#phoenix guard

[ronaestrider]

A Reunion Long In The Making [Part II]

[ Part I ]

Ina'thia makes the long walk up the spire to the Phoenix Guard's former headquarters, motivated by the promise of wine and memories. She hopes for good memories, but if not, there's wine for that. The former Commander marches to the door, and lets out a frustrated hiss when it is, in fact, locked! She jiggles the handle, then begins pulling on it.

Ruthar makes his way up, a pair of dusty wine bottles and a pair of crystal glasses in his hand. He hears the jiggling of the locked knob. "Well, I guess I shouldn't be surprised by that," he says with a chuckle. "It has been quite some time."

Ina'thia seems to be taking her anger, which had been buried deep for years, out on the door. She becomes more forceful with it. "Of course it's locked. Why wouldn't it be? Did they give me a key? Fuck if I know. I've been gone for seven - " she kicks the door once then twice. " "- YEARS." With a final kick, the door swings open in a whirl of dust and paperwork! It was exactly as it had been left, save for the layer of dust.

Ruthar opens his mouth to suggest something, but shuts it promptly as the door smashes inward. "That's one way to the put the shattered in Shattered Sun."

Ina'thia rakes a hand through her hair to toss it back over her shoulders, then steps into the office. It was small and cramped, but offered a beautiful view of the harbor. She'd lost count of how many nights she'd stayed up until the dawn here.

“I may have been a bit overealous.”

Ruthar makes his way into the office, the memories flooding back as he moves from the main meeting room into her office. "Perhaps a touch," he offers. He places the bottles and the glasses down on the desk, pushing a document out of the way. He lifts it up in his fingers, eyeing the red ink at the top. -Classified: Decommissioning Notice-

Ina'thia turns the decommissioning notice upside down, lest it sour her mood and make her become completely overzealous. "We spent a lot of time up here, didn't we? I remember planning our mission to Draenor and telling the others to get their affairs in order and make peace with the Light, or whatever they prayed to." 

Ruthar nods, allowing a pause to settle as he moves to uncork one of the bottles. "I remember it very clearly. When I was captured in Tanaan, it was one of the things that truly kept me alive. Remembering the faces of all of you who accepted the suicidal portal mission." He pours the liquid into the glasses.

"Feels simultaenously like a lifetime ago and only yesterday."

Ina'thia pulls her gaze away from the harbor to Ruthar as he pours the wine. The pop of a cork seems to calm her heightened frustrations. "I really did think we were all going to die. Part of me thought you were dead already, and we were only going to recover your body. Gruesome times. I'm glad none of it came to pass." 

Ruthar hoists the now-filled glasses and offers one to Ina'thia. He leans upon the edge of the desk, raising his up for a small toast. "Here's to being not as dead as we should be."

Ina'thia leans on the other edge of the desk and accepts the glass, eagerly toasting. "Here's to being too stubborn to die, no matter what is thrown in our paths." 

Ruthar clinks the glass and takes a long sip, the bite of the old wine both a comfort and a memory. He looks out to the sea, holding his glass. "There is so much to discuss, even some recent things that are worth mentioning. I don't quite know where to begin - so many questions spring to mind."

Ina'thia takes a long sip of the wine as well. It's everything in her power not to drink it all in one go, but instead, savor the flavor. Just as she intended to savor the company and the locale.  - 

Ina'thia turns to face Ruthar. "You know you can ask me anything, Ruthar. You're my best friend, and always have been. A brother, even. No secrets." 

Ruthar smiles against his glass as he takes another sip. "I know," he says softly, looking down into the wine itself. "And you have no idea how good that feels to hear," he offers, thinking of recent events. "I don't think I saw you at all since the decommissioning, then the next moment I hear you've departed entirely. So what's your story? You absolutely must have had a reason."

Ina'thia can't help herself; she takes that next long drink, and soon enough, the glass is empty. She holds it out for Ruthar to refill, because this story requires alcohol. And lots of it. "Well, it's a long one... I went directly back to Kul Tiras under the Horde's banner, in and around Stormsong Valley. Bloody battles. I retired from active duty not long after, and fooled myself into thinking I could do diplomacy and politics on a Magister's arm. Or was he on my arm? Hard to tell, really." 

Ruthar gingerly takes the empty glass from her digits and just passes her the bottle. He doesn't interrupt the tale.

Ina'thia takes the glass back, but doesn't drink just yet. "I lived in Magister Everblaze's manor for some time... and I thought the monotony was getting to me. I started hearing things, at first. Then I began seeing them. Just little shadows from the corner of my eye. Then I couldn't see or hear or dream of anything but -him- and -his- Empire. I was losing it, Ruthar. Fuck. I had to leave. What if I attacked him? Retired Knight-Lord murders esteemed Magister! Or worse, Syrie and Gatto or their kid?" 

 “I -had- to leave.”

Ruthar considers that for a moment. "Did you find the source of such thoughts and whispers?"

Ina'thia gives Ruthar an odd look over her wine glass, "...It was the old god N'zoth. Shortly after I left, spires and faceless ones started appearing everywhere." 

Ruthar blinks at that. "You...you're serious? I expected some sort of trick of the Magister, not the efforts of an Old God."

Ina'thia nods once, "Bey'ron is an absolutely insufferable asshole, but I know he would never do that to me. He was actually very kind to me while we were together. No... I was vulnerable, emotionally, after the Guard was decommissioned. Easy prey for an old god."

Ruthar looks at her with a truly concerned expression. "I'm sorry to hear that. I can only imagine how difficult those whispers were to silence. I heard so many stories from Kul Tiras, but I think you are the first I've spoken to with direct experience."

Ina'thia takes another long drink of wine, "It was a bloodbath, Ruthar. We've seen our share of combat with the Guard, but it was always for the good of Quel'Thalas or the world. We killed everyone. Farmers in their fields, their wives, their children. Even the cattle. No survivors. No resources. Burnt it all to the ground on the Warchief's order.”

Ruthar sighs, looking down into his wine. "I would have done anything for her," he admits. "She was my Ranger-General. I swore an oath that I held so firmly." He looks to her, his gaze supportive. "I would have done the very same."

Ina'thia watches Ruthar closely, "...She was -our- Ranger-General. Farstrider or not, we all loved and admired her. Either way... I left, and I went to Kun-Lai. It's a place that has brought me peace in tumultuous times past." 

Ruthar nods. "Of course. Our. Hard to tell who still sees it that way after everything." He finishes his glass and slowly pours another. "And how was the Summit? I haven't been to Pandaria since I had a nasty incident with the mantid so many years back."

Ina'thia looks out over the harbor. "Still steep and cold as fuck. I climbed on foot, fell face-down in the snow and was dragged the rest of the way on a sled pulled by grummles." 

Ruthar raises an eybrow at that. "And yet here you stand. I assume the mission was a success?"

Ina'thia looks down at her fingertips, "Had to recover from the frostbite and exposure, first. Stayed at the temple for a few months. I was in a bad way, Ruthar. Bad. I snapped out of it when the temple was attacked and I got punched in the face by another sin'dorei who was there. We fought back the faceless ones, and I chose to continue the fight. I've been everywhere hunting them. Tanaris. Silithus. Uldum. Un'goro. All of Kalimdor, and then some." 

Ruthar nods slowly, his eyebrows still raised. "I will fully admit that this was not the story I was expecting in the least. Amazing that you could face N'Zoth's agents directly and live to tell the tale. For how long did you fight the n'raqi?"

Ina'thia purses her lips thoughtfully, then takes another sip of wine. "...Years, I think. I lost time for parts of it. Don't you fucking repeat that, either, or I'll never get reinstated." 

Ruthar nods. "Duly noted," he says quickly. "So when did you return from it, then?"

Ina'thia rolls one shoulder, "...When I set foot back in Quel'Thalas. I took the longest route possible. Boats and zeppelins and mountain and forest trails. Gave myself every opportunity to turn around, and I kept walking. Figured I'd made it this far... it was really time to come home. Last week.”

Ruthar blinks, lowering his wineglass. "That is the kind of tale I would tell younglings at the Retreat. But here you are," he gestures to her form with his wineglass. "Alive to tell it yourself. I...don't know what to say." He lowers his glass, looking her

Ruthar over for signs of the experience. "Your return is that much more pleasing after hearing what you were up against."

Ina'thia seems to be in remarkably good health at a glance, all things considered. "Mm. And here I am, after I survived all of that, too afraid to talk to my exes. I'd rather take the years of solitude and fighting literal monsters." 

Ruthar manages a smirk at that. "You can go to the very end of the world and fight monsters of untold power, and yet you are still you." He takes a sip of wine. "Speaking of, I've had interactions with said exes it seems."

Ina'thia 's ears droop a little bit in absolute embarrassment. "For fuck's sake. I need more wine." With that, she knocked back the rest of her second glass.

Ruthar laughs at that fully, knocking back his own and taking the empty glasses. He begins to uncork the second bottle. "But, before -that-," he begins, pausing his uncorking of the wine. "I'm...sorry for all of that. Truly." He sighs. "But what I am sorry about most is not being there to help. I'm not sure what I would have done if I had heard you were truly lost, but I know that I did not do anything to mitigate any of that. You deserve better from your friends." He finishes uncorking the wine and pours a fresh pair of very full glasses.

Ina'thia finally looks at Ruthar directly, with the unmistakable intensity of the Blood Knight he's known for years and years. Emboldened by the wine, of course. "Stop it, Ruthar. Don't pity me and don't blame yourself. I didn't -want- to be found. Sometimes, we have to do things on our own. Get lost. Be shattered. Put back the pieces. When I was ready to be found, I came back. And you were the first to find me... and I'm forever grateful for that." 

Ruthar looks out across the sea once more. "It's not that I pity you, and I entirely agree - such a pilgrimage can be important for self-reflection and soul recrafting. It's more about what you said earlier, something that seems to be a common theme." He takes a quick sip as he conjures the direct quote. "Your vulnerability after the decommissioning. That's where I feel the most guilty. I should have been there in that aftermath - for you, for everyone." He shakes his head. "It may not have actually changed anything, but the guilt feels very real. I suppose I'm just trying to do my own soul-rebuilding.”

Ina'thia sips at her refilled glass of wine. She's quiet for a long while, listening to Ruthar as she thinks on his words. "...We all lost something precious that day. Some more than most. We both should have been there. For each other, for the others." 

“I ran away, thinking I wasn't wanted.”

Ruthar looks down into his glass and then far across the sea. "Wasn't wanted," he repeated quietly. "I suppose therein lies the issue then, hmm?" He sighs. "Nothing could be further from the truth, Ina'thia." He looks to her directly. "Nothing. I may not have been the best to show it, but you are wanted. You are cared about. You are loved." His eyes glisten slightly with the sun of Quel'Danas through the balcony. "And it really is so- damn- good to have you back."

Ina'thia watches Ruthar quietly. Her remaining eye seems to shimmer just a little bit, but the ever-stalwart Blood Knight is skilled at hiding all emotions other than her frustration, anger or exasperation. "The mind plays tricks on us, Ruthar, especially when under influence of something as terrible as an old god. I know in my heart of hearts that you're speaking the truth, and have only spoken truths. But the me of seven years ago still wouldn't have believed you. That's over, though... in the past." 

“I'm looking to the future.”

Ruthar nods, his fingers tapping against the wineglass. "And the only reason it is in the past is because you pushed onward. I truly hope you never forget that." He lifts his glass again with a gentle smile. "To the future, then."

Ina'thia reaches her glass over to touch it against Ruthar's, smirking a bit as they make a little 'clink!' noise. "What are -your- plans for the future?"

Ruthar chuckles. "I haven't given much thought to -my- future, to be perfectly honest. I can only assume that I will continue to serve the Kingdom in whatever capacity I am able." He takes a sip, seemingly more relaxed after releasing the weight from his chest. "I can, however, speak to the immediate future. There are some things in motion that are worth mentioning."

Ina'thia quirks a brow at Ruthar. "Things in motion? Go on..." 

Ruthar places his glass down, refilling it. He raises an inquisitive eyebrow to Ina'thia as he holds the bottle toward her glass.

Ina'thia finishes the rest of her wine, holding out her empty glass for another refill. A gentle dusting of red is starting to form over her cheeks. She would undoubtedly be sleeping in this office once again. "Seriously. What's going on?" 

Ruthar finishes filling the glasses and sets the wine bottle down. "Unexpectedly, quite a bit," he begins. "I had a meeting with Farstrider leadership in the Farstriders' Square not more than week ago at this point. As I began to depart to return to Valdrakken, I found myself face to face with Magister Everblaze. He had pressing information, it turns out."

Ina'thia does her best to not visibly flinch at the mention of Bey'ron. Now that she's three glasses of wine deep, it's harder to temper and hide her emotions. "Bey'ron -always- has pressing information, and it usually involves him climbing over someone else for-

Ina'thia - power." She rolls her eye, ever annoyed by the politics of Magisters.

