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pb-dot · 2 months

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Precursors

Something a bit outside of my usual oeuvre today, everyone. I decided to expand my vacation to my work on Thereafter, but since I know better than trying to stop writing cold turkey, I decided to explore some ideas in short story form. As I happened to have The Twisted Ones by T. Kingfisher rolling around in my brain at the time, it ended up being a bit of a Sci-Fi take on some of the ideas there, combined with some miscellaneous worldbuilding ideas that I had bouncing around in my brain at the same time. So, without further ado let me introduce a tale of ancient knowledge and the consequences thereof.

The ship shuddered and whined as we exited FTL, giving every impression classical physics was what governed our sudden deacceleration. It was, however, an illusion born of an FTL drive with several cheap and borderline illegal aftermarket tune-ups. I tried to not think about the complex math horribly mangled by second-hand magnet shrouds and gravitic sensors as I compensated for the FTL drift through a complex and furiously fast series of sensor adjustments that to the uninitiated looked like I was precisely calibrating something and not playing chicken with physics while playing a free jazz solo on an unwilling instrument.

"Is it supposed to sound like that, Cooke?" My passenger inquired.

"This one is," I lie as I bring us back to regular space. "It's a custom job, which is part of the reason why my prices are very reasonable."

"That they are," Their Anglo was pretty good, hardly a trace of an accent. Not all of the citizens of the PLN are as fluent in the old colonizer language, but then again, my Ta Reo isn't great so who was I to judge?

I allow myself a brief peak at the strange brew I had picked up at the borders of UA space. They went by Whetu, and whatever else you could say about them, they certainly were beautiful. The tight topknot of luxuriously wavy black hair, the faintly browned skin that so many in the Pan-Pacific League of Nations had kept, even as generations in the black had robbed them of natural sunlight in the quantities one could expect in the bottom of our native gravity well. All of this was well and good, but their eyes, I swear on the soul within I could stare into the damn things for days. There was a deep dark brown to them, so dark they were almost, but not quite, black. They felt magnetic, like the precipice of a surely lethal fall.

Not that it mattered. They were a client, and clients were clients first and gorgeous mysterious strangers second. I could make a fool of myself by mooning over them once the job was done.

"So, I hope you don't mind me asking," I say, professionalism be damned, I had to know a bit about them.

"Hm?" They appeared distracted, spellbound by the sight of the solar system that was spreading out in front of us. Me, I had seen it all before. Not this one in particular, mind, but once you've seen your first few hundred systems, they all start to blend together.

"What's down here that's worth charting a clipper all by your lonesome?" I nodded at the solar vista ahead where our destination, a gas giant's toxic-green moon, hung in contrast to its large red primary. Now that we were too close to the star for FTL there was nothing much to do while the navigation drives brought us towards our destination.

"Precursors." My passenger volunteered.

"Ah," I said. "You're a xenoarcheologist then? Jumping on an unlicensed Clipper to go digging in the sand for ancient drive casing shards?"

"Oh, this is bigger than that."

"M-hm." I intoned. This wasn't my first starry-eyed ruin diver, but I will admit there was a resolve to their words that made me file away the possibility of them not being full of hot air for later.

"Much bigger. There haven't been any boots on the scene yet, but the catbots have been at it for months."

"Months? Is it a whole building or something?"

"Think bigger taku hoa, it's a whole damn facility."

I whistle at this. "Oh, so this is going to be one of those multi-cycle jobs then?"

"Might not get the chance, the whole damn thing is active."

"You're sharding me,"

"Not even a little bit. The prelim scans are unambiguous, there's mining done, deposing of waste rock too by the look of it."

"Shit," I say, finding myself adjusting a few parameters on my dashboard that don't matter just to not stare slack-jawed. "You think there's any… survivors?"

"Oh stars and routes, no, I should think not. It's probably automated, but still, if it's still running after all these years, there might even be some infrastructure left."

We sat in silence as the jade pearl that was our destination grew larger in the viewport. The scattered clues of a now-extinct alien race whose technology vastly outranked even our theoretical science was one of those things humanity had just gotten kind of used to. This was something else though. Knowing Gilgamesh and Enkidu probably existed in late prehistory was one thing, but finding their dirty laundry scattered about was something else entirely.

"This is huge," I say after a while.

"It is, potentially," They said.

"Might want to invest in some muscle in case you're not the only one to find it."

"Oh, you offering?"

"I am, are you taking?"

Whetu gave me an appraising glance, and try as I might I couldn't help but blush. My habitual presence in zero-G had made me quite the beanpole, and try as I might, it was beyond both my ability and budget to build meaningful muscle on a diet of home-printed nutrition bars. In short, I look like a scrawny pushover, no matter how much I liked to portray myself as a scrappy spacer.

"I can't promise you much action," Whetu said, "but if you want to tag along…"

Touching down on the moon in question wasn't particularly dramatic as these things went, although a panel or two of insulated plating did disintegrate under the heat of entry. Considering the physics involved, it wasn't more than could be expected. Once the doors of my lander creaked open to reveal the green fog and rocky surface of the aptly named moon AX-3882 vii b, I was starting to feel like this had been a mistake. That said, Whetu seemed undaunted, or at least not sufficiently daunted to show body language through the fortifying presence of the vac suit, and so I could not find it in myself to be any more of a craven.

Whetu had brimmed with excitement as I went about the business of parking us in orbit and prepping the fall craft. For me it was routine, and it didn't much spice it up that we were heading into what was potentially a robot factory built by god. Granted, I was nervous as a cat in a rocking horse factory, but that didn't change how boring the procedures were. Loading up my piddly materiel chest with what shield packs and bolt guns I could get for a song and a prayer was admittedly less routine, but there's nothing like fastening straps on plasteel containers to suck the danger and adventure out of everything.

"How's the air down there?"

"Nitrogen and oxygen mostly, it's earthlike, but there's some nasty exotics in there, we'll need rebreathers and goggles for sure."

"Might as well go for full vac suits then?"

"If you have them I don't mind the extra protection."

"Only the best for my unlicensed xenoarcheologist," I jest as I step aside to reveal the exoskeleton zero-G vac loading suits I bought off a bankrupt shipping startup.

"Oh that's some Verhoeven-looking hardware, sure you got licenses for those bad boys?"

"Of course," I scoff. "Forged it myself. Only the best."

The trek from the landing craft passed without much ado. Whatever the precursors needed this planet for, they had not developed it to any meaningful degree outside of the site. Perhaps they had not needed to, and whatever significance this planet held to them was inherent to it. Then again, there were signs of mining of some sort, so the resources of its crust couldn't be entirely irrelevant.

"It should be just over that ridge over there," Whetu motioned with a clumsy mechanized arm.

"Alright boss. Should I arm up?"

Whetu conferred with the digital multitool on their arm. "No need for now," they reasoned. "No other life signs in the area, so provided the facility isn't dangerous we're probably safe."

"That's a big thing to take on faith."

"If you consider violence and danger to be the base state of the universe, I suppose." Whetu didn't quite shrug, but the motion was inherent to their tone. It was a common refrain from PLN folk, that the universe was a kind place if you allowed it to be. A historian once told me it was an attitude that arose from the relatively peaceful nature of the Liberation and Unifications of the PLN. The clean break from the systems of exploitation that the Terra Communis agreement had followed the PLN out into the Black and largely fueled their off-world expansions both economically and spiritually. I suppose one could do worse, but you only needed to be on cleanup duty for one core meltdown salvage job before certain questions about the inherent goodness of existence did arise quite naturally.

The facility didn't seem like that big of a deal from the outside, had I not been informed of the significance of the dull silo, I'd assumed it to be some abandoned well-rat strip-mining site. Imbued now as it was with ancient relevance though, it was hard to not think of it as an obelisk to long-forgotten gods. As we drew nearer, I could see the ribbed tunnels that emerged like tubes from the base of the structure and into the ground.

"Perhaps," I say, no need to relitigate a philosophical argument older than either of us after all. "I'd rather be safe than sorry is all."

As we approached the silo, it felt less and less appropriate to call it a silo. I wasn't sure if it was strictly contextual, or if there truly was some strange aura that made the construction take up more space than it did. No, I decided this definitely wasn't just my imagination, whether by some alien trick of architecture or spooky ancient radiation, there was a profound feeling of wrong to the building. We shouldn't be here. This isn't for us. This place is not a place of honor.

"We assume those are part of an integrated mining hub of some kind," Whetu volunteered. "The little we know about them, the precursors, tells us they considered single-use buildings to be… uh… tasteless, or wrong, there's some ambiguity in our translations there."

"Huh," was all I could say.

"It's really exciting, trying to piece together history without any first-hand accounts. Kore, hadn't it been for the Proxima find we wouldn't even have the language."

"Some would say that's more maddening and frustrating."

"What it is you Anglos say? Potato-Tomato."

"Potato-Poh-tato, it's referencing some pre-exodus language thing I think. Never made no sense to me."

We enter all the same through one of the ribbed tubes. How Whetu decided that this one in particular was not used for active mining and would be safe to enter, I have no idea, but I did not ask. If nothing else, because hearing that they did not know and merely gambled on it would have me running for the hills.

The tube was about a person and a half tall, and as a perfect circle, it was equally as wide. As we entered the oddly organic-looking structure, I could not help but notice the strangeness. To my untrained eyes, it looked like the tunnel dug through the ground as well as the wall, leaving nary a trace indicating the change in material hardness. Either a lot of work had been done to even it out, or precursor methods of making tunnels were as strange as the rest of their tech. The slope upward was noticeable, but thankfully not too steep. We climbed in silence for a while, the whir of our servos almost but not quite syncing up in that maddening way that breaths sometimes do.

I expected the tunnel to end, to open up into what I considered the rooms of a building to look. What we instead discover as we reach of the zenith of the tunnel, was nothing of the sort.

There was a widening into some sort of chamber, yes, but it was way more organic than anything a human would do. The ribbed walls expanded more abruptly than they would into a natural cave, so there was no mistaking it for a distinct chamber. This bulbous space was mostly empty, apart from small, orderly piles of rocks, ore fragments I came to realize.

The Android Revolution had failed to materialize, as engineers and designers discovered that while Man was, indeed, a piece of work, the anthromorph form was not a particularly effective one for a machine to have. Together with the disappointing non-start of sapient AI running into much the same problem in data structure form, humans had, however reluctantly, shed the dream of forming machines into our own image. The precursors it would seem, had come to a similar conclusion.

"The first chamber is usually empty according to the bots," Whetu explained without being prompted. "If there's actually anything still working here we'll have to go deeper."

"Of course," I found myself saying. "and if we're looking for any tech we'll have to go to the very center I suppose?"

"Not necessarily," Whetu said, it sounded like they did not consider my observation rude, but that was surely a failure of their comprehension. "The precursors were big on decentralized layouts. Come on, let's check it out." They motioned for the point where the bulb yet again constricted into a steep but climbable tunnel wall.

We had passed a handful of mostly empty chambers when we saw the first of them.

The machine creatures, for it was impossible to not call them creatures as they moved in a creature-way, albeit with the mechanical precision and purpose of a machine, reminded me first and foremost of an enormous earthworm or other anelid. Its long segmented body was constructed of a light metal or metal-looking substance, approximately four or five meters in length. The body coiled and wrapped around itself to support a broken column as what one might consider the head of the worm slid open to reveal a plethora of tools. Whetu and I both watched, transfixed, as the worm-bot started welding the column back into place. The column was not supposed to be load-bearing, as the spherical ribbed cave seemed to bear its own weight beautifully. The exact purpose of the column, though, became clear once the worm finished its work and started coiling its way up the freshly restored column toward a hole at the apex of the ceiling.

"Amazing," Whetu said, I couldn't help but nod, even though the stiffness of the exosuit swallowed the entire gesture.

"I guess the worms run the show huh? Do you want to try getting a closer look at one?"

"No," Whetu said. "It's better to just observe their functionality in the wild, the catbots have taken some close-up captures anyway. We need to go deeper."

And so we did. Every new chamber showed more complex movement from the metal worms. In one room, a larger model moved to devour the small pieces of ore rock, leaving behind, for the lack of a better word, droppings of smelted ingots for its smaller brethren to collect. We ascend, and as we do, it becomes clear that the pearl string of connected rooms spirals upward, the holes in the ceiling tunneling to the next hole in the spiral above. It's a nonsensical design to me, as a human, but given the flexibility it offers the mech worms, it makes somewhat more sense.

"It's weird," I find myself opining.

"Hm?"

"So far we've not really seen this facility doing anything."

"How do you figure?"

"It's all repairs and maintenance," I gesture towards the worm inching up the curved room wall with multiple metal ingots stuck in its metal skin, like magnetic studs on an earth caterpillar. "That boy over there is taking that metal from the digesting room, and we saw the welder down there use the ingots as…super-solder I guess? Either way, we haven't seen anything about what this whole thing is for I think. It's weird."

Whetu remained silent for a while, from the flickering of their digitool projection on the inside of the vac suit helmet I could tell they were going through the data by the survey bots.

"You appear to be right," they said at last.

"The catbot surveyors haven't been much deeper than this yet, though, there may be a chewy center to this place for us to find."

"I hope so," I found myself saying, and to my surprise it was true. There just was something deeply unconscionable to me about these automatons going on forever for the sake of it.

There were fewer and fewer of what I'd designated "digesting rooms" as we climbed higher. In its place, are construction bays. Rooms with plentiful scaffoldings where the welder worms worked on, as best as I could see, repairing or creating new units.

The oddest thing about the Chamber was how it wasn't the least bit spherical. The tunnel opened up suddenly to a flat floor. The puck-shaped chamber was approximately the size of the tower's base, and so I came to understand it as its center. Along the outer walls, wall reliefs, statuesque representations of vaguely humanoid forms, their faces, if they'd had any, worn away by time.

For an uncannily long time, all we could see were robots repairing robots, robots building robots, every bit as mindless as the humble earthworms they so resembled until we came across the Chamber.

"This is it," Whetu said, equal amounts awe and enthusiasm in their voice. "This is what I've been looking for!" They set down the plasteel container they had been lugging around, revealing it to be a mini drone hub, as sphere-shaped documentation drones started whirring about the second the case opened. "There should be a terminal around here somewhere."

The center of the chamber was a column of strange metal and glass constructions I came to understand as machines of some sort. Light pulsated through the glass tubes and rods, causing sheet metal to ring with tones that may or may not be part of normal operation. Whetu approached it with the light steps one might approach an altar or a very scared dog that might bite. What they were looking for, I had no idea, and as to distract myself from the shapeless uncertainty that started to take root in me, I found myself inspecting the decoration along the outer walls.

"The field of Digi-Archeology is pretty fresh," Whetu said from somewhere behind me.

"Mhm?"

"But we've been working on a way to access and interpret precursor databanks… this is my first field test with the thing so I'm pretty excited about it as you can imagine."

I found myself transfixed by the wall statues. If this was how the precursors looked, they certainly wouldn't win any contemporary beauty contest. Their limbs were long and strange, seeming to fit poorly with their solid cylindrical torsos and flexible, seemingly boneless, bulb-heads. Maybe their faces, if they'd had any, tied it all together, but I couldn't but regard them as a blobby mess.

"Ok, yes, we have contact. I'm going to try to access the log function if there is one, and see if we can find out what this whole place is for.

"Sure," I said. Somewhere behind me, Whetu's digitool projected a screen where streams of odd symbols, I had to assume the alien language, was annotated by globs of text, the best suggestion of a translation if I had to guess, but I did not dwell on them, my brain demanded I instead pay attention to the statues.

"Ok, yes, here they are… hmm, this is less than helpful, this whole place's history starts at… 0? I'm guessing it counts local history from the point of construction which… isn't how I'd do it but ok. I can't access the last bit of the log, or even tell how long it is, it's a bit unclear if that's a bug or corruption or some write-only read-only interference or what"

It was difficult to say for sure, but it felt like the statues were made to look like the precursor subjects were covered by a blanket or fabric of some kind like the true masters of marble sculpture back on Earth would on occasion depict their subjects covered by sheer sheets of silk. There was an imprecision to their form that had me equal parts repulsed and fascinated.

