant back, "I - I mean. You know. Given the task at hand!" "W-Well yeah! I get it!" Something told you he'd 'got' a lot more than that, though...

***

When Gerry awoke, he was disoriented. None of the signs that he was seeing seemed to point to the place you’d said you were heading... He sat up and looked around for any indication of where you were “...Y/N...??” “Yes...” He could tell by your voice that he had interrupted a train of thought as you stared at the open road ahead. “...Where are we...? There are no signs for-” You smiled, still not looking at him “Detouring. Slightly. Actually, there’s a casino where we’re going, so, I’m helping you a little.” “Where we detouring to??” You had said slightly, so you must have been close to your meticulously planned route. “...Home.” You said it softly. “Home? Your home!?” You nodded, eyes flicking to the sleeping cat in the back seat; “It’ll be good to have a base for a couple of days if nothing else. Regroup... Take stock... Go back to playing mid-tables. I think I better give you some low stakes and remind you sometimes this is fun, not always hard work.” He shook his head “No! no! This - This is fun!!” He made you laugh with how quick he was to defend the whole trip. He was so sweet and had one heck of a big heart. You couldn’t help it nor deny it, you were falling for him pretty damn hard.

When he was here with you in your car, or anywhere that wasn’t a table, he was perhaps one of the sweetest men you’d ever met. All be it with one of the biggest gambling problems you’d ever seen. But when he was at a table, playing, it was like something switched on. All that assured confidence when he had a good hand or things were just generally swaying in his direction. From the way he spoke to the way he sat, it wasn’t sweet - it was damn near sexy.

What was the phrase... Get you a man who can do both? *** You pulled up outside the house and could instantly tell Gerry was staring at the car in the driveway; "Uuhhhhh...!!!" You shook your head at him, "Pretend you didn't see it...!" you grinned "W-W-Why? It's..." His chuckle was nervous "It's gorgeous." "I know. Why do you think I drive around in this one!" You shook the top of his arm playfully and turned to your cat, "Sookie!" She mewled, jumping onto your lap from the back seat, nuzzling your face playfully. "Okay...Okay... Say goodbye to Gerry too, we've got work to do..." She purred louder as Gerry ran a hand through her fur; "You really are a cat person. Thank God..." "I wasn't lying!" "Why did Curtis not mention this to me...?" "Uh. Probably because it’s not something I mentioned to him." "He's a dog person, right." You opened your car door "Is he?" "Oh yeah." Sookie pushed herself against Gerry’s hand in goodbye, before leaping from the car; "She'll be okay for a while..." "Where are we going?" "That dumb casino around here is open 24 hours. Essentially because there are people that never leave..." You looked across to Gerry "That means we can score twice the amount here. But it's OK, you can take a break. Watching you keeps giving me the itch to play. And as we have a bunch of other things to do..." You gave a shrug "I figure I can help you out a bit. Best night is Friday night though, and tomorrow night is pay day." "...You've thought about this." You gave a cheeky grin; "Yeah. So you can scope the place! See! Gerry! Teamwork!"

He watched you from across the casino. Not only did you have a completely different way of playing than he did. NOW you had a completely different way of playing than you were teaching him. Your strategy reminded him a lot of Curtis when he talked. You’d switched completely from how quiet you’d been a few cities ago. You knew these people, he guessed, they greeted your presence warmly. It was easy for you to switch to something new. He also wondered if it was another confusion tactic; because you still seemed to win nearly every hand.  He was only half paying attention to the machines and he almost wanted to join the table if only to get a feel for what you were doing. So he could hear every word you said - he wondered if you even talked like Curtis when you played like this. You were interrupted by someone tapping you on the shoulder and beckoning you away from the table. You nodded and followed him across the bar. Gerry noticed how he tried to inconspicuously point him out. But then made it blatant as you looked across to him, nudged their arm and said something that made both of you laugh. Then as they continued talking your face became serious. You got this look he'd seen before - and if he was close enough he thought he might be able to see the idea sparking in your eyes too. The way you leant into the conversation with interest...  The machine he was sitting at beeped - jackpot! - Eh, voila! Just like a rainbow...  "What?" "Have you seen this guy? I mean... Careful... He's not one I've seen before." You looked across and Luke scowled like you shouldn't be being so obvious "Gerry?! What, no, he's with me… What, is he watching me!? AM I that interesting!?" "Oh, he's interested in something alright." "Damn. Well what do you think? Am I in with a shot?" Luke’s yeah right laugh made you burst into laughter too. "Anyway. Y/N I didn't call you over just because of this guy... There’s another big game going on." "Like. A game?" "Yes; buy in is a few damn million though. Guys only. That’s your problem." You were beginning to think that might not actually be a problem...  "It’s not something that isn’t fixable. When?" "Few weeks. If you want in, I've got a connection." "Well that’s what I like to hear Luke. Sure. I'm in. Winner takes all the buy in?" "Of course. No trace. No questions asked..." He held out his hand; "As whom?" You gave him a wide grin and shook it, as if your male partner was not obvious "Gerry." *** "Aw Geez!" Of all people to be fawning over your cat on your front porch as you drove up; Curtis!? "When the hell did you get back!?" "Aww it's good to see you too, gorgeous!" He wasn't looking at you though, "You changed the damn locks." "Yeah, it's my house. Jackass." You whistled Sookie over "And leave my cat alone!" "Our cat! What the heck are you even doing home!?!" "Fixing your mess!" You jabbed a finger at him, ascending the steps "She has never been YOUR cat." You swiped your card and inserted your key into the lock. "You upgraded security!?" he whined, "You’re still damn beautiful!" "Don't make this weird. I don't let just ANY man into my house." "…And whhhat mess!?" He made a shrug like he didn’t know what you were talking about. "Curtis!?!" "Gerry!?" He turned eyes wide and then turned back to you; "ANY man!?!" "Why don't you get reacquainted. I'm just doing my job..." "I just made a suggestion..." "Yeah, yeah..." You waved a hand "That's always how it starts!" They followed you up the steps into your house. You picked up your post and flicked through; "I swear to god if you sent anything here I'll kill you myself...” "Why would I!?" "You two live together??" Gerry was piecing together the wrong pieces of information. And it clearly left him disappointed… "Curtis doesn't live anywhere." "Why are you always so ANGRY with me!?" You laughed, because he should know the answer. He was always getting you caught up in things like this. Only this time he'd also done it for his own twisted benefit of you literally falling for another hard luck case.

"So, how exactly do you two…?" "He’s my big brother..." No point in hiding that now. "My sister’s always had a thing for the hard luck cases..." If looks could kill. He grinned at you; "That is what this is, right??" "He’s YOUR hard luck case." "Are you the sister that has 3 toes missing?" "He hasn't seen your toes!? Geez, Y/N your are working INCREDIBLY sloooow..." You almost spit your drink out "Oh my god! You TOLD him that crap!!!" You shook your head at Gerry "Not me!! Our other sister... Geez, Curtis she got a look in but I didn't?" "A lot of the time you like to pretend we aren't family...!" You gave Gerry a significant look “Is it any wonder why?" Gerry looked more and more confused by the second at what you and Curtis were suggesting. “Why would I have seen her toes?" You stared at the table in disbelief. Was he that slow? Having said that now Curtis might have an angle on why you were being so slow. "Oh. Knowing my sister, I would have expected you to see a lot more than that." He took a sip of his drink to allow that to sink in. And get a kick out of Gerry’s wide-eyed realisation and you looking like you could throttle him. Curtis was determined to keep pissing you off though; "Am I right though?! She doesn’t even want to be my sibling..." "If we're going down that route Curtis, we are actually half siblings." "Really!!?" Gerry looked between you to try and find significant differences "Yeah. Different moms, same dad. In a bad way." You opened your mouth to argue, Gerry got there first "OH." "Yeah!" "Oh shut up Curtis! He wasn't that bad!" "Cuz he actually stayed with your mom!" "I think grandpa would actually have killed him otherwise." " 'Scuse me. You saw what mine did to my toe!" Ok. Fair enough. Gerry just kept glancing at you both. He was fairly certain now that perhaps you both got your feisty tempers from your father - because in that respect you were exactly the same.  "But you two live together, so how'd you meet?" "We both agreed not to tell that. But I found her." You rolled your eyes at him; "Curtis is a drifter remember?" "Kicking me out now?!" "I thought Peru was the dream." "It’s an expression." "AH! So you didn't even like it when you finally got there! Well, you’re not staying here either!!" "Geez what, you’re actually kicking me out!? Is Gerry staying!? I bet he is! Is he in the guest room...? Mine by the way... or in yours!?" "Will you shut your damn mouth!" You smacked his arm. Gerry continued to watch, fascinated. To the point where he realised something and he just started to laugh uncontrollably. Making you both stop your bickering and turn to him; "Okay, what’s so funny?" He stopped, wiping tears from his eyes. Though he still giggled through his sentence. "Nothing... This is just..." He shook his head with a smile "It’s like a double rainbow!" *** You begrudgingly let Curtis kick around for as long as he wanted, and he waved you off for the next part of your adventure. Not before trying to impart some romantic knowledge on you, for which he earned a slap.  "We’re switching cars." "Why?" "Cuz, where were going we have to have a certain... something-something we don't have in that..." You waved your hand to the car across the street "I mean. This is sleek and stylish and…" "It’s a sports car." "It’s... well, yeah. OK. But we need something better than that." "I mean there’s nothing wrong with that car." "Gerry. Honey. Not where we're headed." You smiled politely "Please step into someone else's reality...!" "Yours, by the sounds of it..." "Aw, only on special occasions." Sookie was beside you by the time you looked back to call for her. "Okay. Sure, but you gotta continue being super nice to Gerry, OK? Don't let me down." As if to give you an answer she leapt over your seat and onto him. "Huh!" "What?" "She just. She pretty much hates everyone but me and my brother. She tolerates cat people... But you..." You gave a shrug and hopped in yourself "You're something special Gerry. You got a gift!" ***

You decided to join him at a table one final time, allowing yourself to get caught up in the way he played once more. "…Wow maybe chatty works for you. But that was incredible the way you played that table! Man, I wish I could do that!" "You don't even realise do you?" You beamed "Gerry you are doing that! What you just did was great!! That's what I want! For you to feel it naturally! You don't even have to know you're doing it. Second nature. Easy..." you were glowing just by the way he was looking at you, "...I guess I could have won but... With the way you played that would have been unfair." "It would have been good competition!" "No! I like this confidence! The player it's turning you into... You are more than ready for what I've got planned. He's incredible. Don't change him. The outlook or the attitude. It suits your play style. Keep up the good work!" *** He watched you calculate it all quickly in your head and place the final two ticks against his list. "We’re done!?" he said it with a joyous laugh "We did it!! We're really done!!!" You tapped your pen against the paper and shook your head "Nope." His mood instantly fell "What!?! But the list--!? We’re done! We’ve finished the list!!" "We're not done. We have one more stop..." He put his head in his hands and leant against the car door "I have to do this again!?" "Now you've paid everyone back, with sufficient interest..." your smile was significant; "You’ve got this down." He breathed out with a murmur; "I thought I was done." "So, you can't handle one more...?" He made a face "Just one?" It was still impossible for him to resist the pull of a table. You'd work on it. "Just one. And never again..." He nodded and you knew how much he was resisting 'well maybe not never' coming out of his mouth. You turned the key in the ignition and tapped your sat nav, handing him another piece of paper "Now be the sweetheart I know you are and type this in." "...Sure!" You got why Curtis had put you together. Because it didn't make sense, which is why it made perfect sense...

 "Tell me everything I need to know..." You noticed him tapping his fingers to the beat of your road trip playlist and studying the scenery. You couldn’t help your smirk. "The buy in isn't even worth thinking about. It's crazy. I've covered it. But under your name. Because under no circumstances are women allowed to play these tables..." you took a deep breath; "One small acting favour from you..." "Mm hmm?" "You need to pretend like this is what you do. Like this is your life." "This... Is my life." there was more sadness in that sentence than he let on. You shook your head "Not what I meant. You need to act like you do this on a daily basis. Like you flew in on a private jet just for this game, and you're gonna fly back out tomorrow to your private island. Like the buy in was pocket change, but y’know, enough to get you excited for the game. And you're gonna have to drive this car.” "... What kind of buy in!?" " I'm not disclosing that and neither should you ask... Don't say anything. Just... This is your life, you got me. " He nodded “Okay.” But you needed to hear something else “Tell me you understand." He looked back, blue eyes on yours; "I understand."

** "So... Now what..." He turned back to you as you let him into the hotel room. "You’re gonna do whatever you do to get in the zone. I'm going to put the finishing touches together..." "What do I wear!?" "I got you covered. Gerry, honey, I don't want you to worry about nothin' but the people on the table and the cards in your hand. OK?" "Okay..." You felt leaving him might allow Gerry to unwind with his own thoughts, instead of have him stressing. You spent a couple of hours banking his wins and sending checks to the last few people he owed. Picking up his suit, your dress... And a bottle. When you got back, he was reading the invitation for the event over and over. If he was freaking out about it, it was not showing on his face. You placed the bottle of Woodford triumphantly in front of him. "Curtis only introduces people he really likes to his favourite drink, you know...! It has a heck of a kick. But I think you'll need a kick tonight!" "You're not kidding..." He looked up at you; "Oh! What!" You held out the suit; white. Pristine. With softer lines to suit Gerry... You had an eye for designer and he had to look like he was wearing it. Not the other way around. Like he wore a new one every day... "When I told you Curtis told me everything..." "He literally told you everything..." He stood and took the carrier from you. “Wow... This is..." "Expensive. But it'll suit you..." "What about you..?" You tipped your head with a mysterious smile, "White suit. Black dress. We will make quite the couple..."

Indeed you did. A few glasses of Woodford down and you sitting across from him, it was like Gerry was a whole new man. If he was playing into it, he was going to do incredibly well.

 ***

“Just do me one favour…” “What?” You handed him a slip of paper “Whatever you do with this money. Put some of it in here.” “What is it…?” He took it from you delicately You smiled “It’s a trust fund. And it’s gonna REALLY help.” There was a silence for a moment as he attempted to thank you and you stopped him, it was fine. It was to make sure he really did what he was telling you he was going to do… "One more thing." He turned to you, because that was your game voice, as he was about to step out of the car. Keys to a valet?, yeah this was way above his usual gamble grade. "Huh?" "However anyone looks at me, whatever anyone says to you about me... Ignore it." That left him with a whole bunch of questions and slight panic that he didn't have time to ask, or you to answer, as you both stepped out of the car.  He handed his keys to the valet and let you link your arm through his. "What do you mean?" "And don't talk to me either... " "That's going to make for quite the evening..." "This isn't about being here as friends Gerry. Or about being here together. This is about you being able to afford me." "What!?" Though you held your silence. Again that left him with a bunch more questions. He had a feeling he might figure it out... But wasn't sure he wanted to. He handed over the invitation at the door; security whispered to each other and nodded. But they did not escort the two of you to the main casino. At this point Gerry stopped having questions he knew he wasn’t about to get answers to, and decided to simply roll with it. You'd told him to act like he did this every other weekend so he would do exactly that. Who needed regular casino tables anyway, right? “Why are they all looking at me...?” It was the one question he needed to ask. If they knew then the game was up, after all... It also allowed him to lean in closer to you, which was also an assured part of the game. “They aren’t looking at you...” So you were known here? And by the looks of it in a big way. Were you an escort? Once? Were you still!?

He wasn’t sure he liked the implications of this, he was worried about you. “You sure it’s a good idea for you to be-” You squeezed his arm gently to shut him up “If I’m here with you, looking like this, then yes.” He took a deep breath and you pulled yourself closer to him “God, Gerry! I’m so sorry that didn’t help!” You had to confess. You felt like you HAD to tell him. He stopped you. Hand over yours.  “You don’t need to tell me anything. I figured it out.” And he had. Gerry was never lying when he said he was good at reading people. You’d likely been an escort for men like this at games like this – maybe more… He didn’t like to think on that too much. Passed around like you were the game they were playing. That kinda made him angry… sick… feel a whole lot of pity for you. He wanted to win this game for you, too. And you’d actually got out; probably played your way to freedom. Though Curtis has said he had found you, Gerry wondered if he might have something to do with it. “...What are we really doing here Y/N?” You looked to him; sincere “Freeing you.” He tipped his head, and the smile showed he knew you were here for something else entirely. You gave small shrug and mirrored his smile; “Let’s just call it payback...” He held out his hand for you “Now I know what I’m playing for...” He confidently flashed another brilliant smile; “There’s no way I can lose!” “Play this game like it’s the last game you’ll ever play.” “It COULD be the last game I ever play.” His seriousness hit you hard and made you emotional. Finally, he could see the emotion on your face, in your smile – in those gorgeous eyes of yours. “Just play it your best. You got this Gerry… You’re the only one who’s got this.” *** He had played his part flawlessly. But more than that, Gerry had played the GAME flawlessly. He called. There was absolutely no way, with you here, with the way he had played - that you had helped him to play - even with every single other player having all the luck in the world that he was about to lose this. None. He held his hand out behind him, and you realised that he was asking if he could hold yours. He was too confident in this... You placed your hand in his and he grasped you gently. You were too confident in him too. Everyone around the table revealed their hands, one by one. All pretty good. All the kind of hands that would win a game. Even a game that, for him, had really been this difficult. But Gerry had played like a pro. Like he was elite. Like he was one of them. He flipped his hand and he lent back, relaxed. They all stated at his cards in disbelief. How!?! How did this newbie to this table come out of nowhere and win? You were equally if not more surprised. He's done it. Gerry had actually done it!!!

He rose, calm with a small smile. And his voice was quiet, soft almost "I guess I win. Gentlemen." he gave the signal to cash out and stepped back, your hand still in his he turned to you, his smile was confident and you couldn't tell if he was still acting or not. He must have been - how could he be this calm over the amount of money he had just won!?! "What do you say, we get our money and ditch this place, huh?" This was a revenge game for everything you’d been put though. And he’d just up and won it.

***

It wasn’t ever really meant to come out the way it did. But the high from what he has just achieved had the both of you nearly in tears laughing, as you got back in your car. “Oh-! Gerry---! I love you!” For him it was out of the blue, you’d never indicated that it was a phrase you knew. With your background that was hardly surprising. But, he caught on to exactly what Curtis had said before and it hit him hard enough to sober him up. “Do you really mean it?” And then it hit you; because everything about him was serious. You looked back to him, letting yourself regain your breath before you answered. Did you say it because of the moment? Because of what you’d done? Or did you say it because you really DID love him? “…Yeah… I guess… I could really love you…” Gerry just smiled, he didn’t say anything, he didn’t push it further “Well, Alright…” But it was one hell of a smile. Gerry knew he was prepared to wait for you to make that happen. He was decisive enough in your answer to take your hand; “Where to? We could go anywhere. You and I. Right now.” It made you think for a minute, and suddenly smile at the realisation that you were both free. That you and he aren’t ever going back. You entwined your fingers with his; “To the Next Great Adventure!”

GIF CREDIT @ben-mendelsohn-trash and @benmendo as always ❤

This could have been split into like 3 different parts. But I just kinda wanted it to be one long thing!  I mean, I’m right right, he’s got two personalities, right? #ThePlayer’ and then #SoftGerry... 

[thelanternwretch-archive]

A Childhood Taken (Part 2)

( A little more upsetting content in this part. Be advised. )

Samuel panicked as he watched his son hit the ground, blood gushing from his temple. “MYRA! MYRA, GET HERE QUICK!” He hollered, throwing his tools aside and shooing their horse, Willow, away. The cranky mare whinnied and took off toward  the field, dashing through the gate and into her paddock to chew on the fresh clover near the fence on the other side of the enclosure.

