#aurum's got a long way to go yet. but he's getting there. nowhere to go but up

[coffeeghoulie]

broke the mold (change will come)

chapter 3: love the mayhem more than the love

so. what a week it's been since the last chapter, huh. to "make up" for being MIA for a month, have a chapter that doubles the entire fic length lmao. I'm sorry (no I'm not.)

Content warnings for this chapter include religious doubt, vague description of being in a medical setting, disassociation, mild self harm (chewing and digging nails into skin), what happens when seven ghouls are crammed into tight spaces without ever addressing any of their own issues. More familiar faces. The idea of perfect victims. Learning new things, new names. Trauma responses. The first time I've ever written Copia as a main character. Self-destructive behavior and pushing others into doing it for you. 16.2k.

I make no promises about the next chapter except that it's probably not going to be until mid April. I have a project with a real physical deadline fast approaching, and I need to get that done first. I'll work on this when I can <3

Much thanks again to @mintea-in-space for all of the Cardinal Consulting <3

divider by @wrathofrats <3

There's a beeping noise. Shrill. Grating. Foreign. Aurum groans. His head hurts. Mouth feels like it's stuffed with cotton, and there's some bitter taste when he licks over his teeth. They don't fit quite right in his mouth, teeth nor tongue.

He grumbles again, trying to raise a hand to swat in the noise's general direction, wants to get Fog to stop mimicking-

Fog.

Everything comes back in waves, and he realizes that even though he's thought he’s been cold before, that was nothing. He’s cold for the very first time in his life. The next thing he realizes is that he has absolutely no fucking idea where he is. This is not the room he entered when he exited the portal, that much is clear even before he finds the strength to open his eyes.

It's a tremendous effort to peel his eyes open. The lights are bright white, and he hisses as his pupils try sluggishly to adjust. He’s alone, strange machines at his bedside connected to him through wires and tubes. His arms are wrapped in cloth so white it makes his head throb.

Everything smells strange, sharp and sterile, and Aurum still has no clue where he is. There’s a window, but the curtains are drawn thick and heavy. The door, with a grucifix hung above the frame, is solid and shut.

Aurum takes a deep breath. His entire body feels like he’s fallen off of a tall ledge. It hurts.

He tries to sit up, groaning loudly at the ache that ripples through him. The thin bed under him shifts, railings at the side creaking, and there’s a twinge of resistance where the machines connect to his arms.

Aurum growls softly at them, coughing as his throat stings. He reaches to pull the tubes and wires free, something small and angry in the back of his mind telling him to get the fuck out of here.

But the moment he touches the first needle in the back of his hand, someone clears their throat loudly. Aurum jolts back, ignoring the way his body protests the sudden movement.

The door’s open, now. There’s no other way out of this room. All of a sudden, the sterile scent of the room is overpowered by rich, dark ozone. Aurum’s ears pin back against his head.

A strange ghoul looms in the doorway, and despite the ache pounding at his temples, he bares all of his fangs with a pathetic snarl. This, of course, does nothing to dissuade the stranger. The strong scent of quintessence overpowers the chemical even more as he steps inside with a halfhearted huff of laughter.

He’s clearly tried to put himself together; a white coat over a rumpled sweater and sloppily tied tie, deep, heavy bags under violet eyes, half hidden behind round tortoiseshell glasses. The scruff of his goatee and his temples are grey, the rest of his dark hair messy and unkempt where it falls over his forehead, around two short ebony horns. There’s a clipboard tucked under his arm, and he turns over his shoulder to call to someone down the hall.

“Aether, please,” he says, and saints be damned, does he sound as tired as Aurum feels. “I need you to-”

“I already told you I had to excuse myself from that ghoul’s case,” another voice rumbles, the growl clear enough that Aurum feels his ears pin back instinctively. “I cannot be impartial with him. You know what happened. It’s for his own good.”

The ghoul in front of him takes a deep, shaky breath, his eyes squeezed shut as footsteps retreat. When his eyes open again, he’s got a wide smile plastered on his face. “Well, Olde One be willing, you made it,” he says, pulling up a rolling chair besides the gurney, rifling through the paperwork attached to his clipboard. “Frankly, it was a little touch and go for a while, but barring any major unexpected setbacks-”

To this, the quintessence ghoul glances out the door. He looks back to Aurum like he’d never looked away.

“It’ll be like nothing ever happened. You survived going through a filtered portal of a differing element. You’re the first one to ever make it out alive. Congratulations.”

“It was the right portal-” he tries to protest, but a fit of hacking coughs wrack him. His throat screams in pain with each one. The other ghoul sets a hand on his shoulder, concern easy to read in his expressions.

“Easy there, bud,” he rumbles, low and easy until he stops coughing. “Forgive me, I probably should have introduced myself. My name is Omega, one of the quintessence ghouls of the Head Ministry. What is yours, if you wouldn’t mind?”

The Head Ministry.

A pit forms in his stomach, and he doubts that he’s nauseous because of the pain. Aurum scans over Omega’s face, pulling back as far as he can away. Every instinct in his body is screaming that he’s a threat. He opens his mouth to tell him his name, and realizes, as his stomach lurches, that he doesn’t want to say any of the names he’s had before. Aurum coming from someone else’s tongue makes him feel nauseous. Fire just feels like mockery. So instead:

“Don’t have one.”

Omega cocks his head curiously, brows furrowing. “You… Don’t have a name?” he says cautiously.

He shakes his head. Omega writes something down on his paperwork. The scratch of the pen nib against paper makes Aurum’s head hurt even more. His glasses slide a little down the bridge of his nose. His gaze is piercing. It feels almost a little patronizing.

“I have to have something to call you,” he says, glancing up over those tortoiseshell rims. “The humans have taken to referring to you as the multi, but that’s not a name befitting a ghoul like yourself. If you don’t have a name, I’d be happy to give you one.”

Aurum clenches his fists, looking away from Omega to stare at his hands as his knuckles ache with the strain. The summoning shouldn’t have hurt. He’s fire, for fuck’s sake. The portal was for a fire ghoul. Even as he thinks it now, he doesn’t feel the conviction behind it he’s had for centuries. “Multi’s fine. I guess.”

Omega gives him another look, but he’s too exhausted to try and read into it. “Multi it is, then,” he writes something down in his paperwork. There’s a lull, and the quintessence ghoul looks up. It feels like he’s being examined like a particularly interesting specimen.

“I apologize, but I do have to ask. Was there anything in particular that made you want to go through that portal, even knowing the risks of summoning? Desperation, curiosity, something else?”

Aurum shrinks back. “It- I was going through the right portal. It was my element. It wasn’t supposed to-”

Omega cuts him off with a hand on his bicep. Aurum flinches so hard it hurts. Even worse than the sting is the look of pity on the older ghoul’s face. “Multi. If it were the right portal, you wouldn’t be in the infirmary right now. You’ve been unconscious for quite a while so your body could recover. It is, and I do not say this lightly, an unholy miracle from the Prince Himself that you were able to survive the summoning ritual.”

He blinks, feels himself start to pull back from his body. He digs his claws into the meat of his palm to at least attempt to stay present. “Fuck,” Aurum mumbles, eyes still a little bit hazy. His body aches, the pain throbbing in time with his pulse.

The summoning shouldn’t have hurt. He’s known ghouls whose pride and honor comes from their summonings and returns. Extended family, his parents’ peers. They had all said that being summoned had been as easy as walking through a threshold. He knows this.

A traitorous little voice in the back of his head that sounds like Moraine’s reminds him of the water ghoul who’d sprinted through the air portal and screamed as it had burned them alive. They hadn’t been the right element and it had killed them.

Fog had been ri-

Aurum stops that line of thought right then and there. He never wants to think about her again.

But there isn’t really any denying it anymore. If he were actually a fire ghoul, it wouldn’t have hurt.

“You are the first recorded instance of a ghoul being able to do so. Frankly, it’s fascinating, but we are genuinely glad that you pulled through,” Omega’s voice cuts through the haze. “The Cardinal will be thrilled to hear that you’re awake and talking.”

Aurum’s brow furrows. “The Cardinal?”

“Cardinal Copia,” he says. Aurum watches him withdraw into himself for a split second. The violet of his eyes dulls before the smile returns full force. “I forgot, how silly of me. No one’s been able to explain to you as to why you’ve been summoned because of all of the-”

To this, Omega gestures to the monitors on the other side of the bed. Still beeping. Still too bright. He settles back into his seat, clipboard tucked under his arm.

“The Head Ministry has a rather unique missionary program,” he says, something fond curling his lips up. “Using music for human recruitment. A rock band. The Ghost Project. Before I started infirmary work, I was a member of this program for quite a while, along with-”

He cuts himself off. That dull look is back in his eyes. “Well. That’s irrelevant right now. However. The upper clergy were looking for a new fire ghoul to play lead guitar for the Cardinal, who inherited the Ghost Project a few months ago and now is the new frontman, the new Mouthpiece. Then, you came out of the portal.”

Aurum winces. Omega doesn’t seem to notice. Just keeps talking. “The humans are always so finicky about fire summonings. They could only do it the one time. Something bureaucratic that they don’t bother explaining to us. They’ve mad- found a new fire ghoul. You’ll meet him eventually. Once you’re well enough on your feet.”

He nods. Swallows hard. There’s a bitter taste in his mouth. Omega must easily read the discomfort in his expression, because he leans over to the table at the head of his bed and offers him a glass with a straw.

“Here, drink,” he says, helping Aurum sit up. Aurum drinks greedily, the water a balm against his scratchy throat.

“Thank you,” he pants, blinking slowly when Omega sets the glass back down. His heart still flutters like a cornered animal. He is acutely aware of the machines, still beeping rhythmically. “What, uh, what comes next?”

Omega looks up from his clipboard. Aurum watches the big ghoul’s chest rise and fall with breath. “Well, I’d like to keep you here for a few more days, make sure you don’t give us any more scares,” He laughs wearily, taking another deep breath as he goes somewhere else for a moment. “And then we’ll get you cleared and introduced to your p-”

He stops himself, glances at him. Aurum, once again, feels pinned.

“Then we’ll get you introduced properly to the Cardinal and the ghouls you will be working with as part of the Project. I mean, of course, if you are willing to join. The Cardinal will go over this with you when you speak to him, as you were his first summons. But if you do not want to serve the Mouthpiece, we can easily have you return to the Pits.”

Aurum blinks. Tries not to think of the fury in Fog’s eyes last he’d seen her. “I- I’ll serve,” he croaks, even though he still isn’t quite sure what serving entails. Wonders what he’s signed himself up for.

He can pretend, though. Like pretending isn’t the only thing he’s ever been good at doing.

Omega smiles, and Aurum gets the strange sense that this one is the most genuine one he’s seen yet. “Good. It’s been a pleasure to properly meet you, Multi. I’m sure you must be exhausted, the body uses a lot of energy in recovery. I’ll leave you to rest, but I won’t be far if you need me.”

Aurum opens his mouth to respond, but Omega’s already turned towards the door, counting something on his fingers as he leans out of the doorway and calls to someone out of sight. “Sister Delilah, I-”

The door shuts behind him.

Aurum crosses his arms over his chest, shrinks in on himself. He feels so cold.

Thankfully, the next few days pass without incident. There’s a slow stream of people coming in and out to check on him, mainly Omega and the Sister of Sin the bigger ghoul had spoken to as he’d left on that first day.

She’s the first human he’s ever seen. He does his best not to stare. She smiles and he does his best to return it. Delilah tells him that the Cardinal’s going to love him. Aurum wonders exactly what she means by that. He’s yet to meet him.

His infirmary stay passes in a bit of a blur, and the next thing he knows, Omega’s unwrapping the bandages from his arms, a healthy buzz of quintessence applied to dull what’s left of the ache. He’s dressed in a black, long sleeved button up, slacks and shoes of the same color. He ties some of his locs back, letting the rest hang past his shoulders. He hasn’t been this put together in a very, very long time.

He finds he doesn’t exactly mind it, even if his thoughts start to wander to a place he’d forbidden for himself a long time ago.

Aurum shakes his head to clear the fuzz as Omega hands him a package wrapped in black velvet.

“There are, well. Certain rules involving the behavior and presentation of ghouls here,” Omega starts to explain, eyes glancing around as Aurum watches him try to best summarize. “We are to be in uniform. A united front to serve the Church, if you will. You’ll get fit for a proper uniform once you get settled into your new quarters.”

Aurum nods, smoothing his thumb over the velvet. There’s something hard underneath. He doesn’t dare unwrap it yet. Aurum just watches Omega, does his best to keep eye contact.

“But this,” Omega says, gesturing to the bundle in his lap. “This is the most important thing you will ever wear on the Surface. It is to be worn in all public areas of the Ministry, and outside it. Your summoner may or may not have rules about wearing it in front of him.” To this, Omega gets that strange, distant look in his eye, “But that is to be discussed with him, not me.”

Aurum nods, hesitantly pulling the velvet away. It almost feels like mockery, a featureless face that shines of chrome, empty vacant holes for eyes to stare from. A mask with horns and a slot cut from the chin for his mouth. He trails his eyes over where the mask would curl over the top of his head, over where his horns curl back, much larger than these.

Omega must sense his confusion, because he smiles, steps forward. “Do you know how to glamour?” he says, even as he goes through putting away all the medical equipment Aurum had spent the last however many days hooked up to. “It’s much easier Up Top than Down Below. Just call on your magic, and it will be there.”

Aurum blinks, looks up to Omega to question him, and has to do a double take. It’s still Omega standing in front of where he sits at the side of the hospital bed. The same grey and dark hair, same build, but his horns and tusks and the violet of his eyes have been wiped away like chalk. A startled laugh barks from Aurum’s throat, and it’s a testament to how far he’s recovered that the act doesn’t send him into a coughing fit.

“I’d like you to try,” Omega says, pressing a large hand to the center of his own chest. “It’ll be right here. Reach in and pull it out.”

Aurum takes a deep, deep breath. He hasn’t tried anything like this in decades. The little voice in the back of his head wants him to snap at Omega. His survival instinct tells him that Omega is much bigger and stronger than him. He hasn’t seen the quint angry yet, and he doesn’t think he ever wants to. He shuts his eyes. Does his very best to focus.

It’s like grabbing at flame itself, incorporeal. Aurum reaches into the core of himself, where his fire has taunted him for nearly his entire life. He reaches for the magic that makes him a ghoul and it dances, laughing, away from him.

He growls at himself and Omega takes a step back. Shame and frustration burn through him, but he shakes his head and just tries again. And again, and again, until Omega’s voice rings through his frustrated focus.

“There you go, take a look,” he says, warm, and if Aurum knew any better, he’d say Omega sounded proud. It makes his head spin. He ignores it. He glances over to the mirror above the sink in the corner of the room and just stares.

Hair still dark. His horns gone. He doesn’t look quite human, too many teeth to fit properly in his mouth, but it’s passable. His skin, instead of the deep charcoal it once was, is a rich, warm brown. His eyes are no longer gold, now so dark it’s hard to distinguish pupil from iris at this distance.

Aurum’s not sure how he feels about this new appearance. He’s just starting to figure it out when the magic slips from him and his reflection is far more familiar.

“That’s it!” Omega praises, resting a big hand on Aurum’s shoulder. “The first couple of times are a bit shaky, but you have the principle. I’m sure you’ll have it down in no time.”

Aurum tries again until he sees that strange man in the mirror again. He rolls his shoulders, staring himself down. Seeing the reflection move cements it a little more into reality instead of a trick of the light. As does looking down at the paler skin of his palms. Short, blunt, almost pink nailbeds instead of claws.

He takes a deep breath, gaze shifting to that fucking mask. He rolls his shoulders again. There’s an ache in the movement that the quintessence hasn’t touched. This has been the strangest day? Week? Who knows how long he’s been Up Top. But it’s been the strangest period of his life, and he knows that stranger is coming still.

He stands, and Omega rushes to steady him. “Easy, Multi, no need to rush,” he presses, but Aurum just tunes him out.

“Gotta go meet the Cardinal at some point, right?” Aurum says, flashing Omega a bright, toothy smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes before putting on the mask. “Might as well get it over with.”

Omega smiles back. Probably a little more genuine than Aurum’s own, but not by much. He pulls out his own mask, a similar design but a much more matte silver, almost pewter, and there’s no slot for his mouth. “You do have a point,” he says, voice barely muffled, and turns to open the door. “Follow me.”

Aurum takes a breath and follows Omega out of the infirmary.

It’s the first real glimpse of this new world he’s stumbled into. It reminds him, painfully, viscerally, of the grand cathedrals he used to attend with his family. The thought is swiftly and methodically put away. All of the pain pushed to the furthest recesses of his mind so he can stay on guard.

