#time is a flat line it is unchangeable (dancing emotes)

[fisherrprince]

i have been. sitting on this since literally december of 2021 and just decided to finish the darn thing. brain tries to fix everything

[yesimwriting]

The Promise of Rain

A/n finally writing that Kaz Brekker x reader angsty-fluff where the reader is all sunshine-y and Kaz is dramatic as always lol 

Might make this a blurb series bc i like this dynamic so much lol

Pairing: Kaz Brekker x sunshine-y reader 

Summary: After a mission gone wrong, Kaz has a conversation with the reader (who’s a runaway princess) about what happens to people who stay near him. 

-- 

He once said that he didn’t believe in Saints. A moment later he conceded that perhaps they existed in order to appease Inej, but he was quick to tact on that if Saints existed they didn’t care about him. Inej and I had exchanged a look, she pleaded with me in silence to let him be. I opened my mouth despite the look in her eyes, but he had walked away before I could get any words out. 

He believes that the Saints don’t care about him, but as soon as he was dragged in by Jesper, bleeding and more broken than usual, it had started to rain. The rain is a promise. The rain is a sign that he will wake up. 

I tap a finger against the forgotten book on my lap, ignoring the dried blood I’ve been too anxious to wash off. When Kaz wakes up he’ll either scold me or partially tease me for waiting here by his bedside. The rain continues, cascading down invisible hope. 

“Save your prayers, even for you the Saints won’t regard me.” Kaz. His voice is raspier than it should be and his slight condescension is blighted by the tired flatness of it. But it’s him. He’s speaking. 

I tear my gaze away from the window, almost forgetting to tamper down my relief before finally looking at him. I haven’t known him long enough to see him in any level of defeat, but I’ve heard enough stories. The fictional exaggeration of those that fear him have made him seem so immortal. Some part of me must have internalized that because to see him like this, to see him so human is too intimate. 

“Don’t be so narcissistic.” Something about Kaz always leaves me feeling challenged, like each comment is some kind of dare. I adjust my posture. “I wasn’t praying because I knew you’d be okay.” 

His expression is unchanging. “So much faith in me?” 

There’s a soft edge to his words, an attempt to twist some kind of awkward denial out of me. Some days I don’t think Kaz enjoys anything and then other days I think he enjoys any misstep in my words. 

I shrug, pushing down the flood of relief still attempting to crawl out of my chest. “You’re always okay.” I scratch the back of my wrist idly. “It seems the safe bet.” 

“Don’t tell me you’ve been taking gambling advice from Jesper.” 

I half roll my eyes. “No--Jesper and I don’t play together anymore.” I let out an easy sigh. “Last time I beat him he bordered on a hissy fit.” There’s the slightest hint of upturning at the corners of his lips. “I should go tell Jesper and Inej you’re awake.” 

“I think you should change out of that dress first.”

He was more likable when I thought he might die at any second. “Wow--Kaz Brekker the professional stylist.” He has no right to judge the formal gown I’m in. Yes, my outfit is ridiculous, but I’m only wearing it because the Crows needed someone they knew at a merchant’s party for a part of some scheme they wouldn’t share the details of with me. “Yes, I’m aware that this dress is more tulle than anything else, but I’m only wearing it because I was helping you.” 

I wait for some retort about how he could have managed without my assistance or some kind of comment about how I didn’t need such a large dress to flirt and distract the guards as the Crows snuck into the merchant’s private office. “You fit in there more than you said you would.” 

From anyone else, I’d consider this an insult. “I was making an effort for the sake of your plans.” 

“I saw you before I went into the office, you knew the dances, the man took your hand.” 

That’s the weirdest observation I’ve ever witnessed someone reflect on. “That’s how those dances tend to work.” I don’t hide the confusion in my expression. “How much blood did you lose?” 

Kaz’s piercing gaze drops to the blanket on his lap. “Not a concerning amount.”

“Why do I feel like we have different definitions of ‘concerning’?” 

His eyes flit upwards, a partial smirk playing at his lips. “We define a lot of things differently.” He pauses, “You defined the life you slipped into so easily tonight as something you could never do.” 

“I can’t.” What is his problem? “One dance is different than an eternity of planning teas and marrying some man who only keeps me so I can rear his children.” 

“You’d end up marrying someone who could give you things.”

He better not be implying I should be having children. I’m seriously starting to hope he did lose a significant amount of blood because that would be some kind of explanation. “I don’t want anyone to be giving me children right now, but I guess your concern is ni--”

“No, no,” he screws his eyes shut for a long second, “You know what I meant.” I stay silent. “You’re technically a princess, y/n, you could have more than the Barrel.” There’s an odd silence as he pauses. “Someone like you should have more than the Barrel.” 

He speaks like his word is law. That’s the one habit of his I can never seem to forgive. Is Kaz telling me to go home? To go back to a mother who dreams of marrying me off and a father with a temper that often leads to violence? He may be Dirtyhands, but he is no one to tell me who to go back to. Not after I risked my anonymity to get him into that merchant’s office. 

I shut my book and stand in one swift motion. “I’m going to tell Jesper and Inej that you’re awake.”

“Y/n.” I ignore him. “Y/n.” Again, I ignore him, approaching the doorway. The rustling of sheets leaves me frozen, hand on the doorknob. “Y/n.” 

Without thinking, I turn on my heels while glaring. There’s no way he’s proud enough to have climbed out of bed wi--and he’s standing. Standing almost directly behind me. 

“Kaz Brekker, I am going to say this one time and one time only.” I keep my words measured and my tone flat. No room for argument. “You just had nine stitches put in near your heart, get your ass back in bed before that is no longer your only injury.” 

He pauses, lips pressed together into a tight white line. And then his mouth opens, pried open by an oddly light sound. Did he just--Did Kaz Brekker just laugh? He doesn’t laugh. I didn’t think he was physically capable, and now he laughs while I’m threatening him? I should hit him on principle alone and damn the consequences. 

“Did you--” I’m gaping at him with a rage I am not accustomed to. “Did you just laugh?” 

Kaz is quick to shut his mouth. “You did swear you’d get me to laugh one day.” 

Saints--now he chooses to have some kind of sense of humor. “Not while I was threatening you for being an idiot after saying my lineage means that I’m meant to be trapped in the life I desire least.” 

“I didn’t say that.” I raise an eyebrow. “You don’t deserve more than this because of your family, you deserve more than this because--” He cuts himself off with a sharp sigh. “Do you remember what happened the day we met?” 

He had wanted to return me to my father for the money. I had managed to convince him I could be more useful working for him without profit. The first day had been tense, I had sworn to myself that I would hate him forever. 

“I remember really hating you.” I remember thinking him beautiful despite his darkness. “I remember it started raining on our way here.” 

“You had a hood, but you pushed it off your head to feel the rain.” I don’t remember that because indulging in the rain is instinctual to me. “You looked at the rain, and you smiled--and then you saw a woman with a child and you took off your hood and gave it to them.” 

“What does that have to d--” 

“Watching that felt like intruding on an intimate moment I had no business knowing about, but it wasn’t that to you. That moment was nothing to you because that moment was who you are.” 

I don’t understand what he sees in something I can barely remember. “Kaz, what does that have to do with anything?” 

“I’m the monster that children believe live under their beds, I’m the bastard of the Barrel, I’m someone who gets blood on everything near them.” His gaze is harsher than I’ve ever seen it as he focuses on the dried blood splotched across my hands and arms. “And then I can’t even help you wash it off.” 

Those last words are the closest to broken I’ve ever heard him sound. “Kaz--”

“And you’re the girl who looks at the rain like it’s a gift from the Saints.” 

Is he implying what I think he’s implying? Even if I believed him such a source of evil, even if I felt like touch mattered that much--why would he care? I keep the much more frightening implication at bay as I exhale. Clarity will only make this conversation worse. “That doesn’t matter.” The words leave me in a low whisper. 

I stare at the ground until his silence is something I can no longer bear. Looking up as cautiously as possible, I take in his expression. I’ve never seen him look so--so enraged. “It doesn’t matter?!” He doesn’t bother hiding the fact that he’s practically seething. “I’ve viewed your presence here as temporary since you first came and despite that, when I saw you there…” The breath he lets out is practically pained. “When I saw what your life is meant to be--I didn’t want you to go.” 

The admission breaks something hard in my chest. “I never wanted to go.” My eyeline drops to the ground. “I didn’t want to go when you were trying to make me, I didn’t want to go when it was only for that evening.” I swallow a lump of emotion restricting my throat. “When you were bleeding out and Jesper had to carry you back here I let myself imagine what it’d be like if you died. And it hurt. It hurt so badly I asked myself if I would rather never know you than feel that pain.” 

“Would you?” His voice has gone hollow. 

I finally look up again. “No.” That word leaves me more bare than any physical touch ever could. 

“I stain everything that stays with me,” his voice has seamlessly shifted back to a tone meant for business, “Me wanting you to stay is more than enough reason for you to leave.”