Myra came, hurtling around the corner, her emerald eyes wide with fear as she saw her husband bent down over their motionless son. “SAM!? SAM, WHAT HAPPENED?!” She demanded, putting the sleeve of her work robes into her mouth and tearing off a large wad that she handed to him. Quickly, he put it over the wound and pressed down hard, Arrin only groaning in response before falling quiet again.

“I was teaching him how to take care of Willow.” He explained, trying to keep his nervousness under control. “I figured if he wanted his own horse someday, he should learn how to care for one! You know, grooming them and checking their hooves and the like.” He said, clarifying the situation as Myra bent down to check their son over. “I told him to be careful, Willow didn’t like anyone touching her underbelly for too long. He was only brushing her and she seemed like she was doing well!”

Myra looked at the edges of a bruise that were already starting to blacken on the side of his head. “I told you we should have waited; we should have used another horse. She’s too unpredictable! I mean, how many times did she kick you already?” She snapped, the concern for her son overriding any sense of trying to be be kind or gentle to her husband at the moment.

“Look, she hasn’t kicked me in months! I thought she was over it!” Sam explained, shifting the fabric around to press a less bloody side against him. “We need to get bandages and ointment.” He muttered “That was a good hoof to the head but it looks like the cut isn’t that bad.” The man moved the fabric around, dabbing and inspecting. “But I’m worried about his head. What if that really rattled his brains?” He worried. “I don’t want him to become lame and unable to speak, or, you know, turn out not right.”

“Sam, Sam, it’s fine.” She tried to convince him while also telling herself the same thing. “He’s a tough kid. He’s gotten banged up before. He’s nearly ten, he’ll bounce back. Come on, let’s get him inside the house.” Keeping the cloth firmly on his head, the two of them carefully hoisted up their limp child and carried him into the house.

---

As Arrin grew, he noticed certain things had started to change.

His parents, once so in love, had devolved into constantly bickering. This usually happened once they thought he went to sleep, though how they expected him to sleep through their yelling was beyond him. He spent many nights tossing and turning, pulling a blanket over his head to try and block out the sounds and pleading and whimpering from his parent’s room down the small hallway or the yelling. There were a few times when he got up, he went into the kitchen to see his mother busy at their cooking range with the side of her face bruised up. 

There was always an excuse whenever  he asked about it. Sometimes, she’d admit she was lost in thought and bumped into something real good. Another time, she claimed he got herself good in the mouth with a heavy iron cooking pot as she pulled it down from a shelf. He didn’t believe her, not for one second, and kept asking if Dad did it. She would only shake her head and ask him not to be so ridiculous and then started to tell him what needed to be done that way before dropping a filling breakfast in front of him and giving him a soft kiss on top of his head.

He was eleven now and had taken on more duties. He was in charge of almost all the animals but Willow. It seemed you get kicked once and suddenly, your parents don’t want you to learn how to tame the animal that lashed out at you. Still, he didn’t mind.He’d probably be getting his own horse any time now. There was a sweet piebald that a neighbor had who was ready to be bred. They were looking for a good strong stallion to impregnate her to see if the colt would be anything good. Arrin secretly hoped so - he liked that horse. Her name was Lillith and she was a good girl. He was waiting for her to give birth to the eventual foal before bravely asking his parents for that baby ... maybe.

He offered to help their neighbor with the process, learning how to assist the two creatures. He was taught to tie back tails and secure the mare, to help the sire aim should he need, to walk the mare around afterwards. The process was weird, but it eventually led to the pregnant mare they were hoping for. Arrin waited, sometimes running over before finishing his chores to check on her to see if there was any baby yet.

“Arrin!” Their neighbor laughed. “Its only been a few weeks! It’s going to take more time then that!”

“i know, I just.. I’m.. I’m really excited!” He admitted, grinning ear to ear. He had talked to him about possibly buying the foal and, should it not be what he wanted, Arrin had first consideration before it went to market.

Of course, this caused another argument.

“I told you, he’s not ready for a horse!” Snapped his mother late one night after they had to go looking for him, only to find him snoozing in the hay next to Lillith as she slept, her swollen belly looking promising.

“He’s a young boy, now! He needs to learn responsibility! Besides, a second horse around here would be a big help! Let him get one and train it. We can have two plows running at once and if one of us need to use Willow, the other two won’t be stranded without a -”

“Willow. Yeah, you remember what she did to him?” She snapped. “He could have died and now you want to put him in harms way even further by giving him a horse of his own to always be around!?”

“Woman! Listen! That was an accident and it happens to anyone that owns a horse! Just because it happened once doesn’t mean he should never have a second chance!”

The yelling became incoherent as the two started screaming over each other. Arrin winced and held the pillow over his head, his eyes snapping open as he heard a slap and a shriek. The sounds of yet another beating continued and a knot formed in his stomach. This time, he was sure the bruises his mother would wear would be his fault. They were arguing about him. His fault.

His fault.

---

“Isn’t she beautiful?” Arrin asked, leading the small foal over to his mother. She smiled tiredly as her son paraded the little filly around. She proved to be a bit too high spirited than what their neighbor had been hoping for and her markings weren’t quite right. So, as promised, Arrin was allowed to have the first decision if he wanted her or not. The foal wasn’t even standing yet and his decision was already made. The small dappled black horse was his! And she was rather downright cute!  Her sire, a large spotty grey draft horse, had been kind enough to carry over his best qualities. Her long legs and rounded chest indicated she was going to be a strong, hefty thing and probably quite a good amount of hands tall. 

The kid fell in love with her at first sight. Her faintly spotted coat, to her blond mane and tail, the white blaze down her nose and forehead, and the little white sock on her back left leg. She was his.

“I like Nyx. I’m going to name her Nyx!” He said, letting her nuzzle her nose into his open palm. 

“Where’d you get a name like that?” Myra asked, gesturing for him to come along with his new friend.

“I dunno. I think I heard it somewhere. It sounds cool, though.” His grin was ear to ear as he proudly led her over to their property, the little filly squealing and kicking and eager to romp around. “Hey, where’s Dad at?” He asked, glancing around as they got closer to the pasture. “I figure he’d want to see her and all.”

“Probably at the bar again.” She sniffed disapprovingly. “He’ll be home soon.” 

Arrin kicked open the gate and took her lead off. The newly christened Nyx took off like a rocket, tumbling halfway across the field, her legs flailing everywhere before she rolled back up onto her hooves, shaking off, and charging off toward Willow, who seemed just as eager to have company.

“Well, we won’t wait for him for dinner. He can eat when he gets home. Come on, it should nearly be ready.” She shooed him away from watching his precious new companion and toward the water pump to wash up for dinner. They had only started eating when Sam wandered through the door, smiling and looking rather chipper.

“Hey Arrin, I saw something new out back. Little, black, already trying to kick her way out of the fence-”

“I love her.” Arrin declared, taking a bite out of some mutton he had cut from the roast in the center of the table. “I’m going to teach her everything Willow knows, and maybe I’ll teach her some cool tricks, too. ... I’m also going to teach her not to kick anyone, especially me.” He paused, making a face. “I’m over being kicked by horses. Once was enough.” 

The atmosphere over dinner was unusually cheerful. Samuel, his father, was full of life and affectionate toward his wife and especially Arrin. They talked about Nyx, how things at the market went today, Nyx, gossip around the small town, Nyx, the Order that had started to gather some sort of items for safe keeping, and Nyx were a few topics brought up at the dinner table. It seemed like everything was back to normal, aside from the marks over his mother’s arms that were already starting to fade.

---

This time, he couldn’t sleep through the yelling. Arrin had gotten so used to his parents fighting and his mother giving in to what his Father wanted that it was almost normal, now. The bruises and cuts she had no longer meant anything, nor could Arrin do anything about it. He tried to corner his mother and father about it, but they kept telling him it was fine and that sometimes, Daddy just gets mad. It was never directed at him, so perhaps it was okay? The feelings of guilt eventually faded.

This time though, something was different.

They hadn’t argued like this in years. Not since the subject of him getting a horse came up. That was so long ago - he was fourteen now. That had to be... three years, now? A crash jolted him from his bed as he ran out of his bedroom and came to a halt outside the main room. He peeked around the corner and saw a broken bottle in his mother’s hand and his father’s shoulder bleeding. 

“WHY DON’T YOU JUST GO BACK TO HER, THEN? IF SHE’S WHO YOU REALLY WANT, THEN LEAVE US ALONE.” She screeched, brandishing the broken bottle.

“STUPID WOMAN, YOU’LL PAY FOR THAT.” Sam took a swing at her face, his fist colliding with her cheek with a loud crack. She stumbled onto the floor, crying, holding her face.

“DAD!” Arrin ran around the corner and over to his mother, looking up at him, tears in his eyes. “What are you DOING? That’s Mom!” He wailed, pulling her close. 

“Yeah, that is, and she’s nothing but a whore. A good for nothing slut who has done nothing but kept me back all these years.” He spat, wiping the bit of blood off his arm.

“I-I did nothing wrong.” Stammered Myra, pushing herself off the floor. “I’ve kept t-this place running while you were off sleeping around w-with that bar wench.” She pushed Arrin away, forcing herself to stand, shaking. “What’s wrong? Does she not come with the commitment of having a family, Sam? Are we too much for you? Your wife and son?”

“Dad? Dad, what’s going on?” Arrin wasn’t dumb. He heard every word so far but he refused to believe it. 

“I can’t stand your mother, boy. And I can’t stand you, either.” He reached for a bottle of unknown liquid on the table, taking a swig of it. “I should have never settled down. This years of hard work and being a good ol’ family man. Pfft. Waste of my time.”

“But-” Arrin bit his lip, feeling hot tears form at the corner of his eyes. “But Dad!”

“I’m leaving.” He snapped, throwing the bottle down onto the floor and letting it shatter before grabbing his hat from the nearby shelf. 

“Samuel Thresh, you listen to me. The minute you walk out that door, you’re dead if you ever come back.” Myra spit out fragments of a tooth and a bit of blood, her eyes narrowed. “You’re nothing but a bastard and I’m sorry I ever thought I loved you.”

“Glad we feel the same, you stupid cunt.” With a snap, he turned and heaved the door open.

“Wait, wait-! But Dad-!” Arrin ran over and grabbed the back of his Dad’s shirt. Pain struck him across the face as he staggered backwards, stumbling and hitting the smoothed wooden chairs and table. His father stood, his hand still in a fist, his nostrils flared.

“Touch me again, you little shit, and I’ll break your nose.” He wiped his nose on his sleeve before disappearing through the door.

Arrin ignored the taste of blood he felt, wobbling over to the door and holding onto the frame. “DAD!” 

“Let him go, Arrin.” Myra whimpered, letting herself drop into one of the wooden chairs that her son nearly fell over. “He’s gone. He’s not coming back.”

“No, NO! DAD!” He tried to follow him outside but his dad had already mounted Willow and took off, disappearing into the trees.

“Dad...” 

He fell to his knees and covered his face, crying. This was the man who taught him so much, how to do everything around the farm... they caught fireflies once. They played in the ocean and pretended to drown each other, dunking each other’s heads under the waves and cackling. He was the one who gave him the money for Nyx, the young mare sleeping in a patch of wildflower and moss lazily on the other side of the field... and now... and now he was gone.

“Arrin, come in here and shut the door.” Myra grabbed a nearby bottle of wine and wrestled the cork off with her teeth. “Go back to bed. We have work to do tomorrow. I hope you broke Nyx in with the plow- we’re going to need her if we want that corn in.” 

[scriptlgbt]

Catholicism-Related Homophobia Masterpost

Hello!

Mod Deryn here, as your local Roman Catholic gal, here to talk to you about some common comments/’arguments’/views/ideologies held/made by homophobic Catholics, and what your characters can say back to them.

TW for transphobia, homophobia, religion, and general bleh-ness.

I want to start off by saying that any self-respecting Catholic that actually practices what they preach would not be homophobic, because it literally goes against the 10 Commandments (basically the ten rules that you’re not supposed to break ever because they’re especially bad sins), and violates the second-most important commandment, which is to love your neighbour as yourself (Matthew 22:39). We as laypeople explicitly do not have the right to judge (much less punish) anyone, no matter what. We are called to love everyone. 

Anyway, your homophobic Catholic is likely to be more of a ‘conservative Catholic,’ so to speak, rooting their arguments in traditionalism and condemning more progressive stances in Catholicism that are pro-LGBT. (Please keep in mind that while many Catholics refer to God as a He, I refer to Them as They, and will thus refer to Them as that).

Common Arguments that your Homophobic Catholic Character May Use and How to Confront Them:

1. The Genesis Argument (AKA Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve) This is a very common “argument,” and basically centres on the idea that in the first creation story (and yes!! there are two included in Genesis!!) God creates Adam (the first man) and then Eve (the first woman). In the second Genesis story, God tries to find the perfect ‘companion’ for Adam, and when nothing works, They make Adam fall asleep and pull out Adam’s rib and make a new human (Eve) out of that rib. Implausible as it sounds, it is one of the two possible explanations of creation that exist in the book of Genesis, the first book of the Bible, as well as the first book of the Torah.

It is important to realize that in the original Hebrew text, the first human is referred to as Ish, which means ‘humankind,’ and then, when Eve is created, they are then referred to as ish and isha (man and woman). Basically, men weren’t created first because just ‘humanity’ was created first. (To be fair, this is more of a side-note than anything, but I do find it important to note).

How to Confront this Argument:

A) Have your character point out that this creation story is, quite frankly, just that. A story. The Bible includes two separate accounts of creation for just this reason, to make it clear that the creation story is a story, not an actual account of reality. (And no, I’m not being a heretic, this is literally what’s taught in religion class. Ask my religion teacher with a Masters in Religious Education). The use of repetition in the first story (i.e. “And there was evening and there was morning, the [x] day”), the largely symbolic language, and other, subtler hints are meant to clue in the readers that the creation story is largely symbolic and not an account of real events. Most of Genesis is like this; stories and things that must be taken into the context of the time they were written in in order to fully understand what the messages are.

Almost all (Old Testament) Bible stories are not meant to be taken literally, and your Catholic homophobe will likely be the die-hard ‘the bible said this so it must be true.’ If that is the case, your character could mention some other things the bible mentions that are somewhat ridiculous in a modern context and have to be taken in the context they were written in - for example, in Leviticus 19:19, God instructs the people that “[they should] not wear clothing woven of two types of material.” Given that that includes most fabric nowadays, something has to give.

2. “The Bible says homosexuality is wrong!!” (AKA - I’m going to pretend I read this passage so I have a reason to be uncomfortable with you).

Your character is likely to be referencing either the story of Sodom and Gomorrah (Genesis 19) or that one line from Romans (You Know What I Mean).

(Rape Mention TW)

To sum up, in the story of Sodom and Gomorrah, the people there are like, super sinful, so God wants to destroy them all a la flood style. But Abraham (God’s Main Dude - Jewish, Muslim, and Catholic people all trace their lineage back to him, I believe) was like ‘hey, wait a second there God, I have family there, don’t kill them.’ So to ‘test’ Sodom and Gomorrah, God sent two angels in disguise as humans to go visit Abraham’s family, who welcomes them in. However, the rest of the residents of Sodom all go to Lot (Abraham’s family - I can’t remember the exact relation), but they go to Lot’s house and demand to be allowed the permission of sleeping with Lot’s guests (the angels). Lot, being a good person, doesn’t do that.

The next morning, the angels tell Lot and his family to clear out before they destroy the two cities, they do so (although Lot’s wife looks back and gets turned into a pillar of salt), and are thus saved.

(End Rape TW)

This story has been interpreted in two major ways - one is that it is a warning against homosexuality, the other being that it’s a warning against inhospitality. The second one, in context, makes more sense. Lot is spared, not because he didn’t display any homosexual tendencies, but because he was a good host and tried to protect the angels. His wife, despite being not described as gay in any way, is turned into a pillar of salt because she disobeys their guests’ wishes.

Basically - the main biblical story that Catholics use to preach against homosexuality is a misunderstanding of the text.

The line in Romans about homosexuality is based off this story, in most interpretations, and is thus also based on a misunderstanding of the text, and thus unreasonable to take into consideration.

How Your Character Could Confront This Argument:

Assuming your character had read the passages in question (which isn’t necessarily untrue to life - when I first began realizing I was gay, I started scanning as much of the bible as possible to find out what the Bible actually said about homosexuality. However, I will admit that that’s a rather uncommon reaction, especially if your character has not been raised in a very faith-immersed environment. A character with less knowledge about this background could instead point out the inadequacies of the Bible as a set of rules to live one’s life (Jesus Himself did not follow all the rules that the Pharisees had set - for one example, He would heal people on Shabbat, regardless of the fact that it was supposed to be a day where you did very little - I don’t know the exact rules, but He wasn’t supposed to be healing people).

Not only that, but Jesus (who set out the New Commandments and basically was sent out into the world to create a new era of Love and, depending on who you talked to, basically voided the majority of the Old Testament) never actually said anything about homosexuality, and the Old Testament is where the majority of homophobic arguments are found, showing that a lot of people who use these arguments are ignoring the part of Bible they’re arguably supposed to be paying the most attention to.

3. God Hates X Group!

Nope. God is Love. The two words are literally interchangeable throughout the Bible. Remember that passage from Corinthians - Love is patient, Love is kind?

Now think... God is patient, God is kind. Slow to anger, rich in kindness...

In the Beginning, Love created the heavens and the earth.

It goes on.

The spiritual embodiment of love literally cannot hate. It’s just... not possible. Not only is this person presuming to know what an all-powerful and presumably omniscient deity believes in and thinks, they are also presuming to believe that God would hate Their own creation.

Again in the New Testament, there are a startling amount of parables about tax collectors. Why? Everyone hated tax collectors. They were often corrupt, took money for themselves, and sometimes left families destitute. It was a pretty common feeling among the people that these collectors were destined for hell (and good riddance!). However, Jesus goes on up there and tells them that tax collectors, prostitutes... all these people who are condemned by the public? They’re going to heaven first. Why? Because they’re still God’s children, no matter what, and God doesn’t hate them.

How to Have Your Characters Refute This Argument:

“Oh, I thought your God was a loving God?”

Listen, God literally sent Their own progeny, their only child, to be humiliated, tortured, and then killed. Why? To save everyone. No matter who, or what, or how, or why, they’re ALL being saved. Anything else violates Catholic teaching.

4. “You must be fruitful and multiply!” (AKA: Being gay is wrong because you can’t naturally reproduce).

Transphobia aside, this view is (again) based heavily on Genesis, which was written in 1400 BCE. It’s worth keeping in mind the context in which this was written (child mortality rates were high, people didn’t live very long, having lots of children was almost necessary because of mortality rates, etc). Using hermeneutics (the modern study of the Bible, taking into account context, storytelling format, authors’ bias, and so much more), we are able to make better judgements in relation to what the Bible says.

Now, it is generally understood that people aren’t required to have twelve children in order to obey God because that doesn’t make sense within a modern era. There are blessed single people who do not choose to be nuns but choose to live single and are thus sanctified (my grade six teacher is one, though I forget the exact title). All members of the clergy do not have children - priests because they represent God, and nuns and monks because of spiritual obligations to God. Obviously, if so many members (and important members!) of the church - both lay and clergy - are considered just as sacred as those who did have children, it stands to reason that the only thing that truly matters is their dedication to God, not the number of children they had.

Besides that, adoption is a thing, surrogacy and artificial insemination is a thing, and this is ultimately an outdated worldview.

