#and just /survive/ even if some are considered to be beyond the grasp of whatever controls the city. once in venxian you're

[enruint]

𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐗𝐈𝐀𝐍, pt. 1:    a study in hostile architecture, expansion and reduction,  the unseen and assimilation into the strange

what makes venxian so scary    is not the supernatural creatures    that live there and are part of the society.    people are aware they exist,  humans and supernatural creatures co-exist in so far that it's possible or keep to their own sectors in the vast city.   nothing scary about that.    what's so unsettling and quite frankly eerie and puts the people within venxian ( including the supernatural creatures ) on edge is what they all can't see.    what moves beneath the city,   the force that keeps the inhabitants all trapped within the city - state.    whatever is in the air that whispers in their ears,   that presence in    the dark waters   that creeps closer and closer,   and rises higher   &.   higher,    intent on drowning venxian.    it's the city itself that seems to shift,   to move,   breathe and groan.    the streets that move upwards and further in upon themselves,   stairways that go down into the deep where it feels like you're actually going upwards into the nightsky instead of downwards. it's quite   impossible to navigate the city   because everything about it feels so wrong.    nothing looks right.    not the many bridges that connect the various levels of the city with one another,    the ones that creak and bend in impossible angles,    not bringing you any closer to where you want to go.    not the tramcars that stop at stops that don't exist and their eerie rumble shaking the shoddy buildings of the lowe-city to their core.   the signs,    if there even are any, refer to places the inhabitants don't even know exist but the city claims it does and it's best you just go along with whatever the city demands lest you become part of the scenery yourself. and lastly:   the inhabitants themselves are quite simply odd as well.   they are and unsettled by the place they call home and    are unsettling themselves in return.   to outsiders the inhabitants don't make sense whatsoever,    the things they accept are ridiculous:    why is the sound of a child crying seen as normal in that particular alleyway ?   why does the crying becoming softer the closer you get to it and louder when you run away ?    why is there is no sun and is the city covered in perpetual darkness ?    what do you mean the lanterns on the street protect you from the dark waters but only in so far the city thinks is fine ?   the inhabitants just live their lives in a place that is uncanny at best and horrifying at it's worse and they are part of it   ( whether they want to or not,   whether they're aware of it or not ).    they play as much of a role in the unseen horror that keeps this city in a choke hold.   most exhibit strange behavior and accept the strangeness of the city as well.    the museum with no doors,   the town square that seems to call to something no one can hear,    the annual festival near the piers where it's custom for families to sacrifice a living thing to the water because of course !   don't want to make the sea angry and have it swallow up another piece of their already shrinking land right  ?   best ignore    the squelching mass in the thirteenth alleyway   because it's regurgitating whatever the walls have eaten before or   better yet feed it your neighbors for good fortune. the people are off,    the city is off and the true horror is that no one knows what's going on,   what has   settled in this place and the sea   and what it wants, the rot that spreads across the streets    &.    eats at the walls.    the rot that infects people:   killing some and completely changing others.   the   unknown and the unseen   is what makes venxian such a horrifying place.   the way it seems to expand yet shrink is terrifying. and not the creatures that inhabit it,   they're just as much of a pawn as the humans are.   the horror is the city itself.   and the horror is what the city has made the inhabitants become.   you can't escape it when you live in it,   you're part of it's odd game when you visit it.   the city has a mind of it's own:   and it's just gotten started.

[bathic]

6. Maybe it will be if you survive.

Word count: 3.4k

The worst thing wasn’t finding out that you had been stumbling around in circles the entire time after you had run off. Or even that, if you had just taken a moment to get your bearings instead of blindly wandering through tunnel after tunnel, you would have seen just the smallest traces of light pouring beyond the edge of one of the corners. The exit— or Northward Entrance was right there behind the outcrop of the wall.

That might have nicked your ego. Reminded you that despite your poorly executed escape from above, just barely making it on the whim; luck wasn’t on your side and the chances you thought you had were slim to none in the pit.

Perhaps going on the fly wasn’t the smartest thing, another hasty decision brought on by a spur of the moment decision during a small window of opportunity. One that, yes, you completely fumbled with your impatience. And now the consequences surrounded you with rusted bars and splintered floorboards which creaked and groaned every time you shifted. The man who had snagged you from your errant bumbling stood at the bottom of a well-worn staircase adjacent of the prison cell he shoved you in. He looked no older or younger than you, with a shapely jaw and wispy brown hair that laid flat against his forehead and hung longer where it was tucked behind his ears. Saddled with a beige peasant shirt fastened with a strappy holster in a darker washed leather, black trousers and clunky boots. His wings, brown and fuzzy, fluttered every so often against his back; the rounded ends reaching the crease of his knees where his shoes stopped (or began depending on where you considered a shoe started— at the toe or the tongue).

Something red smudged along the outer corner of his left eye and temple.

Not a single word passed through his lips since he brought you here, not even when you tried to pry him apart with a futile game of twenty-something questions. He remained as stoic as a fountain statue, tight-lipped and unblinking. The only bit of him that moved were his wings and the perimeter of his chest— inhale, exhale.

“Seriously? I’m beginning to put together a theme amongst the men here. Threatening and abducting innocent people because, let me guess, a completely hare-brained assumption about some absurd thing called a birdling— am I right? You can tell me that I am because I really can’t seem to grasp at the loose threads those other two idiots were rambling about aside from that.” You pause to catch your breath, resuming momentarily despite the man across from you not seeming the slightest bit interested in what you have to say. “Which I’m not for the record. I don’t even know what that is— a fucking birdling. Sounds stupid and childish and exactly like something the short one would have made up.”

You watch and wait, shifted forward onto your knees in front of the cell door, hands wrapped around the lower bars. Yet despite your attempt at trying to get him to at least tell you to shut up, he didn’t so much as sigh or twitch in his spot.

“Are you… some kind of law enforcement? Is that what this is, I’m being detained for something I didn’t even do. If anything, you should have those idiots put in here!”

Nothing.

The silent treatment was beginning to chew at your nerves, not that they weren’t already bitten to the high heavens from everything that has transpired within the last… well, whatever amount of time has passed.

Then it occurred to you of an aforementioned person of caliber, someone with a title and a rather demanding personality— at least you’ve gathered as much from that singular exposure out on that rickety landing.

“I want to speak to your captain.”

It wasn’t much, and to be fair it could have just been the slight of sight, but you swore you saw the corner of his mouth twitch. Like he was nearly tempted to snap back at you.

“That’s who we’re waiting on, right? I heard the little chat between him and the other two. Got to say, he’s a bit of an asshole—“

“You talk too much for your own good—“

“Don’t waste your breath, Yeosang. The weak only babble out of fear… as they should.” A new voice, and yet not so new at all suddenly drawled somewhere along the stairs obscured by your position and the shadows casted from the outcrop of the ceiling.

Each heavy booted foot landing on the wooden planks felt like the impaling of a nail into the line of your spine. You had to tighten your grip of the bars to keep yourself from flinching, the sound all-too familiar to the beast of a man that you lived with— every echo lingering like a ghost. The saliva that pooled into your mouth was every bit as bitter as the glare you were met with the moment the boots hit the common ground floorboards. Only difference between the two was that your spit was warm, and his eyes held nothing but a cold edge.

Truly when needed, the will to keep your mouth sealed shut seemed to elude you.

“Who are you?”

His head tilts to the side, causing the fawn-colored fringe hanging over his forehead to sway. “Who am I? Why, shouldn’t you know— you were insisting on speaking to me just seconds ago.”

Beneath the dim lights of the brig stood the very captain— a face to the voice of the hologram, a body to match the snide comments made by Wooyoung, the concept and the product molded together into a singular and very real person. Brown leather boots folded over at the tops worn by wear bled into baggy trousers decorated with varying buttons and fastened chains. An open shirt untied at his collar bones beneath the heavy sag of a trench coat layered by unrecognizable patches with odd symbols and miscellaneous intricacies amalgamized into a peculiar mixture as far as fashion went. Something very pre-of today yet you could with a bit of thought digging find some similar echoes of the same exact style worn by the younger crowd in town. His hair hung longer in the back with sides shaved short, ear sporting varying pieces of rudimentary jewelry; some gold, some bronze, some silver. Like he was indecisive and figured the best outcome would be all of the above, that reflected on his choice of rings lining both hands as well. The casual sway in them as he strode nonchalantly towards the cell caught every bit of light and made every other jewel glint like a visual warning.

You clear your throat from an invisible obstruction, "Ah, the captain..."

A single shapely eyebrow pulls upward, "Yes, the captain. The one you've deemed as 'a bit of an asshole'." He watches the way you wet your lips out of discomfort, the corners of his own seeming to curl at the action.

"Slip of the tongue."

"Of course, most baseless assumptions are."

You shift to stand, facing him eye-to-eye through the bars of your cell. "Speaking of assumptions," Swiping at the stiff grime-soaked fabric of your jeans with your sweaty palms didn't give you as much confidence as you wished for the feeling of dirt rubbing along your skin reminded you of how utterly gross you probably looked, "I have been wrongly accused of being something without any proper evidence by two of your idiotic friends. Not only that, but they jointly decided too not only man-handle me but also bring me here against my will. Now, I will ask kindly that you let me go without any trouble in exchange for my silence in regard to whatever lack of human ethics-"

“Let you go?” His question was trailed by a burst of laughter, one that rocked his shoulders and caused the wings that blended into the color of his coat to flare out to the side. They shook like leaves in the fall and emitted a soft whoosh.

You spared a glance over to the other man, seeing his expression just as blank as it was before the captain had appeared.

Had you been paying attention, then you’d notice that the laughter had stopped and the hand hurling down onto one of the bars right in front of you. The clang of metal hitting metal sounded off and startled you enough to stumble back. The captain stood closer to the cell; his face perfectly lined within the space between two of the bars. He looked at you like you were something insignificant, a nasty piece of nothing that deserved just as much— nothing.

“Bold or simply stupid, I can’t really decide on which of those fit your pathetic demands more.” His dark eyes look you over, nose scrunching in a show of disgust.

It wasn’t like you purposely chose to roll around in dirty street water.

“Tell me, what is so important about you that those two idiots would go through the trouble to bring you here? Hm, do you even know where here is?”

“Nothing… there’s no importance surrounding me. So, you are just as much in the dark as I am. And no, I have no idea where I am— I wasn’t even aware that the pit wasn’t just a big giant hole!” You throw your hands up only to let them fall down onto your thighs with a plap.

“Pit? Speak clearly for I have no patience for childish runarounds.”

One of his rings, on his right middle finger had the head of a wasp on it with emeralds for eyes. It was perturbing to look at. And to have looking at you.

You parted your lips to retort but several rounds of steps rushing down the steps not only hooked your attention but also that of the other two men. Yeosang turned first, greeted by the sight of a blonde head of hair and another mop of brown with chunky highlighted strands.

Both unfamiliar to you.

“I told you both to stay in the war room.”

“Jongho told Wooyoung, Yunho and Seonghwa that you were down here with the… whatever it is.”

“And? That required the both of you to come running down here— to what? Fight the unknown? Well, there it is.” A hand jerks in your direction and their attention follows it, landing on you.

The shorter blonde approached first, peering at you through the bars like an animal at the zoo. To be fair, you were beginning to feel like it.

“Could use a good bath.” He whispered, staring at you like one would upon seeing a dirty stray. Although with less pity and more casual nonchalance.

“Don’t get too close, Sannie… we don’t know if it’s a biter.” The taller of the two, with the discolored bits of hair sidled up beside the other with a hand wrapped around his bicep.

Yeosang scoffed, “Hardly a fighter let alone a biter, Mingi.”

“Doesn’t hurt to be cautious.”

Hongjoong stepped forward and latched a hand onto both men’s shoulders, yanking them back and to the side with a huff. This was to be an interrogation and yet all he has gotten so far was something about a pit and knowing how the meddling of San and Mingi would go, certainly nothing of use would be gained.

“You spoke of a pit… what is that and how does it correlate with you being here?”

“Yes, the pit… big, giant hole in the wheat fields up above. Couldn’t miss it unless you were blind.”

“Above?” San turned to Mingi who turned to Yeosang who simply shrugged his shoulders.

“Do you take me for a fool?” Hongjoong was once again pressed against the cell with a knit to his brows. He took no kindness to being made out like a brainless idiot.

You squinted at him, “You don’t believe me— how can you want answers when you refuse to acknowledge the one’s that I give you? A pit, large and wide from above, what is so hard for you to grasp? You are literally inside of it!”

“Never heard it called that before, do you think it has multiple names?” Mingi whispered to San from the side.

“I could ask you the same thing, how can I acknowledge any truth to your answers when you give me such incompetent ones? Truly, does it look like we are in a massive fucking hole?”

“Of course not! At least not in here, in whatever this room is. But out there… sort of.” You frown, realizing that no, nobody could tell they were in a ginormous hole even when on the landing or in that string-light city.

“Sort of?” He chuckles dryly, “Right, tell me more. How did you end up in all of this pit nonsense, hm? Take a tumble, hit your head, get a bit scattered.”

The man was openly mocking you, sneering through the bars of your prison with such contempt.

“You talk about me making you out to be a fool but what you are doing is the exact same thing.”

“That’s where you are wrong— I don’t need to do or say anything to make you what you already are… a blabbering liar, not even a fool could make up the utter nonsense coming from your mouth!” His hands slam against the bars, the echo of metal on metal hardly audible over his harsh breathing. Surely if a mirror was held before him, he would have a rapid dog reflected back.

“Captain.” Yeosang wasn’t exactly interested in stepping between his leader and the target of his ire but things were beginning to derail and unless he wanted to be held back to clean up a mess he’d rather avoid entirely (that and returning to his wing-bound covered in freshly spilled blood would set Seonghwa off into a frazzled state of clean-up mode), interjecting while the coals were barely starting to shift in temperature would right everything back on course.

“She was found wandering through the tunnels, not too far from the Northward Entrance. Yunho and Wooyoung couldn’t have been—“ But his relay in information was cut short by the captain's own voice, tone bearing no sort of interest in what the moth had to say.

“I don’t really care what and where those two might have been. Considering this,” Hongjoong juts a finger in your direction, the black polish on his nail catching your eye briefly. “Was their issue to sort in the first place and rather than keep a leash on her, they let her run in circles while fucking off in the whacon. So now, I will have to once again clean up the mess of two irresponsible idiots.”

Yeosang pursed his lips, decidedly accepting the decision to keep his mouth shut. San placed a hand on his shoulder as a silent means of solidarity.

“It could have been a simple mistake. Plus, wasn’t Seonghwa sent to get them? Perhaps they got distracted by his sudden appearance. You know how Wooyoung gets around him.” Mingi tried his own hand at appealing to the irate captain, his wing-bound, while also choosing to ignore the way Yeosang shifted in his peripheral. Perhaps that little detail could have been spared.

Hongjoong was silent, staring you down as you slumped against the back of the cell. It looked like he was pondering something, not exactly looking at you but rather through you at an indecipherable spot. And then his head tilts, one dangling earring pooling over his jawline. The curl of his lips made the hair on your arms stand on end, rising in salute of the goosebumps littering your skin. He was, in no other word, scheming. You could see it just by the sudden wicked gleam in his eyes.

“So, what I hear parting from my beloved Mingi’s lips is that Seonghwa is to blame, is that right? Hm?” His voice carries the same saccharine tone you’d heard him use on the landing, artificially sweet to coat the poison bubbling beneath.

Mingi’s eyes widened, quickly looking over at Yeosang. San still had his hand on his shoulder, but you could see the way his knuckles had turned white, and the grip made the peasant shirt he wore bunch up. Yeosang might have kept his features neutral but there was a fire in his eyes and a tick in his jaw. His own hands balled tightly at his sides.

“No— No that’s not what I’m saying—“

“Then I should scalp him of his pretty little wings and have him hang by the wounds from the Southway Bridge for being such a distraction to my crew. Seeing as nobody can seem to fucking function in his presence then I’ll just get rid of him entirely. Is that what I should do, Mingi? My wing-bound, my soul, my heart in every living beat…”

Every single word that fell past Hongjoong’s lips solidified one thing in your mind. That he was absolutely insane, a mad man far off of his rocker. San gripped Yeosang with both hands now, one around his waist and the other falling to his upper bicep. He seemed to tremble under the entrapment of his rage.

Despite the captain’s verbiage being directed at the tall man behind him, his eyes never strayed from you. Like the threat he was making against someone else wasn’t just dedicated to them, but to you.

“You are fucking sick.” You glared at him through the bars, planting your hands flat against the wall behind you.

Hongjoong’s lips peel back to reveal a perfect set of teeth, ones that he quickly swiped over with his sharp-tipped tongue.

“I wouldn’t be the notorious captain that I am if I wasn’t just a little bit depraved… birdling.”

You froze hearing that word, the accusation to start all of this mess, realizing that he had probably heard everything you had said to Yeosang before his abrupt arrival. He knew to an extent of why you were even in the tunnels in the first place, what had Wooyoung and Yunho insist on dragging you from the stringed-light city to be brought before their captain. You knew that word was spoken negatively, like an omen or some unspoken enemy shared between them.

You, in their eyes, were that enemy.

Suddenly the sound of metal clinking together tethered your attention into focus. Hongjoong had a keyring in his hands, gold in color, with several intricately shaped keys of varying sizes. One was shoved into the lock on the cell door. You looked up to see that he was no longer sporting that devious grin but rather a serious countenance devoid of his earlier sick-humor.

The door creaked open within his hand; eyes unreadable as he gazed at you.

“San,” Said man’s head jerked to attention, “Grab her and put her on her knees. I wish to see the wings that I plan to put above my bed.”

San hesitated for a minute second but ultimately did as he was told, letting go of Yeosang and beelining it to the cell. You knew this was a fight you couldn’t win. Not by a long shot. But you had to try. What was the point of getting this far without that— trying. Could you even consider this point as far? Maybe it will be if you survive.

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Masterlist

[joz-yyh]

DDMonth ▪️ Day 8: Prayer 📿 TITLE: Of Monks and Monsters - (Preview) SUMMARY: Role Reversal AU. What if Damian was a wechuge and Bigby was a traveling monk who got lost in the woods? After spending some time together, Bigby must make a choice. Will he save the monster that abducted him or leave him to die? No beta. Read at your own risk. RATING: T (blood / violence / horror) PAIRING: Flagellant x Abomination WORD COUNT: 1,400+ A/N: (A little teaser for a project I've been working on that's not yet been published! If you want to know more, click here + here for concept art + here for a cute snippet of them bonding.)

——————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————–

Damian trusted him enough to let him wander outside the nest, far enough to forage, but not far enough that he would breach another's territory.

Bigby is grateful to stretch his legs, for the change of scenery. He'd spent too many hours inside the creature's den, surrounded by rock and bone, under its scrutiny. 

The young monk preferred the taste of berries to whatever questionable meat the creature sustained itself on, the discarded remains leftover from his numerous hunts painting quite the macabre tale.

Once again he thanks the Light for its protection, that he didn't wind up like the others that came before, that he was spared it's wrath, although a willing captive to this place. 

He's thought about it, running, betraying the same wechuge who gave him this small semblance of freedom. 

“There's no point in trying. He'd find me, just like last time.” 

He's talking to himself, picking from the cluster of mushroom caps he found, using his robe as a pouch to harvest them.

“I don't even know how far away the town is. Who's to say I’d make it?”

He sighs, sitting on haunches, staring down at his humble collection. Was this enough food? Should he pick more? How much longer was he planning to stay?

“Maybe, I can convince him to show me …”

His green eyes seem to be asking the foliage around him, but the forest can do no more than offer a quiet ear.

“Would he let me go? I mean, he left me out here alone.”

His grasp on ethics and morality are beginning to blur, spun around the longer he stays here, as twisted and cursed as a bramble bush. 

Why should he feel bad for an evil spirit? So what if he was manipulating him for his own survival? He was the victim here, forced into captivity, isolated from the world. Despite these internal arguments against Damian, Bigby couldn't bear the thought of leaving, not yet. 

He's too absorbed in his own head to notice the jagged shadow approaching, not expecting an ambush in the middle of the day, especially so close to what he considered safety.

A crack of sound and now the dark-haired boy glances up, a familiar figure just beyond the trees, too distant to make it out clearly.

“Damian, are you trying to scare me?” 

He chuckles, taking steps toward it, about to meet the creature half way. After being practically inseparable, almost suffocatingly so, he doesn’t expect to rejoice at his arrival, but the closer he gets, the more he realizes something is wrong. 

Damian would never think of parting with his chains, but there are none there, this beast's antlers are stripped bare. Its robes too are off, rags dusted with umbra instead of the splatters of vibrant red he was used to.

And those eyes, there's something sinister in them, leaving nothing to the imagination of what it intends to do. 

Fear shivers down his spine, cold, nauseating.

“You're … you're not Damian …”

He trails off, frail words swallowed down into the pit of his stomach. 

He never considered the possibility that there would be others like Damian, this encounter being the unfortunate result, cowering from it, slowly.

The creature must sense his fear, its movements erratic, crazed, drawing near with barely repressed hunger. Surely, if it possessed a tongue, it would be licking its chops, salivating before the meal it's about to consume.

“Please, take all the food I have. Just … don’t hurt me.”

He sets out his spoils across the ground, a modest haul, a deterrent in hopes that this creature will spare his life in exchange for this pious offering.

As he kneels there, in the dirt, he wonders if this was foolish, laying himself out for slaughter, debating if he should run, praying silently with all his might. 

'Damian, please save me.’

He can feel the creature darken the sun, chilling the very air around him, an eerie chitter reaching down into his core.

Just as he did that night, Bigby won't face his demise, head bowed in prostration, clinging to hope, denying all else. 

A sharp pain, a rush of air, grunting, growling, two figures rolling amongst the forest floor, sticks and leaves kicked up as they tussle.

Bigby eyes blink open, still alive, still breathing, touching over his body, finding that his face stings, his fingers coming back red. 

More hissing, groaning, the monk looking toward the source, friend and foe locked together in conflict, one set to destroy, the other bound to protect.

Damian has the opposing wechuge impaled upon his antlers, but their enemy grips him back, prying him off, slashing at his eye sockets. 

Bigby’s body moves on it’s own, turning his back on the horrific scene, fleeing further away, into the woods.

What was he doing? How could he be this selfish? Damian had answered his prayer, saved him just as well as any guardian angel would. He couldn’t leave him to die, even if it meant being a prisoner to his whims. 

Donning his courage, the monk turns back, seeing that his friend had lost the upper hand, the enemy on top of him, skull rammed into his gut.

Amidst the rush, an idea is born, spying a fallen branch amongst the brush, big enough to resemble a wooden bat. 

“Hey,” the boy shouts, distracting the entity long enough to take a swing.

Even with his puny musculature, it does the trick, the creature falling limp to the side the moment his weapon connects with a bony head, bark splintering from the impact.

He’s huffing with adrenaline, heart hammering against his chest, in disbelief that he'd managed to overwhelm an opponent much bigger and stronger than himself.

A pained chitter, this cry for help getting his attention. He tosses the broken stake in his hands, shuffling over to Damian’s side, collapsing on his knees.

“You’re hurt,” he sobs, seeing the extent of the damage, brutal gouges that gush with fountains of blood.  

Damian offers another weak churr, body seizing, spasms driven by pain.

“This … this is my fault. I never should have wandered off.” 

Now wasn't the time for self-pity, it would do neither of them any good. Instead, Bigby puts pressure on the wounds, staunching the flow, not having enough hands to cover all the gaping holes.

In what might be his final moments, the crimson glow in Damian’s eyes flickers, fading, but still holding such warmth, all for his precious mortal friend.

A claw reaches up, touching the tiny human’s face, addressing his injury, saying what words couldn't.

“I am alright. Don't worry about me.”

It was a harmless scratch by comparison, hot tears slipping down, making the slash marks burn with salt because this just wasn't fair, but there was a way he could make it right. 

Bigby rarely called upon his powers, a well kept secret, having no idea if they would work on a demon, but however small the chance, he would try. He owed Damian that much. 

“Lie still, I am going to heal you.” 

With eyes closed, he lifts his head, exalted, voice beckoning the sky to fulfill his wish, hands holding back the hemorrhage of blood.

“Merciful Light above, hear my plea: lend this penitent vessel your strength. Let me heal this waning soul in your name, embody your forgiveness always and forever your servant in this life and the next.” 

There's warmth under his hands, as heavenly as it is golden, the wechuge’s ghastly white complexion looking more human, bright with color.

This proved that the creature could be saved, that there was goodness in him, the Light had shown him such truth, solidified it within this holy act.

“Light be praised,” Bigby cries, pulling back to see the miracle himself, the wounds mended, staunched of the gore that once was. 

Damian reaches for him again, much steadier now that his faculties had returned, admiring, caressing, showing Bigby how dear to him he was, even if he couldn’t say it aloud.

The monk hugs him, cradling a mantle of chains and antlers in his arms, spurring a trill of happiness for his trouble, the wechuge completing the circle, wrapping lanky arms around him. 

“I am glad you’re OK too.” 

His voice is breathy, thick with relief. Even his face swells with emotion, the smile he gives, effortless.

As warm and reassuring as their embrace is, the possibility of the other creature awakening looms overhead, driving Bigby to cut their affectionate moment short. 

“C’mon, let's get out of here.”

He takes Damian by the hand, helping him up, his pale fingers so small by comparison to spindly claws, leading them back to his den, a place he’s starting to call home.

{End Preview}

[iwoszareba]

revised backstory for Avinsin. I did some major changes (they have an actual dnd lore “patron” now!) and added more details to connect all the elements better

a bit over 2000 words

cw: horror themes, murder and angst

___

“I may have mentioned before that I was born in Menzoberranzan, the gem of the Northdark, the great metropolis, the City of Spiders itself. However I don’t know when exactly. Or to which of the drow houses for that matter. 

What I recall with crystal clarity is how faerie fire would make the giant mushrooms of Qu'ellarz'orl shift hues as I was leisurely strolling the empty pathways. How that was the only time things felt… peaceful.

Oh, if you are not familiar with the city, Qu'ellarz'orl is also called The Place of the Nobles. I must have belonged to one of the actually important houses. Few other people would be allowed to just loiter there.

I was one of the girls from birth selected to serve Lolth as a priestess. That alone should paint you a picture, but if you were hoping to hear a story about being one of the unfortunates who act only out of fear or obligation, I’m sorry to disappoint. I believed truly and without reservations.

So eager to prove myself. To be tested and have my worth finally recognised. 

I thought that moment was within my grasp when our house received a vision from the Spider Queen herself. She discovered a location that emitted an aura of Ghaunadaur’s power so immense, whatever was there could become a serious threat, if it fell into hands of its cultists.

And out of all the drow in the city it was me and my brother who were chosen to lead the expedition to neutralise that danger.

I wonder have you even heard Ghaunadaur’s name before. Its influence rarely extends beyond the caverns of Underdark, which is something you should be thankful for. That Which Lurks, The Elder Eye, The Lord of Slime. It grants nothing beyond madness and hatred that fuels further destruction it always hungers for.

But, I was speaking of the expedition. Even before our actual task could begin, we had to carefully consider the journey itself. You may think that in our adventures you already got a taste of the dangers that lands below have to offer, but what you’ve seen is nothing compared to terrors which inhabit the darkest depths of Lowerdark. It was no small undertaking.

