#else i shall perish before you have a chance to save me

[dolce-peach]

hii !!! i was wondering if you could do obi/reader who was turned to the dark side instead of ani, if you haven’t already :))

one drop of sun

pairing: obi-wan kenobi x sith!reader

warnings: mentions of murder, action, death, betrayal, order 66

a/n: hi anon!! omg i’m so sorry this is so late -- i had a bit of a health scare coming back from my trip and i moved in to school this past week. also literally cannot imagine this man my kinnie in any more pain but i shall do my best. i thrive in pain lmaoooo -- also added some rain for *drama*

permanent taglist: @kaitlynmalikisnotonfire @just-another-loki-fangirl

** TO MAKE A REQUEST -- please check the status in my bio **

masterlist

----

Something was wrong.

Obi-Wan felt it the moment he escaped from Utapau. It wasn’t just that Cody and the rest of his troops turned on him so suddenly. It was something else, something he had the worst feeling about. He hadn’t felt something as unsettling since his last negotiations with the Trade Federation while accompanying his master Qui-Gon all those years ago.

A dark veil had shielded you from the Force.

He didn’t need to be with you to know it. Questions flooded his head in a massive tidal wave. Were you alright? Were you safe in the midst of this madness? He couldn’t imagine you would go down without a fight, but he still inevitably worried about you endlessly.

To say that you meant a lot to him was an understatement. If he lost you, part of him would perish along with you. Who knew what kind of person would be left? Even though that kind of thinking went against everything he stood for, he would do anything to save you, and now, in this desperate hour, he was going to find you.

“Emergency Code 913,” he said into the comlink of the ship he stole. A garbled message came through faintly. “Stand by.”

He instantly recognized Master Yoda, and he instantly felt some relief.

“Master Kenobi,” he greeted with an equally grim expression. “Glad to see you, I am.”

Obi-Wan’s hands were steady on the gears. “Master Yoda, my clones have turned on me. I have a very strong feeling that this is happening everywhere across the galaxy,” he nearly rambled. “I need to go help any others if they’re still alive. We don’t know what kind of threat we’re up against.”

“On the contrary,” Yoda said. “The work of the Sith, this is, rising again.”

Frustration bubbled over. “That’s why I have to go and help --”

“Patience,” Yoda said with a deep sigh. “Help you, I will, but feel our friend’s presence in the Force, I cannot...”

Obi-Wan took a deep, careful breath, as he always did whenever you were mentioned in any conversation. You compromised him, consuming his mind at times. It was necessary to fold his emotions neatly in the deep recesses of his heart, to keep from distractions, but something about you also helped him focus.

As frazzled as he was, he knew Master Yoda was right. He needed to take a step back before charging in, a mistake his former Padawan often made. Everything was under control, as long as...

“What do you mean, you can’t feel their presence?” the question came urgently before he had a chance to think.

Yoda bore concern in his deeply set brow. “A darkness I sense in them...and their new master,” he said. “The chancellor -- an emperor he has become.”

Obi-Wan felt lightheaded, his hands trembling. His words only confirmed what he feared. If it was possible, if this was happening, then he would be forced to do something he knew he couldn’t do.

“Master,” he began, his throat dry. “What must I do?”

The old Jedi master hummed in thought. “End this, we must...”

Realization made the blood drain from his face.

“No,” still came from his lips in horror. “Master, I can’t --”

“You must. For the greater good,” Yoda insisted. “I must face the emperor.”

“Send me to kill the emperor,” he begged. “They would never do such a thing. I know they wouldn’t. To turn on their own family and the galaxy?”

Yoda shook his head. “Trying times, these are.”

With another breath, the only thing that was clear in his mind was the command his master had given him. Normally he would’ve completed the mission without question, but this was you he was dealing with, and he wasn’t about to go down that easily. No matter how long he stayed in denial, he knew he’d have to face you one way or another.

He wasn’t sure he was ready to see you yet, but then again, when does life ever wait?

You came catapulting into his life as his closest friend. The years had you grow closer to each other. He knew you better than you knew yourself, so how could something like this happen?

As the grief began to set in, he tightened his hand on the controls.

“I’ll begin searching immediately,” he managed to say.

Yoda shook his head. “No need. Go to the temple.”

Obi-Wan could barely register himself launching the ship into light speed.

As the stars blurred, his hands were clammy, waiting with bated breath. There was nothing he could think about or say to himself that could possibly prepare him for what was inevitably going to happen. His head was empty, with only one last order to hopefully put an end to this.

And to lead him down a path of ultimate pain.

No matter how much he thought about it, he couldn’t imagine driving his saber into your heart, to see the light fade from your eyes. Anger mingling with betrayal, it would destroy him.

He shook his head as he came out of light speed and entered Coruscant’s atmosphere.

It took him no time at all to arrive at the temple. Rain splattered against the ship’s display in thick sheets, effectively distorting his visual as he touched down. He threw open the top and slid down the ship before taking off in a fast sprint.

He called your name, and they echoed in the once filled, dimly lit halls.

Desperation began gripping his voice. “Where are you?”

Then he felt a chilling presence behind him, in the shadows of a pillar. He didn’t dare turn around until he heard what sounded like a ghost of your voice.

“Obi-Wan?”

He couldn’t help but almost laugh with relief. “Thank the stars...” He turned to see you peering at him, and in that moment, all he wanted to do was to sweep you up and run away like the two of you had always guiltily dreamed about.

“What’re you doing here?” you shot. “It’s not safe.”

He took a step back defensively. “I should be asking you the same,” he said uneasily. “What happened here? Where are the teachers? The younglings?”

“It doesn’t concern you.”

“You know that’s not true,” he said. “The temple is my home as well as yours. When I received the distress signal, I thought --”

“You never should’ve come.”

Obi-Wan found himself reaching for his saber, his fingers finding the cold metal. It felt oddly unfamiliar in his hands, especially as his eyes locked with yours. There you stood before him not as the hunted, but the hunter. You had something glint in your eyes that made Obi-Wan’s breathing unsteady. An unquenched bloodlust melted your eyes into liquid gold in the shadows.

His heart broke. What could the emperor had said to turn you over so easily? What did he promise you? You would’ve told Obi-Wan if something was wrong, right?

Or was he just another pawn in this game?

No, this doubt was trying to root itself in his mind, to get him feeling indifferent towards you so he could complete his task. The hero in him knew that he had to try and see past it, but it was hard watching you in so much pain. He would take it all away in an instant if he could.

You ignited your saber, the glow illuminating your face. You lifted your weapon, the tip inches away from his neck. “Get out.”

“You know I can't.”

“Leave!” you roared as you stepped forward, twirling before swinging your weapon across his chest.

Obi-Wan stepped back just in time, his eyes wide as he exclaimed your name. “Come to your senses!”

“On the contrary, my mind has never been clearer,” you said as you slashed again, this time catching the edge of his cloak. “The Jedi Order is corrupt. The true Republic never existed with us in the way. With the Chancellor in power --”

“Chancellor Palpatine will destroy us all!” Obi-Wan protested, shrugging his smoking cloak off before throwing it to the side. “We were put in place to set balance.”

“And look where that got us,” you said. “We were never supposed to live our lives like this, fighting in a war that could never be won in the first place. The people of the galaxy need someone to be a beacon in this darkness.”

He felt for his saber again, this time his fingers hovering to ignite it. He watched as you held your weapon threateningly. “And who is to be that beacon? You?”

“It could be us,” you said, holding your hand out. Your voice was like velvet, tempting him so hard that he had to gasp for breath. “Help me fix everything.”

Part of him wanted to give in. He could have everything, even the peace he dreamed of. He could have you unapologetically. The fantasies that slipped through his fingers could be tangible. He could right all of the galaxy’s wrongs by your side.

He would never want for anything again.

But that thought faded as fast as it came, and he gave you a sad smile. “I never really knew you, did I?”

Your eyes reflected sadness for a moment, glossy with heavy tears before they began to boil in a menacing glare that chilled Obi-Wan’s bones.

“I suppose not.”

He gritted his teeth as he dodged your incoming swing. Your speed had always been like an intimidating flash of lightning, but he was able to analyze in the heat of battle. It wasn’t much to count on, but he needed all the help he could get.

As he ignited his lightsaber to meet you, the light of his weapon caught yours in a twisted, hissing dance. You pushed down against him, forcing him to kneel.

He spun and swiped his leg out, knocking you off your feet. Scrambling back up, he launched himself at you, swinging. You dodged just in time, his saber shattering the glass doors instead.

The storm continued brewing outside. A cold gust of wind crawled across Obi-Wan’s skin as you regained your footing.

“You’re holding back,” you hissed with annoyance.

“Of course, I am!” he yelled. “Stop this madness! Please! You don’t have to do this!”

Seething, you assumed your attack position. “It’s too late!”

“What is that supposed to mean?” he exclaimed as you kicked him outside. His long, wet locks were glued to his face and hair, covering his eyes.

He screamed in pain as your blade caught his upper chest. Staggering back, he waved his weapon blindly to keep you away until he fell to his knees. His fingers trembled with pain as he gingerly brushed them over his sizzling wound. The rain seemed to ease it some.

“I killed them already!” you cried. “The elders! Teachers! Even the younglings!” Your voice was tight with anguish. “I killed them all!”

It was hard for Obi-Wan to mask his horror through his pain. He groaned as he did his best to stand, gripping his weapon for dear life.

You laughed hysterically, in spite of the tears in your eyes as you pulled your hair. You fell to your knees in laughter. “I killed them,” you said again, your voice dimming as realization flooded your face. “I killed them...”

You didn’t remember screaming, but he would always, until the day he died. It was a sound that made his blood curdle as it mixed with the heavy rain.

When he said your name, it was like he was calling out to you from the entrance of the darkest cave.

“Obi-Wan...” you murmured.

He grimaced in pain as he made his way over to you, only to stop in his tracks as you held your weapon against him.

“Stay back!”

“Let me help you,” he said softly, gently.

“No! I will slaughter you where you stand if you take one more step!”

You meant it. He knew that.

And part of him didn’t mind at all.

“You know how this ends, don’t you?” you said, a knowing, bitter smile on your lips.

Obi-Wan felt the blood drain from his face. “No...”

You shook your head. “That's the task Master Yoda gave to you,” you said. “The longer I’m alive, the more of a threat I am to you and whatever remains of the Order.”

“Stop,” he pleaded. “I told him I wouldn’t.”

You twirled your hilt in your hand. “Of course, you did.”

When you looked at him, his heart shattered into a thousand pieces. Even as you were soaking in the rain, your battle-worn robes seeing better days as the fabric stuck to your skin, you were beautiful as you were broken. He could see the turmoil of your soul in your eyes.

You were silent, and he didn’t like that. He was afraid of taking one more step closer to you, not because of your threat, but because he could feel you slipping away. One more step towards you, and he could lose you forever. By staying where he was, there was an unspoken trust hanging in the balance, that he would give you the space you desperately needed.

An invisible smile lay on your lips. “If I mean anything at all to you...” you trailed off. “You’d do this for me.”

His free hand tightened into a white fist. “But what about me?”

“What about you?”

“You’d leave me behind,” he said. “Or did I just imagine our mutually shared feelings?”

He watched as you savored what he said, your eyes foggy, but he never imagined you’d say those next words.

“Yes, you did.”

Of course, you’d try to make it easier for him to kill you without a thought. Years of silent pining after one another sealed with a kiss at the start of your knighthoods all dissipated. All of those moments where your skin was flush against his seemed to sear him alive. The ghost of your feathery touch now wrapped around his throat.

He couldn’t breathe. His cheeks were hot, almost boiling the raindrops that came down relentlessly.

You meant your words, and that frightened him to no end.

He could barely move as you swung your lightsaber, twirling and swinging as you scrambled to your feet. He met your weapon with his, shoving you away in time for him to catch his breath.

“Fight back, you coward!” you screamed.

It was obvious what needed to be done. He seemed to hear the entire cosmos in his head, generations of Jedi knights urging him to make the move. His ears were eventually ringing, drowning out the rain and everything else. All memories he had of you were fading into the back of his mind.

At least, they tried. There was no way he would be able to completely shut you out. Call it weakness, but you were the sun in his universe.

You were moving towards him, your eyes cold gold. They were unchanging as he parried your blade, his slicing through your shoulder. Your arm and saber fell to the ground as a metallic odor filled the wet air.

The pain distracted you from his saber plunging into your stomach. He let out a small sob as your body fell limply into his.

Your hand held the cauterized stump that was your shoulder. Your injury was already peeling, revealing blood and white bone underneath the dark burn.

Your breathing was erratic as he set you down, laying your head in his lap.

“I’m sorry,” he said over and over like a prayer. “I’m so sorry...”

“You...you...” you managed to say as you shivered from the pain. “Obi...”

“Hush, save your breath.”

“What does it matter?” you shot. “You need to let me go.”

He shook his head, rain mixing with his tears. “Don’t leave me, please!”

“I...would never leave you,” you wheezed as you gripped his hand. “But you can’t save me. Not this time.”

When you brought his hand to your lips, he ripped his gaze away, squeezing his eyes shut.

It was a dream. It was all a dream.

“Don’t you dare save my life.”

Your body grew lighter in his arms.

Curling himself into you, he cried, screamed, begged you to come back. What hate was in his heart, he let out in a scream nearly loud enough to part the clouds.

The rain stopped.

The rain stopped, and you were dead in his arms.

It wasn't long before your skin began to grow cold. He placed one last kiss on your forehead, closing your eyes with the rough pads of his fingers.

He left you in the small garden out there, lying in a bed of flowers. In time, you would return to the earth and fuel new life, as life in the universe continued. He desperately wanted to take you with him, but he knew you’d always be there.

He could feel your hand on his shoulder as he walked away.

The sun broke through the thick grey clouds, illuminating the place where he left you.

But he didn’t turn back.

He couldn’t.

[dreamkidddream]

Drop Dead || Witch!Yosano

So this was both suggested and something that I already planned, cause she doesn’t get enough love imo 😞 but this is my first time writing for her too so yayyyy 🥳 Also thought it would be cool if she practiced necromancy. we stan ✨ Doctor ✨ Yosano in this house 😌 Reader is gender neutral!

CW: blood

Dream’s Spooktober 2021

You see, in the village, there was a rumor spreading like the plague itself.

An evil witch, worse than the Devil himself, having the forbidden power of raising the dead with just a single touch. But just as she can raise the dead with just a touch, she can also make people take their last breath with that same touch. The other villagers warned of her dark magic roaming through the forest, and Saki swore he saw the monster with his own two eyes. He recounts the monster doing the ritual, the malicious smile spread across her face as she hacked away at the poor soul piece by piece, only then to resurrect them as another one of her mindless servants-

(But Saki is also the village drunk, so who knows how much truth his words hold). You just chalked it up as another story to keep children from wandering and misbehaving.

That was until you came face to face with the witch herself.

You would have been in complete awe at how much grace and power she displayed in her stance alone (hell you still were), if you weren’t currently dying and trying to stop the blood from gushing out of your stomach.

“My my, what do we have here?”

When she kneeled down and placed her hand so delicately on your cheek, you couldn’t help but melt into it. It was so warm, she was so warm. You didn’t realize how cold you are, and her eyes narrowed in concern when she felt it too. “Tell me, how did this happen?”

“It was-“, you coughed, wincing from both the pain and the small specs of blood that clung onto her cloak. “The villagers. They-they casted out. Deemed me as an outcast! Kajii ac-accused me of- practicing the dark arts and convinced Father Mori that I- I should be burned at the stake! I ran away before they could chain me up, but the other villagers- they started to chase after me…and-and-”

“So he still hasn’t learned from his mistakes huh? Still deciding to play judge, jury, and executioner.”

She had heard enough.

“I guess I have to go and teach them myself.”

The sadistic gleam that came across her face sent shivers down your spine (or maybe it was from the blood loss?), but the look soon vanished as she started to lift your ripped tunic. “But, I’ll have to wait for now. I have to treat you after all, and I would hate if you just perished from a small wound like this.”

“Small?! You call this small?!”

“Well of course. I’ve seen and handled much worse than this. It would be a shame to let you die, especially at the hands of those so undeserving.”

“Please, I don’t- I don’t want to die!”

“And I will make sure that you don’t.”

With conviction in her voice, she started to wipe away your tears. “But first, I should introduce myself properly.”

Holding out her hand, you watched as a flurry of glowing butterflies flew from it and began to take shape, of what you couldn’t tell yet, but you were in complete awe at the sight. 

“I am Akiko Yosano, a healer. I’m not sure what those idiots at the village told you, but I don’t practice necromancy, because I don’t give people the chance to die in my hands.”

She’s the witch?!

The shape finally manifested, and you felt your heart stop.

“But while my methods can be seen as cruel, I see it as a true blessing. Being able to bring them back after seeing the light flee from their eyes just to be full of life mere moments later no matter the injury…a true blessing indeed.”

A cleaver, as long as her legs, was held in her hands.

“I’m known as one of the greatest healers to ever grace this land, but I don’t get to show off as much I want to. You see, in order for my healing to work, they need to be on the brink of death.”

Oh no-

“Now, don’t look so scared. You won’t be killed- in a lot of pain, yes- but you won’t die. You’ll be healed before you know it, which is a pity for me-”

You tried to crawl away, but seeing that she whipped the tip of the blade centimeters away from your nose, you took that as your one and only warning.

“I would prefer to do this back at my home, I have much more toys to play with than this, but it’ll do. Now then-”

She lifted the blade high above her head-

“No- nononononono! Please don’t!”

“Now, I swear by my hand, thou shall not die!”

Your shrill screams echoed through the forest as she brought the blade down.

—-

“And you got this information…from the town drunk?”

Okay, now that she’s saying it out loud, it doesn’t sound very credible-

“Ow!”

“That’s what you get for listening to that man,” she just shook her head as you rubbed the growing sore spot on your forehead. After being “treated” by the wit- Yosano, she’s been gracious enough to let you stay at her small home. Here you are, drinking tea and going through all your troubles and what lead up to this point. It was odd, you two were talking like everything was normal. HA! Like your life will ever have some sense of normal again after this.

While you don’t remember much of her “treatment”, you do remember the feeling afterwards and the wave of butterflies that followed after. You felt so light, so airy, as if you were living among the clouds not a single care in the world. You accepted that wow, she was telling the truth- but you’re very careful to not let yourself get injured again.

“Well I guess it doesn’t matter now, not like you can go back anyway.”

Her words brought a sting of pain to your chest. It wasn’t like she was wrong, you couldn’t go back even if you wanted to. The very people who you come to look at as family were the same ones ready to watch the flames consume your body alive. Even if you explained how you weren’t practicing dark magic, how could you explain your wounds healing and walking around basically brand new? They would just make sure that you wouldn’t get away this time-

“But, I have an offer to make to help with your…situation.”

That snapped you out of your thoughts.

“I’ll let you stay here, if you become my assistant.”

“Your assistant? How could I exactly help you? I can’t do any magic, I’m pretty much useless-”

Her cup clattered against the table. “Not true. You think just because you don’t have the power to do magic that your life loses meaning? Goodness, it’s a good thing you did get out of that village when you did.” She stood up and brushed the imaginary dirt off, and then made her way towards you.

“Listen (Y/N), all life has meaning, and no one else has the ability to change that. The fact that they tried to take that from you, that they tried to kill you- it’s a disgrace and a slap to the face to what life truly is. I vow to crush anyone who holds life with so little regard with my bare hands!” She balled her fists up, then extended her arm to you. You couldn’t stop yourself from flinching, thinking that she was going to strike you for saying something so foolish-

But instead, she held her hand out.

“Stay by my side, and let me show you how valuable your life truly is (Y/N).”

Your life…being valuable? Even after how pathetic you looked to her? Can you really trust her words? Did she really your life as valuable? An outcast with no power, no status, seen as valuable?

But, would she have saved you if she didn’t think it was?

It’s not like you have anything else to lose, and you know that you just met her but…it was obvious that she saw something in you that you didn’t see.

And you wanted to see what convinced her that your life is valuable.

You gripped her hand, a tearful but appreciative smile on your face.

[dearlittlefandom-stalker]

People be like “If you don’t get the vaccine then you deserve to die!” or “If you get the vaccine you deserve to die!”

and I’m like....no one deserves to die??? What the heck?! Like, seriously? We are saying these things? Are we really here, at this point of extremism? Are we really so prideful as to think thar other people with differences in opinion deserve death? Wow. The amount of sheer hatred circling around is staggering.

That is bad enough on it’s own, but it’s really hard for me seeing professing Christians saying things like this. Are you being a witness for Jesus right now? You might want to check your heart. And I get that emotions run high and people say things they don’t necessarily mean, but come on. You can’t just wish death on people. Is that really what the world needs right now?

The bottom line is, life is sacred. God gave all humans free will and the ability to make choices, think, and do things. That gift does not go away if the person uses it for evil.

If God Himself, the creator of the world and reason for life to begin with, allows people to purposely choose evil over Him again and again, then who are we to try to puppeteer them ourselves? We saying that people deserve death because they think or believe something is equally preposterous as it is dangerous. ESPECIALLY coming from people who are supposed to be doing the will of God.

God wants ALL to come to salvation:

The Lord is not slack concerning his promise, as some men count slackness; but is longsuffering to us-ward, not willing that any should perish, but that all should come to repentance. (2 Peter 3:9)

Now, there are consequences for actions and choices. You make the bed, you lie in it so to speak. Vengeance is the Lord’s, however, and not for us to give out. The point is, eventually everyone will die. When that happens, God will judge them accordingly (I might remind you that Christians-the Church-will be judged first) and then they will either enter Heaven or Hell.

And as it is appointed unto men once to die, but after this the judgment: So Christ was once offered to bear the sins of many; and unto them that look for him shall he appear the second time without sin unto salvation. (Hebrews 9:27-28)

Obviously, after death there is no second chance. That is it. God wants us to be saved. He sacrificed Himself for us so we could be! He does not want us to die in our sins.

Therefore, if any Christian -professing or legit, that is between you and God- says that someone deserves death for a belief, even if it is a wrong belief, then they are completely missing the point. While there is life, there is hope! They might yet be saved! You trying to deny them this option is violating the very word of God upon which your own salvation rests. Repent! Just stop it, make amends where you can, and ask God to guide and guard your tongue. Read the book of James.

