#she still wants to bask in his warmth and properly prepare herself if he does reject her at the end

[zorkaya-moved]

" you are always on about helping me," for someone whose voice usually comes in a subtle, warming tone, it has taken the turn for something more heated today as their debate, nay, argument had come to blossom as a result of long nights and dreadful projects. in the aftermath of the disagreement, kaveh will find himself in a pit of embarrassment and guilt for having stood his ground, but he couldn't accept it. he wouldn't accept it.

" to say that it's pride is only a portion of it, but i have never had to rely on anyone in my life --- i couldn't. there was simply no room for me to rely on anyone, let alone ask for it and --- that's why i can't stand by and simply allow you to help me, when you clearly do not wish me to help you in return. are we not equals ? do we not share a mutual form for respect, do you think less of me because you see yourself in a position to protect me and support me ? because i won't have you in such a position, zarina. "

it's not anger , per say , simply frustration. he is frustrated with how she puts up a mighty act of a stable, strong woman, for while she is ( archons know she is, she is so strong, and kaveh looks up to her in so many ways / had he been one for prayer, her feet would be the ones he'd find himself bowing to in seek of grace ) she remains as human as him at the end of the day. the pain and hurt he felt certainly were no strangers to her. does she not think he feels the way her face tends to drop the second he turns, or notice how her thoughts wander in the corner of his eyes when he find himself occupied by the desk ?

" let me look after you the way you look after me. let me take care of you the way you take care of me --- for it seems too long ago since anyone did the same for you. " crumbling in his stance ( is my love not enough for you ? ), the heated tone has come to falter in favor for a softer and honest one, as hands seek out to her cheeks, pleading to hold her tenderly in his grasp. " you are my life , zarina. how do you expect me to allow you to be my foundation when you refuse to accept it from me in return?"

@avaere

Their argument breaks out and nothing feels real for the first second. They’ve never argued like this before, it’s never come to this. It’s unusual for the architect to look at her like this and speak to her like this. It confuses her, it makes her wonder, and it makes her question exactly what brought this out. And the more words leave Kaveh’s mouth, the more confused and puzzled she becomes. It doesn’t make sense. It simply doesn’t make sense to her. Is he… not happy? Is he upset that she offers her support? Is he upset that she wants to keep him safe? It doesn’t seem logical nor does it seem like something he should be so frustrated over. The questions circle in her head and Zarina tries to search for an answer, but instead she’s met with a wall. She slams into it mentally as Kaveh keeps talking. 

—That's why I can't stand by and simply allow you to help me, when you clearly do not wish me to help you in return. Are we not equals?—

“We are…” Sokolova whispers to his question, still finding herself at a loss for words simply because she cannot fathom the reasoning for his upsetness, frustration, and fiery anger. It makes no sense for him to be hurt in her mind. 

 —Do we not share a mutual form for respect, do you think less of me because you see yourself in a position to protect me and support me?—

What are you talking about? Zarina asks internally, eyes empty and hollow at those words. Suddenly, his words echo in her head and she can’t find the will in herself to really suppress them. To her, everything he says right now simply doesn’t fit in her understanding. Is she not supposed to help him? Is this not proof of her love? Is this not enough for him to understand how much he means to her? Is this now what love is supposed to be about? 

Finally, Zarina isn’t weak to keep those she loves unprotected. She gained everything she needed to keep these important people safe. She has power, she has influence, she has money, she has it all. She has information on each and every important person in almost all of Teyvat. She has customers and clients who are of noble birth and who would beg for her to take a look at their cases. She has it all to ensure those she loves have a comfortable life. 

Because she, a woman who lacks any humanity behind her void gaze, can only feel human while being with them. They keep her a person. They keep her away from the numbness, void and hollowness. They keep her away from losing the joys and colors. They are her colors. Kaveh is her Sun and the person she wants to keep happy the most. 

But… 

—Because I won't have you in such a position, Zarina.—

…I’m strong enough to be in that position, am I not? Why don’t you just let me do it?  

She isn't weak. She isn’t weak anymore to have others fuss over her. She doesn’t have anyone to worry over her and try to keep her from harm’s way. Now she can take care of herself, she can protect others like she always wanted. There won’t be laughs of men cruelly kicking her and calling her a little princess, there won’t be Victor hurt while trying to protect her, there won’t be Aleksey who they fret over as her parents are gone, and there won’t be any other people they’d be indebted to who can use them for their own ridiculous schemes. 

No, she’s climbing to the top and it means she won’t have anyone look at her or her family the wrong way. She can tear apart anyone who dares to mistreat her or her family. She has everything to keep herself occupied, interested, away from the deafening silence and frigidness. 

Ah, but that’s not it. That’s not what Kaveh says and that’s where the dissonance happens. Her past clashes against her present.  

Why do you look at me like Victor did? I’m stronger now. I can protect you. I won’t be hurt anymore. There’s no need to worry, no need to try and protect me, I’m fine. I’m…

—Let me take care of you the way you take care of me --- for it seems too long ago since anyone did the same for you.—

His tone crumbles and she can see him reaching out. After all, she had no second to input any of her words into this conversation. His stream of words hit her a bit harder than she’d ever expected. It makes her confused, all too confused and lost.  

This means that she hasn't been successful or what does it mean? It makes her think of Victor who’s been trying to take care of her when she was rescued. It makes her think of how when she came to Sumeru, she was looked down on by Scholars and those who were against Snezhnaya. Now they love or hate her, seeking her out despite pride and prejudice because they know she’s stronger. Isn’t it fun to see those people crawl to her? 

It makes her think of her selfishness, her indulgence, her sick satisfaction with reaching the top and watching people who underestimated her crumble before her feet. But then it all dissipates, she’s grown bored and sought out more. Like a ravenous beast in the body of a beauty. All hedonistic indulgences fade with time aside from sex and planning. The long-standing plans hold her interest for a little while longer until she’s left disappointed or satisfied for a medium period of time. It all fades, but not the warmth she feels when she’s with those she loves. Not with Victor, Aleksey, Kaveh… Not with them. Not with him. 

Oh, but Kaveh reaching out to her both emotionally and physically almost makes her feel fear. Almost, if not for her control over the internal state. It’s a titanium hold, but when his hands touch her cheeks, Sokolova feels something inside start to crack. The whispers in her mind say over and over again how he’d find her revolting, tyrannical, and cruel. He doesn’t know how little care for the world and its riches she has. 

She’s always lived selfishly, so giving to her loved ones feels like what she can do. After acquiring everything because her selfish self wanted to see how far she’d be able to reach, this development seems to be… baffling. 

His touch and his last words bring her out of that stupor. Still, confused and puzzled over these confessions within the argument, she feels at a loss. Emotions aren’t her strongest forte. Nay, genuine emotions aren’t her strongest forte. Zarina knows how to use them, manipulate them, and twirls them for her own benefit, but right now? It’s not about manipulation and malice. It’s not about shadows and darkness. It’s not about survival. It’s about… love, trust, and communication. 

Everything she wanted to protect since childhood yet never surrounded herself with until return home or when Kaveh was by her side. 

“What do you mean you don’t help me with anything?” She suddenly asks, her voice coming out genuinely puzzled but her eyes… Her eyes are bleak and cloudy, no, they’re hollow and empty when she begins. His hands against her cheeks feel so hot, her own body feels so cold. Is it because of her vision or is it because she remembered everything from that past? She doesn’t understand him, or does he not get the amount of things he does for her without knowing? “You always do. You’re the only one here who does.”

No one in Sumeru matters. No one in several regions matters aside from Snezhnaya where her brothers stay. Kaveh doesn’t know. He doesn’t know the ‘survival of the fittest’ rule she lives by, rules by, orders by. 

Zarina brings her left hand up, touching his hand but she doesn’t yet grasp it. Her fingertips grave over the fabric covering his wrist. She worries that if she grasps it, she’ll break it. Zarina recalls her first hunt in the snowy plains of Snezhnaya. She doesn’t want to break him.

“You make the nightmares go away. You make me feel safer than I’ve ever felt since…” The agonizing pain, the loud screams, the laughter of those who had control. “...since I was hurt,” Sokolova looks away for a moment, her words feel like they’re spilling out as if in desperation to get him to hear, to understand, to give him enough to have an idea but not dive into details (not yet). “You indulge me, you give me your time. There’s no silence, no hollowness, no void. You make me feel…”

Clarity returns to her golden eyes. The silverette takes a second to breathe, finally letting her fingers wrap around his wrist (tenderly, carefully). Her shoulders drop, her expression is one of light exhaustion and still flickers of bewilderment. 

“You make me feel human.”

It must be so strange to hear, isn’t it? To feel human. Isn’t she almost the most beloved in all Sumeru for her scholarly achievements, for her charismatic nature, for her connections and for her being the strongest candidate for the Amurta Sage? And yet, Zarina knows better than anyone that those achievements are not done for the sake of gratitude or betterment of the world. It’s selfish, it’s ambitious, it’s all out of boredom and pettiness. 

“You never ask for anything. I have power, I have money, I have connections, I have it all, but you never ask for anything,” she starts off. “You are my equal, if you were not…” She lets out a soft chuckle, but it’s sharp and cold. “...I wouldn’t fall for you, love you, treasure you, want to give you as much as I can. If you were not my equal, you’d be lost in the sea of faces I meet.” 

Golden eyes return to look at him, but she doesn’t smile nor show any emotion. If anything, she’s stone cold, but not guarded. She doesn’t hide, but there’s no bright light in her gaze and in her behavior.

“Do you… really think that I’ve reached all of what I have today through honored and honest work, Kaveh?” She gives his hand a gentle squeeze, but her golden eyes are growing colder the more she thinks about what she’s done… and how she feels no guilt or remorse or regret over everything. The people’s screams, the Abyssals’ pleas for mercy, the blood, the merciless ends, the survival. “Do you really think that I don’t see you as my equal? If I didn’t care about you or saw you as my equal, you would’ve never even gotten a glimpse of who I am. Like everyone else in Teyvat.”

A hard hitting sentence, isn’t it? Especially said with that razor-sharp gaze and a voice that got deeper as if she growled it out. But instead of showing the same cold-hearted ferocity, she presses her lips together and looks away from him as if ashamed. It’s not that she’s ashamed of who she is, but she is unsure of how much more she can say. 

“I… don’t know how to let others care for me,” she admits. “I don’t know how to stop protecting who I care about. And I don’t think… You’ll look at me the same if you learned the things I have to do to survive…” But also because when you’re not here, the boredom and silence come back in full force and I return to those frigid days. “What if the person you love is only kind to you, Kaveh? Will you hate me for it?” 

There’s a glimpse of cracks, of a weight no one ever expects someone to carry. But she doesn’t mind that. If it means she’s indulged and her family is protected, it means nothing. Is she really human when she does not feel any remorse for all the things she’s done? Perhaps, the only remorse and sadness comes when it comes to Kaveh. What if he fell in love with a phantom? What if her sharper and crueler sides will scare him away? There’s no fixing that. It’s simply who she is. 

“I don’t understand you.” Her lips are pressed together in frustration. “I don’t understand what you mean by taking care of me more than you already do. I don’t understand what you want from me right now. All these riches, all these connections, all of what I have… They are nothing compared to what you’ve given me. You taught me that I can love, I can experience love, I can feel it.” She brings her other hand up to touch his, but then pries his hands away from her face to hold them instead. “And yes, it doesn’t make the world better and it doesn’t make colors seem brighter, but it settles me down. It makes me… think that a normal life isn’t out of the question for me.”

 Then, Zarina laughs. But it’s hollow and bitter and feels like shattering. 

“To accept your help, I must give up control… of everything I am. And if I do,” she lets out a soft exhale. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to pick myself up if you reject me.” 