"The entire facility is set up to be self-sustaining, extracting material to replicate the bots that keep it running… and these machines, yes. Wait… yes, this includes their databanks, they're built from silica and ferrous material at a set interval now this IS fascinating, the saved data is built into the new digital machines, no file transfer necessary. It's not PERFECT replication, but close… wait, that's an idea."

"Huh?" I found myself staring at one statue in particular. There was something defensive to its posture. Even though its long limbs were at what a human would call a resting position at it's side, its shoulders, and upper torso were twisted in what might seem as an avoidant way.

"If I can find the rough error rate and this system has some way of diagnosing it's data corruption level, I could figure out how many cycles it has been since Year 0… let's see, oh yeah, they use Base12 don't they… hmm, the digital stuff lasts the longest it seems, they construct new replacements every… uh, time units convert at a rate of…." Whetu descended into mumbling, only to perk up at "103 thousand years or so? Stars above they build these things to last and there's… uh.. approximately… fucking base12… an error rate of 0,05% over that lifetime? That's pretty good I guess."

"Beats me," I say, I'm no longer paying attention. What is it about this statue? Is it how it looks like it's desperate to escape its statue-ness like it's struggling against its calcified skin, like some gorgon's curse has trapped it in stone forevermore.

"oh… oh wow. To ten decimals, 0% guaranteed uncorrupted data is left… no, 20 decimals? What the hell, how many cycles has this gone on?"

"Huh," I say again, I'm not listening, Whetu has to know I'm not listening and yet they keep on like they are every bit as transfixed by their investigation as I am to mine. Something bright catches my attention. Something along the edges of the ghoulish relief glints with fae mischief in the dimness of the room.

"Over 106 thousand cycles? That can't be right because that would mean…"

These weren't statues. These weren't art, I realize as my eyes run over what I had believed to be a rounded frame. Now I see what looks like ancient crumbling rubber, or some other flexible sealant on the translucent glass-like covers.

I say nothing. The source of the glinting was not a diode as I had initially assumed, it was reflective. If it wasn't glass, it was a similar substance. The little shard of glass or not-glass stood out like a hook, still sharp after whatever violence broke off the rest of it. The rest of it. I realized there'd have to be more, a whole glass shroud or…

The realization sets in like nausea, and I can't help but step back, aghast at the horror of it.

These had been pods, meant to contain living things. Cryostasis or some other way of preserving the living flesh through the ravages of uncaring time, I guessed. The pods had failed, maybe before the glass coverings were shattered, maybe as they shattered, or even after, and whatever fate slated to claim the precursor's biology had inevitably set in. They did not decompose it seemed. If anything, they calcified, turning into fossilized versions of themselves. Maybe whatever made up their faces or features rotted off or turned brittle and crumpled, leaving them as the ill-shaped parodies of life that they now inhabited. Perhaps even the tower we explored was made out of their own dead, fused in death into solid blocks, hollowed out by their anelidic mechanical servants like base cement.

The shrill sound made my world swim in sudden vertigo. I had not seen the mechanical worm enter the room, nor had I caught it moving, but now it clung to, and coiled defensively over the "statue" I had drawn my gun on. The worm's head was retracted, and the aggressively blinking light and strange tools that faced me immediately brought to mind readied weapons, not helped one bit by the undulating sway of the worm's body, moving as a snake poised to strike. It must have been the worm or one of its comrades in arms that had produced the sound, a sonic assault of some kind.

"Unless my math is way off," Whetu's voice shook with the implications "This tower is over 14 billion years old. That's… That's older than the universe… older than we assume the universe to be."

I did not listen. The words entered my conscious mind, but there was no one at home. I found myself drawing my bolter. It wasn't in fear, as much as it was in a deep revulsion or pity, if there truly was a way to delineate between those two emotions in my mind, I certainly couldn't make the distinction. I needed to destroy these remains, to uncage these alien souls from their mineral prisons, to shatter these before-comers and tell the universe in no certain terms that their age was over. Whether by natural process, conquest or self-genocide their time was over, and the grasp of time could not be denied.

Once I stepped back and lowered my weapon, the worm lowered its head, mirroring the gesture, but it did not slink away, nor turn its faceless attention away from me. I had, apparently, been reclassified from Mostly Harmless to Probably Bad News. In the distance, I could hear the metallic sound of more segmented bodies moving, the sounds grew louder.

As we ran, I realized the hopelessness of the situation. If the worms were operated by a centralized intelligence, or at least a decentralized one with the ability to communicate with its compatriots, we could potentially be met with a small army of worm-bots below. Even if they didn't have any dedicated weapons like I had assumed, their welding torches alone could char us down to the bone, and the way the worm used its coils to move heavy beams like it was nothing told me that tearing us limb from limb wasn't off the menu either.

"We need to get out of here," I said. It was possible the worms would not lump Whetu in with me in their threat assessment, but I, for one, did not want to take the chance. I seized Whetu's hand. "Whetu! We got to get out of here." I yanked on their hand, praying that this would drag them along. If Whetu activated the vac suit exoskeleton nothing short of a bulldozer would get them out of this room without their express and ongoing consent, and while I doubted the worms could do it either, their attempts might be considerably more violent, and the suit's shear and tear strength would not be sufficient no matter how strong it got.

Neither one of us said anything as we boarded the fall craft and prepared for the kick. Escaping a gravity well is inherently riskier than returning to one, and while it shook the fight out of us and then some, I felt safer in the shaky grasp of the Fall craft's takeoff engines than I did on the compact rocky soil of the moon. The blessed calm of zero-G came as a soothing balm after the tribulations of takeoff, but not even the tranquility of the Black could erase what we had experienced.

Fortunately, it seemed the worms were content with getting out of our way, although more than one of their rounded, sightless not-heads followed our hastened retreat down from the puck chamber and out of the ribbed tunnel. They would act if we at any point stopped leaving, my terrified fight or flight instinct informed me in jagged pulses of adrenaline. We weren't safe before we were out, ideally off planet, ideally on our way out of the star system fastways.

We ran down the hill we had crested on our way there. I felt like it had been years, like an entire life had taken place between our crossing of this natural threshold into the impossible and unnatural, and us emerging like bedraggled Orpheuses now, in the low twilight of the moon's setting sun.

For the longest time, Whetu gave no answer, nor any indication that they had heard me. They had stopped moving around aimlessly and sat by my side at the bridge viewport. Once I had been careful about letting my passengers to the bridge, mostly because I didn't like to be seen struggling with the instruments. I had conquered that, though. If anything, my virtuoso handling of my rustbucket ship was something to be proud of.

We were both out of our vac suits and ambling like lost souls around in my cramped clipper before either one of us said a word.

"Do you want to return to Neo Wellington?" I asked. It was such a ludicrous thing to ask after all we've seen, but whether we had upended humanity's understanding of the universe or not, at some point I had to chart a course somewhere. If my feelings on where we were headed were true, that it truly didn't matter, I needed someone else to make the call. "Or do you want to go somewhere else?"

"Kapiti Ano," Whetu said at last. "I have some colleagues in Kapiti Ano, they should hear about this."

I whistled. "Oh, that's deep in NPL territory. You got your papers in order?"

"Of course," Whetu said absent-mindedly. "Will getting there be a problem for you?"

The truth was, I was happy to go to a foreign port. It postponed the question of what I was going to do with myself. Whether I'd continue to be a well-hopping freelancer, or if this knowledge the universe had burdened me with needed to go somewhere, to do something with something. If I'm able to forget, I'd take it, but there was a portentous voice in my head that told me that oblivion would not claim me, no matter how many bottles or tabs I went through looking for it.

"Oh no, I have all the permits. Forged 'em myself." If Whetu picked up on my little joke, they made no sign of it.

The universe was always massive in a way the human brain couldn't fully comprehend, ruled by forces both infinitely vaster and more infinitesimal than my puny comprehension. If such a little speck could find an ounce of truth in this massive existence, that had not changed one bit with our revelations, even in their incomprehensible knowledge and skill, the precursors had ultimately perished. The universe, for all the chaos and difficulty and incomprehensibility, was constant and persistent in contrast. And so, I figured, all I could do was to persist, and persist I would.

I engaged the FTL drive and started the preparation for a jump. The universe was vast and incomprehensible around my little ship, but that's not new.

#sci-fi #sci-fi horror #short story #queer fiction #peebs writes

8 notes · View notes

eunoiaastralwings · 2 years

Note

Your writing is so incredibly talented and you just have such a way with words, putting out ideas into beautiful stories! So for that thank you so much! Can I please request a Turgon x Female Reader in Gondolin where she’s a human his guards found outside the boarders and he’s crazy protective of the hidden kingdom and requests her to be brought in. But reader is actually a medic who lost her group. Kinda a slow burn love story and he falls in love and asks her to stay with him? Answer is yes!

Elen Lantanwanya (My Fallen Star)

Part 1 (reading), Part 2, Part 3

featuring turgon x reader

fandom tolkien — the silmarillion

a/n awe thnx hun! - am so happy to hear that! I turned this into a 2 part two— here's the 1st part let me know what you think and if i should continue — thank you!

warnings blood, injury, medics, trust issues

A heavy breath left as Turgon looked at you - bruised and frail, like a fallen star found on his borders by his guards. He was almost afraid to touch - you looked so delicate and fragile.

When he asked his guards to bring you in – he never expected you to look so beautiful.

Yes – your hair was matted, fixed with dirt and blood and mud covered your arms and clothes – but there was something Turgon almost found beautiful in the fallen and hurt.

You had fallen unconscious by the time his guards brought you in – drained and dehydrated.

His medics worked around the clock to bring you back to consciousness at least – Turgon didn’t understand why he desperately wanted you to regain consciousness.

The logical part of him thought it was he needed to interrogate you – make sure you weren’t a spy or servant of Morgoth.

For a few hours – Turgon watched you with cautious eyes as tried to fight for your consciousness.

How long were you out there to suffer badly?

You were injured and bruised too.

Turgon’s eyes were twitching at the ongoing unanswered question – he remembered it was something his dearest big brother Finno always teased him for.

Turgon wanted to know anything and everything – if it meant keeping his family safe and when he didn’t it annoyed him and his hano would advise him ‘You can’t always know everything, brother, wait and see. . .’

It was in the middle of dinner with his daughter – when a guard came rushing forward.

“My king – forgive me! But the human woke up and is causing havoc! – The human not listening to us!”

Turgon raised an eyebrow – his guards couldn’t handle one little human.

Even his daughter seemed surprised at the statement – nevertheless Turgon left his dinner to witness the wreck you were making.

When he entered he was quite surprised to see the room covered in broken pots and clays – those were easily replaceable – however it was the herbal medicine Turgon was worried about.

He rushed in – surprised to see herbs were left unharmed.

You were there to – your shaking body trying to hold you upright when you were carefully analysing a herb.

“Arugula. . .”

He heard you concluding.

“How do you know that?”

Turgon asked.

If you didn’t notice him before – you did not.

You gasped and tried to grab the first thing you could use as a weapon, – a piece of broken clay.

But your shaking feet gave you out.

You landed on the broken shards – hissing and crying in pain.

But you quickly scrambled up when the alarmed elf tried to reach you.

“No!”

You shouted – scared and frightened.

You hid yourself underneath a table – trying to make yourself as small as possible.

There were many nasty elves out there – he could be one of them.

One could never be too careful.

True – it wasn't the elves' fault you lost your group – but because of the orcs – Eru only knows how you survived.

But you still couldn’t trust just anyone easily.

Turgon recognized the fear in your eyes – a search for safety – willing to do almost anything to keep away from harm.

It was something he hoped never to see in the eyes of his own people.

Turgon sighed and bent your height – kneeing quietly on the ground.

He looked at you with a warm smile – it reminded you of moonlight over the still sea.

Slowly for you to see – he held out a hand.

“It’s alright – I will not harm you, elen lantanwanya” (My fallen star).

Still you shook your head – more afraid now because he used a language you didn’t understand.

You felt imprisoned in a world that was nothing like yours – you felt lost and scared.

Turgon sighed again and nodded – thinking it was best to leave you be.

You would come out in your own time.

He had advised his medics to give you anything you required and leave it at a safe distance – anything to keep from being more scared.

A week passed – while you had accepted the food and water they offered you after 2 days – you still refused to come out from under the table and greet them – especially Turgon.

He visited you everybody – you were almost getting used to his daily visits.

He asked you for your name – but you chose not to answer.

Then he asked for where you come from – you were reluctant in answering that, but you did.

Explaining you were from a village from the east – which had been destroyed. You meekly explained you were out with your group when orcs attacked and lost them.

You didn’t say anything more – he didn’t need to know anything, you decided.

So you kept yourself hidden.

Well – that was until one day – guards came in badly injured from outside the hidden city.

Your eyes widened at the number of wounded soldiers – even with all the medics present it still wasn’t enough.

You overheard it was an ambush by orcs.

You held down your pride and stood to help – after all there was a vow medics made to themselves – they would never let life die without trying to save them first.

You raced through the room trying to get whatever you required – the elvish medics were surprised with the knowledge you had – and the skills you performed with fast and careful hands.

You easily helped him – moving from one patient to the next.

You were almost sweating and exhausted by the end of it – there was a large number of them after all.

You sighed out in relief when a medic assisted you – you were too exhausted and scared you were going to mess up.

Your limbs feel heavy and you thought you would collapse any minute.

You tried to walk away from them – but suddenly your back collided with someone.

You turned to apologize – your eyes widened seeing it was that elf.

Turgon looked at you in shock and surprise – you were a medic?

You gulped – when you watched you carefully.

“You’re a medic, elen lantanwanya?”

There was it again – what did it mean?

You remembered you called you that again and again – probably because you never gave him your name.

You took a deep breath and nodded.

The both of you carefully looked at each other.

You still didn’t know if you could trust him – and you figured maybe he thought the same.

But his eyes were kind and wise – someone who held courage, goodness and bravery.

Over the years – as a medic you were learning to read people.

But those were humans – your own.

Are elves the same?

should I continue?

silm taglist: @doodle-pops

tara's taglist: @aeonianarchives @spidergirla5 @mslizziesblog @wandererindreams

form for taglist

#turgon x reader #turgon #the silmarillion #the silm x reader #the silmarillion x reader #gondolin #noldor #turukano #turgon the wise #answered #tarawrites #silmarillion #tolkien elves

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for-dramas-sake · 1 year

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The Starry Love ep 37, 38 thoughts

Yetan IS the Void Devil now. She is the most dangerous thing for the Void. Everyone is legit scared of her and her powers, but she wants to use them to get revenge. I love the twist.

Everyone is so uncomfortable with the new leader situation. There's conflict of feelings and fear everywhere, even Chaofeng is uncomfortable. Then there's Yetan who is just pissed.

That was sweet of Yetan to give the tree root to Chaofeng (a sentence I didn't think I'd ever write). Their relationship has improved for the wrong reasons.

Sending the memory-wiped husband to kill his now devil wife? Sounds like a good plan to me.

This drama continues to break my heart. Just when I was moving on from Qingkui's death, the drama has this sad scene with Yetan imagining her in the Void clinic!This girl needs a hug, but her husband is on the way to kill her. And her best friend is also dead. Yetan's life is so miserable. She had a terrible childhood, had a short-lived romance, and now she's back to having a miserable life. Can she ever get a break?

Omo! I was half-joking about the heavenly divorce and now the empress just did it! (gasp) That emperor….grrr.

The Immortal twins are playing mahjang! Their inability to play is adorable. But then again anything they do is adorable.

