#therefore shut up and ceasefire now

[thedepressedweasel]

I know that there are many Jewish individuals everywhere in the world who support Palestine (and rightfully so). However, the great majority of the only Jewish people that I know so far are completely brainwashed into blindly supporting Israhell and all of its genocidal war crimes just because they have relatives who live there. As for our misleaders (and Netanyahu and his ignorant white American supporters), they are only cheering on Israhell just because they could and because they hate Muslims and, therefore, want them dead.

Also, I remember that one time when I was first going to Sacramento City College last year for Spring 2022 semester and I said that I refused to go to Israhell and one of my professors at the time didn't like it. Well, screw you, bitch! The word "Zionism" isn't abused by anyone; you're just one of Netanyahu's ignorant American supporters!

Now, let's talk about hostages from both sides. When the Israeli hostages were released, they openly said that Hamas treated them well (which they did, in some way), whereas the Palestinian hostages, on the other hand, were actually abused and neglected in cold blood by their Israeli Offense Forces terrorists for captors. One Palestinian kid had his fingers broken by his aforementioned captors, whereas the Palestinian women and girls were either raped or routinely threatened with rape. By the same IOF captors, of course.

"WaAaAaAaAh YoU aRe AnTiSeMiTiC bEcAuSe--" Shut your white supremacist American ass up and stop weaponizing antisemitism! It doesn't help Palestinians! Palestine is not Hamas. Nobody who supports Palestine is ever supporting terrorism of any kind; they just want to push our misleaders into imposing a permanent ceasefire! Jewish people are not their government; they are their own people. And I know most of them are rightly appalled by Israhell's actions and behavior. Now take a good look at the bigger picture before jumping into idiotic conclusions!

Thank you for coming to my TED talk.

P.S. Anyone who screams "BuT hAmAs--" or "WaAaAaAaH yOu ArE aNtIsEmItIc BeCaUsE--" will get blocked and reported for harassment!

[frodo-with-glasses]

For the writing ask could you do "sunshine" "autumn" and "childhood"? And I don't mind at all if you answer them separately lol 😁

Sunshine

Pippin always used to get terrible sunburns.

Some hobbits, especially those of the Harfoot strain, were blessed with the ability to tan. Come summer, many of the working-class hobbits around the Shire would be tinted a few shades darker around the face and arms (with hilariously, starkly paler skin under the collars and rolled-up sleeves). Unsightly as a “farmer’s tan” might be, it protected them from the sun as they worked, and therefore was tolerated in favor of its benefits.

Tooks, by and large, didn’t even have this luxury. Hailing from the Fallowhide strain, they had inherited fair hair and fairer skin, and that meant the sun was their enemy. Pippin in particular never tanned; his skin simply produced more freckles, adding to the multitude of them that already probably made up half the total number of freckles in the Shire.

And then he burned.

Adventurous as he was, his delicate complexion had never actually discouraged him from gallivanting about outside. Summer days in his childhood were long and full of adventure, and when he returned home—usually guided by his stomach announcing mealtimes—he’d often bring in tow bugs and sticks and flowers and funny-looking mushrooms and rocks and more bugs and a terrible sunburn.

Of course he sat and sulked through the scolding from his mother, and whined and moaned through the painful process of his skin peeling afterwards, but given that he was a spectacularly short-sighted little ninny it probably shouldn’t be a surprise that he was well into his tweens before his mind grasped the concept of Cause and Effect and realized, “Oh! If I try not to burn first, then I won’t peel later! Amazing!”

From the moment of this revelation onward, Pippin’s relationship with the sun turned into one of fierce animosity. Come summertime, he suddenly transformed into a near recluse, restricting himself to the indoors during the day and refusing any excursions until after nightfall. If he had absolutely no choice but to go outside while the sun was shining, he would take every precaution possible—hats and pastes and long sleeves and riding in covered wagons rather than walking places—to avoid a sunburn.

He still failed, of course. The world is a cruel and unforgiving place, and some tragedies can never be avoided.

A few years into his vigilant war on the sun, he was forced to accept a ceasefire; his efforts were garnering diminishing returns, and the endeavor had proven unsustainable. He and the sun reached a truce: he would do what he could, within reason, to avoid this discomfort.

And the sun would burn him anyway.

Fast forward a few years, and the Quest concerning Frodo and his Ring had forced Pippin to surrender a great deal of his usual comforts and luxuries; including his options for avoiding sunburn. Even in cold, cloudy October, he somehow managed to gain a thin line of pink on his nose and cheeks on the road from Bree to Rivendell.

He didn’t complain much, however, even when it started to itch and sting. That was the other interesting development. Somehow, Frodo’s injury and failing health had sucked dry any desire Pippin had had to fuss or whine about himself, and he kept his mouth quite tightly shut until after the race to Rivendell.

(Now of course, once Frodo had recovered and was out of bed and looking more like himself again, Pippin ceased to have any reservations about airing his grievances to anyone and everyone who would listen, but we won’t talk about that.)

But as the Quest continued and Pippin spent more time outdoors than he had since his childhood—under skies overcast or snowing or shaded by tall trees—something interesting began to happen.

He started to darken.