Proverbs says that the power of life and death is in the tongue. Is your tongue being an instrument of life...or death?

Oh Christian, do you not know that Hatred itself is a sin unto death? That hatred will keep you separated from God and in eternal torment?

Oh Christian, do you not know that unless you forgive others for their wrongs, that God will not forgive you?

Oh Christian, do you not recall that we are supposed to be drawing people towards Jesus, not condemning them and pushing them away?

Oh Christian, are we not commanded to love our enemies, to bless those that curse us, to pray for them that they might be saved?

Oh Christian, are you God that you have the right to condemn others? Are you not a human capable of sin? Pluck out the beam of pride that is in your eye before you try to get the speck out of another’s.

Anyway. Sorry for the rambling rant, it just really bugs me when people let themselves get stirred up for no purpose. It doesn’t do them or anyone else any good, and gives a black eye to the rest of us.

[deans-haunted-baby]

The Last Rites

*So, many fans including myself were unhappy with Adam Milligan and Michael’s exits out of Supernatural. This is my fix-it or at least my interpretation of what happened after 15x19 and 15x20. Enjoy!*

Summery: Chuck now human is a bitter bin collector and part-time serial killer stalking his latest victim. Little does he know that the dynamic human vessel/archangel duo Michael and Adam have been stalking him.  

"Damn that Sam and Dean and that little brat for making me human! But I'll get the last laugh," he says as he makes his rounds and choosing his latest victim. Plotting all the terrible things he plans on doing to the Winchesters. “I’ll get them all for this!”

As Chuck follows this person out to their car in the middle of the night, knife in hand. All off a sudden he hears wings flapping and turns around in horror. His eyes bug out when he sees a figure standing before him in the shadows.

"W-who's there?"  

Michael/Adam step out of the darkness wearing a "surprise-bitch" look on their face: "Hello...father" by the darkness of his ton Chuck knows his son hadn't forgotten the last time they saw each other. By that lakeside where he'd killed him for helping the Winchesters.

"No i-its impossible... You're dead I killed you. You should be in the Empty."

Michael hesitantly shakes his head. "Not anymore."

"How?"

"Let's just say I made bail thanks to my nephew and Castiel as they needed my assistance in Heaven's rehabilitation. And I humbly obliged."

"Castiel? He's alive too?! And you're working for them?! Why? That little brat took my power!" Chuck screams in anguish. "NO you both should be suffering in the Empty for all eternity!"

Michael/Adam looks at his hands flexing them into fists. Recalling the last second he drew breath being smited by his father. Regretting his decision to ever forsake his duty for humanity for his father. And his anger burns like acid.

"After what you did to me the last time we spoke...all I've cherished was this moment," the archangel Prince darkly replies. Adam's soul quietly astral-projected is in the background roots on his buddy. "Jack and Castiel offered me a chance to atone myself for wrongly choosing you over that which I’ve swore an oath to protect. That I could leave the Empty and reclaim my throne in Heaven if I stayed on Earth and helped the Winchesters clean up your mess."  

Chuck glares "So you're their bitchboy now? Ha, pathetic." He chortled in his throat. "I always knew you were weak, Michael. Being in that cage all those years with Sam and Dean's forgotten little bro has made you soft."

Michael's cheeks throb angrily. But he maintains his restraint. "Oh I'm not doing this for them," he reveals; stepping a little closer to his father. Shoulders squared. "Being stuck on Earth is also my punishment. But I've accepted it...I deserve my fate...just as you deserve yours right now."

Chuck then scrutinizes his son suspiciously. Looking from the archangel's fists to the face of his vessel Adam.

"What so you're like an archangel superhero now?" He can't contain a laugh. "Wow those Winchesters must be really desperate to resort to sending you here instead of facing me themselves."

Michael shook his head. "As I've already stated...I'm not here for them, he says. "The one called Dean, my original sword, has already fallen in battle and has inherited his place in my nephew's paradise. And his brother Sam sought out his other brother Adam, my chosen vessel. They've been working together ever since."

"And that's when Jack sent you."

“Yes."

"Dammit!,” Chuck swears this wasn't suppose to happen. If he killed a Winchester in his story the other brother left alive was suppose to take his own life in grief. No this couldn't be happening. They changed his ending AGAIN. "THIS WASN'T THE ENDING I PLANNED! I DIDN'T WRITE THIS!"

Michael cocks his head sideways; basking in his father's frustration. It was music to his ears. Then he's serious; raising his hand and forwarding his palm in a power-up.

"Your reign if tyranny is over father. You will not be scribing another's fate ever again. Not while I'm around."

At that Chuck's face is ghostly white. "Wait, what are you doing?" He puts up his hands submissively. "I'm human now, you can't just smite me. I'm part of the humanity that I created for you to protect!"

"Oh you don't have any rights here," growls the archangel sternly. "You gave up those privileges when you chose to use your newfound humanity to blindly murder others. Your arrogance and hatred for mankind was your own undoing. And now your death shall be your punishment, father."

Chuck trembling now resorts to begging for his son's mercy. "Michael, wait son we can talk about this." He showcases a nervous smile. "We can still make this right."

"No we can't." Michael scoffs. "The centuries of my allegiance to you have also perished. And I've wanted nothing more than to watch you beg forgiveness as you draw your last breath."

"Wait please show your father mercy, my son! Please!"

"Like the mercy you demonstrated to me that day by the lake shore?"

Chuck nodded still keeping his hands up. Okay so Michael was still pissed about that. "Fine you're right that was a mistake. I should've never hurt you like that. I was wrong and I see that now."

Michael's expression is smug, giving a mild throat chuckle. Then his cold expression shifts into anguish. "I hate myself for ever believing in you and turning my back on humanity. I will never be able to forgive myself for making that choice. For allowing you, Lucifer and my devotion to you to manipulate me from doing what was right."

"This doesn't have to get ugly Michael, we can still talk this out." Chuck begs. “Come on, what do ya say?”

"No we're done talking father." Michael's eyes glow like silvery blue light.

Chuck back peddles "Wait j-just give me another chance. I can prove to you I'll change I will."

Michael chuckles darkly, "Like the chance you were about to give that civilian you were following just now? Or the others you’ve murdered since?"

He eyes the knife in his father's hand. Suddenly Chuck realizes this and impulsively drops it onto the pavement.

"No, this isn’t what it looks like. I-I wasn't going to hurt anyone else. I swear!"

"You'll never learn will you father," Michael shrugs apathetically. "It's a shame. You were given a gift by your own flesh and blood and you've squandered it."  

"WAIT MICHAEL, PLEASE LET'S JUST TALK ABOUT THIS!"

No, no the archangel Prince was done talking. He'd said all he needed to say and with that throws Chuck's own last words to him right back in the short man's face.

"SAVE IT!" smiting him instantly on the spot. Blasting his father in a blinding light, erasing him from existence. When the dust settles Michael eases his tense shoulders releasing a sharp intake of breath.

Adam's projected soul then takes it upon himself to console his friend. Who is clearly bitter about destroying his own father even if he was an evil bastard.

"You did the right thing you know," the pre-med student/hunter in training reassures him. "Your dad would've killed that person if you hadn't intervened."

But Michael doesn't want to hear it. "I didn't do this for that person. I did it out of my own volition. I wanted my father to pay for what he'd done to me and my broken vow."

"It still doesn't change the fact that you saved someone tonight, Michael,” Adam insists. “And you proved that you can be better than Chuck ever was."

Michael frowns lowering his gaze to the ground melancholically.

"Or maybe I've just demonstrated that I am no better than him. I betrayed my sworn oath," the archangel squeezes his fist tightly. Putting all his anger into that hand. "And for that transgression alone I shall never be redeemed."

Adam recognizing the sadness in Michael's expression, throws his celestial pal a genuine smile, kneading his shoulder. "There's always redemption for all of us," he says gently. "I believe my brothers were capable of that, even if they never cared about me. Knowing you and even getting to know Sam has taught me so much more about myself, my family and what I'm meant to do with my life."

"What like being a hero?"

"Yah and it's kinda cool I get to kick some ass with an archangel."

"So, you want to honor your family. Despite what fate they'd left you to."

Adam shook his head. "Sam and Dean were far from perfect. I don't think I'll ever fully forgive them for what happened," he reveals. "BUT I think it changed me for the better. I got to become friends with Heavens MVP and I care about their cause now. They wanted to protect the world from evil and that's what I want to do. It's not about honoring the Winchester's legacy I want to do some good in this world. And you know what...I think you do too."

The archangel smiled to himself. "Well I did get some amusement out of watching my father squirm," He says lightly then adds. "Alright kid, you win. We shall continue our eternal quest for justice."

"Good, but we can continue that quest another night," the pre-med checks his wristwatch. "I gotta get some rest I have classes in the morning."

Michael scrutinized Adam. "You do know that you no longer require rest now that I've possessed this vessel or has that notion escaped you?"

“Oh yah I forgot," Adam laughs. "I guess I won't be needing sleep anytime soon then. Let's go home anyway I want to check out the bunker some more. Find any hidden passages or something."

"As you wish. I imagine your canine companion is also getting famished without us around to feed it."

A light bulb went off in his head. Right Sam and Dean's dog Miracle was in his care now. He loved that scruffy mutt even if he did drool a lot. Time to get home.  

"Miracle, okay we gotta get home stat!"

And with that Michael flew back to the bunker.

[mirageofthecrystal]

FFxiv 30 Day Writing Challenge - Day 14: Commend

commend (verb)

praise formally or officially.

present as suitable for approval or acceptance; recommend.

"It's time, lad. They're waitin' for us outside. And this is a crowd you don't keep waitin' for very long. Despite all we've lost... you've earned this. Saved my arse more than once out there from those scaled bastards. Saved a lot of other lives besides."

"And what about the ones that I couldn't save," Despair painted Faiolan's words, the memories of the battle all too fresh in his mind. "You honor them, remember them, and then you move on. You never forget, but you don't let it keep weighing you down." Reynard seemingly never was without wisdom, and this weight was likely a familiar one. The weight of companions lost, never to be found again. The image of their corpses, marred by the savaging of their Dravanian foes, would not soon leave Faiolan's mind. Reynard offered him a hand to pull him to his feet, revealing the poor condition in which the little lordling found himself in. One arm was held in a sling, and his chest was freshly bandaged beneath his tunic. His face was bruised, one of his eyes almost swollen shut still. But with the careful ministrations of the chirurgeons, he would make a full recovery in time. And if it weren't for the insistence that the deeds of the brave and bold be recognized, then perhaps he'd recover a bit faster. "The blue bloods sure do love a good ceremony. Ah, no offense to yourself. Gives 'em a chance to pat themselves on the back for being loyal and faithful servants of Ishgard, even though we're the ones who did all the bloody work."

Faiolan hobbled along beside Reynard, his steps uncertain and each breath accompanied by daggers of pain digging into his chest. He'd wear a brave face for the people who looked to them for protection, but the sooner this was over the better. He could do with some hot stew, some hard liquor, and a stiff nap, not fanfare and chest pounding. The doors parted, beams of light breaking through the crack 'tween them that grew wider and wider as the portal allowed them passage. The familiarly cold sting of Ishgardian air was refreshing, albeit uncomfortable, as it filled Faiolan's lungs after days of isolated convalescence. He had little chance to simply enjoy it, however, as the assembled crowd quickly came into view and burst into cheers. They were joined by others who had been at the battle of the Front, others who had been lucky enough to survive when so many others perished. The Siege of Whitebrim Front had lasted for three full days, only fully broken when the Dravanians had thrown far too many of their own upon the walls of the fort and Isgebind deigned to return to the Stone Vigil rather than expend any more of his forces. At the head of the procession, beyond the sea of dutiful admirers, stood the Lord Commander of the Temple Knights, the Very Reverend Archimandrite of the Heavens' Ward, and the Archbishop of the Ishgardian Orthodox Church himself.

They assembled before the trio, falling into rows and columns somewhat clumsily with a number among them still sporting injuries from the battle. None would look down on those who suffered for Ishgard's prosperity, and when all were appropriately assembled, the speeches began. "Gathered before use today," began the Archbishop, "are the brave survivors of the recent attack on the Whitebrim Front. Such a siege we have not seen in some time, as our mortal enemies have long been gathering strength within the Stone Vigil to press their advantage. If not for the bold actions of both those you see standing here, as well as all those who we shall sorely miss for making the ultimate sacrifice to our nation, Ishgard itself would likely be under assault by the forces of the dreaded Isgebind. Our fight, which has lasted for a thousand years, may not be at an end, but these courageous heroes have gained us another reprieve to gather ourselves, our forces, and our loved one together in respite. It is your prayers and support that continues to drive Ishgard's defenders to defy the Dravanian menace, and it is your continued faith that shall continue to be the strongest bulwark against the horde. Prayers that fill the hearts of these knights and soldiers with the courage to continue fighting, knowing what it is they seek to protect. By the hand of the Fury and of King Thordan, I, Archbishop Thordan the Seventh do hereby bequeath upon those assembled before me today honors and recognitions appropriate to their service and sacrifice, as well as for those who fell in battle."

The Archbishop deferred to Ser Aymeric, who began with the names of the fallen and the honors they received. Far too many names, with those among the crowd who knew them bowing their heads are breaking into fits of weeping. Though Faiolan mourned all the losses, a single name caught him with a hard blow to the chest. "Esmeralda Myste," passed the Lord Commander's lips, but the rest of it became white noise. Faiolan had hoped she had survived, somehow. He had seen her in the thick of the fray, covered in the blood and guts of their enemies, until at long last he had lost track of her. To know that she had fallen... regret built up inside, threatening to burst like a raging river against a dam.

"And Faiolan Penderghast, who has on multiple occasions shown bravery and skill of the highest level, I do hereby name a Knight of Ishgard, and offer him candidacy as a squire to the Heaven's Ward by order of Archbishop Thordan VII, as well as the following list of honors to be forever ascribed to his service." Reynard's hand clapped down on Faiolan's shoulder, but the young knight was filled with disbelief. They called it bravery, courage, or whatever else, but it had always seemed like luck. He'd survived the efforts of several Dravanians to slay him and his fellows, but always because fortune willed it rather than anything related to skill or ability. To be given such an honor would surely bring great pride to his mother, father, uncle, and sister, whom he knew were probably beaming somewhere in the crowd. Knowing that it was not his place to refuse such a thing, he dropped painfully to one knee, and felt the touch of a blade upon each of his shoulders, before rising back up as a Knight of the Holy See.

[scaras-world]

This is but a work of an imaginative mind. None of these happened on the game or in the webtoon of Genshin Impact.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

what is the most difficult thing to choose from? is it choosing between becoming a monster or becoming a hero? or is it, becoming a monster to slay another? 𝗻𝗮𝘆. none of those came close enough. for the hardest thing there is, is to 𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒚 your 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒐 who had became a 𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

𝟬𝟬𝟭 ━━━━ [ 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 ]

𝖺𝖽𝗂𝖾𝗎, 𝗆𝗈𝗇 𝗁𝖾́𝗋𝗈𝗌 | ����𝗮𝗸𝘀𝗵𝗮 - 𝗯𝗮𝗿𝗱

𝗰𝗮𝗻𝗼𝗻 𝗱𝗶𝘃𝗲𝗿𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲 - 𝘁𝘄 ! ! ! 𝖽𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

xiao's duty had always been crystal clear to him. slay the wrathful remnants of the archons who had already come to pass the setting sun. it was no easy task albeit he had no say in it. for he existed solely for this. he had been executing his duties for as long as he can remember. and now, finally, the karmic wheel started to take it's turn. the corruption that he had been suppressing for so long is now engulfing his very being. "it will not be long, until i become one of the 𝙜𝙝𝙤𝙨𝙩𝙨," he whispered in lamentation—regretful that he didn't managed to say his farewells to his saviour from the past.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙥𝙚𝙧 𝙜𝙤𝙤𝙙𝙗𝙮𝙚,

𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘤 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘪 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦?

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

succumbing to his own fate, xiao can feel the burning sensation as it bite down on his own skin. the immense pain brought by corruption inside him almost made him go mad with pain until it stopped. and now, he feel like he's floating, mind at ease finally, at 𝒑𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒆.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

as the world around him started to lost all its colours, the yaksha suddenly heared a serene tune brought by the gentle wind. a melody so soft, so gentle, rinsing him of all the negativity that was about to end him at the very same time. the one who played the tune must've been a very kind bard.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

𝗮 𝗳𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗳𝘂𝗹 𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗿 . . .

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

days turned to weeks and weeks to months albeit xiao is still yet to find the owner of that sound. but of course, deep within him, he already knew. that individual must've been one of the seven—that's why the sound at that day, he did not pursue.

arriving at the parlor after a day of work, xiao fancied himself with some almond tofu. albeit the usual quiet and peaceful inn is strangely gone. the staffs are quiet noisy and the area seemed more, lively. "amazing isn't? apparently, master zhongli's friend is around. he's a great musician." beidou who arrived out of nowhere mused beside the yaksha. 𝙖 𝙢𝙪𝙨𝙞𝙘𝙞𝙖𝙣?

'could he be the one who helped him?' xiao asked himself—contemplating if he would check on the guest or not. albeit it appears that he need not. for the familiar melody of the lute resonated through the halls of the inn with the source originated from a child—an individual whose appearance suggested a young age. that was his very first encounter with the one who saved him from his karmic demise. it was naught but a brief encounter. but for xiao, it was something that he can deem as one of the best part in his life.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

𝘄𝗮𝘁𝗰𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺 𝗮𝗳𝗮𝗿 . . .

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ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

the anemo archon's visit to liyue was quite long. and during those times, xiao had been watching from afar, afraid that even his slightest touch can burden the seemingly free lad.

but at the night of the archon's departure, something he did not expect happened. venti had ventured the meadows of liyue—an open space where the night wind blows quite gently to one's face. "how long do you plan on following me, guardian-san?" he thought that he was doing quite well in hiding his presence. albeit it seems like no matter how skilled he is, he can't still hold a candle against an archon. "i... i just want to extend ny gratitude to you when you saved me by guarding.. and watching over you during your visit," he replied defensively, not bothering to make even the slightest contact with the lad's eyes lest he's found to be lying.

chuckling, venti teased the flustered yaksha by asking him whilst smiling in an innocuous manner, "in what way did i save such a mighty guardian?" xiao on the other hand just bluntly replied the first thing that came unto his head—unaware of how it sounded or how the words would embarrass someone if they were to hear it. "your music had saved me," it was the whole truth. albeit hearing such compliment from someone made venti sheepish. the archon just laughed awkwardly as he turned his back on the puzzled yaksha. "do you wish to hear my music one last time before i leave for mondstadt?" venti asked gently, still refusing to face xiao.

"if you allow it... then gladly," the beau replied, elated that the bard would play solely for him in this meadow under the dark curtain that hath fell over the land, twinkling spotlights adorning the velvet texture of the night. "then let's take a sit first, shall we?" venti then tapped the ground beside him, signalling xiao to sit there which he followed without any qualms.

the coldness of the night is then engulfed with a warm sound from the bard's harp, lulling xiao to sleep. it was peaceful. never in his life did he felt such tranquillity. he wanted to hear more albeit the gentleness of the melody had already entered his whole being, comforting him to a dreamless and reposeful slumber. it was already morning when he awoke. he's now all alone on the grassland. xiao had hoped to see venti once more albeit that request, he never thought that it would come to him earlier than he had anticipated.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

𝗮 𝗹𝗮𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗮𝗯𝗹𝗲 𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗿 . . .

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

his duty had always been to slay the remnants of the wrathful gods. he had always executed his duty without a second thought. without hesitation no matter who his opponent may be. albeit right now, he's rooted on the spot. a phantasm he maybe, he would never forget the virescent orbs that he held in his heart not too long ago. although now, venti's once emerald glow had already lost its light, xiao would never mistake that the one standing infront of him right now is the very person who gave him a second chance at life. the person who lullled him to sleep, the gentle one who made him love the breeze.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

"why... no. who made you this way?" desperation can be traced on his voice as he question the vengeful spectre knowing that he wouldn't even answer him. and now, it dawned on him. beidou's crew who's supposed to sail with the archon never came back. if venti did truly perished on the seas of liyue, then the one infront... is the one who saved him. "why does it have to be 𝘆𝗼𝘂? why does it have to be 𝗺𝗲?" for the first time in his life, xiao had lamented his own fate. never did he resented his destiny albeit now... he despise it more than anything else.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

𝗺𝗮𝘆𝗯𝗲 𝗶𝘁'𝘀 𝗯𝗲𝗰𝗮𝘂𝘀𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗯𝗲𝗰𝗮𝗺𝗲

𝗶𝗻𝘃𝗼𝗹𝘃𝗲𝗱 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗺𝗲. 𝗜 𝗺𝘂𝘀𝘁'𝘃𝗲 𝗯𝗲𝗲𝗻

𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗼𝗻 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗱𝗲𝗺𝗶𝘀𝗲. 𝗺𝘆

𝗲𝘅𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲 𝘁𝗿𝘂𝗹𝘆 𝗶𝘀 𝗻𝗮𝘂𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝗮 𝙨𝙞𝙣.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ 𝑓𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑤𝑒𝑙𝑙, 𝑚𝑦 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒐.

[kurowrites]

💔 - Part II

Back by popular demand: A second part for the texting AU.

---

In the end, he never gave the stranger his real name. He felt nervous about giving his real name to someone he only knew through text, so he resolved to ask the stranger for his name first. The answer had been a barrage of sad emojis and a (probably joking) accusation that Lan Zhan only wanted his name to report him to the authorities for spam or something like that.

[Unknown]: I will save you in my phone as “Handsome Young Man” then, gege. you can save me as “Sweetheart” 😘

[Lan Zhan]: No. How would you know I’m handsome?

[Unknown]: 😢

[Unknown]: I just know. just my luck to start talking to an exceedingly handsome young man that has absolutely no interest in me.

[Unknown]: there is that guy… no, nevermind.

[Lan Zhan]: Obviously you want to talk about this person, or you wouldn’t have sent that message.

[Unknown]: NO!!! 😡 I am flirting with you now, don’t distract me!!

[Unknown]: so yeah, I’m sure you’re handsome, you’re witty, and you’re sassy. you’re already checking all my requirements.

[Lan Zhan]: Is being handsome a requirement?

[Unknown]: not really? but it certainly helps 💋

[Unknown]: like, don’t get me wrong, I don’t go around judging people by their looks, but it certainly helps when you feel a potential romantic partner is attractive. so I’m sure you’re handsome, because everything else seems to fit the bill, too.