Ruthar nods. "I would assume the same, naturally. But this was different." Ruthar sighs, looking down into the wine as his expression turns downward. "It seems that Li-Mei is a deserter in a very real sense."

Ina'thia 's other brow raises to match her inquisitive look, shifting it to genuine surprise. "...Truly? I never would have expected... she was always so loyal. Like a weird little hatchling, at times, but still loyal." 

Ruthar nods. "Truly. Admitted by her own mouth, as it turns out." He shakes his head. "Her tale is not dissimilar to your own, to be quite honest. After the decommissioning, it appears that she was a bit lost and became disenfranchised with leadership. She departed without a trace after the Fourth War. We thought her dead and updated her record accordingly, but that seems to have been in error. She reached out to Bey'ron for help returning to Quel'Thalas. He obliged, for a price."

Ina'thia furrows her brow, "Well... I had the sense to retire from active duty, at least. I was never marked AWOL." Still, she frowns. "What is Bey'ron having her do to earn her place back here?" 

Ruthar shrugs. "Something about 16 years of service or what have you. Honestly, I'm not even sure what entails." He takes another sip. "Regardless, Magistrix Starfrost is involved as well. It was really great to see her, despite the circumstances. She will be doing a magical investigation into Li-Mei's whereabouts. That particular data will help the Farstriders determine what her next moves are."

Ina'thia can't help but smile over her glass of wine, "Shit, Syrie's a full Magistrix now? I'm happy for her..." her thoughts then trail back to Li-Mei, and she sighs again. "Probably ironing his dresses and other mundane nonsense. Still, though... I hadn't thought of what would become of everyone else after the Guard was decommissioned. I'm saddened to hear that Li-Mei struggled so much."

Ruthar nods. "It weighs heavily," he admits, taking another sip. "I promoted her myself, even trained her a bit. She was...is quite talented. I don't know how this will shake out, but here we are."

Ina'thia sets her glass of wine down on the table, atop the turned over decommissioning notice. "Give her a proper hearing, let her serve consequences and earn her place back. Just as I have to earn mine. Part of picking up our shattered pieces is facing the consequences, isn't it?" 

Ruthar nods. "Indeed it is. Sadly, this one isn't up to me. Due to our professional history, I would need to recuse myself from any such proceedings. Nothing to do at this point but to wait, really."

“The silver lining here, however, is that I got the chance to reconnect with both Starfrosts.”

Ina'thia also can't help but cringe at the mention of the Starfrosts. "And both of those things are why we have wine, Ruthar. Lots and lots of wine." 

Ruthar smirks. "You know I have it in spades. But, do tell. From how he speaks of you, it seems like there is a story."

Ina'thia 's lip curls at the idea of telling that particular story. "It was stupid, embarrassing, and wildly inappropriate bullshit that happened after the Guard was decommissioned. Gattius was jealous and I was angry. I don't know if we'll ever be able to speak to each other civilly ever again." 

“It seems that you both harbor a similar sentiment, then,” Ruthar offers.

In’athia offers a sigh. “Yeah... I imagine we probably do. It's fucked up, Ruthar. -I- fucked up. And him being mad at me is a consequence. I've endured worse. I'll live.”

Ruthar looks at her for a moment, but doesn't press the subject. "Syrie, on the other hand, sends her best. I told them both that I was following a lead to find you, so she asked me to relay her regards should I be successful."

Ina'thia smiles warmly at that, but it's a small sort of smile. "Thanks for covering for me. I don't know if I could handle seeing her anytime soon, either. She's got a kid now, it's all weird. I'm bad at this, okay? Give me a sword and an entire legion of enemies to fight, and I'll be fine." 

Ruthar scoffs. "Perhaps you are bad at it, but at least you make an effort for better or worse, speaks to a strength I falter with." He takes a sip. "That said, one final piece of new information. After Syrie and Gattius departed last evening, I happened upon Raynell A'laria in the woods of all people."

“The cosmos work in mysterious ways, really.”

Ina'thia 's mouth actually hangs open at that, "A'laria? Truly? Holy shit... everyone's coming back. All at once. The cosmos is right. Next thing you know, we'll see Calthos and Hylaudius and the world will have truly ended." 

Ruthar laughs out loud at that. "Now that would be...something," he says tactfully. “I didn't get much time with A'laria, sadly, but yes - she is returned. I do look forward to speaking with her further. By the look of her, there is quite a story to be had.”

“If they were to truly appear,” Ina’thia replies, “I think I'd die on the spot. Die dead. Cease to exist. Now, A'laria... hers is a story I would like to hear.

Ruthar chuckles as he finishes another glass. "Indeed. Though, I suspect you will hear it before I do. She was sporting the Blood Knight colours, afterall."

Ina'thia actually smiles at that, "...Good. I'm glad she still wears them. Hopefully I'm reinstated soon and can speak with her more easily." 

Ruthar nods. "If I can be of any assistance with all that, do let me know. Speaking of," he says as he picks up the now-empty bottles. "Where are you staying?"

Ina'thia puzzles out Ruthar's question, to which the answer seemed quite obvious. "...Tonight? Here. I can't be fucked to travel anywhere else right now. Tomorrow, I'll be laying in the years of dust in my apartment in the city." 

Ruthar looks around the dusty office, noting the distinct lack of comfort. "To Argus with that, you're not staying here." He gathers the bottles and takes the glasses. "Come on, I'll put you up in the inn across the way. They've got some nice beds."

Ina'thia had already started leaning on the table like she was going to curl up and sleep there. She groans loudly, but ultimately follows Ruthar. "Fine, if you insist... I guess it'd be nice to not be stiff in the morning..." 

Ruthar gathers the bottles and glassware and throws them in his pack before assisting the inebriated Ina'thia out of the former Guard headquarters. Fortunately, none of the Shattered Sun pay them any mind, most likely due to the tabard Ruthar still sports as they move toward the inn. After a quick discussion with Inaara, a nice room overlooking the Isle’s scenery is prepared for Ina’thia for some well-deserved rest.

Ruthar departed once Ina’thia was settled, returning to the former Phoenix Guard headquarters, his head beginning to throb in the wine’s aftermath. He climbed the stairs once more, making his way to the top of the building to look upon the meeting room where so much happened. As he walked around, faces and images danced through his mind, memories, both fond and painful, swirling around his head as he recalled his many companions within the Guard.

He moved over to the broken office door, the latch cracked by Ina’thia’s gusto. With the security of the office compromised, Ruthar rummaged for a dusty box to collect the paperwork left behind. He overturned the decommissioning notice with a sigh, placing it in the box first as he stared down upon it. So much had changed with one simple parchment.

After the contents of the office were collected, he scribbled a note that he left with Innkeeper Inaara for when Ina’thia rose the next morning.

Ina’thia, With the lock and latch of your former office broken, I gathered the Guard documents and will place them in a secure location for the time being, most likely with the other high-level Farstrider records in Silvermoon. Do let me know if you need them. I do find it difficult to put in words how great it is to see you returned, so I’ll leave it there. Looking forward to more enjoyable evenings. Thank you for the opportunity to speak freely - it is an unfortunate rarity of late. Rest well, you know where to find me. Ruthar

Ruthar thanked Inaara once more for her efforts and informed her of the broken door - he didn’t want anyone thinking that the office was ransacked. He left a sum of gold with her to ensure that it was taken care of, as well as a few pieces for her troubles. With a nod of appreciation, the Ranger Captain departed Quel’Danas to return to Silvermoon.

@inathia

@thefugitivemango @syrielle @arosesrambles @raynellalaria for mentions

[hillerska-official]

I'm fully obsessed with how willing some people are to take things at face value. I did some reading to find out the best star trek TOS novels and on so many of them (interestingly enough it's usually for the ones written by women, but I digress), people leave bad reviews specifically with the same complaint, time and again. "Spock is too emotional in this. Spock is purely logical you can't write him with emotions like this." And every time i read that complaint i am fully fucking flummoxed, because of COURSE Spock is emotional, what the hell are these people talking about. Spock is shown over and over again in the show to be a deeply emotional person. This is something he vehemently denies, granted, but it is obviously intended to be clear to the viewer that he is LYING when he denies having emotions. Jim and Bones have very specific Looks reserved for when he tells this lie.

There is a very specific reason Spock tells that particular lie, of course. A pretty emotion-based one at that. Spock has a very complicated relationship with his parents and with his human versus his Vulcan culture. Growing up on Vulcan of course Spock wanted to be less human, and be more like his peers. But the fact is that even Vulcans are not naturally emotionless/logical, and they actually have very specific historical reasons for so deeply valuing logic over emotion. So it is absolutely baffling to me to see people just take what Spock tells us about himself entirely as truth. Spock is a bitch and a liar (affectionate) and he is so deeply human in so many ways. That's why people enjoy his character in the first place, imo.

[kurithedweeb]

The Phoenix Drop Guard boys!

Garroth: knows way too much about poisoning and faking your death and a concerning number of ways to sacrifice your own life instead of let the enemy keep you captive

Laurance: knows a frankly concerning amount about the pirate life for the previous head guard and possible heir to Lordship of a village and a few too many information-gathering methods

Dante: would literally rather die than betray someone's trust but keeps a whole lot of secrets for someone so loyal and also becomes a hardcore survivalist the minute he steps out into the wild as though always expecting to need to live on the run

Dale: dude loves his wife and kids and wants to be an accountant to spend more time with them

Brian: asks a weird number of questions about things he never did before he came back from the academy and turned out to be an actual double agent for one of his village's greatest enemies

[nocternalrandomness]

Alert Birds from the ANG 197th FS sit ready on the ramp at Phoenix Sky Harbor Airport - 1956

[jinxedshapeshifter]

IM FUCKING CRYING

[causeimanartist]

ACEN Day 1

[spider-doctor2]

Warhammer fancast using biopic actors (Part 1: The Imperium)

This is your daily reminder to get out there and vote on Election Day if you live in America so WE don’t have to deal with Warhammer-type shit ourselves

[swan2swan]

"Ozai is just a shallow villain."

I see this argument far too often, so let me put this one in the ground once and for all and explain why Ozai is one of the Greatest Big Bads of All Time...and I'm going to do it with just one shot.

First, before anything else: appreciate the animation here. Not sure who the animator was, but I believe JM studios worked on this, so shout-out to that company and its fine animators!

But now...analysis!

In this moment, right here, Ozai literally burns away any genuine arguments that he is anything less than Him. Yes, just a few hours ago, he was blustering about how he is now "The Phoenix King". Yes, a month or so ago, he held a meeting just to proclaim to all of his advisors and children how he would become the Supreme Ruler of All the World. Yes, he's an egotistical, genocidal lunatic with one of the biggest god complexes ever put to screen.

But then...he sees Aang. The Avatar attacks his airship, knocking it out of the sky. And that's when Ozai snaps out of his power fantasy and becomes the Final Boss.

He doesn't hesitate for a second. The trappings he'd dreamed of wearing for so long, the fine clothes he adorned himself with for the occasion today...he pulls them from his body. The ornate cloak of the Phoenix King, the freshly made symbol of his power...he burns it. He discarded his crown, and already shed his (ridiculous) helmet when he realized that it would hinder him on his mission--so now he's just a man.

In an instant, Phoenix King Ozai has shed himself not only of his cumbersome garments, but of any pretense that he needs anything but himself to show his power.

And that is only the first part!

He does not look around for help. He does not order his crew to follow him from the ship; there is no cry of "Seize him!" He does not turn to minions, or secondary schemes, or even seize a weapon (there is none more potent than him right now). He calls fire from his own hands, and leaps down to enter the battle himself.

He does not curse the ruination of his scheme. He does not tell anyone to bear witness. In this moment, Ozai has one purpose, and that is to kill the one person in the world who can challenge him, the legend that the Fire Nation has feared since the days of Firelord Sozin: the Last Airbender.

All it took was for Ozai to see this challenger, and he descended onto the field of battle himself. He had no interest in backup, no need for witnesses to his glory: he had one task in mind, and he was going to do it.

[themefromtwinpeaks]

i think something miles edgeworth doesn’t get enough credit for is how often he probably has to talk phoenix out of starting a podcast

[ronaestrider]

An Unexpected Update

Ruthar departs the interior of the Rangers' Lodge along with a series of other Farstrider leaders. They all look somewhat worn after what must have been a lengthy meeting of the minds. His bow and helmet are racked inside the lodge.

Bey'ron leans up against the doorway. "It always smells so... -rugged- in here, don't you think? I've always appreciated how Farstriders aren't afraid to get their hands dirty." he smirks, eyes meeting Ruthar's.

Ruthar halts in his departure, shifting to the side nearer Bey'ron. "Magister Everblaze," he begins, bowing his head in a small greeting. He turns a slight smirk. "Rugged is a...pleasant way to put it." He gestures behind him. "Please, come in - it has certainly been some time."