Not by much, of course—not as much as Sam—and his skin still seemed to prefer production of freckles to actual tanning, but he darkened nonetheless. The march across the plains of Rohan, jostled between ranks of orcs, was brutal under the pounding sun, but when he sat on Treebeard’s table and drank the Ent-draught, his face was a full shade browner than it had been when they set off for Crickhollow all those months ago, and he hadn’t gotten a sunburn any worse than some redness on his nose.

Slow exposure, over time, had taught his skin to protect itself, even as he began to get thicker skin metaphorically. War was coming. He couldn’t be the lily-fair gentlehobbit hiding in his room for the sake of his complexion anymore.

It was in the wake of the fiercest battle he’d ever seen—and he was wearing different clothes and a different title and new responsibilities—when he found Merry wearing foreign armor and slumped on a doorstep in Minas Tirith.

Pippin eased the helmet off of Merry’s head—brushing the frayed horse hairs out of his face—and set it on the flagstones nearby. He looked so pale…so weak. That wasn’t like Merry. Merry was brave and strong and smart and indefatigable, and here he was, lying in Pippin’s lap and looking very still.

Pippin gently reached for his hands, and held them between his own. The right hand was cold…so cold.

He’d been sitting there for a moment—long enough to watch Merry’s chest rise and fall as he breathed, but not long enough for his legs to go numb and tingly—when he began to discern a soft touch of warmth on his cheek. He looked up. Far up in the sky, above the stone roofs of the city, the sun was beaming down, filling this patch of abandoned road with warmth and light.

And as Pippin sat there, he smiled. The touch brought him back to those carefree summers he’d known when he was a child—to a time before all this animosity and strife—a time before everything.

Keep him warm for me, he thought, and I can forgive everything else. I don’t mind it anymore.

So they sat there, waiting for the sound of footsteps, and rested in a patch of sunshine.

WORD ASK GAME!

[morgulscribe]

The Ring is on Sauron’s Finger; What Happens Next?

I wish I had some people to swap ideas with regarding alternate universe what if possibilities concerning how the war in Gondor, Rohan, and Eriador might progress if Sauron regained the One Ring. There are the usual forums, but there is are ideological differences between fanfiction writers and non-writer fan/scholar types. (Fanfiction writers tend to be more creative and open minded in their approach to Tolkien’s world, while non-writers tend to look down upon alternate interpretations of the text, or deviations from it in creative media.) I don’t want to argue with someone who is convinced that their understanding of the canon is the only right one, or those who shut down these sort of discussions because they feel that a Fourth Age that starts out with Sauron in command is too depressing to contemplate.

It would be good to discuss these matters with people who are open to multiple and possibly conflicting interpretations of the canon, and all of the various ways one can diverge from it while still remaining rooted in Tolkien’s lore.

In The Circles, Sauron has regained the One Ring, and now controls the eastern part of Gondor. There were major Mordorian losses in Rohan, and as of the summer of 3019, Rohan remains free.

When he started writing The Circles, one of Angmar’s goals was to bring a First Age feel to the Third/Fourth Ages. He was especially inspired by the dark years that followed the Nírnaeth Arnoediad and the fall of the various strongholds of Elves and Men. He also liked the concept that not all the elves would flee to Valinor, but that many would stay, and fight for Middle-earth. Therefore, in The Circles, there ARE elves at Helm’s Deep, but it’s the Second Battle of Helm’s Deep, and the elves are from Rivendell and led by Glorfindel.

The Circles was inspired by a RPG of which Angmar was the gamemaster. He was forced to end the game prematurely, and so he made Mordor win major victories in eastern Gondor but suffer major losses Rohan. This resulted in a temporary ceasefire, with Rohan, west Gondor, and Mordor hastily making fortifications and seeking reinforcements. Since The Circles was originally meant to be a campaign in this RPG, Angmar and I carried over these ideas into the fanfiction version of the story.

I like the concept of a sort of cold war between Mordor and East/West Gondor, as Sauron works on fortifying and strengthening his hold in eastern Gondor while planning his next move. I can see a lot of spying and espionage going on, as well as border skirmishes. Outlaws, rebels, La Résistance. (Angmar led an Occupied Gondor campaign towards the end of RPG, in which the Mordorian occupying forces in eastern Gondor demanded that the people pay extravagant tribute to their new overlords.)

For the sake of the story, I don’t want Sauron to achieve swift widespread victories. There is this attitude in the Tolkien fandom that if Sauron regains the Ring, BOOM, all of Middle-earth will be his. However, it takes weeks for an army to get from Point A to Point B, and many of Sauron’s allies come from a great distance from the lands with whom he is waging war.

Also, Angmar envisioned there being dissent within Sauron’s own allies, nations and tribes who resented paying tribute of money and slaves to the Dark Lord. With the publication of Nature of Middle-earth, it turns out that Tolkien had the same idea - that the Blue Wizards were working behind the scenes, stirring up resentment against Sauron, and this was one of the reasons that led to Sauron’s forces at the time of the War of the Ring not being as strong as he would have liked. While Angmar did not get a chance to do anything with the Blue Wizards, he did play around with the concept of rebels and revolutionaries. In the early days of Angmar’s RPG, he entertained the idea of the peoples of both the West and East joining together to fight against Sauron in a sort of War of the Last Alliance type situation - but something like this would probably occur later in the Fourth Age. (He imagined Sauron as eventually becoming more and more power mad, to the point of Morgoth-style insanity.)