So I’m sure it’s easy to understand why I wanted the co-leader to actually do his job. My brother… He was always a cynical malcontent, but he also was a talented wizard and somehow managed to straddle that fine line between ‘thorn in everyone’s side’ and ‘undeniable asset’.

He thought little of the honour that was bestowed on us, instead he turned to drink and other excesses. When confronted, all he had to say for himself was that if family wishes to send him on a suicide mission, then the last thing he is owed is a chance to dance at his own wake beforehand. And nothing would change his mind.

So I gritted my teeth and took care of all the preparations myself. Trying to scour for any piece of information that could be of use, trying to recruit every person that would help our chances of survival.

In the end we were around a hundred men strong, but there is only one person that bears mention for the purposes of this story.

She was a warrior of faith who had worked for our house for many decades. Skilled, dependable… beautiful. Her dedication to Lolth was beyond doubt and we were intimate with each other. I hoped to use both as leverage, but she hardly needed any convincing at all. She wanted to join us, made assurances that she would do anything for the mission to succeed and I could sense no deceit in her words.

I’ll spare you any descriptions of the gruelling journey. Some of us survived, many had died. That was to be expected.

The actually surprising part was that me and my brother made for compatible leaders. I suspected he may try to renegade or at least shrink his duties, however his flippancy disappeared the moment his life was on the line. He was prone to witticisms still, but even in that he made for a good advisor. His arcane talents also helped on many occasions.

The last section of caverns and tunnels we had to traverse was truly maze-like. Navigating them felt maddening, like we were going in circles or maybe space around us simply did not make any sense. Creatures we encountered there were corrupted, mindless and oozing. Proof of Ghaunadaur’s influence. 

When we found a passage where the stench of decay was far worse than anything we’ve experienced before, every surface covered by thick, dark slime, without a doubt that was our path forward. However the air there was so noxious, it took all my will and concentration to weave a layer of protective magic that could keep two people safe. We had to leave the rest of our group behind while me and my brother, shielded by Lolth’s power, ventured into the heart of this darkness.

I never thought that simply walking could be so strenuous. I don’t mean the difficult terrain, rather the effect that place had on the mind. It started innocuously, a slight lapse of perception, a small thought that came from somewhere other than yourself. A sudden suspicion that gradually turned into hatred-fueled paranoia. I tried to resist it, reason with it, but it wouldn’t stop gnawing at me until it was all I could feel. 

And I made my magic recede. 

As I heard a squelching thud behind me, knees falling to the ground, I kept walking. As my brother pleaded for me to stop, I kept walking. As he cursed me with the last of his breath, I kept walking. The sounds of choking were drowned out by the word ‘arrive’ echoing over and over in my head.

What I found was no mere shrine, it was an unholy site not due to ritual and faith, it quite literally contained the divine. Vile energy so overpowering I started to weep in awe and terror. It was a fragment of Ghaunadaur itself. Lost or discarded, I do not know. 

How could I even describe what merging with it felt like? How do you put into words knowledge and power that was not meant for mortals? It was monstrous, it was sickening and worse still: it was exhilarating.

The relief of finally leaving that place was immense, surpassed only by joyous anticipation of all the destruction that would follow. I- we? doesn’t matter, quickly slithered through the tunnels and arrived at the entry point again. Killing everyone there was like snapping fingers. Some turned on each other in feral anger, some started to claw at their own bodies, some simply ceased to be.

Except for her. Seeing her gave me pause. 

I offered to... consume her… that way we could rule together. Our reign would be final and complete… as none would survive it. 

Through all my demented ravings she just looked at me with grim determination. When she unsheathed her weapon her whole form started to radiate with energy so disgustingly familiar, stronger than anything I’ve ever received. Lolth wanted me dead, there could be no peace. I lunged forward.

I… did not win that fight.

Here.”

Your minds connect and you see a large drow woman standing over what takes a while to identify as your companion. Even with a myriad of eyes distorting their face you can read their expression as pained, their breathing laboured.

“I don’t understand… why I wasn’t strong enough… I did everything…”

The warrior takes out a hidden dagger and kneels down cautiously.

“Shhh. You performed most admirably and your house will be rewarded accordingly.”

Tip of the blade is placed right above where you assume a heart should be. Countless eyes widen in a sudden realisation.

“You knew... You knew this would happen.”

The look they exchange is so full of bitter sadness, neither of them is able to speak for a long moment.

“What you saw… It was impossible to destroy in its pure form. But when merged with a vessel, while still extremely dangerous, it also became mortal. Your duty was of utmost importance… but now it’s over. It’s time to rest.”

Quick plunge of a dagger and as the vision goes dark your minds disconnect.

“...That’s how I died.

To think I gathered people to go with me on this accursed mission and saw them as nothing more than necessary sacrifices. I was above them, chosen, each death was not a loss but confirmation of my status.

Yet in the end we were all the same.

If my brother was still alive he would serve me the most seething ‘I told you so’ and it would be within his right.

I'm sure now you are wondering how it is possible for me to tell you about all this.

Well, while my body melted away and most of Ghaunadaur’s power dispersed as intended… I still retained some of it. Enough to keep me alive in a form of deadly ooze. But I wouldn’t call it life exactly. Everything about it is a blur. Whole world made of only two notions: exist and consume. Time did not factor in anything, it could have been weeks, it could have been years.

It would most likely stay that way, until someone strong enough could put me out of my misery. But as luck would have it, what I got instead was a group of druids too curious for their own good. From what I was told we did in fact fight, but they were so surprised by detecting traces of thoughts, or perhaps memories, in what should be a mindless ooze, they decided to capture and study me instead.

Their initial examination uncovered that the memories, while fragmented and hard to read, most certainly belonged to a humanoid. Now the question was if they belonged to the creature itself, or were somehow absorbed by it from its victims. Riveting stuff to hear about yourself after the fact, I know.

They brought me to the Neverlight Grove in hopes that myconids' telepathic talents will help discover the truth. It was surprisingly effective. What song of myconids opened and soothed, the druidic magic could heal.

Admittedly they never put me together quite right, but considering the circumstances, what they did was beyond impressive. As the mind coalesced, the body also found a way to morph and regain regular form of a drow. Give or take a few extra eyes.

The pure confusion of being startled by your own hands is truly something to experience. Having a solid body? How unlikely. I jest, but missing memories and the overall brain fog did not make my reintroduction into the world of living especially pleasant.

It took weeks before I could even start forming full sentences. When the druids first asked who I was, all I could say was ‘avinsin’ over and over, which they assumed to be my name. Actually it’s drow word for ‘doomed’. Of course they offered to fix their mistake later, but I didn't remember my previous name, nor did I care for it, so it might as well be Avinsin.

It’s honestly bewildering how much outside effort was poured into dealing with my predicament. You could try to brush it off by saying that transformation and new beginnings are at the core of the Circle of Spores ethos. But, the simplest truth is that they were good people and offered me more care and understanding than my real family did in over a century.

When I was able to stand on my own two feet again, they showed me their ways and welcomed me in their midst as one of them. It was great. For a time. But like most things in life it couldn’t last. Or maybe I just didn’t allow it to. I’m not sure anymore. 

You see, my memories were slowly returning, not all of them, pieces here and there, but eventually it was enough for me to realise what actually had happened. The theory my fellow druids had was ‘transmutation magic gone terribly wrong’, my gruesome visions were ‘trauma response caused by prolonged time spent as an ooze’. You can’t exactly blame them for not being specialists in eldritch arcana on top of everything else. Honestly, I liked when it was just that.

You must understand that even under the assumption that I was no longer a threat, keeping me around was not safe. I know I reek of this power, it would take only a whiff for bloodhounds to start the pursuit. It wouldn’t matter if it was Lolth’s faithful trying to finish what was started, or Ghaunadaur’s cultists with a wish to extract what’s left of their god’s essence. Neither would care about the collateral damage, they would revel in it.

As I saw it, I had two options: explain everything and hope for the best, or leave for everyone’s sake.

I’ve been on the move and on my own ever since. Of course you stumble onto people in your travels, that’s true even in the Underdark, but I always tried to keep such things brief and non-personal. I took pride in it. Made an identity out of it. To be no one bound by nothing. That way I didn’t have to question the choice I’ve made.

But now that the circumstances forced me to be part of a group again… I’m also forced to acknowledge how soul-numbingly lonely it was. 

What’s life if not a perpetual cycle of being wrong about things.”

[insearchofthesuns]

On Speakers

Speakers, or Gote’van in their native tongue of Ziman, once had stable forms. What researchers have discovered so far is that the Gote’van once had humanoid forms, and dwelled in a palace they refer to as Xane, the Oasis Beyond. They possessed a culture of brilliant scholarship and exceptional occult understanding. According to their songs, Xane possessed great feats of engineering we only now grasp, inventions such as chemical tranquilizers, pressurized fluid conduits, and mechanical looms. The Speakers were peaceable peoples in that time, and spent their days focused on the pursuit of yet greater artifice.

And yet they are a people given over to speaking in metaphor and lush poetry. This fact is largely a result of the Wer’an-Kir-Rin, the Great Devouring Dark. At some point in their distant history, the Gote’van reached out to a power from the deeps, which many speculate might have been one of the mythic Sovereign Demons (though any speculation is just that, until such a time as either the Princes of The Pit refute the idea or the Speaker Conclave offers material proof of the claim.) Regardless of its nature, the Great Devouring Dark assaulted their mythic homeland in a total war of annihilation, scouring them with icy winds and “flensing songs,” slaying a great many of their people in moments.

Those that survived however, did so under the guidance of the Qiral, the Great Maker. This prototypical god-sovereign taught them the method of tricking the Great Dark by shedding their skins like serpents, leaving behind hollow bodies to sate its hunger while safeguarding their Ruh-Aquir, their Soul-Light. This method seems to have been successful, for there are still Speakers in the modern Night, though their Great Maker disappeared (there is no known method of killing a Speaker, even amongst their own people, so all assume he left or was taken, all Speakers assume the Qiral still lives, and will at some point return,) at some point in their long odyssey from lost Xane, leaving behind the six Bir, the memory-keepers. These Bir each had their own method of carrying on the teachings of Qiral, a poetic document no outsider is permitted to see known as the Koda-Axaft, and thus once safe, the Bir separated their followers into the modern Families. It is these Families that have redefined what it means to be Speaker in the modern age, while deftly keeping their histories and lore in the form of poetry, art pieces, and even a surprisingly robust food culture.

All Speakers are similar in form when seen “bare” of their clothing. Their physical forms are formed from scintillating shades of vivid color compressed loosely into the form of a delicate humanoid. In their unbound form, Gote’van can speak, can see (by whatever strange sorcery allows them to function without recognizable organs to speak of,) and can locomote by gliding in an uncanny parody of a walk, but are incapable of interacting with the physical in any meaningful way. All six Speaker Families have a vested interest in being perceived and interacting with the tangible world however, and so they compress their forms into various wrappings, garments, and armored suits. These exterior “shells” lend them the ability to physically interact with the world and help conceal the light of their glowing forms, a safety measure that remains quite necessary in the otherwise dark expanse of The Evernight.

House Baz consider themselves the rightful inheritors of the Koda-Axaft, and express the legacy of the Qiral through exemplifying his service to others. House Baz believe that honor and sacrifice are the only true method of honoring his sacrifice. To this end the Baz are often seen in elaborately worked suits of armor, serving as bodyguards and protectors for hire. It is commonly said that a Baz once hired will stop at nothing to defend their charge. For those that can afford them, the warriors of House Baz are worth every coin. Despite the astronomical fee, Baz guards also protect hospitals and temples free of charge, enforcing neutrality on their grounds as the only real fee. They maintain that this is their method of “giving back” to society, and by keeping the healing of the body and spirit free of factional squabbling, they nurture their own Fire in turn.

House Zih are merchant princes. They interpret the code of the Qiral through their sharing of his many gifts. All sorts of enchanted devices and mechanical marvels pass through the stalls of Zih brokers, for exceptional prices of course. The Zih maintain from behind their elaborate silken veils and robes that nothing in the code forbids profit, and that the gifts of their people are best served by those who have the coin to appreciate them. This mercenary approach to the sacrifice of their people has led to a general mistrust of the Zih, though none can dispute that their goods are always genuinely excellent. The Zih want a bank charter more than anything, and petition the People’s Parliament for one every few months, only to be soundly rejected each time. Banking is a bridge to far many argue, for these reclusive merchants to be trusted with, especially as their own people seem to avoid them wherever possible.

House Mar are scholars and artists. Following the original legacy of their people, they dwell in elaborate incense clouded riads and practice their poetry, their music, and their beautiful calligraphy. Mar provides scriptorial services to those without access to (or respect for,) the new mechanized printing presses, recording or copying documents, illuminating manuscripts, and binding books for a surprisingly modest fee. The real payment, as they take care to explain, is that any document that passes through a Mar scriptorium is copied again, that copy making its way to the House’s own archives. In this way the Mar retain a neat advantage over other scholarly groups, and practice their most beloved art. Which is not to say the jewelry covered Mar value their other gifts less. Mar musicians and singers perform at many of the most lavish functions in the realm, and Mar made fine art is considered some of the most beautiful and imminently collectable of its kind. The Mar in recent years have begun to move into the business of the honey trade, not as investors, but as competition, unveiling a wide variety of inhalant drugs of their own proprietary design. This has displeased the Honey Barons, but every night another smoking parlour opens hanging the golden knot of the Mar above its doors.

House Seh see the lesson in the deceit. They gave up their physical bodies to dupe the Great Darkness, and now they seek to repeat the trick on a much grander scale. Seh is a house of spies and secret brokers. On the surface, the elegantly appointed Seh operate upscale dining halls and taprooms for the beautiful, just below, every bottle could hide poison, every plate covers a coded message, and every tilt of a Seh waiter’s elegantly masked face is a conversation. The Seh see and hear everything, but see their work as a great game. They display no great ambition, they do not bribe the powerful, they do not seek public office or authority, they sell their secrets to anyone willing to pay for them with no care paid to who they do business with. To the Seh, the act of learning the secret is the point of the thing, what happens after is of little importance.

House Sik are almost a sister to House Seh. House Sik also derives their method from the great duplicity that allowed their escape from Wer’an-Kir-Rin, but to them, the message is in the safety that comes from having shed their forms, not the trick itself. The Sik are changeable. They cycle between the latest fashions, feathers, beads, bells, yard upon yard of imported silk, chains and nets, even (one memorable season) Human teeth. The Sik are mercurial by nature, seeing the idea of remaining one thing as anathema to their teachings. Their kin change clothes, genders, addresses, even names at the drop of a perfectly made hat. Nothing that has become stale is permitted to remain, nothing is precious save one’s own Fire. To this end, the Sik are at the cutting edge of fashion, and operate countless businesses that help to enable their natures. They haunt clothing shops, cosmetic companies, hair salons, even more serious operations such as tattoo parlors, piercing houses, and medical clinics specializing in a unique, house specific blend of alchemy and surgical craft that allow others to enjoy the same mutability of form and expression that they enjoy.

House Rev are peacekeepers. While the other Bir saw division, Bir Rev’Annil called for union. It is a union she continues to call for to this very night. The Rev operate in all things to bring unity to disparate peoples. Humility and service are the hallmarks of their house, and while the Rev are by far the poorest Speaker Family, they are some of the most universally beloved. Rev operate as counselors for those in need, mediating marriage disputes, helping to navigate grief, offering advice, and generally offering a listening form to anyone who might need one. The Rev keep no records, lest the unsavory attempt to breach someone’s deep fears and concerns. They ask only what a person can pay, and seek only the funds needed to sustain their lifestyle and pay their rents, relying on donations by the willing to afford any small luxuries they might accumulate. The Rev often masquerade as other Speaker Families as well, so as to better assist those who may be threatened by going into a house of healing; nobody thinks anything of a chatty bodyguard after all.

While the Speakers as a whole seem overt in their goodwill, it is as always important to remember that no culture is a monolith. There is little stopping a Rev who seeks to weaponize someone’s fears, save the outcry of their own peers. There is little to stop a Baz from slaying their own protectee if offered more by a rival, or to stop a Mar from taking persistent advantage of an already weak addict. This is not to say the Speakers are malicious either! It is only to urge that in all things, one must make informed decisions about who they trust based on the character, not the reputation, of the People in question.

Until the pages next turn��

[allterrribleideas]

TADC Ep 2 Rampant Theorybaiting

Is this all spoilers? I guess I'll just spoiler it all. It's probably not even relevant though!

So the fun theorycrafting discourse from this episode that isn't centered around whether the purple psychopath rabbit is redeemable is who in the cast may or may not be an NPC. Caine seems to suggest he has no method of determining this, and I'm willing to accept him at his word since he doesn't ever seem actively malicious. With that in mind here's my absolutely straw grasping theories on who may be an NPC. It should also be said that since we don't know what magic technology this world runs on, there might not BE any difference between a 'human' and an 'npc' beyond like, I dunno, admin rights? They might all get simulated the same way but humans only get so and so treatment while npcs get this and that, I dunno, it's episode 2, let me have my fun damn it.

Pomni: Seems very unlikely to be an NPC owing to her knowledge of the outside world and ability to curse. Caine also explicitly identifies her as a human, so if she's an NPC, she was created by some other entity and we haven't really gotten any evidence there's anything 'above' Caine yet apart from whatever originally built the world. So she's pretty likely human.

Ragatha: Technically I feel like she's confirmed human via Kinger, who I didn't talk too much about but is my favorite character. Also she got obliterated by the abstracted Kaufmo and I feel like an NPC wouldn't have survived that? I get the idea (from Gummigoo exploding) there's not actually any blood or gore, and everything is censored like German TF2, so when NPCs 'die' they just turn into confetti or some other kind of fun prop, and Ragatha definitely had a bunch of times she could have 'died' but survived, so she feels pretty safely in the human camp.

Kinger: My gut says it's unlikely because of the existence of the Queen human character that was seen briefly in the first episode (well, her room, at least). NPCs don't abstract as far as we know, and it would be weird to have a king and queen chess piece but one is human and one is an NPC. It also wouldn't make sense to me that a character that's been around for 'years' who is considered to be 'old' would be advanced enough AI to pretend to be human for this long. Then again Caine is (probably) an AI and is pretty advanced. I also don't think Kinger being an NPC really changes much for him, it wouldn't be a super important reveal without more backstory for him.

Jax: I've already gone over most of the evidence for why I feel like Jax could be an NPC, but my gut again mostly says he's not. This is more for narrative reasons though, I think his character 'works' better as a cruel and hateful human than as a one-note poorly motivated NPC. Wouldn't surprise me if there's a reveal but he's got enough bits and bobs pointing in that direction I could see it happening. I don't think it'd be good for the story, though.

Gangle: My number 1 NPC pick! Gangle exhibits a lot of strange behaviors that are NPCish. She has probably the weirdest body of the cast apart from maybe Zooble. Her gimmick doesn't make sense- we haven't seen anyone else be 'affected' by changes in their appearance, why does her mask control how she acts? That's how an NPC would behave! Jax TREATS her like he treats NPCs too (though Jax treats everyone like garbage so maybe not a big point there). I think it's worth keeping an eye on her! My FORBIDDEN HEADCANON that I will believe until it's definitely proven wrong is that Jax dragged Gangle out of an adventure because she's specifically so easy to bully and abuse. Like he seems like the type of person who would keep a pet just to have something to take his urges out on. That is INCREDIBLY unlikely though, I'm just throwing it out there because it's particularly cruel and interesting to me.

[musingsofaleaf]

Kohl's fall to Hell. Kohl is a Sinner OC. Non-binary. In this fic they haven't yet revealed their name. --------------------------- “No.” As obstinate with their last breath, as with their first piercing yowl. They died in defiance. They clung to their refusal. 

There was darkness and nothing… 

So much nothing. Disembodied. Their thoughts arrayed in the black limitless void. They tried to reach for their memories, precious flashes of something in the darkness. 

An old man hunched over his work desk—sparkling bits and bobs all in precise places.

The brightest thoughts. Joyful pieces, true delight, and the repulsive bits. The middling memories, thoughts, and fears had no spark. They were left to drift. 

Coal fires in the distance, smokey stacks over the dusky sky…and a lady leaning over her balcony. Vacant eyes.

Everything they were is scattered in the void. Their living name and all the nicknames are kept a guarded secret.  Slowly over ages untold, they grasp at the brightest bits…and then…

They’re falling. They feel, heat and air. They can breathe! The sweet memories of breathing and muscles moving reignite, but it’s all jumbled and feels like a …

Some things have been rearranged, and gaps have been filled. It’s a natural form and yet not the original. 

A flash against the darkened red sky is mostly ignored by Hell’s denizens. Whatever mechanism transforms and transports souls at least ensures a safe materialization. The landing on the other hand is a gamble.

Watching the city get closer with great alarm. The nameless denizen waved their arms frantically. Adjusting their descent only minimally. No wings for this sinner. “Haha…I’m gunna fuckin’ die again~! Fuck~!” There’s no time to adjust to gangly new features or to account for the changes they’ve taken on beyond the coal-black hands frantically trying to cling to the air. A bright roof is now directly below them. Some sign sparkling bright but they can’t really take account of what it says because they’re trying not to smack headfirst into the building. Trying to twirl in the air to fall feet first to an equally dead-death. There’s a near-sonic boom as the streak slams into magic and material. New structures creak and split as they careen through the upper floor and the next and several others. Face down on a cracked floor, arms and legs akimbo. The fact they can feel every fracture, tells them they survived. Charlie and Vaggie are the first to find the sinner, passed out and twitching in the 2nd floor. There are layers of holes through which Vaggie observed the red-tinged sky. “Oh my gosh!” “Wait Charlie, what if they’re bad news?” Vaggie holds her spear at the ready. Her eye narrowed while she tried to piece together what was going on. The noise and commotion has already alerted other residents. She can hear Angel and Husk coming up the stairs. 

Charlie pulls the sinner free of the depression on the floor. “We can’t just leave them.” “What the fuck?” Husk stays back, drink in hand. Angel Dust steps towards Charlie, his head tilted to the side as he observes the twitching Sinner. “Holy shit! It’s a baby Sinner. Fresh off the choppin’ block!” The spider cracked a wide grin. Grabbing one leg as Charlie and Vaggie grabbed the other. With some help from Husk, the poor dude was freed and laid out on the floor. 

“How can you tell? What if they just got punted across the city?”  Vaggie logically doubts the passed-out Sinner purposefully crashed into the hotel. The chances of a new Sinner falling into the hotel were even slimmer. “Don’t Sinners materialize on the ground or closer to it? Considering the damage, this Sinner had to have come from high up.”

“Nah, the smell says it all. Like they have a strong absence of anything to them. Also the fact their clothes look like they’ve shredded to accommodate their new form.” Folding his second arms and planting his first on his hips Angel was certain in his deduction. Husk swiped a piece of tin foil and paper from the floor. He sniffed it and tossed it at Charlie “ Earth chocolate bar wrapper just fell outta their pocket. ‘Less they got some strong connections, most folks just stick to Hell equivalent brands. Ain’t worth the effort for Earth brand.” Charlie knelt and tapped at the side of the Sinner’s face with her palm. “Vaggie!” Charlie's eyes blew wide open, excitement racing through her. What if they could be the first contact this Sinner had in Hell? What if they could reform a new Sinner before they were influenced by bad experiences in Hell? “Howdy down there…odd weather we’re getting. Ha! Hah?” From above Lucifer peeked through the layers of holes. “If you’d wanted a skylight all you had to do was ask.”  Slipping down the holes and landing on the 2nd floor Lucifer brushed off some invisible dirt. “Oh? Is this a new guest Charlie?” Snapping a finger the holes sealed up and some of the debris arranged itself. Charlie bounced up and grabbed Vaggie in a hug. Her arms draped over the angel who smiled fondly. “Dad! It’s a baby Sinner! We’re going to look after them and raise them to be redeemed.”

Observing the body on the floor Lucifer, nodded his head, a smile in place. “Well if anyone can do it, it’ll be you Apple Pie. But can I make a tiny, eensy little suggestion?”

“Oh course Dad~! Your advice is always appreciated.”

“Maybe…get the Sinner bandaged up and out of the hallway?”

“Oh…”

A groan of pain rumbled from the twitching  Sinner on the floor. 

[rafor]

EXTRA - Chapter 31b - There isn't a villain - The Glitch

The dark lord, Novar, was a master of speeches, an individual with the best ideals that could ever be believed of, ideals that were impossible to reach, but beside everything, he always believed that one day he could change the world, explore the universe, get past the limits of a planet, and share his acknowledgement for a greater good, yet he was just a mortal; even if considered by some as an everliving dragon, he wasn't, and fate was unavoidable even for him. "Today, I stand before you to declare that the countdown has commenced for us. Our visions are transforming into reality. The entity that was destined to bring about our demise has arrived, and we must find a resolution. Those greater than us have labeled us as adversaries, as a blight to be erased from existence. But fear not, for we still have the opportunity to redeem ourselves. I pledge to guide each and every one of you, along with our brethren across the various realms, towards a brighter future.

We possess advanced technology, placing us millennia ahead of our time. Now, more than ever, we must remain concealed, unconventional, and wise. Though our discovery is inevitable, this creature bears a curse that also afflicts me. It can perceive our lands, manifest in our territories, and peer through them accidentally while dreaming. However, rest assured, it cannot see you. I alone will be visible to it, and I will employ this to our advantage.

This creature is immortal and impervious to death. Unless we can suppress its powers, it may find solace, motivation, or guidance from another source. But I do not believe such an outcome is necessary. We do not seek enemies, despite the perception held by all. Should you encounter this individual, this human who goes by the name of Raphael, do not engage in combat. Do not reveal your darkest side. Instead, be wise and reasonable. Convince him that you are not the monster he perceives you to be. If required, direct his animosity towards me but not towards you. As I am nearly immortal, I will discover a means to return. However, I cannot guarantee how long I can sustain this ability. If you witness my disappearance, do not lose hope. Continue to evolve, seek a new leader, survive, and venture forth to find a new world. Our objectives are not far beyond our reach.

I apologize for displaying vulnerability, but we must face reality. The world is in peril, and we must ensure that this creature does not succumb to its monstrous nature. When all is said and done, if we emerge triumphant, we will share our technology, establish new principles, and bestow upon all the gift of eternal life. The fear of aging and mortality will be eradicated. We will depart this existence only when we choose to do so. And if, even after my words, you feel compelled to depart, then heed me further. Resist. The afterlife remains an enigma to us. We can only speculate on whether it is benevolent or malevolent. However, I assure you that it is wiser to adhere to what we already know. This reality is within our grasp. Despite being trapped within it, we can interact, transform fantasies into realities, express ourselves, work, evolve, form families, and revel in novel forms of amusement. As previously stated, anything is possible.

Now, press onward. Do not let my words fade from your memory. Write them down, and I will do the same for you. I will aid in forging a new order, formulating new strategies, and discovering definitive solutions to our fresh challenges. We shall endure, just as we always have. The darkness will not engulf us indefinitely. We will restore equilibrium to the world and beyond, whatever it takes. We will accomplish this!".

[glknight]

The Unspoken Oaths

What if the dark gods you knew from all of fiction were based on something else? The Cthulhu Mythos, Tash, Morgoth, Sauron, The Endless, Slaanesh. All these beings and more, just a pale personification of another set of entities entirely.