[Bey'ron]: Too long, I'd submit.

Bey'ron takes Ruthar up on the offer, and steps past him to get into the Lodge proper. He pulls back his hood as he looks around, admiring the trophies and displays.

Ruthar folds his hands behind his back, his gaze following the Magister's. He stands to his left but behind him slightly. "Too long, indeed. I hope the aftermath of the Incarnate dealings has been agreeable to you and your own."

[Bey'ron]: Mm, it resolved rather satisfactorily, I should think.

[Ruthar]: It's good to be back in Silvermoon, in any case. Even if temporarily.

Bey'ron sets his staff aside-- it hovers upright and in place. He turns to Ruthar, and smiles. "It always is, isn't it? The city itself defines the word 'home' for me. I could never imagine leaving it for too long."

[Bey'ron]: Though, I suppose you'd have to depart, if only for a short time, to truly appreciate the feeling of returning. That sense of peace, hmm? Of belonging.

Bey'ron shakes his head. "I suppose, in that way, I envy Miss Li-Mei."

Ruthar nods in agreement. "Fortunately, the return to home is usually trivial, thanks to the expert work of the Magistry." He holds a finger aloft to garner the attention of a newer recruit. "Can I get you a beverege, Magis..." Ruthar let's that hang in the air as Bey'ron offers Rosi's name.

[Bey'ron]: Oh, nothing for me, thank you.

Beyron grins at you wickedly.

Ruthar puts his finger down and the confused looking recruit scurries away. Ruthar reaches into his hauberk to produce a handwritten note. He unfolds it and passes it over to Bey'ron. "I have to say, I'm surprised to hear that name. Doubly so after receiving this. I had my doubts about who it was from, but I doubt this is mere happenstance."

Bey'ron accepts the note, and looks it over. "--Tch... seems someone spoiled the surprise." he frowns lightly.

[Bey'ron]: Just as well. My first instinct was to come to you about it, of course. If anyone would want to know about a Farstrider deserter returning to the High Kingdom, I knew it'd be you.

Bey'ron hands the missive back. "Given your mutual history, of course."

Ruthar takes that in for a moment, accepting the missive and returning it beneath his tabard. He smooths the fabric before replying.

[Ruthar]: I had assumed she had fallen in combat after reading the report of her absence, a rather unfortunate loss - such a promising Farstrider, it was a pleasure to promote her to the rank myself.

Ruthar sighs, glancing over toward nothing in particular. "Deserter? Now...that is something else."

Bey'ron raises his brow. "Oh? You didn't know... well, I suppose assuming she'd died valiantly in defense of the High Kingdom would weigh better than her turning her back on it." he sighs.

Ruthar 's demeanor darkens somewhat. "Indeed," he replies slowly. "I assume you have the pertinent details, then?"

[Bey'ron]: But of course. And I'm happy to share them with you, Captain. That's why I'm here.

Bey'ron waves a hand. "Now, you'll have to forgive me for not delivering her here in person. Frankly... I'm not entirely sure what you'd want done with her. So let me tell you what's happened, and give a recommendation, hmm?"

[Bey'ron]: To my surprise, I encountered her on the Dragon Isles. Hiding away from here. I came to learn she'd left Quel'Thalas sometime during the Fourth War. Something about serving the Dark Lady, albeit indirectly, must not have sat all too well with her.

Ruthar nods, gesturing over toward a desk, his mind moving just barely too quickly to notice the mistake in his title. "Before we continue, and if you'll allow, I'd like to take a record of the account to update our files." He slides a quill into his fingers as he looks expectantly to Bey'ron.

[Bey'ron]: --Ah, of course. By all means, Captain.

Ruthar quickly slides a blank piece of parchment over and begins to scribble on it. "Ranger Captain," he says more firmly than he intended. He writes quickly but pauses to add a question. "Where, exactly, in the Dragon Isles did you locate her initially?"

Bey'ron clasps his hands behind his back. "Well, my sources located her out and about. But I approached her in person for the first time just outside Valdrakken."

[Ruthar]: We have a Farstrider encampment outside of the city, as I'm sure you are aware. That explains the note easily enough.

[Bey'ron]: Cautious little thing. I'm surprised she didn't flee immediately. But alas, we shared a brief dialogue, and I was able to glean that she left in a disagreement with Horde leadership.

Ruthar continues to write, pausing again. "If it were a matter as trivial as that, I would think there would be record of it somewhere."

[Bey'ron]: I have no such record, I'm afraid. To be frank... I hadn't given her much thought, until I heard she'd been seen around the Dragon Isles.

Bey'ron shakes his head. "Nonetheless, I'm a firm believer in second chances. So I offered her a chance to put her expertise to good use. And if you can find nothing else to be proud of in this tale, take pride in the fact that she certainly delivered."

[Bey'ron]: That's when she approached me about coming back to Quel'Thalas. She sent me a missive, and asked to meet.

Ruthar nods, writing the offered details after dipping the quill in an inkwell. "She sent you a missive after you met face-to-face and assigned her an assignment?"

[Bey'ron]: Mm, that's correct.

Ruthar scratches out a few words and amends the document. "I have to say, Magister, that I am surprised that your first reaction was not to inform the Farstriders before sending her on an errand. I assume it was something of great importance to Quel'Thalas's actions in the Isles?"

Bey'ron shrugs. "I'm sure it's not quite what you would have done, but I saw an opportunity to set her back on the right path. And she took it. If she hadn't, I would have brought this exchange to light much sooner."

[Bey'ron]: I'm afraid I can't go into details about the assignment. But I can tell you that her choosing to accept and complete it most assuredly met with Quel'Thalas' best interests.

Ruthar nods, accepting the reasoning. "Testing the heart of a deserter is an acceptable play, though I'm sure the Farstriders would have preferred performing such a test themselves." He writes a few more words. "I appreciate your diligence, personally." He finishes a few lines. "I have it noted that she performed duties for the Magistry under the direction of yourself. I assume that will suffice."

[Bey'ron]: It very well should.

[Bey'ron]: In any case, that's when she reached out via the aforementioned missive, and asked to meet. We discussed what exactly it would take for her to return to Quel'Thalas under honorable conditions.

Ruthar jots that down and looks to Bey'ron. "Respectfully, that may be for the Farstrider leadership to decide, should more details come out once she is spoken to. However, I would like to hear the details of that conversation for the record."

Bey'ron smirks, and shakes his head. "Before all that, we've reached the point of this conversation where I'd like to hear -your- thoughts, Ranger Captain."

[Bey'ron]: For all intents and purposes, you -are- the Farstrider leadership. Were she in your custody now... what would your decision be regarding her fate?

Beyron peers at you searchingly.

Ruthar places down the quill next to the unfinished report. "Protocol demands more information first and foremost. I would need further information on her actions and whereabouts in the time since her departure. It would be of critical importance to ensure that any information that she was privy to was not improperly released. I would have suggested she be detained during that investigative period. Considering her departure was during the conflict of the Fourth War, there could be serious ramifications if she had offered information to the Alliance during that time of conflict."

Bey'ron nods firmly. "A sensible response. Protocol in full consideration of the security of Quel'Thalas. I'd expect nothing less from a Ranger Captain."

[Bey'ron]: But... now that you've recited the Farstrider Handbook for me, let's set that aside. Off the record...

Bey'ron steps forward, lowering his voice. "How would -you- like to see this resolved? You, Ruthar. Not Farstrider Captain Ronaestrider."

[Bey'ron]: I'm not certain how close you two were, but if her -crippling- fear of what you might think of all this is any indication, you two were close, hmm?

Bey'ron shakes his head. "Not suggesting anything untoward, mind you. A mentor-mentee relationship, at the very least."

Ruthar purses his lips, standing straighter. "If she finds herself mired in -crippling- fear over my reaction to this, then I fear that she has done something that would be very difficult for a Farstrider, potentially former in this case, to recover from. Regrettably, both my personal reaction as well as my official rests upon the truth of her absence."

[Bey'ron]: Mm. Insightful. Cautious. Admirable traits, indeed.

[Bey'ron]: You'd see justice done, whatever form it takes, hmm? Regardless of the ramifications it may have for you, personally. Commendable, most assuredly.

Bey'ron unclasps his hands and brings his arms in front of him, idly straightening his sleeves and adjusting his cuffs.

Ruthar nods, his expression stoic. "I would. It would not be the first time that duty had taken precendence over my personal relationships."

[Bey'ron]: I'm certain anyone with sense would see this was well beyond your control. I mean, yes-- you had a part in her training, vetting, and promotion. But all that can only reflect so poorly on you.

Bey'ron sighs. "Or the Phoenix Guard. Sun willing, her indiscretions won't soil the organization's good name. True heritage we all share, that."

Ruthar doesn't visibly react to that. "Indeed. Nor will this have been the first time a ranger's actions have potentially marred the image of myself or my associates. You and I can both attest that times of war can drive certain individuals to drastic action."

[Bey'ron]: That we can. We can only hope such context factors in to whatever external jurisidiction determines Farstrider Li-Mei's fate.

Ruthar nods, reaching for the quill once more. "Agreed. Now, to your subsequent conversation with Li-Mei. Did you offer her a pathway forward for her desire to return home?"

Bey'ron exhales sharply. "--Ah. Well, that all seems rather irrelevant now, doesn't it? It's no more up to me than it is up to you what pathway to redemption lies before Li-Mei, is it? We'd have to handle that internally-- and discreetly-- for that."

[Bey'ron]: A curious alternative, to be sure.

Bey'ron plucks some imaginary debris from his robe. "Certainly an attractive option, I'd have to admit..."

Ruthar considers that for a moment, the quill still in-hand. "I suppose. Though, I have made note of your conversation with her here already." He glances around the Lodge to anyone nearby. "It would be preferred to wrap that up in some manner to formally close this particular parchment," he offers slightly quieter.

Bey'ron grins, and nods. "Of course, as you say. I told her that, were it up to me, she'd need to show in a tangible and unmistakable way that she is loyal to the High Kingdom, and felt deep remorse for any past falterings of that loyalty."

[Bey'ron]: After that, she departed. To where, I cannot say.

Ruthar nods, appreciating the Magister's understanding. He adds the final words and some filligree to the end of the document before signing it. He offers the quill to Bey'ron and slides the parchment over. "If you would review and sign, please - I will see this is processed formally." He lowers his voice slightly. "After which time I'd be happy to discuss further off-the-record."

[Bey'ron]: Certainly.

Bey'ron accepts the parchment, and sets it flat on the table. His eyes scan over the words, carefully-- quill in hand, at the ready. "I trust this will be filed away properly? I know it can be frustrating when such affidavits go missing at the Spire..."

Bey'ron nods once, and signs the parchment.

Ruthar nods, "You have my word, Magister Everblaze. Paperwork has, for better or worse, become one of my strong suits." He allows the ink to dry a moment before folding the parchment and sealing it with a red wax seal. "I appreciate you bringing this here personally. I realize how simple it would have been to send a note or a delegate - your offer of time and information is certainly noted and deeply appreciated."

[Bey'ron]: Ah, but of course! I'll admit I have a bit of a soft spot for the Phoenix Guard and its alumni. This issue, most certainly called for a personal involvement, I think.

Bey'ron clasps his hands behind his back. "Do keep me informed as to how this all plays out, hmm? I'd love to stay and discuss it further, but I'm needed back in the Spire. No rest for the wicked, you know." he smirks.

Ruthar lifts the sealed document from the table and nods. "Indeed I shall. I will get this submitted to have Li-Mei's record updated accordingly. Perhaps we can arrange an appointment in a few days time to...continue the discussion? Perhaps somewhere

Ruthar more...comfortable." He chooses his words carefully.

[Bey'ron]: That sounds most agreeable, Ranger Captain. We'll see it done.

Ruthar bows his head respectfully. "Thank you again for your time, Magister Everblaze. It is good to see you again. Sunwell guide."

[Bey'ron]: Mm, and you. Always a pleasure.

Bey'ron turns, and takes his staff up from where he left it lingering. "By the by... have you stopped in to visit Lady and Doctor Starfrost recently? On the subject of old alumni, of course."

[Bey'ron]: If you haven't, perhaps you should pay them a visit. Always a treat, visiting old friends. Who knows? You might even bump into some you didn't expect to see...

Ruthar shakes his head. "Sadly, my attention has been focused whole-heartedly on our efforts in Valdrakken. I should make a point to rectify that now that things are subsiding on the Isles. I was always very fond of Lady Starfrost." He considers the addendum, searching for the right words. "I look forward to it greatly," he adds, his mind considering a few possibilities.

[Ruthar]: Do send my very best if the opportunity presents itself.

[Bey'ron]: Likewise, should you encounter them before my next opportunity.

Bey'ron nods once, then pulls his hood up again. "Shorel'aran, Ranger Captain."

