#unable to unsheathe a sword and memories coming back to her when she does‚

[fragmentedblade]

I think I've become an official HI3 player. I check the HSR leaks hoping for iterations of HI3 characters now

[bellygunnr]

Of the Same Steel and Temper

John regarded Dr. Halsey calmly as she revealed the information he already knew-- Project MJOLNIR was entering its final stage, and he was a player in its execution. He doesn’t even smile as she continues to talk, only resting his holographic hand on the hilt of his holographic blade, allowing bits of his code to fritz together as he ran operations elsewhere. He was rather proud of his latest bit of detective work. Infiltration was his specialty.

Not that he enjoyed it, but he did like showing off his prowess in all tasks.

“I’ve already selected my teammate,” John announces, cutting off Dr. Halsey.

She stops short, raising an eyebrow, but expression otherwise unreadable.

“And who have you selected, John?” she says patiently.

John unsheathes his blade with a flourish and points theatrically at a picture frame on the corner of Dr. Halsey’s crowded, messy desk. In the picture, a single woman stood at attention while an Admiral-- Stanforth, he notes-- pinned the UNSC Legion of Honor to her chest. Her expression was relatively schooled, but a mischievous brand of fire shone in her eyes, permanently captured in eternity by the photo. He didn’t have to look at the other citations and medals weighing on her chest to know that she was well-accomplished.

A moment passes. When Dr. Halsey doesn’t say anything, seemingly unable to recover, John forges on.

“Master Chief Petty Officer Cortana-117,” he says, weighing each word carefully, “is a highly accomplished and experienced Spartan. I’ve taken the liberty of researching her thoroughly and I like what I’ve seen. As I speak, I am already calculating our compatibility and… find them within acceptable parameters.”

“It seems you have made up your mind, John,” Dr. Halsey says slowly. “But are you sure?”

“I do not dwell,” John says seriously. “She seems to know how to take action. I can appreciate that in a body.”

“But you know she excels particularly nowhere in terms of physical or mental prowess, yet is the most willingly to undertake risks. She got that medal by attacking Covenant head-on and saving Marines in the process.”

“I am aware. Again, that is something I can appreciate in a body, Dr. Halsey.”

John had wandered off from his holopad to stand inches away from Dr. Halsey’s face. His sword is back in its sheathe, hands clasped firmly behind his back. Under the lights, his ancient Spartan armor glitters emerald green and fire yellow, body rapidly shifting between the two colors.

Despite his level best efforts, his emotions tended to reveal themselves. He was tense and excited but most of all, determined. He would have Cortana as his teammate.

“And what of a mission if she were to become compromised? What would you do if she could die?”

John immediately tenses, his holographic form flashing a brilliant ruby red. A second later, it washes back into his neutral dark green, swirling across his stout frame in ragged bands of hue.

“I don’t think you should ask me questions you are not prepared to answer yourself, doctor,” he replies, affecting a flat tone. “You insult me.”

AI and human stare at each other. Dr. Halsey seems flustered, her thoughts visibly racing behind steely eyes. She cuts one last look at Cortana’s photo before allowing her demeanor to shift, conceding defeat with just a tip of her head.

“Very well, then, John. You can have her,” Dr. Halsey says. “Now, what of the rest of the mission?”

---

The differences in the new model of armor ranged from subtle to obvious. It was definitely heavier, but the modification of her neural implants made the weight negligible. If she was feeling generous, she might even say she was moving faster in this armor. There was also the addition of the shielding-- a shimmering electric layer that reminded her of oil spills on pavement. Iridescent and full of color, but dangerous.

But there was one more thing-- the second major change they had given Mjolnir. So far, it hadn’t come up at all, overshadowed by the shields. The shields were fantastic (as long as she didn’t slip and fall), but it was high time they moved along.

She cocks her head wordlessly at Dr. Halsey. In reply, Dr. Halsey withdraws something from her bag.

“Your own neural lace has been upgraded to better interact with the armor, as you may know,” she starts, “but it also it interface with an AI. A layer of memory-processor super-conductor has been added between the reactive and bio-layers of your armor.”

Cortana nods once. “The same stuff found in an AI’s core?”

“Correct. Your armor will be able to carry an AI-- the same kind that starships house. John will be able to interface between you and the suit. His primary objective will be to provide intelligence support while you’re on the field.”

“What does that entail?” Cortana says, tilting her helmet.

She liked AIs. They were useful and often had personality. She wasn’t sure about sharing her armor with one, however. John wasn’t even impressive name-- who went to all the trouble of making an AI just to name it John?

“John has been outfitted with the best of ONI’s computer infiltration routines and software. He is also equipped with Covenant translation programs. He’s also quite resourceful, but his specialty is, essentially, spywork,” Dr. Halsey replies.

Hm. So this John would be the AI they brought with them, should the upcoming test go well.

“How much… jurisdiction will he have over the suit?” she asks cautiously.

“None. You will have full control of it at all times. John will only be reading and translating the link you have between your brain and the suit-- and improving upon it, so expect that whatever you’re feeling now to be multiplied.”

Cortana liked the sound of that. Real-time intelligence data and greater physical performance? She would be unstoppable. Provided they got along, of course. But everything Halsey was telling her just raised more questions, but before she could ask, Halsey started talking again.

“I’m afraid we only have a small window of time. Please, kneel down so that we may insert the AI into the suit.”

Obediently, she takes a knee, bowing her head to expose the chip’s slot. There’s a moment of hands flicking something open, then a rush of ice water and pain jolts the back of her neck. The sensation trickles like water down the length of her spine before dissipating, leaving her strangely… the same.

Then the AI spoke, and everything was different.

“Hello, Master Chief,” a deep voice said. It was slightly raspy and reverberated in the suit’s speakers.

“Hello, John,” she answers, eyes wide. “Got enough room in there?”

“Not nearly enough. It will do… Thank you for asking.”

Oh. Well, at least he was honest. It was probably difficult to jam the processing power of a starship into the fractional space of her Mjolnir, though she had to wonder how he was compensating for it.

“Let’s begin the test. The conditions have been changed to involve combat-- not ideal, but it should provide ample opportunity for you two to become acquainted. The “win” condition of the test might be familiar to you, Cortana.”

“Ring the bell?” she guesses wryly.

“Indeed. Be careful, and be wary, Master Chief. I hardly need to remind you to be prepared when ONI is involved, but I will say it anyway. You are also authorized to neutralize any threats to accomplish the objective.”

Then Dr. Halsey leans in, voice low, worry lines etching deep into the contours of her face.

“Some would like to see you fail this test,” she says. “See that you don’t.”

“No, ma’am,” Cortana agrees.

Dr. Halsey nods once, then turns on her heel. Just before exiting the tent, however, she looks over her shoulder to stare into Cortana’s face plate, flanked by technicians.

“The second I leave this tent, you must count to ten. After that, make your way to the obstacle course where the bell will be located. And be careful,” she adds, voice firm. “Good luck.”

Cortana resists the urge to salute Dr. Halsey in jest. Instead, she shakes her body out, getting the feel for the armor one more time. As she wiggles her fingers, she hears the metallic clack of weapons from outside the tent.

Her HUD shimmers. The proximity tracker immediately lights up with yellow blips that turn red on the next cycle.

“Assume that all units are hostile,” John says. “The targets are equipped with MA5B assault rifles. Be prepared for my participation.”

“I hope you participate,” she says dryly. “What do you think about this? We’re engaging our own soldiers.”

Eight.

“We’ll win, but I am more excited to see how you handle this,” John says, a hint of emotion slipping into his gravelly voice.

Nine.

Cortana flicks her eyes across the walls of the tent, noting the surprisingly clear silhouettes of soldiers moving outside. She didn’t enjoy facing off against UNSC personnel, especially when they weren’t Spartans, but she never had a choice. Her apprehension only spikes when the shadowy figures become real, breaking into the tent with guns already brought to bear.

Shock troopers. ODSTs, to be exact.

Ten.

The center Helljumper opened fire on thin air. Cortana dove from her elevated platform before his finger could depress the trigger, but she didn’t target him right away. She ripped the rifle out from his port-side buddy’s hands and winced at the unmistakable sight of a shoulder dislocating. Still, she cracks the butt of the rifle across the lead’s chest before turning on the third, suddenly aware that she was in “Spartan Time.”

To her, the third trooper was moving in slow motion, still caught in the throes of reacting to his companions’ defeat. She rips his gun out of his hands and shoves him to the floor, biting back a sigh at the sensation of ribs cracking.

This suit was definitely a step above the last mark. If she didn’t want to hurt them, she’d have to restrain herself even more.

“That’s an odd notion,” John says suddenly. “You have been ordered to neutralize the targets. Why not kill them?”

Cortana frowns as she bustles out of the tent. Immediately, her motion tracker updates with seven more yellow blips that flash red. If she had to hazard a guess, John was forcing the suit to acknowledge the troopers’ FoF tags as ‘foe.’

Interesting.

“John. I think that might be murder.”

“We do need every soldier available,” he concedes.

The tracker’s blips appeared to be concentrated in another on-site tent. On the far side of the tent, she witnesses an ODST peek around the corner for three full seconds before abruptly withdrawing. A thrown grenade replaces them.

Cortana shoots it out of the air. It detonates in a shower of shrapnel and flame, jostling the tent with the shockwave and shredding holes into its roof, but not catching it alight. She’s cutting an entrance into the tent before the smoke and flak has even cleared.

The troopers are facing away from her, rushing for the exit in uniform, slow motion fashion. To her surprise, one twists around and opens fire, bullets pinging across her chest.

She slings the knife she’d been equipped with into his gut. Shielded or not-- and the shields did their job well, turning the impacts into tickles-- she didn’t take kindly to being shot. His buddies she pursues out of the tent, bringing the butt of her rifle to bear on the back of their skulls.

They drop instantly.

“Unconscious, not dead,” John chimes as she whips around to face the other four troopers. “Thought you’d like to know.”

“Thanks,” she says shortly.

More bullets ricochet off her shields. The meter in the corner of her HUD blinks as it diminishes uncomfortably quickly, still un-replenished from the last round of projectiles. Not eager to damage the armor, she rushes forward, grabbing the closest trooper by the torso.

Effortlessly, she tosses his frame into his allies before grabbing up his gun, crushing the barrel. Her HUD wavers as a bolt of alarm flits through her, gaze drawn to the grenade the furthest ODST was trying to arm.

She lets her boots fall onto the arms of the first two troopers, determinedly not thinking about the state of their bones. She also does not think about how the alarm wasn’t her own, instead focusing on snatching up the final two soldiers by their chestplates and tossing them aside.

“Shoot them,” John hisses into her ear. “They’re not neutralized if they’re conscious or functional.”

“What do they have to gain by fighting me? I threw them forty meters!” Cortana exclaims. “I don’t want to hurt them, John.”

John doesn’t say anything but he does mark their position as nav-points on her HUD. She pointedly ignores him by stripping one of the downed soldiers for their grenades, which she promptly attaches to a magnetic hardpoint on her armor. With that done, she takes to the outer edges of the immediate area, making herself as hard to locate as possible.

The obstacle course is achingly familiar by the time she reaches it. It was an endless expanse of tough gravel, just over ten acres of the stuff. She remembered having to cross it bare-foot multiple times alongside her siblings; she could almost feel the ghostly sensation of rocks stabbing her soles.

Before she could step off, however, John speaks, low and urgent.

“Throw a grenade at the field.”

“That’s-- why?” Cortana asks, bewildered.

“There are Lotus mines and that’s the best way for me to calculate the layout. UNSC Engineers try to randomize the pattern, but humans are predictable creatures,” John says impatiently.

Well, it was as good as reason as any. She pulls a grenade from the stolen bandolier and arms it-- and holds it for three full seconds. With a controlled flick of her arm, she chucks it at the ground, watching it bounce once and explode.

Two Lotus mines explode in a geyser of gravel of dirt in reply several feet apart from each other.

“Give me a second,” John says. “Okay. These are rough estimations, but they shouldn’t get you killed. As you were, Master Chief.”

A graph flickers to life, overlaying itself perfectly across the gravel expanse. Yellow flower-like symbols join it in an affixed pattern, telling her what to avoid. That was… extremely useful.

“Don’t like that they’re using anti-tank mines,” she says, gravel crunching underfoot. “Seems a bit much.”

They make the trek across the gravel field in three minutes.

“Thanks, John. That’s really helpful,” Cortana says, making her sigh of relief productive.

“...There’s radio chatter on D band,” John says, his voice oddly pitched. “Encrypted and encoded, but it’s from the nearby airfield. I don’t like it.”

“That sounds exciting…”

But they had bigger things to worry about. After the gravel field was the long, narrow strip of mud and razor wire. It would be interesting to see how the armor’s shields fared against the constant scrape of barbed line. She doubts she could hunker low enough to avoid it entirely.

...If she didn’t get shot to hell first.

“Chain guns, 11 and 1 o’ clock,” John says, almost as soon as she notices them. “I advise evading. I do not feel like dying today.”

Crawling through the razor bed probably doesn’t count as evading, she thinks dryly. She’s glad for their incredibly slow rotation and similarly slow rate of fire at least. It meant that at least one was deactivated by the time she took off sprinting for it, firing at its power lines with her rifle.

There were two chainguns at the far end of the route, clearly meant to create a field of crossfire should she crawl. She’s silenced the one closest to her, but its cousin’s 30mm rounds punch into her chest, threatening to drop her shield into zero with just a handful of impacts.

She silences it by kicking the first chaingun into its chassis, toppling them both.

“Elegant,” John remarks once the residual firing stops. “I am going to investigate something. Don’t get shot.”

Cortana feels the AI slip out of her neural lace. To escape the sudden gaping emptiness, she charges into the rest of the razor-lined trenches. It gave her a few moments to reflect, too. John was an interesting AI. Not horrible to work with, if a little bossy. And vague, too.

If this didn’t feel so high stakes, she’d be arguing more.

Ice water rushes down her neck the same instant she comes up on the next stage of the obstacle course. Years ago, when they were all very young, the Spartans had dubbed this portion the ‘Pillars of Loki.’ It was a nightmarish network of smooth poles of wood-- razed trees-- interspersed with traps and danger. She’d seen the kind of damage the traps could cause.

She wasn’t keen on taking any of them on.

“The airfield is launching an aircraft,” John announces, his voice edged with anger. “A Skyhawk.”

Fuck.

“Language,” John says sternly. “Do you have any ideas? I calculate roughly 30 seconds before contact.”

Well, the best way to avoid traps was to go around them, right? She stares into the crisscross of pillars and deadly vegetation for a couple seconds too many. It would leave her too exposed to try skirting the borders of the field, but maybe climbing onto the poles…

Yeah, that would work.

Cortana scales the nearest tree with a certain lack of finesse. Her armored fingers leave indents in the hard wood and her boots gouge out chunks of bark and flesh from the pole, but she’s standing atop it with-- 15 seconds to spare.

A timer was now ticking down in the corner of her visor.

“Don’t know if that’s helpful, John,” she mutters.

“Bandit inbound,” John replies. “Ideas?”

She launches herself from one pole to the next, taking a diagonal route across the Pillars of Loki. The Skyhawk was an atmospheric fighter that specialized in close air support. It’s complement of four 50mm cannons and anti-tank missiles made it a terrifying and formidable ship, and against her?

Mjolnir, augmentations, AI assistance…

Well, she was as dead as any Covie soldier.

“Contact!” John barks.

The air thrums violently around Cortana as the aircraft bears down on her position. She kicks off of the pillar, free falling just as a spray of bullets sunder the air. Trees shatter into pieces behind her and the world blurs as she tucks into a roll, hitting the ground.

The Mjolnir’s gel layer absorbs much of the impact, but it still hurts.

“Eleven seconds! Goal: 300 meters!” John barks again.

“You’re yelling,” Cortana huffs, climbing to her feet. “No need to yell!”

Once again, a timer was ticking down on her HUD. Nine seconds and going. She was no Kelly, but how hard could a three hundred meter dash be?

Nothing achievable when it was rockets she was facing. The eight-seven-six seconds must be the Skyhawk’s turn time. Maybe she should run for cover.

“No time! New timer! About face!” John shouts, his voice so intense that it drowned out her own panicked thoughts.

Dirt and grass sprays with the force Cortana applies to twist herself around. Her HUD pulses red once before yet another timer pops up, accompanied by the silhouette of a missile. John’s presence inside her mind and suit is suddenly overwhelming.

“When the timer hits zero, the missile will be on top of us. Deflect it.”

John had a knack for sounding like a drill instructor. Or a suicidal admiral. Firm, commanding, unshakable, and slightly tyrannical.

The Skyhawk was hovering nearby. Plumes of white smoke erupt from its left wing as it lets loose a Scorpion missile. Cortana grinds her teeth, feeling a lurch as her brain overclocks into Spartan Time once again.

Three.

Cortana nearly falls over as the Mjolnir’s shields are ramped to their maximum settings.

Two.