[Unknown]: not that I’m trying to make you uncomfortable here

[Unknown]: sorry 🙏

[Lan Zhan]: It is fine. I am not uncomfortable. You are not wrong. Even in an arranged marriage, if you feel that your partner is repulsive, it will not work out well. That said, I guess I have never been called ugly. But I have likewise never cared about romance, so there is little meaning in discussing whether I am handsome or not.

[Unknown]: I WAS RIGHT, YOU ARE HANDSOME. ONLY HANDSOME PEOPLE SAY THINGS LIKE THAT.

[Unknown]: but sad!! you never met a girl you were like 😏😏😏 with?

[Lan Zhan]: I have no interest in women.

[Unknown]: 😱😱😱

[Unknown]: another sudden curveball by gege!! 😱😱😱

[Unknown]: be still, my beating heart. are you saying you’re interested in men???

[Lan Zhan]: That seems to be the case.

[Unknown]: oh god. I was joking before but I would totally date you!!

[Lan Zhan]: You still don’t know who I am or where I am.

[Unknown]: DOESN’T MATTER

[Unknown]: well… maybe you could at least tell me your approximate location, so that I know if I can even hope for a meeting someday. If you’re located somewhere at the far end of Xinjiang Province, then I’m shit out of luck.

[Lan Zhan]: I live in Jiangsu Province, close to Shanghai.

[Unknown]: OMG REALLY?? ME TOO!!!

[Unknown]: at least as long as I’m still in university

[Unknown]: 🥳🥳🥳

[Unknown]: that’s the best news of the week. please meet me sometime!!!

[Lan Zhan]: I will think about it. I have class now, so I will stop replying.

[Unknown]: have fun!! don’t do anything I wouldn’t do! 😘😘😘

[Lan Zhan]: …that would only shorten the list of possibilities by a very few items.

[Unknown]: RUDE.

[Unknown]: but also justified. love your sass 😘

[Lan Zhan]: Have a good day.

[Unknown]: 🥰

---

“A-Zhan,” Lan Huan said, a smile already lifting the corners of his mouth. “Is there something you neglected to tell me? Who is this ‘Sweetheart’ on your phone?”

Lan Zhan blushed violently and snatched the phone out of Lan Huan’s hand.

“It was just a joke,” he mumbled, and retreated to read the new message without his brother’s snooping.

[Sweetheart]: I AM SO BORED.

[Sweetheart]: seriously I wish you were here right now, I am bored out of my mind and there’s no relief.

[Sweetheart]: tell me that you love me. I want to hear it just one time before I perish. I’m pretty sure my brain is already dribbling out of my ears. the end is near.

[Lan Zhan]: I love you.

[Sweetheart]: omg

[Sweetheart]: OMG!!!

[Sweetheart]: 😱😱😱

[Sweetheart]: HOW COULD I POSSIBLY DIE NOW THAT YOU TOLD ME YOU LOVE ME

[Sweetheart]: ah my heart might not be able to take this. I might die anyway.

[Sweetheart]: goodbye cruel world. it was nice knowing you 💀

[Lan Zhan]: Remember, you wanted to meet me first.

[Sweetheart]: right!!! please meet with me, handsome stranger, and tell me such things in person!!

[Lan Zhan]: My next few weekends are busy, but after that. I need to stop now, my brother is trying to sneak a look at my messages.

He hastily stowed his mobile phone away and gave Lan Huan a stern look.

“I do not read your messages, either,” Lan Zhan reminded him.

“Yes, but my brother has finally taken an interest in someone!” Lan Huan enthused himself. “How can I not wish for my brother’s happiness.”

Lan Zhan huffed. “Do it quietly, and without snooping.”

Lan Huan only laughed and hugged him tightly.

It was… acceptable, Lan Zhan decided. He knew that his brother had been worried about him, and had hoped that he would finally make friends at university. And he had made a friend, now. Only he didn’t even know the friend’s name.

---

Lan Wangji was tired when he went to the dining hall after another busy day, so he didn’t even react when someone bumped into him just as he set down his tray on an empty table.

“Lan Zhan!” came Wei Ying’s enthusiastic voice, but the usual bright smile he was greeted with dimmed almost immediately after Wei Ying had seen Lan Zhan’s face.

“You look a little tired,” Wei Ying said, and sounded almost worried.

“Hn,” Lan Zhan agreed, and sat down. When Wei Ying hovered for a moment longer, not sitting down immediately, he looked up. “Are you going to sit?”

Wei Ying’s face brightened again, and he took the free seat opposite of Lan Zhan with relish, digging into his food.

“So, tell me,” he said after a few bites. “What are you so busy with? It’s not even exam period.”

“My uncle organizes a charity concert every year,” Lan Zhan explained. “His school offers a certain number of open spots for disadvantaged children. One of the sources of the funds for the project is the concert. Many former students who have become professional musicians will perform at the concert. It is a rare chance to see all these musicians in one single concert, so every year, a great number of people attend. I will also perform, at the request of my uncle.”

“Is this your humble way of saying you’re basically a professional musician?”

“I… don’t give concerts, usually,” Lan Zhan said, feeling his ears heat up a little bit.

Wei Ying’s smile grew larger. “It is! Any chance I get to hear you play sometime? Unfortunately, I don’t think I have the funds for a charity concert, as much as I’d love to support the education of disadvantaged children. I barely have the funds to support my own education.”

Lan Zhan considered the request for a moment.

“You can watch me practice,” he eventually offered. “It is no concert, but…”

“That’d be awesome!” Wei Ying exclaimed enthusiastically. “I’m sure it will be awesome either way! Tell me where I need to be, and I’ll be there.”

“I will practice after dinner. If you are free.”

“Even if I wasn’t, I’d clear my schedule for a chance to get to listen to you,” Wei Ying laughed.

Lan Zhan felt his ears heat up, but he silently accepted the compliment and didn’t reply.

After they had eaten, Wei Ying followed Lan Zhan out of the dining hall towards the building that housed the music rooms where Lan Zhan usually practiced. He pulled his phone out as he did, telling Lan Zhan with a wink that he needed to tell his roommate where he was, in case he got murdered.

Lan Zhan shook his head in exasperation. It was the same terrible humour that reminded him of ‘Sweetheart,’ though Lan Zhan had become rather used to it now.  

A moment later, his own mobile phone vibrated. He took it out of his pocket to look at the new message.

[Sweetheart]: you won’t believe what just happened! Mr. Extremely-Handsome-but-very-Aloof just invited me along to his concert practice! he’s willing to spend time with me! you’re still my number one though, don’t worry! my relationship with him shall stay pure 😘😘😘

Lan Zhan stared at the message he had just received, and then turned to stare at Wei Ying next to him, his own phone still in hand. It couldn’t be. It would be too much of a coincidence. It was impossible.

It was– he was pretty sure he had just caught a glimpse of the same message on Wei Ying’s phone. Three kisses at the end.

His entire body turned hot with anxiety and excitement at the thought that these two people were one and the same; the stranger that flirted with him incessantly and Wei Ying who–

Wei Ying who was handsome and lively and everything he had hoped the mysterious stranger would be.

With his heart in his throat, he opened the keyboard on his phone.

[Lan Zhan]: Wei Ying?

The notification for a new message flashed on the display of Wei Ying’s phone. Wei Ying looked at it for one moment, an expression of utter disbelief on his face, before he carefully turned to Lan Zhan. When he met Lan Zhan’s expectant eyes, he blushed intensely and slapped is hands in front of his face, nearly hitting himself with his phone.

“Oh no,” he said. “Oh no no no, this isn’t happening. I just made an ass of myself. Please end me now.”

Lan Zhan felt as if he was in a dream. This was too good to be true. He felt as if he was floating. With slightly shaking hands, he typed out another message on his phone.

[Lan Zhan]: I do hope the relationship will not stay pure.

[Lan Zhan]: 😘

Apparently, Wei Ying’s curiosity was stronger than his urge to die. He peeked out between his fingers as soon as he noticed the notification for a new message, and he blinked at it for several moments with the most adorable expression of confusion that Lan Zhan had ever seen in his life.

The next moment, his arms were full of Wei Ying, brabbling a lot of nonsense, which Lan Zhan found entirely him and extremely cute.

“You!” Wei Ying repeated several times, but he didn’t get any further than that.

“I,” Lan Zhan agreed, and he hugged Wei Ying back.

 [Sweetheart]: you’ve made a mistake. now I will expect kisses from you all the time. I will require you to use lots of emoji on me!!! your old man soul will suffer! 👴

[Lan Zhan]: 😘😘😘

[Sweetheart]: AAAAAAAAH 💀

[ofdragonsdeep]

15: Thunderous

The loudest sound to a mind used to song is silence.

(spoilers up to 5.4, and for coils raids)

The whirr of the airship’s fans powering down greeted Ar’telan’s return to Azys Lla. Beyond the dock, half-crazed robots running on broken programs tottered about the rock-and-metal structures of the Alpha Quadrant, heading to do the Twelve only knew what. Ardashir’s workstation was still set up near Helix, though Gerolt had long since departed the area, machines humming and shelves piled high with notes as he continued his research on the concept of anima. He waved at Ar’telan as he passed, Ar’telan nodding back a cheerful greeting as he carefully sidestepped a spinner-rook hurtling past at a dangerous angle.

He had been back to Azys Lla more times than he might have expected, the first time he had come here. The memories of the chase Thordan and his Knights had set them on were still fresh, despite the many moons that had passed since. The buildings and ships still hummed with empty purpose, the dock where the Gration had touched down was empty, but the spaces where the garleans had spilled out of it still bore their mark. So many had died here, and not only for the Allagan’s sake.

He put his fingers to his mouth and whistled. The noise was a pathetic one, given his damaged throat and lack of voice, but it was enough to call his chocobo from the airship hangar and to his side. The aether currents were strong in Azys Lla, the artificial confluence at the Flagship forcing them to be so, and it was easy to navigate them between the floating islands, over the heads of the monstrosities and broken machines, sailing across the void to his destination.

The Delta Quadrant was an odd place. He had studied the maps of Azys Lla that G’raha had pulled from the terminals as part of his search of the archives, and the place seemed as though it was named in Dragonspeak, but something seemed off. In times past, he would have asked for Midgardsormr’s opinion, but the events with Omega left him able to do little more than pilot his tiny vessel on automatic, his great mind slumbering in the aether to recharge. Tiamat still waited in her self-imposed exile, her songless children - cloned, not born - wandering the isle in desperate sadness.

Ar’telan was here to pay a special visit.

When he and Alisaie had fought their way through the ruins of Dalamud, a mad dash to put a stop to Bahamut’s reconstitution, they had encountered any number of threats. More allagan robots, these ones still functional but with no order but ‘kill’. Biological monstrosities that were gibberingly insane. Tempered creatures - Nael’s face contorted into a wicked snarl, the hot flames of the phoenix. But more than anything, what had hurt were the dragons.

They had gone back for them, after Bahamut had been fully discorporated. One by one they had released the locks on the stasis chambers, and what had tumbled out was ooze and the stench of death. Most of the dragons were alive only by the strictest definition, and perished shortly after being freed. Some of them stabilised, then turned around in madness, Tempered and broken. Some of these they had subdued, horrified at what they had done, and returned them to the stasis chambers, disconnected now from Dalamud and its prayer-siphoning. All but one.

The wyvern that they had taken to calling Twintania was an unusual creature. Leashed by allagan technology, though it had been badly damaged in the fight, she was filled with a burning, single-minded hatred for those who had enslaved her - mortals which looked, to her, like the people who were trying to save her. Cid had jimmied together a repair mechanism after examining Tiamat’s chains, and they had made the heartbreaking decision to leash the wyvern in the Delta Quadrant, in one of the ruined buildings near the Pappus Tree.

Ar’telan walked, feet crunching through the overgrown grass, listening to the babble of water on its wending way through the quadrant. The roiling aether of the sky cast a sickly light over the area as he gave his chocobo strict instructions to wait outside, and ducked into their makeshift prison.

Twintania bellowed in anger as he approached where she was penned, though the bindings let her do little else. She watched him with the single-minded hatred of the Tempered in her eyes as he set down his supplies - a tiny magitek battery charged with aether, a key to unlock her chains - and summoned forth the anchor that Alisaie had conjured for him before he left.

He had never done this on his own before. He had watched it done more than once, by now, but he was still a little nervous. The dragons were different to the races native to Hydaelyn - who could say it would work? Would he do it right? Would it make any difference to Twintania, freed but knowing full well what he and his had done?

Still, he had come this far, so he was not going to turn back now. He channeled aether into the focus, a combination of his own and a little from Alisaie and Alphinaud, stored in the battery. G’raha had offered, but Ar’telan had been wary of taking the aether of someone connected to Allag, even by proxy, so this was all he had. The porxie snorted happily, flapping its ears to indicate that it was fully charged, and the two of them set to work.

The flash of aether was blinding to behold, the bright white of the life-energy he had poured into the casting meeting the angry blue-gold hiss of Bahamut’s Tempering. There was a crackle, a flash, and Ar’telan staggered with the wave of lethargy that washed over him as the spell finally hit home, draining him of his energy in one swift burst. He fell backwards to the floor, hands flying out to steady himself, and blinked back in the bright light show that played across his eyes, flickering afterimages of light.

There was a moment of silence.

“...The screaming doth stop, and I am alone in a Songless current. What brings thee to this place, child of man? What compels thee to save the lost?”

It had worked.

“Because you deserve the chance,” he replied, getting to his feet. He took the tomestone in his his hand and poked at it until it released the restraints - perhaps it was a feint, but he would weather the consequences of being too trusting if that were so. The wyvern watched as they fell to the floor at her feet, unholy amalgamation of magitek and allagan cruelty, and did not move to strike.

“My sire is dead, his Song forever silenced. My siblings lost in a quiet void. I am alone.” Her head swiveled to look at the sickened sky, filtering through the gaps in the ruined masonry. Beyond it, Tiamat sat in her silent vigil, and the wyvern would almost certainly know. “The world has turned as I stayed lost in my madness. Tell me why.” Ar’telan followed her gaze, wondering what he could even say, why he had thought this might even work - why she might have wanted it at all. Was it fair? Was it right?

The choice should have been hers, not one made through Tempered necessity.

“You are not alone,” he said. “Some of your brethren yet live, sealed within the stasis prisons the Allagans locked them in. We have the means to save them now, from the madness the Ascians gifted your brood with, if you wish it.” He shook his head slowly. “I know it is a cruel and empty world that your eyes are opened to, but if you would choose to look away from it, you can do so with eyes unclouded.”

The wyvern was quiet for a long time, settling down into the sitting position that Ar’telan had seen in Vedrfolnir a handful of times before. She was smaller than him, just, but still large enough that Ar’telan thought she had been close in clutch to her Brood’s sire. She was larger than any of the other dragons they had found within Dalamud’s core, for certain.

“Once before did we make a decision drowned in sadness and despair. We shall not do so a second time,” she decided. “Though it hurts, the discordant notes of our primal Sire were no true Song. This I see now. No magic shall ever return him to us, nor those lost to the madness that followed.” She stretched out wings that had gone long unused, muscles tensing and releasing as she tested their mettle. “No longer shall we blindly trust the children of man, but nor shall I turn away from thy kindness. If but a handful of our kin live, we shall persist. In honour of our Sire, we shall carry his Song through the ages. Can thee and thine do this for us, mortal child?” Ar’telan nodded.

“It will take us time - the energy needed to charge the magic that cleanses the effect comes from our own life’s aether, and we are few who can do it. But we shall, if that is what you wish of us.” He took a cautious step towards her, and was not immediately repelled. “Allag’s sins are not ours, but the Empire is broken and lost. If we can make amends for the sins of the dead, in whatever small way we can, then we shall.” Twintania rumbled in agreement, acquiescing to his request by stepping forwards and touching her chin to the top of his head.

“Take me to thy compatriots, and to my brood-mates. I shall see what is left in the silence.”

---

Returning to the airship with a wyvern in tow raised a not-inconsiderable alarm among the Ishgardians who piloted it, but a space on the deck was cleared for her after a small amount of hemming and hawing by the pilots. She flapped her wings irritably as they flew, clearly wishing that she could fly herself rather than rely upon the contraptions of man, but she raised no verbal complaint.

Ar’telan, for his part, activated his Linkpearl and communicated through series of half-formed noises to Alisaie that he needed her help. She was already in Ishgard, waiting in case things went badly, so it was simple enough to arrange to meet her at the airship landing.

---

“It worked!” Alisaie exclaimed as Ar’telan and Twintania dismounted from the airship. “Oh, I’m so glad. Not that I doubted you for a minute, of course.”

“I am told that my kin are under thy protection,” Twintania said, having no time for pleasantries. Alisaie grimaced, but nodded in agreement.

“I suppose you could call it that. It’s not pleasant, though,” she confirmed. “We can take you there, if you’d like, but it will be a long time before we manage to cure them all.” She paused then, sighing softly, and shook her head. “We stopped releasing the locks on the stasis chambers once it became clear we couldn’t do anything for those who were still… alive. I can’t guarantee that even half of them will be saveable.” Twintania inclined her head in acknowledgement.

“I understand. The extent of the corruption hath been revealed to me by thy companion,” she assured Alisaie. “I would stand guard over their resting place. I have lived many of thy lifetimes, and will live many more yet. When the last of my brood-mates is free, whatever form that doth take, then we shall decide what we must do as one.” Alisaie looked to Ar’telan, and he inclined his head in agreement.

“...Well, alright,” she said. “I’ll need to make sure everyone we need is there, and see if we can’t find someone to assign in a more permanent capacity to trying to cure the Tempering. It’s still an inexact science, even in mortals like us. Never mind dragons.” She turned away, one hand on her ear to active her Linkpearl, and began contacting people in earnest. Twintania looked at her surroundings properly, taking in the cold stone of Ishgard and the people walking nervously past the gathering at the airship landing.

“Ishgard has a troubled history with dragons,” Ar’telan said, regret colouring his every movement. Twintania simply inclined her head.

“Thy kind and mine are too different to avoid such troubles, it seems.”

---

Ar’telan went with Twintania on their trek across Eorzea. The majority of the stasis pods that they had found initially had been in the shard of Dalamud embedded in the Broken Wall, in Thanalan, and they had repurposed the area for their desperate attempts to sustain the dying. From Ishgard, the walk took them across the Black Shroud, a journey of several days on its own. Ar’telan deflected the more human of their problems - concerned Wood Wailers, poachers who were not aware of how much they had attempted to bite, and a few Ixal angry at the encroachment on ‘their’ territory. Twintania spent her time idly snapping at the forest creatures which tried to impede their crossing, the elementals thankfully allowing them passage. She had spent many moons in her bindings, and though her reflexes were dulled, she was more than capable of snapping up an errant squirrel or a diremite or two.

The Shroud broke on a part of Thanalan close to their destination, for a mercy. The few scattered Amalj’aa that still made a scouting camp in the area were easily chased off by the sight of a dragon in the flesh, and the phurbles and snurbles - Ar’telan still could not tell the difference - were easy prey for Twintania’s jaws. Ar’telan was glad that the allagan monstrosities that had once joined them on the path had died down to near-invisibility since the primal had been quelled, for the reminder would likely not be a pleasant one.

“These places are cold and cruel,” Twintania said as they approached the door, flapping her wings in disdain for it. Ar’telan nodded in agreement, breaking the seal on the the entryway.

“They are. It was the only place we could safely keep them where they would not be prey for bandits, but I wish there were other options,” he said.

---

They walked down the smooth walkways, allagan lights glowing at their passage. Deep within the engine of the Ragnarok, the engine that had borne Dalamud to space and then served to keep it there, the cluster of the remaining stasis pods sat. Alisaie was already there, assembled with her crew of ‘people who could teleport’, a space remaining for, presumably, Ironworks engineers who had been too busy to arrive immediately.

“Glad you’ve arrived in one piece,” she said by way of greeting. “We’re going over the diagnostics at the moment. The short version is that there’s thirty-some pods which are likely to hold dragons we can save, and too many others which likely… don’t. I’ve taught the cure for Tempering to these two here.” She gestured behind her to a hyur and an elezen that Ar’telan didn’t recognise, who waved sheepishly at the greeting. “We can get one or two out each moon, maybe. But you probably don’t want to push it.” Twintania rumbled in acknowledgement.

“Greetings, children of man,” she said, inclining her head. “Time is of no issue. My vigil shall last as long as it must, and I have much to learn of this world still as I wait.” Alisaie cleared her throat, clearly still a little nervous.

“Right. And we’ve got some people from the Ironworks coming in - they’re the people who can get your brood-mates out of the pods to begin with. They might change a little bit for the first few weeks, but eventually we’d like to have a small, permanent team here until everyone’s out. Is that alright?” Twintania nodded her head again.

“It shall serve. You have my thanks, child. It is good to see that menfolk of the sort that my Sire once aided still walk the earth, despite what the Allagans desired.”

“We will do everything in our power to ensure that none like them ever rise again,” Ar’telan said. “There is never any way to guarantee such things, but we will try.” Twintania made a noise that sounded almost like a laugh.

“Our memory is eternal, child of Light. We shall not forget the betrayal, nor the love. And we shall never let rest the memory of the Ascians and their lies. We shall not be fooled a second time.” Ar’telan smiled.

“I hope so,” he said. “I will come and make sure all is well whenever I can. Good luck.” The ancient wyvern inclined her head, respect in her calm eyes.

“To you as well, child of Light.”

[thedespairzone]

The last words of Elias Edwards.

Before I share this story, I’ll preface it by saying I am not the author, and nor is my grandfather. After his passing, I found this amongst his belongings. Pieced together from torn and water-damaged scraps of paper were the last words of a man lost at sea. Alongside the tale was a glass bottle. Supposedly, this is the bottle that the story washed up ashore in. I will presume this tale to be real, instead of some elaborate piece of fiction, as my grandfather insisted upon this in his accompanying notes.

Without wasting any more of your time, I will now type out the story to the best of my abilities. Forgive me if some details are inaccurate - the handwriting is already bad, and almost illegible in some places due to water damage. I will use my grandfather’s speculative notes to assist me in places where the water damage is too great. 