Ruthar nods, "You have my word. Al diel shala, Magister Everblaze."

[mcdbutichangedit]

Villagers that were in Phoenix Drop since the beginning:

Garroth, Zenix, Dale, and Theodora (my OC. sorry not sorry, this is being written for my childhood self) have been with Phoenix Drop since before Aphmau arrived, all of them being guards ofc. I assume Dale would be the oldest guard out of all of them, then Garroth, then Zenix, and then lastly Theo. There are a few other guards but they're irrelevant.

Molly is already married to Dale already. I imagine she does something that could be summed up to "working from home" and but idk what. Maybe she makes stuff? Seeing as time will work... Like how time typically works irl, Brian is currently in guard school or wherever he went. He'll come back when relevant.

Corey is the head miner, he typically has to work far away from home because, before Aphmau, the village had no mine. The nearest one was miles away. Emma is a farmer or something, I haven't decided. Aphmau will likely introduce her to Corey or they'll already be married. Idk. I honestly forgot about her until my rewatch (I'm on ep 47. THERES SM LEFT OH MY IRENE).

Emmalyn is, of course, told to shelter Aphmau since she has nowhere else to go. I'm trying so hard to make this girl hate Aph via terrible miscommunication. To Aph, Emmalyn has no reason to stay in Phoenix Drop. She hates the village really. But she stays because where else is she gonna go that lets her have all these books and run a library? She would never admit it but Phoenix Drop is her home. She's the first one to notice signs of Aph's Irene powers but she always overlooked it as "dumb girl doing dumb things."

Also, Aph learns about what a village needs with a book from Emmalyn's library.

Brendan is still a farmer. As an attempt to encourage trade between Phoenix Drop and other villages, Garroth asked Brendan to build a dock, which he is working on when Aph gets to the village. He tells Aph about how bad the farms are, prompting her to build a farm based on what a book about farms said. After the docks explode, he works with Aph to make a new one. When he gets shot, his little sister (according to the aphmau wiki, it's unclear which one is younger vs older) Kiki comes to visit.

The basement lesbians, Sylvia and Kimberly (i remembered them more than Corey and Emma), are just nice women hanging around the village. I'll try to remember them more than the og. I imagine they own a bakery together.

I believe that's everyone who was in Phoenix Drop pre-mcd! I feel like I'm missing some people but I literally don't remember any other relevant character that don't get to the village until a little after Aphmau's arrival

[sergeantsporks]

Trick or Treat!

WELL this is later than I said it would be, but better late than never!

Overgrown Memories

Rating: Teen, Gen

Terra erased memories, memories Phoenix wants back.

Or, at least, he thought he did.

“Here.” Jason handed Evelyn a walkie-talkie. “From Luz. It’ll make staying in touch easier. Just push this button here…” he tapped the speaking button, and the walkie-talkie screeched. “Ah! Well, wait for us to be further away. I promise they work.”

“I believe you.” Evelyn turned to Phoenix. “Are you sure about this?”

He nodded. “I know Belos had my memories of Petro erased. I want to—I need to know if he took anything else from me. I want to trust my own memories again.”

“Even though it means Cherry and Jason will see everything?”

Phoenix’s eyes fixed on the two of them, and the level-headed certainty behind them made Jason shiver. “There’s no one I’d trust more.”

A warm glow sparked in Jason’s chest. Phoenix had come such a long way. He just hoped that he and Cherry could help. Sure, Cherry had been in a mindscape before, and Jason had gotten second-hand information about Terra’s memory-wiping brew from his friends, but they still had no idea how the tea worked inside of the mindscape. Raine had tried to help, but since they’d only really taken about a dose before figuring out Terra’s game, they didn’t have much more information.

Evelyn drew a golden spell circle, and Phoenix dropped backwards into bed like a bag of rocks, his face oddly peaceful. Evelyn’s attention turned to Cherry and Jason. “And are you two sure about this? We don’t know what you might find in there. Seeing someone’s innermost memories and thoughts can be… I don’t want…”

A grim smile twitched across Cherry’s face. “Believe me. I am the last person to judge what someone’s done in their past.”

“Nothing could make me think less of Phoenix,” Jason declared, “Whatever we see in there—it won’t change anything.” That, he was certain of. Everyone had a history they didn’t like talking about when it came to their time as the golden guard. Jason could count the number of things he knew about Cherry’s past on one hand. But at the end of the day, it always came back to Belos. And how could Jason hold that against anyone?

Evelyn took a deep breath. “Alright. Remember to keep an eye out for the Inner Phoenix—this is something Phoenix wants, so his inner self is likely to be helpful. Let me know when you’re done.”

Jason held Cherry’s hand tight while the room around them collapsed into golden magic. When the floating lights cleared, they stood in a swamp. Sunlight filtered through mangrove tree branches, making the dark water sparkle, and Jason could swear that something in the trees was breathing.

“Huh.” Cherry tilted his head. “This isn’t like Petro’s mindscape. There’s a lot more li—

A dark blur shot past Jason, slamming into Cherry and sending him flying backwards in a spray of muddy water.

“Cherry!”

Jason whirled around. Some… thing stood atop Cherry’s chest, growling. Jason’s eyes seemed to slide off it every time he tried to look, but he managed to catch several glowing blue eyes, and his heart stuttered in his chest.

Is that…?

“Down. Down!”

Phoenix ran past Jason, wrapping his arms around the thing and dragging it away from Cherry.

“No—it’s okay, it’s okay. They’re here to help. Shshshshshhhhhhh…”

Jason ran to help Cherry up, shaking the lingering panic away. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Cherry said breathlessly, “Just—took me by surprise.”

Jason turned to face the Inner Phoenix. He seemed almost… unreal, glowing in a way that made him look less substantial, despite how solidly he’d hauled Cherry’s attacker away. The creature crouched—at least, Jason thought it was crouching—behind him, snarling softly. “Is that…?”

“The curse,” Inner Phoenix confirmed, “Ever since the whole… well, it’s a little defensive about other people showing up in my mind. We’ve got an understanding, though.” Inner Phoenix gave the curse a soothing pat. “It’ll leave you alone as long as you’re with me. I think.”

“So—you know why we’re here?” Cherry asked, “Can you help us?”

“Yes, and yes. I know exactly which memory is the problem. Follow me.”

Inner Phoenix and the Curse took off. Inner Phoenix’s feet sat atop the water of the swamp, while the curse seemed to delight in sinking down, bounding through the liquid in pounces. Jason took the walk a little slower. Photograph memories sat nestled in the tangled roots of mangrove trees, protected by the thick wood like a cage.

“Oh!” Jason grabbed Cherry’s arm, pointing at a picture of a stocked dining room, and a heavily-bandaged Phoenix lurking uncomfortably in the background of his own memory. “Look—it’s when he met us.”

Inner Phoenix smiled fondly. “We were so awkward.”

The curse nudged the memory, all of its eyes swiveling to look back and forth between the memory and Jason, then Cherry. A ripple spread across the water, accompanied by a low rumble, and the curse nudged Jason’s hand like a griffin seeking pats.

“I told you they were friends,” Inner Phoenix said, amusement playing across his face, “Don’t slow down. We need to go further in.

As they walked, the trees grew thicker, their branches spreading shadows over the pictures they housed. Jason caught a glimpse of gold armor, and he understood immediately why the pictures were hidden. He stared studiously at the water swirling around his ankles. Phoenix trusted him to be here—he wouldn’t break that trust by breaking into the memories Terra hadn’t squirreled away. No matter how curious he was.

The curse seemed at odds with itself here, slipping through the memories with ease, yet at the same time, avoiding touching any of them. Jason remembered what Phoenix had told him about the curse before—how it was a little bit of destroyed palisman, a little bit of Belos, and a little bit of Phoenix, all rolled up and mixed into something new. Jason wondered if being in these memories—one of them that he quickly looked away from involved green palisman blood—affected the curse.

“It can’t be easy for it, seeing the person it came from,” Jason whispered to Cherry, nodding to the curse, “I mean, it remembers things from Belos, but it also remembers being Phoenix, and the palisman. If what Phoenix says is true, it’s scared of something that’s also a part of it. Poor little guy.”

A smile crossed Cherry’s face. “Leave it to you to empathize with a curse,” he teased gently. Jason stuck his tongue out.

“We’re here,” Inner Phoenix announced. Flowers and vines curled around the roots of this tree, nearly blocking the photograph completely. Jason caught a glimpse of a throne, white and gold shining through. Inner Phoenix’s hands clenched.

“I know this isn’t right,” he murmured, “I know it isn’t true. I saw the real thing myself, and I remember seeing the real thing happen. But this is… still here. It’s like trying to put a square peg in a hole that can’t decide which shape it wants to be.”

Cherry put a hand on Inner Phoenix’s shoulder. “We’re going to fix it,” he promised, “Jason? Let’s see what we’re working with.”

The surface of the photograph rippled like water when Cherry climbed in, and Jason found himself holding his breath as he passed through. He found Cherry on the other side looking at the frame they’d come through.

“That’s different than Petro’s,” he remarked calmly, “Good to know that we can get back out on our own without waiting for the memory to end.”

Jason’s breath caught in his throat. “Oh—there he is!”

Jason was used to Phoenix towering over him. He hadn’t expected a smaller, skinnier version, scrapes, bruises, and dirt smudging his skin. The kid in front of him was unscarred, but had a similar perpetually-worried on his face. Jason reached out, wishing he could take pre-teen Phoenix by the hand and tell him everything would be alright. But his hand fell through his shoulder, and the little Phoenix scrambled over a fence like he wasn’t there.

“Petro’s waiting in that alley,” Cherry murmured, “He tries to kill Phoenix.”

Jason jumped over the fence, watching out for any sign of the rogue grimwalker, even knowing there was nothing he could do to stop him. But all he saw was Phoenix, climbing on top of garbage cans and reaching for the nearest roof. Jason smelled a sweet scent, something familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it. Little Phoenix scrambled up on top of the garbage cans, reaching for a ball, reaching and falling. He landed on his arm with a sickening crack.

Rose petals. The smell is rose petals, Jason realized, and the memory blurred. Little Phoenix sat in a healing clinic, his arm in a sling. Coven scouts flanked the door, and moments later, Belos walked in. Even knowing he was nothing but a memory, Jason’s gut clenched at the sight of him. Belos called Phoenix special, told him that he’d been looking for him for such a long time, and Jason wanted to scream, wanted to tell Phoenix to run, to do anything but smile in a happy, confused way, and accept Belos’ offer to join the emperor’s coven. Cherry’s hand found his.

The memory blurred over again, the smell of rose petals so thick it clogged Jason’s nose. Phoenix knelt at Belos’ feet, telling him in a sad, but not terrified way how he’d failed to capture a group of wild witches. He apologized, but before he could explain any further, Belos lashed out, and Phoenix reeled backwards, clutching his eye. Cherry’s hand squeezed Jason’s, and Jason looked up to see a roiling mix of pain and anger glinting in Cherry’s good eye. Jason leaned against him. He’d always heard how Belos had treated the others, how he’d lashed out for mistakes, but it was another thing entirely to see it play out in front of him.

“This isn’t right,” Cherry said in a clipped voice, “The memories in Petro’s mind didn’t fade in and out like this.”

Jason tapped his nose. “The rose scent.” The words rolled out easily. Anything to avoid talking about what they’d just seen. “Didn’t Terra used to call Phoenix ‘Rosebud?’”

“They’re definitely connected,” Cherry agreed, “Let’s go back. See what we can figure out.”

Inner Phoenix was already pacing back and forth when they exited, the curse on his heels. “It’s not real,” he growled to himself, “It didn’t happen, it’s fine if they see—oh! Did you find anything useful?”

“Not much we didn’t already know.” Cherry studied the tree. “Have these flowers always been here?”

Inner Phoenix’s eyes flicked to the side. “Hard to say. Why?”

“Well—” Jason knelt to examine the flowers. “Isn’t it odd that they’re only on this memory, and not on most of the others? They definitely didn’t grow on the recent memories, from after Phoenix died.” He wrapped a hand around one of the flowers. “Surely it can’t be this easy,” he murmured, and ripped it out by the roots. The other flowers seemed to shudder and shrink away from Jason’s hand as he reached for them.

So I’m right, he thought grimly, and pulled away more and more of the growth. Cherry fell in beside him, tearing up flowers. Bit by bit, the roots of the tree reappeared.

“Make sure you get them by the roots,” Jason advised. Cherry didn’t have the same experience he did. He knew from hours spent with Mole in the garden that ripping away the petals, stems, and leaves wouldn’t be enough. The flowers needed to be gone, or they’d just sprout again the moment Cherry and Jason left.

Jason pointed at the growing pile of flowers. “Is there a way to get rid of them completely? There’s a risk they’ll re-root themselves if we just leave them here.”