The Skyhawk is bearing down on them, outpacing its missile.

“Now!”

Cortana jinks to the side, slapping the fuselage of the missile and sending it off course.

It still explodes several meters behind her. The resultant explosion knocks out her shields and launches her ten meters into the air. Darkness overwhelms her and several internal systems start wailing.

“Run like hell.”

She didn’t have to be told that twice, but her body is shaking violently as she hauls herself back to her feet. Her initial few strides are wobbly, growing steadier in fits and bursts. The goal’s nav-point is blurry and out of focus.

Oh, she was bleeding!

Cortana uses the bell’s tripod to stop her forward momentum. It collapses underneath her and crumples like a tin can, unable to stand up to a half-ton of armored Spartan.

She’s rewarded by the crackle of Dr. Halsey’s voice in her ear: “Test complete. Withdraw, Colonel Ackerson. Magnificent, Master Chief, but please don’t move. I’m sending a recovery team.”

She picks herself up from the bell. Despite its crushed state, she can tell it’s the very same bell she rung some thirty-odd years ago.

“We did it, John!” Cortana laughs. “That was… exhilarating.”

Gingerly, she sets the bell back onto the ground, panting and bleeding inside of her helmet. She probably broke her nose but that was nothing compared to the sense of peace she was now feeling. Whatever this had been, she had conquered it.

“I couldn’t have done it without you, either,” she says softly. “Thank you, John.”

“...Thank you, Master Chief,” John replies. “It was a pleasure working with you.”

Yeah, it was, wasn’t it?

[chaseatinydream]

pirate king (87) || atz

Hongjoong stares, eyes wide and lips parted. Kill the... kill the sea goddess?

“Kill a god?” Yeosang repeats, so incredulously that his voice wavers. “Did I just hear that right? You want to kill the sea goddess?”

“Do the gods even exist?” Wooyoung mumbles under his breath, trying to put two and two together. The expression on his face is doubtful, suspicious. “That’s it. This voodoo stuff is a bunch of bull. San’s sorcery hands are the most I can deal with.”

His father doesn’t reply, merely staring straight at Hongjoong with his head held high. Eyes unrelenting, burning with determination, he almost feels the urge to take a step back in response. “You’re going to kill the sea goddess. How?”

His father’s hand reaches down in response, beginning to pull something from his belt. At the sight of a metallic gleam, Wooyoung and Yeosang react instantly, the gunner yanking his shotgun from his back to aim it squarely at the man while Yeosang ducks behind him for protection.

“Don’t shoot!” Hongjoong’s voice is harsh, and Wooyoung’s finger stills on the trigger. He’s trembling for reasons he himself doesn’t understand, hands barely able to grip and hold the gun steady. Everything about the man before them throws him off, from how normal he appears to the way he can declare such outrageous things without the slightest change in expression. Does he really believe that he can kill a god?

“Don’t worry. This blade can’t hurt you.” Hongjoong’s father unsheathes the blde at his belt fully to reveal a shining black dagger, the handle curved and carved with elaborately twisting designs reminiscent of surging waves and the ebbing tides. “It’s a sacred relic I tracked down, crafted by witches in the ancient times. I don’t know what their purpose was in making this,” he holds it up, and even in the blinding afternoon sun the black metal seems to swallow the very light that glances off it, “but it’s worked on all mythical creatures I’ve encountered.”

“You’re not,” Wooyoung snarls, teeth practically bared, “getting that anywhere near Chin Hae! What are you, some kind of monster?” The thought of you even being hurt, by that terrifying blade no less, scares him worse than if the blade were to be used on him instead. He won’t let anything happen to you, he can’t-

“Call me all the names you wish.” The commander lifts a shoulder in dismissal, mismatched eyes clear, not wavering in the least. “I knew what I was getting myself into the second I set this plan into motion. And I can assure you,” his gaze narrows as he looks down at the gun in Wooyoung’s hands, “that your weapons will do nothing against me.”

An icy cold sensation trickles down the back of Wooyoung’s nexk, and he finds himself swallowing involuntarily as he tightens his grip on his shotgun. “So what?” He retorts, as harshly as he can muster. “That isn’t going to stop me from trying.”

“Wooyoung.”

Wooyoung’s mouth clamps shut the second Hongjoong speaks, voice hard and eyes lost in thought. Hongjoong can’t help but feel like there’s something that his father has not yet revealed, something that would connect all the dots to reveal his father’s true intentions. Something so large that he just can’t see it yet. He’s still looking at individual stars, but he needs to see the entire constellations to read the night skies, just like his father had taught him to navigate the seas.

“One more thing.” Hongjoong says slowly, fingers curling around the handle of his blade. This question will link everything together, from his father’s intentions to the very reason he’s standing here right now, facing down his own parent with a sword in hand. He thinks he knows the answer already, but he wants to hear it spoken out loud in confirmation. “Tell me. What does any of this have to do with Chin Hae?”

For a moment, there is nothing but the sound of the sea winds sweeping over the sandy beach. His father takes a deep breath, exhales and speaks.

“The being you call Chin Hae...” he says softly, words carried over by the wind, “It is the essence of the sea that people call the sea goddess.”

Wooyoung stills completely, so shocked by the man’s words he can’t seem to move except to utter a single ‘what?’ from his lips. Yeosang, too, seems similarly stunned, eyes wide with surprise. Only Hongjoong swallows at the confirmation from his own father’s mouth, jaw clenched.

“What you call Chin Hae is nothing more than the essence of the sea in a vessel of clay.” His father says calmly, and every word resounds in his ears like a gunshot. “All the memories, every kind word it has said, every warmth and every embrace it has ever shared with you: it is most likely fake. The sea goddess has some sort of agenda in mind, I know it. The gods do not extend compassion to human beings - it simply isn’t their nature.”

You had come to his ship without memories, and they had found out that you were a a living, breathing, walking body of clay. The way all of the people they had encountered in the attempt to discover your identity had spoken of you as if you were something not quite of this world, something special, it all points to what his father is saying: you’re the sea goddess, and the very same one who had saved him all those years ago on the beach his father had marooned him on.

The sea is a cruel mistress, it does not discriminate, he remembers his father telling him that all those years ago. It is unfeeling and merciless, and cares nothing for humans. You must learn to overcome it yourself, son.

Hongjoong remembers the way your eyes had flashed stormy grey last night, the colour of a raging sea ready to pull him under, the knife in your hand an inch from ending his life. What if... but no...

The silence is broken by a snort, before it suddenly turns into full blown laughter. Hongjoong turns to see Wooyoung wiping away the tears at the corners of his eyes, laughing so hard that he can barely keep himself upright if it weren’t for his shotgun supporting him.

“Sea goddess!” Wooyoung wheezes. Hongjoong presses his lips together, and Yeosang inhales slightly. Is their gunner alright in the head? “Chin Hae, a sea goddess?”

Hongjoong’s father does not reply, simply watches as Wooyoung regains his bearings. The gunner shakes his head, determinedly raising his gun once again to point it at his target.

“You thought just telling us that she was a sea goddess was going to be enough to get us to give her up to you?” Wooyoung says sharply, teeth gritted. “Let me tell you something. You’ve never felt the warmth of her hug or the softness of her hand in yours. You’ve never seen the way she cries because she’s worried for you.” Wooyoung’s hands tighten on the gun, shaking near imperceptibly with his anger. “But we have.”

At those words, the air suddenly drops in temperature. Thunder rumbles somewhere off in the distance, lightning faintly crackling overhead, and Hongjoong shivers ever so slightly. Unease begins to pool in his gut, rising with each passing second as the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. What is happening?

“You’re talking about things that you do not understand.” Hongjoong’s father’s voice turns cold, and for the first time in his life, Hongjoong senses anger in his father’s words and his heart plummets in his chest. “Do you know just what the sea is capable of? Have you ever been on board of a ship in the middle of a hurricane as the waves and storm rips your hope to shreds right before your eyes?”

Wooyoung falls silent at his question, unable to say a word. His father presses on, voice growing more and more quiet until there’s another voice speaking with his, distorted and mangled like an echo overlapping with his words. “Have you ever stood at the helm, watching your crew members get swept overboard by waves as you try to steer the ship out of the storm? Look on as their friends scream and cry for them before they too, in the next second, are lost to the sea? If you have, tell me if you think that anything capable of doing that could ever be kind and loving?”

Hongjoong bites his lip so hard he tastes iron in his mouth. The Treasure has had some rough experiences before, and he’s watched a few of his men fall prey to the sea with his own eyes, seen the way the survivors had grieved and mourned and cursed the seas. But still, you weren’t like that. You were different. You had to be-

All of a sudden, his father stumbles back a step, one hand pressed tight to his eye and face drawn in pain. Instinctively, Hongjoong steps forward, concern hanging from the tip of his tongue before he catches himself: his father might not be the villain he had made him out to be, but he certainly is not someone to be trusted just yet.

“Sorry, give me a moment.” His father says slowly, voice strained with pain. “The human body wasn’t meant to contain this sort of power, it’s been getting more and more unstable recently.” He coughs, and an unnatural mixture of both blood and clear water trickles from the corner of his mouth. Hongjoong swallows at the sight - it reminds him far too much of you and your disintegrating body. “I don’t have much time left to find the sea goddess. Hongjoong, please.”

His father is dying too? A weight lodges itself painfully in his belly, one that he didn’t even know was there. Hongjoong had never thought that he would feel sadness or even care about his father after his betrayal, but when being confronted with the thought of the one person he had cared about when he was a child really dying and leaving him forever...

He doesn’t want to admit this feeling.

The thought of it scares him.

He forces it down, gritting his teeth, burying his fingers in the soft red fur of his coat. Remember, he chants to himself desperately. Remember who you’re doing this for.

“Whether you live or die doesn’t matter to me now.” Hongjoong says, with as much harshness as he can muster, and watches raw pain flicker across his father’s face. “You’re not touching my crew. So take your armada with you and get lost before I decide to kill you where you stand.”

His father stares at him for a moment, before he sighs, head bowed forward in disappointment. For a moment, Hongjoong wonders if he might actually listen to his words and relent, but then when his father raises his head once more, Hongjoong is horrified to see both of his father’s eyes have gone dim. Instead of the green shade that perfectly mirrors his, all he sees now is the depths of some terrifying, unknown darkness.

“Then I have no choice but to resolve this my way.” His father’s voice drops to a harsh, low whisper, and in that instant the winds tear through the beach in an instant, so strong that he has to raise his hands to shield his face from the flying sand. The gales stir up the water near the beach, the waves crashing back and forth unnaturally as if moved by some invisible force, and Hongjoong turns to stare in horror at his father. The man who he once loved so much as a child steps forward with merciless eyes, and Hongjoong realises that he can’t move a single step as his father approaches him. “I apologize, Hongjoong. As a captain, I hope you understand.”

Is his father going to kill him? For getting in the way of his plans?

An icy cold feeling washes over his body, and his limbs feel like there are leaden weights holding him down, preventing him from moving. Run! His body’s instinct is to flee before the thing that is walking towards him right now, but his legs won’t seem to obey. His father steps closer and closer, until Hongjoong can feel the pure power radiating off him, and bites down on his lip so hard he tastes blood.

Move, run, lash out, anything!

But his father steps past him, and in that second the immense pressure is lifted off him, Hongjoong collapses to the ground, panting and trembling, while Wooyoung and Yeosang run to him to help him up. Wheezing, Hongjoong grits his teeth and shouts after the man he had once called his father.

“Aren’t you going to kill me?”

His father stills for a moment, almost hesitant, before he speaks once more.

“You may not believe this, Hongjoong.” He says, so quietly that the winds scream over it and the sound of falling rain near drown it out, but Hongjoong knows just exactly what he’s saying. “But I told you earlier, you are my son, whom I love. That, no matter which sides we’re on,” his father turns back to give him one last, final smile. “Is something that will never change. That is why I will never hurt you.”

Suddenly, the waves swirl and surge once again, water from the both the sky and sea clashing in the middle and sending water arcing through the air. Lightning flashing and tears the sky itself in half, the cry of the wind rising to a fevered scream, and Hongjoong feels some part of him deep within his soul twisting at the presence of something it has not felt since that day he was a child.

Just like that day from his memory so many years ago, the sea itself parts, whipping up in massive waves to make way for its only master, and Hongjoong can only stare as a being walks over the surface of the sea even as it writhes and churns beneath its feet.

It’s just like he remembers.

The wind tears his eyepatch away from his face, and his fingers come up to grip his blinded eye tightly as the storms roar overhead. That figure walking out of the storm overlaps with his memory, stained red with blood in his mind, wearing the face of the woman he’s come to know and love over all this time.

It’s you.

“Chin Hae.” The name falls from his lips without thought, and it feels like the first time he’s saying those words all over again, from the very first time he’d named you and taken you in as one of his own. Then he’s scrambling to his feet, trying to reach you while Wooyoung and Yeosang simply stare at you in sheer shock. “Chin Hae! What are you doing? It’s dangerous!”

As if you’ve heard his words somehow over the howling of the gale and storm, you look directly into his eyes - Hongjoong just knows. Then you smile slightly at him, but it’s a sad, resigned smile, and Hongjoong’s heart plunges into his chest.

No. You’re supposed to wait for him. You aren’t supposed to come out to meet him before he returns, in this manner.

“Chin Hae is here.” You say aloud, and the thunder echoes your words like a chant, a prayer. Your eyes burn with unearthly light, and for a moment, Hongjoong almost can’t recognise you at all. “What is it that you want with me, Commander Kim?”

Hongjoong can only watch as his father smiles, stone cold, and raises the dagger to point it straight at your chest.

“Finally, we meet again, sea goddess.”

[disastermages]

this is chapter 14 of the au where Xiao Xingchen raises Wei Wuxian

--

Xiao Xingchen didn't know what he expected. Part of him had known that his grandmaster would be accompanying them to Gusu, but he still hadn't fully grasped it by the time they were leaving the inn, the six of them walking with Xiao Xingchen and Song Lan at the head of the group with A-Qing walking between them, and Baoshan Sanren bringing up the rear.

Another, smaller part of him had expected his grandmaster to take charge like she had on the rare and special occasions that she brought him and Cangse along on her shorter journeys down the mountain, her back straight and her shoulders square as she led them through towns, showing them how to pass through without calling attention to themselves. She’d shown them the signs of disturbances, too, stopping whenever the opportunity struck to let them see examples as close as she dared let them get.

He and Cangse had been competitive when it came to identifying whether something was a haunting or a possession or just a simple monster. Their guessing games kept going until Baoshan Sanren announced that she’d had enough of their arguing, but they’d always picked them back up the second she stopped listening.

He doesn’t realize that he’s smiling until he feels Song Lan bump their shoulders together, “Is  something funny?” The question comes quiet and soft, the smile on Song Lan’s face smaller than usual, though it still makes Xiao Xingchen’s breathing come easier.

“Just remembering something, that’s all.” Xiao Xingchen murmurs back, the tandem motion of the both of them swinging A-Qing over a mud puddle is muscle memory as she giggles. “My sister and I used to bicker whenever our grandmaster would take us off the mountain with her, it drove her to the point of using a silencing spell on us once.” Xiao Xingchen explains, his shoulders shaking slightly as Song Lan huffs out a laugh of his own, his smile starting to reach his eyes just a bit more.

The silencing spell incident had been one of their worst punishments, the two of them forced to follow along behind Baoshan Sanren silently until the spell lifted on its own. “Do you think she misses it? I think we could get A-Qing and A-Xian to bicker for a little while.” Song Lan teases and Xiao Xingchen snorts before he can stop himself, nearly dropping the horsetail whisk as he lifts his hand to cover his mouth.

“She might use the silencing spell on all of us if you aren’t careful.” Xiao Xingchen warns. Normally, Lan Wangji would’ve been exempt from any possible use of the silencing spell, but Xiao Xingchen had seen Baoshan Sanren pull him aside before they’d left this morning, her hands behind her back and her face strict. No matter how hard he tried, Xiao Xingchen hadn’t been able to make out what she was saying to him, though he’d seen Lan Wangji nod a few times.

He’d offered him a small, sympathetic smile when he and Baoshan Sanren had finished speaking, and if Lan Wangji had relaxed minutely, Xiao Xingchen didn’t call him out for it.

Silence never falls over them completely as they walk, Wei Ying’s chattering turning into comfortable background noise as he and Lan Wangji talk to each other and Xiao Xingchen tunes most of the conversation out, only stopping once to lift A-Qing onto his hip when she begins to look drowsy, Song Lan’s hand stroking over the back of her head softly as she buries her face in her father’s neck.

They’d woken up with her in their bed, wriggled in between the two of them, though neither of them could remember letting her in the night before, but the only thing they’d been able to do was smile at each other as they took turns trying to rouse her from her sleep.

It had felt suspiciously normal, and it still did, so normal that Xiao Xingchen can feel the change in the air on his skin, prickling like static and sending Shuanghua into a low hum in the back of his head. His grip on A-Qing tightens on instinct, his eyes squinting as he looks around them, Song Lan’s hand grabbing onto his sleeve as he does the same, bringing their group to a standstill on the road despite neither of them being able to identify any immediate threat.