Let’s begin: 

To whomever finds this note, be sure to keep it to yourself. I’ve a need to tell someone of my fate, but I wish not for my beloved to know of the tragedy that befell me. I’d rather she believed our ship was capsized, that we all drowned in the frozen hellscape of the Atlantic. I shall surely perish out here. Whether I drown, starve, or be eaten, I hope it will bring me peace. I want not for my own demise, I’ll make that much clear, but I no longer fear it. As a last remark, before I begin, let it be known that I don’t hold a grudge against anyone. I pray their souls feel the same about me. None of us were brave men. Not on that day. Least of all me.

My name is Elias Edwards. I am twenty-six. The year is 1846. I will die at sea, as have all but one of my shipmates. 

We set sail from the Bristol City Docks. We’ve a history of seafaring men in town, and whoever reads this will surely recognise us as the city that bestowed Blackbeard upon the world. With that sort of history, its no wonder we’ve so many fishermen and merchants clambering for a chance at sailing the high seas. We were a crew of one hundred and fifty men, each of us very capable. As our ship was presently the brawniest of the seaworthy bunch at Bristol City Docks, the academics at the University of Oxford had arranged for us to keep watch over a young scholar. He had been developing a device that would revolutionise seafaring, as they boldly claimed. The young lad, definitely no more than twenty-one, was named Henry Clark. 

I had expected Henry to be a meek academic; I’d known the type - scrawny, with such a penchant for all things scientific that he’d be sooner caught in bed with a book than a woman. But Henry gave a different impression. He fit in well with the crew, and we almost forgot that he was there for a reason other than pay. We had all said our farewells and see-you-soons to our betrothed, beloveds, firstborns, and mothers - each man to whomever it was he cared for the most in this world, and so we journeyed out to the Americas. Our ship was well stocked, and we carried with us crates of goods to be sold to the Yanks.

As our ship cleared her path out to sea, and the bustling docks melted away into the distance, a number of the men began a mild teasing of Henry - despite his friendly disposition, nothing was enough to save him from the mockery that one who had not found their sea legs would receive.  Amongst the group was my cousin; he too was a member of the crew. Albert Edwards, a little older than I, patted Henry on the back as the jests subsided. “Happens to everyone,” he reassured Henry. I went over to greet Albert, but stopped when I saw Henry pull a strange box from his pocket. 

My cousin and the others were fascinated by the machine too, and we all began to gather around the scholar. I can’t quite describe best how the machine looked; I’ve no knowledge of steam engines or any other such mechanisms. There were blinking flashes of red and green along one side, and on its front were a series of levers and switches that did only God knows what. A rectangle above the switches showed numbers that changed, six digits that increased and decreased for some reason unknown to me. Albert went to touch the box, but Henry quickly pulled it away. 

“We have to be very careful with this.” 

Henry refused to let anyone else touch it, but was more than happy for us to look. This new mystery device, the one that would revolutionise seafaring, soon became the talk of the whole crew. Many of us speculated upon how it worked, but none of us quite understood when Henry explained it. He told us to rest assured that, one day, nobody would set sail without one. While none of us could understand how it worked, Henry told us what it did. He said that its use was to pinpoint your exact position on the globe, and that’s what the numbers meant. We were all amazed, but after a number of days spent sailing, we carried on with our normal duties and forgot about Henry’s box. 

I shan’t bore you with details of ship life. The next two weeks were uneventful. There were no skirmishes with marauders or freebooters, no gunfights with other ships. Our canons were covered with dust - I wasn’t certain whether they had ever known the joy of firing. The Captain ran a tight ship, but enjoyed the company of a relaxed crew, so we entertained ourselves by playing cards and other such things when our attention wasn’t required. It was also a common occurrence for one or two items of freight to go missing from time to time - this trip it happened to be a few bottles of cider. We allowed ourselves to get merry on the drink we had brought, and every now and again on the drinks we were supposed to be delivering. 

On a night out in the middle of the Atlantic, Albert and I sat on the deck. I’d procured a bottle of cider, and Albert cracked in to a bottle of rum that he had stowed away below deck. We sat, bottles in hand, eyes up at the night sky. The blazes of stars lit the way for our journey, and we marvelled in the beauty of a thing we had seen a thousand times. But both of us, without saying a word, knew that the stars we looked at that night would be the same stars our wives looked at when night came for them. We spent some time watching, drinking, the ambient sounds of the ocean and creaking wood of the ship did well rocking us to relax on that still night.

Some time passed before either of us spoke.

“When we get this far out,” my cousin said, “it’s not nice to be away.”

“We’ve done it plenty of times.”

“You’re right. But I’ve got a boy now.”

Albert and his wife had their firstborn not long before we set sail. As horrid as it made him feel, he had to leave her with with their little William. We all need money - with an extra mouth to feed he needed it more than ever. We spoke about fatherhood; Albert’s newfound trials and tribulations, before Henry came to join us. 

“You should come and look at this.”

We each turned to face him, then followed him to the side of the ship. Henry peered over the side, and we followed suit. Beneath us was the ocean black, a glistening mirage of stars floating on its surface. 

“What are we looking at, Henry?” I asked.

Henry pulled his box from his pocket, the red light flickered and flashed like a flame blown by the wind. It made a repetitive ding, which sounded like the bell of a bicycle or some such noise. He watched the numbers closely. 

“There’s something strange beneath us.” He said. 

By this time, I had just about finished my cider. Henry asked me to drop the bottle into the ocean upon my finishing it. I swigged the dregs of my drink and dropped the bottle into the sea. It splashed against the surface, then sunk rapidly down - and as it did so the waters around it were ablaze with a golden hue. A perfect, fantastic, gold. 

“Wow. That’s incredible. What’s that there, then?” Albert asked. 

We thought about what it might be, before Henry hatched a plan. 

Albert recovered his empty, discarded rum bottle and found some rope, and some of the other men crowded around us to watch. Albert held the rope, and I fastened the other end of it securely to the bottle. We lowered it down the side of the boat and into the ocean. It swung and tugged in the breeze, but Albert held a steady hand. The moment it touched the water, a web of gold echoed about it. A subtle humming filled the air while we allowed the bottle to be filled with ocean water. I gazed upon the returning bottle filled with that flowing, glowing gold, and I felt inexplicably drawn to it. We all crowded around Albert as he pulled the bottle up the side of the ship. Some of the golden waters were sloshed around the outside of the bottle. Coiling the rope in one hand, Albert finally dangled the bottle onto the deck. 

“Nobody touch it.” Henry warned. “We need to see what it is first.” 

The crowd that had gathered grumbled at his caution, myself included. We all must have felt the same pull, the same yearning for the golden water. Albert, who had become quite drunk on his rum, complained that it was his bottle and he should be able to do what he wanted with it. Henry ignored the rabble, and unveiled a second device. Much like the first box we had all seen, this second one was of an equally confusing nature. Extending from one side of it was a glass appendage, which Henry dunked into the top of the bottle. It filled itself with the golden liquid. 

“This tells me what it is.” He informed us. 

While Henry was looking at the device he had kept hidden from us until this point, the golden glow within the bottle, and that which was dripping from its sides, had simmered down. It had faded and appeared as if it were regular water of the ocean. The crowed had lulled, but Albert reached forwards to the bottle, noting aloud in a drunken slur the obvious fact that it had faded. He placed his thumb over the mouth of the bottle, and shook it. Sure enough, the water inside began to sparkle again with that same dazzling gold. So did Albert’s hand, as he took it away from the still-wet bottleneck. The tip of his thumb was bright and golden. A number of the men laughed, and so did Albert - but his laugh slowly grew nervous, before falling silent. He began to scratch at his hand, to try to wipe off the gold, but all he did was spread it to his other hand. Albert scratched and scratched, his breath became snatched. I asked him what was wrong.

“Don’t touch me!” My cousin screamed as both myself and others tried to help him and see what was the matter. He panicked, whirling about, before he began to wail in pain. Alongside Albert’s screams was that same humming chorus - we all heard it, rumbling and ominous. I wanted to help Albert, but was terrified of going near him. I knew that the rest of the crew felt the same. He flailed about, winding and twisting himself around and around as he desperately tried to remove the golden waters from himself, but all he could do was spread it further. Albert’s skin began to bubble, began to pop, and even began to fall off. Flesh dripped from my dear cousin’s arms as he begged God for mercy. One man tried to throw some of his alcohol over Albert to wash away the gold, but it didn’t work. I winced and turned away from the scene. The constitution of my stomach was not enough to behold the sight any longer. In the commotion, with my hand held before my mouth and facing away, I noticed Henry skulking behind the mast. 

“Where are you off to?” I called over the screams and humming, dashing over to him. 

“I told everyone not to touch it. I’m leaving.” He said, flicking the levers and dials on a device of his. I went to reach towards him, to grab him and tell him to explain himself… 

Perhaps it was a mix of the alcohol and all the panic in the air, but I swear I saw Henry vanish before my very eyes. Like a spectre, he disappeared. I know not how, but it must have been something to do with his device. I was stood in shock for a moment, trying to understand how a man could do such a thing. It was as if he flicked a switch on his box, then folded into himself, as if he was being crunched and eaten by some invisible beast. He folded and folded, all within the space of a second, until he was no more. Gone... 

While I was preoccupied being completely dumbfounded by what had happened with Henry, the ship had fallen into complete disarray. The alcohol that someone had thrown onto Albert had facilitated the spread of the gold; and in all of the confusion someone must have knocked the first bottle over. I quickly climbed the rigging, and saw others following in my footsteps. Hand over hand, foot over foot, I scrambled my way up high and perched atop the crow’s nest. Canon fire blared beneath the screaming and humming on deck; and I looked down around at the chaos that unfolded before me.

It was a terrible golden mist that slithered upon the side of the boat, reaching at us and clawing its way ever closer. It moved slowly, yet we couldn’t outrun it; there was nowhere to run to. Slowly, but strongly, the sea spray stuttered and juddered its way above and over the walls of the ship, engulfing the bow and marking men for dead with its gentlest touch. Men with melting flesh climbed to reach me, but fell back to the deck as the searing pain became too much for them. 

As strange as it sounds, there was forever an allure about the golden mist that fluttered in the wind. Though I saw it burn through whatever it met, I felt a desire to reach out below the crow’s nest and touch it. I was wise enough to refrain from doing so, but something about the mist could draw men in. Pandemonium was unleashed below me by the onslaught of the golden mist - which reached just below my perch. I sat terrified as I waited for everything to stop, the screaming, the humming. The canon fire had ceased, likely as soon as the operators realised how fruitless an effort it was to fire a cannon at mist and water. 

The ship began to violently rock, side to side, until I could no longer peek over the side of the crow’s nest for fear of falling to my death - be it the mist or the impact that took me, I desired neither. I hunkered down and crouched hidden, surrounded by the small circle of wood that acted as my final wall of protection. I was wobbled by the rocking of the ship, and I tried to hold myself still, but the rocking soon became so violent that I was thrown back and forth by the assault. I cowered in my hiding hole, too timid to face the horrors below, dwelling upon the thought that my friends among the crew, and my dearest cousin Albert, had by now all but fallen apart by the will of the golden mist. 

X X X

From that point onwards, my memories are terribly ill-defined. I must’ve hit my head while I was being flung by the rocking of the boat. I’ve no idea how this came to pass, but when I awoke amidst the scattered, floating wreckage of the ship, I was still afloat myself in the bucket-shaped crow’s nest. Amongst the floating debris were some crates - gifted to me in them are the parchments on which I have written this message, and the bottle in which I will seal this message. And, of course, plenty of cider to keep me company in my final days - though God knows how much of the beloved stuff we’ve lost to the sea floor. 

Make no mistake: I wish I could have helped even just one soul. But to see a man’s flesh fall from his bones as if he were well-cooked meat is enough to send the bravest of men into a blind panic. Please, cousin, hold no grudge against me for my cowardice; I’m serving my punishment, withering away to nothing while drifting aimlessly through the barren ocean blue. 

I’m growing weary as I write now. I’m sensing that the end is near. Whoever finds this, wherever it may wash ashore, thank you for letting me share my story with you. 

I shall now drink the remainder of that which floats with me. If you would be so kind, have a drink with me as you read my final farewell. 

- Elias Edwards

Unfortunately, a lot is left unanswered by Elias. My grandfather’s notes focus heavily on working out what the “golden mist” was, with the avenues he has explored being related to bioluminescent plankton, various microbes, and even the mythological sirens. He also focuses very intently on Henry Clark, and working out how he “disappeared” - though with the fact that Elias had been drinking and had hit his head, I can’t be certain whether any of this really happened. 

[redteabaron]

The three gods and their lots - (three heads of the dragon)

Contains meta below the cut as well as possible interpretations and theories and speculation. I feel like I should also add a disclaimer that no, I don’t think Targaryens are gods incarnate, this is just examining mythological aspects in their stories and characters and finding commonalities. (I only respect one mortal turning into a god and that is Bran) 

The major three gods of the Greek pantheon were: Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades. They drew lots and shared dominion over the world - Zeus was god of the sky and king of the gods, Poseidon was god of the sea, and Hades was the god of the Underworld. Three dominions, three gods. 

“The dragon has three heads.” - Daenerys IV, ACOK 

Aegon/Zeus

“I have. Why should I go running to my aunt as if I were a beggar? My claim is better than her own. Let her come to me...in Westeros.” - Aegon, The Lost Lord, ADWD

The lesson began with languages. Young Griff spoke the Common Tongue as if he had been born to it, and was fluent in High Valyrian, the low dialects of Pentos, Tyrosh, Myr, and Lys, and the trade talk of sailors. … Geometry followed languages. There the boy was less adroit, but Haldon was a patient teacher…” - Tyrion IV, ADWD

“...Yandry said we ought to throw you back, but the lad forbade it.” 

The prince. - Tyrion VI, ADWD

Upon his birth, Zeus had to be spirited away from his father, Cronus, who had swallowed his siblings and hidden so he could escape the fate of his siblings. He would later grow, revolt against his father, and regurgitate his siblings. After drawing lots, Zeus would be given dominion over the sky and be named king of the gods. 

Zeus was affiliated with protection, authority, righteous rule, battle, and justice. He was considered a fair protector and ruler, but not above petty jealousy or anger (or amorousness). 

Aegon, in what little we have seen from him, is actually groomed from a young age to rule. He doesn’t have the hands-on experiences several other characters are thusly put through in the books, but it is very clear he knows what is expected of him, has the knowledge required for the position, and has a good claim to the throne - one that is seemingly preordained, as Zeus’s was foretold before his father swallowed his children. 

Aegon’s connection to the red comet seen on the day of his birth can be loosely traced to Zeus’s mastery over the sky itself (where the sky reflects a point of significance to both Zeus’s temper or demands, so did Aegon’s birth seemingly coincide with the prophecy of the prince that was promised). 

“Young Griff”/Aegon had similarly been spirited away as Zeus had during a time of catastrophe when his claim would threaten another (where instead of a stone wrapped in swaddling, Aegon’s escape was tendered by Varys switching him with another baby) and raised in secrecy, despite being the rightful heir of a kingdom. It’s not Cronus he was hidden from or his actual father, but Robert Baratheon who is hellbent on wiping out the entire line of Targaryens, even agreeing to Tywin’s methods (whether or not he ordered the Mountain to do what he did to Elia and the children doesn’t matter; he was the Mountain’s lord, and so at best he just insinuated ‘do what you want’ very well knowing what Gregor was like). Not so different from Cronus, who, desperate to keep his power, swallowed all of his children.  

In text he’s shown to be a little impatient in his desire to be taken seriously and not be coddled by Griff (but honestly he’s 16 and every teenager everywhere in the history of anybody can be impatient and a little overdramatic; Tyrion is briefly reminded of Joffrey when Aegon throws a tantrum over cyvasse, but Tyrion is shown to not like a lot of people for various reasons, so). However, he has a fantastic grip on his studies, in particular language and history, and we can infer that he has an interest in ruling that goes well beyond ‘it sounds like fun’ (Robert Baratheon’s quote that he never felt so alive as when he was winning the war, and never so dead after it was won comes to mind), at least from what we know from Varys and Griff, and a bit from Tyrion. 

But aside from the impatience we see from him, he shows compassion and an unwillingness to forget kindness when he refuses to let Tyrion drown after Tyrion saves him from a stone-man. From the Tyrion chapters in ADWD, we see Aegon laugh quite freely, is at ease among people of a different station from him; we actually get the idea that even if he can be a little immature, he shows a lot of promise for rule and justice.  

One of the more interesting connections between he and Zeus is the fact that there is some debate as to whether Zeus is the youngest or the oldest of his siblings since he was never swallowed by his father (who technically, after he regurgitated them, also gave ‘birth’ to the swallowed siblings) - and there is understandable debate as to whether Aegon is really Aegon. It could go either way; they are Schrödinger's brother and represent a puzzle, a possible paradox (I do actually believe Aegon is the real deal; if Ned can smuggle out a secret-baby from a tower across a battlefield with only his buddy from the swamps, Varys could certainly have arranged a switch).  

And associating Aegon with justice, imo, isn’t a stretch - particularly when we’ll get to see him gain some traction outside of Jon Connington’s influence (who just likes to hate on the Martells because he’s a Rhaegar fanboy don’t @ me) and we see him meet Arianne. Jon C only sees Rhaegar in Aegon because all Jon C can ever see is Rhaegar; once we move beyond Jon C’s immediate and constant influence over Aegon (and him trying to shape him as Rhaegar 2.0) we’ll see Aegon have the opportunity to connect directly with his Martell side. I believe there’s a good chance we’ll see Aegon seek out, and speak about it, justice for his mother and sibling especially given that he’ll have a positive Martell influence at his side. We just haven’t had the opportunity yet. (And Zeus was always associated with righteous authority and justice). 

It’s not a huge hint, but there is also the connection Zeus has with gryphons; in a translation of Prometheus Bound by Aeschylus, Prometheus has a warning for Io “Beware of the sharp-beaked hounds of Zeus that do not bark, gryphons”. Gryphons/griffins are also said to pull Zeus’s chariots. Jon C is undoubtedly the guard dog that stands ready at Aegon’s side and manages to ‘carry’ him in a sense to Griffin’s Roost (poor influence on him notwithstanding, I can’t really cast aside the fact that he is loyal to Aegon, regardless of the reasons why). 

Admittedly, Aegon is definitely much milder than Zeus with his flaws microscopic compared to the king of gods, but I think a lot of mythology references aren’t word-for-word, and in asoiaf they sometimes pull through less obviously. Casting Aegon as Zeus works specifically for this because of the rule of three, and who I ended up going with for the other two in this meta/theory. 

Zeus was not without his share of flaws and while he was king of the gods, his rule never went unchallenged - chief amongst them to instigate things was Poseidon. Aegon similarly won’t be unchallenged for it. 

Daenerys/Poseidon

“The Dothraki sea,” Ser Jorah Mormont said as he reined to a halt beside her on the top of the ridge. Beneath them, the plain stretched out immense and empty, a vast flat expanse that reached to the distant horizon and beyond. It was a sea, Dany thought. - Daenerys III, AGOT

“...I shall fear the Dothraki the day they teach their horses to run on water.” - Ned, Eddard VIII AGOT

The horse seemed to know her moods, as if they shared a single mind...The Dothraki were a hard and unsentimental people, and it was not their custom to name their animals, so Dany thought of her only as the silver. She had never loved anything so much. - Daenerys III AGOT 

“...I know that somewhere upon the grass, her dragons hatched, and so did she. I know she is proud. How not? What else was left her but pride? I know she is strong. How not? The Dothraki despise weakness. If Daenerys had been weak, she would have perished with Viserys. I know she is fierce. Astapor, Yunkai and Meereen are proof enough of that. She has survived assassins and conspiracies and fell sorceries, grieved for a brother and a husband and a son, trod the cities of the slavers to dust beneath her dainty sandaled feet.” - Tyrion VI, ADWD

Poseidon was lord of horses, god of the sea (and all that it entailed). Upon drawing his lot, he envied Zeus his position as rightful king and challenged him for it several times (conspiring with his siblings at some points), and would often needle his sibling. He was a key deity to pray to for protection, mostly travelers and sailors. He was associated with the sea, storms, earthquakes, and horses. In some stories, he too was smuggled away from Cronus, in others, he was swallowed like his siblings. 

Poseidon’s temperament was known to reflect the sea and storms; he was unruly and seen as a rebel against authority that existed both in the divine realm and the mortal realm. Him being lord of the sea, storms, earthquakes, and horses, reflects a wilder nature. 

While Aegon is seen as the rightful heir to the iron throne (and consequently has the Golden Company with him, lending a further air of credibility to his right since the GC are ‘honorable’) and has a shared mastery of the sky with Zeus (referring to the day of his birth and its connection to the red comet), Dany has been ‘given’ domain over the sea. The Dothraki sea, at any rate, and the Dothraki themselves (who are also known as horselords). While her temperament hasn’t shown itself to quite the extreme Poseidon’s has shown in his tales, she has a connection to the foreshadowing of a storm, of bringing a storm (her name, the day of her birth, repeated connection with the unruliness of her largest dragon Drogon, and indications of her possibly forming an alliance with Euron Greyjoy in the future etc). 

No squall could frighten Dany, though. Daenerys Stormborn, she was called, for she had come howling into the world on distant Dragonstone as the greatest storm in the memory of Westeros howled outside, a storm so fierce that it rippled gargoyles from the castle walls and smashed her father’s fleet to kindling. - Daenerys I, ASOS 

It’s an interesting connection that Dany has with the sea and horses, imo. She’s shown to love the freedom of the sea, of sailing, and she loves horses. Both are associated with freedom to travel and journey, as we see her ecstasy on the back of Drogon flight gives her a similar feeling. It is, I think, reflecting the fact that she isn’t shown to enjoy ruling, but she does enjoy power and victory (and conquering although it’s not so cartoonishly overt). The fact that Ned says there’s nothing to fear so long as the Dothraki never learn how to cross the Narrow Sea on their horses was setting up that they will ‘learn’. 

Dany, cast under Poseidon, as lord of horses and the sea (and journeying), gives them that “opportunity” (one they don’t want or need, desperately). 

While all the gods of the pantheon were guilty of petty meddling and warring with each other and having rivalries, Poseidon was infamous for having disputes with other gods for supremacy and control of other countries. At once point, when Athens chose to follow Athena over him, he flooded them in his outage. Some believed that his anger roused storms, caused earthquakes, and floods. (Again, he was far from the only god to do petty things like this, but he was held up as the one who was infamous for it even as he was also viewed as a protector). 