Inner Phoenix picked a flower up, shrugged, and tossed it at the curse. The flower sank into its mass, dissolving as it went. Jason blinked, unease tugging at the back of his mind. “Is that… safe?” he asked.

“It eats magic. It’ll be fine. Might even keep it satisfied for a bit, which is good for all of us.”

Cherry tore out the last of the flowers. A long root tugged out of the ground, unwinding itself from the tree. As Cherry pulled, the photo in the tree changed—instead of a throne room, an alleyway appeared. Belos was replaced with an angry Petro.

Cherry tossed the flower to the side. “I’ll check to make sure the whole memory is correct.” He held one palm out to stop Jason. “Stay out here? I know you can handle yourself, but it’s… it’s a rough memory. No reason to make you see it if you don’t have to.”

Jason nodded and watched Cherry disappear into the memory. Annoyance tugged the corners of his lips into a frown. He didn’t need to be babied. But at the same time… Cherry had seen this memory before. It would be the least intrusive to Phoenix if Cherry was the only one to see it again now. Jason perched on a tree root to wait, taking turns with Inner Phoenix tossing flowers to the curse.

“It didn’t use to be like this.” Inner Phoenix gestured at the swamp. “Used to be pine trees and dry ground.”

“What happened?” Jason could guess, but he got the feeling it was a story Inner Phoenix wanted to tell.

“Curse showed up. Everything started getting muddier. When we started taking the elixir…” Inner Phoenix nodded to the water. “What do you think that is?”

Jason scooped up the water in his hands, examining it. When he held the liquid to the light, it shimmered with a golden sheen. “Oh. And the trees?”

“They adapted. Or they’d have been lost.” Inner Phoenix hissed out. “A lot of damage could have been done. It almost was done—our memories started to get overwritten by Belos’.”

“That’s how Phoenix and Mom found Ghost,” Jason remembered.

“Yeah. But it could have been worse. What happened when we went berserk and mauled those coven scouts? That could have been all the time.”

Jason shuddered. Phoenix had learned to live with the curse—he’d even learned how to use it sometimes, although the effort always wore him out. He didn’t like thinking about how badly it could have gone. How badly it could still go if Phoenix slipped up.

Cherry clambered back out of the frame just as Inner Phoenix tossed the last flower at the curse. “Seems to be alright. Have you seen any other memories covered in flowers like this one?”

Inner Phoenix glanced over his shoulder. “Not covered. I’ve seen a few flowers sprouting in places, though—you should check those memories out before you leave. This way.”

He drifted further in, and Cherry followed. Jason hopped off the roots, but before he could splash his way after them, he felt something cold and slimy nudge his hand. He recoiled on instinct, then immediately felt guilty as all of the curse’s eyes drooped.

“Sorry.”

It nudged him again, then backed away, heading the opposite direction as Cherry and Inner Phoenix. After a few feet, it stopped, looking at him expectantly. Trotted up and nudged his hand again. Glided back, watching him with its glowing blue eyes.

Jason glanced after Cherry and Inner Phoenix, a call humming in his throat, but something in the curse’s eyes told him it wanted to keep this secret. He climbed back onto the Petro memory’s roots, hopping quietly from one tree to the next to avoid splashing in the water and alerting Inner Phoenix that he’d gone the opposite way. Cherry would notice he was missing before long, but hopefully Jason could resolve this before he caught up. Or at least convince the curse that Cherry would help.

The curse flitted through the trees, and like a silent shadow, Jason followed. More and more memories showed gold and white—they were headed back into Phoenix’s time as the golden guard. For a brief moment, Jason wondered if following a volatile curse further into a hostile area on his own was really the best decision, but before he could think too hard about it, the curse halted in front of a memory so overgrown with flowers, Jason almost wasn’t sure he’d be able to get through the frame. How had Inner Phoenix missed this one? Or—no. That wasn’t the right question. Why had the curse felt the need to show Jason the memory without Inner Phoenix there?

“I need to go in to see what the corrupted version is,” Jason whispered. He was almost certain that Inner Phoenix and Cherry were mind-miles away, but still. The patches of sunlight here were few and far between, and goosebumps coated his arms. “Is that okay?”

The curse slithered to circle the tree’s trunk, its many eyes watching the swamp in all possible directions. Jason took that as permission, and stepped through the frame.

Phoenix swept through the hallways of a building Jason had never lived to see, but knew from keeping an eye on Hunter. The keep. Phoenix walked stiffly, professionally, and his mask hid any expression, but Jason watched him tug out a lock of hair, twist the strands between his fingers, tuck the hair back, and repeat three or four times, a nervous tic Jason knew well. He finally pushed open a massive set of doors. Jason followed inside, wishing once again that Phoenix knew he was there, but knowing the memory had to play out as it had happened. Or—rather—as it had been corrupted to appear.

Phoenix knelt. He’d grown since the last memory—this was the full-sized, hulking Phoenix that Jason had come to know. But in this throne room with its high-arching walls, at the foot of a dais housing a cold stone throne, he seemed just as small as he had back in the alleyway. The doors swung shut behind him.

Belos leaned forward on his throne. “Good news?”

Phoenix removed his mask, but didn’t speak for a long moment. “Sir,” he started tentatively.

“Ah. Less good news, I see.” Belos sighed, seeming almost more… boredly disappointed than angry. Nothing like he’d been in the corrupted memory before. “Let’s have it.”

“The escaped prisoners, they… they got into the lower levels of the Conformatorium. We tracked them down, but they’d released the prisoners down there as well.” Phoenix’s voice turned brisk, businesslike, stating facts quickly and efficiently. “Most of the squadron was decimated the moment they tried to cast a spell, and the magic of my staff was destroyed as well. I managed to physically restrain one of the original escapees, but the rest were able to flee unhindered.” Phoenix took a deep breath. “Sir, if I may… why are we keeping basilisks alive?”

“You may not. Still.” Something like cruel amusement laced Belos’ voice. “I’m surprised you know what they are.”

A sour taste filled Jason’s mouth at the dismissive words, and the tips of Phoenix’s ears turned pink. “With all due respect, Uncle, they’re dangerous creatures. Even only the three we had detained could wreck havoc on the population—”

“Which is why you should not have failed to apprehend them, hm?”

“S-sir. Yes. I’m simply thinking. Perhaps—instead of recapturing them, lethal force may—”

“No.” Belos stood. “You will bring them alive.”

“Understood. Another concern—where did they come from? I thought basilisks were extinct.”

“You are an unexpected bastion of knowledge today, aren’t you? It’s nothing you need worry about.”

“But if there’s a surviving nest somewhere, then—"

Belos turned away. “It doesn’t concern you, Hunter.”

“Or, if not a nest, then someone’s managed to bring… them… ba…” Phoenix looked up at Belos, his careful mask of calm politeness slipping into horror. “You didn’t. How did you even-?”

Jason had never really gotten used to just how fast Belos could move when he wanted to. He didn’t even see the turn—one moment Belos stood with his back to Phoenix, and the next, Phoenix was sent skidding backwards in a spatter of blood on tile, clutching his side, and Belos faced him, arm extended in a long blade. Jason put a hand to his mouth.

He’ll be okay, he reminded himself, he makes it out of this.

Belos looked coldly down at Phoenix. The scent of roses hung heavy in the air. “Take care of that,” Belos said dismissively, “Then find your missing prisoners.”

“Sir,” Phoenix choked. The memory blurred into a haze of pink petals so thick Jason almost couldn’t breathe. They’d known about the memory with Petro—they knew how badly it must have been altered to cut Petro out completely. But this? What was being hidden? What had happened? And why was Terra’s influence even heavier here than it had been in the last one?

The flower petals settled, and Phoenix stood in an empty training room with Darius. He didn’t wear his armor—of course he didn’t. A cloak could be easily replaced. The armor Belos must have broken in order to wound Phoenix would take more time to repair or replace. Jason’s eyes picked up the lump under Phoenix’s shirt that denoted where the bandages must be, but Darius didn’t seem to notice. Rose petals still drifted around the corners of the room, and the air was sickly sweet with their scent.

Phoenix twirled a staff in his hands. The movement was slow, sluggish. Jason caught a mishandling that almost dropped the staff, but Phoenix recovered the rhythm quickly. “Right, then. Come at me.”

Darius grinned, dropped into a puddle, and reappeared behind Phoenix. Phoenix blocked easily, turning his body so that even if Darius did land a hit, it wouldn’t hit his injured side. On and on they went, exchanging blows, Phoenix just quick enough to block Darius but never enough to land his own attack.

Darius feinted. The flick of his eyes told Jason where he intended to strike but Phoenix fell for it’ Darius’ abomination-coated fist swung into Phoenix’s injured side. Phoenix dropped his staff, and fell to his knees, clutching his side. Darius laughed, triumph in his eyes that quickly dropped to horror when Phoenix cried out.

“Hey—you’re joking, right? You’re exagger—” Darius caught Phoenix’s shoulders as he pitched forward. Blood seeped through his shirt, and he groaned. Darius let him slump against his shoulder, his pupils frantic pinpricks.

“Help!” he called, “Somebody—call a healer!”

The rosepetals swirled around again as Phoenix’s eyes drooped shut, and he lost consciousness. Jason stumbled backwards, tripping over the frame of the memory.

Strong arms caught him, and Cherry’s face peered down at him. “Hey—are you alright?”

Behind him, Inner Phoenix paced back and forth. “You shouldn’t have gone in there,” he muttered, “You shouldn’t have—you shouldn’t have—”

Jason lurched back to his feet. “Something’s very wrong with that memory. Terra’s practically rewritten the whole thing.” He reached for one of the blooms, but before he could make contact, Inner Phoenix’s hand closed around his wrist.

“Don’t.”

Jason slowly pulled his hand back. “This is what he asked,” he said quietly, “Phoenix didn’t ask us to just fix the Petro memory. He wanted us to fix any corrupted memories.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking to do. He doesn’t know what he’s asking for. Leave this one.”

“It’s better to know,” Cherry argued, “Whatever happened, Phoenix can handle it.”

“No! You can’t do this to him—and you can’t see it. You wouldn’t—you wouldn’t understand!”

“Whatever happened—” Jason started, but before he could reassure Inner Phoenix, the projection reached towards the curse.

“I won’t let you,” he hissed. The curse shuffled nervously, but leaned into the touch, twisting around Inner Phoenix and sinking over him like a second skin. Wings covered in eyes sprouted from his back, and his hands turned to claws. The water around his feet bubbled and hissed. The eyes on the creature’s wings blinked mournfully at Jason, as if to say, I tried to warn you.

Xxx

Evelyn rubbed her temples with a sigh. How long should this be taking? She was almost certain Cherry and Phoenix hadn’t been in Petro’s mind for half as much time.

Phoenix mumbled something incomprehensible, and Evelyn spotted sweat beading his forehead. She’d known the memories they’d uncover wouldn’t be friendly, but it hadn’t occurred to her that Phoenix might remember them now in nightmares. She reached for his hand, but it squelched against her skin, and she recoiled. Phoenix’s arms roiled, the flesh shifting to mud and back again almost too quickly to tell which phase they were in. Evelyn reached for her walkie-talkie.

“What’s going on in there?”

Xxx

Cherry sized up Monster Phoenix. “You don’t want to do this,” he said quietly, “You know what happened in Petro’s mind when he challenged me. It didn’t end well for him.”

Inner Phoenix nodded to his claws. “He didn’t have help.”

The walkie-talkie clipped to Jason’s belt crackled to life.

“What’s going on in there?” Evelyn’s voice asked over the speaker, “Are you two okay?”

All of Phoenix’s eyes darted to the walkie-talkie. “This is your last chance,” he said softly, “Get out. Leave this memory behind.”

Cherry crossed his arms. “Or what? You’ll kill us? You think Phoenix will be able to live with that?”

“I guess we’ll find out.”

“Jason? Cherry?” the walkie asked.

Cherry nodded to Jason. “Take care of the memory. I’ll deal with him.”

Monster Phoenix lunged. Cherry grabbed his wrist and twisted him around to hold his arms crossed against his chest in one fluid motion.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he grunted, “Nobody here wants to hurt Phoenix. Just let—us—help.”

Jason pressed the walkie-talkie button. “We ran into a bit of trouble. Don’t worry. Cherry’s handling it. We’ll let you know if we need out.”

For a long moment, the walkie-talkie said nothing. Its crackle back to life sounded almost like a sigh. “Be careful. Let me know the moment you think you can’t handle it.”

“Will do.”

Jason turned his attention on the flowers. He didn’t have the time to be careful with this one—Cherry had Inner Phoenix pinned for now, but that couldn’t last. Jason tore up the flowers with wild abandon. He still made sure to dig out the roots, but now he barely cared about the amount of soil he was churning up.

Mole would kill me if he saw this, he thought ruefully, but it did the job. The last flower ripped free, and Jason took a deep breath.