How To Have Your Character Refute This:

If your homophobic character uses that exact line, consider having your character point out how long ago that part of the Bible was written. Alternatively, they could point out the number of LGBT+ couples/families seeking out adoptions and other methods of having children, point out the transphobia in their statements, or otherwise find flaws in their logic as seen.

-

TL;DR: In my opinion, while there are absolutely many interpretations of the Bible, hatred is not one of them, and using Roman Catholicism to justify homophobia is upsetting, to say the least, because using God to promote hatred goes against the whole point of a religion based on love.

Most of these arguments can be easily refuted by someone reminding the prosecutor that Roman Catholicism is about love, not hate.

And if refutation isn’t enough, maybe hitting them over the head with a bible will do it (but I generally don’t endorse doing that. Violence doesn’t really work).

Best of luck writing!

-Mod Deryn

All bible transcripts come from the New Revised Standard Edition Bible.

[savrenim]

Of Wolves And Ravens: As Told By Three Letters Sent From Cloudfall Fort

For those of you have been following gay murder elf bachelorette campaign (In Their Footsteps We Shall Follow), we recently finished Book 2: Of Wolves And Ravens, and I have A Lot Of Feelings about it. Because I am Extremely Extra, I tend to write in-character letters to NPCs that I then send to my DM. The three letters written for this book tell a complete and self-contained story--at this point, nearly a novella--and it’s not quite fanfiction, as it is canon in-universe; certainly not my own work, as all of the brilliance behind it was written by Jeremy, I just lived it and was moving around one little pawn; but together these letters been far more than just a game to me. so after checking with Jeremy, I decided to post them here. If you are a fan of my writing and want a window into the world that is right now one of the stories that I care about the most, well, here is what I have been doing with my heart and with my time. No prior knowledge is necessary and actually I’m not sure how you would have prior knowledge what are you doing listening to my skype calls?

Iria Stell, the author of the letters, is a 17-year-old soldier of the Caedic army; writing first to a scientist Vennikus Callo whom she had encountered a few months prior who gave her a potion to test with only the instructions of “it will be useful in a fight, just like the previous one”; second to Maldai Varricon, her mentor and commanding officer since she joined the army at age 14; and third to Arcadia Dominus, her rival-turned-crush-turned-maybe-girlfriend, whom she left behind at the Surrian front when Varricon sent her and Talvus back to the Capital to take the Trials in the hopes that they would climb to higher military or public office. It is perhaps significant to mention that Talvus is also barely more than a kid, being only about 22 himself, and became Iria’s first and arguably only friend, ever since she arrived in Varricon’s unit, he was delighted he was no longer the youngest, and immediately nicknamed her ‘Stoneface Junior’, and thus began their unbreakable friendship. All other characters are new to this book, and will be introduced as they appear. Iria Strell is played by me. Corporal Dante Maxim is played by my brother, Eddie, who was a guest PC in this arc. Everyone else is played by Jeremy. A number of the cool descriptions are Jeremy. And all the gorgeous battle descriptions are all Jeremy. He’s really damn good at fight choreography. 

It is worth noting: this is a story about war. Told from the side of the bad guys, who are kind of brutal. Trigger warnings of violence and death. There is not really any gore outright described in detail, although there are a few times that rather nasty wounds are received and reported clinically. If that sort of thing bothers you, I would not recommend reading!

Otherwise, with no further ado, presenting, Of Wolves And Ravens: As Told By Three Letters Sent From Cloudfall Fort.

____________________

To Vennikus Callo, Black Lotus Labs, Insul

I have made use of the potion that you left me with, and am writing to report the results.

I took it at the beginning of a fight against Highland Rat Clan orcs. The potion kicked in instantaneously, and it lasted a substantial amount of time: the entire duration of the fight, and a few minutes afterwards as well. I would estimate about four minutes total.

The effect to my vision was by far the most noticeable. I immediately began to see lines in the periphery of my sight, patterns of footwork from weight distribution and momentum of my enemies, which allowed me to move more quickly than I would normally in a fight, and allowed me to perform maneuvers that I would not otherwise attempt, as I could instinctively predict—literally see faster than I could have calculated on my own—the locations in which their stances were weak. Secondly, there was a dramatic increase in my strength. I would say that easily under the influence of the potion my strength doubled, and when I concentrated to push to fight at my full capacity, I was striking at thrice what my normal abilities would allow. I was able to kill three Rat Clan orcs and one Salamander Clan elf, holding off an ambush party of over a dozen with only one companion, before Caedic reinforcements arrived.

However, when I took it, I felt hunger beyond any hunger I have felt before in my life; I would describe it as starving to the point of pain equal to that of taking an indirect but substantial wound. Past the initial shock and blow of it, it did not affect my ability to fight nor was it a severe distraction; however, I would caution you that I have trained to ignore pain and exhaustion during a fight, and if you hope to eventually release this potion for wide-scale consumption, this might be a considerable drawback. The hunger did not go away as the other effects of the potion wore off, and it took rations equal to about two and a half standard meals, eaten in under five minutes, before I felt normal again. There were no other persisting effects to the best of my knowledge in the hours or days that followed.

I am sixty-seven inches tall and a little over nine stone, and seventeen years seven months aged, so I do not have the proportions of an adult soldier; you can discard this if the information is useless to you, but perhaps the relative body mass to the potency of the potion could have caused the side effects to emerge. I did not take it on an empty stomach; I had eaten standard issue hard biscuit rations but ten minutes before. I believe the composition of those is primarily flour and water; the exact recipe should not be hard to look up if mundane chemical interactions are a consideration. I had no active spells or enchantments on me at the time of consumption, nor do I make regular use of such things; I have not been poisoned or sickened recently, nor have I taken a potion, either magical or alchemical, since a standard issue healing potion during a battle at the Surrian front a month ago, and the one you gave me at the Fae font before that.

If there is any information that I have unwittingly omitted, please write immediately that I might rectify this. I am currently en route to the Capital to take the Trials and attempt to join the clergy, so any letter addressed to me ought to be sent to the Strell family estate there.

With sincerity, Iria Strell

____________________

Sergeant Major Maldai Varricon, Specialist Unit c.Varricon The 3rd Legion, Serae

Dear Maldai,

I am writing, as a friend, because I could gravely use your guidance right now. It has been a trying week; I have nearly died multiple times, I have watched a unit of good Caedic soldiers slaughtered before my eyes, helpless, and I am full of doubts about things I had previously considered certain. Second Lieutenant Vitan of the 8th has submitted a full official report about the incidents that transpired, but I am not sure that any report could capture…could capture what I am to write below.

The journey to the Capital was fairly uneventful until about half a day’s march from Cloudfall fort. We had made good time in the prior month; I’d kept up practicing my forms every morning and evening, which meant that Talvus and I tired at about the same time every day, and I managed to persuade him to teach me basic arcane theory as we walked so that if I am ever consulted for tactical planning, I might have more insight into what a single mage or an arcane unit can and cannot do.

(Managed to persuade. More like we ran out of conversation topics about banal matters by the end of the third day, and Talvus leapt at the opportunity to talk about something even marginally related to his research projects. I think I’ve picked up the basics acceptably; I was able to keep up with him. He is a fine teacher, although he spoke very fast, and I only had so much time at night to write down notes and attempt to memorize the shapes of needles. Ample practical demonstrations, though. Including one in particular with exploding biscuits. He lost biscuit privileges after that. Regardless, I hope to reach the level where I can actually contribute to the things he is trying to do someday, as I appreciate it all the more now that I know some of the theory behind it.)

We were ambushed by a group of Rat Clan orcs, and an Owl Clan elf, who had been waiting off the main road, presumably for Caedic troops to pass. The two of us were vastly outnumbered—there must have been at least a dozen of them—and I managed to strike down four before they were in turn ambushed by a Caedic patrol that had been tracking them. I suppose that was the first time my life was saved by the pure luck of coincidence, although I did not consider this at the time, as I had not taken any overly threatening wounds during the fight.

Second Lieutenant Venus Tarquin, who had led the patrol, informed us of the situation as we made our way back towards the camp of the 8th—the Unbroken. In recent months, rebel activity in Altae had increased dramatically, to the point in which our journey would be interrupted by more than just an ambush. Shortly past Cloudfall, there was a pass spanned by a single bridge, which had recently been destroyed by Salamander Clan rebels. The journey around the pass would take more than a week, and repairs would be about finished in that timeframe. We were welcome to spend our time waiting at Cloudfall, or we could speak with Captain Piso about whether or not the 8th could use two extra pairs of hands for the interim. I was eager to volunteer my services, and Talvus agreed, and so we settled in with the Unbroken in the converted Raven village in which they had made their camp.

I delivered the papers that you had left us with to Captain Piso, and Second Lieutenant Tarquin informed him of our situation. Talvus and I offered our services, and Captain Piso said that the unit could always use another two good soldiers, especially a mage. Then he dismissed Talvus, but asked me to stay. He looked at the papers again. Then he said: “Strell. Your family had some sort of connection to the recent heresy, is that correct?”

I told him yes, that I had been close friends with one of the daughters of the main family.

He said that he had very little access to information, to that sort of news from the Capital, and that he would like to know any details, if I had them. There was not much I could say; I told him that I did not know any details until the night that the Tandus family planned to escape.

“To break out the one that was imprisoned, is that correct?” he said.

It was, yet I knew only where to find Peia because we’d hidden in alleyways together all throughout our childhood. I told him such.

“Do you know anything more about the original heresy that initiated the situation?” he asked. “Anything more about what was actually found to incriminate Scaevola Tandus? Before the whole…breakout situation?”

“I knew that he was convicted of necromancy,” I said.

And there Captain Piso’s interest seemed to end. “I imagine you’ve had to deal with quite an uphill climb with that mark on your record,” he said.

“I am loyal to the Empire and I have always been willing to spill the blood of our enemies to prove it,” I told him. “I have spent the last two and a half years fighting beside those who have understood that.”

He dismissed me.

I was immediately folded into the roster of watches and patrols, and had patrol with Corporal Dante Maxim and Corporal Specialist Marcus Tyrol the next morning. Corporal Maxim was also fairly new to the 8th, being the sole survivor of an ambush by the Heretic Raven that wiped out the 22nd only a few months prior, but he and Corporal Tyrol were already fast friends, so I followed behind them and did not interject myself in their banter. The patrol proceeded uneventfully until we stumbled across the still-warm corpse of a Caedic guard. Corporal Maxim was the one who put it together in the moments that followed: the wounds of the guard were too eccentric to belong to warriors of any one clan, and we were near the route of a supply wagon that was expected to arrive today. In fact, the route had been changed, in secret, at the last minute, as prior supply trains had been ambushed, yet somehow the Heretic Raven and their company had no trouble finding it.

Fearing the numbers of the enemy, we sent Corporal Tyrol to run to the nearby Stag Clan warcamp to muster the Stag Clan loyalists, while Maxim and I vaulted over the slope and into the battle to buy time. Sure enough, the Caedic guards were outnumbered: eight of them to ten of the Heretic Raven’s warriors. It was not just numbers determining this battle; the guards were vastly outclassed, from what could be gathered of the smoke and screams. Corporal Maxim and I charged towards the fray. A woman-elf with pale skin, dark hair, and a large scythe, Anye the Huntress of the Wolf Clan, called out something to alert the others of our presence, then disappeared into the smoke. Another elf, blonde, his face covered in black warpaint—the Black Stag, a traitor of the Stag Clan—turned to hold us off while Anye tried to attack us from behind. Their mage was throwing fireballs around; one of which hit me, another that I dodged. Corporal Maxim and I held the two warriors with relative ease. Then the moment the fight seemed to be turning, the Anye the Huntress disappeared back into the smoke, and the Heretic Raven themselves, distinguished by the scar across their forehead and the left arm of a Caedic uniform jacket sewn into their Highland war garb, stepped forward to take her place.

They were a formidable foe; combining both Caedic footwork with Highland two-bladed style. Corporal Maxim and I fought them together, as Corporal Tyrol and the Stag Clan forces appeared over the hill and charged into the melee. The Heretic Raven wasn’t fighting to kill, they were fighting defensively, covering the retreat of their people. The Stag Clan loyalists turned the tide of the engagement, as the rebels were then vastly outnumbered; although they focused on the traitor of their tribe, killing him and allowing the others to escape. The Heretic Raven slit Corporal Maxim’s throat before retreating, and I stayed back to stop the bleeding and stabilize him rather than continue the fight into the woods. The supply train was not damaged, so we loaded the wounded onto the wagon and proceeded as quickly as possible back to camp, where proper healing could be distributed. Corporal Tyrol and I delivered the report, as Maxim was mostly unconscious, and then I spent the rest of the afternoon with the Stag Clan warriors, attempting to learn more about their fighting style and seeing what I could pick up of their language. The question of how the Heretic Raven managed to find the new supply route was unanswered and thus somewhat upsetting to the camp, but the supplies had been properly delivered, so it was not dwelled upon.

Next came the animal attacks. A patrol came back attacked by wolves; and a bear wandered into the center of our camp during breakfast and attacked myself, Corporal Maxim, and Lieutenant Sorus as we exited the dining building. Upon killing the bear, its conjured nature was revealed. Recalling ravens that I had seen both during the initial ambush along the road as well as at the outskirts of camp two days prior, I suggested that conjured animals might be spying on us, which could perhaps explain how the new supply route was known to the Heretic Raven. As such, Corporal Tyrol, Corporal Maxim, and I decided to stop during our patrol at the Stag Clan camp, to  ask War-Leader Tairn of the Stag Clan if Highland Shamans had such abilities. Tairn was neither able to confirm nor refute my theory, so we decided to bring it up to the arcanists when we returned to Unbroken, as this was still the best explanation we had for the increasing ambushes. We continued on the patrol. Tyrol spotted some rabbits, and proposed we pause for some fun: he’d been taught basic augury before he dropped out of the academy, and offered to read our fortunes. He read mine first: in the entrails, a troubled event from my childhood, and death in the past; nothing that I didn’t already know. In the heart, fragile, which turned frustratingly accurate, as I ended up unconscious for one reason or another (most often that reason the injury from the foundry acting up) in or after every fight I engaged in since. Success, power, and upward climb for the future, not that I put much stake in it. For Maxim: in the past, humble origins, high ambitions; in the present, strong, powerful, respected among peers, and oh, owes Tyrol twelve silvers from when he lost that bet; and then the rabbit had no liver. There was no future. Maybe you just found a fucked up rabbit, Dante said.

We did not have much time to dwell, as we were immediately attacked by wolves. Luckily, I had been fighting wolves of the conjured variety for nearly a month, as I had grown bored with merely repeating my forms, and had convinced Talvus to materialize various fighting companions in the evenings of our travels. We found most interesting the fact that the corpses of these wolves did not disappear, which meant that if this was a planned attack and not unfortunate happenstance, it was by those who could control animals, not merely create magical constructs of them. We hurried back to camp to report the incident.

That had been the first clue. The biggest one. And I missed it.

When we returned, the camp was abuzz with the news that Caedic forces had discovered the hideaway of Rat Clan, one of the largest remaining holdouts of rebels. Captain Piso, with knowledge of my prior experience, engaged me to design the plan of assault; Corporal Maxim was to assist with the planning and the assignment of men; and Second Lieutenant Tarquin was to oversee the both of us and provide guidance if necessary, and make all final calls. I immediately had the following idea, for I had been working with Talvus to reverse-engineer the arcanum cannons from the battle at the Surrian front: he had been stuck upon the fact that the the burned out cartridges with a repeating rune pattern would have contained more magical energy than is stable to force into an object, and I suggested that perhaps the design was not to contain then release the energy into a spell, but only to contain, then a physical destruction of the runic pattern could release all of the energy at once, as an explosive. As such, Talvus was able to develop a delayed explosive stick, one which contained power comparable to the fireballs that had been shot, which would be released within about six or seven seconds of the destruction of the runes. The plan that I submitted to Second Lieutenant Tarquin was the tactical usage of these delayed explosives, sent in on invisible runners to the barracks of the hideaway as the Rat Clan warriors slept, then with our Caedic forces waiting by the entranceways to slaughter the disoriented survivors as they were smoked out.

Our planning was cut short by an attack on the camp of animals of many shapes and sizes; this time, both controlled and conjured. Corporal Maxim and I handily took care of a boar, then I began picking off wolves with arrows as Maxim rushed to the aid of Captain Piso, who was on the ground, poisoned by a giant scorpion. When Maxim went to summon Second Lieutenant Vitan, he saw that the back of the medical building had been blown out, and Second Lieutenant Vitan was nowhere to be seen. He sought the assistance of myself, as I was a known tracker in the camp, and Second Lieutenant Tarquin, to follow the trail that we might return with Vitan before the Captain died. The tracks of the attackers were not particularly hidden, and there were marks as if someone struggling had been dragged off, which indicated that Second Lieutenant Vitan had been taken alive. We began pursuit, first encountering a blindfolded Wolf Clan orc with two bestial wolves, whom we dispatched of, then further along the main road a blindfolded Wolf Clan druid dragging the bound Second Lieutenant away. We were also able to prevail in this fight, although it was far more severe: a summoned leopard bit a sizable chunk from my side and nearly took down Second Lieutenant Tarquin, and Corporal Maxim had trouble piecing the druid’s defensive spells until he thought to free Second Lieutenant Vitan, who stared at the orc directly, rage in her eyes, then brought a dagger across her own throat; and the same cut opened up on his neck, blood pouring down in sheets, as Corporal Maxim dealt the final blow.

We were able to return to the camp in time for Second Lieutenant Vitan to treat Captain Piso. The rest of the animals had been fended off, upon their deaths revealing about of half of them conjured and half of them real. The entire setup—from the fact that Lieutenant Vitan was just dragged off, not killed, and her attackers did not cover their tracks, to how there were no casualties on our end, to how both the warrior-orc and the druid were blindfolded—I could not make sense of it. As we were still preparing in earnest for the assault on the Rat Clan hideaway, I’m not sure if anyone bothered to make sense of it.

Development of the delayed explosives proceeded faster and more successfully than expected; Talvus spearheaded the project, and I helped where I could, mostly just checking his diagrams in places. He and Lieutenant Sorus were able to make the first prototype within two days, and we carefully warded a field against any divination and ensured that there were no small animals nearby before we set up the delayed explosive stick on one side, and from forty feet away, Second Lieutenant Tarquin speared it with an arrow. The explosion was a bit sooner than planned—five seconds, not seven—but its size and intensity were as desired. Talvus and Lieutenant Sorus turned to producing the explosives that we planned to use in the attack, and Second Lieutenant Tarquin and I returned to planning a scouting mission, that we might better know where to deploy these explosives.

The scouting mission was to proceed as follows: Second Lieutenant Tarquin, Lieutenant Sorus, Talvus, Corporal Tyrol, and another scout of the Unbroken, Private Specialist First Class Kia Passienus, and myself were to make our way to the edge of the woods in the heart of night under the cover of mist, to the hideaway of the Rat Clan. There Lieutenant Sorus would prepare four focus-stones for Corporal Tyrol and I to take, and Talvus would cast invisibility on myself, Tyrol, and Private Passienus. We would have a little more than five minutes to run to the tunnels of the hideaway, Tyrol taking the northern side and myself to enter on the southern side, while Private Passienus stayed closer to the outskirts both to keep watch and to investigate lightly the entrances on the upper levels of the hill. If we did not find the barracks ourselves, the focus-stones would allow Lieutenant Sorus a direct line to scry within the hideaway. The night came. The six of us left. Lieutenant Sorus gave us the foci, and Talvus turned us invisible.