The halls of the Ministry remind him painfully, viscerally, of the chapels and sanctums and grand cathedrals he’d attended a lifetime ago with his family. The thought is swiftly and methodically put away in the furthest recesses of his mind. He needs to stay on guard, even as he walks behind Omega’s larger form.

It’s new and it’s familiar all at once. Lined with high, arching windows, clear and stained glass. Statues of various Saints and iconography, countless unseeing eyes staring down at them as they walk the marble floors.

And that’s not to mention the eyes that do see him. There’s dozens upon dozens of humans moving through the hallways as well, and Aurum feels each gaze peering at him curiously. The scents are strange and foreign, yet familiar. Curiosity, nerves, appraisal. They turn to each other and whisper, and in this new glamour, all his ears let him hear is the rushed breathiness, no real words able to be made out.

He swallows hard, stares at Omega ahead of him. Walks with a purpose even if he doesn’t know what it is.

After a while, Omega stops in front of an unassuming door. A bronze nameplate reads “Treasurer,” and Aurum furrows his brow. There’s no need to distrust Omega, though, and he shrugs, rolling his neck as Omega knocks.

“Cardinal?” Omega calls. “I have your first summon ready to report for duty.”

“Oh, it is time?” A harried voice responds, muffled through the thick wood. Papers rustle. Something thuds. “I was not expecting, just a moment, perdonami.”

“Take your time, Cardinal,” Omega says, and Aurum can hear the sigh in his tone. He doesn’t try and read into it, instead glancing between the back of Omega’s head and the shine of polished brass.

Several long, awkward moments pass before footsteps approach rapidly to the door. Aurum braces himself as it opens.

The first thing he sees is the Eye. Even through the mask, the blinding white peers into the very core of his being. Aurum’s shoulders draw up on instinct and he shifts onto his back foot.

Omega bows his head. “Your first summon, Cardinal,” he says, voice low and almost distant. “Made a full recovery.”

“Thank you, Omega, your efforts are much appreciated,” the man says, brushing mousy brown hair back from his forehead before adjusting a bright red biretta with a huff. He is pasty pale, a thin mustache under a prominent nose, freckles spattered over gaunt cheeks, black grease paint around his eyes and upper lip.

Aurum blinks rapidly. He knows that voice. Sense memory fills his lungs with the cold, clear air Up Top. The portal burns where he’d been healed.

This is the human who summoned him.

Aurum didn’t get a chance to actually see him before he’d passed out from his injuries. But that voice is etched into the very core of this vessel, bound to the one who’d brought him here.

The Cardinal looks past Omega, and he cocks his head. Those mismatched eyes rake over him. Appraising. Aurum stands stock still, arms behind his back. He knows this drill. Lets the human make whatever judgment he wants to make.

He shakes his head, blinking out some sort of stupor. “Where are my manners, come in, come in,” he says, grimacing as he looks over his shoulder at the mess of papers on the desk inside.

Omega takes a step back, pressing a big hand to the small of Aurum’s back. “I will be taking my leave, Cardinal,” he says, that low, respectful tone never wavering. “The infirmary has need of me, as always. Multi, with the Cardinal, alright?”

Aurum does not look away from his summoner. He swallows hard. “Yes, Omega,” Aurum breathes.

He steps into the tiny office. He does not flinch as the door shuts behind him.

The office is small, lined with overflowing bookshelves and one high, small window to light the space, a green banker’s lamp on the desk in the center of the room to make up for it.

The Cardinal scurries back behind his desk. It’s a little too big for the office, but he doesn’t seem to care or notice. “Take a seat, take a seat,” he gestures, grimacing again as he clears a space of papers into some poor semblance of organization. “Make yourself comfortable, okie dokie?”

Aurum bows his head in the way he saw Omega do moments ago. “Thank you, Cardinal,” he says, laying it on a little too thick in an attempt to appease. This he knows how to do. “I’d rather stand if that’s alright, sir.”

The Cardinal laughs, a surprised little trill, but sits down in his own chair anyways, arranging the bright red fabric of his cassock and sash in pursuit of comfort. “I suppose you have been sitting for quite some time in the infirmary. Whatever you most prefer, makes no difference to me.”

Aurum just bows his head again. His chest rises and falls, breathing as evenly as he can. He will not walk into any trap this man sets. If he’s capable of setting them at all.

He’s learned the hard way it’s still best to be careful.

The Cardinal finishes rearranging the contents of his desk, filled with tables and numbers and odd symbols that Aurum can’t parse even if they were turned the right way round for him, and steeples his fingers, resting his elbows on the desk. “Multi, Omega said?”

Aurum nods. “Yes, Cardinal.”

The human’s chest puffs up a little, sitting up a little straighter. “Well, Multi, I would like to congratulate you on beating the odds, gave us all quite the scare, eh?”

“I apologize, Cardinal,” Aurum says.

The man scoffs, and Aurum jolts upright, meeting his gaze for the first time since he sat down. “None of that. With your successful summoning, you have made me the first person in living memory in the Clergy to summon a multighoul accidentally.”

His gaze drops to the floor, staring at the black leather shoes Omega had handed him that morning. Something uncomfortable and familiar wells up in his chest. He does his best to ignore it.

“It makes you very special, Multi, and I have thanked our Lord for this unholy blessing,” the Cardinal says. “But now that you have recovered, I would like to, eh, discuss the terms of your summoning to the Satanic Ministry.”

Aurum shuts his eyes for a moment. He knew this was coming. He knew the humans needed a ghoul for a reason. For a purpose. He does not dare get his hopes up.

“Omega told me some,” he says, testing the waters. “The Ghost Project.”

At the mention of the Project, the Cardinal visibly lights up, his white eye gleaming even in the dim light. “Si, I summoned you for the band. I, eh, needed a fire ghoul. The last one..” he trails off, glancing away at a small globe on one of the shelves. “Never mind that, no? We have a fire ghoul now, and I will take you to meet him and the rest of your new bandmates.”

Aurum nods, following the Cardinal’s gaze to watch the globe. There’s a thin layer of dust on it. He doesn’t look back until his summoner clears his throat, and he snaps back to attention.

“Within the Project, there have always been ghouls backing the Prince’s Mouthpiece. Helping him spread the Prince’s message. And each element had a specific role. An earth ghoul on drums. An air ghoul on keys. A water ghoul for a bassist. And so on, si? But now, with you here, we get to make something new. Something unique.” The Cardinal seems to gain confidence as he speaks, straightening in his seat, something bright gleaming in the dark green of his normal eye.

Aurum nods again. He digs his blunt, glamoured nails into the delicate skin of his wrist. “I will be useful, Cardinal.”

The human furrows his brow, cocks his head. “You will be more than useful, my ghoul. You will be great.”

He forces a bit of faked nonchalance through. Shrugs and presses his lips together in a thin line. “I hope I’ll serve you well,” he says. Not matter what he does to try and stop it, there’s a sinking feeling in Aurum’s chest that he can’t deny.

The Cardinal smiles. “Si, me too.”

Aurum blinks. He’s been so busy keeping up his own facade that he didn’t notice that the Cardinal has his own up as well. He takes a breath. “Did you have an idea on my role, Cardinal?”

The man sits up a little straighter in his chair. “A few, that I’d like to pitch. We have an equal amount of experience with the Project here,” he jokes. It falls a little flat. Aurum just stares.

“What would you like me to do?” Aurum asks again. Does his best to keep his tone even and calm.

The Cardinal looks up at him. The Eye pierces through him. Burns. “I would like to know what kind of, eh. Musical experience you have. If you do not have any, you can be taught.”

“I can sing some,” he says, keeping his posture as rigid as he can. No use in fidgeting in front of him. He hasn’t caught onto Aurum’s front yet. The mask helps some, as much as it pains him to admit it.

He lights up at Aurum’s admission, clapping his hands together. “Good, very good, I was in need of another vocalist. I have an air ghoulette who will be doing vocals for me, but I want a deeper voice too. Round it out some, no?”

Aurum nods. “Yes, sir.”

“We might also be able to get you on guitar and some assorted percussion. Shaker or tamborine, I am thinking. Not all at once, different parts for different songs, but I hope to have you fill out our rough edges.”

Aurum blinks. Nods even though he feels like he’s thrown himself into the deep end. The edges of himself feel jagged at best, and he wants him to smooth out the others that he hasn’t even met yet? He’ll try his best to avoid being thrown back and replaced with someone better. “I hope I will suffice, Cardinal.”

He runs leather covered fingers through his mousy hair, shoving the strands back in place. Those mismatched eyes meet his through the mask. “I’m sure you will, Multi. Our Lord must have had a reason that I summoned you. I am curious to find out why along with you.”

Aurum does not flinch. Offers his summoner a smile, flashing the smoothed out, glamoured teeth. The Cardinal returns it.

He claps his hands together again, leather on leather muffling the smack. “Are we, eh, on the same page on what I want from you, Multi?” he asks, and there’s something almost genuinely worried in his tone.

Aurum nods, taking a deep breath. Keeps his smile bright. “I think I understand, sir.”

“Excellent.” The Cardinal reddens slightly, his gaze darting away for a moment. It’s almost a relief to have the Eye off of him. “I have taken enough of your time, I think. I would like to take you to meet your bandmates. I am sorry for having you led on a goose chase around the Abbey, heh.”

Meeting other ghouls. Aurum stifles the instinctive fear response and stands as straight as he can. “It’s fine,” he says, putting everything into keeping his voice clear and level. “Should stretch my legs.”

The Cardinal stands with a huff. “Well then, off to the ghoul wing, no?”

Aurum takes a step back, allows the Cardinal to pass him, and falls into line. It leaves something bitter at the back of his tongue, but the idea of going back scares him more than anything else. Aurum does his best not to show it.

He’s led through the halls once again, ducking down staircases and winding through corridors until he’s standing in front of an unmarked door. The Cardinal takes a deep breath. “These will lead to your quarters, the band ghoul quarters. There’s a commons and a kitchen, and your packmates should have set aside a room for you. Aether-” The Cardinal cuts himself off. His mismatched eyes narrow for a moment, some conflict racing behind them. He gestures at the door, seemingly giving up on whatever train of thought he’d been on.

Aurum shuts his eyes for a moment. Braces himself. He remembers Omega saying that name, what feels like forever ago. But he shakes his head. Pushes the door open. Best to get this over with.

He steps into the ghoul den, the Cardinal right behind him.

It’s lit warmly, a few couches and arm chairs scattered around the large commons. Bookshelves line the walls, as well as a few odd pieces of human technology that he can’t quite parse. It’s warm, and Aurum can’t help himself from letting his shoulders drop.

That is, until he notices he and the Cardinal are not alone in this room.

His eyes lock onto a pair of ghoulettes tucked together on one of the couches, bent over a book and talking quietly to each other. They look up in unison as they too realize they’ve been joined. A cloud of silver white curls block the eyes of the smaller of the pair, but the taller of them stares at him with warm grey eyes, pupils little pinpricks, almost blue black hair draped down her back. The scent of the room shifts to unease, and Aurum’s not sure how much of it is his own nerves and how much is theirs. He notices neither of them are glamoured or masked.

The smaller of the ghoulettes shifts in front of the other. “Cardinal,” she greets, voice chiming like bells, even as her gaze never leaves Aurum. He can feel it pierce through the chrome of his mask even though he can’t see her eyes behind her curls.

“Cumulus, Cirrus, my lionesses,” Copia says, bowing his head for a moment. He takes off his biretta and clutches it to his chest.

The taller of the ghoulettes cocks her head, glancing between her summoner and Aurum and back. “Are you the multighoul everyone’s been talking about who’s joining us?” she asks. The corner of her lips quirk up for a moment.

Aurum shrugs, pulling together every piece of a front as he can. “Suppose so,” he says, trying to match her smile. “So far, I’m the only multi I’ve met here.”

The words taste sour, even as he knows them to be true. Thankfully, neither the ghoulettes or the Cardinal pick up on it.

The smaller ghoulette grins, needle sharp fangs filling her smile. ““It’s lovely to finally meet you,” she says. “I’m Cumulus, and this is my mate Cirrus.”

He matches her grin and presses a hand to his sternum. He feels the buttons of his shirt press against his palm. It’s almost grounding. It makes the smile on his face genuine. “I’m Multi. I look forward to working with you.”

Cirrus looks to the Cardinal. “This will be fun,” she laughs, and Aurum feels heat come to his cheeks, thankful the mask can, well. Mask it. The Cardinal doesn’t have that sort of luxury, going scarlet under the attention of two, undoubtedly, beautiful ghoulettes.

The human sputters for a moment, desperately trying to pull together some sort of composure. “Is- Is everyone else here?” he asks them, and Aurum’s shoulders bristle at the reminder of more new ghouls.

Cumulus hums, thinking. “I think it’s just Dew and Rain here,” she says. “Aether’s in the infirmary, and Mountain’s out on the grounds somewhere. They should be back shortly.”

He nods, and Aurum can hear him swallow. “Alrightie. Would you like me to, eh, retrieve the gentlemen? For introductions?”

Aurum swallows as the three of them talk. He takes a deep breath. Four more to meet. One with a name that he’s heard in passing, and he thinks of the three ghouls he’d seen before he’d collapsed in his summoning. Wonders if any of them are here.

“Cardinal?” A new voice asks, and Aurum’s head whips to face it. A lanky water ghoul steps into the commons, teal finned tail curling around his calf. Deep, inky eyes take in each of them, hesitating longest on Aurum’s.

“Rain, my ghoul,” he says, pulling at the red sleeve of his cassock. Rain offers him an aloof smile, even as his eyes never leave Aurum. He seems just as guarded as Aurum feels, dipping a toe in the water, so to speak. The scent of petrichor fills the room, mixing pleasantly with the fresh air and soft florals of the ghoulettes’ scents.

“And you must be Multi,” Rain says. His voice is low, sounds like meltwater rushing over stones. Aurum’s reminded of the stories of sirens in the Fifth. This must be one of them.

“I am,” he confirms again, still not quite letting his guard down. Offers him the warmest smile he can muster.

The nervous energy in the room crackles, palpable. Not just from Rain. He’s the biggest ghoul in the room by a long shot, and quite frankly, he doesn’t blame them, even if they have him outnumbered. He breathes as steadily as he can. Tries not to broadcast anything they can use against him.

The silence is broken by a throat clearing, rough and hoarse. Aurum startles hard, as does the Cardinal and Rain. Another ghoul steps out from behind Rain, and Aurum has to do a double take.

This ghoul is the spitting image of that water ghoul he’d seen that night, standing between the quintessence and earth ghouls. But not quite. Orange eyes burn like embers into him, sharp features narrowed into a glare as they rake over him. Appraising. It seems like Aurum comes up short, because he huffs loudly.

Instead of the long, silvery hair Aurum remembers seeing, there’s choppy, copper hair sliced off just long enough to brush against narrow shoulders, just barely hiding a rounded, cauterized scar on his throat. Broken obsidian horns jutting out through the strands of hair. Bony arms cross over his chest, a spiked tail padding against the ground, loudly broadcasting irritation just as clear as the acrid, smokey scent that fills the room.

“Dewdrop,” the Cardinal says, nervously glancing between Aurum and this newcomer. The human’s voice seems to snap him out of his glare. He lowers his head for a moment. Aurum’s eyes lock onto a string of bluish pearls hanging from a pocket in his pants, a mother of pearl grucifix swinging as he shifts his weight.

“Cardinal,” he says, hesitant reverence just barely covering a tenseness in his voice. It sounds rough, like he hasn’t had a drink of water in weeks. “This is him?”

Aurum hates the way they’re talking about him like he isn’t even in the room. But he is in fact the newcomer here, yields to the others. Does not want to make a scene, will walk the line carefully for now.

“Yes,” the Cardinal says. The leather of his gloves creak as he grips his biretta tighter. Dewdrop’s eyes lock onto Aurum then, and if his gaze earlier had felt hot, then this must be what the sun feels like.

He shifts, rocking onto the backfoot in a way he hopes comes across as unbothered.

Dewdrop raises an eyebrow. “Take the mask off. Don’t need it here. Let us see who we have to put up with.”

Aurum grins, bright and as easy as he can make it seem even as he can hear the Cardinal sputtering. He reaches up to pull the chrome from his face, letting his glamour melt away. He feels their eyes on him, searching for something he can’t quite place. Can’t quite place what exactly they all think of his unglamoured, true appearance. “My apologies, Dewdrop, but have we met before? You seem incredibly familiar. I think you were there for my summoning, but you looked a little different.”

There’s a flash of something that flares in Dew’s eyes, an almost imperceptible widening, before Dewdrop just glares. But Aurum catches it.

His tail lashes behind him, spikes scraping against the floor. “Absolutely the fuck not,” he snaps. Cirrus and Cumulus’s heads whip over to stare. Rain flinches the slightest bit.

