#“yeah its not correct nor wrong + please learn to spell” | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

akitokihojo · 3 years

Text

Monster - Chapter 1

And, here we go. Chapter 1 of this monstrosity (no pun intended) is now up and running below, on AO3, and on FF.net.

I'm going to be completely and 100% honest with everyone before you start reading, so please heed this warning! This first chapter is rough in the sense where it contains a bit of brutality and the death of a child. So far, this is the only gruesome chapter, and while the gore is NOT detailed, I still want my more sensitive readers to be wary.

This is the most action-packed fic I've ever written, and also the most expansive world I've ever built (in my humble opinion). With that being said, while the setting is a bit more on the historical side, there are plenty of modern references. For instance, not in this chapter but in future ones, a bathroom is just a bathroom. I don't mention plumbing or the lack thereof. My attention and energy was on more important things and I just didn't care about those details, lol. Additionally, a lot of slang, jokes, and references are fairly modern. Don't @ me (but also do). All-in-all, what I'm trying to say is I built my own damn world where there is no historical accuracy, so don't go looking for it, lol.

Unless otherwise stated, I plan to post each new chapter every Friday. So, yeah... I think that's all I've got to say.... have fun! Enjoy! Thank you for reading! Ily! Bon Voyage! Don't hate me!

----------

The responsibility is ours.

Kagome gasped as her feet slid in the mud, the small decline of the path she and her younger brother hurried down gradually becoming more slippery as the rain began to pour harder. Through the noise of the droplets and the sloshing of their boots, she heard a slight commotion; horses’ huffs, heavy feet, and boisterous men barking orders. Initially, she’d figured it was the village men ushering their families indoors, their livestock into barns, their carts and tools under shelter, and their firewood into a dry place as the storm reared its ugly head. The sunset sky was shadowed in gloom, thunder making it’s entrance in the far distance as it was bound to be banging on their doors and windows in no time. But, at the tug of her arm by her sibling, her attention was shifted to the actual cause of it all: Naraku’s henchmen.

“Again?” She shuddered resentfully.

“Third time this month.” Sota confirmed, clenching his jaw as he slightly tugged his sister behind his smaller frame. He was perfectly aware that he was only twelve, well in the know that he stood no taller than her shoulders, but he’d be damned if he did nothing because of it.

This time, there wasn’t a hoard of them. No, there were merely four, all of which were already off of their horses on the main path through their little village, making demands and threatening anyone who got in the way of their objective.

Throughout the last four and a half years since Naraku rose as a fearsome demon that easily brought down peaceful powers and attempted to control the world Kagome knew, she’d become more than familiar with this procedure. It wasn’t until just recently that they’d started coming more often than a monthly visit, though. And, it was no secret what, or who, they were after.

Her.

Anyone of her kind, really.

She was different. She was hunted. Those like her were supposedly powerful, but matters being what they were had caused anyone who shared a similar fate to subdue their abilities to the point of total lack of recognition of their true potential. At least, that’s how it was in most cases. Because, if they were found out, they were killed on sight. The reason for it was entirely unknown. Naraku didn’t just target them, though; he made everyone’s lives hell, especially if they stood out in a supernatural manner. So, while she figured there had to be a yet-to-be-identified reason, she felt it was safe to assume it was also just because he could. Maybe he didn’t like the threat of other, similar forces that could collide against him. Maybe he was egotistical enough to think he was the only deserving being. Whatever the case, he was cruel.

Kagome’s kind had several names through the decades - so many, she hardly knew the correct term for herself. At one point, ages ago, they were called banshees. The title didn’t make sense whatsoever, given their powers and what a banshee actually was, and the story was so old that she didn’t know where the justification even stemmed from, but it caused them to be feared, and for that, she honestly wouldn’t have totally minded if the name stuck around. They were called priestesses, but then it sounded too peaceful, too practiced, and it painted them as “good.” They were called witches, mages, sorceresses, but they committed no typical magic of that sort. Kagome didn’t know a single spell, nor did she have nearly enough time in the day to pack an array of herbs, spices, and what have you into jars that were sealed with candle wax - though she had caught wind that there were some older women of her kind with the ability to curse. Now, they were called conjurers. Their abilities were that of the spirit, aiding with protection, purifying dark forces - passively or forcefully, bringing forth light, and more she was sure.

In Kagome’s unpopular opinion, given what they could do and what they supposedly stood for, priestess was more suitable a term, but she also understood that there was nothing holy about the world they lived in.

There was no birthmark of the conjurer. There was no dead giveaway of their kind. The powers were gifted at random, as far as she knew, not passed down through lineage. The only thing Naraku and his followers seemingly had to go off of was that conjurers were born female.

Sometimes, they’d conduct their mission by way of senseless inspections. They’d rip apart the insides of homes looking for all the wrong things in all the wrong places. Truthfully, with how absurd they carried themselves, it was obvious they didn’t know the telltale signs they were looking for and were wasting their time. Which was what made it clear that for them to be so clueless, even Naraku didn’t know all there was that made up a conjurer. They were ignorant and they were blind, but they were also relentless and ruthless.

The days where they singled women out were the worst. Kagome, so far, was spared that cruelty, but that didn’t make it any better. It was usually the more mature, the elderly, that received the short end of the stick.

More often than anything, they’d line up every woman and girl in town and go down the rows one-by-one, stimulating their nerves in one way or another to see if they could get a “conjurer’s reaction.” Kagome could only guess that meant a sudden surge of purification power. It was the main trait conjurers were known for; but they were going about it wrong. Screaming in their faces, threatening everyone, or jostling them around a bit wasn’t going to get the demons purified, no matter how much she wanted to toss something their way. Of course, she wasn’t going to be the one to tell them that.

Every so often, they’d come in a pack and create havoc with violence. They said it was their way to pressure people into giving up any information they might have, but in all honesty, the smiles some of the brute demons wore said they were bored and simply wanted a little entertainment. Apparently, screaming and pleading were equivalent to a musical number in their bloodlust eyes.

Their own little group of demon slayers that resided in the village helped prevent this from happening when they could, which was why the henchmen came in numbers. The demon slayers fought for a sense of control, not to kill. They would only allow so much, but belligerent violence was not an option. It was obvious that, as of late, their village was a targeted spot, one that got a little more attention than neighboring towns, and for what reason, no one knew. They didn’t have the fighting power to win that sort of fight, though, and the leader of the group of slayers was sensible enough to understand this and explain it to the masses that questioned them. They were made up of a handful of men with rigorous combat skills they didn’t learn from home, refused to take recruits below a certain age, and could only train so many at a time. As much as they’d all love to retaliate and end things for good, intuition was telling them not to in that manner. Even Kagome felt that. Deep in her gut, she knew that even if they could, killing them would only put the people of the village in a worse position. This wasn’t something that would stop by taking out the underlings. Not at all. Far from it. Anyone who was paying attention could see that they’d need to exterminate the head honcho in order for any positive difference to be made.

Unfortunately for them this time around, their little pack of demon slayers had left on a request to take care of a troublesome demon a little ways off just that morning. And, listening to the henchmen now, seeing them in their dark leather, their cloaks, feeling their dangerous energies wafting through the streets of their little town, Kagome could tell that they were going to do whatever they wanted tonight, despite the fact that it was just the four of them. It wouldn’t be horrible, and would most likely be a lineup, but they were definitely going to take their sweet time and see who they could break.

“There’s still time. They haven’t noticed you. We can hide you.” Her younger brother said, his tone more on the convicted side as opposed to suggestive. He should have known she wouldn’t have gone for it, though. So long as every other woman and girl had to stand in front of their villainous promises and vile breath, so long as her mother had to keep a straight face, Kagome would always stand there with them. She’d made a promise to her brother, her older cousin, and especially her mom that she’d never willingly out herself for no reason, but she just couldn’t bring herself to hide when everyone else had to stand through their harassment. She swore that if the demons were ever convinced an innocent was a conjurer, that was the reason to give herself over.

Never would Kagome allow another to mistakenly go down in her stead.

No one but her family knew of her powers, and until necessary, it would stay that way. According to her cousin, the more people that knew, the increased danger she was in.

“Let’s just get this over with.” She shook her head, minding her steps through the small slope of mud as she gently pulled her arm out of Sota’s grip.

“Miroku would say the same thing if he were with us.” He argued.

“Yeah, well he’s not. In fact, he’s probably getting himself into trouble by picking a fight with one of those goons.”

“Kagome, I have a bad feeling about this. Come on, just listen for once.”

“Okay,” She stopped, turning around to challenge his look. “Say something bad is going to happen. Knowing these assholes, you really think my absence will stop that?”

“No, but -“

“Right. They’re going to do something no matter what, correct?”

“Kagome -“

“And then what?”

“And then they’re wrong, but they didn’t get you.”

“How is that fair to the person they might hurt?”

“That person isn’t my sister.”

“What if it’s mom?”

Sota’s eyes slighted to the side, a heated huff leaving his lips just before he begrudgingly sealed them. His jaw clenched minutely as his head gave a little shake, brown eyes once more meeting his sibling’s. “Miroku and I will protect her.”

Kagome gave a fed up smile, sighing, rolling her eyes, and turning back on her heel to continue toward the main path. Families came out of their homes dressed in cloaks as they prepared to, once more, be harassed until Naraku’s men exhausted themselves, husbands and male relatives holding resentful expressions as they guarded their female family members until they couldn’t any longer.

“Kagome!”

“Sota, quit it. The louder you are, the more suspicious we become.” She quietly warned. Kagome heard her brother’s aggravated grumble before he jogged forward to catch up, his demeanor holding much like every other male in the village.