Let’s see what’s been hiding behind Terra.

“NO!” Inner Phoenix howled, but there was nothing he could do. Jason stepped over the frame.

Once again, Phoenix swept through the halls of the keep. Once again, Phoenix tugged nervously on his hair before entering the throne room. Once again, Phoenix knelt, and the doors soundlessly swung shut behind him.

Belos leaned forward on his throne. “Good news?”

Phoenix removed his mask, and Jason waited, counting down the seconds before he spoke. “Sir,” he started tentatively.

“Ah. Less good news, I see.” Belos sighed with that same bored disappointment. “Let’s have it.”

“The escaped prisoners, they… they got into the lower levels of the Conformatorium. We tracked them down, but they’d released the prisoners down there as well.” Phoenix’s voice turned brisk, businesslike, stating facts quickly and efficiently. Jason examined him closely. Was there a wobble? Did he know what was coming? “Most of the squadron was decimated the moment they tried to cast a spell, and the magic of my staff was destroyed as well. I managed to physically restrain one of the original escapees, but the rest were able to flee unhindered.” Phoenix took a deep breath. “Sir, if I may… why are we keeping basilisks alive?”

“You may not. Still.” Definitely-cruel amusement laced Belos’ voice. Did he already know what he was going to do? Was it planned? “I’m surprised you know what they are.”

Hearing the casual dismissal wasn’t any easier the second time around, and the tips of Phoenix’s ears turned pink once again. Jason shot Belos a dirty look he knew the memory couldn’t see. “With all due respect, Uncle, they’re dangerous creatures. Even only the three we had detained could wreck havoc on the population—”

“Which is why you should not have failed to apprehend them, hm?”

“S-sir. Yes. I’m simply thinking. Perhaps—instead of recapturing them, lethal force may—”

“No.” Belos stood. “You will bring them alive.”

Where did this memory change? When had he first noticed the smell of rose petals?

“Understood. I have another concern—where did they come from? I thought basilisks were extinct.”

“You are an unexpected bastion of knowledge today, aren’t you? It’s nothing you need worry about.”

“But if there’s a surviving nest somewhere, then—"

Belos turned away. “It doesn’t concern you, Hunter.”

“Or, if not a nest, then someone’s managed to bring… them… ba…” Phoenix looked up at Belos, his careful mask of calm politeness slipping into horror. “You didn’t. How did you even-?”

Even though Jason knew it was coming, he barely caught the attack—and like Belos’ cruel taunts, it wasn’t any easier to see the second time around.

Shards of shattered gold dropped to the ground, but too many more lodged in Phoenix’s side. Still, Phoenix only took a step back, biting down on one leather glove while the other hand moved to cover his wounds.

This was where the change happened, Jason realized. What was it about this that Inner Phoenix was so determined not to remember?

“The risks—” Phoenix tried, and although his tone was determined, his voice already wavered with weakness from the attack.

Before he could say another word, Belos’ hand closed around his face. His eyes glowed feverishly blue, an expression of malicious glee that Jason had never seen before lighting up his face. “You really are too foolish to know when to shut up, aren’t you?” His grip tightened with his words, and Jason flinched at the sound of Phoenix’s jaw cracking.

Phoenix stumbled back with a cry. Belos flowed down from the dais, gliding behind Phoenix and putting a hand on his shoulder before he could take another step towards the door. “I didn’t dismiss you,” he hissed.

He’s playing with him.

Belos’ hand squeezed Phoenix’s shoulder so hard that Jason’s own shoulder ached in sympathy. The emperor pushed down, forcing Phoenix to one knee.

“That’s better. I am your emperor—show some respect.”

Something lit in Phoenix’s eyes, something desperate and hopeless all at the same time. He stayed genuflecting, even when Belos released him and returned to his dais. Quiet desperation flickered across his face, an expression Jason knew in the sickness of his stomach.

Stay still. Hope if you play along, he’ll let you go.

How many grimwalkers knew that lesson like the back of their hand? It was one thing to know. It was another to watch Phoenix huddle in half-worship, his blood slowly dripping in a puddle beneath him.

Phoenix started to sway slightly, and slowly, a horrifying realization hit Jason—Belos wasn’t going to let him go. He wasn’t just playing with him—he was going to let Phoenix die slowly in front of him, kneeling the whole time. He’d dropped any pretense of kindness, hadn’t bothered with any lie that this was Phoenix’s fault for trigging the curse—how had Jason not realized it sooner?

But this wasn’t right—Jason knew what had happened to Phoenix. He knew that Phoenix had confronted Belos about previous golden guards, had been blasted with artificial magic and tossed into Belos’ graveyard pit. He couldn’t die here.

Just as the thought crossed Jason’s mind, the door swung open with a bam, and young Darius strode in like he owned the palace. If Jason hadn’t been so scared what the interruption would cost him, Darius’ familiar confidence would have been comforting.

“You are late—” he started to complain, then stopped dead, his eyes widening and his face turning ashen as he took in the scene in front of him. The moment the doors opened, Phoenix collapsed completely, his cloak soaking up the red on the floor.

Immediately, Belos’ whole demeanor shifted. Jason caught the barest hint of annoyance on his face before he gasped, breathing raggedly and clutching his chest. “Ah—hah—quickly now—the assassins will get away—”

Darius dropped next to Phoenix, gripping his hand. Jason saw Phoenix’s blood-stained fingers twitch slightly, as if trying to squeeze his hand back. Darius’ eyes widened, and he pulled Phoenix’s cloak off, cramming the material into the gash. “He’s still alive!”

Jason wanted to scream at the fake concern plastered onto Belos’ face. “Then find him a healer at once. The golden guard must live.”

Darius nodded, summoning an abomination that scooped Phoenix up easily. The abomination marched out, but Darius lingered at the door. “Sir, will you be… should I…?”

Another slight twitch of the mouth that Jason recognized as irritation. But Belos shook his head. “Leave. The attempt has passed. My guards can handle my protection.”

Jason followed Darius away, the details of the keep turning fuzzier and harder to keep track of as Phoenix slipped in and out of consciousness. Jason’s own mind wasn’t any clearer. He still couldn’t find a reason that Inner Phoenix wanted this memory changed. It had been hard to watch—Jason could only imagine how the memory would hurt Phoenix. But it wasn’t any different from the many other times Belos had tried to kill Phoenix. Surely it wasn’t worse than the memory of Petro killing Phoenix’s only friend in front of him. But Inner Phoenix had been fine with that memory being restored.

The world came into sharp focus as Phoenix howled, his hand twitching like he wanted to lash out while a healer cleaned his wound. Darius sat huddled and quiet in a corner, his coven-scout robes stained with Phoenix’s blood. That was another inconsistency—why change how Darius had found out? Why make a memory that Darius could easily dispute? Why turn the memory into something that put Darius at some kind of fault, even if only a little, when Darius had saved Phoenix’s life in reality?

One by one, the healers disappeared, and only Darius was left, keeping careful watch. Jason winced. He knew from Evelyn that when faced with big, life-threatening injuries, it was best to leave smaller injuries alone, and to focus on the most pressing issue first. He knew healing took time, even aided by magic. That didn’t make seeing Phoenix’s swollen, purple jaw any easier, nor did it make seeing the obvious bandages beneath a hospital gown hurt any less.

Now that the healers were gone, Darius moved his chair closer to Phoenix, taking his hand again. This time, Phoenix’s fingers closed around Darius’, and he watched his student with half-closed, but grateful eyes. The hospital room started to blur just as the keep had, but Jason couldn’t smell roses.

Splat

Splat

Splat

The sound echoed clear in Jason’s ear, and the room sharpened back into focus as Phoenix’s eyes slowly dragged themselves to the ceiling. Cursed mud dripped slowly from the ceiling, landing in a splash on Darius’ hand. Darius had fallen asleep, head resting on the edge of Phoenix’s bed, and didn’t notice a thing. But Phoenix’s breathing sped up, and he knocked Darius’ hand off the bed, out of the mud’s path.

Darius woke with a start, blinking blearily. He rubbed his eyes, and Jason noticed the mud was gone. Had Phoenix imagined it? Or had Belos removed himself before Darius could see?

“The healers said not to talk,” Darius said immediately, “They don’t want you to move your jaw too much.” He sat up. “So… assassins, huh?” Darius’ eyes darted quickly across Phoenix’s face, as if looking for something.

He doesn’t believe the story Belos told, Jason realized, He has doubts. Phoenix realized it too, based on the consternated face he made. He slowly gave Darius a thumbs-up.

“Yes, you’re lucky to be alive.”

Belos swept into the hospital room, seeming to loom and fill the space completely. Darius jumped up, snapping a salute. One gloved hand rested on Darius’ shoulder. “Your student was quite brave, rushing into the throne room. Without him, you’d be dead.”

To an outsider—and to Darius—the words and the gesture would sound like praise. But Jason and Phoenix both knew what he really meant. Darius had gotten in Belos’ way. And there would be consequences.

Darius blushed. “I didn’t know about the assassins—I didn’t even know the emperor was in there. A couple of scouts told me you were alone in the throne room. I wouldn’t have barged in like that otherwise, sir.”

Scouts jealous of his prowess, Jason clocked, hoping to get him in trouble. Even though the scouts couldn’t know just how dangerous Belos was, Jason still felt a flash of irritation at them for tricking Darius. He could have gotten seriously hurt, or killed. Still, he supposed their jealousy had saved Phoenix.

Belos gave Darius’ shoulder a squeeze, and let him go. Darius’ back was to Belos, but Jason caught Belos quickly wiping his hand on his cloak, as if the contact with a witch was somehow more disgusting than his own melting form. “Well, whatever the case, I wish you a speedy recovery, golden guard. The assassins, I will leave to you once you’re well again.”

He swept out the door, and Darius sat back down. “I’m going to get to the bottom of this,” he promised Phoenix, “I know he said the assassins are your assignment, but I don’t like that they’re out there. If they could land such heavy hits on you, they must be powerful.” His eyes searched Phoenix’s face again, looking for clues to the lie, but Phoenix didn’t give him anything but a slight shake of the head.

“Well. Anyway. Don’t worry. Like he said, focus on recovery.”

Darius left, and something in Jason’s gut screamed at him not to go. Some sense of foreboding that he couldn’t shake. Phoenix didn’t seem to feel the impending doom. The room blurred again—not quite asleep, but not quite awake either.

Drip

Drip

Drip

Glowing blue eyes glared from the ceiling, and Phoenix watched them, still helpless in bed. Jason watched them, too, almost certain that Belos would drop fully from the ceiling and finish Phoenix off. But he never did. The cursed mud disappeared and reappeared just often enough to make Jason wonder if he was going crazy.

He’d experienced this tactic first hand—in the human realm, Belos had seemed to haunt him. He couldn’t imagine how stressful this was for someone who knew with absolute certainty that Belos was alive and could come for him at any time. No one would stop him. Jason couldn’t tell what Phoenix was thinking, but the room seemed to get ever-so-slightly darker.

Time passed. Healers bustled in and out, checking on wounds, pouring their healing magic into Phoenix’s recovery. Darius dropped in to visit and give Phoenix updates on his search for the assassins that didn’t exist. But still, Phoenix didn’t move. Jason wondered if it was the wound, or if Phoenix simply didn’t want to.

Drip

Drip

Drip

Phoenix stared dully at the ceiling, the bags under his eyes darker than Jason had ever seen them. When had he last truly rested? Surely the memory would have ended if he fell asleep. But it only ever fell into that half-haze, everything in the room blurred except the glaring blue eyes watching.

Drip

Drip

Drip

The puddle of mud dripping to the floor spread with each drip, uninterrupted. Jason wished Darius or one of the healers would come in, wished that they’d open the door and banish Belos’ influence. But no one appeared.

Drip

Drip

Drip

The puddle was roughly the same size as the shadow Belos’ robes would make on the ground underneath him now. The mud twisted in a sickening swirl, spiraling upwards into the masked form Jason knew too well.

“Hello, Hunter. We haven’t gotten a moment to ourselves, have we? Always someone… getting in the way.” Belos shook his head. “But you’re not due for a healer for another few hours. And your little student is busy chasing a lead down a dead end. So let’s talk.”

Jason searched Belos’ face. Phoenix’s memory was still a little fuzzy at the edges. But still, he thought he could read Belos even now. He didn’t see a lie—didn’t see an intent to kill. Not yet.

Belos sat down on the bed, on the side of Phoenix’s injury. “The healers tell me that despite their efforts, you’re recovering slowly. You wouldn’t be reopening that wound on purpose, would you? Trying to avoid your duties?”

“No.” Phoenix croaked the word with a wince, his voice dusty from days without use.

“I suppose you wouldn’t, would you?” Belos sighed. “Ever the dutiful one. But you did question my judgement, didn’t you?”