“Uncle Xiao?” Wei Ying calls, and Xiao Xingchen turns his head towards his voice slightly, unable to turn his head completely, though he sees it out of the corner of his eye, the smile dropping further off his face as he begins to pry A-Qing away from his neck.

A group of fierce corpses were staggering towards them, their clothes ragged and their hair hanging in loose, messy strands around their faces. They’d gotten used to running into them over the last few weeks, following trails of them to see where Xue Yang had been and trying to guess where he was going, though usually, there were only one or two instead of the group of six or seven dragging their way towards them.

He doesn’t have to tell A-Qing to find a place to hide, though he still makes a point to stroke her cheek before he sends her off, watching as she ducks behind the trunk of one of the trees that line the road, smiling tightly and nodding as she peeks out from around it.

They find their positions, Song Lan pressing against his shoulder and Lan Wangji pressing against Wei Ying’s, Baoshan Sanren falling into step easily beside them, calling her sword out of her own qiankun pouch, though she doesn’t unsheathe it yet. Her eyes are hard, but the rest of her remains relaxed as she plants her feet.

“Corpses usually don’t group together like this,” Wei Ying points out, his voice low as they allow the corpses to come closer, their hands having long since turned into claws reaching out and pawing at them even though they were still a few yards away. “Do you think Xue Yang’s been through here?”

“It’s possible,” Song Lan answers, the frown on his face deepening at the thought, “unless he’s learned how to expand the range of the Yin Iron.” That still wouldn’t explain the sudden grouping, though Xiao Xingchen doesn’t say it, his own face going still as he draws Shuanghua out. Fierce corpses usually bumbled around on their own, wandering aimlessly until they stumbled over a living person, or worse, an entire family of living people.

“A-Ying,” Xiao Xingchen says, hearing his nephew draw Suibian without seeing it, “Uncle Song and I are going to try and scatter the group, can you and Lan Wangji handle the stragglers?” The corpses wouldn’t truly be dangerous unless he and Song Lan ended up surrounded on all sides, but the four of them had taken down enough of them to have a system worked out by now. “Grandmaster, could you-”

“I’ll go where I’m needed, Xingchen.” Baoshan Sanren decides, her face betraying nothing as she draws her own sword out, the blade shining as though it were brand new.

Without another word, Xiao Xingchen nods and he and Song Lan move forward, Fuxue and Shanghua moving in tandem with each other as the two of them work through the crowd, cutting down two of the corpses as they carve a path right down the middle of the corpses, splitting it in half and only barely seeing it as Wei Ying and Lan Wangji take on one half while Baoshan flits through and cuts down the other half on her own. The expression on her face borders on annoyance, rather than an actual challenge as her blade cuts through another corpse, sending it crumpling to the ground.

Spinning around, Xiao Xingchen catches one of the corpse’s arms as it reaches towards Song Lan, his free hand finding his husband as Shuanghua stabs through the corpse before he kicks it away. He doesn’t register that Song Lan has blocked another corpse from making contact with Xiao Xingchen until he’s forced to turn around again, Fuxue sending it sprawling backwards. It trips over a stone hidden in the grass and doesn’t get back up again as Xiao Xingchen and Song Lan press their backs together for just a moment before they both push forward, cutting down the rest of the corpses until none of them make an attempt to rise again, cracks over their flesh healing before their eyes.

Xiao Xingchen opens his mouth to speak, but before anything can come out, A-Qing is crashing into him and calling out for Song Lan and himself, her fingers winding tight into his robes as she looks behind her. “A-Qing?” Xiao Xingchen says, kneeling down quickly and then frowning again as two more corpses come stumbling out of the woods, their movements somehow clumsier than their predecessors.

“They’re acting as though they’ve been dead longer than the other ones.” Wei Ying points out, coming to stand beside his uncle, but holding out his hand for A-Qing and nudging her behind him when she takes it without a second thought. Xiao Xingchen doesn’t stop himself from moving to stand in front of the both of them as he stares ahead.

There were visible signs of decay on these corpses, their movements stiffer and parts of them beginning to wear and break away from the rest of their bodies. How long had these corpses wandered? How long ago were they risen from the dead to torment those who had probably been their neighbors? Xiao Xingchen is almost certain that he doesn’t want to hear the answer as he holds Shuanghua up in a defensive position. Fierce corpses usually didn’t reach this stage in their lifespan, they were usually cut down a few moments after they were risen, or they fell limp to the ground like puppets who’s strings had all been cut.

He means to let the corpses come to him before he takes Shuanghua to them, but Baoshan Sanren appears in front of them first, her blade slicing through both of the corpses cleanly and easily, their shrieks cutting off as the last of the forced life leaves them completely.

None of them move for a long moment, all six of them waiting to see if anymore corpses would come stumbling out after them, but when nothing comes and the static feeling on Xiao Xingchen’s skin fades, he turns and kneels down again and opens his arms for A-Qing, checking her for injuries as he rises.

“Not a scratch on her.” Baoshan Sanren says, her voice almost proud as she comes to stand over Xiao Xingchen’s shoulder. “A-Qing, it’s very important for a rogue cultivator to know when to ask for help, do you understand that?” Baoshan Sanren asks, her tone lapping into something that almost makes Xiao Xingchen’s shoulders relax with the familiarity of it.

“A-Die and Baba told me that before,” A-Qing answers, nodding her head seriously, “only Xian-gege forgets to ask sometimes.” Wei Ying makes a scandalized noise at that, reaching over and poking at his sister’s cheek despite the look Xiao Xingchen gives him.

At his side, Xiao Xingchen hears Song Lan snort, his fist covering up the smile on his face, though Xiao Xingchen makes no attempt to hide his own, shaking his head as he bumps A-Qing further up onto his hip.

A-Qing and Wei Ying didn’t even need their nudging to start bickering and teasing each other, but Xiao Xingchen and Song Lan had both known that.

~

The fire is burning low in front of her, but Baoshan Sanren only barely makes a move to stoke the flames, the sun would be coming up soon, and they would be moving on as quickly as they could, there’d be no point in keeping a fire going only to put it out again.

She’d sworn she’d never go back to Gusu, she’d told herself that she would never set foot in Cloud Recesses again, but she’d also promised herself that she would never forgive Lan Yi, hadn’t she? It had been the first of the promises she’d made to herself that she’d broken, her eyes suddenly feeling heavy as she stares into the embers. She doesn’t notice Wei Wuxian until he’s almost standing next to her, a twig cracking underneath his foot and drawing Baoshan Sanren out of her thoughts before she can follow the spiral any further.

“You’ve either stayed up far too late, or you’ve woken up very early, A-Xian.” She sighs, sitting up straighter as he watches her from a few feet away.

“A-Qing woke me up, she talks in her sleep sometimes.” Wei Wuxian says, the smile on his face doing absolutely nothing to cover up the lie he was telling.

It’s almost refreshing, he doesn’t look that much like Cangse when he tries to tell a lie. He might look like his father, but Baoshan Sanren couldn’t say that with any sort of confidence, she’d never met the man, it wasn’t her place to wonder what he might’ve looked like when he was telling a lie. “Are you going to stand there and watch me until sunrise, or are you going to ask me whatever question that’s brought you here?” She throws another handful of kindling onto the fire as she speaks, letting it catch and bring the fire back to life before she throws a few more sticks in.

Wei Wuxian takes it as an invitation to sit himself right next to her, tanned skin and dark eyes seeming to glow in the firelight. “Uncle Xiao told me that talking about Lan Yi was forbidden on the mountain.” Wei Wuxian starts, looking nervous, even as his grandmaster pokes at the fire in front of them. She wants to laugh, what did he expect her to do? Push the same rule onto him?

“We aren’t on the mountain,” Baoshan Sanren reminds him plainly, but then she stops, “but if we were, I might have you carry water down from the stream for the next week.” She means to tease him, and she hopes that it shows on her face. It had been one of Cangse’s least favorite chores, and maybe one day, she would tell Wei Wuxian that.

Whether or not he knows he’s being teased, Wei Wuxian still laughs and leans back on his hands, the smile on his face making some of the sternness she’d forced on her own to drop away. “I guess I just wanted to ask you why? Uncle Xiao said that you loved each other.”

“We did.” Baoshan Sanren answers and it feels too much like a confession, perfect posture relaxing as she closes her eyes for just a moment. “You and your Lan Wangji remind me of the two of us, in bits and pieces.” She hadn’t intended on telling him that, but the words are coming faster than she can stop them. “He seems dedicated to you, and you light up when you look at him.” When she looks over, her grandson is smiling to himself, his own hands on his knees, his fingers tapping against them restlessly.

“I didn’t expect her to notice me, my clan was the smallest one attending the lecture that year.” Baoshan Sanren laughs, shaking her head at the memory. She’d been enthralled with Lan Yi, from the way she wore her hair, to the cut of her robes around her body, to the way her hand held her sword.

“How did she notice you?”

“I sprained her cousin’s wrist while I was sparring with him. I didn’t always know my own strength back then, A-Xian.” Baoshan Sanren grins with the admission and they both laugh, “The boy’s father, her uncle, wanted me expelled from Cloud Recesses right then, but Lan Yi defended me, she told her father the truth about the sparring session and that I hadn’t done it on purpose.”

The memory comes back, shiny and new as though it had only happened a few days ago. Lan Yi had wedged herself between Baoshan Sanren and her uncle, her face furious. Baoshan Sanren might’ve loved her then, too. “I thought I had made things worse for her, her father had no sons and he’d already refused to name his brother’s son the sect heir, but she insisted on sitting with me while I had to copy all 1,500 of the Lan sect rules 600 times.”

Wei Wuxian’s face falls then, his eyebrows knitting together as he frowns, “There are 3,500 Lan sect rules, though.” For the first time in a long while, Baoshan Sanren laughs, her shoulders shaking and a smile pulling across her face as she looks away from him.

“There are things Lan Yi and I did that you’re too young to hear about.” She might tell him one day, though. She might tell him about the time she’d shared the wine she’d brought from home with Lan Yi and the two of them had ended up in a brothel in Caiyi Town wearing nothing but their under robes and shoes. Or about the time she’d nearly fallen off the cliffs near the waterfall, only because Lan Yi had kissed her suddenly and the tree they were leaning against had given under their combined weight.

“Your mother might’ve added onto the rules too, you know, I heard that she passed through Cloud Recesses at one point.” It wasn’t the complete truth, she’d heard the tale about her daughter shaving a main family member’s beard off, and a few more about her sending unwanted suitors packing with little warning besides her sword slid between their legs.

The smile comes back to Wei Wuxian’s face then, a touch more mischievous when he looks at her, “That’s what Uncle Song said, but Grandmaster Lan wouldn’t give me an answer when I asked him.”

“A serial rule breaker? In their upstanding lecture? A-Xian you should be ashamed of yourself for even suggesting such a thing.” Baoshan Sanren teases, trying to pretend to lecture him, though she can’t keep a straight face, even if she tried.

The sky begins to turn pink and Baoshan Sanren sits back, looking just over Wei Wuxian’s shoulder. “I wish you and Lan Wangji better luck than Lan Yi and I had.” Baoshan Sanren says seriously, her eyes focused on the figure in bright blue as Lan Wangji emerges from his tent. “I think you may already have it.” She couldn’t be jealous of them, she wouldn’t, they’d managed to stay by each other’s sides this long, she was proud of them. Lan Wangji hadn’t even looked afraid when she’d pulled him to the side and made her expectations of him clear.

“She talked about you when I fell into her cave with Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says quickly, and Baoshan Sanren looks up at him with wide eyes, something in her chest already twisting, “she sounded like she missed you.” She wants to laugh again, he’s trying to comfort her in the same, well meaning, but clumsy way she’d seen him comfort A-Qing, the smile on her face turning rueful as she nods.

“She might.” She agrees, blinking the feeling away, “She might also know that I’m coming to tell her “I told you so” a hundred years after the fact.”

The last time Baoshan Sanren had been in Cloud Recesses, she’d been escorted to the gate by Lan Yi’s mother and a handful of senior disciples and ordered to never return. Lan Yi’s mother had blamed her for what had happened, and Baoshan Sanren had allowed it, rather than letting the woman blame herself or Lan Yi for it.

They still had another day’s travel before they reached the gates of Cloud Recesses, and Lan Yi’s mother could no longer bar her from entering, and Baoshan Sanren isn’t sure if she wishes she were able to or not.

~

Lan Wangji moves to the front of the group as they draw closer to Cloud Recesses, holding onto Wei Ying’s hand until he walks too far for either of them to keep it up, though when he does glance back at him, Lan Wangji gets a smile in return, his throat feeling suddenly thicker as they climb the steps.

He’d hoped they would have longer together before he would have to return, but they’d had two months without the watchful eyes of his uncle on them. Wei Ying’s uncles had allowed them to be alone together, something his uncle wouldn’t have even considered once he knew the extent of their involvement.

“Lan Zhan, are you alright?” Wei Ying’s voice is a whisper, sounding as though he were standing beside him, rather than walking between his grandmaster and younger sister behind him, though, when Lan Wangji turns his head slightly, he can see one of Wei Ying’s papermen perched on his shoulder, holding onto the strand of his forehead ribbon to stay in place.

If they’d been walking alone together, Lan Wangji might’ve taken the paperman into his hand, it would’ve been more stable, but for now, Lan Wangji can only sneak another look over his shoulder. “Fine,” he thinks in answer, eyes flicking to his shoulder again, if he wasn’t careful, Wei Ying’s paperman would wind its way into his hair again, “only wish we had more time together.”

“This isn’t goodbye, Lan Zhan, we still have to find Xue Yang and bring him back to Qishan.” Wei Ying reminds him, the paperman pulling at his ribbon impatiently now, the same way Wei Ying did when no one was looking at them, the silk wound between his fingers while they both pretended they didn’t know the meaning of what he was doing.

“Mn.” Lan Wangji answers out loud, inclining his head as they reach the top of the stairs and the two disciples guarding the gates bow to him quickly, his uncle and brother appearing at the other side of the gate as though they’d been summoned. Lan Wangji bows to both of them, ignoring the smile on his brother’s face when he rights himself. He has no intention of answering Xichen’s questions until they were locked away in the Hanshi, away from the possibility of their uncle’s lecture.

The six of them are admitted into Cloud Recesses quickly, his uncle’s mouth falling open when Baoshan Sanren is introduced, and Lan Wangji swears for a moment, he pales, though he says nothing about it. His uncle recovers quickly enough anyway, bowing deeply to her and Baoshan Sanren returns it, thanking Lan Qiren for hosting not only one, but two of her disciples in the past.

There’s a look of mischief that Lan Wangji recognizes all too quickly.

“You didn’t think to write to us about this?” Xichen teases, leaning into Lan Wangji’s space and Lan Wangji only blinks.

“Grandmaster Baoshan only joined us a week and a half ago, haven’t had time.” He says simply and his brother gives him a look before he smiles again, a chuckle coming from deep in his chest.

“I’ve missed you, Wangji, Uncle has too.” Lan Wangji knows his brother is speaking honestly, but all he can do is nod, glancing up to where his uncle is speaking with both of Wei Ying’s, their faces serious. “How is Young Master Wei?”

“Wei Ying is Wei Ying.” Lan Wangji answers proudly, turning to face his brother and almost buckling under the weight of his smile. He wouldn’t be able to escape without answering questions now.

Xichen doesn’t get the chance to ask any of his questions though, after a few more moments of talking, they’re all moving again, setting out towards the backhill, and Lan Wangji takes the chance to walk beside Wei Ying, his brother falling in step behind them after they leave Qing Sanren in the care of a senior disciple.

“A great bit of research has gone into understanding Ancestor Yi’s condition,” Xichen announces, walking to the front of their group and taking on the duty of disrupting the ward hiding the entrance of Lan Yi’s cave long enough for all of them to walk through single file, the paths below them still just as slick and icy as Lan Wangji remembered them to be. One hand goes to hold onto the cave wall and the other wraps around Wei Ying’s wrist, genuinely hoping to steady him in case he slipped.

The caves would have been difficult for Qing Sanren to navigate, as it stood, the paths were most likely never intended to hold all of them at once, stray rocks and icicles giving way as they make their way down. “We’ve found that speaking with her more frequently aids in keeping her tethered to this world, though, we haven’t found a way to reverse the effects of the Yin Iron quite yet.”

A guqin can be heard as they begin the last level of their descent, a chill settling through all five layers of Lan Wangji’s robes, his eyes lifting to the front of the group just in time to see Baoshan Sanren’s shoulders draw together tightly, her step faltering for just a moment, but not long enough to allow Wei Ying’s Uncle Xiao to run into her back.

Lan Wangji can only throw a quick, backwards glance to Wei Ying then, his hand tightening around his wrist as they press forward.

