#‘it may fall to you to aid-‘ *takes off and leave an outline of dust where I was*

[little-shiny-sharpies]

God I love and am also so filled with thoughts that everyone here, the people in charge of all these powerful mages said “Yeah this is very bad but Kalecgos is on his way! We just need to hold out until he arrives.” Like you are actively losing this fight. This isn’t even really a fight you guys were absolutely ambushed and your camp was getting frosted and fried to hell and back this was a one way ass whooping. And you guys know this. But it’s fine Kalecs on his way just hide behind some rocks and cover the important bits of you. I’m just so intrigued with the inherent trust everyone here displays, “Kalec will show up because if he doesn’t we WILL die. but he won’t let that happen so just hunker down and shoot back!”

And then Kalec does. In fact. Arrive. Wiping the absolute floor with these things and fucking kills them immediately no hesitation like he just flew out and said “Death. You want it? it’s yours my friend” and fired a magic meteor storm and wiped them out keeping all his tiny mortal mages safe. Exactly what everyone knew he would do. Then he outright asks for help no hesitation and flies away. Like maybe it’s not that deep and I’m just gripping a shovel really hard over this quest design but it’s my blog and I get to talk about the interest. These people all trust him with their lives, Kalec knows this, Kalec is fully prepared to kill without hesitation to keep these people safe. Things that make me wanna go keep leveling my mage to see Kirin Tor stuff. My god.

[theshapeshifter100]

Wolf and Raven: Old Friends Chapter 1

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A gentle breeze wound itself through the branches of the Heart Tree, rustling the leaves like music.

A figure stood in the centre of the grove, leaning on a staff and standing so still you would be forgiven for thinking that she was made of stone.

She wore thick grey and white furs, with a pale fur cloak and a single black raven feather woven into the overshirt. The hood was down, revealing silvery hair tied back in a plait. Amber eyes glowed on a pale face, a scar curving down one cheek to meet her lip.

Her staff was also of pale wood, with silver bands connecting the snarling wolf’s head topper to the main staff.

She stared straight ahead, unmoving for the moment. Her pouch began to glow on her belt, and she finally changed position. She reached into the pouch and pulled out a runestone, a carved raven on one side, and a wolf on the other. The raven was glowing.

Wolf flipped it over in her hand and traced her thumb along the outline of the wolf, which began to glow in turn. Placing it back in her pouch, Wolf lifted up her staff and thrust it out, forming a shimmering portal which she stepped through.

Several hours later Wolf stepped through the portal into warmer lands. The green was verdant and a chill, but comparatively warmer breeze teased the edge of her cloak.

“My apologies Raven, I had to inform the Giants of my leave,” Wolf stated to the woman in black leather armour, holding a staff with a raven’s head. “Otherwise I came as soon as you called.”

“And I am glad that you did,” Raven paused before her face broke into a broad grin. “Wolf.”

Wolf returned the smile and walked over to Raven, pulling her into a fierce hug.

“It is good to see you again,” Raven said before the hug separated.

“Aye, I cannot agree more.”

“Tell me, how fares the Land to the North?”

“It fares well. There is not further sign of rot and the Heart Tree thrives. How do you fare?”

Raven pressed her lips together. “I will explain in more detail when everyone is here.”

“Everyone? Who else have you called?”

“Allies of Raven of Old. Satyarani from the Lands to the East, if she is able.”

“And?” Wolf prompted since Raven wasn’t continuing.

“Cyrus the Astronomer… and Princess Erina.”

Wolf’s eyes went wide. “Raven…”

“I am aware, I am sorry Wolf, but trust me. I have my reasons.”

“This will not end well,” Wolf shook her head, taking a step back. “I do not know what you have planned, but it is unlikely that she will tolerate my place in it.”

“I need you in this, and I need her.”

“Then this will not be pretty,” Wolf sighed. “I will follow you, on that you have my word, but my presence may cause Erina to refuse to aid you.”

“We will talk when she arrives,” Raven decided, and Wolf reluctantly nodded.

The wind picked up and a plume of dust blew in and hovered in place. Before their eyes the dust parted and the wind died down, revealing a human figure.

A woman stood tall in an orange sleeveless shirt and a floaty, ethereal pale orange skirt with loose orange trousers underneath. A gold necklace lay around her throat and a gold headpiece formed three circles down her forehead, while her black hair fell down her back like a waterfall.

Once the dust cleared she looked around and her gaze landed on Raven. Her eyes narrowed for a moment.

“You must be Raven,” she noted.

“I am indeed. Not who you were expecting I am sure,” Raven inclined her head. “Still, welcome Satyarani.”

“Thank you,” Satyarani inclined her head briefly as well. “I was lucky to have made it here, I have to carry a piece of my homeland to remain stable in this land Raven,” she indicated to a pouch on her belt. “I fear I may not be able to aid you for more than a few weeks.”

“That is more than sufficient, thank you for coming.”

“I will admit I was curious; I have not heard from your predecessor in many years.”

“He is why we are here,” Raven informed, catching Wolf’s attention. “I should introduce you. Satyarani, this is Wolf, Guardian of the North. Wolf, this is Satyarani, Princess of the Eastern Land.”

“Your highness,” Wolf did a form of curtsey.

“Guardian,” Satyarani did a half bow. “It is a pleasure. Although from your accent I would have assumed that you shared Raven’s homeland.”

“In fact, I do,” Wolf admitted. “It is… a long story. One you will most likely hear if Raven’s other guests arrive.”

“You do not need to glare at me Wolf,”

“I only wish you had informed me before I arrived.”

“How did you intend for me to do that? The runestone you gave me did not allow for complex messages!”

Wolf’s hackles raised, but she took a step back and ran a hand down her face. “My… my apologies Raven. You are correct on that matter.”

“Would I be correct to assume that you know who else Raven has called?” Satyarani asked.

“Aye. My apologies Satyarani, I hope this does not give you a poor impression of me. I am on edge.”

“So I see.”

A circular portal opened and two more figures stepped through. Wolf felt her hackles rise again, but stepped back as they came through.

An older man dressed in blue robes, with white hair and beard and carrying a staff topped with a ringed planet. Following him was a woman with thick blonde hair that tumbled down her back, dressed in leather armour and a red cloak. In her hand she also carried a staff, topped with a wooden crown.

Cyrus looked around, carefully noting the three women in front of him before turning to Raven.

“Ah! You must be the Warrior who took Raven’s mantle! Excellent excellent, a pleasure to finally meet you!” he strode towards Raven and warmly shook her hand.

Raven was a little taken aback, but recovered. “And you must be Cyrus the Astronomer, I have heard great things.”

Cyrus chuckled. “I am glad, I am glad. Now of course, this is Princess Erina,” he gestured to the woman who had come with him.

Erina hadn’t been paying as much attention. Like Cyrus she had scanned the small group when she arrived, and her eyes had immediately landed on Wolf.

Wolf hadn’t looked away, watching as Erina’s eyes glanced over her staff, and the princess came to her own conclusions.

As Cyrus introduced her Erina’s gaze moved and her demeanour changed. Her face softened into a smile and she walked over to Raven.

“It is pleasure to meet you,” Erina spoke cordially. “And I will admit, a surprise. I had not heard from Raven in some time. Not since the Ultimate Battle.”

“That is why I have called you all here,” Raven informed, taking a step back. “Although first I should make sure that everyone is familiar with each other each other. This is Satyarani, an ally of Raven’s from many years ago.”

Satyarani nodded, and Cyrus’s eyes lit up in recognition at the name.

“Ah yes! I do believe Raven went to your lands in search of the Elixer of Life to break Nevar’s curse on Alaunus.”

“He did indeed, and his Warriors were successful in this endeavour.”

“Yes, it was a great relief when he returned. I thank you for your aid.”

Satyarani smiled and nodded, and Raven continued introductions.

“And this, as the two of you may remember-” she gestured to Wolf, and Cyrus interrupted.

“Ah yes, Wolf, it has been some time.”

“Aye. That it has,” Wolf responded stiffly.

Erina looked at Raven. “What possessed you to summon Wolf to your aid?”

Wolf went stiff and her knuckles turned white on her staff.

“Wolf called for my aid not long ago. I assumed that I could call on her for aid,” Raven responded neutrally.

“I see,” Erina glared at Wolf. “And you had the audacity to call to Raven for help when something went wrong in the land you had been exiled to?”

“You need not remind me,” Wolf growled. “And my other option was to let that land fall to Nevar and die.”

“I am surprised that you did not follow that option.”

“You assume much, Princess,” Wolf growled through gritted teeth. “And yet you still struggle to listen.”

“Raven,” Cyrus interrupted loudly. “May I ask why you have summoned us all here? You have asked many powerful people to meet.”

“Aye, that I have,” Raven looked relieved to not have to listen to Wolf and Erina snipping at each other. “As you have all noticed, I am not the Raven you are familiar with. The one I call ‘Raven of Old’ attempted to seal Nevar within a desolate dimension during the Ultimate Battle. The spell unfortunately and unexpectedly pulled Raven of Old into the realm as well. I collected the six emblems and attempted to free him, but I only summoned his Staff of Power,” she gestured with the staff, “and as such I became Raven in his stead. We have steadily been gathering the talismans and Power Rings to attempt once again to return him to this realm.”

“But would that not return Nevar to this realm as well?” Satyarani interjected. “The same spell sent them both to this desolate realm, then breaking the spell would return both of them.”

“That is why I called you all here,” Raven gestured to the four of them. “You are all powerful allies to either myself or to Raven of Old. I had hoped that between the five of us, we could hold Nevar off long enough to allow Raven of Old to return and leave Nevar trapped.”