My chest aches as emotions I’ll never be able to place a name to pound against my chest. “I’m a princess that ran away from her family and tried to befriend her kidnapper--you can’t possibly be narcissistic enough to believe that you’re what’s corrupted me.” 

“Y/n,” his voice is gravely again, the way it was when he first woke up. 

“No. What could you possibly think I’d say to that?” He’s insane--I’m not even sure I understand what he’s implying. “You know I’ll never agree with what you’re saying, so I have no idea what kind of reaction you’re looking for.”

“Maybe a genuine one.” 

The comment is so frustrating I can’t help but roll my eyes. The irony of Kaz Brekker asking for a genuine reaction to an emotionally heavy comment is almost laughable. “My genuine reaction is that you’re acting like an idiot because I don’t agree with anything you’re saying, but calling someone an idiot after they’ve been stabbed in the chest is a little insensitive so I can’t give you my genuine reaction.”

Kaz half-scoffs, “You don’t agree? Y/n--are you hearing me!? I want--I want you to stay.” Even angry, the admission warms me. He lets out a frustrated sigh. “More than that I want--” 

“What?” 

He shakes his head once. “I want something that can never be because I can’t give what needs to be given to get it.” 

“Kaz, if it involves me staying you don’t need to give anything for that because I don’t want to go.” 

“I-want-you-to-stay-with-me.” The admission is pried from him by some invisible force. He speaks so fiercely the sentence comes out as one angry word. 

He speaks so quickly a part of me is convinced that I misheard him. I watch him as he moves back to the bed, sitting down in a way so resigned I wonder if I blurted something out on instinct. 

“Kaz,” this is embarrassing, “I wanted to stay with you even when I wanted to hate you.”

I take in his measured expression, the only thing implying any kind of reaction is the way his eyebrows draw together. “Don’t say that, you don’t understand what that means.” 

“Why? Because you’re convinced you’ll ruin me?” 

“Y/n, we’d be together with a wall between us, keeping us from ever touching.” 

“I will tolerate any amount of damage you’re so convinced staying with you will bring, I will stay with you and never touch you and think nothing of it--but I will not stay with you just to stand in front of a wall.” I let out a tired breath. “I will stay with you but my one condition will be that you have to let me know you.” 

Kaz’s intense gaze wavers. “The first thing you’ll know is that me allowing you to stay is a testament to my greed.” 

I give him a sharp look, “It’s not greed if I want to be here.” 

He half sighs, leaning against a pillow as he turns to look out the window. “It’s raining,” he muses, “The Saints must have done that for you.” 

The sentiment is so soft my heart feels like it’s constricting. “I thought you didn’t believe in the Saints.” 

“If they exist, they do so for people like you.” 

I push past the emotion in my chest as I move to sit in the same chair I was in earlier. “I was honest when I said I didn’t pray for you.” I scratch the back of my arm, a coldness passing over me. “I didn’t pray because I knew you would be okay because you had to be.” 

“They wouldn’t have saved me,” he mumbles, “Or maybe they would have for you.” 

I shake my head once, staring at the rain with more fascination than before. 

--

General Taglist: @theincredibledeadlyviper @grishaverse7 @lonelystarship

[everwitch-magiks]

dance with somebody (ch. 1)

It’s the first kegster of his senior year, the first kegster after his first fucking win as captain of the Samwell Men's Hockey Team, and Dex just-

Dex needs a moment.

The porch is empty. Dex settles down, sets aside his half-empty can of beer. Looks down the road of frat houses, all in various stages of Saturday night festivities. The water polo frat, Dex thinks, is gonna have one hell of a post party cleanup.

Inside the Haus, someone’s put on I wanna dance with somebody. Dex almost smiles.

It’s maybe a little weird, how he doesn’t even have to be in there to know exactly what’s going on.

Bully and Hops are dancing, and Louis is definitely not. He’ll be off in a corner, talking to whoever will listen (Whiskey, most likely, since he’s always off to the side if he can help it) about how he can’t understand why he hasn’t been appointed officially in charge of all kegster playlists, yet. Tango, meanwhile, is probably still trying to get Farmer and her friends to explain all the rules of volleyball, in detail, unless Ford has staged her usual intervention. Chowder will be wherever Farmer is, the Scones are still riding that sweet, sweet high of their first NCAA victory… And then there’s Nursey.

Somehow, there’s always Nursey.

He’s there in the early mornings, when Dex thinks he’ll hit the gym before anyone else, his smiles casual and his chirps gentle. He shows up every so often when Dex gets out of class, with Dex’s favourite flat white from Annie’s and a wry smile, and drags Dex along to Founders where they’ll sit together in near silence and mostly not study. Or, actually, Nursey kind of studies for real. Dex… Well.

Lately, Dex can't say he's been all that productive, when Nursey is around.

It really shouldn’t feel as novel as it does. The elements of a crush were always there. If Dex hadn’t meticulously labeled those flaring emotions as something entirely different, those first couple of years, the two of them might've gotten here a whole lot sooner.

Because they’re finally kind of getting somewhere, aren’t they? Unless Dex has been reading Nursey completely wrong, lately. Except he can’t have, not really – the way Nursey’s been staying so close to him, out of choice, those soft smiles and clearly intentional touches. Earlier that same evening, Nursey had let his hand rest on the small of Dex’s back, gently and deliberately and not for the first time. Dex isn’t actually sure what might've happened between them if he’d turned towards Nursey, just then, and met his eyes directly.

Maybe, Dex thinks, he’s finally ready to find that out. To take that leap. See where they land.

The door opens, then closes.

“Hey. Sorry if I’m bothering you.”

Dex turns around, offers a brief smile. He nods towards the empty space next to him.

Whiskey walks over, and sits down.

Dex picks up his can of beer and holds it up towards Whiskey.

“Really good game, tonight.”

Whiskey clinks his bottle against it, almost dutifully.

Dex takes a long drink. Whiskey drinks, too. He’s quiet, which is completely on brand, yet for some reason he seems a little more restless than usually.

“You baked pie,” Whiskey says, after a moment.

Which is not what Dex expected, at all. But at least it’s something.

“Did you get a slice?”

“I did, yeah. It was pretty good.”

“Tried my best.” Dex shrugs. “Obviously, I’ll never live up to Bitty’s legendary baking legacy.”

“You don’t have to,” Whiskey says, and then he pauses, as though he’s choosing his words very carefully. “You don’t have to be the same captain Bitty was.”

“Oh, I could never be.” Dex sips his beer. “We’re similar, though, in a lot of ways. I think that’s part of why I’ve come to look up to him so much.”

“That’s… Yeah.” Whiskey looks away. “I mean, I voted for him, too.”

“You got his dibs,” Dex says, and it’s not quite a question. “That’s pretty cool.”

For some reason, that makes Whiskey grimace.

“Honestly? I’m still not sure why.”

Dex looks at Whiskey, then, really looks at him. Finds that the tension he’s so used to seeing in Whiskey’s shoulders isn’t quite there, anymore. Acknowledges that the usually guarded look in Whiskey’s eyes has given way to something tentatively curious, yet still hesitant. Above all, though, Whiskey looks like he’s so, so tired, like there’s something constantly exhausting him. Like every breath of fresh air just leaves him more drained than the one before.

And if that isn’t a feeling Dex finds all too familiar.

“You know, I actually voted for you,” Dex says. “As captain.”

Whiskey startles – no, flinches. Dex has never seen him look so bewildered.

“You bring a lot to this team,” Dex continues firmly. “You make our best plays, and you always look out for everyone on the ice. You don’t make a big fuss about it, but I always know you’re going to have my back, no matter what. You lead by example.”

“Bitty led by example,” Whiskey says – argues, almost. “By being loud, and proud, and one hundred percent unapologetically himself at all times. And I’m not… That's just not me.”

“You don’t have to be like Bitty, any more than I do,” Dex says, gently. “You know that, right? There’s literally one million other versions of being proud of who you are. It’s okay to find one that you're comfortable with. It’s okay if that takes time.”

Whiskey leans back, abruptly – he looks almost as if he’d very much like to take off, running, rather than acknowledge any part of what Dex has just said. Yet then he stills. Something shifts in his expression.

“You and Nurse,” he says, simply.

Dex draws in a breath. Whiskey is watching him intently.

"I mean, yeah," Dex says. Because somehow, he owes Whiskey this. "Me and Nursey."

Whiskey nods, slowly.

"Huh."

"It's not… We haven't really talked about it, yet."

That makes Whiskey look surprised.

"Some things take time," Dex adds, completely aware of how he’s repeating himself. "And, like, there's no rush. There's not going to be a finish line. No prize for getting there first."

“But you know what you want,” Whiskey says. His voice is a little hoarse, compared to before. “You know who you are.”

“You’ll get there,” Dex says, quietly but firmly. “Whatever that means for you. It’ll be difficult, and it might take time. But you’ll make it through.”