~

“Lan Yi.” Baoshan Sanren sighs to herself, her hands hanging limp at her sides as she watches Lan Yi’s fingers move over the strings of the guqin, a rabbit perched on either side of her and nibbling at her robes.

It wasn’t as though she hadn’t believed them, because she did, she wanted to, she’d wanted Lan Yi to be alive, but she’d been preparing for the worst. She’d been prepared to come down and find that the Yin Iron had eaten away at the last of her spiritual cognition.

Baoshan Sanren almost doesn’t feel the water seeping into her robes and boots as she takes a step into the pool. It should chill her to the bone, but she doesn’t feel it. She doesn’t feel anything until her splashing breaks Lan Yi’s concentration and she looks up, her hands still frozen in place over the strings of the guqin.

“A-Shan?” Lan Yi calls, looking as though she were the one seeing a ghost standing right in front of her. “A-Shan, are you here? Or have I fallen asleep again?”

“I’m here.” Baoshan Sanren answers too quickly, stopping in the middle of the pool as Lan Yi stands, gathering her robes in her hands and Baoshan Sanren’s heart stops. Those were the robes she’d worn into the cave the night it had happened, the bright cerulean had burned itself into Baoshan Sanren’s memory through the years. She hadn’t weighed the possibility of Lan Yi being trapped in those robes for the rest of her existence. “How have you been?” She hears herself ask, instead of saying anything useful, watching as the water just barely ripples as Lan Yi walks through it, though the chill doesn’t seem to touch her.

“I should be asking you that question.” Lan Yi laughs, though it sounds like a sob, “You’re the one who’s been wandering and taking disciples while I’ve been sitting in a cave.” There’s only a few inches left between them now, close enough that Baoshan Sanren could set her hand on Lan Yi’s hip and feel her underneath her hand if she allowed herself.

“My disciples are why I’m here.” Baoshan Sanren answers honestly, cold shooting up her arm and into her shoulder as Lan Yi’s hand wraps around her wrist, and Baoshan Sanren glances back, shaking her head as she watches Wei Wuxian wave awkwardly at the both of them, standing entirely too close to Lan Wangji for an unmarried couple in front of their families.

“I have to destroy the Yin Iron, A-Yi.” Baoshan Sanren says carefully, swallowing thickly when Lan Yi looks back at her, her eyes wide and her hand tightening around her wrist.

“You can’t.” She decides, shaking her head as a frown replaces the smile that had been on her face too quickly. “You can see what happened to me, A-Shan, the both of us can’t be trapped here.”

Baoshan Sanren is the one to reach for her now, shaking off the hand Lan Yi had wrapped around her wrist and putting both of hers on Lan Yi’s shoulders. “I’ve already done it once, A-Yi, I can do it again.”

“It’s true!” Wei Ying interrupts, his voice too loud against the cave walls as he steps away from Lan Wangji, though he doesn’t step into the water with them. “Grandmaster crushed one piece in her hand, she’s had time to recover without any side effects.”

Looking between the two of them, Lan Yi doesn’t look any more convinced than she had just a moment ago, clasping her hands in front of her instead of reaching up to touch Baoshan Sanren again. “I’m tethered to it, Baoshan, can you let me go in the same breath you’ll use to destroy it?” She isn’t asking to be cruel, Baoshan Sanren knows that, but it still sends an ice cold hand down her throat to grasp at her heart.

“There’s nothing else here that you can tether yourself to?” Baoshan Sanren asks, her eyes scanning through the cave, and only finding the guqin and the Yin Iron. She’d hoped to see Lan Yi’s sword somewhere in the cave, maybe buried in the ice, but the longer she thinks the more clearly she remembers seeing it carried out by senior disciples and handed over to Lan Yi’s mother as she wept.

Baoshan Sanren’s hands had been slapped away the second she’d reached to touch it.

“My guqin cannot hold my spirit, I’ve tried.” Lan Yi smiles sadly, her eyes looking wet when Baoshan Sanren manages to catch sight of them again. “Whatever holds my spirit must have some sort of importance, it can’t be something simply picked up off the ground, I’ve learned that much while I’ve been here.”

Stubborn silence fills the cave, and Baoshan notices for the first time that Lan Xichen and Lan Qiren had eased out of the cave some time ago, leaving the six of them to plan and agonize on their own. Baoshan Sanren almost envies them, being able to leave under the guise of giving them privacy.

“I have this,” Wei Wuxian offers, his voice much quieter as he pulls something out of his robes, a jade pendant held tightly in his hand, and Baoshan Sanren’s eyes flick back up to Lan Wangji. “Lan Zhan gave it to me before I left with Uncle Xiao and Uncle Song.” The two of them come closer to the edge of the pool then, and Wei Wuxian tosses the pendant to Baoshan Sanren, the catch made easy as Lan Yi’s hand finds hers again.

Looking at the piece of jade in her hand, Baoshan Sanren wonders if this had been the only thing Lan Wangji had given her grandson that day.

“Lan Yi? Will this be enough?” Baoshan Sanren holds the pendant out to her, watching as Lan Yi drags her fingers over the carving, her fingers twitching around her own.

“I believe so,” Lan Yi breathes, looking up at Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji as though she expected the offer to be rescinded as quickly as it had come. “Young Master Wei is truly alright with this?” She asks, and Wei Wuxian smiles at the both of them.

“I can break down the ward if I need to get back in.” He says and Lan Wangji gives him a look that she swears she’s only given Lan Yi before.

Lan Yi takes the pendant into her own hand then, pressing it to her chest and squeezing her hand tightly. “A-Shan?” Lan Yi asks, leaving most of the question unsaid, and Baoshan Sanren allows herself to smile and nod.

Neither of them get another word out before the earth above them shakes, shouts echoing down to the lowest level of the cavern, and Xiao Xingchen, Song Zichen, Wei Wuxian, and Lan Wangji all move back towards the path they’d walked down.

“Xingchen?” Baoshan Sanren calls, the softness in her voice dropping away into the usual sternness she’d worked hard to keep.

“This is what it sounded like the last time we were under attack.” Lan Yi announces, her eyes staring up at the cave ceiling, as though she could see through it, distantly, they can hear voices calling out names, and Baoshan Sanren watches as the four of them make a move towards the entrance of the cave.

“Sect Leader Wen was correct,” Xiao Xingchen says, turning his head and looking at Lan Wangji, “Xue Yang has returned to Cloud Recesses.”

[sailorshadzter]

the first of many prompts thanks to folklore. 

And it's another day, waking alone.

She lays in the stillness of the morning for several moments before the door swings open, her ever prompt, ever loyal handmaiden Shae, striding in with a smile and nod. Shae understands her, Shae knows her, and so she leaves her lady to her own thoughts all while she feeds kindling into the dying fire, returning it to it's former golden glory. When she's finished with that, it's across the room she goes, thumbing through the wardrobe in an effort to find a gown for that day. As always, and without much effort, she knows how to pick the perfect gown. And so it's Sansa's favorite black and gray wool gown, cut in a fashionable style with draping sleeves that Sansa had spent hours embroidering white flowers along. "It's time, my lady," Shae finally says, knowing that if they waste much more time, it will be afternoon before she's ready for the day. Sansa can't help but to smile; there in private, Shae still yet refers to her as she had all those long months in King's Landing.

"Send for a bath, won't you?" Sansa asks as she swings her legs over the side of the bed, rising up as Shae brings her robe. As if summoned by thought, there comes a knock on her door and Sansa smiles as Shae turns to open it for the arriving pair of maids.

It doesn't take long for her rooms to be full of activity; two grooms have brought the copper tub in and while one maid hangs the privacy sheet, two others haul in the buckets of hot water, spilling them into the tub until it's dangerously full. Shae takes over then, dropping the perfect amount of rosewater into the bath, sent specially for the Queen in the North from Dorne, a gift from their ever persistent prince. Stripping from her robe and night gown, Sansa allows Shae to help her into the tub, sloshing water over the sides as she sinks below the surface.

On this day, there's to be a celebration, but the truth is Sansa doesn't care much for celebrating. Not when yet again, just as she had been at her coronation, she would be alone. It was true, she has Shae, and Brienne too, but she is without her family. Her pack. Arya had yet to return from her travels and Bran was of course in King's Landing. Though her younger brother wrote her often, it was not the same as being together beneath the roof of Winterfell. And... No, she cannot think of him, it's far too painful yet to think of him.

And yet...

She does. She can't help it.

She thinks of Jon when the sun warms her skin in the courtyard. When she sits in the great hall, sitting alone where she once sat at his side, she thinks of him. Though the lords of the North cheer to their Queen in the North, she wishes they might cheer to their king. In the godswood, the only place she can find an hour to herself, she loses herself in the memory of him. Of his hands, tangled in her hair. Of his Stark gray eyes, softening only when gazing at her by the moonlight spilling in through the curtains. The truth was, everywhere she went, she was reminded of him, reminded of the pain that was the loss of him. She thinks of him always. Always.

"My lady..." It's Shae, dropping to her hunches at the side of the tub, reaching out to tenderly stroke her queen's cheek. Until that moment, she had not realized she'd even begun to cry. "Today is a happy day." Shae says in a tone that brooks no argument, one which brings a halfhearted laugh from Sansa's lips.

If nothing else, Sansa has Shae, and for that she is thankful.

[ x x x ]

It's a long day of celebrations.

The feast lasts long into the evening, with dozens of toasts to the queen and to the coming of spring. They toast to surviving another year, they toast to those who had died just over a year ago so they might live.

But now it is late and all she can think about is stripping from her heavy gown and climbing back into her bed. To her surprise, Shae is not within her room when she enters, though the fire is burning and her bedclothes lay out on the bed as they always do. Sansa sighs as she lifts her crown from her head, setting it aside on the table, thinking perhaps she might read through the letters she had not had time to read that morning, but it's just as she's breaking the seal on the first one that Shae slips into her room. "My lady," she dips her a curtsy, rising up to meet Sansa's gaze with one of her own. "I have heard that there is a rider at the gate." She says and at once, Sansa is casting aside the letter she once thought she might read, a knot twisting in her belly.

"This late?" She hears herself ask, to which Shae nods.

"Lord Royce instructed him to be fed and given a bed for the night-" Shae begins, watching as Sansa's eyes widen, surprise taking root.

"H-him?" The young queen squeaks, daring not to believe it, though against her better judgment her heart has begun to beat wildly in her chest. "It is a man?" It could be anyone, she tells herself, it could be any man seeking shelter from the cold night, it could be any other man but him. And yet...

Somehow, she knows.

"Send him to me." She commands and Shae nods, backing from the room to head downstairs, to where the man was eating in the kitchens. Left alone, Sansa rises from the chair she's been sitting in, suddenly far too nervous to remain still. Instead, she paces back and forth, doing everything she can to calm the racing of her heart, to steady her uneven breathing, telling herself that it won't be him that walks through her door. It won't be...

There comes a knock and she nearly leaps from her skin. The door opens and at first, it is Shae that steps into the room, though a man follows in behind her, a man with a head of dark curls she would recognize anywhere. "Jon..." She whispers aloud the name she's only spoken in her mind, the name she's refused to utter aloud to anyone, even to Shae, even to Brienne. It is the name she's dreamed of for the last year, the name of the man she's loved all this time.

Before she can say another word, Jon is approaching her, his Stark colored gaze steady as it finds hers. "My queen," he speaks, his voice thick, but it is the voice she knows, the voice she loves. Behind him, Shae ducks from the room with a smile, but neither Sansa nor Jon even notice. He unsheathes Longclaw and sinks to his knee then, offering his sword in reverence to her as every Lord in the North has done. But not a single one of those pledges of loyalty could mean what this one does. "I have come a humbled man, unworthy to stand in your presence. But I hope... I hope I might beg your forgiveness." He tilts his head back so he might look up at her and just as her eyes fill with tears, so do his. "I have come in hopes you might allow me to once again stand at your side."

For the last year, Jon has thought of little else beyond the woman that stands before him. She has consumed him like a fire; in his dreams and waking thoughts alike, she was always there. In the stunning blue skies, he saw her eyes. When the sun sank beneath the horizon and the skies faded to crimson and gold, he saw her hair. When the wind blew past him, it was the whisper of her voice against his skin.

For the last year, he has wrestled with feeling undeserving of being beside her, of even allowing her to lay her eyes upon him. But as the day marking one year of her reign approached, he'd been unable to wrestle any longer. And so he had set out with Ghost, to return to the place he once thought he might never return to.

It takes only a moment longer, but she's raising him up, hands somewhat shaking as they reach for him. They slide into place against his cheeks, rough with stubble, a reminder of nights long ago. "Sansa..." He whispers her name, soft and slow, and it is enough to undo her entirely. Without another thought, without another word, she's in his arms, sinking into him. Jon wraps his arms around her, the gesture still familiar, still imprinted upon him.

"Welcome home," is all she's able to whisper before his mouth finds hers.

[ruofeng-ruomian]

Meeting Again

Jiang Fengmian received an invitation from the Nie Sect, stating that a conference will be happening in a few weeks. He was hesitant in going since he does not want to leave A-ying all alone in the Jiang Sect knowing the true nature of his wife. He knows that if he lets the boy out of his sight, he’ll get harmed just like what happened two years ago.

From that then on, he made sure to never let him leave his sight. If by any chance he had to leave the boy, he asks his right-hand man to watch over the boy. This decision though did have a consequence, his wife was very displeased upon finding out about this order.

“You dare show such favoritism towards the son of a servant over your son? Where did you hear the right-hand man of a sect leader guarding a child not of blood by the main family?! This is why the other Sects have started talking about us behind our backs due to you showing more affection and attention than to your son!” She screams with a red face, Zidian crackling sensing its owner's fury.

Instead of answering his Alpha, he walked out of the room calmly. Behind him, he can hear the breaking objects as they get thrown.

It was not his intention to show favoritism, but if he leaves A-ying alone his wife will do anything in her power to destroy the boy’s life. He knows that his children are safe, they are the blood of Yu Ziyuan after all. The same cannot be said for A-Ying, the boy will face problems.

“Sect Leader, if you are truly worried about Wei Ying, we can bring him along if you wished to.”

Jiang Fengmian stopped and contemplated whether is it a good idea to bring the small child along with him. As a Sect Leader, he’ll be too busy interacting with other Sect Leaders to give the attention that the boy needs. The same can be said for Jiang XiaoLin, as his second-in-command, he’ll be doing the same or maybe even more.

“I don’t know XiaoLin, will he be okay? He has never left Yunmeng and I don’t think it is safe enough to introduce him to the cultivation world.”

“Rumors have already started spreading about a boy that clings to you, whom you have kept by your side most of the times. People who have heard of this are already talking about A-Ying as your illegitimate child, which continues to infuriate your wife.” Jiang XiaoLin replies with a little smile.

Fengmian raised an eyebrow at his right-hand man, “Is it polite of you to enjoy the torment my wife goes through?”

Jiang XiaoLin laughs, “I have no respect for that Alpha woman, he abuses you verbally and has no respect for you. If she was the Sect Leader of Yunmeng Jiang, she would have laid a hand on you long ago with that Zidian of hers.”

Jiang Fengmian cannot sight at the words of his friend, “But still... you must be careful of your words. I would be unable to defend you if Yu Ziyuan wishes to punish you for such “insolence”.”

“No need to worry about me Sect Leader, I would gladly get whipped for the sake of just irritating that woman. The only good she ever has done in this world is bringing A-Cheng and A-Li into this world.”

The Sect Leader shook his head as he gives his friend an unbelieving look.

***

Wen Xu stands in front of his father with his head bowed down, just waiting for him to speak. Wen Chao, his younger brother stood beside him looking bored but still showing respect at their powerful father.

“I want you to go to the conference in my stead. You are my heir, this is in a way training for the future once you become the Leader of the Qishan Wen.” Wen Ruohan calmly tells his son as he drinks from his cup.

Unable to stop himself, his head snaps upright to look at his father in shock.

“But father, the other Sects will see this as a disrespect-” Before he could continue, Wen Ruohan stops him.

He puts the cup down and stood up in all of his glory, “Are you saying that you will disobey this order?”

Wen Xu shakes his head, “Of course not father, it’s just-”

“Then there is no need to further this discussion. If they dare to say anything just tell them that this is a training. Bring your brother and make sure that he’ll have at least an idea of his position.”

Wen Chao chokes at his father’s implication of his irresponsibility.

Without further words, their conversation was done. The moment their father turned around and continued his drinking they both know what to do. 

So they left their father after giving a bow and walked side by side. 

“Why must father force me to go?” The second son whines.

Wen Xu frowns and reprimands, “Obey father Chao-er. You must understand that his words will always be a law to follow. He is right anyway, you need to learn. Wen Zhuliu spoils you too much.”

Wen Chao pouts and leaves his brother alone. 

As he watches his brother leave, the Wen heir could not help but sigh and remember his other brother that passed away years ago. He has not seen his father smile unlike when he was with the Jiang Sect Leader. 

