thesilverthreadsmith

[thesilverthreadsmith]

This is exactly what I’m working on in a set of stories; there’s a wonder and joy in pure adventure that’s just lacking in a lot of the new dystopia and sci-fi, it feels. 

spent most of my time today thinking about futuristic adventurecore, and how cool of a concept that would be

-exploring entire planets and derelict cities

-charting and identifiying alien wildlife in a cool notepad

-wearing high tech cloaks such as heat-resistant or waterproof, or can change to be a parasol

-cool alien pets!!!!

[thesilverthreadsmith]

Indian Rock Park, Salina, KS, USA, and the Smoky Hill River outlet. 

11/20/19

[thesilverthreadsmith]

Foggy Forest Fantasy by Cezary Morga instagram.com/cezary.morga | cezarymorga.com

[thesilverthreadsmith]

Firelight: Prelude

All began in fire. 

She couldn’t even remember when; fire was as ageless as the cosmos, yet even more fragile than life when it was weakened, forgotten, deserted…

Yet, all began with fiery light. She did remember the first time she opened her white-hot eyes, for that was when the first stars had begun to coalesce into existence. Nebulas and little star clusters, a universe freshly made...it was all so very beautiful, and she sang for the first time, a song the reverberated through the newness of it all, celebrating their births. She wasn’t a bird then, not in the way so many knew her now, only a dancing spirit, carefree and owing allegiance to nothing, and everything, all at once. 

The first stars, the first planets, they formed earth, water, wind; she dazzled in their growth, in their beauty, as color and light and eventually, life filled the universe. She explored the many, many worlds, from the great gas giants filled with the remains of the nebulous clouds, to the rocky, smaller planets sprouting plants and animals over eons. Time was immaterial to her; she would dance between planets and there was no wait, nothing to dread. There was only the dance, the endless journey, and she grew, both in power and in form. 

There was one planet, though, that she always returned to; it wasn’t any different, not really, from all the other rocky ones; there were a million more out in the galaxy, tens of millions in the cosmos...yet, this one pulled to her, like none other. It was as though part of her heart rested within the molten core, and she found herself walking the planet’s surface, through rainforest and tundra, though desert and wild plain. Searching for...what, she still wasn’t sure. 

She marveled at the growing oceans, at the might of the volcanic formations, at the devastating quakes as the earth heaved and buckled and transformed. But she had seen all of these a million times before, on a million different planets, even more fantastic in many cases. And yet, here...here, she took a greater joy, felt a greater awe...she did not know why. It took time for the realization to come, time in which the world she’d claimed as her own had evolved ever more, producing a species the likes of which she’d seen a half dozen times before…

But they were different.

From the heart of one of the continents (separated now by vast seas and oceans) sprang a race of beings, bipedal, more skin than fur, hunters, gatherers, farmers, warriors. They spread in tribes and singly and as conquerors, and she, the fiery one, watched the human race grow into the dominant species, despite the many, many better predators out there. But what predator could think of a trap? What prey escape from the steady pace of a human? It was through perseverance and tenacity that the race endured, and flourished…

She sang them a song of welcome, found that she could remake herself in their image, and not for the first time, she flew through the blue skies. But here, she showed her true self, and caught their wonder, their awe...and a little of their fear. But she worked hard to abate that fear, to soothe and offer solace, and so she became a legend to them, the Firebird; she had never had a name, or perhaps, her name was her song, but she did not mind that title in the slightest. It made her...a part of their world, and for a time, that held the greatest joy for her. 

But as humanity carried on through the centuries, she found herself appalled and horrified by the acts perpetrated by their leaders, their soldiers...against their own people. Against their own children, and loved ones, and so much more. It was horrifying, it was a destruction that somehow, was so much worse than mere death. She was quite used to the deaths of stars, of supernovas, of planets and asteroids and meteors now; she’d seen death many, many times. But death that was the result of natural changes, of the black holes, of the fire of a falling meteor...that was clean. There was no horror there, only a moment, sometimes long, sometimes brief...and it was all gone. 

This, however...this lingered. In scars, in the body and the land and the soul. In hate, that flourished on the dark despair and rage and pain. In life, in revenge, in suffering, in hope. And broken-hearted, she fled the world she had called her own for so long, her fiery wings carrying her away as she wept a song of sorrow and pain. Let the humans destroy themselves; she knew that the earth would endure.

She just never expected the humans to find her.

[thesilverthreadsmith]

Mako-Tinged Dreams, Ch. 1

Green...green as far as I can see...the eerie, radioactive shade of mako that we hated so damn much…

Cloud’s eyes opened...well, one eye opened. The other was still swollen shut, though a light touch proved that by the end of the day, it would most likely be open again. He sighed and dragged himself up off the ground and out of his sleeping bag, groaning at the pain and stiffness radiating through his back and hips from the last few days of fights...and smiled weakly as Tifa’s gloved hand appeared in his vision, palm open and ready to help him up.

“...I owe you one.” He sighed, taking it and standing up, shaking himself all over to loosen up, and she just rolled her eyes and shook her head. She looked pretty rough herself, her legs heavily bandaged under the rough shorts she’d made from the remains of her pants, and he wished she hadn’t taken the brunt of the fires; her legs would be weeks in healing. Cloud grabbed up his pack as he followed her out, rummaging a bit.

“No, you owe me a lot more than that. C’mon, Vincent and Yuffie just got back with supplies; we’ve got bacon, eggs, and fresh coffee.” He let out a moan of thanks, and followed her out of the shelter they’d made out of an old Shin-Ra building to a very welcome sight; a proper breakfast, and Cid’s Rocket Fuel Coffee. Vincent passed him an empty mug and the steaming pot from the fire while Yuffie fiddled with their communications equipment, and Cloud took both with a grin, tucking his pack between his legs, and settled by the fire.

Cid was working on their dual pair of jeeps as he poured a mug full and took a plate, wolfing things down one-handed, borrowed from the Turks (and Rufus), doing the filter and oil changes while Barret worked on the mounted machine guns on top. Nanaki and Cait were both patrolling the perimeter of their camp, and Tifa sat down on Vincent’s other side, reapplying fresh bandages to the burns on her legs. Cloud gave her a sympathetic wince, and having found it finally, offered his Cure materia; she took it with a tired smile.

“Thanks…”

“Like you said, I owe you. How’s everyone feeling?”

“Tired, but we’re managing. The Turks are on their way up to join us for the last push, after that, we’re declaring Midgar a disaster zone.” Vincent sounded more than tired; he was gray from all of his transformations, and his red cloak had been abandoned a few weeks back for some of the heavy duty SOLDIER gear they’d found in one of the old barracks. Everyone, in fact, was pretty much in the same boat; their normal gear just wasn’t strong enough to take the constant monster attacks…

Constant, and draining.

The WRO’s Special Reclamation Team was the combined forces of the Turks, and AVALANCHE, and they’d spent the last two months in the center of Midgar’s ruins, battling the nonstop hordes of genetic horrors that were Hojo’s twisted legacy. Jenova remnants, mutations, failed experiments that were the next thing to immortal...It was heartbreaking, some of the poor souls they’d had to free. And infuriating; all of this, all because of one man’s ego… Damn you, Hojo.

“About damn time; just Reno and Rude?”

“No, Tseng, Elena, Cissnei too, and a few of the Old Guard are coming to help. They’ll be airborne while we’re on the ground; we’ll have full air support the whole way in.” Cloud let out a sigh of relief at that. The final zone they’d left for clearing was the hole Omega had torn out of the center of Midgar three years prior, and Vincent had been the main scout...well, technically Chaos had been, and between the eldritch creature and the dour gunman, they had a rough idea of how bad it was.

Actually clearing it out was impossible; the concentration of spilled mako, genetic monstrosities, destruction...all of it was just too much to heal quickly. Or even, really, at all; Cloud was not confident in their ability to do much, if anything, to help the enormous wound in the earth. As it was, technically, only Vincent and Cloud could really go safely into the pit, and that was...not entirely proven yet. Today would be that day... He drained his coffee and ate a second helping, though, grateful for the rest and the food.

“Hey, Spiky, ya up fer helpin’ me out?” He glanced up at Cid, who was covered in grease, the cast on his arm included, and couldn’t help but smile a little bit sadly. Cid had a broken arm, nose, head, and probably hand too, yet he was in the thick of it just as much as everyone else, and Cloud couldn’t say no. He got himself up and hobbled over, the mako in his body healing him faster and faster, but not quite fast enough...he dug around his pack a bit more, and found another Cure materia, and with a quick murmur, cast the spell over the both of them.

“Sure, whatcha need?” Cid looked a little more relaxed as the spell washed over him, and he sighed wearily, rubbing the side of his nose where the bandages met skin.

“Jus’ some help keepin’ the jeep up fer me to get the pan out from underneath���Thank ya, by the way...I kinda needed that.”

“It’s no trouble, Cid...Why don’t you let me get it, and go sit down? You look just about as bushed as everyone else, and you’ve got the worst injuries.” To his honest surprise, Cid grimaced and nodded, if a bit reluctantly.

“Ya kinda gotta point...thanks.”

“It’s no problem, Cid...go lay down and get some sleep, okay? You were up all night.” The older man gave him a surprisingly gentle shoulder clap, limping away from the two vehicles, and Cloud was grateful to see Tifa and Vincent both helping him into the building. He hoped that all three of them would lay down to sleep; Tifa had taken the night shift too, and Vincent had done the night patrol before meeting Yuffie with the supplies, and he knew they had to be just as drained as Cid. He smiled as Tifa cuddled up between the two of them, Vincent’s arm draped over her shoulders. It was so sweet, and he was happy for them; they deserved happiness.

He shared a look with both Yuffie and Barret; they nodded, and Barret gave him a cheeky salute, after which Cloud flipped him off and finished up both jeeps. An hour later, he grabbed his gear and got ready to head out for scouting. Fenrir was, sadly, back in Costa, so he simply strapped on his swords and checked his pack and comm gear. A quick test with Yuffie and her grinning thumbs-up, and Cloud was set to go. He walked out of camp before leaping to the first craggy remnant of a plate, and followed the path Vincent had left a few days before.

It was...quiet, out here. The sound of the wind, a steady trickle of liquid that he hoped was water down through the shattered ruins...occasionally, a soft shh-shhing of new grasses growing in little cracks and crevices. He passed by the sagging, fallen church that had been Aerith’s beloved secret, and he touched the gray wood of the doorway in fond, sad memory. It was no longer safe to go inside; too much damage, and too many years. It was so badly broken, almost near collapsing, though he could see the glimmer of her pool inside, the softest white glow a familiar sight.

“Miss you, Aerith…”

Cloud... Her voice was a balm, a murmur from the shadows, and he gave the remnant of her spirit a soft smile. Here, perhaps better than any place on Gaia, was the closest path to the unsullied part of the Lifestream. The others…?

“They’re doing okay. We...probably won’t be able to come back. Things are...bad here, I’m sorry…”

Hush...better that way....stay safe.

“We will. I promise you, we will.” He smiled as the pool shifted, growing, and a silvery figure came towards him, pausing just before the half-light outside the doorway. She was as ghostly as the Lifestream itself now, but she was smiling, just like always. “Would you like me to tell the others, give them a chance to say their goodbyes?” She paused, thinking, and nodded, hands clasped before her, and Cloud smiled.

Thank you...there is...old danger...ahead...but also...a friend... He blinked, but didn’t ask her to elaborate; she was having a hard time holding herself as it was, and he knew he couldn’t ask much of her. He’d seen her a dozen or more times around Gaia, but they’d never felt her, or seen her, as strongly as here, in the heart of her power and her love. Elmyra had never forgiven him for taking her after Sephiroth...To this day, he still blamed himself, despite everything.

“Okay. I’ll keep my eyes open, and let the rest know.” He earned a winning smile at that, and she vanished into mist, leaving him all alone in the shadows under the plate. Vincent’s path followed the safest, darkest route, and for once, Cloud wasn’t interested in testing the limits. The fallen plates were in various states of decay, the mako in the air and water and earth degrading the metals a great deal faster than most people realized. The temperature too, would change from one moment to the next, between freezing and sweltering, much to the team’s annoyance. They could see it, so close and personal now, and while Cid and Reeve found it fascinating…

He found it horrific. Cloud eyed the spidery patterns of rust and decay across one of the panels that Galian Beast had propped up days earlier, and pulled up his facemask when a too-cold gust of wind blasted him with a face full of fine, powdery rust. That triggered a nasty coughing fit, and he did his best to muffle the sounds, drinking a little too liberally of the cinnamon whiskey Cid had left him, and when it passed, continued on to the point where Vincent had stopped, surveying the area beyond the plate.

