#IT'S ABOUT wanting his parents saved even in some false stasis IT'S ABOUT ''I have a family'' that's waiting for him if he opens the door

[deancasforcutie]

the lies Dean tells himself in the Limbo between worlds, "a clown with a broken heart dreaming of your love and not knowing where to start"

vs true happiness with his family calling him home through the maze of mirrors

[ziskandra]

PRIORITY OPS: REPOPULATING HELEUS (Ch. 5)

this chapter was really cathartic to write. ao3 link. 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 5. Homesick 

Sara woke up with a start, hot and sweaty, gut churning. Considering what she’d spoken about with Liam when he’d woken her, it should have come to no surprise that her father had peppered the rest of her dreams. Even the ones that he quite rightly had nothing to do with. 

She tried, tried too hard, sometimes, to not think about her Milky Way life and what she’d left behind. She’d wanted to come to Andromeda, had wanted to follow in her father’s footsteps in more ways than one. She’d always dreamed of doing something spectacular with her life, and what could be more ground-breaking than travelling to a whole new galaxy? It was the pinnacle of exploration.  It was a exquisite example of being careful of what one wished for.

And then, there was her family; she could hardly have stayed behind and have abandoned her brother and dad. Especially not with Mom gone. They had to stick together. And look how that turned out. At least Scott was well on his way to making a full recovery; just having him around made the future seem that little bit more bearable. She hated the idea of being alone again, like she had in those beginning days, ill-prepared to fit into her father’s too-large shoes.

Of course, she had Liam, too, now. Relied on him more than she should. Hadn’t thought she’d be dating, so seriously, so soon, especially given how recently her last relationship had ended. But she hadn’t thought about her in months. At least not until her fevered dreams of the night prior.

Had she really dreamt about bringing her ex-girlfriend home to meet her parents? Ugh. It seemed like such a pointless fantasy. Her parents were dead and so was Ruby, in a manner of speaking. Just like Liam’s parents would be. A twist of nervousness settled in her gut and she found herself wondering, uselessly, if they would like her. 

She probably could stand to ask him more questions about his own parents. He seemed to be the type who’d love to talk about them, given the chance — a normal, loving family — but Sara had not offered the opportunity. Liam, quite sensibly, had not pushed the topic. It probably helped that he had, in fact, met her father well before he’d ever met her. 

Still, though. Sometimes it unsettled her how at peace Liam seemed to be with his decision to come to Andromeda, and maybe it was just Sara’s own unique circumstances, with her mother’s death so fresh on her mind, but she couldn’t imagine making the decision to never see her parents again. Maybe because she’d never had the choice. Maybe because she never would.

The pang of grief hit her as it usually did, sharp and unexpected, just beneath her ribcage. She rolled to her side, half-hoping that Liam would be there, but knowing given their usual day-to-day routine that he probably wouldn’t. 

She was right. Still, the realisation caused a smile to curve on her lips. How nice it was, to think that the dust had settled enough for things to become routine. And here she’d thought, before Andromeda, a lifetime ago, that she’d never want to settle down. It still didn’t come naturally to her, but god damn if her relationship with Liam didn’t make her want to believe such things were possible. 

She loved him; just thinking about him made her feel like someone had set a warm blanket down upon her, tucked her in. She loved him.  

It was too much warmth, really, for what she was about to do. Sara knew herself. She would drag out the mundane minutiae of her morning routine: breakfast; laps; shower; teeth for as long as possible before doing what she should have done as soon as she’d recovered it: watch her father’s final fucking memory once and for all. The thought sent chills down her spine, but she ignored them. She had to. The only alternative was to keep putting it off, to never look at it, and never know. And that was a decision in itself, but was it one she could live with?

(She knew, in her heart of hearts, that the answer was no.)  

***

“You seem distracted today,” Cora had told her at the end of their run. Sara had spent so much of it preparing herself, bracing herself, that her walls were already up. When they were, lying came as easy as breathing, the only time it did. It was always easier to be dishonest when she was trying, desperately, fervently, to convince herself it was the truth. 

“I’m fine,” she’d said with a hapless shrug. “Just more meetings, you know how it is. Being Pathfinder is a thankless job.” Especially now, that she spent more time with the human colonists than she did with her old ragtag band of assorted crewmates. Oh, the people here said the words, gratitude rolling off their tongues in waves, but it was just another falsehood at the end of the day. Wasn’t it? 