In the summer of 3019, the war in Gondor and Rohan seems easier to contemplate than the conflict in Rhovanion. I’m not sure what parts of Rohvanion would be most important to Sauron. Angmar and I thought that Lorien would fall first, because Galadriel couldn’t use Nenya to defend her territory if Sauron had the One Ring. However, over the years, I have had some second thoughts about this, because there is significant evidence that Galadriel has similar powers to her brother Finrod, and was able to destroy Dol Guldur with her own native strength even after Nenya lost its powers. Also, while Galadriel can’t wear Nenya when Sauron has the One Ring, I’m not sure his having the One Ring in his possession would negate the defensive spells laid on the area using Nenya in the past.

I think Lothlorien would have personal significance to Sauron, especially since now he knows that Galadriel was a Ringbearer. But I’m not sure what order of significance the other Rhovanion territories would have - Thranduil’s kingdom, Dale, the Lonely Mountain, the Beorning lands, and any Northmen settlements. The Rohvanion front is often overlooked in favor of Gondor and Rohan, both by fans and by Tolkien himself.

There is another matter to consider. Since he now has the One Ring, perhaps Sauron’s goals might shift to reclaiming the Three? The war for Middle-earth might morph into Part Two of the War of the Elves and Sauron.

A CAVEAT... I don’t actually want to write a war novel with a lot of combat scenes, but these are events that would be taking place in the background of more peaceful plotlines. The Circles was never really meant to be about the war, but how the war affected the characters.

NOTE: These topics are further explored in Galadriel vs Sauron and the Fate of Lorien.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Fic: Nocturne (26/30) - Ao3 Link

Fandom: Final Fantasy XV Pairings: Mostly Gen

Summary: In which Cor Leonis loses his temper, accidentally acquires a kid, and tries to single-handedly dismantle the Lucian immigration system – and that’s before he and his lawyers find out about this Prophecy business. If the Astrals think Cor’s going to let his kid’s best friend die without a fight, they’ve gotten the wrong cheetah ‘taur.

(a young adult novel set in @kickingshoes’ ‘taur AU)

—————————————————————————————— ——————————————————————————————

Sylvia staggers out of the cave, shading her eyes against the light of the winter sun - her fur covered in pieces of rock and dust, her hooves slipping a little on the slick volcanic rock underneath.

She looks up.

Niflheim airships fill the sky, their banners unfurled and flapping in the breeze.

It's a more familiar sight than Sylvia would like to admit. She's pretended for years that Tenebrae was an equal power to Niflheim, or at least that Niflheim was nothing more a distant overlord when her powers of self-delusion failed her: Tenebrae was hers, to rule and to care for, and she thought that she could preserve their quality of life that way. To be sure, Niflheim came often, and she received them with grace and dignity, as a monarch to an emperor.

It was a lie, of course.

Niflheim showed her that lie when they pulled the leash tight at last, spurred on by Chancellor Izunia's quest to destroy the line of Lucis and the Oracle.

They came into her country and attacked her in her own home, and all the stories she'd spun to herself – that they wouldn't dare pay her such an affront lest the people rise up in defense of their Oracle – dissolved into the mist they always were, ground down under the heels of Niflheim's MT soldiers, who cared nothing for whether anyone would rise up and would never permit it to happen anyway, no matter how high the cost.

And so Sylvia sees the Niflheim ships in the air, and she remembers the day they came to Tenebrae with their armies of mechanical monsters, wielding sword and gun and flame, and she stares at them blankly, unmoving, even as the bellies of the ships open up and their payload of bombs begins to fall.

"Watch out!" someone calls, and then Sylvia is falling very ignominiously onto her side as someone barrels into her, knocking her over a ridge just as a bomb hits the place where she was just standing.

She coughs and wipes the dust upended by the explosion out of her eyes, and sees –

"Counsel Scientia?! What are you doing here?!"

"I'm an ibex," Scientia says briskly. "When we saw the bombing start, we came up here, quick as we could, and I can climb mountains faster than all the rest. Good thing, too, what with you standing around gawking like an idiot."

Sylvia opens her mouth to say something cutting in return – she is absolutely intolerable, this Scientia – and then abruptly realizes the terrible truth. "You just saved my life."

"Think nothing of it," Scientia says, blinking a little owlishly from behind her glasses – she clearly hadn't thought about it either, and seems equally horrified by the idea of a life debt between them. "I'm sure you'll have ample opportunity to repay the favor soon enough, as I am entirely without any martial abilities whatsoever."

"You – you can't fight? At all?"

"I'm a lawyer," Scientia says, sounding aggravated. "Jokes about my ability to eviscerate someone using only my sharp tongue aside, the closest I've ever gotten to murder is when I consider bludgeoning co-counsel with their own overstuffed binders."

"Then why are you even here?!" Sylvia demands.

Scientia looks at her like she's stupid – a not uncommon look on her face, and likely the reason that Sylvia developed such an immediate antipathy upon meeting her in person – and says, "Because of Luna, of course. You hardly think I'd let a few magitek soldiers stand in my way if she was in danger, would you?"