No one’s feet rushed toward the excitement. The tension of the town was up so dramatically that Kagome could physically feel the crushing weight of it all, the anxiety as they made their way closer to their disgusting visitors was causing her stomach to bubble and waver, and her throat constricted nervously as she and Sota finally met up with the crowd, her brown eyes scouring over shoulders to scout out her family. Sota’s hand encircled her wrist firmly, tugging her to the right as he found them and guided her over. Miroku stood tall in front of their mother, brows noticeably creased and indigo eyes straight ahead until he’d caught their movement in his peripheral vision. Immediately, his posture squared further, as if enlarging his shoulders so that he’d be able to successfully hide both Kagome and his aunt behind his frame. Her mother held out her hand for Kagome to take as soon as they were close enough, a peaceful smile unsurprisingly gracing her lips while she pulled her in, shoulder-to-shoulder. Somehow, no matter the circumstances, she always did her best to calm Kagome’s nerves with the simplest of sweet gestures. Sota took his spot before them, influenced by Miroku’s stature as he replicated it.

Allowing herself a brief moment, Kagome bowed her head further, bracing it on her older cousin’s shoulder. She shut her eyes, inhaling slowly, deeply, attempting to release her trepidation with a long and heated exhale before composing herself and straightening out.

“- But this is too much! Why the hell are you back again!? There’s no conjurer in our village! Don’t you fucking get that by now!?” A man shouted, livid, and it was evident she and her brother had missed the beginning of the argument playing out in the center of the uneven circle created by people.

“Get the fuck out of the way!” One of Naraku’s men yelled back.

“Not until you tell us why you’re back for the third time!”

“Would you rather we made ourselves at home!?” Silence from the opposing man answered his question clearly. “That’s what I fucking thought.” He spewed, and Kagome could hear the spittle fly out as he cursed. His attention returned to the general public, his tone shifting from vicious to gruff as he made his command. “Only girls ranging from ages five to twenty, line up! Now!”

Increased unsettlement coursed through the crowd, mothers and fathers clinging to their young daughters, little girls’ fearful whimpers polluting the air as they hid their faces in their parents’ legs, and even Kagome’s own mother’s hand tightened her grip as a breathy gasp left her lips - understanding that this meant her eighteen year old daughter was being sent into the fire without her. They were narrowing down, slimming the numbers, and the small smiles on the villains’ faces made Kagome assume that something last time may have tipped them off to lessen the demographic.

“What do I do?” Kagome whispered to her cousin, failing in her attempt to hide the sudden panic striking her.

“Nothing. You do nothing.” He urged quietly, shifting his head to look into his younger relative’s eyes. “Listen, Kagome, treat this like routine -“

“This isn’t routine.”

“Treat it like it is. Keep your head down.”

“If they -“

“No.”

“But, they’ll -“

“Kagome, no. You made us a promise.” Miroku reminded firmly, knowing exactly where her mind was traveling. In the case of an incident, which there seemed to be a higher chance of this time around, she may need to intercede.

She took a deep breath, straightening her face as much as possible so Naraku’s men wouldn’t grow suspicious as they impatiently yelled again for the girls to gather before them. “If this means they suspect something -“

“It may just be a tactic they’re using. For all we know, they have nothing and could leave here with the same. So, treat it like routine. Okay?”

“Promise.” Sota insisted during Kagome’s silence. The mens’ barking got louder, more demanding, as did the crying of little girls being pulled away from their parents. With the building weight in her chest, like a liquid filling her lungs quickly, the density making it almost impossible to take full breaths of air or move without falling forward, all she could muster was a meager nod before forcing herself to walk out. Miroku and Sota both leaned to opposite sides to part their shoulders for her to move through, her mother’s soft hand still lightly holding her own until she was far enough for their fingers to slide away from each other’s.

At most, there were about twenty girls in that age range to offer, and Kagome’s brown eyes drifted over the uneven row of heads as she approached, finding her friend in the mix trying to calm the little girl beside her. Sango glanced her way, as if feeling Kagome’s eyes on her, giving an apprehensive grin and waving her over.

“Ready?” Kagome asked, though it was completely rhetorical. It was just habit for these things. It was unavoidable, unexpected, and overall, impossible to be ready for. But, when they bounced the question off of each other, it was like one final reminder to stone.

Sango knew. Sango and her family were the one exception to the familial rule. She was Kagome’s closest friend and Miroku’s significant other. She was more than trustworthy. And, more importantly, had known since Kagome accidentally found out, herself, as a kid. Because, that’s how it was being a conjurer. You weren’t born knowing. You didn’t have an outward appearance that proclaimed your status much like demons did. It was always an accidental happenstance; in her case where she put a little too much oomph into her bow and arrow lessons and purified the evil - and life - right out of a passing crow demon after missing her target.

She remembered the feeling of total surprise, then tremendous fear because she thought she’d be in a lot of trouble. Kagome had literally thrown her bow to the ground like the thing, itself, was the culprit of the power. Miroku was gawking, Sango was covering her mouth with both hands, and their dad’s shared an identical, tight-lipped expression. Her papa was motionless for an overwhelmingly-tense sixty seconds before shifting his wide, curious eyes to her.

“Did you know you could do that?” He’d asked.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, daddy.” Kagome innocently answered, but she could feel the red, hot heat in her face from her lie. She was awful at those when it came to the people she was close to. Still was to this day. Give her a stranger and she could keep it straight, but in the face of friends and family, she cracked almost too easily. It was a guilt thing.

But then he’d laughed, ruffling his little girl’s hair before reassuring her that it was okay. He said they’d just have to go about her training a little differently from that point on to make sure accidents like that didn’t keep happening, and it was only because of him, his adventurism, his accessibility to knowledge from his travels, that she even discovered what she was in the first place.

Back then, though it wasn’t quite as dangerous to exist as a conjurer, her papa had still suggested they keep her abilities under wraps. She distinctly remembered binding that with a pinky promise after Sango’s dad had a private discussion with her own. Maybe it was because Sango’s dad was even more educated with the world, and knew the potential hardships that could come her way, being the leader of the demon slayers that he was - and still is. Honestly, the reasoning was hard to determine now because she didn’t put much thought into it when she could and should have. Being the young, spunky, loyal girl that she was, if her dad wanted her to keep a secret and held out his pinky to her, that was all the reason Kagome needed, and nothing pleased her more than making her papa proud. And, when he and her uncle were fatally wounded in a demon attack on their village, even though Naraku’s name had never once yet been muttered near her ears, he still made her do one final pinky promise to him saying, “Protect yourself for me, my little bird. Keep it in its cage. I love you so much, Kagome.”

She wasn’t even a teenager when that had happened. There was a part of her that wondered here and there if he was secretly clairvoyant, or if he merely studied the patterns throughout history of people of her kind and wanted nothing more than to keep her safe and make her life as easy as possible, given the reputation they had, their ever-changing titles, and the ignorance others had of their nature. If only he knew where she was now. Would he still ask his little bird to stay in the cage while the door was wide open?

“Ready. You?” Sango returned, standing straight and allowing the little girl to cling to her leg.

“Ready.” Kagome breathed.

Those not lined up hesitantly backed away, creating space and growing agonizingly silent as they seemingly held their breaths for those that were chosen. Kagome hated when they did that. It was like she could physically feel the onlookers’ anxiety, and it was the last thing she needed on top of that of those actually subjected and her own.

The four men walked back and forth, up and down the two rows of girls, criminal eyes taunting them with silent threats and menacing grins. It was creepy, but no longer was it fear-inducing. Kagome had a bad habit of not shying away anymore. Sure, she was nervous beyond belief, but the last thing she was afraid of were their snarls, scarred and dirty flesh, and crooked teeth. That, of all things, was the least intimidating factor for those who were calloused to the routine.

But, when an abrupt instruction was given by the leader, her already-loose expectations of “routine” fell apart completely.

“Hold out your left hands, palms up!”

Confusion soared through every individual, and Kagome met Sango’s brief side glance, minutely comforted by the fact that she wasn’t the only one without a clue as to what was going on. Questions weren’t allowed though, and even the little ones were well aware of that, so as the small group of men demanded everyone shut up and do it, all outward bafflement dissipated.

Slowly, Kagome raised her left palm, her arm outstretched, swallowing as she willed the slight trembling to cease. Brown eyes searched quickly as she waited for whatever to begin, weeding through the crowd and finding Miroku already pinning her with a stare. It was wary, but hard, his jaw visibly tense.

The sound of an unsheathing blade was unmistakable, and immediately Kagome’s attention bounced to her left where the leader danced the grip of a knife in his fingers, his lips curved downward into a permanent frown. The first girl in line couldn’t have been any older than fifteen, noticeably shaking as her anxious stare bounced from the man to the blade.

A man in the crowd began shouting, stirring, pushing forward through the heap of villagers to reach the forefront, “Hey! No! What are you going to do!? That’s my daughter; what are you going to do!? Don’t you dare touch -“ Abruptly silenced by a defensive elbow to the diaphragm, gifted by an all-too-fast demon.

The young teenager shuddered, not sure what to worry about first as the leader gave her no moment to react, grabbed her hand, extended it further, and gave a small slice with the tip of his knife to the center of her palm. She winced, a whimper easily escaping her mouth from the sharp pain, tears leaking from her eyes quicker than the blood that seeped from her laceration. And then he grabbed her hand in his, sealing their palms together as he stared her in the eyes for a moment. She was utterly terrified, wanting to pull away while knowing she shouldn’t, but as nothing else happened, the man released her, murmuring to stay in line as he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, wiped his blade, his hand, then moved onto the next.

Kagome’s attention snapped back to Miroku as it dawned on her, his eyes holding the same idea as he gave a steady but stern shake of his head in retort. They were looking for the untrained conjurers. The conjurers who weren’t skilled in holding back. Everyone was already scared, and the wound inflicted a heightened sense of fight-or-flight. Then their hands gripping the victims’ - their demon hands against the victims’… they were working to spark a purification reaction, and they were going about it right this time. It wouldn’t be strong enough to kill them, nothing that small or unsuspecting would be, but it would hurt - much like the notorious fairytale of a vampire taking a quick step into the sunlight before swiftly turning around and heading back inside. And, that was all they needed.