(Cernunos, The Dark God Of The Wilds by Harvey Gumayan Heinrich)

What if these dark foundational gods, more primal than any other sort, existing well before the notion of words was even a spark of creation, were always there? Watching. Waiting. Ready to offer us a trade. To offer us a deal. A challenge.

And the only thing they ask for in return... is an OATH?

This is what The Unspoken Oaths are. Those offerings of actions and words by those beings far too profound to be comprehended with. The only thing one can do is either offer their agreeance, accepting the terms they set forth, or to rebuke the offer and face a frightening penalty. And survival is entirely up to you.

These beings, the OATH MAKERS, are very much not the sort that are bound by laws and limitations except for those they purposefully put into place. And in that way, there are a set of guided notions one must remember when dealing with them.

These are the rules by which you must abide.  Do not forget them. Do not ignore them. For they will not, and you will be held to them.

1. TAKE NOT THAT WHICH YOU WILL NOT GIVE. 2. GIVE NOT THAT WHICH YOU CANNOT BE WITHOUT. 3. DO NOT PROFANE TO MAKE OATHS THAT YOU WILL NOT KEEP. 4. DO. NOT. BREAK. THEIR. OATHS.

If you still wish to walk the paths of the Oath Makers, then the journey is easier than you think. The Oath Makers reside in places other than the groves of ancients and the dead. They are within the earth, within the waters. They are below you, around you. They are above you and beyond you. They reside in the places we consider ours, for they allow us due to prior oaths.

Some places to consider if you so dare:

-Jadhat resides in those areas that The Scavenger In The Dark prefers, deep within umbral woods and abyssal places. -The Snow Mother resides in the frozen places, where her frozen tears may flow and glacial growth may propagate. -Dehdet, False Giver and tricky thief of vows prefers the blighted lands where death is but an entirety. The Bloat Blight, -Avinaz, prefers the depths and all it can do to soak and ruin whatever may be touched by its flow. -Drazuk prefers the tumult from on high, hungering for the destruction left in his wake as The Storm Feaster.

These five are the easiest to get to, but none are unreachable. Though many claim there are certain times which grants that which lies beyond freedom, that is a blatant lie. The walls between ourselves and that which lies beyond are tangential at best by Oath Maker design. We believe we are safe, when we are really within their grasp.

THEY are the ones who are truly free.

THERE IS NO IGNORANCE TO PROTECT YOU. THEY HAVE JUST NOT HAD A REASON TO CHOOSE TO SPEAK TO YOU.

So, what say you? Are you ready to hear their offer? They are looking forward to learning what you are willing to give up for their oath...

[stormtide-leviathan]

You stare at the strange thing floating in the water in front of you. It looks like the kind of worm you usually eat but… odd. Wrong. It’s the wrong color. It has a strange glean to it you’ve never seen before. It isn’t moving like a worm usually does. And what is it doing floating up here? Usually you found them by the floor of the ocean.

But hey. Times are tough and food is food. If you don’t eat it, someone else will come along after you and snatch it up, and you’ll still be without supper.

You swim up and bite the thing. Ow. Something jabs your cheek. It *tastes* odd too- Less… meaty than it should be. You tug on the thing so you can swim along, but for some reason it resists you. You tug harder, grabbing it tight between your jaws, but the thing won’t budge. Suddenly you’re yanked sunward, unable to let go. You remember, too late, the tales of your childhood. Of strange prey that you should never eat, or you’ll find yourself transported to an unfamiliar and horrifying world beyond the sea, with unnatural creatures surrounded by mounds of the dead and dying.

Sure enough, you shoot out of the water and dangle above a large bizarre rock floating on the surface, no color or shape of rock you’d ever seen before. You can’t breathe. You flare your gills but there’s no water to take in. You hear birds overhead, which normally would terrify you but right now you have more pressing problems.

Something reaches out and grabs you, and you feel something removed from your cheek. You get your first good look at the monster that will surely be your doom. The thing is massive, compared to you. You’d seen other creatures that were much bigger- you are rather small yourself, all things considered. But you’d seen nothing so strange. It stands upright, with what appears to be its head balanced precariously on top of its body, instead of in the front where it should be. It has no scales like you, instead bearing smooth dark brown skin on its face and limbs that look like eels with tentacles protruding where a head should be. The rest of its body was covered some shell on the rest of its body that appears soft and flexible unlike any shell you’d ever seen. It is stared at you with large brown-and-black-and-white eyes, then opened its mouth and you feel a loud sound reverberate through your body. You hear an equally loud sound return.

You flit your eyes around the rock, desperate for any chance of survival. You are quickly running out of breath. You see several smaller rocks, all hollow, all filled with mounds of the dead. These are large creatures, ones you’d consider formidable, even a threat. And they lay dead and helpless in a piles upon piles of corpses. You feel sorry for them, knowing you’d soon join them.

Momentarily, two more creatures appeared at its side, all looking at you. Your eyes flit back from the dead to the monsters in front of you. They all open their mouths emitting sounds from inside, quieter than the first. Eventually, the eyes of the beast holding you in its grasp roll in the thing’s head, and it moves the limb holding you, releasing you from its tentacled grasp and casting you back into the water.

You open your gills to let water flow through them. Did it… release you? Why did it not cast you into the piles of corpses you saw above? The shadow of the rock floats next to you, disconnected to the ground unlike any rock you’d ever seen. You swim quickly away, knowing your freedom would quickly be taken again if you did not get away from the horrible place as quickly as you could. “Safety” is gone from your mind. No matter where you go, those things could always be at the surface, with their strange forms and strange rocks, luring you in with strange food. And they might not release you next time, whatever inscrutable reason they did today. For now, you’ll just have to accept “away”.

[linkspooky]

Eren Jaeger’s Final Words

So there are many people unimpressed with the final statement given by Eren’s character, either finding it inconsistent with the build up to this point, or too ambiguous a motivation for trampling all over the world. I’m not really here to talk about the quality of the story, whether it was good or bad, because I don’t really care. However, I think it’s fascinating what the text is trying to say about Eren’s character and his motivation. 

This is why, “I don’t know, shrug” is both an answer and not an answer to why Eren did what he did in the end. For making my point in this analysis, I’ll be talking about Eren’s character from Marley on showing both the Eren that appeared before Reiner, the one that talked to Zeke, and finally the one Armin saw are all the same person. 

1. And Now for Something Completely Different

Before I even begin though, let’s talk about something entirely different. My favorite episode of Doctor Who is from the 4th Doctor Era, entitled “Genesis of the Daleks” first broadcast around 1975. What makes this episode my favorite episode is both the premise, and the question it asks. If you haven’t watched Doctor Who the basic premise is the main character is a time traveler who can go everywhere and everywhen in the universe. One of his common enemies is the Daleks, a race whose goal is to kill everything else in the universe. The Time Lords order the Doctor to go back in time to the era the daleks were created, and prevent their creation in order to prevent every person they would eventually kill. 

He goes do the Dalek homeworld, and meets the scientist who created them Davros. Eventually, the doctor fails enough that he’s not able to prevent their creation, but he could, wipe them out when they were just newly born children and completely innocent. The doctor decides not to kill them right then because that would be a pre-emptive genocide, and the Doctor is a pacifist. When Davros witnesses him making this choice it prompts this conversation one of my favorite in all of television. The link to the clip is here if you’re interested. [Source.]

Davros: "Now, future errors will be come victories. You have changed the future of the universe, Doctor." Doctor: "I have betrayed the future. Davros, for the last time, consider what you're doing. Stop the development of the Daleks." Davros: "Impossible. It is beyond my control. The workshops are already fully automated to produce the Dalek machines." Doctor: "It's not the machines, it's the minds of the creatures inside them. Minds that you created. They are totally evil." Davros: "Evil? No. No, I will not accept that. They are conditioned simply to survive. They can survive by becoming the dominant species. When all other life forms are suppressed, when the Daleks are the supreme rules of the universe, then you will have peace. Wars will end. They are the power not of evil, but of good." Doctor:"Davros, if you had created a virus in your laboratory, something contagious and infectious that killed on contact, a virus that would destroy all other forms of life, would you allow its use?" Davros: "It is an interesting conjecture." Doctor: "Would you do it?" Davros: "The only living thing, a microscopic organism reigning supreme... A fascinating idea. Doctor: "But, would you do it?" Davros: "Yes... yes..." [ Davros raises a hand as if holding the metaphorical capsule.]

Davros: "To hold in my hand a capsule that contains such power, to know that life and death on such a scale was my choice. To know that the tiny pressure of my thumb, enough to break the glass, would end everything... Yes, I would do it! That power would set me above the gods!

Davros’ motivations seem at first brush look one-note and evil, just another mad scientist playing god. However, what makes the conversation great is the context it takes place in. Here is the choice offered to the doctor, kill a race that he knows will go on to make war and kill innocents in the future in their infancy before they have done anything wrong, or don’t kill them and ensure the future you know will happen. 

The Doctor isn’t saying that his choice is the right one. He’s not saying he’s doing good by choosing not to slaughter an innocent race. He’s saying, he can’t bring himself to make that choice. In that situation he chooses not to choose, because it would be against his pacifist believes to choose either way. Which Davros at first, takes to mean the Doctor siding with him. However, when they begin to debate it, notice how they’re not talking about what is the philosophically correct choice to do. The doctor hammers in this point, would you do it? Would you do it? After getting Davros to admit that yes, he would do it, his motivation becomes much clearer, he doesn’t actually care whether his actions result in a good thing or a bad thing, he simply wanted to be the one who got to choose. 

What does Davros want? The power that surpasses a normal human being’s ability to choose. Davros himself is basically written to be pure evil, but his desire itself is a little more complex. Davros is a person lacking in agency, if you tear him away from his support system he’ll die within thirty seconds. He designs what he believes is the perfect race capable of conqueringthe universe which are reflections of him. They’re soft little squid creatures in mechanical shells which are inpenetrable. Davros himself cannot seize that power, he is inferior because he’s attached to the life support system (in his own mind), so the power he wants instead is the power to make the choice to unleash them upon the world. 

If the Doctor by failing to make that impossible choice in the situation, by not wanting to even hold the capsule in his hands and have that ability to choose remains a man, then Davros chooses to throw away his humanity (which he ties to his inferiority and weakness) and becomes a god instead. To tie my long tangent which just shows how much of a geek I am back to Eren, Eren’s choice wasn’t actually about bringing a good result or a bad one at all. He simply wanted to choose. People who are lacking for agency, who feel powerless and inferior to tend to grasp for it. They try to fix external circumstances instead of internally facing what is within them, because they can’t bear to face it (hence the complex about being inferior in the first place). 

People often compare Kaneki from Tokyo Ghoul to Eren because their stated motivation bears some resemblance “we were doing this all to protect our friends”, however, it’s important to grasp that Kaneki and Eren are liars and unreliable narrators both. Their stated motivation isn’t necessarily true. I don’t think the final chapter is as clear as it could have been in nailing down the finer points of this, but Eren does in fact change his stated motivation from “I was doing it all to set up you as heroes of the world” to “I would have done it anyway even if you didn’t come to stop me” to “I don’t know. I just wanted to.” So, the fact that Eren will directly lie about his motivation and try to rationalize his actions and even switch stories in the space of one conversation is at least established. 

So to bring the comparison back to Kaneki, both Eren and Kaneki lie about their external motivations that they are doing this for their friends when really they act because of unacknowledged internal motivators. They are secretly selfish, while presenting their actions as some kind of great sacrifice they’re making for the sake of others. The deepest we ever dig into Kaneki’s head he makes this statement. 

I’m going to do something that will make everyone love me. Good, bad, it could be anything. After that, I wanna die heroically!

Eren and Kaneki aren’t the same because they’re brave people who fight for their friends, it’s because internally they’re pathetic and unlovable. They’re so starved for agency and attention that they’ll do anything for it, and they just don’t care about the consequences for their actions. Kaneki also, later on in the manga engages in mass slaughter for once again what is a pretty bad reason. It’s not to protect someone or for the sake of someone else. It’s because he’s lonely and wants comfort. 

Kaneki doesn’t care about what he’s doing or the consequences of his actions, he’s desperate and wants to do what will immediately gratify him in the moment. He doesn’t even realize what he’s doing will unleash mass slaughter and have greater consequences because he’s not thinking about that. 

Compare this to the doctor’s choice. The doctor knows the direct result of his actions, if he does not abort the daleks he will fail to prevent the deaths of innocent people. Knowing those consequences he says he still won’t make the choice because he believes his pacifist principles are something he won’t bend on. Kaneki, and Eren both have on principles, or no reasons. They just do whatever in the moment, and make up a reason after the fact. For Touka, For his friends, because he wanted to, because of freedom, because why not? 

Kaneki and Eren can construct no good reason for their actions, and no principles behind their actions, because unlike the doctor, they don’t have a developed enough and they’re not capable of making measured choices. They steal away agency because they’ve been deprived of it, they want the feeling of power and control that comes with making the choice, but they don’t want the responsibility for it. The doctor knows if he doesn’t choose to wipe out the Daleks he’s responsible for that choice, but can’t bring himself to kill. His actions are pacifistic. However, Eren and Kaneki choose to kill in the same situation, and their actions inevitably cause the conflict to accelerate. The Doctor remains a man, Kaneki and Eren do not. 

What kind of person would want to become a god anyway? 

A person pathetically, incapable of feeling alright as a human being. 

That’s why Kaneki and Eren make the choice to become monsters, because they’re incapable of living with themselves, or their actions as people. Either way they can’t live with it, hence why, Kaneki’s stated motivation is I’ll make everyone love me and then I’ll just die. Hence why the person who is making this statment is a childish version of him. 

There is no good reason for what Eren does. That sounds like a cop-out answer after making you read all this long, but what is a good reason for killing people? This is a lot of rambling but I hope I’ve at least established that Eren’s internal reasonings make no sense, his internal mechanisms at least do. The reason he doesn’t come up with a reason is because he didn’t actually care about the result of his actions, he just wanted to be in the position to choose. He wanted absolute agency because he was denied agency like a child, and as a forever stunted child, he never grew up to realize that most people in the whole world eventually make compromises and live on with sadness instead of getting to do whatever they want. 

Words that Eren was told again and again but failed to listen to. He’s not the only person that suffers in the world. He’s not the only person that’s lost people. He’s not the all-suffering protagonist of reality, he’s just one personin the greater scheme of things. However, the ability to compromise like that. To realize that other people exist besides you, that they have feelings separate from yours, that you are not the protagonist of reality is what an adult does, and what Eren can’t do. It’s easier to become god apparently, throw his whole life away as a child soldier making the ultimate sacrifice then just try growing up. 

What’s the point of writing a character with such a pathetic motivvation? It’s because it’s human. 

To badly misquote Jung, most people assume they are nice people when really they are in fact jerks. The reasons can be very complex, but sometimes it’s just as simple as not being able to look past your own ego and understand people feel differently than you do. Eren cannot accept other people, whether they be his friends, the comrades he’s fought with this entire time, the adults trying to guide him, he is just so incapable of accepting them that he regresses into a child making selfish demands of the world. It seems inhuman but imagine Eren in a completely different setting. What if Eren were just a shut-in? Just a teenager who didn’t leave his room. A fundamental ability to accept other people would sabotage all his other attempts to grow up and leave his room, and he’d choose to remain a child forever. The stakes are different, the situation is different, but the internal mechanisms are unmistakably human. 

2. All Erens is the Same

Okay, here’s where I actually try to prove that Eren’s character arc is consistent with the story. What was revealed in 139 at all wasn’t a 180, and wasn’t a reveal that secretly Eren had good intentions all along. He never had good motivations, or selfless one. From beginning to end he was a selfish child, and his reasoning was always that of a stunted individual unable to understand the feelings of others but placing his own feelings as far more important.

What Eren does in 139 is rationalizing and changing his answer, which he has done several times before that point anyway, and is therefore consistent with his behavior up until that point. It’s important to acknowledge that Eren models himself, not after Grisha, but rather Eren Kruger. The foil to Grisha and the reaction to Grisha’s bad parenting is Zeke. The person who Eren makes similiar choices to is Kruger says the reason he picked Grisha is the eyes he possessed in childhood. 

The thing about Kruger is, textually, Kruger fucking sucks. He says it himself. He claims he was doing it for the sake of helping others, and yet, all he ever felt like he was doing, was torturing people, and throwing them to the dogs. He kept saying he had good motivations, but his actions were repeated brutal violence, over and over again. He contributed more to the conflict than he helped to resolve it. 

At the end of his life, Kruger says once again he doesn’t believe what he’s done has changed anything, and doesn’t believe he himself hs changed. He’s still the child with hatred in his eyes. His reason for passing it onto Grisha is because he knew Grisha wouldn’t grow up either, and would keep that inside of him. Kruger failed to grow, Grisha failed to grow, in a way that mattered, in time to make an actual change. They only ever made things worse, and that is, the model we are supposed to parallel Eren to. 

Now this is at the same time that the Attack Titan’s future vision powers are shown to us. The question a lot of people are asking is if Eren had free will in his choice, or he was fated to make that choce all along. The answer is. No. Nope. Nope. Nope. Not at all. The fact that Eren was destined to do it, is yet another excuse, the like seventh change of motivation that Eren gives us. “I saw it happen in the future so I did everything I could to make it happen, but I didn’t think I had a choice this was the only way to make you guys hero,” Eren says, and then five seconds later. “I didn’t know what would happen , I probably  would have done it anyway even if I knew you guys were all going to die and fail to stop me.” 

Eren is once again making excuses, and avoiding all kinds of responsibility. If he is the chosen one, if his actions are controlled by fate, if he’s a god, if he’s a devil, he is not human and therefore he is not responsible. Eren wants the power to decide the fate for the world, but will do anything but accept responsibility for that choice. Eren wants to be Eren the bloody conqueror, but he’s not even self-aware enough to see himself as a bad person he can’t even own that so when confronted on his actions he reduces himself back to a child, and evades responsibility. Eren’s own motivation, his stated motivation is for no reason, however, the reasons he avoids the guilt like this are complex in their mechanisms as I wrote about above. The simple question is if Eren saw this future why did he not try to stop it? The simple answer is because he did not want to. 

There are a million and one excuses Eren has for why he thought the future could be avoided, but his actions tell a different story. He didn’t lift a finger to try. He spent the next four years making rationalizations for what he eventually would do. I will now establish, Eren was actually given several oppurtunities to stop, and then he just did not stop. 

In the Reiner and Eren scene while Tybur is speaking in the background, Eren is offered a choice. Quite literally, Tybur is narrating the same story that Eren wants to set up. Become the devil that tried to destroy the world, so the heroes (his friends) will defeat him. He’s given the chance to be genuine and talk things out with Reiner and what does he choose. 

He chooses to accelerate. He could have stopped. Remember how Reiner was practically begging him to talk things out? Not only that but Eren sees that Reiner’s stated motivations for doing what he did were, completely fake, just rationalizations made up in the moment. 

Eren is presented with the reality of who he really is, a child who hates himself, who wants to kill himself rather than take responsibility for his actions, and he chooses the narrative Tybur offers him. Rather than be hismelf, stop the story here, he chooses to move the story forward.And the conflict accelerates when they could have reconciled. Not because there was no other choice, Reiner was begging, crying, and holding Eren’s hand at the same time asking for peace and forgiveness but because Eren chose to accelerate the conflict. 

Eren’s choices are always that of an accelerationist. When given the oppurtunity to stop, he chooses instead, to always make the conflict worse. That is, the result of Eren’s myriad of choices made throughout the arc. Everything is worse now, and more people are dead. Nothing good is achieved through these means because Eren wasn’t trying for good. Eren didn’t care about good results, he just wanted to be doing something. Easier to be an all powerful demon, than a powerless child which is what he sees Reiner as in the moment.

The only time I believe that Eren was putting on an act was when speaking with Mikasa and Armin. The rest of it wasn’t acts, it was just who Eren is, who he sees himself to be. The thing is most people don’t read Eren’s kind of behavior, constant masculine posturing, war mongering, accelerating the conflict, throwing himself into fighting, as childish and toxic when it is. The point of Eren’s masculinity is it’s a performance. Reiner crying and begging in front of Eren is embarrassing and pathetic yes, but it’s also how he felt in that moment, it’s a human vulnerability. Whereas, Eren’s outer persona is entirely empty of love and vulernability, of every emotion besides anger, and violence. However, because it’s empty, he just acts, empty... Great wording there I know. Eren when posturing in front of others basically has no personality. He is just guy who fights. 

Eren performs the role of a ruthless soldier in front of others, because it prevents him from being vulnerable. Remember who Eren is posturing in front of, Reiner, and then later Zeke. What were they doing? They were both at the moment trying to appeal to his human side, Reiner by crying and begging for forgiveness a show of vulnerability, and Zeke by tryig to show Eren what their father did to them was wrong.

Calls for violence, posturing, warmongering and rhetoric, Eren’s every response when Zeke tries to examine his humanity. Eren insists over and over again, you see I’m not actually a human being. It was impossible for father to reach me because I was simply born that way. However, the kind of person Eren pretends to be is empty, someone incapable of feeling anything. The only way he knows how to be strong, is to simply not have feelings, to deny all human emotion and become something else and that’s just lame. We also know, that Eren himself is not like that because he contradicts his stated motivation that the only reason he killed those slavers was for the concept of freedom itself when he takes too long trying to look at Mikasa.

Eren denies himself empathy, he denies himself udnerstanding, and therefore no one will ever see his emotional wounds. That way, he can be invulenerable forever, but at the same time he denies MIkasa and Armin.

We return again to the motif of the story. It’s the same repeated image, someone tells Eren to stop, Eren says that it must not stop, the story must continue. 

Both of Eren’s foils and family members,Zeke and Grisha  tell Eren to stop this. That they do not want this. The whole world yells at Eren to stop, and he does not stop. Stopping would mean, accepting some measure of helplessness so Eren does not stop. 

To be honest, what Eren says in 131 is far more telling than literally any of the excuses he came up with in 139 which is why I think it should be interpreted not as the final word on Eren’s character but rather, showing what his waffling actually looks like to an outside observer - not heroic at all but rather pathetic. 

Eren’s childish desire to be this powerful, to stand up above everyone like a god while ignoring the suffering of the world around him - is pretty telling enough of Eren’s true motivations that he needs no further elaboration. Eren does not become god for the sake of his friends, he does not do it because he thinks it will make the world a better place, he does it because of childish delusions of grandeur and his inability to let go of his childish feelings of entitlement. The world isn’t the way he wants it to be and he can’t comrpomise with that in any way. Eren is more like a caricature of the most petty person on earth when you put it that way, but this is... a fictional story. Thematically Eren is a good example why ideals are ideals, and people are in fact, people, ulitmately very disappointing and falling short of those idealse. So once again moving past this. 

Eren, you can literally just stop. Eren is basically given every choice in the world to stop, everyone else in the story tells him to, and he just doesn’t. The author does go to a painstaking extent to show that Eren in fact could have stopped. Every single time he is given the oppurtunity to stop he instead chooses to accelerate the conflict.

It is interesting to show the one time Eren actually did stop though. It wasn’t for Mikasa, it was Mikasa’s decision. 

When Eren puts the decision on someone else, he can stop. Eren has feelings for Mikasa, but rather than confessing to her he makes her speak up about what her feelings are, even when everyone around him just, straight up tells him. 

Why is he capable of stopping when it’s someone else’s choice? In those cases, Eren succesfully avoids responsibility. When he makes the decision to run away in the possible alternate reality he’s doing what Mikasa wanted. 

The other time is when he decides to accept the result of whatever Mikasa decides. In both cases, Eren rather than accept responsibility for his actions and the results of his actions, just, puts it all on Mikasa. 

Is he doing this for Mikasa’s sake? To set Mikasa up as the hero of the world? No, he can’t even face Mikasa and explain himself or his feelings. Eren makes the choices to... put the ultimate decision on Mikasa, and run away without explaining himself because, that’s easier than taking repsonsibility for his choices. Every choice Eren makes, is to either make the conflict worse, because stirring the pot makes him feel powerful and in control, or throw control away to someonee else or some other reason (predestination whatnot) because he can’t bear the responsibility of what he’s doing. He wants to kill a bunch of people, but like... he doesn’t want to feel like a bad person about it (hence the excuse, he was doing it for his friends and yet later in the same conversation him saying that if he had killed his friends and they failed he still would have done it anyway). 

Therein lies the rub. Eren is not doing this for his friends, because he takes the one path that is guaranteed to take him out of their lives. He doesn’t do it for Mikasa because he does the one thing guaranteed to destroy her. 

I love this girl so much, that I created this elaborate scenario where the only way she could save the world was to horribly behead me, the one family member left from her childhood after she spent her entire life trying to protect me from fear of losing her family - yeah that sounds completely insane.

It is meant to be. Eren is thinking jack all about what his friends are feeling. His feelings for Mikasa, his desire to keep her safe and away from everything else trump everything even the idea that his love might be returned. He loves at Mikasa. He’s not in love with her, he’s projecting his love upon her. “Why didn’t he just tell her about his feelings if he secretly loved her all this time?” the point was, he couldn’t. Eren’s ego isn’t developed enough to love another person, that requires actually caring about their feelings which Eren doesn’t do to well.

 There’s a reason Eren and Mikasa’s connection keeps lingering back to the small kindness they showed each other as childhood,it’s because literally despite spending their entire lives growing up together, their connection hasn’t grown at all since then, because they can’t grown. 

At the end of the series however, Mikasa makes the opposite coice of Eren. If Eren’s choice has been to remain a selfish child all this time, to make other people suffer rather than face his own hurt feelings. Mikasa makes the choice of selflessness, to grow up, beyond the child who loved Eren into the adult who knows that even if you love people, one day you might lose them. 

Eren’s choices only ever make the conflict worse. Mikasa’s choice finally stopped the conflict that Eren kept accelerating. It didn’t save the world, it saved the world from Eren. 

I think it’s important to remember that Eren didn’t see what MIkasa was going to do, that her actions were going to end up breaking the curse. He literally had no idea what was going to happena fter the massacre, all he saw was the massacre and decided to do what he could to bring it about. 

“I did all of this for you guy.” 

Backtracking, five seconds later, and making excuses it all would have happened anyway. 

It’s the same behavior consistently shown throughout. Eren could have stopped. Eren did not stop. Afterwards, Eren wants to reconcile the guilt and believe that his motives were good, when his actions were the actions of a bad person. It’s the same as Reiner’s crying and begging after years of guilt and failure to reconcile his acitons with who he is. Eren can’t understand why he did what he did, he just knows he did it, and he can’t accept responsibility for any of it. So that’s why Eren throws the choice away. 

Eren can’t understand his father’s words, because in the end, being born, living his life, growing up, falling in love, making friends, losing some of those friends, growing older, getting weaker, all of those things are things Eren doesn’t want to do. Eren begins his life with “You were born into this world, you’re free to live hwoever you want” and ends his life wishing he was never born, and that’s the utlimate tragedy of his character arc. Not that it was inevitable he would eventually do these things, but beause it wasn’t and Eren chose to do them anyway instead of choosing literally anything else. Therefore, despite claiming Mikasa and Armin as the reason behind all of his actions, they weren’t, because he was inacapable of making the simple choice to be with them and grow up with them which is all they ever wanted from him. 

[rebrandedstoryline]

Rebranded - 3 - Seeking Security

Sun and Moon continue to explore the world, and are confronted by some realities of life.