Finally, she smiles but that smile is soft and careful. Not sharp, not hollow, not cold. It’s more familiar to him. It’s more genuine, it’s as genuine as she can muster when her mind remembers everything she does behind his back to remain on top. She cannot simply end everything she rules over, it’s already too late. Too many people want her head, too many people rely on her, too many people have their eyes on her, too many people wait for her word like their only prayer.

“You are my lifeline, Kaveh. You already give me so much, I want to…” She gives his hands a squeeze, gaining up courage to say the next words. He’s more important to her than everything she’s acquired. She’s lived her life selfishly already. “But alright. I don’t yet understand, and that’s why… Can you teach me… how to let you care for me in a way you meant?” Without this iron control over everything. As she holds his hands in her own, she bends down to press her forehead against his knuckles. A beast offering its leash to another, she hopes he won’t turn away the more she opens up. “But please, I’m begging you, give me time to tell you everything. My life belongs to you, you are my heart. I still don’t understand, I probably will struggle, but be my guide here. So please,” she straightens up and gives him another small smile. She’s trying. It’s obvious. She’s trying against everything she’s been taught by life, by experience, by struggle and torturous existence. But for him? She’s trying. It’s tense, but she’s trying. “Be a patient teacher with me. I’ve never… been protected… and I haven’t been cared for since my childhood.”

[crqstalite]

in autumn.

OCtober prompt ‘autumn’.  yes! i am four days late as of publishing this 10.4.2020 at one in the morning but i digress. the prompt wouldn’t leave me alone, so here it is lol. just a fluff piece about a bit of reflection and one cold elf girlfriend.

ship: marzeyna lavellan/cullen rutherford word count: 2,060

-

Skyhold in autumn.

Creators, it was beautiful. 

Or at least, Marzeyna thought so. Sure, she’d experienced it year after year with Clan Lavellan in the Free Marches, but it made her smile at the fortress they’d moved into earlier this year. The shades of red and orange and the hues of yellow that had slowly taken over the trees as the year wore on, she couldn’t think of any other place that she’d want to be. Other than back in Wycome to assist with rebuilding, sure, but she was happy enough to wander the place on an off day.

Of course, nothing ever just lasted forever did it? She’d also be ripped away from it in favor of visiting Halamshiral -- damned place within the next few weeks to prevent an assassination. Beyond the fact she would be the first of her living Clan to be there in their lifetimes, she would also have to endure nobles.

Plenty of human nobles. With all their fancy dresses, and all their fancy wines and the Games they liked to play with the people who attended the event, and their distaste for elves.

To say the least, she wasn’t particularly excited. 

Evidence of their impending trip being the overly complicated ‘art’ Vivienne had done to her hair earlier this afternoon. She trusted the woman with anything and everything presentation (the dress she’d commissioned from Val Royeaux was nothing short of show-stopping, something Marzeyna would have to get used to the idea of but was still drooling over hours later), but she’s still picking the glitzy pins out of her hair nearly three hours after the afternoon spent bathing in the cooling sun in Vivienne’s loft. Relaxing, sure. She rarely had time to talk about the mundane with anyone.

By the time they got back from Orlais, chances are the snow would start to set in and it’d be Haven all over again. No more crunching leaves under boots or the off-chance she’d see a stray cat lounging on a window sill, just the freezing cold (well, more than usual at least) starting to set in to her bones and making her grateful she could get out of the mountains.

Then again, there’s also the impending doom of Corypheus.

But for now, she could enjoy the cool and crisp air whipping around the battlements, playing with her hair like flames fanned by the wind. She loves it, and there haven’t been enough moments as of late to take solace in what she likes. For the first time in weeks she’s actually sat down in her own desk, and for the first time in other weeks, she’s sat down with Josephine to go through every diplomatic issue she’d missed since she set out for the Arbor Wilds.

(They could not pay her enough to do that again, Inquisitor or not she did not have the attention span or willpower. There are still stacks of reports left for another date in her quarters. Under a paperweight, because she hasn’t gotten enough of the beautiful autumn breeze and has left the windows open. If a few blew away, well, nobody would be any the wiser.)

A door clicks open on her left, and she turns from scenic view of the snowy valley, pushing another rogue curl behind her ear and blowing another out of her face. Marzeyna had come up to the battlements mostly just to walk, but also to pull another diligent person away from his work, as she typically did whenever she was back in Skyhold. She smiles to herself anyway, as annoying as the rest of the world could be, at least she still had Cullen Rutherford by her side.

As tired as both of them have been as of late, it is still good to see him. Since they’d been decidedly moving further and further out from Skyhold, the more and more he had to deploy soldiers and the like. Another thing that not even Varric could pay her enough to do -- that wasn’t her favorite thing to do and she was not interested in learning.

“Long day?” She asks, leaning against the half wall while he runs a hand through his hair, “Looked like you could use a break.”

“I could, yes. Though--”

“Though nothing. Look how nice of a day it is out, it’s already autumn here.” Marzeyna replies, grinning.

That pulls a smile out of him, “That it is. I’d assume you like the change in weather?”

“Well, it’s no longer sweltering but it’s not freezing just yet either. Like a lull in the storm,” A leaf flutters up from one of the trees in the courtyard, dancing in the wind before disappearing back down the wall, “Relish in this, I’m sure we’ll come back to snow by the time Orlais has had it’s way with us.”

She nearly pouts at the smirk he gives her, mildly offended he’s taking amusement in her dislike of the coming snowfall, “Then the Inquisitor isn’t a fan of the winter months?”

“Just because you have the fluffy mantle and heavy armor doesn’t mean the rest of us can compensate nearly as easily,” She teases, just barely holding herself back from crossing her arms, “It gets so cold at night, there’s no using a fireplace to offset it.”

“Didn’t Josephine requisition more of the down blankets?” Genuine concern, that was sweet the way he asked.

“She did. But it’s also been weeks since I’ve been back in Skyhold. I got used to the warmth in the Wilds and the Plains,” She pulls at her overcoat as if to wrap it tighter around her. It wasn’t like she could drag them around the fortress either, collecting dirt and who knew what else on the tail of it. She really needed to find a proper coat that didn’t hinder her magic if she intended to make it through the winter, “It’s not a fair comparison.”

“Isn’t it?” Her look must be that sour that it’s at least amusing, “Fine then.”

Marzeyna pauses again, letting them bask in the quiet for a bit, admiring the changing colors of the leaves and wind blustering around them. It’s been nothing but fighting Venatori for the last few weeks, that and the undead and whatever giants they can imagine. No more running for now, and she’s not kept to Cassandra, Blackwall and Dorian for company anymore (not that she doesn’t adore them, but...well). It’s good to just sit and acknowledge how much they’ve gotten done, how much things have changed. 

Cullen looks at peace at least, a far improvement from how he’d been just before she left the last time. He notices her smiling directly at him, and visibly flushes.

“I did...miss you,” She offers, pointedly looking up at him. She pulls her hair over her shoulder, standing properly again, “Were things okay while I was gone?”

He knows what she’s referring to -- more withdrawal symptoms, “Not as many, no. A minor improvement, I assure you. You needn’t worry.”

“I will worry regardless, Cullen, I don’t want you in pain,” Another pause, “But...that is good to hear.”

“Most likely only because you pushed to keep me off of it.”

“That was all you, and you know it. I can’t fight that battle for you, but you’re still winning it.” She offers. That much was true, she may have been another opinion in the situation, but he was recovering, little by little.

He sighs, glancing out to the horizon for just a moment, “Yes. I suppose you’re right, and I thank you for the strength to go on.”

“I do what I can,” She steps closer, gauging his reaction, “And yet? No one can quite replace you, as I’m finding. I was wanting to be back sooner than this -- letters are just not the same. Surely you understand?”

“As much as you love to write them.” He responds, surely referring to her inability to write the shorter reports than the others of the Inquisition are capable of. She likes to go on and on and doesn’t even realize it until she’s run out of parchment paper. Usually she only has enough room to squeeze in her own name at the bottom of the page in the loopiest handwriting.

“You read them?” She asks, surprised, and maybe a tad embarassed now -- considering they aren’t always the most academic. She would’ve thought they’d go directly to Leliana, considering just how much sneaking around they’ve done as of late, “I thought you were only getting the shorter ones.”

“The ones you send to me directly?” He smiles to himself, “Yes, I read those as well.”

An arm snakes around her waist, careful, tentative as she goes on, gently leaning into the touch and placing her hands on his chestplate, “You know it’s almost been a year, Cullen. Since all of this started, and now we’re here. Could you have imagined we got all of this done in such a short time?”

“It has been an experience, yes. Demons, Venatori, among other things. I don’t believe my past experiences would’ve prepared me exactly for that.” He responds, only slightly flinching when she leans her head against his chest.

“You’re telling me there wasn’t anything on what to do if demons started falling out the sky in the Templar instruction book?” She’s got such a stupid grin on her face again, but he chuckles anyway at her joke, “I’m surprised, they really didn’t teach you enough to be effective.”

“I don’t believe such a manual exists, but should you wish it, I’ll write one and distribute it to our Templar allies,” And now she’s chuckling herself, as halfway serious as he sounds. 

Oh why does she care for him so? A mage and a Templar, for Creators’ sake.

The humans’ Maker is probably throwing some sort of fit right now, wherever up in the sky He is.

“I’m serious though, Cullen. It seems like just yesterday Cassandra was content to yank me out of the chantry’s dungeon to force me to answer for the Divine’s death,” That was one downside to the mostly...interesting memories, “And here we are, such an international power that we’re being invited to make an appearance at the Winter Palace.”

“Believe me, I am aware,” He muses, “You’re a very capable leader, Lavellan.”

“I didn’t do half of this -- you know the Inquisition would simply fall apart if any of you just walked away,” She rolls her eyes, sighing, “I just close the rifts with the glowing hand, not much else.”

He’s quiet for a moment, “You act as if this isn’t a result of your determination to save the world. It is. I would say you’re doing an admirable job.”

She highly doubts she would get the same flood of affection with anyone else, or that anyone else’s compliment would feel nearly as genuine as his does.

“Thank you, Cullen. We made it to Kingsway, I can’t say anything else about the rest of the year though. That’s decidedly still up in the air.”

Marzeyna feels distinctly...tingly. The good kind, like just before her magic would flare again during a fight, except the fight or flight response doesn’t accompany it. She’s just undeniably happy, and if anything arcane flickers under her fingertips, she doesn’t notice. Her ears are twitching though, probably moreso than usual when he presses a tentative kiss to her forehead.

It was much too pretty a day out, but she was content to rest her for just a moment, letting the world continue on. 

The wind gusts around them again, and she shivers, audibly chilled by the cold and trying to press herself further into his embrace, the fur of his mantle tickling her cheek, “It’s much too cold out here.” Marzeyna barely keeps the whine out of her voice, she wasn’t a child, but she also didn’t feel as if she had to hide the fact she was having no fun dealing with the change in seasons from him either.

“Would you like to go inside then? You...could come and sit for while, there isn’t much work to be done this evening.” He offers.

“I...would like that. As long as you don’t want me reading any reports,” She makes a face, “I would be happy to spend the evening in your presence.”

[scurvgirl]

Rethsaam

Qunlat - We All Protect

More Seeker of Rebellion! (I said I wasn’t going to write much but I spent the day whacked out on meds so formal writing didn’t happen, wooo)

Sylmae, Nimronyn, Daern’thal, and Henne’thel belong to @justanartsysideblog

Glory belongs to @feynites

Nimronyn takes them even farther away, but she is at least now going at a pace that doesn’t absolutely exhaust her. The travel is like what it was - up in the clouds and dreaming. Like before, it clears Ash’s head and lifts her spirits. Up here, it feels like nothing can touch her. It’s not the kind of rush her adoptive mothers want her to feel, but it helps to reorient herself.

