RIP Marjane Satrapi, author of the amazing graphic novels Persepolis about living during the fundamentalist revolution in Iran in the 70’s and 80’s. She also created the animated movie based on the graphic novels, which is where these gifs come from.
“If I have one message to give to the secular American people, it’s that the world is not divided into countries. The world is not divided between East and West. You are American, I am Iranian, we don’t know each other, but we talk together and we understand each other perfectly. The difference between you and your government is much bigger than the difference between you and me. And the difference between me and my government is much bigger than the difference between me and you. And our governments are very much the same.”
frieren is about discovering what makes life worth living after you lost someone before you realized how you felt about them. dunmeshi is about how we are all animals in the end, and confronting the monstrous reality of consumption, in all its forms. witch hat is about how the technology that makes our society function could be used to make people’s lives better, but especially disabled people are left out, and those in power choose very specifically who actually benefits. how fitting that three of the most popular and poignant fantasy stories of the 2010s-2020s are about grief, consumption, and power.
The irony of Palantir being called... Palantir is also not lost on me.
Consider: The Palantiri, those Big Glass Orbs you can look through and See Some Shit, are not evil in and of themselves. However, like any other "machine" they will reflect the intent and character of their user.
(For context: They also expose you to the wills of the person on the other end if they're also looking at you through a palantir of their own.)
Saruman overused the one he found when he moved into Isengard's Orthanc tower. He became corrupted through his own lack of self control and his arrogance thinking he could go toe to toe with Sauron.
He ultimately used his for control, deceit, and power, and it got his bitch ass brought to ruin, then stabbed by Wormtongue in the Shire. He died, bitter, alone, and his spirit forever left to linger impotent and unable to return to his home in the West.
Denethor overused his palantir to the point that, even though he was able to resist Sauron's will - a very impressive feat - Sauron was able to deceive him into despair. He continued to use it, further obsessed with control in his grief over Boromir, and his paranoia and jealousy of Aragorn. Eventually, when he saw the ships of the Corsairs coming up the river, he gave in to despair entirely - not realizing that the Corsair ships were in fact Aragorn coming with reinforcements.
Peter Thiel, coward that he is, naming his investment firm 'Valar Ventures', and his surveillance/AI bullshit 'Palantir' is in my opinion an unprecedented and stupifying level of billionaires' lack of self-awareness.
The sheer arrogance, the hubris of it, is fucking astounding.
One of the MAIN THEMES in Tolkien's ENTIRE body of work is that those who seek power will inevitably be corrupted by it; that the intent to seek power, control, dominance, is in itself a corrupting force and nought but a blight upon the world. And finally, that those who have power, ought to use it to PROTECT and STEWARD the world and those living within it; to be willing to give that power up when the time comes to do so.
Billionaires are sniveling little cowards who turn tail and run at the first whiff of danger to themselves and their power. But if Tolkien is right, and if we all do our damnedest to make the world a better, more just and equitable one, the natural order of things will have these freaks destroy themselves by drinking the poison of their own avarice.
Along the blackwater coast of Romirro, people whisper about the Lemurians—the beautiful strangers said to emerge from the sea wearing human shapes. Legends say they come ashore seeking humans, whether as meal or more, no one knows for certain. What is certain, however, is that they always find the exhausted, the indebted, or the heartbroken first. According to folklore, the Lemurians never drag anyone beneath the waves by force. Instead, they court their chosen for months or years, until the sea begins to feel more inviting than the land ever was.
You think you know what is happening, then, when the most handsome man you've ever seen washes ashore after a storm.
This is your family's hardest year yet, and somehow, despite the unlikeliness of the tide, he's deposited along the shallow pools where you and your sister gather shellfish. Water pools too enticingly in the hollow of his throat, beads along his long lashes, glittering against his pale skin. You do not trust the look of him. But your sister is already halfway in love with him, and cannot bear to leave him behind.
So you take him home, hoping that you are wrong.
You nurse him back from the state the sea left him in, careful not to let your sister go too near. Her fantastical, romantic waxings in the warmth of your hut have you almost believing you were too quick to draw conclusions about him. She is a year younger than you, in ways that feel more like a thousand years sometimes, but the naiveté and idealism of her world view make you want to believe the world can like be that too. You hope she is right, and he is just a beautiful man.
But then he wakes, and you are all too certain he isn't.
His eyes fix too readily on you when he opens them, his attention too immediate and precise. He is too interested in you when he recovers enough to speak—and repeats your name in a way that makes a shiver slink down your spine.
He tells you his name is Rafayel, and he's been shipwrecked. When pressed, however, he cannot name his home port, the name of his ship, or any of his crewmates. The memory of what they were carrying is conveniently lost to the tides. He is too empty of anything except the sea, you think, and you watch him as closely as he watches you.
Your sister is entranced and enthralled with him. You should feel relief that his attention does not linger on her the same way hers lingers on him. But you cannot, with Rafayel inside your home, asking after you instead, your habits, your likes and dislikes. He's come ashore for something, you know, and you do not intend for him to find it in your home.
You watch him carefully, and when he is well enough, you cajole him outside with a request for help gathering shellfish. You lead him back down to the tidepools, a large bucket clutched in hand. You are apprehensive that he will catch on to your plan so you move slowly, try to turn back to him often, tipping your face up to his. You find yourself doing it almost too willingly, reluctant to tear your eyes away from him.
You turn your face up to his again as you make it to the tidepools, and Rafayel steps closer this time. His mouth lingers over yours, his body so close, the promise of something slipping between you. His eyes glint blue like the sea, and you almost forget yourself for a minute as his mouth lowers to yours.
It's half and accident when you overturn your bucket of collected rainwater between you.
But Rafayel's face changes immediately as he takes a shocked step back, and it's then that you know for sure.
Harbor folklore says Lemurians cannot pursue someone across running fresh water. And Rafayel stumbles back, long eyelashes fluttering as he stares at you in stunned disbelief. The tide laps angrily at his heels, suddenly growing discontent, roiling like a pot over the fire.
He says your name, sweet and entreating.
But you turn and leave before your small, freshwater stream can run its course into the sea. You will hang braided eelgrass across your door tonight, and burn peat in the hearth, so that he cannot get in again. You tell him as much as you clamber back up the shoreline to safety, tell him he is wasting his time on you.
But what you do not know is that once a Lemurian falls truly fond of someone, they become dangerously patient. He will wait, like the tide that keeps arriving, until the shore gives way grain by grain, and little by little slides into the waiting sea.