Wolf took several steps back, both hands gripping her staff as Cyrus began to ask further questions about Raven’s plan. Erina and Satyarani started adding their thoughts, which all became a dull roar in Wolf’s ears.

This, this could not be the reason that Raven had called her here. Yet, Wolf had already given her word. Even as her stomach churned, her battered sense of honour would not allow her to turn away from this proposed quest.

Satyarani, Cyrus and Erina continued to discuss the plan, and Raven excused herself from the conversation, approaching Wolf.

“Are you well my friend? I know this is a lot to ask of you.”

“You are correct, you are asking much of me my friend,” Wolf didn’t look at Raven, finding the grass enthralling. “You ask much of me to be here with Erina and Cyrus, with the addition of battling Nevar…”

“If you feel that you cannot complete this quest, then you may withdraw. I will not think any less of you.”

“I gave you my word that I would follow you in this.”

“And I return it to you. You have no obligation to me.”

“My battered honour would beg to differ my friend.”

“Your honour will not be much use if you cannot fight,” Raven countered. “I do not doubt your skill, but I worry for your mind.”

“As do I,” Wolf absent-mindedly rubbed her temple. “It may not even come to that. Erina is the only one who can allow me onto the Island of Alaunus, and as I have said before, she may not grant me that.”

“I will speak with her,” Raven assured. “But if your mind cannot cope with this quest, then I understand.”

Wolf gave a tense half smile before looking over at the other three. “I fear they may not feel the same way.”

“It does not matter.”

Wolf shook her head. “But it does. It does to me. You forget that I have known Cyrus and Erina for far longer than you have. Despite all that has happened, I find that I still care about their opinion of me,” Wolf attempted to smile, but it fell flat. “Pathetic, is it not?”

“I was not going to say that,” Raven tilted her head. “Come closer, listen, then decide. Does that sound fair to you?”

“Aye.”

Raven nodded and walked back to the discussion. Wolf took a deep breath and followed behind.

---

Aaaaand we're back! With exposition! To be fair Wolf wouldn't know most of this so it isn't entirely useless exposition

Once again my friend @fairyofsomething beta read and came up with the title, and for that I thank them immensely.

A quick pronounciation guide so that we're all on the same page. 

Satyarani is pronounced how it's spelt. Sat-ya-rani

Alaunus is Allow-nus

And Haryad will be appearing, and is pronounced almost identically to 'Harriet', I was not the only one who thought that Haryad was a girl and called Harriet when Raven: The Island

[what-big-teeth]

Spark (Male Fire Elemental, pt. 1)

When graduate student Simone Price inherits her deceased grandmother’s house, she hopes to mend bridges that were long burned prior to the sudden passing by way of fond memories. But she soon learns two important truths. One, the cause behind those severed connections is still around. Two, the childhood fables her grandmother told her are more rooted in reality than imaginative fantasy.

Female Human (POV) x Male Monster [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] ”It’s...charming, you know? Really rustic.” Mica carefully chooses her words and attempts a cheerful smile. When she fails, she settles on tucking a loose microbraid behind her deep brown ear. “Right, Mason?”

Mason hefts the large, black garbage bag full of cleaning tools off the ground, gives the old house a once-over from top to bottom, then snorts. Loudly. Mica swiftly elbows her twin in the ribs for “being rude”, but even I can’t stop my nose from scrunching up in displeasure. 

She can dress up her opinion with as many euphemisms as she wants. But the truth is plain as day: Nana’s place has gone to the dogs. 

The two story’s once brilliant white paint is a dingy, chipping mess that reveals the underlying dark decay. The windows, always transparent enough to see through when the curtains were drawn back, are caked with grime and rust. And the front door, a deep, beautiful burgundy my mind can still picture, has dulled into a paler shade of red. I wouldn’t be surprised if Nana’s little garden in the backyard has been choked by weeds and overrun with wild plants. It saddens me to see the current state of her home compared to when my visits were more common. That was before Dad suddenly severed all contact with Nana ten years ago, when I was only thirteen.

A warm weight settles onto my shoulder, fending off the morning’s autumnal chill. Mica wears a sympathetic smile.

“Are you alright, Simone?”

I’ll never be able to thank Mica and Mason enough for sacrificing part of their Thanksgiving break to help me out. But I can try by remaining as positive as possible. 

“I will be,” I say. “Once Nana’s place starts looking like it used to.”

“It’s your house now,” Mason says, adjusting his grip on the garbage bag. Oddly enough, his words sound sad. “You sure you don’t want to do anything different with it?”

It came as a shock when Nana’s last will and testament bequeathed the entirety of her property and assets to me. Dad did all he could to contest the document, but his attempts failed. I’ll never forget the haunted look in his dark eyes when I asked him why he disagreed with my newfound inheritance.

“That place isn’t a home, baby. Not with what it’s got locked inside of it.”

I later refused to budge on the matter, even when he begged me to. After that, Dad told me to do as I wished, but to be careful and stay vigilant. I didn’t understand what he meant then and I still don’t. But I hope, with some hard work and lots of love, Nana’s house will be whole again. Then with time, Dad will come to visit and remember the good times before his mother’s passing.

“Earth to Simone,” Mason says. “Did you hear me?”

“Yeah, and I’m sure.” I fish out the front door key from my coat pocket and smile. “Let’s get to work.”

We hang our coats in the entryway. Once the buckets, brooms, and mops are divvied up among us, Mason works on doling out the cleaning solution. We then decide on who gets what area. Mason is quick to claim the upstairs, citing the possibility of rotten wood weakening the floor.

“I’d rather fall to the first floor and get hurt than see it happen to you two,” he says in an obstinate tone. “Especially since you two might end up worse off.”

“Always the gentleman,” Mica mutters, rolling her light brown eyes. “I’ll take the kitchen and dining room. Might be worth it to see what condition your Nana’s cookware is in.”

“Good idea,” I say. “Just be sure to yell if you find anything interesting.”

“Will do!” She grabs her broom, bucket, and mop,then leaves the foyer.

“Guess that leaves me with the living room and fireplace,” I say.

Mason replies with a hum I can’t discern, which is weird since Mica and I are fluent in Mason-ese. Always have been since we were little kids.

“Something up?” I ask.

His neutral expression doesn’t reveal a thing and that worries me. He’s always had a tell or two, even when he’s tried to hide something from me. Instead of talking, he just ties back his dreadlocks, grabs his share of the cleaning supplies, and walks towards the stairs.

“Call me if you need anything.”

I follow his old sneakers until they vanish from my line of sight. That was weird. But there’s no point in digging to figure out what’s going on. He’ll tell me when he feels like it.

After locking the front door and grabbing a broom, my feet guide me down the main hallway towards the living room. And my heart nearly breaks at the sight. Just about everything is covered in a thin layer of dust and cobwebs, including Nana’s knitting basket and needles. The floor and rug are worst off and I’m somewhat scared to tackle the fireplace. But if I don’t, no one else besides Mica and Mason will. Especially not anyone in town.

After asking for directions and mentioning our reasons for being here, nearly everyone bid us a swift farewell, claiming they had something to do. Only a few upfront people told us to leave the estate alone and head back home, claiming that a witch once lived there.

My grip on the broom handle tightens to the point of pain.

Nana was many things; a huge sun tea addict, an amazing storyteller, and a wonderful knitter. She may have used Black folk magic to help me with my childhood night terrors, but she wasn’t a—

“Ow!”

A thick wooden splinter peers up at me from my index finger alongside a bead of blood. This is why I told Mason we should’ve packed the plastic brooms instead. I lean the broom against the brick mantle, swiftly remove the sliver, and flick it into the dead fireplace.

The piled ash sparks with light and heat, singeing the cobwebs. 

“What in the…”

“Simone!”

“Gah!” I wait until my racing pulse calms a bit then respond. “Yeah?”

“I found your Nana’s bundt cake pan,” Mica yells out, “but I can’t tell if it’s still usable.”

“I’ll be there in a moment!”

I look back at the fireplace. Nothing but cold ash. I shake my head and make my way to the kitchen, trying to recall where Mason keeps the mini first-aid kit in his pickup truck.

Midday sneaks up on us, warming the chilly house a few more degrees. Mica decides it’s the perfect time to break for lunch and Mason agrees.

“We passed by a burger joint on the main road,” Mica says, wiping off her hands. “Wanna give it a try?”

Even with the tempting prospect of a patty melt, my mind keeps drifting back to the fireplace. And what I think I witnessed.

“Sure, but do you guys mind going without me? I want to get more cleaning in before the day’s out.”

“Seriously?” Mason is quick to call out my attempt at an excuse. “We’ve been at it for four hours.”

Before Mica can chastise him for being, well, himself, I think up a compromise.

“What if I took an extended break instead? I won’t touch a broom, mop, or bucket while you guys are out and I’ll eat with you once you get back. Sounds good?”

“Sounds perfect!” Mica chirps up. She grabs Mason by his forearm and starts hauling him towards the foyer before he can object. “We’ll be back soon. A patty melt with onions and a small fry?”

“And a bottled water too, please!”

The front door slams shut, the sound echoing until the truck’s engine revs up. I let out a heavy sigh and plop down onto the couch, uncaring of the weak cushioning.

“Finally. I thought they’d never leave.”

I stop myself from launching off the sofa, but my feet still slip on the area rug. My ass slams onto the floor with a hard thud and a deep chuckle follows soon after.

“You’re not very graceful, are you?”