She shifts and flies beside Nim for a little while, dipping into the spaces around her antlers. She needs more practice shifting anyways, why not practice now? She billows back to the aravel eventually, tired but a good tired, the kind of tired that lets her sleep without fuss. Her memories are always happier up here. Instead of remembering death and destruction, Ash remembers Nanae’s preferred perfume when they were in Val Rayoux, or how Mama loved to collect books. She remembers a trip to Val Rayoux where she got to wear the prettiest dress she had ever seen, silk spun so fine it draped like water over her.

When she wakes, she finds they have landed in a nice glen, surrounded by tall, old growth trees. The area strikes her as oddly familiar, she thinks…there are wyverns around here? But in the future, and the trees…they were bigger. But still, wyverns are creatures of habit and if they were there in the future, it is very possible they could be around now. She informs the scouts and more than a few of them seem a little too excited by the idea.

“Don’t go purposefully looking for them now,” she warns playfully.

“Would we do that?” Etiras asks, feigning innocence. Ash rolls her eyes and wishes them to be safe while scouting. She isn’t exactly one to stop someone from bending the rules, so if they happen upon a wyvern, at least they’ll be prepared.

The rest of the day is comprised of the typical work needed to secure the clan after travel. Wards need to be put up, aravels need to be properly secured, food needs to be cooked, and specialty workshops need to be set up. Children also need to be corralled and watched, though more…responsible types are trusted with that task than Ash. And since Daern’thal has worked himself into sickness, she becomes the main person responsible for setting up the wards.

It is cooler in this region, farther south and east than where they had been, and the coldness presses particularly uncomfortably against Ash. She shrouds herself in warm magic and furs. Her hair is loose today, partially for warmth, and it spills out from the hood she’s wearing.

Setting up wards is always an odd thing. It makes her think of her Nanae and Uthvir a lot, and in the past it’s graced her with a lingering melancholy. But today is different. She thinks of them and their memories seem to twine in with the wards, lighting in particularly bright displays of activity. They are all connected to her, ready to alert and to deter depending on the nature of the intruder. Animals are tricky creatures sometimes, particularly since they can be in the service of rival clans or the empire, but for the most part, the wards are set up to warn of specific elf-like energy intruders.

She is careful in how she spills her blood, creating a web of blood magic wards. She layers the wards – the outer layer is to simply inform of those wandering closer, while the second is to start discouraging, and the third are more akin to magical traps than just wards.

Ash walks the perimeter of the camp multiple times, checking to make sure that all wards and safety precautions are in place. By the time she is done, the sun is beginning to set, creating soft yet beautiful shadows through the trees. She returns to camp, heading straight to the fire. Blood magic always leaves her feeling cold, combine that with the chill in the air and Ash is too cold for comfort.

Ram soup is for dinner and helps, heating her from the inside out. She leans against Nimronyn while she eats, curling up and basking in her memae’s warmth. By the end of dinner, Ash is warm again, and her magic feels replenished, even after being so utilized during the day.

The hunters return from their hunting activities, a wyvern unabashedly being carried by three of them. Etiras shrugs at her while grabbing a bowl of soup. Well, at least now they have some valuable scales and bone for crafting.

While the camp is winding down for the night, she can’t help but notice Daern’thal’s continued absence. She frowns, he should have been with the rest of them for dinner, but he’s remained in his aravel for the entire day.

Ashokara rises and grabs another bowl of soup before heading into her friend’s aravel. It is dark, and the warming runes need more energy to be activated again. She waves a hand and they all ignite, slowly warming the aravel. She lights the candles and enchanted stones as well, bathing the aravel is soft light. Daern’thal’s prone figure wriggles in his hammock and he pokes his head out from the cocoon of his blankets.

“I brought you soup,” she says, stepping towards him.

Reverie pops its head out from underneath the covers, in its bird form.

“Thank you.”

Daern’thal slowly sits up, his hair clearly trying to free itself in a frizzy array from his braids. He keeps the blankets wrapped around him even as he shifts to the upright position. Two hand peek out from the blankets and take the bowl and spoon. She climbs up behind him and takes his hair gently in hand, slowly untangling it with a comb.

He eats and she helps him in silence. Their words after the battle…had not been nice, nor easy. He has seen her memories, she has let him…know, to understand, and as much as he understands, he has not lived what she has lived. The pain….

All he sees are her actions, and how the clan is affected by them. She knows that she has acted recklessly. And he knows that she couldn’t just stand there and let things happen, but he also feels wronged by her somehow.

“The man who destroyed my world did not think the people of my world were people. He called my people brutes, and only changed his mind when my mother showed him just how compassionate and good we are. He…was incapable of seeing people as people until it was too late, until he was too set in his ways to stop himself from destroying anything,” she says softly. Daern’thal stills and Reverie hops up onto his shoulder.

“I tell you this because I am not like him. I have always seen you as people, just as bright, just as important as the people from my world. My loss…it can never be fully repaired, but that does not mean I am unable to love you or the clan. But it does make me protective. I am sorry to have hurt you, but please do not ever insinuate that I do any of this because I do not love you,” she tells him, letting his hair fall softly down his back.

Reverie stares at her and she wonders if she said more than she should have. She doesn’t want to fight with him, but she doesn’t want to leave this…whatever it is open.

“I’m sorry,” Reverie says, so softly she almost doesn’t hear. A tense breath leaves her and she leans her forehead against the back of his head.

“Thank you.”

They don’t say anything for the rest of the evening. She helps keep him warm after the soup, curling up with him on a pile of blankets and pillows, lending her natural heat to help his recovery. Reverie sneaks into the pile, vibrating happily.

She falls asleep with him, curled up and warm.

After that night, the tension of the battle seems to lessen. And soon, days turn into weeks, which then turn into months. She trains with Sylmae almost daily, honing her abilities, becoming deadlier and stronger.

Sometimes she’ll catch herself in a mirror and hardly recognize herself. She…looks like her mama. She has her nose, and her cheeks. Mama was not a thin woman, she was made of soft curves and strong muscle, and while Ash is smaller, leaner, her body follows very similar lines to her mother, she thinks. Her shoulders are stronger now, able to carry more, not just her sorrow and memories. Ash can see her mama when she looks at herself, but it doesn’t make her sad. Her curls are looser but just as white, a mane of hair that floats around her face and horns, down her back. She is strong like her mama, she is beautiful, and compassionate. Or she at least tries to be.

She lets her memories linger closer to her. It hurts at first, everything seems to remind her of loss, but slowly it begins to shift. She sees things her loved ones would have loved, and she loves those things more for it. She sees wrong as spirits drift into the camps, whispering of the empire’s expansions, and she feels impassioned to right them. Her memories make her strong and she feels closer to herself than she has in the entire time she’s been here.

The months stretch into a year, and Nimronyn takes them deep into a mountain range. Winter holds the region in a cold, dead grip, blanketing the region in a thick blanket of snow. Ash melts snow wherever she goes, blazing trails forward…but also making them rather conspicuous.

The clan remains bundled up and close together, particularly around Nimronyn’s reptilian-like body. Ash sends friendly flames over her memae’s body every now and then, keeping her warm. Sylmae is less delicate and throws several large blankets over the dragon. But it helps. Ash knows that these far reaching places are safer, but they tax Nimronyn too much.

But she also knows not to press the issue.

We need allies. We need safe harbor. We can’t run forever. Every day the empire expands, taking more clans, killing more keepers. Daern’thal tells her of more whispers of the madness growing making Ash grow increasingly worried. There were no tales of this in the future, something so old, people forgot.

There is nothing concrete to blame the madness on, but if Ash had to bet, she’d bet it is the Empire. It the type of sinister thing she could see Mythal doing – the bitch.

What is most troubling, however, is that every now and then there are whispers in the clan that maybe the empire isn’t so bad. Their vision is an attractive one, and it beats constantly running. Ash reminds them that the empire destroys themselves eventually, enslaves definitely, and anyways, after what happened in the valley – any of them will be killed on sight…or worse. They are welcome to leave, but they should know the truth of the empire, to not believe its beguiling lies.

Despite the several feet of snow and freezing conditions, Sylmae takes Ash to the side and sets to train her.

“Conditions will not always favor you!” Sylmae says as they begin.

“Certainly not if we keep running to the mountains,” Ash snipes back, parrying her mother’s strike.

“It is futile to curb your tongue.”

“It is!” She lunges and Sylmae bats her away easily. As strong as Ash has gotten, as good as she has become with combat, she still can’t quite beat Sylmae. Always one step behind.

But then again, Ash does not use her fire in this training.

Nim trains her fire, and Daern’thal improves her defensive magicks.

“Your opinions are no always correct,” Sylmae continues.

“No one’s opinions are always correct – not even yours or Memae’s,” Ash counters, rolling away, only to drop into a particularly deep snow drift. The word is not called though, spar is still in session. Sylmae is dashing after her and in a spur of the moment decision, Ash takes a deep breath and lets a wave of heat seep from her, quickly melting all the snow around her and Sylmae.

Her mamae wobbles on the suddenly new muddy ground. Well, she used to not use her fire in these sessions. The ground is still unstable but at least it’s not snow, and Ash takes advantage of Sylmae’s very slight wobble to dash forward. Their training sticks clash as Ash angles herself low. Sylmae is still significantly taller than Ash, and she’s beginning to think she’s taller than even Mama, but that just means she has a longer way to fall.

Ash is not the quickest, nor the strongest, but she strives to be clever. She does not relent, further destabilizing Sylmae’s base. She could maybe win this won, she could –

A ward goes off in her head and she gasps, suddenly seeing the intruders on the outer ring of wards traipsing through the snow.

When her vision clears, she is on her back with Sylmae standing above her.

“What was that?”

“Intruders,” Ash hisses, rolling to her feet quickly. Seriousness settles over Sylmae as she follows Ash back into the camp, peppering her with questions.

“How many? What were their armaments? Describe them –

“I don’t think they’re part of the empire, they looked more like a clan – but I didn’t see a Keeper.” She tries to hold the image in her head, seeing…an aravel, harts, and young elves that could very well be teenagers.

Sylmae’s face hardens. They’ve run into hostile clans before, though normally they have Keepers. A Keeper-less clan is woefully at risk, that is…if the Keeper isn’t disguised somehow.

Still, they alert the clan, rearranging the aravels into a defensive position and gathering warriors and hunters. Daern’thal taps into the wards and Dreaming, scouting where he can to see if he can learn anything about these elves.

Ash armors and arms herself, slowly working on her breathing exercises to let her magic begin to circulate freely inside of her. Fire requires a spark and a steady supply of fuel, magical fire requires the same, with slight variation. Her will is the spark, her breath and the magical pathways in her body are the fuel. She grabs her spear, two daggers, and several knives. She doesn’t think this clan will pose that much of a threat, but…safer than sorry.

Armed and ready, she joins her mothers at the forefront.

Another ward breaks and Ash is given another glimpse. The clan she sees is not advancing like an army, and she does not know if they can sense they are breaking wards. Exhaustion is written across their faces.

We need to know our enemies, yes, but we also need to know how to spot an ally, Mama’s voice drifts through her mind, a lingering memory. She was speaking to Cullen, something about how he was suspicious of some new mage enclave Mama wanted to bring into the fold. There was concern that they were Venatori agents – they had in fact been young mages who had run from the Circle before the rebellion. Mama had been right.

“I think…this is not a fight,” she says tentatively.

“I agree,” Reverie chirps up. It sits on Daern’thal’s shoulder, his eyes still closed as he searches through the Dreaming.

“They carry weariness with them, not malice,” it continues. Mamae and Memae share looks, Memae’s large eyes blinking slowly as she returns her gaze to the forest around them.

“They can still pose a threat,” Mamae says.

“Yes, but maybe…a friendly initial approach is best?” Ash suggests.