Unbeknownst to everyone but Sango and Miroku, Kagome wasn’t completely helpless. Not only was she well-versed in subduing her powers, but alternatively speaking, she could knock a guy completely on his ass. She’d practiced. She’d practiced for hours at a time for several years now to see what she could do, what sort of strength she possessed, all on the far outskirts of the village, hiding near caves with only her friend and cousin who'd agreed, despite promises and secrets, that they all should try to be prepared for anything. By no means was she an expert, but she could handle her own for the most part and a situation like this was something she’d been well-conditioned for, for quite some time now.

Especially since she’d first received that message in a dream.

The responsibility is ours.

Whatever it meant, no matter how bleak it felt, it was a no-brainer that Kagome couldn’t go on without some sort of knowledge of her own potential.

She took a shallow breath, diverting her gaze to the goon before her as he happily took out his own blade, the other two following suit as they set out to narrow the time this was going to take. He stepped forward, grasping the wrist of the frightened and resistant girl beside Sango, who Sango had to hush into calming, telling her it would be done quickly. When nothing gratifying came from the occurrence, the man moved on to Sango, pinning her with a glare that she challenged right back. She hardly flinched at the slice of her skin, brown eyes never leaving the demonic ones of her assailant. When she shrugged a brow as he clasped their hands together, Kagome could practically see the heat rising in the man’s body language, quickly fuming from how audacious Sango was acting - which Kagome couldn’t help but respect, not knowing if the chuckle she forcefully swallowed was one of matched humor or nervousness.

The man threw Sango’s hand to the side, merely wiping her blood from his palm and blade on his pants before vehemently grabbing Kagome’s and extending her arm completely, bringing an inadvertent gasp to escape her throat. As the tip of his knife pierced her palm, dragging slowly to create a burning gash - one larger than Sango’s, so she suspected her nonchalant pass of amusement wasn’t as admissible as she’d thought - Kagome couldn’t stop the hiss that slid off her tongue, her brows creasing and jaw dropping as crimson dripped from her hand to the mud. With a clap, he pressed his palm to hers, fingers squeezing her small hand with unmitigated pressure. She felt a flurry in her abdomen, her diaphragm, her chest, warmth that drove her power, and that was her cue to hold her breath, to pretend everything was fine, to tell herself she was safe and trick her mind when she really wasn’t. She pretended she was holding Sota’s hand - the first person that came to mind, and the least intimidating one that she knew. Sota as an adult whose hand was finally bigger than hers. She couldn’t help but feel this was a huge insult to her younger brother, so she subconsciously apologized as she continued her visualization. It was like a lump built in her throat, the kind that grew too difficult to swallow, but she also felt completely in control, returning the man’s stare before he dropped her hand and moved onto the girl beside her.

“Shh,” Sango gently hushed the small child. “Everything’s fine now, but you have to stay quiet. Give me your hand.”

Kagome slowly let out her captive breath, the air she sucked in to replace it cold and not the least bit comforting despite the danger she’d evaded. She kept her palm face up but closer to her heart, cradling it for a moment as she tried to ignore the searing pain, diverting her attention to Sango and the kid. Her best friend was already looking up at her, using the long sleeve of her shirt to clean the blood from the girl’s hand and apply pressure so it’d stop bleeding, never minding the bleeding of her own palm. Thankfully, it only looked to be a little knick, and Kagome wondered if the creep of a demon that had handled them secretly had a soft spot for children.

“You okay?” Sango silently mouthed to Kagome. She nodded in reply, picking up the bottom hem of her own shirt and pressing it to her wound.

A sudden, deep, and broken yell punched through the air as one of the demons stumbled away, his hand yanked back, fingers furled in offense, and face twisted in rage. A little girl shrieked as he lunged forward, grabbing her by the collar of her cloak and pulling her out of the line, her feet stumbling to keep up as she cried apology after apology.

No. Conjurers weren’t common; now more than ever. How could there be two in one village? Especially one as small as theirs? How could there be more than one not even miles apart? How did Kagome not know? Didn’t conjurers have the ability to sense one another? She’d only assumed that was the case because of the seemingly-prophetic dreams she’d been having; because of the woman that had been coming to her in those very dreams. It was a weak hypothesis to go off of, but it was the only answer that made sense to Kagome. But, now there was a child being dragged into the center of where the town congregated, begging and pleading for her life while her mother screamed from the sidelines where she was being held at bay, and Kagome was none the wiser to her existence.

She wanted to yell that they were wrong, but how could they have been? It was a physical test. The accidental reaction of her powers was a dead giveaway. They couldn’t even lie their way out of this, or pretend the allegation was false. She was a conjurer. And they were about to kill her.

Kagome’s heart twisted and bunched painfully, that hard lump once more building in her throat, a murmured, “no,” barely leaving her parted lips, and her brown eyes caught a pleased grin on the approaching leader’s face that, just moments ago, seemed stuck in a scowl. He twirled his dagger in his fingers before kneeling down in front of the weeping girl.

“Found you.” He snickered, plunging the blade into her abdomen.

“No!” Kagome gasped, slapping her hands over her mouth in shock. The village was alight with terror, screams, cries, the rumble of defeat, the wailing of a grieving mother striking over all other sounds. Still, she was withheld from her little girl, reaching for her over the shoulder of the unforgiving demon who kept her away.

The knife was yanked free of the girl’s gut and she fell to her knees, her hands braced before her stomach as crimson crawled out, staining the front of her rain-soaked dress. Small hands weakly pressed into her abdomen, the wide look of horror, of pain, of fear etched into every inch of her expression as she gasped tremblingly. All too easily, the leader stood and walked away, not an ounce of remorse displayed.

“She was… she was just a kid.” A sympathetic village man stated morosely. “She wasn’t even ten yet.”

“She wasn’t dangerous!” Another testified.

“Would you like to be next?” A demon threatened, thinking his raised voice would retain order.

Kagome could hardly breathe, tears burning and brimming at her lower lid. All she could think to do was try to stop the bleeding, try to save the child, her feet moving on their own accord as she rushed out of line. Beyond the anger building in the crowd, the yelling growing louder, and the intense disturbance increasing rapidly and overwhelmingly, Kagome heard her name called multiple times. But, she couldn’t bring herself to listen, to stop, as she skidded to her knees in the mud, her arms catching the little girl as she fell forward. Her mother was finally freed, racing over and falling to the ground at her child’s side, helping through her weeping to lay her on her back.

“It’s okay, baby. Mommy’s here.” She soothed as best as she could, hovering over her daughter's face so the rain wouldn’t hit it, shaking fingers pushing sopping hair from her cheeks.

Kagome grabbed the length from the girl’s cloak that stuck out on her side, bunching it and pressing firmly into the wound. The choked gasp that came from the kid was agonizing, and Kagome apologized profusely, blinking away her own tears as she whipped her head around to take in the rousing group of people, fury evident in their tones, in their bodies, as they returned threats with the offending demons.

“Where’s the doctor!?” Kagome asked as loudly as she could, her soaked, dark hair whipping her in the face as she spun her head around to try and find their town's self-proclaimed physician. “Help! We need help!”

“He isn’t here; he left for herbs yesterday.” Sango informed as she dropped down beside Kagome.

“And he still isn’t back!?”

“The storm must have delayed him.” Sango shook her head in response, her brows creased together as she glanced over her shoulder to quickly mind the budding commotion before turning her worried expression back toward the crying child. “What can I do? How can I help?”

“I don’t - I don’t know.” Kagome stammered, her breathing growing heavier as she panicked, noticing the blood was barely halting, the stain in the girl’s dress expanding and absorbing through the cloth she pressed against the wound.

“Apply pressure!” Miroku instructed when he slid to his knees in the mud on their opposite side, careful of the girl’s mother.

“I am!” Kagome cried.

“Stay with me, baby! Stay with me! I’m right here, look at me!” The woman coo’d, sniffling and gasping with her tremors while the comforting smile never left her lips.

“Hey! Leave her! Let her die, or we’ll kill you too!” One of the vile men demanded, though his shouts went ignored, easily drowned out by the encroaching, enraged men who finally appeared fueled enough to physically challenge them. Kagome could only hope they’d hold the demons back so they’d have the chance to save her.

“Here, let me see!” Miroku pushed Kagome’s shaking hands away, pulling aside the cloth of the cloak to take a peek at the wound in her stomach. Kagome had to look away then, the sight of the thick blood seeping through too much to handle. Instead, she focused her attention on the little girl, crawling up to hold her cold, bleeding hand.

Scared, pained, blue eyes focused on Kagome as she took shuddering breaths, her chest convulsing slightly as her small voice broke with her cries. Little fingers softly gripped her hand in return, and the tiniest of smiles curved her lips upward, light beginning to dim from her irises.

“Miroku!” Kagome urged. She glanced back at him and noticed the hopeless expression on his face. One that claimed there was nothing anyone could do. Her heart dropped, a nauseating weight filling her stomach. Quickly, she turned back to the little girl, leaning an inch closer. “Kikyo and the other conjurers, they’re gonna win, okay? We’re gonna win. I promise.”

“Who’s…”

“You! What did you just say!?” Heavy steps sloshed in the mud toward them, his voice low, growling, dangerous.

Kagome had spoken up to be sure the girl had heard her over the yelling, but she hadn’t realized that it could have been heard by anyone else. She didn’t think about the ramifications. She didn’t think. She’d just wanted to fill the child with some form of final hope. What was wrong with that? Was it the fact that she’d said Naraku would fall?

She’d hardly had enough time to turn and react before she was grabbed by the hair and lifted to her feet, yelping as she was dragged back and away.

“You mentioned Kikyo!” He exclaimed, giving a forceful yank as Kagome loudly gasped from her constant stumbling, the pain on her scalp, the fear racing through her. In the thick of it, she’d forgotten Kikyo wasn’t a person who was widely known. She’d forgotten Kikyo was a secret beacon of hope to the surviving conjurers, who appeared in dreams and spoke in riddles.