“Who—!”

A large, bright flame emerges from the ash piled in the fireplace. It twists and curls in random patterns until it settles into the distinctive outline of a humanoid face. It grins. I scramble away and slam into the opposite wall.

“What’s this?” it says. “A descendant of Abigail, afraid of me?”

No shit. Who in their right mind wouldn’t be? But, as the barely-calm-and-reasonable part of my brain points out, I won’t get any answers if I let my tongue turn into lead.

“Who are you? How do you know Nana?”

The flame…face…creature remains silent far longer than need be. Its eyes narrow.

“Don’t mock me, girl. You know very well who I am. Or did you forget Abigail’s tales all too quickly?”

The creature’s words slowly begin to make sense, as much as my mind begs them not to. Nana used to tell me all kinds of stories when I was little. But she’d always retell my favorite whenever I asked: the story of a fearless Black girl who trapped an evil flame spirit, thereby saving the town she lived in.

“Oh my god. That story was about you?”

“Cruel, isn’t it? Conditioning a child to believe a lie through a simple fable. All whilst I could hear and see everything. Abigail was always a manipulative, abusive wench.”

Hot, white anger floods my body, wrenching me to my feet. 

“Like hell,” I hiss, stalking towards the fireplace.

The creature peers up at me, stunned and silent. Good.

“Nana would never harm anyone. But she sure as hell didn’t take shit from anybody. Ever. What did you do?”

The story always characterized the fire spirit as evil, but never gave a reason. So why not ask the source?

“Well?!”

“Simone?”

My gaze snaps up. Mason stares at me with brows furrowed with concern and confusion. My rage dissipates into nothing, leaving me drained.

“You alright?” he asks.

I glance down at the fireplace. The creature’s vanished. Leaving me to look like an utter fool.

“Uh, yeah! I was just…re-enacting a scene from my favorite drama! Nothing else to do while waiting for you guys to get back, right?”

Mason’s eyes narrow, the simple action screaming ‘bullshit’. “Not even looking at your phone?”

I jam my hand inside my back jeans pocket and pull out my smartphone. Surprisingly, there’s service.

“Not enough bars,” I lie.

Mason doesn’t look convinced in the slightest, but thankfully, he lets my horrible excuse slide. He holds up a large, white paper bag stained with grease. The scent wafting from the inside makes my empty stomach clench with anticipation.

“Mica and I will be in the dining room. Be sure to come and eat while the food’s hot.”

He walks off, the wooden floor creaking underneath his every step. With a heavy sigh, I start to follow.

“Perhaps you are more like Abigail than I first believed: utterly stubborn and foolishly brave.”

I stop moving. If the creature’s words were meant to insult me, they fail. Pride wells up in me and it takes all my willpower to not smile. It somehow notices and scoffs.

“To answer your earlier questions, past humans have called me a fire elemental. And one gave me the name Ignis.”

The creature...Ignis begins to recede back into the ash pile, but my mouth opens before it can vanish.

“Wait.”

He does, to my surprise.

“You weren’t awake before we arrived, right? Which means something made you come around.”

I carefully recall Nana’s story, then all of the related events leading up until now. My eyes widen.

“It was my blood on the splinter. That’s what woke you up. Because I’m of her bloodline.”

Ignis continues to sink further into the ash, but says one last thing.

“You have a sharp mind as well. How interesting…”

The fireplace goes dark, but I stand before it, staring.

I get it now. I understand why Dad severed contact with Nana ten years ago and never wanted me to inherit this place. Why Nana told me those childhood fables and willed her home to me.

But Dad’s still wrong. This house will be a home. But first, I have to finish what Nana started.

[unapologeticallyaisha-archive]

Scrying

WARNINGS: creepy images, mild gore and violence

Summary: Loki investigates some magical mirrors and has a terrifying encounter.

Word count: 2500+

Author’s note: Pre-Thor and not part of my fanfiction series (for now)

The ancient art of scrying is prevalent in many cultures across the cosmos. This technique is utilized to divine the past, the present, or possible futures. Scrying tools are not limited to mirrors. Any reflective surface can be used for scrying: metal, stones, water, fire. What the scryer sees may be personal to them, or it may have nothing to do with them at all.

“Are you hoping to see your future lover?”

Loki looked up from his book. A grinning Thor was leaning over the desk, threatening to mess up Loki’s piles of carefully-taken notes.

Loki was interested in a wide variety of topics, and his curiosity was not superficial. A topic could be subjected to intensive research for weeks, even months. The latest one to catch his eye had been mirrors.

Mirrors were surrounded by numerous superstitions. They were said to show visions. Breaking them was considered bad luck. Some believed they could trap people’s souls, especially the souls of those who were dead. With magic being as diverse as it was, Loki held to the notion that not all such fears were irrational.

And mirrors held a special meaning for Loki. Because of his ability to cast illusions, he knew better than anyone how images could fool people. He startled himself when he walked in front of a mirror while disguised.

Thor had heard many of the same rumors, but he didn’t believe any of them. For him, mirrors were just tools for vanity.

Loki was planning on visiting a place called the Vale of Mirrors. Stories about it varied and many sounded exaggerated, but they all agreed that the Vale held some very mysterious mirrors, possibly the most powerful in the universe.

Loki wasn’t interested in scrying or seeing any deep truths. He just wanted to experience the mirrors for himself.

Loki gave his brother a bored look. “I would not waste my time asking such empty-headed questions.”

“You may find out that your sweetheart is a lizard,” Thor continued. “Or a troll.”

Loki’s eyes dropped to a drawing on the table, depicting a man cowering from a storm of whirling leaves. His mother had warned him about delving too deep into powerful magic, but the temptation was just too great.

“You should be careful in the Vale, brother,” said Thor, taking his hands off the table. “You might accidentally summon a Fire Demon that will gobble you up!” Chuckling to himself, he left Loki in the shadowy corner of the library.

The distant planet Loki landed on was largely uninhabited, so nature flourished freely. The planet’s three faraway suns gave off a comfortable light through the blue and gold trees. Furry animals with long snouts leapt through the branches, and worms twined around the trunks. Colorful rocks crunched beneath Loki’s boots.

Strangely, many of the trees were broken near the tops, with the severed branches lying in a heap around them.

Loki plucked some leaves off the ground. They were very soft, like velvet.

Placing the leaves in his coat, he continued on through the forest, following a faint but undeniable tug of magic.

At last, he reached the grove he had seen so many times in illustrations. The trees here looked as if they had been pruned. In the center of the grove was a perfectly circular pond with worms swimming in it.

Wondering if the pond was one of the mirrors, Loki peered into the water. However, it was so clear he could see right to the bottom.

Loki walked around the pond and found the ground sloping down into a pitch dark cave. He lit up his hand with yellow magic and went in.

The tunnel led to a circular room with nine large mirrors on the walls, each a plain sheet of glass.

Loki studied the mirrors. He could only see himself from several different angles. Nothing unusual.

Loki then noticed that everything was still. The sounds of rustling leaves and animals had stopped. There was invisible magic in the cave, but it was static, unmoving.

Maybe he had to focus. He drew closer to one of the mirrors. Still nothing changed.

Just as Loki was wondering if he needed to use a spell, the eyes in his reflection darkened, and the face became longer and narrower.

Loki stepped back and noticed that all the reflections were changing, growing broader or thinner, their hair morphing into other colors, until each one was a different person. All of them turned to face him.

“Who are you?” Loki asked.

“Why have you come here?” one of them asked back.

“I am here to see the magic of the Vale.”

“We can show you a great many things,” said another man.

Each of them was standing in another cave, also full of mirrors. It was his own world, multiplied a myriad times.

Maybe the mirrors were windows into other worlds, ones he could see but not touch.

Or maybe he was the reflection, and the others were reality.

Loki summoned up his courage. “What do you have to tell me?”

“Are you afraid of your future?” one of the reflections asked.

Fate was not something Loki considered very often, because it unsettled him. The conviction of most Asgardians was that no matter what came to pass, they would face it courageously.

Loki was not nearly that confident. Still, if that was what they offered, he would take it. “What do you know of my future?”

The magic in Loki’s hand extinguished itself, but the mirrors remained lit with their own eerie light.

“If you are not afraid …” said the reflection.

“You should be,” all of them hissed.

The cave and the mirrors disappeared. It was very dark, but Loki could see the faint outlines of trees. Leaves were falling around him – some silver, some a ghostly blue. The gleaming tips of creature’s snouts darted in and out of sight. Luminous worms as large as snakes swarm in a murky black pond in front of him. The whole place gave off the stench of wet leaves and dirty rainwater.

Loki heard a crackling noise that grew progressively louder. Ice was creeping over the forest floor and up the trees. Pinpricks of red light appeared in the rocks, like a million eyes looking up at him.

Terror gripped Loki. Every muscle in this body wanted to run. But just as that thought crossed his mind, a wind blew him onto his knees.

All at once, the trees broke at the point where their trunks forked, as if a giant scythe had cleaved off their tops.

Loki looked into the pond. The reflection looking back at him seemed melancholy.

Then his reflection’s arm grabbed the front of his tunic and pulled him into the dark water.

Loki barely had time to gasp.

But he wasn’t drowning. He didn’t even feel like he was underwater. The other him had vanished, and he was floating in empty blackness.

It isn’t real, he reminded himself.

His toe hit something solid, and he fell onto hard ground.

Loki’s head was on its side, and he could see that he was on a patch of rocks that smelled vaguely metallic. Beyond the rocks was a thick black fog. It was extremely quiet.