Another ward breaks. The sounds of a moving clan reach them, growing from soft whispers and whirring to actual speech and the plodding of harts, the various plunks and wheezing from moving aravels.

“Mamae? Memae?” Ash asks, wanting to see if they will at least consider her idea.

“Yes, little light, we’ll try. We do not fight if it’s not necessary,” Nim finally answers and Ash relaxes. If she is wrong, they can chew her out – but something tells her she’s not.

The other clan’s scouts are the first to pass through the trees. They are nearly hidden, but the wards chitter with activity.

“Stay there,” Nimronyn commands. The scouts freeze against the trees and soon the rest of the clan follows them.

They halt immediately as soon as they spy Ash’s clan. They watch each other, eyes flitting from one person to the next, gaging the strength of who they’re up against. The people of the other clan’s faces fall as they realize their disadvantage.

The stillness is broken by a small woman striding quickly to the front of the stopped clan. There is a fierceness to her that Ash recognizes, as is the sorrow that seems to fill the space around her. This is a grieving woman, her eyes are hard and she is ready to fight if need be. She has lost much, but she has not lost everything.

A warrior next to Ash grips his axe tighter and Ash reaches out, placing her hand on the haft. Nimronyn puffs up and a taste of her magic suffuses the area.

“There is already a clan here, you have broken many of our wards…what brings you so close?” She asks, her tone as strong as it is questioning. The woman in question raises her chin in defiance, her own magic expanding in the space and Ash suddenly realizes that this must be their Keeper.

“You are Nimronyn, yes?”

Memae lets out a low growl but nods.

“I am Henne’thel. My father spoke of you, he said you were a good Keeper. You are not like the Keeper that attacked my clan and killed him and my mother.”

Her clan does not gasp as much as the emotions in the clearing suddenly turn to shock then to pity then to sorrow. The death of a Keeper…once a rare event has become entirely too common, with the rise of the empire and the increasing boldness in warring clans that have tyrannical Keepers more bent on fighting and death than they are on leading.

“I am sorry for your loss, Henne’thel. I knew of your father as well, he was a good Keeper.”

“I am our Keeper now – I slew the last Keeper that threatened us.”

“As is your right. We do not wish any unnecessary antagonism if you do not,” Nimronyn says diplomatically.

The tension in the grove eases considerably. Ash watches as the other clan’s members relax, tension rolling off of their shoulders and their faces.

“No, we do not wish any unnecessary fighting. We will be on our way if it eases you,” Henne’thel says. Before Ash can think better of it, she steps forward and bends her head towards her memae.

“Perhaps, Keeper, we could invite them to break bread with us. Winters are coldest weathered alone,” she says, hoping the double meaning of her words come across. Memae huffs at her briefly, pausing before turning back to Henne’thel.

“My daughter speaks the truth, you are welcome to share our fire if you promise to keep your clan on their best behavior.”

Henne’thel inclines her head in gratitude, first towards Nimronyn, then towards Ash.

“Your generosity and hospitality is greatly appreciated. I will confer with my clan and give you an answer.”

“Very well. Ashokara, since you seem so invested in this, you may wait for their answer. You as well Daern’thal, keep her safe.”

Ah, she will be reprimanded lightly later then. Fine, she can handle that, because dammit she was right. Daern’thal looks slightly put out as the rest of their clan files back to their camp. Reverie scuttles up to the top of her friend’s head, staring at Henne’thel.

“I agree with you,” it chirps and she smiles at her friend.

“Thank you, Nimronyn and Sylmae may…not be so understanding of it later, though.”

“They’ll see reason, they always do. It’s not like you barreled head first into an army this time.”

“It was a raiding party, excuse you, and everything turned out fine. And this is better than fine. Friends are always good,” Ash says.

“I’m glad you feel that way,” Henne’thel says from behind her. Ash turns in surprise, looking down, very far down, at the woman before her.

“I do. I am glad we could avoid any fighting; you and your clan have been through enough.”

Henne’thel frowns at that but she does not press the issue as she returns to her people. She can guess what she seems like to Henne’thel, unknowing of the pain she is going through right now. But maybe…and it’s a big maybe, she will get the chance to understand.

When Ash turns back to Daern’thal he is flushed, and it’s not just from the weather. Ash leans back, raising a knowing brow at him. He shrugs, opting to remain silent. Well, then, perhaps it’s not as big of a ‘maybe’ after all.

Henne’thel confers with her people for at least an hour. In that hour, Ash and Daern’thal communicate mostly in sign, keeping quiet for privacy, for themselves and for the clan heatedly discussing whether or not to accept their offer. She can understand why they wouldn’t – unknown, could be a trap, inviting misfortune. She doubts saying it’s not a trap will assuage any concerns, so she lets them have their debate in peace.

Daern’thal seems preoccupied with how apparently pretty Henne’thel is. She is indeed lovely, Ash can see that, but Daern’thal seems very quickly taken with her.

I should have let you invite her to our fire. Ash teases.

I do not court the ire of the Keeper as easily as you do, He retorts, sufficiently not denying anything. She chuckles.

Everyone seems to forget what my name means.

How exactly did your mother know you would be so annoyingly defiant? He teases and she chuckles.

Lucky guess.

And so it goes for an hour, quip after quip until Henne’thel reappears, looking pleased with herself.

“We accept your invitation, as long as you sit with us.”

Oooh, she’s to be insurance, interesting.

“As long as Daern’thal can sit with us too, then, he’s delightful company.” She grins and Daern’thal almost blushes.

Henne’thel seems unfazed by it however as she nods and returns to her people. After she gathers them, they all head towards the camp. Ash manipulates the wards accordingly, allowing them safe passage. The aravels are still positioned defensively when they arrive and a truce must be reached – weapons are to be confined to specific aravels to help prevent fighting. Both clans consent to it and slowly but surely, Henne’thel’s clan settles down around the large fire Ash’s clan has going.

Ash and Daern’thal are kept as the insurance, but she doesn’t mind. She knows that her clan will not attack, and she is happy to foster diplomacy. Henne’thel’s people do not talk to her much at all however, they keep to themselves and while they are all sharing the fire, the clans remain largely separated into their groups. The only exception to this are the children.

As soon as the situation is deemed safe enough, the children are allowed out of the aravels and allowed to romp. They have no issues with making new friends from a different clan, they see a fellow child and see a potential friend, not a potential threat.

Henne’thel and Nimronyn sit together, discussing Keeper things, Ash imagines. This awkward situation remains until supper, where the hunters from both clans convene and begin to cook the game they had caught during the day. Henne’thel takes a seat next to Nimronyn, while Ash and Daern’thal sit with the hunters from Henne’thel’s clan.

The fire begins to die when a wind billows through the trees. Reflexively, Ash takes control of the fire, turning it a brilliant blue as it waves in place while the wind poses a threat. When the wind shifts, she relinquishes it and settles back in. Henne’thel’s clan is watching her closely.

“I heard a very interesting rumor,” Henne’thel says carefully.

“And what is this rumor?” Nimronyn asks.

“There was a battle in a valley far from here, between the rising empire elves and a clan.”

Ash tenses but Nimronyn seems calm.

“Not such an uncommon occurrence in such times.”

“Hm, true, but it is uncommon when the clan wins.” Henne’thel’s gaze shifts to Ash.

“The rumors spoke of a great blue fire engulfing even the mightiest of the warriors. They call the woman responsible for the slaughter Asha’thylgar.”

“The woman of blue fire? What a descriptive name,” Nimronyn ventures, “and potentially misleading – blue fire is not as uncommon as some think.”

“True…but the rumor spoke of the woman who as the daughter of a Keeper,” Henne’thel says and finally Nimronyn shifts her tone.

“I do not appreciate where you are going with this.”

“I mean no disrespect or harm. I am…impressed, very few who tangle with this so-called empire come out of it alive – and you did more than just survive.”

Ash resists smiling and instead continues to eat her food. Ash’s clan seems unnerved from the conversation, they’re shifting in their seats, looking to one another. Sylmae levels her gaze at Ash while Henne’thel and Nymronyn remain locked into whatever stand-off they’re in.

“The empire is hunting you, Asha’thylgar has a sizeable bounty on her head for what she did to Falon’din, it seems reasonable to warn you.”

“How exactly did you come across this information?” Nimronyn demands. They already know about the bounty and the hunting parties, it’s partly why they’re still on the move.

“How everyone does, gossip-y spirits, including an actual Gossip spirit. We have no interest in collecting that bounty, they’d probably just steal us into their empire anyways.”

“Then why bring it up?” Nimronyn asks.

Henne’thel pauses and her eyes go over Ash, “I wanted to know if it was true. I know what the empire can do, I doubted such rumors that a clan escaped. The tale made it sound…fantastical.”

“Feats that are not believed are often thought of that way,” Ash says softly. It’s how folktales and legends get started, there’s almost always a grain of truth, but time distorts everything – especially stories.

“And do you have the truth of this feat?” Henne’thel asks.

“The truth is subject to perspective,” Nimronyn says, “perhaps that is why your gossiping spirits create such a fantastical story – it’s their truth.”

“Then I ask for your truth,” Henne’thel says, not backing down from this. Eyes flit to Ash, expecting her to tell the tale. She nibbles on her lip and shrugs.

“A raiding party entered the valley where we were camped. I was tasked with leading the clan away from the fighting while my Keeper and the clan’s warriors engaged with the raiding party. I couldn’t bear to watch my mothers die so I entered the fighting myself – I have always had a talent for fire, I used it.”

Dark emotion falls over Henne’thel and she nods, “I know that feeling, you are lucky that you did not lose them.” A bitter smile crosses Ash’s face – she doesn’t know, she tells herself. But she nods her head in thanks.

“Lucky indeed.” It feels like a lie. It wasn’t luck, it was determination and action, to prevent from history repeating itself. Or beginning so to speak. She knows what Henne’thel is feeling right now – anger, grief, jealousy. Ash’s adoptive mothers are alive while Henne’thel’s parents are dead – through no fault of her own.

“I am heartened to hear that the tale is true, it is good to know that not all clans are doomed to suffer Keeper-less fates.”

“And we heartened to know that your clan survived a rival’s attack. How did you manage that?” Ash asks.

“I took the form of a Keeper and assumed my role.”

She is more powerful than she seems, then, good. Allies should be strong. The rest of the dinner is filled with polite, if tense, conversation. But over time, and as the wines and spirits are passed around the fire, the tension lessens and the two clans ease into a more companionable existence.

The next few days are a flurry of activity. Food is a little thin, Ash’s clan was not expecting to be hosting with another clan. But Henne’thel’s hunters are more than happy to assist Nim’s hunters in acquiring food. Children play together, Nim and Henne’thel are engaged in talks the entire week, friendships are made, and by the end of the week, an alliance has formed.

Ash resists the urge to gloat but she does settle for a small, “I was right,” directed at Sylmae who humbles her in training again for it. Worth it, though. One of the best, and unexpected, results is that Daern’thal seems absolutely taken with Henne’thel. Reverie once whispers to Ash that Daern’thal finds Henne’thel pretty, beautiful even.

While there seems to be a lead up into a courtship between Henne’thel and Daern’thal, and the alliance is strong, the two clan go their separate ways in traveling. They set up the routes for communication in the Dreaming, giving Daern’thal even more power to contact his lady love. It’s cute, and it’s a good reminder than even in dark times there are always these little bits of brightness that shine through.

Spring arrives in the mountains in a soggy manner, drenching the area in rain – as if the melting snow wasn’t enough. Aravels get stuck and travel becomes slow as they avoid flying due to the near constant inclement weather.

They are camped out on a small mountain, when a ward goes off. Like it’s supposed to work, Ash catches a glimpse of what broke the ward – but she doesn’t see anything other than the surrounding foliage, maybe a few animals, but nothing that would break a ward. She frowns. Wards do not just spontaneously break. 