Dany doesn’t summon any of those things, but there is a buildup of her anger/frustration in the books. Her justice is biased (to say nothing of her hypocrisy in dealing with slavery, in one breath claiming it is abominable, in the next allowing it to happen and partaking a portion of the profit just as the slavers she had ousted did) when she corrects herself to demand that the wineseller’s daughters be questioned more harshly, rather than gently (implying there is torture to follow in the interrogation). 

We see that temper rear its head when she burns Mirri, a victim of the Dothraki who was taken as a slave after being assaulted a number of times, after Drogo dies, when Jorah’s duplicity is revealed to her and she sends he and Barristan into the sewers hoping they’ll die, etc, (not necessarily to say her anger in some of these moments isn’t warranted, but gradually over the course of the books, her frustration becomes more obvious and her solutions bloodier and less focused). 

Poseidon, despite having his own dominion and having drawn the lot for the sea, challenges Zeus for his. He loses, but it isn’t the only time he challenges Zeus, or any other gods, at times enacting terrible vengeance on them or their favored humans. 

Dany and Aegon meeting is pretty inevitable, but there is foreshadowing that they will be at odds. Maybe they’ll meet with the united idea that the Lannisters/Baratheons have to face justice for what was done, but Dany’s idea of a legacy is wrapped up only in the legacy of the Targaryens, and she refuses to consider any other elements that occurred during the Rebellion (her father going mad, why the Starks and Baratheons rebelled, what Rhaegar was at fault for, etc). Aegon at least is implied to listen to Tyrion - he isn’t only blinded by what Jon C undoubtedly has told him - meaning he’ll likely hear Arianne out too, and Jon Snow. Dany has one truth, passed down from Viserys, one legacy. 

Like Poseidon, Dany already isn’t satisfied with her lot, warring over other countries (or conquest, claiming Meereen for her own after Astapor falls to the butcher). She will challenge Aegon for a lot that belongs to him, but I believe that unlike Poseidon, she’ll actually win against him. 

Jon/Hades

Casting Jon as Hades is something I’ve already written about in this meta, so this is just a summary with bits added on. 

When I compared Jon to Hades, I also compared the Night’s Watch being the place when men went and died, metaphorically, they died in the eyes of the realm (no wife, no sons, no land, no glory, etc). I believe that Jon is being groomed for rule in a different way, that is, holding domain over the condemned or forgotten. 

When Aegon and Dany inevitably clash over the throne, the aftermath is going to look like a hellscape. King’s Landing is repeated through the text to be the seat of power, the center of Westeros, multiple times, and with another Dance building up, I think, leads to foreshadowing that it’ll be ruined or on the brink of ruin at the end. It’ll still need someone to rule it, whether through the infant stages of an elective monarchy (it sounds like they’ll need something more than that or it’ll just invite more chaos as though rule can only be achieved through conquest of some kind, particularly for a monarchy) or otherwise. 

Jon has already fallen into an unenviable position. Sure, he gets to be Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch - an order that vows to remain at the Wall, against a horde of undead, with no support besides Stannis, with ‘dead’ men as his subjects. 

Some myths meld Zeus and Hades into the same being existing on different plains. Hades is also known as “Other Zeus” or “Infernal Zeus”; here, where Zeus is the god of living mortals, Hades is the god of the dead souls. 

Aegon is meant to take the Iron Throne and be the ruler over the Seven Kingdoms, in King’s Landing, a place of power, wealth, bounty from other kingdoms, etc. Dany will be his end in the Dance of Dragons and turn that bounty, or its possibility, into a wasteland. I don’t doubt people will still be alive, but it’ll be a place of ruins, and so will quite a few other places. I think Jon will likely kill Dany after the fact, for kinslaying and being a threat to the north and the realm, and thereby becoming a kinslayer himself. 

The gods of Westeros punish kinslaying. Jon, at this point of finding his family and being murdered for being Lord Commander and spending time under threat with the free folk (even if they do get along now) will probably just want to go home. Punishment for kinslaying will be for him to hold another position no one wants; the throne. Where when Aegon is set to take it, the kingdoms are in chaos, he’ll seem like a bright spot with hope, we might see him pay attention to food issues, the chaos, logistics, etc. And then he dies. And then Dany dies. And all that’s left are the survivors - those seemingly forgotten and condemned to this place afflicted by war and famine -, and Jon. His punishment for kinslaying (and maybe making mistakes with Dany) will not be able to go home, or be made to take up a post at the Watch; he’s condemned, once again, to the people who’ll seem more dead than alive after everything that’s occurred. 

Jon’s duty was, and will continue to be, to the condemned.

[chibimyumi]

Hi I have a question if you don't mind I would like to know what your thoughts are on the musical Marie Antoinette and what the story about and what for character Axel von Fersen is and what he does in the story? Thank you for answering my question

Dear Anon,

TOHO’s ‘M.A.’ is either my favourite or second favourite musical EVER. The story and script are SO well written, and the characters feel so real, I have never seen anything like it in the stage media form.

The story focuses on two women with the initials M.A. (Marie Antoinette and Margrid Arnaud). These two women are legit the titular characters and never get their spotlights stolen by others. They are both equally strong and flawed characters in their own rights, no bullshit like ‘she is strong because of GIRL POWER’ or ‘she is strong for the sake of romance’. The writers had the guts to make Marie stupid and Margrid a vicious snake, but also had the skill of never dehumanising either.

I really hope that more people could watch this musical (I offer free English subtitles for A-Version in exchange for proof of legal ownership), so I without spoiling anything essential:

Prologue

This show starts with Fersen receiving news of Marie’s execution. He is well aware that the revolutionaries have grossly dirtied her name for the sake of propaganda, and mourns how the slanders about the Queen will be passed down as canon history. Indeed, the infamous phrases ‘let them eat cake’ or ‘madam deficit’ are what most of us get taught about her, but recent historic research has found that Marie Antoinette was in fact innocent of most claims against her name.

In the prologue, Fersen reminisces about Marie as he knew her, and serves as some kind of narrator of the opening scene. As Fersen sings he brings the audience back in time to meet Marie Antoinette and the events before the revolution broke out.

Main Story

The main story opens on one evening in Paris. Margrid storms into a party organised by Duke d’Orléans where the Queen is also at. Margrid communicates the dire situation the common people are in, hoping that the people with the power to make a difference would open their eyes. The nobility however, seemed most unconcerned, and that event becomes a catalyst of the French Revolution.

Conflict

One of the most amazing things about this musical is the antagonist who wishes to remove the King and Queen, Duke d’Orléans. He has his own view on politics, and just like the people, he can no longer bear to watch France perishing under the incompetence of Louis XVI. This person is the man who would later be known as Philippe Égalité.

He is played by Yoshihara Mitsuo, and the only single actor I have seen in ALL versions that managed to make this ‘villain’ a character so three-dimensional he could be the hero of his own story. In an interview Yoshihara said in accordance with his own performance:

“Can you imagine being the person who has the potential to provide for the French people, but having to witness the country suffer while doing nothing? From d’Orléans’ point of view, if he had not stood up to fight for the legal power to make a difference, he would have been the bad guy here.”

Margrid and d’Orléans decide to cooperate. With intelligence, ambitions and fierce hatred combined, their growing team manage to use the people’s bias against the foreign Queen to turn her into the scapegoat of the toxic monarchy.

Hans Axel von Furusen

Anon, since you asked, I shall do a mini-deep section on Count von Fersen played by Furukawa Yuta. (I only watched the version with Tashiro Fersen once, so I only have an ‘impression’ of him. If you are interested in Tashiro’s Fersen, I trust @wildandwhirlingwords would fill you in on him ^^)

⚠️ If you don’t want to spoiled then stop here! ⚠️

Role

Many would think that Fersen is the love interest of Marie Antoinette, and would therefore fulfill a main role in the musical, perhaps the tragic hero to whom the two M.A.s are the fuel of his heroism. But no, just like I said above, the two M.A.s are the legit titular characters of this production, and Fersen is support cast. Though a phenomenally important role, he never even threatens to take over the main spotlights.

The script for him is relatively minor in comparison to the two leads, but Furukawa’s amazing eye for detail has managed to flesh him out so thoroughly you still know exactly what type of person Furusen is. This ‘fleshed out result’ is something that I have yet to see in any other version of him, even in other musicals, mangas and movies.

Background and Personality

Fersen played by Furukawa is calm, fiercely intelligent, and a jaded war veteran. Having seen the American revolution first hand, he understands the   mechanisms behind mass dissatisfaction and the power of people’s anger. Furusen rushed back to Marie from whom he has separated for years to warn her against the dangers he foresees. As isolated as she is however, Marie cannot manage to understand what the war veteran is warning her against.

“I have witnessed a revolution with my own eyes. I learned that much more than any cannon or rifle, it is thoughts and words that are powerful.”

Except worldly savviness, Furusen is likewise characterised by restraint. As Furukawa himself puts it:

“I tried to approach this role from a platonic perspective. He loves Marie deeply, and he realises very well that only by loving her platonically can she remain safe. Rather than proximity, the more sustainable way of love for them is restraint.”

Indeed, Furusen's love is not a fiery romance, instead it is more akin to courtly love. He constantly tries to maintain a safe distance from the Queen.

Finally Marie and Fersen manage to reunite after many years, and she eagerly grabs for his hand. Furusen’s expression however communicates clear concern, and he respectfully takes a step back.

Furusen is not aloof towards Marie because he doesn’t love her anymore. In a later scene it becomes clear that his restraint is his ultimate display of love; he knows too well how Marie’s reputation can’t afford any more blemishes.

After they sing “because my love for you will never disappear,” Marie attempts to kiss him on his lips, but Furusen quickly dodges, silently reminding the Queen of their respective statuses as Lady and vassal. This is a very noteworthy detail that can only be seen between Furukawa’s Fersen and Sasamoto’s Marie. #HyperDetailedActing

Frustration

Another characteristic of Furusen is his immense frustration. Furusen is constantly desperately trying to find a way to save Marie. But with the ever-growing rumours of Marie whoring around, he finds himself bound hand and foot. If he takes action to help her Marie will be hurt; if he does nothing Marie will also be hurt.

Instead, this famed strategist finds his chances reduced to... being passive-aggressive... After d’Orléans had his first clear victory and the Royal entourage take their leaves, Furusen makes a show out of going up to his foe to warn him. They don’t exchange a single word, but the tension and history between these foes are clear as day.

Furukawa and Yoshihara were very passionate about their roles, and they shared in a talk-show how both of them spent hours together discussing their histories. The amazing chemistry between them cannot be described in words, but the result of their character-building are self-evident in the musical. (Click here for an in-joke between these actors.)

Masculinity and Aura

Furusen displays a very gentle, non-toxic kind of masculinity. As discussed above, he knows when to restrain himself, and he knows when to admit wrong. He is also not shy to show vulnerability, COMMUNICATE, and shed some genuine tears.

Generally he just displays a very elegant type of masculinity, never taking up more space than anybody else. It is very pleasant to watch!

Sass

Furusen is not just elegant though! He also displays a very sassy and sarcastic side that are evidence of his highly critical mind.

In this post I expanded on Furusen’s sass, but to put it very short; Furusen is REALLY funny too. In the race against the clock to evacuate the King and Queen, the King steps out of the carriage and suggests they go for a leisurely picnic, and dismisses Fersen. Unable to defy the King’s command, Furusen then makes a cross while ROLLING his eyes.

So yes, I can’t tell you why exactly M.A. is one of my all time favourite musicals without spoiling the critical things, so I highly, HIGHLY recommend you buy the musical for yourself.

I know this DVD is very expensive, and normally I would not dare suggest anybody just spend this amount of money based on my word. But please, this one will surely NOT disappoint you!

If you really are unsure, @wildandwhirlingwords hosts live-streams from time to time, and she told me she is also willing to take requests if she has the time/capacity. She hosts the streams without subtitles out of respect for me (thank you, dear), but she does give live commentary to explain the essentials. Her blog is absolutely great and contains lots of interesting info about Japanese musicals, and M.A. specifically ^^

Here is the purchase link of Version A (Furukawa x Sasamoto x Sonim) from TOHO Mall.

MASTERPOST How to buy DVDs/BDs, and get Free English subtitles from me.

[arsnovacadenza]

Day 6- Home

Characters: Napoleon, Isaac, Sebastian, Isaac, Jean (with others’ cameo) 

Pairings     : none, Gen

Ao3 Link    : Here

Warning     : mentions of suicide

home

Thick black clouds rose high into the night sky as the mansion was burning.

Among the rubble stood Napoleon, holding his rapier limply. His chest heaved laborious breaths, a human weakness his demi-vampire status couldn't remove.

He tried making sense of his surroundings. It was a futile act, with fire and smoke obscuring his vision. Vapor invaded his lungs as Napoleon forced himself to walk.

Why did everything turn out this way?

Napoleon didn't even question "how" as the former emperor himself had been unaware that a fire had broken out. Even the quick and capable Sebastian was reduced to a panicked mess as the inferno began to spread over various parts of the mansion.

 "Monsieur Napoleon," the butler stammered apologetically, tears forming in the corner of his eyes. "I'm sorry. I tried, but there —there's nothing else I could do." 

 Meanwhile, Leonardo and the Count were rushing in all directions to find the other residents one-by-one and drag them out. Napoleon saw Theo carrying his brother out, shouting something along the lines of "Broer, forget about the paintings. We can't save them!"

Napoleon had barged through the fire with Arthur to look for Dazai, whom they found gazing at the embers around him with dissonant tranquility. 

(Both men argued for a good long while until Napoleon forced the sullen novelist on Arthur and commanded him to make a run for it).

But now, Napoleon found himself trapped in the fire.

It was ridiculous, knowing that some of the men —himself included —had a sliver of death wish despite all the benefits their second life offered. Yet in the face of a deadly situation such as this, their first instinct was to flee. Napoleon thought back to Vincent and how the painter must have suffered, knowing he failed to protect the very things he'd been living for.

And then, there's that one person who'd been claiming he had no desire to live at all.

Where is he now?

Napoleon banished the mental image of the man's possible reaction to finding himself encircled by the blaze.

In desperation, he scrambled to every direction, getting more and more lost by the critical seconds. He had crossed the (now crumbling) stairs and reached the ground floor, that he was positive. But the growing panic debilitated his chances of finding any possible exit.

His emerald eyes fell on one of the paintings on the wall. Comte told him that his old friend produced it ages ago, during one of his brighter moods.

That's right, this mansion had long seen Leonardo's worst and best days. It had been home to all of them, bearing witness to times when they were at their most vulnerable as well as their most joyous.

 Napoleon wanted to shut his eyes and let his memories away from this moment. Just yesterday, Isaac had been babbling to him about his pet hedgehog's recovery after not eating for two days. Meanwhile, this afternoon, Mozart handed him an invitation to some socialite's banquet, saying that he'd be presenting a new piece inspired by tales of his imperial army.

After this, he will no longer hear the composer play his most celebrated tunes nor watch as new pieces were brought to life. The music room must be ablaze right this very moment; the sterling piano reduced to ashes and the precious sheets consumed by the bonfire.

 Napoleon supposed he was lucky that he'd been in the bedroom when the whole commotion started and not in the attic. It'd be more difficult to escape, then. Still, he lamented the loss of those nights when he gazed down at Paris from the window. The warm city lights, a grand sign of civilization and progress, assured him that his arduous efforts for the nation weren't for naught.

Napoleon's thoughts immediately flew to his bedroom upstairs. Regret welled as he realized that the warm bed was no more. There went his sanctuary, his cocoon where he spent lazy afternoons banishing away murky thoughts and lingering dreams of the past. That room was his temporary shelter in this life that felt even more fleeting than his mortal one.

His chest constricted as he thought of the sparring arena and the man he spent his time with dueling and examining each other's weapons. They talked about horses as well —and what of them? What about Ange? In his befuddled state of mind, Napoleon pictured Jean barreling towards the stages, freeing the alarmed horses and setting them free, including his beloved Ange.

It didn't take long for Napoleon's mind to dart towards the kitchen. Did the fire start there? Did anyone see it happen? Nonsense, Sebastian must have been around the dining room and kitchen. After all, it was close to dinnertime when Leonardo alerted them about the fire—

Ah, he just remembered that he'd promised Sebastian to help him prepare dinner this afternoon. But instead, he forgot and went to the thermae instead with Isaac and Jean. The enigmatic Japanese would never confront him about it, but Napoleon still felt guilty nonetheless.

Well, none of that matters now, does it?

So Napoleon let his weapon fall to the ground unceremoniously. Idly, he wondered why his cape still hadn't caught fire by now. The old (yes, he was old and weary alright) Frenchman toyed with the thought of perishing together with this godforsaken building.

His first life had been long and tumultuous. This one was so short and surreal, it felt like a dream.

It is sweet and proper to die for one's country. To die like this, confused and grieving, was a farce. Then again, this was a hundred times better than succumbing to his end on that faraway island, lonely and in pain.

The former— nay, an emperor he shall forever remain —The emperor stared ahead past the screen of fumes. He took in the scenery before him one last time and sighed deeply.

Napoleon closed his eyes.

It was a great run, but even the best of times all come to an end.

Isaac struggled to break free from Sebastian's iron hold as he watched the mansion collapse.

"Let me go, you bastard! Napoleon's still in there!" Isaac thrashed about. "What are you all standing around for? If you don't go after him, I will—"

But Sebastian only embraced him tighter, his eyes red and his face stripped of its usual composure. "There is no use, sir. We can't risk going in there and getting ourselves trapped. Besides, this is Monsieur Napoleon. Of course, he'll return—"

"He doted on you like a son, you idiot!" Isaac screamed at the butler. "Are you REALLY that much of a coward to save the man you said you admired? Piss off—"

"I'll go." A deep voice rang amidst the chaos.

Isaac and Sebastian directed their attention towards the man walking in the direction of the mansion, his cape billowing in the wind.

"Jean!" Isaac called out to the soldier. "Can you go and save him?"

Sebastian winced at the thought of Jean d'Arc, braving through the fire to save another man. He can't even light a matchstick on his own, how is this even possible?

But Jean wordlessly unclipped his cape and let it fall to the ground. He adjusted the sword belt on his hip as Sebastian and Isaac watched.

Done with his preparations, he turned towards the men.

"I'm going inside." He declared. "No need to worry about us, for we are soldiers."

"We know! But—" the butler cried. He wasn't about to lose another great man to this catastrophe. "Are you certain about this?!"

Jean stared back at him through unreadable, iolite-colored eyes. Sebastian wanted to imagine that he was seeing something other than sorrow.

"I am certain," Jean replied. "Please wait for us here."

With one final nod, he made his way towards the ravaged building, the fire raging more violently than even the pyre.

Jean tightened his grip on the basket hilt of his sword.

There were not many things I could save from back then, he braced himself against the heat. There's probably not much I can save now. 

But if it's for a friend, then maybe...

Jean broke into a run.

Then maybe I can reach out for it, just this once.

Made for @kissmetwicekissmedeadly‘s Napoleon Birthday Prompt 2020. The prompt was “home”.

“But Riri! Why are you hurting your readers like this? This is supposed to be Napoleon’s birthday! You should be celebrating!” Naw, I haven’t been doing angst in a while and I gotta practice.

Tagging  @kisara-16 @thedollarstoresatan @delicateikemenmemes @ikesensrandomninjagirl24 @ashavazesa @hokkaido-fox @nuclearwinterexe @lulu-the-hedgehog @longingkisses @weird-profiterole @napoleonstan @scummy-writes @an-otome-cally-correct​ @nafeary​

[heavenward-blog]

How to become a Christian?

If we are to be saved and have a place in God’s kingdom, we must accept God’s way of salvation.

Steps to Become a Christian

Remember, all the help we shall ever get will be from above, not from this earth. Salvation is from God. Do you want to be a Christian? Would you like to be a Christian, but do not know how to begin?

The steps to Christ are few and plain and easy to understand, and we shall just turn to God’s Guidebook now for our information. What must one who would come to God do first of all? The answer is found in Hebrews 11:6: “Without faith it is impossible to please God, because anyone who comes to Him must believe that He exists and that He rewards those who earnestly seek Him.”

Believe

1) We must believe God exists and that He rewards those who seek Him. That’s the first step. But you say: “I don’t have faith. How can I get this faith in God?” Well, here’s the way as described by the apostle Paul in Romans 10:17: “Faith comes from hearing the message, and the message is heard through the word of Christ.” The word of God, then, as found in the Bible brings faith when we study it and receive it into our hearts. So begin at once to follow the Bible path.

Repent

2) Now we come to the second step, which leads us to a change of life. It is here in Romans 2:4: “Do you show contempt for the riches of His kindness, tolerance and patience, not realizing that God’s kindness leads you towards repentance?”

So the second step is repentance. First, belief in God; second, repentance. But you ask, “Are you sure God will forgive me?” The answer to that question is found in 1 John 1:9: “If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness.” We read the same thing in Exodus 34:6,7: “The Lord, the Lord, the compassionate and gracious God, slow to anger, abounding in love and faithfulness, maintaining love to thousands, and forgiving wickedness, rebellion and sin.”

So you see, our heavenly Father treats us better than we deserve.

So you see, our heavenly Father treats us better than we deserve. Yes, He desires to forgive us. “For God so loved the world that He gave His one and only Son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life.” — John 3:16

That’s what God’s love and goodness led Him to do for us. So. first of all, we must believe in God. Then we must realize that we are sinners and repent. “Repent, then and turn to God, so that your sins may be wiped out.” — Acts 3:19

Now, no one is going to repent if he isn’t sorry for his sins. We read in 2 Corinthians 7:9: “Now I am happy, not because you were made sorry, but because your sorrow led you to repentance.” Repentance is simply being sorry for our sins and putting them away. It is not a sorrow for fear of punishment, but a hatred of the sin itself because we know it grieves the heart of God, whether or not we suffer for the sin here on earth. Is it natural for us, of our own selves, to repent? No. In Acts 5:31 we read: “God exalted Him to His own right hand as Prince and Savior that He might give repentance and forgiveness of sins to Israel.”

You know, friends, conviction is not repentance. It is one thing to be awakened at five o’clock in the morning, but it is another thing to get up. It has been said, “Repentance is being so sorry for sin that you quit sinning.”