Loki tried to push himself up, but he couldn’t move a muscle. Even his eyelids had been forced open.

Something oozed up from between the rocks, flowing over Loki’s fingers and seeping through his clothing. The scent of blood filled Loki’s nose. He tried to get up again, but to no avail. His magic wouldn’t respond, either.

The blood kept coming, and Loki wondered if it was his. He thought he could see ghoulish faces in the rocks, screaming silently. Maybe they were the ones bleeding.

Just as Loki thought he would be trapped forever, the rocks turned to dust beneath him, and the liquid vaporized.

Loki twitched his fingers and found to his relief that he could move again.

He got to his feet shakily and wiped the blood off his face. The fog was gone, and he was on a barren plain. He stood there, legs apart and eyes alert.

The wind picked up, and dust got into Loki’s eyes and clothes.

Loki then thought he saw something hovering in the distance, unmoved by the wind. A spark of flame, small enough to fit in the palm of his hand. Was it a friend or an enemy?

The bits of dust started to twist themselves into cable-like strands. One end was anchored to the ground, while the other end waved in the air. Instead of attacking Loki, they started converging on the tiny flame.

The flame could be his only aid in this place He started running toward it.

Immediately, some of the cables started moving towards Loki. Their ends became pointed, like spearheads.

Loki pulled a dagger out of his coat and sliced through the cable closest to him. The cable exploded, its dust spraying over Loki. However, no sooner had it burst apart then it reassembled again.

The cables slashed, making small cuts on Loki’s hands and face. One of them darted straight towards his chest, and he dodged it.

If Loki had been facing a conventional opponent, he would have known how to fight. But these were very different entities. Stooping down, he put away his dagger and unleashed a blast of magic.

The magic scattered the pieces of dust much better than his dagger could.

Loki charged towards the flame. As he cupped his hands around it, it grew slightly larger, lighting up his face with its orange glow. It was pleasantly warm.

Loki smiled a little, but he knew he had to be careful. Fire was fickle, and not easily controlled.

Similar types of magic were attracted to each other, Loki remembered. He conjured a small flame of his own and held it steady.

The cables were advancing on him.

He strengthened his magic, and the flame grew along with it. He unleashed them both as one fiery blast. The cables were disintegrated instantly.

Loki grinned proudly. He extinguished his own magic, but the small flame stayed.

The ground quaked, making Loki almost lose his balance. The plain began turning into sinking pits of dust. Soon, only the patch of ground Loki stood on remained.

Many voices whispered all around him, speaking as one. “Will you join us? Or will you be the one to escape?”

Burning white objects, like stars, began showering from the sky. Loki had nowhere to run to, so he shielded his head.

He hated this. He had fought hundreds of enemies before, but none of them could compare to the forces of nature.

The flame spread out above him, incinerating the objects as they came near. But he could feel the flame weakening.

Fight nature with nature, he thought.

Some of the objects grazed Loki’s arms, scorching him through his clothes. When they fell around Loki’s feet, Loki saw that they were leaves, sharp as glass and smoldering with white fire.  

Images danced in the flames. A blue crystal mounted in gold. An army mounted on winged horses.  A rift in the sky that was full of stars. A long sword stained with blood.

Just as suddenly as it had began, the bombardment of objects stopped.

Loki took his hands away from his head, and the orange flame shrunk again.

Rocks rushed out of the pits, and as he watched, the cave walls rebuilt themselves around him.

There was a flash of lightning and a thunderclap that made Loki cover his ears. He was almost certain the cave roof had split open.

Then it was absolutely silent.

The flame was gone. The leaves were gone. Except for the nine mirrors, the cave was empty.

After a few heartbeats, Loki hurried back through the tunnel into the open. The sunlight blinded him, and he fell to his knees.

When his eyes refocused, he realized he was kneeling by the edge of the pond, which was clear again. The sun was warm on his back. He watched the rippling water and fluid movements of the worms, and gradually his heart stopped pounding.

Loki gingerly reached up to touch his face. There was no blood, no dust. All his wounds had healed, but the sensations still remained.

He had to laugh at himself. He, the illusion-caster, frightened by false images. Nearly all sense had departed from him in the cave. He had always prided himself on being the rational one in his family, but it seemed fear always triumphed over intelligence. He knew the best thing to do was to go home, talk to other people, and remind himself that reality still existed.

He pictured Thor coming to him and asking, So, did you see your future lover? and him answering, Yes, and it turned out to be myself. Now please leave me and my books in peace.

Loki saw that more of the trees were broken than before. Perhaps he had actually left the cave during his vision.

The blissful scenery suddenly seemed to be overlaid with sinister images. Anything – from the ground to the plants to the sky itself – could turn against him at any moment.

Loki backed away from the pond. Then he reached into his coat and took out the leaves he had picked up. They were still blue and gold, and as bright as ever.

What had the Vale been trying to tell him?

Here’s a piece of music to go with this story (lyrics in description)

[shaso-cinnjin]

Trust.

Written by @grand-master-alrik-ville and @shaso-cinnjin

Chapter 1: Old Friend, Old Enemy M41.072

Shas'la Hel'ves ran as fast as his hooves could carry him. The mont'gue'la had ambushed his convoy out in what they thought was safe territory. Hel'ves looked behind him and stopped. How could he not have thought about them. Raising his pulse rifle, Hel'ves ran back to cover the civilians as they ran past. Just about 60 meters behind were the mont'gue'la that the Imperium call Chaos Marines. He knew he was no match for them, but he had to buy the civilians time to get away. Just as he was about to turn and follow them, Hel'ves noticed a little girl trip, falling face first into the churned up ground. Hel'ves slung his rifle and launched himself towards her, sliding down next to her to pick her up.

“Come on, you have to get up. We cannot stay here.” Hel'ves stated as he tried to get her on her feet.

“I can’t. My legs are too tired”

“Then I shall carry yo-” Hel'ves was cut off by the cackling of a Chaos Marine as his shadow descended up Hel'ves. Seeing the devilish and barbaric looking axe raised high in the air, Hel'ves turned his back to the marine, attempting to protect the child as best he could. He waited for the pain and the cold of death to come, but all Hel'ves heard was the sound of a loud metallic CLANG, and then a wet THUD as something landed next to him. Turning his head, the chaos marine laid next to him, and a different presence stood over him. Looking up, all Hel'ves saw was a white cape emblazoned with a silver cross and crossed lightning bolts, and a terminator standing above.

“Run, get your people to safety and tell your Shas O’ that he must press his forces into the flanks if we are to win this war.” The tall marine ordered, his shield raised to protect both him and Hel'ves.

“Who…who might I ask are you, so I know who to tell my Shas O’ to thank for rescuing us” Hel'ves hesitantly asked.

“I am Grand Master Alrik Ville, of the Storm Templars. He will know what to do beyond that. Now go!!” and suddenly the marine dashed forward into the mont'gue'la, no fear in his voice, and he could only sense duty seeping from him.

The distress call from the evacuation convoy rang loudly in his ears as he shot through the sky, the fire billowing its orange and red glow from its location becoming more and more visible the closer he came to its last known location, he feared the worst yet hoped for the best, a hope that would soon take life as he spotted the untainted popping of frantic bolter fire and the crackle of power swords.

As he crested the cliff of the canyon where the ill-fated convoy rested he saw them, weathered armor glinting with orange and yellow as their frames became silhouetted from the muzzle flash, their tall shadows flickering against the trees surrounding the area, fighting valiantly against the bloodied hounds that surrounded them.

Arvack looked upwards, “Incoming projectile! Take Cover!” he screamed as he and his battle brothers dove into what cover they had left.

A thunderous crash was shook the ground as the projectile made impact over their heads, a ring of dust now hanging over them, the cries to the blood god falling silent.

Arvack leaned around his cover bringing his bolter to bare, in front of him was no crater left by stray ordinance but the rising form of a Tau battlesuit gripping the decapitated head of a bloodletter tron from its body by the suits gauntlet. A single red eye turned to look at Arvack, scanning what Arvacks assumed was his left pauldron,

“Storm Templar… It's been so long.” the suit spoke in flawless gothic, “What happened here?” it asked.

“We were ordered by the Grand Master to hold this position to provide cover for your “people” from this convoy while they retreated.”

“I owe both you and your commander a debt, Arvack.” it spoke turning its attention to the recovering horde as it began to reinitialize its assault.

“How’d you know my name?” Arvack inquired, firing his bolter at a charging berserker, blowing its head into gory chunks across the canyon floor.

“I know many things, we’ve met before on the flaming spires Jukaa, you were but a scout.” it said fondly as the T’au began to mow down cultists with its burst cannon, each popping spectacularly in dazzling blue explosions.

“That cannot be true, you lie! It’s been 200 years! That commander’s long past, he is but ash now.” Arvack spoke briefly, his attention becoming more drawn into the defense of his squad.

“Doing pretty well for a pile of ash don’t you think!” the T’au chuckled. “Shas’O Cinnjin, it’s a pleasure to work with your chapter again, Sergeant.”

Arvack looked back at the tall suit, its snow white limbs the same as those he saw blackened by soot back on Jukaa, the same T’au that fought beside him back on that infernal planet.

“Lets go, I’ve cleared a path!” the T’au shouted pointing towards an opening in the trees, “We’ll meet up with more reinforcements that way.”

Alrik rammed his shield into the first Chosen as he charged into battle with the traitors. Swinging his axe in a downward arc, Alrik cleaved the pathetic traitor in two before spinning around and using his shield as a club to crush the skull of another Chosen. Running further towards the convoy, Alrik could see the Tau battle suit aiding his men.