“No!” Was all she could manage to reply, screamed brokenly, heard clearly throughout the number of villagers around as the action died down and all attention was on them.

“How do you know her!?”

She yelped again, forcefully pulled backward and released to only trip and fall over some tools.

“Tell me, wench!” He demanded, picking Kagome up by her throat and slamming her back against the wall of a home.

“I don’t!” She adamantly swore, still able to speak. His grip was there, but not choking.

“Liar!” He said, slapping her hard across the face. “How do you know Kikyo!?”

“I heard of her in passing!” Kagome cried, wincing from the sting before she was forced to look at him again.

“I find that hard to believe.” He growled, inching closer to her face. His hold on her throat tightened, cutting off air, thick fingers pinching painfully into the sides of her neck. “Where is she?”

“I - I don’t know.” She sputtered, wheezed, her tears hot as they glided down her face. The rain was nothing but a drizzle now, though the distant sound of thunder roared angrily. She was both cold and hot, her lungs begging for air as his hand pushed further against her windpipe.

“Stop it! Let her go!” Miroku barked, and his presence was just enough to distract Naraku’s henchman and cause him to release some tension from her throat. Kagome greedily sucked in as much air as she could, though he still constricted his fingers against her. It was like breathing through a straw.

Her cousin stood there, dark hair sticking to his temples, bloodied hands braced before him as if to reason. “She doesn’t know anything; she just told you!”

“Oh, another tough guy?” A demon behind him chuckled. “A little scrawny for that, don’t you think?”

“You have me wrong, I don’t want to fight. Release my cousin, and we’ll back away peacefully. She meant no harm.”

“The harm was done when she stepped out of place to save the girl!”

“She was a child!”

“She’s a conjurer! She has no place in this world!”

“She did! She did have a place in this world, and we all know it!”

“You best shut the fuck up, boy.” The leader said from the sidelines. “Word may carry that you’re on their side. Now, you wouldn’t want that. Would you?”

“Tell him to let go of her.” Miroku sternly ordered.

“Back off.”

“Let her go!”

“Suit yourself. Have some fun.” Their leader flicked a finger at the two other demons, allowing them to do as they pleased.

Miroku hissed a low, “Fuck,” before dodging a hit from one of the two demons enclosing in on him. He was able to throw one of his own, nailing an ugly bastard in the face before he was grabbed from behind, bulky arms wrapping under and over his shoulders to hold him in place. The other demon was eager while he arrogantly approached in front of him, smiling as he punched Miroku in the stomach.

“Stop! Miroku!” Kagome squirmed against her own offender’s grasp, her instincts beginning to kick in as she felt a wild sensation build in her veins. Something righteous whispered the power she held in her ear, told her to use her abilities to save her cousin, further fueling the heat that made her forget about the nip in the air.

“Kagome, don’t!” Miroku coughed, pinning her with his indigo gaze before his eyes pinched shut from a swift hit to his diaphragm, blood dribbling over his bottom lip and down his chin.

Control sucked Kagome back to the present, the earnest crackle of Miroku’s voice ringing in her ears and overpowering the one that told her to fight. The grip against her throat tightened again, closing off her air passage as red eyes turned back to her, the lines of his frown deep.

“Don’t, what?”

Kagome wasn’t sure if he actually expected an answer or not, but he’d made it physically impossible. She clawed her nails along the thick skin of his large hand, trying to pry him away so she could breathe. It was dire that she didn’t use her powers; she understood this. But, as the adrenaline raced violently through her body, it was growing increasingly harder to keep it subdued. She’d be killed in a heartbeat; she’d already witnessed their unforgiving lack of hesitation. Her mother and younger brother would have to watch. Her cousin, too. She’d promised everyone she would protect herself, and she'd promised herself that she would protect them. Above all that, a different, deeper, more rational voice spoke to her, drowning out the one that told her to take action just a moment ago, telling her that her fight was meant for somewhere else. Something bigger. She could practically feel the breath hitting her ear, urging her of the importance. It told her to swallow it, hold it at bay, keep it buried no matter how badly it burned for release at the underside of her flesh. Keep it in its cage.

Finally, the demon released his tight hold on her neck, opting to firmly grip the front of her shirt. His upper lip twitched in disdain while Kagome sputtered, and coughed, and gasped for air to fill her lungs.

“Don’t, what?” Naraku’s henchman repeated, this time a little lighter, and it was impossible to miss that he was visibly analyzing for any sort of body language that could tip him off.

“Fight.” Kagome attempted to say, though her voice came out incredibly raspy and broken.

“Like I’d be worried about what a girl as small as you could possibly do to me. Unless,” He cocked a brow. “I’d have a reason to worry. Unless, you’re a conjurer.”

She shook her head, scared to look away from him, hyperaware of any movement she made in that moment. She was absolutely terrified of letting him know she was lying, but what if her stiffness was what told him the truth? What if the vehemence behind her objection was exactly what he needed to convict her? Where was the happy medium? Was there one? Kagome’s bottom lip quivered, resisting the impulse to glance Miroku’s way when he continuously coughed, the sound slightly gurgled, scared the shift in her eyes would be mistaken for something else.

“How else would you know who Kikyo is?”

“I - I h-heard of her in p-passing.” Kagome said, still unable to use her voice, and she wondered if the strangulation was enough to damage her vocal cords or if her anxiety was the cause of it. “I-In a nearby town. By - by the r-river.”

The demon yanked her forward and slammed her back against the wall, the back of her head smacking the wood painfully. “Are you a fucking conjurer, wench!?”

“No!” Kagome wheezed, releasing her own hold on his fist to emphatically present the blunt cut on her palm to him before she repeatedly smacked it against his forearm, smearing hers and the little girl’s blood, showing him the exact reaction - or lack thereof - they were looking for in coming today in the first place.

“Let - let her go.” Miroku was on his knees, breathing impaired, holding his side with one hand while the other braced his weight in the mud. “She’s not a conjurer. She’s not. She can hardly even hunt. I have to take her everywhere. There’s no way anyone that knows her would believe she’s one of them.”

“Being a conjurer doesn’t have anything to do with hunting, boy!” One of them spit.

“Well, how the hell would anyone know!?” Sango shouted from the side, still seated on her knees beside the child. Her cheeks were flushed furiously, and her hands were held out inches from her chest, palms up, covered in blood that she was afraid would never wash off. Their attempts were in vain and the mother wept, clinging to her little girl, her face buried in her daughter’s still chest. “Conjurers are practically going extinct; you’re all winning! We don’t know what they can do! They probably don’t know what they can do! Conjurers either have to hide to save their lives, or they don’t even know they are one yet!”

For a brief second, Kagome allowed herself to glance beyond Sango’s head, finding her family. Her mother’s hands were cupped in front of her mouth, trembling as she never removed her eyes from her daughter. Her brow was creased deeply, concern etched so thick you’d think an artist may have been too heavy with their pen. Kagome couldn’t tell if her mom was breathing slowly, or if she was holding her breath. She couldn’t tell if her mom was saying a silent prayer, or if words could barely form in her mind as she had no choice but to watch the scene unfold. Her mother had to witness a daughter torn away from another; a daughter who held the same, supernatural fate as her own. Kagome could only imagine the stress that currently laced her mom’s system.

Before her stood both her brother and Sango’s, Sota bearing a wide expression, neck tense and lips parted uncertainly, and Kohaku wearing a more cautious grimace, watching apprehensively. Knowing her onlookers were nervous, worried, should have been the very thing to cause Kagome to proceed carefully, but instead it served as the switch that flicked on in her head. She was tired of living like this, done with the dreadful thought that this was their normal. This wasn’t going to continue.

She’d been waiting for a sign, waiting for her cue. Bags were packed and weapons were stored in a hiding place where they’d been training outside of the village. Miroku, Sango, and she had discussed a while ago that they were going to eventually leave together and find the called-upon conjurers, and join Kikyo to fight against Naraku. It was their - the conjurers’ - responsibility. As much as she wanted to know why, pleaded with the apparition of this seemingly all-powerful conjurer time and time again for an answer, at this point it was no longer deemed necessary. Not anymore. Kagome figured she’d hear this magical invitation telling her when and where - which was farfetched but a fair assumption given she barely had anything to go off of. She even thought she might have to wait a while longer until she was stronger, more trained in her capabilities, before Kikyo gave her some form of clear signal instead of these ominous, detail-lacking prophecies in her subconscience that she was currently getting every other night. But now a tick in her core, an itch in her chest, a steady deepening in her resolve told her the time was now. Screw waiting, screw messages, screw rolling over, screw self-pity, and screw Naraku. If he wanted a fight, if this was his initiation all along, his declaration of war, then he was finally going to get one.

“If that’s the case, bitch, then what were you telling the girl?” The demon holding her collar jerked her slightly to demand her attention, receiving it with vexation.

“I,” Kagome took as stable a breath as she could, her throat aching and voice pathetically weak, clearly evident now that it was due to the ruthless strangling she’d received. “I told her Kikyo would kill Naraku.”

“And, why the fuck would you say that?” He asked, almost surprised at her bold statement.

“I wanted her to go with hope, not fear.”

He guffawed, his chest pumping. “You don’t actually believe that!”

Without hesitation, as straight as she could manage while she halted his laughter, Kagome replied, “Yes. Yes, I do.”

His smile faded quickly, humor replaced with anger as his fists bunched tighter and he heatedly pulled Kagome away from the wall and threw her to the floor. Kagome landed on her front, quickly pressing herself to her hands and knees just before he pushed her belly down, her wrists sliding and giving out so the side of her face planted in the mud.

“Kagome -“ Her cousin called, stumblingly crawling her way before another demon kicked him in the side he’d been clutching, a tiny crunch being heard just as Miroku choked in pain.

“Miroku, stop! I’m fine!” She attempted to say clearly, a foot braced on her back.