FEATURING: chrollo lucilfer x fem!reader, former kurapika kurta x fem!reader
SUMMARY: a bad night turns into an even worse day. you make mistake after mistake, and there is no end to this miserable contest in sight.
GENERAL WARNINGS: fem!reader, kakin prince!reader, soulmate au, canon divergent, enemies to lovers, abusive relationship with tserriednich/grooming (the first half of part 2 centers around this. it is not intended to be read as sexual), character death (not chrollo or reader), dark themes (carne levare, imperialism, etc), world & character building (i took some creative liberty with what we know for Plot purposes—particularly kakin, meteor city, the mafias, and many of the characters), age gap (reader is 20 for plot reasons—order of princes & relationship with kurapika) angst with (mostly) happy ending, (wc 26.5k)
AUTHOR'S NOTE: part 2, chapter 2!!! probably will be monthly updates from now on—it's a lot to sit through and edit each chapter, because a lot of the scenes end up getting rewritten, and I've got too much going on to be able to keep up with weekly updates! All reblogs and comments are appreciated! even if you only just boost!
SEE: REQUIEM IMPERIUM SERIES MASTERLIST
You dream of him again for the first time since that night.
You have never been to the Lukso Province, but you’ve heard about it from Kurapika. He didn’t often speak about his past, even less his home and his people, but sometimes, when he woke up from a bad dream, pale and shaking, he would tell you what it was like before blood fertilized the earth and traces of rot could be smelt in every gust of wind. You could tell he was afraid of forgetting what it was like before the massacre, but he was equally afraid of remembering what he lost.
Still, he told you enough that you recognize where you are instantly. The lush grass and crystalline lakes, the trees that tower up toward the sky, trunks twice as thick as anything you’ve ever seen in Kakin, the massive land birds darting between them, chasing one another playfully—Piko, you remember Kurapika recalling them with a soft smile, the Kurtas used to ride them to the province from their village when they were picking up goods. He described it as paradise, and now that you’re here, witnessing it with your own eyes, you can’t help but agree. You traveled a lot when you were away from Kakin, but you don’t think you’ve ever been somewhere so beautiful before.
It’s almost enough to make you overlook the putrid scent of death.
Why are you in Lukso?
Dread pools in your stomach as you walk forward. There are only two possibilities: you’re here to witness the massacre through Chrollo’s memories, or you’re here to talk to a younger Chrollo in the immediate aftermath of it.
You don’t know which is worse.
Your heart thuds painfully in your chest as you make your way through the forest. Now that the illusion of paradise has been shattered, you see the haze of smoke in the near distance, the faint red and orange glows, and when you reach a small wooden bridge, that stream runs red beneath it.
You don’t step onto the bridge immediately, not ready for what you’re going to see once you cross the treeline on the opposite side of it. You can imagine it. Kurapika broke down in your arms on the fifth anniversary of the massacre—gouged eyes, strung up bodies, children tortured in front of their parents.
This is who you’re bound to. This is your other half. What does it say about you? The same thoughts that crossed your mind weeks ago badger you again. They hit harder now that you’ve finally started to accept Chrollo and this bond. More accusing. How could you?
Breathe, you tell yourself. Breathe.
Why would the bond show you this now? You—you felt so relieved when he pulled you into his arms earlier. For the first time since everything went to hell, you could let the weight drop from your shoulders. Nearly three weeks of thinking you’d been abandoned, of Tserriednich’s ever-looming presence twisting up your mind—you finally felt as though you’d caught a break, that the universe wasn’t just punishing you.
Punishing you.
Tserriednich’s words ring through your head. That’s what punishment does. It reminds you of what you can’t have, over and over again. It dangles meaning in front of you, calls it destiny, but it’s something that hurts you to accept. Is he right? Is that what all of this is? The first dreams were to make you warm up to the idea of accepting him, to give you hope that maybe something could actually come from the bond you’ve longed for your whole life, but it always planned to rip it away from you again by showing you exactly who he is and what he’s done.
Punishment.
You take a deep breath, trying to pretend that you can’t taste death in the back of your throat as you step onto the bridge. Each step forward feels like you’re pushing yourself through waist-deep mud. You try to steel yourself—you really, really do—but no amount of time or preparation could have made you ready to see what’s past the treeline.
The first body you see is right at the forest’s edge. It’s a teenager, a boy no older than Kacho and Fugetsu. He was fleeing the massacre—bullets riddle his back, dirty tear tracks stain his cheeks, his arm is still extended outward. The glassiness of his eyes does nothing to dull the fear written in them, even in death.
Already, you feel the nausea building. You try to count your breaths—in three beats, out two, but all you do is inhale rot and smoke. You can hardly bring yourself to lift your gaze. One body becomes two, becomes three, twelve, twenty-four that you can see, one hundred and three out of sight. Corpses hang from threads that you’ve seen Machi use with your own eyes, heads twisted off and thrown carelessly to the side. You’ve seen death before, you’ve killed before, but never like this. The skirmishes on the southern border, the Hunter Exam, the Chimera Ant incident—nothing you’ve seen or taken part in comes close to the carnage before you.
Punishment, you think, dizzy, Tserriednich is right. This bond is punishment.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
You don’t even hear him approach you. You’re standing at the edge of the first row of homes, staring at the flames flickering in the buildings and the dead bodies strewn about the once idyllic village. You can’t even bring yourself to turn and look at him, not until you feel fingers wrap around your wrist.
Instinctively, you yank out of his grip and pull your hand to your chest, whirling around with an accusing expression. He doesn’t flinch when you recoil, but you certainly falter when you see him. The past two dreams, you’d hardly recognized the boys in them as Chrollo—too young, too innocent, too uncertain—but this one. This is a Chrollo you recognize. His expression is terribly impassive; his gray eyes are eerily empty, and his lips are flat. There’s nothing young and boyish about him anymore, none of the kindness and tenderness from the eleven-year-old you first met, none of the gut-wrenching uncertainty from the fifteen-year-old in the abandoned hotel in Sairen.
He’s older than you now, you recognize, trying to ground yourself in something that’s not the horror show around you. He must be. Kurapika was twelve when the massacre took place. You would’ve been thirteen. So, Chrollo, he must be… twenty-one? Trying to put numbers to faces fails to ground you; it serves to only make you feel more sick, because how is he barely a year older than you and has—you see another corpse from the corner of your eye, the arm is too thin to be an adult, you avert your gaze to the bloodstained dirt beneath you—done this?
