#if different weaves demand different approaches to the One Power...

[ace-and-ranty]

No, but the implications of Ran and Moraine's talk is so INTERESTING, because.

Everyone in this age thinks the submit/dominate dichotomy when using the One Power is a gendered thing. Women submit, men dominate. As is, I understand, the case in the books.

But this conversation implies the divide is not actually gendered, it's about the quantities of power involved. Once there's too much power in a weave, you need to be in control of it, or it washes you away. And this would be extremely significant in explaining why the Aes Sedai have gotten so much less powerful; they think they need to submit to channel always, so they simply can't handle more powerful weaves.

[partycatty]

i had a vision and drew it - and even better, i got a fic idea from it!

johnny cage > discovery

johnny discovers his new powers unexpectedly. maybe he wasn't as ordinary as others thought.

warnings: johnny thinks he's dying and gets all crisis-y, established relationship

notes: imagine instead of activating his powers in a life or death situation, it randomly bodyslams him like a heart attack - and it scares the hell out of him. also i hope u like my silly sketch :3

masterlist <3

• johnny's life was crumbling. his movies were flopping hard, and people were starting to forget his name. his spending habits were out of control, and you two were arguing about it so much that you grew tired of hearing your own voice. most days were the cold shoulder or shouting matches. things weren't looking great.

• it was during one of these matches when the shouting on his end abruptly paused, and he doubled over. your anger was shoved aside as you dashed forward to inspect his current state. but, just as soon as it started, it was over in a flash. johnny was startled, to say the least. his eyes were wide and he was panting.

• you guys assumed the stress was taking a toll on him, a physical toll. out of respect for his well-being, you held your tongue from that point on. or at least, you tried to. everything was relatively quiet until a mysterious yakuza member demanded the sword on your shared mantle. you would've thrown it at him if given the opportunity since the damn thing sent you back millions. johnny, however, wasn't as willing. fortunately for your safety's concern, he was the ultimate home security system, tying up the man after knocking him unconscious.

• we all know the rest. "what in the actual-" "i am the god of fire" "get your damn hands off him" "that's no special effect" "change the arc of your lives." blah blah blah. it was all a weird blur. apparently, you, johnny, and this new "friend" of yours were all chosen to fight for something bigger than a malibu disagreement. you were a fighter alongside your husband, but you did it competitively. johnny did it for the cameras, which isn't to say he's worse naturally. he could kick ass, and so could you, just in different directions.

• liu kang warned everyone that training would take months, as the tournament was far down the line. johnny grew impatient, and you grew tense with his lack of eagerness to actually train. regardless, you sparred and took the monk's advices to heart.

• johnny wouldn't tell you at first, since he didn't want to distract your own progress, but he would oftentimes catch himself feeling... funny, for lack of a better phrase. during meals, his eyes would unfocus and his hearing sounded underwater. at night, he'd toss and turn for hours in the cot beside yours. something felt wrong, really wrong. his chest felt fluttery and cold, like a sprite weaving between his ribs. it scared the holy hell out of him, considering how prone is family is to heart attacks.

• "great session! whaddya say to a well-deserved break?" he'd announce out of concealed desperation to the other earthrealmers, hoping that someone would agree and he'd be able to excuse himself to loosen his collar and sit down for a moment. it was after the fifth time asking in a day that you approached him with genuine concern.

• "honey, are you alright?" you asked gently, putting a hand on his shoulder. his eyes followed your touch and he sighed, moving your hand to his chest.

• "i-i'm afraid," he'll confess quietly, glancing behind you to make sure nobody was overhearing his moment of worry. "i haven't been feeling well, but i can't just drop everything and leave. not when my career's in the shithole. we've got nothing to return to. this fire god guy needs me, needs us, and i know damn well you'd follow me out if i stepped back from all of this."

• johnny's tragic worry struck a chord in your heart and you couldn't help but agree with his words. you advised him to ask a monk about decongestant tea, or some other simple remedy that would keep you at the academy.

• things died down, or at least, johnny's pain wouldn't be verbalized for a while. you and the boys were actually gaining significant strength and conditioning with the brutal training regime liu kang assigned. when he felt everyone was finally prepared to choose a champion, he assembled a king of the hill type of tournament on campus grounds.

• you stood between johnny and kenshi, a palpable tension on your husband's shoulders. his jaw was clenched tight, as were his fists. he looked... terrified. this wasn't a normal expression for the star.

• "johnny?" you whisper to him, reaching down to intertwine your fingers with his. before you could fully articulate your concerns, he speaks up.

• "i don't feel well," he murmurs in return, eyes fixated at the platform in front of you all. he visibly pales.

• liu kang calls you to the platform as the first contestant, and you obediently oblige with a bow, waiting for further instruction. your eyes danced across your potential competitors — raiden and kung lao, the humble farmers. kenshi, the enigmatic swordsman... and your husband, who looked as if he was shitting himself and moments away from puking.

• "you will face (reader), johnny cage."

• "a-are you sure? because that's my spouse, and i'd hate to—"

• liu kang frowns. johnny puts his hands up in a surrender motion, a pathetic attempt at remaining playful, and hoists himself to the platform across from you. his position readies, as does yours.

• though he may be visibly under the weather, the technique is still there. johnny's fighting style is unique and calculate, effortlessly playful and charismatic, just like him. even so, the match becomes quite even as you're familiar with his style. you parry many blows, mirroring others. the crowd is pleased and excited by the potential outcomes.

• you land a good kick to johnny's face, sending him spiraling in the air and landing on his back with a deep thud. the color in his face returns (due to the bruising) as he stares up at you, licking his lips before flourishing his way back up.

• but then, he lets out a strained cry.

• johnny clutches his chest, clawing at the layers of fabric across his body as if they're an anvil sitting atop his torso. his face twists as he doubled over in complete agony.

• "by the elder gods!" liu kang shouts, standing from his spectator chair. others let out their own concerns and shouts, but you're the first one rocketing to his side. you get to his level to inspect his face. you make a desperate attempt to push his damp hair from his face, but his neck snaps the other way as his body tries to expel this sudden onslaught of pain.

• as the fear that a heart attack is imminent, a sudden glow of green burns bright even past johnny's robes. it spills out like an angry cloud, seeping through johnny's fingers as he cries out in the worst pain he'd ever experienced. it is here that liu kang tenses up, then relaxes. he steps to the side, and does nothing but watch blankly. you come closer and part his clothing, giving yourself access to his bare chest to inspect the source.

• shockingly, the problem is... internal. his veins are glowing a bright green shade and when his eyes aren't deeply clenched, you sense a faint trace of emerald in his irises. right where his heart is, is a rhythmic flashing pattern.

• "make it stop!" johnny begs helplessly, and you reply on the verge of tears that you don't know how to help. however, almost as if on cue, he takes a deep breath inward and sits upright, eyes wide and jaw slack. and, just like that, everything seems normal again.

• you run your hand frantically across his bare skin, trying to feel for abnormalities as he catches his breath. you're crying now from the fear, and you catch a glimpse at his watery eyes.

• "are you okay?!" kung lao asks, putting a hand on his back to help him stabilize. "what was that?!"

• "i don't know..." johnny breathlessly replies, reaching a hand up to fix his hair nervously. however, as his hand traveled upward, he noticed the same emerald aura clouding around his hands, and he shouts out and scurries as if he's trying to run away from his own arm. as it's outstretched, it shoots a ball of energy outward, frying a mannequin that sat innocently off to the side. the crowd's eyes go from the mannequin and back to the celebrity. your fists ball up on his back, fistfuls of fabric keeping you upright otherwise you'd fall back from shock.

• "that is not how i anticipated that happening this time," liu kang muttered, coming closer to inspect johnny's palms. johnny stares at his hands like they grew overnight. his eyes shoot to the fire god, incredulous.

• "what the hell do you mean, 'this time?!'"

[nylpad]

EMBERS

Warnings: Emotional content,Cultural themes

Author: Seeing as my last Zuko post did great I thought I'd make another one as per @chevysstuffs 's request.

The sun dipped low over Ember Island, casting a warm glow on the white sands and the gentle waves that lapped at the shore. It was the kind of evening that invited quiet reflection, and for Zuko, it was a welcome respite from the demands of his princely duties.

You, on the other hand, had come to the island seeking solace from the bustling life of the capital. As fate would have it, your path crossed with the prince's on this serene beach, away from the prying eyes of the court.

"Enjoying the sunset?" Zuko's voice broke the silence, his figure approaching with a grace that belied his usual intensity.

You turned, surprised to find him alone. "Yes, it's beautiful here."

He nodded, sitting beside you. "I used to come here to think, to escape. But now," he paused, looking at you, "it feels different."

The conversation flowed as easily as the tide, and with each word, the distance between prince and commoner seemed to blur. Laughter mingled with the sea breeze, and for a moment, the world was perfect.

Days turned into weeks, and your acquaintance with Zuko deepened. The palace hosted a grand ball, and though you felt out of place among the nobility, Zuko's invitation was impossible to refuse.

The ballroom was aglow with firebenders' flames, casting dancing shadows on the walls. Zuko extended his hand, and you accepted, stepping into the rhythm of the music.

As you danced, his gaze never wavered from yours, and in the flickering light, you saw not a prince, but a young man with hopes and fears. The connection between you was undeniable, a spark that threatened to ignite into something more.

It was on a quiet evening in the royal gardens that Zuko's true feelings surfaced. The fireflies danced around, mirroring the nervous energy that Zuko exuded.

"I've been meaning to tell you something," he began, his voice barely above a whisper. "These past weeks, getting to know you, have been the happiest of my life."

Your heart raced, anticipation hanging heavy in the air.

"I care for you, more than I thought possible," he confessed, his golden eyes searching yours for a reaction.

The words hung between you, a delicate truth that held the power to change everything.

This is just the beginning of their story, a tale of unexpected romance and personal discovery. If you'd like to continue this journey, let me know, and I can write the next chapters, weaving a narrative that captures the essence of a blossoming love between Zuko and the reader.

The days that followed were filled with stolen moments and secret glances. Zuko, once a prince bound by duty and honor, found himself yearning for the freedom to love openly. You, who had always been just a face among the many in the palace, now held the heart of the Fire Nation's heir.

One evening, as the wind whispered through the gardens, Zuko took your hand and led you to the edge of the palace, where the view of the volcano met the starry sky.

"I've never felt this way before," he admitted, his voice carrying the weight of his lineage. "With you, I'm just Zuko, not the prince, not the firebender—just me."

You smiled, your hand squeezing his. "And I'm just me, not an attendant, not a subject—just a person who sees you for who you truly are."

The promise of tomorrow hung in the air, a future where titles and roles would not define your bond.

The annual Fire Nation Festival was a spectacle of lights, colors, and celebration. It was a night when the entire nation came together, and for Zuko, it was an opportunity to show you his world.

As fireworks painted the sky, Zuko's eyes were fixed on you, the reflection of the vibrant explosions dancing in your gaze. He leaned in, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that sealed your intertwined fates.

The crowd erupted in cheers, oblivious to the union of two souls amidst the revelry. It was a moment of pure magic, a testament to the power of love that knows no bounds.

Time passed, and with each day, the connection between you and Zuko grew stronger. The palace walls, once a barrier, now served as the foundation for a love that defied convention.

On the night of the first snowfall, Zuko stood before you, a look of determination in his eyes. "I don't know what the future holds," he said, "but I know I want you in it."

You reached out, your fingers tracing the scar that marked his past. "And I'll be there, through every challenge, every victory."

It was a vow made not with words, but with hearts that beat as one, a silent promise to face the world together.

[roseandxanderfics]

“The First Encounter” - AesSedai!reader x Warder!OC

Summary: A powerful yet shy Aes Sedai who struggles to speak finally finds a Warder in Kaelen, a man who sees her strength beyond her silence. Over time, they form a bond that transcends words, built on patience, trust, and unspoken understanding.

———————

You had always been different. Most Aes Sedai could use their voices to command, to speak the words that bent the world to their will. You, however, could not. The words in your mind were powerful, capable of reshaping reality with a simple thought—but they would never leave your lips. You had tried once or twice, only to have your voice shake, crack, or fail entirely. So you kept silent. You wove your weaves in solitude, practiced your skills away from prying eyes. You became known in the Tower for your unmatched power but also for your inability to connect with others. The other Aes Sedai kept their distance, too unsure how to interact with someone who would not speak.

Your loneliness was something you had come to accept. You didn’t mind it, not really. The silence was your comfort. But there were times when you longed for the connection you saw between others—Warders and Aes Sedai who shared something deeper than their duties, a bond built on trust, respect, and love. You couldn’t help but envy it from afar.

The first time Kaelen approached you, you were sitting in the training grounds, the sunlight filtering through the windows, casting long shadows across the stone floor. Your hands moved in fluid, graceful motions as you wove a delicate web of Fire and Air, testing your limits, shaping the weaves with precision. You were so lost in your work that you didn’t notice him until he was standing just a few paces away, observing you.

Kaelen was a tall, broad-shouldered man with dark brown hair that fell messily over his forehead. His expression was calm but intense, his green eyes sharp as they watched you. He didn’t speak, and for a moment, you wondered if he was simply another passerby, curious about your unusual display of power.

But when you finished the weave, he stepped forward, his movements careful but deliberate. The sound of his boots on the stone floor made you flinch slightly, and you immediately averted your gaze, the flush creeping up your neck at the realization that someone was paying attention to you.

“You are one of the most powerful Aes Sedai I have ever seen,” Kaelen finally said, his voice soft but strong, with an air of quiet respect. “I’ve watched you for some time.”

You stiffened, uncertain of what he meant by that. You didn’t speak, not even to acknowledge the compliment, but your mind raced. Why was he here? What did he want from you? Warders rarely sought you out. Most knew your reputation for being a recluse, for your silence.

He must have sensed your hesitation because he gave a small, reassuring smile. “I’m not here to make you uncomfortable. But I know what you need. I can protect you. If you’ll let me.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you didn’t know what to say. You didn’t know how to respond to him. You had never been good at this—at talking to people, at letting them in. But Kaelen didn’t seem to need words from you. His presence was gentle, not demanding. His silence was the same as yours—comfortable, not forcing you into conversation.

He knelt in front of you, looking directly into your eyes. “You don’t have to speak. I know what it means to be silent. And I know what it’s like to be strong but feel as if no one sees you for that strength. But I see you. I want to be your Warder, if you’ll allow me.”

Your throat tightened. The words were so simple, so direct, but the weight of them made your chest ache. For the first time in a long while, someone saw you—not your silence, but your power. Not your inability to speak, but your strength.

Kaelen’s eyes softened as he waited, patiently, giving you the time you needed. You could feel his sincerity—there was no rush, no pressure. His presence was a steady pulse of warmth, one that surrounded you without demanding anything in return.

You nodded slowly, an almost imperceptible movement. Kaelen didn’t smile widely or cheer. Instead, he simply lowered his head in acknowledgment, his respect for you evident in the quiet acceptance. He would be your Warder, not because of pity or duty, but because he truly believed in you.

⸻

The days after Kaelen became your Warder were quiet, but they were also filled with a strange comfort you hadn’t expected. You had always been alone, used to the stillness of your own company, but Kaelen’s presence wasn’t intrusive. He was a shadow, always at your side, watching, waiting, ready to act if needed. He trained you in ways that were different from the other Warders—you could feel that his approach was more sensitive to your needs, more understanding of your silence.

You trained in the mornings and sparred in the afternoons. In your shared silence, your connection began to deepen. Kaelen was there, always attentive, always watching. His movements were swift, precise, his presence unwavering. But it wasn’t just his skill that made you feel safe—it was his patience. He never pushed you to speak, never forced you into a conversation you weren’t ready for. He understood, in a way no one else had before, that your power was just as much a part of you as your silence.