“Enough.” The leader stated. “Everyone back in line. We haven’t finished yet.”

“Are you fucking kidding me!?” A man asked disbelievingly. “You don’t think you’ve done enough damage already!? Get the fuck out!”

“Yeah, get out of here!” Other villagers began to call out, joining in. “You aren’t welcome here! You’re only taking advantage because our demon slayers are gone!”

“You think that matters?” The leader chuckled. “Go ahead. Revolt. Fight back. Make us leave. See how quickly your entire village will be wasted the next time around. You see four of us and think you stand a chance. You see a large group of us and think you’re safe because you’ve got a little pack of demon slayers protecting you. Funny, that’s never stopped our inspections before, so I don’t see why you think that’d stop us now. Either way, not a single one of you would be left alive if we brought a fraction of the wild demons under Naraku’s control, and he wouldn’t bat an eye if we borrowed them to kill you all. In fact, that’s already in the plan if we don’t check in. You kill us all, congratulations, but you’ll be worse off. Compared to him, we’re the most compassionate monsters you’ll ever meet, and I suggest you learn to appreciate that. Now, get your girls back in line.”

“It’s okay, papa.” An older girl spoke. Kagome couldn’t see from where she lay, but she recognized the seventeen year-old’s voice. Ayumi. She was soft-spoken normally, but also fairly brave and kind. The only child of a widowed father, and a girl, like the rest of them, forced to grow up too soon.

Ayumi walked forward, having backed away from the rowdiness with the majority of the girls who hadn’t run back to the safety of their parents. Notching her chin upward, she raised her left palm, “Let them finish. They won’t seem so big forever.”

“Bold girl.” The demon complimented.

“Yeah. The more I find myself hoping the conjurers win, the bolder I feel.”

“Careful, now. You’ll wind up getting yourself killed.”

“Looks like being female might just get me killed, anyway. So, I might as well go down confident that Naraku is the true evil here, and evil never wins.”

“What a disgusting cliche.” He groaned. “Grow a brain and come up with something original before you spew that sort of shit. It’s embarrassing. Look, I hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but as the chick over there stated, we already are. We’re winning. Now, I won’t argue that we’re the bad guys here, but at this point in time, that doesn’t really matter.”

Ayumi swallowed thickly, eyes faltering downward for the smallest moment before she rose them to meet the red eyes of Naraku’s henchman. As sickeningly as that notion sat in her esophagus, Ayumi felt it would be worse if she’d sunken her shoulders at the validity of their power. By no means was she strong, and by no means was she actually all that courageous. Ayumi, true to heart, was a daydreamer, was a fantasy-enthusiast, was a soft, sweet, and hopeful wisher, was tired, was passive. So, while she could admit her stare wasn’t striking, her irises would never be vivid with the passionate heroism she dreamed about, her lips would never curve with a compelling and threatening snarl, she could also admit that just the act of matching his gaze was all she needed to do to defy defeat. With chapped lips parting, not a waver traveling over her tongue, she spoke. “Yes, it does.”

“Yes, it does.” Another girl agreed, approaching to stand beside Ayumi.

“The world hasn’t always been this way. Naraku only grew large less than five years ago.” A woman said, a mother, holding her fearful daughter in her arms. Several more girls got back in line, their shoulders a little more broadened than before. “I find it appalling how arrogant you all have gotten in such a short time. I assure you, conjurer, demon, human, or anything in between, I’d give them my trust sooner than I’d yield to the idea of life staying like this. Good and evil, the difference will always matter. So, yes. Yes, it does.”

“Inspirational.” One of Naraku’s demons remarked sarcastically, cringing.

“Hey, whatever blows your skirt up, lady.” The leader shrugged. “You can believe whatever you want. No sweat off my back. Funny enough, I’d put down all the money in my pockets right now to bet not a single one of them would return that trust, nor would they risk their lives to save you. I mean, not to play devil’s advocate or anything, but look at the twisted circumstances. What the fuck have you done to help them? Human’s are selfish; only looking out for themselves. You hate us showing up because you don’t want us to hurt you. It doesn’t have a damn thing to do with us hunting down conjurers, and it doesn’t have a damn thing to do with that little girl on the ground over there. If it did, you would have never watched it happen. If it did and it was just the ‘shock factor’ holding you back, you still would have done a little more than yell at us about how unfair it was. Oh, cry me a fucking river.” He grinned, stepping over to the first girl in the newly-formed line. There were less than half left that hadn’t been tested, and he got straight to work, unforgivingly slashing at the pre-teen’s palm and slapping his own to hers as he continued his heartless speech. “Even better, there’s two of your own on the floor, both of them getting quite the beating, and not a single fucking one of you did a damn thing to help. I understand the lad; that’s his - er - sister? Cousin? And, I mean, at least the chick tried to help the conjurer survive. I’ll give them kudos, but I think I speak for all of us non-humans when I say fuck the rest of you egotistical pricks. Oh no, my child might have a scar on her hand. Oh no, more trauma.” The leader mocked, his tone high and whiney. “Yeah, well, at least they’re not dead in the mud like little Suzie over there.”

There was a collective gasp from the audience at the harsh and morbid insensitivity. Still, no one challenged him. Someone should have, and no one said a thing.

Kagome tasted bile on the back of her tongue from the disgusting sentiments plaguing the thick, electric air. How cruel. She wanted to open her mouth and beg him to stop and just finish his job already, force her broken voice out to demolish his train of thought and hope he doesn’t mention the death for the remainder of his stay. The only thing stopping her was Miroku’s steady stare on her. It held more power than an order from his mouth to stay quiet ever could. With a foot on her back as a warning for more damage, the impending threat that he would easily be hurt again, and the fact that she’d said enough as it was, no matter how bold she felt in the face of this evil, she knew she was meant to face the source. She could only do that alive. So, begrudgingly, she obliged to his logical demand.

If they wanted them to finish, they needed to stop fighting. They needed to shut up. A double-edged sword. Like bowing their heads to the abuse. Enabling it. Allowing it so it ends quicker.

Kagome could feel her palms burning in the mud, a sense of humiliating defeat flooding her chest, making her feel sick to her stomach. She kept her eyes on Miroku, he kept his eyes on her. She tried to raise the volume of her thoughts, no matter how negative they were, to tune out the gasps and muffled cries of the young girls as they received the cut to their palms for testing.

How could she hold any form of power, yet still feel so powerless? How could she have the privilege of a voice, but feel so irrevocably silenced? She wanted to believe she could save everyone there if she just untied the knots concealing her abilities, but it physically pained her to understand that it was the wrong thing to do. It would be counterintuitive. It would wind up getting them all killed later. She could fight, but she also couldn’t.

“And, there you have it.” The leader finished by wiping his knife clean and slipping it back into the little holster on his hip, the hint of pride and sarcasm on his tongue. “Thank you so much for your cooperation and understanding. We’ll be seeing you.”

The demon holding Kagome down applied a small kick of pressure as he lifted off of her, chuckling as his dirty boots stuck in the mud with each step away.

There was an eerie silence, one that grew more deafening as the henchmen took their horses and disappeared from the village. It was heavy, thick, like sludge. Weighted with failure and death. Even the cries from the mother were muted. For a moment, Kagome thought that instead of drowning out the pained noises with her own thoughts, her brain had responded late to her distress by completely disabling her sense of hearing instead. But, she could hear the stickiness of the mud as she peeled herself from the ground to sit on her knees. She could hear feet slowly walking - most likely children rejoining their families. She could hear the thunder threatening them of the next onslaught of rain to come. The silence that captivated them was one that couldn’t be lifted with a simple, “Thank god that’s over.” No one could make it dissipate by asking if everyone was okay. Because, it didn’t matter.

And, that was something everyone, even the young, could recognize.

The small talk that would eventually come when everyone was back in their homes, the whispers, the crying, and maybe even tiny chuckles from people trying to find the little joys to get them through this, they would all be irrelevant. Because, outside there would be a blanket of despair thicker than the friction-inducing clouds hanging over them at this very moment, and it promised them there that it would stick around as long as it needed to.

“Hey,” A soft voice spoke in Kagome’s ear, a gentle, cold hand brushing her arm, and it was only when she gasped and jerked upright that she realized she’d been hanging her head, sights stuck on her hands on her thighs. “Sh, sh. It’s just me.” Her mother reassured, kneeling beside her and using her sleeve to try and wipe her face clean of some clumpy mud. “Are you alright, honey?”

Out of sheer reaction, she gave a meager nod.

“Look at me, Kagome. Look at me. Tell me you’re okay.”

“I’m okay.” Kagome said as convincingly as possible. When Miroku groaned, catching her mother’s attention and even her own, she was happy to have the focus off of her. Kohaku and Sango were beside him, trying to sit him up, freezing as he struggled.

“Come on, boy. Let’s get you home.” A couple, larger village men came over, better suited to help. One of them firmly clasped his hand in Miroku’s, quickly pulling him up to his feet so the pain wouldn’t be dragged out. Her cousin hissed at the shock, clenching his throat to try and swallow his grumble, and the two men supported him by pulling his arms over their shoulders.

“Can you stand?” Kagome’s mother asked.

“Yeah.” She whispered, not wanting to irritate her throat further and finding no real need to speak up right now. “I’m fine, mama. Don’t worry about me. Miroku needs your attention more.”

“Even if that were true, he’s kind of surrounded. I don’t think I’m needed there, love.” She replied, grabbing her by her elbow to support her as they stood together. “Sota, take her other side, please. Just in case.”

“Wait.” A broken voice called to them, trembling but by no means weak.

They all stopped just two steps in, looking over to the mother on the ground. Her daughter’s body, from head to toe, was covered by a long cloak belonging to one of the villagers beside her now, attempting to give comfort.

“Kikyo? Is that what you’d said? Kikyo?” She asked Kagome.

As clearly as she could, with a little nod of her head as she processed the question, Kagome said, “Yes.”

“Who is that?”