Wasn’t it?

She’d never wanted this responsibility. And when Cora had dug her heels in, reminded her of what an excellent job she was doing, she’d narrowed her eyes at the other woman, her friend, and asked, “A better job than you’d have done in my place?” 

And Cora had taken a step back in the face of Sara’s sudden aggression; neither of them wanted to revisit this old beat, rehash the same steps they’d been tracing since the passing of her father. “You already know my answer.” 

Sara hadn’t wanted to fight, so she hadn’t responded beyond pointing out that Hayjer and Vederia were both doing excellent work in their new and unexpected roles as Pathfinders for their respective species.  They did it. I did it. You could have done it, too.

She hadn’t been sure whose point she’d been proving, and she hated it. Hated how some days, she’d wake up and wish that this entire mess had been Cora’s to deal with instead. 

“See you later,” Sara had told her as they’d parted in the atrium, voice bright and cheery once more. Too cheery.

“Bye for now,” Cora had answered, casualness belied by the look in her eyes that spoke at volumes louder than her actual words. We’ll talk later. As she made her way to SAM node, she tried to stop her hands from shaking. 

*** 

There it was, the terrible truth, laid out bare at last. Ribcage had never felt such an apt term before; Sara honestly felt as though her lungs would explode if they could; they hurt, her chest hurt, everything hurt. She wanted to yell and to cry. She did neither. Her hands were numb, limp and useless by her sides, but she could sense them clawing at her heart, digging for words that could never be enough.

When she dragged them out, up and through her raw and burning throat, her voice sounded as though it belonged to someone else. Like she was watching a movie about someone else’s life. “Mom’s here? Alive?”

Maybe she should have been more concerned about the whispered hints of the end of life as they knew it. Those questions were there, somewhere, too, in the back of her mind. A smaller, younger voice: is the Milky Way okay? Or was the answer to that question the extinction of billions upon billions of lives, a number so large it could not be quantified? A number beyond the limits of her understanding?

SAM offered an explanation she barely heard, all stasis and blocked memories; the corners of Sara’s vision faded in and out as she forced herself to remember to breathe. Maybe billions of deaths were too surreal to consider, but one death — there was one death she could recall in almost flawless detail.

Mom’s.

She remembered being there with Dad and Scott during Mom's final hours. Remembered the ramping apprehension as they barrelled towards the inevitable; it had been a long time coming, but it had felt sudden all the same. As she’d steered Scott from the room to give their parents some privacy, part of her still couldn’t believe that it would be the last time she’d ever see her alive. They’d come back tomorrow, just like they had yesterday, and the day before.

But then Dad had entered the hallway, head hung low, and Sara had known in that moment, that it was done. She’d finally cried, the tears that had been threatening to spill making themselves known at last. And Scott…well, Scott had always been a messy crier.

Dad hadn’t cried though. Dad never cried.

But she still remembered the way his hands had shaken at the funeral.

Thinking about it made her ill, a low simmering anger starting to burn bright in her belly. “This never should’ve been kept a secret,” she said, her voice marginally more furious than it had been earlier but still oh-so-far away.

SAM tried to placate her, but in that moment, she didn’t give a shit about false hopes.  Would prefer them, infinitely, to false grief. And that was when SAM slipped the knife into her chest, his words, calm and even, still as sharp as any blade. And that’s why you were made Pathfinder — to see the process through.

She’d suspected it, had been anticipating it, but God, it hurt to have confirmation that she’d never been anything special. Close as her father and Cora might have been, he wouldn't have trusted Cora with this. Sara blinked, once, twice, wondering if she’d ever feel whole again, or if she’d just be stuck thinking her body was going to split into two for the rest of her life.

Mom’s still alive. The words buzzed around her brain. For all her hesitation, all her wondering, she could have never anticipated this. At least Dad didn’t disappoint. Not in this regard. She’d told Liam just last night that it sounded like her father had done something horrible.

Had he?

He hadn't and he had and Mom’s still alive. I hope you’ll understand he’d said, but she didn’t.