On the rare occasions that your training became difficult, that the weight of your own self-doubt and anxiety began to surface, Kaelen would simply be there, a steady presence in the background, offering you the strength to push through.

You couldn’t bring yourself to speak, but in those moments, Kaelen didn’t need words to understand. He saw the struggles in your eyes, the way your breath hitched when you faltered. And he would reach out, not in a way that overwhelmed you, but in a way that calmed you—his hand on your shoulder, a reassuring touch that said more than words ever could.

⸻

As the months passed, you began to realize something you hadn’t expected: the bond between you and Kaelen wasn’t just one of protection. It was something more. There was a quiet trust between you that didn’t need to be voiced. When your training reached its most intense, and you stood at the edge of exhaustion, it was Kaelen’s presence that pulled you through. You had learned to read him, just as he had learned to read you. The subtle shifts in his posture, the slight tension in his muscles, all spoke volumes to you. You didn’t need to hear him speak to understand his thoughts; you could feel them in the air between you.

One night, as you sat by the fire in the training grounds, Kaelen finally spoke again, his voice quieter than usual. “I will always be here. No words needed.”

You met his gaze, and for the first time, you felt a flicker of something more. Something that was not just silence, but an understanding so deep that no words could ever capture it.

You smiled softly, the first time you had ever done so in his presence. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. Kaelen had become your protector, your Warder, and, perhaps, your closest ally—without a single word being spoken

[skyholly]

blood runs thicker than water

Summary:

"She often found herself staring into the painting in the salon. It almost felt like looking into a mirror."

Guinevere's reflection holds more than her own face, and it threatens to reveal Moiraine and Siuan's most preciously kept secret.

moiraine/siuan

rand/ofc

Chapter 2: Moiraine

Moiraine couldn’t believe her eyes when she saw her. Guinevere was so grown up. Her father’s words suddenly echoed in her mind. Time is a thief. 

Her hair, of the warmest brown, sat neatly over her shoulders, when she’d once had soft, chestnut blonde curls. Her eyes remained the deepest of blues, but with more wisdom to them. Her height surprised her the most; the last time she saw her she could barely reach her waist, whilst now she stood almost as tall as her. And of course, that ring on her finger. That cursed ring. She knew she’d become a Novice and she knew she’d joined the Yellow Ajah, Siuan always kept her informed on such matters, but she very much wished she hadn’t. Moiraine had had such different dreams for the child; that she was allowed a normal life, that she’d remained a complete foreigner to the Tower’s demands.

She recalled the day Anvaere’s letter reached her, informing her of Guinevere’s strength with the One Power. Moiraine’s heart had fallen like a stone in her chest, for she knew what it meant. But the Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills, and no one may stand in its way.

It took Moiraine a moment to regain her composure, and before she realised it, she had stepped into the house, muttering a few absent words, her fingers moving of their own accord as they gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind Guinevere’s ear. Her mind flooded with memories of that week—a week she had so earnestly tried to erase from her memory, yet could never fully escape. You promised yourself that you would never see her again. 

*************

Cairhien

15 years ago

Moiraine knew well she should not, yet her heart defied all reason. She’d been sent on duty to Cairhien by the Sitter’s orders and could stay at whatever inn she pleased, preferably while maintaining a low profile. But being in her native city ignited something within her—a yearning, an ache that burned throughout her entire being. Before she could gather her thoughts, she found herself dragging Lan through the city’s streets and passageways etched into her memory, towards the childhood home she’d promised herself never to return to, until she was ready. The Light knew she wasn’t, but she couldn’t fight the feeling, the longing to see the child. 

“This isn’t wise, Moiraine.” Lan warned her. But he felt her emotions as if they were his own, for they had become two of a whole, and found himself unable but to sympathise with the Aes Sedai; all of her yearning burning within him as well. How could he find it in his heart to deny her? He diligently followed the woman across the city, until they were standing before a big, wealthy house with an enormous door on its front. “Moiraine,” he spoke again, more firmly this time, but she gave no heed to his warning. Just one look, her mind whispered. One look, and I shall leave.

Moiraine approached the door with hesitant steps, her heart warring against the pull of the past. She paused at the threshold, her hand lingering before knocking against the heavy wood. She could hear some mayhem taking place within the house, giggles and little footsteps running towards the entrance, accompanied by the voice of a man, gentle, yet commanding, yelling for someone, before there was silence. 

Moments later, the door was flung open, revealing who was behind such chaos. A tall man, advanced in years, with grey hair and a smile so wide and kind it reached his eyes, stood before them, holding a giggling toddler in his arms. The three year old girl had golden, chestnut curls pulled into two unruly braids; eyes the deep colour of midnight sky, and a mischievous grin on her face that would easily let any parent know she was a handful. Moiraine felt her heart melt at such a sight. 

“Moiraine!” The older man happily exclaimed, eyes widening in delight, stepping aside to welcome the pair in. “It’s been so long, four years if memory serves. What brings you here?” He asked, shifting the toddler from one arm to the other, who had suddenly grown silent in the presence of the two strangers. 

Moiraine tried to respond, but her voice failed her. Her gaze was fixed on the child in his arms —she was so precious, every bit of endearing and magical as she had pictured her to be. She felt an overwhelming urge to reach out, to hold the child close, and at that moment, she realised what a terrible mistake she had made in coming here. You fool! You’re endangering everything. 

“We’re here on Tower’s business,” Lan rushed to explain, noticing Moiraine was too absent minded to do so herself, “and we thought to stop by. I do not believe I had the chance to properly introduce myself when last we were here. I am Lan Mandragoran, Moiraine’s Warder” He said, extending a hand towards him, which the older man shook happily.

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lan,” the man said with a broad smile. “I am Torvin, Anvaere’s husband, though I suspect you recall that much.” He introduced himself, with a big smile, as he tilted his face towards the little girl resting her head on his shoulder. “This is our daughter, Guinevere. Winnie, this is your aunt Moiraine, and his Warder, Lan. Will you not greet them?” 

Guinevere peered at them, a shy smile covering her face, before she nudged even further into her father’s chest. “Has a mouse eaten your tongue? Why are you so quiet all of the sudden?” Torvin teased her gently, bouncing her slightly in his arms.

“Darling?” A voice echoed from within the hall, a voice Moiraine could recognise anywhere. She felt herself grow pale. Anvaere. “Who is it so late in the evening?” Anvaere asked as she entered the room, her steps faltering as her gaze fell upon the unexpected visitors. Her eyes fixed on one in particular. “Moiraine,” she breathed.

“Hello, little sister.” Moiraine said, her voice trembling ever so slightly, as she finally tore her gaze from the toddler. “You look well, you all do.”

“We are.” Anvaere nodded, as she approached her husband, taking the child from his arms protectively into hers, with a hint of worry in her eyes that didn’t go unnoticed by her older sister. “We’re all very happy indeed.” 

“And I am glad, sister, I truly am.” Moiraine assured her, taking a quick glance at the young girl before stepping back towards the warder, a flicker of both anger and sympathy showing in Anvaere’s expression. “We are here by the Tower’s command, as Lan said, and thought to stop for a visit. No more than that.”

The two sisters held each other’s gaze, unspoken words passing between them, speaking in the silent language only they understood. Moiraine could feel the suspicion in Anvaere’s guarded demeanour. She believes I’ve come to take her away. A silent plea rose in the Aes Sedai’s eyes as she bit her lip, trying to convey a message, I only wish to see her. I am not here to take her from you. Anvaere’s chest tightened at the sight, her breath catching as a wave of empathy washed over her. It pained her to see her sister this way.

“You better join us for supper, then.” Anvaere smiled, pressing a kiss on Guinevere’s temple. “You are always welcome to stay here, sister. Always.” 

Dinner was a quiet, smooth affair. The conversation flowed politely—Torvin spoke tales of Barthanes’ recent travels, Anvaere filled the gaps with news of the city, and Lan chimed in occasionally with courteous remarks. Moiraine, though, found it difficult to focus on the conversation, as her thoughts kept drifting back to the little girl sitting next to her mother, fidgeting with a piece of bread.

Guinevere was mostly quiet, casting quick, furtive glances at her aunt, unsure what to make of the Aes Sedai who had appeared out of nowhere. Her small hands tugged at her mother’s sleeve every now and then, seeking comfort. At one point, the child leaned over and whispered something into Anvaere’s ear. Anvaere nodded, smiling softly, and stroked her hair.

“She’s my sister, dear. Your aunt, the one Barthanes always tells you stories about,” she replied gently.

Guinevere looked back at Moiraine with wide eyes, still uncertain. “Do you live far away?” she asked, timidly. 

Moiraine hesitated, her heart tightening. “Yes, child,” she said softly. “Quite far.”

The little girl seemed to consider this for a moment, then nodded slowly. “Alright,” she whispered, as if that simple answer made everything clear.

Moiraine’s chest ached with all the things she couldn’t say. She watched as Guinevere climbed off her chair and walked over to her father, slipping into his lap, her small arms wrapping around his neck. She looked so safe there, so loved, and it made Moiraine’s heart both break and swell.

As dinner came to an end, Anvaere stood, lifting Guinevere into her arms. “It’s time for bed, Winnie,” she said softly.

Guinevere’s lips puckered in a pout, making her reluctance clear. Yet the stern expression on her mother’s face soon quelled the protest on her tongue. With a small sigh of defeat, she let her arms drop. “Goodnight, Aunt Moiraine. Goodnight, Lan,” she mumbled, her tone laced with disappointment.

Moiraine forced a smile. “Goodnight, Guinevere,” she replied, her voice barely steady.

As Anvaere turned to carry the child away, Guinevere managed a final, sleepy wave from over her mother’s shoulder. Moiraine lifted her hand in return, and the gesture felt heavier than it ought to.

Her sister had seen to it that chambers were prepared for both of them—Lan was shown to one of the guest rooms, and Moiraine was guided to her old childhood bedroom. As she stepped inside, she paused, taking in the familiar surroundings. The room, almost untouched by the passage of time, looked almost as it had in her youth; the pale blue walls still held the faint, delicate floral patterns, and her old wooden vanity stood sturdy in its corner, covered in dust and its handles rusty. She ran her fingers over the surface of it, brushing off the thin layer of dust. She felt as if she were intruding in someone else’s life, in a place she no longer belonged.

A soft, faded rug covered the stone floor, its colours muted by time, and the small canopy bed with its delicate lace curtains and embroidered quilt still looked as inviting as it had been in her youth. She walked over, brushing her fingers along the quilt’s edge, remembering the nights she’d fallen asleep listening to his father telling stories of Cairhien’s past— back when her biggest concerns were which book to read next or how to sneak sweets from the kitchen. 

The fireplace crackled softly by her side, casting a warm, flickering light across the room. Moiraine’s eyes drifted over the writing desk by the window, cluttered with forgotten trinkets—an overly fancy quill, an ink bottle half—filled, a dried bouquet of lavender, her little music box. 

She was still settling in, her eyes scanning the room as a torrent of both joyful and painful memories came back to her, when she heard a shy knock on the door, and then caught sight of someone peeking through a small gap in the opening. A tiny someone. And before she could react, a little girl came in rushing, carefully shutting the door behind her. Moiraine remained still in her place next to the fireplace, staggered, torn between sending the girl back to her room, or allowing her to stay. 

Guinevere stood quiet for a moment, her back pressed rigid against the door, her eyes wide with curiosity beyond her years set intensely into the older woman’s. 

“Is it true you’re an Aes Sedai?” Her little voice finally inquired. “My brother says you are one.” She added, blunt as only a child could be, with a hint of both fear and curiosity ringing in her voice.

Moiraine couldn’t help but smile. “I am,” she replied kindly, raising her hand to display the Great Serpent ring she wore, “would you like to come see?”

Guinevere’s face lit up with eagerness, and then hesitantly walked towards the armchair Moiraine was sitting in, her steps small and measured. She gently brushed her delicate fingers against the ring, staring in awe at the serpents that shaped it and the enchanting blue stone in the middle. “Does this give you magic?” The little girl asked with wonder, raising her head, meeting her aunt’s eyes. 

“No,” Moiraine softly laughed, slipping the ring from her finger and offering it to the girl, encouraging her to inspect it, “the One Power is within all of us, within every stone, every body of water, every burning fire, and the wind that tangles your hair. Some women are born with the gift to weave it, to pull its strings.” She paused. Some men, too, but those words she kept to herself.

“Woah,” Guinevere exhaled, grabbing the ring, the jewel fitting loose on her little finger, “how do you find those weaves?” The child asked, tilting her head in confusion. She didn’t see any strings around, how could someone pull on something it didn’t exist?

Moiraine couldn’t help but giggle at her question, utterly endeared by all the innocence it carried. “Like this.” She said, as she moved her hands in smooth, practised motions, causing the fire on the chimney to unexpectedly burn higher and more fiercely. 

Guinevere gasped, in both amazement and fear, and without warning she jumped into Moiraine’s lap, her little hands clutching at her chest. “You have no need to fear,” Moiraine soothed the child, her arms instinctively wrapping around the little girl. “The fire won’t harm you.” 

The child kept staring in wonder at the dancing flames, and then turned towards her aunt. “Can I do that too?” Guinevere earnestly asked her, her big, glistening eyes, an exact copy of Moiraine’s, bright with fascination. That look pulled at the woman’s heart strings, and a wave of sadness and nostalgia of what could’ve been filled her with throbbing sorrow. Oh, my dearest Siuan, if only you could see her. 

“Perhaps,” Moiraine murmured, gently tucking a strand of hair behind Guinevere’s ear. “But we must wait until you’re older. The ability to channel often comes later.” She hesitated for a moment before adding, “Speaking of late…” She lifted Guinevere, as to set her gently back on the floor. “I think it’s time you went to bed.”

“No!” The girl protested, holding on tighter to her aunt, all the shyness from before nothing but a stranger to her at that point. “I don’t want to go. I want you to tell me stories about Aes Sedai and magic and monsters.” She begged, pouting, eyes furrowing into the sweetest pleading expression Moiraine had ever seen. She had never been fond of children, but how could anyone refuse?

Moiraine couldn’t help but laugh at the sight, giving in to Guinevere’s cries. She helped the girl settle into her lap, as a smug smile took over the toddler’s face upon getting what she wanted. “Does that look always get you what you want?” The woman asked with a playful smile.

“Usually.” The little girl grinned, a triumphant smile spreading across her face as she nestled into her aunt’s chest, pleased with her victory.

Moiraine lips turned into a loving smile, as she began to recount ancient tales of kings and queens long gone, weaving stories of grandeur and intrigue. Guinevere’s expressions shifted between wonder and delight as the stories unfolded, her wide-eyed gaze fixed on her aunt’s every word. The two remained like that, lost in their own enchanted world, until a voice called out from the hallway, breaking the spell.

“Guinevere!” Anvaere’s frantic screams echoed through the halls. “Where is she? Torvin, I can’t find Winnie!” She yelled, panic steadily settling into her voice.

Moiraine sternly lowered her gaze towards the toddler. “Does your mother not know you’re here?” The girl shook her head with remorse, her face mimicking Moiraine’s own guilty expression as her eyes lowered in shame. 

“Mama, I’m here!” She screamed, as she hopped off the armchair and ran towards the door. Just as her tiny hand reached for the handle, the door swung open, and Anvaere rushed into the room, her face pale with worry. “Winnie,” she sighed, relieved, picking the toddler up in her arms,“what were you doing in here?” 