Most of the last scouting mission that had ended in Cloud’s battered body and cracked leg, Cid’s broken bones, Tifa’s burns, and Vincent’s latest transformation had been a nasty skirmish, and they’d retreated to call for aid from the Turks. The decision to hide hadn’t really sat that well with all of them; they were all fighters, used to running to the front lines. But...a lot had happened in a short time, and none of them were fully healed, even now; retreat just made sense. He tugged out the radio, and Yuffie picked up right away when he called.

“Hey Cloud, what’s up?” He surveyed the already decomposing bodies of the remnants they’d fought days before, and once again, cursed Hojo to the deepest depths of hell, because this was atrocity piled upon atrocity.

“I’m at the stopping point from a few days ago; it’s not gonna be safe for us to explore much more, and no one who’s unenhanced should. It’s...pretty bad.”

“Damn. Alright, I’ll let the others know. Anything else?”

“I’m about to send some photos to Tseng, then I’ll probably be on radio only for a bit. Want me to send them to you, too?”

“Nah, just let Tseng know. I’m holding the fort here, Barret’s running out to meet with Reeve, and Vin, Cid, and Tifa are all three out cold. Nanaki’s napping too, so it’s just me and Cait. We’ve got this, so you focus on exploring carefully, alright?”

“I will. Thanks, Yuff; I’ll be back before dark, I do not want to be out here at night. It’s...pretty damned creepy.”

“Preachin’ to the choir, Cloud, I won’t go any farther than this, shit glows during the day. Be safe, take it slow. Radio if you need help, I’ve got a direct line to the Turks, so they can swoop in and get you out of there ASAP.”

“Thanks, Yuffie, I will.” Cloud tucked the radio into his belt, and sighed through his mask, getting his goggles and oxygen mask ready and then Cloud pulled out his phone to snap a quick few photos to send to Tseng; it wasn’t ideal, but it gave Reno a starting point for piloting the chopper into the area. The message back was short and simple, just “Be safe, will land at campsite first, then find you. Keep the beacon on.” Cloud checked his tracking beacon, and relaxed at the stable, solid green light on his belt. He texted his thanks back, then tucked his phone back into his pack and loosed his smaller sword, leaving about an inch of blade free so that he could draw it fast if needed...and into the Pit he went.

The Pit was the twisted, broken remains of the central tower, the gaping wound deep into the planet where Omega had fallen, revealing the remains of Deepground, the many, many failed experiments...The whole area was almost a wasteland, it was so huge; the remains of at least two or three mako reactors, falling in on themselves, three fallen plates and the remnants of another...And halfway in, the gaping hole that opened into Deepground, not unlike the gates of Hell. White-hot mako seethed underneath it all, and he winced at the metallic stench, then started marking the trail carefully as he made his way around the fourth mako reactor.

It was agonizingly slow; most of the walkways were completely destroyed, and the remaining ones were in terrible shape, the mako vapors eating away at them. More railings and steps than he liked completely disintegrated at a touch or a step, and finally, he found a safe way around, making his way carefully into the lower reaches. Here, he actually needed his oxygen mask; the gases were just too much, even for his enhanced constitution, and he pulled out his radio again to let Yuffie know, not trusting his phone’s ability to survive.

“Yuffie, it’s me again.”

“What’s up? ...Are you wearing your mask?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty rough down here. Tell Tseng to stay back; I won’t be in here long, but I need to get to the base of the Pit and give it a look around, then I’ll head back. I can feel the mako burning now, and if I can feel it, it’ll hurt Vincent even. Heading down now, give me one hour, alright?”

“You got it. But only one hour; I don’t hear from you after that, we’re sending in the Turks.”

“Deal. One hour, see you then.” He sealed the radio back into his pack, pulled on his goggles and made sure his mask was in place, and started to ease his way down the side of the reactor. Here, he could use his natural abilities, since no one other than Vincent would follow him, and climbed like a monkey down, jumping and catching himself easily. It was...scary, and thrilling, and Cloud felt his blood heat with anticipation...when he paused, eyes narrowing as he saw something...unusual. Something that hadn’t been in Vincent’s initial Deepground report right after he’d returned from Omega’s demise. An old friend...

Tucked underneath an enormous slab of Plate Three, Cloud could see part of the original Shin-Ra medical facility. Somehow, it had slid from the central tower to the Pit, and while it looked pretty roughed up, it was still standing, and the heavy concrete looked more stable than the metal around him. And Cloud felt drawn to it. Something was there...and he had to know what. He climbed up a little higher, heading back up the way he’d come, and with a quick calculation, jumped from the top of the piece to land harshly on the rocks just below the building.

“Son of a bitch, that hurts…” Super soldier he might be, but those landings still hurt like hell, and he stood back up with a grumble, limping down the gravel to the building itself. He had to tear the remains of the door off to get in, and felt a cold wave of air blast over him. Thank Gaia for the mask; he could feel his eyes watering a little from the stench, and he pushed his way in, setting aside barrels, boxes, and massive ropes of rotting wiring as he explored the inside.

It, like many of Shin-Ra’s buildings, was a great deal deeper than the outside let on, and it was a difficult task to clear a path, but something called to him, something...familiar. A good familiar too, and Cloud found himself wondering if it might be Zack’s remains. He had buried his friend out on that frontier, or so he’d thought; certainly, the sword had remained there for several years as a grave marker, but Cloud was hardly surprised when he’d discovered an empty hole five years ago. Annoyed and aggrieved, oh yes, but surprised? No.

He’d known someone would come looking for the remains of a SOLDIER, be they Turks, Rufus Shinra himself, or Hojo...and his money was bet on the last. But that would explain the connection; all the SOLDIER candidates and leaders had a sort of...well, almost a blood connection, Cloud supposed. It explained how Sephiroth had found him, and vice versa, and how Zack had found Angeal and Genesis years before. And if all he did was lay Zack’s body to rest in Gongaga for his parents, then that was enough for Cloud.

He pulled apart another door, flicking on his chest light to survey the room, and sighed when he noticed the still glowing mako tube in the corner. Bastards...of course Hojo would have tried to reanimate him. Too bad...Zack had so many bullets in him it was amazing he still survived long enough to say goodbye. And I know I saw him in the void with Aerith; he’s dead, dead and finally at peace with the world. Still...it was infuriating, and Cloud made another path as he moved closer, feeling his anger manifest in kicks to the barrels, a few punches too. That sociopathic monster had lived long enough; he was glad Vincent had killed him at long last.

Finally, he was in front of the tube, and he felt his stomach churn as he peered through the dull green glow. It was definitely Zack alright; unsurprisingly, the mako had healed his body, and judging by the breathing tubes, Hojo had succeeded in reanimating his body at least. But power had been gone from down in the labs for the better part of a year now, and there was no indication of life signs, so Cloud sighed, brushing his gloved fingers over the dusty glass.

“...For what it’s worth, I’m sorry, Zack. I’m so very sorry. But we’re gonna get you home, buddy. Where you belong.” He drew his heavy knife and popped the clasp on the tube, ignoring the hiss and sudden gush of sludgy mako that drenched his boots and pants, and caught the falling body carefully in his arms. It was...a bit more awkward than he liked to admit, and he winced as he smacked Zack’s poor head against the casing twice, but he managed to get the body out over his shoulder, and laid him over a few of the boxes to wrap him in a tarp. Not the most respectable way to be carried to his rest, but Cloud really didn’t have a lot of choices, and at least this way, it would be less shocking…

He started at Zack’s feet, wrapping and binding him carefully in the tarp as he went, all the way up to his head, and Cloud paused to stroke back his long black hair, soft and soaked, those elegant features so still. Cloud turned to check the area again, checking the time on his radio...when he heard it. A rattling noise, followed by a soft wheeze, then slow, steady breathing...and Cloud whipped back around to Zack’s prone body, eyes huge and heart pounding as he studied the tarp, barely hoping...there. Zack was breathing... Zack was breathing! Not only that, Zack was sleeping ; Cloud knew that soft snore anywhere.

He didn’t know if it was a miracle, or if his best friend would wake up a monster, but he didn’t care; he had to get Zack back safely. He carefully checked the tarp, tying it enough that he could carry Zack back with ease, and pulled his spare mask out of the pack, pulling it on and putting the nicer one on Zack. The downside was that he only had thirty minutes to make it back to the safe zone; the spare tank was a small one, and this mask wasn’t as strong as the other, but Cloud didn’t really care; he could take it.

He levered Zack into his arms, and back over his shoulder; still not the best way, but he needed a hand free to climb, and he could move faster like this. Cloud headed back out at a lope, glancing around for an easier slope to climb...and that’s when he noticed the remnants. Genetic mutations spun out of control by the unleashed mako, the remnants were the bane of Midgar and Edge, and the one reason that reclaiming the ruins had been such a nightmare...and now, he felt his heart sink as he realized just how many remained.

Most were the hooded, ragged failures of Sephiroth; sickly silver hair and blind green eyes, their faces a hideous caricature of his unearthly beauty, clawed hands reaching out. He knew from experience now that scent and sound were their strongest senses, and while they were weaker than the three his team had fought before, and infinitely weaker than Sephiroth himself...they were more than strong enough in sheer numbers to take down even someone as strong as himself. That’s why Vincent was still so tired; he’d had to summon Chaos, the eldritch demon being the only thing that could fight them easily.

He swallowed, shifting Zack a little higher, and felt his heart rate ratchet up even more when he noticed them following the sound of the tarp, and carefully, slowly, he loosed his shortsword, taking a careful breath. Twenty minutes. Time’s wasting, Spiky. Oh, this is gonna suck so much... He crouched, just a little, and jolted forward at a dead run, cutting down the four in his path as he leapt up for the last walkway, and he had to stab one of the panels as his feet slid when he landed, panting behind his mask as he climbed for dear life now.

He freed his other hand after clipping Zack onto his armor, and just hauled ass up to the walkway, heart pounding as the monstrous nightmares howled and screamed at his heels, surging up, climbing one another in blind, rage-filled hunger...and Gaia, it was terrifying . He made it to the walkway finally, panting hard, his mask and goggles fogging with his exertion, and he took off at a sprint down to the safe zone, so sure that he could make it. I can make it...I can make it...c’mon, Cloud, just a little more…

“STRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIFE~!” The hoarse scream came out of nowhere beside him, and a dozen of the bastards flew out from under one of the plate pieces, slamming into him and Zack, and Cloud choked as he brought his sword up to guard, back almost bend double over the walkway’s railing. It groaned in protest, but Cloud was too busy trying to fend them off, protecting Zack while trying to draw his other sword. The remnants just hounded him, too far gone to be frightened by the slashes and his muffled yells, and they got in a dozen or more slashes with those poisonous claws…

And then the railing cracked. Cloud felt his heart freeze, and the biggest of the remnants snarled and launched at him...and then all of them were falling. The whole walkway shuddered and collapsed under the weight of all the remnants. Cloud couldn’t help the fear now, couldn’t fight the terror, and as the remnant tore off his mask, his cry for help was to someone long dead, someone who’d held the world safe…

And Aerith answered .  

The whole of the Pit lit up, so bright it blinded him, and all around him, the Lifestream surged up and surrounded them. He jerked as the light caught them, and it was almost a blow in its own right, leaving him dazed, and Cloud blacked out, throat burning, Zack still in his arms...but Aerith’s gentle hand on his brow.

Rest, Cloud. He’ll need you. He’ll need you…

“...--ENO!! Get them out of here!”

“Tryin’, Boss, but the chopper’s struggling, and Rude can’t land her!” Cloud came to with a sob of pain, every nerve feeling like it was on fire...and he realized with a panicked start that he couldn’t see anything but white light. He tried to flail, shuddering as the pain rippled over him, gunshots sounding over his head, and Reno dropped to a knee next to him, and with a sharp word, cast Curaga over him, voice muffled in the mask he wore. “Stay with me, Spiky, it ain’t time for you to bite the bullet yet. Fair’s alright, he’s still breathing, how , I don’t fuckin’ know, but he is, and after the blow up in the Pit, we’re just amazed you two didn’t get fried.”