Sylvia recalls the massed army at the base of the mountain, but then her own instincts hit her with the force of one of Niflheim's bombs and she starts struggling back up to her hooves. "Lunafreya – Ravus – they were in the cave – it was collapsing – did they make it out?"

"No," Scientia says, looking around. "I don't see them. Did you see if they were merely stuck, or if there was some more space in there for them go?"

"What sort of question is that?"

"A useful one. Stop panicking and think."

Sylvia forces herself to remember those last few moments inside, hazy and confused – leaping to the side to only just avoid a falling rock, Ravus charging forward at full speed, Luna falling backwards, her eyes going wide as her hooves slipped and she began to slide –

"There was a tunnel, further in," she says, opening her eyes – she hadn't realized she'd shut them. "They all fell down the tunnel: Lunafreya, and Ravus, and Prince Noctis."

"Good."

"Good?!"

"They're probably alive then, aren't they?" Scientia points out. She's as calm as ever, the cold fish. Nothing ever moves her. It drives Sylvia up the wall. "Better than the alternative."

"You realize they're alone in there," Sylvia points out. "Facing who-knows-what."

"I'm well aware of that," Scientia snaps. Honestly snaps, which is something of a surprise; Sylvia is accustomed to the other woman being utterly unflappable. "But Luna is fifteen and well-trained, and Prince Ravus is now seventeen and presumably equally well-trained. They are quite capable of escaping this alive. We will simply have to hope for the best, because there's nothing else to do about it."

Sylvia studies her for a moment, taken aback by Scientia’s highly uncharacteristic vehemence. "You really do care quite deeply about Lunafreya."

It's not that she didn't know it, really, but it hadn't ever really seemed that important in comparison to her own need to get her suddenly too-adult, suddenly distant baby back.

"Of course I do," Scientia says stiffly. "Neither of us are particularly effusive individuals, you and I, but it would be a mistake to think that my reticence is due to a lack of emotion rather than a desire not to interfere with your reunion, however many mistakes you seem determined to make."

"Mistakes!" Sylvia exclaims, her sympathy evaporating. "What mistakes –"

"Ladies!" Cor shouts. "Maybe now is not the time!"

They turn downhill in his direction, both of them scowling and ready to shout at him for his interference, and then they see the MT armies from the bottom of the hill charging up at them.

"Oh dear," Scientia says. "Sylvia, that opportunity to return the favor appears to have arrived."

Sylvia summons her Trident into her hands, secretly relieved that it comes as swiftly as always despite her gift of it to Prince Noctis.

"That may indeed be the case," she says, stepping in front of Scientia. She might not like the 'taur, but she will certainly protect her.

Besides, even putting aside her duty as the Oracle to defend the lives of innocent ‘taurs, there is always the fact that Scientia, having known Lunafreya these past five years, might actually have some insight into her daughter – or, for instance, into the background of that lovely jackrabbit that showed up at the last minute and insisted on joining the back-up army on the grounds that her girlfriend was going ahead with the royal party.

Given Luna's earlier mention and the extremely low chance that Aulea has abruptly developed a taste for barely-turned-eighteen-year-olds, Sylvia suspects she knows who the relevant girlfriend in question is.

"Say,” she says, “earlier, when you were listing off characteristics to ensure the survival of the children, you mentioned that both Luna and Ravus are well-trained. Wouldn't it be more correct to also mention Noctis?"

"Noctis is trained," Scientia says. "The addition of the phrase 'well' may be less than entirely appropriate, given his overwhelming inclination towards sloth."

"Sadly, as much as I adore him, I'm forced to agree," Aulea interjects, coming up from behind them. She's holding a gun very confidently. "Come this way, Regis and I found a ridge that will give us the high ground without losing visibility. If we can get a break through the fighting, we'll signal the Niflheim ships and try to see if we can get a ceasefire – it appears that the MTs have started attacking both sides."

Sylvia glances up. It takes her a second to see clearly, but she confirms that there is fighting aboard the Niflheim ships, the largely 'taur pilots and crew fighting with the on-board MT troops that appear to have turned on them.

Given the stories Sylvia has heard – and Regis has confirmed – regarding how MTs are formed, it suddenly makes sense why the Accursed teamed up with Niflheim. It wasn't just to spread the Starscourge, but to do so in the most efficient way possible. And now it appears that Niflheim, falling for his promises of power, quite literally built him an army.

They probably should have thought of that before betraying him, Sylvia thinks spitefully, before reminding herself that the interests of her people – and peace – come first, and therefore that she should pray that the ceasefire is successful rather than for the ruin of the yet-loyal soldiers of Niflheim.

It just might take a while before she really believes that. The memory of her violated house remains very near to her hearts.

"Aren't you concerned, then?" Sylvia asks Aulea, gesturing for Scientia to go first and covering her tail as she hops easily up the mountain. "About Noctis, I mean? If he's not well-trained?"

"Well," Aulea says wryly. "I mostly comfort myself by reminding myself that Noctis can summon Astrals now. That helps a remarkable amount."

"What do you mean, your summoning powers don't work?" Ravus demands, glaring at Noctis as if that's going to change the answer.

Luna glares at him. “Ravus, this isn’t helping,” she says shortly. “And if it matters, I can’t seem to use my abilities, either.”

