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basic-x-witch · 22 days ago

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The Twin's Gambit

Chapter Two: Sadness Consumes Her

TW/ depression & references to off-page self unaliving attempt

Day 3 after losing Rook

The voices carried down the corridor, sharp edges of desperation and anger cutting through the muffled quiet of the lighthouse.

“Lucanis, please. I simply must speak to Bishop. The sooner we begin brainstorming solutions, the sooner we can set our minds to rescuing Rook!” Emmrich’s voice was raw and strained, his usual composure unraveling further with each word as he mindlessly figited with the small, black, stone, castle shaped chess piece in his hand. He was always yelling these days. Nyx didn’t think he meant to, but it seemed like he couldn’t help himself anymore.

“Mierda, Emmrich,” Lucanis replied, his tone low and deliberate, a sharp contrast. “She’s possessed by a despair demon, and her twin sister sacrificed herself to an elven god to save her. She needs time. She’s not ready.”

Nyx rolled over in her bed, pulling the blanket tighter around herself. Even the muted light filtering through the enchanted walls felt oppressive. Everyone was so loud. Couldn’t they see she just needed silence? She wished they would all just… leave.

“Every moment we wait for her to grow up and get her emotions in check is another moment we’re wasting—and Nymphadora could be dying!”

The words were like a thunderclap. The lighthouse seemed to hold its breath, the ever-present hum of magic fading into an eerie silence. The stillness pressed against her ears like a physical weight.

“You are not the only one who cares about Rook,” Lucanis hissed, his voice colder now, sharper. “And if you think for one second that you can take your grief out on Bishop, I’ll remind you why they call me the mage killer. You and I know better than anyone that this isn’t something she can just ‘get over.’”

“Enough!” Another voice, Davrin’s, interjected with firm authority. “Both of you need to stop. Fighting isn’t helping anyone. Least of all Rook.”

Nyx stared blankly at the wall, her mind detached from the argument unfolding outside her door. Their voices rose and fell, but the meaning of their words slipped through her fingers, ungraspable. She let her thoughts wander instead.

The paint on the lighthouse walls—could it even be changed? Probably not. What kind of paint would even work on magical walls? Something enchanted, perhaps?

Was time even passing?

It was impossible to tell anymore. Days felt like minutes. Minutes stretched into eternity. She felt weightless and heavy all at once, sinking into her mattress as if the bed might swallow her whole. That didn’t sound so bad. At least it would be quiet.

_____

The door to her room creaked open, the beam of light from the hallway cutting through the dimness and falling squarely across her eyes. Nyx winced but didn’t move, staring at the wall as though the light wasn’t there.

“Bishop? Can I come in?” Lucanis’ voice was soft, a quiet unfamiliarity layered beneath his usual cadence.

She didn’t respond. Words felt like too much effort, he either would come in and leave when she didn’t respond, or he would leave now and save them both the trouble, just like the others had.

If the lighthouse could be painted, what color would she choose? Maybe green—no, purple. Purple was better. It would feel like night, like home. A blend of the Mourn Watch and the Antiva Crows regalia she came to appreciate.

The Mourn Watch. The Crows.

Her chest tightened. Has anyone told Vorgoth and Myrna? Their biological father, Castello de Riva, did he know? Surely someone had, but the thought stuck in her mind like a barb.

Her face was wet. Tears. She didn’t even realize she’d been crying until she blinked and felt the dampness on her cheeks.

Lucanis stepped inside anyway, carefully navigating the chaos of the room. He dodged the overturned chair, stepped over the scattered books, and paused beside her bed. She barely noticed him, her gaze fixed somewhere past him, unfocused. Was this why Emmrich was angry? Because of the mess she’d made with the books? No… her father would have been disappointed, though. Right. Her father, Vorgoth.

“Bishop, did you hear me?” Lucanis’ voice came closer, hesitant but steady. He hovered beside the bed, unsure of himself. He’d never been in her room before. Maybe he’d come in more often if the walls were purple. “Nyx… are you alright?”