“Sorry,” Aurum shrugs, smiling but it doesn’t touch his eyes. “Could’ve sworn I saw a water ghoul there, but, you know, I could have just been out of it.”

Dew’s upper lip curls up in a sneer, twisting the thin mustache there. “You were,” he snaps.

Aurum just shrugs again, still smiling easily. He can handle this. A little voice in the back of his mind laughs about denial. Like he’s one to talk. He ignores it.

“How’d you know? You just said you weren’t there,” Aurum smiles. Dewdrop scoffs loudly, and the Cardinal scrambles in between the two of them, even though there’s still almost an entire room’s worth of distance.

“Enough of that,” He says, laughing nervously. “We are to work together, no? None of this.”

Dew takes a deep, shuddering breath. He bows his head, even as his lip’s still curled up in a sneer. “Si, Cardinale.”

Aurum says nothing.

The door creaks heavily open behind him, and every muscle in his body goes rigid as Aurum can feel the ghouls looming behind him. Every eye looks past him, Dewdrop almost seeming to relax as Cumulus smiles warmly.

“Aether, Mount!” She greets. Aurum doesn’t dare turn around, the name too familiar.

“Cardinal Copia,” a deep voice says, wary. “Your presence is a pleasure.”

Another ghoul speaks, and this time Aurum tenses like he’s trapped. “And I see the multighoul’s made a full recovery.”

He knows this voice. Knows it was the ghoul that kept avoiding him when he was in the infirmary. He’s still not quite sure why, but there’s vitriol underneath the pleasantness of his tone.

“He has, si,” the Cardinal says, looking past Aurum to the two newcomers. “I brought him down to make introductions. But, Aether, surely you must have met him by now, no?”

There’s a long suffering sigh behind him, followed by a low, disingenuous laugh. Aurum remembers, distinctly, what it felt like when his feet sunk into the earth and trapped him. “No, Cardinal, my duties took me elsewhere.”

“Alrightie,” The Cardinal shrugs, turning back to Aurum, gesturing to the two big ghouls. “Multi, our earth and quintessence ghouls, Mountain and Aether. They are both veterans of the Project along with Dewdrop, and I hope they will guide you as well as they have guided me. Aether and Mountain, our new multighoul, well. Multi.”

Aurum swallows hard and turns around, clutching his mask in his hands. Behind him are two of the biggest ghouls he’s ever seen. It takes every ounce of his will not to cower back, to hold his own as they both glare at him.

The earth ghoul, Mountain, has to hunch slightly, so tall that his antlers would scrape against the stonework ceiling if he stood straight, taller than Esker and Moraine both. Long auburn hair falls from where he tied it back, emerald eyes piercing and narrowed. He cocks his head back and forth, hackles raised.

And if Aurum thought that Mountain was glaring at him, Aether’s glare is so much worse. There’s something burning in the deep violet of his eyes, the bulk of his wide shoulders and broad chest heaving as he grits his teeth. Bright purple hair rushes back in a mohawk, framed by two black, pronged horns. His upper lip lifts in a snarl, revealing a gold tusk.

The Cardinal wrings his hands. “Enough of that, we are to work together, no?”

Aether freezes, squeezes his eyes shut. Mountain puts his hand on the other ghoul’s shoulders. “Of course, Cardinal,” Mountain says, voice deep and soft like a distant rockslide. “Aeth,” he says, leaning in to whisper to him. “Aeth, please.”

The quintessence ghoul, after a moment, nods. “Yes,” he says, bowing a head to the new frontman. He levels one last glare at Aurum before moving past him, bumping shoulders harshly as he makes his way to Dew’s side. He pulls the little fire ghoul against him, and he goes without protest.

Aurum matches his stare, holds his chin up, because there’s no fucking way he’s going to let that slide. But in front of the Cardinal, he just holds himself to the promise of later.

The Cardinal claps his gloved hands together, the sharp noise enough to startle several ghouls, Aurum included. “Well. Introductions. I will show Multi to his room and then I will be out of your hair,” he says, forced cheer barely hiding the man’s nerves. They smell acrid.

Cumulus smiles, leaning against Cirrus’ shoulder. “Perfect,” she says, either not picking up on or just straight up ignoring the thick tension in the air.

“When do practices start?” Rain cuts in, finned tail flicking through the air like it’s cutting through water. His long, elegant fingers twitch at his sides, glancing around the room and not quite looking at his summoner.

The Cardinal thinks for a moment, clearly not quite comfortable yet with everyone’s eyes on him. “Group practice will start tomorrow,” he says. “Once you all have had a little time to settle. Get to know each other.”

The speed at which everyone’s eyes shift from the Cardinal to Aurum makes his head spin. His fingers clench at his side, and his heart races so fast he thinks that Omega might have made the wrong choice releasing him from his care.

Aurum straightens, muscles so tense his back starts to ache, before dropping into a looser, more relaxed posture, glancing from ghoul to ghoul. He hopes he’s coming off as warm. It seems like it’s working until he locks eyes with Aether.

The anger there is palpable.

If he were unglamoured, his ears would pin back flush to his skull, tail curling around his leg like a kit. But he swallows hard and meets Aether’s gaze back.

The world around him sort of dulls. He can hear the Cardinal wishing them farewell as he returns to his own duties, hears himself replying alongside the others. But there’s a fog around him that’s only broken when Aether huffs, turning to Dewdrop and murmuring something too low for him to pick up. The two of them turn and disappear down the hallway, and one by one, the others go too.

Aurum squeezes his eyes shut, letting out a shallow, shaky exhale once he thinks he’s alone. Lets everything come down for just a moment before trying to integrate himself into this pack’s lives.

“You alright?”

Aurum startles, whirling on his heels to face the voice. He’s met with the water ghoul, Rain. Those inky deep eyes stare into him, the distinction between pupil and iris only differentiated with a glimmer of blue.

He blinks slowly, head tilting as he takes Aurum in. Aurum just straightens, hoping that at least one of these ghouls finds something worthy.

“I’m sure they’ll warm up to you soon,” he says, gills on the sides of his neck fluttering with the rise and fall of his chest. His voice is quiet, not quite shy but something aloof and hesitant. “It took them a few days for me.”

Aurum’s brow furrows, unable to look away from this siren. Rain blinks, finned ears tucked close to his head, the teal peeking out from blue-black waves that hang shaggy and brush against his shoulders. “I’m sorry,” Aurum says. He isn’t sure what he’s apologizing for.

Rain just shakes his head. Puts a hand on his bicep, fingers splayed and putting the webbing on full display. “Do you want me to show you where you’re staying?” he asks softly.

He manages to pull his eyes away from Rain, glancing to the hallway all the others disappeared down. “If you wouldn’t mind?”

The water ghoul smiles wide enough to put those serrated teeth on full display, and Aurum hauls his guard all the way back up. “Follow me, all of us new summons are at the end of the hall.”

He turns and walks away, and Aurum snaps out of whatever weird fog he’d found himself in to follow.

The hall is narrow, lined with thick wooden doors, each with a bronze nameplate. Aether, Mountain, Dewdrop… and then the nameplates tarnish, letters scraped away in a fury. Aurum’s hackles raise as Rain leads him further away from the open common room. His stomach churns. There is something unfathomably large here. Invisible, almost tangible.

For what it’s worth, Rain either isn’t affected by it, or is just incredibly good at pretending. He keeps walking to the very end of the hall, a small altar set into a niche. The flame of the pillar candle set there flickers, and Aurum shifts onto his back foot. His heart races in time with it and he hates it.

Rain turns back around. Aurum scrambles to look nonchalant. “This one’s yours,” he says, voice smooth and even, gesturing to a door with another scratched out nameplate. The only betrayal of confusion on Rain’s face is the way his dark eyes flash from Aurum to the altar and back.

“Thanks,” he says, trying his best to lay it on thick the way that made Fog smack his arm playfully, once upon a time. Even though it’s only been a few weeks at most since he’d crawled from the Pit, it genuinely feels like a lifetime ago. Like it was a completely different ghoul who’d run with Fog and her pack.

It was.

He slips into the room that is apparently his now and starts to close the door. Rain cuts in, long fingers curling elegantly around the door jamb. “I’ll see you at practice?” he says, an eyebrow quirking up in curiosity. His finned tail flicks behind him.

“ Aurum nods, reaching a hand up to smooth back his locs. “I’ll see you at practice. This can’t be too hard, right?” There’s a lilt in his tone, even as his fingers shake the slightest bit. Rain shrugs, shifting on his feet. Stares at him down the bridge of his prominent nose. “It was pretty quick to pick up bass guitar,” Rain says. “I’ve never played before. I don’t know how quickly you’ll pick up your parts, though. The Cardinal said that you’d have more than one.” Aurum exhales hard through his nose. “For the different elements.” ”That’s what he told me,” Rain says. “I do hope you don’t have too hard a time. Though some of the others might be able to help? Depending on what elements.”

He just shrugs. “I’ll ask for help if I need it,” he lies. “I’ve always been pretty quick at picking things up.”

Rain smiles. “Good to hear. I- Uh, I think I’m taking up too much of your time,” he says, finned tail sweeping against the stone floor as it waves behind him languidly. “I’ll let you get settled.”

“It was nice meeting you, Rain,” he says, because it’s true.

“Likewise. Glad you’re doing better.” The water ghoul lowers his head for a moment, before backing away with a smile and turning towards another door, the same defaced brass nameplate embedded in it. “See you tomorrow.”

Aurum nods. “See you tomorrow.”

He slips into his room, and his entire posture drops the moment he hears the door latch. He flips the lock before pressing his back against the door, chest heaving with a long, weary sigh. Everything feels like it’s crushing him, a barrage of new stimuli making his skin itch in a way it hasn’t in a while.

Aurum gives himself just a moment to shove his face in his hands. He does his best to get his breathing under control. It shakes and protests his every effort to force it into obedience.

Eventually though, he gets there. He doesn’t feel like he’s going to pass out at the next new sensation anymore. He rolls his shoulders back, one of them popping and settling back into its joint, and takes a look around.

It’s fairly bare bones, but it’s more furnished than anything Aurum’s had access to since he was a kit. A mattress on a frame large enough for him to properly stretch out on, burgundy sheets and covers made up in crisp, near military lines. A desk and chair, a wardrobe, a floor lamp, shelves with nothing held upon them. There’s heavy, navy curtains against one of the walls, a sliver of golden, reddish light painted onto the stone floor where they haven’t been drawn all the way.

He showers, ridding himself of the last of the antiseptic scent that’s been clinging to him since he left the infirmary. Changes into soft, warm clothes that have been supplied to him. The adrenaline of everything new is coming down and coming down fast.

Aurum sprawls out on his back on his brand new bed, not even bothering to turn down the covers. He groans as he almost seems to sink into the mattress, so much softer than where he’s been sleeping for the last few parts of his life.

His chest rises and falls with a deep, slow breath. And then his brow furrows.

The room has been cleaned since whoever lived here last left. But underneath the scent of fresh air when the windows had been left open to air out, there’s the hint of something darker, warmer. Almost, he strains to inhale as much as he can, like amber and saffron and spice.

He lays on his back, eyes wide open, as he stares up at the ceiling, breathing in the last dregs of this stranger’s scent. There’s a scorch mark on the one of the tiles in the tin ceiling.

Sleep takes him as he wonders who he’d been meant to replace, and why they’d need replacing.

Practice starts early the next morning. Rain meets him in the commons, wearing all black and an identical mask to the one that Omega’d given him, presses a mug of something hot and bitter smelling into his hands. “There’s sugar in the kitchen, but a couple of the others are there right now. I understand if you want to keep a little distance for now, they were pretty harsh yesterday.”

Aurum blinks, still reeling from a dream where someone’d been yelling at him. He’d woken up unsure whose voice it was, rattled to the core. ���Thanks,” he says, a little wide eyed. Aurum glances down at the mug and takes a sip, grimacing at the taste. “Shit, that’s, that’s sure something,” he sputters, laughing a little.

Rain smiles a little sheepishly, glancing up at the clock. “It’s coffee. Should wake you up a little bit,” he teases, knocking a shoulder against Swiss’s. The ease with which Rain’s made himself comfortable with Aurum makes his head spin a little. “Reckoned you didn’t have any in the infirmary. It’s very human.”

“They drink this?” he says, a little astonished. Rain just laughs. Cirrus and Cumulus emerge from the hallway, greeting Rain before turning to Aurum.

“Morning, boys,” Cumulus says, face rosy with sleep, her curls neatly pulled back as she buttons up her black uniform shirt, her tie and suspenders missing. She’s tucked under Cirrus’s arm, held close to her side.

“Good morning,” Aurum says, bowing his head a little as he greets each of them. His tail flicks and curls around his calves, moving languidly. Cirrus smiles, glances at his mug.

“We’re excited to finally have you join us,” she says, her voice soft and low. In the hand that’s not around her partner’s shoulders is a similar mask to the one that Aurum wears now, silver curls framing the face.

“Me too,” he says, and he’s genuinely surprised to realize that he means it. He takes another drink from the mug Rain had given him, grimacing.

“There’s milk and sugar in the kitchen,” the water ghoul says again, almost reaching to take the mug from him.

Aurum opens his mouth to reply when two figures emerge from the kitchen door. He freezes in place as bright violet eyes glare at him from behind chrome.

“Morning, Aeth,” Cumulus says, glancing between the quint ghoul and Aurum, judging the tension. Aether turns away to face her, and Aurum feels something bristle in him at the way Aether’s entire self seems to melt.

He doesn’t know what he’s done to upset him, and the sting of familiarity is the part that hurts the most.

Aurum downs the rest of the coffee, ignoring the sharp taste, and slinks into the kitchen to put the mug in the sink. The day’s hardly begun and he already wants to go back to hiding in his room.

But practice is to be had, and he doesn’t want to risk upsetting his summoner by not attending. All of the ghouls gather in the commons, dressed near identically, and one by one, they don their masks and slip out into the halls. Aurum follows them, winding through another set of hallways and stairwells until they reach a room in the lowest level of the Ministry with wide double doors.

There’s about a dozen instruments mounted on the walls, and Aether, Dew and Rain each reach for one of their own. Sleek, black and white, almost sharp curved bodies, and they sling the guitar straps over their shoulders before heading to the center of the room.

It’s the mock up of a stage, and Mountain holds out his hand to Cumulus as they and Cirrus climb up the steps to the back platform; the ghoulettes sitting behind keyboards and Mountain taking a deep breath as he sits behind a massive, intricate drum kit.

There’s an empty corner marked by a microphone, and Aurum glances around waiting for any sort of direction. A flash of red catches his eye, and he turns to face the Cardinal.

“Multi, I apologize, heh,” he says, tripping over his tongue in his mouth as he approaches Aurum. The other ghouls warm up, tuning and testing equipment, and some of them look like it’s simply second nature. His fingers twitch. “Forgive me, I have not shown you your instruments or your parts.”

Aurum bows his head. “It’s alright, Cardinal,” he says, even as he feels his heartbeat picking up, that bird that makes his ribcage its home desperate to get out. “Yesterday was busy.”

“Eh, it was,” he says, leading Aurum back to that wall of instruments. His summoner reaches up and pulls down a sleek black guitar, rounded edges polished to such a shine that he can see his own reflection in it. “This is to be yours, my ghoul.”

The Cardinal passes it to him, and Aurum takes it carefully. Knows instinctively that this is an object of some great importance. It feels almost right in his hands and he relishes in that sensation. “I- uh- forgive me, Cardinal,” he says carefully, watching his face for any sort of reaction. “I’ve never played anything like this.”

He just nods, like he’d been expecting such a response. “Many of our ghouls who have served the Project had no musical experience prior to coming Up Top,” he says, and Aurum can hear the many times his summoner’s said this before in the tone of his voice. “You can be taught, and well, eh, most of our newcomers pick up their required skills quite quickly.”

Aurum takes a deep breath, slings the strap over his head, and tries to settle his limbs in a close approximation of how Rain’s holding his guitar. Fingertips of one hand on the neck, thumb resting on the thickest string. It smells of metal and polish, heavy in his nose but far from unpleasant.

“Your guitar parts are in a folder on your platform,” the Cardinal continues. “Of course, when we do head out for shows, we do need to be memorized. Lord Below knows I still need to do some memorizing of the old songs.”

Aurum nods, but he’s picking gently at that thickest string, feeling the vibration of the lowest note buzz against his stomach. He swallows hard. He can do this. And once he gets back into the practice of reading music and singing, he should be golden. The thought makes him cringe for just a moment.

Once again, he’s glad he’s wearing something that obscures most of his face.

“And you have very similar parts to Aether, so if you need help, I am almost certain he’d be willing to help you. He is a very skilled guitarist.”