Ravus immediately goes concerned. “You can’t? Are you well, does it –”

“I’m fine,” she hisses. “Noctis, how are you doing?”

“I’m okay, other than my magic being cut off,” Noctis says, very carefully not interjecting himself into the argument. He’s staring firmly at a blank wall, actually. They must be making a terrible scene. “I can’t even summon a basic sword right now.”

“Maybe it has something to do with this place,” Luna suggests. “Or some trap that Ardyn set up.”

The fact that the place where they have fallen is clearly not the further extension of a cavern suggests the latter, in fact. Luna's not sure how Ardyn intended to get them to fall backwards through a wall into that particular hole in the ground, but slick volcanic rock had quickly given way to the even slicker slide of sheer metals and plastics, and they'd slid all the way down some sort of ventilation shaft until they'd reached the bottom where – luckily – the gigantic fan with its shear-like arms wasn't working.

Couldn't be working, in fact: it was rusted solid, half-eaten away, and covered in dust.

But it'd been easy enough to duck through the fan and then for Ravus to kick his way through the opening on the other side, and they were able to exit the shaft through the narrow doorway shaped like a thin vertical rectangle rather than the more traditional square. It's a good thing none of them have particularly sizeable hindquarters or they would’ve had trouble fitting through.

Beyond the doorway was what was immediately recognizable, at least to Luna, as some sort of laboratory, even if there wasn't any equipment in the hallway they were standing in - linoleum tiles, blank-washed walls, dull yet perfectly even lighting suggesting the use of a local generator, a certain sense of sterility that makes her expect to see people in white coats or possible hazmat suits wandering around.

The only thing that's strange about it is how much dust there is. Dust, and cracks, and even intrepid but very strange-looking plants making their way through the walls, somehow, even this far down into a volcano.

This place, Luna concludes, is very old – and long abandoned.

"Even if it is a trap, we should go and find Ifrit," Noctis says.

"And what makes you think he'll be here?" Ravus asks scornfully. "Given that the boar-god is dead and –"

"A lab makes sense," Noctis interrupts. His back is unusually straight and he looks Ravus in the eyes. There’s something reminiscent of his father in the way he looks now, older than his ten years, and the way that Ravus falls silent in the face of that gaze. "Given that the remaining copy of Ifrit’s memory is supposed to be located in deep storage. This is as deep as it gets without going into the ocean. We need to find the computer banks."

"Because you think the Astrals are actually computer programs," Ravus says, rallying once more. It's clear from his tone that he thinks that Noctis' shocking discovery – which caused even most adults Luna knew to decide to put the implications aside and not think too hard about them – is not even worthy of consideration. "Right. The literal gods that we worship. Of course; how could I forget?"

Ravus clearly never believes anyone about anything, so perhaps it's reasonable that he also doubts Noctis about this.

Reasonable, but still infuriating.

Is it just Ravus, or are all seventeen-year-old boys this obnoxious?

"Ravus," Luna says tightly. "Noctis discovered that fact from – no, you know what? Never mind. You won’t believe me anyway, so why don’t you just shut up? Noctis and I will go exploring. You can stay here if you like."

"I'm not staying back here while you go into danger," Ravus snaps.

"Suit yourself," Luna says icily. "Come along, Noctis. Where to first?"

"Oh, boy, this is going to be so much fun," Noctis mumbles, his back returning to its habitual slouch as the aura of force he had for a few seconds there fades away. He doesn't appear to be very sincere, which isn't entirely in keeping with his usual approach to adventure - though Luna supposes it makes sense, given how much he dislikes intra-family fighting. "Okay, let's try going to the left first."

They check through the window of each door they pass by, but it's almost all the same – desks mostly rotted away, lab equipment of some arcane variety, mostly dials and measuring equipment insofar as Luna recognizes it, and where there are computers, they are clearly inoperable.

"Everything here is ancient," Noctis marvels. "It's like one of those horror video games, where at any turn something might jump out and –"

"Noctis," Luna says. "Not helpful."

Even if she'd been maybe-kinda-sorta thinking the same thing.

Iggy likes horror games, he feels that they have more 'depth' than other video games, and the game play is rather mesmerizing...especially when Luna's doing homework in the same room...

"The maps on the walls indicate that we're heading deeper into the facility," Ravus says. "Rather than doing the intelligent thing and heading out."

"Given how everything is rusting away to dust, you're being awfully presumptuous in assuming there even is a way out," Luna says archly. "Maybe if we go to those doors, the only thing we'll find will be the skeletons of the people who tried desperately and unsuccessfully to escape before the end."

"Lunafreya," Ravus says. "That is not helpful."

Noctis shoots her a thumbs up from behind Ravus' back.

Luna hides a smirk and takes a step over to the next window, intending on a brief scan before moving on – they stopped bothering with any in-depth sort of review fairly early on – and then she sees it and freezes.

The other two continue walking for another taurlength, then realize they're leaving her behind.

"Luna?" Ravus asks. "Did you find something?"

"Are they skeletons?" Noctis asks interestedly.

"No," Luna says. "Worse."

She pushes open the door and walks inside to better inspect the item that caught her interest.