My emotions! Youqin and Yetan meet but he's forgotten her! She has not forgotten, however, how to dispel his star formation! So glad that was called back! And then she attacks him because she can help him remember her.

Their fight dance was so beautiful and that music too! He can't kill her. Good news for now and more good news the calvary is here with Ziwu, Qingheng and Di Lanjue! Yay!

I just realized how many burdens Yetan has taken on. She tried to save her sister from marrying Youqin, tried to save her sister from the Void, brought Youqin's soul shards together to bring him back, took on the Void Emperor for revenge, plans to take on the Immortal Emperor for Chaofeng's revenge, plans to bring back Suzhi's parents through the Soul Gathering Lamp. Then the girl has the gall to want to save her husband? She wants to do so much for so many people. I admire her for that.

Thank God that Yetan's dad shows up (did he just walk into the Void?) and gives her an encouraging pep talk and that hug she needed. He still isn't my favorite dad in this series, but he's getting better.

I hate to say it but I've given up hope for Qingheng and Suzhi. She's shot him down so many times and then she's on a mission of her own which is directly against his dad. They could have been cute but we may have gone too far for them.

Uh-oh. Immortal Emperor is worried about Youqin remembering the unsavory parts of his past. Why the heck hasn't anyone told Youqin earlier about Yetan?! Hints aren't going to be enough. A good to slap to the head should do it.

Yes! He's starting to remember! And it wasn't a big show or even a slap to the head! It was the Rooftop Swallow star, HER star.

When he returned the star to her, freaking loved that scene! And then she's just welcomed back as the consort of the Empyrean? Ha! Sticking it to the Emperor!

These Heavenly Emperors are such dicks. Their hard-hearted natures make them slaughter many lives and push their family members away. Where is the remorse, the regret, the realization that being a dick isn't the way?

Shit. Yetan killed another emperor. Oh no, wait. She just killed his powers off for good. And then marched out of Heaven like a boss!

Yetan and Youqin are couple goals. I could do without the meddling evil parent, but the "I'll stick with you to the end" commitment they have I want that. And Youqin now takes care of Yetan because she can barely take care of herself. She's like a ghost wandering around with no purpose and he has to take care of her.

I'm done crying for this drama! Can we please stop with the tears? But we have 2 episodes left.

If you made it this far and want to continue, I thank you. Here are more episodes:

35, 36 / 33, 34 / 31, 32 / 29,30 / 27,28 / 25,26 / 23, 24 / 21, 22 / 19, 20 / 17,18 / 15,16 / 13,14 / 11, 12 / 9, 10 / 7, 8 / 5, 6 / 3, 4 / 1, 2

#landy li #chen xingxu #cdrama #chinese drama #the starry love

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thelittlestancient · 2 years

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FIC: From High Towers (2/5?)

Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV Characters: Elidibus, Warrior of Light (Sosomeni Tutumeni), G'raha Tia (in later parts) Rating: General Audiences Words: 693 Prompt: "How would that even work?"

Part 1

"How would that even work?" Sosomeni asked, ever curious about the workings of aetherology. "You'd have to traverse the Rift, and you're bound, well, here. How could you leave to do so, trapped as you are?"

"The crystal you brought with you--it is a small soul vessel, rather cramped for one such as myself, but under the circumstances it shall have to suffice," Elidibus said, gesturing to where it still sits, lodged in the controls of the Umbilicus. "It will not take much effort to insert myself into it, though I pray, do not be alarmed by the process. The din will be terrible, but there is no danger.

"When I am fully seated, you will be free to carry me where you wish, and may bear me back to the Source as easily as you bore the crystal itself here."

"And you want me to bring you to the Source's Crystal Tower instead of this one, which begs a question: if the Tower itself is so necessary to what you plan to do, why can't you simply do it here?" Soso's question wasn't so much full of doubt as it was sheer thirst for knowledge; long had he wondered about how the Ascians had accomplished all they did, and the revelations about Amaurot and the world of the Ancients so far had only whetted his tongue.

"By way of--" Elidibus shook his head. "No, a more thorough explanation can wait until I have the time to give it. Rather imagine, if you will, a mirror. A small mirror reflects a small amount of light; a larger mirror reflects a larger amount of light. So it is with aether. While I am no longer capable of wielding the star's aether directly without Zodiark, I spent my youth studying the means by which I might use the star to reflect and refract my own aether, thus amplifying my power. But my practice made use of the star as it was prior to the Sundering, of course; a single shard is comparatively small and fragile, and I must be extremely careful in the way I make use of it. But the Source is several times rejoined, and thus it offers to me a much larger and sturdier surface to work with, greatly increasing what I am capable of.

"And while I cannot take on the aether of the star, by binding myself to the Crystal Tower, I can wield its aether as my own, with the result that I would become part of it in truth."

Sosomeni pondered for a moment, taking in all Elidibus said. "...exactly as the Crystal Exarch himself had done, though perhaps for different reasons."

A nod of response. "I am, as are all of my kind, effectively immortal. As I said to you on our first meeting, there is no cessation, no oblivion--only expulsion. I cannot be cast into the Aetherial Sea, into the Lifestream, save by my own desire to go there. The Tower does not change that fact, and I will be no more bound to life there than I am here. I remain free to choose the time and circumstances of my own death."

"Then you forgo the hope of freedom for a lifetime of imprisonment," Sosomeni said, having wilted somewhat at Elidibus' words. "It seems like such a feeble bargain, in order to save the star."

Elidibus half-smiled at him. "No greater imprisonment than it was to be bound up in Zodiark. I shall have such power at my hands as few of my fellows in Amaurot ever dreamt of, without the necessity of having to mediate between the souls who comprised Him. With so little to distract me, I intend to devote myself wholly to study and research, and by such even my understanding of aetherology might grow by leaps and bounds; the breadth and depth which I shall add to that of the sundered would seem to defy description.

"Now: draw the crystal out of there and set it in the middle of the floor, and then brace yourself. I promise the Tower will not collapse around you, however much you may fear it."

Part 3

#soso stories: sosomeni tutumeni #elidibus #fictober22 #final fantasy xiv #concept library: fic #fic: from high towers

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your-good-pal-chevy · 1 year

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Swordtember : 27 : Mimic

"Face me!"

Marcus thrust his sword forward, its crystalline point shimmering with a crimson light. A storm raged within that blade, mirroring the storm within its bearer's heart.

Marcus adopted a high guard. "I won't take no for an answer! We finish this, now!"

Lionel wiped the blood from his nose, staring for a moment at the ruddy stain on the back of his glove. How much blood, he wondered, How much will be spilled in this foolish war?

"Fine," Lionel said, bringing the Sword of Stars into a low guard. The night sky within its blade seemed to roil, constellations shimmering across its glassy surface. "We end this."

Marcus charged first, a low roar declaring his hatred for all to hear. His stride was long and his blade was swift, coming down in a murderous stroke aimed at Lionel's neck.

Lionel expected this. Marcus wasn't himself, he wasn't fighting like he used to. Where Lionel had been put through the crucible, forged into something far greater than that first fateful duel between them so long ago, it seemed to him that his opposite was a mere shadow of himself. The challenges and deeds of his dedication to the White Lily Society had resulted in a hollowing.

How many years ago was it that Marcus could simply toss Lionel aside?

Lionel stepped forward, bringing the Sword of Stars up to meet the Shard of Hate. With a mighty two-handed swing, he pushed Marcus off his balance and opened the way for his own blow.

"Damn you!" Marcus fell backward to avoid Lionel's swift cut, desperately trying to regain his footing. Why am I losing? It was a thought that he had grappled with so often. Everything he had learned had taught him of his own innate superiority, and yet, here was a traitor to everything he stood for. For some reason, it stung worse with Lionel.

That Sylladan woman was one thing, Marcus could acknowledge that she was far above the norm, utterly unlike other Sylladans and other women. A complete outlier.

Lionel, however, was different. Like Marcus, he too was the son of a duke. A son of fair Vallis. A son of the Mother. Lionel was nothing compared to him. Marcus had defeated him in the tournament, had defeated him on the streets, and yet something was not right.

Every clash the two had ever since Lionel stole that sword had not played out how Marcus had expected it. He had never lost an honest fight, but Lionel had proven far more cunning and resourceful than expected. Far more dangerous.

Lionel rushed forward, repeated thrusts of the Sword of Stars shattering Marcus' concentration. "You're distracted," Lionel growled, "How unlike you."

Marcus fell back again. Every foot of ground given felt like an admission of weakness, and he refused to be weak. He refused to give in. He roared once more, swinging his blade in a wide arc, trying to buy himself some room to breathe.

The Sword of Stars shimmered, the stars within glowing brighter. The guard shrank, the hilt and blade lengthened, and it took on a distinct shape. One Marcus well recognized.

The hooked point of a falx, just like that damned Sylladan's, just like Kalliste's, caught the back of Marcus' blade and dragged it down. Lionel pushed further inside Marcus' reach, their blades trapped together, and rammed his shoulder into Marcus' chest.

Lionel roared his own challenge, and a strange feeling came over Marcus, a chill that seemed to grip him from within. Lionel pinned the Shard to the ground with his boot, the Sword of Stars shimmering again and taking the shape of a short messer. He brought it up one-handed, his other hand grabbing Marcus' wrist and squeezing hard.

Marcus relinquished his grip on his sword, desperate to escape the razor edge of that knife. He leaned back, wrenching himself free from Lionel's grip, leaning back far enough that Yazmin's messer narrowly missed taking the tip off of his nose.

Stumbling backward, Marcus raised his gauntlets to protect himself from Lionel's next strike. He could call the Shard to himself, but with Lionel between himself and the blade, he doubted his ability to get it in his hands before a fatal blow was struck.

Lionel stood up straighter, still keeping one foot on Marcus' sword, and he raised his messer to his chest. The blade shimmered, taking on the shape of Lei's jian, forming a narrow one-handed blade.

"Surrender," Lionel demanded. "You don't have to die here."

"I am your enemy!" Marcus fumbled for the short knife on his belt, desperation rising within him. "I care not for your mercy! Kill me or perish!"

Lionel sighed, an expression somewhere between contempt and pity on his face. He lunged, his blade lashing out with pinpoint strikes. The point flashed like lightning, blood spattering across its tip as it bit first into Marcus' left hand. Marcus cried out, trying to meet the blade with his knife, trying to block it with his armor, but it was no use.

The intent behind Lionel's strikes was clear. Lionel wasn't trying to kill Marcus, even as his blade nicked Marcus' hands, his joints, his face, anywhere there was the slightest gap in his armor. He was aiming to wound, to cripple him through pain and loss of blood.

Marcus was not having it. He turned as he gave ground, forcing Lionel to follow, forcing him to open a path. The Shard of Hate flew from the ground, its hilt coming into Marcus' wounded hands, and he turned it upon Lionel once more.

Like a man possessed, Marcus gave up on any notion of defense and threw his entire body against Lionel's blade. He swung wildly, the edge of his sword hammering against the Sword of Stars. He lashed out with his fists whenever Lionel pressed too close.

Even through his monstrous assault, Marcus could not break Lionel's guard. The Sword of Stars flew between shapes, widening and narrowing, lengthening and shortening. Whatever form best suited that particular clash, Lionel bade the sword to take. Marcus knew many of these shapes, had fought many of these blades. Some of their wielders he had slain, others still had gotten the better of him.

It was infuriating. Has he no pride? He is a son of Vallis! He should fight as one, just as I do! Marcus let out a wordless scream, clinging desperately to his hate just as he clung desperately to his sword. Now that Lionel was the one giving ground, all the pain of his injuries seemed to melt away.

"You're right about one thing," Lionel growled, "This has to end."

He planted his feet. The Sword of Stars took the form of a finely crafted Vallite longsword. He caught the edge of the Shard of Hate and, twisting his body as he stepped forward, wrenched the blade from Marcus' hand.

Marcus knew that movement. He knew what was coming. He could feel the bite of the sword before it even struck him.

It was how he had killed Henri Bricing so long ago, in the second bout of Lionel's coming of age tournament. The very bout after he had humiliated Lionel before the whole of Durandine.

Time seemed to slow as Marcus watched the edge of the Sword of Stars approaching him- The edge of a perfect mimic of his own sword, before he took up the Shard of Hate. He knew he could not get his arms up in time. He knew he couldn't escape. He knew that death was coming for him.

His memories flashed back to the night after. To Lionel bloodying his nose, to the knife he had left in Lionel's gut. If I had simply killed him there, where would I be now? Fear filled Marcus. Everything he had done, every awful thing was about to be for naught. He was about to die, slain by his own sword, slain by a man he had long ago thought of as nothing but an embarrassment.

But the sword did not bite him.

Lionel stopped just short of Marcus' neck. He glared down at Marcus, for once standing at his full height.

And then, his gaze softened.

"You poor thing," Lionel said, "Being a mere puppet of your father is no way to live. That is why you seek death. That is why you came here to die by my hand."

Lionel rushed forward, bringing the crossguard of Marcus' sword into Marcus' gut. The armor softened the blow, but it was still a heavy one. Marcus collapsed to the ground, suddenly finding he no longer had the strength to stand at all.

"Be thankful," Lionel said, "I know what it's like. Perhaps I might have stood where you did, had things gone a little differently. That is the only reason I will grant you this mercy, just this once."

He jabbed the tip of his sword, now reverted to its original shape, in the direction of the Shard of Hate.

"I will not forgive you, Marcus. If you ever pick up that sword in the name of evil again, I will ruin you." Lionel's voice was deep, low and threatening. There was an absolute certainty within it. Marcus knew, beyond all doubt, that Lionel would be his demise.

#creative writing #swordtember #writers on tumblr #delonis

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taechaos · 3 years

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Freaky Idea

Pt. 2 of New Idea

pairing: Stepbrother!Taehyung x Fem!Reader

genre: oneshot, pseudo-incest, smut

synopsis: The last guaranteed day you have with Taehyung is spent with his choice of adventure. You learn a lot of things about the history of freakshows, and how much of a freak your brother is as well.

warnings: mention of murder and somnophilia, riding, manipulation

word count: 3.8k

When Taehyung agreed to being your slave for a month, he wasn’t lying. He was attached to your hip throughout the whole time span, obeying your every command without complaint. You didn’t deem him forgiven, but you can’t say you don’t enjoy his company and compliance. The whole month was a bliss for you.

The first week, the morning after the… event, you had him prepare breakfast for you and your mother walked in on him cooking an omelette for you. She was perplexed, and with her morning drowsiness asked, “You’re home?” before smothering him with a hug. Your father gave him the minimum acknowledgement, and it went by quickly with your mother being surprised every time she saw him in the morning.

The second week, he drove you around and paid for your every need. You don’t know how he has so much money, but you wouldn’t be surprised if he sells drugs or had robbed a bank. You decided to reward him by kissing his cheek every time he bought you clothes and jewelries per your request. He realized he enjoyed spoiling you, and took you shopping in different malls for 7 days straight.

The third week, you met his friend. You had insisted, and he gave in after a short while of you begging because it was difficult to say no to you and rules are rules. His terms were: 1. You're going to act like his girlfriend, and 2. You sit on his lap. Maybe you didn't get it, but his friend Namjoon didn't seem dangerous enough for you to be behaving the way you were forced to. Sitting in front of a burning barrel in the middle of nowhere, Taehyung and Namjoon smoked weed together while you watched them. The conversation was fun, and you wanted to see him again. Taehyung didn’t allow you to question the ordeal. Rest of the week went by a breeze.

Fourth week was relatively calm as well, and now Taehyung is on his final day of slavery. It’s somewhat melancholic for you because you don’t know if he’ll vanish once the clock hits 12. You’re sitting on the kitchen counter, swinging your dangling legs while your step-brother inspects the fridge to find you something for lunch. The two of you woke up late this morning, well, afternoon, and you don’t know why you feel so exhausted and sore. You’ve been feeling this way for a whole month now, but you’re growing somewhat used to it.