“Aunt Moiraine was telling me a story!” Guinevere exclaimed with childish excitement. Anvaere’s gaze shifted to Moiraine, who had risen from the chair, awkwardly placing her hands over her stomach. “Forgive me, Anvaere, I did not know—”

“It’s fine,” the woman interrupted her, sending a sympathetic look towards her sister, “I must admit I overreacted, I just got concerned when I didn’t see her in her nursery…” she trailed off. 

“I understand.” Moiraine offered her sister a tentative, yet genuine smile, a gesture that Anvaere wholeheartedly returned. 

“I can hardly blame you,” her sister sighed, tilting her head towards Guinevere, “This little one is a master of persuasion, I think. I daresay she coaxed you into sharing tales, did she not?” She teased, her tone lighter as she tickled the toddler.

“I—just—wanted—to—hear—some—stories!” The little girl managed to say, in between bursts of giggles. 

Moiraine lowered her gaze, softly smiling to herself, itching for something she long ago gave up, and could have no more. You shouldn’t have come here, the thought echoed in her mind, unbidden. She’s happy here. Anvaere can take so much better care of her. 

“Well, my little wanderer,” Anvaere chided playfully, “it’s time for you to go to bed now, and no more escaping, alright?” She warned the toddler in her arms. 

“Yes mama.” She conceded, her arms dropping in defeat. 

“Now, thank your aunt and bid her goodnight, and perhaps, if you behave, she may tell you more stories in the morrow.”

“Thank you Aunt Moiraine, goodnight Aunt Moiraine.” Guinevere said, waving a little hand in farewell.  

“Goodnight, Guinevere,” Moiraine whispered, her voice barely audible as her niece left the room. Only once the door closed behind them did Moiraine let the tears fall down her cheeks.

The following night, Guinevere found her in her room once again. The little girl barged into her room, this time without so much as a knock. She no longer felt the need for such formalities with her aunt. Guinevere ran towards her bed, where Moiraine was laying down, her fingers tracing the words of a book she had been reading.

“Aunt Moiraine,” the little girl called, “can you tell me another story?” Guinevere pleaded, her voice filled with eager anticipation as her face barely reached the height of the mattress. Her loose curls hung loose over her shoulders, and she wore a white nightgown adorned with delicate flower embroidery—one that Moiraine recognized instantly. It was a gown she herself had worn as a child, now slightly frayed but still beautiful.

Moiraine’s heart softened at the sight. “I see you’ve found something from my old wardrobe,” she said with a gentle smile, brushing a stray curl from Guinevere’s face.

The little girl grinned, her eyes sparkling. “Mama said I could wear it. She says it’s old, like you,” she added with innocence.

Moiraine chuckled. “Indeed,” she replied. “And I suppose that makes me very old, does it not?”

Guinevere giggled and climbed up onto the bed, nestling beside Moiraine without hesitation. “Please, Aunt Moiraine,” she insisted, “tell me more about the monsters and the heroes and the queens and kings.”

Moiraine hesitated for a moment, her eyes playfully squinting at the girl. “Very well,” she relented. With a soft thud, she closed the book she had been reading and set it aside. Settling back against the pillows, she began to weave her tale, recounting the legends of Artur Hawkwing and his fallen empire. And just as the night before, Guinevere remained quiet, with her eyes wide as plates in astonishment, always asking Moiraine to keep on going whenever she tried calling and ending the night. Tiresome as it was, Moiraine found herself enjoying such a routine. 

The days in Cairhien passed quickly, each one blending into the next. Moiraine and Lan remained far longer than their original plans had allowed, their continued presence excused by vague references to Tower business. Yet Moiraine knew the truth of it. It was not the Tower that kept her in Cairhien. It was Guinevere. The child, with her wide eyes and endless questions. 

Every evening, Guinevere would sneak into Moiraine’s room, her eyes bright with anticipation. The bond between them grew stronger with each story shared, each moment of wonder at the magic Moiraine could summon. Anvaere, for her part, allowed such things silently, a mixture of understanding and concern in her eyes.

One evening, weary from the long day, Moiraine returned to her chambers, her body heavy with exhaustion, for the events of the day had drained all energy away from her. She had spent the whole afternoon with Guinevere, picking flowers from the garden, each bloom a careful request from the child, so she could make a flower tiara for her mother. 

Moiraine was cushioned against the pillows of her bed, drifting towards the edge of slumber, when she heard the creak of the door being opened, followed by little footsteps approaching her bed. She opened her eyes and saw Guinevere carefully walking towards her, carrying a platter full of cheese, bread and ham with her hands. “Mama told me to bring this to you,” she said, as Moiraine wearily sat up against her pillows, with a soft smile on her face. The little girl placed the platter over her aunt’s lap, and then climbed up the bed to sit next to her. 

“Are you ill, Aunt Moiraine?” She asked, placing a little hand over the woman’s arm in a loving manner. Moiraine’s heart fluttered at the action, and she softly drew her arm away, towards the platter full of food on her side. 

“Not ill, just tired.” She said, as she took a bite on a piece of cheese. 

“Oh, I get that,” Guinevere said, nodding, “I get sooo tired sometimes.” She added, theatrically tilting her head to the side and letting her body fall into the mattress. 

“Do you now?” Moiraine asked, amused at the girl’s cheekiness. 

Guinevere nodded earnestly, her little face serious. “Mama says I’m a handful.”

Moiraine laughed wholeheartedly. “I can see why she would say that,” she smiled, staring at the toddler with a glimmer in her eyes. She’s so precious.  

The two of them sat in comfortable silence for a moment, Moiraine nibbling on the food Guinevere had brought, the little girl watching her with wide, curious eyes.

“Would you like to hear another tale?” Moiraine asked, breaking the quiet that had settled. 

Guinevere’s face lit up instantly. “Yes, please!”

Moiraine began telling her about the adventures of the ancient Aes Sedai and their battles against the Shadow. Guinevere listened with fascinated attention, occasionally gasping or giggling at the exciting parts. As the story unfolded, Moiraine felt a warmth spreading through her, a sense of connection and joy she hadn’t felt in what seemed like a lifetime. She also felt a pang of guilt, sharp and unwelcomed, knowing Siuan wasn’t there to share such moments with her. How many times the two of them had pictured sharing such moments with their daughter; and yet she had selfishly taken them all by herself. 

It was well past Guinevere’s bedtime when Anvaere found them. She stood at the doorway, watching the scene with a mix of emotions—understanding, concern, and perhaps something akin to envy. The woman knew no one else who could control her emotions like her older sister, but would they falter at the girl’s presence? “Winnie, it’s time for bed,” she interrupted them, in a soft voice, gently knocking on the door.

Guinevere pouted but didn’t argue. She slid off the bed and ran to her mother, giving her a hug. “Goodnight, Aunt Moiraine,” she said, waving as Anvaere picked her up.

“Goodnight, Guinevere,” Moiraine replied, feeling a pang of sadness as the door closed behind them. The silence that followed felt bitter, and joyless. 

She laid back in bed, her eyes fixed at the ceiling, her mind a whirl of thoughts and emotions. Coming back to Cairhien had opened painful, blistering wounds but also brought unplanned joy. Her only intent in coming was to ensure that Guinevere had the happy, normal life she and Siuan had always dreamed for her. But never had Moiraine imagined she would become so attached to the toddler. 

Children had never drawn her, she was never one to enjoy their company, and she had certainly never understood people fawning over them. But with Guinevere everything was different. Everything about the little girl enchanted her. She didn’t find her annoying at all, quite the contrary; she was curious, witty, silly, endearing, smart, hilarious, all in equal measure. Being with her felt right, as if the child had always belonged at her side.

And so dangerous, reckless thoughts began to creep into her mind, thoughts that Moiraine knew she ought to banish. They crept into her mind, unbidden and relentless. It would be so easy, she thought, her heart racing. She is so easy to love… Siuan would be wonderful with her, and Lan already adores her. Perhaps… just perhaps… it could work.

The following afternoon, Moiraine found herself pacing around her room, thinking about Guinevere, about the time they’d spent together, how seamlessly she blended into her life, when she heard yelling in the hallway. 

“I don’t want to get a bath!” a high-pitched voice cried, unmistakably Guinevere’s.

“Winnie, you don’t get to choose—”

“But I want Aunt Moiraine to tell me a story first!” the child demanded stubbornly.

“Guinevere!” Anvaere’s patience snapped as Moiraine stepped into the corridor to find her sister, fuming, with both her hands on her hips, and feet away from her, a little girl, hair wild as if she had been riding, her dress stained with mud. “This is not a request, you are getting a bath right now before bed.” 

Guinevere crossed her arms, her lower lip jutting out in a pout as stubborn as it was endearing. “But I want Aunt Moiraine to tell me a story first,” she insisted.

Anvaere sighed, her frustration melting into a look of resignation. “Moiraine, could you...?”

Moiraine offered her sister a soft, understanding smile “Of course.” She crouched down to Guinevere’s level, her eyes soft and understanding. “How about this: you take your bath now, and when you’re all clean and ready for bed, I shall tell you the best story you’ve ever heard. Does that sound fair?”

Guinevere’s eyes lit up, and she nodded eagerly. “Deal!”

“Go on, then,” Moiraine encouraged, giving her a gentle nudge towards the bathroom. Guinevere scampered off, Anvaere watching her go with a grateful smile.

“Thank you,” Anvaere said quietly, her eyes meeting Moiraine’s.

Moiraine simply nodded, her heart aching with a swirl of emotions she couldn’t quite name. Easy.  

Later that night, Guinevere, freshly bathed and in her nightgown, bounded into Moiraine’s room, her eyes wide with anticipation. She climbed into bed beside her aunt, where Moiraine gently gathered her into her arms, settling the small child onto her lap, her back resting comfortably against Moiraine’s legs.

“Alright, Aunt Moiraine, I’m ready,” she declared.

Moiraine smiled, grabbing the little girl’s hands. “Once upon a time, in a land far to the north...” she began, telling a tale of adventure and magic, her voice soothing and melodic.

As she spoke, she felt the weight of the world lift off her shoulders, if only for a little while. She glanced down at Guinevere, whose eyes were slowly growing heavy with tiredness, her breathing becoming steady and even.

By the time Moiraine finished the story, Guinevere was fast asleep against her chest, her small hand clutching Moiraine’s blue robe. She softly caressed the little girl’s cheek, rosy and plump. It feels so right, she thought, as though Guinevere belonged there, in her arms.

By the moment Moiraine fell asleep, her decision had already been made

The Aes Sedai woke up at the break of dawn, before anyone else in the household. Moiraine rose from her bead, her movements were careful, so as not to wake the sleeping child still nestled against her, and started packing her bags. She then ran towards the little girl’s nursery, and picked up some clothes for her. Dresses, socks, shirts and whatnot. This will suffice, she thought as the green sack became overburdened with clothes. We can always acquire more. 

Her heart quickened as she made her way to the barn, her emotions a tangled knot beneath her skin—elation, guilt, fear, uncertainty—but above all, determination. For the first time in years, Moiraine allowed herself to feel a flicker of excitement, a spark of something she thought long buried. She dared to hope, hope for what the future would look like for her and Siuan. 

She blocked her connection to Lan, just in case such torrent of feelings woke the warder up, and bolted towards her room once again. She picked up the little girl on her arms, softly, avoiding to wake her up, covered her with a warm blanket, and started to make her way out of the house.  

She skipped through the stairs with ease, each step measured and quiet. But as she neared the lower entrance, her path was suddenly blocked. Torvin. 

Moiraine went stiff, immediately reaching for the Source, an electrical buzz surrounding her body, ready for confrontation if needed, but the older man didn’t appear to be angry at her, rather he wore a sad, sympathetic, almost pitiful look on his face. He was aware of her intentions.

Curse you, Lan. 

“What are you doing, Moiraine?” The old man asked, softly, his voice barely a whisper. 

Moiraine took a deep breath, tightening the hold on the toddler against her chest. “I am taking my daughter with me, Torvin.” She muttered, her lips  quivering as she forced the words out.

“You know this isn’t the way,” Torvin said gently, taking slow, careful steps towards her, “Anvaere will be devastated. And so will Guinevere...she needs stability, a home. She needs her family.”

“She is my family,” Moiraine shot back, her voice breaking. “I’ve given up so much already. I cannot leave her behind again. I will not.”

Torvin took a step closer, clasping his hands together in a gentle motion. “What has changed, then? Four years ago, you came home with a whimpering baby in your arms, beggings us to take her and raise her as our own, because your life as Aes Sedai wasn’t compatible with a baby’s. Because of a mission so sensitive… so important you couldn’t even share with us. What’s different now? What has changed?” 

Moiraine fixed her posture before Torvin, her back rigid, clutching Guinevere protectively, her heart pounding in her chest. Her breath quickened, the weight of Torvin’s words pressing down on her. He sighed, his face etched with a deep sorrow that mirrored her own. “If this is truly the path you’ve chosen, I cannot sway you,” he said, his voice heavy with resignation. “She is yours, as you say. But to take her now, in the dead of night, with no word—this is not the way. Anvaere deserves more than this.”

Moiraine found herself unable to simply ignore his last words. Anvaere. Her little sister. Who had always been there for her, who had taken on the biggest responsibility she could ask for her, without thinking twice of it. She does deserve better. 

Moiraine hesitated for a moment, before heading towards the door, brushing past the man, setting her guilt aside. “As you said,” she began, her voice low, “it is my choice, and I am taking her with me. Whether you approve or not.”

“No.” Her sister’s voice was sharp, cutting through the tension like a sharpened blade. Moiraine turned, her heart sinking as she saw Anvaere and Lan hurrying toward her from the far end of the hall. Anvaere’s face was pale, her expression a mix of fury and pain. “You are not taking her, Moiraine,” her sister said firmly, her hands reaching for the child. “She is safe here. She is happy.”

Moiraine tightened her grip on the girl, unintentionally causing her to wake up, the toddler slowly opening her eyes. “No, Anvaere, you don’t understand, I can manage now—”

“Can you, truly?” Anvaere asked, with a sorrowful look on her face, pitying her sister, yet fury burned in her eyes, determined to get the little girl into her arms. 

“Yes,” Moiraine whimpered, mustering just enough strength to prevent tears from falling into her cheeks, “we can take her with us, she can come with us, she’d love all the travelling, the adventures, I know—”

But before she could finish, Moiraine was interrupted by a soft sniffle. Guinevere’s eyes, wide with fear and confusion, darted between the two women, her tiny body trembling in Moiraine’s arms. “Mama?” she whimpered, turning toward Anvaere, her small hands reaching out, seeking comfort. Not toward Moiraine, but toward Anvaere. Toward her mother.

Moiraine felt her heart shatter at that, however, she remained reluctant to let her go—until she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder. She turned, her eyes meeting his steady gaze.

Lan.  

“Come on, Moiraine.” He whispered, locking eyes with her. We shouldn’t have come. 

That was all it took. 

She loosened her grip on Guinevere, allowing Anvaere to gently take the child from her arms. The little girl clung to her mother, burying her face in Anvaere’s shoulder, her small frame trembling with confusion and fear.

“Shh, it’s alright, Winnie. Everything’s alright,” Anvaere soothed, stroking Guinevere’s hair and whispering comforting words, as she left the room towards the girl’s nursery. 

Moiraine watched as Anvaere carried Guinevere away, her heart breaking into pieces. The child’s soft cries echoed down the hall, each one a dagger to Moiraine’s gut. Lan’s hand remained on her shoulder, grounding her, but it did little to ease the pain.

“You know she cannot come with us, Moiraine,” Lan said gently, his voice low and filled with understanding, “we have a mission. And there is no place for her in it. Taking her would only cause her harm.”