Whiskey merely shrugs.

They’re both quiet for a long moment, after that.

Then Whiskey gets up.

“Think I’m gonna call it a night.”

“Okay.” Dex smiles towards him. “See you at team breakfast, tomorrow?”

“Sure.” Yet Whiskey lingers for a moment, almost if there’s something more he means to say. “Thank you. I mean, for the company.”

“Anytime,” Dex says, and finds that he really means it. “You can always talk to me, Whiskey. About anything.”

Whiskey nods once more, his expression unchanging, before quickly heading inside.

Dex watches him go.

He’d like to keep a much closer eye on Whiskey, from this moment on. He can’t, though. Whiskey would realize immediately. And that’s no good – it’s got to be on Whiskey’s terms, or not at all.

It's something Dex knows from experience.

The door opens again.

It's Nursey.

"Whiskey just came in, looking like, super unchill." Nursey closes the door behind him. "Did something happen?"

"He's a bit stressed, but he's okay."

"Oh. Good, then." Nursey walks over, yet he doesn't sit down. Instead he leans against the banister in a way that’s probably supposed to look casual, and glances towards Dex from the side. “Are you okay, though?”

“Of course I am.”

Nursey frowns. “You seemed a bit out of it, earlier.”

“Earlier tonight?”

“Before the game.”

“Ah,” Dex says. Because of course Nursey would pick up on what Dex had been trying so hard to conceal. On the very reason why he’s come out to the porch, all by himself, while a seriously ‘swasome kegster is still going on inside. “I guess I’m just not really used to it all, yet? The whole captain bit.”

Nursey hums. “You’re not in this alone, you know. You don’t have to go through it alone.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“And, like, if you wanted to have an alternate? You could do that. I’m sure the team would be cool with it.”

“Actually,” Dex says, “I’ve sort of been thinking about that for a while now.”

Nursey grins.

“Oh, man. Chowder’s gonna freak out so hard, when you ask him.”

“What makes you so certain I’m not going to ask you?”

Nursey turns to stare at him, abruptly.

“That’s a joke, right? God, please tell me you’re joking.”

“It’s mostly a joke,” Dex admits with a slight grin, and there’s no way he’s gonna pass on the obvious chirp. “Chill, man.”

“You do not get to use that word in this context.” Nursey still looks decidedly unsettled. “Fuck, me? The A? Do you have any idea how many papers an English major needs to churn out his senior year?”

“Yeah, you poor baby.”

“Ha, ha. God, I need another drink.”

“There’s someone else I have in mind, actually,” Dex says. That look in Whiskey’s eyes, uncertain yet somehow still so determined, is fresh in his memory. “Someone who could grow into the role, maybe? Someone who needs an opportunity to learn more about themselves, and all they can be.”

Nursey frowns. “It’s not Tango, is it? Because if our pre-game ritual turns into twenty fucking questions, I’m one hundred percent blaming you.”

Dex smiles.

“No. It’s not Tango.”

“Well. Good.”

They’re quiet for a moment. Then Nursey looks over at Dex – really looks at him, meeting his eyes directly – before slowly (and intentionally, one might say) stepping away from the banister and sitting down in the same spot Whiskey occupied, earlier. Except Nursey might be sitting a bit closer to Dex. Maybe a lot closer.

It’s a little bit ridiculous, but does it still make Dex’s heart flutter? Fuck yeah.

“So,” Nursey says, his voice strangely calm – chill, even though the way he can’t quite make himself face Dex as he speaks gives him away completely. “Are we ever gonna, y’know. Have this conversation?”

Dex takes a deep breath. Then he reaches out, takes Nursey’s right hand in his. Laces their fingers together, softly yet very deliberately.

“Yeah. I think it’s time we do.”

(ch. 2)

[celestial-leaves]

“Do not go gentle into that good night.”

Across the barren landscape blew a cold wind, dragging it's fingers over the fragmented rocks so that they rolled and cracked like weak thunder. It danced between ageless columns, under a large stone table and out the other side. It's toneless voice lost to a void of infinite stars. Zaveid crouched on one such column, eyes closed, and senses cast out as far as they would go. He tracked the wind's passage, exhaling steam with every breath, reading what it was willing to share. The information was lacking. Their target - a gang of highway robbers - were nowhere to be found. Slowly Zaveid reeled his senses back in, releasing his grip on the wild winds until it was only his own domain that drifted about. He stepped off the column floating to the ground non-nonchalantly. Once more he eyed the terrain but it remained desolate, not even a whiff of maovelance.

With a shrug the eolian took off across the landscape, domain consolidating into translucent wings that carried him back to the camp. He landed neatly besides Lailah with a soft swoosh. The wings dissolved back into air and he shook out his arms for they had a tendency to stiffen up after prolonged flights.

"Welcome back," Lailah said, her voice no more than a quiet murmur. Zaveid followed her head tilt and huffed. Their shepherd was curled up by the fire, the top of his hair poking out from under the blanket. Asleep as he was he appeared even smaller, barely longer than an oxen saddle. He eyed the rest of the camp but didn't see the other youngsters. "The girls went hunting," Lailah spoke again. "Did you find any leads?"

"No. Where ever they went, they're long gone," Zaveid said. He sat down folding body parts in such a manner that there was limited exposure to the flames. "Might have to go back to town, see if we can scrounge up another trail." There was a quiet hum from the prime lord but nothing more so he fell silent as well, automatically encircling the encampment with an alert breeze.

Before too long the hunters returned squabbling like nest-mates but carrying between them a good-sized deer. "Food!" Their newest sub-lord exclaimed, heedless of the previous quiet. She cast down her share of the burden and immediately crouched close to the fire, holding out her hands. "It's ridiculously cold out there, it shouldn't be this cold so early in the year, should it?"

"Out of season weather are a sign of a troubled world," Lailah said, "I suppose it can't be helped with all that has been going on." At the sound of raised voices, the shepherd stirred and sat upright, rubbing at his face. "Good timing Deryn!" Lailah continued brightly, "come help with this." Mutely, the boy scrambled up and trotted over.

Seeing that the other three had it well in hand, Zaveid remained where he was and closed his eyes. Between the simultaneous training of a new shepherd and seraph, the hunting of hellions, and the tracking of potential lords of land, there wasn't much time to simply relax. In the aftermath of Sorey's impromptu nap there had been much to do and Rose had done her best, but she was only human. Skilled but not perfect or infallible. They'd lost her some 30 years later, the strain of being a vessel and her own human mortality catching up inevitably. After that, the party had split. Mikleo wandering off to travel the world. Lailah had returned to her throne to suss out potential candidates, whilst Edna had walked away one sunrise without a backwards glance. Travelling with either of the two youngsters had been tempting, but he understood Mikleo's pain all to well and didn't particularly wish to tread on it. To Edna, he had offered and she had turned him down flat, stating that "Phoenix was enough for her."

In the end, he had remained seated on the wind trial's highest perch with the perfect view of their retreating backs. When he could no longer see them, he had closed his eyes and cast out his winds. For days he did not move, existing only as a gargoyle of flesh and blood. The sub-lord pact was a thin chain wrapped around his heart and stretching out across the land. Through it he could sense the others. Mikleo was always bobbing about, one moment he would be in Trizolde and the next Pendrago. It was disconcerting. Zaveid briefly entertained the thought of tracking down the boy, if only to remind of his own immortality. There would be time enough to view the world, it wasn't going to disappear even if he dilly-dallied. The idea had been swallowed down shortly after it had emerged as the thought of moving was an unpleasant one.

Edna was a steady presence. He didn't need to put in much effort to track her for once she had returned to her earth pulse, she had not moved again. He tried not think about her too much or on what slumbered near her. Somehow, though, it always managed to pervade his thoughts. Seeping through his brain until the guilt became so strong as to be tangible. He suspected that it had something to do with their bond. Ever since he had made that promise with Eizen, it had only grown stronger. Even the latter turning into a literal dragon had not broken it. Whenever he closed his eyes, fought, ate, or did anything really. It was there. Settled in the far reaches of his mind like a particularly unpleasant fungus. If Zaveid concentrated he could perceive Eizen's emotions, rumbling discontent or hunger. Sometimes it felt as if the dragon could sense his mental intrusions but those times were rare and far between. Usually, it only served to remind him of his broken oath.

Five months after the group had split the sub-pact connecting him to Lailah snapped. He felt it break, present one heartbeat and gone the next. Panic crashed in in the wake of the severing, leaving him breathless. He tumbled more than leapt from his perch, shaking out limbs that had remained stagnant for far too many days, and hit the ground with a teeth rattling thud. The sudden movement and rush of alarm drew an inquisitive feeling from Eizen but he ignored it. The wind coursed around him, dragging him to his feet, shoving him eastward. Zaveid didn't question it just gathered the breeze in and surged forwards, shape blurring out of focus as he sped up.