“This bitch is empty,” Taehyung grumbles before closing the fridge and standing up straight. When he notices your soft pout, he slithers his way between your legs. “What’s wrong princess? Are you tired?”

“Will you be here tomorrow?” you blurt without beating around the bush and peek at him under your lashes.

His brow ticks as he tilts his head. “Did you want to do something?”

“Well, no,” you drawl, “I just wish… you were here more often.”

"You know I can't stay away from you for long," he counters your worries, "especially if you allowed me to…"

"Stop." You distance yourself by pushing him away; you don't want to think about what he was implying. You made it explicitly clear that anything remotely sexual wasn't allowed to be brought up when you were around, and he’s been sticking to that rule until now - to your knowledge, at least.

“Stop teasing your sister, Taehyung.” your mother enters the kitchen while tying the knot of her robe, now checking the fridge herself.

He rolls his eyes before turning to her and retaliating, “I didn’t even do anything.” You giggle to yourself and bite your fist. “Did I tease you?” he asks innocently with his neck craned in your direction.

“Yes, he doesn’t even make me breakfast,” you joke with a grin.

“The fridge is fucking empty!”

“Language,” your mother warns strictly before taking out a box of frozen pizza. “And it isn’t empty. Could you turn on the oven for me, love?” You nod and arrange the heat to 200 degrees while Taehyung scoffs, “I can’t survive in a house with women.”

“Man up,” your step-father butts in monotonously. “You have to rely on your mother to cook to this day. When will you move out? Act your age Taehyung, you’re 21.”

The light-hearted atmosphere dims with the presence of Taehyung’s father. There’s a distinct contrast between your two parents, and you can understand why your step-brother is so rebellious around them. The only thing holding them together is their dedication to religion.

He only huffs and crosses his arms in response as his dad grabs a carton of juice and a glass from the cupboard. It’s tense in the room until Taehyung leans into your ear and whispers, “I’m only here because of you.”

A light blush tints your cheeks at his sweet confession, although it also makes you guilty. He later convinces you to eat with him in your room, and it’s comfortable in your bed as you chomp on the slices hungrily.

“Is there anything you want to do today?” Taehyung asks as he chews on his pizza.

“Let’s do something you want for a change,” you answer after swallowing.

Though he hasn’t been showing any lack of interest around you, you are aware that you haven’t been doing anything fun by his definition. You’re worried that you’ve bored him throughout this whole timespan of being together.

A smirk grows on his face and there’s that glint of mischief in his eyes that you’ve missed. Fair, the last time you saw it was before he traumatized you, but you try not to think about it much like you ignore the constant ache between your legs.

“There’s this circus,” he begins slowly, “I hear it’s interesting. Would you want to come with?”

You know he’s leaving something out, his cautious tone and aura implicit he knows something you don’t. But you nod anyway, because you still stupidly trust him.

Taehyung’s car is old and retro, but he must have upgraded the engines for how fast he is driving. You like admiring his side profile as he holds the steering wheel, but the view is much more interesting when he catches you looking. It’s a far location, and you’re out of the city by the time he parks his car in the woods. How did he memorize the directions when it took an hour to get there?

“We’re here,” he announces before shifting the manual stick gear with a screech. You exit the car and he is not gentle with the way he slams the door closed, so you do the same. You can see hints of red colors between the cracks of the thin trees.

“Is it open?” you question apprehensively. The sun hasn’t set yet, but it should be getting dark soon in the evening.

“Hasn’t been open for a century. You wouldn’t believe the amount of history this place has.”

He takes the lead in his steps, and you follow behind though your gut doesn’t approve. The path isn’t long, and only then do you see the circus when Taehyung moves aside. It’s run down, worn out colors in the curtains, broken glasses on the ground and the circus barely holding itself up. There’s a huge cannon in the middle of the stage, the tip balancing itself on the ground. It’s kind of creepy, but Taehyung doesn’t leave you in the dark for long.

“A lot of crazy shit happened here, you know,” he piques your curiosity, “the clowns were fucking freaks. Any type of physical disorder landed you in here, whether you liked it or not. Even for babies,” he picks up an idle shard of glass, “these were jars. They had deformed fetuses on display on a stand, but the wind must have fucked it up.”

“Deformed fetuses?”

“Yeah, like, conjoined and some other stuff.” You grimace at his description, although it stirs empathy in you. The 20th century sounds inhumane.

“Are these real stories?”

“Yeah. And the cannon: they rocketed people from this very bad boy,” he points at it before standing under.

Your stomach sinks as you panic, “It could fall on you!” You pull at his hand and the force makes your chests meet. He smiles down at you before pecking your lips. You stammer, a little mad as he chuckles before walking to a wooden wheel. He makes a star pose after stepping on the metal stand, stretching out his limbs to fit the whole circle.

“This was the Wheel of Death; they threw knives at targets on this. I think they only targeted females actually...” He nods at you to replace him as he hops off. You go along with his idea and climb on the stand, though it creaks weakly. He takes out a pocket knife from his pocket and you’re about to yell before he hurls it at you. It lands above your shoulder and you immediately scold, “What the fuck, Tae?! Why would you do that! I could’ve died.”

He shrugs with a bright grin, clearly unbothered by your stressing. “My aim isn’t too bad.” He walks over to you and collects his floating knife. “Besides, when have I ever hurt you?”

You bite your tongue and purse your lips with a glare.

“See?” he whispers. “You can’t even name one time…”

He’s teasing your silence, how you can’t even dare to voice the specific night. You haven’t even told your parents and slept with him right after, and he finds that so interesting: that you trust him with your life.

“You actually can’t? Wow, I didn’t realize I was such a good brother,” he grins lopsidedly before snapping his fingers. “On with the tour.” He is enthusiastic as he struts past the circus. You shake your head with a sigh but follow him regardless. “So there were sword swallowers, acrobats, strongmen, anything that drew attention. They had a shit ton of accidents and deaths, but you would die if you got boring as well.” Taehyung holds back a bush to let you pass; the place he’s leading you to is a lot more crowded with sages and trees than the previous path. “Once the initial attraction wears off, you’re a goner. They couldn’t survive in that society with those deformities, so it was suicide either way.”

“That is so cruel,” you mumble sympathetically. “This place was like a fractured fantasy.”

“At least they lived for a bit… up until someone ended it.” When he pushes away the woodruffs, you’re met with another rundown site with a few… cages? “This is the trailer. Where they stayed and got ready for their shows. Some were held against their will, and slept with the animals in those cages.”

You gape at your surroundings in shock. The trailer is missing one side of the wall, and the rest have been vandalized with random phrases written in spray paint. You don’t give much attention to the torture cages, because the trailer has a lot more to show. It still has couches on the incomplete hardwood flooring, and Taehyung plops on one. The fabric is torn and dust rises the moment he’s on the seat. “That’s so dirty, Tae,” you pull a displeased face.

“Don’t be rude to the past occupants. Their ghosts might still be around.” He wiggles his fingers as if imitating a monster. He then pats his thighs, beckoning you to sit on his lap. You begrudgingly do so, and he wraps his arms around your waist before pulling you flush against him. “Any theories on how this shitshow ended?”

“Police intervention?”

“Something like that, I guess. One of the acrobats went nuts and shot everyone, so the place was shut down.”

“What?” you widen your eyes at him. “Why did they do that?”

“He was going to be replaced, so he got rid of the competition. Very chilling,” he casually states. “There must be some bullet holes in the walls, but we can check that out later.” His head snuggles into your neck while you’re still processing his words, but you go blank when he starts leaving feather light kisses on your neck. “Right now,” he murmurs, “I just want you to ride me.”

“Ride you?”

“Don’t act innocent, you know what I mean. You said I could choose what we did today… and I want to fuck here.”

“Taehyung… I specifically told you we aren’t allowed to do anything sexual. You hurt me last time as well,” you frown at the mention.

“I asked you if I ever hurt you earlier. Did you say anything?” he asks condescendingly.

“No…”

“Why are you saying I hurt you now? Don’t tell lies, baby. Besides,” his hand slides down to your thigh as he speaks in a low, sultry voice, “I’ve been loosening up your cunt. You don’t even wake up at night anymore. It won’t hurt this time, I promise.”

You had an inkling, the stupid inkling that you tried so damn hard to brush aside. “You fucked me in my sleep?” you force out, your mouth suddenly feeling dry. “And you brought me here just to–”

“Christ, no,” he cuts you off offendedly, “I’m not that sick in the head. I didn’t plan it, but I can’t say I wasn’t hoping. It’s not like I’m going to rape you.”

“You did it once!”

“I was on a lot of drugs then! I’m clean now,” he huffs in irritation. “I’m sorry about that, and I know my apology is long overdue or whatever, but give me a break. I’ve been into you since I was like 16.”

You turn to look at him - really look at him. There’s not a trace of guilt on his face; the roots of his messy teal hair have grown out; the beauty of his naturally downward lip corners; you don’t know what to think. Your mind is a mess because you don’t know what to make of his confession. He has manipulated you countless times, coerced you into doing things you would never do, and for once you reflect on his personality. This could be one of his schemes in order to get you to do what he wants, and ironically, he was supposed to be doing that for you. Through all of your scrambled thoughts, you only muster a meek “really?”

“Yes,” he affirms, “that’s why I want to be intimate with you.”

Lies, lies, lies, you think before gently pressing your lips against his. Despite your attempt at kissing him softly, he doesn’t cooperate by instantly sucking on your nether lip with vigor, his hands immediately meeting at your hips to gently rock them against his crotch. He bites your lip before swiping his tongue against it, coaxing, “Suck on my tongue.” The awkward angle from where you’re kissing him makes him turn your body to completely face him, your knees landing on either side of him on the uncomfortable chair. It doesn’t matter, because you’re starting to forget the whole setting, just about everything except for him as arousal begins to seep in. Heat pools in your stomach at the switch in mood, and he’s enjoying your compliance as he quietly moans into your mouth.

While you’re busy relishing in his swirling tongue, he starts tugging down your pants and you help him without looking. You sit up to push it down your ankles and throw it on the floor along with your panties. “What’s gotten into you?” he chuckles breathlessly before leaving wet kisses on your lips and pulling away to take off his wrinkled shirt.

“What do you mean?” you ask, equally breathless.

“I don’t know, you’re just… so hot when you’re horny.” His boyish smile grows on your flustered face as he says, “Take off your shirt. Wanna see those pretty tits again.”

You bite your lip to suppress your insecurities, but it doesn’t help when you’re left in your bra as you cover your chest. “Don’t be shy now,” he teases knowingly and removes your arms before unclasping the garment. “Take out my cock now.” His tone is gentle with encouragement. You unzip his jeans timidly, but your eyes grow in wonder at the outline of his erection. “I’m so hard for you,” he assures you in a whisper and takes your hand in his to rub himself. “You’re so pretty, and sexy. I fucked you every night because you’re just so irresistible. You understand, don’t you, baby?”

“I… Yes,” you agree and finally push down his briefs. His throbbing cock stands proudly and you’re intimidated by the size until he murmurs, “I won’t hurt you.” He lightly touches your bare pussy, slick with your arousal as you shudder. He coats your vulva with all of it, giving special attention to your clenching hole as he inserts a single finger. “Does it hurt?”

You shake your head, and you’re confused by the lack of pain and the desire for more. It feels good and that is a surprise for you as you sink down lower on his finger. He curls it, adds another finger and stretches your walls, emitting a moan out of you. You’re liking it, and you don’t know why; he was so cruel the last time that you were convinced something would go wrong now. Nothing does, and if anything, his fingers make you feel the best you have ever felt though it is not enough. “More,” you beg and he replaces his fingers by pulling you to the head of his cock. He’s staring right at you with hooded lids as he rubs it up and down, making you release a needy whimper. “Please, Taehyung.”

And like the slave he was meant to be, he shoves it in with a grunt. Your scream catches in your throat at the initial sting, but it’s worth it when he screws his eyes shut in pleasure and bites his lip to hold back a groan. He looks angelic under you, although he is anything but. You realize he is waiting for your cue to move, and it flutters your hearts because he is more attentive to you this time. Rather than letting him take the lead, you act on your instincts as you roll your hips. It’s unsteady at first, the foreign position making it difficult for you to adapt to so fast. His audible quick breaths encourage you to take your time in angling your pelvis comfortably, and when an involuntary moan leaves you, you place your hands on his shoulders before sticking to the current stance and going up and down on him.

“Oh shit, you’re doing so well,” he praises you between gasps, supporting your body with his hands, “feels so fucking good. My good girl.”

It gets to your head, how much he’s enjoying your motions. He meets them with thrusts of his own, perfectly hitting your cervix and blinding you with pleasure. What is it that makes you feel so wonderful in this situation? Is it the touch, or the complimentary fact that you’re the only person Taehyung wouldn’t get bored of?

Could it be that you’re two of the same?

Maybe he’s the one desperate to please you, you think as he massages your breasts, flicking your hard nipples with his thumbs so graciously. The eerie silence is broken by both of your loud moans, ecstasy sensually building up in knots in your stomachs. Sweat accumulates on your forehead, your hair sticking to your face but not hiding the sight of his erotic expression. You arch your back and grind down on him, and he’s limp on the loveseat as he takes all that you give him so submissively.

It’s your turn to use him, and you actually start understanding what makes him so rash and impulsive in hopes of receiving this amount of serotonin. It’s worth it, the release of control and morals to be with him. “Taehyung, h-how did you do it?” you moan. “Every night, what did you do?”

“I,” he tries to catch his breath, “I used my fingers to stretch you out. One finger, then two, then three.” He groans and thrusts into you fast and hard, “I fisted you at some point, and you came in your sleep, and then on my cock. Moaning and whining every fucking night, like some filthy whore.” You mewl at his crude words. He’s so obscene with you, and you clench your walls in response. “You like being my whore, hm? Little freak.”

“Yes, yes,” you confirm in a whimper, nodding your head as you pass the dominance onto him. He’s fucking into you while you stand on your knees, eyes rolled back with drool about to drip from the corner of your mouth. He starts to rub your clit and kisses your neck for you to tighten around him over and over again; it’s heaven in an empty graveyard. It’s so fucked up, yet he can’t stop. You’re panting as he manipulates your body to mold with his. “I’m close.”

His hands fall on your ass, greedily kneading it as your hips begin to stutter, your orgasm climbing up just as your energy is falling down. It hits you like a truck: the peak of pleasure, accompanied by a silent scream, nails digging into his skin as your muscles tense. “Fuck,” you breathe once his thrusts begin overstimulating you, but it’s not for long as he shoots his load inside you with a groan. He’s twitching as his erection becomes flaccid, and you feel it as he pulls out.

“Bet it didn’t hurt,” he jokes while you recover from your climax. You’re leaking with his cum and he uses his shirt to wipe you clean, making you shake from how sensitive you are. “I’ll buy you the pill on the way home.”

“Thanks,” you plainly say and stand up to pick up your clothes. You’re trembling slightly and a little achy, but it’s nothing compared to losing your virginity.

“What? You gonna give me the cold shoulder now?” He’s only in his loose pants and has his shirt thrown over his shoulder. He buckles his belt while you put on your bra.

“Why did you make us act like a couple in front of Namjoon?” After hearing his confession, the interaction before bugs you.

“What do you mean?”

“Is it because you didn’t want him to think I was single? Because you like me?”

“No, he’s a convicted felon. Crazy motherfucker killed his ex’s new boyfriend,” he reveals with a scoff. “Besides, if you like me, you’d like him as well.”

Putting your shock aside, you realize one thing: Taehyung doesn’t want to be replaced. Does that mean you hold power over him? Or will he do anything at any cost to be in your life? Regardless of your internal monologue, you only reply with, “who says I like you?”