“Ah...Aerith…Aerith saved us...” Reno paused, and Cloud found his vision clearing, the panic fading as he tried to focus in on the Turk.

“...Well, that explains how most of those ugly fuckers died so quick. Tseng and Cissnei are holding back the horde, Elena’s making a bomb, and we need to get you two on the chopper so we can all get the fuck out of here.” Cloud nodded, swallowing the blood and bile back down, carefully sitting upright, and Reno helped him up, casting the healing spell again.

“Wait...don’ waste it…”

“Relax, my bat’s got four slots and only one’s Fire. C’mon, up you get, I’ll get Fair taken care of...oh thank fuck, Rude’s a fuckin’ gem. RUDE! COME HELP ME GET THE SPIKY IDIOTS.” Cloud had to laugh a little, blood trickling from his lips, and let Reno drag him to the chopper, Rude following close behind with Zack in his arms. Cloud glanced back, trying to focus in on the slowly retreating Turks...and that’s when the Lifestream flared again out of the Pit, Tseng and Cissnei yelling a retreat...but a figure stood there.

She still looked so goddamn strong, pink dress and that long brown braid fluttering in the hellish hot winds that whipped through the spires towards the chopper, her back to them and facing the monsters boiling up out of the Pit once again, her staff in hand as she brought it up...and that’s when he heard her voice, her real voice, for the first time since that fateful night.

“GREAT GOSPEL!” The heavens opened up above them, pouring down healing rain...and Reno shoved him into the chopper, the rest of the Turks piling in as the redhead wiggled to the front for the controls. They took off with a scream of the helicopter blades, and Cloud tried to reach out for her because she was real and she was whole...she was alive. But Tseng and Rude held him back, despite his pleas, and they fled Midgar as the whole of the place was consumed in a massive, ancient storm.

It seemed insane as they popped out of the clouds, into brilliant, blinding sunshine, and Cloud knew his face was soaked with more than just the rain...but as they headed towards Edge, the two jeeps speeding along below them through the remains of the city, he knew…he knew. Aerith had to have been planning this, to ensure that Zack escaped, that she could finish what she’d started with Holy. And he knew too that she wouldn’t let anyone into the storm until the Pit was healed...and that would take years.

“...Cloud…” Tseng’s voice was oddly gentle, something he’d never seen from the elegant, professional Turk, and Cloud took a little comfort that this had affected them too. He wasn’t surprised by it, actually; Tseng and the Turks had never agreed with the President on allowing Hojo so much leeway. Nor had they agreed to Gast’s and Ifalna’s murders, Aerith’s kidnappings...and given the way they’d thrown themselves into the WRO, even Reno, he was grateful for the change of heart. He took a deep breath, letting it out, then another; he had to do what he could to help Aerith, and right now, Aerith needed him to take care of Zack.

He turned now to the Turks, to Zack, and carefully undid the tarp around the SOLDIER’s head, Zack’s tanned skin pale now from years in mako and death, but his chest rising and falling, still snoring, still living. It was...well, he knew what it could be. He knew that there was a chance that when...if...Zack opened his eyes, they might be green and cat-slit, rather than blue...but he had to take that chance. For Zack, for Aerith...and for himself. He had his memories now, fragmented as they were, and all the guilt…

“...Cloud...he might not be Zack anymore.” Cissnei sounded so sad, and he nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“I know. I know. But...I think Aerith led me down there. I know she knew about him, she just...didn’t have anyone to get him free. And if Aerith trusts that he’s alive, that he’s okay...then we might just see the one miracle Hojo’s bullshit ever created.”

“Even so...let’s get grounded before we wake him up. I won’t risk it in the air.” Tseng had a very good point, and Cloud sat back, watching Zack as they made their way to the main encampment out on the southern plain, Reno landing so gently it was barely a bump. He motioned for the Turks to go out first and eased himself out, still hurting, still a little blind, then scooped up Zack in his arms. They all moved to protest, and he shook his head gently; he had strength enough for this.  “Where to, Cloud?”

“...Over there.” Cloud motioned with his chin, pointing to the small bluff to the north...the bluff where Zack had died. The first time. Reno and Rude went pale, and Tseng gave him a look he couldn’t quite parse.

“...If you’re sure. We’ll follow, you lead.” He nodded, and they walked into camp, Yuffie wandering up...then gasping, in horror.

“Cloud…Cloud, that’s…”

“Yeah, it is, Yuff. You don’t have to come with us, but...well, we might just have another member to the team.” She glanced up, dark eyes huge, and he gave her a soft smile. “Yeah. Aerith...well, Aerith saved our skins twice today. She’s cast Great Gospel on the whole of Midgar now, and she led me to him. We’re going up to the bluff to revive him...and if he’s himself...well, we’ll explain things. If not…” She grimaced and looked away...He felt a bit heartbroken himself, but waited her out, no matter how much he ached; Yuffie was the one other than Aerith who’d known Zack the best. Finally, she looked back up, tears glimmering in her eyes.

“...Okay. Let me get my shuriken.” She was but a moment, ducking into the tents, and Vincent came out, looking exhausted but armed, but calmed as she spoke to him; Cloud couldn’t hear the words, and he was too blind to lip read, but he knew what she was saying anyway. Vin glanced at them, red eyes taking everything in...then nodded, returning to presumably pass back out around Tifa. Yuffie came back up to him, her blade on her back, and nodded, taking a deep breath. “Sorry, Vincent was a bit annoyed…”

“It’s okay, thank you for doing that. C’mon. Won’t be long…” The walk was quiet, and Cloud let his feet lead him up the familiar, gentle slope of the bluff, once barren and nothingness, now a vast field of grasslands and wildflowers, a seeding project Reeve had started last year that had borne incredible yields. The first Buster sword, Angeal’s blade, stood despite the rust, the weather...and carefully, Cloud propped Zack up against it, taking the mask off and remaining crouched in front of him as the Turks ringed the area, Yuffie nervously almost hiding behind Elena, who in turn was protective of her equally tiny girlfriend.

Cloud carefully tilted Zack’s head up, swallowing, and took a phoenix down out of his pouch, the tiny red feather twirling in his palm as he licked his lips.

“Raise…” The feather became a glowing golden light that settled over his heart, and Zack’s eyes fluttered, his breathing labored...and he came to with a broken scream, blue eyes wide as his whole body spasmed. His eyes darted about as he fought to break free of the tarp, everything flooding his system in berserk mode, and that’s when Cloud cast Esunaga, the shadowy soft light soothing away every bit of panic and fear and fight. Zack settled back against the sword with an audible thump, panting...but those sapphire eyes, still glowing with mako at their depths, were lucid now as he took in everyone around him...then zeroed in on Cloud.

“...hey there, Chocobo-head.”

[thesilverthreadsmith]

Bloodlines, Ch. 1

I'm home. Tony took a deep, deep breath of the fresh, clean air just outside of the Wall. Out here, in Ancelstierre, it was early autumn, still hot and dry, with the long grasses shh-shhing over the low voices of the soldiers unloading the trucks fast. The winds blowing out of the Old Kingdom weren't usually too bad until the winter hit, but even a stray breeze, heavy with both Free and Charter magic, would shut down their trucks for hours. Tony had even helped at first; it was always all hands on deck when they came this far north, and finally, he no longer had a reason to return to the South.

The job he'd finished for the very last client of his father's old company was done at long last, and he'd turned over all the operations back to Obie, including all the finances; he wasn't terribly worried about his own, not when he had a thriving little shop back in Belisaere. He'd only come this far into Ancelstierre on his old man's dying wishes anyway; what fun was all the technology in the world, when he could replicate it, and do far more, with the Charter.

“Mr. Stark, may I see your paperwork...?” The young corporal looked a little awestruck; they went through the papers and his dual passports, and Tony bent his head a little to allow for his Charter mark to be verified. He gave Lieutenant Maria Hill a grin and a wink, and she rolled her dark eyes, lips twitching a little as she shook her head.

“Good to see you, Tony.”

“Good to see you too, Maria...everything in order?”

“So far as I can see. Are you planning on returning to Ancelstierre?”

“Nope. I’m going home to Belisaere. You getting leave soon?”

“That’s the goal; we’d like to be home by the holidays...but, we’ll see. Are you heading up the Old North Road?”

“That’s the goal, why?” She grimaced and sighed.

“Just....be on your watch. There’s been reports of Dead about.” Tony’s eyes narrowed, and he took back his papers, stowing them safely in the waterproofed saddle bags.

“...You know the Abhorsen will be traveling...”

“I know. Still...there’s plenty of tales of people, the Abhorsen included, dying all too easily. Keep your guard up.” He nodded, bowing in respect to her position, and she gave him a similar gesture, turning it into one of welcome as she rose back up. Her soldiers read the signal for what it was; they set to unpacking the trucks with greater haste now, wary of the winds blowing out of the Old Kingdom.

Another truck roared up from behind them, but it went straight for the guard post, so Tony only paid enough attention to ensure that it wouldn’t hamper his way back home, and ignored the idiotic accusations and vile threats that were being leveled at a particularly unflappable man with the faint hint of a Charter mark and the air of someone who is thoroughly done with this shit.

He smiled as the boys finished up, and finished his own preparations, tightening his roan mare's belly strap with care and checking that everything was in place on her saddle, the bags all tied down tightly for fastest travel. On his back were his crossbow, and quiver of bolts, each of them blessed with a dozen fiery Charter marks if he encountered any Dead...at each hip sat a similarly blessed and forged short sword of his own work, and his armor alive with marks, the chainmail glowing even in the early afternoon light.

Across the wall, the warmth of September immediately gave way to a light, chilly snow, and he was grateful for the heavy doublet he'd packed months ago, complete with a hood and snow-mask, and her padded, full-body blanket. It wouldn't be an easy trip for Dottie, or him, but they had to make it home to Belisaere before the first heavy snow, and he'd already spent more money than most would have thought wise to get here as early as he had.

But...even with the long, rough journey over land ahead of them, the snow, the cold they could feel even now...he mounted with a surge of excitement, the same excitement he felt in Dottie too. They'd both been born and bred in the Old Kingdom; she'd been a tiny runt of a foal in Anstyr's Field, her and her weary mother the last horses after the massive faire, and his father had seen the way Tony had coaxed both filly and mare to the fence with carrots and a bit of sugar, soothing them and befriending them as easily as his mother had people...

Dottie had been his from that day on. Now, she was counting her years, but still just as strong and ready to start out on the trek, and Tony wondered if he might see a little filly again this coming summer. He rather hoped so; her many daughters were well sought after, and he wouldn't mind keeping the last...But, her dancing shook him out of his thoughts, and he soothed her with voice and touch; he didn't tolerate a bit in her mouth in the slightest.

Finally, the soldiers had turned to their posts, the trucks had roared away...and he was given the all clear from Maria, who‘d returned to her post at the top of the Wall. He cantered up to the gate, eying the heavy iron portcullis with a sense of pride, marking little areas of wear, where the Charter marks were fading, where his apprentices would need to make repairs...and at long last, it moved enough for him touch his heels to the mare's flanks, darting through at a lope. As it shut smoothly behind them, the first of winter's winds cut into his skin, and he drew up the mask, pulled on his gloves one at a time, and leaned low over Dottie's neck, letting her find her pace...

And with an Old Kingdom hunter, that was a very fast pace indeed; before long, she was in full motion, eating up the kilometers with deceptive ease, and Tony kept his eyes on their surroundings, trusting the mare's senses to keep them on the right track. She knew this road of old, knew where it lead, and she was just as eager to return home as he was...Tony took another breath, and smiled under his mask, feeling his heart sing as Charter's power surged up within him. 

I'm finally home...