Word count: 1,324

The following days proved just as frightening and just as awe inspiring as the first. The animatronics ventured further away from the Pizza Plex under the cloak of night.

Whatever shelter they might find before dawn - if they managed to find it - they would settle down to wait to begin the journey again. But shelter wasn’t always something that could be so luckily stumbled across. Buildings which had human inhabitants needed to be avoided.

Sometimes a building appeared empty upon being found. They would settle into it to hide, only to be forced to flee when the inhabitants of the home abruptly returned. As a result, no man made structure could be considered safe. They needed time. More time. Time to determine which places were the least likely to result in human interaction.

The bulk of the time they found themselves subjected to the mercy of the elements. Which was not quite as bad as it sounded. Their bodies were waterproof. Neither heat nor cold could be much of a bother to them. They could feel it, yes. But this region was not known to produce weather extreme enough for the heat or the cold to pose risk to their robotic bodies.

In a way, being unable to find a suitable place to stay was something of a blessing. This was a vast world. One which had been completely unknown to them up to this point. Now. it was at their fingertips. Gone were their childish misunderstandings of the environment. The cartoonish depictions of trees and wildlife could not compare to the reality of the world beyond silly, childish illustrations.

There was a peculiar comfort in having their perspectives warped and shattered in such a way. Under no circumstances would they have ever been allowed to see these aspects of the world. There were so many pieces of reality which had been intentionally kept away from them. For no other reason than to maintain their usefulness. Granting them this knowledge would not serve useful to their creators.

They had been designed to entertain. Designed to look after children and to clean. For those reasons they could sing and they could dance. They could read and they could draw, but they could not write. The capability was there, but the skill associated with neatly spelling out the letters was completely foreign to them. They had been made wise in such a wide range of things. But only the things that could be made immediately useful. Only what could be useful when it came to fulfilling their intended purpose.

Once they drew far enough away from civilization to feel secure during the day, they relaxed. Only then did they become content to explore the wonders of the world around them at their own pace.

Meanwhile, the world remained content to continue about its business as though they were not there. The wildlife showed some interest in them, for they were strange in comparison to any other creature to be found. Some proved curious enough to touch and allow themselves to be touched. Others were not so at ease. Not so content to allow themselves to be touched. These timid ones only drew near enough to gingerly brush the animatronics with their noses before moving on.

Nothing appeared to perceive them as a threat. It was as if they were invisible onlookers studying the realities of a foreign world.

Which unfortunately meant that they would find themselves equally confronted by the darker aspects of that reality. Before having been abandoned for so long, these machines had never quite been able to grasp the concept of survival. They escaped their prison as a result of having come to understand what it meant to want to survive. And even then, they understood the concept poorly.

Out in this open world where the animals viewed them with curiosity and indifference, there was nothing to prevent them from seeing what it truly meant to fight for survival.

In one instant the pair might observe a butterfly enjoying a nice drink of nectar from a pale flower. In the next, that butterfly was being held and consumed alive by a peculiar insect. One that they could not immediately recognize.

The sight induced an emotional reaction from the animatronics. One that was difficult for them to fully understand. Death was such a constant risk in the world beyond humanity. A constant race for survival that these animatronics had never been able to properly confront. Yet something as simple as a butterfly being caught and consumed by a praying mantis would force them to face that confrontation head on.

It was distressing.

Yet it was beautiful.

Sad but also joyous. The life of the butterfly ended to assure that the carnivorous insect could continue on. The world was not as black and white as the children’s books would make it seem to be.

To the three little pigs, the wolf was surely a monster. To the wolf, it was a necessity. Monsters were few and far between. If they could exist beyond the realm of man at all.

For as gruesome as it seemed to watch the butterfly be eaten alive, struggling in the grip of the predatory insect, its death would serve a purpose. The mantis was fighting for its life just as it took the life of the butterfly. To lose its grip would mean to lose its meal, and possibly its life in the process. A horrible fate? Yes. But the mantis was no monster. The mantis was just another creature trying to survive the only way that it possibly could.

Real monsters did not behave as such. Real monsters were the ones who would enact these levels of savagery upon others. Not because they had too, but simply because they could. Because they wanted to.

The wolf which devoured the lamb was only doing what it needed to survive. The man who raised a hand to his child did so because he could. Because the child was smaller and weaker and could not fight back.

Monsters were not wild beasts lingering at the edge of darkness waiting to consume those who failed to escape them in time. They held true to no rules. They could not be kept at bay with silly little tricks. The real monsters were the creatures who sought out the weak to overpower them. Not out of any need for survival, but simply because the act itself brought them a sick sense of gratification.

As extensions of the hand of man, machines were equally as monstrous.

If enacting the will of the wrong person, a machine could become a monster.

Once upon a time these animatronics had been one and the same. They had been two sides of the same coin. One for the day. One for the night. The Sun and the Moon.

Once upon a time, before the monsters came to hunt, they had been blind to the realities of evil.

Once upon a time they had only known what it meant to protect children.

Then the monsters came for them. The Moon could not escape their clutches. The Moon became subjected to those horrible evils. And so they set out to enact the will of the monsters which controlled them.

The Sun could do nothing but try to keep these evils at bay. All the while they struggled to keep from suffering the same fate. They struggled to keep from finding themselves smothered by the hands of malice which reached to corrupt their minds.

Their realities had become twisted. Their perfect cycle was thrown off its center. The light became the only chance for salvation. The dark became their doom.

Until one day the flames came to consume it all. To purge them of the horrible fate that they had become forced to endure.

A sweet but temporary death.

A momentary mercy which saved them from the monsters. If only for a while.

[lrissa]

You’re Easier To Kick When You’re Kneeling.

summary: you and eren were both titan shifters, getting your ass beat in the court room by humanity’s strongest

warnings: violence, swearing,

✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩

“Good luck!”

Where the last words Hanji spoke before shoving you and Eren into the court room. Tension penetrated the air as the Survey Corps gave hard glares to the Military Police.

Spinning around you saw everyone looking to you and Eren. Embarrassment and fear crawled through your nerves, gazing to Eren as he looked just as afraid.

“I’m scared..” You whispered to the brunette, he turned to look down at your lightly shaking physique.

“We’ll be fine.” He gave you a small smile, his eyes creased softly, he wished he could reach out and pat you on the shoulder.

Straining yours eyes forwards you bit down your tongue readying yourself mentally. You noticed two long metal pillars beside eachother, gulping.

“Step forward.” An office spoke as he shoved the barrel of a gun into Erens back. Urging him forwards forcefully, quickly you walked to catch up with him.

Two officers pushed you and Eren apart. Snapping your head to the brunette, he nodded his head to you calmly, his eyes gave you comfort as the man shoved you to your knees infront of the pole.

Together the men picked up the metal and ordered you to place your hands stretched behind you, doing so they let the pole fall back into place. Having you directly connected to the pole and squatted down.

You hung your head low as the hair on your shoulders fell forwards to conceal your face. Your eyes had dilated and your body shook. Fear. Worry. Anxiety.

A door opened followed by footsteps and a chair scraping across the stone as someone seated themselves. The judge.

“Well then, let us begin. Eren Jaeger and Y/N L/N, yes?” He’d adjust his glasses and stare at the small paper in his fingers before continuing. “You are soldiers, sworn to sacrifice your life for the public good. Is that correct?”

“Yes, sir.” Eren answered as he stared bug-eyed at the judge, “Yes, sir.” You repeated after Eren and tilted your head up.

“This is an exceptional situation. The tribunal will be held under military, not civilian, law. The final decision rests entirely in my hands.” The white haired man looked from the paper to us, “Your fate will be decided here. Do you have any objections.”

Looking to the floor you squeezed your eyes shut momentarily, opening them wide again. “No, sir.” You and Eren spoke simultaneously.

“I appreciate your perception. I will be direct. As anticipated, concealing your existence has proved impossible. We must make your existing public in some form, or a threat to humanity other than titans will arise. What I will decide today is which force will have custody of you.”

“The Military Police,”

“Or the Survey Corps?”

“Then, I ask the Military Police for their proposal.”

Your head shifted to the Military Police, watching as a man readied himself before speaking vibrantly.

“Yes, sir, I am Commander of the Military Police, Nile Dawk, I will present my proposal. After a thorough investigation of Eren and Y/N’s body, we believe they should be eliminated immediately.”

Your eyes expanded as he said this. This man hardly knew either of you, not a single fucking thing. Your eyebrows furrowed into a scowl while your hands contoured into fists.

“It’s certainly true that their titan power overcame our pervious peril. However, now their existence threatens to spark a civil war. So we ask them to die for humanity’s sake, leaving behind all information they can.” He finished

Your stomach churned as he spoke, did everyone seriously wish you dead?

“There is no need for that! They are an invasive pest! They have deceived the walls that embody Gods wisdom! They must be killed at once!” A preist yelled at the top of his lungs as he pointed to us with crazed eyes. Freak.

“Preist Nick. Order, please.” The judge calmly stated before shifting his attention to the right side.

“We’ll hear the Survey Corps’s proposal next.”

“Yes, sir. I, 13th Commander of the Survey Corps, Erwin Smith, will present my proposal. We would welcome Eren and Y/N as an official member of our forces, and use their power to retake Wall Maria... That is all.”

You stared at the Commander, that’s all. That’s all? Yours and Erens life were on the line and he couldn’t conjure up another defense statement.

“That’s all?” The judge questioned suspiciously.

“Yes, sir. With their power, we can retake Wall Maria. We believe it is clear what our priorities should be.”

“I see. And where do you plan to begin this mission”The judge stated, “Pixis, the Trost wall has been completely sealed, correct?” He added.

“Yes, it can never be opened again.” A bald man retorted.

“We would like to set out from Karanes, in the east. From there, we will proceed to Zhiganshina. We will determine the route as we go.” Erwin confidently spoke as he stared to the judge.

“Wait a minute!” shouted a man, whipping your head over, “Shouldn’t we seal all the wall gates once and for all? The Colossal Titan can only destroy the gates. If we can strengthen them, we needn’t endure further attacks!” His planned seemed smart but there where missing pieces and it would most likely be difficult to achieve.

“Shut up, merchant dog!”

“With those titan powers we can return to Wall Maria!”

“We can no longer indulge your delusions of grandeur!”

Argued two men as they yelled at one another from across the room, ‘So annoying’ you thought.

“You talk a lot, pig.” A dark voice rung throughout the court, turning your head up you spotted Levi. Behind his tough physique he was actually a bit funny.

“Where is your proof?” Levi continued, “that the titans will wait while we seal the gates? The ‘we’ you speak of are only those you wish to protect, your ‘friends’ who help line your pockets. The people who starve because there isn’t enough land to sow don’t even figure into the thoughts of you pig.” Levi finished as you stared at him with wide eyes, was he seriously protecting you from the Military Police?

“We just thought that we could survive by sealing the wall gates—“ The merchant began, “Silence!” Yelled the priest beside him as he slammed his hand on the railing, nearing the mans eyes. “Impious traitor! Mere humans altering Wall Rose, walls that were a gift from God? Can you truly see those walls? Gods work far beyond human capabilities, and not understand?”

The rest of his words drowned out as your mind took hold, thoughts of the future plundered your head as you squeezed your eyes shut.

The judges taps of his desk brought you back to reality and you snapped your head up, “Silence. You may discuss your personal philosophies and opinions elsewhere.”

“Jaeger, L/N. Can you continue to serve as a soldier, using your titan powers to benefit humanity?”

“Yes, I can!” Eren spoke clearly, the judges cold gaze shifting to you, “Yes, sir.”

“But the report on Trost’s defense says this... ‘Immediately after turning into a titan, Eren swung his fist at Mikasa Ackerman.’” You sucked in a breath and looked to Eren, his eyes extended as he looked to Mikasa. Of course, he doesn’t remember.

“Is Mikasa Ackerman present?”

“Yes, that’s me.”

“You are Ackerman? Is it true that, as a titan, Jaeger attacked you?” The old man questioned her.

You sighed softly, ‘As if he can control it yet’ you thought angrily in your mind.

“Yes, its true.”

Gasps of terror rung throughout the court, all eyes falling on Eren in a deathly glare.

“I knew it... He’s just another titan.”

“What about the girl!” Another protested as your head whipped to them, sending a glare to them.

“But, on two previous occasions, Eren saved my life in his titan form. The first time, mere seconds before a titan would have had me in its grasp, he stood between us, protecting me. The second time, he saved Armin and me from an HE shell. I would like these facts to be considered aswell.”

“I object,”

“I believe these comments are greatly colored by her personal feelings. At an early age, Mikasa Ackerman lost her parents and was taken in by the Jaeger household.” Well haven’t you done your homework, you pondered with a small frown.

“Our investigation had also revealed a surprising fact about the underlying events. At age nine, Eren Jaeger and Mikasa Ackerman killed three robbers who tried to kidnap her.”

More gasps could be heard as the news entered their ears, you shook your head. ‘What stupid fucking evidence to have, like they had a choice’ you considered furiously in your mind.

“Even if it was self defense, I must question their fundamental humanity. Is it right to entrust humanity’s fate, resources, and lives to him?”

Whispering and arguing broke out between the different sides, turning their heads to their fellow comrades to spew hatred. What a loss. Losing to this mans ugly mouth. You hung your head and sighed quietly.

“So is she. Do we know if we can trust her!” Referring to you as he pointed. “That’s right! Just to be safe we should dissect her too!” He looked to Mikasa next.

“Wait!” Yelled Eren and looked up to the man, “I may be a monster, but they have nothing to do with it! Nothing at all!” Eren defended as you watched, his spit flying from his mouth as he spoke from his soul. Your heart clenching in pitifulness as you frowned sadly.

“We can’t trust that!”

“It’s true!”

“If you’re covering for them, it means they’re one of you!”

“No!” He screamed and slammed his handcuffs against the metal pole, looking down in defeat, “I mean, you are wrong. But you’re simply coming up with theories that fit, whatever it suits you to fit.”

“Eren..” You said softly as you stared at him, your eyes in pain for him. He was so much braver than you and it gave you courage to see him so persistent.

Looking up you began to speak, “Besides, all of you people. You’ve never seen a titan! What are you so afraid of? What is your point if you do not have the power to fight? If you’re afraid to fight for humanity’s survival then, help us!” Your voice getting increasingly louder as you glared at the pathetic people who called themselves the Military Police.

“Just shut up and trust us!” You yelled your last statement and looked up to the judge, your chest panting heavily as you meant every word.

“Weapons ready!” The Commander of the Military Police shouted while his cadet set his gun on the railing and pointed it to you.

Until your face snapped to the right and pain shot through your nerves, your vision blurred instantly. Metal was all you tasted. A tooth had even managed to fall from your mouth and rolled onto the ground. You blinked to dimish the haziness and looked to your striker.

Levi Ackerman

“Huh?—“

His steel pointed boot slammed across your face again. Your back slamming against the pole behind you. Blood trickled down your nose and down to your chin, dropping onto the floor. Your blood had even splattered small droplets along the stone flooring.

Levi grabbed your collar and shoved you forwards to him. The handcuffs clanging against the pole as Levi stared down at you, his frigid glare locking eyes with your beaten ones before slamming his knee into the side of your head, sending it flying.

Pain. So much pain. It was burning you alive from the inside as all you could do was endure it. Tch, this guy’s a dick.

“Y/N!” Eren screamed from the opposite end. Hatred and worry evident in his tone as he struggled against his own cuffs, “Stop it!” Eren attempted again as all he could do was watch his friend get beaten to the brink of death.

Levi continued to sock you with his boot, giving you zero remorse as he beat the girl below him. Mikasa glared and got ready to jump the railing before Armin held her back.

Blood streamed down your face, a large puddle had began to form under you. You gasped for air before Levi lifted his leg high and stomped down on your head into the puddle of your demise. Grimacing at the filth and pain, all you did was lay there. If someone wasn’t looking hard enough, they’d assume you were already dead.

Croaks of pain left your body as his boot remained on your head, struggling to breath as blood trickled down your nose and into your mouth, unintentionally swallowing.

“This is a personal opinion. But I believe pain to be the best way to train someone. What you need is to be trained like a dog, not a man.”

Your rigid breathes left your mouth as you stared straight at Eren, his eyes meeting yours as he seemed to become visibly furious. Bruised and cuts tracked your once pretty, soft skin. Blood now coating all the crevices in your face.

“It’s easier to kick you while you’re kneeling, too.”

Levi lifted his boot and slammed it into the side of your head once again, giving you no time to breathe he stomped it back onto the cold ground again. Repeating his tourtue when he kicked your head all over again.

Strangled breaths was all you could muster, along with the rattling of the handcuffs as you were thrown around like trash, filling the silence of the fearful court room.

Kick. Kick, Kick.

All anyone could do was watch your doom, “Wait, Levi...”

Your head was pushed against the pole with his boot flat on your face as he turned his head to the one speaking, “What is it?”

His boot fell from your face as you hunched forwards, croaking as you gasped for air, blood trickling down the sides of your mouth.

“That’s dangerous... What if she gets angry and turns into a titan?”

You slowly tilted your head up to Levi, hair falling away from your face and resting on your shoulders. The raven head stared at you for a moment, then shoved his boot back onto your face and slamming it against the pole.

“What are you saying?” Levi dropped his leg again and gripped a fistful your hair, violently pulling you to his face as your eyes struggled to remain open from extreme bruising.

“Aren’t you going to dissect her?” He dropped your hair and stood straight, peering down to your defeated and beaten figure.

“When she turned into a titan last time, she killed twenty other titans before collapsing. If she is an enemy, her intelligence makes her a more formidable foe. Still no match for me, of course.”

Levi gazed to the Military Police, “But what will you do? Anyone persecuting her should also consider that fact. Do you really think you can kill her?” Levi spoke cooly as he stood infront of you, staring you down.

From afar you heard others speak, but your heartbeat clogged your ears as it deafened any other noise. Staring at Levi’s boots infront of you, you noted your blood coating the bottom before gently shutting your eyelids.

You could only hear Levi as he spoke from ahead of you, “I’m certain I can kill her. The only problem is I doubt I can do any less.” Levi proposed.

Hearing the pound of the desk above you, the judge made his decision. But you’d never make out what he proposed.

Footsteps stepped back from ahead of you as new ones came from behind you, uncuffing you and lifting the pole.

You tumbled forwards onto the unwelcoming ground, cautiously opening your eyes to the glaring sunlight that entered through the windows.

Eren ran to you, crouching down infront of you as you saw him shout words at you. He picked your head up in his hands and cradled you in his lap, checking for your pulse.

Your eyes began to shut again, your head lulling to the side to spot the raven head. Levi stared at you from afar, his arms crossed over his chest. The last thing you saw was the ravens dark gaze before your eyes rolled and all you saw was darkness.

be real, we all wish we were the ones being kicked

[falling-pages]

Sun and Moon: Tamakyo

If I had to suffer, then so do all of you.

-

Kyoya refuses to die without Tamaki by his side.

-

“I supposed as in life, we would cross this threshold together, and perhaps meet again on the other side.”

"It's time to go, Kyoya."

“Perhaps we shall be reincarnated as the sun and moon.”

-

Kyoya Ootori x Tamaki Suoh

Genre: Happy ending angst, established relationship

Warnings: Double character death, car crash

-

Silence was the most unnatural part of death, but it wasn’t unwelcome.

It throbbed like bass between his ears, slipping him an unholy cocktail of drowsiness and pain. The world was muted, smothered by the white light seeping into his vision. He wondered if he had gone blind and deaf, but that wouldn’t explain the numbness in his body.

Kyoya knew he was alive, at least in some sense. He felt the vibrations in his fingertips, drumming into his thigh from his leather seat, so he knew there was a world around him. But he drifted, felt his spirit lean back and float in the pool. His fingers skimmed the water. Some current toyed with him, curled one finger around his body and enticed him forward, away from shore, into the warm water stretching beyond infinity. He couldn’t see it, but he sensed it, felt the peace and rest and silence beckoning for him, just out of his grasp, the palm of his hand.

His soul chuckled. Peace and rest was not something he was acquainted with in life. And ever since Tamaki came into his life, he hadn’t known silence.

Tamaki.

As warm as the water felt, as gentle as the hand was that cradled him, as chillingly enticing was the voice that called him forward, he couldn’t go alone. The silence was wrong without him. Kyoya couldn’t sense another soul out on the water, so he sat up, sputtering in the mist, pushing away the hand that grabbed him.

Tamaki?

The silence ended like the snap of a whip, and the air filled Kyoya’s lungs to the point where he felt he’d suffocate with too much. Suddenly sober, the morphine drip ripped away. He gasped as hard as his fragile lungs could and opened his eyes.

The white subliminal space was gone, replaced with the present he had so peacefully been taken away from.

He saw the blood first. How it dripped from Tamaki’s nose, gushed from his mouth. His head smashed forward on the dashboard, neck billowed by the white airbag. It, too, was stained with him, a flowery design etched into the cloth, like a painting, the most grotesque, accidental painting.

The sight should have shocked him. To be yanked from the edge of peace and confronted with the harbinger should have made his soul cry out. But it may have been the smoke, or the pain so strong it diluted everything else, or even just dangling on the edge of eternal collapse that just...allowed him to see. Like his soul was half-way out the door, tugging him by the hand and yet allowing him one last look.

One last look to say goodbye.

Is this how it ends? Two lovers in a crushed car, dangling over the precipice of life and death? After all they had been through, was this to be their destiny?

Tamaki was alive. As Kyoya’s ears began to ring, his lover poked out a tiny smile. Though his eyes were bruised shut, he inhaled through his mouth, lips upturned like he had just woken up from a delicious dream. Kyoya wondered if he were in the liminal white space, too, and if he had returned to life just to find him again.

It all started with a smile, and now it ended with one.

Kyoya had always considered life to be a straight line. Different for everyone, sure, but in a way, still the same. You had to have a plan to be successful, and too many options could destroy a monument of plans. Everyone in their order, everything in its place. It was the Ootori way, his way.

Until Tamaki blasted through those plans like dynamite. That smile was a more deadly weapon than any man could create.

It had annoyed him in life, but he had learned to adore it. Now, it comforted him in death.

Tamaki’s head was twisted towards him, exactly how he laid in bed. Whenever he hadn’t wrapped them in body heat and blankets, Tamaki liked to lay on his side and look at him, eventually falling asleep like that. It made for quite the vantage point for Kyoya. Able to see his back rise with every breath, eyebrows furrow so cutely, lips slightly parted to allow air and drool--yes, the King drooled--to escape. It didn’t help Kyoya sleep, but it did help him relax. It gave him peace.

He looked the same here. Despite the blood, despite the smoke and haze, Kyoya imagined them back in their bed. He moved to kiss that beautiful brow, pull the blanket up further around them. Tamaki couldn’t sleep cold, else he’d have nightmares and whine and cling--

But as he reached, a cutting pain wove around his wrist, and he jerked away from the jagged edge of machinery in his path. The hiss of some gas or heat squeezed his ear. He tried to move away, but the pressure on his neck was too great. The force of the crash had thrust him forward; something had pinned his left elbow, while the seatbelt cut against his throat, choking him of the little air he had left. Weight settled against the back of his neck, tilting his face up until his delicate Adam’s Apple jutted into the steering wheel.

There was no coming back from this.

Miraculously, his glasses remained on, though one lens had shattered. Kyoya felt the shards on his cheek but couldn’t brush them away. He felt the blood drip on his hand, but everything else below his neck was numb, likely paralyzed. Waiting for the pressure against his spinal column to squeeze the rest of his nerves to asphyxiation, to snap and choke the life out of him.

He sunk his head into the steering wheel, awaiting the inevitable. He had no regrets about leaving the white space to find Tamaki, but now he was ready to go back. Ready to rest, be at peace, out of pain.

Once his breaths grew shallow, he mustered his last kindling of strength to gaze one last time at his beloved. Tamaki still hadn’t opened his eyes, but that dopey grin still stretched across his mouth. He reached out for Kyoya’s hand and caught it, intertwining their fingers. Intimate moments splayed through their minds, where they had clutched hands and cried, laughed, kissed, loved. And Kyoya didn’t know who to thank for allowing him this last mercy, but he thanked them anyways.

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

When they appeared in the white space, they were still holding hands.

The light was just as blinding as before, and everything was the same. Just a vast expanse of nothingness, a blank page, no definitive land or water, but they felt it, all the same. They knew if they took one more step, the current would pull them into whatever came next.

Tamaki squeezed Kyoya’s hand. Or, rather, his soul did. When Kyoya looked down, he saw no body, nor the blond he traversed Death to retrieve. But he felt his spirit, and as long as they were together, he didn’t care what happened.

The first thing he heard was Tamaki’s laugh. It pierced through death’s cotton and filled his ears and lungs with mirth, and when Kyoya breathed in, all he could feel was light, bright and happy and airy, so pure and beautiful he wondered how he had once survived on oxygen alone. The unadulterated essence of his soul, spouting from the one standing beside him.

“Kyoya, you mean to tell me that you left this?” Tamaki’s soul cried, tugging him to the shoreline.

Kyoya tripped suddenly, but Tamaki’s grip kept him stable as they rushed. He wanted to tell his beloved to wait, that they had all the time in the world and then some, and once they enter that sea, there’s no going back, but he knew even in death he was unlikely to listen.

He considered Tamaki’s question, then shook his head and allowed himself to be pulled forward. “What is there to leave?”

“Such beauty! Such radiance!” Tamaki resumed, his soul twirling around. “I saw your spirit leave, and then it came back...you left this for me?”

They reached the edge of the water. Though it all remained a vast expanse of white, Kyoya felt the warmth lapping at his toes. He jerked Tamaki’s hand back. Unsure of what was going to happen when they stepped in, he wanted to hold on to his last shreds of mortality, to keep Tamaki’s spirit close before eternity separated them.

“I know how you hate going places alone,” he said. “I supposed as in life, we would cross this threshold together, and perhaps meet again on the other side.”

Tamaki’s soul burned brighter, if that were even possible. Though he could not see him, he felt real, as palpable as the earth. He asked, “Tamaki, what does my soul look like to you?”

“Hmm.” The spirit dulled in thought. “I can’t really see you, but I feel you near. You feel...cool. Like shelter. Like a raincloud, or the moon. You are a Shadow King, my love, softer now than you were in life.”

Kyoya swallowed, hearing the curiosity in the next question. “What do I look like?” Tamaki’s soul asked.

“You are a ball of light,” he said. The spirit flamed. “You are warm beside me. You light my way. You have always been the light to my path, and I would be lost without you.”

Like a supernova, Tamaki became blinding, enough to hurt the eyes, a sign of the times, but Kyoya absorbed it, breathed in every bit of his lover’s happiness.

“Come,” Tamaki said, tugging Kyoya’s hand. They entered the water, and Kyoya heard the siren song once more. “Perhaps we shall be reincarnated as the sun and moon.”

They waded further into the white space. Once they hit waist-depth, Kyoya stopped again. He breathed it in, the last memory of his life, all he had done, all he had loved. Did he do enough? Had he succumbed to the pressure of his family? Had he matched the love Tamaki so selflessly poured into him?

His world was ending, and all he had accomplished didn’t matter. It couldn’t save him from pain, from the seatbelt cutting his arms and Death’s kiss against his neck. All his wealth scattered to the wind, his reputation buried with him, every business deal as worthless as the dirt beneath his feet. Was he enough? Had he done enough?