“Will you say it?” He has the audacity to sound amused. Your gaze snaps up, furious. He’s wearing that gaudy coat now—he must’ve gotten his hands on it sometime between the last dream you had and this one, and he doesn’t wear a shirt beneath it, so you can see the blood splattered all over his chest and abdomen. When you look up at his face, you realize there’s blood smeared there too, across his lips, over his eye and cheek. It’s disgusting. It’s— “I’d like to hear it, just to know what it sounds like coming from your lips.”
“Fuck you,” you say instead, voice sharp and angry. “That’s what you have to say. What is wrong with you?”
He comes closer, and you pointedly angle your head back to the ground, refusing to look him in the eye, but not daring to step back in fear of that child’s body entering your field of vision again. Your expression twists in disgust when you feel him lift his hand to your chin, tilting your face up toward him, forcing you to look him in the eye. His lips are curled up into a faint smile, but his eyes belie the apparent smugness, still far too void of emotion.
“There it is,” he says softly. You can feel his breath on your lips. “I’ve been waiting for this. For you to look at me the way you really feel. You were so kind during our last two meetings—telling me your words were an accident, a mistake, offering me comfort, holding me. But I knew the truth, even if you wouldn’t say it to my face. You could hardly stand the sight of me. I’m glad you’ve finally stopped pretending.”
You jerk your chin out of his grip, but the motion only barely frees you—his fingers drag across your jaw as if mapping out the shape of it, and his thumb ghosts the corner of your mouth, smearing a streak of someone else’s blood onto you. The taste of iron forces your lips apart on a small, involuntary inhale. His eyes flicker down, then return to yours.
“Will you say it?” he murmurs. “The words?” When you don’t respond—just continue to stare at him, aghast—he sighs and looks away, eyes sliding shut. “You don’t need to. It’s written all over your face.”
“What is wrong with you?” you breathe out. “How can you—how can you stand here and act like this? Like there aren’t—”
You can’t even finish the sentence, gaze shifting to the side and landing on a woman’s corpse several feet to your left, eyes gouged out. You fight a gag, and turn your attention back to him, sharp and accusing. He watches you with an unreadable expression before his gaze flits to the side, as though he’s bored with this conversation already.
How dare—
“Because it’s not real,” he intones. “Or, rather, it’s just a dream. This has already happened. This isn’t the first I’ve dreamt of it, nor will it be the last.”
“You dream about it?” you ask him, voice catching over the words as he steps past you, around a severed arm with no more hesitation than if it were a fallen branch. You have to close your eyes to ground yourself again before you can bring yourself to look at him again. “What you did?”
“Do you think I’m exempt?” he asks mildly, gaze sliding to the side to look at you before he tilts his head up to look at the hazy sky. “This was always going to happen. The Kurta Clan found its way to the darker side of the internet. If it wasn’t us, it would’ve been someone else. They were never going to make it through the month alive.”
“You think that justifies it?” you spit out angrily, ignoring the curious look he gives you. That’s right, you realize, this Chrollo wouldn’t know about your ties to Kurapika. You’re not sure if you want him to. “It didn’t have to be you.”
“I’m glad it was,” he counters, and you stare at him for a moment, blinking as the words process.
“What?” you ask, voice little over a breath. “You—”
“I said, I’m glad it was,” he repeats, tilting his head absently. “While we were here, we found a book that belonged to a missing friend of ours. Pakunoda feared the worst when she stopped answering her calls. You should know, originally, we were just going to complete the job without any fanfare—half a dozen pairs of eyes was what they called for. This—” He spreads his arms as if to display the carnage behind him. The flickering flames cast an eerie glow over his face. “—is consequence. Consequence of the world they lived in. Consequence of the world we were born into. Consequences of choices made years before any of us ever set foot here.” He lowers his arms, lets them fall loosely at his sides as though this is all so self-evident that it hardly bears repeating.
“And I suppose,” he adds after a beat, “consequence of taking what belonged to us.”
You let out a noise. You’re not sure if it’s a scoff or a laugh, some mixture of both. “We’ll accept anything you leave, but don’t ever take anything away from us,” you echo the words that have been ingrained into you since you learned who Chrollo was to you. “That’s why you left the note. Because of a book that you thought connected the Kurtas to your missing friend. Tell me, did you even bother to get a confession out of them? If they did something to your friend? Or did you just see the book and go into a blind rage?”
Chrollo’s lip twitches in irritation, expression darkening just enough to be noticeable. “We didn’t need a confession. The book was more than enough.”
You scoff in his face. “You think so?” you ask coldly. “You know what I think? I think you were angry because you lost another friend. I think you were furious that you couldn’t do anything. That someone died again, and yet again, you weren’t there. Just like the first time.”
Chrollo’s eyes narrow, just slightly, but for him, it’s as good as a flinch. He realizes that you’re talking about Sarasa, and a part of you feels guilty for using it against him like this, but you force yourself to continue.
“You could never get your hands on the people that killed Sarasa,” you continue. “Never got justice.”
He instantly looks away at the sound of her name, shame crossing his face. He glances back at the carnage, as though just the name of the girl could summon her and force her to bear witness to the slaughter he committed in her name.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says coldly, jaw tight. “I would proceed very carefully.”
“I know exactly what I’m talking about,” you correct, “because I’m the reason you get your hands on her killer seven years from now.” His lips part as he looks up at you, brows furrowing, but before he can press on the subject, you continue with where you were going to begin with. “You realized something might’ve happened to your other friend, and then you found this book in the village, it was enough for you. Convenient. Close enough. You didn’t want a confession because you didn’t want to be wrong. You were afraid this would be like Sarasa all over again, and you couldn’t stand it happening twice. You don’t even know if she’s dead, do you?”
He laughs, the sound is razor-sharp and condescending. “You think you’ve got me figured out,” he drones, voice low with derision. “It’s cute.”
“Don’t I?” you counter. “Tell me I’m wrong, Chrollo. Tell me that you went in there, got solid proof that they did something to your friend, and then you butchered them. Tell me this wasn’t a guess. Tell me this wasn’t just the closest place to put your anger.”
Chrollo doesn’t respond. You scoff and shake your head.