--- Far past the Seventh Gate...too far...too far gone...yet not far enough. It seeks, burning and bleeding shadows... It seeks you, Natalial. Green eyes opened, yet another shade lighter than before, and Tasha shook the ice off her armor, wincing as the numbness turned to burning pins and needles throughout her arms and legs, and she glanced around her cardinal shield, relaxing as only her horse glanced up at her. A few deep stretches and a drink of gaspingly cold water, and she was revived enough to release the cardinal points, sheathing her sword as another ice-white strand of hair fell into her eyes. Her hair was more white now than fiery red, an after effect of the many years she'd spent sending the dead back where they belonged. Not all Abhorsens came out of Death so pale; a good many, like her apprentice, Darciel, lost coloration in only their skin, their dark hair growing darker as they aged. Darcy, however, was in direct lineage to the famed Sabriel and Lirael, her father a royal advisor and one of past royal blood himself; Tasha was...a little different. She and Darcy were, in fact, half-sisters; their mother had been Abhorsen before them, though Tasha had been left to the traders her father traveled with at birth. Tasha had never been meant to be Abhorsen; when her coloring had been so like her father's, Marael had chosen to seek another mate elsewhere, for all Abhorsen children were born with dark hair and pale pale skin, with blue or brown eyes. But Nikolas had known, unlike his lover, that his daughter truly was something special; from a young age, her power in the Charter had been incredible, and when they'd fought a rogue necromancer, it had been Natasha who had plunged into Death, defeating him with nothing but her wits and a handful of throwing daggers at the tender age of eleven. Bravery had had nothing to do with it, though; the traders who had raised her, if a bit rough and brusque, were kind men and women who loved her in their own ways, and she had already lost enough...It had been simple to throw her soul into Death, reckless and full of rage...a rage that some had whispered about. Berserker, they had called her...like King Touchstone, like so many of the royal line, fierce, proud warriors...In any case, her power had been unearthed at last, and her right to bear the Abhorsen name was only cemented further. Marael had been...well, annoyed was putting it mildly. Nikolas had taken his child back to her to be trained, properly, but...well, Marael had a husband then, and a tiny baby who was the perfect Abhorsen child. She had been quite blunt with her former flame, and it was Natasha...no, Natalial, who had proven her worth, there in the center of Abhorsen's garden. She passed every test set to her from then on, proved her power and strength...had even earned the passing approval of Yrael himself, formerly Mogget, the immortal servant of the Abhorsen. And yet... It wasn't enough. Marael never said so much as a gentle word to her firstborn, though she showered Darcy with praise and love, gifts so lavish they made Tasha's throat squeeze closed, even now, even after all these years...And yet, not once had Darcy played the spoiled brat. It was almost infuriating at times, how even-keeled she was, but then...it had been Natasha, not Marael, who'd taught Darcy of Death, of the Gates, of the Bells...Marael had thought she had all the time in the world. Does the Walker choose the Path, or the Path, the Walker?

Tasha smiled, faintly, at the remembered words, so oft quoted in both the Book of the Dead, and the worn old almanac in her saddle bags...and turned to her little sister, who was tending the fire with a book before her nose. The Book, to be precise; Darciel had her sword unsheathed at her side, and the faint crook of her head told Tasha that she was listening, despite being engrossed, and she limped over to her seat by the fire, taking comfort in the warmth within Darcy's larger shields. "How was Death?" Her lips quirked in a smile at the vapid-sounding question; she did appreciate Darcy's humor even in her dark moods, and settled, stretching her bad leg with a faint groan and a pop of her knee. A murmur of Charter magic made her raise an eyebrow, but she just accepted it with another smile; Darcy always knew when that leg was acting up, and Natasha was more than willing to accept the healing these days. "Death was quiet, for a change. Thank you for allowing for this detour to our trip."    "Psh, Cloven Crest isn't that far off our path, sis, and considering how long this one lay broken back in the old days, it's never a bad thing to check it out, juuuust to be certain." Darcy had a very fair, and good, point about that; it was rare for a Charter Stone to be broken in these days, thank all the gods. Kerrigor had been laid into deep, deep slumber in the deepest part of the Abhorsen's House a century ago, and Natasha was never more grateful than the present to live in a time where the country's Charter Stones were largely whole...not shattered, across every tiny village and town, all the way into the enormous cistern beneath the Palace itself.

She shivered a little, remembering the excerpts of the Great Stones being broken, written by Touchstone I. Death was an open door for every necromancer, this was true...but at a broken Stone, it was a gaping, ugly wound for Dead to escape. Thankfully, though, the warmth and familiar feel of the Cloven Crest Stone emanated all around their camp, and she sank back against the stone itself, feeling the Charter soothe not just her weary, injured mortal form...but the battered, broken soul underneath. "...Still. I appreciate it." Dark eyes glanced up at her, full of love and sweetness, then returned to her book, and Natasha just smiled, focusing her attention on the horses' warm mash, and their own rabbit stew. No, she wasn't supposed to be the Abhorsen...and yet, sitting here, her apprentice and half-sister studying furiously, in the presence of the one thing worthy of that judgment...well, she rather felt that, frankly, their mother had been wrong. She was Abhorsen; Charter willing, she would remain so for a good long time yet. And if not...well, Darcy was strong enough now to take up that mantle, should Natasha have to pass it on. Does the Walker choose the Path, or the Path, the Walker? --- ...Blond hair. Ancient, Ancelstierren armor. Frozen beneath a round shield, yet no sword...He is kin, yet he is forgotten. He is foreign to this land, yet he is of Clayr blood...Find him, little brother. Find the Fallen One. Crack. The hooded hunter whirled silently, his soft boots hardly making a sound on the ice-covered snow, and blue eyes narrowed over a knitted balaclava, piercing and tracking the movements of the shadows about him. His bow had been cocked and drawn a half a second into that twirl, and he eyed a darker shadow than the rest, and advanced a half-step. “Show yourselves.” The rough, raspy timbre of his own voice made him wince inwardly, but he didn’t show that weakness into the darkness; too often, it’d been used against him. And right now, he needed all his wits, and every weapon they could muster if he was to survive this forest. He hadn’t meant to track so far into the Northern lands, but there was no hope for it; all he could do now was make his way back to the south, and hope that he could get to Belisaere before the snows really started to fly. Another movement scattered those thoughts, and he came forward another half-step...leaning back as a tall, battered youth, his silvery hair dirty from too many weeks unwashed, unfolded himself from a tiny shelter between two old trees, followed by a waif-like girl with long, tangled dark hair and huge dark eyes. Slowly, his bow lowered; both children were barely clothed for decent weather, let alone a Northern winter, and already he could see fingers turning purple with the cold, with nary a blanket or cloak between them, both of them shaking so hard they couldn’t even speak, let alone fight. That and their pinched faces decided him. Clint settled arrow and bow back over his shoulders, and pulled out his sleeping roll and spare blankets, wrapping both kids in the warm woolens before dropping to a knee and scraping the snow off the sleeping earth. With all the speed and skill he possessed, soon he had a strong blaze going, and sitting both kids in front of it on an old log seemed to help both of them. It was the matter of another hour before he had stew going, his tent put up, and a Charter Mark shield around the whole camp, and he was splitting a few small logs for the fire with his hatchet when the boy finally spoke up, his voice cracking with cold and age both. “Th-thank you, sir...” “...It’s no trouble, kids. Honestly. You both curl up in the tent tonight; it’s got a warming spell on it and we’ll make a semi-permanent camp here for a few days while I make up some stuff to help get all three of us to the next village.” Clint replied with a faint smile, coming over to sit on a piece of old stump he’d pried up when he was searching for tubers for the stew earlier. Speaking of...finally finished, he ladled out bowls to both kids first, heavily supplemented with his journey bread and a bit of dried beef, and got his own bowl as well. To his surprise, the kids savored the meal; they soaked the bread for a bit (always a wise decision; he was certain he could nail boards with the hardtack), and took their time...Or...rather, took it easy on their clearly empty bellies, and his sympathies grew a little more. He knew that feeling all too well. He made sure they ate the rest of the stew, and got out a little more food for them, smiling when the girl stammered out a weak denial. “Kiddo, you’re both starving; eat up, then sleep. I’ll keep watch over both of you, okay? I’ve been where you are, I know exactly how you both feel.” They both looked down, and he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes gentle as he pulled down his mask to reveal the scar crossing his cheek. “My father gave me this when I was just a boy; for what? I have no idea, even to this day. I ran away, out into the snow...and it was a good man who saved me when I was your ages. It’s my turn to pay it forward, okay?” They both nodded, looking shy, and he got them into the bedroll, suddenly realizing that a boy, and a girl, at their ages...and the boy must have seen his face, because a weak grin crossed his chapped lips. “Please, sir, don’t worry, we’re twins. I‘m the older one.” A groan sounded in the tent, and the girl popped her head out, glaring in what was clearly an old argument. “You are twelve minutes older, Pietro!” He grinned, hands on his hips, and stuck his tongue out at her. “I’m still olllder, Wanda! C’mon, let’s let the nice man relax...” They both settled down as Clint bit his tongue on a bark of laughter, and settled back on his stump, pocket knife and a piece of fragrant rosewood in his hands, which was being turned into a elegant little hawk carving. It was...odd. Very odd. But like the vision that had been haunting him before the children had stirred, it felt as though he was setting the wheels right on the track again. No, he had no idea how he was going to stretch his money to clothe and feed all three of them. No, he had no idea if they’d make it to the capital before winter truly hit. No, he wasn’t back home, deep in the heart of the glacier he‘d been born in, where all Clayr resided...but...he could do this. They could do this. The quiet voice that had always been a part of his heart rose up again, and he welcomed it with a pang of longing, the sound like the echo inside a glacier... Have faith, little brother. Have faith. --- The little boy let out a soft sigh as he slid into a proper deep sleep finally, and Bruce sat back, slowly, carefully, letting his mother in to wrap around the boy, keeping him safe and warm. The last few Charter marks fluttered from his fingertips to the boy's forehead, glowing golden and familiar before fading in the soft darkness. Twilight murmured outside the small thatch-roofed house, silent except for the crystalline sounds of ice and snow. Winter was starting to build now, the heavy, dark clouds from the northern lands of the Clayr rolling from the mountain tops to settle low over the Old Kingdom. Winter wasn't his favorite time for a myriad of reasons, but he was deeply grateful for the quiet and the peace...and for the cold, for it kept the Dead at bay. He felt the familiar itch under his skin, and took his leave in the shadows, letting the family focus on their child while he slipped out of the village, wrapping his cloak around him. Not far from here, a Charter stone lay in two pieces, split by the violent death of a Charter mage...not, thankfully, a resident of this village. 

More and more now, Charter mages took to the roads to learn more of both the history of their homelands, and to do a sort of 'tour' of the Stones, which always ended with the Great Stones beneath the palace. However...such tours were often dangerous, for necromancy and Free Magic still held a heavy hand over the Old Kingdom, and it only took a moment for it all to go wrong. The wrongness grew as he made his way through heather and bracken, eyes grim behind the balaclava he wore, flashing a deep, dangerous green as he felt the yawning void that was Death. He could not traverse such waters...not in any way...but he knew who could. Carefully, he set up a beacon; part Charter magic, part phosphorus and chemical combustion, it would draw the one who could set the Dead to rest. But...the Abhorsen would have to deal with the Dead, and would have no time to hunt the necromancer responsible. This Stone had been broken almost two weeks prior... Too many Dead had escaped already.  He could sense them, lurking in the darkness, shadows upon shadows...but they would not attack him. No...they couldn't. He dropped his cloak, dropped his long robes to leave himself only in his trousers, breath ghosting in the icy darkness...and felt a harsh smile with no humor burn across his lips, the first fiery words of Free Magic tumbling from them. He was one of the few things even a Greater Dead feared...for he was more than human. Dark green spread across his skin as his body grew and changed, the same green glowing out of his eyes... It was time to hunt. The beast lifted his great head as the wind blew up; a giant’s powerful muscles quivered with excitement as he sniffed once, twice, three times...and let out an echoing howl that made every single creature, alive and dead, shrink down in sudden terror. He leapt down the hillside, and took off at an earth-shaking run. The necromancer was foolish, close to his handiwork, building a tiny army of Hands and Shadows... They could no more hurt the beast than flies a bull; he tore through them, and through the necromancer, in quick order...and he howled again, though this time, the sound held...a note. A distinct, echoing, sorrowful note...and the Dead who heard it, who felt that deep, unbreakable call, were sent beyond the Ninth Gate, forever sealed to their final judgments. Not only the Dead, either; birds fell from their roosts, little spirits extinguished in a single moment, small creatures still as the snow around them, an old doe fallen forever. Such was the price the beast paid...and as the man returned, gasping, aching, chilled to the bone, Bruce washed away the blood with a few shaking handfuls of snow, dragging himself back to the hill and wrapping up in the warmth of his cloak and robes as he began to lay a fire. Grief shrouded his soul once more as he moved, and finally, Bruce settled on the rock farthest from the Stone, taking a little comfort in the distant sound of hoofbeats, pounding down the road. Help was arriving very soon, and the few Dead that had remained within the area of the Stone would be vanquished. He...well, he hated that the beast within had such a power, but he couldn't deny that it helped. He just...wished that it wouldn't cost so very much. One thing he would do, however, before the Abhorsen arrived, was to find the frozen body of the girl whose life had been so brutally cast out. He searched the snow around the Stone, pushing back the nausea and despair that radiated from it, and found her, throat slit, dark eyes faded and blued from the icy cold...he closed them, with a physician’s touch, and murmured the soft words of the Charter, a balm for his throat after the burning tang of Free Magic, and set the spell of conflagration with a single gesture. It burned swiftly, breaking the last bonds the soul might have had with the body, and as the wind cooled the still hot ashes, he pulled out a small jar and did his best to gather them, knowing that there might be a parent who would wish to have their child’s remains brought back home. It wasn’t much...but he could not leave her to be corrupted. He just...couldn’t. Too much Death, too much violence...and he sat back down, feeling black grief overwhelm him. "...Charter, forgive me..." --- "Sire, a message from the Abhorsen." Thor looked up from his paperwork, eyes almost crossed from all the legislation he'd been signing all day long, and he took the thick missive with a heavy, worried heart. They'd sent out runners nearly three weeks prior in search of his beloved niece when she'd failed to appear at the next checkpoint, and truly, he feared the worst...which, given the magic of the Old Kingdom, could wind up very bad indeed. He opened the black and silver seal with a single Charter mark, and read through the contents swiftly...feeling his last hope fade completely. Hela was dead, and in her death, the Heather Crest Stone had been violently broken. Loki would be heartbroken...