Tamaki’s soul squeezed his hand. “It’s time to go, Kyoya.”

Yes. It was enough.

-

Kofi

[nevertheless-moving]

Suicidal Misunderstanding XIV

Part I - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  Part XI - - - - Part XII - - - - Part XIII

Star Wars Time Travel AU #27

Plo Koon woke to find himself chained in a dark room.

Somewhere behind him he could hear steady dripping; it was uncertain if that was deliberate or not.

He strained to discern anything in the dim light, but the walls of his prison refused to form into anything recognizable.

Cautiously, the trapped Master cast his senses out, only to find them reflected back at odd angles. He decided to wait before attempting to push any further past what his captor wished him to see.

Time passed strangely, but sooner than expected there was the sound of a pressurized airlock opening and, distantly, a raging ocean.

The airlock cycled through its rotation and Obi-Wan Kenobi stepped out of the amorphous shadows looking...decidedly worse for the wear. 

Plo ached at the sight. His normally carefully maintained beard was a scraggly mess. His robes hung tattered and bloodied. Of particular concern was how dry he looked, skin cracked and bleeding for want of water. The figure standing before him with a dead-eyed glare resembled less an accomplished Jedi Master and more the wretched husk of one. 

“Who are you?”  Obi-Wan's shade hissed. The chains around the Kel Dooran tightened. 

Well, however he might view himself and others...at least he’s willing to fight to defend what remains? At the bare minimum he’s not acting intentionally self destructive...

“Good Morning, Obi-Wan. I am a Jedi Master and your friend. I have been attempting to reach you through your rather impressive shielding. I must say, you’ve done a remarkable job confining me in this mental construct, its been sometime since anyone has managed to get the best of me in this arena.”

Obi-Wan snorted. “Don’t try and flatter me, you barely fought back. You could easily have forced your way anywhere, but for some reason you let me corral you, presumably to try and gain my trust. Now answer my question. Your presence is very much light so I doubt you’re Sidious or...Vader. I could be wrong obviously, but i can’t see either of themselves putting this much effort into that sort of mask...just tell me who you are, and why you’re with them.”

“I am Master Plo Koon, a High Council Member, and I am not unknown to you” he elaborated without hesitation. “I am glad that you can identify that I am a light force user. Can you not sense familiarity within my force presence, even so far within your domain?”

Obi-Wan reared back and the dripping noise in the corner stopped.

“It’s a trick. We might be in my head but that doesn’t mean I’m surrendering any of my thoughts to you,” Obi-Wan snarled. “I felt Plo Koon’s death, he was one of the first...and even if he somehow survived he would never work with the Sith to invade my mind. Never.”

“Obi-Wan. Listen to me. Please. I am not dead. I am not working with the Sith. I was brought in to reach you because no other method was working. You are in the healing halls at the Jedi Temple on Coruscant.” Plo spoke calmly, but implacably, “We believe you have either experienced a uniquely detailed vision, or a run in with a dark-sider. Whatever has happened, I can feel the lingering impression of unsafety. But here and now, you are not in any immediate physical danger. There must be something I can do to convince you of your present physical location.”

“A uniquely detailed vision, huh? ha!” Obi-Wan replied, gesturing wildly. “Ha! You expect me to believe that what, the last four years of my life were a detailed prophecy? Why?”

“You...believe you have lived years beyond the rest of us. I take it the- what you remember has been dangerous enough to warrant maintaining abnormally tight control over your mental walls, precluding simply reaching out to ascertain the truth yourself.”

“Clearly my control wasn’t enough if you’re in here.” Obi-Wan muttered.

“I do apologize for the intrusion, but we’ve already used every other tool at our disposal to reach you. I repeat, is there anything that can be done to convince you that you are, from your perspective, ‘in the past’. You are a High Council member with a grandpadawan. It’s been two years since the start of the clone wars. You recently finished an extended clean up of the Mon Cala sector after your victory.”

Obi-Wan stared at him curiously. “If I set a test and you fail, will you agree to dispense with the pretenses?”

Plo-Koon hesitated. “Perhaps I’m making this deal in bad faith, as I am know I am Plo-Koon, and that everything I have said is the truth... but I swear that if you somehow prove that neither of those things are true and I am secretly working for a sith lord, I will...reveal that.”

Obi-Wan sighed. “Best I’m going to get, I suppose.”

The chains holding Plo-Koon loosened. Before he could respond, there was a hurtling rising sensation that he struggled not to fight against. After a disorienting moment, he found himself in his own body, feeling vaguely seasick. Obi-Wan blinked awake, apparently unfazed by the precautionary bonds holding him in place. Master Aerdo’s gaze flicked between them intensely. Plo-Koon held up a clawed hand to forestall any interruption while the two gained their bearings.

Obi-Wan spoke first:

“Cihynglo’s Fourth Meditation”

“...What?” Koon replied, honestly confused.

“Cihynglo was a renowned Kashykian Jedi, her mediations are, well i suppose were considered a quintessential example of High Republic cosmic poetry.”

“I’m familiar with Cihynglo- my master used to speak of her fondly.” Plo Koon said slowly. “Though I can’t say I’m familiar with her Fourth Mediation.”

“Hmm. Yes, well her poetry in the last few decades of her life got increasingly, well, esoteric. While most of her work was widely translated and distributed, she requested that those who wished to read her fourth Meditations do so in person, so as to experience without dilution the full calligraphy and artwork that accompanied her words. She only ever produced two copies. Any guesses where they were kept?”

Obi-Wan’s voice started out in the steady tones of a born lecturer, only to grow bitter towards the end.

“Is one in the temple?” Master Koon asked.

“Yes, one was held in the Master’s wing of the temple archives. The other was housed in a place of honor in The White Forest’s Great Tree of Knowledge. Considering both libraries were reduced to ash in the first month of the Empire, it is quite impossible, even for the Emperor, to find a copy.” 

His vague attempt at a smirk quickly fell flat. 

“I was privileged enough to be granted time to begin reading it once, but, alas, an emergency situation in the intergalactic war you created meant that I had to run off mid-sonnet. Bring me that book, let me hold it, read it, and I will believe that I somehow unlocked the secret of time-travel while overdosing on Spice.” 

Obi-Wan paused, catching his breath. “In the next fifteen minutes, please. Any more than that and you might try tracking down the few surviving Wookie scholars.” Koon flipped open his comm. “Master Nu, I have an urgent request.”

“Nu here, go on,” came the response.

“This may sound strange, but it is crucial that Cihynglo’s Fourth Meditation be brought to the healing halls, room seven. Within the next 15 minutes.”

“You do understand you’re talking about a physical book, not a flimsi-stack or a holocron. It’s not meant to leave a climate-controlled room.”

“I promise you, I would not ask if it weren’t life or death. Please Jocasta, I’ll explain later.”

“I’ll be there in 10. It had better be one durned good explanation.”

Obi-Wan looked bemused. ”You’re setting yourself up for failure.”

“I am glad you were able to come up with a test you found meaningful. Remember, you have friends here, regardless of whether you experienced subjective time travel or an incredibly detailed vision.”

They waited a little longer. Obi-Wan critically examined Master Aerdo.

“I’m a Senior Soul Healer” they offered at the non-verbal prompting.

“How interesting.” Obi-Wan remarked dryly.

They sat in awkward silence for another minute. 

They were all equally trained in suppressing fidgets, coughs, or other nervous tics, which made the wait that slightest bit more unbearable, each second nearly imperceptible from the one before.

Eventually the sound of heavy boots moving at speed approached.

Master Nu strode in, gently cradling a great burden. The book gleamed large and vital in the light of its stasis wrap. Her eyes widened at they took in Obi-Wan, still cuffed to the bed. 

“Cihynglo’s Fourth Meditation, as asked for. I trust you have an excellent explanation for how a book of poetry is a matter of life or death.”

“I’m hoping that it will convince our friend Master Kenobi that I am who I claim to be and we are where I claim we are.” Koon gently pulled the book from her grasp and reverently placed it on Obi-Wan’s lap. Obi-Wan stared at it uncomprehendingly.

“Obi-Wan, I’m going to uncuff you now. I trust that you will use your freedom to examine our ‘proof.’ We will physically intercede if you make any attempts at self harm.”

Master Nu gasped. “Then the temple rumors...I don’t understand.”

Obi Wan picked up the book as if he was afraid it might bite him. With an irritated snort, he opened brusquely to the middle, and began carelessly flipping ahead.

Master Nu started forward, offended, but Plo Koon held her back. “Please Master Nu, patience-”

Finally Obi-Wan seemed to reach the page he was looking for and stopped. “..And still the rain fell like blood of the womb” he murmured. “That...I tried to think of how the line ended but I...”

Everyone watched as the book shook in Obi-Wan's grasp. He turned the page, gasping slightly and murmuring as he read. “This is...a little gross, but oddly touching. I certainly would not have come up with it myself...but its so clearly...” They watched his react, eyes darting wildly and brow furrowing in confusion.

Several pages later he dropped the book abruptly.

“This is impossible,” he gasped.

Nu darted forward, carefully snatching it from his lap, "I am endeavoring to practice tolerance, but how is destroying an irreplaceable piece of literature supposed to help anyone?!” she snapped

“I admit I wondered that myself, but when I imagined what harm the Sith could do with some of the archive’s more practical works, I understood your decision to torch the collection” Obi-Wan responded dreamily. “I suppose the more beautific works would likely have been destroyed anyway...”

“Torch the archives? I would never.”

“But you did,” Obi-Wan insisted feverishly. “I found your message when we searching for survivors. There were so many bodies piled at the archive door that I was almost hopeful that they had managed to...but I suppose they held out just long enough for you to complete your task.”

Nu backed away slowly. “That sounds like quite the disturbing vision, Master Kenobi.”

“It wasn’t just a vision, it was my life. It-visions don’t last years!” he said, finally growing hysterical. “I remember everything! That gods-awful mission to Cato Nemodia! Getting takeout food with Anakin! The smell of burning flesh in the creche! Singing to Luke! The last year of the war! All of you! You crying after Dooku’s death,” he added gesturing wildly at the archivist. “It was so awkward! You were embarrassed! You told me that for some stupid reason you had ‘held out hope’ it was all an insane uncover mission, that he wasn’t really- Three years alone in the desert! I remember three years of living on fucking Tatooine, how could that possibly be a vision!”

“I...hadn’t told anyone that,” Nu whispered with a hint of alarm. She glanced at Plo Koon, daring him to comment. “I know its very much unlikely at this point, and by any measure, he’s taken things too far, but he’s gone on such long shadow missions in the past...” she looked away.

“Oh, Jocasta...” Plo sighed.

“Master Kenobi. I cannot explain how you came to have such detailed knowledge of the future,” Aerdo said, drawing focus back to the bewildered Obi-Wan, who had shifted into a defensive crouch on the bed. “But I do know one reasonably sure fire way to establish that this, us, is the present. Open yourself up to the force, please, just let yourself listen to what it has to say.

“I...want to, of course I want to believe- but the idea that I’m here- it’s, if you’re real than you can’t possibly understand, its too good to be true.” Obi-Wan responded brokenly.

“I know things have been clouded of late, but, if nothing else trust in the force to not lie to you.” Plo-Koon urged. “If you keep closing yourself off like this, how can you possibly learn if things are better than you think”

Obi-Wan collapsed from his crouch, knees folding underneath.

“If I am...even if I am in the past... Sideous might be watching...i didn’t- i don’t know the extent of his gaze- even if...” he trailed off.

“If it makes you feel safer, you are of course free to again raise your shields to whatever extent you feel necessary once you have verified your reality.” Aerdo replied smoothly.

Obi-Wan looked warily at the three Jedi in the room.“I...” he started, trying to articulate the swelling hope and fear only to find himself at a loss for words.

Aerdo shot him a reassuring smile, “If you don’t feel ready right now, that’s perfectly understandable. We’re very happy you’re willing to reach out as much as you have already. Would you like to pause this discussion for now so we can find you something to eat? I believe a simple broth is a customary first post-bacta meal, but if you have any special requests I’ll do what I can.”

Obi-Wan let out a deep breath, dropping his head into his hands. “I- I need to know, don’t I?” he mumbled. “Force help me...you win.” He took one last, searching look at the faces of his fellow Jedi before closing his eyes and surrendering himself to the force.

He opened a small hole in his mental barricades and tentatively allowed his thoughts to drip out. Tentatively, he trickled over the bank of Plo Koon’s being (expecting a frigid burn) only to find a warm and heartbreakingly familiar pool of tempered kindness. 

He ran, slightly faster now, over the other Jedi presences in the room. Having finished his course without encountering any dark undertow, he ebbed back. There was an indistinct impression of something heavy giving way.

Obi-Wan’s Shields Fell Like A Dam Beneath a Tidal Wave -

[ao3komorii]

Lost Love’s Ruination (Viego/Reader)

Done at last! Was desperate to get this one out before Isolde was released for obvious reasons, so glad I got it done xD Once again, I tried to make it that you don't need any lore knowledge to get what's going on, though I would recommend maybe watching Ruination (the league short). Also no apologies for all the Senna because I love herrrrr

As a warning, there is smut at the end. Hope you enjoy it :) ----

A woman’s body, her beauty spoiled in apparent death, was lowered into beautiful crystalline waters. You couldn’t see who was lowering her into the water, or who stood around viewing the scene. You never could.

As it always did, the water grew poisoned with death as the woman revived from the dead, her features twisted with anger and confusion. Like a caged animal that had been freed, she lashed out, ripping a great blade out of someone’s grasp, and before you could react, the blade was plunged into your chest.

With a gasp, you woke up, your body broken out in a cold sweat, like it always did when you had that particular dream. You had had that dream many times before, but it never got any less terrifying. Long ago, you had considered visiting a dream reader to decipher what the horrifying nightmare meant, but you were scared that you would be told you were cursed and gave up on ever knowing.

It was a relief that most days you didn’t have much time to worry about your nightmares. You had been working on a farm in rural Demacia ever since you had been taken in at age four. You had been told that you were the only survivor of a fire, but you had been so young that you had no memories of the fire, or of your parents.

The owner of the farm had given you a home, but he was far from being family. You were given enough food to survive, but no more, and it was always contingent on you working on the farm seven days a week. You were grateful to have a bed to sleep in at night, even as hard as it was, but couldn’t help but feel some envy watching the other girls in your town go about their lives without the responsibilities that you had.

You might as well get up, even with how early you had woken up. Today was sheep shearing day, the longest day of the year for you. The sheep liked you more than they liked the owner, so that meant that you were stuck shearing all the sheep by yourself while he went to the town bar all day.

Putting on your old and worn boots with a sigh, you wished you could find a way out of this life. But you had no skills besides farming, and no money. The only way a girl like you could get out of this life was to marry a likely-older man, and that was something you wanted to avoid at all costs. The owner’s brother had previously expressed an interest in you, but luckily for you the owner hated his brother, or you would have likely had to live on the streets to avoid that marriage made in hell.

The owner was out in the field feeding the sheep when you exited the farmhouse. He glanced up at you, but you knew better than to expect a good morning, instead heading towards the small shed to fetch your shears.

Only when you returned to the field did he finally speak up. “Have some buyers comin’ for the wool tomorrow, so make sure it’s done today.”

“Right,” you answered. He was always the gruff, no-nonsense type, so you knew by now that talking back would get you nowhere. You had learned that lesson soon after you had come to this place twenty years ago. He was your employer, not your father, and he made sure you never forgot that.

“Alright, I’m off then,” he said, giving the field of sheep one more look over before heading inside to change out of his overalls.

You finished setting your things up as the owner left for the bar. You watched as he headed down the road, knowing that he wouldn’t be back until late. You didn’t really mind when he was gone, even if that meant you had a larger workload; he never seemed to have any interest in you other than what you could do on the farm, so he wasn’t one for long conversation. Without him around, you were at least able to relax and work without feeling like you had someone breathing down your neck to finish faster.

Luckily, the sheep were more than willing to listen to your worries, even if they didn’t understand what you were saying.

“I just want to stop having that dream,” you said as you began shearing one of your favorite sheep, Tulip. The owner had no interest in naming his livestock, so the job was left to you. Names didn’t make a difference to the owner, but it made a big difference to you, even as sad as it was to have your only friends be farm animals.

“I just wish I could make them go away,” you told the uninterested sheep. “Things would be much easier if I could dream about grass like you probably do, Tulip.”

Tulip turned her head to face you and you sighed, petting her freshly-sheared back. You always felt silly talking to the sheep, but it wasn’t like you had any better options around here.

Every time you had dreamed of a more exciting life, you had backed down and given up on your plans. Beyond your lack of money or skills, you knew very little about the world outside your small farming town. You had only been outside the town once, many years ago when you went with the owner to help pick out some new livestock from a larger town.

As your life stood right now, you had very little idea of what your future would be like. Would you eventually get tired of this life and set out on your own, get married off, or stay here until you were old and gray? None of those options seemed particularly appealing to you, but for now, all you could do was sit here and talk to sheep about your nightmares, wishing you could have a chance to see more of the world than your small town.

It was already a pretty warm day, and handling heavy sheep’s wool wasn’t helping. You had sheared about half the sheep by midday, but your work had been slowing down, likely due to your poor night of sleep. You would have to pick up the pace considerably if you wanted to finish in time to get any sleep tonight.

You had been pushing through your increasing thirst for at least an hour in the name of finishing on time, but had finally given in and headed inside for some water. Your dry throat ached, but the water was still nice, as you knew the owner would be upset if you passed out from dehydration before you finished your day’s work.

As much as you didn’t want to go back out there, you knew you had to work to earn your keep. It was a little harder to stay focused on work when you were dirty, sweaty and covered in balls of wool, but you had to push through and just look forward to a nice bath after the day was done.

You paused to stretch as you stood before the front door, knowing it would be back to work as soon as you were back outside. Stretching only served to emphasize how sore you were feeling after several hours of tedious work, with many more still to go. That was the same reason why you hadn’t bothered to pick the excess wool off of your clothes; why bother when you would look like a patchy sheep by the end of the day anyways?

Saying goodbye to your brief moment of rest, you opened the door at last, reluctantly ready to get back to work. Looking out over the area, you were surprised to see the field in more chaos than you had left it.

Your stool had been knocked over, but that was easy enough to fix; your real problem came from the sheep. You had expected them to wander around the field while not under your supervision, but the scene before you was something you had never experienced before.

The sheep were all crowded along the fence that faced the way into town. Walking closer, you could see nothing along the road that led past other farms and into town, at least nothing that would catch the attention of the entire flock of sheep. The dirt road was clear, the only noise around drifting over from the other nearby farms, but that wasn’t unusual.

You walked closer to the sheep, still unsure of what their problem was. You had never seen them act like this before, not even when large carts would pass by them travelling on the road. Could they see something that you couldn’t? You had never heard of sheep having supernatural senses, but were having a difficult time coming up with any other explanation for their sudden strange behavior.

Approaching the sheep, you tried to gently pry one away from the fence, but it wouldn’t budge, digging its hooves into the ground with an indignant bleat. You tried the same tactic with several other sheep, but were met with the same stubborn refusal to move. Even Tulip rebuffed you, regardless of any pleading on your part. What was wrong with these sheep?

You covered your eyes with your hands, taking a deep breath to try and calm yourself down. You really didn’t need this right now. You had a job to do, and a limited amount of time to get the job done or the owner would surely be upset with you. You would have to do whatever it took to get the sheep to comply with you, even if the owner was unhappy with you using extra hay as a bribe.

Before you could return your focus to the sheep in front of you, you were interrupted by a loud bleating from all around you. Removing your hands from your eyes, you looked around you to the flock of loudly-bleating sheep, and then back to the still-empty area ahead of you, still utterly confused as to what was happening.

All of a sudden, the sheep were desperate to be anywhere but where they were as they all turned and fled away from the fence. Unfortunately, you were unable to move in time and were sent falling to the ground, which was not helping your already-sore back. Sitting up with a groan, you lamented how rough your day was going, at least until you looked out at the scene beyond the fence.

Where there had been nothing out of the ordinary before, now you could see something that was not there before. Far off in the horizon, so far that you had to squint to see it, was a patch of dark black-green in the sky.

Standing up, you leaned over the fence, trying to see what it was when suddenly the patch grew bigger, or as you realized with a gasp, it was getting closer. The horrible black-green sky got closer still, close enough for you to tell that it was not sky after all, but a thick, dark mist, and it seemed to be closing in on your small town.

And then your world was swallowed by black.

Senna sat in the small boat, watching as the black-green mist began to dissipate, knowing that its creator had vanished as well. She could feel nothing but guilt and dread; she had failed not only herself, but all of Runeterra. Now that the ruined king had the memories, he was one step closer to achieving his goal, and then his focus would turn to the world that he felt had let him down.

“We have to find the girl,” Senna said suddenly, watching as the last of the mist faded from the cliff they had just been on.

“The girl?” Lucian asked.

Senna turned to face her husband. How often she forgot that Lucian hadn’t seen what she had seen, didn’t know what she knew. But this was no time to get lost in the past, not when so much was at stake.

“His wife died a long time ago,” she began as Lucian took hold of the boat’s steering wheel. “I’ve held her memory within me since the mist came to my island when I was a child. Now that he has her memory, he will seek out her body to reunite the two.”

“He’s looking for a thousand-year-old corpse?” Lucian sounded dubious.

“No,” Senna sighed ruefully. “His wife was reborn, but she has no memories of her past life. He thinks that he can force her memory into her new body and return her to his side.”

Only when it got closer did you realize the true amount of trouble you were in. The dark mist began to swallow the land, the sky, covering everything in its path as it headed straight towards your farm.

As it got even closer, you began to see more detail in the ominous mist, taken aback when you noticed ethereal green streaks in the mist that crawled along the black mist as if they were alive. This was no ordinary storm, no, this mist looked downright sinister. You stared, frozen with terror, until the screams from one of the neighboring farms snapped you out of your petrified stupor.

You had to run. Now.

You backed up a few steps, knowing that you had to leave but afraid to take your eyes off of the rapidly-approaching deathly black mist. Turning around at last, you ran across the field and towards the woods beyond the back gate of the property, hoping to find some safety within the dense forest.

The sheep had already got there first and were trying to break down the back gate to escape. The field was large, as you also had many crops growing, sections of which had been trampled underfoot by the terrified animals as they fled.

You were halfway across the field when the sheep scattered, bleating loudly as they gave up on the back gate, running instead to cower in their pen. As they moved away from the gate, you noticed with horror that the black mist was now rolling out from the woods as well. Stopping in your tracks, you looked around you, only to see that the mist was coming at the farm from every direction. You were trapped, and the mist was only getting closer to engulfing you.

Desperately looking for any way out of your impending death, you caught sight of the farmhouse. If you couldn’t escape this mist, then maybe you could delay its effects by hiding in the cellar of the farmhouse long enough for help to arrive. It was the only option you could see other than waiting here to die, so you took it.

Your legs were burning from all the sprinting you had been doing in the last few minutes, but you couldn’t stop, not when it was the cellar or certain death. You were almost to the farmhouse, so close you could almost feel the temporary safety within your grasp, when the looming mist beat you there, swallowing the house into its depths just as you were about to reach the door.

Jerking back with a scream, you backed away from the writhing mist, not wanting it to touch your skin. By now, the mist had surrounded the farm, so close to you that you could no longer see the fences that surrounded the property.

You stood still, having nowhere to run as the mist surrounded you on all sides. Shaking with fear, you were surprised when the mist stopped advancing, leaving you in the middle of a circular patch of field.

You watched with wide eyes, waiting for the mist to swallow you, but it didn’t come any closer. You weren’t dead, but it wasn’t like this situation was much better. You couldn’t fight off a supernatural mist with sheep shears, and even if you could, they were on the ground somewhere in that mist.

The farmland was deathly silent; you could no longer hear the screams of your neighbors or the bleating of the sheep. Now that it was so close and with nowhere to go, you had nothing to do but stare at the mysterious fog that surrounded you.

It was dark, so dark that you couldn’t see through it, the sickly green streaks running around the edge of the mist like circling sharks. Following them with your eyes, you struggled to figure out what they were. You had a very limited worldview to draw on, the only comparison coming to mind being like a ghoul described to you in stories when you were a child.

You weren’t sure what was happening; the mist had swallowed everything else without mercy, so why were you a different case? You weren’t left waiting long, as the mist gave way to a tall figure who entered into the open section of field.

He was tall and ethereally pale, clothed all in black, which contrasted sharply with his short, wavy silver hair. Looking at his well-defined torso, you realized that he was too pale; his face and shirtless torso were gray-white, like all the life had been drained from him.

His outfit was simple, a black pair of pants and dark cropped jacket, obsidian armor covering his arms and legs. More than anything, your eyes were drawn to two unusual features; on his head was a sharp three-pointed crown the same color of the ghouls still circling you, and on his chest was a black triangle, so dark that it seemed like it was a bottomless hole.

His eyes glowed with a supernatural light, a shiver running down your spine as your eyes met his. Immediately, he began to stride towards you, sending you into a panic.

There was nowhere to go but into the mist, and that wasn’t an option, but that didn’t mean you wanted the ghostly man anywhere near you. You clutched your hands to your chest, backing up as far as you could without entering the mist, but the man would not be deterred.

His eyes never strayed from yours, his gaze so intense that you felt it hard to look away from. With nowhere to run, he was quickly upon you, but to your great surprise, he came to a stop before you.

He raised one gloved hand, and you flinched as he reached towards you, stunned when the hand came up to gently cup your cheek. Shaking with fear, you stared at him, scared to even breathe and attract his ire.

“My love,” came his voice, gravelly and in an accent that you did not recognize. “Finally you return to me.”

“Who are you?” you whispered, shivering from the cold of his armor-tipped fingers against your skin.

His head tilted slightly to the side, as if he was appraising you. You wanted to shrink away from his gaze, to remove his hand from your face, but you were terrified of upsetting him and risking yourself. As stagnant as your life was, it was your life, and you didn’t want to die here.

“You do not remember me,” he spoke softly, voice laced with disappointment. “A shame. But you will soon.”

You were scared to ask him what he meant, but felt relieved as he finally pulled his hand away from your cheek. Your relief was short-lived as his hand instead went to lay over the deep black triangle on his chest. Now that he was so close to you, the triangle truly did look like it was made of endless darkness. You could see no flesh in the black space; it looked like a keyhole to a dimension of utter black, the sight of it reminding you of the black mist that swirled around you.

There was also the fact that he had spoken to you like he knew you. You had never seen this man before, that you knew for sure. The only part of your life that was hazy was your life before the fire that had claimed your home and parents, but you couldn’t imagine meeting this ghoulish man back then and not remembering him.

You inhaled sharply when out of his chest materialized an orb of wiry light. The strands of light that made up the orb buzzed with energy, and seemed to act as a sort of cage for a small white light in the center that looked like a flickering flame. You knew that it was not natural; but no matter how long you stared at it, you would not be able to place its origins.

The orb was so bright, and felt very out of place in the void of darkness that you were currently trapped in as its light helped to illuminate the face of the stranger before you.

Even with how deathly pale he was, his face was still handsome, jawline sharp and free of even stubble. No matter how much you stared at his face, you couldn’t tell how old he was; he looked around your age, but also had the aura of someone or something much, much older. He looked down at the thrumming orb with a strange fondness in his eyes before he turned his attention back to you.

“I have missed you so dearly, Isolde,” he said as he began to bring the orb towards you.