I encountered no one until I found what appeared to be their main war room, with a number of orcs, including War-Chief Black Eye Sadbh, gathered around a map on a central table and discussing plans. I debated whether or not to sneak through to room to one of the adjacent tunnels, as I had not yet found any sleep-chambers, or to go back are try some of the side passageways that had been barred with closed doors; I decided that I was both quiet enough, and the room was large enough, for me to drop a scrying stone in the room then sneak through to one of the open passageways.

The moment I set foot into the room, an orc mage who had been watching the door shouted and yanked a rope, a large wooden cover fell across the entrance to the passageway I had come through, and Rat Clan warriors leapt into action, closing and barring all of the doors. I was unarmed, save for a single dagger; I decided to make best use of my remaining time of invisibility by hiding the dagger in my boot then making an appropriate scuffle such as to seem that I had nothing up my sleeve. I tried to open the doors to no avail; there were simply too many warriors in the room, blocking the passageways bodily, and before long I was pinned. I saved my breath rather than struggle as the invisibility wore off.

I was beaten, which was expected; bound, which was expected; then I was taken to a small room, tied to a post, and rubble and stones were carefully piled around me. Black Eye Sadbh watched, smiling, the entire time. Small piles of tinder were built up around the room. I was prepared to be tortured: I was prepared first not to crack, then second, that my final acts might be more useful if I fed the Rat Clan misinformation instead of just defiance. No questioning came. I tried whispering it was a trap, that they knew we were coming, over and over—so that if Talvus were to try to scry me, the Unbroken would be warned—and I was gagged for my trouble.

They lit the fires a little before dawn.

Captain Piso, leading the same team that he had been allocated in the original plan, burst into the room where I had been left just as the heat was enough to threaten me with unconsciousness. I was freed, despite the precious time it wasted, and given a spare scimitar, and we moved as a unit to cut off a tunnel where Black-Eye Sadbh was escaping with her warriors. She put up a significant fight, single-handedly holding the tunnel while her warriors ran from sight. I maneuvered such that I was behind her, cutting off her own escape, but when she deemed she had stalled long enough, she turned to me and brought first her fist, then the hilt of her weapon, to strike me directly in my old injury. She met my eyes and smiled as she did, for she knew something that we—that I—did not. I awoke to a combat medic standing over me, and the news that a chase had occurred. I ran as fast as I could to the end of the tunnel; and Captain Piso was fighting against Black-Eye Sadbh as his men cut down her remaining warriors. I was able to strike Black-Eye Sadbh from behind her flank, still angry that I had previously allowed her to escape, and I struck true: she spat blood then she died.

Corporal Maxim and I reported to Captain Piso the final results of the attack, as a combat medic saw to his wounds; and I learned that Private Passienus had been buried similarly to myself in a small storage room to the top of the hideaway, and Corporal Maxim had put out the fires around her and left her with a potion before continuing past to the shrine of the Rat Clan, where he had killed all four of the clan shamans before they could make their escape. Corporal Tyrol had been bound to a post rigged to trigger a cave-in, and Second Lieutenant Vitan and her team had been trapped trying to release him. Some of the Rat Clan warriors had been killed, but many had escaped, as had all the noncombatants. All boxes in the storerooms that might have contained supplies were decoys, filled with dust.

Captain Piso said that killing the war-chief and shamans of the Rat Clan was like cutting off the head of a snake; that we had severely crippled all resistance that the Rat Clan might be able to put up in the future; that this was a major victory. It did not feel like one. Then we found a letter on Black-Eye Sadbh’s body. It was written in orcish, of a dialect Tairn did not know, but one thing was abundantly clear: there was an exact replication of the runes of the delayed explosives in the letter, the ones that Talvus and I had developed. We had done all of our research inside, under Divination wards; and the only ones who had seen those runes were myself, Talvus, Corporal Maxim, Second Lieutenant Tarquin, Lieutenant Sorus, and Captain Piso.

I could think of no means or motive of any of those listed above to have betrayed the Caedic forces; but worse, while the repeating pattern in the middle was fairly simple, the capping runes were complex and subtle. I could produce them exactly. Talvus and Lieutenant Sorus, who had manufactured the explosives, would also have been able to draw them in the detail that they were depicted. As for the others, I heavily suspected that they would not have been able to freehand the runes as such they had appeared, but would have needed to copy them down. At that point, it seemed more likely that the Highland orcs had the same idea of sending invisible runners as we had to copy the runes in the dead of night, than any of those officers might betray us.

In order to better understand the situation unfolding around us, the command at Cloudfall deigned to send the Traitor, a Bear Clan orc loyal to the Caedic forces who served as a linguist for them, to translate the letter. Captain Piso was about as happy with this decision as you were when Captain Galseii summoned us to fight in the battle of the guns, as the Highland rebels had been trying to kill the Traitor for years, and recent ambushes had been increasing in frequency and efficacy: there was little chance that the Heretic Raven and their allies would not attempt to kill the Traitor. Captain Piso ordered the 8th to begin march immediately, and split us into three groups: one to search for ambushes to the left of the road, the other to the right, and the final to reinforce the Caedic soldiers from Cloudfall who would be escorting the Traitor. I was assigned to the group to the right, led by Second Lieutenant Tarquin, as was Corporal Maxim. I suggested that we not leave the four delayed explosives sitting around in our empty camp, and Captain Piso agreed, distributing them to myself, Corporal Maxim, Talvus, and Second Lieutenant Tarquin.

We indeed found the expected ambush—in a thickly wooded area, with the slope leading up to the road, all in all a fairly terrible place to wait in ambush. The enemy forces appeared surprised at our presence, but the Heretic Raven, amongst them, let out a war cry to which they rallied, and the fighting began in earnest. I moved to kill the Heretic Raven’s Rat Clan shaman, but was diverted as Anye the Huntress dropped from a tree and brought her scythe down on my shoulder, shattering my collarbone. I exchanged blows back and forth with her until I noticed that the Heretic Raven had stepped forward to fill break in the rebel line, and was fighting Corporal Maxim. I moved forward to support Maxim, but my wounds were severe enough that I was knocked out of the fight. While I was unconscious, the Caedic soldiers successfully cut down the Wolf Clan orcs, and the majority of the Heretic Raven’s warriors fled. Yet the Heretic Raven and one more remained, and made towards the slope, just as the Traitor and two Caedic soldiers burst panicked through the trees from the road. Corporal Maxim rushed to the Traitor’s defense, and tackled the Heretic Raven to the ground. I awoke to a combat medic patching me back together, and to see the Heretic Raven break free from the convergence of Caedic soldiers, sprinting past everyone else into the woods.

I knew that in all the years that the Heretic Raven had been fighting, the Caedic Empire had never come so close to bringing them down. So I sprinted after them.

I was able to keep pace with the Heretic Raven, but it was several hundred feet, well out of sight of the rest of the unit, before they stumbled and I was able to make my move. I leapt forward but they sidestepped, pivoting on one leg to throw me over their hip.

What followed, I am not proud of.

“You made the wrong call, chasing me alone with those injuries,” they said.

“I was prepared to die for the Caedic Empire since the day I joined,” I said, and I cracked the delayed explosive. They recognized it instantly, and they kicked it from my hand.

“Then do,” they said, and their blade stabbed downwards.

I rolled out of the way, but not fast enough; the blade grazed my good shoulder, opening up a wound that, while it would not slow me, still bled heavily. I forced myself to my feet, and drew my blades, for the Heretic Raven was injured as well, and I had prevailed in fights with similar odds; and even if I were the fool, even if I were to die, I would not go down without making them pay for their victory.

The Heretic Raven met my eyes as I glared at them. Something unreadable passed across their face. Then faster than I could move, they brought their knee to my gut and as I doubled over, their elbow to the back of my head, and all went black.

I awoke to Second Lieutenant Vitan standing over me. The moment she determined I was in no immediate danger of dying, she hastened to return I assume to treat injuries amongst the rest of the 8th, leaving me alone on the ground.

I still do not know why the Heretic Raven did not simply kill me then and there, or what—if anything—they realized when they saw my face that gave them pause. Whatever it was, it did not hold them back in our subsequent encounters. I have very little doubt that they would come to regret it, considering that I would be directly involved in both their death, the death of two of their companions, and the downfall of the Wolf Clan. I owe my life to some passing fancy they were struck by, and I do not know what it was. I realize now, of course, that I was perhaps overzealous in chasing them, that such a risk would have only been worth it if I had been in slightly better fighting shape at the start instead of injured and barely clinging to consciousness, I had just—I had wanted to do something, to make up for my failures during the assault on the Rat Clan hideaway.

The Caedic forces had taken heavy losses during this ambush. While our company has killed Cú, the Heretic Raven’s warrior who had remained, and a number of Wolf Clan orcs, the group that had gone to the left had been ambushed by Wolf Clan forces waiting even further left and had taken many casualties, and those along the road had also been ambushed. Lieutenant Vindix, the leader of the 10th, had been killed, along with all remaining members of the 10th who had joined us. Talvus told me of another of the blindfolded Wolf Clan warrior; this one managed to take down eight Caedic soldiers alone, and retreated without taking a single blow. We had walked straight into a trap, one that Second Lieutenant Tarquin’s squadron alone was able to avoid.

The Traitor translated the letter, as was the ultimate goal of this whole endeavor. And it was far, far worse than we had imagined.

As suspected, the letter warned that Caedic forces would be attacking, and that we had developed a new weapon, a stick of wind and fire that would detonate when cracked. It warned that we planned to use the delayed explosives to collapse tunnels in on them in their sleep, but that if they captured our spies, we would fear to send more in the same fashion. They knew we were coming twice—first magically concealed from sight on the second night of the new moon. That was why they were waiting for us. They knew what tunnels our forces had knowledge of, and which ones they could escape from. The letter predicted, rightly, that Captain Piso would order to assault to be pushed up immediately to the morning after the scouts were captured. It described all of the notable warriors and their assignments in detail: Tyrol’s ability to transform partially into a snake, and the difficulties they would face holding him, that Captain Piso was quick and agile, Second Lieutenant Vitan could draw rivers of blood from foes just as easily as she could heal, that Talvus was skilled well beyond his years in magic and that they would know him by his unbuttoned coat, it spoke of the spells favored by Lieutenant Sorus, and the ambush planned by Second Lieutenant Tarquin over the tunnels to the west, so their best chance of escape was to head to the eastern side of the hideaway to exits which we did not know. Of myself, ‘the woman spy with the two blades will fight with great fierceness, enough to rival any Highland warrior: Strike her just right of the center of her chest and she will fall to an old injury,’ which was how Black-Eye Sadbh escaped past me through the tunnel.

They knew everything of any worth pertaining to the assault in nauseating detail. It was signed by The Wolf of Ears Eyes and Hands.

My collarbone had been shattered severely enough that it required surgery before any magical healing could be applied. It was not pleasant to lie still on the table while Second Lieutenant Vitan cut open my upper chest and shoulder to dig out the bits of bone, but I did not break. The pain was irrelevant, there was too much else on my mind; the only thing that mattered was discovering how the Wolf of Ears Eyes and Hands had stolen the information from us. I cannot emphasize enough how upset the fact that they had the runes of our delayed explosives made me: if Highland casters could make such delayed explosives themselves, Talvus and I in our brief tenure here would have handed the insurgent forces on a silver platter a weapon they could use to cause great devastation to supply trains or patrols with minimum danger to their own warriors. I did not know how I would live with myself, if my greatest contribution in the Highlands had been supplying enemies of the Empire with a tool that could expedite the deaths of many good Caedic soldiers. I asked Talvus whether or not he thought one might be able to recreate the delayed explosives with just the runes, if they were unfamiliar with Caedic casting, and he said he did not know. I did not sleep easy that night.

The next day, Talvus caught me in a private corner of camp. “Do you know how you look?” he demanded, and I knew that I was still bruised from the fight and healing from the surgery, but I did not think I looked so beat-up as to justify the intensity with which he spoke, and told him such. “No,” he said. “You do realize—if there’s a spy within our ranks, it’s you.”

His words sunk in even as he began to explain. “We’re the two outsiders. You were involved in all the planning, and you knew how to make the explosives. They’re—“ He gestured, scratching out a needle that exploded into white sparks that floated around us before fading. “I don’t like being watched. Captain Piso’s been having Sleepy” (Lieutenant Sorus, and for once this was not a flattering nickname that Talvus had bestowed upon a superior officer, but rather what Lieutenant Sorus was colloquially known as around camp) “keep tabs on us, but there’s no Divination magic around us now.”

The purpose of the sparks, I realized.

“There’s something else,” he said. “I’m pretty sure that Sleepy is higher-ranked in the clergy than he’s been letting on.” Which, in conjunction with the fact that Captain Piso was, well, a Captain, yet only in command of a single unit, was strange.

“Why are we even still here, if they think we are spies?” I asked.

“Probably because the ambushes were going on long before we got here, that’s the only thing we’ve got going for us,” Talvus said. “And we are being watched.”

Then an even more chilling thought struck me. “Could I be the spy?” I asked. “Could—could the Rat Clan or the Wolf Clan have put some sort of spell on me that allows them to see through my eyes? Hear through my ears?”

Talvus shook his head. “It would have shown up in my Divination detection,” he said, and he appeared confident, but I was not convinced, as the enemy clearly had some method of knowing our every move that was beyond our ability to detect, and perhaps there was a deeper magic, some sort of Highland spirit magic, at play. After all, at the center of the camp of the Unbroken was a sealed Raven shrine, from before the clan joined the Empire and was sent to the west as Raven Legion. As I was not particularly inclined to go marching around camp spouting far-fetched theories that contradicted the conclusions of our arcanists, when I was already suspected of treason, I deemed that the best thing I could do was to stay as much out of the way as I could, so that if they were seeing through my eyes, I would cause no more harm than I already had. I am aware now that this course of action was not spurred by logic, and I know this is no excuse, but I was—I was hurt, and exhausted, and shaken by how disastrously my plans for the assault on Rat Clan had fallen apart, unsure as to why I was alive, and frustrated over how perfectly the events of the past week had framed me for a treason I would never willingly commit.

There was another ambush by the Heretic Raven.

It was on a larger supply train, near Cloudfall, and while the Heretic Raven was long gone by the time the news reached us, Captain Piso saw it as his chance. There were three trackers in the unit and at his disposal—myself, Tyrol, and Second Lieutenant Tarquin—and working together, we might finally be able to find the Heretic Raven’s hideaway where any one of us could not, and gain the upper hand. The trail was not easy to follow; it doubled back on itself, went through streams, across rocks, and it took all of our skills combined to follow it to its end. The sun was setting over a gathering mist as we reached a hillside with a large opening, perhaps twenty feet wide, with a fairly shallow overhang. Within it there was a large pair of doors, carved from stone, worn down but the images of wolves and ravens evident upon it. The trail led through the doors, which appeared to have been opened recently, and Second Lieutenant Tarquin gathered us to return to Captain Piso with the news that we believed we had found the hideaway of the Heretic Raven.

We returned and reported, and Captain Piso ordered the entirety of the Unbroken to prepare to move out first thing the next morning; and I did not voice my concerns, that we still did not know how they were getting their information on us, we could be walking into just as much of a trap as we had—as I had—in the assault we had planned against the Rat Clan; but everyone except me had viewed the assault against Rat Clan as a rousing victory, and I was alone in my doubts. I was nothing, just a Private, and one under suspicion of treason at that, and no one wanted to lose the chance of ending the threat presented by the Heretic Raven for once and for all, so I did not speak.

We marched to what we assumed to be the hideaway of the Heretic Raven. There was no one guard posted outside the entrance of the cave. Captain Piso sent a few soldiers in advance to check the doors, and they opened inwards and were not locked. Beyond the doors was a long hallway with writing on the walls, iconography, carved stone ravens and wolves both. We came to a spiraled staircase that we could only climb one by one, and we did, carefully, but the antechamber above was empty. Here natural light shone in through windows cut from thin stone walls on one side of what must have been a hill we were beneath, and huge stone doors with intricate carvings barred our way further into what was now clear to be an old temple of the Wolf and Raven Clans. Captain Piso, Lieutenant Sorus, and Talvus began discussions on whether or not the six delayed explosives we had would get us through the stone doors. Our other option would be to send a team through a side passage, who would have to navigate a series of challenges devised to test the worthiness of Wolf and Raven Clan warriors in a coming-of-age ceremony. I was called over by Talvus to offer my opinion, as I had seen the delayed explosives detonate twice. I was utterly useless in this task, as I could not deduce the thickness of the doors nor had I seen the explosives act against stone, and I did not wish to give a false answer solely to appear more intelligent. Unable to offer anything else, I suggested that a team be sent through the smaller door, then if the team failed to prove themselves capable of the same feats as worthy Wolf-or-Raven Clan warriors, the explosives be used as a second resort.

Captain Piso agreed, and appointed Corporal Tyrol to lead the team for his knowledge of traps, Corporal Maxim for his cleverness and the strength of his shield, Talvus for his expertise and arcane mastery, and myself I suspect because I am small, fast, and good at climbing things, despite my status within the unit. He gave us explicit instructions to turn around if we encountered any dangers severe enough to threaten our lives. I was rather grateful that the composition of the group was one with a rather narrow definition of ‘severe enough to threaten our lives,’ thus we proceeded through the door and down a small, roughly stone-hewn corridor to face the challenges.

The first room was a corridor perhaps thirty feet long with tiled floor, the tiles about a foot square, with orcish writing in black and white on each of them. Corporal Tyrol carefully put pressure on one in the first row, and a spear shot out of a hole in the wall. Upon closer inspection, the walls were covered in these holes. As none of us spoke or read orcish, there was little hope of us solving the puzzle in a reasonable amount of time, so Corporal Tyrol took off running across the floor, dodging what traps he triggered. I ran after him, using as much as I could from his run to plot my own path. Corporal Maxim made use of the strength of his shield. Talvus cast a protecting spell on himself, closed his eyes, and ran as fast as he could straight down the center.

The second room contained a single ornate set of scales aligned against the back wall, which Talvus identified as having some sort of magic on them, and an inscription in orcish above them, which once more did us no good. There was a locked door beside the scales. Talvus noted that he had a delayed explosive on him, and suggested it as a way to get through the door and circumvent the puzzle entirely, but I cautioned against this plan, as if we failed the challenges, Captain Piso may have had need of all six explosives to get through the stone doors. After a moment’s inspection of the scales, Talvus said that he could remove the magic, but that there was a mechanical aspect to the contraption; so Corporal Maxim and I smashed through the wall behind and I fiddled with some of the gears there, grateful for my experience fixing the mill of Stonemill Keep as you had assigned me to for familiarizing me with such workings, and Corporal Tyrol and Corporal Maxim were able to pry open the door.

The third room consisted of a giant pit, with spiked stone at the bottom, perhaps forty feet across, thirty feet wide, and a little more than thirty feet to the bottom. I threw down a rock, but it triggered no traps. We had a single rope between all of us, just long enough to reach the floor of the pit, and started arguing as to whether or not we should simply climb down and up the sides, trusting the ability of one to stand and hold the rope each way, or if we should turn back and admit defeat. This argument was just starting to get heated when I asked Talvus whether or not he knew the needle for the feather-fall effect, and he said something along the lines of “huh, I do,” and cast it on all of us, and we jumped down safely.