Ladylake was much as he remembered it -loud, odorous, and over populated- but that mattered little when one did not exist. He shouldered his way through the crowds, leaping walls with one step, and dashing through many a clothing line before he came upon the cathedral. The doors had been closed but such an impediment had never stopped the eolian before. He crashed through the window, rolled to his feet, and skidded between Lailah and the humans. A human. A young girl whose hands were curled around the hilt of a familiar sword and whom was in fact the only human in the cathedral. He froze. Meeting her own startled gaze with confusion that did nothing to distill the fear.

"Zaveid."

Zaveid winced at the cold tone, shoulders curling in slightly, before he straightened up and looked back at Lailah.

"How kind of you to join us," The fire seraph continued. Little wisps of smoke drifted up from her shoulders, her arms, her hair, and though she was smiling it was not a kind expression.

"Ah er, I thought something had happened," Zaveid said hastily, pendulums disappearing, and hands raised preemptively. "The bond just cut out without warning, I wasn't expecting it." He glanced at the girl, but she hadn't moved, still looking like a startled deer.

"It does that," Lailah said mildly, for a moment she looked as if she wished to enact bodily harm but she only sighed and Zaveid relaxed. "My apologies, I thought you'd known," she added.

"It didn't do that when Sheps conked out," Zaveid grumbled half-halfheartedly. Now that the fear was receding, various other ailments were beginning to poke their heads out.

"Rose was already affiliated with the - Zaveid! Are those twigs?"

"What are - ow ow." He trailed off, protests muted as Lailah tugged on his hair and let out exclamations of dismay.

"What ever have you been doing?! You look like you've been crawling through multiple piles of brambles and dead leaves." So saying she removed a handful of twigs, casting them down on the ground with disgust. "It's beyond improper to enter a holy area looking like a bird's nest."

"I doubt Mao would mind," Zaveid said, puling away from her questing hands, "it's better than bleeding everywhere."

"Just because Lord Maotelus isn't present does not mean one can be so disrespectful," Lailah snapped. "When was the last time you bathed?!"

"Recently I-" Zaveid started only to stop and frown, he couldn't remember the last time he'd washed or even seen a pool of water. He sniffed his wrist bracers and recoiled. "It's just manly musk," he muttered in Lailah's direction. "I've been busy."

"Clearly," Lailah said. "Had any visitors at the Wind shrine?" She turned away before he could answer and smiled at the human who didn't look reassured. "Not to worry, dear, he may look like that but he's a good person."

"No," Zaveid said preemptively but it had been of little use. Lailah had over powered his protests with a few choice words but the real kicker had been the shepherd's puppy dog eyes. So, despite his complaints he'd found himself a sub-lord once more and travelling with Lailah. It was more pleasant than he would ever admit.

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Time continued to pass them by. Shepherds were born, lived, and died. The church rebuilt itself stone by blessed stone under Lailah's merciless guidance. Soon fifty years had passed, then  a century, and finally one early morning. A seraph emerged from an air pulse.

Zaveid felt it, a tensing of something deep in his soul. He paused, hands deep in the guts of some unlucky forest creature and looked to the coast line. The horizon line remained unchanged and yet the very air felt different. He inhaled, tasting the change on the tip of his tongue, before letting it go. Whatever it was would either come to pass or die still unformed, it was of little concern to him. The thought disappeared into the void reserved for none pressing matters and he returned to his duties.

Their next shepherd - a boy with messy hair the color of straw and mulish eyes - forced that thought back to the forefront. There could be little doubt that the child was Dezel returned to them as a human. Though the physical appearance was different, the soul that shined through - the one that they felt through the pact bond - was the same.

"Grampveid."

A sharp pressure drew him from his thoughts and Zaveid opened his eyes to meet Edna's displeased expression. "Food's ready," she said, adding a moment later "we're switching targets." Before she stomped off.

Zaveid unfolded himself with a groan, he collected a stick from the pile of roasted meat and joined the others. Lailah had spread out a map across two saddle bags, and was carefully etching out their potential routes. Chasing down the robbers would undoubtedly raise the locals opinions of them, but without a lead it was nearly impossible. Besides, it was better to leave such things to the appropriate divisions. That left them with two options; a nest of spiderlyneas had been reported recently or they could put an end to the menace living in the Spiritcrest. Out of the corner of his eye, he eyed Edna but the girl remained as tight lipped as ever.

"How big is this menace?" Deryn asked, voice muffled around by the meat he'd crammed into his mouth.

"Quite large," Lailah said, "and very old. If you remember your lessons it's classified as a 'flee on sight' monstrosity." Despite her grave words, there was a lightness to her tone that both of the youngsters picked up on. Deryn leaned forwards, peering harder at the map as if he could see the dark clouds of miasma surrounding the mountain peak.

Rose pushed up besides him, eyes glittering; "how old is very old, Lai? What's the listed reward price? It's got to be high for a flee on sight!" She chattered.

"Think over a thousand years," Lailah replied calmly and Zaveid eyed her suspiciously. It was clear that she had a goal in mind.

"There is no reward," Edna spoke then, she too was watching their prime lord through half-lidded eyes.

There were confused sounds from the youngsters, but they settled soon enough when Lailah raised her hand. "Allow me to explain," she began and Zaveid tuned her out. His eyes drifted away from the maps and out into the distance. The Spiritcrest was no small hop away, it would take them at least a week's travel or longer should they encounter trouble. Even if they were to arrive safely, they would be fighting against Eizen - the rumble at the back of his mind grew louder as it did whenever the name crossed his thoughts- he brought a hand up to his head, wincing. Deryn had the light but he didn't yet have the battle skills to back it up, his chances of survival were minimal at best. Still, Lailah would not have mentioned it if she didn't have some sort of plan.

The growls returned ten-fold echoing through his skull with a vengeance. Zaveid bit his lip, and focused inwardly. There was an area inside his mind, filled with tangled webs of shadows and bloody promises where lived the reverberations of a beast. It was not the true thing just as it had not always been so twisted, but was only a connection. Once it had been the source of confusion but much warmth as well. Now, though. Now, it was only a chain. Zaveid huffed a little and sent over a thought. <What's got your scales so scuffed up, big guy? You're making a lot of noise.>

He wasn't expecting an answer, he never did anymore. The growling did not recede and further inquiries only brought to mind the imagery of mauled meat. <You're eating,> Zaveid said, deadpan. <would it behoove you to chew quieter?> He received the mental equivalent of a tail to the chest. He staggered backwards out of the shared mind space. He opened his eyes grumbling deep in his throat, and glared sullenly off to the east. Eventually, a consensus was reached. Come morning light the group would head out to the spiderlynea nest. The group retired to their bed rolls soon after, but Zaveid remained where he was volunteering for the first watch with a nonchalant wave of his hand.

Lailah made her way over a few moments later, sinking onto the soft dirt with a groan that she would never have let the children hear. Zaveid glanced at her out of the corner of his eye noticing the faintest smell of incense in the air. He could feel the heat wafting off her skin. "Something bothering you?" He asked.

"Have you noticed anything weird about Deryn?" Lailah returned. She smoothed her dress down stretching the fabric over her knees.

"Are you thinking of something in particular?"

"No. It's- I would just like to hear your thoughts please."  

"There's nothing outright weird about the kid," Zaveid said slowly. "Other than being Dezel reborn that is."

"Right, that."

"Hmm?"

"The whole rebirth cycle thing," Lailah continued. "It's," she paused, nose scrunching up as she chose her words. "You remember how it was before lord Maotelus became our Lord, right?" Her eyes flitted away when Zaveid turned to face her, seemingly finding the nearby grass fascinating but there was a tension to her shoulders. Zaveid sighed.

"Not really," he admitted, "my memory pre-that kid's transformation is not the best. But, things changed after he became Maotelus people stopped-" the words tangled together in his throat, leaving his chest aching with an old pain. "Pre-Maotelus it was simpler, malak or human everyone returned after 100 years. No exceptions." Perhaps it wasn't fair to blame the kid for it, Zaveid knew, but he couldn't seem to help it. A bitter tone crept into his voice as he continued. "But after that kid became Mao, well no one returned." He swallowed and spat out the second half of his thought. "The human population kept growing but us? We were less and and less every year."

"That doesn't explain how it is that Deryn and Rose came to be," Lailah pointed out. "If, as you say, the cycle froze when our lord was born then why is it starting again now?"

"Spirits if I now," Zaveid grumbled. "Didn't understand the church then and I sure as fuck don't understand it now." He flopped backwards, resting his head on his arms. Lailah chuckled, and after a moment tilted sideways until she too was laying down. Zaveid bit back the teasing comment he'd been about to make. Lailah despite her laughter still felt tense. "Sheps probably had something to do with it," he said lightly, "that kid never knew when to call it quits."

Lailah chuckled again. Zaveid could feel her shoulders shaking and he smiled to himself. "Still, I am worried," the prime lord said, "regular seraphs being reborn as humans or vice-versa is alright but what if something else took advantage of our lord's nap?"