Fear flashed in Phoenix’s eyes. “Won’t… happen…”

“No, it won’t.” Belos clucked his tongue. “That student of yours, though. He’s a tenacious one, isn’t he? Barging into my sanctum like that, even if he didn’t think I was there? And now attempting to take an assassination investigation head-on? If he wasn’t clawing at the wrong tree, I almost would admire his commitment.” A slight smile crossed his face, not quite matching the malicious blue glow in his eyes. “But he is clawing at the wrong tree, isn’t he.”

Belos leaned back, his hand resting on Phoenix’s bandages. He wasn’t hurting Phoenix, not yet, but Phoenix watched him closely. Jason could see his pulse pounding, his veins stark against his skin. “What if he does find the assassins? What if he finds the kind of person who could do this? Do you think he’s ready for that truth?” He pressed down on Phoenix’s wound, still not hard enough to hurt, but enough to remind Phoenix he was there. “I don’t think you or he are ready for a run-in with them, are you?”

Belos smiled again, one of his kind, friendly smiles that hid a tempest underneath. “But it would be so difficult for that to even happen when the two of you are spread out like this, away from the keep.” He removed his hand, standing up briskly. “Food for thought, hm? A shame he can’t just forget the whole thing.”

He swept out the door, and Phoenix let out a deep breath, sinking back into the pillows. He stared at the ceiling again, his eyes narrowed. Jason’s narrowed to match. Why hadn’t Belos killed him? It couldn’t be just because of the publicity. He could have made it look like an accident. Or not—others being around hadn’t stopped Dagger’s death, after all.

So why? Was he really going to let Phoenix live after all this? He couldn’t be planning that much mercy. He’d never trust Phoenix again. Was he just playing with him? He’d done it before, when his golden guards cared about someone other than him. Cyrus’ partner, AT’s best friend… but Darius survived. Jason knew that. And Phoenix lived past this, Jason was almost certain.

Phoenix fell back into that fuzzy half-sleep, healers talking over him in low, worried voices. Jason wished he could tell what they were saying, but Phoenix either couldn’t hear, or didn’t care to.

Drip

Drip

Drip

The mud disappeared when Darius pushed through the door. “Hey—”

“You have to stop.” Phoenix winced with every word, but he kept talking. “Stop investigating the assassination attempt. It’s my job.”

“The more information you have to start with, the better, right? Besides the trail will go cold if no one—”

“Darius, no.”

Darius shook his head like a stubborn pony. “Why?”

Phoenix grasped for his hand. “Please. Promise me you’ll stop. It’s dangerous.”

Darius sat down next to him. “Tell me what’s going on. I can help.”

“Nothing’s going on.”

“You’re lying to me. You’ve been acting like a caged animal. The healers said that you’re not healing as quickly as you could because you’re too stressed, and you’re not sleeping right. They wanted to put a sleeping spell on you—”

Phoenix paled. “No!”

“I talked them out of it. But that doesn’t give me an answer.”

“You can’t help me. Except by staying safe. Stop. Poking. Into it. Promise me.”

Darius stood up. “I’ll compile all the leads I’ve chased so far. No use in you repeating my mistakes.”

He disappeared out the door, and Phoenix sighed. Jason did, too. Was this conversation the reason Inner Phoenix wanted this memory gone? Because he’d dismissed Darius, and failed to convince him to stay out of it? That couldn’t be right. Phoenix had plenty of regrets about mistakes he’d made trying to teach Darius. What was one more?

Darius was right about one thing, though—Phoenix wasn’t getting any better. His skin still held a deathly pallor, and the bruises around his jaw didn’t seem to be getting any smaller. He couldn’t keep going like this—he’d collapse, Jason knew it. He spent more of his time in that fuzzy grey half-sleep then he did conscious.

A healer with kind eyes, pinched up in concern approached Phoenix, setting a gentle hand on his shoulder. “We’re releasing you,” he said quietly, “Your healing is nowhere near done, but you’re not recovering here.”

“Hm?” Phoenix asked dreamily.

“We’re sending you home. Back to the keep. Hopefully once you’re a little more comfortable, once you’re back in your own space, you’ll be able to recuper—”

“No!” Phoenix grabbed the healer’s arm. “Don’t—don’t—”

“You’re confused,” the healer said gently, “You’ve been hypervigilant here, and it’s been impacting your healing. I understand your worries about returning after the attempt, but the keep is the safest place on the Isles. It won’t happen again.”

Phoenix slumped against the healer, drained by his outburst. He mumbled something that was incomprehensible to the healer, but Jason could hear perfectly clearly: “Don’t make me go back.”

Hold on, Jason willed him, Please, just hold on. It gets better.

“To make the transfer as easy on you as possible, the emperor sent another coven head to transport you. He said you knew her well—Ma’am?”

Jason already knew who was coming in even before he heard her fake-kindly voice at the door.

“Oh, Rosebud, you have gotten yourself into a mess, haven’t you?”

Of course he’d sent Terra. Jason hadn’t needed many conversations with Phoenix to know how uncomfortable the old plant coven head made him—surely Belos wasn’t oblivious to Phoenix’s feelings either. Jason rocked back on his heels. This memory had to be coming to a close, didn’t it? Surely Terra would wipe Phoenix’s memories right here, and it would be over. Heavy plant fronds curled around the edges of the memory, whisking Jason away and bringing him back to the picture frame.

“What?” Jason’s own voice startled him. This couldn’t be right. He still had no idea why Inner Phoenix wanted this memory buried. Still, he swung one leg over the picture frame.

Cherry caught his arm, helping him through. “Easy.”

Jason had been so wrapped up in Phoenix’s memory, he’d almost completely forgotten Cherry’s fight with Inner Phoenix. “Where’s…?”

Cherry nodded to a figure huddled in the swampy water. Phoenix’s curse paced a worried circle around Inner Phoenix, who sifted through discarded flowers, desperately weaving drooping vines around the roots of the tree and muttering to himself.

“The fight went out of him once the flowers were gone and you went inside. I don’t think the curse really wanted to fight either.”

“It showed me where to find the memory. But… I’m still not sure why this memory was buried. Belos tried to kill him—really tried. I can’t figure out why he decided to wipe his memory instead.”

Cherry ducked under the roots of the nearest tree, disappearing around the edge of the frame. “It’s double-sided,” he called from the back.

“What?”

“There’s a second memory. Come here.”

Thin, strong fingers gripped Jason’s wrist. Inner Phoenix looked up at him, desperation shining out of the hollows that were his eyes. “Please,” he whispered, “Help me plant the flowers again. Help me fix this. Don’t go in there.”

Jason gently detangled himself from his grasp, clasping Inner Phoenix’s hands in his own. “Whatever we see in there, we’ll work through it together. Okay?”

Inner Phoenix didn’t respond, but he let go. Jason took a deep breath, and followed Cherry into the memory.

“What happened to him?” Cherry murmured, gesturing to Phoenix. He had returned to the keep, returned to a room Jason had only ever seen through a crystal ball. Phoenix wasn’t any better. He held a pillow over his ears, but even so, Jason could hear the drip, drip, drip. He caught Cherry up in a low voice—even though he knew the Phoenix in the memory couldn’t hear him, it still felt rude speak any louder.

Drip

Drip

Drip

A note sat on the dresser, opened. Jason tried to read it, but through Phoenix’s memories, the letters seemed to swim around, nearly impossible to decipher. He managed to catch Belos’ loopy signature at the end, but that was about it.

“I thought you were dull. Predictable.”

Phoenix flinched at the sound of Belos’ voice, rolling over to face him. The emperor sat in a chair scooted close enough to the bed that Jason was almost certain it was usually Darius’ seat.

“You’ve always done what’s asked of you. Never a flicker of rebellion in those eyes of yours. And yet, I was so certain that surely, this would be the end of it. I thought surely you’d take that student of yours and run as far away as you could.” Belos leaned forward, clasping his hands together. “But you came back. You stayed with those useless healers, and then you came back here. And you’ve let your student come back, too! I have to ask: why didn’t you run?”

Phoenix didn’t answer, his eyes flicking around the room. Jason saw him open and close his mouth a couple of times, but still, no words came out. Was he trying to think of a response that would keep he and Darius safe? Or did he just not know himself?

“You’re our emperor,” he said finally, and left it at that.

Vague. Ambiguous. But sounded flattering enough to Belos, Jason was sure. And sure enough, Belos leaned back, the voracious curiosity in his gaze replaced with amusement.

“Yes, I suppose I am. So interesting, then, that despite that fact, your student continues to investigate the attempted assassination.”

Phoenix’s expression flickered, his hand twitching as if he wanted to tug on his hair. “He won’t find anything.”

“No. He won’t.”

Simple words. Nothing in them to suggest malicious intent. But Jason knew that tone of voice. Cherry knew that tone of voice. And Phoenix’s eyes widened at the threat underneath.

“I’ll stop him.”

“Oh? You’ve done such a job of it so far.”

“Please.” Phoenix reached out, not quite touching Belos’ hand. He hunched over, touching his forehead to the bed in a half-bow. Cherry growled. “He’s my charge. Let me take responsibility for his misbehaviors. Please.”

Belos froze, his eyes getting that faraway look that Jason had never known what to make of before meeting Caleb. The look that he knew now meant Belos was remembering something his brother had said or done. It only lasted for a moment, but when it passed, Belos’s eyes almost looked kinder. Though they still held that cold light, that you’re walking on dangerous ground glint.

“Hm. And if he proceeds?”

“He won’t. He’ll forget about it.” Phoenix squeezed his eyes shut. “We both will.”

“See that you do.”

Belos disappeared, and Phoenix slumped backwards, but only for a moment. He rolled out of bed and staggered to the door. A scout waited outside, snapping a salute when Phoenix emerged.

“Sir!”

“Get me Coven Head Terra. Tell her it’s urgent.”

“Sir?”

“Now.”

Jason’s heart sank to his stomach. “Oh, Phoenix,” he murmured. Belos hadn’t erased this memory, had he?

Terra didn’t take long to burst out of the ground in the maws of a giant carnivorous plant. “Well, well, Rosebud, seeing you twice in such a short amount of time—aren’t I a lucky lady?”

“I need something that will erase memories.”

Terra clucked her tongue. “Oh, dear, I’m afraid that’s not my area of expertise. You might try asking our esteemed potion—”

“Cut the act.” Phoenix leaned forward. “I know you have something. I know you’re always experimenting with those plants of yours. Give me what I need.”

A grin stretched across Terra’s face, unnaturally large. “You know better than to make demands without offering something in return.”

“Your proposition to limit the use of palistrom wood. I’ll back you up on it. That’s more than a fair deal for some leaves.”

“Tetchy, aren’t we? Careful, Rosebud, you’re tipping your hand.”

“Can you help me, or not?”

Terra’s smile somehow widened even further. Jason thought her face might split in half if she tried to show any more teeth. She pulled a pouch off of her belt and held it out to Phoenix. “There you are. I certainly hope you aren’t planning on making me forget your promise.”

“How does it work?”

“Intent matters. Relay the memory you wish to erase. Put the leaves into any liquid, and they’ll do the trick. But oh, Rosebud? This kind of memory erasure can be difficult to master. If the subject doesn’t want to forget, then the mind will resist, and you’ll have to re-administer the tea every so often.”

“That won’t be a problem.”

“If you say so. And Rosebud? If you’re planning on drinking it yourself, do me a favor and write down your promise, mhm? Alright, ta.”

Terra stepped back into her plant and disappeared back into the ground. Phoenix took a deep breath, sent the scout out for Darius, and whispered to the bag of leaves, shuffling to an attached kitchenette and setting a kettle of water on the stove. He set out two cups, dropping a pinch of Terra’s leaves in each.

“Oh, Phoenix,” Jason said again. His skin crawled like a thousand firebees swarmed over him. He didn’t want to see this. He wanted to step out of the picture frame, and pretend it hadn’t happened. But he stayed rooted in place, unable to look away.

Cherry wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “Hey. Remember our promise. No matter what we see.”

“No matter what we see,” Jason echoed dully.

Darius arrived just as the kettle started to whistle, and he bounded over. “Go sit down,” he told Phoenix with fake crossness, “I’ll take care of it.”

Phoenix started to protest, but Darius poured the water, completely ignoring him. If he knew anything was off about the tea, he didn’t show it. He handed Phoenix one cup, and sat down in his chair with the other. “What did you need from me?”

Phoenix looked down at his cup. “Darius. About your investigations.”

“I think I’m really getting somewhere.”

“Darius.”

“I’ve tracked more dead leads than I know what to do with, but I talked to your healers to get some more information about the wound, and they said some pretty interesting stuff.

“Darius.”

“They were telling me the wound was deep, but clean. That whoever did this was powerful, and had a sharp weapon. Now, that sounds like the work of a beastkeeper and their demon’s claws to me. So I was talking to Eberwolf, and—”

“Darius!” Phoenix took a deep breath. “I asked you to stop.”