The gentle omega that treated him kindly like most omega mothers would to their pup. It makes him sad that the warmth has vanished from their palace the same day the omega did as well. It was the first time he ever felt how it felt to be cared for and loved. His father showers them with money and gifts when they accomplish something but in the end, Wen Xu understands that his father was never a gentle one. 

After all, who would be able to show something they never experienced?

Shaking the thoughts off, he goes to his room to prepare for his travel early morning tomorrow.

***

As Yunmeng Jiang enters the Nie Sect, Qishan Wen does as well. 

Jiang Fengmian stops to greet the other Sect Leader but was surprised to see a young man leading the group.

“Greetings young master Wen,” He smiles gently, “Is your father not here?”

Wen Xu froze at hearing the familiar gentle voice. Once he turns around, there he sees the gentle omegan Sect Leader that his father continues to cherish in his heart.

“G-greeting Sect Leader Jiang,” He stammers, unable to get over his shock. “My father sent me as a representative to train me. He said it is time for me to experience the duties of a Sect Leader if I will be one in the future.”

Jiang Fengmian blinks, “Oh. That’s very responsible of you young master Wen if you wish to ask me anything just do so, alright?”

“My brother does not need help from an omega!” Wen Chao exclaims.

Everyone stared wide-eyed at the words that came out of the mouth of the second young master.

“How dare you-” One of the Jiang disciples angrily shouts, who was about to unsheathe his sword when Wen Xu slaps his brother.

“How dare you show disrespect towards a Sect Leader?! Remember your status Wen Chao, compared to the position of a Sect Leader you a second son is nothing.” He turns and bows at the Yunmeng Jiang Sect Leader, “Please excuse my brother Sect Leader Jiang. I will personally make sure that he will face punishment, my father made sure to teach us that whether Omega, Beta, or Alpha, the position or status says it all. The second gender has nothing to do with it.”

Fengmian was about to reply when a small hand tugged at his sleeve, “Uncle Jiang, what is an omega?” Asks a small voice.

The Sect Leader smiles at the question and picks up the young boy.

That’s when Wen Xu sees the face of the boy who asked. Scanning the face, he realized that the boy looks familiar.

The red eyes that most young Wens from the main bloodline possess stares back at him with innocence.

After answering the curious pup’s question, Jiang Fengmian tells the boy to introduce himself.

“Greetings young master Wen! I am Wei Ying.” He smiles happily while trying to bow while in the hands of the Sect Leader.

That’s when he realized who is the boy, one of the secrets that the Wen holds close is a rare trait that few only have.

The ability to recognize one of their own, a skill that developed when their bloodline was about to extinct a hundred years ago.

That boy is of their bloodline, the son of his father. Another blood is mixed from what he can sense. His father’s dead son from Jiang Fengmian is alive, and it seems the Jiang Sect Leader is unaware just like what he heard a few years ago.

“Is everything alright?” Jiang Fengmian asks worriedly after seeing Wen Xu staring at the son of his best friends.

The Sect Leader truly has no memories of what happened or anything personally connected to the Wen Sect. Which includes the boy, the rumor of him taking in a child...

They ignored. 

But this changes everything, he does not know if it is for the better...

or worse.

Smiling back, “Yes Sect Leader Jiang, do not worry. I am completely alright. Why don’t we all go in together?” 

The Sect Leader accepts the offer. Both Wen and Jiang walk side by side.

It seems, Wen Xu thinks as he ignores the stares that they received, the family that I have longed for will happen. He turns to look at the young boy again and smiled, which was returned with a cheerful one.

It was a good idea for me to come here instead. Or else his father would have razed the whole place into the ground and forcefully take both back to the Wen Sect. For now, he needs to plan on how should report this back to his father.

Upon facing other Sect Leaders, the young heir of the Wen Sect straightens up and faced them with cold eyes before bowing respectfully. His thoughts though are filled with planning.

“Greetings Sect Leaders, I am the heir of the Wen Sect. I was sent by my father in his stead to learn the responsibilities for when the day comes that I will lead the glorious Wen Sect.”

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Dragon Dancer III: Fathers and Sons

(A/N If you haven’t played the story past level 83 ish, you might want to do that and come back here.)

In the smoky ruin of the painting hall, Chisei Gen walked in. That royal dragonblood saved his life once again, beginning to heal him as soon as he was injured. In his hospital bed, his mind reeled with questions. The words of that girl Carli, and most of all her actions, her emotions.

He’d tried to kill her. He condemned her. Still, she fought for him, pleaded with him, and compared herself to him. 

He looked up at the paintings, ruined by heat, fire and smoke. Irreparable. Irreplaceable. He wasn’t alone. Tachibana stood behind him.

"Old man, isn't it finally time to explain some things to me?”

Tachibana wore an old military uniform. But it was not from Japan. He carried a longsword, a dagger and a blanket. “Actually, you have been doubting me for a long time, haven't you?”

Chisei turned to look at him, surprised at the statement. “You.”

Tachibana was aged but now he appeared more so. Fatigue deepened and darkened the lines on his face.

Chisei noted the faded armband on his left elbow. "You are..."

Tachibana, strode forward and tossed down the white blanket. "I was..."

He threw Chisei his long sword. Chisei caught it, somberly understanding what he was about to do. Tachibana knelt on the cloth, head bowed, placing the dagger unsheathed in front of him.

"Shouldn't I take the fall for you?” Chisei asked.

“Every day I thought that if the day came in which I would have to apologize for all my years of wrongdoing, then I would want the person pleading for me to be you.”

Chisei's eyes were unwavering, but they held a question. Chisei knelt on the hard floor before him. "Before you cut your belly, let me listen to your reasons.”

Tachibana closed his eyes in confession. “My real name is Bondarev. The Lenin was sunk miles deep by my own hand.”

Chisei’s jaw clenched. "Go on...”

Tachibana let out a long and wistful sigh. “This is a long story.”

“It's a fact that the Imperial Academy of Sciences has always been studying gene technology. They amassed the most outstanding biologists to analyze and compare ethnic genealogies from all over the world.”

“The clan hoped that with the use of their gene technology, we would find the way of evolution. Therefore, we collected gene specimens sent to them for study.”

“When they did, they discovered that a perfect gene is possible. But the study still had not achieved a breakthrough when the Great War broke out.”

“Among the armed forces, certain high ranking officials who knew of the secrets of the dragon clan sent a chief scientist named Herzog to the Arctic Circle to take over the project and the research continued.”

“In fact, I was the first product of those experiments. I grew up in an orphanage. After I grew, I found a confidential inquiry about a secret port in the Arctic Circle. Among the records, I found a list of names. Within that list was a group of children, listed only by their serial numbers.”

"The project was in fact using IVF technology to make hybrids.”

Chisei’s eyes flashed in outrage. “Where did they get dragon blood?!”

“The location of that port has both dragons and hybrids brought from all over the world. The person leading the project, Herzog, worked to extract the perfect genes from their bodies, and reused them to to create a new human race. He almost never let anyone leave that place. I was permitted to leave because Herzog wanted to test if his first product would have trouble integrating into society.”

"Does that port still exist?” Chisei asked.

Tachibana didn’t answer. “When I collected the information I needed, I decided to go back and assume a false identity: the king of the Romanov family, son of Anastasia. I came to protect the secrets of the dragon clan. I pretended to be Herzog's companion. I brought him a check for 200 million dollars. Only then was he willing to share dragon clan secrets with me.”

“What did you want from Herzog?”

Tachibana was incredulous at his son’s disinterest. “These were the secrets of the dragon clan! I really wanted to know those secrets! Who wouldn't be curious about that?!" He calmed himself, clearing his throat. “The experiments bore fruit. Two infants with a surprisingly high proportion of Dragon Blood but a blood system that was stable!”

“When Herzog saw this, he confessed his true goal. To create an unstoppable army of hybrids!”

“He's not trying to revive a dragon King! He's trying to be his own version of Nidhogg!” Chisei’s hands balled into fists.

“...And those two children were you and Chime.”

“What?!” Chisei sat back on his heels, eyes wide.

“Chime died young... you have not yet had any heirs. It appeared that... Herzog’s experiment might not be the solution he was searching for.”

“So imagine my despair, when a genealogical services company named Comemnus sent out a missive saying that they had found an S-Rank female hybrid with the same properties as yours! They were going to auction her off to the highest bidder!” Tachibana bared his teeth in fury.

“I couldn’t let that happen! I contacted them. But they refused to give me access to any information until I had handed over to them our genealogical data. Which... of course, I couldn’t provide. So I was shut out of the auction.”

He glanced away. “Herzog... I knew he would be participating. The man is relentless and is a client of Comemnus for decades. They worked together for generations. There was no way he would let an opportunity like this slip through his fingers.”

Chisei put one hand over his face. “Carli...”

“I couldn’t stop Herzog. That’s why I labeled her a Devil and sent you out to find her. And to kill her.”

“You lied to me!”

“I HAD TO!” Tachibana’s voice echoed in the cavern. “If Herzog got a hold of her... he could stamp out enough hybrids to conquer the world within a generation! So long as she’s alive the world is in peril!”

Tachibana was shaking with fury. “She’s the darling of Cassell College. I can’t attack her there. This second mission to Japan provided a unique opportunity. Do you understand now, why I went around you to make sure to leave her down in the damn trench!”

“This information involved the fundamental secrets of our clan. That’s why I couldn’t explain to you directly. But I just saw her getting closer... and closer to you. I had to do something.”

“You made me kill innocent people!” Chisei gritted his teeth in realization. “That operation to destroy her foster home to draw her out was not in pursuit of a Devil!” He pointed an accusing finger at him. “You told me the ends justified the means all under fals-”

“Understand this Chisei!” Tachibana’s voice took on the military tone of a commander. “This world has no future if Herzog has his way. So if you look down on me so be it! So long as there’s a world here for you to do it!”

- - - -------

Kaguya’s firewall was still in place.

After soaking in the hot spring for 30 minutes, I returned to bed, exhausted, sore, and listless. Johann was never far away. Every once in a while, he brought me tea.

Despite our best efforts, we were back where we started. The Takamagahara, hiding out, unable to escape.

Unable was the wrong word.

In theory, I could go whereever I wanted, whenever I wanted. I could close my eyes and make the jump back to Chicago. 

But to do that, would mean forever wondering if I had a family in Japan. Children who, whether I wanted them or not, were mine. It brought up all the memories I had of wondering who I was, imagining who my parents were, wondering where they were, wondering if they loved me.

I was so lucky to have Robbie. But I could not believe that my children were as lucky. Perhaps they would grow up warped, like Devils, or self-righteous, like Chisei...

“Do you think he’s alive?” I asked.

“Probably,” Johann replied. He was writing the report for me. “We’ve both survived similar injuries.”

I smiled. “Oh right...”

I was silent a while. “I don’t know what to do.”

“What do you want to do?” He asked.

“I want to get my kids out of here.”

“What about Mingfei.”

“Mingfei is gone.”

I heard the squeak of his chair and his soft steps as he walked up to me. “I wouldn’t give up on him.” He leaned over me. “He left Heavy Industries with that Uesugi girl. If we can find him, it might be possible to use her as a bargaining chip to get Tachibana to lift the barrier. We just have to find them.”

“Is it possible to... pass you lead?” I asked.

“You can do what you want?”

“I just... don’t feel like I can continue.”

“This has gotten pretty big... it’s gone beyond the original mission.”

“Okay.” I whispered.

He straightened and walked away. “I’ll note it in the record.”

[kpopfanfictrash]

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: Jungkook 

Rating: PG-13 (violence)

Genre: Winter God!AU / Fantasy!AU / Soldier/AU

A/N: This is a drabble from Jungkook’s POV, from my series Chism (Part I, Part II). The timing of this drabble is at the end of Part I, before Jungkook wakes Y/N from her sleep. AKA, before Rhea loses her shit. 

Word Count: 1,979

Midway through Jungkook’s shift, he realizes something is wrong.

The hallway outside the Queen’s chambers is ornamental, decorated in emerald and gold; the tone is reminiscent of the sun, or a late summer’s day. Jungkook always found this place to be peaceful, before. Now, he stares straight ahead and tries not to move.

There is no physical indicator present to alert him of danger. There is no smell to the air, no shout from below, no stirring of movement or grabbing of arms. Still, the hair on the back of Jungkook’s neck prickles, raising his hackles in instant alertness.

Twitching, Jungkook brushes the back of his neck and returns to his post. He is trained enough, old enough that he does not glance at the door which he guards. Despite this, every part of himself is begging to look. His muscles ache from the exhaustion of holding himself back, from not bursting over the threshold to demand Rhea explain what she meant, when she left their bed so early this morning. To explain what she meant, when Jungkook asked her what worried her, and she refused to answer.

Bristling, Jungkook recalls the memory. They had made progress, or so he had thought. It is a difficult thing to judge, without any method of measure. Rhea had lowered her guard, though – he knows that she had. No longer, did she dismiss him immediately after each sexual encounter. Now, he was permitted to stay and often, she would whisper and laugh with him until dawn.

These were the moments in which Jungkook fell in love. When they first met, he was besotted with her – enamored, perhaps – but not in love. Love is a much different thing; Rhea taught him that. No, it was later in their relationship when those feelings emerged. It was later, when Jungkook awoke to her face in the dawn and saw her sleepy smile directed at him. It was later, when she sought comfort in his arms after a grueling day of meetings. Once or twice, it was Rhea who cried into his tunic and they failed to make love at all. These were the moments, in which Jungkook fell in love with the Queen.

Any progress they made though, has been recently halted. Despite Jungkook giving himself to her fully, Rhea continues to push him aside. She has taken on too much, too soon and does not listen when counseled – not from Gregor, nor her other advisors; nor even Jungkook, when she deigns to ask.

Heart sinking, Jungkook does not know how to react. Gripping his sword tighter, Jungkook widens his stance and stares down the hall. He cannot help Rhea, if she does not desire said help. Wearily, his mind drifts to you. Rhea has been deceiving you for months now, pretending you guard a mere prisoner, who is truly a God. Jungkook should warn you, he knows that he should. It is only that – he promised Rhea he would not. The weight of this promise hangs around his neck, rendering him helpless and futile.

It is not in Jungkook’s nature to lie, any more than it is in Rhea’s nature to compromise. Once, Jungkook thought this to be a strength. No longer, does he imagine it so.

The hair on the back of his neck prickles once more and he turns, frowning at the length of the hall. Something is wrong. No sooner does he think so, that the doors at the end bang open with fervor. Gregor strides forth, clutching his sword and furrowing his brow.

“Wake the Queen,” he demands, unsheathing his weapon.

Jungkook blinks, reaching out for the handle but Rhea is already there, materializing before him. She is dressed in full armor, which makes Jungkook scowl, realizing she has not been sleeping. This was the promise she made him. When Rhea sees his expression, she seems embarrassed for a moment – before she shakes the emotion off and glances aside.

“What is the trouble?” she demands, waving her hand for her scepter to appear.

Jungkook looks at this warily – as someone without magic, he has rather conservative views on the subject.

Now that Gregor is close enough to see, the sweat on his brow appears obvious. “A revolt,” he blurts, towards the Queen. “There is a revolt in the Warf, your Majesty. A fire has broken loose and is ravaging the village. The villagers, in turn, are rising against us.”

At this, Rhea’s face pales. Fingers whitening, she clutches her scepter tighter before whirling to Jungkook. “Stop them,” she exhales. Her expression is drawn, pleading – rarely, does she look this way in public. “Please… Jungkook. I need more time. I need time to – to figure out how to fix this.”

Jungkook stares back at her, devoid of feeling. “How should I put a stop to it,” he murmurs, tight. “I am not a time-wielder, Queen. I cannot turn back the hours.”

This halts Rhea, if only for a moment. She stares at him, unseeing and Jungkook knows she is remembering. He knows she is remembering the first night they made love – the first night she let Jungkook make love to her. He whispered in her ear then, wished heartily that he could extend the hour. He wished to turn back time, re-do the moment over and over, until they both were broken. Rhea had merely laughed, tucking his hair behind an ear to whisper that dawn had not come, yet.

Now, she stares at him and pushes the memory aside. “Halt them,” she demands, spine stiffening. “Do whatever you must. This is my order, and I am your Queen.”

Jungkook’s upper lip curls. “You ask too much of me,” he responds.

Rhea hisses. “I do not ask enough,” she snaps, reappearing before him. To his credit, Jungkook does not flinch. “You are my soldier, first and foremost. You obey the crown, which means you obey me and my orders. Right now, my order is to stop the riot, before it is too late.”

A muscle in Jungkook’s jaw ticks, looking at Rhea. There is so much he wants to say. It rises within him, choking him and rendering him silent. In the end, he says nothing – simply nods, Jungkook whirling on his heel to stride into the palace. With each step, his heart sinks further into his chest. With each step it hardens and by the time he enters the courtyard, it is little more than stone.