Majesty; I shall keep this short and simple; Lady Hela has passed beyond the Ninth Gate at the hands of a renegade necromancer from the West, judging by the markings left in his robes. He, and the Dead he summoned, have also been cast into Death, and will not return. A Charter mage-healer, Doctor Banner, aided us in fighting the necromancer, and provided the proper rites to Lady Hela; her ashes rest with me. There is, however, another problem; the necromancer murdered the Lady upon the Heather Crest Stone, splitting it in two, and opening the door to Death. I cannot close it completely; my blood is not sufficient. I beg that you come and heal the Stone. I would not ask this of his Highness Prince Loki, but I must of you; only those of Royal, or Clayr, blood may heal the Stones, it seems, and the Glacier is too far away to make it in time. Respectfully, Abhorsen.

The King stood, striding out of the room with the letter in hand, and made his way through the enormous Palace to his brother's tower. There, Loki had once lived with his family, his wife, three children, and their magic...but sadly, the years had taken much from the Royal Advisor and younger Prince. First his wife, Angbroda of the Northern Wastes, to a terrible fever that had carried off half the population of both Ancelstierre and the Old Kingdom, just after his youngest child, Hela, had been born. Then Fenrir and Jorgamundr, to the dangers of the Kingdom itself...and now... He knocked, carefully, on the door to Loki's suite, and frowned deeper when the door simply swung open...only to find his brother completely unconscious, a second letter in his hand, and a bottle of brandy in the other. Tears still wet his cheeks, and Thor felt a wave of protective sorrow fill him as he gently dislodged the heavy bottle, then carefully scooped up his brother and carried him to bed. The letter Loki had held bore the same message, if a little more sympathetic, and Thor recognized Darcy's hand; wise, for as good as Natasha was, she was...a bit more stoic about such things. It was a gentle and kindly gesture, though, and he would remember it down the road. For now, though, it was his duty to care for his brother, and help him through the terrible grief... --- Hours must have passed when Loki opened sticky, sore eyes to the darkness in his rooms, and he dully wondered if he'd truly died; he wished it, with all his soul, for now his family was all beyond the Ninth Gate, and he was so alone...But...no. He ached all over, he was nursing a terrible hangover that could have only come from that damned brandy from the Clayr's Glacier, and he was lying in his bed, still fully clothed. So. He was alive. "Brother?" His heart, weary and worn and hurting, took comfort in Thor's soft voice, and a huge hand very gently clasped his own slender one, lending warmth and gentleness...but then, Thor had always been a rather gentle soul when he wasn't after a fight. He gave the hand a weak squeeze, and there was a small sound, then a flask held to his lips. Little sips, but that was all he needed; the fiery liquid burned away the headache and nausea, and Loki sighed softly, turning his eyes to his brother as the Charter lamp came into soft light. "...I am sorry I was a drunkard..." "Were I in your place, I suspect I would be worse, Loki. I...Gods, words cannot describe how sorry I am..." "...It's alright. Hela would have chafed over 'unnecessary protection', and she would have never accepted a cage, no matter how gilded. I knew my daughter well enough, Thor...but...that doesn't lessen the guilt. I should have just gone with her, like she asked..." Thor hung his head, clearly feeling just as much guilt, for he had insisted that Loki stay, and the mage sighed, patting his brother's hand absently. "Please don't guilt yourself, brother. It was my choice...And I may not have been able to fight the necromancer who killed her. Then you would have had two losses, and possibly us used against you as Greater Dead. I'm...grateful, that Natalial and Darciel were able to send the Dead on, and give Hela the proper cremation. But...Natalial cannot heal that Stone." He hated to move past the grief, hated to think of something other than his mourning...but it was in the blood. It was his duty to look after the peoples of the Old Kingdom...and his duty to protect them. "No. We, however..." Loki glanced up at Thor, surprised, especially at the look of contemplation on his older brother's face, and slowly shook his head. "Brother, I can heal it..." "I know. But you and I, we have not ventured beyond the Palace in...well. Too long. And this Stone would be stronger for two Royals." Well, he did have a point...But Thor was not just his own man...

"But, the Senate!" "They rarely notice me anyway; what's a few weeks in the Winter Recess? We go out, meet the Abhorsen, and if there are other Stones, then we do our solemn duty. We visit our people again, Loki, and pay our respects not just to Hela, but to the boys, and to your beloved." He glanced down at that, feeling his heart twinge a little more...but Thor was right. Going out to heal the Stone was...a much better idea than sitting here, dead drunk in his grief. He took a deep, steadying breath, and nodded, looking back up with something that...wasn't a smile, but wasn't despair, either. "...Alright. Let us make haste; that Stone should not remain broken for too much longer." And while the grief only ebbed away a little...it did ebb. And...as Loki well knew, it would fade with time... --- "Captain!" Phil turned, keeping his face an impassive smile, and stifled a sigh as the truck roared up over the hill. It was a big, flashy affair, brand new by Ancelstierre standards, and clearly out here simply to drop off some very important people...and of course, just as soon as he thought that, the winds out of the Old Kingdom roared up and over the Wall, and the truck died at the first breath of magic and icy cold air in the warm autumn day. "Aw, damn..." He muttered, slinging his now useless gun over his shoulder and walking up to the truck, steeling himself for the barrage of insults and demands. He wasn't long in waiting at all. "What the hell is going on here?!" Came the familiar bellow, and Coulson sighed again as first Commander Pierce, then all of his lackeys and hangers-on poured out of the vehicle, absolutely infuriated. He endured the tidal wave of rage and indignation for a solid thirty minutes before finally clearing his throat, and motioning to the vast stretch of Wall behind him. "What is going on, Commander, is the very thing we've warned you about, many, many times. You cannot drive this close to the Wall, especially in the winter and fall, without risking complete shutdown of all vehicles and machinery. We can't even use our guns here; ever wonder why more sword and knife and bow wounds come from this area, and that we never use up our bullet rations? Well, this is why. The winds out of the Old Kingdom are full of both Charter and Free magic, and whether you believe it or not, I don't really care; the fact is that they exist, and they wreak total havoc on normal items." As per usual, there were stares, more indignation, and yet more yelling, and he finally just had them all sent to the guesthouse in one of the nicer carriages they'd kept from their Old Kingdom compatriots, and went back to his bunker to go over the rest of the night's plans with his own CO. General Fury had been on the Wall for most of his nearly forty year career, and knew every grisly story that had ever been told about it, too. More than that, though...he was a powerful Charter mage, like many of his captains and sergeants. He was even considering retirement in Belisaere; though he hadn't been born inside the Old Kingdom, his father had been, and so it ran in his blood. Phil, however, had just been one of the oddball ducks who had a knack for the magic, and so he'd been granted a Charter mark, and taught pretty well. And fifteen years on the Wall had only reinforced his preference; he'd only left for the South once, and he'd hated every second of it. "Captain, what was Pierce squawking about out there?" "Mostly about how we were all liars, etc, etc...think he'll feel that way tomorrow, when we do a Charter magic demonstration?" "Oh, probably...he's one of those old Our Country fools from the old days of Touchstone I and the Abhorsen Sabriel. You could burn him with Free magic, even, and he'd say you took a torch to him. In any case, we've been asked for a favor from the King." Phil perked up at that, and pulled out the Old Kingdom almanac and map; always useful, especially since the map was enchanted. "What's His Highness up to?" "Evidently, there's been a Stone broken by a necromancer; he's heading out with his brother to heal it, but he'd like to request further patrols inside the Wall, with Charter mages." "Sounds like my kinda job." "That's what I thought, too. You're gonna gather up May, Hill, and Carter, and head towards Heather Crest; you should meet the King there if you four hurry." "...you sure you wanna put four mages together, sir? Why not spread us out?" "Because I want my four strongest with the King. He's a pretty tough guy, and his brother is a damned fine sorcerer, but something is very wrong on the ground there. This is the fourth necromancer attack we've heard of in this month; all down along the Wall's border, too. And as you well know..." Phil blanched; Dead from literal centuries rested uneasy beneath the soil here on the Wall, and if a necromancer managed to, say, break the Wind Flutes the Abhorsen had carved... "He'd have an army in the blink of an eye that could number in the millions." "Exactly. I've got a bunch of new, young mages who're pretty damn smart and steady; I trust them to guard the Wall itself. You, however, are in charge of helping guard the King and his brother...rumor has it that it was Loki's last surviving child that was murdered." The sickness must have shown, because Nick sighed softly. "Don't pass that around, okay? He's...pretty damned heartbroken, from all accounts, and understandably so." Phil could only nod; it was the Wall Guard's one great failure in this generation, the deaths of Royal Advisor Loki's two sons, who'd been out on the Ranger patrols when they'd been attacked by a Mordicant, broken free from the fledgling necromancer who'd summoned it. It had taken a suicide move by both of them to send it back into death, and had taken the life of the Abhorsen Marael to seal it away beyond the final Gates. It had been a terrible, terrible day, ten years ago...And now, to lose the one child he'd had left. "Of course, sir...We'll set out first thing in the morning." "Thank you. Pass along the word to the other three that you four are dismissed from night duty; pack and rest up, and grab the best horses for a long ride in the morning. Here's my writ; if the quartermaster gives you hell, give 'im this." He nodded again, snapping out a crisp salute, and went back to the mess, glad he could catch the three women just in time. They all nodded at the new orders, and he was gratified to see them all go back to their bunker, clearly intent on a night of packing and sleep. He wouldn't worry about them, then; that part of the trip was in good hands. He, however, would stay up, memorize the roads to the Stones he knew...and by morning, he'd be ready to point the right way. He just...hoped, and prayed, that this was the last necromancer for awhile; there had been too much blood shed already, and it was more than time for the Old Kingdom to enjoy a little peace. --- Ancelstierre, 80 years ago “C’mon, Bucky, let’s go!” Steve bounced with careless abandon as he tossed their baggage into the belly of the stealth plane that would be carrying them on the scouting mission over the Old Kingdom. His best friend and co-pilot, James ‘Bucky’ Barnes, sighed and went over the map yet again; Steve was about ready to rip it out of his hands, he was so annoyed. “Buck, seriously, we’ll be fine!” “Oh really? How are we gonna be fine in a place with actual magic?” He growled, making a few more notations over the carefully sketched lines Steve had already drawn the night before. Most of the map was pretty empty still; they’d done stratospheric scouting for the last two weeks, mostly edging close to the Old Kingdom border but staying in Ancelstierren airspace. However, it was time to go farther afield; Steve and Bucky had mapped out nearly all of the area visible within the confines of their binoculars. And their commanding officer was hellbent that he’d deliver a full map of the Old Kingdom by Christmas...complete with all the crucial army and navy supply depots and outposts. Steve sighed a little as Bucky finished rolling up their copy (the general had his own) and tucked it safely in beside Steve’s seat. “Ready, Mr. Chicken?” He teased, swinging himself up into the plane proper and pulling on his helmet and gear, and Bucky growled more, following him. “I’m tellin’ ya, Steve, this is a huge mistake. We’ve never been in a place with magic before-” “You keep talkin’ about magic, Buck, but where’s the proof? I thought you were a guy who loved science more than anything, and here ya are freakin’ out over some mumbo-jumbo those guys up by the Wall were talkin’ about! Hell, all the Southerlings were over the moon to get some free land up around those parts, so clearly they don’t care at all! And they’re the most superstitious people ever!” He ruffled Bucky’s hair right before he put on his helmet, ignoring his best friend’s swat and snarl, and buckled himself in, starting up the fancy jet. It was brand spanking new, with all the latest gadgets and gizmos, and had Steve and Bucky not been the two best pilots in all of Ancelstierre, they’d never have gotten a chance to even breathe on it. It was that important; all their work was important, in fact, but this...this mapping, it was special. This was going to the prime minister and Parliament, who were, even now, getting ready to welcome the King and Queen of the Old Kingdom...well, false king and queen, he supposed. After all, didn’t Ancelstierre claim the Old Kingdom as a northern province? So, they were part of this nation now, and for his part, Steve hoped they’d take it well. Bucky’s silence broke him from his musings, however, and he sighed. “...I’m sorry for razzing you...” Another sigh met him, and Bucky just waved it off. “Let it go. I’m not in the mood to hear your shit, and you’re too...whatever to hear mine. Let’s just get this done; I’m kinda tired today.” He winced a little, but set to work, and in no time at all, they were making their faintly terrifying way down the runway, bumping hard over the tarmac towards the cliffs, towards certain doom...when like a sling shot, they rocketed into the sky, and Bucky set a course to follow the jet stream up into the atmosphere. Steve, for his part, was stabilizing the cockpit so that they could endure the stresses so high up, and he kept a weather eye on the dials, checking as he pulled out the map, tightened it on his board, and peered out the window to see if he could start sketching. They’d taken off near the Eastern Light, curving up over the ocean like usual, but staying over it for a change, following the winds to the north. Sure enough, they passed the initial cut-off margin in about fifteen minutes; he was sketching out the expanse of a huge wooded area and two little towns, one right on the coast, one near the Ratterlin further inland. Bucky kept his hands on the throttle and guided them up, up slowly, curving now over the island city of Belisaere. Steve made sure to furiously sketch all that he could; no one currently in the Ancelstierren army had even set foot near the capital of the Old Kingdom, let alone seen it. He was so enthralled with the sights and his map, in fact, that he didn’t realize there was a problem until Bucky swore, and the jet gave a great, shuddering gasp...then dropped like a struck bird. Steve tossed the board behind him with a swear of his own and both men fought against both the forces of gravity and the throttles, desperately trying to manually level off the plane with absolutely no electronic aid. It was terrifying to see the earth rushing up so fast to meet them, and Steve’s arms screamed as finally, finally they managed to level off enough to bring it in for a rough landing. Rough, and cold; the mountains looming up fast were icy white and snow began to plaster their windows, destroying their visibility within moments. Both men, however, held tight to the controls and prayed; the last image before the snow had promised a valley to crash in, if they stayed on this path, and as the snow and ice began to blanket the ship, slowing it and dragging it down, Bucky gave Steve a faint, weak smile... Just as he opened his mouth to say something, some...thing tore through the side of the plane and Bucky was ripped away with a scream, while Steve howled out his loss into the merciless blizzard...And that was the last thing he knew, before darkness stole him away. --- The Old Kingdom, present day “Show me the last known coordinates again, and line them up over the map the General gave us.” Alexander Pierce studied the hand drawn map with care, taking his time over the area his aides had put on the Charter-run projector he’d requested. He himself could not reach the Charter; that was why they were using one of the young mages, a private by the name of Rollins, who was manning the projector with rather estimable quiet. 