Aurum wouldn’t call himself the greatest at reading people, especially humans he’s known for less than twenty four hours. But the waiver of uncertainty in the Cardinal’s tone is loud and clear. He glances over the human’s shoulder, only flinching a little bit as those violet eyes burn into him.

Aether turns his back, making his way over to Dewdrop, and leans in to whisper in the fire ghoul’s ear. Dew nods, glancing over to the Cardinal, before letting Aether guide his hands over his instrument.

“He’s been helping Dewdrop learn a new instrument as well,” the Cardinal explains uncertainly. He wrings his gloved hands together in a motion that almost looks like he wants to pick at his hangnails, but the leather prevents such a thing. “He has truly been a great help during this time of great transition.”

Dew looks up at that. Orange eyes burning. Aurum just swallows hard, staring down at the guitar in his hands. “Thank you, Cardinal. I look forward to learning.”

He smiles, the thin mustache on his upper lip curling a little bit. Nervous, sure, but genuine.

It’s easy enough to refresh himself on reading sheet music. He thanks the Sisters that humans used a similar enough notation, and then freezes up on his platform. Aurum hasn’t done anything like that in decades, thanking the Sisters. He shakes his head and gets back to it.

He’s more than clumsy with his new guitar, outshined by miles by the rest of the ghouls around him. Aurum likes to think he makes up for it with his singing. He can feel the gazes of the others, turning to watch when the Cardinal works with him alone.

In the same way that Aurum’s new life had been measured by the intervals between being checked up on in the infirmary, his life becomes the intervals between practices. It’s a struggle, sometimes, willing himself to focus on learning.

Something deep inside of him bristles when he sings praise for a deity he turned his back on more than half of his life ago.

But he knows, somehow, that to protest means being sent back. And that thought makes him feel worse. Not after all the work they’d put in to keep him alive. Aurum knows they’d take it out of his hide before kicking him back Down.

So he keeps singing.

The guitar comes less easily, much to his frustration. The damn thing is so touchy, intricate and foreign. As much as he doesn’t want to, with the tour fast approaching and his parts far from mastered, he knows what his only option is.

It’s difficult to get him alone, because he’s always shoulder to shoulder with Dewdrop, but somehow, Aurum catches Aether alone in the Ministry halls one afternoon.

The quintessence ghoul’s expression changes lightning fast when he realizes who’d stopped him, just a flash of vitriol before fading to something pointedly neutral. “How can I help you, Multi?”

Aurum tries his best to pull together any semblance of confidence, that ease and smoothness that he can pull with Rain, Cirrus, Cumulus. He holds his wrist behind his back, fingers wrapped around thin skin over bone.

“I was told by the Cardinal that you’d be willing to help me with practice?” he says, and curses himself to the City and back when it comes out shaky. Unsure. “Having, well, a fair bit of trouble with the guitar. I’m not quite getting the hang of it.”

Aether, even behind the mask, raises an eyebrow. Aurum winces as he stares him down. “I know,” he says curtly. “Believe me, I know.”

Aurum’s hackles raise, and he takes a deep breath to try and stay level. He knows Aether’s got him beat if he steps out of line. All he smells is ozone. Roiling storms under the thin veneer of fresh air. “Well, sorry, this is all still new to me,” he mumbles, looking away. “The Cardinal told me to go to you.”

Aether huffs, thick arms crossed in front of a broad chest. There’s the glint of silver, a bracelet, wrapped around one wrist. “Well, I can help you, but I’m currently helping Dewdrop with lead guitar. I will help you as soon as he’s got it down.”

“I need- Don’t we leave-” Aurum sputters, grip tightening around his own wrist. “Please.”

Aether hums, head tipping back a little as he considers. “I know we leave soon. I’m just,” he takes a deep breath. Aurum is reminded of overhearing him that first day awake. “I’m incredibly busy,” he says. “You know what? I’m going to talk to Omega. He had my part when he was part of the Project. I’m sure he’ll be able to help you while I help Dewdrop.”

Aurum slinks back a little bit. “I mean, absolutely, any help I could possibly get.” He tries not to let any sort of bitterness through on his tone. But he knows Aether’s quintessence, can probably tell anyways.

Aether grins. The gold fang gleams at him through the cutout of his mask. “I’ll go talk to him, then. On my way to the infirmary now, as it was. I’ll have him let you know.”

Aurum knows a dismissal when he hears it. He lowers his head to Aether the way he’s been doing to the Cardinal. Something burns in his chest. “Thank you, Aether,” he says. He’s not sure how much of it he means.

Omega reaches out not long after. To his credit, Omega’s an incredibly skilled guitarist. Infinitely patient as well. He’s taught before, even if he doesn’t mention who exactly it was in Aurum’s position last.

He works Aurum through all of the old songs, trying his hand at some of the Cardinal’s own, even if he never played any of them with the Project. It’s always at strange times of day, whenever Omega can sneak away from the infirmary for an hour or two without the place catching fire.

But Aurum is truly grateful for any help he can get, does his genuine best to focus and learn and absorb. Tour looms closer every single day.

It’s late one night, a few days before they’re meant to ship out, when Aurum turns to Omega in the practice room after the older ghoul hangs up his retired Fantomen back on its mount.

“I really don’t think Aether told me the truth,” Aurum says, fiddling with a tuning peg on his own Hagström.

“Hm?” Omega says, running a clawed hand through his greying hair. “About what?”

Aurum takes a breath. “About why exactly he couldn’t help me? He said he had to help Dewdrop, but their parts aren’t the same.”

Even with his back turned, Aurum can see clear as day the way Omega stiffens. A low groan escapes his throat. “I trust Aether. With the Project and the infirmary. I trained him for both. But you’re right. Aether’s… Aether’s troubled right now. Who isn’t?”

Aurum doesn’t respond.

Omega turns to peer over his shoulder, a bright lavender eye meeting his own. “It’s not my business to share, but things have been shaken up here quite dramatically in the last year.”

He nods. “I- I can feel it,” he admits, stretching his wrists and shoulders. “It feels like- I was in kind of a bad spot Down Below for a while. Kind of feels like that. Waiting for a shoe to drop.”

Omega, like he had in the infirmary countless times, goes a little hazy in his eyes. It’s only for a moment, and he snaps back to himself visibly. Gives a little chuckle. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“What happened to Aether?” Aurum asks. He’s a little surprised to find genuine curiosity behind it.

The older ghoul lets out a soft exhale through his nose, those violet eyes shutting as he braces himself. Goes somewhere else for a moment. “That’s, well. That’s not exactly for me to tell you. Not my business. But he, Mountain, and Dewdrop are the only surviving ghouls of the previous… administration. Minus myself. But I’m from some time older.”

Aurum lets that sit for a moment. But Omega’s not done.

“Aether took it particularly hard because of the fact that he and Dewdrop are mates. Very recent mates, in fact.” Omega’s brow furrows, and he looks deeply concerned all of a sudden. “Don’t tell them I’m telling you this. But they only became mates after you were summoned. I think it gave them enough to make it through that week. Lord Below knows they needed it, may He watch over them.”

He shrinks in on himself. Stares at Omega.

The silence feels thick and sticky, and Aurum’s hackles raise. Omega startles a little. “Wait, I forgot-” He turns to where his white coat’s abandoned in a pile on a crate of equipment; abandoned when he’d come in for lessons. “I know you’re headed out with the Cardinal in a few days. I wanted to give you a going away gift, of sorts.”

Aurum perks up, head tilted like a puppy that’s found something confusing. “Oh, Omega, I couldn’t-”

Omega doesn’t seem to listen, rustling in his coat pockets. “You’ve grown leaps and bounds since we’ve met, Multi, and I am genuinely, deeply proud of all that you’ve been able to accomplish. I’m certain you are going to make the Olde One proud.”

Despite the way his chest swells with warmth as Omega praises him, Aurum winces hard at the thought. Omega’s back is turned and he doesn’t notice a thing. With a satisfied huff, Omega straightens once he’s found what he’s looking for. He turns back with a black velvet bag in one large hand. It’s similar to the bag that had held his mask when it had been presented to him.

“Now, I haven’t seen you attend Mass. And that’s perfectly fine, I promise. Not all of us- I understand not everyone is deeply pious here, despite it being an abbey. But I still wanted to give you this for the road. It brought me comfort when I was away from the chapels, on tours, and I hope that you may find use for it.”

Omega presses the bag into Aurum’s waiting hands, beaming down at him. “Thank you,” he says, feeling items shifting underneath the velvet. Something hard. “Truly.”

He claps him on the shoulder, and Aurum shuts his eyes with a shudder at the sensation of touch. “You’re going to be great, Multi. Don’t you forget it.”

“Thank you, Omega,” Aurum says, because that’s all he feels like he knows how to say. “I- I’ll do my best.”

“And that is all we ask for,” Omega says, but there’s something behind his eyes that says that’s not up to him to decide.

Once he’s back in the ghoul wing, sequestered away carefully behind a locked door, he overturns the contents of that little velvet bag over his duvet. A few things tumble out; a bundle of incense that smells sweet and herbal, even unlit, a plain silver grucifix on a rosary, a gold ceramic candle holder, and a tall, thin black pillar candle.

All of a sudden, he’s a kit leaving home again, the last glance at that altar opposite the front door with the five candles identical to this very one.

His chest heaves, claws digging into the meat of his palms. A gray haze settles over him. Aurum doesn’t know how much time passes before he snaps out of it, a sharp pain in the spade of his tail.

He shakes himself to awareness to find the leathery spade between his teeth, fangs having pierced the skin on accident. Like a teething fucking kit instead of a grown adult.

“ Fuck, ” he snaps, cursing up a quiet storm in Ghoulish. He reaches for the candle holder, itching to feel the way it’ll shatter if he fastballs the ceramic into the stone wall. A wave of shame hits him like a train at the thought and his tail, still bleeding sluggishly, curls around his calf.

This was a gift. A travel altar for the One Aurum’s turned his back on, sure, but it’s still a gift. He can’t just- Fuck!

Aurum snarls, pacing a little in his room, still just as bare bones as the moment Rain showed it to him. There’s a bag half packed on his desk, toiletries and whatever casual clothes he’s been able to scrounge up. Mostly band tees and jeans, but that’s not important when compared to the garment bag that his uniform is hung up in.

Aurum takes a deep breath and packs up Omega’s gift. Tucks the travel altar into the very bottom of his bag. Just to say he took it if Omega asks later.

He thinks he’s ready. For what it’s worth, he convinces himself he’s ready. He’s always been a halfway decent liar.

The start of the tour is not marked with a grand departure. Sure, the human Siblings of the Abbey celebrate the spreading of the Word, but it is overshadowed by the sense of upheaval and grief that cloaks the entire Ministry. And there is absolutely nothing glamorous in the way all seven ghouls and the Cardinal shuffle about their tour bus, trying to get situated.

Aurum watches his bandmates claim bunks, stands for a moment watching all of the chaos as the Cardinal shuffles through the tight aisle to get to the back bedroom. He takes a deep breath and hauls himself up into one of the top bunks that the others seem to be ignoring.

It’s dark and quiet, and Aurum instantly relaxes despite the tight quarters reminding him intimately of that lichen covered cave in the Seventh. Of ghouls he has been trying so hard not to think about since he nearly burned alive.

He shuts his eyes. This is to be his home for the next few months. Best that he gets rid of that connotation sooner rather than later.

The bus rumbles underneath him, and soon, Aurum finds himself falling asleep.

The next thing he really knows, between sleep and travel and the dull haze he’s been finding himself slipping into every now and again, is waiting backstage at his very first Ritual.

Aurum can hear the people outside waiting for them, the noise of the crowd cresting and falling like a living, breathing thing. He supposes it sort of is. Aurum doesn’t think he’s quite wrapped his head around what he’s gotten himself into.

There’s no nerves. He itches to be out of his glamour. His fingers reach up to fidget with the hem of his balaclava, can feel the heat of the sun beating down onto him and his bandmates, all in their matching black uniforms.

It doesn’t bother him, body already used to such warm temperatures, but he seems to be only one of a few. Cumulus fans herself with her hand as she stands next to Aether and Dew in their little huddle.

“This is nothing,” he overhears Aether tell Cumulus, nudging a big shoulder against the smaller ghoul’s before wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Our old uniforms, the wool cassocks and the masks without the cutouts? Woof. Imagine breathing in your own humidity for several hours straight.”

“At least we weren’t around for those big robes when the Project first started,” Dew cuts in, shaking out his hands, flexing spindly fingers like he’s itching to get his Fantomen in his hands. The blue of his eyes gleams out from the eye holes of his mask. Aurum avoids his gaze.

Rain wrings his hands in front of him, long fingers curling around each other, and Mountain leans in to whisper in the water ghoul’s ear. Eventually, Rain relaxes some, leaning up to smile and whisper back to the taller ghoul.

Of all of them, Cirrus seems the least affected by what they’re all about to do, minus the ghouls who have in fact done this before.

Aurum does his best to remember chords and frets and finger placements and setlist order and harmonies and there is so much going on in his head he feels like it might burst. No, it’s not nerves, he laughs quietly to himself.

The Cardinal is with them, travel mug in hand, pacing and muttering to himself in a mix of Italian, Swedish and English. The others spare him glances, and Aurum thinks he hears Cirrus ask Mountain if they should go to him.

Aurum doesn’t wait to hear the older ghoul’s response. He slips out of the circle and falls in step at the Cardinal’s side.

The man perks up a little, stops in his tracks. Behind him, Aurum can hear the entire rest of the band fall uneasily silent. “We go on soon, Cardinal,” Aurum leans in and murmurs in his ear. The Cardinal’s paints are freshly applied, his upper lip and eyes painted black and lined crisply. Aurum imagines that won’t quite last long, given the heat and sweat of performing, has seen the man after practices.

“Oh, believe me, eh. I know,” The Cardinal says, something bright in his eyes. The Eye especially burns out from the black paint. “You are with me for Miasma, remember?”

Aurum nods. Only vaguely remembering the talk they’d had a few weeks ago about stepping off stage to assist with that particular quick change. They’d have no other need of him during that part of the set, and he’d been more than happy to help. “Of course, Cardinal.”

The human turns to face him, and Aurum still isn’t used to the unadulterated attention of the Eye. A little voice in the back of his mind tells him that he’d run away from all of this. Another voice says that was a lifetime ago. “Are you ready, my ghoul?” he asks with some hesitancy.

Aurum shuts his eyes, takes a deep breath. Lets his shoulders rise and fall with it. “I think I am, Cardinal, and that’s much better than knowing for sure I’m not.”

It draws a startled laugh from the Cardinal’s mouth, and a little bit of the tension that wracked his frame dissipates with it. Aurum counts that as a win. “You truly walk the path of a first,” the Cardinal says, and he can’t see the way Aurum flinches. He shakes his head. The Cardinal has no reason to know of the First families that he once belonged to. “I, eh, I have some large sets of shoes to fill. But I have faith that you all and I will be of great service to our Olde One.”

Aurum opens his mouth to protest, but then there’s the call for places, and a bolt of electricity seems to shoot down each one of their spines. Brought to life and animated, the ghouls and the Cardinal all scramble to their spots. Aurum gets up on his platform, rolls his neck, and takes his Hagström from one of the techs.

Ashes begins to play, and Aurum watches from on high as the crowd morphs and comes alive . A rush of energy so strong it nearly makes his knees buckle hits him, and the show begins.

All of his nerves and fear vanish as his fingers move on muscle memory. He watches the others move on the stage below him, the Cardinal moving between them. Even as Aurum’s voice joins his, he can’t help but admit that the Cardinal’s voice was meant to be the Mouthpiece. He does not believe. Hasn’t for a very long time. But he knows that this will sway more humans to His cause, and Aurum sings and plays to the very best of his ability.

Better than all of that is the sensation of countless human eyes on him. Sure, most of them are watching the Cardinal. But he knows the feeling of being watched. Aurum just hopes they like what they’re seeing.

He lets the music move him and his body, he’s heard it all before in practice, but in performance it’s miles apart. Worries more about showmanship than precise technique.

It works perfectly until Cirice.

The Cardinal steps out onto the platform connecting his own to Mountain’s platform and Cumulus and Cirrus’s platform, walks down to center stage as the song starts. Aurum realizes with a bolt of true, genuine fear that his mind has gone blank. Muscle memory failing him.

Omega’d drilled Cirice with him for what felt like twenty thousand times. And every single one seems to have been wiped from his memory.

He knows he’s supposed to come in on harmony during the bridge, but- what section- oh fuck- it’s now, isn’t it- His entire body seizes up and he does what he’s been taught. Aurum starts to sing.

The Cardinal does not join.

Aurum’s eyes go wide and golden behind his mask. True terror fills every cell of his body. His heart is a bird slamming itself into its cage in a desperate attempt to break free or kill itself trying.

He can’t stop now, just keeps singing. And when the Cardinal comes in at the correct time, Aurum’s face burns as he sings the harmony on the bridge again.