It’s a joke, and he knows it. As promised, he buys you an emergency pill and another shirt for himself on the way home. His days of slavery are over, and you wonder: where will he be tomorrow? Maybe take his father’s advice…

#bts imagines #bts x reader #bts scenarios #bts smut #kim taehyung #taehyung x reader #taehyung smut #bts fic #taehyung fic #kth smut #bts #thekpopnetwork

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hoaxsen · 4 years

Text

| happy [ late ] new years to one and all <3.

| here's some Levi angst.

| word count; 1,684

I'm coming home.

" Promise me to stay alive? "

" I always do, runt. You better promise me. "

" I promise. "

Not all promises were made to be kept, either from the fact that they're broken almost instantly. Or they can't be kept at all, just empty words being said to fill the dead air created from the promise being said.

Words that people take so seriously, as if they'd truly mean something. They're supposed to mean something, right? Supposed to mean the world to the people who created this. End it off with pinkies interlocking, like a kid friendly way of signing off a piece of your soul.

A piece that you'll never get back. Discarded along with the broken seal, like as if finding a product in a store open. Needs to be thrown out.

I'm coming home.

" This expedition might get us even further in taking back for humanity. "

" Don't get your hopes up, just focus on coming back alive. . .please. "

" I promised, didn't I? "

You did, you promised Levi Ackerman an entire world in that one small and simple line.

But that universe didn't hold up for long, it collapsed along with the small space of an open heart he had. This expedition was supposed to be clean and simple, Erwin said. It was supposed to run flawlessly, as he's promised time and time again. But failed to keep, this entire mission wasn't supposed to end this way. His new formation was supposed to have fewer casualties, little to no accidents should everyone follow pursuit.

This time, that wasn't the case. The case that had opened and started it's cruel trial was the one happening here and now.

The weight of it feeling like a star going supernova inside his heart. Though since that pressure was trapped inside so tightly, there was no way for it to be let out. The captain shut down, his mind going blank and his eyes looking vacant as he drunk in the news.

Tell the world I'm coming home.

" They. . .were caught in the hands of a titan, sir. "

You weren't alive, not here to keep your end of the promise as he did with his. Not here to tell Levi that it was a mistake, they mistook you for someone else. That wasn't the ordeal, as much as he wished it was. All in his mind, playing on loop over and over was a silly little promise made before this. Of course it wouldn't have been kept, not in a world like this. A world where humanity is now at the bottom of the food chain, cornered like wounded animals.

The captain of the Survey Corps dared not to let his heart leap out of his chest. The man dared not to shed a single tear in front of his comrades. This was the norm, he'd had to chant to himself like a prayer on a broken record over and over for the silver lining to not shine through. Hold it back all the way until he was behind closed doors, locked so tight that letting it all out wouldn't be a problem. So that his regiment could probably see, that even their captain was at this game long enough to realize not every little thing was going to last.

A captain in front of everyone else, a human with emotions while being alone. That's how he wanted to treat this, tricking himself into thinking that's how he needed to treat this.

Should he have looked on that cart, pulling the fallen soldiers back to the safety of the walls. Levi knew he would have let that dam overflow with the sounds of a heart aching lover.

This expedition became the very reason why he loathed titans more. Becoming the very reason why, he started having doubts in his Commander.

I know my kingdom awaits.

The freshly dug hole waited for you alright back in Wall Rose. Somewhere maybe just outside the Krolva district, they called this place The Scouts Yard.

How this one patch of land that could have been used for anything else, soon started becoming overtaken by the bodies of his fallen companions from their ongoing war.

Now it houses your body.

The weather of the day was a stark contrast of his mood, the sun was shining with a few small thin clouds in the sky. A pity really, he thought that whatever God was out there might knew how to read a room. Levi slowly got down onto his knees to read the words on the new tombstone.

Here lies; Y/N L/N.

The ravenette couldn't bring himself to read the rest, already biting down his tongue to distract himself from the stinging of tears in his eyes. Hands clenched into fists at his side, his nails threatening to dig into his skin and draw blood. The dirt that was gathering at the knees of his uniform was going unnoticed.

' You promised me, idiot! How could you break it!? '

That broken promise lead you into a new world, a world of dirt under the earth. Was it like the hellhole he escaped from? Or was it better than the underground life? Except, there was no stairway fee. It was like your citizenship of this messed up surface world was revoked. Tarnished. Never to be used anymore. Torn away as if it were a fake and the MP's of that world came to collect you.

The grey orbs of the Ackerman were starting to itch and pulse with the amount of restraint he was using to not let himself cry. Levi's breathing changed into one of a heavy, and broken up pattern.

All he could think about was not here, not where people could see him at his weakest. Not at his lowest.

A hand being placed on his shoulder brought him out of his trance. Looking up, he saw none other than the man he promised himself to follow.

That's funny, huh? How he promised you he'd stay alive if you did, and how he promised himself to follow after your murderer. Every. Step. Of. The. Way. His life he placed in Erwin's hands, the same hands that weren't big enough to take your life into consideration. His own captain snapped at him, pushing his hand away harshly. Grey hues glaring ever so harshly at what seemed to be confused blue orbs.

Levi stood up to his full height, giving Erwin the greatest stare down of his existence. The commander taking a step back to retaliate, as if he were the victim.

" Levi- "

" This. Is your fault. "

Levi left Erwin with that, not catching how the commander suddenly got the hint, staring down at your grave.

And they've forgiven my mistakes.

Was it a mistake, to have broken a promise in this cruel and fucked up world? Was it really? You could catch Levi pacing the shared room with this thought in mind.

His side of the room was a complete and total mess. Just like his office, papers everywhere, wooden chair pieces scattered over his floor. Yet, should any piece debris get over to your side, Levi is cleaning it like a mad man. Leaving everything the way you had it before, hoping to preserve what he could of your memory.

Thinking it would bring a sense of calm to his nerves. All it brought uneasiness, abandonment, and a whole battalion of negative emotions that started attacking and swirling inside him. He almost questioned if this was how titans felt when their ends were coming to a near. A silly question, one used to try and distract himself. Not like it was helping in any shape or form, just made him feel worse. Useless even.

' Did I even say ' I love you enough ' ? Did I show them that I cared? Did I do enough before their time came!? '

A sob left him, loud and clear as day. Almost turning into another moment of pure wails and tears. The man was pretty sure he showed enough emotion, even when he tried and didn't really know how. Tried his best not to be closed off and buried in his work twenty-four/seven. He felt like screaming and sobbing this time. Was he even enough for you before death? If he wasn't so tired and dehydrated from doing the said act maybe about twenty minutes prior, Levi would have let the entirety of Wall Rose know his pain.

Eyes bloodshot from the onslaught attack of tears that kept pouring over from his once shining metallic eyes. How many cups of tea had he had? That somehow didn't end up as glass shards beneath his boots. For once, the mess didn't bother him, his promise to stay clean was broken. Just like almost everything else. One promise he made out of this shit, was to kill each and every titan. Then show Erwin that they're human, not just soldiers waiting to throw away their lives for bastard nobles.

Those were promises he couldn't break. Along with not forgetting you, a bittersweet reminder on how everyone precious leaves his life one way or another. No amount of rain in the world could wash away that pain.

Here now sat the Scouts' captain, sitting up against a heavy locked wooden door, holding what was your cloak from the expedition. Levi couldn't bring himself to clean it, the red of your blood, or maybe someone else's stained and clashed with the green. Making it a murky, dark, and odd color, Levi clutched it to his chest. His stray fallen tears turning the fabric a darker shade of its color.

" I promise you, brat. . .I'll be coming back home alive. "

Not all promises could be kept, just words to fill the dead silent air that was created. Reminders that it could always be broken in the least expected amount of time, in the most hurtful way. A stupid way to sign off a piece of your soul and hope for the better.

Tell the world that I'm coming home.

Levi Ackerman, was now no stranger to it.

#shingeki no kyoujin levi #levi aot #levi attack on titan #levi angst #levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #attack on titan angst #angst

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tuancore · 4 years

Text

Lost You (Part 15) :

Starring- Jinyoung x reader

Genre- Angst

Summary- It's your choices and actions which made you miserable.

Jinyoung was growing impatient by the rate with which the meeting was proceeding, three hours in the meeting and he felt like he has already spent an year inside the conference hall. Hyunjin kept on mouthing incoherent things to him, trying his best to prevent Jinyoung from daydreaming in such an important meeting.

"I hope you liked the proposal, Mr. Park" The new business partner exclaimed happily, standing up from his seat, finally getting Jinyoung's undivided attention. Jinyoung nodded his head with a polite smile standing from his seat as well, "Mr. Jung, I'm really looking forward for our collaboration, thanks for your precious time".

"No worries Mr. Park, I'm glad that we are able to work together" He chuckled again with a genuine smile, "I'll let my secretary send you the drafts of the agreement, you can have a look at it and if you would like to make changes you're most welcome".

"Sure, thank you" Jinyoung spoke for the last time shaking hands with Mr. Jung, "Sir, I would like if you don't leave the meeting hall until I'm done escorting them" Hyunjin bowed politely before guiding Mr. Jung and his secretary the way out of the company. Few other employees who were also requested to attend the meeting left the hall after greeting Jinyoung.

With everyone out, Jinyoung immediately fished out his phone dialling BamBam's number. He ran his fingers through his luscious locks biting on his bottom lip impatiently. He wasn't able to concentrate properly in the meeting but he did take note of the main points, he was growing way too impatient to be beside you again, in these two months it's for the first time that he has left your side for so long almost three and a half hours.

"Why the hell isn't he picking up my calls?!" Jinyoung yelled tossing his phone on the leather chair, after BamBam failed to receive his calls.

Hyunjin entered into the room swiftly, standing in front of Jinyoung from the other side of the table, "Hyunjin, I have to go. Whatever the agreement will be just email them to me", Jinyoung expressed striding towards the door to leave.

"Ma'am is not in the hospital" Hyunjin stated slowly turning his head to face Jinyoung, who halted in his steps before he could even push the door open, "What do you mean by that?".

"Sir, ma'am is not in the hospital. Yugyeom hyung messaged me that Ma'am gained consciousness almost an hour ago and that they are taking her with them".

"S—She woke u—up?" Jinyoung's lips quivered with happiness, which he wasn't able to supress. He hugged Hyunjin tightly almost cutting his oxygen supply, "I—I understand but you're k—killing me—me...".

He broke the hug placing his hands on Hyunjin's shoulder, he reconfirmed "You sure, that they were not joking.....She really is......I mean she.....Oh god finally!". Hyunjin's heart warmed seeing Jinyoung so happy for the first time in these past months.

"I'm also very happy Sir".

"Why didn't you inform me earlier?"

"If I had informed you earlier then you would've surely left the meeting and rushed there, and you know this meeting was very important for us, for the company.....I'm sorry Sir", Hyunjin hung his head low in guilt for not informing him about you soon just because he was being thoughtful for the company and not for you who is Jinyoung's life.

"Yah!" Jinyoung called, shaking Hyunjin's shoulders, "There's nothing to be sad about, I'm so glad that you were always there beside me, always handled the official work whenever I failed to, I know these past months were hard for you as well. But not even once did you complain and I appreciate you heartily for that, Hyunjin-ah".

Smiling softly, Hyunjin nodded his head. Many of the employees of the Park Inc. wondered as to why Jinyoung tolerated Hyunjin when most of the times Hyunjin bossed Jinyoung around, but the thing which both of them hid very well was that Hyunjin was Jinyoung's cousin, he offered Hyunjin to work for him for the sake of work experience which Hyunjin gladly accepted.

He was afraid that people in the company would think that Hyunjin was trying to take advantage of being Jinyoung's brother, so he decided to not let anyone know that he was related to him instead he'll work as a normal employee along with others. Reluctantly Jinyoung accepted it, being such a young lad Hyunjin was super smart in every aspect of business administration, just like Jinyoung was. And within a small amount of Hyunjin became the most dedicated and hardworking employee of the company.

"Thank you hyung...." Hyunjin muttered softly, "So enough of this melodrama, we'll continue it later, I was starting to like it though", he teased Jinyoung for getting sentimental as he barely expresses his feelings to someone.

"Yeah.......sometimes it's good to cry and rejoice like people in daily soaps" Jinyoung added, both of them laughing heartily.

"Let's go and have Ma'am back in your arms now shall we?".

__________

"Will you both speak now?" You asked the two boys standing in front of you sternly, eyeing them in irritation. After the little confusing revelation of Youngjae being your bff, you started losing your temper growling at both of them for their stupid attempt to protect Youngjae and Jinyoung and have you to forgive them. Not knowing specifically what has to be done they brought you to their studio.

Crossing your legs on the only couch in their pretty decent studio, you sighed, "I have no idea what you both are trying to pull off.....but it's not enough to change my mind".

"Noona to be honest we are also as clueless as you", Yugyeom stated sitting on his swivel chair, "What do you mean?" You asked tilting your head.

"Can we know why you're so mad at Jinyoung and Youngjae?" BamBam cut in with a humble smile, "What did they both do? That you don't even want to hear their names".

"Did you both hit your head hard?" You blurted in disbelief, the two have been sticking around with you since the beginning of all the mess and now they are acting as if they don't remember a single thing. Unbelievable.

BamBam and Yugyeom both didn't want to force things on you seeing your still not very stable state, but your words were getting to their minds they have to know what's the reason behind your outburst, your anger for the other two.

Giving you a stoic face, they insisted for you to explain the thoughts going inside your head. With that you let everything out from the beginning to end, how Jinyoung alleged you of cheating on him with Jackson, how BamBam came to know about Jinyoung and Jisoo seeing eachother, how Youngjae was in love with you because of which he caused misunderstandings between you and Jinyoung. How your heart got broken by him because of which you lost your child and attempted suicide.

"But I'm alive any way" You grimaced rubbing your temples. BamBam and Yugyeom felt their souls leaving their bodies, their face got pale with cold sweats forming on their forehead.

"Th—That w—was.....What w—was t—that?" Yugyeom stammered wiping the little sweat beads from his head, "None of this has ever happened? Then what are you talking about?" BamBam spoke with widened eyes staring into your chocolate orbs.

"Please don't act as if you've forgotten everything! Their betrayal is not something to be forgotten within two months!"

It's not like they wanted to shout on you, but your stubbornness made it impossible to let the things run smoothly, they had to burst your bubble because whatever you were saying was nowhere close to normal and if extended it can cause harm in real as well.

"We haven't forgotten anything! You— Whatever you're saying has never happened, none of it is true. You said I was the one who told you about Jinyoung hyung cheating on you right? Then why the fuck don't I remember a single thing?!" BamBam snapped rising from his chair pacing back and forth in the room.

"What the fuck do you mean by you don't remember a thing?" You snarled at BamBam, "How can you forget everything so easily? Or you're sympathizing with Jinyoung and Youngjae?".

"I'm not sympathizing with anyone Noona! I'm fucking not!" He yelled back, "You said you committed suicide, but let me tell you, you didn't commit such a crime!".

"BamBam stop! I clearly remember that I slit open my wrist with a shard, wait let me show yo—", You pulled the sleeves of your shirt, to see your wrist but words got caught in your throat.

"What? Show us" BamBam added, crossing his arms to his chest, almost challenging you. You traced your wrist which was badly teared open by the shard, "How—How....c—come there's n—no mark?".

BamBam stood beside you taking your said hand in his, "You slit it open here?", He emphasized, "And there's clearly no mark, do you think it some sort of a joke that hurting yourself with a sharp piece of shard will leave no scar?".

"Okay, let's assume it didn't leave a scar but after stitching your wrist up will the stitch mark fade so soon?" BamBam proclaimed, "Two months are not enough, sometimes the scar remains for lifetime".

"And that's the proof that whatever you told us.......was something that never took place" Yugyeom concluded, nodding his head at you.

Thats true, even a knife cut would take months to heal then how come such a severe wound will heal this fast. Your skin seemed to be absolutely normal, same as that of your other hand, yanking your hand from BamBam's grip, you bellowed "But all I remember is dying and then all of a sudden I woke up to your face! Can it be some coincidence?".