Kagome could feel the tension in her brow falter as the sympathetic, concerned curve in them wilted away to change more into dubiousness. “You - you don’t…” She didn’t know who Kikyo was. Even her own mother knew who Kikyo was. Her mom was the first to hear about her dreams before she started discussing them with the rest of her family. Had her daughter not had the same messages coming to her? Or, was she so confused, so distraught from them all, that she chose secrecy over being seen as insane?

“She’s a conjurer.” Kagome answered.

“Is she - is she a strong conjurer?”

“I think so.”

“I’m sorry, did your daughter never mention anything about Kikyo?” Sango carefully asked.

“N-no. Why would she?”

“We were just under the impression that she may have been sending survivors telepathic signals of sorts.” She said.

“That’s preposterous.” A man scoffed.

“Maybe. We heard it in passing. From an old man, no less.” Miroku said, discomfort laced in his tone.

“What - what could she possibly have had to say to a little girl?” The mother asked, her bottom lip quivering while her hand rested on her daughter’s chest.

“I’m sorry. I wish I knew.” The words were painful to speak. Not from her throat, but from the fact that she had to lie to a woman who’d had her everything stolen from her. A woman who, more than anyone, deserved the truth.

When she’d said what she’d said about Kikyo before, the little girl had muttered something in return before the demon tore Kagome away. It seemed like she was about to ask who Kikyo was. Kagome was sure now that the kid didn’t know. She hadn’t had the dreams, the premonitions, the one-sided conversations, nothing. She hadn’t had any communication with Kikyo, whatsoever. Maybe Kikyo was kind to exclude the young, and only spoke to the older, potentially more conditioned conjurers.

Or, maybe there was a possibility that Kagome was the only one.

And, it terrified her.

“Will she win? Kikyo? Will she defeat Naraku?” The crying mother asked.

Kagome was finding it hard to reply, to communicate. Her throat was tightening up as she watched the woman’s body begin to crumble once more toward her little girl’s; like she needed to be connected with her to prevent her from going cold. She could feel her eyes stinging, tears brimming, her fingers quaking and legs growing weak. Her cheeks felt hot and her chest wouldn’t allow a full breath of air - only unsteady, unmatched, quick puffs that burned. A hot hand slid into her right, her brother’s fingers tightening their grip, but she couldn’t control her body enough to grab it back.

“I refuse to believe otherwise.” Sango answered confidently.

The mother now sobbed, nodding in acknowledgment as she weeped over the covered body of her daughter. “Thank you.”

Kagome wanted to apologize profusely. For failing to protect her. For failing to try to protect her. For her loss. For the chance she was never given to learn to defend herself. For the silence she had to keep. The guilt was so heavy on her shoulders, she was ready to give in in front of them all, but the hand in hers pulled her back, made her move.

More villagers were moving toward the mother and child to help comfort while they removed the body, and that was the prime opportunity to get Kagome out of there. Sota could tell from the moment it started that she was going to break down, maybe even panic. He knew his sister, he knew the signs, he understood the stress she was under, and he wanted nothing more than to get her away and help her as best as he could. So, he disregarded everyone else and began pulling Kagome ahead. Miroku would have to move at a slower pace, Sango and Kohaku would stick by him and the men that helped, and he figured their mom would respect that they needed a moment of peace where they weren’t under more eyes than necessary.

Sota ignored the broken utterances of his name that came from his sister, he ignored the threatening weather, and he ignored anything that could potentially get in his way. He directed Kagome around their house, to the back, and toward the tree line of the woods. Three trees in past the shrubbery bush, on the opposite side of the trunk, Sota found the rope ladder to the treehouse their dad had built them hanging. Holding it steady, he released Kagome’s hand.

“Come on. Climb.”

-> | next chapter |

60 notes · View notes

whenihaveyouromione · 3 years

Text

When I Have You - Chapter 21

Read on Fanfiction.net or ao3 if you’d prefer!

I run an Instagram account for this fic called whenihaveyou.romione if you’re interested.

--------------------------

Chapter 21

“Ron, are you okay? You’re staring.”

“What?”

“You’re staring at me.”

“Oh, right. Yeah, I’m okay… sorry.” Ron grinned at her. “I just think you’re really beautiful when you’re all serious and do all that official stuff, you know?”

Hermione went very red, shooting an apologetic look towards the amused witch sitting across from them. Then she returned her gaze to the pile of papers in front of her and cleared her throat. “Yes, well, we need to do this now.” She passed Ron one of the official-looking papers. Ron didn’t miss the small smile she tried to hide as she did so.

Not at all sorry about his lapse in concentration, Ron drew the parchment towards him and scanned it quickly. He took out his wand and brought the tip of his parchment to it, but didn’t bind the contract.

“So,” he said, “I just bind my name to the contract and this place —” he gestured around the small flat where they now sat, “— is ours?” He’d never had to deal with this before, and honestly, he was just as confused about everything as he was about using the microwave at the Grangers’ place.

“That’s correct,” the witch said, now looking at Ron with a keen interest. “For fifteen Galleons a week.”

“And if we choose to move out —”

“Just do it, Ron!” Hermione said irritably. “You’re stalling.”

“I’m just making sure everything is in order,” Ron muttered, though he tapped the contract with his wand and watched as his name appeared underneath Hermione’s. He passed the parchment back to the owner of the flat.

She studied it with interest. “Huh,” she said, “who would have thought that I’d receive an application for my old little flat from two heroes of the wizarding world.”

“Yeah, well, don’t go telling people that,” Ron said. “And, Hermione here is really good at protective enchantments, so even if you did, they wouldn’t be able to find it.”

“Ron!” Hermione exclaimed, shooting the witch another apologetic look. “If you read the contract —”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” the witch said, Vanishing the contract they’d both agreed to. “Of course, by signing it, there are privacy enchantments locked into it. Then, of course, I will always protect people who rent from me, regardless of who you are.”

“So, it’s ours now, then?” Ron asked, looking around the small living area. It wasn’t much — a tiny living room, an even smaller kitchen, with a single bedroom and bathroom off to the side — but it was perfect for them. Not to mention that if they needed anything, they simply had to go downstairs and they’d be in Diagon Alley. No Floo travel, no Apparating, or anything.

“Yes,” the witch said. “All yours, so long as you pay —”

“Yeah, yeah, the money,” Ron said.

Hermione glared at him.

“Speaking of, I do require a down payment of fifteen Galleons now, to secure the contract.”

Ron, who’d been warned of this prior to coming, extracted a small pouch containing fifteen Galleons from his pocket. He grinned as he passed it over to the witch. He only felt satisfaction at parting with it, knowing that it was his first major contribution as an adult earning his own money. Sure, he’d bought himself some new clothes and could now afford to take Hermione out, but this was theirs. Their own place, for which he was fully independent in paying for.

“I’ve never seen anyone look so pleased with handing their gold over to me,” the witch commented.

“Lucky you’ve got us then, eh?” Ron said. Hermione shook her head.

“Well,” the witch said, standing up, “here are your keys. Though, the place can also be accessed via spells if you so wish. You’ll just need to set them.” She smiled. “Enjoy. If you have any issues, owl me, and I’ll respond within two days.”

“And if it’s a leaking pipe?” Ron asked.

“You have a wand, do you not?”

Ron considered her tone highly rude, but chose to ignore it, along with Hermione’s laugh.

“Enjoy,” the witch said, and she left, leaving Ron and Hermione alone in the flat — their flat.

A silence ensued — one of the many, peaceful, and pleasant silences that had come to be a part of their relationship; a time for at least Ron to consider just how happy he was with the turn his life had taken after the war.

“We should celebrate tonight,” Hermione said after a moment. “You and me. We have Diagon Alley at our disposal, let’s not waste it.”

Ron looked at her, a smile playing at his lips. “You mean to say, you want to celebrate us moving in together by going out?”

“Well, we don’t have to go out. We can always stay in, and —”

“I’ve learnt to be an alright cook,” Ron said. “Since living with Harry. We both have.”

“Well, that makes one of us,” Hermione said. “Never had the desire to learn…”

“Well, you’re lucky you have me!” Ron said, beaming. “We can have a nice night in, in our new place. And I��ll cook for you. I’m not fantastic, but I’m sure I can get something together. Then maybe afterwards we could go down to the ice-cream place and — I love you.”

Hermione was looking at him with such a tender expression, apparently from his offer to cook for her, that the words — as they always did in a moment like this — slipped out. She had that effect on him. Just like earlier, when they’d been discussing the contract, she had been so serious and so focused that he hadn’t been able to stop himself from staring at her. He couldn’t believe he’d made it over a year with her, in a post-war world that was still trying to find its feet again. Sometimes, it was still hard to believe that they could be doing something as simple as finding a place together, when just over a year ago, he believed they were all going to die.

His words seemed to snap her out of some reverie. Her eyes regained focus and she looked up at him.

Ron smiled at her. “You alright there?”

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, I’m perfectly fine. More than fine, actually.” She shuffled towards him, allowing Ron to gather her in his arms. He held her tightly. “I love you, too,” she added a moment later, almost as an afterthought.

Ron laughed. “Come on,” he said after a moment, pulling away from her. “We should probably go and get our stuff. Though, we don’t need much, do we?” The flat had come fully furnished, apart from their personal belongings.

“No, we don’t,” Hermione said, frowning suddenly at the ugly sofa they were sitting on. “Though, Isadora did say that if we wanted our own things, we just had to contact her and she’d remove these ones for us.”

“Yes, but we don’t have our own things, do we?” Ron said. “I mean, most of the stuff at Grimmauld Place — including the bed I sleep in — belongs to Harry. And the stuff at your place is yours parents, isn’t it?”

Hermione looked up at him, thoughtful. He could tell an idea was forming in her head, and for once, he could guess what it was.

“We’ll have to make do with it for the meantime,” Ron said. “Maybe one day we can buy our own furniture. I had a look at that bed in there —” he pointed towards the bedroom, “— and it doesn’t look very comfortable, so that’ll be the first to go.”