Across the great Zambezi River in Africa, just below the Victoria Falls, there is a great bridge spanning the chasm over the most terrible turmoil of waters on earth. It was built by engineers working from both sides of the river. They extended on through the single span until the two arms met above midstream, thus completing the bridge.

Repentance and faith are the arms of the bridge that enables us to pass from earth to heaven.

Repentance and faith are the arms of the bridge that enables us to pass from earth to heaven. They unite to make our salvation possible. Neither of itself is sufficient. We must believe in God and we must repent. It is useless, friends, to try to be Christians if we do not repent of our sins. We cannot change ourselves from sinners to believers in any other way. We read in Jeremiah 13:23: “Can the Ethiopian change his skin or the leopard its spots? Neither can you do good who are accustomed to doing evil.” Repentance is absolutely necessary. One reason why we have such unhappy lives is that we do not repent. Many who carry on a form of Christianity have never truly repented, and therefore have never been happy in their Christian experience. One reason why some religious workers never have a revival is that they have not repented of their sins—they are still unconverted. Friend, have you repented? Will you repent?

Revival

Dr. F. B. Meyer tells of a revival meeting that was dragging along with no signs of success. Finally one of the leading elders arose and said, “Pastor, l don’t think we’ll have a revival here as long as Brother Jones and I won’t speak to each other.” Then he went over to Jones and said: Brother Jones, You and I haven’t spoken to each other for five years. It’s time to bury the hatchet. Here’s my hand.” Just then a sob broke the silence. Another elder arose in the audience and said, “Pastor, I don’t think there will be revival here until I repent. We can’t have revival as long as I say mean things behind your back and nice things to your face. I want you to forgive me.” Soon others arose and confessed their sins and tried to set matters right. It wasn’t long before the revival broke out. Then the blessing of God came upon them and swept over the community for three years.

Confess

3) The next step in becoming a Christian is confession. “Confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed.” (James 5:16) “He that conceals his sins does not prosper, but whoever confesses and renounces them finds mercy.” (Proverbs 28:13) Confession that leads to the forsaking of sin is the real kind. But, in addition to this, what else is necessary on the part of the repentant sinner? “If the wicked gives back what he took in pledge for a loan, returns what he has stolen, follows the decrees that give life, and does no evil, he will surely live; he will not die,” — Ezekiel 33:15.

Real repentance and confession mean not only to stop sinning, but to do everything possible to make right past wrongs.

Real repentance and confession mean not only to stop sinning, but to do everything possible to make right past wrongs. No man can steal ten dollars and expect God to forgive him unless he tries to pay back what he has taken. Otherwise it wouldn’t be real repentance or real confession.

But when a person truly repents and confesses, God forgives, for we have already read in 1 John 1:9. “If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness.” Forgiveness is God’s work, not ours. When we confess, we simply believe that God forgives, and He does. That's the end of it. We may or may not feel that our sins are gone, but they are. We are not to depend upon feeling, we are to believe God.

The son of a minister strayed from the straight and narrow way into a life of debauchery and sin. He made a name and great fame for himself in the world of affairs, but allowed himself to slip down to the lowest places. He described his own condition as that of a drunkard, a dope fiend, and a down-and-outer. But, after fifteen long years, he gave God a chance to redeem him and he was gloriously saved. Then he returned home, but only to find that his poor father had died of a broken heart, calling his name, that through all those years his mother had kept a lighted lamp in the window every night and all night.

Friends, God has a light in His window for all His wayward children; and, while the lamp holds out to burn, the wandering sinner may return. Won’t you come back now, for God will forgive you? So we have these three important steps: To believe in God, to repent, and to confess our sins.

Baptism

4) Now the next step is baptism, and the proof for this found in Acts 2:38, 39: “Repent, and be baptized, every one of you, in the name of Jesus Christ so that your sins may be forgiven. And you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit. The promise is for you and your children and for all who are far off—for all whom the Lord our God will call.”

The change which comes through faith, repentance, confession of sin, and following the Word of God in all obedience, is called the new birth. Jesus said: “You must be born again,” John 3:7. This is spoken of also as regeneration. It’s new life, a re-creation by the power of the Holy Spirit in the heart of the one who believes. This is not something that we can work up, not a form of psychology. It’s not a by-product of education or culture, but it’s a miracle wrought by the power of the Holy Spirit of God. Then Christ lives His life within us, a life of perfect obedience.

Can we obey in our own strength? No, for in John 15:5 we read, “Apart from Me, you can do nothing.” But how much can we do with Christ’s help? The answer comes to us from Philippians 4:13:“I can do everything through Him who gives me strength.” But if we do sin after we have made a start for Christ, should we become discouraged and cease to follow Him? Never! We read 1 John 2:1: “My dear children, I write this to you so that you will not sin. But If anybody does sin, we have one who speaks to the Father in our defense—Jesus Christ, the Righteous One.”

What if I Keep Falling as a Christian

A saint, or follower of Jesus, is not necessarily one who never sins, but one who, as soon as he does sin, asks forgiveness of God, believes himself forgiven and goes on rejoicing to grow in grace and in the knowledge of the Lord. He may stumble and fall, but he gets up and presses forward again. Such a fall is not counted against him when he repents and asks forgiveness and divine help to live the right life. But he is to grow stronger and stronger. Is it possible to be kept from falling? Jude 24 answers that question: “To Him who is able to keep you from falling, and to present you before His glorious presence without fault and with great joy!”

The Final Word: On Becoming a Christian

So we have clearly outlined the steps that we need to take in order to become a Christian: (1) To believe in God, (2) to repent, (3) to confess our sins, (4) to be baptized and obey the Lord.

(c) Bibleinfo.com

[whispersafterdusk]

Lost in Time - ch 11

With Stewart's list of names and locations they were able to carefully separate out who they could confidently identify and those thirteen persons were given a plot in Portia's graveyard separate from the mass grave that was being dug outside of the city gates.

Sophie had loaned them a wagon and McDonald loaned a large draft horse Eli had nicknamed Bruiser; when the big grave was dug and the headstone had been carved and placed (a joint effort between Gust, Selene, and Higgins) it then took eight trips to get all the skeletal remains out of the facility and into the ground.

Giving a eulogy wasn't something Eli had ever seen herself doing...honestly (and she had even discussed this exact topic with Darren) she'd assumed that the rest of her family would outlive her.  Being a ranger carried a lot of risk and that risk had only grown as things had started breaking down across the nations.  There were a lot of things she'd mentally filed in the "probably going to kill me" category and because of that she'd tried to approach everything with the same level of caution; it was a thought she carried with her everywhere - that her family and friends may eventually be planning her funeral, no matter how careful she was.  And now, three hundred years in the future...here she was, planning THEIRS. ((Continued below cut)))

When it came to death, sudden or otherwise, the Three decreed that the deceased's story be shared where possible; funerals were long affairs with dozens of family members and friends chosen to speak on the dead's behalf. All of existence would remember that person whether there were people gathered to remember or not but it was a comforting measure to have everyone together "sharing the pages," as it was called: sharing their memories of that person's life story.  She could do that for Darren, and for her squad mates...but everyone else were all people she didn't know, and she was the only one left alive who could speak for them.  And even if she'd known each and every one of them it would take her months to do their stories justice.  

There was also the (depressing) fact that it hadn't just been those in the facility that had died here.

There was no way to tell how many had perished in the orbital attacks, and Portia was built upon the ruins of Dubei in general. If she was going to properly put the dead to rest she should speak not only of Darren and her squad and those in the facility but of all of Dubei's residents who had died too.  And what of all the people outside of Dubei?

It was one thing to write about and remember someone you'd known and loved dearly but how could you remember a city and everyone in it?  How did you properly eulogize an entire world? What details should be included to give even a glimpse of all those lives that had existed and now lay buried somewhere beneath their feet?  Wasn't she sort of doing that already just by answering random questions?  Every answer was a part of a story of the past even if she was just giving a quick response to something as simple as a question about breakfast foods.  With everything gone wouldn't even the smallest detail be important to the whole picture?

It was confusing and painful and tiring.  And she only had two days to figure it out and get it written.

One small silver lining at the moment was Stewart had taken over answering most of the scholars's questions; with power restored his central intercom system was back online and, so long as the audio equipment (usually in the ceilings of every room) was still functional, he was able to listen in and attend to them without needing to physically be in the room.  That meant Eli, Selene, Merlin, and Petra were free to roam about and do minor repairs as well as hunt down the closets and rooms that Stewart's logs showed should still have things in it.  Depending on what they found Eli was determined to try and cobble together a couple of things (even a self-contained Hi-Def would be welcome) but also they needed to know what they had to work with if they were going to have any chance of moving Stewart out of here. If she could find a multi-screen, or even a teleportation module, and a couple of solar detectors and a battery mount...

It was a lot easier to get distracted by what she could potentially do compared to what she needed to do.

Whatever.  She needed a break.

She had a little notebook (a gift from Selene) that she'd been carrying around for most of the day; her hope had been inspiration of some sort would strike and she'd know exactly which words to use and what order everything should go in...so far though there'd been nothing, and the notebook was still in the breast pocket of her jacket when she walked into the Round Table.

"Evening there, Eli."  Django was at the front counter stacking up some dirty plates - whoever had eaten there was already gone, and the restaurant was mosty empty as well.

"Evening.  Without meaning to sound weird, what do you have for alcohol these days?"

The man chuckled and moved the plates into a small bin that he then sat behind the counter.  "Been that kind of day, huh?"

Eli nodded and settled on one of the bar stools.  "Been that kind of...however long I've been awake, if I'm being honest."

"I don't think anyone will blame you for that.  Let's see... We have some Duvos Winter Punch. It's fairly weak in both alcohol and taste - I'm not the biggest fan of it but there's a fair few here in town that love it.  I've got some plain vodka I can add to some juice or the bitter melon mix, and a couple bottles left of the Barnarock Black beer - stuff's so thick you could chew it.  Doesn't help you now but come spring I'll make a couple batches of snakeberry wine if you wanted me to save you a bottle. Portia's folks don't really drink much so it's not something I keep on hand in large quantities...usually goes bad before the entire bottle or jug gets finished."

Eli nodded - technically she wasn't much of a drinker either so she could understand the sentiment.  "Fair enough.  I'll give the Barnarock stuff a try.  What kind of meaty dish would you suggest I get with it?"

Django rubbed his chin and didn't immediately answer.  "...specifically meaty?  I'd go with my braised meat bowl - all the flavors should pair up nicely, haha."

She smiled at that.  "I shall trust the master. -- oh, and could I also get the bamboo and egg thing too?  I think that's becoming a favorite."

"Can do," was his reply.  He took the bin of dishes and disappeared into the back of the restaurant.

She watched him go; he'd mentioned before that there was a game room in the back, and she assumed behind that was the kitchen area.  Maybe a couple games of...whatever was there, would help lift her mood.  Or provide another distraction, or maybe it'd be mindless enough she could play while also thinking on the other things - any of those options seemed acceptable.

She couldn't see Sonia anywhere but the pink-haired young man she usually saw her talking to was here; he was sitting with Albert and a bespectacled man she recognized from the Commerce Guild but hadn't actually met yet so she wasn't certain on his name.  As she turned back around to the counter the doors opened and Arlo and Asher came in; both of them had spent the day down in the facility helping Merlin and Petra carry around tools as well as carrying out the rest of the medical texts and manuals while Eli had been helping Selene replace a faulty speaker.  

There was a clear questioning look on Asher's face and in response she jerked her head toward the stools to her right; the man immediately accepted the invitation and sat down, and after a moment to consider Arlo followed suit but sat on the stool to her left, sandwiching her between them.

"Evening, you two."  Django had returned already and sat an amber-colored single serve bottle on the counter in front of her.  "Your order'll be up in a few moments.  What are you two having?"

"My usual," came Arlo's reply.

"No idea yet," was Asher's.  The stool creaked under him as he reached to tug a battered menu toward himself.

Eli gingerly grabbed the bottle and looked it over; it was chill to the touch and already forming condensation, and the cap was thankfully a screw-top.  It didn't take much to twist it open and she idly shuffled the bottle cap around between the fingers of her free hand as she took her first sip; it was a smooth taste - chocolatey, along with a faint nutty undertone.  Beer wasn't her usual go-to alcoholic drink but this one wasn't all that bad.

Django waited until she'd swallowed. "So I hear you've made a deal with Martha and Toby."

She sat the bottle back on the counter, chuckling a bit.  "Yeah, you could say that.  The plan is to dissuade him from the adventuring life."

"I don't think that's the result you're going to get," Django laughed.   "I'm told all he's done these last few days is talk about it."

Arlo glanced over to her curiously.  "What deal?"

"I told him if he got top grades for two quarters - or however long half a school year is nowadays - that I'd teach him a few things.  His mom is wanting to put an end to the adventuring fixation so I'll be making it as boring and difficult as possible."

Beside her Asher snorted; he didn't look up from the menu but was clearly listening in.  "Think you could teach the rest of us a thing or two in the meantime?"

"...such as?"

Asher flipped the menu closed and put it back on the pile on the counter.   "I'll have an order of the creamy noodles with bacon and a half order of the mapo tofu please."  He then turned his attention to Eli.   "Anything, really.  I know I'm not the only one curious about what it was like back then, being a soldier."

"I think I'd be interested in that too," Arlo said into the pause that followed.  "I'm always looking for better ways to train and become stronger."

Eli looked between the two of them; how was it going to look to Toby if she was teaching actual adventurers?  Maybe she could shuffle his attention to the Civil Corps instead...  "Uh.  Well.  Sure?  I guess?  Assuming you boys get top marks on your homework too."

She grinned at them, and all three men started laughing; after catching his breath Django then excused himself and headed off to take care of the orders.  Eli took another sip of the beer before continuing.  "-but in all seriousness, I can, yes.  But you're not going to like it.  I'm not sure I'm ready to torpedo any friendships yet."

"It can't be that bad, can it?" Asher asked.

"The basic training for rank and file wasn't too terrible.  The training for a ranger though...that'll probably have you cursing my name up, down, and sideways."

"I'm willing to risk it," Arlo replied.  "And I doubt there's anything you can make me do that would ruin a friendship."

"Uh huh," Asher said, chuckling faintly.  "His pride can take a stomping unlike anything you've seen."

Arlo's face flushed bright red and he let out a small huff; it was clear Asher hadn't meant anything malicious by it but whatever history he was alluding to had definitely stung.

"Right, well," Eli hurried on, trying to dispel the sudden awkward silence.  "Before I can train anyone else I need to get myself back to normal.  I'm getting there but it'll probably be a few months yet before I'm satisfied."  She glanced over to Asher again.  "How long are you out here?"

"At least another two months. Mali was wanting to rotate us out when the scholars were ready to head back to Atara for a break -- it's looking like you won't need all five of us for too much longer anyway so I'm not sure what she might be planning now.  I know if I tell her I want to stay for the long haul she won't mind though."

"Is Mali your leader, then?"

"Not officially but she's well known in the guild and has a knack for picking the right people for the right job.  And usually she's the one who runs the yearly entrance exams for prospective members."

Asher ever-so-slightly leaned forward to glance toward Arlo and Eli now had an inkling as to what the 'history' was.  "So what you're saying is she can't make you stay or go, more or less."

"Pretty much.  I'll only be paid out to the estimated end of the contract I agreed to, which ends in two months, but I could easily stay out here another four months beyond that if I wanted before I'd need to go back home to stock back up on pocket money."  He paused as Django came back with Eli's order, giving the food an appraising eye.  "...I probably should've ordered that.  Anyway - I do kind of like it out here.  And it'd be well worth the stay if I get to learn something new."

"I guarantee I will run you off in a week," Eli said, laughing a bit as she picked up her fork.  "You have no idea what you're asking for."

She picked at her food and only really tucked in once the other two had theirs brought over; for one brief moment she could imagine she was in the mess hall elbow to elbow with her squad.  It was a bittersweet thought and reminded her of what she still had to write; suddenly the beer and the food didn't taste so great.

Before her mood dipped too far though the door opened again and Adam came in; he was a short, wiry man with bushy, bright red eyebrows and a shaved head.  She could track his gaze as he scanned the room briefly before marching up to them at the counter.  "Oi, Arlo - question.  Do you Corps folks patrol at night?"

"Not always.  Why?"

"A'right, lemme rephrase: did you have any patrols scheduled for tonight?"

"What's up?" Asher asked, pushing himself back from the counter.  

"Greg's certain he saw someone at the far edge of the marsh looking 'is way.  We need to know if it's one of your folks or not."

Arlo shook his head and then stood.  "No, it's not one of ours.  Where did he see this person?"

"Said out to the east.  Cliffs."

Out to the east...from what she remembered of maps of the area there wasn't much out to the east and not really a way to get over to the far side of the lake unless you crossed the western bridge near the tree farm.   "That's not a place someone could get to easily from this side.  Has there been any sign of tracks passing through the sink hole area?"

Adam shook his head.  "Neither hair nor hide.  Only ones we've seen out there have come from us."

Arlo sighed, crossing his arms as his brow furrowed in thought.  "If this person was seen on the cliffs they probably came from the north somewhere.  Would explain why there's no new tracks."

"Whoever it was wasn't paying attention and got himself silhouetted against the moon.  Greg wouldn't have spotted 'im otherwise."

Asher shoved a forkful of tofu into his mouth and then stood, digging for gols.  "Hate to eat and run but this is something I ought to be helping with," he mumbled through the mouthful.

Django held up a hand.  "No worries - I'll bag it up and have it waiting for you.  Assuming you mean to come back."

"Yeah, that works," Asher replied.  He strode toward the door and Adam spun to follow at his heels.

Arlo also dropped money on the counter.  "Same for me - I'll be back soon."

Eli was already over halfway done with her food; the beer would go flat, but oh well.  "I may as well head out with them.  Tracking is one of my talents."

Django chuckled as she too paid and then headed out the door after the men; the moon wasn't completely full but it was bright enough in the cloudless sky that they didn't need any extra light to make it back to the sinkhole and camp.  Greg was crouched near the edge of the tent, partially hidden in the shadows near one of its corner poles, and was looking out toward the east with a pair of binoculars.

"Seen 'em again?" Adam asked.

Greg lowered the binoculars but didn't turn toward them - from Eli's point of view he was hardly more than a puffy coat and fluffy woolen cap.   "Not since I spotted them the first time.  Whoever it was backed up and disappeared over the bluff's edge."

Asher looked around.  "Where's Mali and Maddie?"

"Already headed out to have a look," was Greg's answer.  He finally turned his face toward them; he had a big, brown, bushy beard that almost blended in with fur trimming around the collar of his jacket.  "I've been keeping watch to make sure nothing jumps out at them."

With that he raised the binoculars again and trained them out toward the east.   Eli paced away from the campfire to put it at her back, squinting out into the moonlit night; she could just barely make out moving figures ahead of her and assumed that had to be Mali and Maddie.  Biting her lower lip she turned to the north to eye the cliffs; further east it became less rocky and more steep and sheer though the height of the bluffs remained about the same stretching from here to there.

"You guys got rope and pitons?" she asked, turning back around and shielding her eyes from the campfire's glow.  "A couple of us can go up on this side and cross east on the top."

"We do, and even if we didn't Adam here is part squirrel," came Greg's response (though again he didn't turn to face them).  "Second pair of eyes in the leather case in there - decide who's going up and leave one person here to keep look out for you."

"Arlo stays," Asher said immediately.  "You were pretty good at spotting trouble coming, last I saw."

Arlo simply nodded - there wasn't an indication of embarrassment this time.  "All right."  

He followed Adam into the Pigs's tent; while Asher waited Eli started heading toward the cliffs.  There were sheets of ice and icicles dotting overhangs and rock faces; it looked like melted run off from above had re-frozen when the sun had gone down.  With the thaw-melt-refreeze cycle of winter she imagined there'd be some unstable spots on their climb up the cliff.

Adam came out of the tent a few minutes later with a bag that rattled. Out of that bag came a hammer and pitons followed by two coils of rope, one of which he handed to Eli when he caught up to her; the three of them headed for the cliffs and began a slow climb up with Adam insisting he should go up first.  Asher was correct in that the man seemed to be half squirrel as he climbed quickly and with far more confidence (or recklessness) than Eli would have had for a climb in a new area and mostly in the dark.

"You guys smell that down there?"

Eli glanced above her at Adam's shout; he was almost three fourths of the way up the cliff, with Eli on the ropes behind him and Asher keeping the ropes pulled almost taut on the ground below them.  "Smell what?"

"Smoke.  And it ain't wood smoke."

Her hands were going numb but she managed to pick up the pace and get up the cliff moments after Adam had crested the top; they both drove in pitons to tie the rope off to, and then helped rapidly haul Asher up behind them before they set off together across the top of the bluffs.   There wasn't much up here; this strip of land looked like a desert and a forest had mingled together but the trees were short with barrel-like thick trunks and spindly limbs, and frozen scrub grass crunched under their feet as they walked.

Now that they were up here they could all smell smoke on the wind; it had an acrid undertone to it -- Adam was right in that it wasn't wood smoke but what it could be none of them could guess at.

"Going to be impossible to sneak up on anyone like this, unless we want to move at a glacier's pace," Asher grumbled quietly.  "And even then we're just as likely to be spotted because it's not pitch dark."

"Hush up, I hear something popping," Adam interrupted him.

They all stopped and strained their ears; Eli thought she too heard the sounds of a crackling fire but she couldn't see any firelight from where they stood.  After several moments of listening Asher gestured for them to stay put and began to creep ahead; despite how carefully he tried putting his feet he couldn't move silently on the frozen grass and his footsteps drowned out the sound of distant pops.

Eli gave their surroundings a closer look; they were on top of the cliffs and there were rocky hills and the squat trees all around.  She couldn't pinpoint the crackling noises except for knowing they were coming from ahead of them somewhere; she caught Adam's eye and pointed to herself, then jerked her head toward the north: she was going to move up and try to find a higher perch to see from.  He nodded at her and crouched with his attention moving between Asher and her.