She sat up so suddenly that Lucanis jumped back, narrowly avoiding her head colliding with his face. Nyx swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood, her movements jerky and rushed. Armor—still on. Good. There was something crusted on her sleeve. Blood? Maybe. It didn’t matter. Her eyes darted around the room, scanning the wreckage of books and furniture.

“Lucanis, where are my shoes?” Her voice cracked, hoarse, and uneven from disuse.

“Your… shoes?” His confusion was evident. “Nyx, what-?”

“My shoes, Lucanis. I need them. I have to go.”

“Go where?” His voice shifted, tightening with an edge as Spite surfaced. “The little bird. Flying away. So very good at losing chess pieces, aren’t we?”

“I have to go home!” she snapped, her voice rising as panic bubbled over. “My dad doesn’t know. Someone has to tell him. I need to go now!”

“Nyx.” Lucanis stepped closer, his voice softening again, grounding her. “We told him. He knows. It’s okay.” he says calmly “Plus I sent word personally to the de Riva house. Viago said he would inform Castello. He would want to know..”

“No, you don’t understand.” She shook her head, frantic. Her eyes darted around the room, searching for something she couldn’t find. “Where are they? Where are my shoes?”

“Nyx.”

His hands found her face. She flinched at the coldness of his touch, startled. Lucanis rarely touched her. Hesitation, or maybe caution, was his nature. But now his hands were firm, steady, holding her still as if she might drift away without them. His eyes locked onto hers, and she couldn’t look away.

“It’s midnight in Nevarra,” he said gently. “I’ll take you tomorrow. I promise I’ll take you to see Vorgoth tomorrow.”

His sincerity cut through the haze, anchoring her. It was always like this with him. Lucanis spoke, and the world steadied. Her world, at least.

“Tomorrow?” Her voice cracked again, softer now.

“Yes.” He nodded, his hands still holding her face. “I promise. We’ll go tomorrow.”

“We’ll make sure he goes! To the Necropolis!” Spite interjected, Lucanis’ voice taking on that eerie edge before fading again.

“Tomorrow,” he repeated, quieter this time. “I promise.”

Tomorrow. Was time passing?

___

Day 4 after losing Rook

They didn’t go the next day.

It wasn’t Lucanis’ fault. It was hers. Most things these days were her fault.

As the haze began to lift, clarity became its own torment. She was inconsolable. Everything-everything-sent her spiraling. A misplaced word, a familiar scent, the sound of her own footsteps echoing in the hallway. She screamed and cried until her throat was raw, until her body gave out and left her sick and shaking. No one knew what to do. Neither did she.

She tried. She would push herself to leave her room, determined to rejoin the others, to help, only to be undone by the smallest of things. The book Nym had been reading left open on the table, a teacup that had been Rook’s last before everything fell apart. Her own reflection in the mirror. Every reminder cracked her open anew, and the sobs would come until she thought they might drown her.

She hadn’t dared face Emmrich. She couldn’t bear it. He was locked away in his library, anyway, probably pouring over tomes in search of Rook, doing what she should have been doing. Or maybe he was avoiding her. Possibly both. Gods, how could she blame him?

Bellara had finally convinced her to remove her armor. It wasn’t an easy task; she’d resisted, clutching at it like a shield against the world. When the magic-infused robes came off, the truth was revealed-there had been blood on her sleeve. Lucanis’. She hadn’t even noticed. It was from the blow he’d taken during their fight with Ghilan’nain, the wound she should have been paying attention to, could have healed if she could make her magic obey her. He still wore a bandage.

Of course, she hadn’t noticed. She was always blind to everyone else’s pain.

Lucanis, for his part, never said a word about it. He simply remained nearby, his presence steady and unfaltering, even when her grief lashed out like a storm. He didn’t touch her again, but he was always there, lingering and encouraging.

He came to her that evening, knocking softly before stepping inside her room. She sat in front of the small mirror on her desk, staring at her reflection. Her hair was a mess, tangled and unkempt, a perfect mirror of how she felt. She’d been staring at her brush for…a long time.

“May I?” he asked, standing just behind her. His voice was as careful as ever.