"Is that what caught your attention?" Ravus says, standing by the door to hold it open as Noctis peers in over his back. "Really, Lunafreya? It's an item of furniture."

"Yes," Luna says solemnly, inspecting it with no little sense of wonder. "It is."

"What is it, though?" Noctis asks. "It's like a chair, just way too small. You can barely fit your hindquarters into it – you can't, actually. If you put your hindquarters in it, your forelegs would need to be standing up; if you put your forepaws in it, your hindquarters would be on the floor...some sort of medical assistive device, maybe? Like when people break their hindleg and need to wheel around?"

"No, Noctis," Luna says. "Your first guess was right: this is a chair."

"Why, exactly, are we devoting time to an inadequately made chair?" Ravus asks.

"It's perfectly adequate," Luna says. "If the person sitting in it doesn't have hindquarters."

"Doesn't have – what are you talking about –"

"Oh!" Noctis exclaims, interrupting Ravus. His eyes are wide. "Luna, you can't mean – a chair for humans?"

"It would explain how old everything is," Luna points out. "A human laboratory, from the days of Solheim, left abandoned after the Great Astral War –"

"They would have abandoned it when Ifrit was laid to rest here," Ravus says. His face is a little pale. "That explains why all the doors are so narrow - a human is about the same length as they are width around, so there's no consideration of someone trying to go through the door sideways or having large hind-quarters. Luna – the historical relevance of such a discovery – not to mention what diseases might be here, locked away in these walls like a tomb –"

"I'm a healer, remember?"

"One who can’t use her powers right now," Ravus points out. "And even if you could, you can't heal everything, or else –"

He cuts himself off, but Luna knows what he was going to say.

Or else you would have healed me by now.

"I am trying my hardest, you know," she says resentfully. "It's not that easy –"

"I know you are," he says, holding up a hand. "Nothing else ever crossed my mind, not for a second."

Luna considers his face, which seems sincere, and decides that she'll be appeased, just this once. After all, he's her brother and he's scared, she knows that. "Well, anyway," she says, shaking her head and heading back to the door. "I don't think there's anything more to – oh, Ramuh! There's a map in here!"

"So?" Noctis says, blinking at her. "There's been a map every half-hallway."

"This one's labelled – no, don't come in! Someone needs to hold the door in case it locks automatically."

Ravus has already come inside, but Noctis catches the door. "I've got it," he says. "Is there a computer bank?"

"It's not labelled," Ravus says with a frown.

"Yes, it is," Luna says. "See those raised bumps? That's the language for the blind."

"Wouldn't it have changed over the years?"

"Probably," Luna says, crestfallen. "But it's worth a try."

She runs her fingers over the words. They're not quite in any language she recognizes – though if she thinks of them as letters, instead of words, and thinks of her lessons in pre-Solheim dialects (thank you, Mr. Tenebrius, for all those boring ancient pottery lectures! Something Luna never thought she'd ever say!) – and then she has it.

"This one!" she points. "It says 'back'-something – or, uh, possibly hide-something, maybe tail, it's not always that easy to tell – anyway, I think it means that it's the computer room because the next word is 'server' – or maybe waiter – but assuming it's 'server' as in 'computer server', then that's what we're looking for."

"It's several floors down," Ravus says with a frown. "Isn't that a bad idea in a horror movie, going down?"

Luna hides a grin. Now even Ravus is doing it.

“At least we’re not splitting up,” Noctis points out.

Ravus makes a face.

Thus agreed, they march down the corridor to the stairwell – they don’t even bother checking the dusty elevator banks, which everyone unanimously agrees is an obvious death trap – and head down to the sublevels.

“Is it just me, or are we getting warmer?” Noctis asks. "Like - literally warmer, not metaphorically."

“It’s not just you,” Luna agrees, wiping some sweat off her brow. “Maybe that’s a good sign?”

“Or simply a sign that we’re heading down a volcano,” Ravus says gloomily.

He’s not necessarily wrong.

The computer room, when they find it, is absolutely massive – and, unlike the majority of lab, unmistakably alive.

“Okay,” Noctis says after a moment of staring at the rows and rows and rows of gigantic black-metal machines, each glowing with dozens of pinpricks of red light, the whole room humming with power, “now I’m officially creeped.”

“At least we found…something?” Luna offers. She’s creeped, too.

“Well, we should go inside – ouch!”

“Noctis!”

“I’m okay,” Noctis says, sticking his fingers into his mouth. “The doorway just gave me an electric shock when I tried to go through it.”

Luna turns her attention to the doorway, frowning. She reaches out and tries to put her hand through the door, feeling a little foolish as she does, and feeling decidedly less foolish when her hand hits some sort of invisible barrier that promptly gives her a sharp shock when she tries to go further in. “Ouch!”

“Maybe we should consult the warning signs,” Ravus says dryly; he’s come up from behind Luna without her noticing and is standing right next to her. He nods at the wall, which has a sign with a number of unrecognizable designs on it.

And at least one very recognizable design that apparently no one bothered to change in all the centuries since Solheim: a small circle with three fans going out to form an invisible outer circle.

“Radiation warning,” Luna says, shivering. “That’s why there’s a shield, I guess?”