Very carefully she made her way to the north, cautiously moving around the trees and the biggest patches of scrub grass.  Still she didn't see any sign of a fire but the sound was starting to clue her in a bit -- it was still to the northeast somewhere but it sounded like it was more north than east.   She went up another small hill and around a tall rocky outcrop; Adam was out of sight now, as was Asher.  The further north she went the more the land sloped upward and then, finally, she caught the barest flicker of orange against...something.  Rock, or maybe an especially wide tree trunk.  Whatever it was reflecting off of didn't matter too much -- all that mattered was there was a fire ahead, further up another steep hill.  And where there was fire would probably be a person.

She backtracked enough to signal to Adam, as Asher was too far away and had his back to her; when the man had joined her she wordlessly put a finger in front of his nose and then slowly moved it to point his gaze directly at where the fire was.  From here it was much, much less noticeable but after a moment he gave her a sharp nod and began to pick his way over toward it.  

Those popping noises they'd heard before were picking up in volume; as they crept closer Eli could make out a stone overhang, or maybe it was the entrance to a cave.  Next to it was another rocky outcrop that had a sheen of ice over it (which was what she'd seen the orange flickers on - that ice was reflecting the fire's light) and scattered all around was shattered rock and disturbed (but frozen) dirt as though there'd been a recent landslide here.  Adam gestured to indicate he was going to circle up to the right side - the side with the reflective ice - and pointed in a way she assumed meant he wanted her to go left.

There wasn't any reason to say no to the "plan" so she did; on the top left of the overhang was a crater made by a mostly uprooted tree whose crown was now partially buried in what definitely had to have been a landslide.  The overhang itself was a wide stone slab that had broken off from somewhere further north and tumbled down to come to a rest against another stone and this tree, and had formed a sheltered pocket that was rock, dirt, and dead wood on three sides -- inside this cozy little spot was the fire and possibly its creator.

But, she could see that Adam had already poked his head into the claustrophobic opening of the little nook. Since he wasn't yelling in alarm she assumed no one was home, and came around to join him.

Inside the recently made "cavern" was the remains of a campsite, and all of it was ablaze; she could sort of make out a firepit in front of it all, with a narrow path that wound around the pit and led to the back of the hole where an A-frame tent was pegged to the ground and also to the tree -- it was engulfed in flames and the fire was starting to spread to the tree.  At the firepit's edge she could see melting tin cans - both empty as well as several full ones - along with shiny spots that looked like melted plastic, and blowing up into the roof of the sheltered hole were flaky fragments that suggested there'd been paper tossed in here too.

There wasn't, thankfully, any sign of a person IN the fire.

Eli straightened and looked around their immediate area. The ground was too hard for there to be actual footprints but she could see a trail of scuff marks and trampled grass that led off into the night.

"Someone beat it out of here in a hurry," Adam grunted.

"Which means they, without doubt, weren't supposed to be here. Innocent people don't run - and they definitely don't run FROM people if they were looking for help for a sudden fire, but I doubt this was accidental," she said after a moment.  "And since we didn't hear anyone running off from here they must have set the fire and run off while we were climbing the cliff."

"They're not going to get far in the cold."

Eli nodded and pointed to the trail of trampled grass.  "No, they're not.  And I bet we can catch up if we start moving now."

At that Adam looked a little unsure.  "Well...yeah, true.  But what about the others?  Don't know how many were actually up here, right?"

"In a bolt hole this small it was either one person or they liked each other a lot," Eli answered.  "You can go back for Asher but I'm going to follow this trail and see where it goes."

"All right, fine - we'll catch up quick.  Be careful."

He disappeared back down the hill and Eli turned her attention to the trail on the ground.  It went almost straight to the east; following it was fairly simple - enough so that she was able to jog along and only need to periodically glance down to make sure she was still on track.   There wasn't any way to be stealthy so she was more focused on being highly aware of her surroundings and found herself looking at each rock, shrub, and tree with suspicion.  So long as the trail kept winding among them and didn't...stop...

There.  The trail went around a tree - specifically around to its far side, whereas the others had zigzagged only enough to get around them and hadn't hugged them so closely.

Eli slowed to a lumbering jog; whoever was up ahead likely knew they were being followed - she needed to decide what to do about that.  Either this was an ambush waiting to happen or whoever this was had thought they'd gotten far enough away that hiding was an option.

She decided on a direct approach. "Come on out," she called ahead.  "I know you're there and we both know you're not going to have an easy night out in the elements without shelter."

All she got was a resounding silence as an answer; she came to a stop about ten feet from the tree.  From where she stood she could tell that the trail didn't continue beyond this point -- SOMEONE was on the other side.  She wasn't overly worried about trying to apprehend one person on her own, especially since she knew exactly where this person was (and besides, Adam and Asher were coming to back her up).

"Come on.  Let's not make this harder than it needs to be."

There was a shuffling noise and then a flash of movement as the man came around the tree; she caught the briefest glimpse of something glinting in the moonlight and instinct took over -- she was moving before she'd fully registered what was in the man's leading hand and as he fully stepped around the trunk she was dashing forward to slam the palm of her hand into his chin.  Something flew out of his hand and skittered across the rocky ground; her initial blow hadn't stunned him much and Eli ducked under a clumsily swung fist that came a lot quicker than she'd anticipated.  The next fist she caught and deflected with an open palm and used the momentum to pirouette and bring her left leg around in a roundhouse kick that the man tried to dodge by twisting aside but without enough backward movement so the toe of her boot caught him in the elbow and it was accompanied with a popping noise and a shout of pain.

As he staggered back and held his arm close to his chest she set her feet and dropped into a combat stance.  "For what it's worth, I didn't mean to do that," she said.

Something whistled passed her and a split second later she saw a rock ricocheting off the man's collarbone and dropping to the earth; he stumbled backward and tripped over a tree root then fell to the ground on his back.  From either side of her came Asher and Adam hurrying forward to fall on the man before he got a chance to get his feet back under him.

"For what it's worth, I DID" she heard Asher grunt as the three men wrestled on the ground.

With only one good arm it didn't take long the subdue the man, and Asher hauled him up to his feet without much resistance; Adam was already grabbing for his wrists to tie his hands behind his back.

Eli held up a hand. "Wait, hang on - don't do that."

"Huh?  Why?"

"Because if his hands are behind him it's going to be a massive pain in the ass to get him down the cliff."

Both men paused a moment, then Asher nodded in agreement and shook the man roughly.  "Hear that?  Any trouble and down the cliff you go - we can get to the bottom gently or we can see how high you bounce."

Still the man didn't respond aside from a pained and annoyed noise.

It the moonlight he seemed to be a thin man with a leather cap on that hid his hair.  He wore a dark leather jacket and cargo pants tucked into heavy boots, and when he locked gazes with Eli she could make out the line of a strong jaw and a few missing teeth when he actually hissed at her like an animal.

"Right.  Let's get this jerk back to town - you've got a jail cell, right?"

"I...assume so?" Eli answered, looking to Asher.  "I'd hope so.  No idea where it is though.  Should also let Dr. Xu know we've got an injury."

"Eh, let him stew with it," Adam growled.  Since the injured arm was on his side he grabbed the man by the waistband instead and moved in unison with Asher as they began to roughly march the man back the way they'd come; he resisted for the first ten feet or so then gave up and walked with them, his head down.

Eli went to follow them and then remembered that there had been a weapon or something that she'd knocked out of the man's hands.  It took several minutes to find as it had slid under a nearby bush but soon she was looking over a revolver.

It only had a three-shot barrel, the caliber wasn't all that big, and the barrel had a plug of sand and rock wedged in its end from the fall - it was ugly and fairly inefficient compared to what she was used to but assuming she could get that rock loose (and that it wasn't a cheap gun that'd explode after only a few shots) she could probably make personal use of it.  Did Selene know what a reloading bench was?  If this revolver existed (it wasn't a design she knew had come from her time period) clearly guns were still around in some form or fashion.  Maybe she could engineer a rifle with Selene's help... She went to put it in her breast pocket and the muzzle of the gun scraped along the notebook's outer cover.

Oh, right -- she'd forgotten that was in there.   Since both gun and notebook wouldn't fit together in the pocket and the other pockets of her jacket weren't deep enough to securely hold the gun Eli unloaded it and stuck it in her right pocket with the three bullets going in her left and hoped neither of them would fall out on the climb back down.

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

The morning of the funerals came; it was bright and sunny but still bitterly cold.  Arlo was more than ready for spring to come back but was thankful that the weather hadn't taken a nasty turn since today was pretty important.

Eli and Gale had worked out two ceremonies - one at the mass grave and one for the thirteen that had been buried in Portia's cemetery.  He could only imagine how rough this day was going to be for Eli; Arlo had never had to bury anyone he personally knew -- both sets of grandparents had already passed on by the time he was born and both his parents were still alive but had relocated from Portia's countryside south to Tallsky for the milder weather.  He didn't have a spouse to worry about either since he wasn't married -- he wasn't even sure what to call whatever it was he had with Nora.  Were they dating?   Were they still deciding that?  He had a heart knot hidden in his room but hadn't felt especially driven to deliver it to her yet...he wasn't confident at all that she'd accept it.

Especially now, since the amount of time they'd been spending together had been decreasing since Eli had been found.  At first it was out of necessity - he HAD to stand guard at the facility - but once Mali and the Pigs had arrived he hadn't needed to spend as much time out there like before, and had mostly moved back to his usual routine... Nora had been a bit unhappy at the disruption to his schedule in the beginning but even now with it back to normal she hadn't-

No. He didn't need to be worrying over this.  Not today.

And besides, he'd be just as upset at Nora's funeral as he would at Sam's, or Remington's, or anyone else in Portia.  He didn't need to be married or related to someone to mourn them.

He left his room and, since the cell was right there, checked on their prisoner; the man had still refused to speak beyond hissing and grunting at everyone but had accepted medical attention, food, and water.  Currently the man was sitting on a stool facing the back corner of the holding cell and didn't react when Arlo asked how he was feeling today.

Mali had recognized him; he was a wanted criminal in Meidi -- for espionage and three murders.  They all were pretty certain they knew who had hired and sent him out here but with his camp in ashes they couldn't pin down just how long he'd been camped out there, and he definitely wasn't offering any answers of his own and hadn't been carrying anything useful or especially incriminating on himself either.  Gale had contacted Meidi's representatives in Atara and then had passed making transport arrangements on to Mali since she, Maddie, and Adam would be escorting the man back there to face punishment.

To all appearances it seemed Duvos was wasting no time in investigating the discovery of the facility.

Adam had volunteered to tend to their unexpected guest today so Arlo continued on and headed down to Portia's gates; benches, stools, and spare chairs had all been arranged on the road in a loose semi circle facing the large grave. Most of Portia's residents were already there but few were seated; they were standing in small clusters chatting away, and he didn't see Eli or Gale among them.  

Selene and Paulie were standing at the edge of the crowd, both studying something in a notebook Selene held in hand; he walked up and nodded to Paulie who in return clapped a friendly hand to his shoulder but didn't speak as Selene seemed to be on a roll explaining whatever she had sketched out.

"-and after that all we'd need is you to move it all in.  Easy enough, right?"

"What're you two planning now?" Arlo asked when Selene paused to take a breath.

"Our builder here is trying to plan out the carpentry and furniture needs for an expansion to the clinic," Paulie answered.  "She'll be handling the metalwork, and I'll be handling any woodwork."

"So Xu decided to expand after all?"

Selene nodded as she shut the notebook and tucked it under an arm.  "Just this morning.  At first he was worried about cost but Gale said Atara had pledged some funds to assist and of course Portia has a general fund for new construction and also a repair budget that Gale can shift money from.  Now that he knows it's not coming entirely out of his pocket he's jumping at the chance to work alongside an All Source."

"And what about security measures?" Arlo asked, raising an eyebrow.  They'd been worried about that even before they'd found their little Duvos visitor on the cliffs...

The builder huffed at him.  "You really think I'd draw up potential building plans and not think about protecting what was inside?  I need to double check space requirements with Eli and Stewart before I finalize anything but I've got more than a few ideas on how to keep people out of that building if they're not supposed to be there."

Before he could respond movement drew his attention and he watched as Eli and Gale walked up from the gates and to the edge of the grave, in front of all the chairs and benches.  The chatter died down quickly and people moved to find a seat, or else moved out of the way and to the edges of the crowd so they could see without obstructing anyone else's view.  Arlo opted to remain standing himself, as did Paulie and Selene; Gale cleared his throat and scanned the crowd.  Arlo looked over the group again as well, and it occurred to him that he didn't see Nora or Lee.

He frowned and double checked and yes, neither of them were here.  Were they running late?  He wanted to give them the benefit of doubt but knowing Lee... The man wasn't typically vindictive or disrespectful, and he hadn't gone out of his way to harass or badmouth Eli that Arlo had noticed (and if Lee had then Eli hadn't mentioned it), but to avoid a funeral felt cruel and spiteful.

With a long sigh Arlo shook his head and returned his attention to Gale.

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

Gale had offered a small explanation to the crowd - that she would be conducting the funeral according to her personal religious beliefs.   That got her more than a couple curious looks and by the time Gale surrendered the metaphorical floor to her and seated himself with the others she finally settled on what to say here, and how to say it.

She took a deep breath and clasped her hands behind her back; it was old habit to stand at parade rest and it probably wasn't entirely appropriate for a funeral but it was comfortable and familiar and she needed that at the moment.

"Good morning, everyone," she began.   "I know that, between my time period and this one, a lot of things were lost.  People, history, technology...religion.  My religion is called the Foundational Three - named such due to the three guiding forces of Fate, Balance, and Judgement.  Fate ensures every person born has a story to tell and that when they pass the cosmos itself remembers them, Balance makes certain that that story isn't too simple or too difficult to bear, and Judgement renders assistance or punishment as needed because sometimes others decide to intervene in stories they haven't been invited to.  I tell you this, before I say anything else, because I'd like you all to understand first why I choose to remember these people as I do, and also so there's no sadness when you contemplate lives lost, whether it's those that came before, those that you may have lost in recent memory, or those you know you'll lose naturally in the distant future."

She paused and glanced around to gauge the general feel of the crowd; everyone's attention was on her and she saw mostly intent faces and a few neutral ones that were hard to read.

"Portia, as you know, is built upon Dubei's ruins.  And Dubei was my home.  It was full of people - full of stories.  Millions of them, in fact.  I could try to tell those stories but I'd be talking until the heat death of the universe happened, but even then, that really wouldn't matter - it's not my voice that will persist to tell them.  That's Fate's duty, and Fate carries out that duty by speaking through the simplest of things: a howling wind, a bubbling river, the rasp of grass fields in a breeze, the drip of water, a sudden spout of laughter, a few quiet tears, the pattern clouds trace across the sky, the endless march of the passing seasons, the light of the stars.  In every aspect of existence there is a story and we hear it with conscious and unconscious ears.   These stories are in the items left behind, the whispers of legend and folklore, the written word, the spoken traditions, the family gatherings, and of course...when your life is shared with another - your pages entwine with the story of someone else.  There are countless ways Fate shares the lives of those before us with those that still remain, and in this way these people are never truly gone from us."

Again she paused, turning to regard the gigantic headstone.  It was finely polished marble with a trapezoidal base that joined into a tear drop-esque shape on top.  The names were evenly arranged in two columns that then became three that then ended in four, from top to bottom of the tear drop to the trapezoid, and had mirrored images of a flowering tree in bloom curving up either side; Gust had designed it and Eli appreciated its simple elegance.

"None of us knew these people," she went on. "I lived during the same time period and I never met any of them.  But I know that, should I choose to listen to the world around me, I will hear their stories echoing.  And not just theirs but those of the people that came before them, and then those people that came before that, and then those before that.  Fate is the Great Curator, and none of our stories will be lost to time whether we gather to share them or not.  Today, I lack the pages to share the specifics with you for these people...but, give it time, and Fate will take care of that for me.  Ours are stories that go on forever even if the people can't."

With that she went silent and stood there for a moment; finally she dipped her head and walked away from the front of the crowd and once she'd reached the road those gathered there erupted into dozens of murmured conversations.  

"This concludes this remembrance ceremony" she heard Gale announce behind her.  "If you all would like to take a moment to warm up some there's coffee and hot chocolate available, for free, at the Round Table.  The second ceremony will be in one hour's time in Portia's cemetery."

It took several minutes but at last the crowd began to disperse; Eli stayed where she was at the edge of the sitting area and was surprised when the group seemed to be...queuing up to talk to her.  There were a lot of faces she knew, some she only knew by name but hadn't really talked to before today (and she also met the rest of the septuplets finally with them joking about how they'd purposely lined up from oldest to youngest for her convenience). There were also a lot of compliments on her speech and there was a young woman who introduced herself as Alice who was curious about the Three specifically.

And so concluded the easy part.  The next one was going to be a lot harder.

Most of the townsfolk moved off to share their coffees and chocolates; Selene, Paulie, Arlo, Remington, and five of the Hulu brothers (the only one she was confident she had the right name for was Dawa, because he was taller than his brothers) stayed behind to cart the benches and chairs up to the graveyard and carefully arrange them around and near the thirteen fresh graves.

"We still have some time," Selene said once they'd gotten everything in place.  "Do we want to head down to the Round Table and get a drink?"

"You guys go ahead.  I think I'll stay here," Eli replied after a moment.

"You sure?"

"I'm sure."

The builder woman didn't look convinced but headed off anyway; Paulie and Arlo followed along with her and shortly thereafter the Hulu brothers and Remington went together down the hill as well.

That left her alone with Darren, and her squad.

She edged around the chairs and benches and walked up to Darren's tombstone; Gust had designed all of these too and they all bore various designs of flowering trees, plants, and vines.  She'd been shown the designs before the tombstones were made and he'd explained that, having heard that Dubei had had so much plantlife incorporated into its structures, he wanted to embrace that detail and combine it with sweeping shapes and gentle curves and create something memorable as well as beautiful. And looking over their shapes she could see a bit of Dubei in them - everything back then might have been sleek forms, polished metal, and shining glass but you couldn't go five feet without seeing an ornamental tree or flower bed or vines cascading down every building, and he'd perfectly captured that feeling of 'wild and free' combined with modern.

She trailed her fingers over the scalloped top of Darren's stone; it wasn't supposed to have been like this, and immediately following that thought came a pang of guilt -- how selfish of her, to be wishing the roles were reversed and that HE was the one dealing with the emotional turmoil while she rested peacefully under the soil.

That particular train of thought was disrupted by the sounds of footsteps coming up the hill behind her.  As she turned her hand fell away from the tombstone and after a breath she stuck both hands into her pockets; Arlo, Selene, and Asher were walking up the hill with steaming mugs in hand, and she noted Arlo was carrying two of them.

As she was expecting that second mug was for her; from the smell it was a hot chocolate and there was a rapidly melting dollop of cream on top.   "Thanks."

"Thought you could use it," was Arlo's reply.  His mug looked untouched but he did take a sip after she'd accepted the other one from him.  "We still have about a half hour."

Eli nodded and took a tentative sip of the hot chocolate; true to its name it was VERY hot but in that brief moment between her tongue registering flavor and then being torched by the scalding liquid it was a very rich taste and the cream was only semi-sweet - not like the stuff she was used to.  She couldn't tell if it was Asher or Selene who had the coffee but it was very fragrant.

"Any confirmations from Mali yet?" Eli asked.

Asher shook his head.  "Not yet.  She's coordinating with Meidi still -- they've been having more, and worse, winter storms than usual lately and all the places she could land the plane are buried under almost a foot of ice and snow.  When the word comes that they've cleared a spot for her to land she's going to have to drop everything and leave."

She took another careful sip from her mug (it didn't burn as badly this time but that also might be because the first one had killed all sensation in her tongue). Over their shoulders she could see a few people heading toward them; at their head and moving considerably faster than everyone else, was Toby.

Seeing the kid reminded her of the agreement she'd made, and then of Asher's request.  Considering they'd caught one spy...

"Have you mentioned to anyone else yet that you want to learn some ranger techniques?" she asked, looking between Arlo and Asher.

"Not yet but I bet Sam and Remington would like to join in," Arlo answered.

"I did but the others aren't sure they could rearrange their schedules yet," Asher said.  He gestured in the general direction of the Civil Corps building.  "I know Adam mentioned he'd like to make it happen.   Both Greg and Maddie are married with kids -- uh, not to each other, but still, they can't just drop everything and stay here longer than planned."

"Understood.  The reason I ask is, with the discovery of our friend up on the bluffs, I don't think it'd be wise to wait a couple months until I'm in top shape."

Asher looked to her curiously.  "So you want to start early?"

She nodded.  "VERY early.  I was thinking tomorrow morning -- I can get back in shape while also dragging the rest of you up to my level."

Asher's eyebrows disappeared into his hairline.  "Oh, uh.  All right.  Guess I should've opted for less sugar in this then..." He peered into his mug, nose wrinkling.

"Hi Eli!" came Toby's yell then; he rushed up beside them and bounced on the balls of his feet near her elbow.

"Hey kid.  How'd the math test go?"

Toby scrunched up his face.  "It - it was fine.  I did ok.  I don't like math."

"Not many do but it's pretty important to learn.  Just do your best and ask for help where you need it.  Nothing wrong with asking for help," Eli said, nodding down at him.

The scrunched up look relaxed into a happier one and Eli moved her mug to her opposite hand so the excitable boy wouldn't accidentally jostle it.  Moving up the hill behind the kid was a larger group than Eli had initially thought - from where she stood her view was partially blocked - and she steeled herself for the next part.  It would be a longer ceremony, and more difficult to get through.

It was easy to say there shouldn't be any sadness in remembering the lost.  It was an entirely different thing to try and cling to.

[gelenka-daria]

Halloween's coming up so maybe you could write something to go along with the spirit for Manwe and Melkor? Werewolf AU? Vampires? Fairies? Anything? :D

i don't know what happened

Rain and thunder rattle against the window after the first bolt lights up the sky, but that isn't what awakes him. 

The screaming sounds distant, remnants of a fever-induced dream, little more than a hallucination. Manwë almost believes it is.

It takes him longer than appreciated to come to, for his blurry vision to clear. He shifts, sore limbs protesting when he attempts to lift himself off the bedding, succeeding with no little effort, before looking about his bedchamber, dim save a few strings of silver moonlight trickling through the window. 

He frowns. It's quiet, unsettlingly so, and it drags on long enough for him to question his state of mind. Perhaps that, too, had begun to deteriorate alongside his body. 