Roughly, Jungkook barks orders for the troops to obey. One, he sends to the west market; another, to the main way and a third, to follow him through the alleys of the city. As they leave, Jungkook sets his jaw and refuses to rethink of his decision. Though the Queen’s words hurt, they were accurate in syntax. He is, first and foremost, a soldier. It is not his position to question the demands he is given.

Still, his heart continues to sink because these streets are familiar. He knows the way they are traveling, because the Warf was once a place he called home. Shaking his head, Jungkook marches on. He cannot falter at the head of a command. If he begins to question the Queen, the entire troop will fall into disarray.

Tightening his grip on his sword, Jungkook’s heart begins to pound in his chest. Outside the castle, in the middle of the city, where the streets smell like ash, he cannot help but recognize the magnitude of the moment. Soldiers of the Queen have been ordered to turn on the people they are born to protect. Jungkook’s stomach churns, overcome with the nausea.

This is not right, this is not how it should be. Unable to contain this thought, Jungkook glances again at the castle – just as a shout rings out, directly to his right.

“LOOK OUT!” yells Jimin, his second command. Darting before of Jungkook, Jimin raises his sword to meet the blade of his attacker. A harsh clang of steel on steel fills the space of the square.

This, it seems, is the breaking point. All of a sudden, people pour from the shadows and Jungkook whirls, stomach sinking when he realizes they have walked into a trap. The revolt is no longer contained at the Warf – they are here, minutes away from the steps of the palace.

Barely does Jungkook have time to think this before a man is upon him, charging forward to challenge his stance. Jungkook stumbles backwards, righting himself in time to block the blow which was aimed for his head. He whirls, regaining his footing and resuming the offense. Block, feint, parry, thrust – his steps are like dancing, nothing but muscle and grace while he lunges and twists.

Muscle memory soon takes over, while Jungkook raises his walls and retreats deep inside. There is no time for analysis, no time for emotion. This is where Jungkook thrives, where his reflexes are at a peak. He whirls before blows emerge, blocks them before blades appear. He is only action and reaction, while his limbs grow dull and tired; the sweat from his brow trickling down the slope of his neck.

At one point, he faces a woman armed with Persuasion. Unlike Namjoon, the woman seem to have no qualms about using her power on humans. Jungkook is forced to his knees, his teeth bared while the woman saunters casually forward. Her eyes gleam, triumphant because it is not often, you find a human without any sort of magic. Jungkook’s hands clench into fists, continuing to struggle but before he can act – Jimin skids into view, thrusting his power in turn.

The woman screams, crumpling to pavement and in response, Jimin grins, pushing hair back from his forehead. Jimin is an Audible, but not the kind the Queen employs for speeches. He has the power to speak directly into the minds of others, emitting a high-pitched frequency which can completely incapacitate. Jimin can only use his power on one person at a time, though – which makes his decision to use it for Jungkook even more meaningful.

“Thank you,” Jungkook gasps, dragging himself up from the ground. There is no time to apologize, as he whirls and re-enters the battle.

He hurts people; Jungkook knows that he does and yet, he has no choice in the matter. In this scenario; it is hurt, or be hurt. Kill, or be killed.

By the end of the fight, Jungkook’s vision is blurred fiercely with sweat. When he finally halts, breathing ragged, he wipes his face with the back of his sleeve and finds the results oddly salty. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Jungkook looks up to see what is left of his soldiers. They stare back at him, wearing similarly stunned expressions.

In the distance, the remains of the rebellion are scattered, running away from the blood of the clearing. The guards have won, it would seem – at what cost, though, Jungkook cannot imagine. Closing his eyes, he inhales again – exhaling gently, while his hands curl into fists.

“Jungkook,” Jimin murmurs, quiet and plain.

Slowly, Jungkook opens his eyes. “Back to the castle,” he commands, voice hoarse.

Without a word, the troops obey. Right now, Jungkook should be on top of the word. Finally, he has received the respect that he craves. He has obtained command of a troop, won a battle, kept his head and fought with precision. And yet – the fight was against civilians. There is no honor in that.

Taking another, deep breath, Jungkook again wipes his face. The salt on his cheeks is not sweat, he realizes – it is tears.

Through his confusion, a horn sounds from the castle. The Queen has summoned them to her, Jungkook realizes and slowly, his heart and stomach both turn to lead. 

No longer, does he care for her summons.

No longer, does he care to do her bidding.

© kpopfanfictrash, 2019. Do not copy or repost without permission.

[sanjisock]

mirror

ao3

It’s not like Zoro has never heard of the devil fruit users.

He has never met any of them, admittedly — not many seventeen-year-olds from a small island in East Blue could boast that they have — but he’s heard of them, has prepared to fight any of them in his path to become the strongest. So no, he isn’t planning to just turn into a bumbling idiot as soon as he meets a devil fruit user, hell no.

He just didn’t expect to end up on a ship filled with those very devil fruit users.

Strawhats, they call themselves, the name deceivingly benign.

“Are you really Zoro?” A raccoon — an actual talking raccoon — walked up to him, frowning and patting him on the leg.

“There are no signs of him being an impostor,” a woman replies, and she would’ve seemed like a normal human being in the midst of these monsters if it weren’t for all the extra arms currently holding Zoro down, making sure he wouldn’t suddenly turn hostile and attack anyone. “For now, we have to assume that he’s being truthful.”

He grits his teeth at her suspicion. “I do not lie.”

The boy with the strawhat laughs from his spot on the ship’s mast, his ridiculously long limbs are wrapping circles around it. “That sounds like Zoro all right.”

“Truly an interesting turn of events,” the skeleton looking over the railing observes, because of course even skeletons can talk on this ship.

But even this ragtag group of monsters around him doesn’t baffle him as much as the man currently walking out of the ship’s galley does, a familiar white sword attached against his hip, clattering against two other blades. There are little things that feel off – the scars over his eye and chest don’t seem familiar, and he carries an air of confidence Zoro has yet to perfect — but everything else is a flawless copy, if not an aged version, of himself.

“Leave him alone,” the man says with a voice Zoro knows to be his, and in all the seventeen years he has been alive, he never expected he would one day stand before his twenty-one-year-old self.

Zoro isn’t drunk enough for this.

“So,” Zoro says after his third bottle of sake, hesitant – how do you even begin a conversation with an older version of yourself? “Twenty-one.”

His older self shrugs. “Yeah. And you’re…” he trails off, watching Zoro with a look he usually gives other people when he knows he’s forgetting an important thing. Kuina used to tell him it made her want to punch him in the face, and Zoro kind of understands the sentiment now. “…young,” older Zoro decides to settle with that.

Zoro glares. “I’m seventeen.”

“What I said. Young.”

“I’m an adult —”

“You’re not an old man either, dumbass, stop acting so high and mighty,” the cook of the ship pipes in, knocking Zoro’s older self lightly on the head. Zoro watches his older self rub his head, obviously playing along, because there’s no way a hit like that actually hurt. It wouldn’t have hurt Zoro now, and he’d like to think he’ll be stronger a few years from now.

He notices that happening a lot, when it comes to his older self. Indulging people, that is — letting the long-nosed man pull pranks on him, the talking raccoon to sit on his lap. Little things Zoro swears he’d kill people over. And this cook – Sanji, wasn’t it? – gets more privileges than most, Zoro realizes — his older self lets Sanji call him names and kick him, among other things. Sanji is currently sitting across the table, beside the older Zoro, far into his personal space that their shoulders are pressing against each other, and Zoro’s older self doesn’t even try to lean away.

Zoro recognizes it as it is – affection. And he knows, better than most, how much of a weakness it is.

His disapproval must’ve been written all over his face, because his older self suddenly puts down his empty sake bottle and sighs. “All right, I’ll bite. What’s your problem?”

Zoro scoffs at the question. He doesn’t know where to even begin, but decides to start with a simple, glaring one. “We’re pirate hunters.”

“I was. You are. It never mattered and you know it,” his older self answers calmly. “We’ve always been swordsmen, first and foremost.”

Zoro can feel Wadou against his hip, and knows the answer to be true. Doesn’t mean he has to like it, and he suspects he wouldn’t like the answer of his next question, either. “Why aren’t we looking for Mihawk?”

At that, a dark look passes over his older self. Sanji glances at him, clearly worried. “We found him,” he says, and it takes him a moment to add, “we lost.”

Zoro despises the resignation in the older Zoro’s voice, slamming the table before he can stop himself. “Then fight him again!”

The galley goes quiet.

The girls have stopped talking, peering from behind the island, and the skeleton has ceased playing on his violin. Zoro can feel curious eyes on him, even from the doorway, where the others must be trying to peek into, trying to figure out what just happened in the wake of his outburst. Zoro hates it, hates that they care, their attention and concern enclosing him to the point of suffocation.

“Not right now,” the older Zoro finally answers, after a moment. “Not with how we are right now.”

It is not the answer Zoro wants to hear, and the devastating rush of disappointment that hits him surprises him in its intensity. “Are you giving up?” He yells, no longer caring that the whole ship could hear him now. “Is this what this is? How did I get so weak?”

His older self watches him quietly, and it pisses Zoro off, how could look so unbothered. All he says is, “acknowledging shortcomings is not a weakness.”

What a load of bullshit. Zoro’s entire body itches to unsheathe his sword, reminding the man in front of him of his dream – of their dream. He can still feel the way Kuina’s finger tangled against his, a shared promise that left a brand on his heart, and wants to grab the man before him by the collar and ask — have you forgotten her? Do you not hear how Wadou weeps?

“I will not become like you,” he spits out, bitter, feeling his throat tight, his heart a crushing lead weight. “You will never achieve your dream this way.”

He chooses the words he knows will hurt — would’ve hurt himself — but time and again his older self continue to confound him, because he merely closes his good eye and says, “one day, you will learn by yourself why we choose to walk this path.”

Zoro watches himself – twenty-one and none the wiser, apparently — and his gaze falls on the Cook, beside him. Always, always beside him, Zoro knows, hasn’t seen them left each other’s side in the few hours he’s been on this ship, bickering over the smallest things. The words leave his mouth before he could stop himself: “the Cook. He’s making you weak.”

Zoro feels the force of the hit before he even sees his older self move, and the only thing that keeps him alive is his own instinct, pulling Wadou out of its scabbard just quick enough to parry the attack from the older Zoro. Even with that, though, the strength behind the swing is still overwhelming, and Zoro finds himself flung backwards, hitting the wall of the galley with so much force that he could feel the wind knocked out of him.

He coughs, choking on nothing, and before he could find his feet he already finds himself pinned against the wall, the wooden planks digging into his back.

“Say that again,” his older self snarls, voice low, and Zoro actually feels chills running down his spine.

He tries to tip his chin up defiantly in an effort to save some dignity. “That Cook, whatever you have with him – it’s making you weak. You’re losing focus, and —”

The rest of his sentence dies on his lips as he is once again hurled to the side, thrown over the door before falling onto the grassy deck below, the dirt leaving burn marks all over his skin. He could barely defend against the next attack, his older self swinging down with so much force Zoro could feel the trembling in his hands down to his shoulders. His loses his grip on Wadou by the next swing, and the sword roll and clatter unceremoniously across the deck.

“Was that weak to you?” His older self hisses, and Zoro looks up to see his older self looms over him. He is suddenly caught up in images of old memories, Kuina standing over him with a wooden sword over her shoulder. She looked so tall, then – untouchable. His older self looks no different from her now.

“N—no,” he admits, hates how it comes out as a stutter, but unable to say it any other way.

“Now imagine fighting that every day,” the older Zoro says, “because that’s what having the Cook around is like. He’s annoying, wouldn’t shut the fuck up – but he’ll know you better than you know yourself, and he’ll force you to become a better version of yourself, because he’ll never expect any less. He’ll understand, more than most, what it’s like to throw yourself headfirst towards the chase of your dream.”

His older self leans down then, and looks him straight in the eye. “If you’re disappointed in me — in what we’ve become — that’s between us. But don’t you fucking dare bring the cook into this.” And for a second, Zoro sees something flit across his face – something softer, the sharp edge of his expression making way for something gentler as he tells Zoro: “he’s gonna be the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”

There’s something in the way his older self says it – like he believes every word to be true. Zoro feels a sharp pang of — what? Jealousy? Longing? He can’t quite place a name on it yet, but as he sees Sanji walk up to them, hand circling around the wrist of his older self like he’s done it a thousand times, a million times — Zoro wants; to understand, to feel, to even begin to fathom, what it’s like to have someone like Sanji by his side. The way his older self does.

“How long have you been listening,” His older self says, almost a whisper; there’s an embarrassed flush on his cheeks, his earlier hostility nowhere to be seen.

“Long enough,” Sanji says, and there’s a little smile on his face – teasing, perhaps? “Don’t be so harsh on yourself, you oaf. He’s just a kid.”

He watches his older self slide a hand up Sanji’s neck, framing his face and pulling him into a kiss, right before his vision starts to blur and everything falls into darkness.

Zoro opens his eyes to the sky blazing-blue above him, Wadou safe in his right hand.

He doesn’t believe that there’s a predetermined path he has to take — believes more in the future he can shape by his own hands, that his choices mean something. The Zoro he met, he concluded, was simply a version of himself he could be — a possible future in a different universe. He may become him, or he may not. He simply finds peace that even in a different world, a different timeline, he is still chasing after the same dream.

He continues to watch the sky, and can’t help to wonder what shade of blue his Sanji’s eyes will be.

Zoro is nineteen, bickering lightly with one foul-mouthed cook from a floating restaurant as Merry sails towards their dreams. He’s a pirate, a nakama, and maybe, just maybe — a lover, too. If Sanji will let him.

Zoro looks at his life and smiles, content that this is the one fate he doesn’t have to fight against.

[botwriter]

Desert Sun, Chapter 5

As Kakariko woke the next morning, so did Zelda, pulled from her slumber by the sounds of carts rolling and dishes clattering and soft voices from outside. It was an incredibly nice and easy way of waking up, although she missed the sound of running water that her room had in Gerudo.

As she sat up rubbing her eyes, blood stains on her sleeves distracted her. Oh for- she was wearing the same outfit as yesterday, and the shirt was a mess. She sighed, but as she pulled the curtains away, was surprised to see a bag sitting there next to her bed. She pulled it close and untied the top, and inside was a small selection of her own clothes, as well as her scimitar. Urbosa must have put it together for her before they’d left the day before. What she hadn’t been expecting to find in it was her Hylian prayer dress - and a desert outfit. Nothing more for clothes. She couldn’t very well wear the desert outfit in Kakariko - she’d want it for going back to town - so the prayer dress it was.

“Great,” she muttered as she changed, slipping awkwardly into the delicate white fabric while trying to stay within the curtains of the bed at the same time. Her hair was at least manageable, thanks to the tight braid she’d had it in the day prior. Now that she took out the elastics and golden clips, it cascaded down in waves, and she smoothed out the top absently as she pushed back the curtains and left the inn.

Link’s bed had already been cleaned up by the innkeepers, but it didn’t take Zelda long to spot him outside by the cooking pot.

“Sav’ot-“ the voe cut himself short as his eyes landed on her, and Zelda was confused at first, but remembered promptly what she was wearing. 

“Sav’otta,” she replied firmly, pulling the dress forward as she took a seat on a log bench across from him. “I take it Urbosa packed my bag for the trip?”

He only nodded in response, his eyes now back on the omelette cooking in the pan ahead of him, sizzling over the fire pit.

“That looks delicious,” Zelda said honestly, happy to change the subject and having just realized how hungry she was. “I didn’t know you could cook like that.”

“I hope it’s good,” Link replied, lifting the pan a moment later to flip the omelette onto a plate, “because this one’s yours. It’s hot,” he warned, passing it to Zelda, who took it in surprise.

“Thanks,” she said, taking a pair of utensils from him a moment later, resting the plate on her knees, and beginning to eat. She scarfed it back, careful not to let anything fall onto her dress, and her eyes fell shut at the first bite. It was just as tasty as it had looked. He’d put some meat into it, cheese, and peppers.

“It’s really good,” she admitted to Link, looking at him momentarily before eating the rest in silence as the blond leaned back and looked out at the village. Something about him made him easy company, though she wasn’t sure what, and it inspired her to be a little easier going herself.

“Does Impa know we’re here yet?” Zelda asked shortly after finishing her meal.

“I asked her guard to let her know this morning. We’re good to see her anytime now,” Link replied, taking Zelda’s plate back from her and giving it a quick wipe off before tucking it and the utensils back into a bag.

As they stood and readied themselves to see Impa, Link stopped at the bottom of the stairs. Zelda turned, looking back at him curiously.

“That - that dress looks nice on you,” he said quietly, and for once, his blue eyes weren’t looking straight at her. He seemed… almost nervous.

“It’s not my favourite,” she replied, taking a moment to savor the rare compliment, and as she turned back around she was unable to resist smiling to herself. “But thank you.”

Impa’s house was dim compared to the bright and bustling Kakariko. The Sheikah sat atop a small pillar of pillows, surrounded by books, and turned towards Link and Zelda as they pushed the giant wooden doors open carefully.