“You should know that this decision you made here, in five years' time, leads to the death of two of your friends,” you say quietly, watching his expression shift as your words process. “I’m telling you this because I know there’s nothing you can do about it. You’ll wake up with no memory of our meeting tonight, but you’ll know the regret and inevitability here.” You press two fingers against his chest, pointing to his heart. “In five years, a survivor from the Kurta clan will come for revenge, and he will kill Uvogin and Pakunoda, and he will leave you nenless.”
Chrollo’s eyes are slightly wider now, and his throat bobs slightly. He tries to hide the uncertainty that crosses his face, but he can’t. His voice is strained as he accuses, “Liar. You’re saying this to upset me.”
“I’m not lying,” you tell him, and you know he believes you, because he takes in a ragged breath, lips parting as his gaze shifts to the side. He looks young again, suddenly, more like the boy from the last two dreams than the man you know, but you force yourself to press on. “I hope you still think it was worth it.”
He stares at you, eyes blown wide, not with anger, but something uglier and more fragile. He looks as though he’s just been cornered; the dizzying horror of realizing the future is not a blank page, and he’s written the deaths of the people he loves with one mistake. His lips part like he’s going to say something, but you turn on your heel and walk away, intent on getting as far from the slaughter as possible.
“Where are you going?” he calls after you, voice cracking over the words. He clears his throat when you don’t answer and tries again, “There’s nowhere to go until one of us wakes up.”
“The smell is nauseating,” you say more to yourself than him. You don’t know if he hears what you say, but you can tell he’s following you because you hear him picking up the pace to catch up to you.
You cross over the bridge back into the forest, and you keep walking, intent on getting back to the lake you started at. Chrollo doesn’t try to talk to you again as he slows to match your pace. You can feel him staring at you, but you don’t dare look over at him. You keep your gaze trained ahead until you reach the picturesque clearing half a mile away from the carnage the Phantom Troupe caused. You hear Chrollo let out a soft puff of air as he glances around, and you make your way to the edge of the lake, sitting in the dirt and watching the water ripple.
Chrollo takes a seat next to you, too close; you can feel his thigh brushing yours, shoulders nearly pressed together, the heat of his body, and the rise and fall as he takes each breath. You want to tell him to move away, but you don’t have the energy.
Punishment. Tserriednich is right. The bond is punishment. It spent weeks trying to ease you into accepting him, only to pull this as soon as you start to. It’s cruel; your heart aches so badly that you think you feel physical pain. You pull your knees to your chest and rest your forehead on them, trying to steady your breathing.
“You know him?” Chrollo finally asks, voice quiet. “The survivor? Is he the person you mentioned last time? The one you care about?”
“Yes,” you whisper, “he is.”
“Of course,” he replies bitterly. You don’t have to look at him to know what expression he must be wearing. “Fate really does have a cruel sense of humor.”
You don’t know how to respond to that, so you don’t. You hear him lean forward, water splashing lightly as he cleans the blood off his hands and body. You only look back over at him when he settles back next to you. Your gaze passes over the crystalline waters, trying to ignore that it’s now stained red with the blood Chrollo washed off, and lands on him. He’s staring up at the sky, an unreadable expression on his face. You almost want to say something to break the silence, but you can’t think of anything.
“Why did you tell me?” he asks quietly after a moment. “Knowing I can’t do anything to change it?”
“I wanted you…” You start to say, voice trailing off, when you realize what you’re about to say. You exhale, eyes sliding shut, and then admit, “I thought it would hurt. To know.”
“Is that what you want?” he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. “For me to hurt?”
Your lips part, and then press shut again. Because the answer is no, even after seeing the carnage, after he taunted you, after everything—you don’t want him to hurt, and that realization makes you feel even worse.
“No,” you finally tell him, voice cracking. “I don’t.”
“Do you… still understand?” he asks after a moment.
Ah. You realize that he’s referring to what you told him last time—that you can’t hate him because you understand how he became the way he did. He wants to know if it’s changed, if you hate him now, seeing what he did with your own eyes.
You sigh. “I knew this had happened already. I—”
“It’s different seeing it for yourself,” he interrupts, and the words come out smaller than you expect. You think smaller than he expects, too, because his expression twists with something close to embarrassment. He adds, “I wouldn’t blame you if your opinion changed. If my theory was right last time, then this is probably another turning point for you. I, ah, doubt it’s for me. I don’t think there are any left for me, I’m long down this path.”
A turning point, but what would it be? Well, you consider, there are probably several coming up, or maybe they’re all the same, just in different shades. Tserriednich or Chrollo. Two halves of the same whole or punishment. The crown or love. By the time the Black Whale docks at the Dark Continent, you’ll have had to have made your decision.
Is this a final test of the bond, or is it just another way to hurt you?
“It’s… for me,” you say after a moment, rubbing your hands on your thighs. “It’s definitely for me.”
Chrollo hums, and when you glance over at him again, there’s an oddly docile expression on his face. He’s looking down at the dirt, tracing his fingers through it absently, as he asks quietly, “It’s whether or not you’ll accept me, isn’t it?”
You don’t reply, sighing as you look away again.
“I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t,” he tells you, voice soft. “I doubt I would in the future, either. I’ve known for a long time that I’m not someone who deserves to be chosen.”
Your head jerks to the side. You weren’t expecting that—not from this Chrollo—but he says it so simply, like it’s a matter of fact, a conclusion that’s no longer up for debate, and not a realization that he’s been desperately trying to swallow since boyhood. You could almost forget that this is Chrollo, the head of the spider, the bandit, the king of thieves, the murderer and manipulator. You could almost forget that half a mile away, there are one hundred and twenty-seven corpses and blood still drying under his nails. You see the boy from Meteor City, bloody-knockled and brilliant, too kind for his own good, who learned painfully young that the world is cruel and violent, and decided he must become crueler and more violent in order to survive and protect the people he loves—regardless of what it might cost him.
You consider, maybe, that this is another attempt at manipulation, but his expression is too unguarded, and there’s no faking the way his throat bobs and lashes flutter as he tries to calm himself down.
“I’ve known from very early on,” he repeats, softer this time, barely audible, drawing another line through the dirt with his fingertips. “It’s okay if you don’t. I don’t expect you to forgive me, and I don’t expect you to choose me.”