She smiled, taking his hand, and they made their way down from the flat and onto Diagon Alley. “You surprise me, Ron,” she said once they reached the busy street.

“You’ve said that before,” Ron replied. “I amaze you, I surprise you, I impress you…”

“Well, you do.”

“In a good way this time, I hope.”

“Of course. Always in a good way.”

“So, what amazing thing have I done this time to surprise you?” Ron asked with a smile.

“Just that once upon a time ago, I had serious doubts that you could ever be so thoughtful, so caring… so affectionate…”

“You were looking at me all wrong,” Ron told her. “Besides, back then, I was not only younger, but I had no idea how to approach things with you. I had no idea, at sixteen years old, how to say ‘Hermione, I know we’re friends, but I really like you in a more-than-friends kind of way’. Nor did I have the confidence to do it, even if I had known how. But I always cared about you, and Merlin, I always thought about you.”

Hermione raised her eyebrow at him, to which Ron added, with a smirk, “Not even going to deny it, Hermione. There’s no point. That time between the end of sixth year, and Harry arriving before the wedding and Horcruxes… that time when it was just you and me, I had many thoughts about you — some innocent, like wondering what you would do if I just kissed you there and then. Other times, I got a little carried away with my imagination, and it ran a little wild.”

“Charming, Ron,” Hermione said, though she was smiling and looking rather pleased with herself.

“What?” Ron said. “Most of those thoughts became a reality anyway. You made sure of that, not even two weeks in.”

It seemed Hermione felt she didn’t need to give a dignified response, instead smirking as they weaved their way through Diagon Alley.

“Well,” Ron said as they reached the Leaky Cauldron, “at least I don’t have to wonder how you feel about me anymore. That’s one less thing to worry about. I mean, you wouldn’t have moved in with me if you didn’t feel something, right?”

Hermione squeezed his hand as she pulled him through the archway and into the pub, and for Ron, that was a good enough answer.

…

The idea had occurred to him later that day — a way that he could make their first night in their new home memorable. Their first year together had been rather dateless, with Hermione going to Australia, Ron’s exhaustion from Auror training, and then Hermione going back to Hogwarts. There simply hadn’t been the time to even go out to dinner one evening.

But now they had all the time in the world; all the evenings together, all the weekends to do whatever they wanted.

So, naturally, Ron decided the best date was staying in.

He didn’t know where the idea had come from, but right before starting on the dinner he’d promised to cook her, he decided that eating at the table would be boring.

A picnic, he thought, would be much more interesting, and much more romantic.

Hermione seemed to agree.

“This is why I keep saying you surprise me,” she said, grinning at him as she watched a blanket, two Firewhisky glasses (and the Firewhisky) and some cushions appear in the centre of their small living room. Simultaneously, the sofa, the armchair and the coffee table all jumped out of the way to make room.

“What part?” Ron asked. “The part where I can do all that non-verbally now, or this?” He indicated the picnic.

“Your romantic side,” Hermione said softly. “You’re a romantic at heart, and I like it very much.”

“Only for you,” Ron told her. “You make the effort worth it.”

She flushed with pleasure and sat down on one of the cushions while Ron Summoned the food. He had to admit, it wasn’t the best — his mother could have made something ten times better — but he was quite pleased with how it had turned out. He just hoped it tasted alright.

Ron joined her on the second cushion, and she beamed at him. Then she laughed when he picked up the Firewhisky bottle.

“There are a lot less potent things than that around, you know?” she said.

“And where would the fun in that be?” Ron asked, pouring some of the drink into each of the glasses.

“What, you want to get us drunk, do you?” Hermione said, sounding amused.

“Honestly, it was all they had,” Ron confessed. “There wasn’t much of a choice. Unless I wanted to pay two hundred Galleons for a tiny little bottle of something.”

Hermione accepted the now full glass of Firewhisky, still smiling.

Ron returned it, watching her for a moment. “You really are worth it,” he said eventually. “I just wish we’d done this sooner. Earlier.”

“You mean in the middle of a war?” Hermione asked.

“I mean, even earlier than that,” Ron said. “Around the… time of Lavender. I really liked you then, but I had no idea how to tell you. And I also had no idea how you felt and thought that if I said anything — even if I had the confidence to — it might have destroyed our friendship.”

“I asked you to the party, though, didn’t I?” Hermione said. “I mean, I thought I had been obvious —”

“Nah, you needed to have spelt it out for me a little clearer,” Ron said. “I thought you asked me as a friend. If I had thought it was anything more, even the slightest chance… well, I wouldn’t have gone for… Lavender.” He always felt so guilty admitting that, but enough time had passed, he thought, that it was okay. He’d been sixteen then — young and stupid and very unsure of himself. Besides, she was happy with Seamus these days.

“I’ll know that for next time then,” Hermione said. Her expression turned thoughtful, and Ron was suddenly aware that they had not yet touched the food, nor their drinks. He moved the plates of food in front of them.

“Can I ask you something?” Hermione suddenly said, ignoring the food.

“Of course,” Ron said. “Er, as long as it doesn’t embarrass me.”

She smiled, shaking her head. “If you didn’t like Lavender… in that way… why did you go out with her for so long? I thought… well, honestly, you never were good at hiding your feelings, and I at least strongly suspected how you felt about me, and then all of a sudden you were with her — after I’d asked you to the party, too. I was confused, to say the least.”

“There’s a story behind that that I don’t really want to tell you,” Ron said. “But to put it quickly, Ginny pointed out to me after the Quidditch match that I’d never kissed anyone before, which annoyed me. Then she added that you had… you and Krum… well, that annoyed me too.”

Hermione seemed to want to argue his statement, but he cut her off. “I didn’t seek her out or anything, if that’s what you’re wondering. She came to me, and… and I was upset with you. I admit that. I just wanted to forget.”

Hermione stared at him, looking rather surprised by that information. Ron never had told her about that evening, and he hoped he never would have to go into detail about it. He wasn’t proud of it, and whilst Lavender wasn’t a bad person, he’d never really liked her all that much and often found himself thinking about Hermione and wondering what she was doing when he was with Lavender.

“You should eat,” Ron said after a few moments of silence. He indicated the plate in front of her. “Before it goes cold.”

Hermione seemed to accept the fact that the topic was no longer up for discussion, nodding slowly, and turning to their meal.

They began eating, striking up less intense and less uncomfortable conversations than past failed relationships.

"You know what we should do?" Ron said as he cleared their plates away with his wand, along with the glasses and the Firewhisky that had been too strong for either of them to drink too much of. "We should throw a housewarming party next weekend. Have everyone over."

"There's really not much room," Hermione said. "By everyone, do you mean… everyone?"

"Well, you know, Harry, Ginny, my brothers and whatnot. Neville, Seamus, Dean, Luna… that lot. Though I doubt Bill and Fleur would come, but I suppose Victoire would be welcome."

"Hardly a place for a baby, don't you think?" Hermione said. “I imagine there’d be plenty of drinking — I mean, you saw the Common Room when we were all under age…”

"It's why I said I'd doubt they'd come." Ron grinned. “It will be good to celebrate with everyone. All of us together again, for something good for once, too. What do you think?”

Hermione smiled. “I don’t see an issue with that. It’s right before NEWT results are due to arrive, too, so might be a good distraction.”

“Yes, because you’ll need that from the one hundred NEWTs and one hundred and one job offers you’ll get afterwards,” Ron said.

“Don’t say that, Ron.”

“I love you.”

“You can’t use that as a way to change the conversation —”

“Yes I can, because it always works.” Ron shuffled on the cushion so he could kiss her. “I love you.”

“Didn’t you say we’d get ice-cream after dinner?” Hermione said, pulling away from him.

“Yeah, I guess, but we don’t have to.” Ron kissed her again, but she pulled away once more, looking at him, rather amused.

“So, I take it you’re not actually interested in ice-cream?”

“Not at all,” Ron said, and for the third time, he kissed her, and finally she didn’t pull away, instead wrapping her arms around his neck to draw him closer.

14 notes · View notes

melorsomething · 7 years

Text

Crystal Clear | Chapter 3 | Cession

<- Previous Chapter | Next Chapter ->

“Miss Moonpyre, the library is closed now; I have to ask you to leave.” Mr. Argleston’s voice pierced Moira’s concentration, rousing her from her books. “I’m always thrilled to see you taking an interest in the history of our spiral, but you are aware that this is a library, correct? You are allowed to take the books with you.”

“Gotta be here somewhere,” Moira murmured, half asleep. “Gotta find it.” Reaching for a book, he suggested, “Let’s get these books checked out to you and you can continue your studies in the morning. Take care of yourself; the books aren’t going anywhere.”

Swatting his hand away, Moira snapped, “Tomorrow might be too late.”

“I’ve known you since you were young, and for as long as I can recall, you were always reluctant to read anything non-fiction... why the sudden interest?”

Peeking at the cover of one of the books, he added, “And in medical accounts and history, of all things. Generally, it is life wizards who take up medical practice.”

“I’m not a little girl any more. I have real world problems and I need real world solutions.”

Mr. Argleston sighed. “Care to share what you’re looking for? I do happen to know this library very well; perhaps I could be of help.”

Moira turned her unfocused gaze to the librarian and murmured, “Yeah, yeah you could...” Shaking herself out of her stupor, she asked, “Where would I find accounts of mana deficiency?”

“My goodness! Why would you ever want to read about such a thing?”

“Less judging, more book-finding.”

“Very well. Er, topics that serious and rare would likely be found over here, in the restricted archives.” Mr. Argleston unlocked the door and ushered Moira into the shelves stuffed with crumbling parchment. Though it all looked the same to Moira, Mr. Argleston knew exactly where to look, and in a few seconds had pulled out a thin collection of papers.“This should have most, if not all, of the accounts of mana deficiency in the past 700 years.”