We indeed triggered no traps and picked our way across the floor without difficulty, as the stone spikes were only particularly dangerous to anyone falling. On the other side, Corporal Maxim pointed out a handhold that he spotted—perhaps a remnant of the mechanism meant to solve this challenge instead of literally resorting to scaling the walls—but lo and behold, I had absolutely no trouble literally scaling the wall. Supporting Corporal Maxim’s weight on the rope was a bit more of a challenge, but after a failed attempt I asked Talvus if he might be able to make me heavier, that I could be a better counterbalance, and he summoned me an ape. This worked to get Corporal Maxim up. It did not work to get Talvus up, although the problem was not on our end, to phrase it generously. I asked Talvus if he would like to simply tie himself to the rope and have Dante and I haul him up, and he readily agreed to this offer; he was quite lucky that while this had been a joke, it had not been a bluff about the combined strength of Corporal Maxim and myself. Tyrol climbed the rope like a normal person.

We proceeded through the door at the end of the room and discovered that we had completed all of the challenges, we were officially worthy adult warriors or whatever that was supposed to be a test of for the Wolf and Raven clans, and more importantly, we could now open the barred stone doors from within. Before making our way into what was clear now to be a second antechamber, I requested that the others wait out of sight and Talvus turn me invisible first, lest the Heretic Raven had set anyone to watch the entrance of their hideaway. None stopped me as I lifted the thick stone bars from the doors. Captain Piso and the rest of the Unbroken filed into the room, then there was a final set of doors before what I assumed had to be the ancient temple proper. Talvus and Lieutenant Sorus checked the doors for magical traps and found none; then I volunteered to open the doors in case there was an ambush waiting on the other side, as I was still invisible.

No ambush awaited us, at least none that I could see, although the chamber was large, cavernous even, and the only lighting was what spilled through the doors from behind me. The darkness towards the edges and to where the ceiling tapered in the back could not have hidden any significant force, which I reported back to Captain Piso. “Then we move,” he said.

As the Unbroken filtered into the room, they brought torches, and light revealed what the darkness had hidden. There were large pillars in what was indeed the back of the cavern, perhaps twenty-five feet tall, with great statues of a wolf and a raven perched atop them. There were religious ornamentations upon the walls, some metal and silverwork instead of just stone. There was a figure sitting at the foot of the two pillars, and she turned and pushed to her feet with slow movements that bespoke a confidence: Anye the Huntress, the foster child of the Raven Clan raised within the Wolf Clan, and daughter of both, covered in warpaint across her face and her bared arms and holding the scythe which had caused me such injury.

The moment she saw us she charged us, screaming; and she targeted Captain Piso in particular. I sidestepped her charge and took a flanking position behind her as the one last advantage my invisibility could offer, then in the resulting melee I delivered first a blow to the base of her spine which brought her to her knees, her back sliced open to the point in which bone was showing, yet she did not let up in her assault on Captain Piso.

So I beheaded her, screaming, as she knelt before me. Then there was silence.

We turned back to the rest of the room to see if perhaps there were any more members of the Heretic Raven’s company that might have an opinion on what had just transpired, but we were alone in the room. I caught it first, a glint of light, a faint greenish blue that flickered to red, from the eyes of the statue of the Raven, then of the Wolf. Then there was a surge of light and motion, a torrent of glowing blue-gray from burst like a waterfall from each of the pillars and wove around one another before striking the ground. I had just enough time to realize that this was perhaps the most obvious trap we could have walked into, that there was almost certainly some sort of spirit-curse on this place against spilling Wolf or Raven Clan blood in the temple of the Wolf and the Raven, when the ancient spirit-curse on the temple of the Wolf and the Raven roared fully to life, a strong wind began to blow seemingly from nowhere, mist poured from the back wall, and a massive Wolf, seven feet to the shoulder composed of the mist and the glowing gray light, stepped forward, and a Raven of similar form, perhaps three times the size of a normal bird, landed next to it.

The Unbroken readied their blades as the mist steadily advanced across the room towards us, some holding their positions defensively, and some (Dante. Just Dante.) already leaping forward into a charge. I caught Talvus’s eye. “Let’s see if they burn,” I shouted. He understood immediately, and cracked one of the delayed explosives, and threw it deep into the mist. Heat and sound rolled over us as it detonated, and the mist was pushed back, and with it the Wolf, bits of smoke whipping from it as the force rolled over it. There was a growl, seemingly emanating from the entirety of the mist and echoing across the high-ceilinged chamber, and I buckled at the knees. Then the Raven took flight, and the mist pushed forward again, continuing to spread until it filled the room.

I ignored the manifestations of the Wolf and the Raven, and ran straight for the pillars across the temple. I tried to climb one, and got about halfway up before the stone was too smooth to continue. I shimmied down and shouted for Talvus, then the Raven cawed and the world went black. I could still feel the pillar behind me, and hear the clashing of weapons against stone and metal and the screams of Caedic soldiers echoing throughout the room, so I held my position and waited. In a few moments, I blinked and could suddenly see again, not that it did me much good: the entire room was so full of mist that I could not perceive anything more than six or seven feet ahead of me. Talvus must have heard my shouts, because he appeared, and I asked him to cast the same spell he had prepared for Salo and Corporal Laenas to scale the walls during the assault on Stonemill Keep. With the help of his magic, I was able to reach the top of the pillar easily, and found myself face to face with a stone carving of a raven. There were no gemstones in its eyes, as I had initially assumed when I had seen the gleam of light from across the room, but I nonetheless brought the hilt of my dagger down across it. The Raven-spirit screeched, and I could feel the wind of its wings across my back, the press of its mind into my own, then I could only think one thing, my body moving in obedience of its own accord: to fall.

I landed on my back and it knocked the wind out of me, but nothing seemed to be broken. I shouted for Talvus, because it was clear that the Raven did not want me to harm its effigy, and Talvus had delayed explosives on him that would do a bit more damage than the hilt of a dagger; but he did not appear from the mist. Captain Piso shouted for all of the Unbroken to retreat, but I could not give up, I scaled the pillar a second time and I smashed my dagger one more time into the crack, widening it. This time teeth materialized from the mist and latched around one of my ankles and I was pulled from the pillar, hurled once more to the ground. As it was evident that I would not be able to destroy the thing with my dagger alone before the spirits in the mist killed me, I retreated, joining the rest of the Unbroken in the second antechamber.

The mist was nowhere near as strong, and I caught sight of Captain Piso immediately. I rushed over to him, and begged him to give me a delayed explosive, to let me run back and destroy the pillars and end this. He told me not to make assumptions that would cause troops to die. I protested that none of his troops would be at risk, that only I need return, but with fury in his voice he snapped “Yes,” then pushed past me in clear dismissal.

I was—I had been right, we would later see the Raven’s eye was cracked just as I had cracked the stone, we were right there, we could have destroyed those statues, and then—it doesn’t matter, it didn’t matter, I would have never made it to the statues or even if I had it wouldn’t have helped what came next because if anything I did could have mattered we wouldn’t have been in the situation in the first place, but—but I had been right. I could have ended them. I can run fast and I’m good at climbing and that’s all we needed. I could have tried.

There were teeth within the mist, snapping at us as we retreated to the first antechamber, then I could see nothing at all as the Raven-spirit pushed once more into my mind. First I was suspended in a memory of you shouting at me for losing my head in a fight, then it shifted, and I was suspended in the moment of my—in the moment I received my injury, back at the foundry, except instead of blacking out as I did then, the pain stretched on as I stared at the blade sticking out of my torso, burning through my back and my lungs as did the knowledge that I had failed our mission, failed Arcadia—but it snapped me back to something closer to myself, as I knew you had trained me to be stronger than this, better than this, and with pain came clarity. I pushed through the pressure of the false despair to open my eyes once more. The mist was pouring closer to the second antechamber, and the line of soldiers to my left and right covering the retreat of the rest were doing little better than I had been moments prior. In a burst of both inspiration and strength, I leapt forward and pulled the massive stone doors closed. My injury flared from the exertion, and I blacked out.

When I came to perhaps a few seconds later, it was to shouts from the single spiral staircase that one by one the 8th had begun evacuating down: there were enemy troops lying in wait, cutting off our only exit. In the desperation, I forgot my rank, and shouted out of turn at Talvus to throw one of the delayed explosives down the stairwell, cutting off our enemies below, and another on the wall of sheet-thin stone, to give us a new method of escape—but I suppose protocol was not on Captain Piso’s mind as he helped the last of the soldiers clear the stairwell, then motioned at Talvus to do as I said. We gathered as far from the opposite wall as we could, set up another near the thinnest stone, and it detonated, but it was not quite enough to open a route of escape. Lieutenant Sorus did not hesitate, he cracked and threw another, and with that the entire wall blew out. The mist was starting to breach through the stone doors, so the moment that the smoke cleared to reveal a gaping hole into the ravine outside, the entire unit sprang forward, and ran out.

They descended on us like a jaguar from its perch onto its prey, they were waiting for us in the hills above, forty Wolf Clan orcs, perhaps more, and the Heretic Raven and their entire remaining crew of warriors. It all happened so fast, we were outnumbered, outflanked. I could barely see what befell the others, as I was cornered against one of the stony walls by two Wolf Clan orcs, both blindfolded. They slipped past my initial blows, dodging almost as if by accident, as their footing was uncertain from the charge down the hillside, then one buried their axe in my shoulder and the other swung past me, embedding his axe in a chunk of rock behind me; and when pulling it loose, slammed the rock into my other shoulder, opening a gash and jolting the bone that had been shattered mere days prior, nearly causing me to drop my weapon. I swung once more, but I could not for the life of me hit them, and despite employing the best defenses I knew, one after another after another their blows hit me.

The rest of the Unbroken were doing little better. It was chaos, but I caught what little was happening near me. Tyrol was frozen in place by magical means, trembling as the Heretic Raven’s Rat Clan shaman held a single hand to his chest, slowly rotting his very flesh. Lieutenant Sorus was sketching one needle after another into the air, but every time he would try to thread it, the Heretic Raven’s Salamander Clan mage would snap her fingers, and the needle would collapse. Second Lieutenant Vitan was being buried in vines by the Heretic Raven’s witch. And Talvus—the Heretic Raven’s Bear Clan orc, called just the Bear, as in his war-garb, there seemed to be very little difference—was holding him up, several feet off the ground, by his throat alone. He had ceased struggling.

It all—it all happened so fast. Corporal Maxim charged the Rat Clan shaman, who lost his concentration, freeing Tyrol. Tyrol threw a knife, which hit one of the blindfolded orcs, who let out a shout, then like a spell had been broken, all of my attacks were hitting. They both blindly swung, and blindly missed.

I didn’t pause to think, I didn’t—I tore through them, straight towards Talvus. I know that I—I threw myself at the Bear, I think that Tyrol was attacking him too somewhere in there, I don’t—I think I might have gotten hit, I remember blacking out for a few moments, I think that I was on the ground, I have the vaguest memory of a medic standing over me, or maybe I got back up on my own, I just know that I threw myself at the Bear again and this time caught him under the arm, ripping open and up through his side and forcing him to drop Talvus, I slipped under the blow that he returned, and as he turned to—Tyrol must have been there, because he turned to hit Tyrol, I cut once through his gut, another across the back of both of his legs, ripping tendons, dropping him to his knees, and a final slash across his throat, and he collapsed.

Talvus was breathing. He was still breathing. He had no wounds on his person, it had just been—he had only been choked, but he was still breathing. I reached into his pocket, the one on the left side, because he always keeps a healing potion on his person, and sure enough it was there. I hesitated for perhaps half a second—across the field, Second Lieutenant Tarquin was bleeding from a severe wound to the gut, cornered by three heavily armed Wolf Clan orcs, her bow snapped in two; Lieutenant Sorus was trapped in a cage of the Salamander Clan mage’s fire, burning alive; Captain Piso was holding off the spirits of the Wolf and the Raven alone behind us all, and he was bleeding heavily—to any one of them, it could have been the difference between life and death, or I could have taken the potion myself and re-entered the fight—but they were far from me, and to leave Talvus’s side would have been to risk his life, and all I could think of was not here, not today, I could not lose Talvus, not like this, no, no no.

I poured the potion into his mouth, and he coughed himself awake. The battle was practically over, Wolf Clan forces were mopping up the last of us. Lieutenant Sorus was still alive, although barely, Second Lieutenant Tarquin was still alive, Captain Piso was still alive, and Corporal Maxim, Corporal Tyrol, Corporal Doraius, and Second Lieutenant Vitan had rallied and were fighting still—but Talvus was—there was a weak point in the chaos, as even as Talvus indicated it to me, I was running forward, clearing the way as he kept close behind me. I caught sight of one or two other Caedic soldiers ahead of us fleeing as well, but they were cut down by Wolf Clan warriors waiting past the treeline. Still, we ran.

Perhaps twenty feet from the battle, and into the woods, Corporal Maxim, Corporal Tyrol, Corporal Doraius, and Second Lieutenant Vitan had begun their own retreat, and we attached ourselves to their party. We ran, we all ran, with no direction in mind but the single directive: to get as far from the battle as possible. To run was to survive. And even when we could run no longer we kept going, as fast as we could, we kept going until our wounds caught up with us and we were forced to stop in a clearing for breath.

I…I think I must have been babbling at that point, to Talvus, that we needed—we needed to keep moving, we needed to cover our tracks, we needed to go back to the camp of the Unbroken because Talvus had left his research there, and I know I said at least that part out loud because Talvus tapped his forehead, said his research was all in there, but it wasn’t enough because he had written notes that could have fallen into enemy hands, or if—if Captain Piso kept notes or orders from Cloudfall or just—I didn’t—I couldn’t think. I think I fell silent eventually, or maybe none of this had been happening out loud, but I know that—I’ll never forget how we all just sat there, speechless, staring blankly into space, as it all sunk in. We were the last of the Unbroken. We were all that was left.

Eventually, Second Lieutenant Vitan addressed the rest of us: “Alright. The Private’s right. We need to keep moving, cover our tracks. Right now, it doesn’t matter where we’re going, we need to get further away from here. They’re going to be looking for us.”

I…I spoke again, even though it was out of turn, that if we were looking for a place to spend the night, the two obvious places we would head to would be to Cloudfall, because it was safe, we could find shelter and food and medical supplies and other Caedic forces, or our own abandoned camp if only because we still had the food and medical supplies there as well as the Stag Clan war camp nearby, which means that those are the two places that they would search for us along the trails out so perhaps we’d want to head in some other direction.

We would travel over land, we’ll head for Cloudfall, Second Lieutenant Vitan said. That we needed to make a report as soon as possible, although for the moment, the most important thing was putting more distance between us and them.

In which I…I didn’t stop talking, I said I still thought that Cloudfall was a bad idea, that it was the logical place for Wolf Clan to go to cut us off, and even as Vitan said that there were too many routes through the woods, nowhere reliable that they could could cut us off as long as we kept away from the main roads, that it didn’t matter, we needed to start moving—I tried to say that we didn’t know how they’d been tracking us and it took her shouting “PRIVATE, SHUT UP” for me to finally….to finally just stop and do my job.

Tyrol and I looped back and covered the tracks leading up to the clearing where we’d been sitting, while everyone else gathered themselves; Corporal Maxim had been bleeding fairly severely to a wound to his foot, and it was bound so that he could both keep walking, and would travel without leaving a trail. Then we all set out, Tyrol in the lead and plotting the path as I obscured what evidence we left from behind.

Talvus lingered towards the back of the party, and after a minute of collecting his thoughts, spoke: that he did not understand, although he was down for most of the fight, how the enemy forces were able to bring down Lieutenant Sorus.

Their Salamander Clan mage was counterspelling him, I told Talvus, spell for spell, he would drawn the needle and she would snap her fingers and destroy it, which is—which should have been impossible, from what Talvus had taught me so far about arcane interactions, and I expressed such. Talvus confirmed that counterspelling was exactly as difficult as I had assumed it to be: either she would have to know exactly the needle that Lieutenant Sorus was casting as he was casting it to know where it was most vulnerable to disruption, or she could have been trying to employ more general counterspelling tactics, but against a caster of the caliber of Lieutenant Sorus they would have failed entirely.

And she was doing it from across the hill, I said.

And she doesn’t know Caedic casting, Talvus said.

We both paused in silence for a minute.

Then Talvus realized what we all should have realized days prior, as all the little details had been adding up: they had not been spying on us. They had not needed to, they had never needed to, they did not merely know our actions, but knew the decisions that we had not yet even known—in the assault on the Rat Clan hideaway, that Piso would move the attack to the next morning; in the ambush against the Traitor, that Piso would bring the 8th to flank on both sides of the road, and precisely where the Traitor would flee down the hill, that the Heretic Raven might lie properly in wait; and in the fight we had just fled from, that we would think to blow out the thinnest wall and escape through the hillside. There was prophecy at play, not divination; true foresight of the future, the sort of thing beyond mere spellcasting. An exception to the rule. Even the blindfolded warriors—everything went exactly their way, Talvus said, that if someone had perfect foreknowledge, if they could arrange the situation down to the second, down to every last blow, they could just run the chances. Adjust it to precisely the one they wanted, just put on the trajectory such that everything goes exactly their way.

I know that this all sounds so—far fetched, like the madness of desperation, but it—it made sense, so much sense, as Talvus and I went back and forth, listing the growing evidence, filling in bits and pieces and gaps that had frustrated us so much but this—this could actually explain what—what had befallen us. The only question that remained was how were we alive, how did we make it out when no one else did? The other Caedic soldiers, the ones that made it away from the battle, they were cut down by Wolf Clan orcs, waiting in the woods for precisely where they would run. And when Talvus didn’t speak immediately, I continued, that I had fought two of those blindfolded orcs before I got over to him, and it was impossible to hit them, and they kept—that one of them, their weapon, went past my head, embedded itself in rock, and then the rock hit me, how readily they should have taken me down. To strike and not be struck, kill and not be killed, yet I was still standing.

“What did stop it?” Talvus asked. “You were fighting them, you said—“

Tyrol’s knife, I told him, and Tyrol had been in a sticky situation of his own, the Rat shaman of the Heretic Raven’s group had him in magical hold until…until Dante rushed over. And then I realized, again too late. These attacks on the Highland Caedic units that have been going on for the last six or so months, the final one would usually wipe down the unit to the very last man.

It sounds like it’s happened a couple of times, Talvus said.

Except for the ambush on Dante’s unit, in which, they were wiped down to Dante, I said. That the first patrol, on the first day, Dante, Tyrol, and myself had gone out, the supply train had just changed routes and we found a dead Caedic guard and Tyrol and for Stag Clan backup and Dante and I held the Heretic Raven and their warriors off long enough but it was—

“If you hadn’t been there,” Talvus said.

“Not only would the supply train wouldn’t have arrived — but also when Piso split us up into three groups, it was just the group that I was in, which was the group that Dante was in, that surprised the waiting orcs, and Dante wasn’t in the translation of the letter from the Rat Clan. Every single one of the leaders of the groups, every single notable warrior was listed out, as well as what group they were going to be in and their positioning, but Dante wasn’t in that letter.”

“Dante, what… when that fight started, the ambush, just now, what happened? Where were you?” Talvus said, as Dante had started to lag behind towards us.

“I was behind everyone, I came out of the hideout and saw everyone in their various struggles,” the Corporal said.

“But there was nothing waiting for you,” Talvus pressed.

And then I realized the final thing, the first thing, that I had missed. “The augury. With Tyrol, remember? The liver was missing from the rabbit.”

“I thought that was just a fucked-up rabbit,” Dante said, true to his original observation.

“Or, there’s something about your future that makes it impossible to see,” I said.

“Why me?” Dante asked.

“I don’t know,” Talvus said, “and right now, I don’t know if it matters, but it means that we might have a chance to do something about this. We can’t go back to Cloudfall.”

“It doesn’t work when there are big enough groups of people,” I said, echoing Talvus’s logic. “You couldn’t have shielded an entire unit—“

“But if there’s just a few people—“ Talvus said.