She nodded, too tired to argue, and he moved to sit beside her. He worked gently, untangling the knots with the patience of someone who understood that rushing would do more harm than good. His fingers moved with surprising skill, combing and smoothing her hair as if weaving it back into something manageable—something whole.

“You should braid it,” she murmured after a while, her voice soft.

He tilted his head. “Braid it?”

She nodded. “Like Rook used to do. She always said it made me look pretty, and less… feral.”

A faint smile ghosted across Lucanis’ face, though his eyes held their usual solemnity. “I think you look just fine as you are,” he said quietly. But still, he began to braid, his movements slow and deliberate.

As he worked, the act became something more. A rhythm, a tether. Something small and mundane, yet grounding. By the time he finished, the tightness in her chest had eased, just a fraction, and she could breathe a little easier.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice barely audible.

Lucanis met her eyes in the mirror. “We’ll get through this, Nyx,” he said, his voice steady with conviction. “Together. We’ll find her.”

And for the first time in days, she didn’t feel entirely alone.

…

It didn’t last.

Emmrich had finally come to her.

Nyx sat in the kitchen, though not at the table-she couldn’t bear that. Too many memories lingered there, ghosts seated in every chair. Instead, she perched at the counter, the one Lucanis and Bellara used for cooking. It was unfamiliar to her, untouched by the past. A sanctuary, however small.

When Emmrich entered, she barely recognized him. For as long as she’d known him, Emmrich had always been the picture of composure: pressed robes, meticulously groomed, his every movement precise. Now, his hair was unkempt, his shirt rumpled and wrinkled. The deep shadows beneath his eyes seemed to carry the weight of an entire lifetime of grief. He still held that little chess piece in his hands, a small achor keeping him from completely loosing himself to grief. A reminder of why he couldn’t afford to give up.

“Bishop,” he said softly, his voice strained but gentle. “You look better, dear.”

Nyx wasn’t sure how to respond to that. He didn’t look better. He looked broken.

He approached her cautiously, as though she might shatter if he moved too quickly. When he reached her, he laid a tentative hand on her shoulder. She flinched but didn’t pull away.

“My dear Nyxahlia,” he began, his words slow, deliberate. “Please… as deeply as my heart is wounded by the current flow of events… having lost the love of my life… knowing that the last true discussion I had with my darling Nymphadora… was an argument over my own selfish insecurities and fears…” His voice cracked, but he pressed on. “I would never presume to understand the depth of what you are suffering through in this moment… having lost your sister. I’ve tried to give you the space and time I thought you needed. But now…” His grip on her shoulder tightened, not unkindly, but enough to convey the urgency behind his words. “Nyxahlia, please. You must know. If she is alive… Would your bond not tell you if she was lost to us?”

Her throat tightened, and for a moment, she couldn’t speak. She stared down at the counter, her fingers tracing aimless patterns on the smooth surface. When she finally managed to find her voice, it was thin, fragile.

“I’m sorry, Emmrich,” she whispered, her words heavy with guilt. “I don’t know.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

“You don’t know?” His voice wasn’t accusing, but the disbelief in it cut her nonetheless.

“No,” she said again, her voice trembling. She dared to look up at him, her eyes meeting his. “I can’t feel her. Not the way I should. It’s… empty.”

Emmrich’s face crumpled, and he took a step back as though her words had struck him physically. “Empty,” he repeated, barely more than a breath.

“I’m sorry,” Nyx said again, and this time her voice broke completely.

For a moment, it seemed as though Emmrich might say something more, but he didn’t. Instead, he turned and left the kitchen, his footsteps heavy and uneven. The weight of his grief hung in the air after he was gone, suffocating in its intensity.

A quiet presence filled the room, and she looked up to find Lucanis standing in the doorway. He didn’t say anything, just watched her with that same steady gaze he always seemed to have now.

“You heard,” she said, her voice hollow.

He nodded, stepping closer. “I heard.”

She shook her head, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. “I don’t know why he thinks I can help. I can’t even hold myself together without her.”