“I—I know,” she acknowledged, her cheeks flushing crimson with shame, “I don’t know what came over me,” she admitted, crossing her arms tightly over her chest as if to shield herself from the torrent of emotions threatening to overwhelm her. She had nearly abducted a child in the dead of night, tearing her from the warmth and safety of her bed—all because she had lost control, let her emotions get the better of her. She had forgotten what truly mattered, lost sight of the mission, the purpose she and Siuan had sworn to. To find the Dragon Reborn. It was so unlike her. 

Torvin smiled at her in a kind—hearted manner, as he gently rubbed the woman’s arm. “She is safe here, Moiraine. And so, so loved. She’ll be alright. And know that we will always welcome you in, should you feel the need to visit her.” Moiraine nodded, her eyes filled with unshed tears. They remained in silence, and the house seemed to hold its breath, the weight of the moment pressing down on them all. 

It was Anvaere, returning alone to the room, after putting Guinevere to bed, who broke the silence. “I think you should go, Moiraine.” She said with a resolute tone in her voice, a sober expression on her face, as she intertwined her arm with Torvin’s. 

Moiraine stared at her sister, realisation sinking in her like an anchor. I cannot ever see again. The mission is a great deal more important.  

The words that followed came out in a hollow whisper. “I think so too.”

*************

“Guinevere, I—”

“Little lady, my lady,” Jhonas interrupted them, as he barged into the room, “your sister awaits you in the drawing room.”

Moiraine pulled her hand away sharply, frightened by what she was about to do. Two minutes in the girl’s presence and she was already losing all traces of caution. But this time she truly needed to be in the city. And she suspected she would require her sister’s help as well, reluctant as she was to accept that. 

Moiraine hurried to follow Jhonas into the drawing room, irritation prickling at her as she heard Guinevere's steady footsteps right behind. But she came to an abrupt stop, feeling the air catch in her throat at the sight of her sister.

Anvaere stood there, her hair an unnaturally bright shade of blonde, the obvious artifice of a wig masking the grey beneath. Moiraine’s eyes moved over the deep lines etched around her sister’s eyes, the weariness that seemed to hang like a shadow over her face, the curve of her mouth framed by fine creases. She looked so much older—not just older than the last time Moiraine had seen her, but older than Moiraine herself.

Her little sister, worn and weathered by time, was as tragic a vision as had ever been. Moiraine gulped down a sob. “You look well, little sister.” She somehow managed to say, fighting back tears. 

“As you do.” Anvaere replied, a pleasing smile on her face, before tilting her gaze towards someone behind her. “Winnie, you may not remember, but this is your Aunt Moiraine.” 

“We have already been introduced,” Moiraine interjected, her voice steady, though she made no effort to look back at Guinevere.

“I see.” Anvaere replied, the slightest glimmer of rage crossing her eyes. She extended her arms, beckoning Guinevere to come closer. “Winnie, dearest,” she said, taking the girl’s hands in her own. “Were you not about to head out?”

“I—I was,” the girl said, her eyes going back and forth between her mother and aunt, “I best be on my way, really.” Guinevere stuttered. 

“Then off with you, my darling,” Anvaere said softly, placing a kiss on her daughter’s forehead. “But do not be out too late.”

“I won’t.” The young girl replied. Anvaere tightened her grip on her hand. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d caused her mother to panic after not returning home before nightfall. “I promise ,” the girl added, cheekily rolling her eyes, “I’ll be on my way then. Goodbye Aunt Moiraine.” 

“I’ll see you later, Guinevere.” 

Anvaere waited until the girl was gone, until she shifted her gaze towards her sister again. “Please, sit,” she gestured towards the chair by her side, “we didn’t know—”

“I won’t trouble you for tea.” Moiraine rushed to say, her emotions held tightly in check. She could feel the swell of longing to engage with her sister, to indulge in what she had missed for so many years. But she could not afford that weakness. “I have stabled my horse, and I would use my old room, if it’s open. But I want to keep a low profile here in the city.”

“Of course, we—”

“Jhonas!”  Moiraine’s voice rose sharply as she turned toward the old butler.  “Bring up a Ghaeldanin red from the cellar?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“And I need a dress ordered from—”

“It’s been a decade, Moiraine!” Anvaere yelled, exasperated by her lack of attention. “Sit!”

Moiraine turned slowly, her gaze meeting Anvaere’s as her sister struggled to regain composure after her outburst. “Have some tea,” Anvaere said, her voice gentler now, almost pleading. How Moiraine longed to sit, to share that simple comfort with her sister again—how she ached for the companionship they had lost. The gossip, the laughter, the feeling of being sisters in a world that had grown them apart. But those days felt like a lifetime ago.

She was on Cairhien for a mission, and one mission only. Train the Dragon Reborn. She was sure Rand was in the city, somewhere. And she had to find him. 

“Perhaps lunch,” Moiraine offered, her tone hollow as she moved toward the door, already preparing her exit. Just as she reached the threshold, she added, “there’s someone I need to meet today.” 

A wave of guilt washed over her as she left her sister standing there, alone, after all these years. All Anvaere wanted was a simple moment—a cup of tea, but her duty towards Rand was too important. 

Moiraine hurried towards her childhood bedroom, and carefully put on some clothes. A blue dress with a lace, white turtleneck underneath, and of course the blue stone on her forehead, all with the purpose of avoiding people noticing what she was no more. She strolled around the room, reminiscing about her old self. Her book collection, her jewellery, her desk. Everything was exactly the same, covered in a thin layer of dust. Except for some things. 

Her music box, a cherished relic of her youth, was gone. And several books were missing from the shelves. Why had Anvaere touched them? For a moment, unease crept into her thoughts, but she quickly brushed it aside. She could not afford to dwell on such matters. Time was slipping away, and she had a mission to complete. With a sigh, Moiraine gathered herself and hurried out the door.

She snatched up the bottle of wine Jhonas had left for her, and hurried out the house, before anyone saw her. 

Moiraine returned home far later than she had anticipated, her face shadowed by defeat. She did not find Rand. She did not find anyone capable of saying where he was. Where he had been, yes, at the Sanitarium, but for some reason he missed work that day. The inn where he had lodged was now little more than a charred ruin, and Moiraine’s gut told her that Rand had something to do with it. She was too late.

How could she have let this happen? To think Rand could control his power, unassisted, within mere months was folly. She had failed him. All because she’d been too focused moping about her, about losing her connection to the One Power. So egoistic. She, her problems, all of that was too unimportant in comparison to what the Wheel had prepared for Rand. She couldn’t let anything else drift her away from her mission, even when she felt she was asphyxiating, fighting death every single day since she was cut out from the Source. But she didn’t allow herself to keep on dwelling on such matters. 

Moiraine exhaled sharply as she stepped into the house, her gaze drifting toward her sister’s chambers. Through the slightly ajar door, she saw the flickering shadows of a fire dancing on the walls, casting the room in a warm, golden glow. She knew she should go to Anvaere, should speak with her. Part of her longed for it. But the weight of the day pressed too heavily on her shoulders. She couldn’t face her now. 

Moiraine turned toward her room, her thoughts a tangled mess. But when she opened the door, she stopped short. Anvaere was already there, seated in the armchair beside the hearth, her hands clasped in her lap, waiting. “You’ll pardon the intrusion, but I didn’t want to miss you. Please, sit.”

“Anvaere,” she sighed, putting a hand on her forehead, “I’ve had a long day. I…”

“This is not what a woman should have to do to talk to the sister she spent half her life idolising.” Her sister complained, yet somehow Moiraine felt as if she were being scolded. 

“If you want me to apologise for leaving,” she replied, shaking her head, “I won’t. An Aes Sedai cannot lie.” Her words hung in the air, but doubt crept into her mind. Can I even call myself Aes Sedai anymore?

“No, no, of course not.” Anvaere replied quickly, watching as Moiraine began to pace. “In truth, you did nothing I wouldn’t have, if I could’ve channelled. Light knows I tried, on nights when our family’s future looked dim. After Uncle ruined us. After you left.” She said, with a hint of resentment in her voice. “But Father always held out hope that one day you’d come back and fix it all. You were his shining star. Shooting star, as it turned out, never to return once you left our sky. ”

“I…” Moiraine’s breath caught in her throat, words failing her. It’s too much. The weight of her father’s disappointment, her sister’s resentment, Rand’s fate, Guinevere’s future— Siuan . She had failed them all. A lifetime wouldn’t be able to make up for all she’d done to them. “I would’ve come back if I could…” she murmured, taking a seat in front of her. 

“Spare me the false penitence.”  Anvaere retorted sharply, dismissing her sister's sorrow with a wave of her hand. “You had your work, and I had mine. Less important, certainly, but no less demanding. Unless the Tower also taught you how to smile after someone spits in your eye? And I endured all of it with a little boy and a newborn girl to look after.” 

“But I got on with my work, just as you did with yours. Now my son is going to marry the Queen, and my daughter is the youngest to become an Aes Sedai in years, and nobody will ever spit on House Damodred again.” 

Moiraine stared at her, sadness almost tangible in her eyes. “You’ve done well, little sister. Better than I would’ve done with the hand you were dealt.”

“Thank you, Moiraine.” Anvaere replied, her head held high, a smug grin spreading across her face. “But somehow, finally, I don’t care what you think. I’m not here for your approval. I’m here because you will not endanger what I’ve worked all my life to build. You will not endanger Guinevere again.” 

Moiraine stood up, anger building up on her chest. It infuriated her, the way they talked about Guinevere, about her daughter, around her, as if she were any less concerned for her safety than them. “Sister, I truly am not—”

“This is not your house. This is not your city.” She is no longer your daughter. “And I’m not your little sister anymore. All the eyes and ears you had here… they’re mine now. The head of the sanitarium, Celestin. The guard you hailed at the gate, Sandair. If you want to know where that redheaded boy in the inn went… you’re going to have to ask me very nicely, over tea.” Anvaere requested, her lips turning into an arrogant smile, as she handed her a cup of tea, leaving Moiraine with no other choice than to accept it. 

Lanfear. It had to be her, it all fit together. Rand was in danger, the fate of the world was in peril. Moiraine waited until Anvaere left, before she hurried into some more comfortable clothes: a loose pair of pants and a cape would do. Her heart raced as she searched for the sword she had stashed in a chest in her chambers, securing it to her back with a leather thong. 

She opened the door to her room in a hurry, and almost collided into Guinevere, who was standing just there, with a box full of items on her arms, about to knock on the door. Moiraine found it hard not to gasp. She knew it’d be unavoidable, running into the child, and she was prepared for it, as she had years under her belt of practice on forcing her emotions confined, but nonetheless she found herself in stupor, each time she saw her. It feels like looking into a mirror.  

“Oh, Aunt Moiraine,” the girl muttered, her surprise evident as she clutched the box tightly to prevent it from tumbling to the floor, “I simply wanted to give you these—”

“I do not have time, Guinevere,” Moiraine replied, walking past her without a second glance. It pained her to dismiss the child so callously, but she knew it was for the best.

“Where are you going so late in the night?” The girl asked, unbothered by her indifference and curiosity evident in her voice, as she trotted to keep pace with her aunt.

“This does not concern you.” Moiraine snapped at her, rather harshly, but it didn’t seem to upset the girl, who was too busy examining her thoroughly, her eyes clinically scanning her from top to bottom. 

“And with a sword on your back…” Guinevere muttered, suddenly going eerily quiet, as the dreadful realisation fell upon her. “You cannot touch the Source.” She whispered, mostly to herself, and then, almost as if in disbelief,  “you have been stilled.” 

Moiraine halted abruptly, her breath caught in her throat. She turned to face Guinevere, tears threatening to spill as she pressed her lips into a dangerously thin line. Anger surged within her, a tempest directed at the girl, silently pleading for her not to speak further on the matter.

“Take me with you.” Guinevere implored. “Whatever it is you have to do, whoever you need to fight, especially if you need a sword with you… take me.”

Moiraine fell silent, her mind racing. It did make sense, to have someone who could actually channel go with her. Taking Guinevere with her, even if she were putting the girl in terrible danger, would be the cautious thing to do. The prudent, so evidently obvious and sensible thing to do… if finding Rand was indeed what mattered to her the most in the world. 

“No.” She finally snarled, getting on with her path. And yet Guinevere followed. Moiraine was reminded of something Siuan had told her a few years ago, shortly after Guinevere had joined the Tower. 

She’s as stubborn as her mother, Siuan had said, with a sweet, cheeky smile on her lips. Moiraine almost smiled at the thought. Almost. 

“But Aunt Moiraine,” Guinevere insisted, her voice rising, “you’ll need—”

“I need nothing from you,” Moiraine snapped, forcing a harshness into her tone that felt foreign and cruel. “I can manage on my own, Guinevere.”

The girl stared back at her, dejection filling her eyes, as years of resentment and built up anger stiffened her body, yet keeping a straight face. “Fine,” she said, shrugging her shoulders, her voice dripping with bitterness. “Go. I don’t care.”

Unable to bear another moment under the weight of Guinevere’s loathing gaze, Moiraine turned away and walked out, her heart heavy with guilt as she left the room behind. 

I’m so sorry I’ve failed you too.

[sigg-vbj]

First encounter (Part 2)

Vanessa took off at full speed, her steps pounding the pavement as his shouts echoed behind her. Who was this guy, and why was he so damn persistent? It wasn’t like she knew any of them. Why did he care so much that he had to chase her down? Bur almost instantly, he caught up, his hand clamping firmly onto her wrist.

Fight or flight kicked in. Flight failed. Now it was time to fight. Vanessa's adrenaline surged, sharpening her senses. With a swift move, she seized his uniform coat, her fingers gripping the fabric tightly. She pivoted, using his own momentum and weight against him. In a fluid motion, she tossed him over her shoulder, her movements precise and powerful. He hit the ground with a heavy thud, the impact echoing through the air. His grip on her wrist loosened, and she yanked it free, taking a step back to regain her balance.

But he wasn’t one to go down easy. He was already pushing himself up, a wild grin spreading across his face. The thrill of the fight seemed to energize him. His eyes gleamed with a wicked intensity, and a low, excited chuckle escaped his lips.

“What the hell’s your problem?” she demanded, backing up as he charged her.

“Nothing, just psyched!” he yelled, a manic gleam in his eyes.

His hands sparked, small explosions popping louder and louder as he closed in. She dodged his blows, ducking, weaving, and sidestepping to avoid the impact of his explosive quirk.

“C'mon! Fight me!” he growled, the excitement in his voice palpable.

She wasn’t easily provoked, but she wasn’t one to back down either. She gave him what he wanted. Each strike she landed was calculated and precise, backing him up as he struggled to keep up with her movements. She was quick on her feet, bouncing in her steps as she boxed the ever-living crap out of him. But he seemed to revel in the punishment, enjoying every hit.

She delivered a swift jab to his jaw, followed by a sharp hook to his ribs. He grunted but didn’t falter. "Man, you’re crazy…" she muttered as she ducked under his wild swing before kicking the back of his knee, throwing his balance off. With a powerful roundhouse kick, she sent him sprawling face-first into the ground. Seizing the opportunity, she took off, hoping to lose him as she twisted and turned through the paths she knew so well. She vaulted over fences, darted through narrow alleys, and even slid under a low-hanging barrier. Soon enough, she managed to lose him, but she knew this wouldn’t be the last time she’d encounter him.

-----

The next day, she changed up her routine, taking different paths she knew well. She wound through unfamiliar alleys, climbed over fences, and ducked under low-hanging branches, determined to avoid another confrontation. But as she rounded a corner into a secluded street, there he was, standing in the shadows, waiting. The fire in his eyes burned brighter than ever.