He should have told us. The thought rattled through her, shook the very core of her being, but she couldn’t bring herself to voice it. It wasn’t like he was around to defend himself. Maybe he’d thought he was saving Mom by bringing her here, but at what cost?

Her legs felt like jelly.

Alec could not bear the thought of Ellen recovering only to discover you had died.

And so he had died instead; she had witnessed his dying actions with his eyes, listened to his last words with his ears: there’s still hope for your mother.

But what of her? What of Sara Ryder? Had her father truly understood what he had done, when he had transferred SAM’s full suite of abilities to her, named her Pathfinder in his stead? Or were his thoughts only of Mom, the mother Sara had been led to believe was dead? Did he think his daughter up to the challenge, or did he only require her loyalty?

Any pride she’d once had in her achievements turned to ashes in her mouth. Her father must have loved her mother a lot, to go to this extent to save her life. She hadn’t doubted that, but she found herself thinking about whether she’d go to the same extremes for Liam. She didn’t think so. But she didn’t know. Thinking of Liam reminded her of his words from last night (had it only been last night? It felt like longer, days stretching into years into centuries).

Most parents would die for their children.

Alec Ryder hadn’t been most parents.

Most parents would die for their children.

Had he died for his daughter, or for his wife?

It was just another question that Sara didn’t want the answer to. Which meant that one day, she probably, unfortunately, would. It had always been like that with Dad. Even in his death, he was maddeningly consistent.

The walls of the room seemed to close in around her. She needed to find Mom. Now. Told SAM as such, as though he wouldn’t be coming with her.

*** 

Her message to Scott was short and devoid of emotion. The letters on her omni-tool swam before her eyes. She’d triple-checked them, made sure they delivered some sort of coherent message. But she couldn’t read them. Reading them made it real.

Fortunately, Scott knew when to ask questions, and he knew Sara well enough to know that in this case? Time was of the essence. That wasn't to say that the questions wouldn’t come later. But that was something she would worry about then: later.

Now she just had to take the final step towards learning the truth, and hopefully the first step towards accepting it. Scott was already waiting by the cryo pod when she arrived; her walk through the Hyperion had been slow and awful, like she’d dragged her feet through mud while carrying a thirty kilogram weight upon her back. She wore everyone’s eyes were on her the whole time, but then again, when weren’t they?

At least she wasn't crying. She was the human Pathfinder, and what example would she be to those who looked up to her for guidance if she started crying in public? Scott knew her moods too well to not pick up her on obvious upset. He also knew her well enough to know when not to stick his nose in, even though it was one of his favourite pastimes. Despite all his claims to the contrary. His eyes flickered to hers, brow creased in concern, but he didn’t say anything about it. Didn’t reach out to her. Just business. “Who’s Elizabeth Reilly?”

And maybe she should have milked it a bit more, stirred him up with some grandiose statement. But she didn’t have the energy. She was hollowed out and exhausted and she wanted nothing more than to go back to bed and wake up three hours ago and forget that this had ever happened.

But she couldn’t. “It’s Mom,” she whispered. She hated how stupid the words sounded, the way Scott looked at her as though he was torn between asking her to repeat herself and asking her if she was joking.

The truth spilled out of her in spits and spurts, unable to be contained but reluctant all the same.  She watched Scott vacillate between pain and joy, reconcile the information the same way she’d been struggling to do. “I want to shake his hand. And then punch him!”

And she laughed, because she understood that feeling entirely. Looked up at the pod that contained Mom. Did she know that she would be coming here? Sara couldn’t help but think that she didn’t. No-one was ever truly ready to die, or so Sara felt, but Mom had made her peace with her fate all the same. She’d told them to take care of each other. Surely she wouldn’t have said that if there was any possibility of her coming back.

Dad had brought her to Andromeda to seek a cure for her illness. And now Dad was dead. It didn’t seem fair, somehow. But nothing ever was. SAM was endlessly optimistic, but how could he not be? He was created by Dad. He’d been created by Dad to save Mom. When he started to tell them that her accomplishments could one day save Mom’s life, Sara struggled to believe him.  The fact of the matter was she couldn’t have done half of what she’d done in Heleus without SAM.