Alrik gave an amused HMPH, as he barreled through some more traitor marines, carving them into pieces. “Cinnjin, you never cease to show me that I can trust you” Alrik mused as he slammed his shield into another.

“Third squad, form a defensive ring around the Tau, the 4th company will be here to push back these fools,” Alrik ordered as he made his way into the quickly forming ring and took position at the back of Cinnjin, “Hello, old friend. Miss me?”

The caped terminator barreled his way into the perimeter forming around Cinnjin,

“Hello, old friend. Miss me?” he asked warmly, Cinnjin knew only one astartes whom would greet him so kindly.

“Alrik, it's good to know you still draw breath” Cinnjin chuckled as he ignited two traitors with the beams of cyan spraying from his pack mounted plasma rifles.

“You’re most kind for aiding us, I fear the more inquisitive among our kind will brand you traitor, you know my offer from all those years ago still stands, I won't ask you outright to come, but if an unpleasant fate begins to manifest in your chapters future, beyond your control, you are always welcome to pursue your goals here, as an equal.” Cinnjin spoke with slight concern in his voice.

The ring closed around them, Chaos of all forms sprinting from the treeline over the steadily increasing mound of corpses, blue and orange flashes making the shadows flicker and grow in spastic pattern. The crack of thunder hammers slamming ceramite and the pop of pulse munitions hitting home filled the night as the defenders grew ever fewer.

The ground began to shake and the clouds opened above, beams of bright blue shot down from the stratosphere, a beam of incinerating heat traced the outline of the group, annihilating the surrounding area. The flick and hum of incoming thunderhawk and tigershark engines sang chorus for the symphony of munitions they let loose as the entire canyon, save for the convoy, became naught but atoms before the combined might of the allies combined forces.

“Hel’ves told me about your desire to flank them, looks like they finished off the others just in time to save their poor commanders.” Cinnjin laughed, his eye lenses began shrinking to pinholes to better cope with the blinding light. “Tis’ a Victory, Alrik, even the smallest can make all the difference don’t you think?”

Alrik smiled under his helmet as he hacked at a Chosen, cleaving the traitor in two. “Cinnjin, you know I must say no to the offer. My loyalties are to my Emperor and his Imperium, regardless of whether it is a shadow of its former glory or not. Maybe in a different time, our Empires would see that we would work better as an Alliance. However, I fear that the Imperium has grown to a set in its xenophobia to ever realize that.” Alrik stated with a hint of sadness. Slamming his shield into a charging possessed marine before cutting him in half, Alrik looked behind him to see a charging chaos marine with a melta bomb going for Cinnjin.

Alrik pushed his Terminator armor as best he could to get as much speed as he charged for the traitor. Unfortunately for the traitor, he didn’t notice until it was too late the charging behemoth of cermatite and muscle. Using his shield as a club, Alrik decapitated the traitor in one undercut swing, sending its head and the bomb flying.

“All units, engage these traitors with extreme prejudice, leave none standing” Alrik ordered.

“My friend, our chapter is one of very few that ally themselves with…xenos. While we keep that under black tape, we are the only ones who try to help those that have helped us.”

“Aye, I know where your loyalties lie, it was never a matter of that, of sides.” Cinnjin spoke sending a punch into a whirling screamer, the force of his onager gauntlet sending a shockwave into the treeline.

“It was about consequences, how sometimes the black ink gets washed away, it’s not an offer of annexation into the empire but of protection, so that you may serve your people even if they grow hate you, a thought that I dread.” Cinnjin spoke to the terminator as it smashed the skull of one of his traitor brethren beneath his bootheil.

Cinnjin then let out a sigh. Briefly noticing trees falling from deep in the thick foliage, the only warning of what was to come.

With a blood curdling scream the Debaser of Slaanesh slammed into the defensive perimeter, its wip like tendrils cutting through armor like it was the air itself. Cinnjin fell silent and began to crouch forward.

“You may want to move.” He said motioning for Alrik to step away.

All that stood in Cinnjins place after that moment was a cloud of dust a faint blue trail and a very, very shattered sound barrier.

Cinnjin shot fourth over the Debaser, grappling the two large horns cropping out from the head of the beast, kicking his vector thrusters around he began to rear the beast towards its own, it sending chunks of eviscerated heretic flesh through the air in spectacular gory sprays.

With a crack and a thud it was clear the commander had had enough, using his onager gauntlet to strike the beast so that the pressurised air punched clean through it and the ground, its head exploding in a purple-red haze coating him in blood.

Cinnjin them motioned to the path he had previously cleared and for the Astartes to follow.

“The evacuation should be complete, come!” the bloodsoaked commander yelled, pointing towards the salvation of the landing-zone.

“It's time we show these creatures the meaning of what we stand for!”

“If it comes to that Cinnjin, then I will accept your offer.” Alrik stated as he walked past the Debaser. “Templars, move to the LZ and secure the perimeter. Double time it” Alrik broke into a run.

“Cinnjin, I pray that the path we tread will never see us become enemies. As we both know, the path to ruin is paved with good intentions. My Emperor discovered that ten millennia ago. I fear your people are due for it as well. I just hope it will not see a good man like you taken from this galaxy.”

“I fear the same” spoke Cinnjin, “I’ve taken… "steps” to see that it doesn't. Until we meet again, Alrik.“ With those final words Cinnjin reignited his retros and shot into the air. His departure shaking the ground he once stood upon, the blue haze of his jumpack becoming ever dimmer as he rose up into the stratosphere.  