Her heart pounded in her chest, but she refused to show any fear. She met his gaze head-on, her eyes narrowing with defiance. The air between them crackled with tension, the unspoken challenge hanging heavy. She walked forward, each step measured and deliberate, her senses on high alert.

As she approached, the world seemed to narrow to just the two of them. The sounds of the city faded into the background, replaced by the thudding of her heartbeat in her ears. She could feel the intensity of his stare, a mix of anger and curiosity. Their eyes locked, neither willing to look away, the silence between them charged with electricity.

She passed by him, her movements fluid and composed, but every muscle in her body was ready to spring into action. The moment stretched on, each second feeling like an eternity. But he didn’t move, she could feel his presence looming behind her, the weight of his gaze like a physical force.

After school was a different story. She had hoped to avoid him, but fate seemed to have other plans. As she made her way down the sidewalk, she spotted him out of the corner of her eye, lurking near the gates. She quickened her pace, trying to slip past unnoticed, but he was quicker. In one swift motion, he lunged and snatched her backpack right off her shoulder.

“Hey! Give it back!” she shouted, whirling around to face him. Her voice echoed with frustration and a tinge of desperation. All she wanted was to go home, but he made it impossible.

He smirked, holding her backpack high above his head, just out of her reach. “What’s the matter, can’t get it back, puffball?”

Her blood boiled. She clenched her fists, every fiber of her being screaming to fight back. She leaped, trying to grab her backpack, but he easily sidestepped, his mocking laughter ringing in her ears.

“Who the hell do you think you are?!” she yelled, her eyes blazing with anger.

He laughed, a harsh, mocking sound. “Bakugo Katsuki, you extra! Don’t you ever forget—” She didn’t let him finish, her fist connects with his mouth, causing him to stumble back, clutching his lip. Her backpack fell to the ground, and she snatched it up quickly, her eyes never leaving him to ensure he made no further attempts. But he lunged at her, tackling her to the ground.

“You’re gonna pay for that,” he said, blood oozing from a cut on his lower lip. She scrunched up her face in disgust as his blood dripped onto her cheek.

“Man, get off!” she yelled, pushing him off with surprising force. She wiped the blood from her cheek as a red energy began to pulsate around her, her quirk rising to the surface.

“This isn’t even about the cigarettes anymore, bitch!” she pointed out, clearly pissed off as she strapped her backpack over her shoulders. No, this was personal now.

Bakugo’s eyes lit up at the sight of her quirk. “Now we’re talkin'!” he shouted, his own explosions crackling louder in response.

Vanessa stood her ground, her red energy flaring brighter, crackling around her like an aura of raw power. She could see the same fire in his eyes, the thrill of the challenge igniting a fierce determination in both of them. This encounter was far from over, and they both knew it.

Bakugo lunged at her again, his explosive fists aimed straight for her. Vanessa met his charge head-on, her red energy forming a protective shield around her as she blocked his attack. The impact sent shockwaves through the air, the sheer force of their clash causing nearby windows to rattle.

“You think you can take me on?” Bakugo taunted, his voice filled with exhilaration.

“I don’t think—I know,” Vanessa retorted, her eyes blazing with determination.

They exchanged blows with lightning speed, each move precise and powerful. Her red energy constructs clashed with Bakugo’s explosive attacks, the air crackling with intensity. Despite the ferocity of their battle, there was an unspoken respect growing between them. They pushed each other to their limits, neither willing to back down.

“Is that all you’ve got?” Bakugo shouted, a wild grin on his face.

“You've got to be kidding,” she replied, summoning all her strength.

With a final, powerful strike, she sent Bakugo flying back, crashing into a nearby fence. He got up, panting heavily, but still grinning.

“You’re good, p—” he started, but before he could finish, she was already gone, disappearing into the distance.

Bakugo stood there, breathing heavily, a mix of frustration and admiration simmering within him. Determined to find out more about the fiery girl who had bested him, he tried going down the path she’d taken, hoping to encounter her again. But each time, she was never there. He’d ask around, but no one seemed to know who she was.

For the rest of the school year, he kept an eye out, but she seemed to have vanished as quickly as she had appeared. The mystery gnawed at him, fueling his determination and keeping him on edge.

Years later, on his first day at UA, he spotted her again. She was in the hallway, chatting with other students, her puff ball of hair unmistakable. Their eyes met, and in that moment, everything came rushing back.

This time, there was no disappearing act. Their paths had finally crossed again, and this time, they were both ready. -End (part 3 link) https://www.tumblr.com/sigg-vbj/758171036282961920/second-encounter-ua-part-3-he-was-here-at-ua

[blackjackkent]

"For a warm bed and full stomach," reads the dilapidated sign, "look no further. Welcome to the Last Light Inn."

In Rakha's head, the guardian whispers, "This place is protected. Must be the refuge the Harpers spoke of."

Rakha feels mildly relieved to hear her again. She has been quiet since the last dream some weeks ago - but by this comment, it's obvious that she is still very much watching.

And the guardian was very ready to say that going to the creche was a bad idea - which turned out to be correct - but seems to have no such qualms about this place. So that seems... promising.

Rakha strides forward, and lets out an audible noise of relief as they pass the moonlight barrier surrounding the inn. She can feel the way the Weave shifts and softens on her skin as they leave the shadows, the corruption fading, the pure magic returning.

One of the Harpers guarding the gate straightens up, seeing them approach.

"You there! Step forward and keep your hands off your weapons!"

Before Rakha can answer, a more familiar voice chimes in - the captain from the fight out in the shadows. "Easy! She's with me."

The guard squints warily, then straightens up and jerks her head. "Come." She turns away, barks a single word that means nothing to Rakha. "Jaheira!"

As Rakha follows her past the gate, it becomes evident that Jaheira is a name. The guard has called to her superior - a woman with long grey hair in close braids who is standing in the inn's courtyard.

The woman turns slowly and fixes Rakha with an intense, piercing gaze that Rakha immediately finds hard to look away from. She has an air of grave authority, and the two scimitars strapped to her back have obviously seen regular use.

She crosses the few feet separating them and for a moment stands in silence before Rakha, examining her up and down. When the guard tries to break the silence, to speak up as to Rakha's trustworthiness, Jaheira silences her with only a glance.

Not a woman to be trifled with, Rakha finds herself thinking involuntarily. And yet somehow she is still startled when the Weave suddenly whirls around the older woman like a tornado.

Jaheira's eyes flare with a pale green light and she slams a fist downwards towards the earth. Vaguely Rakha recognizes the magic - she has seen Halsin use something similar on rare occasions in camp, a magic drawing on the land itself, natural life energy. It is very different from her own magic and Gale's - it feels softer on her skin, smooth like tanned leather, all curves and no angles, and she is astonished to feel the level of power necessary to wield it in this barren, lifeless place.

She's so fascinated by this realization that she does not notice the vines creeping up around her legs.

She's trapped. This woman, without even a greeting, has caught her like a fish in a net - or perhaps more accurately, like a beast caught in a snare.

KILL, demands the dark urge, more fiercely this time. Rakha's jaw works as a feeling of humiliation and rage threatens to overwhelm her wonder at the magic or any possible hope of assistance.

We came here for help and you treat me so?!

A burst of fire flares in each palm. "You have till the count of five to let me go," she growls.

(A/N: LOL there's a wizard option here as well: "Fascinating - both your command of magic and its technical implementation are impeccable." To which Jaheira responds: "A good start - but you've told me something I already know. Tell me something I don't." I love her, in case anyone was somehow not aware. XD )

"A count to five is all I need," Jaheira answers coolly. Without loosening the spell, she reaches into her pocket and pulls out a small vial about the size of her palm.

"This is why we're here, you see," she goes on, and her voice has gotten markedly colder. "It is a curious creature that hides all manner of secrets. But if there's one thing we know..."

She extends her hand, bringing the vial close to Rakha's face, and Rakha flinches as she sees what is inside it - a tadpole, just like the ones she has taken from the dead bodies of Absolutists. Just like the one squirming inside her own head.

A bright line of pain stabs into her skull - familiar and terrible, the pain of a connection between her own worm and the one Jaheira holds. The jarred parasite begins to squirm and writhe, its slimy body knocking against the glass walls of its container.

"...it's that it knows its own kind," Jaheira finishes icily. She flexes her fist, and Rakha grunts as the vines tighten around her ankles. The Harper smirks without humor. "You should never have come here, True Soul."

Rakha's jaw works; as the pain of the connection slowly fades again, she tries to focus, to sort out what is happening. These Harpers, whoever they are, know about the Absolutists. They are enemies of the Absolutists - and they think Rakha is one. A curious combination of good and bad news - but Rakha will not let herself be trapped like a rat while they decide what to do with her.

I am no cultist. But you will *not* hold me.

(A/N: There is a sorcerer-specific line here - Force your own magic through the vines, weakening them. However, it leads to Jaheira being an incredible badass, popping spells in both hands, and snarling 'STAND DOWN, OR WE'LL PUT YOU DOWN' which is just the fucking coolest but also pretty hard to justify Rakha not going into kill mode at that point. Flavor-wise, though, she's still definitely revving up the magic here. XD )

"I... am not... a True Soul," she growls. Fire sprouts around her whole body, searing outward into the wild growth holding her pinned to the ground. Jaheira's eyes widen and she lets out a sharp hiss, as if in pain, and Rakha watches the Weave swirl madly as the Harper begins to summon a fresh spell in her off-hand--

"STOP!"

A reddish blur barrels over a nearby pile of crates and resolves itself into a young teeth-ling girl. Rakha is startled to recognize her - it's Mol, the urchin leader from the refugee camp, and currently she looks more agitated than Rakha ever saw her previously.

"What are you doing?!" the girl howls at Jaheira, for all the world as if she was fully grown and twice the Harper's height. "She's the one who saved us!"

"She's the one who protected the Emerald Grove?" Jaheira demands.

Mol grins widely. "Yup! Didn't leave a goblin standing. Not so bad to hang around with, either. Saved two of my friends - one from a harpy and one from a mad druid with a snake. Didn't make a fuss of our thieving either."

She crosses her arms and peers up at Rakha with her one visible eye, looking thoroughly pleased with herself. "I'd pretty much trust her with my life."

Rakha goes completely still. The flames around her disappear. For a moment she does not feel the press of the vines on her legs or the weight of Jaheira's threats. She stares at the little girl with abject astonishment.

I'd pretty much trust her with my life, Mol said.

Rakha remembers Arabella and Mirkon, the children she helped to save - the reason Mol is vouching for her. She remembers struggling against the beast in both cases, which would just as happily have feasted on each child's blood.

Do you know how many other lives I have ended, child? she thinks bitterly.

And yet... she is surprised to realize, distantly, how long ago those moments in the Grove seem. She has experienced much since then, built a whole life in miniature, a life where she has begun to learn the lines that delineate the gradations of death, the killing that is monstrous versus the killing that is right, that has purpose.

And in her scattered moments of strength, she left a mark on this child's life.

"A True Soul with a mind of her own?" Jaheira says slowly. She sounds doubtful, but her fist unclenches, and the vines around Rakha's feet come loose, retreating back into the soil. "How is that possible?"

Rakha takes a careful step backwards, testing the freedom of one foot, then the other. She knows the true answer to Jaheira's question - but her pride still stings from the trap the other woman placed her in. [SORCERER] "The Weave itself burns through my veins," she says, just a touch sardonically. "Perhaps the tadpole is afraid."

Jaheira smiles coolly. "I've met no sorcerer that powerful - and I've met many. Now speak plain. How do you have control?"

Rakha looks at her steadily for a long moment. It would be easy to attack now, while the Harper's guard is down - but she has many friends in this courtyard, and Rakha has only three. The chaos that would result would be delicious for the beast... but her own body would be among the fallen.

And more to the point... Jaheira is an enemy of the Absolute. That means she likely knows things Rakha needs to know. And her magic is clean and bright, not like that searing darkness outside.

"Fine," she mutters. "Here."

Show Jaheira the artifact.

She can almost feel a faint heat through her gloves as the Prism glows in her palm.

Jaheira looks at it with cautious interest. Then she reaches into her pack and pulls out the vial with the worm inside. Placing it near the Prism, she watches as the tadpole begins to squirm again with new agitation - and then bursts, coating the inside of the vial with a dark, oozing sludge.

Jaheira's face twists with distaste - but her shoulders have relaxed. Her ire at Rakha has faded. "What in the hells is that thing?" she asks quietly.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Rakha responds, promptly and completely seriously, which elicits a low laugh from Jaheira.

"Strangest magic I've seen since roaming the ruins of Myth Drannor, but I can't argue with the results," she says dryly. "Congratulations. You've earned yourself the benefit of the doubt."

She snaps a hand out sideways; Rakha stiffens for a moment, expecting another magical attack, but it is a gesture of command instead. "Hear me, Harpers!" she barks. "All clear! At ease!" Around them, the soldiers all begin to sheathe their weapons, and Jaheira fixes her eyes on Rakha soberly.

"I'll not pretend to understand what that artifact is," she says, her voice low again - and suddenly Rakha becomes aware of a heavy weariness under it that her defensive anger was masking. "But I'm old and wise enough to recognize a sliver of hope when it crawls out of the dark." She leans forward. "Tell me - why have you come here?"

The beast has calmed back into stillness again - overwhelmed by Rakha's own emotions, at least for the time being. So she is able to match Jaheira's low tone, though the words emerge more like a growl as the subject turns towards the vengeance she hopes to find here. "To destroy the Absolute in its lair," she says. "Moonrise Towers."

Jaheira's eyebrows lift, and then she smiles, very faintly but for the first time without that icy undercurrent. "Then you've found an ally in me," she says, "for that is precisely why I am here."

Her eyes flick past Rakha, acknowledging her allies behind her, and then she gestures backwards towards the battered-looking building behind her. "There's food in the inn over there. Beds too if you require rest." A quick flash of humor - muted but potent. "Aloe oil in the cupboard, in case the vines gave you a rash."

She draws a slow breath, then nods as if coming to some conclusion internally. "Settle in, then come join me for a drink. You may just be the godsend we've been praying for."

[lonewolfel]

Queer Theory: Epic Athena

This will only include what we know of Athena in the concept albums of Epic: The Musical while I may bring up some aspects of mythology I will not be using them to form my arguments (sorry Pallas/Athena shippers not today). Why am I doing this? Well I was reading some psychology on lesbianism for my feminist literature class and a couple of things in an article made me think of Athena. I'm done with my homework so you all get to suffer. No idea if this makes sense as I am on three hours of sleep and my cat keeps biting my feet, I guess enjoy under the cut.

So that we are clear on what Queer Theory is I am going to give you a definition that I will be working with.

"Queer Theory - an approach to literary and cultural study that rejects traditional categories of gender and sexuality" (https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/queer%20theory). This definition is a very simple overview of a complex theory but for my purpose it will work fine. I will also be using sex to refer to someone's biological sex.

Ancient Greece was a patriarchal society. They had bride-prices/dowries, division of labor based on sex, men being head of the household, etc. there are moments were this is seen such as "Time to be the man of the house" (The Challenge) and all the men going to war with no women and Penelope's weaving which was done only by women. In The Odyssey in fact Penelope is weaving Laertes' funeral shroud as she is the last female relative of Laertes; Ctimene Odysseus's sister isn't mentioned as she might be a later edition but she would also have been placed under Eurylochus's family after their marriage which is in Same so she would no longer count as being under Laertes's house meaning that she wouldn't have been in a character in The Odyssey if she was around at the time. Olympus while not nearly as patriarchal as the mortal realm due to examples such as Athena being favored over Ares it still had aspects. Male gods weren't punished for their crimes against women and goddesses that were majorly respected often were virgins.