“Can I… ask you something?” you ask after a moment. He gives you a questioning look, but nods. “What did you—What were you taught about the bond growing up? In Kakin, we’re taught that bonds are two halves of a perfect whole—”
“Sun and moon, heaven and earth.” He remembers what you told him during the first two meetings with a soft smile, but the smile falters when he remembers what comes next—me and you. He doesn’t dare say it out loud. Then he sighs and continues, “It’s… different than that. Father Lis—the priests back in Meteor City, they were very, ah, god-fearing, I suppose. They often preached that god abandoned us in every earthly way, considering where we were born, but he allowed us one mercy—one person whose soul is tied to ours, so that we never truly have to face the world alone. They told us that even if the world rejects us and calls us garbage, the bond is proof we’re still worthy of love and life.”
Your eyes slide shut, throat tightening as your mind is drawn back to the child who lived eight years without any words on his forearm, doubting whether or not he’s worthy of love and life. The relief he must’ve felt when the words finally appeared, only for them to be what they are. “Do you believe in god?”
“No,” he answers softly, “but I believe in… Ah, never mind.”
I believe in this, you finish what he can’t. Your gaze lowers to the dirt again, and you bite back a sigh as the edges of your vision begin to darken, the grass beneath your hands turning to sand that slips between your fingers.
“You’re waking up,” Chrollo realizes, and then exhales. “I’m… glad I got to see you, even considering the circumstances.”
You look at him again, and you find that he’s already looking at you, gaze desperately tracing your face as though trying to memorize it, only allowing himself the luxury of wanting now that he knows you’re leaving.
“I’m sorry,” he finally says, “that I can’t be what you deserve.”
“What I deserve,” you echo bitterly, glancing away from him. “That’s not your decision to make.”
You wake up, heart racing and breath shaking, instinctively reaching to the side where Chrollo was before you fell asleep, only to find empty air.
Gone. You expected it—he had to take whatever chance he could to sneak out without getting caught, but still… you think you would’ve liked to talk to him after that dream. Maybe it’s for the best. You’re not sure how that would’ve gone down, so you should take some time to gather your thoughts before you see him again.
When will you see him again?
Who knows? You think ruefully that it could be days before there’s another chance. Tier One has been heavily monitored since Tubeppa’s death, and the Troupe can’t risk anyone catching sight of them, or it will be right back to square one with them having to flee to the lower tiers. You sigh as you sit up in bed, gaze sliding over to the clock at your bedside—five am, you still have two hours before you have to meet Tserriednich for morning tea and—
What’s that?
You pause as you see a piece of paper tucked beneath the book on your nightstand. You slide to the edge of the bed and reach out to grab it, brows furrowed as you read what’s scrawled on it.
Casino. Tomorrow. 23:30.
Ah, you think, exhaling softly as uncertainty eats away at your chest. You lean back against the pillows and let your eyes slide shut, holding the paper carefully between your hands.
How the hell are you going to get to the casino without tipping off Tserriednich?
————————
You’re fixing your necklace in the mirror, preparing to head over to Tserreidnich’s quarters, when a commotion breaks out in the main area of your quarters. You immediately fear the worst, dropping what you’re doing to rush out of your bedroom, afraid that you’ll come out to find Otocin, Momolly, Borksen, and all of the others butchered at the hands of a nen user trying to get to you.
Instead, you find an argument taking place between your brother’s friends and a group of unfamiliar people—four men and one woman. Who the hell are they? They’re not wearing uniforms, so they can’t be from the military, and you don’t recognize them as any of the provisional hunters. Both groups go silent when you enter the room, and Otocin is quick to position himself between you and these newcomers.
“Go back into your room,” Otocin tells you, uncharacteristically serious. “We’ll take care of this. These bastards—”
“Otocin,” you interrupt, speaking slowly as you recognize the sheer amount of nen emanating from these individuals. These… are not ordinary nen users. “Stand back.”
Your gaze flicks between them. A man with slicked-back black hair and dark eyes. A man wearing a dog mask. A taller man with strange scars across his forehead. A woman with fair hair and sharp eyes. A young blonde man with light eyes and a charming smile. Who are these people? How do they have so much nen? You don’t like the way the man wearing the dog mask is looking at you—you can’t even tell how he’s looking at you because of the mask, but you know it makes your skin crawl.
Otocin gives you an uncertain look from the corner of his eye, and you shake your head at him, warning him not to argue with you. He doesn’t like it, but he does step aside. You turn your attention back to the newcomers and raise your chin, hoping that your voice and demeanor don’t come across as uneasy as you feel. You’re still rattled from the dream you had last night—the last thing you need to be dealing with is something else on top of it. You wanted to take some time to think.
“Introduce yourself,” you say coolly. “What faction are you from? How did you get up here?”
The five exchange looks, and after a moment, the blonde man steps forward with a pleasant smile. It does not reach his eyes. He places a fist over his chest as he bows his head slightly. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, prince. My name is Quorolle. I’m a member of the Heil-Ly Family. Miss Morena sent us up here to relieve your, ah… guard?” He stands up straight and rubs the back of his neck with an awkward laugh. It still doesn’t reach his eyes. It looks so uncanny that you can hardly hold his gaze, but you force yourself to, so you don’t look weak. “Although I don’t really see how they’re your guard, considering they can’t even protect themselves if it comes down to it.”
Otocin bristles, but Momolly and Borksen share an unsure look with one another.
“Morena sent you?” you ask, folding your arms over your chest. Fuck, you think. Why the fuck is the Heil-Ly here? Ah, you hate pulling the brother card, but if it has to be done… “Is my brother aware that you’re here?”
“He is,” the black-haired man interjects, stepping forward. How gross, you think—the only man you’ve ever seen who has been able to pull off a slickback is Chrollo, and even he’s treading on thin ice with it. His gaze roves over your body once, and Otocin barks out a ‘What the hell are you looking at?’ that the man promptly ignores, lips curving up into a small smile. “He approved of the switch. We could go get him, if you’d like.”
“I would like,” you reply with a tight smile, and the woman instantly turns on her heel to leave your quarters. You exhale, mind racing as you try to figure out why Tserriednich might’ve agreed to something like this. You know damn well he doesn’t trust the Heil-Ly, so—
“Your nen,” the man with the dog mask begins, inhaling greedily, “it smells good. Are you… a specialist?”
What the fuck?
“Dogman,” Quorolle complains, “don’t be weird, alright?”
“Hah? I’m just saying, it’s a compliment, you know?” Dogman—how delightfully fitting, you think dryly, at least it will be an easy name to remember—replies. “If you could smell it, you’d be saying the same. Smells sweet, like fresh strawberries. Man, I want strawberries. You think the upper tiers have them?”