But then, as suddenly as it went, a commotion breaks the silence, haphazard movement in the hall behind his door. Frantic footsteps up a stairway, another blood-curdling scream, terrified and terrifying and the hairs on Manwë's arms stand on end, goosebumps prickling his skin as his eyes widen at what sounds like hysterical begging right outside his chamber before the cries are cut short, replaced by wet gurgle. 

Manwë freezes, feeling a wretched twist of fear in his chest, his heart in his throat, in his ears, loud, but not enough to drown out the sound of something heavy hitting the floor, followed by footsteps against worn wooden boards, each step accompanied by the low creak of ancient woodwork, deliberate-like and slow, getting closer. 

It springs an abrupt reaction from him, but his weakening knees buckle right as his feet touch the floor and he crumbles, pain shooting up his bones the second his body collides with the worn wooden boards, hissing at the harsh contact. Manwë tries to get his joints to function as he attempts to hitch himself up, but even that seems to be too much effort on his weakening form. It's when he's finally up on his knees, fingers clenched around his bedding and stopping to take a breath, that it dawns on him. The abominable, godawful quiet. Nothing but the faint pitter-patter of rain and his own stuttering breaths.

Something terrible presses down on his chest; the icy cold creep of fear across his shoulder, the surge of panic that makes him feel sick to his stomach. It's then that he realizes that he isn't really alone in his bedchamber, that something else is sharing his space with him, lurking in one of the shadowed corners. A silhouette, shifting darkness.

Manwë looks despite himself, peering over his shoulder between pale, limp hair. It takes him a second to absorb his surroundings— his room looks strangely unfamiliar when the blue lightning reaches every niche, the corners empty, nothing hiding in them, but that's only because whatever thing had prowled its way into his home was standing there, mere feet from him. 

It all makes sense, suddenly.

It looks human, Manwë can't help but notice, struck rigid and staring wide-eyed at it, but he can sense it, its otherness, glowing golden eyes staring back through shadowed features, the steady drip-drip sound of something dribbling down clawed fingers before lightning comes again, and a face comes into view, equal parts terrifying and beautiful, red streaking down a defined chin.

Manwë loses grip on the bedding and falls face first onto the floor. Ignoring his useless legs, he sets on a frantic, pointed crawl to where the bedside table harbors a silver dagger. His health might be failing, but he refuses to concede to such a death without fighting for his life. 

He reaches it by some miracle, the creature uninterested in stopping him for whatever reason, yet what frail, little hope he'd fostered in this short period of time fades when the drawers turn up empty, his only means of defending himself nowhere to be found.

"Looking for this, perhaps?" A deep, velvety voice resonates through Manwë's bones and he wants to cry at the impossibility of it because no, no, it cannot be. Except it is, the blade a glaringly bright gray in one uncanny hand when he struggles to turn his head and look. 

A sharp grin reveals sharper teeth, gleaming in the bordering darkness, and it slowly tips its head towards Manwë's study where he now remembers having left it laying prior to the days he became bedridden. It takes everything in him to stop the tears from coming. The creature tuts, "such carelessness over such precious things." Before dropping the dagger into Manwë's reach, the sound of it clattering against the floor too loud on Manwë's ears. 

"Go on," it says almost enticingly, stepping closer, "you are welcome to try." 

Manwë swallows with difficulty and grits his teeth, his trembling fingers barely secure around the blade don't stop the frisson of horror curling in his belly. What good is a weapon, if he doesn't have the strength to wield it?  

"I had heard talk amongst townsfolk, of how the lord of this manor had succumbed to the spreading plague," it says, as it steps closer, voice holding the detached curiosity one would spare for a particularly interesting insect, "I can smell the disease on your skin, I hear it in your lungs. It should suffice to deter me, a well-nigh corpse is of no use to me, I ought to leave you to perish, however," boot-clad feet come into view, "Mercy is no virtue of mine, and yet you look so pitiful, it has gotten me in a charitable mood, I might spare you such pain, grant you a quicker death, my bite need not hurt so much." 

Laying there in helpless despair, Manwë can't help but scoff, incredulous, might as well. "How gracious of you," his voice is watery and bitter, "I wouldn't presume you to have extended the residents of this house the same courtesy." 

"Ah, are you grieving your servants?" it sounds almost spiteful, "worry not, you shall join them soon." 

Manwë hisses when the creature digs the tip of its boot into his side, pressing into his ribs and flipping him over, as though he were a mere carcass in decay on the side of a road. Once he's on his back, he keeps his eyes to the ceiling, his hands tightly gripping the iron hilt of his dagger, held close to his chest, a feeble measure of security. The thing crouches next to him, its presence too cold and Manwë can hardly bear to look at its too human features in fear of being lured into a false sense of normality, that maybe this was someone he could reason with. 

He jolts when cool, bloody fingers hover over his forehead, moving whatever's strayed of his hair out of his face, before its hand cradles his pale, sunken cheek, smearing the scarlet print of its hand upon Manwë's face. Manwë makes the mistake to look, and meets the creature's gaze, its eyes feverish and pinning him down more effectively than if it had used brute force.

"However," it says, tone unexpectedly light as Manwë falls prey to sudden burgeoning interest, a horrible, horrible darkening to its eyes, a wolf gone hungry, "I might be inclined to change my mind." 

Manwë doesn't care for an explanation, as he takes advantage of the proximity and unforeseen regard. He takes aim, plunging the dagger upwards with all he has, his one chance, the sound of a single slice sharp in the near silence. And he hits his mark, he thinks, hands shaking around the hilt, both horrified and delighted and all kinds of frantic. He looks up, into black, wide, astonished eyes and for a second there relief floods him. Any minute now, the hands gripping his wrists should loosen. Any minute now, the flesh and bone around the blade should start to fray away. 

Any minute now.

Except, none of that happens. The surprise fades out into unsettling mirth and it cackles hoarsely, throaty tones vibrant with devious delight as it raises its head and pins him with an ancient stare. "Why, you did try. Such endearing determination." Cutting fangs come into view from under a likewise grin. Manwë's hands slip off the hilt, falling limp at his sides as he watches the creature yank the dagger out, dripping tar-dark blood, with not so much a flinch, and tossing it aside. "Had there been a chance of such a thing ever posing a threat, I never would have handed it to you, sweetling." 

Manwë flinches at the endearment, his fingers digging painfully into the wood bellow, blood welling from under his fingernails. The creature sniffs, its grin softening. "There," it sighs, deceptively gentle, as it leans ever closer, "underneath the stench of death, you smell utterly delectable." 

Ah, Manwë thinks, defeated, what little strength he had left bleeding out, I see.

The creature tsks. "No need to look so glum, precious, I'm of a mind to preserve your life, not end it." It says into the minuscule space between their lips, dark, pitch-black eyes switching to a malevolent carmine. "Twould be a shame," a thumb sweeps across Manwë's left cheek, "such a lovely face, wasted to mortality." 

"No," Manwë says, rejecting the heavy implication. He would much rather die. 

It blinks. "No?"

"No." Manwë affirms between gritted teeth. "I would prefer to die on my own terms. I refuse to become like you, either leave me be or kill me."

"How gullible," it cradles his head, fingers burrowing into his hair, nails scratching lightly at his scalp in a manner that, in any other circumstance, would have eased him into comfort. "To think you have a say in the matter."

Dread fills him as he breaks into cold sweat. He looks at it, the blood-spatter across its face, so beautiful, so horrible, devoid of warmth. Further from anything Manwë wishes to ever be. Tears prick the corners of his eyes. "Please." 

"You should be groveling at my feet in thanks," it lifts Manwë's upper body off the floor, slow and careful, the other hand brushing his hair out of the way, its breath cool against his collarbone, "for the gift I am to bestow upon you." 

Manwë shakes his head, his shivering hands reaching up to grip its shoulders, intent on pushing it away, yet all he can do is hold on.   

"Shhh," it breathes against his neck soothingly, "I assure you, in no time, you will be loath to part with me." 

One cold kiss to his skin, and it's over. 

A low growl coils in its throat when it draws blood, demonic, feral, possessive, frightening. Manwë can't find it in him to make a sound. The teeth in his throat don’t even hurt. Sharp bright sensation, flesh parting at the join of shoulder and neck, an obsidian dagger splitting him open from sternum to skull—his consciousness reforms and he feels—he’s whole, he’s whole, he’s bitten open and bleeding out but somehow he’s whole for the first time in his life. 

His eyes are wide and unseeing, blinded by the sudden rush of power, so intoxicating that he clings, wraps arms and legs around this thing, ignoring the distant screaming of you don't want this, you don't and draws him closer for more give me more, close enough to hear a yes purred into his own blood, until the scalding light fades and there's nothing but darkness.

[thijihiguri]

The Emperor’s Ascension, Pt. 3 (& Denouement)

Two times now has the world of Elementa been trapped in stasis.  The first was at the very beginning of this battle, when the Snow Flower herself, Koyuki Kazahana, High Empress of Hyoga, emerged from on high to face her beloved husband in battle.  Of the many obstacles he had overcome up until now, Thiji battling his own wife would be his greatest.  Still, he pressed on, goaded by Koyuki to face her with all he had.

The second occurrence is the current sight everyone struggled to behold: a blade pierced Koyuki’s body by Thiji’s hand.  Though it was expected to happen eventually, the sight was too much for many to stomach. The Handmaidens of Peace, the Royal Family’s most loyal sect of warrior-priests, had practically fainted on the spot, save for Sylla, Shijima, and Celuwen, who watched on with mouths agape.  Seraphina slowly moved her hands from her eyes to behold the scene, gasping loudly once she did.  

“Princess Seraphina, with me!” Umi spoke as she rose from her seat.  “We go now to attend your mother.”

“Y-Yes, Auntie Umi!” Seraphina said reluctantly.  Shiro silently nodded and followed them down.

As they left the stands, Koyuki let out a soft exhale as she lost the strength to stand, slowly falling backwards.  Thiji quickly caught his wife and pulled his blade from her body, leaving behind a wound that had frozen over.  The Diamond Emperor dropped a knee, cradling Koyuki in his arms.  Though there was little expression on his face, he still felt sorrow for what he had done.

“All right – mic me, boys!” Nora said with a snap of her fingers.  The cameramen took out a pair of lavalier mics from his pocket and tossed them over to the Teal Quaintrelle, who then chucked them straight down into the stadium, landing beside Thiji and Koyuki.  As if on cue, Thiji took them in hand and attached one to his robe, and the other to Koyuki’s qipao.  “And now, the big reveal!”

“That was tough to watch, even for me…” Homura sighed.

“It was tough for all of Elementa, sister,” Sakuya replied, “but the plan has been carried out flawless so far.  The time has come to commence the summoning.  I already sense Mizore is channeling her energies to complete this process; let’s not keep her waiting too long.”

Raiko and Homura nodded and left their luxury room to teleport to Nora’s dirigible.  Meanwhile, Koyuki gazed upon her beautiful husband, who had laid a hand upon his cheek.

“Koyuki…” was all he could get out before she interrupted him with a finger to his lips.

“Be still, my lord…” Koyuki said, her voice weak.  The microphones attached to their clothing amplified their voices so that everyone within the stadium could hear them clearly, along with everyone else watching throughout the world.

“But, my flower…” he tried to speak again, only to be shushed.

“Still, my love… hear me,” she repeated, smiling.  “Ever since you were born, you were destined… for greatness.  Ever faithfully has the Higuri Clan served my Pure Branch, but you were meant to do more than serve… All your life, you have served me and my family, but the truth is… we’ve held you back.  Your strength and potential, limited… because the love you had for us softened your heart. We curtailed the Diamond Prophecy, though we did not know it at the time… the Trials of Winter was to help reshape you into who you were; what you were meant to be.  You had to let go of me in order to become the Diamond Emperor… It was difficult at first… but I accepted it with time.  To ascend, you had to strike down your flower… Love is a powerful force, and I always uphold its values… but it can make us complacent… it can bring our guard down… it can even end us.  But not you, Thiji.  You’re meant to become a force far greater, and after bringing our Hyoga into the golden age of prosperity it now has, you have fulfilled your duties as a mortal…”

Seraphina, Umi, and Shiro hurried to the field, but Shiro pointed out that flowers were beginning to blossom through the snow-covered ground.

“What… What’s this…?” Seraphina asked.

“Her power is being spread throughout the land,” Shiro explained.  “She is returning to nature.”

“Is… Is my mother dying…?”

“No, she is not, thankfully,” Umi replied, “but she has suffered too much damage to maintain her form; she is one with nature, and therefore cannot perish easily.”

“You Kazahana sure did luck out in the superpower lottery…” Shiro grumbled, a hint of jealousy in her voice.  She then spotted a familiar flower materializing right above Koyuki.  “No way… is that -?”

A delicate snow-white flower with purple stamens appeared above Koyuki’s body, and around the stamens were tiny blue snowflakes dancing about.  The flower slowly descended to her right hand, which she then presented to Thiji.

“Do you know what this is, my lord…?” she asked him.  He looked upon it and gasped.  He wanted to reach out and touch it, but was too focused on holding his weakening wife.

“It’s… It’s the first Snow Lily that marked your birth!” Thiji answered.  Koyuki grinned at his response.

“The very first Snow Lily – yes,” she confirmed.  “I kept and safeguarded it all my life, for the right moment to show it to you.”

Something else had begun to emerge from the flower: a tiny, coin-shaped object – no bigger than a poker chip – materialized and levitated in front of Thiji’s head, expecting him to grab it.

“Koyuki… what is this?” Thiji asked.

“The Proof of the Snow Flower…” she replied.  “This was the final battle in your Trials.  I was the only other Lady of Winter standing in your way in Elementa, and I was determined to harden your heart for the task.  If you failed this day… The gods would have been displeased. But they knew you were stronger than that; I knew you were stronger than that. And now that it’s all over, I can gaze upon you… one last time, as a mortal.  I’m so proud of you, Thiji…”

As their conversation continued, Seraphina began feeling another reaction coming.  This one, however, was more familiar to her.

“It’s been a long time, my beloved child,” spoke a female voice to her telepathically.

“Mother Moon..!!” she gasped.  “How may Your humble daughter serve you?”

“I have need of you for a moment; mind if I use you as a vessel?”

“Whatever your desire, O Luminious One!”

The clouds parted once more as a beam of lunar energy shot down from the heavens, enveloping the Alabaster Rose.  Shiro and Umi jumped out of the way, watching in awe.

“That’s the sign, sisters!” Sakuya spoke.  They channeled the powers of Izanami, Izanagi, and Amaterasu – the gods who chose them to be Eternals – into the pillar, causing an elemental reaction which created a rainbow bridge.  Everyone shielded their eyes from the light as it washed over the stadium and the entire Borealis Tundra.

Moments later, the light faded, and everyone scanned their surroundings – the sky was once again cast into night, with the silvery moon illuminating Hyoga.  Turning center stage, everyone noticed that Seraphina had transformed into a taller, yet equally slender woman of blue-violet hair and a silver-white-and-blue floral dress.  On the right side of her head was a silvery-blue flower in full bloom, and in her hands was a pristine harp.  She plucked the strings and the moon’s light filled the stadium.

“Iss thiss… the powerss of a God?” Z’hira asked.  “To witnesss one appear before uss…”

“The Divinity of Night; the Lady of the Moon…” Hiro spoke under his breath.  The other Eternals jumped down from the blimp and landed behind Thiji, sticking the landing in a kneeling position.

“It has been far too long since I’ve taken a stroll in the mortal realm,” the Goddess said as she stretched.  The Handmaidens of Peace watched in awe as the Goddess of the Moon descended to grace them.  “You’ve come a long way, Thiji Higuri.  All that has happened up to this point shaped you into who you are now.  Thy wisdom; thy strength; thy intellect; your heart of diamond – these are the tenets that deem you more than qualified to become an Eternal – should you accept.  Just as I have chosen thy mother, Mizore, I have found thee more than worthy to ascend.”

She then turned to Koyuki, who met her gaze with a grin.

“High Empress Koyuki… your mother would be so proud.  But it pained all of us to put you through this.  You truly are worthy of the name ‘Kazahana’, and the Snow Flower from which sparked your birth.”

“I did what I must, Lady Tsukuyomi…” whispered Koyuki, her voice very weak at this point, “for him… I only hope that Thiji can forgive his flower…”

“I already forgive you, Koyuki… I do,” Thiji spoke, now holding her close.  He deliberated for a moment before looking up towards Tsukuyomi.

“Speak thy mind, Diamond Emperor,” the Moon Goddess urged.

“I accept this charge, Lady Tsukuyomi,” he began, “however… I wish to begin anew.”

“Pray explain thyself.”

“I know that Eternals are reborn after death as they can never be truly killed, and with each rebirth they are stronger… but I wish to be reborn as an infant.  This way, my power will be exponentially more immense, and I may better serve towards Elementa’s safekeeping.”

“WHAAAAT?!” Homura shrieked, fire spewing from her maw.  “That clever bastard’s gonna deny me a sparring partner?!”

“Dial it down, Homura; the mics are still on…” Raiko grunted whilst covering her ears.

“I’m sure Mizore’s going to be ecstatic over this,” chuckled Sakuya.  “She’d want nothing more than to hold her little Thiji again.”

“Very well, and very astute of thee,” Tsukuyomi stated.  “I shall make it so, but you’ve many friends gathered here; I will allow thee one final chance for any parting words with them.”

The Diamond Emperor nodded and turned to everyone present.  Shiro approached and gave Thiji a kiss on the cheek.

“It’s been a hell of a ride, Thiji,” Shiro began.  “You’ve helped me save a lot of people, and the missions we’ve been on together have been the most memorable ones ever.  It’s going to hurt me seeing you go, but there’s a secret I’ve been keeping from you for quite some time now.”

She turned their attention towards the stands.  A cloaked figure in white sat alone.  Lifting the hood revealed a young girl with hair like Shiro’s, only slightly bluer, with Thiji’s eyes.  She wore a white-and-blue gown and her face was filled with tears.  “You see that young woman there?  That’s Soyo – my daughter.  Your daughter.”

“The Princess has a stepsister…” Umi said under her breath.

“WOW!  That’s unexpected!” Nora commented.  “I knew Thiji got around, but…!”

“Because of you, my Clan survives.  And I’ve discovered that some of us survived the purge.  The Lands of Kiri have a princess, and I’ve discovered that some of my kin have survived the purge.  We would not have survived without you, Thiji, and to this, I owe you so much.”

Da Ji hurried over to Thiji, teary-eyed as ever.

“My Emperor,” she began, “I will wait for your rebirth, and when you return, I will do my utmost for you! I… I only ever wish to serve you – as a mortal, and as a Goddess.  I will forever be yours…”

“And I am grateful to have your love and support, Da Ji,” Thiji replied.  He then turned over towards his brother, his gazing firmly upon him.  “It will fall upon you and Seraphina to lead Hyoga in our absence.  Though the Snow Flower will return, I must answer a higher call.  But Hyoga’s sanctity will always be my prime concern.  Horu. You’ve the entirety of the Tundra Force and the Handmaidens of Peace backing you; you’ve numerous allies and advisors.  Reach out to them; lean on them if you must…”

“We won’t fail you, Brother,” Horu acknowledged.  “I’ll watch over Empress Seraphina as well.  Your shoes will be difficult to fill, but I’ve learned much from you.”

A large flower began to blossom in the center of the stadium.  It opened one of its petals as the last of Koyuki’s power seeped into and nurtured the now verdant area.  She gazed upon her beloved husband once more, a smile on her face as she gave her final words:

“Thiji… you were, are, and always will be… my light… my lord… my love.”

Her strength all but spent, Koyuki’s arm slowly fell to the ground, her eyes shutting into a peaceful sleep.  Though they knew she was not gone from this world, the scene was no less heartbreaking to watch.  Thiji lifted her body and carried it into the flower, placing her comfortably inside of its petals.  As it closed, a violet pulse emanated from the plant, thereby “sealing” it.  With the Snow Flower laid to rest, it was finally time.  Thiji turned towards Tsukuyomi, but another voice would make itself known beforehand:

“Thiji!” cried a tearful Nora.  “Don’t you dare think this marks the end of your career!  There’s gonna be A LOT of ideas I’ll be throwin’ at you when you’re reborn!”

Everyone couldn’t help but laugh – even Tsukuyomi.  But with all said and done, the Goddess called upon Her divine powers, showering the Diamond Emperor in lunar energy.  The light could be seen from as far as the Frozen Sea, and after a long moment of bathing in its luminescence… all went quiet.  The moonlight had faded, the skies returned to normal, and Thiji and Tsukuyomi had vanished.  Seraphina levitated back down to earth, laying a hand upon her mother’s resting place. It was warm, as if her mother’s presence was still evident, responding to her daughter’s touch.

“Rest well, Mother. I promise that Hyoga will be better off than when you left it,” she said with a smile.

With his brother’s ascension now complete, and Koyuki’s own rebirth underway, Horu’s first order as Emperor was to consecrate the Borealis Stadium to allow her sister-in-law the blissful sleep she deserved.  In a year’s time, she would reemerge, ready to rule Hyoga once more as the Great Empress, just like her mother.  Masao was given the charge to protect the holy site in place of the Virgin Snow Courtyard, to which she was more than honored to accept.  Though Hyoga was definitely still well into its golden age, there would still be disreputable types who would aim to take advantage of this succession.  However, their powerful new allies in the Glacierfin extended their reach to beyond the Frozen Shore, and the Kirishinobi would serve as Horu’s personal honor guard.

Sometime later, Thiji began his new immortal life as an infant, per his request.  Mizore happily carried and walked him around the Antarctic Glade, showing him the domain was far vaster than when he originally visited. All who inhabited it witnessed their new lord, and pledged their fealty to him.  While he rested and grew within this new realm, he practiced his newfound abilities through his avatar, which was a simulacrum of what he would look like as a child.  Da Ji had also frequented the Antarctic Glade, accompanying the new Eternal of Ice through her own avatars.  The love she showed for him was adored by Mizore, who was more than happy to allow her passage to and from their realm.  Soon after, he would take his avatar to the mortal world, making his return known to all of Hyoga.  When Koyuki was reborn, she grew another pair of wings, becoming a Seraphim.  After serving her all his mortal life, the time had come for her to serve him – as his beloved Snow Flower Seraphim.  She would gain more specialized powers that complimented her mastery over Floramancy, cementing her place among the Kazahana Pure Branch.

The time had come for the greatest age of Hyoga’s time: The Eternal Age of Iceflowers.