Chapter 2: New Age Diplomacy M41.109

Alrik stared through the glass of his flagship The Iron Storm. Down below were the burning remains of the Storm Templars home world Valencia. The day had come for Ahriman’s revenge. Though it had been many centuries ago, back when Lanius Pathiel had walked among their once proud halls and fought alongside the greatest of his chapter’s heroes. Today was a tragedy in the history of the Storm Templars, but one the Storm Templars will recover. Until the time for revenge is right, however, the Storm Templars must disappear, to give their enemy a false sense of security. “All ships, lock onto our warp jump point. We make for the Eastern Fringe. We have allies there that will show us hospitality. All hands, prepare for Warp.” Grand Vicar Remuldus stepped up behind Alrik, a puzzled expression on his otherwise stone-like face. “Grand Master, surely you don’t mean to barter with Cinnjin. Regardless of whether he is an ally, the wider Imperium would see this as…” Alrik raised a hand sharply, cutting his High Vicar. “Our people need a home, Remuldus, and our chapter needs a place to bury or dead. Cinnjin has offered us a home, and I intend to take him up on it. You know as well as I that he is an honorable man and a friend of our chapter,” Alrik turned to look at his friend, a long red scar running diagonally down his face, “and if we are to have our revenge for those that died down there, and for the stain on our chapter’s history, we must become like ghosts. What better way than to hide where not even Ahriman would think to look. Trust in me, Remuldus.” Remuldus stood emotionless, his face set. Suddenly he gave a sigh before look Alrik in the eye with a smile. “Once more my friend, you have proven yourself. I see your wisdom and logic in this course. May the Emperor guide our actions as he has done before, and let us go to our esteemed friend.” Alrik and Remuldus clasped gauntlets in a sign of mutual respect and kinship. Alrik turned to look our the view port. “All ships, initiate warp jump on my mark…..mark. With that, a series of over 30 warp rifts opened as the fleet made its jump to Tau space, bound for a friend they had not seen in years. A faint mechanical whining sound from within the suspended suit, chem injectors and nutritional drips retracted back into their inactive positions, Cinnjin woke from a dreamless sleep, something he had become accustomed to in his age. At least it took an edge off the fatigue, and the infernal nagging of the water caste. He did not wake to the usual hum of busy drones tending to battle damage or the flicker of his inbox prompting him within his heads up display but a wailing siren. “Ambush!” he thought lurching upright, tearing the still unattached wires and tubes from the walls and various equipment that allowed him brief rest. “Status report, Por’O!” he screamed into his communicator. “We’ve got jump readings off our starboard side, I’ve scrambled the fighters but they’ve caught us at port. They’re transmitting an unknown signal through the rift, can decipher it!” the Por”O replied. Cinnjin caught a faint flashing in his peripheral vision, a tiny screen flicked on and off as it read out its message. “Stormborn” “Recall the Fighters!” He spoke, with a taste of worry on his voice. “Get the EMT on the bridge and clear a landing zone upon the planet's surface, today is about to be a very dark one, and I refuse to let it dim any more.” “But Shas’O, it could be an ambush or a-” “Do as I say Ki’neth, trust in me.” Cinnjin cut the Por’O off, his voice adding a palpable calm to the situation. “Y-yes, Shas’O.” Just then the void tore open to birth a dozen vivid swirling holes, spears of silver and steel pierced the veil into T’au space, each one an intricate maze of spires and stunning stained glass sanctuaries depicting the heroics of heros long past, each one a grey reminder of the power of imperial might and the solemn reminder of engenuity long lost to time and tragedy. A few entered real space in ragged condition, their might hulls porus with shell holes torn to ragged ribbons by the lashing tendris of ordinance powerful enough to end trillions of lives in seconds. Cinnjin saw this, his mechanical fist clenching into a vacuum tight grip, it was the first time he felt rage in a very, very long time, the only calm in his mind came when he saw the flagship, its colossal silver hull ornately detailed and etched into swerling branches of silver and marble, its weathered prow still carried the remains of enemy vessels strewn across its titanic width. It sat protectively at the head of the fleet, like a lioness guarding her cubs. Now all Cinnjin felt was sadness, sadness and a hint of hope. He was sad that they had to come, but glad that they did. What would follow would need to be a time of rebuilding and trust, the Storm Templars have shown their true face, they need help, and now it was the T’au’s turn to be what the universe had been missing for fourty thousand years, kind. Alrik stood straight as he let his personal serfs attach his artificer armor to his neuroports. He had intended to come in his terminator armor, but Ahriman had seen it torn to ribbons. He stared at the remains of his once glorious axe, a relic of his friend, now shattered at the hilt. Alrik supposed now was the time for it to return to its old master, as well as his shield. When the Serfs returned with his new relic blade, he could scarcely believe what he beheld. A long polearm, a gigantic spear wreathed in symbols of lightning and the symbol of justice: The Hammer. His personal artificer never ceased to amaze. “Alrik, my friend, it is time to meet with Cinnjin, before his men get too restless.” Remuldus walked in before giving a low whistle. “Very fitting, I would say. Your weapon matches too. You look more like a sentinel.” “I embody that role. I am a sentinel to our chapter just as we are sentinels to our people. I agree with you friend. What is the Grand Paragon doing?” “Currently tending to his Paragons and the needs of our people. Should I recall him?” “Negative. We shall handle this. I think we need everyone we can get. Come lets meet our friend.” The Command Suit strode down the pristine halls towards the airlock trailed by a neat formation of fire warriors, each of their helms a pitch black, their pauldrons bearing the personal markings of their commander. Two warriors on either flank of the formation held a banner, one bearing the Iconography of the Storm Templars chapter as the contingent remembered it, and the other bearing a simple T’au symbol. Behind them proceeded numerous medical teams, unsure what the condition of their allies was they prepared for the worst. This was the same across the dozens of T’au ships rising to meet the sizably larger imperial vessels, the only one coming close to matching their size was the Flagship Drakken a prototype vessel with a massive centered railgun that bisects the ship right down to the picketed prow, a piece of equipment the T’au learn to fear from the Damocles Crusade adapted to meet their needs. “Wait to hail them before boarding, once we receive that it is indeed them, we will proceed” Cinnjin spoke across his fleet via intercom. “This is not an exercise in force, but compassion, this is where we prove we are different. Be kind my fellow crewman, be kind.” With that Cinnjin received the all clear, the airlock clicked and puffed oxygen visibly through its vents before opening. “Hello, old friend.” Alrik stood at the airlock as it opened, his silver and gold suit shimmering in the passageway lights. His spear was mag-locked to his back, a sign of respect and peace to his old friend. Once the airlock opened, he looked up at the battle suit, the now dull red scar very visible across his face. “Hello, Cinnjin. I wish this were on a better occasion but I must take you up on your offer. Our home system has been razed and our home world destroyed.” Alrik stepped aside to show his wounded men and the many civilians that waited in the hangar. “Many of our apothecary's were killed in the fighting, but we were able to recover as many as we could.” Cinnjin stepped aside, and his retinue followed in perfect sync to allow the medical crews aboard. “Your people are welcome here on Tash’var, and you are permitted to build upon orbiting moons to create a new “Chapter Monastery” as you call it. Shame really, I always hoped to see the Stormhold.” Cinnjin spoke, his tone serious with a hint of grief. “You have my utmost condolences. However I believe the grieving will have to wait unit things get settled.” Cinnjin then gestured down the hallway. “Shall we make room for the wounded, we should move around the ship so we can better talk without remaining ourselves an obstacle.” “I can guarantee that it would have been a sight for you, Cinnjin. I agree. If you would follow Remuldus and me, we can talk in my personal chambers” Alrik turned slowly before stepping off in a slow march, keeping his head forward, never letting his eyes wander. They walked down silver and marble halls, etchings depicting heroes of eons past. Here and there, picts displaying heroes in terminator armor holding off hordes of orks and traitors. Some depict massive combats with the Eldar. There is only one that depicts a dreadnought, its fist raised high, ready to crush a Tau battle suit. Cinnjin followed Alrik down the weathered hall of the flagship, wounded lining the walls on either side. They passed underneath gothic arches and past ancient statues. Cinnjin couldn’t help but feel the worried eyes of imperial crewmen eyeing his every move, he didn’t exactly blend into his surroundings. “Worry not about how they feel Cinnjin. They are hurt and scared. They will understand in time.” Alrik stated without looking. The group came upon two ornate blast doors. Placing his hand upon a pad beside them, Alrik opened the doors to his chambers. The main room was a rather modest hosting room, filled with furniture to sit upon. Lining the walls were shelves containing books and terminals with data streaming across them. Alrik’s personal serfs came forward before kneeling before him. “How may we serve you, Grandmaster” they spoke in unison, no questions asked about Cinnjin and his retinue. “Please, gather some tea for those that can drink, and whatever our friend Cinnjin here is able to have that we may be able to provide” “I thank you for your hospitality.” Cinnjin spoke, moving around the humble chamber briefly admiring the smell of burning incense. “Your chapter is welcome here, Alrik. The moon of Il'cea has land that is yours to govern. Save you defend it and its people. A condition I know you have little issue with.” “If there is anything specific you need we will attempt to accommodate you.” Cinnjin said turning to face Alrik. “I would like to ask of I could borrow some of your stealth teams. Despite their expertise in stealth operations, my fourth company was decimated trying to fight our traitorous cousins. We need to train our scouts going to that company.” Alrik turned towards Cinnjin. “We also need help with construction and possible terraforming. To being anymore than my people would be to invite war upon your cadre unless you were to join in an alliance. Like Commander Farsight did” “We would be honored to instruct your men, my kind are most reasonable when it comes to these things, it will not be difficult to sway things to better suit you. We’d even be willing to share equipment given time.” Cinnjin gestured towards the nearest of his bodyguard, the comparatively small warrior stepped forward, placing a disc shaped object upon the table. “A gift to soothe these difficult times, it is a shield generator, same make and design as mine, however more fitting to your “aesthetic”. The shield bore a simple design, not more than a simple disc with rivets dotting its circumference, and a single word etched in low gothic centred upon its crest. It read “Virtue”. “I saw it a fitting gift come our next meeting, albeit I had hoped to present it to you under better circumstances.” Alrik picked up the device and attached it to his shoulder. He could see the device shimmer as it dispersed the energy field around him, melding itself with his armor’s built in shield. He nodded approvingly. “A fine gift, one I am happy to receive, regardless of circumstances.” Alrik turned looked at Cinnjin. “In exchange, if your people are so inclined, we can teach your men further in the ways of melee combat. I unfortunately don’t know how much our technology would ban of use to you” That would be most appreciated, in time I’m sure your men would be willing to share with us your knowledge, though I do have to keep an air of ignorance about the truth regarding your technical equipment, the Ethereal caste still think me ignorant to the reality of the “warp” as you call it. They must be given time to better realize its complications, lest I suffer the wrath of knowing such a dangerous knowledge. A bit ironic don't you think?“ Cinnjin laughed. “All you must do now is allow us to help you, you are in good hands.” “Your men are welcome aboard our ships. They will be escorted by my men to keep any descendants in line. I must make a further ask that no mention of the Greater Good be made. We have our own version of which works for our people. I do not wish to cause any complications in our relationship as it stands. I do hope you understand.” "Understood, though you were already a whole coming together to work towards something greater, you already fight for a greater good, just one separate to my own. I however will instruct the more zealous of my crew to hold their tongues when it comes to Ideologies.” Cinnjin the paced over towards the stained glass window, a giant figure depicted in shining golden armor. “I think he may be proud, Alrik, I know little of your Emperor but if he is half the man you are he’d be proud, of you, of what you stand for.” "He was the most powerful man in the galaxy. Could persuade entire armies to lay down their weapons without a single shot being fired. Could mend machines with but a single touch and obliterate an enemy without a single motion being made. He was the epitome of what man could become. Now he is nought but a skeleton upon a failing throne. Few realize what he gave up to save his Imperium from the claws of the Chaos gods and their traitorous followers. He burned his own beloved sons soul from existence, so that he may never be brought back into being. In doing so, he sacrificed his immortality. He was a god among men, a true god. He merely wished to see mankind rule the stars, not alone, but the dominant species. I believe he would have attempted to have your Empire join the fold, if not ally with us. I merely wish to see a part of his vision come true.” "He did not know us, he knew a cold galexy that knew no warmth, I’m sure he could see the value of kind not his own given better times.” Cinnjin then turned away from the everwatching gaze of the imparator prime towards Remaldus. “I presume this to be your second? I wish to become acquainted with you, space marine.” Kindly spoke Cinnjin, extending a hand in a formal human gesture of trust. Remuldus looked at the hand before slowly taking it in his own. "I am Premier Vicar Remuldus Teuton. I am what other space marines call the High Chaplain of my chapter. I lead my brothers in prayer before, during, and after battle and in times of peace. However I am not his second. I am merely his spiritual counsel. Unfortunately, his second is seeing to his men. The first company was the rearguard in our retreat from our sacred home and took heavy casualties.” “It's a pleasure all the same, Remuldus, I look forward to hearing what you have to say, a holy mind is strongest in times of darkness.” Cinnjin praised, gently shaking Remuldus’ hand and taking note of the weathered and battered skull the Chaplin wore, the flickering of candle light highlighting the cracks lining the faceplate. “Now If you’ll allow me, I’d like to speak to you, Alrik, and perhaps a High Paragon, if one so much as remains after such a tragedy. I have a matter I’d like to discuss, in private.” Alrik went over to a command console. “Remuldus, go ahead and head to the chapel. I think now would be a good time for one of your sermons.” Alrik stated as he typed into the console. “Aye, Grand Master. As you command” Remuldus turned and walked out of Alrik’s chambers, his black armor melding with the shadows around him. “Randrid to the Grand Master’s chambers please, Randrid to the Grand Master’s chambers” Alrik called over the ship vox before shutting off his link. “So, what did you need to discuss, old friend?” “I need to share some grim news my own, we’ve managed to create a means of traversing the Damocles Gulf, after the tragedy of our fourth sphere expansion a wormhole opened in the silent zone, a path of void left by Hive Fleet Gorgon.” “We received a distress call through it, the same frequency as our missing expansion built a nexus of thousands of star forts around it and dove into it find our lost friends, this succeeded, however we drew a putrid ire.” “The sickly legions of the Death Guard appeared from deep space in numbers never seen before, a million fronts opened in an instant and the slaughter of millions took place, millions of lives that I am failing to save. They push ever closer to the nexus, and if they breach it the heart of our empire will be exposed to the destructive forces of chaos. I will not ask you to fight for us, for me, but the Empire is fighting a losing battle, and we need all the help we can get.” “I only wish to discuss such a thing in the presence of your Paragon due to the horrid eldritch powers at be, his expertise may be of some use, or at the very least he shield my words from the prying eyes of the warp.” The blast doors opened before the terminator armored figure of Randrid as he stepped through. “You have need of me, Grandmaster?” Randrid questioned, giving a momentary glance towards Cinnjin. “Yes High Paragon. Our friend here has told me that the forces of the Death Guard have launched a full-scale attack upon their Empire. He is fighting a losing battle. While I won’t necessarily say that he isn’t asking for our help militarily, he is asking for counsel about how best he can face this threat. Also, Cinnjin, this room is psychically shielded from all but Randrid here.” Alrik started with a hint of pride. “I see. Indeed, Cinnjin, you face an uphill battle if you face the Death Guard. Veterans one and all, and cursed by Nurgle to be nigh unstoppable. Depends on who leads this force, that will answer what your best course of action is. Truthfully though, the Death Guard are near peerless in psychological warfare, now more than ever. Your best chance is to kill any and all psykers, known to them as Plaguecasters. The rest would be to concentrate as much heavy firepower on any vehicles and heavy infantry they bring. Create kill zones to trap any light infantry or their regular troops. Finally, whatever you do, do not engage in melee with any cultists that look more like the undead than people. Those are called Poxwalkers. Any man they kill will rise and join their ranks.” “Thank you for sharing such wisdom.” Cinnjin said bowing slightly. “I’ll be sure to share such knowledge with my colleagues, as well as the good you’ve done for us.” “I would also like your paragon to study one of our drones taken from such a conflict, your Imperium shuns such thinking machines due to their susceptibility to dark influence, however we suffer not even the tiniest disobedience with our designs, the philosophy of our kind engrained within every fiber of their being, even to the point where they exhibit a sentience of not corruption but a desire to continue their intended task, even doing so after suffering such damage that they should fesable be incapable of doing so. Adapting some portions of our design may lead to a decrease in the creation of servators.” “Sometimes I think they may have souls their very own.” Alrik and Randrid looked at each other before chuckling. “My friend, we shun the use of fully autonomous AI, free thinking machines, for a reason. As long as the AI is controlled, we do not mind whatsoever. The reason we use servitors is because they are either criminals where even the best of rehabilitation programs would fail to turn results or trainees who have failed their trials and are too maimed to be returned. We take no pleasure in doing so, but regular humans can only do so much. Though you may notice we have many more serfs then you think” Just as Alrik makes this statement, his personal serfs return with drinks, passing them out to everyone. “Indeed, the war with the Men of Iron brought about the end of the first Empire of Man, with their reliance on technology being the catalyst. It is okay to use technology to benefit, but there is a line between benefit, and a crutch” Randrid spoke before sipping his tea. “However, we can study your drones combat footage and tell you the best course of action about how best to deal with them, if only to give your people more time to consolidate and hold. I will say, your builder drones are of interest” “You must think me a fool.” Cinnjin said with a sigh. “I know the risks, our drones are no crutch, but partner’s. The notion I was attempting to make clear is that in time your stock of servators may dwindle and although your chapter will still be capable it may be hindered without a workforce.” “And what causes the peculiar interest in our construction equipment?” Cinnjin said, motioning for his bodyguard to relax. “How quickly they work, their ability to continuously build. As it stands, we have no enginseers or techpriests to build our ships and knowing them, they would take forever. We meant no offense to you or your technology. Specifically you, but we have seen many other septs rely almost entirely on their technology solely.” Alrik apologized. “Nor did I mean any offense.” Randrid stated, locking eyes with Alrik for a moment. “Me and Alrik seem to agree on one thing. We will give you our full support to hold back the tide. We take care of our allies.” “We hope to do the same.” Cinnjin spoke kindly. In most cases septs attacked are in development, a phase of vulnerability where the infrastructure for a "living” workforce has not yet been implemented. I can see where your misconceptions come from.“ "If you provide the blueprint we will be happy to build you most anything, lest it require too much material at that time. The defense of the Empire comes first and the Ethereals only trust you with so much requisition, a stance I have worked to remove since our last meeting.” We can build you more than just a few cruisers if that's what you are asking.“ A drone then Calmly buzzed into the room, its eye lense staring curiously at Alrik. With a beep it drew back towards Cinnjin. "This drone will be the connection between you and me if we aren’t face to face.” Cinnjin said fondly, physically greeting the drone by placing a hand utop it. "Very well my friend.” Alrik tapped into his coms. “I need a servo skull to my quarters with blueprints for a strike cruiser.” Within moments a servo-skull floats in from a vent and displays the blueprints in front of Cinnjin. Cinnjin waves his hand over the holo-pict, designating the blueprint as vital information to his system, a faint but rapid click can be heard as his focal lens take even the tiniest the details with sharp precision. “I’ll upload this to my ships memory banks for data-transfer once we reach a dry dock, I am most impressed with your chapters personal changes from what is usually the standard for Astartes navy ships.” he praised. With a final click he returned his focus to Alrik. “I believe these talks have been fruitful. Once the entirety of your fleet is void worthy we’ll guide you to our space docks for further replenishment of provisions, then we will direct you to your new residence. Now if you’ll excuse me I must make my way back to my ship before they worry too much, our men aren’t as fond of each other as we seem to be, something that I hope to change yes?  Regardless it was a pleasure meeting you Randrid, you as well Alrik. Oh. Don’t forget to contact me immediately if you need anything, you are our guests after all. ” With those final words Cinnjin motioned his retinue to return to his ship, all silently standing and returning to formation behind their commander. Whether they were more relaxed after their ordeal or even nervous to begin with could only be guessed at. “Until I see you next, old friend.”