She waits several minutes but no other wards break. She alerts the clan to the ward breaking and they agree it should be examined. Several groups are sent out to examine the perimeter while Ash and Etiras leave to examine the ward, armed just in case. They travel quietly through the woods to the broken ward. Ash’s magic lingers in the area, not just activated but blown apart. This was no accident.

She draws her spear and slowly turns, scanning the area. Etiras draws his bow, looking for anything, anyone, who could have blown the enchantment.

Ash looks up too late. A heavy person drops down from the trees, landing firmly on top of her. She falls to the ground with a harrumph, but rolls away quickly. More drop down from the trees and she hears the snaps of a bow as Etiras begins to fight back. Her spear was thrown when the elf landed on her, so she grabs the dagger in her belt and lashes out with that.

The assassin evades her easily and advances quickly. She rolls back to her feet just as the assassin lunges. She moves just as Sylmae taught her, and she lashes out with her fire – but it is raining, and the ground is sopping. Her fire only does so much, only burns so much before it is turned to steam. More steam fills the air as her fire collides with it, thickening the air, making it difficult to breathe.

But the assassins were just warming up it seems. A cloud of magic seeps into the air, sending what feels like knives and shards of glass into her skin. Her arms are soon covered in lacerations, her face, legs. She hears Etiras scream and she realizes that they’ve been outmatched.

It’s a quick decision, but it should work. It’s called a detonation glyph, she normally doesn’t use them because their devastation is too dangerous – too much margin of error. But they are far from camp and the sound of the blast will alert the rest of the clan. She blasts her fire into the nearest assassin. Their barrier takes the majority of the blast but they are left at least stunned enough to grant her the three seconds to whisper the spell into the ground.

The time starts now.

She manipulates the heat of the air to allow her to see Etiras. Wasting no time, Ash grabs him and runs. Then jumps down a ledge. She sends them both into a tucked in roll, doing the best to protect themselves even as they roll down the scraggly side of the ledge and into the brush.

The ward goes off in a brilliant blue explosion, rocking the earth and air. Debris flies down and Ash curls in on herself, protecting her head and neck.

When the air grows calm, she gathers the will to peak out from her position.

“E-Etiras?” She calls softly. A low groan answers her and she pulls herself to her feet. Damn assassins, probably looking to get a bounty on her like Henne’thel had said. Her body is bleeding and hurt, but she can move, keep moving, keep going.

Ash moves to Etiras, who is in a much worse shape. His foot is bent at an unnatural angle and he is already covered in purple and blue marks, bleeding internally as well as from the cuts up and down his arms, his face…

She has never been one for healing. It is not a skill that comes naturally to her, but she knows a thing or two.

“Etiras.”

“Ow.” He can’t move, the pain is too much, it infuses all of the emotion around him. But he’s alive, and that’s all that matters as far she’s concerned. With the utmost care, she reaches down and gently lifts him. He cries out in pain, but this has to happen. It gets worse before it gets better, she remembers that is part of healing.

The foot needs to be set, there’s no way around it, and then she can begin healing. There is a spell for numbing pain, she just need to remember it.

She attempts a spell then checks for numbness, but it doesn’t work. She tries again, but it is on the third try that she manages the right incantation. Etiras goes numb, all pain and some emotion fading from him.

Alright, step one done. She can do this, she may not have taken to healing, but she did train. She did her time with the healers, and she recalls some from her first life, even without magic, it’s possible. She thinks of the surgeon in Skyhold’s infirmary, working to heal the soldiers, and she didn’t even have magic.

If she can do it, so can Ashokara.

She takes gentle hold of his foot and leg and recalls seeing the Surgeon set a bone like this. Know the body and how it connects and you can take it apart…and put it together again.

She jerks. The bones crunch sickening but the foot is in the position it is supposed to be in. She tears off her shirt and wraps the torn pieces around the foot, then wraps two sturdy sticks to his leg, stabilizing it. Then she casts the few healing spells she knows.

The cuts on his arms mend, and some of the bruising eases off. His breathing evens out and she runs a hand over his hair.

“I’m going to get us back.”

“That was some fucked up shit, Ash.”

“I know, I’m going to pick you up now.” She takes one of his arms and helps him into a sitting position, then moves the arm to fall over her shoulders. She adjusts herself so that when she stands, he is slung over both shoulders, foot and ankle untouched. He grunts but makes no protest as she begins to walk towards what she hopes will let her back up to the clan.

She needs to keep moving, there’s no telling if there are more assassins, waiting to strike. Sylmae and the rest are good at tracking so if they need to find her, they will. Etiras is heavy, but not so much that she will let him attempt walking.

Ash wanders down to the river the scouts had found before. Hypothetically she should be able to wander up-stream and to a crossing point where she can then get to the desired elevation where the clan is. And water sounds very nice right about now.

The going is slow, but she eventually makes it to where the trees end and the riverbed beings, dipping in low. She stops immediately, frozen to the spot as she sees it. She has many experiences with spirits, small and large alike, some bright some clinging to shadows, but none have ever shone so brightly, floated so exquisitely as the one before. It large and golden, but not like the ore but as if it were a second sun on earth, light spilling so easily from it as it dangles in the air above the river.

It turns towards her and her heart stutters. She falls to her knees and Etiras grunts, but falls silent of any protests as he looks up from her shoulder and sees the spirit.

It blinks curiously at her as it floats towards her. An arm extends down to her, silent but overwhelming as it touches her cheek. It is warm and comforting despite everything and she leans into it, wanting it to remain just for longer. It is almost familiar, this closeness, and it fills with unfathomable sorrow to have it be gone.

“You are lost,” it whispers, but it is an echoing thing, as if it were a thousand whispers coming from multiple beings rather than just one. She nods in confirmation.

“We are separated from our clan, have you seen them?” Etiras asks. The spirit turns to him and nods.

“Up on the ridge, to the east. But that is not what I meant.”

Ash blinks in surprise and struggles to find a response.

“I am where I can only be,” she finally says and the spirit nods.

“As we all are.”

Etiras lifts his head slowly and takes a breath, “You are Glory.”

“I am.”

Glory. A very suiting aspect for this spirit, overwhelming and humbling and incredible all at once. Grand and shining, something everyone wants, and so few get, fewer that deserve it.

“Thank you for helping us,” he whispers. Several of its wings beat, light shines from them in varying lengths.

“I will accompany you to the path, you should find your way back from there,” Glory says and begins to…float up the river. She follows it, moving as quickly as she can. As Glory moves, the world seems to stretch towards them, as if nothing can get enough of them. Even Etiras seems to lean as much as he can towards them.

But a coldness lingers in Ash that she can’t explain. It is beautiful and great and incredible, but it also brings a heaviness to her memories that she has not felt in a long time.

Glory leads them to the path. Ash was right, it wasn’t far from the river at all, and she can hear Sylmae and the others in the distance calling for her. Before she heads towards them, she turns to Glory and bows her head in thanks.

“Thank you. And if you will accept advice – stay far away from the Empire, all they do is destroy and corrupt things.”

“Your concern is kind. I will remember it,” it tells her. She nods and Etiras gives his own thanks as Glory recedes back into the Dreaming.

Etiras is heavy upon her shoulders, as are her memories, pressing incessantly against her skull. But she sojourns forth towards the sound of her clan, her people. The past weighs her down, but her legs are strong.

She takes a deep breath and calls for Sylmae, directing them all to her. They are there in a flash, taking Etiras from her and whisking him away to the clan’s healers. Sylmae pulls Ash in for a tight hug, only to release her quickly once she realizes how cut up Ash is.

Their time of running from the Empire is coming to an end, and much sooner than she had expected.

[alazbatyr]

meet you there

ao3 / ffnet

There’s been a change, recently.

Sadist is treating her better for some reason. Okay, they have their fights every now and then, and the verbal spats still don’t cease. But, more often than not, they spend their time together sitting in their park, picking on people other than each other and occasionally beating a thug or eight when they happen to come across some in Kabuki District.

Even when they fight, he pulls his punches, careful not to leave even a bruise. Of course, she teases him for it, aiming to evoke a reaction from him, but he just shrugs and asks her if she wants to go for some ramen, and off they go.

Kagura doesn’t know if she likes it or not.

On the tenth day, she decides to ask her Gin-chan about it.

She’s lying next to Sadaharu, cuddling up to his warmth. It’s a dreadfully cold day. It’s the middle of spring, but the last dregs of the past winter still leave the air brisk and humid, before spring fully settles and sunshine takes its place.

The Yorozuya is chilly due to their heating being broken, and Gintoki is huddling in front of their only flimsy heater holding a blanket wrapped around himself, leaving no space for her. Hence, Sadaharu.

She’s wants to get up to grab something to eat, but leaving her blissfully warm spot to make the trek to the kitchen is too unappealing. She decides to snuggle even more closer to Sadaharu, petting his soft fur.

“Hey, Gin-chan?”

He hums, bringing his hands closer to the heater to warm up his chilly fingers.

“Have you noticed something different with the Sadist this past week?” she asks.

She doesn’t notice his shoulders tensing up and straightening a little, too busy with running her fingers through her dog’s fur.

“What makes you ask that, Kagura?” he says with a strangled tone and she raises her gaze to look at him, noting his slightly furrowed eyebrows.

‘Probably because he can’t pick his nose with his cold fingers,’ she thinks and decides to ignore it. He deserves it anyways, he made her pick up the habit. Anego says it’s unbecoming, now that she’s a woman.

“I don’t know. He’s been acting nicer? Yesterday he took me to dinner and didn’t even complain about how much he had to pay.”

She expects a dumb comment or for him to warn her against how ‘all men are pigs and just after her body so don’t date anyone ever, or at least until you’re thirty’.

Instead he turns towards her, and asks her with now expression whatsoever;

“Well, I don’t know. Why do you think that is?”

She stops combing her fingers through Sadaharu’s fur, her hand resting lightly upon his slowly rising and falling belly. An expectant silence hangs in the air, and she has no idea how to answer. Has anything important happened recently that she’s not aware of? Something to change the status quo? She tries to recall the events of the past few weeks and doesn’t come up with anything.

“I don’t know,” she says, “it’s probably his time of the month or something.”

She is met with a deep sight and the sound of Gintoki shuffling back towards the heater.

“You know that men don’t have that thing, right?”

She declines to respond and with the soothing sound of wind howling outside, settles down for a nap.

On the thirteenth day, she decides to admit she kind of likes this change.

It’s the day that Spring Festival of Edo takes place. She had been waiting for this the whole winter, looking forward to the sun making its appearance again, to bring its warmth and brightness along. The darkness of winter, hail and snow are things she has had too much of. She doesn’t miss them.

She’s walking Sadaharu through Kabuki district. The cold has finally broken after the last few days and she doesn’t miss the chance to go out and bask in the sunlight. It’s weak, obstructed by the clouds hovering above, so she holds her umbrella closed in her hand and makes her way to their park.

He’s there, sitting on the bench he has claimed as his own with his sleeping mask covering his eyes and his head leaning back.

She lets Sadaharu run ahead, and does something she would never allow herself to do. She lets herself, for a few moments, to look at him.

The weak sunlight is reflecting off his light-colored hair, making it look brighter and softer. The black of his uniform contrasts nicely with his skin, and she imagines how it would feel to run her fingers through his hair, to feel his soft looking skin, to gaze into his deep, crimson eyes and drown-

He reaches up and moves his sleeping mask up and onto his head like he feels her gaze and she mentally slaps herself, ‘God damn it, what the fuck was that-’ and looks over to Sadaharu running around the park.

“Hey, China.” he says. She turns towards him, who’s still reclining on the bench, now his eyes boring into hers. It’s almost like he’s scrutinizing her, though she doesn’t get why. After a few moments, he seems to relax and turns forward again.

Making her way to the bench, she sits down next to him, placing her umbrella next to the partly chipped wood.