“Ignore him,” Quorolle tells you. “He gets overly excited when he’s near someone with… promise.”
Promise?
“And you think you have the right to evaluate my promise?” you reply, voice flat.
Quorolle just smiles politely again—it’s too rehearsed, like he’s mimicking the appearance of civility to try to put you at ease.
“Miss Morena is very interested in people like you,” he says mildly.
People like me?
You don’t like this at all. Quorolle takes half a step closer, but Otocin immediately shifts, hand going for his gun. For a second, the gentlemanly mask drops, and Quorolle turns a horribly cold look onto Otocin, who shifts uncomfortably. But then he smiles again, holding his hands up in a pacifying gesture.
“Don’t worry,” he assures you. “We’re on your side.”
You narrow your eyes. “My side? And what am I on?”
Quorolle looks amused, but he doesn’t get the chance to answer your question, because the door to your quarters reopens, and the woman steps inside again, with Tserriednich a step behind her. His gaze flicks over the room carefully before finally landing on you. He gives you an easy smile as he crosses the room.
“Brother,” you greet, lashes fluttering shut when he bends his head down to ghost his lips against your forehead. He lifts a hand to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, and your heart seizes for a moment when something strange passes through his eyes. “Good morning.”
“Good morning, little bird. How did you sleep?” he asks.
Does he know?
Does he know that Chrollo was here last night?
Can he tell?
Did someone see Chrollo leave last night?
Is that why he approved nen-users taking over your guard?
Shit, you think, shit.
“Uneasily,” you say honestly.
“Ah, my fault, perhaps. We shouldn’t have had such an unfortunate conversation right before you went off to sleep,” he murmurs. It unnerves you how easily he accepts blame when you expect disdain and punishment. That odd clawing feeling returns, nails digging into your heart—guilt, why? You know this is only a facade. “You can sleep in my quarters the next few nights, if you want. Perhaps, you’ll sleep better.”
No, you think instantly. You can’t do that. Not if Chrollo wants to meet at the casino tomorrow. It’s already going to be difficult trying to sneak out with Tserriednich’s friends keeping an eye on you; if you’re stuck in the same room as Tserriednich himself, you’ll never get a chance to make your escape. You’re already anxious about spending time with him generally because you don’t want him to catch on to anything, and he’s always been terrifyingly perceptive.
“No, it’s okay,” you say, giving him a practiced smile. Tserriednich gives you a fond smile and pets your head like you’re a dog. You bite back the mortification, and instead ask, “They say they’re part of the Heil-Ly. That you approved them taking over my guard?”
Say no, you scream it at him through your eyes. Say no, Tserriednich. We can’t trust the Heil-Ly.
He lets out a heavy breath, glancing over at the five members of the Heil-Ly Family, and then back to you. You don’t like the expression on his face. You don’t like how his lips are pressed together tight, and you don’t like the conflict in swimming through his eyes. It’s so… unbefitting that it scares you. He has the look of someone who has been backed into a corner, forced to go along with something he doesn’t want to. No way Morena Prudo managed to back your brother into a corner, you can’t believe it. You won’t. It’s ridiculous, it’s—
“I did,” he says finally. “We’re in the last three weeks of the voyage. Our brother and sister will start becoming desperate to get their hands on you. You need guards trained in nen.”
“Tserried,” you breathe out, horrified, “you can’t be serious. The Heil-Ly? You—”
He gives you a cool look from the corner of his eye. Do not argue with me in front of people, and you silence yourself immediately, words catching in the back of your throat. You feel so frustrated that you want to cry, staring at Tserriednich in disbelief. He exhales through his nose, gaze flitting up to the ceiling briefly.
You don’t have to accept it, you realize, the thought hanging tauntingly in your mind. You’re both children of the First Queen—just like how you didn’t have to accept Benjamin’s guard earlier in the voyage. Tserriednich seems to recognize where your thoughts are heading, because he squints at you, curious. No, you think, you can’t. No rebellion. Not yet. You need to keep up appearances. You can’t give him any reason to be suspicious.
You avert your gaze down to the ground, silently accepting his decision. He gives you another easy smile and says, “Atta girl.”
“Tserri,” Otocin protests, the only one capable of talking back to your brother without getting shot. Tserriednich only gives him a sharp look and shakes his head.
“Not now.”
“But—”
Not even Otocin dares to continue when Tserriednich’s gaze becomes cold and flinty. He gives you an apologetic look and mouths, I tried, and you give him a tight smile in response. Tserriednich flicks imaginary dust off his jacket before turning a disdainful look onto the five members of the Heil-Ly Family.
“I’m sure that woman told you what the consequences would be if even a hair on my sister’s head is displaced,” Tserriednich says coolly.
“Yessir,” Quorolle replies with a smile that’s too sharp to be respectful. He hardly even feigns respect—what the hell is up with these people? Who do they think they are? Why is Tserriednich putting up with it? “We’ll take good care of her.”
“Watch your tongue,” Otocin spits loudly, taking a step forward, only to freeze when Terriednich holds his hand out to stop him. “Tserri—”
Tserriednich hardly spares a glance back at his friends. “Enough,” he says, and Otocin shuts his mouth with a choked, angry noise.
Tserriednich returns his attention to the Heil-Ly members. “You will stay at arm’s length with her at all times,” he says, voice frigid. “You will not speak to her unless she addresses you first. You will not interfere with her personal routine. You will not step into her private chambers uninvited. You will not so much as breathe on her without permission. Are we clear?”
Quorolle spreads his hands, palm outwards, and says, “Crystal.”
Tserriednich nods once and then looks away dismissively, “Good. Now leave until I have things settled here.”
Quorolle offers you one last, almost sweet, smile, before turning sharply on his heel. The others follow him out, Dogman’s head turning at the last second to sniff in your direction again, like some deranged hound. Then the door shuts, and you can breathe again.
Tserriednich turns toward his friends. “You guys,” he says, more relaxed now. “You’re dismissed. Go back to where you were stationed on Tier Three.”
Momolly and Borksen go still, looking at each other with wide eyes. Otocin’s expression cracks clean down the middle, fury flaring.
“What the hell, Tserri?” he tries again, stepping forward and grabbing your brother’s arm. Anyone else would be shot, but Tserriednich only raises his eyebrows at Otocin. “The Heil-Ly, you really trust them to look after her?”