I quickly did the math. “There were thirteen soldiers besides you in the ambush where we surprised the Heretic Raven,” I said. “That has to be it, this has to be some kind of actual prophecy, and Dante can protect the people around him as long as it’s a small enough group of people.”

“Then why didn’t I protect my unit? The 22nd?” Dante asked.

I decided to excuse him for not keeping up, as Talvus and I had been speaking very fast, and over one another in our excitement. “Too many people,” we said simultaneously.

“Just like the ambush on the Unbroken,” Talvus finished.

“So why did you survive?” Dante asked.

“It would have been just you, except that then you interfered, with all of their perfect plans,” Talvus said.

“You helped Tyrol,” I said. “Who helped me, and it started a domino effect, because the things that are disrupted can disrupt further things. The effect has to stop somewhere and somewhen, or else we all would have been safe—but the people directly around you are shielded by it. Which means that even if we make it back safely to Cloudfall, they’d be able to see us there.”

“We have an opportunity here,” Talvus said. “We need to take it while they’re still dark, before they—it’s only a matter of time before they come to understand all this as well.”

“The Heretic Raven was there for both of the times Dante messed up their plans,” I pointed out. “The second one, the ambush against the Traitor, Dante grappled with them for nearly a minute before they got away, they certainly know his face.”

“They’re starting to figure it out then,” Talvus said.

“They would be stupid not to,” I said.

At this point, Second Lieutenant Vitan stopped walking, although she did not turn towards us. “Prophet, huh,” she said.

“Sounds like it might be,” Talvus said.

“Corporal Maxim, do you have any idea why they might not be able to see you? Anything that might have happened, anything that has—anything about your existence that might render you hidden?” she asked.

“I’m just a soldier in the Highlands, there’s nothing special about me,” Dante said.  

“Then we use the tool that we have,” the Second Lieutenant said. “Sergeant Zhale, I agree with you. We go back to Cloudfall, we may be giving up the small advantage that we’ve managed to gain for ourselves out of this disaster. We need to regroup, by ourselves, find a place to stay, and figure out what we’re going to do next. The worst case scenario is that they find us, they figure out what is going on, that they can locate us using conventional methods before we can take advantage of the situation. That means, Private, I agree with your earlier assessment, we need to prioritize keeping away from locations where they might be looking for us.”

The Rat Clan hideaway, I suggested. It was empty, there were beds there, it was defensible, and there were traps that we had disabled that we could set up again to make it safer.

Easy to stay hidden on the approach, too, Second Lieutenant Vitan said, and so we changed our course.  

It was less than an hour’s hike to the abandoned Rat Clan hideaway. Tyrol and I continued to cover our tracks most carefully, and prayed that would be enough. We found a room that was defensible. We set up what we could for a funeral. Stones, marking what would be graves for all who fell. Fires lit over tapers. Second Lieutenant Vitan spoke the prayer, then we cleaned it up, moved the stones back to where they were, so that no one would know we were there. We set a watch schedule. Second Lieutenant Vitan and Corporal Doraius healed what they could of the more critical wounds, then we went to sleep.

I dreamed. I only report it here because the ending was noteworthy. It was a familiar scene. From when I was fourteen, in the weeks after—after Peia. I was holed up in my room, it was late, but—but neither my parents nor my grandmother were worried about keeping their voices lowered, so I could overhear it all. The shouting that had become so much of a staple in my house, my grandmother that I should be sent to the army, and my parents that I wasn’t old enough. Except then—mist began to pour under my door, interrupting the memory, and I was woken for my watch just before it overtook me.

There was nothing of note in the hours I stood watch, and I fell into a dreamless sleep afterwards, then a little before dawn, Corporal Tyrol shook us awake: for he had seen a scout of the Wolf Clan nearby, and though they had not approached the hill directly, it was clear that we were no longer safe here. We arranged the room such that no trace of us remained, then we set out.

A low mist hung in the air as we made our way away from the Rat Clan hideaway and through the woods, once more moving just to be moving; and while the mist itself was not abnormal, as the climate in the Highlands lent itself to morning fog, the sun did not burn it away. There was a strange whistling of the wind, then solid smoke jaws manifested in thin air and clamped down on Dante’s arm, as the Wolf-spirit and Raven-spirit had found us, and the fighting began in full. I shouted to Talvus that he might try to dispel the mist with wind, but it was too heavy, so we resorted to hitting them with swords until they went away. Towards the very end, the Raven-spirit once more entered my mind and moved my arms and my body, took from my pouch one of the two remaining delayed explosives that Talvus had trusted me with, and forced me to detonate it. Dante rushed over and kicked it from me before it could injure any of us, but the explosion was large enough to undoubtedly attract attention. We rallied together and finished off the Wolf and Raven spirits both, and the mist dissipated—at least temporarily. We were not so foolish to think that it would be so easy to break a blood-vengeance curse.

We started moving immediately; between the explosion and the howling of the Wolf, any scouts nearby would be alerted of our position. But the fight had given me hope: for across the Raven’s eye had been a large crack, the precise crack I had made in the stone of the statue, which indicated that there was a way to strike them at their core. I relayed this to the others, even as it was evident that it would be sure death to return to the original temple, as they were at their greatest power there. Corporal Doraius spoke, for he had studied Highland spirits, that they were all one, so that any effigy powerful enough of a Wolf and a Raven would do to destroy. We would need to locate alternative effigies; and we knew, at the very least, where we might find our first one.

It took us but an hour to get back to the camp of the Unbroken. We entered it somberly, as it was silent, untouched, everything precisely where it had been left the day prior by those who would never return. As the camp was situated in an abandoned Raven Clan village, there was a small building in the center, their shrine, which had remained sealed for the duration that the Unbroken had occupied the area. Talvus had one delayed explosive left; there was a brief discussion as to whether or not the speed of using such a device was worth the potential attention an explosion would draw, if Wolf Clan warriors were combing the woods nearby searching for us. As we had little other in alternatives for getting the door open, we placed the explosive at its foot, and piled rubble from the blown-out back of the medical building atop it to muffle the sound and flash, then Talvus triggered the explosive remotely. It worked as planned: the explosion was neither loud nor bright, yet the door was blasted open.

The building was fifteen, perhaps twenty feet across, and it was octagonal. The walls were decorated with small woodcarven objects, and there was a light breeze whirling throughout the room. There was a chain hanging down from the ceiling connected to what seemed fairly obviously to be a trap door, and Tyrol but walked to it and grabbed it before he started shaking and spasming, fell to the ground screaming, and scurried to the corner, pupils dilated and knife out. Talvus examined the chain without touching it and determined that there was a curse or spell of sorts, and that the more people who grabbed the chain at once, the more the load would be distributed and more likely all would be to resist it. Knowing that we could not risk Dante, the other four of us grabbed the chain and pulled together, and were able to successfully open the trapdoor and pull down the rope ladder without being effected so. We left Tyrol cowering in the corner, and we climbed.

The next chamber once more octagonal, but larger than the first, though it should not have been, as the building had tapered from outside. There was a heavy wind whirling throughout it, another hatch in the ceiling, six rectangular holes surrounding the hatch, and six stone ravens precisely the size necessary to be placed in the holes. Putting two and two together, we moved to place the statuettes in the holes above. Some provided more trouble than others: one started flying, although Corporal Maxim quickly stopped it from flying by throwing an axe at it. Corporal Doraius picked up what turned out to be an unnaturally heavy one. I spent a while chasing around one which had turned invisible, tossing sand in the wind until I could catch hints of where it was. Talvus worked steadily on one that had fallen to pieces on the ground, fitting the bits together as a puzzle. Second Lieutenant Vital held one up unflinchingly, even as her hand turned to stone. We finally had five of the six in the ceiling, despite a few mishaps along the way, but the sixth would invoke the one who picked it up to attack their nearest companion, as Corporal Doraius had discovered at the hands of Corporal Maxim the hard way. So I placed all of my weapons on the other side of the room, picked it up, and ignoring the telltale push into my brain as it had nothing to latch onto, placed it in the final slot.

The third room was the largest, it must have been twenty-five feet across, impossibly sized for the building we were in, and the wind here roared in nearly a cyclone. Small ritual objects had been lifted from their shelves in the windstorm, dangerous at the speed with which they could pelt us. There was a detailed carving in wood, perhaps two feet high, against one wall, and we knew that this was the effigy we sought. It was confirmed as the Raven-spirit screeched and dug into our minds; I saw blood trailing from Dante’s ears, and reached to feel a similar wetness along my own. Dante and I fought against the wind to make it to the statue. Corporal Doraius had instructed us precisely what to do: first, the effigy would need to be anointed with the blood of three Caedists, then cut with eleven strokes from ritual knives, and finally destroyed in a cleansing fire. Dante managed to get his blood on the effigy, then I mine; Talvus was pushed up against another wall, unable to make his way through the wind; as Second Lieutenant Vitan entered the room, the Raven-spirit manifested and swooped at her, cutting into her face, but she pushed past it, reached the wooden statue, and wiped one hand across her forehead then smeared it on the thing, completing the first step. We began to cut at it with ritual knives, and the manifestation of the Raven, seeing as it was not foiling our efforts, dove into the statue, and at once, the thing began to move. Talvus, having finally made his way across the room despite the wind, was standing nearest to it with his ritual knife; it mauled his back as it took off and began flying. I took the knife from Talvus and through the combined efforts of Dante and myself, we began to strike the thing, over and over, until Dante delivered the final blow and Talvus immediately shot a fire-spell from across the room saying, “alright, we’re doing this the fast way,” and as promised, the thing exploded into chunks of charcoal. The wind vanished instantly, the ritual objects that had been flying through the air clattered to the ground, and there was ringing silence.

The Raven was gone.

When we came down, Corporal Tyrol had recovered. We knew we had to leave quickly, as the original explosion, despite its muffling, had made noise. Upon my suggestion,  as it would already be clear that we had entered this camp from the lack of door on the Raven’s temple, we grabbed water, and rations, for we had not eaten since the morning of the day prior, and bandaged the worst of the injuries we had sustained with supplies from the medical building. We ate as we walked. Second Lieutenant Vitan knew of an abandoned Wolf Clan settlement, one of their initial homes before the Caedic Empire began expanding into the Highlands, and directed us, as we had no other places to start, that we begin to march towards it. We checked carefully upon entering the village for scouts, and found none, a sign that the Wolf Clan had not yet caught wind of what we were doing; a sign that we might still have a chance. There was a shrine in the center which appeared small enough that the Wolf’s manifestation inside might not kill us immediately, but large enough to contain an effigy suited to our purposes. We paused a moment as we realized that we did not have any more delayed explosives for the door; then Second Lieutenant Vitan simply wrenched them open, discovering that they were not locked. The shrine was one story, squat, and square. Inside, small carved objects lined the walls once more, and in the center, there was an intricately carved wolf’s mouth with sharp teeth and hinges and joints upon the thing, placed directly over a trap door. Having learned from our previous attempt in the Raven’s shrine, Talvus checked it for magic, and found none: this test was entirely physical in nature. I attempted to jam the mechanisms while Corporal Doraius reached into its mouth to pull the handle, and yet he could not budge it against the locked gears. I determined that the contraption would open only if the jaws were allowed to snap closed; so we tied a rope to the handle, and pulled upwards, sparing any of our party from being forced to sacrifice a hand that we might go forwards.

The second chamber I assumed was larger, although we could not quite make out the walls in the slowly drifting mist. In the center, there was another rectangular hatch, this one with four large levers built into its base, each perhaps two feet tall and with large metal rings looped through the top. We explored the room and quickly found the walls: at the center were large hooks attached to a chain that disappeared into the base of platforms atop which were life-sized stone statues of wolves. Considering the prior challenges we had faced, and the fact that we were not fighting the stone wolves right then, I hypothesized aloud that the statues would come alive and attack us when the levers were pulled, and the entrance to the next chamber would only open when all four were down. Second Lieutenant Vitan agreed, and asked Corporal Doraius to stand guard by the furthest statue while Corporal Maxim and I together hauled the hook next to it. It took us significant effort to drag the hook across the room, and the moment we attached it to the lever, the lever was pulled down by the pressure, and the stone wolf indeed came to life. Talvus and Second Lieutenant Vitan attempted to pull one of the other chains, and it became evident that they did not have the strength to do so, so Corporal Maxim and I took care of the remaining three chains together as fast as we could rather than waste time engaging with the wolves, while the others protected themselves. As soon as the fourth lever was pulled, the wolves froze, and the trapdoor opened, and so we descended.

The third chamber was filled with a mist so thick we could not see but a few inches from our faces. The floor was dirt, and there was a howl that echoed through the air almost as if we were outside. I suggested that we split into three groups, walk until we hit a wall, and proceed to all walk sunwise, that we might methodically search our surroundings. As the attacks of the Wolf so far had been physically skewed, we broke such that one heavy warrior was in each of the three teams: Corporal Doraius with Talvus, Corporal Maxim with Corporal Tyrol, and myself with Second Lieutenant Vitan, with the three ritual daggers distributed evenly amongst us. Then we all set out in our separate directions to search the room. Second Lieutenant Vitan and I reached a wall after perhaps thirty feet, and even as we began to walk along it, we heard a resounding howl and a shout. We circled faster, and soon enough, we came across Corporal Maxim and Corporal Tyrol, fighting a manifestation of the Wolf, and behind them was a statue of a wolf carved out of bones that had been bound together, and on it already stains of both Corporal Maxim’s and Corporal Tyrol’s blood. I ran forward, dagger in hand, to add my own blood to the mix. We began to cut the thing as quickly as we could, even as Corporal Maxim stood strong to hold off the Wolf, but it did not leap into the statue, and as we were not forced to chase a moving target, we were able to swiftly finish delivering the final blows. Yet Talvus and Corporal Doraius did not appear from the mist, leaving us no sorcerous manner to set the thing on fire. Corporal Tyrol was trying to get at it with flint and steel, but it would not light; I suggested he pull out his rope, wrap it around the base, and see if he could get that to catch. The manifestation of the Wolf had pinned Corporal Maxim to the ground, and Second Lieutenant Vitan was trying desperately to get it off one him; I threw myself into the fight, protecting Corporal Tyrol’s actions, and the Wolf bit deeply into my leg for my trouble. It roared and we all fell prone to the ground, but I forced myself up once more, as Corporal Tyrol had not get gotten the thing to catch.

We fought, and we fought, and we fought, Second Lieutenant Vitan barely keeping us all standing, until there was the light of fire from behind us. I turned, and the effigy was burning, then the Wolf lunged at the Second Lieutenant and brought her to the ground and I could wait no longer, I swung both my blades into the bone and it splintered beneath my blow, a great howl echoed across the expanse and dozens of jaws and teeth erupted out of the mist at all of us, and then it all abruptly disappeared. We were in a small underground chamber, and Corporal Doraius and Talvus were wandering, confused, at the other end of it. They quickly hurried over, Corporal Doraius to offer us all his healing abilities, as the fight with the Wolf had gone long and bloody. I am not sure how we all remained standing at that point, just that desperation had long since sharpened the pain into something that could keep me on my feet.

We climbed back to the ground floor, and Dante and I immediately caught sight of movement before we exited the temple. There was an orc, in Wolf Clan shaman garb, walking across the village with scrolls in his arms, who appeared the be alone. We had not yet been seen. We quietly pointed him out to Second Lieutenant Vitan, and she told us “Take him, keep him alive.” We needed no more direction to spring into action, and we moved, two as one: I swept out the orc’s legs with one of my blades, Dante slammed the flat of his axe’s blade across his face, I brought the hilt of my other scimitar up to break his nose, and Dante slammed him with his shield directly in the face, undoubtedly breaking his cheekbone and knocking him from his knees to the ground, unconscious. Second Lieutenant Vitan stalked forward, radiating a combination of fury and satisfaction. Dante and I moved to each shoulder of the fallen shaman, pinning him, as Second Lieutenant Vitan took Corporal Doraius’s waterskin and splashed its contents across his face, forcing him back into consciousness. The Second Lieutenant grinned. “I have something I would like to try, that I’ve been working on,” she said. And then brought both hands down, glowing with a dark red energy, one to his forehead and another over his heart, and they began to sink within the skin, the energy gathering and shifting and shapes began to flicker in the red mist that had formed above where she had reached into him, shapes that Second Lieutenant Vitan’s eyes followed even as ours could not. Then she released both of her hands, pulled her ritual knife, and sunk it straight into his heart, and he sputtered and died.

She turned and stood, facing the woods. “We have them. This way. The current Wolf Clan camp,” she said.

“Do we want to get Stag Clan backup? Or Caedic backup?” I asked. After all, we knew Dante could shield up to thirteen besides himself, and there were only five of us.

“No, too big of a group,” Second Lieutenant Vitan said. “We press our advantage. We’re ending this.”

We began to walk, swiftly, quietly, and I was grateful for it, grateful that we were not going to seek help, because I was clinging to the last dregs of my own energy, and I needed to move to stay on my feet. Talvus moved next to me. “She—she ripped his bloodline out of his blood and looked at it,” he said. “She found his next of kin.” He looked equal parts impressed and terrified.

Another game-changer for the war in the Highlands, if we were to survive.

We kept walking.

The location that Second Lieutenant Vitan had discerned was not terribly far away, and we reached it close to when the sun was falling, the deep orange illuminating everything and the shadows cast long. There was a wooded ridge looking down upon it, and we remained hidden within the treeline, looking down. It was clearly a nomadic camp, consisting mostly of tents, although there were some other constructed temporary structures. The most notable of these structures was a sod building, with a pair of orcs standing guard outside its doors. There were three other orcs visible sitting around a campfire on the other end of the camp, although undoubtedly more within. Considering that we had but one chance, and this building seemed most likely to hold what we sought, we moved with speed and with silence: Corporal Tyrol and myself approached the two guards from behind, and killed them before they could make noise. We dragged their bodies from sight, and entered the building.

The first room appeared to be some sort of antechamber, or perhaps a waiting room, with a small hallway and door that opened on the other side. We had gotten but a foot into the room when the door opposite to us opened, and for a moment I caught sight of greens and browns and perhaps what looked like a person sitting inside, before the Heretic Raven stepped out, looking just as surprised as we were to suddenly run into them, before their face schooled into a deadly determination. They kicked the door closed behind them even as I was leaping into action, desperately trying to get to them before they could make a noise, but they let forth a great whooping battle cry that must have rang like an alarm through the entire camp, dropped the cloth covering their double-ended sword, and planted their feet. When they spoke, they spoke in Caedic,

“I won’t let you through.”

“Then die,” I spat back at them. Corporal Doraius, Corporal Tyrol, Second Lieutenant Vitan, and Talvus took to the door to hold off what would now be the entire camp of Wolf Clan warriors, and Dante and I stepped forward to face the Heretic Raven for the last time.

I drew first blood, drawing my blade down their left arm, through the remnant stolen Caedic sleeve that they still wore in spite. Dante followed quickly behind me with his axe. The Heretic Raven swung at both of us, but we held our ground. There were two of us, one of them, we could win this fight if we fought carefully, smartly. And then their footwork changed, their grip on their blade changed, they threw their arms open and snarled, “Come and get me,” leaving themselves fully undefended as they launched the most ferocious offense I have ever witnessed.

I slipped behind them, opening huge cuts across their front and their back as I secured myself in a flanking position, but took a deep cut into my side from their suicidal counterattack. Dante slammed into them with his shield and must have broken one of their ribs from the force of the blow, following it by driving his axe into their gut, and took a sharp strike as well for his trouble. It was clear at this point that the Heretic Raven was not fighting to win, they were fighting to take us down with them by any means necessary.