“Don’t you have work to do, Sadist?” she says, making herself comfortable.

He places his arms onto the back of the bench and says;

“I am working. I’m on patrol, and right now I’m ensuring the security of the people in the park. Unlike some lazy asses who do nothing but lay around in their boss’ office all day.”

Kagura snorts, and leans back too, both of them watching Sadaharu chase kids around the park with a comfortable silence between them. After a while, his fingers start tap-tap-tapping on the bench with no rhythm.

“Come with me to the Spring Festival tonight.” says Sougo.

Caught off guard, Kagura turns sideways to look at him. There’s a subtle redness on his cheeks and his eyes are still trained forward, determinedly tracking the big white dog running around the park.

“Um. Well… I promised Anego that I’d go with her-”

His fingers stop tapping on the bench abruptly. He pulls his arms to his sides and prepares to get up.

“Okay then. Give my best to that Goril-”

“But I think I’d like to go with you more, Sadist.”

Surprised, Sougo sits back down on the bench and raises his eyes to look at her. She’s fiddling with the handle of her umbrella, not meeting his eyes, but he can see a small turning up of her lips breaking through.

He quirks his lips in return, relishing in her smile and after a moment, rising from his seat.

“Then it’s a date. Meet me here at five. Don’t be late.”

Shinpachi’s at home when she gets there, cleaning the kitchen while Gintoki sleeps on the sofa wrapped in a blanket with his JUMP covering his face.

She toes off her shoes in the doorway and makes her way to Shinpachi.

“Hey, glasses.”

Shinpachi startles, nearly dropping the bowl he’s rinsing and turns to her with worried eyes.

“Kagura-chan! Where have you been? You weren’t there when I got here and-”

“I was just walking Sadaharu, calm down!”  she says. She’d be alarmed by his actions, if she wasn’t used to Shinpachi being such a worrywart.

She makes her way to the fridge, ignoring Shinpachi’s worried look and asks;

“Do you think Anego would be mad if I didn’t go to the festival with her?”

“Oh my God, Kagura-chan! Are you ill? Why aren’t you going? Tell me where it hurts, I’ll look if we have any medici-“

“Shut up, glasses! I’m not sick!” she says, throwing an annoyed look at the boy.

“Then why aren’t you going to the festival? You love festivals!”

“Who said I’m not going, idiot!” she says, slamming the fridge door shut.

“Eh? Then why did you ask if Aneue would be mad if you didn’t go?”

Kagura mumbles something he can’t catch, still facing the fridge.

“What?” says Shinpachi, “I didn’t hear that.”

“I said I’m going with the Sadist, damn it! Do you think Anego can help me to get ready?”

“Kagura-chan! Do you have a date? You do, don’t you? You’ve been spending a lot of time with Okita-san lately, I’m not even surprised.”

Kagura blushes, equal parts annoyed and embarrassed.

“Shut up, idiot! Just answer my question!”

Surprisingly, Gintoki doesn’t make a fuss when she tells him she will go to the festival with Sougo, letting her off with a customary ‘Don’t be late,’, and she’s off to Shimura dojo.

Anego’s eyes almost sparkle when she tells her that she has a date with Sadist and she readily lends her a kimono which she promises to bring back intact.

She arrives at their park with five minutes to spare to find him already there, in daily clothes instead of his uniform.

“You look nice, China. I could get used to seeing you like this.” he says without an ounce of sarcasm, and offers his arm to her. She feels warmth crawling up her neck and cheeks and thinks, ‘I could get used to this too.’

“Who knew a pig who could eat a restaurant out of ingredients and money could look like this. I’m impressed.”

All those nice feelings she had hearing his words die a fiery death. ‘Still the same fucking idiot he always was,’ she concludes. She crosses her arms with an annoyed expression.

“You just had to ruin it, didn’t you, Sadist? And to think I went to all that trouble…” she says, mumbling the last part.

Sougo chuckles. Grabbing her arm, he steers her towards the direction the festival is taking place at.

“Well, come on China. Time waits for no man.”

It’s the most fun she has in ages.

Sougo lets her get anything she wants, which is mostly food and competes with her in everything that doesn’t concern food, which are mostly shooting games.

They watch the fireworks from their park, the festival being too crowded to enjoy it properly. It is kind of chilly, and the grass is a little damp, but they don’t mind. They lie down on the grass side by side, close to the cherry blossom trees where they first met and with all the prizes they won from all those shooting games and watch.

It’s spectacular, the lights creating stark lines against the dark sky, curving, sparkling and bright, only to fade away moments later, followed by more and more. Kagura traces them all with entranced eyes, trying to follow every streak of light with her eyes which shine an unearthly blue.

Sougo watches her eyes, her expressions, rather than those fancy explosions of gunpowder. He’s seen them all his life, but seeing this, his China girl, bright and happy, is a privilege that he intends to utilize until his very last moment. He watches the mirror of the fireworks in her eyes, the impression of them lighting her pale face, and the happiness of them from her lips, instead.

It’s better and more satisfying than any light show he has ever seen.

They don’t mind the damp grass against their backs, lying down on a lush patch of grass in their park under the dark night sky. The chilly night air raises goosebumps up her legs. Her arm touching his at her side, though, warms her up more than it should.

“You see that constellation, China?”

“All of those are just dots to me. You gotta be more specific.”

Sougo sighs, taking her hand in his and raising it to pointing to eleven stars, tracing a path through the sky with her fingers.

“That’s Koharu. You see it?”

At her nod, he continues.                                        

“The legend says that she had a lover, a samurai named Ren.”

He moves her hand to a little bit to the left, tracing nine other stars, both their arms rising, reaching towards the dark.

“She was a miko, and despite forsaking both love and the mortal world to only love and service the Kami, she fell in love with him.”

Sougo lowers their arms back to his side, not letting go of Kagura’s hand and she turns sideways to be able to both see him and the stars, bright blemishes against the night sky she never was able to see back in her home planet.

“The Kami got angry at her for breaking her vow. She saw in a vision, that he was to go on a mission he wouldn’t return from. She begged him not to go, but he had no choice. He promised Koharu, that if he didn’t make it in this lifetime, he would find her in his next life, and they would be together, for eternity then.

“In the end, he didn’t return and in her misery, her body deteriorated. She welcomed it, knowing she would get to meet her lover in her next life.”

Kagura falls silent, tracing both constellations with her eyes, wondering if they ever got to meet in their next lives, or the one after that.

Sougo’s hand still  loosely around hers, she takes the chance and tightens her grip around his hand.

“Do you think they got to meet again? In their next lives?” she asks quietly, looking at his profile highlighted by the dim light of the moon.

He doesn’t respond for a moment, gazing at the constellations he pointed out moments ago. Then he turns his head to look into her eyes and says;

“Who knows? The Kami are vengeful and cruel, so they probably didn’t.”

Neither of them say anything for a few minutes, silently watching the stars twinkle above. Kagura shifts, turning her head better to see him. His eyes are turned away, but she can see that his mind is far away.

She absentmindedly rubs small circles on the back of his hand, an anchor for him to stay rooted to that moment, to come back to here and now.

“Well, they’re together now up in the sky, aren’t they?”

Sougo tightens his grip and lets a small smile shine through.

He drops her off to the Yorozuya building just after one in the morning.

She doesn’t know what to say. This is not what they usually do, an evening without fights or arguments isn’t what she’s used to. So she just goes with the flow, lets him lead her to her home with her arm tucked into his without argument.

She fiddles with the sleeves of her kimono for a moment, and looking at the floorboards of her doorway, says;

“U-Um. Well…  Thank you… for tonight, Sadi-Sougo.”

“Polite talk isn’t becoming on a pig like you, China,” Sougo says with a flat tone, leaning on one leg with his hands tucked into his pockets.

“Who are you calling a pig, dumbass?” Kagura says, clutching the arm of her kimono.

Sougo chuckles.

“Relax, China girl, I’m just teasing. I had fun too.” he says, taking her hand that’s wrinkling the sleeve of the kimono that Anego lent to her. She lets go of it, not wanting to damage it further and lets Sougo take her hand and raising her eyes to meet his.

He’s looking at her with a graveness she’s never seen directed to her.

She doesn’t resist a bit when he leans down towards her lips with his eyes half lidded.

She’s entranced.

Expecting a fully consuming, dominating kiss from him befitting of his title, ‘Sadist,’ she’s surprised by the delicate, close mouthed kiss she receives.

He pulls away after just a few moments, leaving her bewildered and wanting more.

He looks at her lips for a few moments, then raising them to meet her eyes, says;

“Goodnight, China.”

And leaves, her surprised eyes tracking him until he disappears out of her sight.

It takes a while for her to fall asleep, but when she does, she goes to sleep all happy and giddy that night, with the feel of Sougo’s kiss tingling her lips.

She has a nightmare she can’t make sense of that night.

She’s dying, dying, dying-

It’s so hard to breathe, she’s wheezing, struggling to get a little bit of air into her lungs. Her chest feels heavy, like it’s filled with lead and she’s trying to push down the metal to make room for oxygen. With every heavy breath, a little bit of that red, red metal comes up, up from her lungs, through her mouth and down her chin.

There are hands holding her up, chanting, “China, China, Kagura, come back. Come back! Please, don’t do this, please, please!”, but she can’t breathe, she can’t breathe, metal and blood filling her lungs and she can’t can’t can’t-

On day fourteen, she wakes up with her throat dry and with a distinct burn in her eyes.

She first washes her face to get rid of the red tinge on her face, then goes to the kitchen to eat breakfast with her adopted family.

Shinpachi is, as always, preparing their breakfast while Gintoki sits slumped on the ground. The effort of keeping his head up is seemingly too much for him, as it’s hanging tilted towards his shoulder.

“Good morning, Gin-chan, Shinpachi.” she mumbles, taking her spot by the table.

“Good morning, Kagura-chan! How did you sleep?” Shinpachi asks with a tone of voice that is too high and too fucking awake this early in the morning.

“God, I wish I hadn’t said anything. Shut up.” Says Kagura, also resting her head upon the countertop.

“Kagura-chan! That’s a very rude thing to say! What would Aneue say?” Shinpachi says while checking the time on the rice counter.

“Don’t know. Don’t care.” said Kagura, her mind still stuck on the fact that she kissed that goddamn Sadist – no matter how innocently – on the mouth. Shit. How is she supposed to get married now?

She goes through who she can ask about the situation.

If she asks Anego, she’ll get questioned on every little detail. Tsukki will ask how much money he has and if he can provide for her once he -god forbid- owns her for eternity. Those travesties and Kyubeii will ask about the size of his dick, and while she has no judgement towards peoples’ fetishes, she is not motivated to fuel them either.

Shinpachi brings their rice and soup while she’s lost in her thoughts. He sets them down on the table, nudges Gintoki awake with his elbow and turns to her.

“How was the festival, Kagura-chan?” he asks. “Did you have fun?”

“Huh? Oh. Yeah.” she says, fully focused on her rice.

“I didn’t hear any news about stalls being destroyed by two demons either. Didn’t know you two could be civil towards each other.” says Gintoki.

Kagura hums, shoving her food into her mouth in lieu of responding.

Shinpachi sets down his chopsticks, unnerved by the usually loud mouthed girl not spewing out words with the ferocity of a machine gun.

He scrutinizes her more closely, and notices the faint bags under her eyes and her pales than usual complexion, and decides to inquire about it after she’s done with her food.

She puts down her bowl and chopsticks, and with a sigh, prepares to get up but Shinpachi placing his hand on her forearm stops her.

“Are you alright, Kagura-chan? You don’t look well. Did you catch a cold?”

“I’m okay, Glasses. I just had a nightmare, that’s all.”

“Oh. Do you want to talk about it?”