"We don't know what it is, but all we know is that whatever you are saying is nothing but your own imagination, since nothing, not a single thing has ever happened in these past few months!" BamBam grunted, almost losing his calm.

Your mind was spinning like anything, every single moment is burnt in your memory, you can call out every single detail of whatever you've said to them. Then how come they both are trying to defy your not so old past. Everyone was aware of how much BamBam and Yugyeom are fond of joking and pranking but this time there was not a slightest hint of humour in their eyes or body language instead their faces were emotionless and voice was stern.

"What is happening?" You mumbled trying to soothe your pounding headache which suddenly caught upto you. Rotating your eyes across the room you eyes fell onto the desktop calendar.

Striding towards the table, you grabbed it, pair of eyes following your each and every move, "What month is it?" You asked.

"It's November".

Your gasped at the reply, "How can this be even possible?" You mumbled to yourself. When you committed suicide it was the month of November. Then how come it's still November.

"If I didn't commit suicide, then why was I admitted to the hospital?".

"Yes you were admitted to the hospital, but not because you had committed suicide but because you had a severe concussion", Yugyeom revealed, pointing at your head and that's when you realised a bandage was wrapped around your head the entire time which you failed to pay heed to.

"Two months ago, you had an accident in which a lorry ran into your car", BamBam professed looking at your wrapped head, "Your car was found upside down, your head smashed against the dashboard, it was a huge trauma for all of us".

"Noona we don't know what's going on with you, but trust us, none of it ever happened. We can never do injustice to you by saving them if they would have done such a terrible thing to you", Yugyeom expressed softly with a subtle smile, "And the truth is that Youngjae hyung is your bestfriend and Jinyoung hyung never cheated on you".

Youngjae is your bestfriend.

Jinyoung never cheated on you.

Pondering over his words, you forced your brain into recalling the events from the past, shutting your eyes close all you saw was a small glimpse of the time where you were grabbing coffee with Jackson teasing him bout Minyoung. Gripping on your scalps harshly, you groaned at the excruciating pain shooting through your brain.

Part 14 // Part 15

______________________________________

(A/N: I seriously have no idea what you guys are going to think about this chapter so just let me know, sorry for all the mess, probably the next part will be the last one.Anyways thank you so much to you all).

#got7 imagines #got7 jinyoung #got7 x reader #jinyoung imagines #got7 angst #got7 bambam #got7 jackson #got7 jaebeom #got7 mark #got7 youngjae #got7 yugyeom

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ninjapaste · 3 years

Text

Alongside the story I have been concocting involving Twig and co. (which I have yet to name surprisingly) there is another story, which although I spend less time on now, am hoping to do so in the future as I get further into fleshing out my Fantasy story and completing most of the work on my practice comic.

This story is sci - fi rather than fantasy and the primary character of this one is probably my first original character that I labelled as OC (also the first OC I drew digitally). Twig comes second, but in the way that the original was completely different to what is seen today; she has gone through so many changes in design and personality to fit with the universe she is in (which also changes a lot).

In regards to my first OC, they have developed in design but not as much as Twig. I actually remember the two characters originally meant to be a duo upon their earliest conception but the strong contrast in themes left me to decide putting them into different universes/stories altogether. I also remember the original Twig (which was not called Twig back then) being created from my first OC.

Now on to this sci - fi story. This one is currently titled 'Alpha - Star Voyage'.

Alpha - Star voyage surrounds the event in which a powerful sun from one universe is transported to an alternate one by a multi - planetary organisation investigating the nature of different planes of reality and foretold windows within it. The unexpected arrival of this sun destroys the organisation's HQ and thousands of its labs due to the overwhelming power of the star. Not in its optimal environment/plane of reality, the sun began its six phases into explosion, which altogether took 300,000 Earth years. The sun then broke into trillions upon trillions of shards, eliminating all life within the galaxy in the process. These shards were then shot through the universe into many galaxies and had the potential to morph into complex organisms. Most of the shards ended up in the galaxy Gnon3. The main character, Xelicon (or Xel for short) was created from one of these shards.

This is Xel.

Xel, unlike Twig, has no innocence or special charm about them; their face has 'serious' written all over it. In fact, they had lost such innocence shorty after their conception. They were found and caged by crooks on a trade planet (a planet that acts as a hub for trading and travelling merchants), who took Xel's hair, teeth, appendages and even organs for large sums of cash. It wasn't until they cut off Xel's hands and feet when they left them (Xel) to die (I might have made this too dark, oops). This is why Xel bears artificial gloves and feet, as well as a pack biologically stuck to their back that takes the function of their lost organs, which were present to allow the body to adapt to the atmosphere/environment of different planets. All of these parts were either crafted or bought by a travelling merchant family, who let Xel wander free after their recovery. The first thing Xel did was take their revenge; they broke the crooks' arms, crapped for the first time and stole one of their spaceships (the one hoarded with all their profits). Xel, inspired by the family that had saved their life, set themself on a voyage to find other shard beings in hopes of finding or forming a family or friendship. Xel has a personal duty to help, protect and serve others who cannot protect themselves, but also seeks to quell their own loneliness in life.

Xel is generally not one to joke around and is utmost loyal to those they respect. They will tend to show negative emotions over positive ones; their joy often goes hidden within a blank, still figure. Xel cares a lot about their own power, figure and height, being quite weak, short and lanky (naturally and due to circumstance) bothers them when it becomes relevant.

In combat, Xel uses their gloves, feet and any extra artificial applications to enchance speed and attack power, mainly set in melee. However, the gloves can be used as projectiles and the feet as rocket shoes that are energized from Xel's own solar energy (thanks to them being a sun shard from anither universe and such). However, this means that using these solar attacks drain Xel's stamina, making them even weaker than normal, so they use it sparingly.

Some concept art of the hijacked ship.

As Xel gets well within their travels, they stop at a moon bar (imagine those little food courts , hotels and bars you see by the motorway but they are on moons instead). In this moon bar, Xel comes across their first ever travelling companion, or should I say, companions...

Enter, Reed (and Bark)

The unfortunate soul of the two in this pairing is Reed - taken tens of thousands of lightyears away from their home planet by a sun - shard parasite that knows only chaos, primal desires and its self - chosen name, Bark.

Reed is the prime example of a man who has lost almost everything and has nothing left to live for. He was once relishing on the highest sides of life back on his home planet: a prestigious position in the entertainment field, a 6 - digit salary and worldwide fame and respect for his authentic charm (Xel could've learned a thing or two) and confidence. Of course, this life came crumbling down when Reed was backstabbed, framed and humiliated by competiton and even part of the government. After being kicked down some more in a game of 'beat the dead horse' and disowned by everyone he loved, Reed had settled in a life of seclusion, watching the rest of the world forget his entire existence as fast as his balding hair fell off. Reed had come to realise the genuinely toxic and judgemental nature embedded in the system he blindly relished in (omg society) and with that, lost his charm, self - confidence, positivity, pride and hope.

Bark has no such deep and harrowing life history, technically a parasite looking for the right body to inhabit and conquer. Sure, a dude in his 30s who looked well in his 50s and sported socks with sandals would never seem the cut to most, but his vulnerability made him the perfect host. Reed's home planet did not know 'aliens' existed, so when Reed saw a blood - red toothy creature clawing towards him, he was frozen in shock. From there, Bark took an unconcious Reed's body and used it to cause great havoc across Reed's home planet before somehow hopping planet - to - moon - to - planet, seeking sustenance and chaos. It is only when Xel finds Bark terrorising a bar and slapping the goofy out of the mutt - headed specimen does Reed regain control and struggle to figure out where and what he is.

Bark tries to manipulate Reed, but simply cannot due to the nonexistent emotional bond between them (only physical). Xel and Reed get along ok, though.

There are some perks that came with being the host of a parasite; Reed's lost eye (from an early age) and severed arm (from some nutcase a month before the encounter with Bark) have been completely regenerated, but with some of Bark's DNA. The newfound powers that Bark has brought allows Reed to defend himslef and Xel, but usually only when Bark is willing to cooperate. When Bark takes the wheel, they do tend to stick with Xel, them being sun - siblings and all, but some cases just needs to be knocked out. Reed always follows Xel's lead on things, his more nervous, less confident self and little knowledge of outer space life being the cause of this. However, often when encouraged by Xel, Reed takes charge in things he specialises in and tries to act more like his former self, showing more and more glimpses of that gradually.

Heres some extra Xel sketches + a page of concepts/brainstorming when I was developing Bark/Reed.

#character art #digital art #art #oc #digital drawing #alien #sci fi #story #original character #I make things too long

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straydawg · 4 years

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when the rain stopped.

summary: killua's tears are the rain that falls. (or, a short fic where killua can't live on with gon dead.)

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Rain was falling.

You didn't know what moved you to come so far out, only to lay with your back saturated against the cold concrete as the rain washed over your body. It bruised your face with every shard of ice-like rain. There was something so violent, so excruciatingly heart-rending about the downpour. The sky was thundering in wails of misery. Raindrops surged from the sky, crashing into one another, plunging onto roofs and cars. They held no consideration for where they would land. They only poured down.

It had been like this for hours now.

Your hair was matted and soaked. You reached your hand up to the sky, feeling the pounding rain crush it. Tears, indistinguishable from the rain, streamed down the sides of your face and mingled with the rising puddle beneath you. 'Were those your tears? When had you begun crying?'

You could no longer see the sky above you, as the rain kept falling down with such fervent and passionate intensity you were forced to squeeze your eyes shut. There was no reason to cry or even be there at all, but you could feel the sky mourning.

No.

Someone was grieving.

This had to be a real person. This was desperation, heartbreak, and loss all in one.

A deep cry of thunder lamented around you, so deafening the buildings shook. Perhaps you would drown here- if you didn't die beneath the sheer pressure of the storm first.

Just what happened to cause a thunderstorm charged with this much grief?

The cries turned into whimpers, short bursts of lightning illuminating the black sky.

It was radiant.

With every fluoresce of lightning, you saw another's life flash before your eyes.

"Gon!" He shook the lifeless boy in front of him.

"No no no no NO! Please Gon," Killua screamed, holding Gon to his chest and rocking the both of them.

Tears splashed onto Gon's eyelids, but they weren't his.

"Idiot, wake up! You can't die here. You can't die yet."

"You're meeting your dad for breakfast tomorrow. Mito is planning for you to come back home in the summertime. You're just a kid...we're just kids..."

Killua clung onto him tighter with every word, but Gon fell limp in his arms. He clenched his fist into the dirt, shoving sharp debris underneath his fingernails.

Killua refused to believe it. The person he had spent years adventuring with, the one who had helped him see his worth, the one who had saved him. He couldn't be gone, just like that. No, Gon was not the type to give up, and he would never back down in a fight even if he were outmatched. He would always come out with a smile and a, "hey don't worry about me! We did it, didn't we?"

But not this time.

Killua's sweat was sticking to Gon as he tore himself away to gaze at his friend. The bright moonlight shined on Gon's face, wet with Killua's tears. It was too bright for a night like tonight. He smudged the dirt off the boy's cheeks.

"Gon. Please wake up. D-Don't be so selfish. I.. you're the most precious thing to me. You're my dearest friend. The world.. it can't turn if you aren't there." He sniffed.

A tear escaped from the corner of Gon's eye.

"K..K.."

"Gon!"

"Killua.. thank you..." Gon coughed, cracking open his eyes. "From the day I met you and everyday I've been alive since...I knew I'd never find someone else like you. You made me li-"

Killua couldn't hold back the hailstorm of sobs that wracked his body as he heard Gon's words. He was still alive. He wouldn't let him die.

"Gon, don't talk like this is the end! I'm going to save you," he began scooping up Gon's body, ready to take him somewhere- anywhere that wasn't there.

"Let me finish. I want to hold onto this last moment...with you. Please."

Killua reluctantly set him back down on the dirt, laying him gently against a wall. He never let go of his hand, in fear that Gon would fade away from him in front of his very eyes.

"You made my life worth it. Ging said.. He said to enjoy the little detours in life because those are the moments you treasure the most. You never were just a detour, Killua. You became my purpose," Gon's eyes glistened. His light was fading fast.

Those few words were apparently too much for him, as it sent him into a violent fit of coughing. There was blood oozing out from his mouth. Killua quickly wiped off the redness with his fingers and grabbed onto his friend again.

He held Gon's forehead to his.

"Don't leave me."

No response.

Killua felt an exhale of breath touch his face. He didn't dare move.

After a few moments had passed, Killua found the strength to lay Gon onto the ground, and place his own longsleeve shirt over the boy for warmth.

Gon only wore a tank top. He'd be chilly without it.

Taking some steps back, Killua stared at the boy laying on the floor. Gon looked like he had shrunk, so weak and devoid of life.

There was nothing left in Killua, but a throbbing pain and emptiness.

Falling to his knees, he let out a series of gut-wrenching screams. His sobs filled the night just as much as the stars in the sky did. He beat the floor until his hands were bloodied and mangled, unleashing strikes of lightning to the earth with every devastating blow. Hopefully, the lightning would ruin him too.

What even was the point anymore? There was no longer any light left to illuminate the dark.

Once Killua had bled himself dry of all tears and every emotion there was, he weakly looked upon Gon's form.

Hadn't he said that the world would not turn if Gon wasn't there? But why was it still going? Why was he the only one suffering this cruel loss? Why were there people who were going about their lives right at this very moment, not knowing Gon had just died?

His world could not go on without Gon, smiling him on. Pushing him on. So— he had made his decision.

Memories of all their priceless times together played in Killua's mind like a movie, as if he were experiencing each one of them again for the first time.

The time they first met—

Gon hadn't even questioned Killua's line of work. He had become his first ever friend without a second thought. No one had ever put that much faith in him before.

The time Gon brought him to Whale Island—

Killua had been shocked at Mito's generous hospitality. He had learned what a real home was like, and Gon had asked him to continue travelling with him. It made him feel special, although he had never admitted it out loud before.

The time they began Greed Island together—

He never did tell Gon the real reason he followed him there. It wasn't just to find his dad. Maybe he was embarrassed, or scared too, but the truth was obvious. He loved Gon. That's why he stayed.

The time he saw Gon lying in that stupid hospital bed—

Killua wasn't sure if he felt hurt, angry or betrayed, but the one thing he knew is that he was being torn apart. He was breaking to pieces seeing Gon dying slowly in front of him. He swore he would save him, and he did.

But he couldn't save him today.

Sitting up a little straighter, Killua took a deep breath. Turning his nen against himself, he sent the electricity force of 900,000 volts straight to his heart. Enough to kill a tortured assassin like himself.

Killua fell to the ground next to Gon, and shakily reached for his hand. Once he had made contact, he sighed and closed his eyes.

He hoped and prayed that this would count as Lover's Suicide. Maybe, if the universe cared at all, and if some force out there pitied these tormented children enough— they could have a chance at life together. Souls forever intertwined in the afterlife.

Then the rain stopped.

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

❝ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ʜᴀꜱ ʟᴏꜱᴛ ɪᴛꜱ ᴛᴏᴍᴏʀʀᴏᴡ

ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴡ ɪꜱ ᴡᴀɴᴅᴇʀɪɴɢ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴇᴛᴇʀɴᴀʟʟʏ

ᴀʟᴏɴɢ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴍᴇ

ᴡʜᴏ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴜɴᴀʙʟᴇ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴀʏ ɢᴏᴏᴅʙʏᴇ ᴏʀ ᴍᴏᴠᴇ ᴏɴ

ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏʟᴅ ᴛᴇᴀʀꜱ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ꜰᴀʟʟ

ꜰʀᴇᴇᴢᴇ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴋʏ

ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴘʀᴇᴛᴇɴᴅ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴋɪɴᴅ

ᴀɴᴅ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛɪᴍᴇ, ᴛʜᴇʏ ꜰᴀʟʟ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ᴍʏ ꜰᴀᴄᴇ

ᴛᴡᴏ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ ᴡʜᴏ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ᴛᴏɢᴇᴛʜᴇʀ ᴀʀᴇ ᴛᴏʀɴ ᴀᴘᴀʀᴛ

ᴛʜᴀᴛ'ꜱ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ɪꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ❞

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author's notes: hello! i'm new to tumblr and hoping to improve my writing here and make new friends! :) this blog will be multifandom, (bsd, hxh, aot, etc.)

requests are open!