From behind us, Talvus wove something into the air, and pushed power through the needle and into our weapons. Never once did our concentration falter, as the stakes of what we were fighting for was ever apparent: those behind us would only be able to hold off Wolf Clan for so long, and if we could not prevail and kill the Wolf of Ears Eyes and Hands before they fell, all would be lost. I launched myself forward into an attack, and one of ends of their blade caught me in the side, cutting through deeply. Dante swung down with his axe, cutting their off-arm through clearly at the elbow, but they were already driving the other end of their blade through the center of his torso, impaling him, and ripping it out. Blood and viscera began to spill from the wound, and I alone remained standing even as I screamed, whipped one scimitar across their upper torso, and drove the other straight through their heart.

I kicked them to the ground as I drew my sword from their chest, and they laid there, in a pool of their own blood.

Thus fell Thrang, deserter of Raven Legion, traitor to the Empire and bane of the Highlands. They fought relentlessly and furiously to the very end; never once did they hesitate, never once did the fear of death enter their eyes. I feel a great respect for them, for that; that I do not feel shame of. They fought as I would have fought, they died as I would have died, had our places been reversed. Their blood has been spilled for glory of Empire, and so they are gone.

I shouted for healing, and Corporal Doraius ran towards us, pressing his hands against Dante’s wound even as exhausted as he was, and warned us that he may not be able to cast again. Still, Dante began to stir, then he stood. We had both survived. “Let’s see if we can end this,” I said.  

Talvus, Dante and I pushed through the door and into the next room. It was furnished like a bedroom, a small cot, a table, cloth in dark greens and browns. There was velum scattered across the table and pinned to the wall above it, and drawings in charcoal, and a woman-orc sitting calmly, facing us. She was young, or at least she wasn’t old, in her thirties, perhaps her early forties. She crossed her arms and stood as she looked at us, and her eyes focused in on Dante first.

“You,” she said. “You’re the hole, the piece that is missing. I—I see now, you are the one who will bring it down on us, the servant of the servant, born from death, born from death!”

Then she looked at myself and Talvus, and her expression shifted from disgust to pity to horror.

“Y—you,” she said. “What is this future that…you—you want it? You seek it? What kind of—no, no, get away!”

She pulled out a small knife. I pulled forth my scimitars and leapt forward. “Get away, anyone but you,” she said, her last words as I drew both blades across her throat and blood rained down, soaking through the entire top of her shirt. The knife slipped from her hand, and she collapsed to the floor.

I turned to Talvus, and I told him to grab the papers on the walls and on her desk. If we survived this, they could be useful to the Caedic forces, so I believed. Then I returned through the door to support the others, and fight to the death if we so needed to, for at least our mission had been accomplished and the prophetess was dead. I was met with the sight: Second Lieutenant Vitan, knife in hand, fell upon a Wolf Clan orc, and stabbed them over, and over, and over, blood splattering against her face. Corporal Doraius was frantically bandaging Corporal Tyrol in a corner. And then there were just—eight corpses of Wolf Clan warriors on the ground, and none standing.

“Is it done?” Second Lieutenant Vitan asked.

“Whatever prophet they had, we killed her,” I told her. “Talvus is gathering all the pages with writing on them now.”

She nodded. “Then it’s done. Let’s get back to Cloudfall, and report what happened.”

I saluted and then I passed out face first on the ground.

I came to not much longer afterwards, as Corporal Doraius was still bandaging Tyrol on the ground, and I pushed myself up, despite what strain fighting had placed on my injury that I had not realized, or the new injuries that still bled. It was not an easy march back to Cloudfall, not when Tyrol could barely walk. We arrived well past when the sun had set. Second Lieutenant Vitan gave her report immediately. Talvus, Dante, and I gave a short report of finding the orc prophetess and killing her. We received medical attention from the infirmary at Cloudfall. And then it was over, we were given cots, and told to try to sleep.

There are many thoughts—too many thoughts—that tear through my mind. What the prophetess said, what she saw—Talvus and I had the chance to glance over the papers what we gathered before we handed them in at Cloudfall. There were many to be expected—of blindfolded orcs; of the large wooden cover of the door and trap that I walked into in the Rat Clan hideaway; the runes of the delayed explosive; the animals attacking the camp of the Unbroken; and of the Traitor fleeing down the hill from the road directly into the ambush. Some that I didn’t understand: a woman with a tattoo on her jaw; a severed finger and three severed ears, two human and one elf, on a string; a head that looked like a circle had been cut clean through and around it, then stitched back together; a strange symbol almost like an eye, but abstractified; cockroaches crawling everywhere, one top of one another, in a great pile; someone in full armor with flames emanating from behind them; three hearts woven together in the veins above, dripping blood. There was one of—it looked like a map of the Caedic Empire, but as if a good portion of Serae was swallowed by the sea. Then there was—another symbol, this one like a triangle, but it curled inwards, or perhaps outwards. It was in four of the charcoal drawings total, some of them—darker, like the implement was driven into the paper, one in shadow and smudged such that it almost looked like a great serpent rising from the mist. I have attached a sketch of the original symbol, and it—I had seen it a single place before in her drawings. After the death of Black-Eye Sadbh, Captain Piso had taken a fairly severe cut to his back, and was being seen to by a medic, and I noticed upon his left shoulder what was…not a tattoo, but certainly not a scar or a brand, of precisely the same symbol, such that its outermost edge and point was directed towards his spine. I don’t know what it means, I don’t—I don’t know who to ask. I do not wish to disrespect one who lived and died in service of the Empire as Captain Piso did. We handed the papers over with no comment on any of this.

There is more. More that I almost fear to write. Four drawings in particular that were amongst those that we collected. One was of a cup, of carefully burnished gold with mosaic-like patterns carved into it, filled nearly to the brim with—with what I knew was supposed to be blood, bright and glowing; and two of a man, the same man, with sharp but wide features, dark hair, and burning golden eyes—the only color in any of the drawings was the gold of his eyes. I had seen both the chalice and the man before, in a dream, months ago. I did not—I do not believe that these drawings need be specific to me, it was—the dream was a strange one, one that I had when I was very near death, and I am not sure if it was meant for me to see at all. The final picture was unmistakable, though. An explosion, a column of fire through the sharp shadows of the trees cast, the last and only thing I had caught sight of between being struck down at the foundry, as I was being dragged off by the Surrian guards, before I fell fully unconscious. Arcadia was already unconscious at the time, and the four Surrian guards are dead, I am the only one left alive who could have seen that sight, and perhaps the only one who saw it in the first place, as its perspective matched exactly that of my memories. That vision was mine, and mine alone, yet it was pinned to the prophetess’s wall with all the rest.

I do not know that these images mean, or why, amongst all the things the prophetess could have seen and drawn, there were four that would pertain directly to me. I can only feel, considering both the pictures and her reaction to me when we faced her, that if she had known who I was, that I had been in the Highlands from the beginning, this—this is one more reason that I should have been dead. I have not spoken to anyone of any of this, for I have a—a feeling, one that I cannot shake. I do not know what I fear, only that I fear it. I do not want to—I do not know what series of events speaking of the dreams or images might bring, or if it might trigger such a thing at all, but there are forces well beyond my present comprehension at play here and I hesitate to make a move in a game in which I understand neither the rules nor the consequences. I—I sound as if I have gone mad, I know I sound as if I have gone mad, but we have spent the last week and a half fighting against an enemy who knew our every move before we made it, before we even thought it, and I cannot stop looking over my shoulder, I cannot—I cannot convince myself it is over. I cannot—I cannot sleep, I keep seeing mist, and the faces of the Unbroken, of Anye’s head hitting the ground before I called down the curse on all of us, of Talvus hanging in the air, choking, of—of the bodies lying lifeless on the ground as we just ran. The Wolf of Ears Eyes and Hands is dead, the Heretic Raven is dead, the spirits are gone, Rat Clan and Wolf Clan are scattered and still I cannot sleep.

The question of what the orc prophetess said also plagues me, although to a lesser degree than the drawings on her walls. I worry for Dante, ‘the one who will bring it down upon us’; perhaps she spoke of the destruction of the Wolf Clan and Caedic victory in the Highlands, but what would that have to do with ‘servant of the servant, born from Death’? And when she faced myself and Talvus, what did she see that disgusted her so thoroughly? We want what future, that we seek it out? I know that there are—there are plans that Talvus and I have discussed, weapons that could be designed both arcane and otherwise that I will not document here, ones that take advantage of inherent Caedic strengths and could be used against all of our enemies, but they are simply thought experiments, nothing has come of them as yet. I do not know if she spoke of one of these—perhaps one going right, and raining wretchedness and destruction to enemies of the Empire, or perhaps one going wrong, backfiring on us, and bringing down the rest of the world with us. I do not know whether Talvus and I should stop pursuing these avenues of thought—why would you seek it—or if to allow ourselves to be struck with fear and hesitance would be the last great act of resistance that the prophetess could cripple the Empire with. Or maybe she wasn’t speaking of that which Talvus and I have been developing at all, maybe there is something else that we will encounter, some new idea that will take root in our heads and I know that I’m thinking circles around myself but I cannot stop the torrent, what if this means that—could it have been related to the drawings, the symbol, the man with the golden eyes and the foundry, or it—what if what we’ll do, what we’ll seek, is heresy?  

I have—more unanswered questions, concrete ones, ones that might actually have answers. Directly after I gave him our papers, as I have written, Captain Piso recognized my name. That he would so immediately associate Strell with the Tandus heresy, I—I wondered at first if it was a bigger incident than I had known when I had left for the front, but I now am not so sure. Salo had a conversation with me shortly before the assault on Stonemill Keep that indicated that he only learned of my involvement after he submitted and requested reports about the ghoul and the sickness during our two weeks with the 33rd. Perhaps as Altae is closer to the Capital, Captain Piso was more informed of the day-to-day news, but he said he had little access to that when he was asking me for anything that I knew of the heresy. And he did not seem to care about my connection to it; the moment that he learned that I knew nothing of Scaevola, he dismissed me. He never brought it up again, nor did he treat me unfavorably for it; in fact, he allowed me to take point in planning the assault on the Rat Clan hideaway, and he both watched and advised Dante and myself sparring, and demonstrated practically what he meant against us, just as you might have.

I’m not sure what it could mean, that he was interested in Scaevola Tandus. There were rumors amongst the troops that the reason why he led only a single unit as a Captain was because he had been adjacent to some heresy scandal himself, but I find that so difficult to believe, they were just rumors passed around by bored soldiers and they speak so contrary to everything that I saw and that I knew of the Captain. Corporal Doraius said that Captain Piso remained a unit commander because he refused transfer, even after his promotion. I worry that somehow—combined with Talvus’s suspicions about Lieutenant Sorus being of far greater rank in the Church and far more powerful than would be expected for a unit’s arcanist—perhaps there was something important in this area in particular that required close attention. I cannot help but wonder if it had anything to do with the mark on his back, or if the mark is connected to any of the other drawings of the prophetess, or the dreams. Or if the knowledge of what was of such utmost importance that he stay there be lost with his death.      

Second Lieutenant Vitan put in a recommendation for both myself and Corporal Maxim to receive promotion at the end of all of it. I feel as if of all those who survived, I am the one who deserves it the least, because she—she saw the moments when I was of use, perhaps, the observations I was able to voice that helped Talvus figure out we were dealing with prophecy, or how when all else failed, your blades did not fail me; but she did not see how quickly—how quickly I left her and all of my other superior officers to die the moment that I saw that orc’s hand around Talvus’s throat, how—Corporal Maxim went back for Captain Piso. If I had gone back as well, instead of immediately running with Talvus, perhaps seven would have survived that battle instead of six. But I did not. I did not even look back. She could not have seen, she could not know, because how could she see me as worthy of the stripes on my shoulders if she had.

I do not think that I will pass the Trials, not after this. I am not—I am not nearly the soldier nor the strategist that I thought I was. Perhaps there was never a chance of doing anything different than exactly what I did, that everything was so perfectly orchestrated that I would never have done better than the manner with which I conducted myself, but that responsibility must remain solely on my shoulders. I fundamentally failed, and if left to my own devices, I would have failed everyone. I do not know what to expect in the Trials, if there are tests of strength or of knowledge, perhaps I could bluff my way through those, but if there is a test of character, I know that I will be found lacking. I doubt that my family would want me to remain with them in the Capital if I do not pass, they made their position on that clear enough three years ago. Besides, my blades never failed me, only my heart; I can always re-enlist. Even with my injury, I’m still good for fighting. If you will have me back at the Surrian front, or think that I could contribute there, I would gladly return; but there is a hole within me that sings that I have unfinished business in the Highlands, that even with the blow that we struck against Wolf Clan and the Heretic Raven, we still bleed from the blow they struck first, that I owe it to those I left behind to hunt down every last one of the Heretic Raven’s fighters and the Wolf Clan orcs and the Rat Clan warriors we let escape and every other rebel—every other rebel that there are now thirty less good Caedic soldiers to stand against.

If this at all appears disordered or if my thoughts seem contradictory, I apologize sincerely; I began writing immediately after we returned to Cloudfall. I fear that if I had not said everything now, I would be too conflicted to speak it; too ashamed to disclose any of the parts which testify of my failures to adhere to the standards you taught me. I know the importance of presenting myself with confidence and showing not my throat bare when I reach the Capital; for I know the world that I am returning to. These words, the trust of my doubts, are for you and you alone.

May that you be well, and until we meet next, Iria

____________________

Private Arcadia Dominus, Specialist Unit c.Varricon The 3rd Legion, Serae

Dear Arcadia,

There has been a lot of excitement since the last letter I've managed to send. Probably too much excitement, but I made it out alive, and that's what counts. I know I said I'd write when I reached Cloudfall, and that was supposed to be a week ago, but Talvus and I were ambushed by Rat Clan orcs on the road, enlisted into the 8th for a week while the main bridge just past Cloudfall was being fixed, and then inadvertently took part in a series of escalating battles until we finally managed to help kill The Heretic Raven and destroy the means that Wolf Clan was using to gain advantage in ambushes, which means that hopefully we've done our part for the war effort in the Highlands.

If you ever have a chance to come here, Altae is a very interesting place. I would warn you about fighting the Highland Clan rebels—they are remarkably good at completely ignoring all wounds they might take, and fighting just as fiercely even with fatal injuries until they draw their last breath—but you tend to deal the sort of devastating blows that your enemies can't get up from, so perhaps you wouldn't have that problem. It's cold here, and always wet, so not a particularly fun place to make camp in the woods. The trees are different, darker green than the ones at home. I think perhaps I’ve finally gotten used to it all, which is a pity, as Talvus and I will be leaving as soon as the bridge is fixed.

Joining the Unbroken for a week—it was nothing like our time with 33rd. There were all the usual watches and patrols and a couple of wolf ambushes, both by the animals and the Wolf Clan orcs, which I suppose either way was better than being ambushed by a ghoul or any of that getting sick nonsense. A few days in we got word of where the Rat Clan’s hideaway was, and Captain Piso let me help plan the assault. It was a thorough success, we took out their warchief, Black Eye Sadbh, a number of their warriors, and Corporal Dante Maxim—you’d love him, he has a shield and he uses it to charge people more than he does for blocking things—he killed all four of their shamans. If I must be entirely honest, there was a slight blip in the plan where I got caught behind enemy lines. Again. This one really wasn’t my fault, it was a scouting mission because we were going to plant explosives before the assault and it shouldn’t have been able to go wrong, I was literally invisible courtesy of Talvus, but they’d been tipped off invisible scouts were coming so I got to twiddle my thumbs for a night waiting for rescue in the form of the assault still happening as planned, sans the exploding part. I had a dagger hidden in my boot and everything and they buried me in a pile of rocks, so little use that was to me. Still, the attack went perfectly without me and I did get to kill Black Eye Sadbh myself, so I wasn’t entirely useless.

It got a bit rough. The Unbroken, only about thirty of us, ended up in an all-out battle against the Heretic Raven’s whole band—the Heretic Raven being a rather famous nuisance in these parts, the single defector from Raven Legion far out to the west, who had returned to their home in the Highlands and pulled together an assorted group of rebel fighters—as well as upwards of thirty, maybe forty Wolf Clan orcs. We took heavy casualties, although Talvus and I are still kicking. In the end, I killed Anye the Huntress, and the Bear of the Heretic Raven’s warriors, Dante and I killed the Heretic Raven together, then I killed the strategist of the Wolf Clan that they were protecting; and a number of other warriors fell beneath my blades or arrows in that and other conflicts, perhaps half a dozen in the week and a half I’ve been here. It’s hard to say that we won, because so many of the Unbroken died, but the tide of the war has turned against our enemies. At the end of it all, they have been scattered, and their leaders are dead, and we survived. So all in all, everything has been far more exciting than the letter I was expecting to send you on our great adventures hiking every day, in which the height of the dangers we faced was Talvus managing to set water on fire on his first and only turn to cook.

I've had time to give a bit of thought to what might happen if I don't make it through the Trials; I know I want to return to the army, but now I have unfinished business in the Highlands as much as I do on the Surrian front. You'd love it here. Every fight is a worthy contest, it's not just plowing through mountains of soldiers who aren't worth the skill that went into the forging of their blades. The Highland Clans are strong, and they have spirit. They could use a soldier like you here; there's been a bit of a dearth of soldiers recently, as a lot of good units were killed trying to take down the Wolf Clan and their strategist. Even after our victories, even without their leaders, the Highland warriors are tenacious, and I know you would kill many for glory and for Empire. There are five more left alive from the Heretic Raven's group who are particularly troublesome—a witch, a Rat shaman, a pair of twin rogue fighters, and a Salamander Clan mage—and Bear Clan, Owl Clan, Salamander Clan, and some scattered Wolf Clan and Rat Clan warriors still await you, so it's not like the hobgoblins, there are plenty of fierce enemies to go around. Perhaps we can avenge the fallen and secure the power of the Empire in this province together, if I do not remain in the Capital.

Pass my regards to Varricon and Gorai, and the hopes that they are healing well. I hope for you that your blade remains sharp. I would love to hear how life has been going for you, although I do not think I will receive any letters before I reach home.

Until I can write next, Iria Stell

[bienready2122]

Romancing San Francisco [Chapter #2: Master Yamaguchi Teaches]

Part Two

Ace Yamaguchi Teaches

[Buck turns into a Friend]

◊

The climate was warm in the mid year of l968, a breeze from the inlet leaked through the city, and the Turtles, the Doors and the Beatles music were being played all over the place, alongside "Elvis' Comeback". Everybody dressed like Sonny and Cher, or the Momma's and the Papa's it appeared everybody except me that is; because of the fact that I enjoyed the manner in which everybody dressed, I wound up still very moderate.

The trees along a significant number of the boulevards particularly Dolores Avenue were polished green. I got some bread, and white spread-on cheddar, carried it to the dojo and put it in the cooler, I loved it, something new that I got here in San Francisco. Alongside a corner store that would make any sort of sandwich you needed mơ thấy rùa đánh con gì On account of the adjustment in climate from Minnesota to San Francisco, my dietary patterns were likewise changing, - to lighter nourishments that is, and less meats; - increasingly Chinese nourishments additionally; I truly couldn't have cared less for Japanese nourishments. Somebody acquired crude snake, or so it appeared with white rice in it, and offered it as a treat for us at the dojo one night, it more likely than not been Goesi, - yet that is a supposition, I can't recollect. In spite of the fact that I generally appeared to have a decent craving, after a chomp or two of the treat, I lost it for the remainder of the night; yet as I was stating, with all the strolling, and now working at Lilli Ann, the dress structuring outfit, and doing my Karate ordinary, my hunger was vivacious.