“Ah, it’s so good to see you two,” the woman greeted them, moving long white hair out of her face. “Jun told me to expect you this morning. What brought you both here on such short notice?”

Link and Zelda exchanged glances, and so the Gerudo walked hesitantly forward. On one hand, she was happy to see the Sheikah leader again, but on the other, she was nervous to hear what she might think.

“I’ve been having - well first off, we found notes the other day on each of our pillows, warning us that we had one month left,” Zelda began, figuring that some context was needed. Impa’s brown eyes narrowed sharply.

“One month until…?”

“I’m assuming… until Ganon returns to conquer Hyrule,” Zelda replied simply, and Impa nodded, gesturing for her to go on.

“So, I haven’t been sleeping well since that, and then I started to have these… vivid dreams. I passed out yesterday because I was so tired, and so Link brought me to you.”

“Smart man,” Impa noted, grinning towards Link.

“Your dreams are likely trying to tell you something. Tell me dear, what did you see?”

Zelda paused before she began. It would be a little awkward to say she dreamed of Link, but there was no avoiding it.

“I saw… myself, first, trapped inside Hyrule Castle,” she began, voice shaking a bit as she recalled how terrified she’d been in the dream. “And I saw Link, but it wasn’t quite him, wearing a red scarf and flying on some sort of scarlet bird,” she continued, sure she could feel his eyes on her. “I saw - I saw lots of Link. And myself.”

Impa nodded solemnly, but clearly knew Zelda had more to share.

“There was - there was a beast, and it was going to just swallow up everything. And a flood - and a moon. And then the sword was… talking to me,” she finished, wondering if she sounded simply like a lunatic.

“Mmm. Your dreams sound more like memories than something prophetic, but there could be a deeper meaning,” Impa mused, standing from her nest of pillows. “I’ve read many a book on legends past, my dear. You and Link - your souls are intertwined, and have a history tens of thousands of years old,” she continued. Zelda’s mouth dropped open as the Sheikah strolled past her.  ...intertwined?

“It is said that an ancient voice resonates within the Master Sword,” Impa continued, and Zelda turned to see her pause in front of Link. “May I?”

Link obliged, unsheathing the sword and holding it out for Impa. She only examined it briefly, and then waved for Zelda to come closer.

“We cannot wield it. But perhaps… place your hand upon it.”

Zelda reached forward warily, touching her fingers to the blue hilt. All at once, Impa’s house had disappeared. Images flashed through her mind one after the other. There were too many for her to even hope to remember, but she remembered the image of a spring in the moonlight, the temple of time - one not in ruins like on the plateau - and the sound of Link yelling out her name in desperation. Her heart jumped. A blue face lingered in her memory, and her hand dropped from the sword.

Both Link and Impa were staring at her with a mix of confusion and curiosity, and each with one arm around her to keep her steady. Zelda blinked through tears she didn’t know were there. An inexplicable sadness tugged at her heart. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d somehow forgotten someone important to her.

“Visions, I assume?” Impa said suddenly, watching Zelda curiously. She hastily wiped away the tears from her cheeks.

“Yes. A spring and a temple,” she said, deciding to ignore the bit about Link yelling for her. It was already awkward enough.

“A spring? Tell me, have you traveled to the springs of Power, Wisdom, and Courage yet?” Impa asked, settling back into her pillows. Zelda nearly jumped as she heard Link sheathing the sword behind her.

“Yes, on a prayer trip not long ago that didn’t help anything,” she replied bitterly. Impa frowned.

“The Gerudo do not worship Hylia,” Impa said, though it was something of a question, and Zelda nodded in response.

“We look up to the seven - well, eight, traditionally - heroines,” she answered. “But I frequently make prayers to Hylia. Urbosa urged me to do so.”

Impa nodded, but otherwise said nothing, and it was painfully silent for some time. When she did speak, the Princess looked up hopefully.

“Zelda. I fear the sword is trying to tell you that time is not on your side. You and Ganon being born Gerudo was not in the stars, you know. Let alone the Calamity opting for a human form... But it is sounding more and more likely that he is in possession of the triforce of power.”

“I mean - I know he has it, but didn’t he already?”

“It is always within him, like wisdom is within you and courage in the Chosen Hero. But it often needs… a little something to wake it from its slumber,” Impa explained, chuckling a little in spite of the heavy conversation.

“There will be no hope in defeating him unless you and Link can both activate your triforces. However, if that note was accurate… you do not have much time,” she added, shaking her head. Zelda once again looked at Link, but his eyes were on Impa still. This was finally something that the two of them were on the same page with. She hated that she felt any relief at all in that fact.

“I do not know if I can provide any further help. But I implore you to take Link to the heroines, and for Link to take you back to the springs, if you can manage it,” Impa said strongly, looking at each of them in turn. “Do not take this the wrong way. But the two of you being born so far apart is to Ganon’s advantage. You must become more familiar with one another, more trusting. The Champions are a boon. But you two-”

The Sheikah sat up abruptly from her pillows, pointing two fingers towards Link and Zelda.

“- you two are the only real hope in defeating Ganon. You must be in harmony.”

Impa’s words hung heavy on Link and Zelda as they thanked her for her time, and left back down the wooden staircase into Kakariko. It was still early morning, and although Zelda wanted to stay and enjoy the village, they now had more on their to-do list.

“I can’t shake the feeling that I should go back instead,” Zelda complained as they reached the inn, feeling more than uneasy with everything Impa had said.

“Is it a gut feeling, or is it just guilt?”

The question gave her pause. She fell quiet as they entered the inn and Link asked the keeper for a map to borrow. As he studied it, she became a little lost in thought. He was right. It was strange not being with her people, but Impa really was the expert. As much as she wasn’t happy for having to spend more time alone with Link, it was nice to be away from home. Sort of.

“The Spring of Power is just north of here,” Link muttered to himself, pulling out some charcoal and making a line on the map. “Then wisdom on our way back. Courage in Faron last.”

“You’re… really going to come with me?” Zelda asked, almost disappointed. Her tone didn’t go unnoticed by the knight, who frowned.

“Impa knows what she’s talking about. We should give it a chance,” he replied, and the way he looked at her, she knew there was no arguing it. “Plus, it’s true, I- we barely know each other.”

Zelda watched him then as he looked back down at the map. He’d wanted to say I barely know you, she knew it, but then again she barely knew him either. Despite her impatience with the voe, she was curious, too. Especially after what Impa had said.

“How long will this trip take us?”

Link was quiet as he pondered it, and Zelda’s stomach sank as she saw him count on his fingers.

“Let’s say a week,” he finally said, and glanced up at her.

“That gives us only two weeks left when we get back,” she replied, feeling more and more disheartened. Link didn’t say anything in return. There was no way around it. When would she ever feel ready, realistically, to fight for her people and seal away some unknown horrible evil entity? No one knew better than Impa how to prepare for that.

“We have to send a hawk to Urbosa,” she said then.

“They have some here in Kakariko.”

“Fine,” she replied impatiently, “there’s really no shortcuts with this, are there?”

“No,” Link said simply, looking back down at the map. “So let’s go.”

She took the back of the horse this time, her arms secured around Link as they left north for Akkala. Part of her regretted not being in the front again, as now she simply felt like if she let go of him, she’d fly straight off. At least he wasn’t traveling at the same ridiculous speed as the day before.

Zelda had only seen Akkala once before, and they slowed as they reached the plains. It was late afternoon by the time they’d arrived, but at least the weather had held up; it was notoriously rainy there.

At first she wasn’t sure where the spring could possibly be. She’d forgotten almost everything about it. Link changed course suddenly to take them downhill into a rocky valley, and she watched curiously as pillars of stone and crumbling cliff flew past. When they stopped at one of the cliff faces and Link dismounted, Zelda thought he must have been playing a trick on her.

“Here,” he said, offering a hand to help her get down off the horse. She took it and slid off a little less gracefully than she would have liked, but Link only smiled a bit to himself and said nothing as he walked towards the cliff. She looked sideways at his horse, who sniffed her briefly with disinterest and then began grazing.

Strange animals.

“Here it is,” Link called suddenly, and she jogged towards him to see the voe pulling away a curtain of vines to reveal a tunnel. Now she remembered.

“Right,” she replied, “that’s why I thought this one was underground or something.”

“Maybe it once was,” Link replied thoughtfully, following behind her as she ducked under the leaves and headed through the tunnel. It was cool and damp, and at the end, the spring opened up beyond pillars decorated with the Hylian Crest. Like the other springs, it was somewhat in disrepair, but still beautiful. Water poured in on the cliff walls above, creating a pool that surrounded a particularly tall statue of Hylia. The setting sun dyed the water a deep golden colour.

She supposed now, the prayer dress had come in handy.

Link stood to the side as she walked forward, stepping slowly into the surprisingly warm water and approaching the statue. This corresponded to Gabon’s triforce, but it was worth a shot, anyways.

“I come in prayer, to ask your assistance as the Goddess reincarnate,” she began, “and as Princess of the Gerudo.”

It was silent except for running water behind her. She felt like it was futile already, and hated knowing that Link was behind her, listening.

“Prayer will awaken my power to seal Ganon away,” Zelda said, a little more firmly this time, as if saying it would perhaps make it more likely to be true.

“Or so I’ve been told,” she trailed off, falling quiet. Her hands fell to the side, hitting the water with a sort of finality. It didn’t feel good, being stuck in the dress from a place that wasn’t hers, standing in a pool of some water at a spring that was for her enemy’s source of power - true power. What wisdom did she have to show for herself? Everything felt… wrong.

“I’m done,” she said, turning on her heel and walking back through the water towards the landing. Link reached forward, but she ignored his hand and stepped up onto the stone.

“Already?”

“I think I’ll have more luck at Mt. Lanayru,” she replied simply, though she felt skeptical about even that. “I don’t know. This just… this isn’t me,” she protested suddenly, tossing the white fabric of her dress briefly in frustration. “This was made for a Hylian Princess. The one that would have had her sealing power by now. The one that wouldn’t be ruling her people already at such a young age. The one that would - that would know her destiny, and that would know - that would know-” she cut herself off, searching Link’s expression for anything to help her find the words.

“Me,” Link replied carefully. “I want to know you, too.”

She studied him for a moment, trying to judge the honesty of his words, but then again… he wasn’t one to lie. In all honesty, she was glad to see some sort of vulnerability from him. The only thing stopping her from believing him was wondering why. What about her was so intriguing to him? What did she have to offer him, anyways? Too many people got close to her purely to expect something in return, but Link so far hadn’t given anything of the sort away. It was still a little too good to be true to trust him as a friend, so far.

Once they’d left the rocky spring valley, Link slowed his horse, and Zelda noticed them turning the opposite way she’d expected. She glanced back towards Eldin Volcano to make sure she hadn’t just imagined it.

“We’re going to get you a horse,” Link said suddenly, and Zelda’s mouth dropped open a little. She didn’t want a horse, but she did want to ride separately from Link. Perhaps they could travel a little slower, then, and she wouldn’t have to have her arms latched around the voe constantly...

“I can’t bring it into the desert with me,” she reminded him, but Link shrugged.

“I’ll look after it for you.”

Link was insistent, so Zelda fell quiet as they slowly approached a group of wild horses. One black, one brown, one brown speckled, and one white, grazed quietly together nearby. Link dismounted suddenly, helping Zelda down, and together they peeked out from behind his stallion.

“One of them catch your eye?” he whispered, and Zelda gave it some thought. None of them looked like they particularly wanted to stop being wild, but she trusted Link and had seen him in action with animals already. His own horse had once been wild, but still seemed quite happy.

“The white one,” she admitted. “So… how exactly do you do this?”

“It can be dangerous, so I’ll get one for you and introduce you, ok?”

“Oh, alright,” Zelda said, watching curiously as Link began to creep forward in the tall grass. The horses didn’t notice him at all, but she was covering her eyes as he got closer. One kick could knock him right out. She gasped as the voe jumped atop the white one, steadily but slowly calming it down even as it desperately bucked and the other horses took off. For a moment she regretted it. There was no way that horse would warm to her.

Link rode it bare-back towards her - it looked disgruntled, but not angry like it had a moment ago, and as he slid off he took Zelda’s hand in his.

“What are you-” 

She blushed, but he only lifted it slowly to the horse’s face, resting it on the animal before letting go. Zelda blinked. The sand seals were so much smaller. This horses looked alright from a distance, but up close, face-to-face, was intimidating. Link’s horse sniffed the newcomer absently. It wasn’t trying to run away, so that was good news, at least.

“I’ll help you on, and we’ll take it to the stable nearby. They can get you a saddle. Don’t be discouraged, it takes a bit for them to trust you,” he reassured her, linking his hands out and holding them next to the horse for her.

Hesitantly she stepped on, pulling herself over the horse carefully and thanking the heroines that her prayer dress was long enough to bundle some of the fabric between her legs. Link got back onto his own horse, and she dug her heels in a little to the horse’s sides, trying to urge it to follow him. It was clearly less than happy with the scenario, and more than once tried to turn a different way, but she did her best to calm it as they headed for the stable.

The workers there were kind enough to give her a locally-made saddle, which Link showed her how to put on the horse. She’d been asked to come up with a name, and although she didn’t want to use Link’s suggestion out of principal, as soon as he mentioned “Lilac” it seemed to fit the horse perfectly.

It wasn’t as warm riding without Link, but it was a little easier, and he gave her a brief lesson that evening. It proved useful, as Lilac warmed to her quickly, but Zelda wasn’t sure if the horse actually liked her, or just all the carrots and apples she’d been giving her.

They decided to stay at the stable overnight and begin their trip - a long trip - to Mount Lanayru the next day.

[salveden]

HYACINTHS FILL HER LUNGS AND THROAT - & eir

PROMPT ( grants sword +1 ) ; There’s been word of crumbling ruins, remnants of an old town and its gravesite becoming overgrown with strange greenery. Beautiful though its blooms may be, superstition and old maid’s tales have painted it as a beautifully haunting omen for a disaster to come. To that effect, the neighboring villages are too afraid to venture and clear it up, avoiding any and all routes that might cross it, and so have pleaded for aid from every passerby willing to help...

THE RUINS ARE A DISTANT MEMORY, but the nature that shelters it in a gentle, beautiful grasp, is ageless.  these are not the first ruins that midori, daughter of kaze, fancied scientist of nohr and hoshido, has traversed; the elder lady that cradles her apothecary case says that it will be her last.  superstition roots the elder lady to the ground, alike the very plants that curl firmly around stone and steel.  midori’s words do not bring her comfort, and she realizes why, only moments before a sword’s holster has been clipped to her belt; soon complete with a scabbard and the blade that fits its length.

(   you do not appreciate the weight of the weapon at your hip.  you prefer the daggers sheathed against your legs, carefully tilted for easy access; a trick learned by a father who first taught his daughter how to run instead of fight.   )

midori has attempted to familiarize herself with the pattern of these old maiden tales, the foundations of superstition, all in the hopes of finding inaccuracies profound enough to quell these fears.  in none of these stories has a lady with silver hair, and faded scars across the expanse of her pale skin, entered the mouth of the ruins.  yet, it happens and midori, a believer in faith and memory, rushes after the silent footsteps of the maiden just as the elder lady whispers a prayer behind her small hands.

“   excuse me, miss!  wait!   ”   midori calls out, picking up pace at the closing sight of the lady’s back.  shades of juniper, moss, and pine cover the space before her; a determined wall between soldier-healer and lady of platinum.  only when midori reaches the mouth of the ruins does she realize the stretch of truth.

the vines were growing.  she had been wrong to assume the plants cradling the ruins were ageless.  no... the nature was forever aging, always changing.  midori pushes her surprise into her chest and unsheathes the sword at her hip, making haste with each cut and slice that she delivers.  a part of her hesitates; the apothecary that is always curious.  still, despite it, the odd necessity to take a sample and pick apart the reality before her, midori pushes through the blanket of greenery.  well, if a blanket was sharp, snapping, and persistent on keeping you down instead of simply keeping you safe.

midori lands roughly on the ground, wincing at the stone that her shoulder hits, but ignores the minor ache when the vines cover the expanse of entry without pause.  as if her struggling meant little to nothing.  as if she had never been there.  the frown on her face is unable to stay forever, for surprise replaces the annoyance and pain easily.  flora that continued to grow, but quicker than time itself.  magic?  most likely.

“   miss?   ”   midori calls out again, rising to her feet and moving further into the ruins with only the adrenaline of discovery pushing down her suspicion.  then, she sees her.  the lady under the shaded bits of dusk, standing idle before open space within the ruins.  midori walks up to meet her presence, a curious expression on her face.  her voice is small but full of heart when she speaks,   “   hello there, miss!  sorry for the... oh woww.   ”

a thin horizontal path of dirt reaches out under their feet, extending to numerous mouths of greenery, multiple entrances.  a maze.  but most ruins required nothing of the sort?  right?  hesitantly, midori glances back at the corridor of hedges that she stepped out of; not entirely surprised when she sees nothing but the reaching ends of vines that curl and move and snap as if time was not a nuisance of growth.