“Waking her up will be fun,” Sara said softly, retreating into sarcasm at the sheer ludicrousness of it all. “Surprise, Mom! You’re still alive! Dad put you on ice!” The last statement was punctuated with a scoff. One one hand she couldn’t believe Dad had done it, really done it. On the other hand, Dad was, well, Dad…

Scott chimed in, right on cue. “Oh, and by the way — look out the window. You’re in Andromeda!”

Sara had missed Scott. She really had. Even if he did drive her absolutely up the wall at times. She bumped him carefully with her shoulder, a casual touch. They smiled up at Mom’s cryo pod together. One day, when the time was right, maybe just maybe, they’d be able to wake her up. It still felt wrong, somehow, but knowing what they knew? They couldn’t very well leave her in there.

And then there was SAM. The AI had a vested interest in the survival of their mother as well. Sara forgot as easily as she remembered. It is a mission I hope the three of us will one day fulfil — together. Togethere. Sara and Scott and Sam.

She wondered when, exactly, she had started to consider SAM family.

It was still weird to think that SAM had been crafted for a specific purpose when so much of her own life had felt like a series of awkward blunders, or making the best of a bad situation. Then again, SAM had learnt so much that had nothing to do without his original goals. And wasn't that life in a nutshell? All the things that one learnt, experienced, overcame in the pursuit of a set of aims?

They was halfway out of the cryo bay when SAM spoke to her over their private channel. “Yes, Sara, I do believe it is.”

***

Whatever small joy she had derived from her conversation with Scott withered in her veins as she found herself mostly alone again. Alone, except for SAM, wired to her consciousness as he was. “You are experiencing a heightened level of anxiety,” he told her as she approached the desk in her father’s room, all sprawled out monitors and scattered datapads.

Sara still hadn’t brought it upon herself to rearrange the space. “No shit, SAM,” she muttered in response, heart beating loud, thunderously, erratically. SAM fell silent and Sara felt guilty. He’s just trying to help. There were more terrible truths to be unearthed at the tips of her fingers.

She got SAM to play the first message, the second, the third. As she listened to the emergency transmissions of desperate armies, her skin turned to ice, the roar of her heart dampening. Her vision was blurring at the corners again and she found herself clutching at the edge of the desk to anchor herself.

Three points of contact. Her boots were on the floor. She was in the Pathfinder’s quarters of the ark Hyperion. The Hyperion made up most of the current settlement of Port Meridian. Port Meridian was named for the planet itself. Meridian was the fourth planet of the Saajor system. The Saajor system was located in the Heleus cluster. Her name was Sara Ryder, she was in Andromeda, and she was alive.

Blue sparks danced across her skin.

Cora had once compared biotics to a sneeze. At the time, Sara had thought it an apt descriptor. But now? Now, she’d characterise it as the urge to throw up. Better out than in, given a suitable target. Her hands were shaking. So were her shoulders.

Everyone is dead. 

There were two messages left, blinking at her from the terminal in the corner of her eye. Bile rose up her throat. She was flaring, losing control in a way she hadn’t done in years.

“Pathfinder,” SAM hedged, almost uncertain. SAM didn’t do uncertainty. “I believe you are having a panic attack. If you would like, I could—”

The implications of SAM’s offer broke through Sara’s reduced consciousness. “No, don’t you—” 

“Understood.”

Her hands curled into fists atop the desk, angry clammy palms.

Everyone is dead. 

The Milky Way as she knew it was gone.

She sunk to her knees at the console, hands still holding on for dear life. “The rest,” she demanded, because she’d come this far. This time, SAM did not question her.

A conversation between Jien Garson and her father, his parting words to her: I guess we always knew there was no going back.  The message ended. There was nothing more.

She crumbled, sinking to the floor at last, knees drawn to her chest, head resting down against her forearm. She didn’t know how long she sat there for before she even had the clarity to try and control her breath.

She’d been hyperventilating, of course. SAM had tried to tell her, but she hadn’t listened. She’d shut him down, and she was far too prideful to ask him for his assistance now. Instead, she inhaled in, counted to four, exhaled one-two-three-four. Her biotic corona shrunk somewhat as she battled to get her processes back under control.

I guess we always knew there was no going back.

Her father’s voice rang through her head, and she felt the anxiety spike through her system again. The surge of adrenaline had her back on her feet without really thinking about it, a troubling sign if she’d stopped to consider it more deeply, but she didn’t. Couldn’t.  The weight of her own malfunctioning powers was crushing, crushing, crushing.