“No, please!” you cried out in response.

You weren’t sure what that orb was; all you knew was that you didn’t want it touching you. He didn’t seem to hear your desperate pleas as the orb got closer and closer to your chest. You had nowhere to run, and nobody to save you from this ghostly lunatic.

The orb was almost at your chest, a tear dripping down your cheek as you stared down at it, and then everything was light.

You closed your eyes against the bright light, but were surprised to feel no pain. Hearing a male grunt, you opened your eyes as the light beyond your eyelids faded as quickly as it had come.

Looking around you, you saw the stranger across the field, the orb on the grass nearby. Immediately, you noticed that the area was better lit, looking over to see a large split in the dark mist that led across the field to a figure holding a large metallic device.

“Hurry!” Came the call from the figure, too far away for you to see them in much detail.

A snarl from behind you had you looking back to see the strange man getting up, the sight spurning you into action. You made a mad dash for the gap in the mist, ignoring the stranger’s angered calls for you to stop. You didn’t recognize the figure in the distance, but you would take any help you could get as you sprinted towards them.

As you got closer, you noticed that the figure you were running towards was a woman. She was dressed in black and white, gold-accented dreadlocks hanging out of one side of her white hood. You couldn’t place the large metal device that she held; you had never seen anything like it before.

“You will not interfere!”

You glanced behind you, seeing the stranger following behind you, now holding a sword that was longer than he was tall, aglow with supernatural energy. The sight of him, of the fury in his eyes tripped you up, sending you tumbling to the ground.

You scrambled to your feet, but the delay was enough that he was rapidly catching up to you. The look in his eyes froze you in your tracks, only able to manage small steps backward until your arm was suddenly grabbed from behind.

You yelped as you were picked up and then quickly deposited back on the ground a short distance away from where you had been. Looking over, you saw a man in white standing protectively in front of you, twin pistols raised and pointed at the silver-haired man with the sword.

He quickly turned his head back to face you. “Go.” When you hadn’t moved after a few seconds, he barked the order again, his deep voice loud and commanding.

You nodded rapidly before turning to run, hoping that the man would be okay. You knew that you wouldn’t feel confident facing that ghoulish man down, but the man that had come to your rescue seemed to exude a quiet confidence, so you had to trust that he would be okay as you desperately sprinted towards the woman and her strange weapon-like device.

As soon as you were in her reach, she pulled you behind her. You saw the man who had saved you facing off with the sword-wielding stranger, rapidly firing bolts of light at him while narrowly dodging blows from the giant sword.

“Is he okay?” you asked, consumed with worry.

The woman nodded. “He can handle himself. We need to get you out of here while Viego is distracted.”

“Viego?” you echoed, turning your gaze from the fight in front of you to meet her startlingly green eyes.

“I’ll explain everything when we’re away from this place,” she answered, resting her large weapon against her shoulder. “We need to go.”

You were reluctant to leave the man fighting alone, but you had no power to help him. You couldn’t insist on staying here when it would doom all three of you.

As you and the woman ran towards the road, your thoughts turned to the owner, your neighbors… your whole town. Hopping over the fence, you found yourself facing down a wasteland.

The nearby farms looked like they had been hit by a tornado, fences broken and chunks of wood gouged out of houses. You couldn’t see anyone around but you and the woman at your side. Just an hour ago, those farms had been full of life, and now, nothing.

You were led around a bend in the road, where a metal cart waited with two large creatures hitched to it. One of the creatures turned its head to look at you and you stared back, trying to figure out what exactly it was.

“Greathorns,” the woman answered your unspoken question. “They’re very reliable.”

You nodded your head slowly; you felt like you had heard the owner mention greathorns before, but you knew that you had never seen one in person. They were bigger than any horse you had seen, with beige beardlike tufts of hair under their chins and large jagged horns that almost looked like a dragon’s wing sprouting from their heads.

The woman looked like she was about to say something, but she was interrupted by a horrible guttural screech from the direction you had just fled from. You met eyes with the woman, feeling unnerved when you noticed the worry in her expression.

Your momentary panic was shattered as a figure zipped around the corner. You were relieved to see that it was the man in the white jacket, though his clothing looked considerably more scuffed up than it had a few minutes ago.

“Is he–” the woman started to say.

“He’s down for now, but we have to go,” the man answered, running over to join you at the cart.

They both sprang into action, the woman placing her weapon into the cart before jumping in herself and helping you in while the man took his place at the reins, spurning the greathorns into movement.

You turned back to try and see what had become of the farm you had called home for most of your life. The dark mist still lingered over the farm, but it was getting thinner by the second. You didn’t see the strange man, the owner, or even the sheep. It was almost unbelievable how quickly your entire way of life had been decimated; as you watched the ruined farm get farther and farther away, you wondered if you would ever return.

You hadn’t realized that you had dozed off until you were being gently nudged awake. You weren’t surprised you had fallen asleep after the day you had, combined with the long cart ride.

You opened your eyes to see the woman who had rescued you, who offered a kind smile your way when she noticed that you were awake. “We’re here.”

“Here…?” you replied sleepily, before your attention was drawn to the scene around you.

You felt like you were in a world straight out of a fairy tale. Tall buildings made of polished white stone surrounded you, much more extravagant than anything you had ever seen before. The roads were paved, people in fancy dress and armor milling about. You were in awe of the fashion, suddenly feeling like a country bumpkin in your wool-covered overalls.

“Welcome to Demacia City,” the man said, steering the cart to a waiting stable.

You got off of the cart with shaky feet, feeling overwhelmed by the reality of the big city you had always dreamed of visiting. Looking out at the beautiful architecture of the city, you only wished you could have come here under better circumstances. The beautiful city instantly dulled in your eyes when you thought back to the state of your hometown, desolated by the dark mist.

“I thought it would be better to let you sleep,” the woman’s voice broke through the fog in your brain and you turned to look at her. “Now that we have a moment to breathe, I thought we should introduce ourselves. My name is Senna, and this is my husband Lucian.”

Lucian nodded to you when he was introduced, and you shyly gave your name back. Once the introductions had been made, you followed Senna through the streets after she had insisted that it would be safer to explain everything once you had arrived at a more secure location.

The more secure location ended up being a large building at the edge of town, the inside of the building a large circular chamber. You could see a few doors on the other side of the chamber, but didn’t get to see where they led as Senna stood in the center of the room, the light from a glass panel far above her bathing her form in a gentle glow. Lucian stood close to his wife, and you came to a stop a few feet away, nervous for what you were about to hear.

“Alright, so the start of this all goes back over a thousand years ago,” Senna started, the sheer amount of time involved stunning you. “That man… Viego… he was a king back then.”

“He was the king of Demacia?” you blurted out. It was hard to imagine someone so ghoulish and cruel being the king of Demacia, even a thousand years ago.

“Not here,” Lucian denied with a shake of his head. “A long-dead empire on a continent east of here.”

Another continent? You had never even heard of another continent; the farthest your geographical knowledge went were the other kingdoms that bordered Demacia. But if he was from another continent…

“…then how did he get here?” you voiced your sudden thought, watching as Senna’s expression hardened, as if your words hurt her to think about.

After a pause, she answered. “Viego was a poor king who instead focussed all of his attention on a peasant girl he had made his wife, Isolde.”

An unsettling feeling made its way into your stomach as Senna spoke her name, but you kept your feelings in, not wanting to interrupt her story.

“With his attention on Isolde, Viego did not govern. Wanting to be rid of their useless king, assassins came to take Viego’s life, but their aim was misplaced. Their poison dagger sliced the arm of the queen, who fell deathly ill from the toxin.”

As her story went on, the bad feeling got worse and worse. It was not at all helped by the knowledge of your mystery scar, the one on your arm that you had no memory of ever getting in the first place. Still, you kept quiet and listened.

“To cure his wife, Viego brought her to the Blessed Isles, but she didn’t survive the journey and was brought as a corpse,” Senna explained. “The elders refused him entry, as the blessed waters could not bring back the dead, but Viego forced his way through.”

You were beginning to have a hard time breathing, terror seeping into your skin as you thought about that dream, the same dream you had been having most of your life. You felt compelled to listen to rest of Senna’s story, even if you suspected that you knew how it would end.

“Isolde was angry and confused after being ripped from death. She stabbed Viego with his own sword, the touch of the ancient sword to the blessed waters turning the whole island into unlife. Viego’s death is what created the Shadow Isles.”

The Shadow Isles? You had thought they were just a myth. Everyone in your town had heard of the terrifying land that was said to be cursed with unlife, its residents thralls to the terrible curse. It had been said that anyone who ventured to the Shadow Isles would lose themselves to death and madness, but you had only heard the place mentioned by parents trying to discourage their children from behaving badly, telling them that the monsters from the from the isles would come and get them if they didn’t behave themselves.

You knew what was coming, but you couldn’t bear to say it out loud, feeling like the words were too horrifying for you to speak. Thankfully, Senna decided at last to get to the heart of the matter.

“Viego took Isolde’s memory from me, and now he intends to reunite her memory with her body,” Senna said, her eyes tinged with regret. “And that is why he’s after you.”

“So then that orb…” your voice trailed off as you thought about the ball of light that had nearly been forced upon you.

“Isolde’s memory from when she was alive,” Lucian confirmed. “Senna has had it with her for a long time.”

“And you think that I’m…” You couldn’t bring yourself to say it.

“Yes,” Senna confirmed gently. “You are the reincarnation of Isolde. Viego would not have come after you if you weren’t.”

“But I’m not… I’m just a farmhand…”

You knew that she was right. There was no other explanation, but you still didn’t want to believe it. You were a farm worker, not a long-dead queen. Yesterday you had been pulling carrots out of the ground, and today you were on the run from a demented king who believed he could use your body to bring back his dead wife. You didn’t have an exciting life, but it was yours, and you didn’t want to lose it to fulfil Viego’s twisted obsession.

Senna and Lucian had stayed silent, giving you a moment to try and calm yourself down, which you appreciated. You would probably cry about it tonight, but for now you would stay as strong as you could. You were used to talking about your feelings with the animals on the farm, but felt uncomfortable with being overly emotional in front of other people, considering the main person you talked to was the owner, and he was not one for heartfelt conversations.

“We won’t let him have you,” Senna promised.

“And besides, after what I did to him, he’ll need a few days to recover his strength,” Lucian added.

“Thank you both,” you said, bowing your head low. “If it wasn’t for you, I don’t even want to think about where I’d be.”

“Raise your head,” Senna said gently. You looked up to see her with a smile on her face, which made you feel a bit better. “Don’t go thanking us yet. Not until we send Viego back into the darkness for good.”

“Can we really stop him?” you asked.

“We’ll sure try,” she replied as you silently wished you had the confidence that she did. “But first, we have something else to do.”

You bit your lip, unsure of what she meant. What could be more important than dealing with the looming threat of Viego’s return?

“You’ve never left that town, have you?” Senna asked with a raised eyebrow, and you nodded. “How would you like to see the city?”

“But don’t we have to–”

“I’ll handle the work for now,” Lucian cut in. “We haven’t been back here in some time and Senna might aim her gun my way if she doesn’t get some downtime.”

“Me?” Senna replied with mock incredulity. “You were the one going on about missing Demacian sugar rolls.”

Lucian didn’t look bothered by his wife’s sass, staring at her with a pout until she relented with a smile and a shake of her head. “…we’ll get you some when we’re out.”

“Thank you kindly,” Lucian replied fondly.

After giving Lucian a quick kiss goodbye, Senna turned back to you, gesturing towards the door. “Ready to get a look at what the city is really like?”

You had thought the streets of Demacia City were big, but found yourself thoroughly blown away by the sheer size of the grand plaza in the center of the city. It was mostly empty now, but according to Senna, the entire space was packed with people when they held special events. It was hard to believe that you were standing in a place where wars had been declared and kings had been crowned.

The marketplace was less spacious, but no less overwhelming. Merchants of all types lined the streets, selling wares you could only dream of before today.

It was in the market that you got to try one of the sugar rolls that Lucian was so fond of, the crystalized sugar melting on your tongue. With so many new sights and smells, you were having a hard time deciding where to look, at least until you laid eyes on a colorful stand selling various types of clothing items.

Walking a bit closer while Senna perused some metalwork from a nearby shop, you found your attention drawn to a dress hanging on one of the racks in front of the seller. It was short, probably knee-length at best, and the same light blue as the sky. The dress was simple, with long sleeves and an a-line skirt, but it was the finer details that had caught your eye; sewn into the hem of the skirt and collar of the dress were little white birds in flight across the fabric.

You had never seen such intricate design work; in your town, people wore practical clothing for working; there was no need for a nice dress when you were just going to get mud all over it anyways. The more you saw of this place, the more you began to feel dissatisfied with how you had been living up until now. But then again, you may not live at all beyond the next few days, not if the ruined king got ahold of you. What a mess you had made of your own life, and Senna and Lucian’s as well.

“You know you’re not a burden, right?” Senna’s voice right behind you snapped you right out of your thoughts and you turned to look at her, her green eyes piercing right through you.

“I, uh…” You weren’t sure how to answer her as you processed her words. It was hard to think of yourself as anything but a burden; your existence itself had caused your town to be invaded by a long-dead king from the Shadow Isles, and now Senna and Lucian had to protect you or face the destruction of the entirety of Runeterra. You were an incredible burden.

“No, none of that,” Senna said, shaking her head with a smile, before her voice turned serious. “You’re a person with feelings and desires. You don’t deserve to be used in Viego’s plot to bring back his queen. You are worthy of being helped, so don’t you dare think otherwise.”

You were stunned speechless. You wanted to refute her words, but the look in her eyes was telling you that doing so would be a bad idea. Instead, you nodded reluctantly, and her stern face finally relaxed back into a smile.

“Good, then we’re going to practice being confident,” she said. “If we don’t work on your confidence, then you’ll never be able to stop fearing those who reside in the dark.”

She was right. You knew she was. “…okay.”

“See that dress over there?” Senna asked, jerking her chin towards the blue dress with the white bird trim. “You like it, right?”

You stiffened. You thought that she had been perusing the metal works being sold, but clearly she had been paying more attention to you than you had given her credit for.

“…it’s nice,” you admitted at last. “I’ve never owned a dress before. The owner of the farm said they would just get ripped and dirty.”

“I think we should get it then,” Senna replied, voice quieting so the seller couldn’t hear her next words. “Sometimes we all need a reminder that we’re not trapped in the dark. This dress can serve as your reminder that you’re brighter than the darkness that chases you.”

You were reluctant to accept the dress, but Senna paid the seller before you could properly object. Handing the dress to you, she looked pleased as she watched you marvel over the soft fabric and beautiful design. Looking back up at her, you were about to thank her, but stopped when she held up a hand.

“If you want to thank me, you can help me set the wards around the house. Besides, we’ll both get an earful if Lucian has to wait any longer for his sugar rolls.”

You thanked her anyways as you both turned to head out of the market, arms full of dress and sugar rolls.

The next morning found you outside with Senna, helping her set up complicated devices around the outside of the building while Lucian worked to set some of the same devices on the roof. You watched carefully as Senna demonstrated how each ward had to be placed in order to work properly, not wanting to mess up when you set up the next one yourself.

“Will these keep him out?” you asked as you bent down to place a ward against the wall.

“A little to the left,” Senna corrected, and you moved the heavy metal device to the left until she nodded with satisfaction. “Nothing can keep Viego out, but these should weaken his strength enough to give us a chance.”

You winced; you had anticipated her answer, knowing how powerful Viego had seemed from your short interaction with him. Hoping to defeat him seemed like a futile effort, but you wanted to believe it was possible. You knew so little about the world outside of your farming town, so at this point, anything seemed like it could be possible. You had no choice but to hope anyways because if you failed, you would be lost forever, at least if Viego had his way.

Your life had become infinitely more precious now that it had come under threat; you wanted to help Senna and Lucian, the people who valued you for being you, not a dead king who looked at you and only saw his departed wife.

“The roof’s all set!” Lucian called out from above you.

“Good!” Senna called back as she heaved another ward into her arms. “Then you can test the wards when I finish setting this one up.”

“On my way, dear,” came Lucian’s lighthearted reply.

The rest of the afternoon was spent finalizing the ward setup. You had never seen them before, and were surprised to see them light up as Lucian ran by them, leaving him looking exhausted by the contact. You had been even more shocked when Senna had told you that the wards had been set to their lowest setting for the test. If Lucian had been that tired on the lowest setting, then maybe you could have hope that the highest setting would have a significant effect on Viego.

“But are we sure he’ll set them off?” you asked Senna as she turned the wards back off.

“I’m sure,” she replied confidently. “Anywhere you are, he’ll go, except now we can use that to our advantage.”

The only problem being that you didn’t know exactly when he would come. Lucian’s guess of a few days was just that; a guess. He had explained that the day they had saved you was only their second time fighting Viego, the first time being when Viego had stolen Isolde’s memories from Senna. But it had been a few days without any sign of the dead king or his black mist, so you figured that Lucian’s estimate had been accurate.

By the fifth day with no sign of Viego, you began to prepare for the worst. He could come for you any day, at any time, so you were confined to the home with either Lucian or Senna with you at all times. You were disappointed that you could no longer explore the city, but you couldn’t make yourself an easy target for Viego to snatch from the streets.

There were some back rooms with beds to sleep in, but you spent most of your time in the circular chamber that made up most of the building, talking with Senna and Lucian or helping them with tasks. The time going by was wearing on you all as you wondered when Viego would come. By the seventh day, you were unable to relax, constantly worried that every noise you heard denoted the return of the ruined king.

It was late into night of the seventh day, but none of you could sleep, all finding yourselves in the chamber room. You were sitting against the wall, watching Senna as she cleaned one of Lucian’s guns, her own large gun resting on the floor next to her. Lucian had been pacing for a while, and you could tell it was beginning to wear on Senna’s nerves.

“Lucian, if you need to–”

Senna’s quip was cut off by a loud chime sounding from outside. The wards.

Immediately, Senna was on her feet, tossing the gun she had been working on to Lucian before picking her own gun up as they both turned to face the hallway, which was the only way in and out of the building.

“Hide yourself!” Senna called hurriedly to you before turning back to face the hall, Lucian at her side with his guns trained on the hallway.

You quickly heeded her words; you couldn’t see any sign of the dark mist yet, but you knew it would only be a matter of time. You dashed over to an ordinary-looking panel on the wall that you would have found otherwise unnoteworthy, if it hadn’t been for Senna showing you how it worked a few days ago.

Pulling the panel to the side, the secret door slid open to reveal a small nook, just big enough for a person to stand inside. You looked back to Senna to see her staring at you, giving you a quick nod when you looked worriedly back at her. Not wanting to trouble them by ruining the plans, you got into the nook, closing the door carefully behind you.

You were largely in darkness, the only source of light being the small eye-level slit that gave you a one-way view into the chamber. You were glad there was a wall directly at your back, because the lack of space was the only thing keeping you standing right now in the face of the onset of terror you were feeling.

Viego didn’t leave you waiting long; Senna and Lucian jumped back as mist flooded the chamber, retreating to the center of the room.

“There!” Lucian called as a figure suddenly appeared through the mist.

Viego moved quickly to the side, dodging a bolt of light from Senna’s gun. He emerged fully from the mist, eyes scanning the area, assumedly looking for you. You knew that he couldn’t possibly see you, but it didn’t stop you from shrinking back.

“Where is she?!” Viego demanded, the anger in his voice sending a cold shiver down your back.

“Nowhere you need to worry about,” Lucian answered.

“I can feel her,” Viego snarled back, his mystical sword appearing in his grasp. “Where is she?!”

“I think you have bigger concerns right now,” Senna replied smoothly, and then she and Lucian jumped into action.

Lucian quickly moved to one side of the ruined king, firing bolts of light at him before backing out of Viego’s range. Meanwhile, Senna sent several strong blasts of light from her own gun Viego’s way, the two working together to try and take the king down.

Viego let out a frustrated growl as the bolts hit him, but didn’t appear to be injured like you certainly would be if you had been on the receiving end of the might of Senna and Lucian’s weapons.

Now that you thought about it, he didn’t seem any less powerful for someone who had triggered a series of wards that had winded Lucian on their lowest setting. Your theory was confirmed when he didn’t seem affected by anything Lucian or Senna threw his way. You would be frustrated, but neither one of them wavered, sending shot after shot at the ruined king.

“Enough!” Viego shouted, waves of mist pushing Senna and Lucian back. “You will surrender her to me or you will drown in my mist!”

As Senna and Lucian recovered their footing, the mist grew denser as it swirled around the room. You gasped as demonic green figures made of mist rose from the haze of black, and at the same time that Viego vanished into mist, they charged.

Lucian was firing bolts of light at the mist creatures left and right, but they were endless; as one was struck down, another one rose from the mist to take its place. As Lucian tried to fend off the creatures, Senna was forced to fight off Viego himself as he appeared before her, attempting to strike at her with his sword. It was a strange image, the two and their oversized weapons locked in combat, each trying to overpower the other.

The fight was quickly going bad for your friends; Viego was holding back nothing, his creatures aiding him by swiping at Senna, backing her into a corner as Lucian tried desperately to fight his way closer to her as she continued to shoot the creatures that tried to grab at her.

“You shouldn’t have the strength–” Senna growled as she fired at Viego.

“Your feeble wards cannot harm me,” Viego jeered as he swung his sword towards her. “Nothing will keep me from my queen.”

Viego stabbed his sword forward, but Senna was able to swerve out of the way, causing his sword to imbed into the wall opposite from where you were hiding. Viego then was forced to pull the tip of his sword from the wall, and Senna used that time to send a wide blast of light Lucian’s way, destroying the creatures that had surrounded him. Shooting Senna a grateful smile, Lucian began to fire at more creatures around the room, but his efforts still didn’t seem to be making a dent in the influx of creatures that filled the room.

Senna and Lucian’s luck ran out as Viego’s impatience reached a boiling point. With an angered grunt, he swung his sword at Senna, missing her body but striking her gun. The impact set Senna’s balance off, sending her falling to the ground, her gun spinning out of her grasp and onto the ground a few feet away from her. She made a desperate grab for her weapon, but was again stopped by a warning strike from Viego’s sword narrowly missing her arm.

Senna’s moment of weakness was quickly capitalized on by the mist wraiths as she was immediately swarmed, her body held down by many ghoulish creatures while Viego stood over her.

“Senna!”

Lucian’s desperate shout pierced the air as he charged forward, but was unable to get to Senna, his way blocked by the mist creatures. He shot bolt after bolt, but the demons pressed onwards, only growing in number. Soon he too was overwhelmed, pushed against the wall by the wraiths, his twin guns knocked to the floor. You watched with horror as they both struggled under the grasp of the wraiths, but were unable to break themselves free. The hope in your heart that this fight would be the end of Viego was snuffed out entirely as you watched Viego stand over Senna.

“Your life matters little to me, but I will offer one final choice. Give her to me or die,” Viego threatened, his voice cold with fury.

Senna glared up at him, struggling against the wraiths’ hold even as Viego loomed over her. “You will destroy this world.”

“I will destroy you,” Viego corrected. “And all of those who stand in the way of my love. I hope your impudence was worth your life.”

Viego raised his sword to strike Senna down, and you knew that you would only have seconds to act.

Senna and Lucian were willing to give their lives to protect you, but you couldn’t let that happen. You were not worth the lives of two strong, kind people; people who had rescued you and treated you with more care than the owner ever had, despite only knowing you for a week. One thought rang out loud and clear in your head as you watched Viego prepare to take Senna’s life; I can’t let her die.

You would only have a moment to save her life, so you didn’t waste a second, noisily shoving the secret door open.

“Stop!”

The attention of the three people in the room was drawn to you as you stepped forward, dark mist swirling around up to your knees. Viego’s eyes widened upon seeing you, but behind him, Senna was shaking her head, her eyes begging you to run. But you couldn’t run, not if you wanted to save her and Lucian.

“Please stop,” you implored the ruined king, forcing your legs forward even if the thought of moving closer to him terrified you. You had to do this for Senna and Lucian. You couldn’t allow your fear of what would happen to you to still your steps.

Viego’s sword dissolved into mist as he turned to face you, but the wraiths did not loosen their grip on your friends.

“My love,” Viego called as he began to approach you. “I knew I felt your soul call to mine.”

Ignoring his flowery words, you stopped a few feet from him, scared you would lose your nerve if you got any closer. “I’ll go with you, just please… please let them live.”

You stared into his otherworldly green eyes, trying to stay firm despite a desperate cry of your name from Senna. This was the only way, you reassured yourself. This was the only way to save their lives, even if it meant losing your own. You thought of the time in the marketplace with Senna, of listening to Lucian’s bad jokes, allowing the memories to keep your soul warm against the onslaught of dread you were facing down.

“You’ll come back to me?” Viego’s voice was kinder, softer than you had ever heard it sound as he continued to approach you.

“If you let them live,” you repeated. You could not see your friends beyond Viego’s broad form, but your voice still cracked with a sob as you addressed them. “Senna, Lucian… I’m sorry. And thank you for helping me.”

Viego raised a hand to wipe your tears away, ignoring the protests of Senna and Lucian behind him. “I knew I would find you again, my love.”

You knew it was coming, but you still let out a whimper as he once again materialized the buzzing orb of memories from the dark triangle on his chest, but unlike last time, there was no escape for you now.

“Together at last…” Viego whispered as he pressed the orb to your chest.

The orb felt cold, and then warm, too warm, as it pressed into your skin, absorbing into your body. You collapsed into Viego’s arms with a silent gasp of pain, the last thing you heard before passing out being Senna screaming your name.

There was a beautiful girl, her fingers delicately working a threaded needle through soft fabric that lay in her lap. You had never met her, but you knew who she was; after all, you had seen her corpse in your dreams. It was undoubtedly Isolde… you, from your past life.

You were surprised to find that you were watching the scene as yourself, not through her eyes. The realization brought you some measure of relief; maybe you were not lost entirely to her memory, at least not yet.

The scene around Isolde was blurry, but her figure was clear as day as you watched her gently sew along the fabric, and then it all blurred again. When the scene reformed itself, you watched a man approach her, young and handsome, his brown hair falling in waves to his chin. He was easily recognizable, but a far cry from the figure of unlife that he had become. Viego.

You couldn’t hear their voices, or the scene around them, but you watched as Viego bent down on one knee before Isolde and felt the shock and happiness that Isolde felt, and then the world around you warped once more.

Now you were in a magnificent castle, Viego and Isolde dressed in beautiful wedding clothes, figures leaning towards each other as they kissed. You could not see the faces of the crowd that watched, nor hear the vows exchanged; all you could feel was Isolde’s joy, which left you feeling warm, as if it was you there on your wedding day. It made sense; since it was you, the past you.

You felt the next scene before you saw it; a slow sadness appearing in your chest that left you feeling confused. Then the figures appeared; it was Viego and Isolde in a huge room together, his arms around her. Viego looked happier than you had ever seen him in unlife, but your eyes were drawn to Isolde. On her face was a small smile, but you knew she was sad, you could feel the quiet sadness radiating from her. But what did she have to be sad about? You followed her gaze, looking out a window to see a garden outside, birds flying around and flowers swaying gently with the breeze, but before you could get a closer look, you were gone again.