"Like what?"

"A former lord of chaos or the Calamity herself," Lailah replied matter-of-factually. "If Lord Maotelus was the cycle guardian then-"

"Crowe won't be making a re-appearance," Zaveid interrupted. "She's so deeply buried under whatever seals they're holding Innominat under that it wouldn't be possible." Even as he spoke though, his thoughts flitted away from Velvet and towards something uglier. "Crowe cannot return," he whispered more to himself than Lailah, "but that doesn't mean that the same constraints apply to her human opponents."  It was not a comforting idea and he shivered helplessly.

"You know who would return though?" Lailah asked suddenly and there was pleased warmth in her voice again.

"No but I suspect you'll tell me," Zaveid said. The grin appearing on his face despite his mood being far from cheerful.

"Eizen," Lailah said without preamble. She smiled up at him with glittering eyes.

His heart clenching painfully Zaveid couldn't maintain her gaze. He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Edna will be happy, I guess." There was a pause, and he could practically feel Lailah picking and choosing her words but in the end, she only shrugged. "We'll do our best," Zaveid said halfheartedly, "not sure Deryn is the right shepherd to feed to Eizen though." That drew an offended snort but the topic was dropped.

The following morning dawned bright and cold, the sky clear for miles around. As the group gathered their items and shoveled food down into Deryn's bottomless stomach, Zaveid looked at the map. It was a straight forward route taking them through two cities and over a small river. He memorized it easily enough, before folding u the map and returning it to its weather proofed case. They set out within the hour, walking in their usual formation. Zaveid scouting ahead followed by Lailah, Deryn, and Rose while Edna acted as rear guard. The atmosphere was pleasant, just shy of cool where the sun had yet to burn the dew from the grass. The winds whispered in his ears bringing tidings from as far away as the coastlines. Zaveid sifted the information extracting news on hellionic activities. Though the weather had initially improved after Sorey's nap, it was still prone to unleashing freak storms or upending it's innards in molten spews. A pretty sight for sure if one was not fleeing for their lives.

The first town they came across was little more than a ramshackle collection of wooden huts encircling a well. The surroundings fields had not been left fallow which suggested that the local inhabitants were not destitute. They moved on swiftly, stopping for the midday break by a noisy brook. The next contention point - a larger dot on the map- was not for several hours.

Even from a respectable distance away the stone walls could be seen crowding the horizon. Zaveid exchanged a look with Lailah and darted ahead, the wind consolidating under his feet until he was shooting through the air. He landed on one of the walls with a quiet thump ad inspected the town. The streets - winding cobblestone pathways - were empty. The windows of the dwellings visibly shuttered. Zaveid frowned casting out his senses but they came up empty. There was nothing seeping danger in the town. He descended from the wall and wandered through the streets. There was not a soul to be seen, though the space did not feel unlived in. There was water in the well and the wood was unrotted. Whatever had chased the inhabitants away was either recent or -

He froze. The air vibrated. A heavy thumping reached his ears and he looked towards the sky. In the distance a dark shape was speeding towards the city, growing larger by the second. Zaveid blinked, cursed and dove for cover. There was little to be found, other than the insides of a building, the streets did not posses many overhangs. He pressed himself into a narrow alcove, pendulums sliding down his wrists even as his heart tried to beat it's way out of his chest. From his new position he could no longer see the beast, but the wind spoke of a huge wingspan. Automatically his thoughts turned towards Eizen but they were nowhere near Rayfalke. Besides the presence in the back of his mind was strangely quiet, it was always loudest when he was within Eizen's vicinity. He peeked around the corner and saw the creature descending, wings spread so wide that they ought to have blotted out the sun. But the wings were so translucent that the beams pierced straight through, forcing Zaveid to shield his face.

The dragon was huge. Perhaps the largest monstrosity that Zaveid had laid eyes on, it dwarfed even Eizen's bulk by several feet. It shuffled restlessly, crouching down on the cathedral's spire as tiles rained down to the ground. It's tail looped once and then hung down so that the tip scraped against the cobblestones. It's scales - golden-white in color - shone under the spring sun and when it yawned it's teeth seemed the size of his hand.  Zaveid gulped. As the quickest member he'd been sent ahead to scout but the party was not so far behind that they would fail to notice a draconian domain. Except, he frowned and tasted the air once more but nothing had changed. Other than the faintest remnants of weeks old terror there was no maovelance. No reaper's curse. No black miasma. He sensed Eizen stirring, no doubt reacting to the presence of another dragon, and hastily closed his mind to the intrusion. There was a rumbled protest, the feeling of scales scraping against stone and he could almost visualize Eizen glaring at him reproachfully. <<Go away,>> Zaveid thought in his direction, <<this doesn't concern you.>>

Fiddling with his necklace Zaveid considered his options; the dragon had yet to notice him and if it was as he suspected then the party would need to be informed of a new threat. It shifted then and he pressed himself further into the shadows, preparing to wind-step at a moment's notice but it only stretched out it's serpentine neck. As it moved he caught sight of it's yellow eyes, confirming the suspicion that this was not Eizen, though it did not explain how such a monstrosity had come to exist. The eolian thought it over for a moment and then strolled out into the closest courtyard. He pulled his domain in as close as it could, a respect that he would have normally offered only to Maotelus. He heard the sound of scales scrapping across stone but did not look over. There was a fountain in the center of the courtyard, water cascading over some bird stained humanoid shape. He stepped up and crouched down on the crook on the statue's shoulder. It put him slightly closer to the dragon's eye level.

If there was one thing that Zaveid had learned over his long years of existence was how to hide his fear. He could feel his heart decamping up to the base of his throat but he refused to let it show on his face. He met the single draconic eye evenly, pulling up a smirk for size. It inhaled, nostrils flaring visibly. Though it's scales were mostly white there was gold patterning that shimmered in the sun and the scales around it's claws seemed orangish.  Zaveid swallowed and when that didn't help coughed. His throat still felt too tight but he spoke anyway, "What's your-"

"You were one of Eumacia's pets," the dragon interrupted. "Were you not?" It's voice was surprisingly soft, crackling on the odd word but not guttural.

The air escaped Zaveid's chest in a startled gasp, and for a painful moment it felt as if his heart had stopped. "I- I don't know a Eumacia," he said shakily, "and I'm no one's pet."

"Eumacia Eumaaaciaa," the beast hissed, "my dearest older sister." It's tail trashed, tearing straight through the ground. It settled again, resting its snout on a paw. "You were hers," it insisted. "Bound you were to her vessel."

"Vessel?" Zaveid asked, the word bouncing around his brain. "You're going to have to put a bit more effort into your explanation, buddy. You're not making a lick of sense," he said eventually. Despite his efforts to shut Eizen out, the name slipped through the bond and he heard the dragon react. A long snarl reaching him.

The dragon rumbled, smoke drifting out of it's nostrils and Zaveid prepared to bolt. "I am Musiphe," it said, still with that same rumbling tone. "Young one, has no one taught you your history?"

"Er."

"I am what your kind calls an Empyrean," it continued, "You serve me."

"Yeah. Er. No," Zaveid said automatically. "I don't serve anyone and aren't you supposed to be, I don't know, up there?" He gestured at the sky. "And not a dragon," he added after a moment. The dragon shifted and Zaveid's attention flashed to it's teeth. He crashed into the side of a building before he realized it, sliding down to the ground with a pained grunt.

"Young one," the beast chided, "you have forgotten your manners." It descended from it's perch, cat-like in it's grace as Zaveid scrambled to his feet. He didn't need to look to know that a bruise was forming, darkening his side like splattered paint. Eizen was roaring now, though Zaveid couldn't tell if he was angry at the empyrean or off on a hunt. His head pounded with each reverberation.

"Mmm, can't say I ever learned them," Zaveid said, a swift appraisal of the situation and he backed away using the building to shield his back. "I'm afraid this where I love you and leave you Musiphe," he continued, "nice meeting you." The wind snatched him away moments before the tail brought the building crashing down. Zaveid saw the cloud of dust from the sky and took off in the direction of the party. As soon as he'd put distance between himself and the city, he dropped to the ground. The last thing he needed was the dragon catching him in the air. He wind-stepped along, small jumps that allowed him to remain aware of his surroundings. The group was still trouping along when he crashed into their midst, appearing between Lailah and Deryn.

"Change of plans, we're not going this way," Zaveid said and snatched up the boy. "Everyone get inside." He didn't wait for them to react, just secured Deryn under his arm and wind-stepped away. The wind rushed past, the surroundings blurring into a streamlined mess. The only constant was the warm bundle under his arm. He did not stop until they'd left the empyrean a whole day's travel behind, setting down on the sandy surface of a cove. The mad dash left him gasping for air like a beached fish, struggling to inhale through lungs that felt painfully compressed. Deryn, the over dramatic brat that he was, staggered away coughing. A small red sphere emerged from his chest and took human form beside the wind seraph. Two others emerged on its heels.