Across the stage, Dew’s eyes burn as he glares at him. Aurum swallows hard and squeezes his eyes shut. Show must go on.

And go on it does. After his little slip up with Cirice, Aurum falls back into the swing of things with an almost practiced ease. Of course, he knows it’s all bullshitted, but he does his best to actually make it seem like he knows what he’s doing.

Before he knows it, the band takes a quick break before Monstrance Clock starts, signaling the end of the Ritual. A call to dark prayer and worship, if there ever were one.

Come with us. Join us.

Despite everything, every promised curse, Aurum finds himself swaying along, his Hagström moving with him. Shuts his eyes and sings and plays and feels something spark almost painfully in his chest that he quickly snuffs out. He knows it’s there, but he’s far from ready to address it. Maybe one day. Maybe after closing dozens of shows in this exact way.

But today is not that day.

Aurum steps down from his platform for bows, hands his Hagström to the tech who’d given it to him at the start of the night, joins the others. Satisfaction and exhaustion roll of off his fellow ghouls in waves, even noticeable in human glamour. They toss out guitar picks and drumsticks bow to the crowd, hand in hand, and then they file off into the wings.

The Cardinal breaks off to talk to one of the road staff, but Aurum isn’t worried about that. He has more pressing issues. Like-

Dew storms up to him the moment they both are out of sight of the crowd, eyes burning even through the blue of his glamour.

“What the fuck was that?” he snarls as they file into the dressing room. Aether and Mountain follow close behind, and Rain shares a nervous look with Cirrus and Cumulus.

Aurum shrugs. He crosses his arms over his broad chest as Dew gets up into his space. “What? I made a mistake, oh no, they’ll banish me because I came in at the wrong place.”

Dew huffs sharply, acrid steam curling from his lips. He rolls his eyes as he glares up at him. Aurum thinks the height difference makes it look hilarious, actually. Making a big deal out of nothing. Dew can bark all he likes, but Aurum knows his bite can’t be worth shit. “I don’t know if you understand exactly what you’ve gotten yourself into, Multi,” he snaps. “But the Ghost Project is an esteemed program. I’d take this a little more seriously, if I were you.”

Aurum scoffs, his glamoured nails digging into the meat of his palms. His body aches just on the wrong side of pleasant, and the adrenaline of the show hasn’t gone down yet. All things considered, he’s been itching for something like this since he woke up Topside. “Well, Dewdrop,” he leans down, letting the gold burn through the dark brown of his human irises. He flashes his teeth in a sneer. “I’m not you, thank the Sisters. I think I’m taking this just as seriously as I need to.”

He can feel the others’ eyes on him. Knows he’s pushing buttons just for the sake of a release. Aether’s glare in particular is sharp, knows the little fire ghoul in front of him is the quint’s mate.

Dew doesn’t back down. If anything, he just gets further into Aurum’s face, nose crinkling as he scowls. “What a disgrace of a ghoul.” He raises an eyebrow, gaze digging into him. Appraising and coming up short. “You are here to spread the Infernal Majesty’s word. To sway the humans to Him. He deserves a better messenger than you.”

Aurum laughs, full chested, like Dew’s just said the funniest joke anyone’s ever heard. This, to his delight, makes Dew recoil. He feels sick. “You really think I care about the fucking Prince? He couldn’t give a shit about me, so it’s only fair I return the favor.”

Dew splutters. “He made us. He cares.”

He lets his eyes drag down Dew’s body, flicking back up to where his face is rapidly reddening. The rest of the band doesn’t exist right now. It’s just the two of them, and fuck, is it fun to press his buttons. “You keep telling yourself that. He sure does care. That’s why He hurts us and turns His back when we ask for Him. You should know better than most, huh, Dew? Funny name for a fire ghoul, don’tcha think?”

Someone growls. Aurum barely hears it.

Dew’s eyes go wide before they narrow, and he steps closer into Aurum’s space. “Oh, fuck you, Multi,” Dew spits. He’s close enough that he can feel the acrid steam rolling from his mouth as he speaks. “If your worthless ass hadn’t been summoned, maybe it wouldn’t be so funny a name.”

Aurum rolls his eyes. This just seems to piss Dew off more.

“You inconsiderate fucking piece of shit,” he snaps.

The world goes red the moment the word slips from Dew’s lips.

Aurum lashes out, big hands finding Dew’s shoulders. He shoves him back so hard that Dew stumbles, falling on his ass with a shout, just barely catching himself with his hands. Wide eyes stare up at him, stunned into silence. Rain physically recoils. Cirrus hisses. A moment of tense, suffocating quiet waiting for the shoe to drop.

Yelling breaks out, so many voices that Aurum can’t pick out the individual words.

He barely has a moment to realize what he’s done before there are hands on him. Aether moves with surprising speed for a ghoul his size, growling so loudly it sounds like a roar.

Aether shoves him against the cinderblock wall behind him with a loud thud. Aurum barely feels it. “Keep your fucking hands off of him,” Aether snarls, pressed so close that Aurum’s eyes cross as he tries to look at him.

“Or what?” he laughs. He doesn’t stop laughing, even as Aether’s hand grabs the column of his throat, grinding the back of his skull into the wall. Even as instinctual fear jolts down his spine, he keeps laughing, grinning manically. He almost wants to spit in Aether’s face just to see what his reaction would be.

Aether’s grip tightens, losing his glamour so the points of his claws dig into his throat. “I’ll fucking kill you.”

“You’re holding back,” Aurum taunts. “Come on, big guy. I know you can do it.”

“I should,” Aether spits. “This is your own fucking fault.”

He cocks his head, even as he winces when Aether’s claws press at his jugular. Wonders what it’ll feel like when they actually make purchase. “Aw, really? What did I do?”

“Son of a bitch,” Aether says, but then Mountain’s pulling hard at his arm, yanking him away from Aether. He just barely has time to take a breath before he realizes Mountain isn’t trying to save him.

He towers over him, the same way he had to Dew. Mountain’s eyes almost glow emerald, and Aurum doesn’t stop grinning. “There has never been need for a multighoul in the Project,” Mountain says, matter-of-fact. His voice wavers with barely held back rage. “We could send you back just the same as the humans.”

“Then why won’t you do it?” Aurum asks. He knows he’s digging himself into a hole, but he doesn’t remember the last time he felt this alive outside of the Ritual. “Come on, did I get summoned to join a pack of cowards? I’m not fighting back. Have fucking at it.”

Mountain growls, low and dangerous like a rockslide. His claws dig into Aurum’s biceps, piercing his shirtsleeves and breaking skin. The iron scent of blood fills his nose, and a dark little voice at the back of his mind hopes the entire pack breaks into a frenzy over it.

He laughs, eyes gleaming. “It’s not going to be me, Multi. He should get to do it,” he rumbles, crossing his arms as he towers over them. “Him and Dew.” Instead, Mountain shoves him back to Aether.

Aether shoves his sweaty shirtsleeves up past thick forearms, the silver of his jewelry glinting in the harsh fluorescents. “I am going to make you fucking regret ever looking at that portal,” Aether says matter of fact, sparks of quintessence jumping from his unglamoured claws. A strong hand closes around his throat. Aurum wheezes sharply as his eyes bug out.

He pulls his hand back to rake down his body and gut him like a fish when the door slams open. Every single ghoul freezes.

“What the fuck have I walked into?” The Cardinal snaps, white Eye raking over the carnage. “I want an explanation. Right now.”

Aether doesn’t look away from Aurum, still glaring daggers into him like he could eviscerate him just like that. “He put his hands on my mate. I am acting accordingly.”

Aurum doesn’t say anything. Chest heaving as Aether lets go, the rough wall still digging into his back through his sweat-soaked shirt. Does not defend himself.

“Is that true, my ghoul?” The Cardinal snaps, wheeling to face Aurum.

The tone makes something shatter in Aurum’s chest, and he wheezes as he tries to answer before he loses himself entirely. His vision unfocuses. His fingertips go numb. It’s too late. It’s not like he was going to defend himself anyways.

Aurum’s startled out of his haze by a hand clapping down on his shoulder. He yelps like a kit caught in the preserves jar. The Cardinal hauls him out of the green room, leading him into the hallway.

There’s still roadies and staff moving about, teardown beginning to really pick up, but the Cardinal ignores them all. Distantly, Aurum thinks about how different he is from the man he’d met in that office. His hands shake. Does not let his mind go to that closed off door at the very core of himself.

The Cardinal huffs, shoves open a door and flicks on the lights. It’s an unused dressing room, by the looks of it, and he hauls Aurum into it and slams the door behind them.

If he were unglamoured, his ears would be pinned back tight to the point of pain, tail curled around his calf or lashing nervously behind him. But for what it’s worth, in this makeshift human skin, all he can do is hold his arms behind himself, a woman’s voice echoing in the back of his mind long before the Cardinal starts to speak.

“Multi, we cannot afford behavior like this,” he says, the black suit clinging to his skin with sweat as he paces. “We made mistakes, yes, we all did. Myself included, eh heh. But that does not mean we can antagonize each other.”

Aurum’s lost, opens his mouth to speak but it’s like he left his voice back in the other room. Maybe that’s all he’s good at, starting problems. It’s been the case since he was a kit.

“Oh, Multi,” the Cardinal says, voice taking a much different tone, and the pity Aurum finds there makes him bristle, retreat even further into his own mind. “Multi, you don’t have to answer, but I just want you to listen, si?”

It’s all he can do to make himself nod.

“I don’t know what your life was like before all of this. You do not have to tell, of course, only if you want,” the Cardinal begins to babble, but cuts himself off. “What I am saying is. We have to work together. We have to, or this whole thing falls apart around us, no? The Clergy would have our heads. I, frankly, do not care for the anger the three of them all have towards you. Nor the anger you clearly have for them. But I am responsible for you and your lot, and your mistakes don’t just reflect poorly onto you, no? They are my responsibility. And I cannot handle looking bad. The Project is shaky enough as is, I cannot afford any more scrutiny. The Sister Imperator would have my head on a platter.”

Aurum opens his mouth to protest, but the words still don’t come. They wouldn’t be true anyways.

“I hope we all can find a way to work through this, Multi. For my sake, your sake, and the entire band’s sake. I just. I do not understand.”

“I- I don’t know, Cardinal,” Aurum’s voice returns to him then. “I just- I don’t-”

The Cardinal sighs, squeezes his eyes shut. He’s close enough that Aurum can see where his paint’s smudging around the edges and creases, skin shiny with sweat. “You don’t have to have an answer now,” he says, and he sounds just as tired as Aurum feels. “But I want you to apologize. I will be talking to the rest of them later. Just. Please, Multi. We all need you, just as you need us. Please.”

Aurum cringes hard, all of that shame and anger and something that hurts too much to name swirling inside of him. “Yes, Cardinal,” he breathes. His eyes sting. “I’m sorry.”

The Cardinal sets a gloved hand on his shoulder. “We will work on it, yes?”

Aurum nods. It’s all he has energy to do.

“Come, let us get changed. We have a hotel tonight, A fresh start in the morning.”

Aurum nods and follows the Cardinal back to the others.

Unsurprisingly, his fellow ghouls give him as wide a berth as they can muster in the tight quarters. He doesn’t mind, nor does he blame them. He deserves it.

The ride to the hotel is a blur, even though Aurum can feel eyes on him the entire way there. He blinks slowly as the Cardinal presses a keycard into his hand. Distantly, vaguely, he realizes it matches Rain’s.

Aurum sighs softly, makes the trudge down the hallway to their room. It’s just as impersonal as his room back at the Ministry, two beds, a desk and chair, curtains drawn tight, and it’s a comfort and a relief. Rain follows him in, but doesn’t set his bag down.

“I- uh- Multi,” he says, quiet and aloof and bristling. Aurum shuts his eyes for a second before turning to face Rain.

“Yeah?” he says. His own voice sounds like he’s been gargling nails. He winces at the thought of having to sing again tomorrow.

“I talked to Mountain, while you were with Copia,” he says. He can’t quite seem to make eye contact. “I was going to go bunk with him tonight. Thought you might appreciate a little alone time.”

There’s enough truth to it that Aurum can’t call him out for lying. But he can read between the lines on this one. Remembers the way Rain had recoiled when he’d put his hands on Dew. “Thanks,” he says, struggling to shape his mouth around the words. “I- uh- Have a good night?”

Rain gives him a little smile. There’s something sad and distant in his eyes, even through the human glamour. “You too, Multi. Try and get some sleep?”

“I will,” he says. Rain slinks out the door.

The moment the door latches, Aurum’s knees threaten to give out. He sits heavily on the edge of one of the queen beds, bag forgotten. The air conditioning hums like tinnitus in his ears.

He buries his face in his hands and does something he hasn’t done since he was a kit.

Aurum cries.

[lovehotelreservation]

Lineage

Summary: Business or pleasure. 

Respite was hard to attain for the Warrior of Light and the Speaker of the House of Lords. Even now, with you and Aymeric oceans away for a belated honeymoon in Costa del Sol, the two of you weren’t exactly free from your duties.

The task?

To sire an heir to the Borel name.

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Plus Size F!Reader/Aymeric

YEEHAW

WHEN I TELL U THE WAY I YELLED WHEN I GOT THIS COMM PROMPT ON MY KO-FI FHAKLFHAKLF 🥺💙💙💙💙💙🥺 THANK YOU TO THE DEAREST COMMISSIONER FOR THIS CHANCE TO WRITE ABOUT MY FAVORITE BISHOUNEN ELF MANS!!!

I HOPE U ALL ENJOY!!!

----------

Night had fallen but the air was still so warm, so humid.

The sound of gently rolling sapphire waves washing up onto pristine white sand, the exotic scent of surrounding tropical fauna mingling with the smoky burn of a BBQ bonfire malms away down the coastline, the gorgeously ethereal shine of moonlight above in the onyx sky.

From where you stood upon the polished wooden floor of your private bungalow suite with your window open, you were in the ideal position to take in all the sights, scents, and sensations that elated each of your senses.

Truly, it was a beautiful night to be in Costa del Sol.

Though, one whiff of the salt-tinged ocean air instantly took you back to the snow swept lands of Ishgard.

The city you had since called to be your home.

Something made official when you were finally wed to the one and only Aymeric de Borel.

He was why the two of you were in Costa del Sol in the first place.

Aside from finally having the proper honeymoon that the two of you did not get to enjoy after your wedding--given that the escalated rebellions in Ala Mhigo and Doma called for your immediate presence--there was one specific reason why you were here to admire this gorgeous Costa del Sol night.

Wearing nothing but an exquisite royal blue lace chemise.

It wasn’t too long ago that you had just finished up assisting Stephanivien with teaching a lecture to a new class of fresh-faced machinists at the Skysteel Manufactory when none other than a beaming Haurchefant came sprinting towards you the moment you emerged through the door.

“Many tidings to you, my splendid friend! I wish you great blessings upon the Borel heir to be!”

The first sentence you were prepared for, the second you were not.

“Borel heir...to be?” You repeated as your mind processed just what Haurchefant chirped to you.

Though, before you could ask for what he meant, the towering knight was suddenly made to bow by none other than one irritated Estinien.

“Oi, we were supposed to head out to Aurum Vale already,” he grumbled, just before looking towards you with a look of resigned exasperation. “As for you, it’s better if you hear what lover boy has planned for you himself.”

Without sparing another word to even begin to clarify, Estinien proceeded to drag Haurchefant--who happily offered you his goodbyes with a supportive thumbs up--away while muttering something about sprout greenling paladins who bit off more they could chew.

Your subsequent return to the Borel Manor where your husband was there to tenderly greet you with a loving embrace and tender kisses resulted in his affectionate expression becoming intensely flustered when you brought up Haurchefant’s sudden declaration.

The parchment letter marked with the seal of one of Costa del Sol’s most luxurious resorts that was tucked in his pocket was thankfully still kept as a surprise at the very least.

Thus, with the reveal that soon followed, you and Aymeric took off from Ishgard’s eternal winter to bask in the endless summer of Costa del Sol.

And why you were gazing out towards the evening tropical scenery with a fluttering heart.

After all, tonight was meant to not only celebrate the union between you and your husband, but to begin the journey of bearing an heir to the Borel name.

Though Ishgard was in the midst of a historical change within its society to break from tradition and move towards a more open-minded one, there was still an expectation for the House of Lords’s speaker to sire a child, the pressure of which had been pushing increasingly upon Aymeric’s shoulders during your absence.

While starting a family was a conversation that the two of you had spoken about in earnest throughout your relationship prior to this night, to do so now with the layer of political presumption from Ishgard’s governing body was enough to twist your nerves into knots.

A feeling that dissipated the moment you felt a pair of arms wrap tenderly around your waist.