She considers not saying anything, Sougo’s desperate eyes and the tone that rang clear despite the disturbing silence still fresh in her mind. But worrying Shinpachi isn’t something she wants. He worries too much about too many things already. She swears that one day he’ll die of high blood pressure.

She sighs, not knowing how to begin and stares at a small scratch on the surface of the low table.

“I don’t know what I saw. It felt like I was dying, and Sadist was there… And he… He…” she trails off, fiddling with the ends of her qipao.

She misses Gintoki shooting a grave look at Shinpachi, who grimaces and shakes his head ‘no’. Gintoki frowns before putting on what he hopes looks like his usual, bored expression.

“Maybe you ate something bad yesterday, Kagura. You know those things make you see weird shit at night. Like that one time I drank expired strawberry milk and dreamt I was burning my JUMP collection.”

Kagura thinks for a moment, and seeming appeased, says;

“Uh-huh, you’re right, Gin-chan. You can never trust those food stalls.”

Raising from the floor, she dusts the skirt of her qipao and heads towards the door.

“I’m going for a walk. Come on, Sadaharu.”

She puts on her shoes, grabs her umbrella, and she’s out the door with her dog bounding after her.

Gintoki lets out a sigh, leaning on the table with both of his elbows resting on it and rubs his temples. There’s a frown marring his face.

“God damn it.”

Shinpachi is silent besides him, eyes boring holes into the ground.

“Do you think we should tell her, Gin-san?” he says quietly.

Gintoki drops his hand from his forehead, squeezing it into a fist.

“No. He didn’t want her to know and it’s not our place to tell her, anyways. That stupid kid. Doesn’t he realize that the later she learns, the more it’s gonna hurt?”

“Are you going out again, Sougo?” Kondo asks from where he’s leaning on the doorway of Sougo’s room with his arms crossed. “To see the Yorozuya girl?”

“Yeah.” says Sougo, straightening his uniform jacket and grabbing his sword to fix it on his belt. He forgoes his sleeping mask. He won’t need it, now that he doesn’t have forever to etch her face into his mind, to memorize every look and every expression that she makes.

“Kondo-san,” he says, turning towards the door. “I know I never said this, but I appreciate everything you’ve done and still do for me. Thank you.”

Kondo’s shoulders stiffen and he drops his arms to his sides, taking a step into the room.

“Don’t talk like everything is over, Sougo! Our men are still looking for a miko that can turn this situation around. We’ll find a way out of this.”

Sougo shrugs.

“It’s alright, Kondo-san. I knew what I was getting myself into.”

A solemn silence hangs in the air. This is something that words and empty promises won’t solve.

“I’ll be going, then. China should be at the park by now.” He says, making his way out the door, leaving Kondo standing in the spartan room.

There was always this ‘will they or won’t they’ situation between them. They were the only ones who could keep up with each other, be it with words or with punches. When the situation called for it though, they moved with an understanding of each other so deep, it was like they were two parts of one. They became each other’s pillars, compasses, north stars. No matter what happened, they would find their way back, back to each other.

It was a matter of time. Maybe later, rather than sooner, they would catch on and maybe not put aside their differences, but learn to live with them.

But Sougo learnt the hard way that time was a privilege, not something to take for granted and with his rather harsh wake up call, decided to take the reins and make the most of the limited time he had left.

The eighteenth day brings with it the truth.

Kagura was always aware that life is cruel. She became acquainted with the fact early in her life and it did its best to remind her of it in every chance it got.

She thinks she shouldn’t be surprised one of the best things she got to have, other than her Yorozuya family, is to be taken away before she even gets used to it.

She keeps seeing the same nightmare every night starting from the first night has it. She memorizes the details, how the air smells of the distinct smell of blood and copper, how heavy her lungs feel and tighten with every breath she tries to take. How she feels so, so cold but the arms holding her up are so warm, easing her discomfort just a tiny bit. How his eyes look even brighter and a deeper crimson with a slight sheen of tears and a splatter of blood on his cheek.

She catalogues every emotion she can detect in his face, denial, refusal, and the most prominent one; desperation. She wants to reach up and dry his eyes, clean his face of the blood stark against his pale skin, but her arms refuse to rise and she can do nothing but lay there and listen to his pleas for her to ‘hang on, just hang on China, just a little bit more-’ until she wakes up.

She wakes up worn out and restless every time, and it’s starting to take its toll on her. She goes to the park every day driven by the need to see Sougo and reassure herself that everything is alright. As more days pass without sleep, though, she feels herself getting slow and sluggish.

That day, she falls asleep on the bench Sougo has claimed as his own waiting for him and wakes up in Gintoki’s futon.

She tries to recall how she got there, but comes up blank. She only remembers going to the park, watching Sadaharu run around and play with kids who are lucky enough to catch his eye.

Hearing two voices she knows by heart coming from the kitchen, Kagura gets up rubbing the sleep from her eyes and makes her way towards where they are.

“-you going to tell her, Sougo? She deserves to know.”

Kagura stops in her tracks. Gintoki’s tone is unusually solemn and she wants to know who they are talking about that can make him like this.

Sougo’s voice comes in just moments later. She plasters herself to the wall of the hallway and tilts her head to hear them better.

“I can’t tell her, Danna. You know how she is. She’ll do something stupid and probably dangerous and what I’ve done will just go to waste.”

Gintoki sighs.

“Cut the crap, kid. I know you want to protect her, but after you’re gone, what’ll happen then? It will only get harder to tell her when the time’s closer.”

“I know that, Danna.”

There’s silence for a while, she can only hear clinking of cups. She takes that time to process what she has heard.

She feels confused, angry, and something else she can’t name. Disappointment, maybe? She doesn’t know. Sadist is going away and he didn’t tell her? Where’s he going? She thought they were close enough for him to share something like that with her, especially after the events of the last two weeks.

Gintoki’s voice rouses her from her thoughts.

“How long do you have left?”

“Just under two weeks, now.” he says, and Kagura feels the world crash down around her. She wants to barge in, beat the damn Sadist to the ground and demand answers but she can do nothing but stand frozen in her spot.

“You know she won’t take this well.”

“There’s nothing to be done. I trust you to take care of her, Danna.”

She hears rustling of cloth and draws herself further down the hallway.

“Sougo-”

“It’s alright. I know you’ll protect her in my place too, when I’m not here to do it.”

Kagura makes it to Gintoki’s room just in time, hearing the kitchen door slide open, and slides down onto the floor.

Dinner that night feels tense, at least to her. Gintoki and Shinpachi are still their usual selves, bickering with their usual fervor but she feels no inclination to join in. She doesn’t feel like eating. She absently picks at her rice.

Making up her mind, she decides to ask Gintoki.

“Gin-chan.”

Gintoki makes a muffled sound, his mouth full.

“Why is Sadist leaving?”

A heavy silence falls upon the trio. Gintoki freezes with his chopsticks halfway to his mouth while Shinpachi stares intently into his bowl. Gintoki swallows his mouthful.

“A-ah, Kagura, where did that come from? I don’t-”

“Don’t bullshit me, Gin-chan! I heard you and Sadist talking today! I said, why is he leaving?”

Seeing his adoptive daughter so pissed off, and hurt veiled in her eyes stirs something deep within him. He weighs his options, to tell her and let her be hurt now, or go around the topic only for her to get devastated later.

The look she shoots him erases all his doubts. She’s tough and strong willed, but she’s still his little girl, and he can’t bear to see her like this.

He sets down his chopsticks, and fixes his gaze to hers.

“Do you remember what happened about two weeks ago, Kagura?”

She’s glad, as she lays sprawled on the ground staring up at the sky, for once not afraid the sun will burn her to her core if she stays under it long enough, that the day she dies isn’t a rainy one.

There’s a puncture at her chest the size of her fist with blood pumping out, but as long as she doesn’t move and keeps her breathing light, she doesn’t feel any pain. She doesn’t think about it too much, she’s just grateful she doesn’t die in agony.

The clashing of swords and cries of men fighting around her are muffled, like they are coming from somewhere distant. She saw Gintoki and Shinpachi barge in with the Shinsengumi before she was shot. They are probably winning, she thinks, as she can’t imagine her Gin-chan and that Sadist to ever lose to anyone.

She forgets about it soon enough, goes back to staring at the sun which seems a bit dimmer. Or maybe it’s her vision that is dimming. She doesn’t know. Her mind is too fuzzy to think and cold is creeping up her limbs.

Someone drops down beside her. She notices the noise has ceased and tilts her head to the side to see who it is. Blinking her eyes slowly a few times to get rid of the black spots all over the place, she finally registers a flash of silver hair.

She tries to push air through her lungs, to open her mouth to speak, but the result is a series of coughs that dribble blood up her lungs and from her mouth. The movement disturbs the wound and the agony she hadn’t felt arrives with vengeance. Gintoki presses on the wound to stop the bleeding as much as he can. Her ears are ringing so loudly that she doesn’t hear Gintoki is talking until he is halfway through whatever he’s saying.

“-on, Kagura, hold on, the ambulance is on its way, alright? You just hang in there.”

Kagura shakes her head ‘no’, or tries to, as what she does is a miniscule turn of her head.

Someone else comes to her other side with hurried steps and then they are raising her torso off the ground and bringing her to a warm chest. The hands feel blessedly warm, she feels colder with every passing second but the hands help.

She doesn’t know when she closed her eyes but she opens them. Breathing is a struggle now, even the smallest amounts of air not passing through her blood-filled trachea. She finds herself looking into familiar, crimson eyes. She can see his lips move, his face scrunched up in an expression she has never seen before on him, but the ringing in her ears is getting louder and louder-

It’s so hard to breathe, she’s wheezing, struggling to get a little bit of air into her lungs. Her chest feels heavy, like it’s filled with lead and she’s trying to push down the metal to make room for oxygen. With every heavy breath, a little bit of that red, red metal comes up, up from her lungs, through her mouth and down her chin.

There are hands holding her up, chanting, “China, China, Kagura, come back. Come back! Please, don’t do this, please, please!”, but she can’t breathe, she can’t breathe, metal and blood filling her lungs and she can’t can’t can’t-

Kamui has stepped on many toes on his path to being the strongest space pirate. His ruthlessness and wrath admired by some, and despised by most. He has no shortage of enemies, people who would do anything to get revenge for their titles, reputations, and most of all, their prides.

So, when someone hears that the infamous Harusame admiral has a weak little sister on a tiny planet called Earth, grasping at every chance to enact their revenge, they go after her.

They first plan to hold her hostage and offer to give her back to Kamui with the price being humiliation at worst and his life at best.

Some idiotic earthlings decide to meddle, though, and their to-be hostage is shot by one of their own in the ensuing chaos.

Seeing the reason they decided to come down to Earth almost dead on the ground, there is nothing left to do but leave. Their revenge will have to wait.

Sougo is at their park, enjoying the crisp night air before he has to go back to the Shinsengumi compound. He knows he will get almost no sleep, his brain hardwired to spend as much time as he can awake. He lets out a chuckle. All that time he spent napping the day away and now he can’t -doesn’t want to- stay asleep more than three hours a day.

He doesn’t regret it. Seeing China on the ground, much like a broken doll with her blood pooled around her body, its crimson color more vibrant against her pale skin is something he never wants to see again. He had thought, in that moment that he would do anything, anything, to bring her back, and the Kami had answered.

Looking up at the heavens, tracing the stars and constellations, he finds that he would do it again without remorse.

In a heartbeat.

Kagura running towards him shouting profanities is what parts him from his thoughts. He thinks she got annoyed at something or other at the Yorozuya building, as there is always something to disturb her peace there and her fuse is rather short. His lips form a small smirk. Loosening his stance with anticipation, he prepares for the lively brawl that is sure to take place.

When she gets closer, though, he can see her red cheeks, her eyes livid and tears running down her face. Worried, he lets down his guard.

And is met with a punch on his face.