Now you saw Isolde standing behind Viego, her smile dimmer than before. Viego was wordlessly shouting at a faceless girl in servant’s clothes, a messy assortment of wildflowers crushed under Viego’s feet. Isolde was clutching at her skirt, and you felt a sense of powerlessness from her, along with that same sadness that held tight to her chest.

And then the scenes began to go by faster. Viego, blocking the way to the garden, sending Isolde back to their shared room. Viego, refusing entrance to the castle to an older woman who had the same eyes as Isolde while she watched the scene from a window high above in the castle. Viego pulling Isolde back to him when she tried to leave the room.

As the scenes flashed by, you could feel Isolde’s sadness grow. Time went on, and Isolde stopped smiling; you were watching her soul wither away a little more each time Viego cut another person out of her life. She was not allowed to see anybody but him, not allowed to leave his side even for a second… she was not a person anymore, but a doll to be moved at Viego’s whim.

She felt powerless, trapped by the man she had once loved. Your chest hurt, feeling like you were slowly being suffocated by the loneliness she felt; she was caged, shackled by his love, knowing there would be no escape.

But Viego still looked the same, no matter how many scenes passed by you. It was like he didn’t notice her pain, or maybe he didn’t care; didn’t care for anything but himself. You wanted to make it all stop; Isolde’s deep pain had nearly brought you to your knees, tears rolling down your cheeks as you desperately wished Viego would see her pain, but he never did. He always smiled that contented smile, never noticing that Isolde’s own didn’t reach her eyes.

The days finally slowed down and you were left standing in a large chamber room. The scene was tense; men in black swarmed the chamber, purple-tipped daggers poised to take the life of the king. Viego’s soldiers fought back valiantly, but one enemy broke through their ranks, dagger aimed at Viego’s heart, but their aim was put off course by a clever swipe from a spear. The poisoned dagger missed its target, but sliced Isolde instead, cutting through the sleeve of her dress and into the flesh of her arm.

Isolde knew as soon as the poison pierced her flesh that she would die. But while you expected to feel fear, worry, panic… all you felt was calm. The poison would slowly take her life, but that was what Viego had been doing over years with his possessive grip. At least at the end of this, she would be free in death, free of the iron grip Viego had on her in life. But alas, even death would not free her from his grasp.

The scene shifted one final time, and you knew what was coming. Viego held Isolde’s body, cold and dead, in his arms. The scene should have been upsetting, but the feelings that rushed through you were anything but. Isolde was dead, but her spirit was free at last, no longer a prisoner to Viego’s will.

But Viego would not allow her to be apart from him, even in death. So she rose, her anger finally unable to be contained, and stabbed him with his own sword. You watched the scene with no pity for the mortally-wounded Viego; Isolde had killed him, but she had been dead for many years before she had been poisoned. His love for her was more poisonous than any toxic dagger; he had been killing her slowly from the moment they had met, and only in death did she find the courage to return the favor.

Isolde had wanted a loving husband, but had ended up with a loving monster. This was nothing like the tale of true love Viego had spun, but he was the only one delusional enough to not see his marriage as what it was.

The scene faded to black at last, leaving you hurting body and soul, Isolde’s pain and sadness making your body feel numb from the inside out. You felt her emotions as if they were your own, and you supposed that they had been yours, a very long time ago.

The memories faded, and were quickly replaced by a soreness all over, like you had fallen from a decent height. Opening your eyes with a pained moan, you realized that you had beaten the odds; you had confronted Isolde’s memories, but you had not lost yourself to them. You were still you.

But with that good news came a lot of bad. You woke up in a bed, in a room that you had never seen before. The room was ornate, but looked dilapidated due to time. The gold posts of the canopy bed you laid in were speckled with dust, the blanket you laid under severely wrinkled.

Sitting up, you were relieved to see that you were still in the blue dress you had been wearing back in that chamber when you had given yourself up to Viego to save Senna and Lucian. You had passed out before you could ensure Viego kept his word, the memories too much for you to handle. For now, you chose to believe that they were alive, because knowing that you had done everything you could and they had still perished would crush what was left of your spirit.

You doubted you were still in Demacia, and one look outside the half-scratched window was enough to confirm that fact. The outside of the castle was even more depressing than the inside; the outside walls were cracked, the stones covered in black vegetation that you would have thought was ivy if it weren’t the color of tar. Angel statues on raised platforms stood tall in the outside courtyard, looking extremely out of place amidst the sinister green mist that seemed to hover over the whole area.

The supernatural layer of mist confirmed it; you had been taken to the Shadow Isles. The realization made your chances of escape nearly nonexistent. The Shadow Isles were filled with undead creatures hungry for the souls of the living, if the stories you had heard about this place were to be believed. And looking over the land that seemed to radiate unlife, you were certainly inclined to believe them.

Footsteps from outside the room broke your focus away from the view outside. Looking quickly around the room, you did not see anywhere to hide. With no other option, you began to back up to the far wall, staring at the large ornamental door as terror burned in your chest.

The door creaked open slowly, revealing the figure of the man you least wanted to see right now. While your mood dimmed upon seeing him, a smile lit up his face when he caught sight of you.

Viego wasted no time striding over to you while you stayed still, back against the wall both physically and metaphorically. Strangely, as he approached you, your fear began to morph into disgust. This man would not let you go, no matter how many lives you lived or places you went. As he took you into his arms, one word repeated in your head like the beat of a drum. Selfish.

He had stolen Isolde’s happiness, locked her away like a bird in a cage, and now he was doing the same to you. Letting out an internal sigh, you wished that you could go back to your boring farm days, which felt like they had been years ago, not weeks. But Viego did not give up his possessions easily, and that’s what you were now. A doll for a selfish king to keep by his side forever.

You hadn’t realized you were crying again until Viego had pulled back, his fingers sweeping across your cheeks to catch the tears.

“You’re safe, my queen,” he whispered, his words doing nothing to comfort you. And besides, you were clearly not safe if the biggest threat to your safety was standing before you, oblivious to all he had done.

You didn’t know what to do now; he wasn’t going to let you go, but you would rather die than live the rest of your life trapped in this place, pretending you were still the dead king’s dead wife.

“I have waited so long for you to return to me again,” he said, his jade green eyes staring into yours, ignoring your plight, just as he always did with Isolde.

You were tired, you were sad, and you were angry. But Viego only saw his own reflection in your eyes. He only saw what he wanted to see; you wondered if he even saw your features when he looked at you, or just superimposed Isolde’s features over yours in his mind’s eye.

It was a strange feeling; you wanted to be anywhere but here, but at the same time, you wanted the man before you to at least see you as you were now, to know your name even if he addressed you by another. Your mind was a mess, your heart even more so, but you would find no comfort in Viego’s arms, nor in his words.

“Isolde–”

“Don’t call me that!” you shouted, ripping yourself from his arms as you could no longer calm your rising anger. “And don’t call me your wife either! You have never cared about me, not back then and not now. You have never cared about anyone but yourself, Viego! You should have let Isolde stay dead!”

Viego looked shocked and hurt by your words, his silver eyebrows raised high on his forehead. You were expecting him to yell back, to tell you to know your place, but he just stood there, and then like the mist, he vanished.

His form turned to mist, and as you watched him flee, you couldn’t help a desire to have the final word.

“My name is–”

He was gone before you could say your name, but you shouted it anyways. Even if he didn’t use your name, it felt good to say it, even just to remind yourself that you were not the person you had been in your past life. Whatever happened, you would not allow this place to steal your identity from you.

You waited in silence, but Viego did not return. After some time, you reluctantly sat back down on the bed, your feet tired of standing, but Viego still did not come back to the room.

You were unsure what to make of what had happened. The Viego you had seen flee the room contradicted everything you knew about him. Could your words really have reached him? It was the only conclusion you could come to, but it sounded so unbelievable; an all-powerful dead king fleeing a room after being called selfish by a small town farm girl.

The encounter had been short, but you found yourself already tired. With no sign of Viego returning, and not much else to do, you slipped back under the ruffled covers, laying your head on the same pillow you had woken up on.

Maybe it was owing to your trip through Isolde’s memories that you were so tired now. Closing your eyes, you were relieved that you were still you, though you were still having a hard time reconciling how to see yourself with your time as Isolde. You had been her a long time ago, but she still felt like a different person, like a character in a story. You looked different, and lived different lives, but you were still weighed down by the possessiveness of the same man.

You had been surprised to see Viego look so hurt, but you refused to feel bad about what you had said. It seemed like everyone around him, including Isolde, had been too afraid to confront the king on his faults, at least that was what you assumed. You didn’t know where you got the courage yourself; maybe it was Isolde’s sorrow and frustration finally boiling over from a lifetime of being controlled that emboldened your tongue.

Either way, what you had said could not be taken back, so there was no point in ruminating over the situation, not when you were already having a hard time focussing on anything with how exhausted you were. There would be time to lament your situation when you woke up, you decided, consciousness drifting off at last.

You were surprised to feel so well-rested, but your mood was brought back down when you opened your eyes to the same dusty room you had fallen asleep in. It was just as empty as it was before, save for your body under the covers.

With how dedicated he had been to capturing you, Viego’s sudden absence was surprising. You weren’t sure how much time had passed, but everything in the room looked the same as it had before you had gone to sleep, so you had to assume that he had not returned while you were sleeping. It was probably for the best; you wouldn’t know what to say to him even if he was here.

Upon waking up, you were confronted with a new problem; your empty stomach. Come to think of it, when was the last time that you had ate something? You still had no idea how long you had been unconscious after Viego forced Isolde’s memories into you, but you had a vague recollection of eating some steamed buns Lucian had brought back from the market a few hours before Viego had attacked. But clearly that had been a while ago, if the gnawing emptiness in your stomach was any indication.

You were reluctant to leave the room and risk running into Viego, fearful of his anger after what you had said to him, but your stomach was so empty it hurt. Maybe you would get lucky and find a fruit laying around and scramble back to your room before you were caught. With that hope in mind, you walked quietly over to the door, prepared to do what you had to in order to survive for the rest of the day.

Unfortunately for you, the rest of the castle was just as dusty and dilapidated as your room had been. It was clear that this place was very old; anyone who had lived here in life was long dead by now. Eventually, you located the closest thing to a kitchen you thought you would find in this place, but instead of food, you found dust, cobwebs and the occasional brittle rat skeleton, which crumbled to dust under your touch.

There was no food here, that much was obvious, which led you to a new dilemma. You couldn’t ask Viego for food; for one, he terrified you, and there was also the fact that you had no idea where he even was. The castle was too large for you to check every room for him with any great speed, and so far you had not heard or seen any evidence of anyone else in this place but yourself.

So what were you supposed to do now? The thought of walking out into the Shadow Isles terrified you to your core, but what alternative did you have? Stay here and starve to death, a prisoner to a man who seemed like he had no further use for you if you weren’t the same person you were when you were Isolde?

It seemed that Viego avoiding you was a blessing in more ways than one, because now he wasn’t here to stop you from leaving the castle. It was easy enough for you to find the front door, following the patchy red carpet until it led down a long staircase that took you to another ornate door. Whoever’s castle this had been must have either been royalty or obscenely wealthy to live in a place this grand. The entryway alone was almost the size of the entire farmhouse back in your hometown. As grand as it was, you hoped that you would never see this awful, lonely place again once you exited the door.

The door was a lot heavier than it looked, but you managed to pry it open, the chill of the outside air telling you immediately that you were about to do something very dangerous. But it was this or starve, you reminded yourself as you took the first step outside, and it was better that you tried to find your way off of this island before you were too weak from lack of food and water.

Sinister green mist clung to the land, thick enough to obscure the far away, but just thin enough for you to see twenty or so feet around yourself. You remembered hearing as a child that the mist of the Shadow Isles was made up of the souls of the damned that had once lived here, but seeing it now, you hoped that it wasn’t true.

The stone angel statues were even more unsettling up close, standing on either side of the pathway like guards, their stone eyes seemingly staring down at you as you passed. Every step you took, you were scared the cracked ground would give out under you, but it held fast. It was a miracle that this awful place didn’t just crumble and sink into the cursed waters that surrounded it.

You quickened your steps, eager to be rid of this place as soon as possible. That, and the faster you were out of here the better a chance you had of getting off this island before Viego noticed you were gone.

The angel-statue-lined pathway opened up to a network of crumbled stone walls of all different heights that looked way more worse for wear than the castle behind you. It looked like this might have been a city over a thousand years ago, before the isles had fallen into this eternal darkness. But now you were the only person here, likely the only living person on this whole cursed island, at least until you got yourself back to civilization.

You picked up your pace even more as you entered a forested area, though the forest itself consisted solely of long-dead trees, their branches black and thin. What you hoped was wind howled, shaking the spindly branches, leaving you to duck and weave through them, their thorns scraping against your clothes and skin. You kept moving onward, pressing on despite the pain from the new cuts on your body, unwilling to turn back now that you had come this far.

You pushed through a difficult thicket of branches, panting from the effort as you looked down at your dress. The once-beautiful blue fabric now bore many tears, stained by your blood where the branches had cut you. You couldn’t imagine your face and hair looked any better, but you could worry about that later.

Taking in your own sorry state, you failed to take in the threat that was quickly closing in on you. You looked up from your dress, expecting to see more branches in your way, but jolted back with a gasp when you noticed the large figure standing fifteen feet or so in front of you.

The figure before you was giant, easily the width of several men, its gray flesh packed with bulk and muscle. It was bald, and wore no shirt, wearing only spiked shoulder armor on its upper half, while its lower half was covered by a large loincloth and equally-spiky leg armor.

It must have been human at some point, but it was far from that now. Its eyes were the same spectral green as the mist that hung over the island, that same green dripping out of his mouth in a drool-like fog. Its skin was tough-looking, like it was halfway between skin and rock, two large chipped horns made from craggy stone jutting out from the sides of its head. It had a manacle on each wrist; broken chains hanging from both of them. That gave you one more terrifying insight; while it was alive, it had clearly been some kind of criminal. And now it was here in front of you, unchained, its focus solely on you.

You turned to run, but the creature was faster. Its gaping maw opened wide with a horrible roar, and you were forced to grab onto a branch to try and resist the sudden pressure you felt pulling you back towards it. Looking back, you saw even the spectral mist being sucked into its sharp-toothed mouth, but you knew that you were its target, not breaking its focus as it stared you down with empty, dead eyes.

You couldn’t escape, you couldn’t even move an inch farther away from the monster’s supernatural pull. You tried to reach for a farther away branch to pull yourself to, but were forced to bring your hand back to the branch you held onto as holding on with only one hand made it much harder to keep yourself from being dragged further back.

Your fingers were hurting, the pressure pulling on you becoming more and more intense, and evidently the creature was done waiting. Not letting up on its pull, it began to move closer, and the pull got even stronger. Shaking from the effort of keeping your hold on the branch, you had no way of escaping it.

Was starving to death really a worse option than this? You had been so stupid, thinking that you had any chance of escaping this island; now this creature would ensure that you would never leave.

With a pained cry, your grip gave out at last, the branch slipping from your fingers as you fell to the ground. You tried desperately to grab at the cracked earth, but your hands could not find purchase in the ground no matter what you did as you were pulled closer and closer to the creature’s open jaw.

The closer you got to it, the weaker you felt, as if the monster was draining your very soul from your body. As the thought came to you, you realized that it was very likely to be the truth; the Shadow Isles were a place of eternal torment, it would not be out of place for this island to be filed with soul-sucking monstrosities.

You were almost within the creature’s grasp now, no more than five feet away from its razor-sharp teeth and black clawed nails. You were feeling more and more drained as it pulled you closer, your vision getting fuzzy as you tried to focus on anything other than your impending death, but it just wasn’t happening. It wasn’t like you had been expecting to see your life flash by your eyes like you had heard happened to people when they were about to die, but right now you would welcome any sight other than the one you had right now of the creature pulling you in, his eyes aglow with sinister satisfaction.

Just as a clawed hand reached down to take hold of your leg, it was sliced clean off at the elbow, stone skin clattering to the ground next to you. The creature let out a pained howl, which turned out to be the last sound it would ever make as it was then cleaved in half by a sword longer than you were tall, one you had thought you had left behind in that castle along with its wielder.

Freed from the monster’s pull, you scrambled away from its dismembered parts, wanting to be as far away from the horrible creature as possible. Shaking from your ordeal, you stared at Viego’s back, then at his face as he turned your way, letting his sword turn into mist as he caught sight of your quivering form.

You went still, afraid of the king’s wrath at your escape from his castle, but were surprised when he rushed over to you, pulling you to your feet and wrapping his arms around you.

“I thought… I thought I would lose you again,” he spoke into your hair, his words full of sorrow and pain as he held you to him.

You weren’t sure what to make of his behavior; it almost sounded to you like he was crying as he spoke, but you were reluctant to pull back and check. Instead, you reached up with sore arms and wrapped them around his waist, closing your eyes and leaning your head against his chest. A day ago you could never have imagined embracing this man, but he had saved your life, and right now you just wanted to feel safe, even if that safety came in Viego’s arms.

“Why did you save me?” you sniffled, voice muffled by his jacket, but loud enough for him to hear in the now deathly quiet forest.

Viego pulled back from the embrace with a sad exhale, his red-rimmed eyes telling you that he had indeed been crying as you had thought. Resting his forehead against your own, he stared into your eyes, brushing some stray hairs away from your face.

“I saved you because I love you,” he answered, voice quiet and hoarse. “Now tell me… why did you leave?”

“I…” You pondered how to answer his question, but decided there would be no point in lying to him, not when he hadn’t made any moves to harm you despite having good reason to be upset with you. “I was scared… and hungry.”

“…hungry?” he echoed, looking perplexed for a short moment before his green eyes went wide.

“Please forgive me, my love,” he spoke, sounding genuinely panicked. “It has been so long, I had forgotten–”

You couldn’t help yourself. “…you forgot that people need to eat food?”

“I haven’t… not since I became…” He was lost in his own world for a moment, before something seemed to come to him. “You’re…”

Without another word, he raised an arm, summoning one of his mist ghouls, who took off ahead of you, passing harmlessly through the mess of thorned branches along the forest path. You weren’t sure where it was going, but if it wasn’t after you, you found yourself lacking the strength to care about the ghoul’s mission.

Feeling drained, you leaned more of your weight into Viego, having a hard time keeping yourself upright. Viego’s eyebrows furrowed in worry as he looked down at you, but your eyelids were already drooping. You felt strong arms lift your body up as your eyes closed, head resting against cold skin. You could only hope that the creature hadn’t drained the life entirely out of you, but for now you had no consciousness left to worry about anything as you drifted off again for the third time since Viego had taken you.

“I pushed her to this…”

Waking up, your stomach was no less empty, but your head felt clearer. You had never considered yourself a lucky person, but you weren’t sure how else you could still be alive after all you had been through recently.

Your eyes didn’t want to open, not yet, but you were immediately aware of a feeling on your head. It took you a few groggy seconds to realize that it was a hand, slowly petting your hair. You had never had anyone stroke your hair before, but found it comforting; maybe your parents had done this before the fire, but the owner had never coddled you like this, even as a child. Absently, you mused that it had been a long time since you had anyone in your life that cared for you, when you were used to an existence of being merely tolerated.

Opening your eyes, you finally remembered where you were as you looked up at the man whose lap your head rested in. Viego’s hand stilled when he noticed that you were awake, but resumed petting your hair when you leaned your head into his now-gloveless hand, seeking out his comforting touch. Neither of you spoke, and you closed your eyes again, deciding to accept the comfort this moment offered you.

“…I was scared,” Viego said at last, and you opened your eyes again to look at him. “I felt that you had gone, and then I felt your terror… I thought that I had lost you again.”

You weren’t sure what to say, but it worked in your favor as Viego was not finished. “I have done awful things, committed atrocities, all to return you to my side. But I never realized that I was only thinking of myself. Your pain… it is all my fault.”

You felt overcome with the need to deny his assertion as you stared at his sad eyes, but you couldn’t. It was true. He had done terrible things and caused you pain not only in this life, but in your life as Isolde.

“I do not deserve your forgiveness,” he said, sounding like the words were hard for him to say. “But I will do anything to earn it. I…”

His voice trailed off as he removed his hand from your hair. You looked away from him and towards the same door you had exited when you had thought you had been leaving this room behind for good, as you considered his words. With those words, the power dynamic was shifting between you for the first time; he was willing to do whatever you asked of him in order for you to forgive him. And while you weren’t sure what it would mean for you to forgive him, you couldn’t allow this chance to pass you by.

“I want you to call me by my name now, not Isolde,” you said, sitting up and staring into his eyes, trying to silently communicate to him how serious you were with your stare. “And I would like some food and water.”

“Your… name,” he spoke softly, looking down at the bed sheets.

You repeated your name, and he still didn’t look up, but you weren’t quite done. If he was offering anything, you were going to see how far you could push your luck.

“…and I want to go back to Demacia.” You saw the alarm in his face and quickly made to soften the blow. “I want to tell Senna and Lucian that I’m okay. You can come with me if you want.”

“…if that is what you want,” he said eventually.

You could tell that he likely felt rejected by the stiffness of his shoulders and his refusal to look at you, but you would not back down, not when you had gotten him to agree to take you back to Demacia. You weren’t sure how Senna and Lucian would react to seeing you show up with Viego at your heels, but you knew that it was likely the only reason you had gotten him to agree to your request.

Your eyes had been wandering the room again when a soft call of your name had you turning back to face Viego, surprised that he had actually called you by your name. He was looking at you at last, but looked uncomfortable, like a fish thrown onto land.

Reaching down beside the bed, he picked up a simple stone bowl, handing it over to you. Inside, you found some circular objects that looked like oranges that were well past their prime, the orange of their rind mixed with patches of gray.

“Are those… tangor?” you asked. Demacian tangor were a mix of orange and tangerine grown all over Demacia. They were a little sour for your liking, so you hadn’t had one since you were a child.

“I had my servants fetch them. They are the only thing that grows here that will not poison you,” Viego replied.

His voice had hitched at the word poison, but you didn’t mention it, not wanting to draw attention to it. That was how Isolde had died, from a poisoned dagger. Even though you were with him now, it wasn’t like your presence erased the wounds of his past. You were just grateful that he had stopped being so domineering, at least for the moment. You weren’t sure what this was, or what you wanted this to be, but you knew that you were stuck with him at least for the foreseeable future.

Viego left the room to prepare for your journey back to Demacia, leaving you to eat in peace. The tangor were even more sour than you remembered them being, but you happily ate them, relieved to have some food at last.

With Viego gone, you allowed yourself to relax, free of his stare and his unstated expectations. He didn’t have to say it for you to know that he still wanted you to be his wife, or lover, or however it was he saw you in his mind. You hated yourself for even considering being with him in any capacity after the things he had done, but at the same time, you found yourself reluctant to fully close the door on the idea.

He had shown to you that he could do good things, even if they had only been for your benefit. You didn’t have to agree to anything right now, you reminded yourself, at least not while he wasn’t pressing the topic. But as of right now, you wanted to see if you could help Viego, even if you weren’t sure exactly how.

You stared at the bowl of tangor rinds, wishing an answer to your problems would come to you, but you knew that it wouldn’t be that easy. At least you would get to see Senna and Lucian soon; you wanted to make sure they were both okay, and you knew they were probably worried about you.

Placing the bowl back on the floor, you decided to take a look into the large closet in the corner of the room. Your own outfit was a mess; barely hanging together in places after running through the thorned branches. As much as you loved this dress, it was not in any shape to be worn. Hopefully the closet would have something passable to wear in it.

There were quite a few old-fashioned dresses, but they were too gaudy and frilly for your tastes. Sifting through the clearly upper-class clothing, you eventually came upon a dark green hooded cloak that looked out of place with all of the fancy dresses. Pulling it out, you realized that it would probably make a good disguise for Viego; Senna would likely shoot him on sight before you could explain, and you didn’t want Viego to have any reason to try and harm your friends.

Setting the cloak on the bed, you leafed through the rest of the closet, finally settling on the simplest dress you could find, a non-corseted, non-frilly purple dress with long sleeves and a scoop neckline with a hem that went to your ankles. The dress was a bit long for your liking, but it wasn’t covered in frills up to your neck, so it would have to do.

You changed into the purple dress, laying your old one on the bed, and had been running your fingers over a tear in the skirt when Viego re-entered the room. Sighing, you turned away from the dress, mentally apologizing to Senna for ruining the beautiful dress.

You waved Viego over, and he approached immediately, face stony and uncertain. Picking up the cape, you just hoped he would agree to put it on.

“So you won’t stand out in Demacia,” you said, holding the cloak out to him.

“If this is what you desire,” he answered. Though he didn’t seem to understand your concerns, he dutifully wrapped the cloak around his shoulders.

Reaching up, you fastened the clasps at the front of the cloak, trying not to feel shy being so close to his intense stare that you was pointed right at your face. You couldn’t avoid his eyes as you pulled the hood over his silver hair, careful not to let the fabric get caught on the metal bands that tied off sections of his hair into low ponytails. With the cloak fully closed, the black triangle on his chest was also no longer visible, which would definitely invite suspicion if left uncovered.

“Promise me you won’t hurt my friends,” you said, needing to hear him say it.

His glare was deadly. “If they harm you…”

“They won’t,” you replied quickly. “Haven’t you had friends before?”

That was evidently the wrong question to ask, because Viego looked like you had hit him in another sore spot, like back when you had yelled at him. Come to think of it, you didn’t remember really seeing him with anybody else when you had watched Isolde’s memories. No wonder his world had collapsed when Isolde… when your past self had died; she was his world, as sad and lonely as that was.

“How are we getting to Demacia?” you asked, figuring you should be merciful and change the subject, feeling bad as you looked up at Viego’s awkward stare.

“The mist,” he answered, and you turned your eyes to his chest where you knew the triangle of black lay hidden under the cloak you had forced him into. “It will carry us over the waters.”

You weren’t thrilled with the prospect of being surrounded by the black mist again, but the unknown waters that surrounded the Shadow Isles were even more daunting; at least you were confident that the mist would not harm you now.

You followed Viego to the cracked window, standing behind him as he opened it, revealing a clearer view of the dark, desolate isle. You were too far inland to be able to see the ocean, your view out of the window largely consisting of millennium-old rubble and patches of dark forest that must have been where you had run into that creature. You stared outside the window, wondering why he had led you here, at least until you noticed the mist that had begun to seep through Viego’s cloak.

“We’re not going to… jump?” The thought horrified you. There was no way you would survive a fall from this high up, mist or no mist.

“I will carry you in my arms,” Viego corrected you. “And then we will travel in the mist.”

You shivered as you considered his plan. “…you won’t drop me?”

You were half-joking, but Viego didn’t seem to pick up on that, one hand cupping your cheek as he stared down at you, voice deathly serious. “I will not allow any harm to come to you. Not again.”

You were once again taken aback by the intensity in his green eyes, even under the shadow of his cloak’s hood. You were still getting used to his devotion to you; it was a weird feeling having someone care about you after so many years of being without anyone who even cared enough to ask you about how your day had gone.

You weren’t sure what the owner’s fate had been, but you were confident that if he had seen you with Viego that day at the farm, he would’ve turned tail and ran, unlike Senna and Lucian, who came to your aid even when you had been a stranger to them. Maybe you should stop thinking of the farm as your home; because if you really thought about it, the only thing that tied you to the farm in the first place was your own fear of not being able to make it if you left.