At the beginning of the musical Athena seems to have rejected "femininity" as a way to survive. She is a war god which is considered "masculine". Despite Athena being the goddess of weaving she is never actually depicted as doing that domain or it being one of her domains. When she introduces herself she sings "Goddess of wisdom, master of war/My life has one mission, create the greatest warrior" (Warrior of the Mind). She also seems to reject emotions as she says "Have you forgotten to turn off your heart?" (Warrior of the Mind) besides rage which she depicts as being in My Goodbye. Emotions that lead to vulnerability or as Athena called them heart is considered feminine as they are considered submissive emotions that are supposedly related to poor emotional regulation which females are often believed to have. Rage and competitive spirits are often to be considered to be masculine emotions as they lead to dominance with. She also doesn't exhibit any nurturing or maternal traits towards Odysseus despite how long she has been mentoring him. She berates him and orders him around and doesn't care about his mental state.

However, that all flips once we arrive to the Wisdom Saga. Athena shows regrets "Maybe if I'd made a different call/Maybe if I hadn't missed it all" (We'll be Fine) and other emotions that she hadn't displayed previously. She behaves in a softer manner asking Telemachus if he needs help and calling him a good kid. She empathizes with Odysseus and goes about understanding his actions something she failed to do previously. These are often considered to be "feminine". However this doesn't mean that she discarded her "masculine" traits. She shows dominance at the end of God Games by demanding Zeus free Odysseus. However, due to the fact Olympus is a patriarchal society and Zeus is the king she is struck down due to her being a threat to Zeus's power.

At the end in I Can't Help But Wonder we see Athena seems to have a more nurturing role as she seeks to nurture empathy. However, she doesn't lose her death aspect. She is still a war goddess and she even helped Telemachus kill the suitors. This makes sense as women often had an association for death in multiple cultures such as Persephone in Greek Mythology, Hel in Norse Mythology, Banshees in Celtic Mythology, and so on. In this moment she takes the role as nurturer and bringer of death.

Like most women Athena is defined by her relationship to a man. In this case it is Odysseus. However, instead of being a wife or sister or a daughter she is instead Odysseus's mentor. This places Athena in a position of power over Odysseus. It can also be assumed that Odysseus at some point looked up to her. This is different as female characters are often placed at lower levels in term of social hierarchy. With Telemachus she is a friend and while she gives him aid twice that would place them on equal footing.

Athena also defies the idea of romance in regard to women. Women are often considered to be more romantic and have marriage being the end goal due to many social, economic, and political reasons. Athena though remains single and is difficult to ship. The only characters she interacted with were Odysseus who we all want him to return to Penelope, Telemachus who she held as a baby which makes shipping more uncomfortable, and her family which she won't get shipped with for obvious reasons. While there is some shipping her with characters in this fandom and I am not saying that it is a bad thing to ship her with other characters I am merely pointing out that it more difficult than other characters. I headcannon her as aroace though I know some have made her a lesbian and others still ship her with Odysseus I am not saying those are bad I am merely pointing out that the story is set up so there are reasons she isn't in a relationship. Though I hate the fact she needs excuses to not be in a relationship.

There is also an aspect of female and male platonic relationship that is often lacking. In many media there is boy meets girl and they end up together which isn't the case for Athena and Odysseus/Telemachus. There is no jealousy on the female side with Odysseus. Penelope never expresses any jealousy towards Athena for her relationship with Odysseus. Athena for her part is accepting of Odysseus relationship with Penelope as at the end of I Can't Help But Wonder she says very well after Odysseus denies her offer to being a warrior of the mind and says that he needs to see Penelope. In most other media Athena and Penelope would likely compete for Odysseus's attention however they don't showing a level of respect between the two women despite the fact they never interact in the musical.

Tell me what you think. I was going to include quotes but I'm too lazy to grab my books and articles I may go back and do that over the weekend. For now I'm tired.

[jazlynriddle-legacy]

Welcome to your life - Pt 1:

Everybody Wants To Rule THEIR World Ch 11:

Summary:

"You need only close your eyes to it and be happy and safe with us."

The Keeper (player) has already secured the repository and Sebastian's loyalty, emboldening his descent into darkness. Now, they just need to win over Ominis, cure Anne, and create a domain to call their own.

And not necessarily in that order.

The Keeper's tale, a post-game story of a morally-grey, pragmatic, Chaotic Neutral, non-binary, muggleborn, orphan player character, so burned by 1800s orphanages, that they became a power hoarder who demands more payment for quests, burns paintings but doesn't want to rule the world, just their own territory and the two boys who'd caught their eye.

Warnings: Sebastian x MC x Ominis! Spoilers! Dark content! Slow-burn canon-compilant corruption! Fucked up 1800s orphanages! MC has no love for Anne or Solomon! Dubious happy ending (it's happy for MC, Seb and Ominis at least).

You can also read on AO3! (chapter specific warnings below)

Notes:

Warnings: Minor emotional manipulation! Very protective and blood thirsty Keeper.

Again, I made up some stuff since JK never told us how Gringotts works in detail xP

The Keeper's curious gaze swept across the colourful banners and sign boards scattered across the street. So, this was Diagon Alley. Well, it wasn’t too different from Hogsmeade, perhaps more bustling businessmen running about, still infinitely better than muggle London.

Kicking the ash from their shoes, the Keeper followed Sebastian and Ominis through the crowded streets. They had a hard time fighting the urge to go exploring but business came first. They could return to explore the place another day.

Maybe when it was less crowded.

The three of them weaved their way through the clusters of people stupidly standing in the middle of the road talking or gawking through a window.

A disgusting amount of bodily contact with strangers later, the Keeper and their partners finally stood before the Diagon Alley branch of Gringotts Wizarding Bank.

"And here we are, as the one of us who has been to Gringotts most recently, after you." Sebastian grinned as he waved the Keeper ahead of them.

The Keeper raised an eyebrow in question and Sebastian shrugged. "I haven't been here since my parents died and Ominis has never seen the inside of Gringotts."

"Really, Sebastian?" Ominis sighed, shaking his head.

Rolling their eyes at Sebastian's bad joke, the Keeper patted Ominis on the shoulder as they stepped forward, hearing a loud thump behind them, followed by a yelp from Sebastian.

The Keeper cautiously approached the white building's large bronze doors, watching as the doors swung open to reveal a vaguely familiar room.

As they crossed the threshold, the Keeper was amused by how very similar the architecture was to the branch that they'd visited with Fig. It felt fitting that their second visit to a Gringotts bank would be with the family they'd acquired after losing the closest thing they'd had to a father.

They wondered if Fig would have been proud of them.

Donning a mask of confidence, the Keeper strode up to the goblin behind the receptionist desk. They'd learnt many things from their mentor during their adventures and one of them was; If you're not sure what you're doing, pretend to be until you are.

Taking a breath, the Keeper cleared their throat loudly.

The goblin on the other side of the desk blinked at them for a moment before placing his quill aside lethargically.

"Welcome to Gringotts Wizarding bank. What can I do for you?" The goblin asked blandly, sounding like he was in dire need of a coffee break.

"I would like to set up an account and make several purchases with it." The Keeper replied curtly.

The goblin raised a bushy eyebrow. "You don't look over 17."

"I am not." The Keeper confirmed.

"Do you have permission from your parents?" The goblin narrowed his eyes.

"I do not have parents. I am a muggleborn orphan who has been kicked from their orphanage." The Keeper shrugged, vaguely aware of Sebastian standing stiffly behind them.

The goblin's expression cleared. "I see. However, without a guardian, you would be placed under the purview of your head of House at Hogwarts…"

"I have with me two documents, one with a signature from Professor Sharp granting guardianship of myself to Solomon Sallow during the school break, and the other a letter of permission from Solomon Sallow himself." The Keeper presented the two pieces of parchment to the goblin.

He gave the documents a cursory scan and nodded. "Very well, I shall refer you to my colleague who will help you open and manage your account after validating these documents."

The Keeper could feel Sebastian release a relieved breath behind them.

The goblin waved them towards a corridor to the left. "Room 13."

"Thank you." The Keeper nodded politely and stepped away from the counter.

The two boys fell in step behind the Keeper as they made their way towards the room, Sebastian murmuring. "So far so good."

"I wouldn't celebrate till we've left the building." Ominis muttered back, maintaining an air of aristocratic aloofness that the Keeper was honestly impressed by, but one that Sebastian clearly saw through as he took Ominis' hand, squeezing it reassuringly.

The Keeper could only afford to note this exchange peripherally, the goblin at the counter hadn't taken the time to scrutinise the letter. They weren't out of the woods yet and they would need to keep their act up enough to fool this next one too.

Arriving at the door with the number 13 emblazoned on a golden plaque, the Keeper knocked politely, waiting for an invitation before opening the door and stepping through it without hesitation. They had to behave as though they had every right to be there.

The room was simple but no less ornate than the rest of the building, consisting of sparse minimalistic decor, a single table with a goblin seated on one side and three empty chairs on the other. The only things on the table were a weighing scale, a stack of blank papers, a quill, and an ink well. Did they really need nothing else to work?

"Please have a seat." The goblin gestured to the chairs and with a polite nod, the Keeper moved to sit in the centre chair. Sebastian taking the seat on their right and Ominis the one on their left.

"Fixtlick Flitwick, at your service." The goblin tipped his head politely and raised a hand. "The documents?"

The Keeper handed over the two documents and folded their hands in their lap, suppressing their anxiety and endeavouring to appear as calm as possible.

Fixtlick hummed. "This is a little unorthodox, normally we would insist that Mr Solomon Sallow accompany you in person…"

"This is Sebastian Sallow, his nephew." The Keeper gestured towards Sebastian, who nodded in greeting, before returning their attention to the goblin.

"As it says in the letter, Solomon's niece is in need of constant care, and he cannot afford to leave her unattended." The Keeper made a sweeping motion with their right hand. "Surely you're aware that Sebastian’s sister is believed to have been permanently harmed by one of Ranrok's loyalists."

Fixtlick grimaced at the reminder of the rebellion leader, who'd become a pariah amongst his own, when it was revealed that he'd killed his own brother in cold blood.

For a race that valued family and racial ties, this had been a disgrace to their pride. His actions, an affront to their code.

The Keeper could feel their pulse racing under their skin. This was a dangerous gamble, banking on their current reputation and the good old shame game, but it was all they had.

"I hope to aid the Sallows by opening an account that I can use to make purchases to improve their lives." The Keeper spoke politely but firmly. People loved a justice story, especially when it gave them the chance to do something that felt like atoning for their own guilt.

Fixtlick turned to observe Sebastian carefully. As always, Sebastian was the perfect sidekick, his expression and body language spoke of pain. An exhaustion that was, no doubt, as real as much as it was for show.

With a sigh, Fixtlick picked up a stamp and pressed a seal to both documents that disappeared after a moment. Returning the documents to the Keeper, Fixtlick reached under the desk and pulled out a large bound leather tome and opened it on the desk, revealing identical copies of the two documents he'd returned to them.

"Very well, in light of your circumstances, we will allow you to open a vault at Gringotts. Place your finger on this spot." Fixtlick pointed at a small, outlined patch on the inside of the cover of the tome.

The Keeper felt pretty sure they knew what was coming and obediently placed their index finger on the patch. Immediately, a strip of the paper curled around their finger, pressing it firmly against the parchment.

They felt a prick of pain on the pad of their finger and watched impassively as their blood seeped into the parchment, filling the outlined patch with a deep crimson. A moment later, the paper uncoiled itself from their finger, releasing their hand.

To the Keeper's amusement, Fixtlick offered them a small shot of wiggenweld potion, which they declined, taking a sip from one of their own vials instead.

The goblin scribbled in the book with a quill for a moment, before raising his head to face them. "Alright, everything seems to be in order. Now, how much would you like to deposit?"

The Keeper simply handed him a small pouch. The goblin took the pouch and placed it on the weighing scale. They watched with some pride as Fixtlick's eyebrows raised at the amount of galleons they'd accumulated during their exploration.

The wizarding world's citizens were so lax with their valuables and more than easy to convince to part with ridiculous amounts of money for mere errands that they'd rather not dirty their hands with. From collecting bubotuber pus to slaying an Ashwinder like Selwyn, even paying a child to dip their hands in blood.

Fixtlick squinted at the Keeper suspiciously and they raised an eyebrow in response. If he had something to say, he could say it or hold it in forever.

The goblin blinked and looked back down at the book, scribbling something in it, while Sebastian peered curiously at the Keeper. They continued to stare at the goblin impassively, ignoring his questioning gaze.

After a moment, Fixtlick was picking up the pouch and dropping it onto a circular outline on the table.

The pouch glowed for a moment before Fixtlick retrieved it and returned it to the Keeper. "The contents have been deposited. Was there anything else you needed?"

The Keeper nodded. "I would like to purchase the land on which the Dìon Castle ruins is situated, as well as two house elf contracts."

"Let me take a look." Fixtlick placed a hand on the stack of paper beside him and words began appearing on the blank topmost sheet.

After a moment, the goblin lifted his hand and examined the stack, collecting pages until he reached a blank paper. Fixtlick scanned the filled pages for a few minutes before looking up again.

"It seems that the land is currently owned by the ministry and is indeed available for purchase." He placed a sheet of paper before the Keeper, displaying a map of the region outlining the boundaries of the lot.

Sebastian joined the Keeper in looking at the map, before murmuring to Ominis. “Hey, the waterfall and lake are part of the lot, brilliant.”

Ominis hummed appreciatively, Sebastian grinned and the Keeper nodded in acknowledgement, mostly just relieved that the plot had been so easy to purchase.

Returning the map to the goblin, the Keeper added. "I have some wards I'd like to place on the property when the purchase has gone through."

"Very well, I will arrange for the purchase to be charged to your account. The deed will be available for viewing at any time in your vault and I will send a copy to you by owl post, and we can discuss the warding then. Please read this document and sign here." Fixtlick presented another paper to the Keeper.

They spent the next few minutes reading through the legalities and terms of the purchase, as well as the price of the property, which was fortunately well within their budget. The low price was probably thanks to the lack of farmable land or profitable mines in the area, all the better for them.

Satisfied, the Keeper signed the document and returned it.

Fixtlick proceeded to sign the document as well, before placing the pages in the book and waving a hand over it. The pages glowed before fusing with the book.

He then placed a hand on the stack of blank paper again, repeating his previous actions before presenting the Keeper with another eight documents.

"Here are some of the contracts available at the moment, please select the house elves you wish to purchase. If none of these are satisfactory, I will offer another set of options." Fixtlick gave a wave at the papers.

The Keeper gave the photographs of house elves a quick once over, feeling Sebastian peering curiously at the contracts over their shoulder. The Keeper was mildly disgusted by the blatant slavery. Coming from their roots, the bartering of lives was nauseating.

That said, they still needed assistance with their fortress, particularly during the school year, and at least any elves living in their care would not go to an abusive home.

As the Keeper perused, three stood out to them, two males and a female.

The first male elf, Blix, looked close to Scrope’s age and was described as hardworking and obedient. His contract said that his owner had passed away a little over a year ago.

The second male elf, Tynx, didn't look nearly as old as Scrope but was covered in a myriad of scars and his eyes had a certain hardness to it that the Keeper liked. His contract said that his owner had died in an accident a few weeks ago.

The female elf, Tibsy, was much younger looking with a brightness in her eyes that reminded them of Sebastian's eagerness. Her contract said that her owner died from old age a few months ago.