“It feels almost like magic,” Noctis offers, frowning at the deceptively open door. “The wall, I mean. It feels like – well, it feels like when the Kingsglaive make their walls. A bit. Or like the Wall. Except a lot more hostile, somehow?”

“We should get out of here,” Ravus says. He seems upset, all of a sudden. “Let’s go.”

“I mean, I guess –”

There’s a sound from down the hallway.

They all look at each other.

“Follow the sound?” Noctis suggests, looking doubtful.

“I don’t see what our alternative is,” Luna says. “Except maybe running away in terror, which sounds more and more appealing every second.”

“Let’s go see what it is,” Ravus says, and marches off.

Luna has no idea what’s gotten into him that's suddenly made him so ready for action, but she hurries up into a trot and catches up to him, with Noctis loping along at her side.

The hallway is long and lit by the same dull generator-powered light as the rest of the facility, but even so Luna can tell that the door at the very end of the hallway contains a much brighter red light – so bright, in fact, that they can see the glow all around the windowless door.

It also gets noticeably hotter as they move closer to that room.

“Do you think this might be where Ifrit is?” Noctis asks. “He is the god of fire. Was the god of fire? What tense do you use for a dead god?”

“Is,” Luna says. “Shiva uses ‘is’, even though her original incarnated body is still lying dead in Ghorovas Rift.”

“Are you still in contact with Gentiana?” Ravus asks, side-eying her a little.

Luna flushes. “Only sometimes,” she says primly. “And we don’t talk about her being Shiva.”

Gentiana’s rule, but one that Luna’s more than happy to follow. Every once in a while she remembers that she’s gossiping about her relationship developments (the Crowe v. Cindy debate! Crowe eventually finding a new girlfriend back on Galahd, thereby solving that problem! Cindy inviting Luna for a midnight ride and Luna stressing out for hours if it was a date or not! The sheer excitement of finding out that yes, in fact, it was a date! Finally ‘tauring up and asking Cindy to be her girlfriend! Agreeing that they're going to stick to kissing for now until Luna feels more ready!) with an actual goddess and she gets weirded out by it all, but she refuses to give it up. Gentiana is too good a confidant, and anyway, Gentiana seems to enjoy it just as much.

Still weird to think about, which is why Luna firmly doesn’t whenever possible.

“Should we go inside?” Noctis asks, gnawing at his lower lip and staring at the door with the red light and the heat.

“I don’t think we have a choice at this point,” Luna says, but she doesn’t move. None of them do; they just stand there and stare at the door.

After a few seconds, Noctis audibly gulps and takes a step forward, reaching for the door.

“Wait!” Ravus exclaims. He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out one of his gloves. “Use this – the door handle might be hot.”

“Thanks. Good idea.” Noctis takes one glove and uses it to gingerly wrap around the door handle, then he pulls it open.

There’s an unexpected pull, as if of wind, and they all stumble straight into the room, even Noctis, and the door swings ominously shut behind them. It’s a vast room, filled with computer stations and laboratory equipment, and at the end of the room there is a giant set of thick metal doors with the radiation symbol painted on them.

And sitting before them all, there he is: Ifrit, the Infernian, in all of his towering glory.

The boar-god isn’t as large as some of the other Astrals have been when they manifested, but he still towers over the three of them, a dozen feet tall and nearly as long, a massive presence that dominates the room even as he reclines in an equally massive throne surrounded by flame.

“Oh,” Luna says, trying not to gulp. She’s faced Astrals before, but they don’t normally have an expression of such blank indifference on their face. Still, she’s the Oracle, and speaking to the Astrals is her duty. She steps forward. “Infernian,” she calls. “We have come, Oracle and Chosen King –” To be, she mentally adds. “– and we seek an audience with you.”

“You entered my domain,” he says, and his face suddenly twitches to the side, twisting into a terrible snarl of rage before returning to its uninterested expression. “You are invaders – you are here to steal -”

Steal?

“We’re not here to steal anything,” Luna says quickly. “We’re –”

“You cannot have them,” Ifrit says, his booming voice easily overriding hers. “No one may have them. The forbidden weapons were locked away and banned, and no living being may access them.”

“Weapons?” Ravus asks. "What weapons?"

“No one may have them,” Ifrit says again. He’s not speaking to them, Luna realizes; he’s reciting some long-ago speech, set like a hound to watch for intruders without discrimination – reduced, perhaps, to the unthinking computer program he was once long ago. What a terrible fate for a living creature, no matter how mechanical their origin. “You have come to steal them, and for this you will die.”

“No,” Luna says. “You don’t understand, we’re here to seek the Covenant –”

Ravus tackles her to the floor just in time for the burst of flame to explode over her head.

“Noctis!” she shouts, but Noctis has also taken cover behind one of the computer stations in the room.

“I’m okay!” he shouts back. “Luna – these forbidden weapons he's talking about – do you think he means the nukes? The ones that nearly destroyed the world? They’re here?”

“That would explain the radiation symbol,” Luna says, scooting herself back behind one of the other computer stations, Ravus scrambling to join her. That’s absolutely horrifying – she’d always thought they were gone, somehow – and she really hopes Noctis is wrong, but she thinks he’s probably right.

She peers around the side of the station. Ifrit is still sitting there, but his face keeps changing: initially calm and indifferent, then metamorphosing into terrible rage for a split second, then returning to the original state.