#hunterxhunter #killugon oneshot #killugonangst #gonfreecss #killua zoldyck #fanfiction #i don't know how to use tumblr tags omg help

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seracross · 7 years

Text

Heart of Fire - Chapter Seventeen: Rising Mountain, Setting Sun

Summary: “A dragon without fire is nothing but a liability.” Nine years ago, Syra was thrust into a war: a hide-and-seek battle for control of five powerful crystals, hidden by a secret organization 200 years prior. Taking human-form, Syra searches the dragon-hating city of Altaira for clues on their location. But when her secret is revealed, fickle hearts are quick to change. And when an old enemy raises his scaly head, who will be there to turn to? Her estranged siblings? An ex-fiancé? Or a temperamental pixie the size of a duckling? In a race against her father’s murderer, Syra must traverse the five kingdoms to halt his efforts to rebuild a powerful relic that should never have been created. Are the bonds of love and family strong enough to survive the horrors of secrets and betrayal? And how do you fight an elder dragon bent on revenge when you’re a wyrmling who can’t even breathe fire?

Genre: Fantasy, Adventure, Romance, Drama

Rating: PG-17 (Strong Language & Violence)

Read All | Read Next

“Syra! Syra!” Aidan called to the unconscious body Namir had laid in front of him.

“What happened?” Cassius went to touch her face, but drew back from the charred flesh that looked up at him.

“An explosion. Namir managed to catch her, but...” Aidan cringed at sight below him. At the red, melted skin that spread across her face. At the bubbling blisters slick with blood. He fought to push them away, but image after image of his brother came flooding back. And they brought the pain and nausea with them.

“Aidan?” Surprised concern came from Cassius as he watched tears flood the usually stoic prince's eyes.

“I'm sorry,” as whimper barely escaped Aidan's lips, “I'm sorry I couldn't...couldn't help...couldn't protect you. I tried...but—”

He choked back a sob, and the twins stared in astonishment.

“Why isn't she healing?!” Aidan spat, making them jump.

“I-I don't know,” said Petra, “maybe she's hurt too badly?”

“How?” he glared at her, pain contorting his reddened face. “She's a bloody dragon! You guys are remarkably hard to kill!”

Petra puffed up, “You would know, wouldn't you?!”

Aidan winced. He did it again.

“Sorry, I'm just...I'm trying. But, I don't know what to do.”

“We know,” Cassius said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “It's hard to unlearn things, and Fear is a strict teacher.”

Aidan shot a grateful look up at Cassius, and he gave Aidan a pat before reaching down to lift Syra up.

“We need to get her to Moremi. She might know something.”

“Moremi's probably busy with Dürgah. We have to—”

“Dürgah's dead,” Petra said flatly, causing Aidan to choke. “That rahg stabbed him and he bled out before Moremi had a chance to bandage him.”

“And now, so will Syra,” his voice cracked as he gripped her petite hand.

“She will not!” Petra spat, standing. “She can't.”

“Let's get her to Moremi, in any case,” said Cassius. “She helped Syra once, she can do it again.”

The entire village seemed to be crowded around Moremi's hut when they delivered Syra to the front door. Kiithran huddled with snouts pressed to every window, and many weeped off to the side.

“There you are!” Suri said, hurrying out the door. “Come! You should be with us, too. Raz would—”

Suri froze when she saw Syra's limp body in Aidan's arms, “What happened?”

“No time,” Aidan said, pushing past her, “We need Moremi's help.”

“W-wait, you can't! She's—”

But Aidan was already through the door.

“Moremi! We need your—”

Sorrowful eyes looked up at him from Dürgah's lifeless body, and he froze.

“I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to int—”

“Syra?” Razira stood from father's side to inspect her friend's injuries. “Not you, too,” she whimpered at Syra's shallow breathing and the burns that covered half her body.

“Moremi?” She looked over to the grieving healer with pleading eyes, “Please?”

“Of course, bring her here, quick.” Moremi left her chief's side and examined the damage, “This,” she said with a nod, “this I can fix.”

She hurried about her supplies, chopping, grinding, and mixing until she brought over a bowl of brown-green salve.

“Help me put it on the burns,” she said, slathering the goo over the red, blistered skin. “We'll have to keep it covered, but it will protect the wound and relieve the pain while she heals.”

“Thank you, Moremi,” Cassius said, tearing up, “for helping even though you're in pain, too.”

She swallowed a knot and glanced forlorn at her chief's body. But, then returned to applying the salve with a weak smile, “It's what Dürgah would have wanted.”

A vigil was held that night. After Dürgah's family had grieved over his body, the Aerie followed Viilah, Razira, and Namir up the island's slope to a clearing on the highest ledge. There, it was placed on a pyre. One after the other, each member paid their respects until Viilah was left holding a torch in shaking talons.

“You never gave me choice, you know,” she whispered to her mate. “I could have had my pick of mates, but you stole my heart before I even went looking. But I never once regretted it. To Morai, you were Gahirem: their strong but compassionate leader. To our rima, you were teacher and giver of warm nuzzles and sloppy kisses. And to me,” her voice broke, “you were my partner, my best friend, my 'rising mountain'...my Dürgah.”

She clenched the torch in her hand and looked out over the mourning crowd, “The rising sun has now set! And though the night will be long and lonely, we know it will rise again.” She glanced over to Razira with a sad but proud smile, “It will be a different sun, but one that is bright and beautiful, and full of new possibilities! So tonight, we send our brother back to the skies, where the sun is warm and the winds soft. May he soar forever!”

“Forever may he soar!” cried the gathering.

“Goodbye, mikhan” Viilah hushed and tossed the torch onto the pyre.

“Syra should've been here,” said Petra to Cassius as they watched the pyre blaze.

“She would be if she wasn't—”

“Burned?”

Cassius opened his mouth, but had no rebuttal.

“Marrak is an Ignis—just standing next to one will burn you. She's only on her third molt, Cas. If Father's hide couldn't stand up to him, how can she? Or us, for that matter?”

For the first time since meeting Syra, Petra looked worried. Not angry-worried, like she had been over Tilly, but panicked-worried. She looked, scared.

Cassius clenched a fist and watched the fire turn Dürgah's feathers into ash, “I don't know. But we have to try. We've come too far to just give up and run.”

“No running, huh?” Petra scoffed.

“Never thought that'd be aimed at you?”

“I don't run,” Petra snarled with a glare.

“I know you don't.”

Silent words passed between the twins and Petra finally backed down, “We just have to destroy those shards. Maybe Marrak will give up without them.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“Shut up, Cas. Let me have hope in something.”

Cassius was quiet, but a smile played at the corner of his mouth as they stood there, in the chilly night air, where the moon and stars greeted Dürgah's ashes sent on the wind.

Moremi had insisted on keeping Syra overnight, so the party decided to spend the late night hours comforting Razira in her room.

They told of their own stories of loss and grief—albeit briefly—and watched her walls slowly crumble. There, Razira allowed herself to break: to laugh and cry at the good and bad times that swarmed her mind, to curse herself for all the grief she had caused him and for taking their time for granted, and eventually—after her wails had quieted—to fall asleep by Petra’s lap.

“We should go,” Cassius said, standing. “Let her sleep.”

They stood to leave, but Petra refused to budge.

“I’m staying right here.”

Aidan went to argue, but Cassius caught him by the shoulder and they left Petra to keep watch over the grieving kria.

“You don’t have to stay,” Razira said when all was still.

“Yes, I do.”

They sat in the quiet, with Petra leaving Razira to mull around in the endless thoughts she knew plagued her mind.

“I’d like to tell you it goes away—the pain,” Petra finally said, “but it doesn’t.” Her voice was dry and flat, but Razira could hear the silenced wails behind it. “You will hear him, smell him, see him just out of your sight. I’ve been told it dulls over time—that the ache for something missing becomes a reminder that they’re always with you. But, I haven’t gotten there yet.”

“I doubt that.”

Petra scoffed, “You say this after knowing me for two days?”

“That’s all I need.” Razira didn’t look up, but she knew Petra’s gaze was on her, “You’re strong, Petra, anyone can see that. You’ve known sorrow, yet you still push forward. I don’t know if I can do that.”

“You can’t. Not alone.” She sighed, “I’m not proud of it—and don’t you dare repeat this—but, after my father was killed, when the humans put bounties on our heads, if it weren’t for Cassius, I’d probably be a stain on the mountainside right now. You still have your mother, and Namir, even little Suri. Don’t take them for granted.”

Razira nodded and there was more silence.

“You think the Aerie will execute him?” asked Petra, “Namek?”

“I don’t know. We’ve only ever grounded trespassers—never killed them. But, then again, we’ve never had…this happen.”

Petra kept her mouth shut. She would have clawed Marrak’s throat out had she been given the chance. But this was not her clan. She had no say in policy. No matter how backwards she thought some of their traditions were.

“Have you forgiven them yet?” Razira asked after some reflection. “The ones who took your family?”

This caught her off guard and memories of her father, Marrak, and Altaira flooded past Petra’s eyes. She caught a snarl behind her teeth, “No.”

It was the image of a broken Aidan clutching her sister—the frustration and sincerity in his apologies—that made her pause. “Not all of them, anyway. But…I’m trying.”

Everyone was happy to see Syra fully recovered the next morning. But Petra could see the bitter wish hiding behind Razira’s eyes. The wish that her father had also recovered, perhaps even in Syra’s place. She hid it well, as was expected of the next Lahirem, but Petra knew that look and Cassius tried to keep her mood from infecting his own.

“You healed right up!” Razira gave Syra a playful nudge with her snout.

“Thanks to Moremi.” Syra patted the bandage Moremi left on her cheek just as a precaution.

“I hope you took notes,” said Petra.

Syra held up a small jar filled with the brown-green gel, “Packed and ready.”

“Speaking of ready,” Viilah turned to her daughter, “are you?”

Razira took in a long, deep breath and looked out the window at the gathering that flooded the clearing below the hill.

“Guess I have to be.”

“You’ll do just fine,” Viilah pressed her forehead to Razira’s, “we believe in you. Dürgah believes in you.”

Razira’s eyes glistened.

“Plus, I’ll be there when you mess up.” Namir puffed his chest in jest and Razira smacked his shoulder.

“Me, too! Me, too!” Suri bounced and wagged her furry tail.

Razira beamed and laughed, and shot Petra a grateful nod, “I know.”

Viilah led the procession down the winding path to the ceremonial platform, the Kiirem held between gentle jaws. It felt more crowded this time. Aerie members huddled close together for support—some still wore tear stains down their muzzles. Even Aidan seemed to stand closer to her.

“The night has lifted!” Viilah stood over the crowd, Kiirem in hand, and Razira sitting somber behind her. “And with it, our sorrow.”

Turning her back to the crowd, Viilah handed the Kiirem to Namir who fluttered up to the arching wooden banner that topped the stage. There, he hung the headdress where a sun was painted to both rise and set.

“For the dawn has brought us a new sun to comfort and lead us.”

Stepping aside, Viilah and the pounding of drums welcomed Razira to the front. Her legs shook but she kept her chest up and face forward. Forward to her people, to the greenery that merged with the blue sky she swore to protect, to the possibilities that burned in her chest.

Syra watched from below, finding herself in awe. I wish I could be that confident. She glanced over to Petra who looked on with a giant grin, cheeks flushed with pride for her new friend. Does Petra look like that? Does the clan look at her like they did Papa? A faint smile flickered on her face. I hope they do.

“Razira-kaal!” Viilah confronted her daughter, removing her own headdress, “Daughter of Dürgah and Viilah, Kaalira of Morai, the sky beckons you to lead its people. Will you accept its charge and treat every family as your own? To teach and lead each member with your best conscience until you choose a mate worthy of your brilliance?”

Razira met her mother’s gaze with no falter, “Until I choose a mate, I will lead with my best conscience.”

Syra could see the silent words pass between them, but pride never left Viilah’s face.

“Then shine bright, Razilah of Morai!” She lifted her headdress into the air, “As the setting sun guides us home and invites the evening mist, we pray you give us strength for the day and comfort in the night.”

Bittersweet bugles erupted from the gathering and drums sounded from all around the clearing as the Lahirem’s headdress was lowered onto Razilah’s head.

“Razilah! Razilah!” chanted the Aerie.

“Razilah! Razilah!” chanted Syra along with the others. She was happy for her, but concern nagged at her mind. How are we going to get the shard now?

It was like Razilah could read her mind, and the new Lahirem gave her a quick nod when the cheers quieted and the drums died.

“I know this is sudden.” Her voice was steady and commanded the crowd better than Syra had expected, “Like all of you, I wish Pach—Dürgah, had left us old and gray. But he also said that life is as tempestuous as the wind—you adjust what you can, and brace for the worst. That’s why I need you! All of you. A leader is nothing without their people, that’s what he always said. And right now, I need your support more than ever!”

Confused mutters sprung from the gathering as the council members wove through the crowd and onto the platform. Syra wasn’t surprised Karima was not one of them, but her presence wasn’t necessary. Each councilor stood tall beside their Lahirem, their chests puffed with pride.

“War is coming!” The oldest councilor, a graying rahg with a thin scar down his muzzle, addressed the crowd with a stern face that gripped any who heard him. It was this face, and the dark tone edged with fear in the word ‘war’, that made the blood pool in the Kiithrans’ feet. “We have tried our best to ignore it, believing that ground affairs cannot reach us. But we were foolish.”

He dropped his head, ashamed, and motioned for Razilah to continue.

“War is coming.” Razilah repeated, but then stopped. “No…war is already here!”

She lifted Namek’s necklace into the air with a shaking hand.

“Dürgah, my father, and you’re beloved Gahirem, was murdered by a traitor! A traitor that aligned himself with people who wish to tear down our cities and take them for themselves—to destroy and upheave any peace we have managed to create. People who call themselves, the Black Thorn.”

Murmurs buzzes about, and she waited for the quiet to return.

“We’ve known about them for a while, now. We thought we were safe. We thought, because we were a peaceful realm, peace would always last. But we are not safe. And the threat will only grow the longer we choose to ignore it.”

“So, what would you have us do?” came a voice from the crowd, “Hide?”

“Fight! I…we need you, to fight.”

“Are you fog-headed?” A kria huffed up at her, “Kiithran don’t go to war! We don’t fight! You’ll be sending us to our deaths!”

“What about those left here on Morai?” Another kria called, “What about the rima left when their father’s don’t return?”

“We’ll be sending you to protect those rima,” said the elder kria next to Razilah, “and only those who volunteer.”

“And who in their right mind would volunteer for that?”

“Dahmia of Morai,” Namir stepped forward, challenging his squadrons, “for years you have trained. From the smallest rima to the strongest rahg, I have seen you fight and bleed, preparing yourselves for when the Aerie needed you. We need you now. You pledged your wings and your loyalty to protect our home, and now we ask you honor that pledge.”

There was hushed talk among the dahmia, but none were completely sold.

“If you are strong, then you shall be free,” Namir quoted the dahmia’s mantra. “But, how can we remain free if we do not fight back?”

“They’ve already taken our Gahirem!” Razilah joined her brother. “Should we let them have the rest of us, too? Because they will come, and they will take us—either as food for the table, or a beast for the field. Now who’s with me?”

The hands came slowly. But one by one, they filled the gathering, and Syra filled with relief.