Lifting the three documents, the Keeper leaned back and murmured to Sebastian and Ominis. “I’ve got three that look alright, any tips on picking two from them?”

Ominis tipped his head to the side and mused. “My parents tried not to get one too old, said they’re more experienced but won’t last as long and might be harder to train.”

Sebastian shrugged. “Don’t look at me, the only house elves I know are the ones in the kitchens.”

“What could you possibly need from the kitchens?” Ominis asked, slightly bewildered.

Sebastian huffed in mock offence. “Excuse me, I’m a growing boy!”

“Don’t we get enough food during meals?” Ominis rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, but sometimes I get hungry at night.”

“Well then you shouldn’t be reading through the night!”

"House elves Tynx and Tibsy." The Keeper declared, interrupting them, and returning Blix’s contract to the table. Continuing to scan Tynx’s and Tibsy’s contracts to go over the fine print and prices more thoroughly. The house elves would put a deeper dent in their funds but hopefully it would be worth it.

Fixtlick nodded and retrieved the other contracts, waving a hand over them to vanish their contents and returned the blank pages to the pile. Satisfied, the Keeper signed the two contracts they'd picked and returned them to the goblin.

Collecting the pages, Fixtlick signed them as well and placed them on the tome, fusing them with the book like before. As he did so, the Keeper felt a strange tingle of magic that made their body glow for a short moment.

"The house elves are now magically bound to you. You may summon them to your side by speaking their names and you may permit someone else to summon them as well. Additionally, giving clothing to a House Elf will result in them being freed from their bond with you." Fixtlick nodded as he closed what the Keeper was now sure was their account ledger. "Do you need anything else today?"

The Keeper shook their head with a small, satisfied smile. "I do not, thank you Fixtlick, I appreciate your assistance with everything I needed, and I am glad to have you as my account manager."

Fixtlick blinked in what seemed like surprise, perhaps at their show of respect or sincerity, before giving a sharp toothed smile that reminded the Keeper of Lodgok. They felt a pang of sorrow at the spectre of the friend who'd died for them.

"It has been a day of unexpected surprises, but it was a privilege assisting you and you will be hearing from me soon with news on the deed." Fixtlick tipped his head respectfully.

"Till then." Nodding, the Keeper stood, along with their two companions, and the three left the room.

Stepping out of the building, the three collectively sagged in relief.

"I feel like that just cost me half my lifespan." The Keeper sighed as they took a few steps to the side, slumping against a wall.

Sebastian gave a shaky laugh. "No kidding, I feel like an old man after spending so long sitting like a block of wood."

Ominis just smiled weakly. "Sadly, we can't go home yet, we should get the house elves settled in first."

"Sadly.” The Keeper agreed with a sigh, smiling tiredly at him. “I'll admit I was quite impressed with your poise, Ominis."

Ominis shrugged. "The merits of growing up in a house of purebloods supremacists, I suppose. Honestly, I just followed Professor Black's orders to 'stand proud purebloods, the future is yours'."

The Keeper promptly choked on their next breath, coughing slightly, and waving off Ominis' concern.

Yeah. They were never going to tell him that it'd been them under polyjuice that day-

"Tynx, Tibsy." The Keeper spoke clearly, as they stood before the ruins of Dìon Castle.

The three didn't have to wait long, with a pop, two small house elves appeared before them. The two elves promptly bowed respectfully.

"Greetings Master, how should Tynx and Tibsy address you?" The house elf with a sprinkle of black hair on his scalp asked politely, a reserved caution in his black beady eyes.

The Keeper's eyes darted downwards as Tynx straightened from his bow, noticing that his left hand was missing two fingers, his pinkie and index fingers specifically. While his right hand was missing a pinkie.

It took a moment for it to hit them, those digits had likely been removed by his former master, much like Scrope’s ear had been. The Keeper bristled as they realised why his thumbs and middle fingers had been spared.

So that Tynx could still snap his fingers and cast house elf magic.

Disgusting humans. The house elves were already forced to do their masters' bidding, what purpose did tormenting what already belonged to you serve?

The Keeper swallowed their anger, it was neither the time nor place for that.

Refocusing on the question that Tynx had asked, they decided that these elves had been denied options long enough. The Keeper really couldn't care less what the elves called them, if the elves did their jobs, then every other aspect of the elves' lives were each elf's own business.

"Whatever you want." The Keeper shrugged uncaringly, pulling a small pouch from their pocket while the elves stared at them in bewilderment.

The Keeper held the pouch out to Tynx expectantly, waiting for him to put his right hand out before dropping it into the elf's small palm. "Use this money in Diagon Alley to buy supplies, bedding and whatever you require to make the ruins behind you habitable for the two of you."

The Keeper paused, deciding it would be best to reiterate themselves. "And I do mean habitable, the money in there should be enough for the two of you to live here comfortably. I'll be dropping by often to check on your progress and conditions. I will expect a report on your expenses and will allocate additional funds as necessary."

Ignoring the shock on the elves' faces, they continued. "As for your duties, the two of you are to clean up the ruins. I want the grass, weeds and stone debris cleared out. We'll be constructing a new castle over this plot of land, and I'd like the two of you to prepare it for development."

"These are my partners, Sebastian Sallow and Ominis Gaunt." The Keeper gestured to the boys in turn. "The two of you are to take orders from them as well, if an instruction from them contradicts an order from me, simply speak with me about it and we'll sort it out."

The house elves nodded, giving respectful bows to the boys as well.

"The three of us are still students at Hogwarts, as such, we cannot use magic during the current school break. We are also currently staying in Feldcroft, so the two of you will be in charge of this area while we are away." The Keeper placed their hands together in front of them. "Any questions?"

The two elves had spent the briefing nodding along mutely as the Keeper spoke, before shaking their heads at the final question.

Where Tynx was stoic and unreadable, Tibsy in contrast, seemed rather overwhelmed. Her long droopy ears paired with the strings of blond hair hanging over her big brown eyes, made her look a lot younger than any house elf the Keeper had seen before.

The Keeper sighed at the lacklustre response, well, they supposed it would take them time to adjust. These weren't Hogwarts elves that were used to friendly wizards and witches.

Even Deek had shared his own terrible experiences with abusive owners, and the owner of Tobbs should pray to never have the misfortune of meeting the Keeper in person.

"Actually, I have a question, what exactly will we be doing with the plants?" Ominis hummed thoughtfully, folding an arm and tapping a finger against his jaw. "I think we should probably pot the plants we want to keep and find somewhere suitable to store them first."

"Can't we just pull them out, dig a hole and stick 'em in it till the greenhouses are ready?" Sebastian asked, tipping his head to the side nonchalantly.

"Of course not!" Ominis shook his head. "The soil a plant has rooted in has become uniquely suited to said plant as it grows and must remain together."

"Then dig a bigger hole and drop in the plant and the soil it was in."

"Great, now the plant has to fight all the grass and competitive plants in its new home."

"Merlin, why's a plant gotta be so complicated?"

"It's life, Sebastian, it's always complicated."

"And that's why I'm not taking a Herbology NEWT, there's enough deep philosophy in my life, there's no room for a plant's. The only time I want to think about a plant's place in the universe is when I'm killing it in a pot."

"It wouldn't be so hard to understand if you took the time to think from a plant's perspective."

"I'm fairly certain a plant isn't thinking of anything besides its next meal."

"Look, you already have something in common."

"Oh, come on-"

"In that case." The Keeper turned back to the house elves, Tynx immediately focused his attention on them while Tibsy tried in vain to stifle her amusement as she watched the conversation between the boys.

Deciding that Tynx's attention was enough, the Keeper continued. "I would like you to also purchase twenty pots to start with, we'll buy more as necessary in the future, sadly the Underage magic restriction means I can't create them myself. We could wait till school begins but I want the castle ready as soon as possible, the pot materials can always be repurposed since we'll be needing a lot of clay anyway."

"Yes, Master." Tynx bowed his head, looking surprised when the Keeper pulled out a handful of galleons to drop into his pouch.

He'd clearly expected to have the additional costs taken out of their allowance, he must have had a bad owner, the Keeper noted with some distaste.

It truly was a pity that Tynx's previous owner was already dead, the elf was now theirs and they would have loved to exact vengeance on Tynx's behalf.

Anyone who harmed anything of theirs would pay in blood. Regardless of when the transgression occurred.

"Anything else anyone would like to add?" The Keeper asked once more.

This time they were greeted with silence, so the Keeper continued. "Then, Tynx and Tibsy, the two of you should drop by Diagon Alley before the shops close. Tomorrow, we'll come by after breakfast to go over the plans in more detail and select the first plants we wish to preserve."

The house elves bowed their heads as the Keeper summoned Sepulchria and mounted her, keeping the thestral steady as Sebastian helped Ominis onto her back before climbing on as well.

"Till tomorrow then." The Keeper nodded to the elves in parting before easing the powerful beast into flight.

Notes:

Keeper be faking it till they make it, like a champ xD

I feel like the goblins would not be happy with Ranrok after he killed Lodgok, considering that the goblins decided not to side with Voldemort just because Voldy killed ONE goblin family. If Lodgok noticed personality changes in his brother, I'm sure other family members of the loyalists must have noticed their loved ones getting corrupted by the pain magic too.

Killing your own brother and leading hundreds of goblins to their deaths would probably be ensure that, while Ranrok was lost in Wizarding history, his name would go down in Goblin history with much more infamy.

Also, while land is extremely expensive right now, back during the 1800s, land was actually dirt cheap because there was just so much of it xP

(Get it? Dirt cheap haha- I'm sorry-)

[rahuljangir]

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[kvibestudios]

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Adapting content to fit each platform allows filmmakers to showcase different aspects of their projects. From captivating behind-the-scenes glimpses to immersive trailers on sites like YouTube, crafting such content furthers the narrative and enhances the film's distinctiveness. Strategic cross-promotion leverages the audience on one platform to drive traffic to another, weaving the film into various platform ecosystems.

Engaging fans through user-generated content and fan-driven campaigns fosters a greater level of interaction. Fans feel appreciated and involved, leading to organic promotion. Data analytics further strengthen campaign tactics by allowing filmmakers to adjust their strategies based on insights, ensuring each message connects with its target audience.

Exploiting the Power of Social Media

Platforms such as Instagram, Twitter, Facebook, TikTok, and YouTube serve as cost-efficient spaces for filmmakers to engage with audiences. Each offers unique features — from Instagram's visual storytelling to TikTok's lively short videos — which filmmakers can strategically harness to generate excitement and cultivate a strong online community.

Excelling in social media means establishing a regular presence with a planned content schedule and leveraging current trends. Consistent interactions with followers, strategic use of hashtags, and exclusive content can greatly enhance reach and engagement. Collaborations with fellow filmmakers and industry players further amplify visibility.

The emergence of Video-on-Demand (VOD) platforms provides indie films with a portal to global audiences. Enhancing a film's metadata, designing standout thumbnails, and creating engaging artwork on major platforms like Netflix and Amazon Prime improves discoverability in crowded marketplaces.

Promotional efforts benefit from utilizing platform-specific tools like featured content sections or time-specific promotions, such as Amazon's Prime Day. Collecting and using reviews and ratings build credibility and audience interest, while a coordinated content rollout approach optimizes for peak activity times on these platforms.

Forging a Direct Connection with Viewers

Developing a mobile-friendly website dedicated to the film assembles all pertinent information, such as screening schedules, cast and crew profiles, and press materials. Digital newsletters can be part of the strategy, allowing filmmakers to connect with their audience directly through personalized updates about the film's progress and milestones.

Email marketing targets fans, critics, or industry insiders with customized communications. High open rates hinge on engaging subject lines and eye-catching visuals, with clear calls-to-action guiding recipients toward desired actions.

Collaborative Relationships with Influencers and Partners

Influencer marketing holds vast potential. Influencers attuned to the film's themes can share its message with their audiences, offering exclusive content in return for exposure. Their followers then become part of the film's community.

Alliances with compatible brands and companies create valuable cross-promotional opportunities. Collaborations with film festivals extend reach and allow creative combinations of in-person and online event marketing, creating promotional ripples in the community.

Film festivals provide an ideal platform for executing multi-platform promotional tactics. By streaming live events or interactions via Q&As or testimonials, filmmakers can cultivate genuine engagement and spotlight their work among diverse audiences using event-specific hashtags.

Continuous Optimization for Peak Performance

The success of multi-platform marketing depends on measurement and optimization. Consistent monitoring of engagement across various channels allows filmmakers to refine their strategies using data-derived insights. A/B testing visuals and messaging clarifies the most effective approaches, while audience feedback supports adaptive strategies for maintaining relevance.

Allocating resources to the best-performing channels ensures efforts align with audience preferences and maximizes outreach. Staying updated on platform evolutions supports impactful audience engagement.

Mastering multi-platform marketing is a game-changer for indie filmmakers, tapping into the vast reach of digital platforms to compete with larger productions. These strategies resonate with audiences and create a lasting buzz, celebrating the essence of indie cinema.

#IndieFilms #MultiPlatformMarketing #SocialMedia #FilmFestivals #InfluencerMarketing

Partner with Kvibe Studios to pioneer multi-platform film marketing. Check us out at https://www.kvibe.com

[omarplayspiano]

1 Hour of Extremely RELAXING PIANO for Deep Sleep and Study Sessions 1 Hour of Extremely RELAXING PIANO for Deep Sleep and Study Sessions // Omar Plays Piano. Relaxing Piano Escape: A Journey Through Serenity In a world often characterized by relentless noise and unyielding demands, there exists a sanctuary of sound that beckons the weary soul. "Relaxing Piano Escape" is not merely an auditory experience; it is a passage to a tranquil realm where time slows, worries dissipate, and the mind is free to wander amidst a landscape of serene melodies. This immersive haven of piano music is designed to provide solace, inspiration, and a deep sense of connection—both to oneself and to the boundless beauty of the world. The Essence of Relaxing Piano Escape At its core, Relaxing Piano Escape embodies the power of simplicity. The minimalist elegance of piano music is its defining feature, stripped of excessive instrumentation to allow the purity of each note to shine. It is this clarity that makes the experience so profound. With each delicate keystroke, the music captures the essence of human emotion, weaving a narrative that is both deeply personal and universally relatable. The Healing Power of Music Music has long been recognized as a powerful tool for healing and relaxation, and Relaxing Piano Escape takes this concept to new heights. Scientific studies have shown that listening to calming music can lower stress levels, reduce anxiety, and even improve physical health by lowering blood pressure and heart rate. The gentle, flowing rhythms of piano music are particularly effective in promoting relaxation, as they mirror the natural cadence of a calm heartbeat. An Invitation to Mindfulness One of the most profound aspects of Relaxing Piano Escape is its ability to foster mindfulness. In a society that often glorifies multitasking and constant productivity, this collection of piano music encourages a different approach. By focusing on the gentle ebb and flow of the melodies, listeners are invited to be fully present in the moment. The music becomes a bridge to a state of heightened awareness, where the mind is free from distractions and the spirit is at ease. 🔔𝐃𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐮𝐛𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐥 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐮𝐩𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬. https://www.youtube.com/@OmarPlaysPiano-hu5qd/?sub_confirmation=1 ⭐⭐⭐ Audio Music is currently on your favourite platforms: 👉Spotify:https://ift.tt/RcNMOZw 🔗 Stay Connected With Me. Instagram: https://ift.tt/CyTarJL ============================= 🎬Suggested videos for you: ▶️ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zKTHoDUYt7I ▶️ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hLsp8ZyR5E4&t=34s ▶️ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GsTuSBYwE7o ▶️ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pbuhYcKsctA ▶️ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WLt093YdJVw ▶️ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OLfs_IzwYyg ▶️ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oYRZChl6w-0 ================================= 🔎 Related Phrases: Hashtags #relaxingmusic, #relax, #soothingrelaxation, #music, #sleep #calm #calmmusic #calming #calmingmusic, #dormir, #détendre, #guitar, #insomnia, #meditar, #meditation, #meditationmusic #peaceful, #pianorelaxation #piano,#pedernales #relax #relaxante, #relaxation, # music, #sleep, #sleepmusic, #music, #sleeping, #sleepingmusic, #smoothingrelaxation, #soothing, #soothingmusic, #soothingrelaxation, #studymusic, #themostbeautifulrelaxingpianopieces, #themostbeautiful #relaxingpianopieces,#rousseau,relaxingbeautifulpiano, #pieces, #relaxingpiano pieces, #beautifulrelaxingpiano, #beautifulpianopieces, #mostrelaxingpiano, #beautifulpiano, #relaxingpiano, #rousseau, #rousseaupiano, #rousseauclassical, #pianocover, #classicalpianocover, #pianobyomar, #Omar Plays piano, #omar via Omar Plays Piano https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCOBTYtVnJDkpYUm5nIgUDUQ January 24, 2025 at 02:00AM

[roseandxanderfics]

“Steel Wrapped in Silk” - Muscular Aes Sedai Reader x Lan Mandragoran

Summary: When Lan Mandragoran meets a powerful Aes Sedai whose strength and grace challenge his expectations, he finds himself drawn to her in ways he never anticipated. With a warrior’s heart and a mastery over the One Power, she becomes an intriguing force that shifts his understanding of both duty and connection.