Rage…

That reminds her. Titan, too, had been struggling with rage – here, though, there is no struggle. Ifrit is consumed by rage, but cannot control himself, the rage breaking free at random intervals even without any impetus.

“He’s been corrupted with the Starscourge,” Luna calls, even as Noctis scrambles from one computer station to another as Ifrit throws flame at the one he had been at before. “Much worse than Titan was. He won’t listen to us – I don’t think he even can anymore.”

“We still have to get that Covenant,” Noctis calls back. His face is white. “The MTs outside...”

An army. And Lucis had brought its own army, too, and with Luna and Ravus and Noctis missing, their parents would almost certainly order an attack.

There would be battle, and with battle – death. So much death.

And all for nothing, if they do not succeed here.

“We have to get it,” she agrees, and stands up.

“What are you doing?” Ravus demands.

“What I need to,” she says, and grabs one of the weird human chairs and throws it right at Ifrit.

After all, there are many different ways of defeating an Astral to obtain the mark of their Covenant – and one of those ways is the obvious.

“Oh for the love of – here, use this at the very least,” Ravus says, pushing a long knife into her hand. He has another in his own; he must have smuggled them in his jacket. “I’ll keep an eye on Noctis; he’s hopeless.”

Noctis has started throwing whatever he can get his hands on – usually broken computer parts – at Ifrit, and missing half the time.

“You’re – letting me do this on my own?” Luna asks, a little stupidly.

“I should’ve listened to you,” Ravus tells her. “About – everything. I should’ve given you that respect. And part of that respect is knowing that if my baby sister can wipe the floor with me in the middle of a temper tantrum, Ifrit won’t know what hit him.”

Amazing, really, how Ravus can be simultaneously so incredibly awesome but also annoying at the same time.

Must be a brother thing.

“Go save Noctis from his own laziness,” Luna says, beaming at Ravus. “I’m on Ifrit.”

She rounds the other side of the computer station – Ifrit is snarling at Noctis, who finally managed to score a direct hit, pegging the Astral in the head with a spare microscope – and charges into Ifrit’s blind spot, slashing with the knife and then leaping away just in time, his burst of flame very nearly singeing her small tuft of a tail.

Ravus goes in from the other side as Ifrit turns to her, slashing down low and aiming for his forelegs, and Ifrit’s seated position interferes with his attempt to dodge. Ravus falls back at once. “Now, Noctis!”

Noctis jumps up from behind the computer station and heaves something large and metallic over his head.

It hits Ifrit dead in the chest, causing the Astral to rear backwards, shake his head, and then – worryingly – rise up from his throne.

“This is going to go badly very quickly,” Luna shouts. “We can’t get his Covenant until he’s defeated – we can’t talk to him as long as he’s corrupted by the Starscourge, and my healing abilities aren’t working!”

“We need to get to his memory!” Noctis shouts back.

“What does that mean?” Ravus asks, grabbing Noctis and pulling him out of the (quite literal) line of fire.

“The computer banks! They’re the only other thing in this whole complex that’s still active, and he’s an AI, remember? If we purge his memory and restart, we might be able to talk to a non-corrupted version of him!”

“But we can’t enter the computer banks!” Luna points out, then notices that Ravus has gone still. “Ravus, duck!”

He dodges, just barely missing the missile of flame Ifrit sends out with a wave of his hand.

“You can’t lose attention like that,” Luna scolds, ducking behind a computer station. "We're in the middle of a fight, you know, it's dangerous to -"

“I can do it,” Ravus says.

“No, you can’t, that’s what I’m saying –”

“No, the computer banks,” he says, crouching down behind the same station as her, with Noctis at his side. “I can enter them.”

“What?” Noctis and Luna chorus together.

“I tried it, earlier,” Ravus says. “I could put my hand through, where neither of you could, but when I did, my veins turned…black.”

Noctis looks confused, but Luna gets it immediately. “The Starscourge.”

“I’m infected,” Ravus confirms. “That room – I think it’s infected, too, somehow. That’s why it would let me in, but not you: you’re too pure.” He swallows. "I can go and restart the system."

"But if your hand turned black, then whatever's in that room is aggravating the Starscourge already in your system," Luna protests. "And without my abilities to heal you – and who knows where Mom is –"

"I know," Ravus says. "It's okay. I'll do it anyway." He smiles shakily. "We're at war, right? For the future?"

Luna hugs him. "You come back right away," she says fiercely in his ear. "Right away, and we'll find our way out of this place, and we'll heal you. You got that? Don't you dare die on me."

He just hugs her back. "Keep an eye on Noctis, will you?"

"I can –" Noctis starts, but then Ravus hands him the knife and it looks like it hits Noctis all at once, the fact that they might die here. "Oh."

"Good luck," Ravus says, and then he's gone.

"Noctis, we've got to keep Ifrit distracted so he doesn't notice what Ravus is doing," Luna says. She can't think about the fact that her brother - her brother, who she's finally made up with, who she adores and forgives and wants back at her side already - is going off into such terrible danger. She can't, or else she's going to get fried - and she'd really rather not be fried 'taur. "That's our job, you and me. Okay?"

Noctis nods. "Got it."

"Let's go!"