“Thank the stars.” She breathed out a long breath and let her shoulders relax. I don’t know how Valen plans to use them, but we’ll take all the help we can get.

“Thank you, all of you,” Razilah said with great pride and relief. “The council and I will discuss what steps must be taken. But for now, eat and rest. The celebration was cut short yesterday, and Sendur and Ekahlu deserve to have their bellies filled.”

With that, the council departed, but Razilah was not yet finished with Syra and her party.

The crowd dispersed and food was prepared. The tension settled to the back of everyone’s mind as music and belly-bloat softened the nerves. After some debate, the council had decided to call for Valen the next morning, as Razilah had insisted that everyone enjoy themselves that night.

With that, the council departed, but Razilah was not yet finished with Syra and her party.

“Namir.” Razilah gave him a curt nod when she was alone with them.

He disappeared into a back room, later returning with the Kiirem held tightly in one hand.

“Take it.” Razilah took the stone from her brother and held it out to Syra.

“W-wait. But, you were supposed to vote on it. What if your people find out? Won’t they be mad?”

“Maybe, if they even notice.” She passed Petra a quick smirk. “At the end of the day, a rock is a rock. It is the people who determine its value. And right now, it’s more valuable to you.”

She grabbed Syra’s hand and slid the green-and-red crystal into her palm.

“But, you won’t be able to read your people anymore.”

Razilah let her eyelids droop, “Perhaps we were never meant to. Perhaps, it is better to trust and listen to your people rather than…invading their heads. Plus, it didn’t work too well for Pacha in the end. We need something better than false security.”

Syra clutched the shard and joyous relief flooded her face as warmth flooded her hand, “Thank you.”

“Put it somewhere safe. If things are as bad as Valen says, the Black Thorn could have eyes anywhere, and Koth is a long ways off.”

“Koth? Is that where the next shard is?” asked Aidan.

Razilah nodded, “Pacha always spoke fondly of Stahdler, the Nord's chief. But that was before the border disputes, so I can't guarantee they'll be that welcoming. Make sure to contact Valen before you attempt to cross the border—Stahdler might be aware of the Kesh Raza, but his guards won't.”

“Perfect. Right when I have no sword and no rali.” Aidan grumbled to himself. Not to mention he now had no way of fighting Marrak.

“Not true,” Namir said, “not completely.” Again, he left the room, but this time returned with a long wooden box.

“My dahmia scoured for hours looking for this, just so you know.” Namir set the box in front of Aidan and lifted the lid.

Aidan's excitement evaporated as the blade gleamed up at him in two ragged pieces.

“Unfortunately, we didn't find it whole.”

Aidan's shoulders drooped and he let his head fall into his hands, “Now what?”

“Can't we just reforge it?” Syra turned to Razira, “You have blacksmiths, right? How much trouble could that be?”

“Near impossible,” Aidan muffled through his hands. “You forget what it's made of. Austram may be called blue steel, but it requires a precise technique to smelt and an even more precise smith. And with the supply of austram at nill, most of those smiths have changed vocation or relocated.”

“Most, but not all.”

Aidan's head shot up at Viilah's correction, “You know of one?”

“One. And I'm not even sure if he still meddles in austram.”

“It's still worth a shot.” His eyes pleaded with the siblings, “I know it might be a detour, but that sword is the only way I can help you fight Marrak.”

Petra grumbled to herself, but nodded her approval.

“Where is this smith?” asked Syra.

“Dairos.”

Syra flinched. Dairos was one of the cities Valen said harbored the Black Thorn.

“He's a halfling named, Weldon. I used to buy jewelry from him when I was Kaalira. He should help you if you mention that Viivida sent you.”

“We can take you as far as Shrye, but you'll have to ride to Dairos from there,” offered Razilah.

“But we have nothing to trade.”

“Then take a moraki as a parting gift. One should be enough to rent you some auna.”

“Thank you, Razilah.” Aidan took the two halves of metal and bound them up with his cloak.

“Just promise me you'll stab that monster Marrak if you get the chance.”

A dark smile split his face and he linked a finger around Razilah's talon, “Happily.”

The morakii Razilah left them fetched a good price. Not only did it pay for their rides, but they left the small settlement of Shrye with extra rations.

Between Shrye and Dairos laid a sprawling saltmarsh. With its shallow waterways and soggy soil, horses gave way to the use of auna for transportation. The flightless birds were reliable carriers—though Petra’s seemed to think her hair was a berry to be plucked—and their long legs and wide feet skitted the water-logged ground with ease.

There was a small outpost halfway to Dairos, and Syra urged them to stop as the sun was getting low.

“We can’t afford a room,” Aidan reminded her. “We can take a break to eat, but we can’t be too long if we want to reach Dairos before it’s too dark to ride. We’ll camp if we have to.” Aidan tied his auna to a railing and dug a ration out of his sack, “Stretch and stuff your face. Then we’re gone.”

“Sir, yes sir,” Petra mocked through a full mouth of bread and meat.

Syra stretched and pump her legs, hoping for better circulation in her hindquarters. It was the heavy, acidic stench that drifted on the wind that made her stop.

“What is that?” She glanced about the green-and-brown plain with nose in the air. “Smells like something’s rotting.”

There were no carcasses as far as she could see, and they were the only people around, save maybe the innkeeper. And as much as she enjoyed the constant breeze, the smell made her stomach turn.

“I take it this is your first time out this way?” The burly innkeeper leaned against the doorway with an amused grin on his face, his scraggly beard hiding a handsome face.

“Is it that obvious?”

He chuckled, “It’s the smell—gets newcomers every time. But you get used to it, I promise.”

“Did something die? Is it the trees or—”

“You’re near the sea, miss. And it’s low tide, so everything’s going to smell like rotting muck. But, that’s a good thing, too. You’ll make better time without all the flooding.”

“Have you been to Dairos before?” Aidan eyed the man from his bench.

“Been there? I lived there. At least until a storm took out my house. I’m not one to tempt the sea, so I sold everything and moved here.” He gave the doorframe of the stilted A-frame a hard pat. “Three storms and still standing.”

“In that case, would you happen to know a smith by the name of Weldon?”

“You mean the Halfling fella?”

“That’s right.”

“I’ve heard of him. Before I left, that is. Don’t know if he’s still around, but he’s a damn good smith from what’s been told. Why? You needing a smith?”

“I…managed to break my sword, and a customer of his recommended him.”

“Oi, that’s too bad about your sword. I do have a selection in the back if you’d like some other options, though.”

A twinkle lit in the man’s eye, but Aidan waved him off.

“Thank you, but I’d rather have this one. Sentimental value and whatnot.”

“Aye, I understand. Figured it was worth a shot.”

“I am interested to know where this Weldon is located. Dairos is a big city, and I’d hate to get us lost.”

“Well, first you have to get through the gates—they’re a might picky. You all traders? Travelers? Probably soldiers from the look of you.” He pointed to the scabbards at their waists.

“We’re escorting her.” Aidan nodded to Syra who looked over with raised brows and meat dangling from her mouth.

“What’d I do?”

“She’s a mage,” Aidan pointed to his ear and Syra flashed her earring, “and is traveling for her Magus exam.”

“Well, would you look at that!” The innkeeper beamed, wide-mouthed. “Pardon my staring. We don’t see many of you around here.”

“It’s quite alright.” Syra gave her cute, polite smile.

“Actually, I could use some of your help, if you don’t mind.”

“Oh? With what?”

Warning glares snapped from Aidan and the twins, and Syra caught her words behind her teeth. Careful, now, Aidan’s eyes seemed to say.

“It’s alright, you don’t have to.” The innkeeper caught on to their hesitation and waved the idea away.

“I’d like to,” her voice was honesty and sad, “but we’ve had some rough dealings the last couple times we’ve stopped to help people.”

“I see. I’m sorry for that. People…people shouldn’t take advantage of kindness like that.”

They stood in awkward silence as the lines on his face and the setting sun strung at Syra heartstrings.

“Could you spare a room for the night? In exchange for our help?” Syra met Aidan’s gaze with a raised brow. You did say we couldn’t afford one.

A smile spread across the man’s face and he cracked a laugh, “If you can help, I’ll give you room, board, and send you to the gates with a sealed Letter of Travel.”

“That’s quite a fair deal,” Cassius whispered to Aidan.

Aidan studied the man. He appeared honest and unassuming, but so did Radstrom and Tilly. But he wore no necklace and there was no sign of branding on his bare arms.

“What was it you needed help with?”

The man led them inside the small shanty of an inn, into an area that appeared to be his own quarters. Lying on layers of blankets by a window was a gray ball of fur with large ears that struggled to breathe shallow, raspy breaths.

“Aw, it’s a kila!” Syra hurried to its side and knelt down to examine the poor thing, restraining herself from petting it. “What happened to it?”

“That’s the thing, I don’t know.” The lines on the man’s brow deepened at the sight of his pet’s condition. “I was hoping you might.”

“I’ve never treated a kila before,” she bit down on her lip, “but I think I can at least see what’s wrong.”

She rested her hands atop the kila’s fur and ran them down its body in slow, gentle strokes, feeling for anything that seemed abnormal.

“Find anything?”

Syra shook her head, “Everything feels fine, so far. Maybe if I check its throat…perhaps there’s a blockage.”

She slid a hand under the sleeping creature and ran her fingers along its small neck. But instead of her finding a lump, the kila’s needle-like teeth found her hand.

“Ow!” Syra winced as the rudely awakened furball latched onto the meat of her thumb. She went to pull her hand away, but tiny claws were quick to seize her forearm.

It growled and spit and raked its hind feet against her arm in repeated bunny-kicks. Blood trickled from multiple lines by the time the innkeeper snatched his pet away.

“I am so sorry! Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine. I’ll heal.”

He plopped the kila onto his bed and grabbed a rag for her arm, “Come, you can rinse off over here.”

Syra followed him to a small wash basin where she let him wipe the blood away.

The man paused abruptly, “Hold on.”

He took a light hold of her wrist for a closer look at the scratch marks. His eyes widened as light seemed to shimmer around the edges of the bloody lines, “You’re not just a mage, you’re a Lightblood.”

Syra retracted away, confused and startled by his grip.

“Will that be a problem?” Aidan stepped closer to the man and narrowed his eyes.

“What? Oh, no.” He released Syra’s wrist and handed her the cloth for her to clean herself. “I’m just…surprised, that’s all. It’s my first time ever meeting one.” He gave a short laugh and returned to calming his pet who eyed Syra with a death glare.

“I didn’t feel any lumps,” Syra reported once she had scabbed over, “so I think she might just be sick. I can try to treat it, if you’d like.”

“I’d be most grateful, thank you.”

Syra approached the kila a second time, keeping ample distance. She knelt by the bed, hands in her lap. Her eyes closed and she forced her breaths to come long and deep. She focused on her heartbeat, on the thumping in her neck, on the sound of air leaving her nose. She cupped her hands together, and warmth began to build inside her palms. Warm. Like her breath. Warm. Like the mana-rich air that tingled her arm hairs. Warm. Like the growing ball of energy that spread from her gut to her chest, then down her arms. Her body hummed and tingled.

The air became thick, like water, with each breath of the room's occupants sending ripples to wash over her. Some were harsh, and hot, like a large campfire. There's Petra... Others tepid and calming, like Spring's high noon. And Cassius. And others more that soothed like an evening breeze on a sweaty brow—her favorite. And there's Aidan.

She blew a light breath out, as if to separate leaves atop a pond. There you are. She let the larger ripples fade into the background and focused on the fainter hum that came from the kila's strained breath and quick heartbeat.

She raised her hands inches above the kila, feeling the ebb and flow of the waves radiating from its body. Let's see what ailing you. Her lids slid open like one who was half-asleep. Light was what she saw: a shimmering wash of colors blending one into the other in waves. Yellows, oranges, even blues and white danced together in a halo around the animal. But it was the patch of navy that Syra's eyes locked onto.

At the risk of facial scarring, she lowered her nose to the dark spot at its throat and mouth. Its breath was rancid. She had been correct. Sickness had lodged itself in the creature’s throat and was festering.

“What is it?” The innkeeper shoved his hands into his pockets to keep from wringing them. “Will she be okay?”

The sudden sound jarred Syra and she raised a hand for quiet, “I'll do what I can.”

Sitting up straight, she took a deep breath and stretched out her hands over the creature with splayed fingers. Her fingertips buzzed. With her right thumb and index finger, she pinched at the cold, dark spot and pulled. The kila shivered as a navy line followed Syra's fingers like needle-and-thread.

“What is that?” Aidan stared wide-eyed at the thin string of light Syra had pulled from the kila's neck.

“A Thread.” Her voice was distant from concentration, “Why do you think we're called Weavers?”

While her right hand kept the thread taught, her left pinched at the deep carmine at its chest, pulling a red thread to meet the blue. With sweeping movements, her hands wove them like a fingerpainter over a canvas, mixing colors as the threads hung in the air.

When the mosaic was finished, Syra pressed it down until it merged with the halo and disappeared.

“Will she get better, now?” The innkeeper petted the sleeping creature's head with a light hand.

“That's up to her.” Syra leaned back with a heavy sigh. “Disease is more difficult than cuts and scrapes. I can't simply speed up recovery, I can only tell her body how to fight it and give her strength.”

The man cuddled his pet in his lap and remained silent for a long while.

“Thank you.” He coughed at the knot in his throat. “After the storm took my wife and boy, this little one is all I have left. Even if she's not strong enough to make it, thank you for trying.”

Morning brought sore butts, hot breakfast, and an affectionate kila that hopped after Syra wherever she went.

“Looks like she knows who saved her.” The innkeeper laughed as it tried to follow Syra out the front door.

“No, no. I'm sorry, little one. Your home is here.” Syra picked up the squeaking furball and handed it back to its owner. “Makes sure she gets plenty of rest. She might look chipper, but she's still recovering.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

He stashed the kila in the bedroom and returned with a letter and a map, “Weldon's shop is here.” He pointed to a building near the port that he had circled in ink. “Again, I'm not sure if it's still there, but I'm sure you can find it if you ask around.”

“Thank you,” Aidan folded the map and tucked it into his vest.

“Let's go!” Petra called from the road—she and Cassius had already mounted their auna and were pacing.

“Be patient, we're coming!” Syra waved them away and brought Aidan his ride.

“Give this to the guards at the gate,” the innkeeper handed the sealed letter up to Aidan, “it'll give you passage.”

Aidan and Syra dipped their heads and trotted off after the twins.

“Oh!” The man called, making them stop and turn, “If anyone gives you trouble, just look for someone wearing a bronze coin. Tell them Fin sent you, and everything will be taken care of.”

They froze. This was Fin? The man who callously abandoned Tilly? Who made deals with honor-less men and attacked innocent travelers? Fin, the Black Thorn member?

Syra's stomach lurched. Not again. Again, she had judged poorly. Again, her compassion had put them in danger. She thought she was being smart by finding them shelter, but she had only walked them into a lion's den. It was pure luck that it was four against one. But who knew what Fin planned on doing after they left? When they were alone on an open trail?

She felt the urge to vomit. He had seen her weave—seen her blood. He now knew there was a Lightblood on the way to Dairos, and one raven could set a bounty on her head.

Syra gulped and prayed he couldn't see the shock on their faces. Even more, she hoped Petra hadn't heard him. Like we need anymore attention from them.

But Aidan raised a casual hand and waved, then continued on like nothing was amiss.

Syra's hands were trembling, “That's...I can't believe—”

“I know.” He kept his voice down as they neared the twins.

“What do we do?”

“We find Weldon, and leave. Soon.”

She bit hard on her lip, “We can't tell Petra.”

“Wasn't planning on it.”

#Heart of Fire #dragons #magic #fantasy #sword and sorcery #romance #adventure #epic fantasy #high fantasy #grief #death #war #racism #worldbuilding

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