You allowed Viego to take you into his arms as the mist surrounded you, pressing your face into his shoulder in order to avoid seeing just how far below you the ground was. You felt Viego move, likely exiting the window, and braced yourself for the drop that didn’t end up coming.

You could feel that you were moving, like you were in the arms of someone who was walking on solid earth, even if you knew you were walking through the sky and not the ground. You weren’t sure if the mist blocked your view of the ground entirely or not, but you were too scared to look.

“You were never this afraid of heights back then,” came Viego’s teasing voice from above you.

You doubted that Isolde had ever seen heights like this from the sky, but you welcomed his attempt at conversation, desperately needing a distraction from your growing curiosity to look away from Viego’s shoulder.

“How are you not scared?” you mumbled into his shoulder.

Viego let out a soft, sad laugh. “After what I have seen, what I have lost… there are more horrifying things in this world than heights.”

That was true; he had over a thousand years of life experience on you. Even if you had lived back then, your only memories from that time were ones you had seen flash by you when you had been exposed to Isolde’s memories. You couldn’t pretend you had experienced the hardships that he had; you had died, and he had been left behind, stuck as an undying mist wraith.

“…I’m sorry I yelled at you,” you said quietly as you listened to the sound of the wind whipping by.

“They were words I should have heard long ago,” he replied. He was silent for a long time, so long that you thought he was done talking, but then he spoke up again. “I led your life to ruin back then, and I was about to do it again.”

You let out a soft exhale against the soft material of the cloak. You couldn’t deny his words, you knew you couldn’t, but you also didn’t want to give up on him entirely. Right now, here in his arms, it really felt like all you had in this world was each other. You knew that you also had Senna and Lucian, but you didn’t have the history with them that you had with Viego. That, and while you considered them your friends, they would always be each other’s most important person; you didn’t want to admit it out loud, but you really wanted what they had, to be the most important person in the world to someone.

You both seemed content to let the conversation drop as you adjusted your face against Viego’s shoulder, the ends of his silver hair brushing against your forehead. Opening your eyes at last, you stared at his hair as it swayed with the wind. If you hadn’t seen it yourself, you would have found it hard to believe that his hair used to be a rich brown, a far cry from the silver it was now. But he wasn’t the same person he was then, both physically and mentally.

You couldn’t deny that you found him attractive; his eyes were deep-set, his jawline sharp and lips soft-looking. You immediately regretted observing his face when he looked down at you just as you were staring at his lips. You hurriedly looked away, not wanting to be caught staring. Viego did not say anything, but you could feel his eyes on you, even after you closed your own eyes again, leaning your face fully back into his cloak.

The trip to Demacia felt very long, and you had been drifting in and out of sleep, with little else to do, when you felt Viego’s feet touch down onto the ground. Opening your eyes at long last, you watched as the mist that surrounded you faded away, returning to Viego’s chest and revealing the area around you.

You were standing on a cliff, the beautiful blue waters of Demacia at your back. Demacia City stood before you in all its pearly glory, looking exactly the same as it had the last time you had been here.

It looked to be mid-afternoon, the sun shining high in the sky. It was nice to see light again instead of the dreary permanent dark of the isles.

While this was not your first time here now, you still had a difficult time figuring out the way to Lucian and Senna’s place from your current location. You looked over the paths that led into town, trying to figure out if any of them seemed familiar, finally settling on a small stone path that led along the coast. You remembered that their house had been close to the coast, so you hoped that you would eventually find it if you kept on the path.

You turned back to Viego, making sure his hood was down over his head before you two set off on the path. The last thing you needed was for anyone to notice Viego before you got to your destination; you were just lucky he had let you put the cloak on him or else you’d be much more worried about your chances of going unnoticed.

Viego walked at your side, sticking fairly close to you, eyes casually but tactically scanning the area as if searching for threats. There were some people milling about the area, but not many, and none that looked like a threat to you, not unless Viego threatened them first.

“Your… friends,” Viego spoke up, sounding as if the word itself was foreign to him. “Are you certain they will not welcome me with weapons drawn?”

You frowned. “I hope not.”

“They would not be the first,” he sneered bitterly.

“Viego.” You grabbed onto his arm and he looked down at you, staring first at your hand on his arm and then up to your face. “I will make sure they won’t attack you, but you have to be nice as well. No mist, and no giant sword.”

You felt like you were lecturing a child, but hoped Viego wouldn’t feel like you were treating him like one. You swallowed nervously as you stared at him, pleading with your eyes for him to agree to play nice with Lucian and Senna.

His eyes seemed to soften as he stared at you. “I can deny you nothing.”

“Thank you,” you replied happily, letting out a small noise of recognition as you spotted the building that you were looking for in the distance.

Leading Viego over, you signalled for him to wait behind you. He half-obeyed, but stood much closer than you had meant. You let it go, knowing you weren’t likely going to be able to convince him to leave your side, instead knocking on the door.

The wards that you and Senna had set up still lay scattered around the outside of the building, the lack of glow about them telling you that they weren’t activated. You knocked again after no response, shifting your weight from one foot to the other as you waited. Just as you were about to knock a third time, you heard movement from inside at last, stepping back slightly as you waited for the door to open. You felt Viego tense up behind you, but had to focus on the door in front of you as it opened to reveal a frantic Lucian.

He called your name with relief in his voice until he noticed the figure behind you, his features turning grave instantly.

You raised your hands up in front of you, desperate to stop the incoming fight. “Lucian, wait! He’s not here to hurt anyone!”

Lucian looked very skeptical, but paused his hands reaching down to his guns. “Y’know, I can probably activate those wards from here.”

“It’s fine,” you replied, relieved by the joking tone in his voice. “Can we come in?”

Lucian sighed, stepping away from the door to allow you both to enter. “Senna’s not gonna be happy when she gets back.”

“She’s not here?” you clarified.

“Nah,” he answered. “She went out earlier to get some supplies for, uh, findin’ you…”

“…oh,” you replied guiltily.

Lucian led you down the hall and into the large chamber that you had been in when Viego had ultimately captured you. But now there was no mist filling the room, and no weapons drawn, at least not for now.

Lucian stood awkwardly in front of you, picking at invisible lint on his jacket while you looked between him and Viego, who had taken off his hood when you had entered the room.

Nobody was saying anything until Lucian finally broke the oppressive silence. “So how have you been?”

“Good,” you said, desperate to latch onto Lucian’s attempt at conversation.

“Dead,” Viego answered at the same time.

You and Lucian stared at each other for a short moment before you were interrupted by the sound of the door opening down the hallway. Lucian sprang into action immediately, quickly dashing into the hall, likely to warn Senna about what she was walking into.

Once Lucian’s figure was out of sight, you turned to Viego, knowing you had to keep him calm.

“Please don’t hurt her, Viego,” you pleased. “She doesn’t–”

You were cut off by a loud exclamation from the hallway.

“He’s where?! Lucian, get out of my way!” came Senna’s enraged voice from the hall.

You heard rapid footfalls coming your way, Viego stepping in front of you before you could think to stop him as Senna entered the room.

“You–”

You began to panic when you saw dark mist trickling from the front of Viego’s cloak as Senna stormed towards the two of you.

“I won’t let her harm you,” Viego hissed quietly.

“She won’t hurt me,” you insisted quickly, grabbing onto his arm.

You stepped in front of Viego as Senna came over to you and quickly had your wrist snatched by Senna, who pulled you behind her.

Viego stepped forward, but Senna wasn’t having it, pinning him with a fierce glare. “You can stay there, ruined king. You’re lucky you’re still breathing in my home after what you’ve done.”

Viego didn’t look happy at her words, but kept his eyes on yours as you desperately shook your head at him, pleading silently for him to back down. You stared into his green eyes, hoping he would listen to you, and slowly, he backed down, fists unclenching but face still tense. You let out a quiet exhale, relieved that he had listened to you, although a glance at Senna told you that she was no less angry.

Lucian slowly stepped forward with an overly friendly smile on his face. “How about we have a conversation while the ladies talk?”

Viego stared at Lucian, face blank, but Senna didn’t hesitate, pulling you with her to the other side of the chamber and out of earshot of the boys. Once she had felt you were far enough away from them, she stopped, letting go of your wrist and pulling you into a short hug.

“You had us so worried,” she scolded, pulling back from the hug.

“I’m sorry,” you said, guilt pooling in your stomach.

Senna sent you a hard look. “Why would you do something so dangerous?”

You bit your lip as you thought back to that moment. “It was the only thing I could think to do. I couldn’t let you and Lucian get hurt.”

Senna let out an amused breath, shaking her head. “I can’t say I didn’t appreciate what you did, but it was stupid.”

“I know,” you agreed. “I thought I was going to die.”

“But you didn’t,” Senna countered. “Though I can’t say I understand why. What did you do to tame him like this?”

“I, uh…” It felt weird to say out loud, but you had no other explanation that made any sense. “I called him selfish.”

Senna stared at you for a second, and just as you were starting to think that she didn’t believe you, she surprised you by bursting out in laughter. She took at least a minute to calm down, and you just stared at her in confusion, not sure what you had said that was funny.

“Well that’s been a long time coming,” she said at last, before noticing you staring at her in shock and shrugging. “Never thought I would see the day.”

“I may have been a bit mean,” you admitted, voice dropping to a whisper. “I told him he should have let Isolde stay dead.”

Senna’s eyebrows raised in surprise before she let out another small huff of laughter, glancing briefly over at Viego. “Can’t say he didn’t deserve it. Probably deserved worse.”

“It was just… after seeing how he treated Isolde for so long… I couldn’t stop myself,” you said.

Senna nodded. “I’ve thought the same things myself, but the difference is Viego actually seems to listen to you.”

“Yeah, it’s weird,” you replied, sneaking a quick glance at Viego, only to find him already looking your way. You looked back to Senna, feeling awkward locking eyes with Viego like this in front of Senna. “I was so mad at him, but now I’m just confused about what I want.”

Senna didn’t reply, merely raising an eyebrow as a prompt for you to explain. You swallowed nervously, resisting the urge to look back at Viego as you explained your thoughts. You told Senna about Viego fleeing the room, about escaping the castle and running into the soul-sucking monster, and then Viego coming to your rescue.

“At first, I just thought he was scary, but after that… I don’t know. After going most of my life without anybody who cared about me, I…”

“…you want to give him a chance?” Senna finished for you, her voice frustratingly neutral, not giving you any insights on how she was feeling, but it wasn’t as if she was off the mark. You didn’t want to lie to her, so you nodded, unable to help but feel like you were letting her down.

Senna sighed a slow sigh, but didn’t look angry. “So have you told him?”

“Told him?” you echoed.

Senna rolled her eyes at you. “Told him that you want to be with him?”

You averted your eyes, staring at the stone floor. “…no.”

“He won’t know unless you tell him. Men aren’t always great with that kind of stuff,” Senna joked. “I had to spell it out for Lucian, and he’s one of the smart ones.”

“Right,” you agreed. She was right; you couldn’t just hope that Viego would somehow understand what you were thinking, though the thought of opening yourself up to him like that made you nervous.

“We have a smaller place just outside the city for when we need to lay low,” Senna said, fishing a key out of her pocket and handing it to you. “It should have enough supplies to sustain you while you figure things out with him.”

“Thank you,” you replied, stunned by her generosity.

“Come back and see us when you’ve got things sorted,” she replied with a smile. “And make him earn your forgiveness. If he does anything, just let me know and I’ll make him regret it.”

“I will,” you promised with a smile. You really didn’t deserve a friend as good as Senna.

Senna seemed happy with your response. “Then let’s go and save Lucian. He never was great at making small talk.”

You both turned your attention back to the two men across the room and their conversation.

“…so the mist, does it come from inside you or something?”

“The mist flows from my black heart,” Viego answered in a monotone.

“Oh, uh–”

Lucian was saved by Senna’s approach. “Alright boys, we’re done.”

You stifled a laugh at Lucian’s obvious relief at being rescued from his attempted conversation with Viego. Viego, on the other hand, seemed to forget Lucian existed the moment you came close, which was both flattering and embarrassing.

“How about you come with me to return the armor I bought and we pick up some sugar rolls on the way back?” Senna proposed to Lucian.

“Huh? But–” Lucian looked tempted by the offer, but looked back at you with a concerned frown.

“They’re fine,” Senna insisted. “They have somewhere to be anyways. I’ll explain it to you on the way.”

Lucian finally relented, allowing Senna to drag him towards the front door. But before they got too far, Senna turned her head back to you.

“Keep down the road for about an hour. It’s the one with a sun on the front door.”

You nodded and Senna wished you luck before pulling a still-confused Lucian with her out the front door. You really owed her; you would have to try and make it up to her and Lucian after you sorted things out with Viego.

Once they had left, you turned your attention back to Viego, knowing you had to have this conversation with him whether you wanted to or not.

“I was talking to Senna about what I want… with you,” you said, cursing yourself internally for how shaky your voice sounded.

Viego looked like he had been forced to swallow a Shadow Isles tangor, his posture rigid. “Now that I see how happy you are here with those two… I know that you were never truly happy being at my side.”

You were shocked speechless, the words you wanted to say fleeing your mind, your lack of a reply prompting Viego to continue.

“The Shadow Isles is a place for monsters like me. I won’t make you return there with me,” he said, sending you a sad smile before his body began to turn to mist, starting with his legs.

“No!” you cried out, grabbing his arm. You hadn’t expected him to let you go, but you found yourself not wanting him to leave you, even though that was all you had wanted only a week ago.

The moment you touched him, he turned fully solid again, looking down at you with furrowed silver eyebrows, uncertainty plain on his face.

“Don’t leave,” your voice came out quiet and weak, but you kept your hold on his sleeve. “Please don’t leave.”

You were trying not to cry, and it must have been obvious, as Viego quickly brought you into an embrace. Being alone with him again, you finally felt like you could say what you wanted to say, even if you were partially fueled by desperation to make him stay.

“I want you to stay in Demacia with me,” you said, pulling back to look at him, placing a hand on his cheek like he had done to you so many times. Viego seemed mesmerized by the contact, leaning into your palm as he stared at you with hopeful eyes.

“I will go wherever you are,” he replied softly.

“But,” you said, steeling your nerve. “I want you to see me as me, not the me I was when I was Isolde.”

You felt relieved that you had finally gotten out what you wanted to say, but were nervous at how he would take it.

“You are much stronger now than you ever were a thousand years ago,” he replied. “No matter what form you take, you are still my only love.”

You couldn’t help yourself. “Even if I was reborn as a sheep?”

“I would become a sheep myself if I had to,” he responded, and you giggled at both the seriousness in his voice and the mental image of Viego as a sheep.

Staring up at Viego, who seemed puzzled by your laughter, you were struck by just how much your opinion of him had changed since you had watched Isolde’s thousand-year-old memories. It was hard to believe that you could feel like this about someone who had brought you such sadness in the past, but as you stared at Viego’s handsome face, all you could think about was how much you wanted to kiss him.

But Senna had given you the key for a reason, and you didn’t want to trouble them by still being here when they returned, so you decided to be brave like Senna, taking one of Viego’s hands in yours and pulling him towards the front door. Viego’s hand was cold in yours, but his fingers held tight to yours. You found yourself wondering what kind of look Viego had on his face, but you were too nervous to look back at him until you got outside, taking the walk down the hallway to gather up all of your courage before turning back to him.

“Senna gave me–”

You were cut off by a gentle tug on your hand by Viego, pulling you back to him. Faster than you could comprehend, his other arm wrapped around your back, pulling you against him as he leaned down to kiss you.

You were shocked, Viego’s arm behind you being the only thing keeping you upright as his lips pressed against your own. You closed your eyes, hoping your inexperience wasn’t too obvious as you tentatively tried to kiss back, wishing your face would stop burning so hot; there was no way he wouldn’t notice the heat in your face, not with how cold he always was. Just as you were getting worried that you were too stiff, Viego pulled away, touching his forehead to yours.

He looked too pleased with himself, his jade eyes glowing with the same mischievous aura as the smirk he now wore on his lips. “You were saying something, my love?”

You sputtered, face red, trying to catch your thoughts. You hadn’t been expecting the kiss, and had also never kissed anyone before, so your brain was struggling to work again as you stared at Viego’s sly grin.

Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath and forced yourself to focus. Right, the key.

“Senna gave me the key to a place of theirs we can stay in,” you explained. “It’s about an hour’s walk out of the city.”

Viego raised an eyebrow. “It would take much less time to travel there with the mist.”

“No!” you exclaimed hurriedly, noting the few people who were still out since it was only early evening. Your face only flushed more as you realized he had kissed you in front of other people, even if it was only a few. Noticing two women staring at you and Viego, you quickly pulled his hood back down over his head from where it had fallen askew, taking his hand again and pulling him with you in the direction Senna had indicated.

“People are already staring… if you use the mist, they might call the Demacian guard!” you explained as you pulled him with you down the road.

“They can try,” Viego scoffed. “No power in this world will take you from me again.”

You sped up your pace, desperately hoping the two women hadn’t heard Viego’s not-so-veiled threats against the Demacian guard as you pulled him along with you. While you didn’t doubt that Viego was likely strong enough to take on the whole of the Demacian military, it was a confrontation that you desperately wanted to avoid.

For his part, Viego didn’t seem bothered by your increased pace down the path; rather, he seemed to be in too much of a good mood for someone who had just threatened to take on a kingdom’s entire military force. Part of you wondered if he was just talking like that to keep you holding his hand to pull him along, but the notion was too embarrassing to possibly be true, so you dismissed it from your mind, choosing instead to focus on the scenery around you as you walked.

The path out of town was not too different from the roads you had walked back in your hometown. Once you were out of Demacia City, the path of finely-cobbled stone became a simple dirt path lined occasionally with simple houses on either side. The people who lived just outside the city didn’t seem to conform to the fanciful beauty standards of the city, instead dressing more like the people you had known back in the Demacian farmlands. Seeing the more ordinary people go about their lives brought you comfort; as nice as Demacia City was, you had a hard time feeling like you really belonged among its finery.

“I have never seen how the peasants live,” Viego commented from your side, the lightness in his voice making you feel like he didn’t quite get that most people took the word peasant as an insult. “They look happy.”

“I’m a peasant too,” you mused. “I lived on that farm most of my life.”

Rather than looking displeased, as you secretly feared he might, Viego let out a quiet hum. “I cannot help but wonder, if we were both peasants back in Camavor… could we have lived happier lives?”

“Viego…” You looked over at him to see him gazing sadly your way, and for a second you could have sworn you saw the Viego of his youth when you looked at him, tan skin and rich brown hair instead of the pale, silver-haired man you had come to know in this lifetime.

“I led us to ruin, and I almost lost your beautiful smile for good,” he added with downcast eyes. “I will not allow myself to be so foolish again.”

While you were trying to think of a response to his words, your eyes caught sight of a small house in the distance, a golden yellow sun painted on its front door. The house itself was fairly isolated; the last house you had passed had been a while back, and you couldn’t see any other houses in the distance ahead.

It was a relief; while you were still feeling awkward around Viego after that kiss, you knew it was better for everyone for Viego to not be around anyone but you for now. You pulled out the key Senna had given you, overly conscious of Viego at your back, fumbling a few times before getting the key slotted in correctly and unlocking the door.

Stepping inside, you were surprised to see how well-furnished the place was, despite it just being an out of town hideout for Senna and Lucian. The home consisted of a combined kitchen and entryway area with a simple bathroom down the short hallway. Opening the last door, you found a small bedroom containing no more than a bed and a small chest of drawers.

As you were looking over the room, you were surprised by Viego’s arms circling your waist, his chin resting against the side of your head.

“I have missed this dearly,” Viego’s low voice in your ear sent a noticeable shiver down your spine, which he definitely noticed. “It has been over a thousand years since I have felt your body against mine.”

His tone was sultry, and accompanied by a gentle nip at your ear, your cheeks were feeling incredibly warm. You had to assume that you had been with Viego like this, back a thousand years ago. But you hadn’t seen any of Isolde’s more suggestive memories, so you had no idea of what to expect from Viego. That, and you were as inexperienced as they came; it wasn’t like there were many boys around your age in your small town for you to do anything with. You were nervous, but glad it was Viego, and not someone like the owner’s brother who always hit on you whenever he visited the farm.

Viego withdrew from you, a metallic clang sounding out in the small room as he released the clasp on his cloak, allowing it to slide off his shoulders and hit the floor. Chancing a look back over your shoulder, you made eye contact with a once-again shirtless Viego, the black triangle on his chest bared once again.

Approaching you again, he took hold of your wrist, bringing your palm to lay against the spectral-green lined dark triangle in the center of his chest. You inhaled sharply, surprised when your hand was not swallowed by mist or sucked into the black void, but instead pressed against the triangle of black as if it were normal skin.

“The mark you gave me,” Viego said, voice surprisingly soft for someone talking about the wound that had ended their mortal life. “The mist is a part of me, so it will never harm you.”

“It feels warm,” you murmured. How could it feel so warm when the rest of his body was so cold?

“Only ever to you,” he replied, leaning down to kiss you again.

It was a short kiss, Viego giving you several short pecks as he slowly backed you up to the bed. He pulled away as the back of your knees hit the bed, and you opened your eyes as you caught your breath, only to see Viego with a wicked smirk on his face. Before you could question him, you were sent backwards onto the bed with a yelp as a rush of mist from Viego’s chest blew over you.

You found yourself on your back, the sheets a lot softer under you than you had expected. Realizing that the mist had left you feeling a lot colder than you had expected as well, you let out an embarrassed squeak when you discovered that the mist had somehow done away with your clothing, leaving you completely naked against the sheets.

The mist faded as quickly as it had appeared, revealing Viego at the foot of the bed in nothing but his tight black pants, which were noticeably tighter at the front. His gaze was smouldering as he took in your now-fully-revealed form, and while you were overtaken with the desire to shy away, but you were not given a chance as Viego quickly joined you on the bed.

He gently cupped your breasts in his hands, thumbs rubbing against your nipples, the cold of his fingers only heightening the jolt of pleasure that heated your face. Viego stared down at you, looking awestruck, strands of his silver hair falling over one of his eyes. He was so handsome that it was hard for you to believe this was real as you looked up at him, fighting the urge to run your hands through his hair as you let out a soft moan.

“You make it hard to focus when you sound like that,” Viego admitted as he leaned down. “It has been too long since I have heard your sweet voice moan.”

Crawling over you, Viego tilted your chin up with a hand on your cheek, allowing him to lock your lips together again. Unlike the previous kisses, this kiss was heated and intense, your tongue meeting his as his other hand laid next to your head, supporting his body closely above yours.

His body caging yours in should have felt cold with how frigid his skin was in unlife, but all you could feel was warmth as Viego kissed you like his life depended on it. Deciding to act on your earlier thoughts, you slid your hands into Viego’s soft hair, your nails running along his scalp. Viego groaned into your mouth, hips rutting into yours, letting you feel just how hard he was under his leather pants.

Viego’s hand strayed lower, your back bowing slightly off the bed when he began to move his thumb over your clit. He continued the passionate kiss as he kept up with the movements on your clit, the sensations making it hard for you to concentrate on the kiss. Finally, the pleasure got so intense that you jerked back against the pillow with a breathy moan, your face flushed with heat.

Viego pulled back from you entirely, spreading your legs and grasping your thighs, pulling your legs over his shoulders. Startled, you realized what he intended to do, staring at him with wide eyes.

“You don’t have to…” you trailed off, fingers grasping the sheets at your side as you stared at him.

Viego’s mouth turned up in a sly grin, looking up at you with his mouth inches away from your naked pussy. “There is nothing I want more in this world right now than to hear you cry out for me, my love.”

Before you could reply, Viego surged forward, tongue licking against your clit while his fingers pressed inside you. He seemed energized by the noises you made, fingers moving faster against you as you closed your eyes, moaning his name as his tongue brushed against you at a spot that had you seeing stars beyond your eyelids.

He was relentless, determined to get you to reach your peak, not slowing down until you cried out his name, nails raking against the sheets as you came.

Viego withdrew, looking very proud of himself as he stared down at your wrecked form. You laid flat against the bed, panting as you tried to catch your breath. As you took in Viego’s disheveled hair and satisfied smile, you let out a soft exhale, still not fully understanding how he was able to make you feel so comfortable with him after all that you had been through. Or maybe it had been because of everything you had been through together, the thousand years you had been apart and the short time you had been together again.

He didn’t make any moves to remove his pants, despite the fact that they looked painfully tight by this point. You stared at him from under your lashes, not knowing what to say as you slowly came down form the high of pleasure he had given you.

“Your form has never been more beautiful,” Viego said, leaning down to kiss you. “Now if only your lips were as honest as your eyes.”

“What?”

“Your eyes are telling me what you want me to do to you,” he murmured into your ear, voice low and sultry. “And I cannot find it in me to deny my queen what she desires.”

Viego sat up as mist flew from his chest, sweeping over his lower half and turning his pants to mist before dissipating entirely, leaving him just as naked as you. His cock was just as pale as the rest of his body, but clearly was still functioning just fine; in fact, you were slightly worried about the sheer size of him.

Viego took his place between your legs, his cock so close to where you wanted it. He took himself in hand, slowly lining himself up with you, looking down at you appraisingly before his cock was sinking into you.

You let out a soft sigh as you felt the stretch of his cock, surprised that it was nowhere near as painful as you had imagined. Once he was fully inside you, he leaned down, caging you in with his arms as he began to roll his hips into yours.

Sliding a hand into his hair, Viego happily allowed you to pull his lips back to yours, groaning into your mouth when you clenched around him after his cock hit a particularly sensitive spot inside you. While you had struggled to focus amidst the pleasure you were feeling, Viego had no such problem, easily able to kiss you breathless while maintaining a slow and gentle pace with his hips.

But as you continued to move against each other, slow and gentle began to be too little for you. You pulled back from Viego’s lips with a whine, looking at him with pleasure-hazed vision as he continued to move against you.

“Viego… faster, please,” you whined, watching him swallow as you spoke.

With a deep groan, Viego picked up his pace, each thrust of his cock hitting exactly where you needed it. Viego seemed to be as lost in the feeling as you were, eventually trading speed for increased intensity as you clung to his biceps.

Viego came first, slowing with a groan, but kissed you hard, rubbing at your clit until you joined him over the edge, feeling your energy drain from you as Viego pulled out of you before pulling your body to his, wrapping his arm around you.

“My heart, my body… they have only ever belonged to you,” Viego spoke, his words sending fondness blossoming in your chest.

Closing your eyes, you leaned against his chest, feeling happy but drained, at least until the reality of where you were came rushing back to you. You were in Senna’s house… in Senna’s bed. What had you been thinking?!

Noticing your panic, Viego lifted your chin, tilting your face up towards him with an eyebrow raised, quizzically speaking your name.

“Senna’s going to kill me,” you groaned in embarrassment.

“What?” Viego hissed, voice flat and dangerous, some mist tricking from his chest.

“No!” you exclaimed, placing your hands over his chest in a futile effort to keep the dark mist in. In your embarrassment, you had forgotten about Viego’s tendency to react against any threats directed towards you. “I just meant she would be upset with me for…. getting intimate… in her bed.”

Your words didn’t particularly seem to ease the severity of Viego’s misinterpretation of your words, but that would have to something to work on over time. With how harsh his life had been for so long, you shouldn’t have been surprised that hyperbole was largely lost on him. For now, all you could think of to do was distract him, quickly pulling his lips down to yours to hope you could make him forget about his current dangerous intentions, at least for the moment.