The years went by quickly, the Storm Templars rebuilt their fortress monastery with the help of the Tau builder drones. The fleet of the Storm Templars grew rapidly, its ships being completed in the spans of months rather than years. A trade route was established, with markers being placed to establish a route that would take any Imperial forces away from Tau planets. Given time, the Storm Templars returned to their former glory.

“Brothers, serfs, now is the time we return to the fold of the universe. We shall show our true might, not just to our friend Cinjinn, but to the wider Imperium.” Alrik announced from his pulpit in the staging area. Pressing a button, a hologram appeared in the air for all to see. “This planet is currently under protection from Cinjinn, and being attacked by the Death Guard. We shall through our full might into this. We shall remind them why we are the Emperor’s Storm. Board your transports, make ready for war. For the Emperor! For Mankind!” This battle cry was repeated in unison from over a million voices. Armored feet marched in lockstep to thunderhawks and stormbirds. Fighters took off to dock with their respective ships. Tanks filled into clamps underneath specialized thunderhawk transports. Death comes for the those that claim to be deathless.

[illnesssecretsanta]

Christmas Eve with the usual suspects

A gift for @lickstynine from @builder051 (I don’t know why these aren’t coming in as active links…)

Merry Christmas, James! 

I know there’s always so much below the surface with your characters, so I sincerely hope I did them a little bit of justice.  I went with the younger timeframe, where Min still has the bakery and he and Kazu are in the dating phase.  I may have invented some logistical things just to make the story work, but I really hope I didn’t screw up anything in the canon.  

Much love from Laur.

 Warnings for emeto, a little bit of injury, bad language, and drunkenness.

___

Minato reaches up to dust powdered sugar off his nose with his wrist, then adjusts the piping bag in his hands.  He finishes drawing the scalloped ruffle on the gingerbread girl’s dress and adds her to the line of neatly decorated cookies drying on the counter in front of him.  It’s not a strictly necessary task, since it’s nearing midnight on Christmas Eve and the usual holiday crowd of customers eager for sweet treats has already come and gone.  But that doesn’t stop it from being a tasty task.

Min lets a dollop of icing drip from the bag’s nozzle, then licks up the sweetness.  Since is batch will never see the light of the bakery’s display case, he can afford to be a little less careful about contamination.  There are only a few cookies left on the pan, and when Min finishes them, he plans to take a few with a glass of milk and look in on the Mormon Tabernacle Choir that’s sounding from the television in the back room.

Despite his parents’ keen invitation, Min had decided firmly not to attend mass tonight.  But his lackluster feelings toward faith don’t keep the vocal harmonies floating up from the hymns from being comforting.  Especially on a Christmas Eve spent alone. 