Body heat exemplified by a recent hot shower emanated behind you, the sensation deepened by a chiseled bare chest pressing right against your back, pushing the warmth even further into your skin through the flimsy fabric of your chemise, of which contrasted with the thicker material of a bath towel that hung securely on sturdy hips.

And even here, in a tropical paradise that was oceans away from the inescapable snow that enveloped all of Ishgard, a delightful shiver still trailed along your body from the words that was murmured hotly into your ear,

“I must send my regards to the hotel staff for their hospitality. I did not expect to receive such a divinely wrapped present after my bath.”

Your head turned back, your eyes soon captivated by sapphire irises that gazed earnestly into yours with affection.

Almost overwhelmingly so.

You were used to seeing love akin to absolute reverence in Aymeric’s eyes whenever your gaze would meet his.

But unlike the light that glinted in his blue eyes from when he helped out off the boat that carried you to Costa del Sol, here on this night, there was a darkened, longing desire reflected in his gaze.

Though you had faced many a foe whose schemes spelled ruin across every inch of the realm, it was now that you suddenly found yourself shrinking back with shyness. Giggling amidst your overwhelmed nerves, you teased in response, “Must you charm me more, Ser Aymeric? Was our wedding not enough?”

“You know I will never have enough of you, darling.”

You froze.

Aymeric’s voice was already so dulcetly rich and deep, but the tone of his words smoldered with conviction.

His embrace around your ample waist tightened, a sigh of utter satisfaction escaping him as he beheld your full physique, his face finding its way to the crook of your neck for loving nuzzles. “Gods, when was the last time I’ve gotten to hold you like this? Every inch of you is divine--how I never wish to let go of you.”

Each word spoken was laced with need, all while his hands began to trail over your body in soft caresses, even while his fingers ached to tear off the lace that kept him away from your bare skin.

He drew away from your neck, calling out your name huskily as his eyes found yours once more. “Will you pardon this enamored fool for his selfishness during this holiday, my beloved?” His face closed the distance between yours and his as he continued, “I am going to savor this respite like nothing else--the beautiful time spent with turning you into the mother of my children.”

“Aymeric,” you moaned, feeling your knees weaken as you leaned further against him. What more could you even say at this point when he had you reduced to such a state by the conviction in his words alone?

While he looked all too pleased from having you already melting in his arms, his expression turned serious as he remarked, “Before we begin, I want to make this clear and certain—by no means are we doing this for the sake of Ishgard.”

His hands rested protectively upon your soft belly, his heart already thrumming with excitement to witness your stomach grow rounder and full with his child upon the months to follow. “As you know, starting a family with you has been something I’ve craved the moment you captured my heart.”

Aymeric brought his lips to yours for a kiss most tender. “We’re doing this out of our own shared volition--the House of Lords finally granting me respite so I can claim you over and over was just a blessing from Halone herself.”

Already overwhelmed and dazed by your husband’s intense and loving resolve, all you could let out was a breathless yet eager, “Yes...our shared will.”

A smile quirked onto his lips. “And so we shall share our love with no restraint.”

And then Aymeric’s lips smothered yours for a kiss that was most far from chaste.

Away from the window, towards the bed.

From bathing moonlight to flickering candles.

The kiss shared with your husband was broken for a moment, just so he could gently have you lay upon the bed.

But the moment Aymeric assumed his place on top of you, he became a man possessed.

A man possessed by his love for you, by his desire to claim your body with his seed.

He meant his words from earlier, his hands tearing into the lace of your chemise like gift wrap.

The composed and regal speaker of the House of Lords was nowhere to be found by the way Aymeric hungrily sought out your lips, his hands fondling your supple breasts, his mouth watering at the thought of soon getting to suckle on your nipples and lavish your core with the needy flicks of his tongue while your thick thighs squeezed around his head.

The fumbling yet earnest virgin during the first time you were intimate together was but a precious memory at this point.

Instead, here was a man who knew exactly what to do to elicit the sweet moans of his name off of your lips.

To make you mewl with each teasing pinch and indulgent kiss to your nipples.

To cause your back to arch in sheer pleasure with the obscenely noisy manner he stroked your sopping core with his tongue, all while his hands happily fondled your plump thighs as they remained pressed against either side of his head.

But that knowledge was how he kept you ever on the edge, making sure you remained a step away from your orgasm.

Never to be outright malicious--such would be an outright sin to commit against you as your husband!

Rather, to ready your body for the long and indulgent night to come.

He did not even spare a moment for you to savor his cock with your mouth, keeping you right on your back.

Long had he waited for this moment, and he was going to save every dribble of his cum inside of you instead.

Your lips parted for breathless pants, your cheeks kissed with red heat, your thighs quivering with anticipation once your husband was finally sheathing the full heavy length of his cock into your core.

The delighted hiss of your name from Aymeric’s lips would be forever imprinted in your memory, as would the tremendous pressure he soon exerted as he soon worked the tempo of his thrusts into something swift in its neediness and fierce in its fervor.

One hand locked onto your hip as he plunged his cock into you, the other reached for your breast to squeeze before he planted his lips onto your nipple once more, his mind already anticipating when he would be able to gulp down mouthfuls of sweet milk once you were showing with his child.

Such an experience had him pushing into your core with even greater intensity, of which dragged out yet another lovely squeal from your lips.

He could not resist from grinning, even with his mouth full of your breast.

Onwards he continued, the viciousness of his thrusts sounding out by the indecent slaps of his balls against your ass each time his cock plunged inside of you.

So free, so unrestrained.

Aymeric felt alive, he felt deeply in love.

His lips left your nipple with a pop as he lifted his head, driven by the desire to catch sight of the look on your face as he felt his orgasm approach, all while your slick core milked his cock even more with your own imminent release.

The helpless pleads for more of his touch, the obscenely yearning look of desire on your face.

Halone be merciful on whatever was left of his self-restraint.

Your name was uttered out at a gutteral low from the depths of his throat.

His eyes caught yours yet again, holding onto your gaze as his thrusts quickened in his frantic need for release.

“My beloved, you already enamor me so with those elegant curves of yours--”

You felt the drag of his hand along your body, cupping your breasts, caressing your sides, trailing longingly over your belly.

“--but then, when I think of you strolling through Ishgard, shining with a maternal glow as you carry around our child…!”

A visible shudder seized hold of his body, his teeth clenching with pleasure as he readied himself for what was soon to come, a reaction mirrored by you as you prepared for your own orgasm.

“By the Fury, I will not let you out of this bed until your womb is absolutely flooded with my seed!”

With a snarl, Aymeric captured your lips in a scorching kiss as he pounded into your core harder, hot sticky spurts of his seed soon being pumped into you with each thrust that continued on and on afterwards.

Your arms hugged around his neck, pulling him close as the two of you relished in your orgasms, the two of you smiling into your kiss.

Tonight would be the first of many spent away from Ishgard, but oh how the two of you hoped to return to your home together with a newfound soul in your belly.

[fantasmalforces]

❋ Maverick and Aurum, if it’s at all plausible! (aa sorry, I know we have some stuff going that I need to get to but! I feel like this would be interesting fhfjdk)

. * ･ ｡ﾟ☆ Drunken Kiss Meme // CLOSED ☆ ｡ﾟ･* .

// Put under a cut bc it got kinda long-

Such a special occasion deserved a very special drink to perform a special toast to! Granted, it currently escaped Maverick just what that occasion was, but he knew it must have been very very special. It warranted him going into his collection of vintage wines and drawing out a bottle of 200 year old spiced and shimmering Druid wine. It was easily one his most expensive and most sacred possessions, not to mention one of his most potent drinks. Rich deep maroon, corked and emanating some heavenly forest smells as he poured them both a glass. Half a glass in and he was certain he wouldn’t make it through his first. It was stronger than anything he’d ever tasted, and the flavor was immaculate. Words failed him, both in mind and in speech. Idle conversation turned to nonsensical laughter and thoughtless babbling over amusing thoughts and old experiences worthy of such a deep, rich sound.

Other things were failing him too. His ability to speak, yes. Slowly but surely. His sense of shame, most definitely. His sense of personal space also. Though he hardly considered that last one his fault. Aurum was so stunningly beautiful, the glimmering and shimmering shine of his radiant beauty positively captivated the cat. Made his pupils dilate, threatens to drive out the color of his eyes and filled them with the demon’s reflection. It drew him in like a moth to a flame, swayed him to think impure thoughts through the cloudy haze of elderberries and Druidic spices lingering on his tongue. Not that he’d be able to articulate them into anything beyond thoughts. He lingered closer and closer, spilling out words he could not even hear leaving his own lips, but could still recognize the dull feeling of the purr in his voice as it tickled its way up his throat. There was a brief second he recognized he was standing inches away from his companion— when had they stood up?

Then there came a moment where he felt two pairs of arms wrapped around him, and his own arms encircling the demon’s body. And GOD— was it a heavenly feeling. To be surrounded by warmth like that, tickling up his spine and making his tail swish in satisfied delight. There was a moment where his composure was thrown to the wind, left unattended to, and a far more primal desire was embraced. He buried his face into the crook of Aurum’s shoulder where it met his neck, breathing his scent in deeply. Committing it to memory. Even if he blacked out tonight, which was slowly becoming more and more of a possibility with how light on his feet he suddenly felt, he was certain that scent was burned into his mind permanently. He’d never forget it. Not for a second. There was something decadently mouthwatering about it, so familiar. And the comforting feeling of those arms around him. For a moment, that charming businessman facade slipped, and he craved for nothing more than to stay in Aurum’s arms like this forever. It felt so entirely safe. So homely. It seemed like a dream in a world where nowhere really felt like home anymore.

Maybe it was just the alcohol when Maverick drew back, he still clung to Aurum like a lifeline. He swore it was just for support, and hearing the other laugh felt his cheeks burn in embarrassment. There was a moment where he fumbled with his familiar mask, struggled to put it back on. Those eyes stole his ability to think clearly— as did this wine— memo to him to really save it next time. Thoughts flashed in his head, wild and unorganized and yet one still always came to the forefront. An itch, a temptation. Something he hesitated to act upon even in a state which stole from him any sort of reluctance. And yet those eyes seemed to mirror his thoughts, lure him in. Once more his wings fluttered, bringing him closer, and finally he allowed himself to be burned.

There was no thought to his actions. Only the steady fluttering of his heart and the subconscious thought of his hindbrain that bid him lean forward and press his lips to the demon’s. It was sloppy and uncoordinated with the alcohol still sloshing about in his system, but there was a burning passion behind it. A motivation and a desire to convey something more, something that the words eluded him from and likely would for some time. Until his head was clear, and not just of the alcohol. There was something behind it. Something he dared not show, but that the alcohol drew back the curtain to reveal. Something he would not face and would not let Aurum face, but for now, that he would try to indulge them both in for the sake of simple pleasures. How few and far between those were.

And nothing brought Maverick such delight quite like Aurum did.

[laurelsofhighever]

The Falcon and the Rose ch. 24 - The Falcon, the Rose, and the Witch

Chapter 1 on AO3 This chapter on AO3 Masterpost here

CW: canon-typical violence; battle scene; animal butchery

Twenty-sixth day of Bloomingtide, 9:32 Dragon

They were losing the battle. In a brief respite, with the shattered remains of Gwaren’s outmatched cavalry around her, Rosslyn noted all the cracks in their defensive line with an expert eye. The centre square was folding, drawing inwards like a bow under tension, and on the left flank, the sheer weight of Cauthrien’s numbers beat back against Highever’s infantry. Their enemy’s banners fluttered over their ranks, feinting like real dragons at the scarlet War Dogs still snarling on the hill. Yet there were weaknesses there as well: Cauthrien’s tactics, while sound, were uninspired and stolid, and Rosslyn ground her teeth fighting back the urge to take advantage of openings where magefire or a well-placed cavalry charge might turn the tide of battle.

It was too dangerous. They had committed to this, and to change the plan now would risk not only the lives of everyone under her command but also their only chance of victory. Gwaren’s troops had to reach Lothering swollen with their win, unsuspecting; this fight was nothing more than bait to a trap, a way to break up the advantage of numbers and direct their own hubris back on them, so no matter how galling she found it to try and lose on purpose, Rosslyn kept her seat, her mind fixed on victory and not on the men dying in their hundreds to see it through.

Alistair was commanding the infantry, dressed in Cailan’s armour to draw Cauthrien’s eye. With Loghain’s expectations and her own hunger for glory weighing on her, it hardly mattered whether or not she saw through the ruse, but it made him a target, a prize just waiting for any skilled archer or infantryman with a lucky sword. Forcing down the churn in her stomach, Rosslyn dragged her gaze away from where he stood behind a bristling wall of royal guard and swept it along the lines to where the templars stood defending the mages. She had put them in an exposed position, trusting to Irminric’s sense to keep them safe, but as she watched, Cauthrien pulled back reserves from the buckling Highever flank and sent them to surround the low rise where he and the other templars waited with ready blades.

Rosslyn raised her shield hand to signal the cavalry behind her, noting the lather on the horses’ necks as the last of the runners scurried away with emptied waterskins. Under the blaze of the summer sun, the brief respite had been necessary, but did little to assuage the thirst clinging to the back of her throat, or the last spiteful squeeze of her courses roiling low in her gut. Sweat trickled down the hollow of her back, and with nowhere to go, it soaked into the fabric layers beneath her armour, with the blood of the men she had killed, and stayed there, congealing and itchy. With a roll of her shoulders, she dismissed the feeling and reached up for the visor of the Falcon helm. The snap as it closed shut in darkness and the heat of her breath – a familiar claustrophobia, but better than getting an arrow in the eye.

Lifting her sword over her head, she nudged Lasan’s flanks with her heels and led off the line at a brisk canter, sweeping down behind the pickets to a cheer from the back rows of the infantry. She didn’t turn to see if Alistair raised a salute with the others who cheered them on but instead raised the pace, directing Morrence to take her flank and swing out wide. Together both spears of the cavalry spilled over the rise behind the mages, a wave of noise and muscle that pushed back the wall of Gwaren soldiers trying to surround them. Immolations and freezing spells lashed overhead – horses whinnied as the first saddles emptied, but their momentum carried them forward, biting deep into the ranks of the enemy until one field commander had the presence of mind to call for pikes. An arrow took him in the shoulder before he could finish the order, but it was already being followed.

“Knight-Captain – get them out!” Morrence bellowed as she reined her charger to a halt.

Gwaren pikemen pushed forward, closing ranks to break the charge. A second row behind them formed up with swords drawn to defend them against the mabari snaking through gaps in the defence, but the dogs were savage, protected at neck and chest by thick plates of boiled leather, and more than one black-clad soldier fell under their tearing jaws.

Deaf to the screams that welled around her, Rosslyn used the distraction and grimly hacked at any who pressed too close. One man reached up and tried to drag her from her saddle. She butted him with the edge of her shield, sending him off balance under the strike of Lasan’s hooves. Out of the corner of her eye, she measured the mages’ retreat and allowed the melee to push her troopers back, just enough that they covered the escape to safer ground, but even as they withdrew, soldiers crowded in on every side, and almost too late Rosslyn spotted the way Gwaren’s line was bending, curving round to try and cut off the cavalry from any reinforcements.

Or to stop them going to the aid of anyone else. From her vantage point she saw the central line of the infantry finally give way, the spearpoint of Gwaren soldiers that set straight for Alistair’s position on the hill. Cauthrien, it seemed, was not so unoriginal after all.

She had no time to think about it. Her standard-bearer fell. The Laurels fluttered to the blood-churned earth and a ripple of despair sighed through the ranks of horse at her back.

“Not today!” she roared in defiance, her sword a flash across the jugular of the man who took the banner. “Morrence! To me! Tell Irminric we’re going through them!”

She saw a gap, a break where the crush was not so deep. Lasan bugled a challenge as she kicked him forward and she answered, screaming a wordless battle cry that rattled in the hollow space behind her helmet. The dogs raked deep, baying, and the troopers followed. The hole they punched in the enemy line opened slowly, saddles emptying and horses stumbling, but the edge of the melee was in sight and determination drove them forward. For a moment it seemed the line was reforming, grouping to halt them again, until a shadow boiled over the ground before the horses, a living thing, seething and seeking out the soldiers directly ahead. The enemy ranks drew back, wailing, scrambling to get away from unseen monsters – a Terror hex, Rosslyn realised – and the troopers cut them down as they cowered.

She had to get to Alistair.

After what seemed like an age, they burst out onto clear ground, breaking into a canter as she propped right and made for the flank of Highever’s forces to regroup and swing back to defend the centre. A man flagged her down as she approached, and when she lifted her visor she recognised the face of the Amaranthine deserter, Riley, though the sergeant’s band on his arm and the Laurels on his surcoat were all but lost under a wash of blood.