Lucanis pulled a chair closer and sat beside her. “No one’s expecting you to have the answers, Nyx.”

“Emmrich is,” she muttered, running a hand through her tangled hair.

Lucanis reached out hesitantly, his fingers brushing hers. “Let me help,” he said softly.

She didn’t argue, too tired to resist. Lucanis moved behind her, his hands deftly working through the knots in her hair. His touch was gentle, and though he said nothing, his presence was steady and grounding.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” he murmured after a while. “None of us do.”

By the time he finished braiding her hair, the tightness in her chest had eased, just a little. She reached up, touching the braid lightly. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Lucanis met her gaze, his dark eyes filled with quiet conviction. “We’ll find her. We’ll start tomorrow.” Nyx nodded, though she wasn’t sure if she believed it anymore.

...

Day 6 after losing Rook

The sky outside the lighthouse was dark like it knew the normal ambiance was not appropriate to his mood. Lucanis stared at the balcony from the courtyard below, his jaw tight, his hands clenched at his sides. The stone railing looked no different than it had yesterday as if it weren’t complicit in what had almost happened.

His jaw clenched, and he turned sharply, walking back inside.

The others were scattered, their silence as heavy as the air outside. Bellara stood by the window in the main hall, her usual energetic demeanor dulled by exhaustion. Emmrich was nowhere to be seen, likely still locked away in his library. Lucanis didn’t even think he knew.

Lucanis walked straight to Bellara, his steps decisive.

“I need your help,” he said without preamble.

Bellara turned, raising an eyebrow. “With what?”

“The balcony,” Lucanis said grimly. “We’re making it impossible to climb over.”

Her expression darkened, but she nodded. “Lead the way.”

Together, they climbed the stairs to Nyx’s room. Lucanis paused briefly in the doorway. Nyx was still asleep, curled tightly beneath her blanket, her braid trailing over her pillow. She looked impossibly small, her face pale and drawn even in sleep.

Bellara’s sharp intake of breath told him she’d noticed too. “Let’s be quiet,” she murmured, stepping past him and onto the balcony.

The stormy wind caught her hair as she surveyed the stone railing. “What exactly are we doing here?”

“Make it higher,” Lucanis said. “or stronger. I don’t care how. Just make sure she can’t…” He trailed off, his throat tightening.

Bellara nodded, her usual demeanor softened. She placed her hands on the stone, her fingers glowing with faint blue light as she began to weave her magic.

Lucanis watched as she added intricate engravings along the surface-not for beauty, but to reinforce the enchantments she was embedded within.

“That should do it,” Bellara said after a while, stepping back to admire her work. “No one’s getting over that without serious effort.”

“It’s good,” Lucanis agreed, testing the new ward with a firm push. It didn’t budge. “Thank you.”

Bellara brushed her hands off, the faint shimmer of magic fading from her fingertips. “You’re going to have to tell her what we did. She’s not going to like it.”

“I know,” Lucanis said, his voice steady. “I’ll deal with it when the time comes.”

They went back inside, leaving the balcony behind. As they descended the stairs, Lucanis hesitated. “One more thing,” he said.

Bellara turned, her expression questioning.

“She needs to feel safe. Not just trapped,” he said. “Is there a way to make it... softer? Warmer, somehow?”

Bellara’s lips twitched in the ghost of a smile. “You mean less like a prison?”

“Yes.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “I can work something in. Light wards, maybe. Subtle, but calming. They’ll feel like a gentle shield rather than a cage.”

“Do it,” Lucanis said.

Bellara gave him a long look, then reached out and clasped his shoulder briefly. “You’re doing the right thing.”

“I hope so,” he muttered.

Hours later, when Nyx finally woke and stumbled out to the balcony, she saw the carvings elegant and protective. A faint shimmer of magic lingered in the air, soft and warm like a comforting hand on her shoulder.

Lucanis didn’t say a word when she glanced at him. He simply waited, braced for whatever reaction would come.

For a moment, Nyx ran her fingers over the carvings, her expression unreadable. Then, with a small, tired nod, she stepped back inside.