It was extraordinary to walk the night away along the sea front with my karate companions, taking a gander at the numerous flames along the Pacific Coast. The glow of the flames moved right to tactile faculties, smelling the consumed wood on the flames, each of the few of us, watching the gleaming of the flares, its flashes attempting to climb to the space rock belt; - as the shinning moon skimmed over the water right to the edge of the coast, as though it had its requests stop in that spot. I felt it was a decent time to be alive. I cherished the water; - the hints of the immense waves hit the banks of the coast. The white froth splattering about. My days appeared to be perpetual, loaded up with to such an extent

back in St. Paul, Minnesota, the Mississippi runs directly through the city, right down to St. Louis, and onto New Orleans; and you got it, right to the Gulf of Mexico. As a child I'd make light of along its saves money with my companion Mike Rosette. We were a remarkable group. We'd run in and out the caverns along the bluffs that paralleled the banks of the Mississippi; some of the time avoiding the alcoholics sleeping wheezing ceaselessly the morning or as once in a while it would be, the evening. In any case, this was unique, this was not the Mighty Mississippi, Mark Twain's safe house, as he so wanted to expound on, as I wanted to stroll close to as a child, - yet this was the Gigantic Pacific Ocean, what I caught wind of, read about and now was before. It was difficult for me to change in accordance with seeing such a lot of water. Much alone, not see a conclusion to it. It blew my mind, such as remaining before the Empire State Building gazing upward, or looking down the Grand Canyon. I needed to approach it just to state I contacted it, got wet; as though it was hallowed waters. Yet, at that point anybody from Minnesota would have done likewise I'm certain, or lied that they didn't, - from the start in any case.

Additionally, along the Mississippi, you'd consider rodents to be enormous as tycoons, or little pooches, here you seen white jellyfish, shaded shells, among a couple of things. To every other person it was entirely expected, to me I was enchanted. In St. Paul, they quit permitting fires in '63, such a large number of bogus cautions, and the fire organization, or stations became ill of running for each fire around. We used to consume our junk in 50-gallon drums in those days. After around six to nine months, grandpa would have me and my sibling tip it over and void it out into an uncovered opening, and cover it. Be that as it may, those days were gone to; alongside consuming the fall leaves, I loved that additionally, the fall-smell of the leaves, the sparkles, much the same as these flames. Thus observing the flames brought back recollections, despite the fact that the relationship was very unique, they had their similitudes.

"Buck," I stated, asking "The police don't take care of these individuals having flames, and resting the night away... smoking pot, or whatever?"

Buck took a gander at me unusual, "No Chick, it's simply the times...everyone disregards every other person here; or attempts to. These individuals are only here for a brief timeframe, in any case."

We stood and investigated the camps, the blazes, until we at last got drained and made a beeline for the dojo; it appeared it was the gathering place. In any event for me, since it was the place I would rest.

٭

The next night Gosei was training a class, there was around thirty of us lounging around the dojo, legs crossed tonight. I was there three weeks back when Big John, presently a first degree dark, had recently gotten his belt advancement to dark belt, at that point seven days after the fact, he was preparing with Buck, and was assume to go easy on the grounds that they were taking a shot at structure and method however Big John didn't concur with the constraints it appeared, and crushed Buck in the face. Presently seven days after that occasion, here we are preparing and getting ready for tonight, Gosei had all of us sit down after around twenty minutes, towards the dividers, and got Big John out to assist him with a show. I felt something would occur; it was noticeable all around.

About this time I was finding a workable pace ways really well. He was a little man, calm, however as quick as helping, and you just never recognized what was at the forefront of his thoughts, as though he was continually thinking. I've seen he tosses a great many mixes of punches and kicks, while exhibiting with Buck; I just never could get the camera to take brisk enough pictures, there appeared to be consistently to have a haze in them indicating the speed. At the point when the photos got created they by method for the haze, it was astonishing to look at the image and make sense of how to function around his blend. What's more, every time he accomplished something, he had flawless equalization. As I had learned throughout everyday life, is the key to life, in all things, physical, mental, otherworldly, and mental. In the event that one of those components were missing, I had an issue, or would have. Then again he was the most delicate individual on earth, and adored humankind in his own cautious way. What's more, knew by one way or another, the nature of a man, as he blended it in with his way of life; in other words, whatever was anticipated from the Japanese understudy, in Japan, was a bit much what he expected of Americans in America. Something I would get, not exactly knowing where I had acquired it from, yet as I would later on do some voyaging, I figured out how to modify in a few distinct nations with no troubles for expanded times of times. It is a mater of thinking. Regardless, and Goesi was the first to show this blend for my life voyages I would require after I left San Francisco

as Big John got into his position, and right now I was a Green Belt, prepared to get my Brown Belt quickly, so I knew a considerable lot of the moves that would happen, and had about 18 months of karate training added to my repertoire preceding coming to San Francisco, of which a couple of months were with the Master Yamaguchi. As I was stating Big John was in his position - and GoJo Ryu being a protective style of karate, somebody needed to begin thus Gosei made a bogus move, which means just to rouse his adversary; conceivable this is the thing that happened to Buck and John exploiting it since it was practice. Regardless, at that point it occurred: - Big John began tossing his long arms out, and Goesi got under them, around them, and must of hit him about multiple times simultaneously; for John fell into a corner attempting to push the punches away absent a lot of effect, which was another slip-up of his, Gosei cut him done like a major oak tree since he left himself open at that point, until he was nearly on his knees blends were going quicker than the eye could compute, at that point he pulled back and halted and bowed, left, and educated all of us on what to do straightaway. No one was discussing what occurred, yet I knew the subliminal of many were staying at work longer than required, mine was. I cherished it. I knew Goesi was specific on how his understudies utilized their insight into karate, and one exercise was - I assume, nobody minds the amount you know, until you show the amount you give it a second thought. What's more, Goesi indicated in every case the amount he gave it a second thought; and to be very straight to the point did as well, Buck.

٭

Buck approached me the following day and inquired as to whether I needed to head out to the Japanese motion pictures with him; he truly preferred the sword warriors, the samurais. I loved doing that, - that is going out to see the films and seeing the samurai moving, - I was in an alternate world, an intriguing contrasted with my St. Paul world. Matter of actuality, I would consistently hold a little enthusiasm for that territory, after San Francisco, additionally; just as Sumo wrestling of which I would go to one somewhere in the range of thirty years not far off in Japan; just as bullfights, I would go to in Mexico, and cockfights in Peru, and all issues of battle, I could ingest: - I even wound up in Argentina for a South American Championship fight some thirty after four years.

I think Goesi had asked Buck, - in dread I'd go off to some far away place - or go drink myself to death, to become a close acquaintence with me a bit. He was a genuine dad figure for me, in addition to a legend of sorts, and was ending up being a companion too. Thus we went. I like this specific one, or personage in the Samurai motion picture world, he was visually impaired and could utilize his sword like Yamaguchi could his hands. In case I'm not mixed up, when this Samurai cut a fly into. I think they had genuine great embellishments in Japan for that film; yet I preferred it. Buck enjoyed Edgar Rice Burroughs likewise, he had perused I figure each of the seventy or eighty of his books, to incorporate Tarzan, the Mars books, Venus ones and god realizes what else. I was unable to accept he perused all them.

I was taking in something from Buck, not just how to be a companion, and battle, however how it may be conceivable som

[nvm-th-brds]

Misunderstood Meeting

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one-shot

fandom: hetalia

word count: 1,349

rated M for implications and cursing

prompt

- Romano is captured by Spanish pirates but recognized by the captain, Spain.

slightly based off of a small comic of America going back in time and meeting pirate England.

disclaimer:

i don't own the characters nor the image. the Italian and Spanish may not be completely accurate. (i used wordreference.com and a close friend who knows Spanish)

ao3, wattpad.

| § |

“Let me go,” the pissed off and groggy personified version of South Italy shouted as he attempted to free himself from the dirty grasps of pirates. It had been a very, very long time since Romano had ever heard of sea roaming pirates and he was not at all happy to be the main attention of an entire crew.

Stupid England and his stupid magic, the angry Italian thought to himself as he gritted his teeth and bared them like a wounded animal. Just wait till I get my hands on him.

“Aye, Captain, we got ‘im,” one of the men said. He has a tight hold of Romano's right shoulder. Every time Romano rolled his shoulder and pulled away, the man managed to put it back in the same exact place. The stench of sea salt couldn't drown out the foul odor of the dirty pirates. Haven't these men heard of showers or baths?

“Look who we have here,” the captain remarked. It was easy to know that this one was the captain without being told. He was the cleanest with the least amount of holes or tears in his clothes. His back faced Romano and the captive felt compelled to see the face of the man who dared to order his capture.

“There were a bright light ‘round 'im ‘fore we got ‘im,” another man to Romano's left commented eagerly.

The captain nodded and the elaborate feather placed in the big hat bounced and swayed with him. His big red coat flowed behind him and flapped as loudly as the flags above. He did a dramatic turn to reveal his face, arrogance and pride fueled his show for the small audience. The Italian had guessed that the captain was performing such a dramatic reveal to incite fear but he felt anything but that.

The familiar emerald eyes of his long-time companion and boss were cold yet wild like the gaze of a predator. His smirk was dangerously cut into his face and the man's tongue threatened to fall out and lick his lips; an attractive display that Romano had only ever seen late at night in the bedroom. His dark brown hair was longer than it had been in recent years and put into a lousy ponytail with a faded white ribbon. He looked very much like his brother of similar decent and could easily have been misidentified as such but it was still Spain—that stupid bastard Spain.

Fear was the farthest thing from Romano's mind because he had no reason to be afraid of the other personified nation. Spain was a pushover when it came to punishing Romano anyway.

“Oi, you stupidio bastard, Spagna.”

The confident, cocky smile of the captain faltered a bit. Spain was onto him faster than Romano could track. He stopped with his head close to Romano's ear. His hot breath tickled the Italian's ear uncomfortably but he knew better than to voice his opinion at that moment.

“Italia?” Spain nearly sounded sympathetic and quite contradictory to how he looked only moments ago.

“No cazzo, dumbass,” Romano hissed back.

Spain pulled away. The look on his face was priceless and Romano wished the pirates didn't throw his phone overboard because they thought it was a weapon. It was best described as if Spain was just learning of Romano's foul mouth.

“He's a crud one, sir. Odd since he had this on ‘im,” the man still holding Romano's right shoulder said. He showed a disgusting grin of very little teeth and held up a chain with a cross made of pure gold. “Not that much of a God-fearing man then, ha-ha.”

“Hey! Give that back,” the Italian shouted. He twisted and turned in their grip to try and get the jewelry but the men kept him in one place.

“Italian too. You ever hear those things about Italian women,” someone from farther back shouted to the front.

“Yeah, been a while since we seen a woman. Do ya think he'll be just as good?” Someone else responds. Romano felt his face heat up and he took advantage of their laughter and jeering to make an attempt to grab his cross and keep it within his possession. It was a gift from his younger brother, Italy, and he wasn't going to let it get too far out of his sight—not after last time.

Romano was close to grabbing it with a free hand but he was quickly pushed to the damp and dirty floorboards. The rest of the crew nearly fell into complete chaos. Every single one of the crew wanted to be the one to pin Romano down and get the respect and praise from their captain, Spain. Romano received a kick or two in the stomach but it was nothing compared to what he had lived through before. Someone else scratched his face with their broken and chipped nails and another almost broke his wrist. The shrill call of a whistle stopped everyone, even Romano, and it was revealed that the only ones to activate restrain were Spain and two supervisors standing behind him. Each of the two men was looking anxiously at their captain. The majority of the crew moved away to try and appease a very pissed off Spain.

“¡Dame el collar!”

Someone produced the necklace from their pocket. They kneeled and bowed their head as they showed the necklace while muttering some kind of apology. The cross glinted in the light and Romano had to hold himself back from jumping up. Spain admired the cross but Romano couldn't see why. The actual cross was quite dull aside from the fact it was made with gold. It had no carvings or words or dates nor jewels or designs that would make it absolutely stunning. Romano was a simple man and he was thankful that Italy took that in consideration when purchasing the necklace.

“No, give it back. That's important to me, you damn bastardo,” Romano shouted again. A pirate unsheathed his curved sword to point it at the Italian's exposed neck and keep him down on the floor.

“Don't speak to the capt'n that way—”

“Stop,” Spain growled again. About every crew member took a step away from Romano and Spain upon hearing the captain.

“Yes, sir,” the pirate said sheepishly and put away his weapon.

“Tell me, chico, how do you know of me?” Spain asked while he kneeled down to talk with Romano face to face. The hat, which fitted his dramatic flair, for the time being, covered his eyes and half of his face.

Romano gulped and looked at Spain's mouth as he spoke anyway. “We... we're the same. I'm Romano. You took me from my home after Grandpa Rome... disappeared.”

The Italian's temper started to return in his voice but Spain must have noticed it too because he looked straight into Romano's eyes. It was a threatening look that quelled any stirring feelings about putting up another fight or struggle. In a soft voice of Italian that Romano didn't know Spain could speak in, he said, “No more talk, demonio. My little Romano is nothing like you.”

“¡Llévalo a mi camarote! I'll teach this treacherous sea monster a lesson he won't soon forget,” boasted the captain. Spain's dark look that was tucked away rekindled in his eyes. The uneasy feeling that Spain might actually cause bodily harm to him entered Romano's mind.

“Demonio, my name is Captain Antonio. You might want to learn it if you think you can take the face of my companion without shameful consequences.” Spain, or Antonio, laughed at that and the heavy blush returned to Romano's face. The entire crew joined in as Antonio moved away and went to the helm of the ship. Two entirely different men took Romano's arms and dragged him in another direction. However, the Italian's looks were not entirely from anger, embarrassment had crept in too and he was sure that Spain knew it.

Spagna, I'll kill you as soon as I get the chance if you dare start to do what I think you're implying.

—

footnotes:

stupido - stupid (it.)

Spagna - Spain (it.)

Italia - Italy (sp.)

no cazzo - no shit (it.)

¡Dame el collar! - Give me the necklace! (sp.)

bastardo - bastard (it.)

chico - boy (sp.)

demonio - demon (it. & sp.)

¡Llévalo a mi camarote! - Take him to my cabin! (sp.)

[patchworkbrainworms]

What would happen if any of your OCs found a baby, all alone and wrapped in a soft clothe, deep in a forest one day while scouting? Who would take it in, who would find it a home, who would ignore it, who would put it out of it's misery?

rather long..

Ninimel would likely debate for a moment whether saving it was really worth it - but would cave and take the babe back to his Clan or a nearby village. The Clan would take the child in and care for it without argument and he would leave the babe at the Chantry steps if he were in a village.

Danica would take the babe up immediately - getting mad at anyone who protested. She would take the child to a nearby Chantry for them to take in. She would probably send the occasional letter to check in on the child but she would be discrete. If the child survived the Blight, when Danica becomes queen she would likely adopt the child - giving the kingdom the heir they would be expecting without all the... hassle.

Faenil would quietly take the child into her arms and bring her back to camp. She would be surprisingly motherly towards the babe, cradling it close and making sure it was warm. It’s unlikely she would put the little one down for anything - even to fight - so she would opt out of any missions for a time. When they reached a village or town she would give the child to the Chantry, knowing they would be safer there. Sometime after - when the Blight is over - Faenil would visit the Chantry to see the child and would likely check up on her for the rest of her life but never say much.

Thane wouldn’t know what to do with the baby. There had been children at the Circle but never a babe. He would probably carry the little bundle back to camp awkwardly and entirely improper - allowing anyone else to take the child away from him. Yet he would likely already be attached to the little thing and would promise to care for them if they ever needed him. Again they would likely leave the child at a Chantry and after the Blight he would go back to see them. When they’re old enough he would ask to take them with him - he hoped Morrigan wouldn’t mind when she returned.

Garrett would immediately start screaming internally. He wasn’t good with babies, he never liked babies, and now he found one in the middle of nowhere. He would take the little one back to the others and insist that someone take it before he fucked up. He wouldn’t deny that the little beast was cute, though he would have no intention of being involved in raising them. Yet, if the child remained with the group even after everything, he would most definitely get attached and would want to be the best uncle ever for it - much to the dismay of whomever was raising them (probably a whole group thing - not much better)

Spencer upon finding the child would be horrified. To think that someone would leave the child out on their own like that? He would almost immediately decide that he was going to keep the babe and care for it better than whomever had them before. It would be unlikely that anyone would convince him otherwise. 

Kyne would stare at the thing for a considerable amount of time before just flat out calling for someone from camp. If they joined her she would point at the little bundle and insist that they do something with it. If they didn’t she would reluctantly pick up the bundle and bring it to camp, dropping it with the first person who asked what it was. She would have little interest in the little thing, even if it remained with them. If Cullen took a liking to the child she would just sigh and tell him that it wasn’t going to be her job to take care of it and that maybe it would finally get him away from the trebuchets.

Akinlana having been the one to raise Kyne, he would take the child into his arms and gently rock it as he walked back to camp. He would insist on caring for it even with all his other duties as he felt obligated as the one whom found it. After the death of his clan it would become even more important to take care of the child, insisting that they would be the one to carry on the clan, no matter the race of the child. Dorian would likely have no troubles with the child, enjoying seeing this softer side of Akin.

Aviana wouldn’t have been stopped by anything to collect the child in his arms and bring them back to Skyhold. He would ask if one of the mothers there would help him in caring for them, as he had little experience with a babe. The child would already be part of his family and would introduce them to Ryssel as their new little sibling - she would likely be ecstatic.

Elhael one, would question why he was out scouting this was a bad idea and two, would wonder what he was meant to do if he came across a small child. He knew how to deal with bandits or beasts but a little babe? Not wanting to harm the little thing he would sit next to it and gently touch it’s forehead and cheek, trying to calm it down if it was crying. If nothing was working he would awkwardly try to take it in his arms to hush it, feeling very uncomfortable but not wanting it to be in any distress. If he felt secure enough he’d take it back to the camp, if not he would wait there until someone got worried and came for him. After handing off the child he would be curious to learn how to properly care for it and would sit and listen to any mother who would teach him. He would see this as more of a learning opportunity than actually getting attached to the child.

Damiana one, would also question why she was scouting and two, would just stand for a long time, wondering what she was meant to do with the little thing. She would be greatly tempted to just leave it as it was none of her business but she knew that Cole would know and get mad at her. So she would begrudgingly take the child up and back to Skyhold, passing it off at the first opportunity. “You were going to leave it... but you didn’t...” Cole would tell her later. “I knew you wouldn’t be happy if I had... that’s all,” she would insist and would try to ignore his knowing smile.

Asaz would be the most likely to put it out of it’s misery. There was little place in the world for a little one to grow happy - especially not in the Inquisition. If the child seemed at all sickly she would give it the mercy of death and a proper burial/cremation/etc. If the child seemed healthy she would be inclined to bring it to Skyhold if only to tease Damiana by insisting that they would adopt it. This was a joke of course and she would pass it off to the nearest willing mother and not pay it any mind after.

BONUS

Daiza’al in the moment it would be panic - especially if the babe was crying. He had never dealt with such a small being before and was terrified he’d hurt it somehow. After managing to collect it safely in his arms he would rush back to camp, immediately looking for someone to take it before he harmed it. And then would begin the hovering. He would become very attentive, both actively trying to figure out how to care for a child - for future reference perhaps? - as well as making sure that it was safe. It would be the only thing he would talk about for weeks, telling any of the companions who might listen all the cute things the little one had done. In the end, if he did not take the child as his own, he would at least insist on being the silly uncle that got to spend time with them.