“I won’t repeat myself again,” Tserriednich says, pulling his arm from Otocin’s grip, who blanches at the blatant dismissal. Otocin looks at you, waiting for you to say something, and your throat tightens with the urge to say no, to ask that they stay.
Then, Tserriednich’s gaze shifts to you, and he raises a single eyebrow—a warning. A dare. You almost do, but you cannot afford the slightest fracture with him right now, not when you need him to remain certain that you belong in his hand, not when you need him blind. If this is what he wants, then this is what he’ll get.
You swallow and look away, saying nothing.
“Good,” Tserriednich murmurs. His hand falls on your shoulder, thumb rubbing a soothing circle as he says, “This will all work out. It’s only temporary.”
Only temporary. Then… this is with purpose. What purpose? You study him carefully, and his lips curve up into a small smile, like he’s waiting for you to figure it out. If he’s saying it’s only temporary, then he doesn’t plan on keeping the Heil-Ly as your guard for the rest of the voyage. So… until the masquerade banquet?
Your eyes widen slightly. That must be it. He wants the Heil-Ly available at the masquerade banquet. He won’t be able to sneak them in unless they’re a prince’s assigned guards. Is he going to try to have Benjamin assassinated there? Or one of your other siblings? Luzurus or Zhang Lei? To cripple the opposing mafias before they can get on their feet? Camilla? Halkenburg? One of the children?
You?
No, not you. He wouldn’t risk killing you off when he needs you to keep the military in check. It has to be Benjamin, but maybe—maybe if he succeeds in assassinating Benjamin… Would he turn on you next? You still aren’t sure what Tserriednich’s plans with you are. At the beginning of the voyage, you counted on him saving you for last because he saw you as his, a possession that only he should have the right to destroy. But the way he’s been talking lately… if you didn’t know any better, you would think he wants to take you along with him. Is it just to get you to lower your guard so you don’t expect it when he inevitably turns on you?
Damnit, you just don’t know.
“That’s my girl,” Tserriednich praises. “I knew you’d figure it out. You can stick through a few days with them for me, right?”
“Yeah,” you agree, swallowing thickly. “Yeah, I can.”
“Good girl,” he says softly. “Come, eat breakfast with me. I had them bring up your favorite.”
————————
You don’t like your new guards. It’s barely been twenty-four hours since the Heil-Ly took over, and you already feel like a caged animal. You’ve hardly left your bedroom besides when Tserriednich comes by to walk you over to his quarters.
You have no idea how you’re supposed to get down to the casino to meet Chrollo in three hours.
One of them—the woman you think—has her en spread across your whole quarters. You can feel it—it’s gross, slimy and uncomfortable and it curls against your skin like it’s something living and breathing. She’ll feel it the moment you leave its perimeter. Sneaking out is impossible. And convincing them to let you go willingly? Without reporting to Tserriednich first? Even if you manage that, you’d still have to lose them once you get to the casino—long enough to reach Chrollo without revealing who you’re meeting.
You sigh, pressing your hands to your eyes hard as you try to push away the raging headache that’s been pounding at the back of your head. You still haven’t even decided how you’re going to go about bringing up what you dreamt about to Chrollo yet. He wasn’t exactly receptive the last time you mentioned the dreams, and this conversation is going to be even less pleasant considering what you dreamt about.
Shit, you think, why can’t things ever be easy for you?
Someone bangs on your bedroom door, and your lips curl into an irritated snarl. You wait to see if they’ll stop knocking, but when a minute passes and they continue steady-paced thumps against the wood, you rise to your feet and yank the door open.
“What do you want?” you hiss through gritted teeth. The black-haired one, Daemon, is standing there with a smile that makes your skin crawl. “My brother and I both specifically said you weren’t to disturb me while I’m in my bedroom.”
“Your brother wants to meet you in one of the lounges,” he tells you. And then adds, “Now.”
What?
You stare at the man, uncertain. It’s seven thirty. You didn’t meet Tserriednich for dinner today, because he wanted to hunker down on his nen training before the banquet in a few days. You can’t imagine that he would want to meet you right now, and at one of the lounges on the lower floors, of all places. It would be in his quarters, so he could continue practicing nen while you’re there and as soon as you leave. He wouldn’t want to waste the time traveling.
Do you call him out for the lie, or go along with it?
“Liar,” you say after a moment, watching as he narrows his eyes at you. Behind him, the blonde, scarred man is watching the two of you, nodding toward someone out of your field of vision. Ah, you need to tread carefully. You’re confident in your nen abilities, but you still have no idea what these peoples’ are, or what their nen is; it feels unlike any type of nen you’ve ever encountered. “Who really wants to meet me?”
“Daemon,” Quorolle complains, making his way over. “I told you we should’ve just been honest with her. Why didn’t you listen to me?”
Daemon shrugs lazily. “Just for fun, I guess. Wanted to see if she’d realize we were lying.”
A test, then, you realize, and from the look the two of them briefly exchange, you think they were both in on the test, despite Quorolle’s words. They wanted to see if they could successfully lie to you, or how you would handle it if they couldn’t. Why? God, you don’t like any of this. You hate that Tserriednich put you in this position.
“Miss Morena wants to talk to you,” Quorolle tells you. “She’s waiting for you on one of the lower floors.”
Morena?
Fuck.
Your face doesn’t reflect the anxiety that instantly tears your chest open, but you suppose it doesn’t need to, because Quorolle’s lips curve up into an unsettling smile anyway. They’re not going to give you a choice, you recognize. They intend to get you down to Morena, one way or another. You could fight—you think you’d be able to kill at least one of the two in front of you before the other could react —but you don’t know what to think about their nen. It’s… far more immense than you ever could’ve anticipated, and you think it’s grown over the last twenty-four hours. The woman’s aura has definitely strengthened since she arrived yesterday, and you’re not quite sure how she could’ve accomplished that in such little time.
Quorolle raises his eyebrows. “And ruin the surprise?” He sighs when your gaze sharpens. “Miss Morena thinks that your… interests might be aligned. She only wishes to make a proposal to you.”
You don’t trust a word out of that woman’s mouth, but you wonder, maybe, if you should see what exactly it is that she wants to propose to you, because you don’t know what it is that Morena wants. You know she wreaked havoc on the lower tiers for whatever reason before she decided to throw her cards back in with Tserriednich, but you don’t know what drove either of those decisions. And information is always useful, even if you have to collect it in hell.