“   ummm,   ”   midori starts, then stops herself before picking up again with a brighter smile,   “   well, at least there’s two of us here!  were ya sent by the monastery to clear this out or did i intrude a personal investigation?  either way, i’m sorry.   ”   as she talks, midori can make out the subtle moving of vines in her peripheral as they stretch across the hedges, the walls built by stone and flora.  would it matter if they took haste in movement or...?

your turn ! say ‘aah’ , @asphuxia !!

[esegrouchmaniac]

The last of our kind.

A:TLA Monster slayer/hunter AU.

A lovely tune heard for miles let's it's melody be heard from atop a mountain peak where a young woman, dressed in humble rags and draped in navy blue cloak hums away the tune. She stands before the entrance to a cave, as if in waiting for someone to wisk her away to sunny days.

Yet there was no sun, only the glow of the silver Moon. The storm clouds overhead shrouding the mountains in shadow and threatening to let loose with heavy rain.

Despite this the woman continued with her song, every now and then adding words to her humming.

She glided her fingers over a pendant worn around her neck, one that seemed to glow in the shadowed night. Then she paused, only a second as she heard the sound of footsteps approaching. She inhaled deeply before continuing on, her song gaining a more somber tone. It felt as though it was a farewell to who one might not know except for the young woman. Her song was reaching its end, and she knew he was there. Watching her and waiting, for even if he came to do to her what he'd done the others he still held a sense of decency and showed respect by allowing her to finish.

When she did reach the end, her voice was but above a whisper. Her eyes shut tight she waited for him to speak, the wait wasn't long.

"That's a lovely song. It's been... A while since I last heard it though." His voice had changed, of course it would. Neither she nor he are the small helpless children they once were.

The young woman made a small sound akin to a soft snort. "I'm surprised you even remember it." Her comment struck a cord with both. He knew what she would say next.

It took a moment but she eventually added. "Mom used to sing it to us when we were kids." The man looked away for a moment a far and distant memory coming to mind to confirm her claim. "She used to say that 'It is song as ancient as the mountains' that it is a song our people have sung for generations."

"Your people." The man snapped, a bit of anger showing.

"No Sokka." The young woman turned while lowering the hood of her cloak to reveal light blue eyes staring directly into the dark blue of her brothers. "Our people. The ones you've nearly eradicated."

Sokka looked away unable to meet his sister's gaze. Unable and unwilling to show her the guilt.

The young woman, Katara, looked at her brother. Her angered look turning to one of pity. She couldn't bear looking at him any longer so again she turned to view the mountains peak provided.

"Tell me. How does it feel to know that you are the one responsible for the extinction of our people?" Katara had steeled herself, already knowing the answer and knowing that it would not break the outcome of what comes next.

Sokka didn't answer the question, instead he avoided it by making it known why he was there. "They paid me to come after you."

Katara could feel her heart break at those words. Her eyes welled with tears as she responded her voice betraying her. "So... A bag of gold is worth more than flesh and blood... More than the life of those who are your family?"

Sokka didn't respond again, for how can one respond to that.

The silence stretched for what seemed an eternity. Until finally Katara spoke. "I see..." Her voice grew with steel and poised with venom. She removed her cloak, dropping it to the floor. High above the clouds thundered as rain steadily began to pour. Katara turned to face Sokka head on her eyes gaining a predators gleam. Yet before anything else could be done, Katara had to try, one last time to regain her brother. "It doesn't have to end this way..."

Sokka just stared at her, unmoved and without hesitation. His answer was to be expected but it still hurt non the less. "Yeah... It does."

Katara inhaled and exhaled deeply. Closing her eyes, their color had been a light blue surrounded by white. When reopened, a light blue surrounded by a sea of black. "So be it."

With a fierce roar Katara slashed upward sending a small yet sizable boulder at Sokka. Not having been expecting the attack Sokka only marginally missed being crushed. Having to roll out of the way he didn't see Katara run off but he did hear her as she ran into the cave.

Sokka looked at the entrance to said cave, and examined the foot prints left at the entrance. A pair of small female feet morphed into that of what resembled a Wolf's paw. She had transformed, that would make things difficult.

He reached into his satchel and extracted a vial containing a purple liquid and a pair of false made of silver. The false teeth which resembled fangs had a small compartment in which he poured the liquid of the vial. Once that was done he shoved the false over his own, twisting his mouth to become accustomed to it. Then reaching behind him, he unsheathed his black sword which had glowing runes engraved. Taking a few breaths to steel himself he entered the cave searching for his sister.

He roamed his eyes to every corner of the cave, his senses on full alert incase he were to be surprised attacked. His eyes took on a glow as he was able to easily look in the dark. And the sent Katara left was all he needed to track her in the caves.

He stopped hearing the shifting of rocks. He looked around blade at the ready and his body aching for the fight to come. And come it did, for as the feeling of breathing was felt on the back of his neck Sokka swiftly turned to face his attacker only to be met with a earth shaking roar and the feeling a massive clawed hand striking him square in the chest and knocking him back against a cave wall.

Sokka crumpled to the floor from the impact yet still tried to emediatly get to his feet. Katara in her Lycanthrope form stood at 6'10 tall much taller than Sokka at the moment. This also meant she currently had her primal strength as a tool and weapon. Sokka knew he had to evade her, in every way and strike fast.

Which is what he did. As Katara leaped forward teeth bared and claws sharp, Sokka dodged as best he could and began to slice at any given moment.

This however couldn't last as Katara had unrivaled speed at the moment. Going for a stab this time, Sokka felt as his blade sunk into flesh grinding against bone. However this was his mistake, for Katara had placed her palm in the blades path. Therefore Sokka's sword was lodged in Katara's hand. Sokka cursed as he was grabbed by the throat and thrown aside.

With Sokka down, Katara forced the blade out of her hand, her roars of pain consuming the inner walls of the cave. She tossed the sword aside and turned to face her brother once more only to receive a hard fist to the side of the head. She staggered the blow much harder then what any human or monster could deliver. She looked at Sokka and froze as she saw his face distorted with a minor transformation, his eyes a copy of her own. "Come on!" Sokka roared and Katara charged forward.

Every slash she delivered hit its mark, and every blow he delivered did the same. Neither one willing to back down. Finally Katara received an opening as one of her attacks landed on his thigh making Sokka stumble. That was enough for Katara to go behind him and attempt to sink her teeth into his neck. Sokka however managed to get his hands in-between her jaws and neck but only barely. He could feel his blood soak his armor, dribbling down his back and chest. Reaching down deep Sokka cried out as pushed Katara's jaw to open. When there was enough room Sokka delivered a massive headbutt that left both he and Katara reeling.

Sokka staggered a bit before partially shaking the effect off. He saw Katara was taking longer to regain her bearings, and so he took advantage. Grabbing a rock the size of his head, Sokka leaped forward and brought the rock down on Katara's head making her even more disoriented. He wrapped his right around her neck and like she had done before clamped his jaw on her neck. The false fangs he wore sunk in deep, the liquid from the vial being Wolfsbane extract, poison for any Lycanthrope, began its purpose by coursing through Katara's veins.

Katara roared, the extract feeling like pure fire boiling her blood. She reached back and dug her claws deep into Sokka's back. Sokka yelled out, releasing Katara. That was the shot she needed to hurl him off her back and into a formation of rock pillars. Sokka couldn't move as his spine was in agony, Katara began her slow walk towards her brother ready to finish this once and for all. Then she stopped, her vision blurring and her steps uneven. She looked down at her bloody hands as to her horror they began turning to that of a humans.

The Wolfsbane extract wasn't enough to kill but it was enough to reverse the transformation. Fear ran through her like a cold spike. The only thought running through her mind now was to flee.

She turned towards the caves exit and began a small jog in attempts to flee. Her limbs twisting and contorting to normal as fur fell off her skin. By the time she reached the exit she was once again human, and on wobbly legs she tried to run the rain fall drenching her and trying to wash away the blood.

She only made it 10 feet before she stopped cold in her tracks. The feeling of something being run through her chest creating a new well of silent pain. She coughed up blood just a moment after. Looking down she saw the cause of her stoppage, a blade as black as the abyss and glowing with runes protruded from her chest. She shakily looked back and saw Sokka standing there at the caves entrance.

Standing on unstable legs himself, Sokka was heaving every breath he took. His image one even bloodier than Katara. He watched as Katara fell to her knees, blood streaming down from her mouth. He tried walking forward, then stumbled to a knee. His gut wrenched as a stone spike was run through from his impact with the pillars in the cave. Sokka bit his lip as he reached for the protrusion. With a snarl he pulled out the spike. His eyes watered from the pain but he fought to keep control.

Katara had something similar in mind, as she crawled her way to the peaks edge where a large rock lay. She heaved herself over it, the swords tip right above the boulder. With little hesitation Katara dropped herself unceremoniously onto the boulder, causing the sword to be pushed out from whence it came. Katara cared nothing for keeping the façade of feeling no pain. Her scream was gutteral as more blood poured onto the stone below her. She reached behind and pulled the rest out, her hands Shakey.

Both brother and sister then turned to look at one another. With tears in her eyes, non which had to do with the pain, Katara rose to her feet. The Wolfsbane extract still was having its effect on her, she could feel every bit of it. This was it, for her... She was afraid of what came next. She watched as Sokka rose groggily to his feet as well, she noticed for the first time that one of his eyes was shut, blood oozing from it.

They both stood there, unmoving, knowing what came next. If she was to die, Katara decided it would be fighting. But not for her life... But to regain the brother she'd lost so long ago. "Sokka..." Her voice was hoarse, gone was the melody of before and in its stead was grief and saddness. Sokka didn't respond, but she knew he was listening. "I love you brother." She broke, tears in her eyes as she uttered those simple words.

For the first time Sokka's shield dropped, his healthy eye shone with all the guilt carried on his shoulders. This... This was it.

With tears in his eye, Sokka whispered. "I'm sorry."

Thats when sokka charged her, Katara didn't move and wouldn't. He tackled her off the peaks edge and both felt time slow down as they plumited down to earth. Memories long forgotten became vivid in that moment of what felt like true peice before everything was halted dead in its track as they both collided with the floor below. Both lay unmoving, bloody and still. Katara's lifeless eyes shed one last tear before everything for her was no more.

Hours later, Sokka awoke with a roar his eyes glowing with fury. He collapsed once more his body having been able to heal itself. The animalistic roar he let loose still echoed far and wide.

He'd survived... How!? And Why!? These were the questions running through his mind as he hesitated to look to his left. He was met with the lifeless gaze of his sister. Her wounds unhealed, her life light extinguished. The Wolfsbane extract did its job... It made her vulnerable.

Sokka, still weak, reached out for her his eyes welling with tears as he felt nothing but cold skin. Kneeling over her he gathered her into his arms and held her tight. Regret. That is all he felt at that moment. Anger with himself for what he did. He openly weeped into her hair begging for forgiveness and raining down apology after apology.

This changed nothing though, for the deed was done. Katara was gone and only Sokka remained. He held her for hours before wrapping her in a cloak and taking her away. He would not leave her there...

As Sokka mounted his horse his sister's corpse still in his arms, he could feel everything weigh upon him. "What have I done...?" Was all he could think.

(Don't know why I wrote this, just one of those in the moment type things I guess. But yeah sokka and katara are a species of werewolf in this and sokka also happens to be a monster slayer. Wdyt?)

[cbrownjc]

The more and more clips and bits I see of this game, the more and more I’m convinced that Commonwealth Realm have come the closest to predicting the correct backstory for Breath of the Wild. There are likely little details here and there that they missed or got incorrect, but I think the overall broader backstory they laid out is probably pretty spot on.

The only thing I’m hoping right now is that we can actually play the 100-years-in-the-past story segments.

I’m going to write up some of my own speculations below. They’ll only be spoilers if I’m right, but I’ll make a cut just in case:

All of the clips and moments we’ve seen with Zelda in all the recent videos and screenshots are in the past, 100 years ago IMO. In the present, IMO, Zelda is in Hyrule Castle keeping Calamity Ganon at bay from breaking out; she’s locked in a crystal stasis most likely, like how she willing locked herself one in Skyward Sword for 1000 years to keep Demise sealed. 

All those characters with the blue sashes? I know they all got named in the latest Famitsu magazine. Well, I think all the scenes with them wearing those sashes are also in the past as well. There is a moment in the most recent video of story and gameplay clips where you see the Goron guy with the blue sash slap Link on the back. And what does Link have? The Master Sword, but no Sheikah Slate. All the clips where Link has the Master Sword but no Sheikah Slate are 100-years-in-the-past memory moments IMO.

So what’s going on with the blush shash people in the present timeline? Well, I think most, if not all of them, are dead. I think they got killed when the large Sheikah Mech-Guardians got corrupted by Calamity Ganon and Link and Zelda failed to stop him. Because they were the commanders of those Mech-Guardian things IMO. Maybe one of them survived (the Zora girl?) but I don’t think all of them did.

I’m thinking that the Gerudo-like girl we saw in the desert is the descendant of the Gerudo-woman (whomever she was) who was in charge of the Desert Camel Mech-Guardian 100 years in the past. (I’m also betting the Gerudo will all look more mixed-race, some having more Hylian features than standard Gerudo ones.) For some reason they haven’t shown a Gerudo woman (or even the born 1 male) in one of those blue sashes. And I think because it would be too much of a spoiler if they did. 

I’m a firm believer in that Link gets either killed or mortally wounded in that scene with the Guardian and Zelda trying to protect him. I’ve seen some people claim that her dress isn’t muddy in that scene, but yes it is. You just can’t see it very well because of the brightness of Zelda’s light magic.

Plus? The Master Sword is not wrecked when Link and Zelda are running through the woods, while Link and Zelda are clearly covered in mud as they are running away. (You especially see so in the most recent video clips). Check the scene closely when Link turns around quickly after losing Zelda’s grip. The Master Sword is unsheathed in his hand, and is still in good condition. 

Zelda’s breakdown where we see her cry probably happens during this time too. Maybe she and Link get back up and keep running after that, or maybe the Guardians catch up and surprise them, but the Guardians DO catch up to them at some point after Zelda’s crying moment. Three Guardians, in fact, catch up to them. I think Link and Zelda are able to fight off, even kill, two of the Guardians; but doing so is what ends up wrecking the Master Sword, with Link getting injured in the process, and he falls to his knees. That shot of Link towards the end of the Switch Reveal trailer, where it looks like he’s standing up and pulling the Master Sword up with him? Is actually him collapsing down on the ground, unable to fight anymore. Nintendo just ran the footage backwards in the trailer. (More heroic to show him standing up instead of falling down, beaten, you know.)  

Zelda tries to protect him when the third and final Guardian targets Link. And while she is unable to stop it, I DO think her magic does have an effect in another way: I think something she likely unknowing does makes it possible for Link TO be revived if he’s dead, because what Zelda did was to end up binding Link to the Master Sword in some way. THAT is the reason why it’s glowing in some of the trailer shots. Link’s essence, his soul, his hero’s spirit (the Spirit of the Hero) gets bound to the Master Sword, and THAT is when he actually goes into his “sleep” if you will. Right there, with the three destroyed and burning Guardians that attacked him and Zelda around them.

Zelda probably doesn’t realise what she was able to do at first. (She’s only just reawakened Hylia’s power within herself remember, and doing so didn’t stop Calamity Ganon like she likely thought it would). She may even think Link is dead. (Another thing she’ll take the weight of on, after thinking everything she did to try and stop Calamity Ganon was a failure). Then likely Impa or maybe her father the king (or maybe both) will find her with Link’s body. But then one or all of them will notice the Master Sword glowing, figure out what has happened, and Impa will lead them to the Shrine of Resurrection. Link will get placed in there, so his wounded body can heal, as well as the master sword healing along with him. (Remember, Link and the Master Sword are now tired to each other. It’s wrecked state will reflect Link’s wrecked state. In fact, something tells me you will not be able to retrieve the Master Sword from it’s pedestal until Link is healed 100% - meaning, he recovers all his lost memories of the past). 

Zelda will, in some way, figure out what she needs to do to at least contain Calamity Ganon while they wait for Link to heal. So she will take the wrecked Master Sword to the Deku Tree and place it in the pedestal there. Then she will willingly go to Hyrule Castle, draw Calamity Ganon there, if he’s not already there, and - with the help of the Sheikah - seal him in there. Zelda placing herself in stasis to be the final bind on him, along with the 4-5 Sheikah pillars around the Castle. (And if you get to play the 100 years in the past story segments, this is where you would get to play as Zelda IMO. After Link gets killed/mortally wounded by the Guardian).  

So Breath of the Wild, IMO, will basically start in medias res. THAT is why the opening of the game is so quick, with little to no tutorial. That is why some people were so sure back after E3 2016 that there was no story for the game. Because the first and second act of the story already happened 100 years ago. The game takes place during act three, the final act of this story that started 100 years ago, and that is what we’ll be playing out.