He falls on his ass, thankfully meeting the soft grass and decides not to get up, seeing the girl in front of him still furious, her breathing heavy and both her hands clutched into fists at her sides.

“Why did you do it, Sadist? How could you! God damn it! Are you fucking mad?”

Sougo rubs his aching cheek. There will be a bruise tomorrow.

“The fuck are you going on about, China? I can take you in for assault.” He says, trying to lighten the mood.

Which fails pathetically. It only seems to make her angrier, her frown deepening, tears still pooled in her eyes.

“Cut the crap, Sadist. Why? Why did you do it?”

Sougo lets his hand drop from his cheek with a sigh. He pushes himself up and looks her straight in the eye.

“You know damn well why. Don’t make me spell it out, China.”

She drops her gaze to the ground. Her shoulders shaking, she tries to smother the sobs rising up her chest.

Sougo keeps silent. He just reaches for her hand, pulling her down to sit on the grass and lies down. Not letting go of his hand, Kagura lies down next to him with her head on his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. His hand comes up to grasp her shoulder, pulling her closer to him and slowly rubbing up and down.

“I couldn’t stand by and do nothing when the Kami gave me a chance. I couldn’t let it, let you, slip away.” He says quietly, like he doesn’t want to disturb the silence that is unique only to the night.

Kagura feels her chest constrict, a fresh wave of tears making its way to her eyes which she desperately tries to stop.

She tilts her head to look at him, eyes cloudy with remorse.

“How would you feel if it was me? How would you feel if you had to go on knowing I traded my life for yours?”

Sougo squeezes her upper arm, almost like he’s trying to make sure she’s there with him, real and solid.

“You will live on, China. Promise me that you will.”

Kagura shuts her eyes and takes a deep breath to stop herself from bursting into tears. It’s too much, too much.

“Remember when you told me about Koharu and Ren?” She asks.

The change of topic taking him by surprise, Sougo just hums.

Kagura molds her body closer to his, prompting him to turn his head to look at her.

“Promise me we’ll find each other in our next lives, Sadist. Promise me.” She says, nearly choking on her words.

Sougo knows there won’t be a next life for him. The Kami are cruel, and they always collect their debts when they come due. They have their precious two weeks, and after that there is nothing. No second chances, no new beginning, not even becoming constellations to at last be together at the skies.

But looking at her tearful eyes which shine with a slight glimmer of hope, nearly lost among the sea of sorrow, he can’t tell her the truth. He places a small kiss on her lips, tasting the salt of her tears.

“I promise, China. Be it in a hundred or a thousand years, I’ll find you. No matter what.”

Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing there is a field.

I’ll meet you there.

When the soul lies down in that grass

The world is too full to talk about.

-Rumi

[aspirgallant]

The Calm Before the Storm

The day had been long and hard for the people of Yobash. With word of the oncoming Forged assault, they had spent its entirety properly arming themselves and preparing their defenses. Unfortunately, Ma’bud’s assessment of the students’ fighting abilities proved to be accurate. Save for the few who had once been soldiers or guards, many had little training with a weapon. Amal spent much of the day teaching volunteers basic techniques; just enough to defend themselves if magic wouldn’t suffice.

Aspir was mostly busy discussing strategy with Ma’bud and the sentries. Though he encountered the Forged far less than he’d like, in the couple of instances he did, Aspir had gained some familiarity with the various types of they would likely have to confront. He shared with them all he could, and watched as they planned and accounted for each type.

With the knowledge he provided, Ma’bud and the elementalists set about constructing various fortifications; primarily walls of solid sand to provide cover and elemental runes to act as traps. Several underground archives were converted into bunkers for those who couldn’t fight. They were stored with food and water should the worst come to pass and hiding became the only option. As the sun began to set, there was only one thing left to do: lower the very barrier that had protected the school grounds from the Dragonbrand for a decade. With its size and visibility, the chances of it attracting the Forged were simply too great.

Now all there was left to do was wait. Aspir decided to spend that time trying on the armor Amal had picked for him within the underground sanctuary. The set’s age was evident in the patches of tarnish that dotted each plate. What he assumed had once been dark purple cloth had dulled into a pale violet and was thoroughly chewed through by insects. He doubted it’d provide much protection at all. Still, he had to admit Amal was right. When it came to the Forged, some protection was better than none.

The sun was completely down by the time he exited his tent, which was based near the edge of the bubble. He was greeted to the sight of a small fire being diligently fed by Quenchya, with Mayline curled up peacefully nearby. He walked over to choya friend, presenting himself to her.

“So? What do you think? Does it look good?” He spun around, giving Quenchya a view of his entire body.

The choya stared blankly at him for a few seconds, then proceeded to return to her work of dragging sticks into the fire.

Aspir chuckled to himself. “Yeah, it could use a little polish.”

When she was satisfied, the tiny choya nestled up in a nearby sand pile. Aspir himself plopped right down next to the fire, basking in its warmth as the chill air of the night set in. As he leaned back onto his hands, he peered up into the sky. It was the first time since he arrived at Yobash that he could appreciate stars, which had previously been obscured by the barrier. They seemed so much more vibrant in the desert, forming a sea of lights and color.

He couldn’t help but to think about his star-loving partner. It had been nearly a month since Aspir had last seen Theo; perhaps even longer. He pulled the chain around neck his out, cradling the ring and locket Theo had given him in his palms. He wondered if his fiancé was alright. For all he knew, Theo could’ve been off risking his life in some other adventure with the Whispers. He just prayed he’d be able to see him again soon.

A voice came from behind him. “Outlander?”

Aspir jumped slightly in surprise, quickly tucking the jewelry back into his armor. He turned to see Amal behind him, waiting patiently. “Uh, yes?”

“Is it alright if we talked?” she asked.

Curious, Aspir nodded at her. “Of course.”

Amal nodded in turn, and took her place on the opposite side of the fire. She stared into the flames, something clearly on her mind. After a minute or so, she looked towards Aspir once more.

“I just wanted to apologize for my aggression towards you these past few days. These are simply…” She breathed out, suddenly looking very exhausted. “Difficult times.” She ran her hands through her hair before continuing. “I’ve seen you doing your best to help the people here. Clearly, I misjudged you.”

Aspir smiled at the warrior. “It’s fine. I know things have been tough around here with Balthazar and his followers. But we’ll beat him, and then maybe things will get better!”

Amal scoffer at his words. “Our troubles started long before Balthazar’s betrayal, and will continue long after. He’s just another tragedy in a long of list of them for Elona.”

A downcast looked appeared over Aspir. “What do you mean?”

“Do you know of Joko?” the warrior asked as her gaze lowered towards the fire.

“I do. The exiles in the Riverlands told me some things, and I’ve, uh… run into the Awakened. Though, they seem more welcoming here in Vabbi. It’s been confusing,” Aspir said while scratching the back of his head.

The warrior’s eyes glared intensely at the fire, her whole face creasing madly. “Do not fall for their act. The Awakened are how Joko ruins this nation. They manipulate its people and anyone who dares to defy them are silenced. He’s nothing, but a plague,” she spat out.

Aspir didn’t respond. The words simply never came.

Amal’s features softened. There was no more hate in her eyes, just grief. “Tell me, outlander. Where you come from, do such tyrants exist?”

Aspir considered the question. He wanted to say no, but that wasn’t exactly the truth. “Well, sort of and not really. There was a lot of bad people in power, and we payed for it.” His eyes trailed down to his metallic arm, which he realized he was clenching. He had to inhale to relax. “But there was good people too, and they won. We got our justice.”

Amal chuckled sadly. “We got not such thing here. The good lost and Joko triumphed, but even that wasn’t enough. He changed what good was; turning our heroes into villains and himself into the hero. He took Elona’s very soul away and filled the void with his doctrine.” She shook her head and sighed. “Whether we defeat Balthazar or not, Elona is still a long way from ever being truly free… ”

Aspir bent forward and wrapped his arms around his legs. He curled into himself, suddenly feeling very small. “I’m… I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be… It’s just the reality of things. What matters now,” she pulled out one of her daggers, holding it up above the flames, “is that we keep living.”

The dagger grabbed Aspir’s attention. In the light, it shone with what he could’ve swore was a rainbow of colors. He was absolutely transfixed by it.

“My mother gave me this dagger, and her mother before her. It has passed down to each generation of Sunspear of in my family; to act both as a reminder of an Elona before Joko, and as a symbol of what Elona could be again.” Her voice started to well with pride.

Aspir’s eyebrows rose up. “Wait, does that mean you’re a…?”

For the first time since he had met her, Amal smiled. “Despite everything Joko has done to destroy us, we’ve survived. Every day that we live is in direct defiance of his will. As long as the Sunspear are able to fight, there is hope that Elona can be free once more.”

Aspir looked at her in awe. In that instant, she looked like a proud and noble hero. The exact sort of hero he had hoped to be one day. Even with all the troubles that plagued her home, Amal managed to stand strong and defiant.

How does she do it, he thought. How does she manage to live with it all?

The words slipped out like water. “Don’t you ever feel like it’s not good enough?” He immediately cupped his mouth, not entirely sure why or even how he said that. He started to blush, mortified as he was by his own words.

Amal looked taken aback by the question. She stared silently at him, only increasing the awkward tension between them. Only after processing what he said, did she finally start to speak again. “Is that how you-”

Her words were immediately cut off by the sound of a gunshot in the distance, followed by shouting. Quenchya and Mayline stirred from their slumber, and Amal stood up to seek out the cause of the disturbance. It wasn’t long, however, before one of the sentries sprinted up to the camp.

Her breathing was quick and harsh as she spoke. “The Forged have been sighted near by! They are coming!” the sentry shouted.

Amal squinted, her grip on the dagger tightening. She looked down to Aspir. “Are you ready?”

Aspir turned onto his feet and leapt into his tent. The two women glanced at each other in confusion, but he quickly reemerged with his shield and the mace he had taken from the sanctuary. He nodded at her with a determined look.

Amal nodded back and turned towards the sentry. “Then let’s go. The army of the War God is going to find we’ve got more fight in us than they could ever know.”

The sentry began to head back to where she came from; Aspir and Amal closely behind. All around them, villagers scrambled to run for hiding places, while those who would fight took up their stations. The three of them stopped to kneel behind a stone barrier set up outside the school. There, they waited patiently for the first signs of the enemy.

Anticipation filled the air as they listened. At first, all that could be heard was the quiet ambience of the night. The three remained in place, poised to strike. But, it seemed like nothing was coming.

Growing impatient, Amal gestured to the other two to stay put. She slowly started raise herself up, peeking her head ever so slightly above the barrier. Almost immediately, a fiery bullet blew a chunk of the wall off mere inches from her face. Standing only a few meters away, a Forged rifleman had its sights set on her. It let loose another shot, which Amal dodged gracefully with a spin. She used the momentum to fling her dagger with much greater accuracy than the rifleman. It flew right into the gap where its forearm met its upper arm. The magic keeping the appendage together flickered and suddenly went out. It’s forearm dropped to the ground, taking the rifle with it.

Amal jumped over the barrier, leaving Aspir and the sentry behind. She ran towards the rifleman, and dived for her dagger. She successfully grabbed it while rolling past, and upon landing on her feet, she jumped up right behind the rifleman and threw her arms around its head. With both hands on the dagger, she shoved it back into the gaps of the rifleman’s helmet-like face. It struggled for only a few seconds before Amal’s magic took hold, snuffing out the flames within the metal being. It slumped lifeless against her, and fell apart into the sand.

“Watch out!” Aspir cried.

Amal had only a second to turn and duck before another bullet hit her. The glowing flames of dozens of Forged appeared, all armed with weapons burning just as bright. Amal backed off towards Aspir and the sentry, and together the three got into a defensive stance while others appeared to defend Yobash.

It was going to be a long night.