Everything in the room reminded her of her father. His guns. Who he'd been. The model ships. Where he'd taken them. The goddamn coffee machine. Of what he’d done to save them.

She let go, pouring all of her grief and her rage and her fear with her biotic release, the machine slamming against the opposite wall with a satisfying crash, if only she’d been present enough to properly appreciate it. It shattered into pieces and Sara wasn’t sure how, but she found herself settling down amongst them, biotic powers now back under control and her breath steadying.

Sitting in the ruins of her father's coffee machine, Sara wept. 

[childrenofathoria-rp-blog]

◆Out Of Character Information◆

Name/Age: Admin Raven, 24 Preferred Pronouns: She/Her Timezone:  EST Desired Character: Eris McKenna 

◆Character Information◆ (1)  What pronouns will your character be using? Would you like to list their sexuality at this time?:She/her - Bisexual (2)  Any changes or comments? Nope! (3) Why this character?

I always wanted to play a witch! Our entire lore surrounding them and their connection to the Fae is so interesting. I miss playing a character with elemental powers and I’ve yet to play one with fire abilities. Eris is one of the few gifted humans around with ties to dark magic and, to be honest, I’m like feeding my demon muse through her a bit. Her presence in-game would be refreshing and since she’s not in a clan, she has a lot of autonomy. She’s very different from Nita and while they both have anger issues, Eris is a lot more unhinged. Not to mention that Eris would be one of the first characters that I play that isn’t a warrior. (4) Interpret this character:

I feel like power is something that drives Eris more than anything. She isn’t interested in ruling or leading, I think she seeks immortality or perhaps god-hood, even. She believes that witches are the superior species between all others, but the one thing that holds them back is their mortality. Eris doesn’t think it’s fair that they were born with such abilities, but can only use them to extend their lives, not preserve them. The sorceress despises the limits placed on gifted humans by the Guild and hopes to do away with them one day.

I suppose the sins she leans towards most is wrath and greed. I plan to play her anger as something that can begin as a slow simmer that evolves into wildfire when agitated. She has little patience with meek or rude people and demands respect without having earned it. If she feels that her pride is threatened, she will not hesitate to retaliate. Eris can be quite haughty in nature and loves playing the seducer; she has no trouble with using her sexuality for personal gain. Eris’ name means “strife” and she’ll surely lives up to that namesake.

As cliche as it sounds, I headcanon that Eris comes from a prominent line of fire mages, but her father had an affinity for water. When her magic bloomed, she took to water magic naturally despite her obsession with fire. Through practice and hard work, Eris became moderately skilled in the fire elemental area, but knew she lacked the proper connection to truly master it. This was one of the factors that drove her to make her bargain with Xaphan. Her affinity for water faded completely after the deal’s conclusion. I think it’s ironic that she basically cheated her way to achieve power and it’s likely one of her biggest secrets.

I consider Eris to be a bit of loner, someone who doesn’t truly have friends, but allies. She’s not a good person and I’d love to see her possibly build some meaningful connections. I imagine she’d have some animosity toward the Mighty Oak coven, I headcanon that her mother had ties with them, but wasn’t exactly a member. A personal endgame I have in mind for her is to meet her end at the Guild’s hands, perhaps with assistance from the Mighty Oak Coven.

When it comes to other species, I think she’s extremely curious about the Fae and the creature who sired her mother’s line. After a bit of research I learned that her surename McKenna(which is Irish) comes from the old Gaelic name “MacCionaodha” which meant “child of Aodh’s love”. Aodh was the name of a Celtic fae god of fire. So I’d like to take this piece of real life myth and give it an Athorian spin by including that Fae in her lineage and possibly future plots. While she may feel some sense of pride for gifted humans, she looks down on those who limit themselves. She gravitates toward the like-minded mages of Leeds, rather than those who live in the forest.

Eris is very intrigued by vampires and wants to learn how they came to be. She is wary of them  but has been known to take one to her bed every now and again. On other hand, she is quite indifferent toward werewolves and has no fear of the beasts. Eris is knowledgeable of Reapers and has yet to meet an Angel. She is greatly interested in Specters though and using them to connect to the netherworld they’re tethered to.