"Grampveid cease your dying and explain," Edna demanded, the point of her umbrella jabbing mercilessly into his side. Zaveid grunted. A hand pressed too his chest as if that would calm the thundering of his heartbeat. It wasn't like he required oxygen to survive but it felt as if his lungs were constricting struggling to adjust to the new environment. Black spots crowded his peripheral vision settling around Rose's head so that she was blotted from view. He closed them.  Instinctively sucking in information from the air.

"Shh. It's alright." Warm hands on his face, fingers curling around his chin and stroking his cheek. "It's alright, just breath for me." Zaveid inhaled trying to match the prime lord's steadying breath. Slowly the panic receded, and his heart followed suit sliding back down to settle into his chest cavity. He blinked hazily, swiped at his eyes and said haltingly, "are you sure you're not angel? because your purity is lighting my heart on fire."

Lailah did not look impressed nor did her concerned expression lessen. She stepped back and clasped her hands together. "What happened?" There was steel bleeding into her voice but Zaveid could only shrug.

"Nothing much, just stumbled across a dragon," he said, wincing a little when the group devolved into loud exclamations.

"A dragon? Like an actual dragon dragon?" Rose demanded, her restless energy redirected into bouncing on her toes, teeth bared. She looked ready to set off at once and track down the elusive beast. Deryn too looked inquisitive, though his naturally pouty lips were doing a better job of hiding it.

"It wasn't Eizen," Zaveid specified for the benefit of the little earthen glaring a hole into the side of his head. Some of the tension left her frame but he doubted that anyone else had noticed. "said his name was Musiphta or somethin'," he continued, "nearly ran straight into him. Bastard wasn't emitting any maovelance."

There was quiet gasp. Lailah - hands in front of her face - and eyes wide with evident horror. "Did you say Musiphe?"

"Err, it was something like that," Zaveid answered, rubbing at his neck. "To be honest I was a bit more distracted by the massive spiked tail."

"Musiphe, Musiphe," the prime lord muttered, "An Empyrean. How could this be?" Zaveid frowned at her fretting. The dragon had been large and terrifying, sure but it didn't exude an evil presence. He said as much but Lailah shook her head fervently. "No no, of course they wouldn't exude the maovelance. Musiphe was on of the great lords who ruled this land over a thousand years ago." She began to pace, fingers twisting together as little sparks drifted off her clothing. "He should still be with Lord Maotelus, I don't understand why you ran into him."

"What's an Empyrean?" Deryn asked. Simultaneously, Edna spoke in her typical dead-pan, "It's got to be boring hanging around a sleeping boss all day."  

"It's not the first time the Empyreans have descended," Zaveid said, "the guy mentioned someone named Eumacia having a vessel?"

"Did he say anything else?"

"No," Zaveid said, "he tried to eat me after that so I got out of range." There was a rumble at the back of his mind, vague disgruntlement emitting. Zaveid spared an appeasing wave for the beast before resolutely ignoring it again. Within the privacy of his own mind he turned over what the dragon had claimed, but he could recall no facts about an Eumacia much less being bound to her. The only one and even now innumerable centuries later chills ran down his spine at the thought, had been Melchior. The human was well and truly dust beneath the earth out of range of both his hatred and his vengeance. There was no way he'd be returning.

"The kid turned into a dragon," he said abruptly cutting off whatever the others had been discussing. "There's no reason why his lords couldn't do the same." Fingers tapping against his thigh he glowered at the sky. "It's not like Mao was bound to the other plane. The only catching point is why they chose to re-appear now. The humans can't see them."

"Slaughtering humans hardly requires them to be visible," Edna said, a darkness slipping into her tone. With her child-like appearance - still under 150 centimeters - it was easy to forget that she too had lived through the Abbey's reign. Deryn and Rose both looked at her, their eyes wide.

"Seraphs can do that?" Deryn asked, "aren't they supposed to be-" he paused and waved a hand for emphasis, "*good?*"

"Like all things, the seraphim are subject to both good and evil humors," Lailah replied. "It is not so much that the great lords would engage in senseless acts of violence but merely that it is within their power." The shepherd looked skeptical, not that Zaveid could blame him. The empyreans had not lifted a finger when the Abbey had been running around enslaving malakim left and right. They'd been content to remain in their plane, no doubt sipping on the world's lifeblood as they watched it burn. He kept that particular thought to himself, Lailah got oddly offended when he spoke ill of the church. Even now she was herding the conversation away from the empyreans and the Abbey.

Zaveid understood her recalcitrance but could not bring himself to sympathize. Though the church might have evolved since it's Abbey's days and become something a little less oppressive, it didn't change the fact it had engaged and still engaged in the conquest wars. The group settled in the cove, laying their packs down and setting up a campfire. Each was lost to their own thoughts. Not needing food, Zaveid dug out a gel for himself and found a large rock to perch on. Eyes closed and head tilted to catch the sunlight, he was content to sit peacefully. For awhile thoughts of the Empyrean churned through his brain but eventually they too faded into silence.

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It appeared out of seemingly thin air. There was no other explanation. One moment the winds had been functioning as normal, the next they were burning, disappearing so quickly that Zaveid barely had time to react much less warn the others. Their campfire erupted. Flames sky rocketing as the wood exploded. He grasped for the nearest figure, fingers closing around a thin wrist and dragging whoever it was closer. The air felt void, no winds, no breezes just the looming presence of the empyrean.

It landed deceptively softly, huge wings draping out across the ground. Zaveid thought he saw starlight reflecting off them. It's tail swept about, encircling the group nonchalantly as if it regularly herded it's prey. He exchanged a look with Lailah and saw the same fear reflected in her eyes. Rose pressed into his side, wordlessly.

"Young one." For a beast of it's size it truly had no business sounding so gentle. "You ran off before we'd finished our conversation." Yellow eyes blinked reproachfully.

"Was that what you ole ones call a conversation?" Zaveid asked, the retort slipping free before his brain caught up to his mouth. He felt Lailah's wince though she was nowhere near him. The dragon made a sound, and it took Zaveid a while to realize that it was laughing. Hot air blew from it's nostrils but the flesh grinding jaws remained closed.

"Begging your pardon, my lord," Lailah spoke, her head lowered deferentially. "Was there something you required of us?"

The beast blinked at her and then inhaled slowly, its tongue flicking out. Resolutely, Zaveid tried not to think of Eizen doing the same thing moments before he'd attacked a buffalo herd. "I do not recognize you," it said eventually, "one of that child's followers perhaps?"

"I am the Prime Lord Lailah. I serve under his lordship Maotelus," came the reply. Somehow she was keeping a mild tone despite their danger and Zaveid felt a surge of pride. He wasn't sure that he'd have been able to pull off half as much respect.

"Yessss. That child's indeed." The tip of it's tail twitched, just once. "You may refer to me as Lord Musiphe. I am-" it's teeth bared in the semblance of a smile, "that child's older brother." He rumbled again as if laughing at his own words.

Zaveid bit his tongue, swallowing down the protest until it had sunken into the pit of his stomach. There came an inquisitive rumble from within him. The feeling of soil shifting under his clawed feet as Eizen paced the mountainside. Somehow the knowledge that his own dragon was relaxing at home was calming. Zaveid snorted to himself. Eizen was no more his dragon than he was a harmless hellion. Though the longer he delayed on fulfilling his oath, the easier it had become to discern the dragon's thoughts and emotions.

Musiphe spoke again, dragging his attention back to the very real danger. "Tell me children," it said, "what are the occurrences of this continent. I would hear your opinions."

True to his word the dragon remained still and silent listening to the tale that Lailah and Zaveid spun. He did not seem overly bothered when they explained Maotelus disappearance and had in fact snorted when they'd mentioned the destruction of Camlann. The lack of reaction was off putting but for Zaveid it further cemented the idea that Empyreans truly did not care about the state of their world. He scanned the scales, searching for any kinks in the natural armor or traces of a fight. There were none. By all appearances the dragon had not engaged in any acts of violence, other than swatting Zaveid like a fly. It's domain was still clean.

"I see," the dragon hissed, it curled further in on itself as if that could hide it's claws. "Much has changed since I last walked these lands then." It chuckled and small sparks shot out of it's nose.

"Where's your vessel?" Zaveid asked abruptly. Giving voice to the thought that had been pinging him. Even Maotelus had had a vessel, after all.

Musiphe's head whipped towards him, the weight of his exhale causing Zaveid to stagger. A lip curled upwards revealing the edge of a stained tooth.

"Apologies my lord," Lailah spoke up hastily. "He means no harm. It is merely awe inspiring that you remain unaffected by the land's aura. We would not be so rude as to presume that we are worthy of inquiring after your vessel." Though one of the huge eyes rolled towards her, the snarl did not fade.

"What she said," Zaveid muttered after a moment.

"My vessel is my own," Musiphe rumbled, "even now it thrives and I am sure it will grow up into a fine fighter." It's tongue flicked out once more and it looked almost please.