Moira rushed back to her desk, papers in hand. She spread them across the table and blew the remaining dust away, squinting at the faded ink.

Only just escaped with our lives today, but I’m not so sure Heather will keep hers. I don’t know what she did, but all of the lions are gone. She screamed, and then there was a blast of fire so large and so bright that I couldn’t see the edge. When it cleared, all of the lions were on the ground, their fur crisp and burnt. Heather was too. She could barely stand, even with my help, and now, on the floor of this cave, I can see the life draining from her. I’ve never seen a spell so powerful, and I have no way of finding out from her, for she has not been roused from this state by anything. Not healing spells, not potions, not noise, not movement, not anything. I fear she does not have long.

“What is this?” Moira demanded.

Briefly examining the page, he replied, “Ah, this would be the first recorded account of Mana Deficiency, or at least those recovered by Spiral archaeologists. As you will see, the next part of the transcription is the author’s following entry.”

The sun has not yet cleared the mountains. Our cave is dark, but I know she has gone. There is less life energy in the air. I do not think it is a sickness, for she showed no symptoms before her fire blast, and none of her symptoms have been passed on to me. From this moment forward, my expedition continues in solitude.

“So, she didn’t live. Someone must have later,” Moira muttered, brushing the first paper aside.

“Live?” Mr. Argleston asked incredulously, “There’s no existing record of a Mana Deficiency survivor – not even a spoken legend. Mana Deficiency is fatal.”

“Just because you know where the records are doesn’t mean you know everything that’s in them,” Moira snapped, pushing another paper aside as it proved itself fruitless to her research.

“Heather, fire: Christopher, myth; Suri, storm; Leesha, life,” he listed without hesitation. “Four accounts, four different experiences, four dead; that’s all you’ll find in those papers. Any self-respecting connoisseurs of the Spiral’s history make themselves familiar with Mana Deficiency. It is one of the most intriguing topics, for all its unsolved mystery. No one knows what gives a wizard the capability to use such a large amount of power, nor why they can only do so by using all of their mana. Many wizards have attempted to train themselves to access this other level of mana, but all have failed. It is fascinating. Why are you so interested all of a sudden?”

Moira froze. “Um, no reason. I just heard about it and didn’t believe that it was fatal. I guess I was proved wrong. Sorry for wasting your time. I’ll just put these away and go. Good night.”

“Miss Moonpyre, you said tomorrow could be too late. What did you mean?”

“Um, nothing, that’s just part of a bet. Can’t talk. Gotta go. Bye,” she said, hastily shoving books and papers onto the shelves. Snatching her bag from the chair, she rushed out the door, her head turned to hide the tears forming in her eyes.

Moira had one last idea, but even she was doubtful. Pushing wet hair from her eyes, she opened the door to Nightside. Once inside the Death Tower, she approached the desk, stepping loudly to make her presence known to the figure cloaked in black. “My name is Moira Moonpyre. I’m begging you--you have to help me. I need to stop my friend from dying.”

“Prevent death?” The figure asked, keeping their back to Moira. “Why would you approach me about this? Surely a theurgist would be better suited to your needs. Necromancers deal in the affairs of the dead.”

“Please,” Moira repeated, “the theurgists say she is as good as promised to death. They say there is nothing they can do to help her. I need to get her un-promised to death. Everyone knows you help those who are desperate. Everyone knows to go to Laura Skycoin.”

Laura turned, the hood falling back from her head and pooling at her shoulders with her bone-white hair. “Are you asking me to cheat death? No one has the ability to do that. Did you learn nothing from Malistaire’s voyage of terror?” she asked with fury in her eyes.

“But she’s my friend...” Moira protested.

“And Sylvia was Malistaire’s love. Death cedes to no one. I am sorry about your friend, but if she is too far gone, she is too far gone. There’s no changing it.”

Desperately, Moira pleaded, “No, there must be a way! She’s my friend!”

“You’ve made that quite clear.” She turned back to the wall, pulling her hood up once more. “Leave me.”

“I’ll do anything. She doesn’t deserve this.”

“Have you not heard a thing I’ve said? Death cedes to no one. I don’t perform miracles - just facsimiles of them. Sometimes there are things no amount of magic can fix.”

“But that’s just it: all she needs is a little magic. She’s out of mana - why is it so hard just to give her more?”

Laura’s head turned slightly - just enough for Moira to see a saddened profile silhouetted by candlelight. “What?”

“She’s out of mana. They’re calling it Mana Deficiency. It’s a really rare thing; I read that there were only four-”

“I know what it is.”

“Y-you do? Sorry, I just assumed-”

“You assumed wrong.”

“So you’ve researched it, too? Why were you interested? Did you maybe find some clue to a cure that I missed?” Moira asked with a hesitant chuckle. “Because they say there’s nothing, but, I mean, there must be…”

“You read the accounts.”

“Come on, though. How can that be it? How can there be nothing?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But-”

“I wasn’t answering that question. You say you read the accounts. How closely?”

“I mean, I read the first one - er, Heather - but I didn’t get a chance to read the others in detail. Mr. Argleston told me that Heather was a pyromancer, Christopher was a conjuror, Suri was a diviner, I think, and Leesha was, uh…”

“A theurgist,” Laura supplied, turning back to face Moira. “And yours?”

“What?”

“Your friend.”

“Oh, uh, Angela is also a theurgist.”

“What did she do?”

“She… I don’t really know. She was in a tournament, all these leaves obscured our view, and then she and her opponent were unconscious in the ring. Her opponent was, uh, dead, actually.”

“She attacked?”

“I don’t - yes? I guess so.”

“Huh.”

“Why are you asking me these things? What got you so interested in Mana Deficiency?”

“If you’d read the accounts, you’d have noticed the authors’ names. Heather’s friend was named Julia, Christopher’s was Alex, Suri’s was Bradley, and Leesha’s -” she leaned back against the desk - “was Laura.”

“You mean..?”

“Yes. I know what Mana Deficiency can do. I couldn’t even watch her die; I turned my back because I just couldn’t watch that. Fair enough, I suppose, since she couldn’t watch me die, either. That’s what got her into that mess. I was hurt - like dead in less than a minute hurt - and she healed me.”

“And that took all her mana?”

“She brought me back from the brink of death and then some. Do you know how old I am, Moira?”

Moira shook her head. “I mean, you don’t seem much older than me.”

“I am over a hundred years old. I don’t look it, do I? It seems that whatever Leesha did, the healing just kept on going. It’s a bit ironic, isn’t it? A necromancer becomes the furthest from death anyone has ever been.”

“So she healed you, but there was nothing you could do for her? None of your miracles worked?”

“I wasn’t Laura Skycoin back then. Skycoin - and the ‘miracles’ you associate with that name - came later. I wanted to figure out if I could have saved her - if I could save anyone else it happened to - so I started studying. And then, quickly enough, I discovered I was going to be around for a pretty long time, and I figured branching out into easier things would be a better use of my time.”

“So you never found anything? There’s really no cure.”

Laura took a deep breath, her eyes raking over Moira. “There might be. I came up with one, but I’ve no idea if it works - no one to test it on until now.”

“Please tell me. I’ll pay anything.”

“I don’t want your money. And I don’t know if this is a good idea.”

“It’s her only chance.”

“It could kill you.”

“Angela dying would kill me. She’s my best friend. I love her.”

Laura took another deep breath, looking at the ceiling. “I have called upon spirits, sought out the great mysteries of the Spiral, and entered the realm of the dead while still coming back to speak of it. I have fielded thousands of problems and offered hundreds of solutions only I knew of. And yet in all that time, I have never had anyone come to me and beg for their own death.”

“I’m not really asking for that.”

“You’re asking for something that will most likely end with either you or your friend alive. Not both. I hate to say it, but I’m really not optimistic that it’s a cure at all. I don’t have quite that level of confidence in myself.”

“I do. And I’m willing to try it. No guilt on your part, okay? You warned me, and I did it, despite knowing the risks. If it goes wrong, it won’t be your fault.”

Laura was silent.

“Please.”

Another deep breath.

And then, “Okay.”

Moira beamed.

“Okay,” Laura repeated. “But on one condition.”

“Anything.”

“You’ll need to find someone else to do it. I’ll give you the spell, but I am not going to perform it.”

“Why?”

“Do you want the spell or not?”

“Yes, yes, sorry.”

Laura turned and plucked the quill from it’s inkpot on the desk and quickly scribbled on a scrap of paper. “Here,” she said, holding the paper out to Moira. “Have them say these words while focusing on a link between you and your friend - hold hands or something. The pronunciation shouldn’t be too hard.”

Ki cate inu tiro oi oe kiro pelu non lonuru napofnu. Jukate oe rukiro. Aitete naheinu oe nama kioua i kioua, kiro i kiro, chate ven yaiki, chate kiloe i kiloe.

“I don’t know about that pronunciation thing. What language even is this?”

“It’s the language of the old Spiral. It’s how they cast spells before realizing how powerful visualisation was. Have you really never even heard of it?”

“Not once.”

“Fair enough. No one uses it anymore - at least not anyone that communicates with the world. I’m sure Ambrose and others around his age know some, but it’s a dead language. I learned it in my studies to see if there was power hidden in the world that only words could unlock.”

“And is there?”

“Oh, certainly. Where do you think my miracles come from?”

“Of course… but, seriously, though, how do you pronounce this? Can you say it out loud without it doing… whatever it is that it does?”

“Yes. Concentration is a big part of it. But, seeing as you’re not the one to say it, perhaps I’d better just write it down.”

A moment later, she had handed Moira another slip of paper, and nodded her head at the door, where another wizard had entered. “You’d better get going, Moira,” she said. “We’ve both got things to be doing.”

Moira teleported back to the Commons, unwilling to risk the precious ink under the waterfall, and she dashed back to the sprawling campus of Spiral Doctors United - papers in hand and rekindled hope in her heart.

#crystal clear #crystal clear chapter

1 note · View note