Unlike the arrogant mage earlier...but, as always, Pierce swallowed the urge to throttle Captain Coulson and went back to his paperwork, carefully drawing out a leather-bound book that was cracked and gray with age. The book itself wasn’t truly all that important; it was full of sketches, everything from a dancing monkey in a suit to some truly lovely profiles of the female administration, their features and fashion of a style that was nearly a century old now. Captain Steven Rogers and his compatriot, Sergeant Barnes, had been declared MIA after a failed scouting flight over the capital of the Old Kingdom, back in the tumultuous days of the Our Country party and the assassinations of the King and Queen. There had been, of course, a huge uproar, with hundreds, both soldiers and civilians, demanding to know the price Belisaere would pay for shooting their men out of the sky... However...that had been when things had started to change. Belisaere had claimed innocence, even stating that they had no means with which to harm such a technological marvel as the stealth jet, even being so bold as to state that it was clearly a magical cause. Millions had protested that particular statement, until a group of powerful officials had demanded access to all of Belisaere’s secrets... And to their collective shock, Queen Ellimere had given it. Somber from her parents’ deaths, she had led the politicians and Army officials throughout all of Belisaere, explaining to them that her people had the Charter magic with which to create the wonders they saw...they had no need for technology that wouldn’t work even if they did bring it here. Upon seeing, and documenting, the very obvious technological inferiority of the city, and the villages outside it, a decision had been made... The Old Kingdom would remain its own sovereign entity, for it posed no true threat to the people of Ancelstierre. The Queen agreed to all terms, even sending a rich shipment of treasure and fine horses with them across the Wall to show her willingness to obey, and Ancelstierre quieted and accepted that the two men were sent on a mission that was too out of their league, and that while it was a grievous loss, it was not a reason to start a war. The Queen, and her descendants had kept their end of the bargain rather neatly, though with a few more shadows behind them than ninety percent of the South knew... For King Touchstone and Queen Sabriel had not perished in the bomb that killed nearly all of their guards. They had escaped, making their grim way along the Western coast until they were able to seek refuge at the Abhorsen’s House, safe along the Ratterlin River. He had seen the original documents of all those officials; the King had met with them, once it was all said and done, and reminded them that their actions could very easily have cost them dearly for trying to kill him, and his wife. It was then that they learned what the Abhorsen truly was...and what her power meant. Pierce thumbed through the sketches as all this ran through his mind, partly memory, from hearing one of those old, old men speak when he was just a boy, partly factual knowledge from the reports. He paused, however, on the last sketch, and felt a smile with no humor stretch across his lips, a familiar heat making him wet them with the tip of his tongue. Steve Rogers had not believed in the magic, but it knew him; Charter marks, old and faded, scattered as Pierce picked up a very special piece of the thick parchment. The Clayr glacier and mountains were beautifully sketched across the span of the page, colored in with only the lightest of blues and grays, and done with such care that it might have been his birthplace...

And in fact...it was. He dismissed all of the aides, and the young mage, with a warm smile and fatherly waves out the door, and settled himself down in front of the fire, still holding that sketch before him...when some...thing emerged from the shadows, walking silently over the old wooden floors, face hidden behind a black mask, shaggy hair lit in the hellish light of the flames that glinted too off the metallic, too fluid skin of that left arm... It....no....he stood tall, darkness incarnate, and Pierce felt his lips tug up into a vicious, proper smile, the heat of the Free magic on his tongue burning to be set free, to be given deadly purpose. Now...this was a proper welcome home.  “Come, my friend; we’ve a great deal of work to do.”

[thesilverthreadsmith]

Knightfall, Ch. 1

The green lightsaber cut through the air as she came crashing down on the battledroid, and finally, it succumbed in a spray of sparks, collapsing on the snowfield. Master Ionial Dyer, panting, got back up to her feet and winced, holding her side now, the blood cooling on her face. The icy winds that blew across Ilum chilled her to the bone just a little more, and with a sigh, she started walking back towards the base. These last few weeks had been a whirlwind of battles and fighting and everything in between, and she was just so, so tired of it all...tired of being the hero, the knight, the one who took and dealt every death-blow...but she was the only one who would...and the only one who could. 

She glanced up at the moonless, star-filled skies; Ilum was blessed, and cursed, with rings and streaks of ice orbiting the planet, rather than a more terrestrial moon. That meant that the weather stayed relatively stable (it was one of the farthest planets out from its sun), but that it was deathly cold. The trek over the ice and snow was long, and brutal; she finally gave in and applied her last kolto pack when she got within sight of the base, and in so doing, was able to hold her head high as she walked in, bloodied and battered, but strong. 

The troops were good to her, at least; she was offered warm blankets and food and hot kava to soothe her throat, and she accepted them with thanks, resting for a long while before she headed back to the shuttle. She’d report once she got onto her ship and got cleaned up; aside from the fact that she’d never hear the end of it if she answered the call unshowered, she wanted fresh armor and a chance to clean up completely. The shuttle ride was never all that long, and at long last she was in her ship, relaxed in orbit over the planet. 

Her arrival was heralded by her apprentice, Kira Carson, and Teeseven, who both greeted her with another cup of warm kava and dinner, in the form of tasty chicken curry and veggie kebabs, and Sergeant Rusk and Doc waved from where they were setting up the pazaak game. She declined when they invited her, and Doc, for once /not/ acting like a womanizing ass, came over. He looked concerned, and Io gave him a tired, weary smile. 

“Hey...you doin’ okay?”

“I’ve been better; I’ll take a while in the fresher and shower off all this grime and crap, sleep late, and I’ll be fine. Lord Scourge off doing his usual thing?”

“He said he’d be back in a few weeks; we’re not gonna miss him. But seriously, if you need a dip in the kolto tank, holler at me and I’ll warm it up and you can just sleep off the aches. No flirting or crap, I promise.” 

“...I appreciate that, but...I’ll be okay. Thank you, though, for backing off...it’s not that I don’t like you, by the way, I just…”

“I think I understand. And I’ve...been a bit of a prick.” She raised an eyebrow at that, and he winced. “A lot of a prick, you’re right. Here.” He handed her a fresh set of medpacks, easily injectable, and she took them with a smile. “Let me know if you wanna stock up tomorrow; we need to hit the Fleet anyway and do some shopping, so I can just make a list and Teeseven and I can pick up the supplies while Rusk takes care of ammo and armor upgrades.” 

“Let’s; it’s been far too long, and we’re all of us in need of a break. I think I can wrangle us a few days of relaxation.” 

“Perfect, thanks boss. I’ll get the list put together, just let me know what you need when you’re ready.”

“I will...Kira, thank you so much for dinner. That was much, much needed.”

“My pleasure, how are you feeling?”

“Tired…”

“Turn in early tonight? We’ll keep the volume level down, promise.” She smiled a little at that, touched as all four of them looked at her with such concern, and nodded, yawning. 

“I think I will. But first, a shower…”

She took her time in the fresher, listening Kira and Doc, Rusk and Teeseven bicker and play cards out in the main part of the ship, and after she got out, dressing in her favorite old robes, she decided to fix her armor. The stitching and piecing were so meditative that it was an hour before she noticed a private message on her holocom. Not unheard of, but certainly, it didn’t happen a lot; she set down her gear, brushing back her long braid, and pulled it up, curious. The man in the message was tall, attractive, and looked more than a bit roguish, with several obvious cybernetic implants.

“Master Ionial Dyer, I’m Agent Theron Shan, with the SIS, and I’d like to meet with you at some point soon at the Republic Fleet in regards to a mission. Please leave me a message back as soon as you can at this number, thanks!” He winked out, and she worried her lower lip a little, the pain in her back and side only now just ebbing from the fifth medpack. But...he was Satele’s son. He had to be. Shan wasn’t a terribly common name, and he looked so much like his mother...She sighed, composed herself...and called Satele. It took a few minutes, but the Grandmaster picked up, looking tired, but still serene.

“Io? Forgive the delay, I was working with some padawans...what can I do for you?”

“Well, Grandmaster, I had the most interesting call…” She detailed what Theron had said, sending it on to Satele. “...and...correct me if I’m wrong, but he is your son, right?” She paused...then smiled, fond and a little sad, and nodded. 

“He is. My only child, with Commander Jace Malcolm. I...have not been the best mother, nor Jace the best father; I chose the Jedi Order over Theron, and while he hasn’t held it against me, at least to my face...he also hasn’t really allowed me to get close. And I cannot blame him in the slightest. He was raised from birth by my former master, who had retired by and large from the Order and frankly, he was happy to become a grandfather of sorts. When Theron was six, and we realized his strength in the Force wasn’t that great, we chose to allow him to expand his studies to technology and other areas...and when he was sixteen, he chose the SIS.” 