With Nate’s plans to expand Athoria, she has grown extremely wary of the crown and Nate’s ambitions. She still plans to seek out Lords like Theo to learn all that she can about the Athors. In addition to her penchant for divulging secrets, she has plans to finally gain access to the Ravenswood library. She knows there are spell books and tomes that might be beneficial to her goals.

The dark witch is a master fire mage and is a great conjurer, and is proficient with harnessing shadows. While she has knowledge of necromancy, she doesn’t practice it and leans toward blood and demonic magic.

Eris’ wand is fashioned from silver due to the corrupt nature of her magic. Wooden wands are easily reduced to cinder from even the most basic spells. Silver is a high level conductor of magic that carries energies instead of storing it. On each side of the wand are gems that act as conduits for magical energy. ◆ Interview Questions ◆

(1) Question One: Did you have any regrets about sacrificing your mother?

“I loved my mother, yes, but she  and I never got along. She always asked why I couldn’t be more like my cousin – pious, quiet, and obedient. From the day my magic bloomed, she tried to quell that fire in me. A parent is supposed to accept their children for what they are, correct? All she did was try to change me, so that I could be what she wanted. And when she realized that I would not change, she attempted to force it upon me by trying to strip me of my magic. Instead of letting me walk my own path, my mother intended for me to suffer, magicless and empty, in this beautiful world. To take my magic would mean to take my soul; to take my soul means to kill me. So I gave her to my lord, Xaphan, and I have not regret it since.” (2) Question Two: Do you have a favorite type of fire spell?

“Elemental spells are definitely my favorite type. There is so much one can do with fire, it can be used to create, purify, or destroy…but I tend to lean towards the last, of course. If you want specifics, then my favorite spell is one called Nova Mortis. The user speaks the required incantation and kisses the victim on the lips, transferring a tiny ember into the body. Over time, the ember blossoms, cooking them from the inside out. It is a slow process, though and if you look closely, you can see the fire dancing in their veins. ◆Writing Sample:◆

Eris seemed to drift silently through the brush as she walked. At her flank, her mother, Minerva, lied in a shadow-forged cocoon. She trapped her in a stasis and bound her in shackles that nullified magic. All it took was a simple lie and some crocodile tears and she had her mother ensnared. She’d been so relieved to hear what she finally wanted — that Eris would give into her wishes and be the obedient daughter. Minerva hadn’t even sensed the potion in her wine, not until it was too late. Now, she was being lead to Eris’ den. The hide-out was a warded cave north of Grimsby. She needed to be away from Hallowed Oak, a place where the Green Man couldn’t listen and his hags would pry at the spike of demonic energy.

Once inside, she lowered her mother onto the stone altar. Everything was already in place. Candles lined the altar’s round edges, sitting at each point of the pentagram. In the arm of each star lied runes and sigils, written in blood. A few yards away from the altar lied the summoning circle that her lord would emerge from.“Céimnithe.” Eris uttered, dispersing the shadows.“Ardú.” She said, with a snap of her fingers.

Minerva jolted awake, mouth taking in air as if she’d been drowning. Her green eyes went to her daughter, an expression of betrayal in them. “Whatever you plan on doing, Eris, I beg you…do not to it. Please…”

The dark mage merely gave her a hateful glare, hands working a mortar and pestle. “Where was my mercy, Mother?” She sprinkled herbs and spices into the bowl, mixing in the blood of a ram and boar — Xaphan’s sacred animals. “You tried to kill me as well, you know.”

“I tried to banish your magi—”

Eris cut her off. “There is no difference!”

“You needed to be saved from yourself!” Minerva retorted. “I am your mother and I must protect you, no matter the cost. If you continue down this path, the Guild will have you killed. I cannot let that happen!”

“Who are they to tell me how to use my magic? My. Magic. We can bend the very energies of this world to our will and we must limit ourselves and shy away from power. They’d rather we live our mortal lives praying to the fae, false idols, and obscure gods. They’d rather we sit in a circle and sing to that fucking tree you call a deity!” It was fortunate that no one could hear them from the outside, otherwise all of Athoria could hear them argue. “My god is not bound to the earth, a true god breaks their chains…a true god is a being beyond this world.” Eris pressed a hand to her mother’s brow, the gesture almost loving in nature. “Fortunately, you will have eternity to comprehend his power.”