“We canna hold them back, Y’ Ladyship,” he panted. “They’re gan’a break through. It’s now or neva.”

“Keep them occupied as long as you can,” she ordered. “My troopers will help. I’ll get His Highness out and then you fall back – our quitting the field will be your signal.”

“Aye, Ma’am.”

Cauthrien’s position was pressing now. With the mages in retreat and the king’s infantry drawing in to guard their flanks, Loghain’s young protégée had more soldiers to commit to the assault on their lines, and every step taken only increased her advantage. Though the plan from the start had been to lose, the defeat was starting to look a little too convincing for Rosslyn’s liking. They were running out of time.

Morrence halted beside her, her hand pressed over a wound at her side. “Nothing but a scratch,” she ground out when she noticed the direction of Rosslyn’s gaze.

“A scratch?”

“I’ve had worse – it’s just a flesh wound. Orders?”

“I leave the cavalry to you,” Rosslyn replied. “Harry the advance and break away when you can. I’ll take the prince and meet you at the rendezvous.”

“Best hurry, he’s got company.”

Rosslyn spared a glance as her captain wheeled and spurred away, for an instant lost for how she might get Alistair out of the battle – there was no time to find him a spare horse, and the infantry would be upon him too fast to get him out on foot.

“You’re not going to like this,” she muttered to Lasan as she sheathed her sword and whistled for Cuno. He broke away from the pack, easily keeping pace with the large stallion as she once more pushed him into a canter.

The first of Gwaren’s banners already hovered over the royal guard, the sound of fighting closing on all sides. Alistair, shining in the king’s aurum plate, gave a rallying cry to those around him and struck out with the pommel of his sword, a blow that sent his opponent staggering back into the path of Lieutenant Mhairi’s blade, but more soldiers rose to fill the man’s fall.

“Alistair!”

He turned. Mhairi saw before he did what Rosslyn intended to do, and yelled for the guard around her to form up and block any advance that tried to reach them. Four strides out, Rosslyn leaned down from the saddle, her right arm out, hand poised to reach for his, hoping her momentum would be enough. Time slowed in the space between breaths. His weapons dropped, too cumbersome in his hands, too much weight when there was no room for miscalculation.

He caught her hand – his weight pulled at her shoulder as she swung him up behind her. Lasan bucked, squealing, but Alistair’s arms wound around her waist, anchoring him to the horse’s back.

“Hold on!” Rosslyn called over her shoulder as she turned to make for the safety of the trees. “Rach, Lasan! Rach gu lath!”

A cry of frustration swelled from Gwaren’s ranks as Lasan jolted forward, desperation breaking them through Highever’s flank in one last frenzied attempt to capture prince and teyrna both. Rosslyn’s sword sprang into her hand once more, ready to cut down any who came within reach, while Cuno snarled at her side, using his bulk and the snap of his teeth to throw men out of the way.

And then they were out of the final knot of soldiers, the press of bodies falling away on all sides with a last kick of Lasan’s hooves as they galloped for the hill and the dense cover that would hide them from any archers left in Cauthrien’s ranks. Once they crested the hill with no sign of pursuit, Rosslyn eased off and the horse slowed to a halt, tossing his head. she fumbled with the chinstrap of her helmet, eager to have it off, to breathe fresh air again.

“Are you alright?” Alistair panted behind her. He still held tightly to her waist, but had lifted the visor of his own helmet to watch her as she looked back at the tattered detritus of the battle.

“This seemed like a much better plan a few hours ago,” she said.

He tucked away a matted lock of her hair that was catching in his mouth. “It’ll work. Astillo and Gideon know what they’re doing. And if they fail, this would be a good opportunity for your spy to prove herself.”

“My spy?” She sighed. “We’re putting a lot of faith in Cauthrien’s sense of honour.”

“We know she has one,” he answered. “And exchanging food and shelter in return for leaving civilians alone is a better deal than making her soldiers fight twice in one day, especially if she wants to prove to Ferelden that Loghain would make a better king than Cailan.”

“Gideon told you he was going to paint us all as tyrants, did he?” she chuckled, clucking at Lasan to walk on again. “He’ll sell it – the man should have been an actor. But still…” She sighed, passing a last look back over her shoulder. “It stings to think whatever happens now is out of our hands.”

“I know,” Alistair agreed.

It was cooler under the trees. Without any way to take it off, the layers of plate and mail still chafed, but the discomfort numbed as the battle-blood faded and fatigue stirred in its place. Over the jingle of harness and Cuno’s heavy panting, birdsong wove through the branches, twining with the distraction of soft, filtered sunlight and mossy banks starred with fragrant woodland flowers, so that the harsh memories of the battle started to warp into something distant, unreal.

“Thank you, by the way, for saving my life back there,” Alistair said into the silence, as if no time had passed. “They’ll write songs about it, just wait and see.”

Rosslyn shifted in the saddle, startled out of a doze. “I doubt it – but you’re welcome.”

“What do you mean? You pulled off a dashing, daring rescue and whisked the Prince of Ferelden away beyond the reach of certain doom! I imagine Ser Cauthrien wasn’t pleased, but I for one was very impressed.”

“I think you’re just trying to flatter me so I won’t make you walk,” she answered airily, smirking over her shoulder.

“Teyrna Rosslyn, I am shocked. It hurts my feelings that you think I would use base flattery on a valiant, generous, capable woman such as yourself just to save my poor feet from a few hours of tramping through the mud.” He leaned forward, still keeping his hands discreetly at her waist, and laid his chin on her shoulder like a puppy looking for treats. “Is it working?”

She stifled a giggle. “You’d be better off trying to charm the horse, since he’s the one carrying you.”

“That’s much less fun than charming you, dear lady,” he purred, delighted by the slight shiver he noticed as his breath stirred the fine hairs on the back of her neck.

“What makes you think you’re charming me?”

“Well you haven’t kicked me off yet.”

“I suppose I’ll have to concede that,” she hummed as she allowed herself to lean back into his shoulder. “You can stay – for now.”

The pleasant mood didn’t last long. As the afternoon wore on it became clear they were lost, in a completely different part of the forest to the rendezvous they should have reached at least an hour before. They had seen nobody since the battle, not even stragglers looking for somewhere safe to rest.

“I don’t understand it,” Alistair grumbled as he washed the back of his neck in a stream running alongside the path. “We’re following the trail, and it’s not like the country around Lothering is that wild. Even if we were lost, we should have run into a farmstead or something by now. And I could certainly do without the midges,” he added, swatting his cheek.

“The shadows are in the wrong place – we’re heading southeast, not west.” Rosslyn’s eyes scanned the open woodland around them. At her side, Lasan snorted and swished his tail. “Perhaps we took a wrong turn somewhere.”

He looked up. “I have a feeling if we turn around we’ll only have the same problem.”

“I think you’re right.”

The trees above crowded over them, larger than most that made up the forests in the hinterlands around Lothering and Redcliffe, and somehow more twisted. The birdsong had stopped. Reaching a decision, Rosslyn unbuckled her sword from Lasan’s saddle and strapped it to her waist instead. She whistled for Cuno, who raised his head from the gnarled set of roots he had been studying and trotted over to her side.

“Something wants us to go this way,” she told Alistair, “So let’s go. We’ll get to the end of the trail, find whatever is doing this, kill it if necessary, and then be on our way. What?”

“Nothing,” he replied, grinning fondly. “I’m just trying to imagine what you must be like at court.”

“Bored out of my mind, usually,” she admitted, answering his expression with a smile of her own.

“Should we mount up?”

She shook her head. “Whatever this is, we’re not going to run from it, and we’ll have an easier time on the ground fighting off anything that wants a piece of us. Besides, I’d rather not tax Lasan more than I have to.”

With one last look along the way they had come, she lifted the reins over her horse’s head and set off, stretching out her stride to combat the cramp in her legs, and to steady her nerves. At her side, Alistair raked his eyes along the treeline, determined to be vigilant for anything that might leap out from the shadows despite lacking any weapon that would be useful in a fight.

He was the one who spotted the first totem as mist started to creep over the path behind them.

“Is it Chasind?” he wondered, watching Cuno prowl over to sniff the grisly thing. It was a hart skull, still with a few scraps of rotting flesh clinging to the bone, hung on the top of a frame lashed together in a rough human shape decorated with mouldy furs and loops of beads made from red stone. Feathers and bleached vertebrae were tied to the hart’s antlers on long strings of sinew that caught the wind and clinked together with a hollow sound like dry sticks.

“Don’t touch it,” Rosslyn advised. “We must be getting close.”

The mist closed in around them. Alistair drew in closer to Rosslyn’s side until he was near enough that their hands brushed with every stride, a paltry touch through two layers of gauntlets, but still a welcome reassurance as the path narrowed and ever more empty-eyed sentinels peered at them through the trees.

When at last the forest opened into a clearing, what they found was no less disconcerting. An old woman sat on a flat rock on the gravel shore of the stream that ran through the glade, humming a tune as she pulled the guts from the carcass of a rabbit, her hands bathed scarlet to the wrist. Around her, ravens perched and watched her movements with careful eyes, rustling their wings in anticipation of the moment she would fling the animal’s innards out for them to squabble over. She watched them for a moment, as if they were a mildly entertaining circus act, and then turned her eyes back to her fire and the task of peeling the rabbit from its skin.

Squaring his shoulders, Alistair stepped forward, but Rosslyn’s hand on his arm made him pause.

“Be careful,” she said. She was looking at Cuno, whose ears were pressed back flat against his head with every hair along his spine standing to attention.

“Whaaat?” he checked. “You mean you don’t think this old lady is completely harmless and wouldn’t say ‘boo’ to a goose?”

She offered him a wry quirk of her mouth. “I grew up with stories like this. I think that’s Flemeth.”

“Flemeth? The Witch of the Wilds Flemeth who steals babies and turns unsuspecting travellers into frogs?”

“You can’t turn people into frogs.”

“Maybe you can’t.”

Rosslyn rolled her eyes at the teasing. “Well we can’t turn back. She brought us here for a reason.”

“Or,” Alistair countered, “we just happened to get caught in some nefarious, witchy trap and we’ll go the same way as every other unfortunate who came before us.”

“Are you going to hover over there all day?” a gravelly voice called as Rosslyn opened her mouth to respond. “You must be tired after your travels.”

The ground beneath them shifted. Lasan skittered sideways – Cuno yelped at the air – Alistair read panic in Rosslyn’s eyes as she searched for an explanation. They stood in the middle of the meadow over twenty paces from the treeline that had sheltered them, exposed and wrong-footed without even a flash of light or a clap of thunder to mark the change. Sharing a guarded look, she eased the grip on her sword and eased out a steadying breath.

“Great,” Alistair muttered. “Frog time.” He laid a hand on Rosslyn’s arm, and at her nod, he led the way across to where the old woman still sat cleaning her rabbit, ignoring them.

“Good day to you, madam!” he called, with his most winning smile. “Could you help us? It appears we’ve lost our way.”

The old woman canted her head to regard him with unnerving yellow eyes. “Did you?” she asked, in a voice rich with amusement. “Perhaps it was the way that lost you!” She cackled. “Oh, but manners are refreshing. And what of you, girl – are your words as pretty as your companion?”

“We’re sorry for the intrusion, An-dìoghaltas,” Rosslyn answered warily. “But we would welcome your help.”

For a moment, the old woman only stared, searching for something in the cautious defiance of Rosslyn’s expression. “An-dìoghaltas,” she murmured eventually. “Lady of Vengeance. That’s a name I have not heard in a long time. Do you know me, girl?”

“I… don’t know,” came the answer, halting. “Nan told me stories about Flemeth when I was a child. There was a tower room we were forbidden to enter.”

“But enter it you did, as children feel they must do, always looking for knowledge, until they find more than they bargained for.” The amusement solidified into something sharper. “And tell me, what did you find?”

Rosslyn blanched away, a muscle ticking in her jaw, and the old woman’s mouth curled up at one corner.

“So much about you is uncertain, and the wheels have only just started turning,” she said. “But… yes. There might be hope for you yet, if you have the stomach to let it in.” She cackled again, at some private joke.

Alistair stepped forward, almost so he was blocking Rosslyn from further teasing, though the action seemed unconscious. “Are you Flemeth, then?”

“As much as I am anyone,” came the silky reply. “Please, join me.”

They had little choice in the end but to stay in Flemeth’s clearing. She made a passable hostess, for a swamp witch, though as he sat by the fire watching her ladle stew into three bowls that had appeared just as unfathomably as everything other utensil she had used, Alistair could feel the lingering ache in his shoulders from all the wood he had been made to chop for her that afternoon.

On the other side of the fire, Lasan’s saddle pad and both his and Rosslyn’s gambesons hung on makeshift racks of hazel saplings, drying after she had tried to scrub the worst of the battle grime out into the stream. It had been distracting, watching her curse and grumble as she lathered soapwort into the cloth with no idea what she was doing; when she had come to him, dressed down to a sleeveless tunic and breeches, with the clean-ish laundry thrown over one arm and a full waterskin in the other, the axe had very nearly slipped out of his hands. The whole afternoon had seemed so ordinary, so removed from the glitter of court and the political barbs that now made up his days, that part of him wished he didn’t have to go back at all. He could be happy with a simple life. As he watched Rosslyn take her bowl of stew and tear off a hunk of flatbread for her dog, however, he knew it would never suit her. Winters were harsh; peasants spent their energy on surviving, not on bringing about change, and she could never accept such an existence when she was instead given the power to defend others who needed it.

“How long will we be staying here?” he asked.

Flemeth chewed a slow mouthful, head tilted to listen to the animals creeping through the forest around them. “That is a question my daughter would ask me incessantly – though without the same polite restraint you show, of course.” She shook her head. “Morrigan was always so eager for the wide world, and she chafed and chafed until she could stand the Wilds no more and left. She thinks she knows what’s what better than I, or anyone, but we shall see. My question to you is the same I posed to her. Why must you go?”

“We’re fighting a war,” Rosslyn answered with a frown. “Our friends are looking for us. If we don’t return people will die.”

“And people will die if you do.” Flemeth shrugged. “After all, you send them to their deaths, do you not? And what of the loyal Fereldans whose blood you were so diligently cleaning off your sword but an hour ago? Wars happened long before you were born, girl, and people will die long after your bones turn to dust, and most of them will never matter in the grand scheme of things.”

The younger woman bristled. “Yes, surely it’s better to sit in the woods mocking those who would seek justice for those who have been wronged.”

“Justice, you say?” Flemeth shot a piercing glare over the fire, that dark amusement once more dancing in her eyes. “And when does justice become vengeance?”

“We didn’t start this conflict,” Alistair interrupted quickly. “Loghain did. We’re only trying to stop him.”

“Ah yes, now we come to it…” With a tired sigh and a creak of old joints, Flemeth set her half-eaten bowl of stew aside and picked up a stick to stoke the fire. “Are you so sure you fight for such a noble cause?” She chuckled, a sound like the dry bones of the totem they had come across earlier. “Loghain no doubt thinks his cause is noble, too, and you the hindrance. So angry, so spurred by injustice, that lad, but it’s not his rage you’re battling now. Your enemy is fear.”

“His fear of Orlais,” Rosslyn guessed.

Flemeth glanced to her, with eyes as alien as a cat’s. “Men’s hearts hold shadows darker than any tainted creature, child, and some grow slowly, and by then they have infected others and spread, until even a whole country might succumb. And it cannot be defeated merely by shaking swords at it.”

The poked fire threw up a shower of sparks as one of the logs cracked and collapsed into the embers. The night around them closed in, distant starlight, the bark of a fox, cold tendrils of air that oozed against exposed inches of flesh not tightly hidden within a blanket.

“How do we stop him?” Alistair asked when the silence stretched.

Flemeth hummed and took up her stew again. “Fear is a very healthy thing most of the time – it warns us of danger, reminds us of our limits, protects us from carelessness – and yet, when holds you hostage, it can be hard to make it let go.” The words, spoken so carefully, held a weight that pinned the two warriors to their seats. “The question to ask yourselves is, when does a person let go of fear?”

Alistair gulped and glanced to Rosslyn, but she was frowning down at the heart of the fire. Neither of them had an answer.

[verbumincarcerem]

you were made to suffer

Prologue, Ch. 1

A big thank you to @zacksfairest for the initial Ardyn ask she sent to me. Without it, I would not have found the inspiration for this fic nor have opening lines of his dialogue to shamelessly pilfer for my own use. Thank you, bb!

Chapter 2: Intra Insomnia

Two weeks later, Melody consigned herself to a Hammerhead visit. Her truck desperately needed repairs, and she'd run out of reasons to put it off. The Hammerhead's lead mechanic, Cindy Aurum, inspected Mel’s truck with a raised eyebrow, her arms akimbo. "I swear, you go through cars like a rich boy runnin’ ‘round with his daddy's money. I ain't never seen the like." "At least I didn't total it," Melody said, keeping Talcott's role in the whole thing a secret. With more seriousness, she asked, "It isn't totaled, right?" "Naw," Cindy said, rapping a knuckle against the hood. "I can fix it. Just gonna take a bit 'a time. We're real backed up right now."