————————

You are not the delicate kind of Aes Sedai. While others carry an aura of elegance and softness, you embody something different. Your hands are calloused from the hilt of a sword, your body honed by years of training and battle. Muscles curve under your Aes Sedai robes, a stark contrast to the typical image of a woman who commands the One Power. But there’s grace in your every movement, a balance between strength and the subtlety of the weaves you control.

When Lan Mandragoran first sees you, his instinct is to assume you’re one of the Warders. Your posture is confident, the way you carry yourself speaks of someone ready for battle—not someone who should be caught in a gathering of Aes Sedai.

He watches you from across the courtyard, his sharp gaze appraising. The way you move so easily, a fluidity that could easily be mistaken for someone who knows the sword better than most men. The way you carry the weight of your presence—he notices the subtle, almost unspoken power that follows you. You are not fragile, and your every movement has the same quiet weight as a well-forged blade.

Then, it happens. A small flare of the One Power, something quiet but undeniable. The air hums as you weave a shield around a target, demonstrating your discipline and control. He freezes.

Not a Warder. A true Aes Sedai, one whose power pulses through the world around her in ways Lan rarely sees—yet still, something more.

He approaches with his usual composed manner, eyes narrowing as he stops a respectful distance from you.

“Impressive,” Lan says, his voice steady but curious. “You have strength, but…”

You turn to face him, raising an eyebrow slightly. “But?”

“You don’t look like the other Aes Sedai.” His words hang in the air, and for a moment, there’s something almost challenging in the way he eyes you.

A smile touches the corner of your lips. “I am who I am. Not all Aes Sedai fit the same mold, after all.”

Lan watches you carefully. He’s used to the delicate and quiet power that surrounds most Aes Sedai, their beauty often matching their composed airs. But you are different. There is a quiet ferocity about you, a force that feels solid, grounded. It’s hard to ignore.

There is something in the way you stand, the way your muscles ripple subtly as you adjust your stance, your posture—nothing in your demeanor screams fragility. It’s the kind of presence that demands respect, and Lan finds himself intrigued by the contrast between the strength you exude and the grace you hold yourself with.

“How did you come to be like this?” Lan asks, his voice tinged with genuine curiosity. He has seen many Aes Sedai in his time, but none quite like you.

“I chose it,” you say simply, looking out across the training yard, your gaze thoughtful. “The One Power doesn’t make a person strong—it’s how you choose to use it, how you shape it. I didn’t want to rely on fragility. I wanted to be able to stand on my own, to fight, to protect, even without the One Power.”

Lan’s eyes narrow, impressed despite himself. “That’s… not the path most Aes Sedai would take.”

“I’m not like most Aes Sedai.” You look at him then, something almost teasing in your eyes. “And you’re not like most Warders, either.”

He tilts his head, momentarily taken aback by your assessment, but there’s a spark of recognition in his gaze. Yes, you’ve understood the weight of duty—the shared bond between Warder and Aes Sedai, even if you have chosen a different path.

Over time, Lan finds himself intrigued, drawn to your strength and quiet confidence. It’s not just the way you wield the One Power, but the way you move in the world—how you hold yourself, as though you know exactly who you are and what you’re capable of. You are a warrior, not in the traditional sense of physical might, but in a sense of your soul, the core of who you are. That’s what draws him in—the fire beneath the calm, the assurance in your every decision.

He’s used to the calm, measured aura of Aes Sedai, the way they carry themselves as paragons of wisdom, detached and somewhat unreachable. But you’re different. You wear your strength with the same ease you wear your robes. The years of training you’ve undergone show in every line of your body. You could disarm a man with a flick of your wrist and turn that same hand to weaves that would bring down armies. There is power in your every move. The weight of a sword resting at your side is not just a sign of the battles you’ve fought; it’s a symbol of everything you’ve survived. It’s a part of you, like breathing.

Despite the years of hardship you’ve endured, there is a warmth to you—something rare to find in a woman so fierce, and it’s that warmth that intrigues Lan. In your presence, he feels as though he’s encountered something wild, untamed, and yet, perfectly in control. Something that, deep down, he wishes he could hold on to.

There’s something so familiar about the way you look at him. It isn’t pity, or some distant recognition of his burden, but understanding. You’ve seen loss, felt it in your bones. You’ve carried scars of your own, ones that aren’t visible but weigh just as heavily. There’s a deep, unspoken connection between the two of you—one that only those who have lived through war, through sacrifice, can understand.

At times, when the two of you sit in the quiet after the chaos of battle, Lan notices how you breathe, as if taking in the very air that connects everything around you. The power that surges beneath your skin, the way it hums with every slight touch, every whispered weave. He can feel the gravity of your presence in ways that he can’t explain. It’s as though you are the storm itself, and yet, there’s a calmness to you, an ease, a strength that calls to him.

You’re not afraid of your own power. It doesn’t control you. And that, Lan recognizes, is a strength of its own. It’s the control of one who knows the depth of their ability, who has learned to balance it.

But it’s also the way you carry yourself. It’s the way you look at him—straight into his eyes, with no hesitation, no uncertainty, no fear. He’s used to being the one who protects, who shields others, but when he looks at you, he sees that same strength. And it’s a humbling thing.

He begins to notice the way you stand next to him during training, the subtle shifts of your muscles, the quiet way you handle your blade with such precision, as if every movement is deliberate. There is no unnecessary movement. There is no wasted energy. Every motion has purpose, and every step you take brings you closer to the core of who you are.

The way your eyes meet his across the room, when words are unnecessary, speaks volumes. You see him—truly see him—beyond the duty he has placed on his shoulders, beyond the sorrow he wears like a second skin. There is no pity, no sympathy, just understanding. And it makes him feel lighter than he’s felt in a long time.

He finds himself drawn to you in ways he’s never been before. There’s a quiet power in your presence that mirrors his own, a silent understanding between two souls who have fought long enough to know what it means to stand together—without words, without hesitation.

In the quiet after the battle, when both of you are alone in the stillness, he feels it—a pull, an unspoken bond that forms in the space between you. It’s something deeper than the duty that binds Aes Sedai and Warder. It’s something that, despite their differences, connects them on a level neither has encountered before. And for the first time in his life, Lan Mandragoran wonders if this is a bond he might welcome, something that could become his own quiet strength, even in the face of everything he’s lost.

And just as that thought solidifies in his chest, he realizes: maybe, just maybe, he’s not as alone as he thought. And you, with your strength and grace, have become a force that might not only be a guide in battle but someone he could learn to trust in ways he never thought possible.

[valuexim]

Cultural Storytelling through Exports: ValuExim’s Approach to Showcasing India’s Rich Heritage

India, a land of vibrant traditions and rich history, has always captured the world’s imagination. At ValueXim, we believe that cultural storytelling through exports is a powerful way to showcase India’s unparalleled heritage on the global stage. Our products, ranging from bulk flour to wholesale dry fruits, are more than just commodities; they are tales of tradition, hard work, and authenticity.

The Art of Exporting Heritage

Exports aren’t just about shipping goods—they’re about creating connections. At ValuExim, every product we send abroad carries the essence of Indian culture. Whether it’s the premium quality of our processed foods or the meticulous packaging of our nuts wholesale, our goal is to ensure that every shipment tells a story.

Take, for instance, our bulk flour suppliers. Flour is a staple in countless cuisines worldwide, and Indian flour varieties like atta, maida, and semolina bring unique textures and flavors. By exporting these flours, we’re not just delivering a product; we’re introducing the world to the rich culinary traditions of India.

Dry Fruits: A Nutty Affair

Dry fruits have always been a symbol of prosperity and health in Indian households. Through our wholesale dry fruits online services, we bring this essence to international markets. From almonds to pistachios, each pack is sourced with care, ensuring the finest quality. By emphasizing traditional harvesting methods and modern quality control, ValuExim bridges the gap between tradition and innovation.

Nuts wholesale isn’t just about business; it’s about sharing the story of India’s ancient trade routes and the role dry fruits played in them. Our customers aren’t just buying cashews or walnuts; they’re receiving a slice of history.

Processed Foods with a Soul

Processed foods might seem like a modern convenience, but at ValuExim, they’re rooted in age-old recipes and techniques. From ready-to-eat curries to traditional snacks, our processed foods embody the flavors of India. These products cater to global palates while staying true to their origins.

As one of the leading exporters in this segment, we understand the importance of maintaining authenticity. By working closely with local communities, we ensure that the cultural essence of each product remains intact, even as it adapts to global demands.

Sustainability Meets Tradition

ValuExim’s approach isn’t just about preserving culture; it’s about protecting the environment. Sustainable practices are at the core of our operations. Whether it’s partnering with bulk flour suppliers who prioritize eco-friendly farming or using recyclable materials for packaging wholesale dry fruits online, we’re committed to making a positive impact.

Our nuts wholesale division, for example, collaborates with farmers who follow organic and sustainable farming practices. This not only ensures high-quality products but also supports rural livelihoods and promotes biodiversity.

Why Cultural Storytelling Matters

In a world that’s becoming increasingly homogenized, cultural storytelling through exports is more important than ever. It’s not just about selling products; it’s about sharing values, traditions, and histories. For ValuExim, every export is an opportunity to connect with people across the globe and give them a taste of India’s soul.

Our processed foods and wholesale dry fruits online offerings serve as ambassadors of Indian culture, creating an emotional connection with consumers. By prioritizing quality and authenticity, we ensure that our products stand out in competitive markets.

The ValuExim Difference

What sets ValuExim apart is our dedication to quality and storytelling. Every product, from bulk flour to processed foods, undergoes rigorous quality checks. But beyond that, we focus on weaving a narrative around our offerings. For instance, our nuts wholesale customers often appreciate the stories behind the sourcing of our products, such as how a specific region’s climate contributes to the unique flavor of its dry fruits.

This emphasis on storytelling has helped us build lasting relationships with clients. By highlighting the cultural significance of our products, we’ve turned transactions into meaningful exchanges.

Looking Ahead

As we expand our horizons, ValuExim remains committed to its mission of cultural storytelling through exports. Whether it’s through wholesale dry fruits online or innovative processed foods, we’re excited to continue sharing India’s heritage with the world. Our journey is a testament to the power of combining tradition with innovation, and we invite you to be a part of it.

At ValuExim, we’re not just exporting goods; we’re exporting stories, emotions, and a piece of India’s heart. Join us in celebrating the richness of Indian culture, one product at a time.

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[mwplanet]

Arcane Season 2: A Masterclass in Animation and Storytelling

The second season of Arcane dazzles with breathtaking animation, masterful production, and a climactic conclusion that left fans amazed, devastated, and eager for more.

By Isabelle Alon

Arcane: League of Legends: Season 2 Poster Photo via Rotten Tomatoes

In 2021, the Netflix Original series Arcane baffled viewers with its indisputable quality and intricacy. As an animated exploration of the universe behind the hit video game, League of Legends, the series’ first season exceeded nearly all prior expectations of the show with its high levels of visual detail and effective storytelling—League of Legends fans and casual viewers alike were captivated with the show and made demands for more. 

Fortunately—although 3 years in the making—the pleas of millions of Arcane fans were eventually answered.

In its first season, Arcane explored—and introduced non-gamer viewers to—the conflicts between Piltover and Zaun, two relevant worlds and settings in the League of Legends franchise. The second season’s first three episodes, which aired on November 9th, 2024, comprised Act I of the season and picked up within moments of season one’s conclusion in a seamless continuation of the ongoing plot, and the resultant aftermath of season one’s cliffhanger. 

Act II, made up of episodes four to six, was where the season felt as if it truly began to evolve. It aired a week later on November 16th, and weaved in fresh, unexpected twists while raising tensions between characters, and the stakes of the show’s central conflict. Even the anticipated developments—particularly for those familiar with League of Legends lore—are executed in ways that still manage to surprise.

Its final act, from episodes seven to nine, provided heart-stopping sequences of events leading up to its devastating ending. It delivers a powerful culmination of the season’s build-up, blending emotional segments, breathtaking action, and stunning visuals. As tensions between Piltover and Zaun reach their peak, the resolution of key storylines is both satisfying and thought-provoking. While the final act resolved most of Arcane’s storylines, it also left the door  open for future exploration, teasing even greater stakes, and leaving hints towards the exploration of other characters from different regions of the League of Legends universe. Fans will undoubtedly find themselves reeling from the emotional impact of the ending, and eagerly awaiting what lies ahead for these richly developed characters, generating attention towards the video game franchise, as well.

The intricate storytelling, symbolism, and immersive soundtrack interwoven throughout the series enhanced its narrative and even linked it to real-world conflicts. Relevant themes such as socioeconomic inequalities, power and corruption, and the consequences of excessive technological advancements are thoroughly examined, accompanied by a clever plot that tied in religious symbolism and universal familial conflicts. As well, season two’s soundtrack, featuring  d4vd, Ashnikko, Twenty One Pilots, and King Princess, and several more rising artists, allowed scenes to produce more emotional and atmospheric depth.

However, it was undeniably the animation in Season 2 that truly elevated Arcane to new heights. While the first season’s visuals were already phenomenal, animation studio Fortiche has pushed the boundaries even further. The second season of Arcane boasted the largest budget used for an animated show in history, though the massive $250 million budget was evidently well spent. This season embraces a much more dynamic artistic approach, experimenting with different styles and visual effects, particularly during its most pivotal moments. This creative evolution not only amplifies the emotional depth of the series but also ensures it feels endlessly captivating; nearly every frame in the show feels like their own illustrations. In terms of animation, the only works that rival Arcane on this level are the films Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse and Across the Spider-Verse, which are clearly significant influences.

In conclusion, Arcane Season 2 continued to impress audiences with its excellent storytelling, worldbuilding, and the cohesive development of its characters. Furthermore, it pushed the boundaries of what animated shows can achieve and strive towards in the future. With its intricate setting/character development and its exploration of numerous impactful themes, Arcane’s long-awaited second season ultimately leaves viewers both satisfied and hungry for the next chapter in the League of Legends universe.