She wasn’t back. Not yet. But it was a start.

Time was passing.

…

Day ?? after losing Rook

The lighthouse was quiet, save for the distant hum of the fade magic. Night had settled in, casting long shadows across the walls. In the dim glow of the single lantern, Lucanis sat on his cot in the pantry, his boots discarded to one side and his head in his hands.

“Knock, knock,” came a soft voice.

He looked up to see Nyx standing in the doorway, her arms crossed but her posture hesitant. She looked better—less hollow, her braid neater, finally back to caring for herself as she used to.

“Can I come in?” she asked.

Lucanis sat up straighter, gesturing to the small space. “Not much of a grand entrance, but it’s yours.”

Nyx smiled faintly and stepped inside, pulling over an overturned crate to sit on. Her gaze flicked to his cot, then back to him. “Still camping out here, huh?”

“It’s fine,” Lucanis said, shrugging. “I’ve had worse.”

She tilted her head. “I know that’s true. But you don’t have to, you know.”

Lucanis raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

Nyx looked down at her hands, picking at her nails. “You’ve been here the whole time. Watching me, helping me, making sure I didn’t…” Her voice caught, and she took a steadying breath. “Making sure I didn’t break. And you’ve barely even rested because of it.”

“Nyx-”

“Let me finish,” she interrupted gently. “I’m not saying I’m fine now. But I’m not where I was. And I’ve been thinking... we’re safe now. You and me.”

Lucanis’s brow furrowed. “Safe?”

“With each other,” she clarified, looking up at him. “Spite and Despair-they’ve… they’ve made peace, haven’t they? What happened between them, all those centuries ago, that’s their pain. Not ours.”

Lucanis leaned back against the wall, his arms crossed. He’d felt it too. The strange, tentative calm between his demon and hers, the way their presence no longer felt like opposing forces locked in an eternal standoff.

“They’ve let go,” he admitted. “And it’s made it easier. To think. To feel without everything twisting.”

Nyx nodded, her gaze searching his face. “Exactly. So maybe… maybe we can let go too.”

He studied her for a long moment. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying…” She hesitated, then forged ahead. “You don’t belong in this pantry, Lucanis. You belong with me. We’ve been keeping each other at arm’s length because of what’s inside us, but that’s over. You can come to my room. You can stay there with me.”

Lucanis blinked, his lips parting in surprise. “Nyx, are you sure? After everything-”

“I’m sure,” she said firmly. “We’ve already spent so much time fighting this. I don’t want to anymore. And if I wake up in the middle of the night, if you do, I want us to be there for each other. Like we should’ve been from the start. You’ve brushed my teeth for me, for gods’ sake. We are supposed to be together.”

His shoulders relaxed slightly, and a small, rare smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “All right,” he said softly. “If you’re sure.”

“I am,” she replied, standing and offering her hand.

Lucanis took it, letting her pull him to his feet. Together, they gathered his few belongings and made their way to her room. She cleared a space near the wall for his cot, but when they finished, they sat side by side on her bed instead, talking quietly until sleep crept in.

…

The next morning, Nyx woke before dawn, the faint light of the rising sun spilling through the curtains. She glanced at Lucanis, still sound asleep on his cot, his breathing even. Her resolve solidified.

She left the room quietly. The lighthouse felt still, almost reverent in the early light as she made her way to the library.

She found Emmrich slumped over a desk, surrounded by stacks of books and half-burned candles. He startled awake when she cleared her throat.

“Bishop?” he asked, blinking blearily. “What are you-”

“I’m ready,” she said, her voice steady.

Emmrich straightened, his expression caught somewhere between relief and disbelief. “You mean-”

“I mean I’m ready to help,” she interrupted. “If there’s no spell to find Nym, then we’ll make one. Whatever it takes, Emmrich. I’ll do it. We’ll do it.”

His eyes filled with unshed tears, and he nodded, standing and placing a trembling hand on her shoulder. “Thank you, Nyx,” he whispered.

She nodded back, her determination unwavering. “We’re bringing her home.”

—-----------