“...And now he’s an agent.”

“One of their most highly decorated; the Empire calls him Technoplague, he’s that hated. But I will say this; he doesn't often come to the Jedi for help. Not because he doesn’t like us, necessarily, but because he usually doesn’t need us. If he’s calling on you...well. I suspect things are bigger than he can really say, even in person. So, if you’re asking for advice to go...I say go. Go, and see...and be careful.”

“...Do you have any feelings on the matter?”

“...Just one that...has been looming for a while. A sense of dread...and with it, fear. And normally, I would attribute that to the current stalemate with the Empire...but this has been different since the beginning and I fear...that things are spinning far faster than we know under the surface. Just...be careful.”

“I will. And...thank you. I know it’s probably a small thing, but...I wanted your advice, especially because he’s kin.” She let out a sad, soft little laugh, smiling, though her eyes looked so regretful. 

“He is...and...I’m grateful. I haven’t seen him in two years, since Master Zho died...so it was...good to see him. Thank you. Rest, though, Io; you’re exhausted, and I know Ilum was hard on you.”

“I will...thank you, Grandmaster. Rest well yourself.” Satele ended the call, and Io sat back, idly running a hand over her long braid, quietly contemplating her armor and sabers before her. She was tired of the endless war, the endless fighting...but she also had no idea what she could do instead of that. Clean-up was always an option, as was archival, agriculture, meditation...But even the thought of sitting for hours in a temple, still and quiet, was enough to make her itch to move. 

No...she was best at what she did. And she was a warrior. She sighed, though, and set her armor aside, then fixed her robes enough to look professional, rather than lazy, putting her hair up in a bun, rather than a loose, easy braid...then, she activated the call to Theron. Even at this late hour, he picked up, and though his eyes widened with surprise, he greeted her warmly. 

“Master Dyer! Thanks for calling me back, I’m sorry to have left a message.”

“It’s quite alright, Agent Shan, I was stuck in the middle of far too many Imperial droids on Ilum to answer; I’m just glad you were patient. I’d very much like to meet you at the Fleet; perhaps the cantina for a drink?”

“Perfect, thank you. What time works best for you?”

“Hmm...tomorrow afternoon, if possible? We’re still fixing things from Ilum, and it’ll take half the day to get everything finished up.”

“I completely understand, that works perfectly for me. I’m sorry I can’t be more forthcoming over the call…”

“I understand. Believe me, I...know better than most how sensitive information can get across far too many channels. Tomorrow afternoon, around two pm? If that sounds feasible?”

“Absolutely. And...thank you. Seriously. I wasn’t sure who to ask to help, and several of my contacts all suggested you. Independently, I might add; you’ve got a good reputation among even the scummiest of scum.” She smiled at that, blushing just a little, and he grinned now. “So, thank you again. See you at two; I’ll be over by the old part of the bar.”

“The section that wasn’t torn apart by smugglers a year ago?”

“The very same. The seats are comfier there.” She laughed a little.

“They are. See you then, Agent Shan.”

“See you, Master Ionial.” With that, he cut the call, and she leaned back into her pillows, tipping her head back with a soft sigh and just...resting her eyes. She had a lot to do before then...and she knew, she knew her crew were going to be grumpy about things. Well, Kira wouldn’t be; Kira, however, was very much not in the mood for most people’s bull anymore, and so her bluntness might be a problem here. Doc...was Doc, and Ionial bypassed him completely. Rusk might be good, but Rusk didn’t like the SIS much, so that was a problem too...which, of course, left only Teeseven. 

Io made up her mind, and with that, she finished her armor, taking the time to check and clean her sabers, and when that was all done...she let Kira know that she was going to bed, and curled up in her nice clean blankets. Damn, forgot my gear... With a flick of her hand, she used the Force to put everything away properly, and tucked herself back into bed. Warmth shrouded her, and finally, finally...she passed out, lost in dreams of ice and snow and a warm voice...

---

Sabers, check. Hair done up nicely, check. Nice armor and robes, check...light makeup, check. Ionial made her way into the Fleet cantina earlier than she expected, feeling equal parts nervous and certain this was going to end up being another battle or twenty...and yet, she really didn’t mind all that much. 

Somehow...Theron seemed pretty honest, and of course, being Satele’s son made Io more willing than most, she was sure, to trust him. So she’d done her best to appear the most professional of Jedi, the makeup she did wear on her green skin just enough to accentuate her eyes, lips and the tattoos that laid like stars over her chin and cheekbones. 

That alone set her apart from most Jedi; there were many alien Jedi, but few adult Mirialans, and Io was probably the oldest of all of them at twenty-four. She wore her tattoos with pride; her life was written in those tattoos, and she planned on getting more soon, to cover the last couple of years. 

It was, after all, Mirialan tradition, and though she hadn’t been a part of her old planet’s way of life for a long time, she still did her best to follow the customs. More black diamonds covered her upper arms and chest, a spray across her upper back almost like wings. Later in life, when she was ready, they would cover her legs in spirals, her hands matching her legs, and when she went on to become one with the Force, her body will tell the story of her life.

Many thought it morbid, and silly; she took comfort in the markings, and couldn’t remember a life without them. And really, none of her Masters had looked askance. All of them knew she’d come to the Jedi at eighteen, having been discovered by Master Gnost-Dural on a shipping barge out of Nar Shaddaa. From there, she’d gone on to be with Gnost, then back to Tython for her final training, when she’d met, and become Padawan to, Master Orgus Din. Losing Din had been...hard. Harder than she’d imagined, and she kept the tears in check, taking a deep breath as she settled in a seat to wait for Theron. 

Don’t cry for an old man, Io; you’re doin’ just fine without me there to nag. She smiled at the murmur in the Force, and took the little comfort he could offer; she missed him, and it was painful, but he was right. She was doing just fine, and she still had his teachings...and the good memories that came with them. 

The music wasn’t too loud here, and she ordered a drink from the droid, relaxing a little more as she sank back into the cushion. It’d been months since she’d been back to the Fleet, and really, the place looked pretty good. Still the same constant flow of people, night and day, still the same blastermarks and bickering...though the new lounge looked great now that it’d finally gotten put back together. 

“Admiring the new digs?”

“They’re nice, but I agree, the old lounge is more comfortable.” Io chuckled, and turned, welcoming the agent with a wave of her hand. He grinned and flopped easily into the proffered seat, ordering his own drink too. They shook hands, and she fought the blush creeping up her neck, because those eyes in the holocall were piercing...in person, they were enough to make a soul swoon, a gorgeous brown that glimmered with flecks of gold, a contrast to her own soft purple.

“I’m glad you agree. So...where would you like me to start?”

“How about as close to the beginning as you can? I’m curious...and a bit worried, but...well, if something’s happening, I want in on it.” He gave her a rueful smile, so much like his mother, and nodded, handing her his datapad. 

“The beginning it is. Well, I was assigned to work with one Colonel Darok and his team on some assorted expeditions; nothing too huge, but they needed slicing and comms back up, and that’s my forte, so I got asked to help out. And really, it was pretty easy going; we did a lot of archaeology recovery on Belsavis, Ilum, Hoth, and Tatooine; the weather and the wildlife were a harder issue than any Imperial interference. But...there started being more secrecy, Darok’s team hiding things from me...and all of it ‘under orders’.

“So, I did some looking into it, but I didn’t get very far before we started having hacking problems again, so I had to spend the better part of my time fixing that before I could do anything else. Then...that’s when things got shady as hell. So, I’m trying to figure out what I can do, but I can’t be in two places at once; that’s where I need your help. If you don’t mind?” She studied him, realizing that he looked...tired. More tired than she’d realized, and she gave him a soft smile. 

“I don’t mind at all; where are we going first?” He let out a sigh of relief, and smiled back, looking a little more comfortable now that she’d said yes. 

“The first mission is tomorrow morning, first thing over on the Talos; I’ll send you the perimeters later. From there, it just depends on what happens; I’ll be in your ear the whole time, and Colonel Darok thinks you’re here to help with the potential Force-users.”

“Sith or just Force-users?”

“So far as I can tell, just a cult of users who use some old datacrons to teach some mastery. It’s not as disciplined as Jedi or Sith, but still not something the average trooper can deal with easily.”

“No, I would expect not, even with training in taking down Sith. Perfect, I’m a great cover story for the investigation, and even you meeting me here isn’t suspicious.”

“Yup, Darok actually was the one to ask me to see if I could find a willing Jedi, but he did make it clear he was interested in asking you. Would you mind meeting with him in the morning?”

“I don’t mind in the slightest; in fact, that lends more credibility. I suspect he’s interested in more than just having me help, though…” Now Theron looked pretty annoyed, and she chuckled, sipping her drink as he heaved a grumpy sigh. 

“I suspect that’s the case too...but, well, nothing for it. I promise to insulate you as best as I can…”

“Don’t worry, I can handle it.” He gave her a faint smile, and finished off his whiskey, and she drained the rest of her drink too, standing up with a sigh. He mimicked her movement, and they shook hands again, though they lingered, just a moment longer, and Io felt her blush grow even more. 

“I don’t doubt that for a second...but...sometimes it’s nice to have a little extra help.” She smiled, eyes softening, and nodded a little bit. 

“...It is. And it’s nice to go into a situation with some real information for a change. I’ll see you in the morning; oh-seven hundred hours?”

“You know Republic Infantry too well…” They shared a laugh at that and parted, Theron heading up towards the main part of the Fleet ship, likely to his own ship, and Io headed back to hers. As usual, her crew was busy with their own activities, taking the downtime for what it was worth. Doc and Rusk met her as they headed out to the cantina, Kira was chatting up some friends from Tython while she did her exercises, and Teeseven was shut down for the night...which left Io at loose ends. 

So, she turned back around to the Fleet, and chose to take one of the shuttles over to the Telos, Master Oteg’s ship; they had a nice meditation room there, with a window to the stars. She made her way, friendly to the night crew, and opened the door with a sigh of relief. It was quiet, peaceful, cool...all things that she suddenly needed, in earnest. She stripped off her armor, leaving herself in a soft, worn tank top and her breeches, kicking off her boots, and she picked up two of the practice swords on the wall, taking comfort in their weight. She paused in the center, eyes closed, ground herself...and started her exercises. 

Shii-Cho. Sweeping strokes lashing out into the air all around her, dipping low, arcing high, a twirl that was as much beauty as it was brutal efficiency. Makashi. Guarded, simple, and strength, both inner and outer, to duel, to protect. Soresu. Elegant in its defensive power, the movements were sharp and focused, the strokes of the Shii-Cho abbreviated. Ataru. The flight into the air above, she almost touched the ceiling a solid forty feet above her, twirling and somersaulting into the void as she soared. 

Shien and Djem So. Strength flowed from deep within, to protect herself, and to fight back, deflecting memories of blasterfire and lightsabers. Nimen. She would not showcase that here, it was too dangerous in close quarters to use the Force so explosively. And lastly, the most difficult...Juyo. The memories of her most recent battles flashed to the surface, and with it came her rage, her desperation, her fear...Her swords came down, blind to everything, and she froze as they contacted...something. That something gave, just a little, then firmed...and the haze in her eyes cleared to reveal those same brown eyes from earlier, Theron Shan standing there, shirtless, barefoot...and holding a practice sword in the Makashi form, as perfectly poised as any Jedi. 

“...oh Force, I...I’m sorry, Agent Shan…” She stammered, stumbling back, desperately trying to pull the mask over her emotions, feeling exposed and unraveled, her long braid straggling, sweat chilling against her skin...and he only smiled, shaking his head as he settled his sword point down, at rest. He looked...regal like that, handsome, strong, but gentle...her heart clenched, just a little.

“Please, call me Theron...and don’t be sorry, you did nothing wrong. I apologize for interrupting you; I wouldn’t have, I really wouldn’t, but while I was meditating, you were getting too close to that conduit box…” She froze again, glancing over, and realized she’d come within a foot of crashing down on it; the power surge would have killed her in an instant, and blacked out half the ship. It was a stupid, rookie mistake, and she dropped to her knees, shaking now...and Theron was there, gentle, callused hands on her shoulders. “Hey…”

“I...just...I’m so sorry, give me a moment please?”