"That's okay. I have nowhere in particular to be." But Cindy kept studying the truck, a pensive purse to her lips. "Say, weren't you drivin' an old Fusion last I saw you?" "Was that what it was? You know I don't know car models, Cind." "Where'd you get this one?" Melody settled for the simple answer. "I found it." Cindy threw her a hard look. "Am I about to be workin' on a stolen truck?" "Not exactly," Melody reasoned. "I found it by the side of the road near the chocobo tracks, keys tossed in the dirt. I waited for a good two hours for someone to come get it, and that's a long time in Terra Daemonica. When no one did, I took it." She shrugged. "I've been needing a good truck. 'Sides, left the Fusion there, keys in the ignition for a quick getaway in case someone needed it." Cindy sighed. "Well, ain't heard 'a nobody reportin' it stolen, so I guess you're off the hook. Again." "Different rules when it's the apocalypse, Cind." Melody beamed and waved before making her way towards the diner. "And thanks!" Melody went on a few hunts with the resident hunters, including Gladiolus, Iris' brother. She didn't know him particularly well, but the man seemed to be more introspective lately. When she told him, "Prompto told me to tell you hi," he got quiet. Almost broodingly so. Melody left it alone. She wasn't close to any members of the Crownsguard, but she did know they used to be inseparable. With Noctis vanishing, everything had changed. Part of her wished she knew what had happened, but her sensible side firmly reminded her, "It doesn't concern you. Keep moving."

What did concern her was scoring a decent bed to sleep in and perhaps a fine hunter to share it with. This trip, she managed it, hitting it off with a man named Hector, all smoldering green eyes and arms that knew how to handle a broadsword. They were living in fast times, uncertain times. Melody saw no sense in waiting around and hopefully not die before she got what she wanted. She saw even less sense in enduring a dry spell on top of Armageddon. Only so much for one person to take.

The Citadel's two towers loomed above all other buildings in sight, glass gleaming an ominous black in the dark. Approaching it was like passing through the gates of death; once you were there, there would be no going back. She didn't even hesitate. Though the entrance stretched a forebodingly long distance, every nerve in her telling her to turn back, she kept jogging forward. Up the dark front steps. Inside the atrium. Down the hall until she found an elevator. She didn't question why the lights were on within the Citadel, why the elevator still worked. For some reason, that didn't matter. Out the elevator. Down the winding halls and into… The Throne Room. Light from the wall lamps illuminated the high throne rising above the room. Beyond a set of stairs, the black throne was inlaid with gold filigree and a back of red velvet. A wall of gleaming gold surrounded it, the color subtle instead of gaudy, only shining where the light reflected off its surface. Her breath caught at the sight. She placed her foot on the first step, wanting to approach that glorious seat of noble kings, to pay her respects. A hand seized her wrist, and before she could turn to look, a deep voice said in a deceptively dangerous lilt, "There you are, my—" A snore ripped violently through the camper, and Melody's eyes snapped open, only to glare at Hector's still-sleeping form, sawing enough logs to build a small city. Which meant she wouldn't be able to fall back asleep. Throwing his arm off her, she rose and attended to her normal morning routine to make herself presentable. All the while, her latest dream nudged and prodded her, but the more she tried to remember it, the hazier it became. At last, she considered. Should she just go to Insomnia and check the place out? Would the dreams stop then? She was willing to try. Anything to get a good, dreamless night's sleep for once. Melody shut the door of the camper behind her, stretched, then waltzed over to the diner. Takka's Pit Stop was gradually being converted into a hunter stronghold. Many of the booths had been removed to make room for crates of weapons, medical supplies, and a few sleeping cots. But the bar was still operable, and Takka himself manned the counter, still taking food orders and providing information when he could. "Oh, didn't see you there!" Takka said, startled at the sight of her leaning against the bar. "What can I get you?" "Sorry to bother you," said Melody as casually as possible, "but I was wondering if you could tell me the best way to get to Insomnia from here." "Insomnia?" His brow furrowed. "Why on earth would you want to go there?" "Just trying to stay prepared. You never know what can happen, and Lucis isn't exactly the most secure right now, you know?" "Yeah, I hear ya," Takka sighed. "Normally, you'd just take the bridge in, but we haven't managed to clear all the vehicles yet." "What'd'ya mean?" Takka leaned on the counter, looking much older than his forty years. "When Insomnia was seized, a lotta people evacuated the city into Lucis, but the Nifs put up a blockade on this end, and a lotta folk didn't make it out. We thought now that the Empire is largely no more that we'd start seeing some people fleeing from the daemons, but no one that was still in the city has been seen since." Takka straightened, eyes boring into the counter. "Nothing left but empty cars." "Damn," she muttered. "I didn't even consider that." "Anyway," Takka said, changing the subject, "you might make it a mile driving past the blockade, but after that, you'd have to walk the rest of the way, and I don't recommend it." No, that definitely wouldn't work. Too many daemons along miles and miles of vehicle-clogged, narrow bridge surrounded by water. She'd have a death wish going that way. "The only other way I could recommend is by boat," Takka went on, "but you'd have to leave out of Galdin Quay, what's left of it." And for that, she'd need to find someone with a boat. "I gotcha. Thanks for the help, anyway, Takka." It took Melody the better part of a week to locate anyone with a boat much less a person crazy enough to take her to Insomnia. In that time, she'd discovered that the topic of the Crown City was a dangerously touchy subject for most people, the worst experience coming from Gladio. "You've got no damn business being there," he'd told her fiercely, like she was a misbehaving child. "It'll be a cold day in hell before I let a stranger tell me my business," she said coolly. Cognac brown eyes flashing, Gladio grit his teeth and flexed his large hands into fists. "Look, just take it from me. Even going to the city with back-up is a death sentence. The daemons there are on a whole other level." "I hear you, I hear you. Sorry I asked, sheesh." Gladio watched her very closely over the next few days, suspicious and rightly so. But he couldn't just hang around the Hammerhead, and Melody didn't want or need a permission slip from him. Still, she was more discreet, and she soon found a man named Benjamin who could sail her to Insomnia. "For a price," Benjamin said, his skin tanned and pockmarked from the sun, white whiskers beginning to grow in amidst his brown beard. His head was bald save for the baseball cap he wore, and his clothes implied he was still more of a fisherman than a hunter. "How much?" "For a journey like this, one hundred big ones." One-hundred thousand gil. A steep price, but she was asking for a steep risk, and right now she had more than enough to cover the expense. Who could say things would stay that way if she waited? "Fine, but you'll get half now and half upon delivery." "Seventy now," he argued, blue eyes never flinching, "and that's my final offer." Good enough for her. They shook on it. The next morning, she found herself stepping out of her repaired truck, staring out at the once luxurious pier of Galdin Quay. Daemons roamed the beach, the hillsides, so many everywhere she looked. She hurried down the pier, hoping her truck would stay safe until she got back. She'd parked next to Ben's as there was strength in solidarity. The bar and luxury suites were almost too sad to look at, having been broken into and stripped by looters and squatters so many months ago. There were no more lights on at the pier, so she mostly felt her way down the stairs using the handrail, feeling relieved to see Ben's flashlight blinking towards her as he finished prepping his motorboat. "You came prepared, I see," he said in his gravelly voice, nodding toward her, or more accurately the weapons she carried. Daggers in her boots and inside her knee-length coat. Sword and satchel of curatives at her side. Bow and arrows between her shoulder blades. "I overpack sometimes," Melody quipped as she paid him what she owed then boarded. Ben untied the last rope and stepped on after her. "A good thing in this case." He started up the motor, and they were gone in minutes. He let her watch him captain the boat, and soon he was showing her how things worked to pass the time. Several compasses and maps were spread along the dash, a necessary measure now that there were no stars to guide sailors at night. Melody noticed he'd brought his own sword and several firearms. "You've been wanting to go back, too." "Just needed an excuse," Ben confirmed. He adjusted their course slightly, turning the wheel clockwise. "You from Insomnia?" "I grew up there," he replied. "Moved out to the country with my wife, Astrals rest her soul, about seven years ago. We both fell in love with the simple life. But my son and his boyfriend still lived in the city when…" When Niflheim had come. "I'm so sorry," she said. "I been makin' my peace with it," Ben said, voice gruff in a way that had nothing to do with the sea salt in the air. "But I just… I need to see it." Melody nodded. "I understand." "You had family in the city?" Not a soul. But wanting to maintain the air of camaraderie, she said, "I'm the same. I need to see it, too." A few hours later, the outer wall loomed on their starboard side, the city as dark and gloomy as all the rest. Benjamin followed the bridge in, drifting the boat to a stop once the street grew level with the water. All was quiet as they stepped onto Insomnian soil. A few street lights still flickered on and off. Melody paid him the rest, as agreed, and she asked, "Want to stick together?" "If it's all the same to you, I'd rather do this alone. You're a hunter, so I feel I can count on you to not get in over your head." "And what about you?" "I can handle it. I won't be lingerin'." He pointed towards a side street, a restaurant on the corner with its windows busted out and a dead, neon sign ripped halfway off. "Just a few blocks from here is where Lucas lived. I should be back within an hour." That's all the time she cared to take here, too. "Okay, I'll meet back with you then. Stay safe." He nodded and started off. Melody watched him go then took her own path, heading towards the city's center. Insomnia looked exactly as her dreams had unveiled it, with a minor difference. Magitek troopers patrolled the streets, and she played a dangerous cat-and-mouse game to avoid them, ducking down side streets and skirting around their routes as they passed. It wasn't long before she ran into her first daemon, too, a monstrously huge Iseultalon, its jaws opening to roar and power up its deadly laser attack. "Yeeeeah, no," Melody said and took off at a sprint. The ground erupted where she'd been standing, the behemoth's red laser beam cutting through the concrete like butter. Melody didn't stop to look back, darting down an alley too narrow for the beast to pursue. In doing so, she drew the attention of two Nagarani whose ghoulish female heads hissed at her, their serpentine bodies lurking between the buildings, rearing back to strike. Daggers were in her hands in a snap and she kept low, weaving a path towards the first and slicing a long horizontal cut along its exposed underbelly. The thing screeched but didn't retreat, slashing at her with its tail. Melody ducked, barely avoiding it, and hurled a dagger at the second Nagarani as she ran past. It connected, but she was acutely aware that all she'd done was piss them off, radiant magic or no. Fine with her. She wasn't here to hunt daemons. Just get in and then get right back out. She left the alley behind as quickly as possible and tried to remember the details of her dreams. Beautiful subway station, where, oh, where could you be? She found it a few minutes later, avoiding another behemoth in the process. Lights were still on in the tunnels, the white walls almost blindingly bright compared to the darkness she left outside. Leaning against a wall, Melody caught her breath and drank some water out of her canteen. Already, she could hear the mechanical stomp of Magitek troopers echoing down the tunnels. She wasn't out of danger yet, not by a long shot. Before she dove back into the fray, she thought about what she was doing, what could possibly be waiting for her at the Citadel. Probably nothing, and I'm going to look very foolish and be out 100,000 gil, she told herself. But maybe… Maybe not. Maybe there was something there, something that could help her, could help all of them. An idea bloomed, fragile but full of hope. Could Prince Noctis be there? Was this maybe where he'd vanished to? If that was the case, future king or no, she'd kick his ass for making his friends wait, for making them all wait. When a trooper rounded the corner, she attacked with renewed vigor in her step, dagger cleaving its head off before it could blink. Gunshots fired in her direction. She answered the challenge with military-grade arrows. Ten minutes later, she limped from the subway, swigging a potion from her satchel and wincing as she felt the bullets exit her shoulder and thigh wounds, her skin knitting itself back together. The sight of the Citadel before her was its own balm, and she picked up her pace, jogging all the way to the front steps. "I finally made it, thank Bahamut," Melody said, slowing and checking her watch. "Oh, I wouldn't be thanking the Draconian yet, my dear."

Melody hadn't glimpsed a soul standing on the steps of the Citadel before looking down at her watch. She hadn't seen another person in Insomnia besides the company she’d brought with her, but suddenly here was this man. And his voice, she had heard that lilt before. Even if she'd never seen him, a cord of familiarity was plucked inside her the same time a voice whispered run. Though she wasn't sure why. He appeared outlandish rather than threatening. Indeed, the man's sense of fashion was perhaps slightly more of an anomaly than his presence in an abandoned city. A charcoal gray coat billowed around his boots as he walked slowly down the steps, the upper half of the coat sporting patterns of black along the inner line of his torso and light gray around his shoulders and upper arms. His green pants with light blue and gray pinstripes appeared almost black and gray in the dark. Two suit vests—one navy blue, gray, and burgundy, the other a striped green and light blue to match his pants—were layered one over the other atop a white, high-collared, pleated shirt. A red and orange cravat rested at his throat below the collar, and a dark gray hooded scarf with a white brocade pattern perched atop his coat, the two ends of the scarf trailing behind him. The finishing touch was a black fedora hat resting upon the unruly locks of his plum red hair. "Melody, dear. How lovely to finally meet you face to face," the man said, maintaining eye contact with her, his tone airy and unfailingly polite. Her pulse quickened, fear flooding her at the sound of her name on a stranger's lips. He strolled to the base of the stairs, stopping a few short feet from her. "A shame that it took snatching the sun from the sky to bring you to my doorstep, but now I have a kingdom laid out before me to present you to." He waved his arm in a majestic arc, as if surrounding them was a glorious Crown City rather than a sad ruin of one. The more he spoke, the more Melody realized she’d made a mistake. Noctis wasn't here, her dreams were folly, and if what this man said was true… A shame it took snatching the sun from the sky.

“You’re the reason behind all this?” Her voice was flat to her ears but spoken with an undeniable edge. "Who the hell are you, and how do you know me?" The man clucked his tongue, smiling at the expression on her face. "Don't look so surprised. I've been watching you for quite some time, but my attentions have been turned elsewhere—until now, at least. I have some free time on my hands as I wait to officially take my place on the throne after so very long." His tone was wistful and still so cordial, but when it dipped into a slightly deeper register, Melody's hair stood on end. "I think now is as good a time as any to get acquainted." With a broad hand wrapped in a black fingerless glove, the man reached for her.

Melody snatched herself back, fear and rage tangling within her, fueling her magic, and she pulled from somewhere deep. Without hesitation, she outstretched her arm and cast Holy Light.

She didn't need to know anything further. If this man wanted to consort with daemons, fine. He could die like them, too. 

Melody cried out in sudden pain. Her wrist became clasped in a bruising grip, her magic sputtering out, and the man towered over her, moving much faster than any human could have. Déjà vu struck her, a hand around her wrist in another time, another place, and now she remembered why that lilting voice was familiar despite never seeing him before. There you are, my—

Except this time nothing was going to wake her up, for this was not a dream.   "Now, now, none of that," he lightly chastised her. "I haven't even gotten the chance to introduce myself." "I don't care," snarled Melody. Then she lit him up. Blinding white light surged into the air, the center where the man stood—if he was still there—too bright to look at directly. It was enough to kill most daemons on contact and heavily damage the stronger ones. And it took everything Melody had to cast it. She fell to her hands and knees gasping, her body shaking with bone-aching fatigue. An invisible knife stabbed into her forehead, pain ricocheting through her skull, and she felt like she would vomit. But it'd gotten his hand off of her. The light slowly died down. And the man still stood, head bowed while his hands brushed black matter off his coat. Miasma. "One healer tries to cure me. The other, to kill me." He laughed to himself, delighted. "Such curious things. But I appreciate your attempt a little more." Melody stared and stared at him, seeing but still not believing. The daemon taint was clearly running its course through him—he claimed this darkness as his—and still he stood after a divine attack, undamaged. "What are you?" the hunter breathed. "Why, I'm your king. Ardyn Lucis Caelum, at your service," he said, removing his hat and dipping into a regal bow. The action would have been polite if he hadn't also pronounced his name slowly, as if speaking to a simpleton.

Then he backhanded her. The blow happened so fast, so hard, Melody barely felt it, her body lying prostrate on the ground, her head twisted at a sharp angle. "This sight is a tad bit familiar," Ardyn mused. "Though you're in much better shape than the Oracle was, and I do prefer the black. Oh my, did someone not drink enough of their potion?" Melody's eyes fluttered, and she fought to stay conscious. She hoped Ben had made it back to the boat, hoped he would leave without her. The last thing she remembered was Ardyn crouched down beside her, his voice drifting to her while she faded into the black. "Yes, I think I'll keep you for a while, my dear. After all, who knows how long that darling prince is going to be?"