Min completes a series of intricate lines and diamonds on a round cookie and tops it with crystalline sugar, creating the likeness of a delicate snowflake.  He’s beginning to draw the outline around the final gingerbread man’s body when a loud rattling outside the back door almost makes him jump out of his skin.  Min squeezes the piping bag harder than he means to, and a large glob of icing spurts out, ruining the fine line he was working on.

The door rattles again, then squeaks open.  “Hey, what’s going on in here…?” Kazuhiro’s drunken slur calls out.

“Oh, hey,” Min replies, clutching the pastry bag to his chest.  “You about scared me to death.  Don’t you have a key?”

“Huh?”  Kazu drops the bent paper clip he’d used to pick the lock and clumsily bends to retrieve it.  “If I do…can’t find it…”  He straightens up, but he has to use the edge of the counter to keep from falling over.  His face is red.

“That’s ok.  You still found me,” Min says.  “What’ve you been up to?  Besides the usual.”

“You know.  Vodka.  Smacking people around.”  He gingerly shakes his hand as if testing the range of motion of his wrist.  He winces when the joint bends.

“I said besides the usual,” Min clarifies.  He squints at Kazu.  “You ok?”

“Yeah.  I guess.”  But as the ruddiness of headrush dissipates, pasty pallor takes over his countenance. 

“Alright,” Min concedes, not quite convinced.  “You want some cookies?  I was just gonna watch a little TV before bed.”  The television station has switched from carols to coverage of the pope’s mass. 

“Still baking these things?” Kazu asks, tripping across the room to get a look at Min’s latest creations.  He gives a snort of laughter and points at the unfinished gingerbread man under the pastry bag’s hovering point.  “Looks like that one jizzed himself…”

He’s right.  The splotch of white icing between his legs is less than becoming.  “Alright, that one’s yours, then,” Min says.  “What do you want with it?  Milk?  Tea?  Beer?”

“Ugh, nothing,” Kazu replies.  “Not hungry.  And I hate desserts anyway.”

“Yeah, but you usually at least take a polite nibble.”

Kazu glares at him.

“Ok, you’re never polite, but case in point.  Something’s wrong.  What’s feeling off?”  Min abandons the pastry bag and wipes his hands on the towel tucked into his waistband before reaching out for Kazu’s arm.

“Fuck off, I’m fine,” Kazu growls, but the effect’s ruined with a hiccup over the end of the last word.

“This isn’t normal drunk you,” Min insists.  He gets his tiny hand around Kazu’s larger, warmer one in a gesture he hopes is comforting.

“Ow,” Kazu complains, bowing his head so his shaggy hair obscures his face. 

“See?  I’m right.”  He releases Kazu’s wrist, but doesn’t let up his questions.  “Is your hand messed up?”

“I guess,” Kazu grumbles.  He lets out a sigh.  “Everything fucking hurts.”

“Did you get kicked in the ribs again?” Min asks tentatively, grimacing at the memory of one of Kazu’s previous and painful injuries. 

“Naw, didn’t really get a hand on me…” Kazu slurs.

“What’s wrong, then?”  Min’s mind lingers on the heat coming off Kazu’s skin.  “Think you’re running a fever?”

“If you keep asking stupid questions, you’d better get me a drink…” It’s not a denial.  Kazu shifts so he can lean heavily against the counter and massage between his eyebrows.  “But fair warning, I’ll probably puke…”

Min chooses not to mention the cloud of powdered sugar that’s sure to be settling all over his back.  Despite his towering frame, Kazu looks pathetic standing there wasted and sick and hurt and confused, all on fucking Christmas Eve.

“Come sit down, ok?”  Min pulls Kazu by the elbows and guides him into the next room.  He pushes the taller man down onto the couch, then turns down the volume on the TV before taking a seat at Kazu’s side.

“Alright,” Min says, slipping his fingers under the sharp ridge of Kazu’s jaw.  “You’re running hot, that’s for sure.  Why’d you go running around if you’re not feeling good?”

Kazu shrugs and leans back into the couch’s marshmallowy cushions.  “Wasn’t that bad…”

“As in, now it is bad?” Min asks.  He shakes his head and gives Kazu’s shoulder a loving squeeze.

“I’m not drunk enough for this,” Kazu says. 

“Hold tight.  I’m gonna grab some stuff.”  Min jumps to his feet and heads back to the kitchen first.  He puts the kettle on to boil and lays out mugs and tea bags, then scuttles into the bathroom for the thermometer, ibuprofen, and his first-aid kit, which he’d purchased solely for Kazu’s benefit.

Kazu has his head tipped back when Min returns, giving him the look of an old stodgy man asleep in front of the television.  Min nearly laughs at the image, but when Kazu stirs and looks at him through glassy eyes, all emotion returns to loving pity.  Min sits and gets to work.

Sticking the thermometer between Kazu’s lips before doing anything else seems like a solid plan since it’ll keep the dark-haired boy from making comments while Min sees to patching him up.  It holds up for the first thirty seconds, and Min is able to start wrapping a length of stretchy ace bandage around Kazu’s wrist.  But he hadn’t factored nausea into the equation, and it’s a total surprise when Kazu starts retching around the slim glass rod in his mouth.

“Oh, geez,” Min mutters, not sure what to do with the trailing wad of bandages that are only halfway in place.  “Ok, come on.” 

Clear alcohol and spit pours down Kazu’s chin and onto the front of his shirt.  The thermometer hits the floor somewhere on the way to the bathroom, but it’s nowhere near a pressing concern.  Min gently grips Kazu’s injured hand and steers him down in front of the toilet. 

“You’ll probably feel better with all that out of your system,” Min soothes as Kazu retches hard. 

The dark-haired boy scoffs, and Min reconsiders his words, now thinking of the discomfort of forcibly drying out overnight.  “Or maybe not,” he mutters.  “I got painkillers, though.”

Kazu sniffs and heaves again.  Flecks of bile splash up onto the toilet seat, and Min softly runs his small fingers down his back.  He can feel Kazu trembling under his touch. 

“It’s ok,” Min says when Kazu finally comes up coughing. 

Kazu lifts his injured hand, looking to have the intention of wiping his mouth on the pristine beige bandages.

“No,” Min murmurs, pulling on the end of the ace wrap still clutched in his own fist as if it’s a leash.  “This one’s mine.  Use your other hand.  Or better yet, use some toilet paper.”

Kazu paws drunkenly at the roll until several feet of tissue drop to the floor, then clumsily grabs it up and swipes it across his face.

“Ok, good,” Min says.  “You think you’re done?”  He reaches up and flushes the toilet regardless.

Kazu just grunts and shrugs.

“For now at least?”

Finally a tentative nod.

“Alright.”  Anything Min’s planning to do next is blown from his brain with the intrusive whistling of the teakettle.  Kazu winces at the sound.

“Hold on!”  Min scrambles up to shut off the stove and silence the thing.  He pours the boiling water over the tea bags in the waiting mugs, then hurries back to Kazu.

The tall man is standing slightly hunched over the sink, inexpertly using his non-dominant hand to fill a paper cup with water from the tap.  He swishes out his mouth, the sets down the cup.  He’s trembling so hard he knocks the waxy paper into the basin.

“Hey, just leave it,” Min says.  He takes up Kazu’s injured hand in both of his and uses small deft fingers to re-wrap the loosening bandages.  He finishes the task and tucks in the free end, then presses softly over Kazu’s knuckles with his thumbs.

“There,” Min whispers.  He relinquishes his grip and wraps both arms around Kazu’s waist instead.  “You’re gonna be ok.”

“Yeah,” Kazu breathes.  His warm cheek comes down on the top of Min’s head.  “I guess.  Feel like shit, though.”  His voice is thoroughly shot.

“Aw, honey,” Min coos.  “Come back to the couch.  I’ve got tea.  And meds.”

Kazu’s worryingly unsteady on his feet as Min walks him to his previous seat in front of the TV.  He realizes he never got a read on Kazu’s temperature, but the imprecise label of ‘one heck of a fever’ seems good enough. 

Once Kazu’s settled, Min brings the tea to the coffee table.  He carries a dessert plate covered in cookies on top of one of the mugs.  He knows Kazu won’t want any, and it seems almost cruel to eat in front of him given his current state, but there’s something about them that just seem to make the situation a little better.  Injecting a smidgeon of normalcy into what’s turning out to be a downer of a Christmas Eve.

“Here you go.”  Min holds out a mug to Kazu, and the dark-haired boy takes it, cradling the steaming cup between his hand and his bandaged paw.   He pulls a wan smile as Min sits beside him and draws his small feet up onto the sofa.

“Ruining your fucking Christmas, aren’t I?” Kazu mumbles into the rim of his mug.

“Of course you aren’t,” Min replies, shooting him down.  He dunks the edge of the snowflake cookie into his tea and takes a bite.  “I want you to feel better.  But I like things like this.”  Min presses his shoulder against Kazu’s arm.  “If your stomach’s back to normal tomorrow, I’ve still got your very special gingerbread man…”

Kazu coughs out a laugh.  “The sex machine one?”

Min nods.  Gives a sideways smile.  “If that’s how you want to think of it.”

“Yup.”  Kazu rasps.  They stay quiet for a moment, watching the coverage of the pope’s mass dissolve into a neon glowing commercial.  Then Kazu says, “This is shit TV.  But, all the rest of this is kind of nice.”

Min lets his face unfold into a grin.  He rises up on his knees to press a kiss to Kazu’s fever-warmed cheek.  “Merry Christmas, honey.”

“Merry fucking Christmas,” Kazu replies.