Her mother began to weep. It was as if she had finally realized how far her daughter had gone, that perhaps she pushed her to this point. “I love you, Eris. You are my daughter, my only child. Please…”

The woman’s hand moved to Minerva’s throat, squeezing. “You never loved me…not truly. Not the way you should. All I ever heard growing up was stories of our line, the Fire-Born beloved children of the Fae called Aodh.” She released her mother, allowing her to breathe. “I’ll never forget that look on your face when you saw me by the river those years ago, when you realized I was like my father. All that talk of the McKenna blood and legacy…and I was the imperfection. From the moment I was born you projected your expectations on me, wished me to be anything other than what I am.” A blissful smile colored Eris’ features. “Well now…I’ll be free of you.”

Eris didn’t bother to let her mother respond. With single word, the woman was silenced for as long as she willed it. The sorceress placed the bowl in the middle of the summoning circle and grasped her spellbook. Kneeling before the circle, she turned to the proper page, letting her aura loose. In an old, crude tongue she began to speak the incantation. The spell’s notes said the language was called Dimoori Sheol, the language of the damned. Every syllable tugged at her soul, sending pulses of dark energy through her frame. The process wasn’t nearly as taxing as the first time she summoned Xaphan. Her book indicated that the user’s first time would require a sacrifice of their life force, as a gesture of devotion. This time, Xaphan only required an offering.

The red witch’s eyes cast white as her head tilted toward the ceiling. Her spell shook the very walls and caused the candles in the space to flare. The ingredients within the bowl began to smoke and bubble until it overflowed. Her mixture disintegrated the dish and pooled to the circle’s edges. The boiling grew violent, the smoke thicker until it filled the space in a haze of brimstone. At the incantation’s climax, the ichor caught fire and from it, a form began to rise. The blue of Eris’ eyes returned and she gazed upon her lord with revere.

“Eris, my most loyal, you’ve come to bargain?” Xaphan asked. His form changed from one shape to the next, each appearance more horrifying than the one before.

“Yes, my lord, Xaphan.” Eris rose to her feet and turned to her mother. The poor woman had soiled herself in the demon’s presence. Her eyes were wide with fear as she trembled. “I have brought my mother, as promised. Her soul is yours to command.”

The demon’s laugh sent a shudder through her. “And what would you have in exchange?” He inquired, already knowing the answer.

“Power. I want the fire to be mine as it is yours. To ruin those who would stand in my way and wreak havoc in your name.”

Xaphan smiled at her reply, his form writhing against the circle’s bounds. “Then give her to me and your sacrifice shall be rewarded,”

Eris stood at her mother’s side, face softened by her impending sorrow. She couldn’t hear Minerva’s pleas for mercy, but she read them on her lips. Perhaps that was why she silenced her, so that she couldn’t be convinced to do so. Despite their turbulent relationship, Eris loved her mother, otherwise it wouldn’t be a true sacrifice. During her time with a coven of conjurers, she learned that nothing was gained without loss. Everything had a price and if one wasn’t willing to pay, then they didn’t deserve it. “Your death will not be in vain.” Eris said, raising a dagger of fire. “Chuid eile i tine.” She plunged the knife into Minerva’s heart, unsilencing her to hear the screams.  

If she wouldn’t let her plead for her life, she could at least hear her die. Tears streamed down Eris’ cheeks as the fire engulfed her mother. While Minerva’s body burned on the altar, the light of her soul fluttered from the ashes. The ball of energy hovered just above Eris’ hand as she guided it to Xaphan, dropping to one knee. “I have done as you asked, she is yours my Prince.” She pushed Minerva’s soul into the circle and watched as the demon fed it through serrated teeth.

“It is done, my child. Do not weep, rejoice in your gift.” He said.

Eris then felt a burning in her chest. The pain was so intense, that she sank to the floor. For a moment, she thought Xaphan deceived her. Yet when she looked down, she saw her heart glow orange-red beneath her skin. The fire candlefire matched the pattern of her breath and she felt like the very sun lived in her veins. By the time she looked up, Xaphan was gone and only the crackle of fire remained.