"It?" Zaveid pressed, "is it a living creature?"

"Young one, your manners are truly atrocious," came the answer. "Perhaps you require a lesson or two before Eumacia returns to this land." The look in it's eyes was not a kind one and Zaveid shivered. His instincts were screaming at him to retreat now - that against this fiery vortex he stood no chance. For the first time in nearly a decade, he regretted stowing Siegfried away.

"You know, I'm still a little unclear on who this Eumacia is," Zaveid said, turning a blind eye to the prime lord's disapproving look. Let her bow her head in subservience, Zaveid had never done well in such circumstances and he didn't plan on starting now.

"My sister," Musiphe started but then it paused. It's serpentine head swung upwards and it's tongue swept out to taste the air once more. It remained silent for several moments, eyes hooded as if it were listening to another voice. It rumbled deep in it's throat, fire leaking out between it's teeth. "My sister," it repeated eventually. "has always been the inquisitive type. Though you are but a spotted rock at best she does not mind your arrogant transgressions. I am however not so lenient." There was a warning in those gleaming eyes, and a threat in the fire that continued to burn his winds away.

Zaveid glared up at it, staring into those eyes with all the bravery he possessed. There was an itch in his gut -some would refer to it as foolishness - that needed to be scratched. Giving in to it would be all to easy. However he wasn't by himself. There were children relying on him to keep it together. Letting out a frustrated growl, Zaveid bowed his head turning his vitriol against the earth instead. His hair ruffled under the heavy breath the empyrean exhaled, sweat gathering on his neck and sliding down to soak into his shirt. He heard it settle again, but the pressure did not fade and instead heightened as the large head lowered once more to rest against it's leg. It was close enough to touch, the pale scales turning reddish under it's inner heat.

The intent was clear. *You are a lesser creature than I* the empyrean was saying, *I do not fear you.* Zaveid bristled but there was nothing he - or anyone - could do about it. They were at the mercy of the elder beast. The empyrean remained with them for the rest of the evening and through the night. He could feel it's deep breaths stirring the sand. It's eyes -half lidded though they were - glinted in the starlight. Occasionally it would rumble up a question or revisit something Lailah had said earlier in the evening. It's domain was a massive web, spread out across the land and suffocated all that it touched. Zaveid wandered how it was that the beast was not attracting every hellion in the area. Such a massive source would feed the critters for months. However as soon as the thought crossed his mind, a slightly more worrisome bloomed. Discretely, Zaveid stretched his senses out towards his bonded seeking to draw comfort from Eizen's presence but there was nothing. Only the vaguest hint of cold.  

[nerdydoll-sims4]

Till Your Last Breath - Chapter 1

Summary: The countdown plastered to one's skin showed how much time the other's soulmate had left to live. For Felicity Smoak, that meant she had 3 months to find and warn her soulmate before he would die. When she met him though, she got more than what she signed herself up for. Especially when his secret identity was revealed to her... Soulmate, Bratva AU mixed with Olicity Fic-A-Thon Prompts. Prompt: Eye Contact Word Count: 1662 Rating: M Tagging: @thebookjumper, @olicityhiatusficathon  Notes: Heyyaaa people :) I'm very excited to be back with this small prologue. This fanfiction will be updated weekly, depends on how much the prompt fits the storyline I have in mind, and of course the response will determine how many chapters this story should get. While this prologue is very quick, I will try to aim for a word count between 2500 and 5000+. The chapters will focus heavily on that week's prompt, except for this one, because this is the chapter that gets the story going. I hope you enjoy this little ficlet and follow the characters' journey to the end. :) Let me know what you think at the end by dropping a message. Comments and kudos feed the soul of my Muse. :P Enjoy! :)

Read on AO3

The worlds of Soulmates were a cruel one. For instance, not everyone had a soulmate while some people had more than one. The appellation "cruel" did not come from that reason though. It came from the marred skin on a person's body that hid a countdown. The countdown itself showed the years, months, days and minutes that were left until their own soulmate died, spraying an invisible shadow of death and clock over people's heads as a reminder. Those who carried the different looking countdowns were much more tensed, depressed and led a life only the strongest could. But even so, from the connections soulmates shared, people called it a blessing.

For Felicity Smoak, it was more of a curse.

The curved numbers changing from day to day did not show a high number like in the case of most children at her age. Instead, when Felicity turned 13 and the mark appeared, it displayed the following combination of numbers: "12:03:20:05." Which meant she had a little over 12 years until her soulmate died.

From the moment people saw the number on her wrist, they started whispering behind her back, pitying her, mocking her. Some were kind, some were not. Some offered condolences to her, while some told her it was because no one wanted her. Overall, Felicity received a load of varying reactions that pushed her into a dark place. She did not want a simple number to rule her life, especially when it did not necessarily mean anything. Sometimes, the dates were wrong.

So, Felicity bought a bracelet with the help of her mother to conceal the countdown and focused on making a bright future for her. That helped her in more ways than she thought it would at first. The pity looks ceased then vanished altogether after a while and her classmates stopped making fun of her. And while it solved many problems, she couldn't ignore the rising nervousness and later panic at the low number.

She wasn't into soulmates, but if the numbers were true, it meant an innocent person was going to die and she knew exactly when.

Felicity was 22 when she decided to find her soulmate and warn him. For years, she sat back and focused on her life, waiting for the countdown to switch to a higher number. But since she only had three more years, she decided it was up to her to make sure the man she was destined to be with wouldn't die so early. She wasn't sure she would actually start a relationship with him once found, as she was still too young to settle for "her forever," but she couldn't do nothing any longer.

Unbeknownst to him, he needed her help.

At the age of 25, after 3 years of hopeless searching, Felicity was tired both physically and mentally. She listened to what her guts told her and moved from Las Vegas to Starling City and yet, she caught no sign of him. It was believed that when you met your soulmate, the countdown's color would change from black to a lighter, colorful one, indicating someone's status. The mark would only turn back to black once the mate died. Felicity checked her wrist a lot per day, but whenever she looked down, she had to swallow back a disappointed sigh at the sight of dark ink.

She had four months left and Felicity had visited each club, hospital, social place, plaza, hotel and so on the city had to offer for people. No matter what though, the mark stay unchanged with only the numbers growing smaller.

And after years of searching, she was losing her optimism.

It took her two hours of standing in line to get into the new club, called "Verdant." It was kind of her last hope. She had three months left, if she didn't find her soulmate there, she didn't know where to check next. She moved to Starling City 3 years ago and while her heart told her he was in that city, she couldn't help but question the accurateness of her instincts. He could be in a different city, unaware of his upcoming death whilst she wasted time here. Felicity had no idea what she would do if he died and she couldn't even try preventing his death. If it could be preventable of course, like a car crash or a wrongly gone mugging - not that mugging could be good. If it couldn't be prevented because it was a sickness, Felicity had no idea what she would do next. She had gifted the last few years of her life to finding her soulmate.

She knew people managed to live a content and happy life without their mate, but truth be told, Felicity was unsure. A bigger part of her wouldn't be able to move on from his death, while another part of her would like to explore her other chances. It wasn't like she had never been with anyone, but fate existed for a reason. They were soulmates for a reason.

Not every soulmate relationship worked out the way people hoped, like in the case of her parents, but there were ones people could only dream of, like in the case of her grandparents. The love and connection they shared... It was what drove Felicity to at least try. She didn't want to live her life in a bubble of what ifs and maybes. She had to try and if she failed, she at least failed knowing she did what she could. Although, she wasn't sure anymore if she was talking about saving him or having a relationship with him. For all she knew, he could be a drug addict or a serial killer. Or a seventy-year-old beer-bellied man. That would explain low the numbers. Not that Felicity wanted to think about that option.

Back to the present though.

Felicity made her way through the crowd on the dance floor toward the bar, ignoring the eager hands that touched the red material of her dress and naked flesh they found, knowing the alcohol would help soothe her over-stretched and tensed nerves. She couldn't focus on her task if she was only paying attention to her own body's emotions. Hopping down an empty seat that looked inviting, she ordered her favorite cocktail and placed her palms flat on the cold glass, breathing in and out deeply.

He had to be there, she refused to leave without knowing who her soulmate was.

Swirling in her seat, Felicity took in the place, gazing from faces to faces in the rows of grinding dancers, praying she would feel some kind of pull toward him if she managed to lay her eyes on him. Nothing. She felt absolutely nothing. She scanned the crowd again, only stopping the search to get her drink, the loud music the DJ played, resonating in her chest. The sensation was both unwelcome and unsurprising. Starling City had more than 100 nightclubs and she had been to all.

When she restarted her search for the third time, Felicity felt a set of eyes on her face from the left she hadn't felt before, drawing her attention from the crowd to the shadowed corner upstairs. There, her eyes collided with the gaze of another person, the pull she hoped to feel flaring to life like those flames had been woken suddenly from a light sleep.