“I know, but—”

“It isn’t safe for you to investigate!” Phoenix burst out, “I don’t want you going any further. You need to forget this ever happened if you want to be safe.”

“But what about your safety? If they come back—”

“They won’t.”

“How do you know?”

“Drink your tea,” Phoenix replied tersely. His fingers drummed nervously on the cup. “Just trust me.”

“Knowing that you’re hiding something doesn’t make trusting you easy.”

“Darius, they won’t come back. I know who they are already, and it’s being taken care of. Forget about it, and drink your tea.”

“What? You’ve been letting me run around after dead ends for the last week when you knew who was behind this the whole time? How… could…” Darius looked at Phoenix, horrified. “You know them. You’re protecting them.”

“Darius, I…”

“How could you? They hurt you! How could you protect them after…” Darius gestured furiously at Phoenix. “…this?!”

“It doesn’t matter!” Phoenix set his cup on the table with a thunk. “It doesn’t matter who it was. It doesn’t matter what happened to me. All that matters is that you’re safe, so drink your tea.”

“Why are you so insistent on this te—” Darius’ eyes widened. “What did you put in it?”

“It’s not harmful.”

“Were you just going to—to drug me without me knowing?”

“It wouldn’t matter if I did tell you, because you’d just forget anyway!” Phoenix sighed. “Besides. I knew you wouldn’t drink it without asking what was in it first. I’m surprised it took this long.”

“Oh, that’s so much better. A memory wiper? Really?”

“You didn’t leave me many options!” Phoenix pinched the bridge of his nose. “I asked you to stop investigating. But you wouldn’t listen to me, and now? Now this is what we have left. Forgetting that the whole thing ever happened.” Phoenix looked up at Darius. “Please Darius. This is what will keep you safe. You don’t know just how far over your head you’ve gotten yourself, and I don’t want… please.”

Darius swished the tea hesitantly. “Forgetting about the assassination attempt and the investigation will really keep me safer?”

“I promise.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“Because it doesn’t matter? Since I’m going to forget anyway?”

“Titan, Darius. I wish we didn’t have to—”

“Forget it. Well—I suppose you will. But… will this keep you safe? I know you think I’ll be in less danger if I forget. But will you be in less danger? Or will it be worse for you?”

Phoenix took just a little too long to answer, but when he spoke, his voice was confident. “Yes. We’ll both be safer.”

“He can’t know that,” Cherry said quietly, “Belos could kill him anyway.”

“Okay.” Darius took a deep, shaky breath. “I’ll do it. To protect you.” He swirled the tea again with a sad smile. “I’m sorry. That my investigations put us in trouble, I mean. I just wanted to help you.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Phoenix replied softly, picking up his own cup, “I wish it hadn’t gone this far.”

Darius clunked his cup against Phoenix’s in a mock toast. “Bottoms up.”

Rose petals swirled over the memory, and the frame appeared in front of them.

“You ready?” Cherry asked.

“No.” Jason took a deep breath and walked towards the exit. “But we can’t stay here.”

The curse greeted them at the exit, perched on one of its roots. It eyed them lazily, then slunk back around the tree. Jason and Cherry followed.

He didn’t see Inner Phoenix until he’d nearly tripped over him. The water of the swamp rose up to his waist even though it barely reached Jason’s ankles. Inner Phoenix hid his face in his hands.

“I’m sorry,” he moaned, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“Hey—” Jason knelt down next to him. “You… took care of the flowers, didn’t you?” he asked quietly, “Terra said the tea wouldn’t work unless you wanted it to. She meant you.”

Inner Phoenix nodded, still hiding his face in his hands.

“Oh,” Jason sighed. He wasn’t sure what else to say. He’d come prepared to see terrible things happen to Phoenix. He’d even been prepared to see Phoenix do terrible things in return. He knew no one was blameless in Belos’ reign. But he hadn’t been prepared to see Phoenix inflict this on himself. He almost understood why Inner Phoenix wanted to bury the memories forever.

“I hurt Darius,” Inner Phoenix said in a small voice, “I made him forget.”

“Hey—we can fix it. We can do this for him, too. We know what we’re looking for now. It’ll be quick and painless.” Jason knew that wasn’t quite true. If Darius didn’t remember either, then his inner self had to be taking care of the flowers, too. But Inner Phoenix didn’t need to hear that part right now.

“You don’t understand.” Inner Phoenix peered at him through a crack in his fingers, his eyes wide and wild. “How could you understand? I’m not like you. We should have taken Darius and run. We should have left. We knew what he’d do to us. We knew what he planned. But we crawled back to him.”

The curse shifted anxiously, responding to Inner Phoenix’s distress with a low growl.

“That should have been our moment. That should have been when we rebelled, not years later.  But instead we stayed with him! We committed to doing what he wanted, to hurting people, to keeping Darius in danger. We were cowards. Stupid cowards. Belos was right about us.” His eyes latched desperately onto Jason. “Not like you. You saw the harm he was causing, and you ran. But we’re not good and brave like you, we’re just—we’re just—”

Jason reeled back, stunned. “I’m not…” he whispered helplessly. How long had Phoenix felt like this? How long had he thought Jason was better than him, just because he’d run away more quickly?

Forever, a small voice inside of him whispered, ever since you told him your story.

He seemed to have forgotten the part where Jason had planned to return to Belos. Still, Jason didn’t know how to respond. What was there to say? If he tried to reassure Inner Phoenix, he’d widen the distance between them. Even if he tried to step off the pedestal he’d been put on, Phoenix would just bury himself deeper to keep the gap.

“Darius will never forgive us,” Inner Phoenix panted. He’d sunk up to his chest in water, burying his head in his hands again, “He shouldn’t forgive us. We should have died then, before we hurt him, before we hurt others, we should have—”

“Hey.”

Cherry splashed down next to Inner Phoenix. For a long moment, he didn’t say anything. He just knelt next to Inner Phoenix in the water, hands on his knees.

“I knew Belos was lying,” he said finally. His eye darted to Jason, mournful for a moment, then determined. “He was still Phillip, then. I knew that we weren’t messengers of the titan. I knew that everything about him was a sham. And I helped him sell it.”

Inner Phoenix’s eyes widened, following Cherry’s flick to Jason and back. “Cherry—you don’t have to—I know you don’t want what you did to…”

“We went town to town,” Cherry continued, avoiding Jason’s eyes, “Telling witches about the titan wanting covens. Proclaiming the dangers of wild magic. We’d stage wild magic attacks to make him look plausible. I planted explosions in the stage and set them off.”

Jason sat so still he thought he might stop breathing. Cherry didn’t like talking about his time with Belos. No one really did, but Cherry was especially tight-lipped. It was the one thing he refused to share with Jason. He’d quickly learned not to push it.

Cherry took a deep breath, hissing out through his teeth. “I knew that Belos planned to lure witches into his following, then kill them.”

Jason bit on his lip to keep a gasp in. Of course now they knew that had been his plan, but Cherry had known before? And he’d gone along with it?

“He didn’t try to hide as much from us then. And… he didn’t need to. He told me that witches were evil. That I was evil for being one, even a powerless one, and… and the best I could do was try to take out as many of them as I could. And I believed him.”

Cherry twisted his shirt in his hands. “And when we couldn’t lure any witches to join us? The explosions got… bigger.” Another deep breath. “I went along with it for too long, Phoenix. Even though I knew we were hurting people. Even though whole towns burned under these hands.” He held his hands out. They shook slightly, until Inner Phoenix took them, dripping mud and golden water.

“I’ve never liked who I was. You know that.” He glanced back at Jason regretfully. “And I’ve never wanted anyone to know who I used to be. Especially the people I cared about.” Cherry took a deep breath. “I can’t say that I wouldn’t have done the same in your situation. If I’d been able to wipe my own memories, forget about doing it to protect myself from Belos. I would have done it just to sleep at night. Darius will understand. I think he understood then, too.” The ghost of a smile crossed Cherry’s face. “I don’t think you could ever make Darius do something he didn’t want to do. Not now. Not then.”

“It wasn’t cowardly.” Jason bounced up and down in place, unable to hold his words in anymore. “Well, maybe that’s not true, strictly speaking. You’re right, you could have rebelled, and refused to continue doing what he wanted. But running wouldn’t have helped. I saw the way Belos acted. He wanted you to run. That was what he expected. And he would have killed you and Darius for it.

All those threats, all the lurking over your shoulder? It was so you’d panic and he’d have an excuse. I know it seems like you shied away from doing the right thing, but you were right then. It was the only thing to do, the only thing that would keep you and Darius alive. You took a risky gamble.”

“Can I really say it paid off, if it meant I was his weapon for that much longer?” Inner Phoenix asked gloomily, “If it meant I got deeper in the debt I owe the Isles?

Jason snapped his mouth shut. “It’s… I…”

He looked helplessly to Cherry, who gave Inner Phoenix a nudge. “You know what Caleb always says.”

“It’s about how we fix it going forward,” Inner Phoenix sighed, “I know.” He wrung his hands. “I just… wanted to protect him. Remembering would have killed him.”

He wasn’t talking about Darius anymore.

“He can survive it now,” Cherry said quietly, “Trust him. Trust us. He already knew he was missing something. It was only a matter of time.”

“I know.”

Cherry and Inner Phoenix clutched each other’s arms, using each other to stand up. Inner Phoenix gave Jason an awkward smile.

“I’m sorry I tried to stop you.”

“I’m just glad Cherry didn’t haul you off into another memory like he did to Petro,” Jason said, shooting a grin at Cherry. Cherry didn’t return it. He wouldn’t even look Jason in the eye.

“Me too. Thank you. Both of you.” Inner Phoenix put one hand on the curse’s head. “And… thank you. For doing what I couldn’t. I never thought you’d be the one looking out for him.” He gave the curse the stink-eye. “Although maybe you just wanted him to get upset so you could take over.”

The curse rippled, as if purring, before slinking off to explore the uncovered memory. Jason took Cherry’s hand and clicked the walkie talkie.

“We’re ready.”

Golden light swirled around the two of them, and they stood back in Phoenix’s bedroom. Cherry dropped Jason’s hand like it had burned him, staring at the floor.

“Taken care of. His memories are fine.”

Evelyn’s eyes flicked from Cherry to Jason, summing them up in quick, shrewd movements. “And are you fine?”

“Just peachy. Let me know when he wakes up.”

Cherry left the room. Jason shrugged helplessly, and ran after him, closing the door behind him. He closed the distance and wrapped his arms around Cherry’s waist.

“Stop,” Cherry said, his voice cracking, “Don’t be nice to me right now.”

“I’m sorry,” Jason murmured, “I’m sorry if you thought you had to hide from me. I’m sorry you were forced to tell me something you didn’t want to.”

“I did want to. Or—well—no. I didn’t.” Cherry sighed. “But I knew if I didn’t say it then, I’d never say it. And I would always be scared you’d find out some other way.”

“I don’t care who you used to be,” Jason said fiercely, “I saw a lot today.” Almost too much. He’d seen a side of Phoenix he hadn’t wanted to see. Hearing Cherry’s past after hadn’t been any easier. “But it couldn’t make me hate Phoenix. And it won’t make me hate you. You don’t have to be perfect to be Cherry.”

Under all the upset, under all the horror at what Phoenix and Cherry had done, Jason knew that fact to be true. He’d figured out how to feel about Caleb. He’d figure out how to feel about Phoenix and Cherry, too. Even if it couldn’t all be blamed on Belos, that didn’t matter. Because he knew Phoenix and Cherry. He knew who they were now—who they’d been as long as he’d known them. And that was enough to cover everything else.

“Oh,” Cherry said thickly. He wrapped one arm around Jason. “Okay. Okay. Okay.”

“We can talk about it, or not talk about it, whichever you want. But at the end of it? I’ll still be there.” Jason gave Cherry one last squeeze, and stepped back, looking up at him. “We’re going to be okay?”

Cherry sniffed, giving Jason a watery smile. “We’re going to be okay.”

[the-physicality]

So far in this game

DT’s officially passed Lindsay Whalen to be 4th in career assists

BG hit 800 blocks

Tash cloud becomes the franchise leader in most assists in a season (a record which was most recently held by Diana Taurasi)

[kurithedweeb]

Thinking of giving Garroth a greatshield...

Garroth, a tank of a man in plate armor, carrying around a big ol' shield that weighs half of what his armor does all on its own. Standing up front in a battle with one of his guards hovering at his shoulder on the shield side so his shield nearly completely covers them too. Setting his stance and being used as cover for one of the archers to hide behind while they ready shots. Using the shield like a weapon to shove an enemy or beast away or herd them into an ally's space for the final blow.

Big Shield.

[nocternalrandomness]

F-86 Sabre parked on the ANG Ramp at Phoenix Sky Harbor Airport, Arizona - 1956

[julunis14]

they have a of 'splainin' to do...