“Of course...do you want me to back off?” His touch was warm against the cool air, and mutely, she shook her head, her nerves and anxiety getting the best of her as she began to tremble...and then, his jacket was over her shoulders, warm and smelling faintly of aftershave and leather. Theron held her hands, and with him matching his breathing to hers, finally, finally, she calmed down. She knew why her reaction, and her attack, had been so wildly out of proportion, and she felt a touch of shame. I’m still not ready...Not yet... 

Juyo was not for the faint of heart, nor for Jedi unsure of their emotions. It required a firm hand, and as she’d demonstrated, Ionial wasn’t able to control it…All the battles, all the long, exhausting debriefings...Senators and generals and Jedi all combining to pull her between them all...she was raw, exposed like a nerve, and in no place whatsoever to handle the massive surge of emotion that Juyo brought upon the wielder...especially not in training.

“Y’know, you were doing really well; pretty sure my mother would be impressed.” Theron’s calm, matter-of-fact voice made her mental dialogue pause, and slowly, she looked up, brows furrowed in confusion. 

“...we are talking about Satele, aren’t we?”

“Mmhmm. Very same.”

“But...she’s a master of Juyo in particular.”

“And her battle-focus ability is part of that; she’s not shy about the fact that she’s able to cheat the emotional system. Mom’s a master of all the seven forms, and a couple dozen variations beyond that, in particular with her polesaber, but the battle-focus is where that strength really comes into play. That’s in part why she left me with Master Zho; her emotions, in particular the ones regarding little baby me, were extremely strong, and...well, she was terrified of losing me.

“Malgus was still hunting her, and my father...and well, I was a disappointment in the Force department, so I made up for it by becoming the best damn SIS hacker in the galaxy. We aren’t close; we never have been due to...well, a lot of things. But I’m not angry with her, and she made sure I knew I was loved, though she had to be distant about it, and unless there was a literal battle, she made it to all the really important events. SIS graduation, school graduation, my birthdays; she did her best.” He kept his voice calm, light, so very friendly...and she felt the last of it bleed away, slumping forward..and blushing hard when his chest and arms caught her.

He’s so warm...

”...That was really good form too…” She murmured, blushing harder when he broke into an honest laugh.

“Well thank you! I do keep up in practice, it’s something Zho taught me from the time I was able to walk, practically, and it was our form of meditation whenever I was an antsy little shit. I miss the old bastard...but he went the way he wanted to go; taking down a dozen Imperial troopers with him. He trained Mom, and raised me...well, because the Republic and the Order got all pissy about ‘marriage’, ‘children’, and ‘emotional attachment’.” His fingers came up to form the quotations, and, and Io found herself laughing, sitting upright as a few tears snuck out. 

“...Well, if it helps, more of us are feeling a little less that way these days. Hell...I only joined the order six years ago.” He chuckled, and she let out a breath, wry smile touching her lips as she wiped her face. “Thank you. For...everything. Thank you.” 

“Hey...it’s no trouble at all. Sometimes...you need a bit of honesty. And trust. And we’ve gotta trust each other if we’re gonna handle this, right?”

“Right. I...should probably head to bed, to be honest…” She sighed, a little reluctant, and he chuckled. 

“Me too. C’mon; let’s get geared up again, and I’ll walk you to your ship.” She nodded, and they dressed; to her surprise, Ionial felt...comfortable with Theron, moreso than she had even with Rusk (not Doc, but that was a given). And it wasn’t the sort of comfort and trust she had with Kira, because it was different, but no less good. The walk back was quiet too, just the two of them talking softly about little things...and on the ride in the shuttle, she told him her story, being a barge rat from the age of ten, part of the clan...then Gnost discovering her. Theron, of course, knew Gnost, and they had a spirited, friendly chat about their favorite masters, and by the time they paused at the dock for her ship, Theron’s smile had softened even more, his brown eyes glowing with good humor. 

“...I’ll remember to give him shit for that one of these days; not every day you get a Jedi master falling into a garbage pit.”

“I think it might have been less humiliating had he not then been found by the younger pickers; being chastised by a ten-year-old on proper harnessing is never easy. Always hilarious, but never easy. I think he was just glad I pulled him out and got him down to the locker rooms to clean up. Bryn always was a prickly little shit about the rules. For good reason, but still.”

“Still funny as hell...Well, I’ll see you in the morning. If I was any sort of decent cook, I’d offer to make you breakfast, but...actually, screw it, we’re here, and they make a mean omelet in the mornings; wanna meet down here before the meeting with Darok?” She grinned, wondering if maybe, just maybe, he was a little interested beyond the professional level, and agreed, and they parted with friendly waves; it was silly, she knew, but...Io slipped onboard the ship easily enough, and made her way quietly to her room, shutting the door and toeing off her boots before flopping back on the bed. 

Silly, maybe, but...to hell with decorum. If Satele isn’t terribly bothered by what I do, she probably won’t be surprised in the slightest...and if he’s interested, there’s no reason not to enjoy it. But she knew she had a romantic streak a planet wide, and so she let herself sink into nice, sweet, terribly unlikely dreams, of golden-brown eyes and that crooked grin...and for a while, at least, she could rest entirely at peace.

---

The steady beeping of her comlink brought Io out of a dead sleep with a sigh, and she triggered the microphone, grumbling...but Theron’s words made her blood run cold as she bolted upright. 

“Master Dyer, please meet me ASAP on the Telos, there’s been a huge change in plans and you’re not going to like it. We’re going for Korriban.” She was grateful for the shower she’d taken when she’d woken up earlier, because it was a small matter of throwing on armor and pulling her long silver hair up into a bun, and she was ready. Io strode out of her quarters and started snapping out orders; Kira was ready for it, having already sensed her Master’s turmoil, and Rusk hardly raised an eyebrow. 

Doc was nowhere to be seen, and Io stretched out her senses, worried...then sighed in annoyance. He was fine, just sleeping off an ugly hangover, so she turned to her two most capable companions and of course, Teeseven. 

“Alright, there’s something going down that’s pretty fishy; I’m going to the Telos to figure out what exactly this Colonel is aiming for. Kira, I need you on recon, start asking around the other Jedi on the fleet, figure out if anyone else is in on this. Rusk, same for you, just the soldiers instead; I need intel, and I need it fast, and you two are good at that. No, don’t shake your head, Rusk, you are.” The Chagrian sighed, but nodded, ever the professional, and Io turned, tight-lipped, to Teeseven. 

“Teeseven, you’re my extra eyes and ears; I need you to record everything you possibly can, alright?” The trilling beeps and whirrs as the little droid bounced in affirmative made her smile, and she gave him a tender pat. “Thank you. I need to go meet Agent Shan out on the Telos; you two comm me as soon as you have something concrete.”

“Got it, sir.”

“You bet, Io. Just...be careful, okay? I’m not in the market for another new master.” Ionial cracked a smile at that, matching Kira’s grin, and she headed to the airlock, Teeseven right by her side. It was a short trip; it always was, but the anxiety was getting to her. Io crossed her arms and leaned her head back, letting out a huff and trying to focus...focus...a little calm crept in, and she welcomed it. It wasn’t perfect, but...well, it would help. Even stepping onto the Telos didn’t completely destroy it, and she made her way down to Darok’s meeting room with her head high. 

Opening the door, she paused at the chaos, and adopted her most serene face, making her way over to the hulking Colonel and Theron, who was clearly pissed, but trying not to show it too much. Darok finished barking out his orders and turned...then paused, surprised that she was there.

“Master Jedi! I apologize for the sudden demand on your time, but things have taken a turn for the better, despite what Agent Shan thinks.” Io could practically hear Theron’s teeth grinding, and did her best to project an aura of calm. It didn’t really help much, but he did seem to settle a little. “So, I take it he filled you in?”

“Not the specifics, not yet, but the basic idea, he did. So...why are we attacking Korriban?”

“Because the Dark Council’s chambers hold data that will prove they were violating the Treaty of Coruscant long before war broke out again.” Io bit the inside of her cheek to keep from making a face, because that was the stupidest thing she’d ever heard, and definitely not grounds to invade an Imperial planet, much less one as heavily guarded as Korriban.

“...well, Colonel, I understand the interest in getting more evidence, but I think we’ve proven that the Empire was breaking the Treaty quite sufficiently, and I don’t believe it to be wise to strike Korriban.” He gave her a patronizing little smile, hands on his hips, and she lifted her chin a little, crossing her arms.

“I appreciate your tactical insight, Master Jedi, but I’ve already gotten approval from Chancellor Saresh; we will be invading Korriban. Here are your marching orders; we leave at oh-eight-hundred hours. You have...let’s see, thirty minutes to prep? I expect you both on my cruiser by then.” With that, he swept out of the room, followed by all of his lackeys...and Theron let out a sigh, rubbing his temple, handling the datapad he’d been given with a clear look of distaste.

“...and I thought I could be a prick.”

“This...this is suicidal! These orders...I knew Saresh was power-hungry, and incompetent, but this…”

“It’s Taris all over again. Alright, we’ve got less than half an hour...What do you want to do?”

“Not much we can do...but I can call my people back, get the intel I asked them to find out from the Jedi and soldiers on the Fleet.”

“I can contact Mom, and see if we can get some back up from a few more Knights.” Io nodded, lips pursed, throat tight, and Theron sighed, giving her a rueful smile. “...I’m so sorry I dragged you into this.”

“I would have gotten dragged in anyway, from the sound of it. At least this way I’m not going in alone, blind, and deaf.”

“Definitely not. I’ll be the Jedi tactical support; putting in the paperwork for it now. If there’s anyone who does know how the Jedi operate right now, it’s me, not Darok. He’s only worked with soldiers, and I’m not about to watch him decimate warriors with tactics better suited for infantry.” She smiled at that, real and happy, because so few of the Republic Commanders actually did that...and the few who did, did so because they themselves were Jedi, or had worked with enough of the Order to appreciate their abilities. She still shivered at some of the ones on Tatooine…

“Thank you. I’ll get my team together, and we’ll be ready. Do you need a ride on our ship?”

“Thanks, but nah, I’ve got my own. I’m already docked on Darok’s cruiser, so I’ll just shuttle across and glare at him for a while.” She laughed at that, and made her way quickly back to her ship. From there, it was a whirlwind; she roused Doc and threw him into the fresher, called back Kira and Rusk, and with Teeseven at the stick, got the ship boarded onto Darok’s ship, though she really didn't want to. But...orders were orders, and she didn’t have nearly the clout to break them. Not right now…

Right on time, Darok’s cruiser headed into hyperspace as the Colonel gave his rallying speech to his troops, and Io stared at the holocall with her stomach in knots. The more and more she saw of the man, the more her instincts burned to run. No, not even run; to vanish, to shut him down. He was charming, smart, and he was a good commander...but something about him made her skin crawl. But she swallowed the fears, the worries, everything, and when they arrived, cloaked in the space above Korriban...it was Kira who said what everyone immediately thought. 

“...This is a really bad idea. Anyone else think it’s pretty sketchy that there’s no patrol ships. Or cruisers. Or anything in orbit?”

“Pretty sure we all do...something’s wrong.” But when Io tried to put out a holocall to the Grandmaster, it was Darok who interrupted, looking a little annoyed. 

“Master Jedi, we are on radio silence from here on; please do not try and make any more outside holocalls. We rally in thirty; get your team ready for the ground deployment.” Io clenched her jaw, angry, but nodded, and as soon as Darok flickered off, Theron appeared on the holo, looking just as unnerved and pissed. 

“I’ve got that recorded, and I’ll be backing up everything Teeseven records. Are you going down there with your full team?”

“Damn right I am; it’s going to be a bloodbath. Doc’s ready with medical supplies, Rusk is armed to the teeth, and Kira and I are as ready as we’ll ever be. This...this is not the Republic I love, Agent Shan.”

“Nor mine, Master Jedi. For the record? The Grandmaster is livid, and she’s on her way, leading a force of Knights and Masters, but it will be some time before she gets here. Darok should know better than to try and block a hacker...especially one with implants like mine. All I got from her last holocall was that Saresh was actively trying to block her and the Order…”

“...that is very bad news indeed. You’ll be in our ears?”

“Damn right I will. May the Force be with you, Master Dyer.” He winked out, and Io took a deep breath as the shuttles started to launch...and led her team out to their shuttle, back ramrod straight, sabers in hand. Another battle...another stain on the soul. She shook away those thoughts, and firmed her concentration, angry now, at the senselessness, at the stupidity...and at the fact she was being used. I will get to the bottom of this, no matter what Darok’s hiding. And I will make sure Saresh isn’t allowed to do this EVER again.