She couldn't see his face fully, she couldn't even see his body in full glory, but she didn't have to. Her eyes were strictly stuck on his. From the changing brightness in the dimly lit place, Felicity couldn't see the color of his eyes, but the intimacy it held still got to her. A shiver ran down the path of her spine and her grip on the glass tightened, as his stare kept calling for her.

His eyes showcased power and yet, he didn't even try to use it on her. The muscles in her stomach tangled and Felicity slowly slipped her lower lip between her teeth, the small, almost invisible action drawing his attention from her eyes down to her dark red lips. Her body pulsed with the rhythm of her pounding heart, her breathing that had been mostly normal mere minutes ago quickening.  

A face appeared in her vision out of the blue, covering the mysterious man's gaze and Felicity shook her head a tad to sweep away the magic of the jiffy, blinking rapidly at the stranger ahead while her insides screamed at her to follow the man who held her stare.

"Hey, babe. What you doin' here alone?" he asked a tad unsure about himself, and Felicity almost laughed at his attempt to form a normal, coherent sentence. He most definitely wasn't thirsty anymore.

Before she could reply though, the man was gone, in his place standing a different yet familiar stranger, his piercing bluest of blue eyes making her breath hitch. He was the guy from upstairs. Her eyes roamed over his features and she took in the stubble that littered his jaw, the lips that were drawn in a tight line and the mole his skin wore proudly. Felicity's gaze moved upward and once more, she was struck by his silent look, her lips parting at the sight. He held her captive in that trice, closing out the outsiders from the bartenders to the people surrounding them on the dance parquette. The music that had been bothering her ears before quieted as she got a read on him through his eyes, her heart beating furiously under her breast.

Longing. Surprise. Wariness. Fierceness. Lust.

She didn't need a mirror to be certain her eyes unmasked the same emotions for him. The temperature of her body rose, her skin under the bracelet burning a tad as they stayed unmoving in the spur of the moment.

Felicity didn't have to look down at her mark. She knew it changed colors.

It was him.

Finally.

[r3dz3pp3lin]

Technical Manifesto of Futurist Painting

On the 18th of March, 1910, in the limelight of the Chiarella Theater of Turin, we launched our first manifesto to a public of three thousand people—artists, men of letters, students and others; it was a violent and cynical cry which displayed our sense of rebellion, our deep-rooted disgust, our haughty contempt for vulgarity, for academic and pedantic mediocrity, for the fanatical worship of all that is old and worm-eaten.

We bound ourselves there and then to the movement of Futurist Poetry which was initiated a year earlier by F. T. Marinetti in the columns of the Figaro.

The battle of Turin has remained legendary. We exchanged almost as many knocks as we did ideas, in order to protect from certain death the genius of Italian Art.

And now during a temporary pause in this formidable struggle we come out of the crowd in order to expound with technical precision our program for the renovation of painting, of which Futurist Salon at Milan was a dazzling manifestation.

Our growing need of truth is no longer satisfied with Form and Color as they have been understood hitherto.

The gesture which we would reproduce on canvas shall no longer be a fixed moment in universal dynamism. It shall simply be the dynamic sensation itself.

Indeed, all things move, all things run, all things are rapidly changing. A profile is never motionless before our eyes, but it constantly appears and disappears. On account of the persistency of an image upon the retina, moving objects constantly multiply themselves; their form changes like rapid vibrations, in their mad career. Thus a running horse has not four legs, but twenty, and their movements are triangular.

All is conventional in art. Nothing is absolute in painting. What was truth for the painters of yesterday is but a falsehood today. We declare, for instance, that a portrait must not be like the sitter, and that the painter carries in himself the landscapes which he would fix upon his canvas.

To paint a human figure you must not paint it; you must render the whole of its surrounding atmosphere.

Space no longer exists: the street pavement, soaked by rain beneath the glare of electric lamps, becomes immensely deep and gapes to the very center of the earth. Thousands of miles divide us from the sun; yet the house in front of us fits into the solar disk.

Who can still believe in the opacity of bodies, since our sharpened and multiplied sensitiveness has already penetrated the obscure manifestations of the medium? Why should we forget in our creations the doubled power of our sight, capable of giving results analogous to those of the X-rays?

It will be sufficient to cite a few examples, chosen amongst thousands, to prove the truth of our arguments.

The sixteen people around you in a rolling motor bus are in turn and at the same time one, ten, four, three; they are motionless and they change places; they come and go, bound into the street, are suddenly swallowed up by the sunshine, then come back and sit before you, like persistent symbols of universal vibration.

How often have we not seen upon the cheek of the person with whom we are talking the horse which passes at the end of the street.

Our bodies penetrate the sofas upon which we sit, and the sofas penetrate our bodies. The motor bus rushes into the houses which it passes, and in their turn the houses throw themselves upon the motor bus and are blended with it.

The construction of pictures has hitherto been foolishly traditional. Painters have shown us the objects and the people placed before us. We shall henceforward put the spectator in the center of the picture.

As in every realm of the human mind, clear-sighted individual research has swept away the unchanging obscurities of dogma, so must the vivifying current of science soon deliver painting from academism.

We would at any price re-enter into life. Victorious science has nowadays disowned its past in order the better to serve the material needs of our time; we would that art, disowning its past, were able to serve at last the intellectual needs which are within us.

Our renovated consciousness does not permit us to look upon man as the center of universal life. The suffering of a man is of the same interest to us as the suffering of an electric lamp, which, with spasmodic starts, shrieks out the most heartrending expressions of color. The harmony of the lines and folds of modern dress works upon our sensitiveness with the same emotional and symbolical power as did the nude upon the sensitiveness of the old masters.

In order to conceive and understand the novel beauties of a Futurist picture, the soul must be purified; the eye must be freed from its veil of atavism and culture, so that it may at last look upon Nature and not upon the museum as the one and only standard.

As soon as ever this result has been obtained, it will be readily admitted that brown tints have never coursed beneath our skin; it will be discovered that yellow shines forth in our flesh, that red blazes, and that green, blue and violet dance upon it with untold charms, voluptuous and caressing.

How is it possible still to see the human face pink, now that our life, redoubled by noctambulism, has multiplied our perceptions as colorists? The human face is yellow, red, green, blue, violet. The pallor of a woman gazing in a jeweler’s window is more intensely iridescent than the prismatic fires of the jewels that fascinate her like a lark.

The time has passed for our sensations in painting to be whispered. We wish them in future to sing and re-echo upon our canvases in deafening and triumphant flourishes.

Your eyes, accustomed to semi-darkness, will soon open to more radiant visions of light. The shadows which we shall paint shall be more luminous than the high-lights of our predecessors, and our pictures, next to those of the museums, will shine like blinding daylight compared with deepest night.

We conclude that painting cannot exist today withc without Divisionism. This is no process that can be learned and applied at will. Divisionism, for the modern painter, must be an innate complementariness which we declare to be essential and necessary.

Our art will probably be accused of tormented and decadent cerebralism. But we shall merely answer that we are, on the contrary, the primitives of a new sensitiveness, multiplied hundredfold, and that our art is intoxicated with spontaneity and power.

We declare:

That     all forms of imitation must be despised, all forms of originality     glorified.

That it     is essential to rebel against the tyranny of the terms “harmony” and “good     taste” as being too elastic expressions, by the help of which it is easy     to demolish the works of Rembrandt, of Goya and of Rodin.

That     the art critics are useless or harmful.

That     all subjects previously used must be swept aside in order to express our     whirling life of steel, of pride, of fever and of speed.

That     the name of “madman” with which it is attempted to gag all innovators     should be looked upon as a title of honor.

That     innate complementariness is an absolute necessity in painting, just as     free meter in poetry or polyphony in music.

That     universal dynamism must be rendered in painting as a dynamic sensation.

That in     the manner of rendering Nature the first essential is sincerity and     purity.

That     movement and light destroy the materiality of bodies.

  We fight:

Against     the bituminous tints by which it is attempted to obtain the patina of time     upon modern pictures.

Against     the superficial and elementary archaism founded upon flat tints, and     which, by imitating the linear technique of the Egyptians, reduces     painting to a powerless synthesis, both childish and grotesque.

Against     the false claims to belong to the future put forward by the secessionists     and the independents, who have installed new academies no less trite and     attached to routine than the preceding ones.

Against     the nude in painting, as nauseous and as tedious as adultery in     literature.

We wish to explain this last point. Nothing is immoral in our eyes; it is the monotony of the nude against which we fight. We are told that the subject is nothing and that everything lies in the manner of treating it. That is agreed; we too, admit that. But this truism, unimpeachable and absolute fifty years ago, is no longer so today with regard to the nude, since artists obsessed with the desire to expose the bodies of their mistresses have transformed the Salons into arrays of unwholesome flesh!

We demand, for ten years, the total suppression of the nude in painting.

_Umberto Boccioni, Carlo Carrà, Luigi Russolo, Giacomo Balla, Gino Severini