You consider that it could be a trap set by Tserriednich to see whether or not you’d entertain an offer from someone else. Or maybe it’s a trap from Morena to see how entrenched Tserriednich’s claws are within you. Either way, you don’t know whose game you’re walking into, and it leaves you unnerved.
“Fine,” you say, the word coming out stiff. “Lead the way.”
Quorolle brightens, like the answer was inevitable, but Daemon looks bored again. You wonder if he was hoping they’d have to bring you by force. You push the thought from your mind as the two turn to leave your quarters; if you’re going to parley with Morena Prudo, then you need to be focused on the situation at hand. You hate how the others immediately take up the rear—you feel boxed in. Like a prisoner being escorted rather than a prince.
They lead you to a staircase on the west side of the floor, bringing you down to a hallway that’s much quieter and less guarded than the floor you were just on. Why are there no soldiers down here? There should definitely be soldiers patrolling this hall. You think you might have made a mistake. This… is not going to be a parley, this is—
No. That’s too bold, even for Morena Prudo.
Right?
You enter the dimly lit room and immediately press your tongue to the back of your teeth in frustration when you realize there are two other Heil-Ly Family members there already. You’re way too outnumbered if this comes to conflict. You force your posture relaxed as you turn your gaze onto Morena Prudo, who watches you, thrilled, like the stars have finally tilted in her favor. You don’t like it.
“Is this where you make your pitch?” you ask dryly.
Her lips curl up into a slow smile. “I don’t make pitches,” she answers, voice low, almost affectionate. “I offer revolutions.”
You let out a noise that’s half-scoff, half-laugh, gaze flicking down to the table in front of her as you fold your arms over your chest. There are two decks of cards—tarot? No, something else, you can’t tell what they are turned over—a bottle of wine, and a single seat across from her; Morena catches you looking, and tilts her head to the side, waving her hand for you to join her at the table. You hesitate, casting one last wary glance across the room before making your way to the chair opposite her.
“Where are the soldiers supposed to be patrolling the halls?” you ask, leaning back in your chair and folding your arms over your chest.
Morena gives you a look of mock surprise, lifting a hand to cover her mouth. “My, I have no idea, were they not out there?”
You’re not amused by her display of deceit. “If you plan on playing that game through this discussion, then I might as well leave right now. I don’t parley with liars.”
Morena sighs dramatically. “You’re right, you’re right,” she agrees, easy smile shifting into a colder one as she meets your gaze again. “We killed them.”
To your credit, you don’t react to Morena’s declaration beyond a short inhale through your nose. Shit, you think, what the hell have you gotten yourself into? Why would she so openly admit that to you? Is it to try to build rapport? To prove she won’t lie? Or is it an intimidation tactic? Her declaring she’s not worried about the consequences of her actions? But that brings a whole new set of issues—why would she not be worried about the consequences of her actions when she just declared she murdered royal soldiers to a prince? … Unless, that is, she doesn’t plan for the prince to leave this room alive.
“We just didn’t want to be interrupted, you see,” Morena continues, pretty smile returning to her face, but her eyes are far too black and far too empty. God, what is wrong with these people? “And we didn’t need any, ah, unwanted to eyes reporting back to brother dearest.”
“I see,” you reply flatly. “So, what revolution are you offering, Morena?”
Morena hums to herself, as though considering her words, and then she reaches to pick up both decks of cards. “I would like to convince you to join us—” You immediately scoff, but Morena is unperturbed, lifting the cards in front of her face with upturned eyes. “—I know, I know, it must seem like a very unappealing decision right now, but that’s why I propose we play a game! A negotiation game.”
“A negotiation game?”
“Mhm,” Morena agrees. She passes one deck of cards to the woman on her left and the other to the man on her right. The man on her right shifts over to your side of the table, placing five of the cards face down and seven face up. A bullseye, nen, QA, QB, yes, no, and D—what do they mean? “Now, usually, we play with one dealer and one player, but I was bold enough to presume that you might want something from me, too. So, I thought, how fun it would be if we were both dealers and players at the same time!”
What the hell is wrong with this woman? Your jaw tightens as you look back down at the cards. You shouldn’t agree to anything—could this be a condition for an ability? But… if what Morena wants is for you to join them, then can your goal for this game be to usurp Tserriednich’s position as benefactor of the Heil-Ly? Could you convince the Heil-Ly to answer to you instead of him? It’s a huge risk if it goes wrong, but is it worth taking?
“What does the negotiation game consist of?”
“I’m so glad you’re willing to hear me out,” Morena says with another smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. This woman really makes your skin crawl, you think bitterly. “The premise of the game is that the dealer—or dealers, plural, for us—makes a request of the player, and the game continues until the player is left with an answer. We’ll treat them as two separate games, so if, for example, my game as dealer ends before yours, yours will continue. Similarly, the results of one game won’t affect the results of the other… unless, of course, the requests directly contradict each other.”
This must be nen binding, you realize, uncertainty spreading through you as you stare down at the cards. You chew the inside of your cheek and stop yourself from rubbing your hands against your thighs, not wanting them to know just how unsure you are right now. Could you leave without taking part in this game? Or will they try to stop you? They killed the soldiers patrolling this area for a reason, and you’d be willing to bet it was more than just to avoid interruptions.
“Is this a condition of a nen ability?”
“Hm,” Morena hums, smile falling as she studies you carefully, suddenly looking much more serious. After a moment, she finally says, “Yes.”
You knew it. You exhale through your nose, trying to figure out what you should do. Daemon and Quorolle are on either side of you, and Dogman is by the door, leaning against it casually, but you know damn well it’s to prevent you from escaping easily.
“A manipulation-type ability?” you press.
Morena exhales, suddenly looking a bit more irritable as she turns her face to the side. “I won’t answer any more questions about my ability. It ruins the game.”
You scoff. “You expect me to enter a game that serves as a condition to an unknown nen ability without any information?”
Morena is smiling again in an instant. “Yes,” she confirms. Your expression twists in frustration. “It’s part of the risk.”
“It seems like I’m the one taking on a lot of risk here,” you say coolly.
“You don’t think my game is fair?” Morena frowns. “I think it’s plenty fair. I’m taking on risk too, you know? I have to reveal a lot about me throughout the game.”
“So do I, if I’m playing as dealer too,” you counter, “but you’re not at risk of being bound to an unknown nen ability, are you?”
“Hm, that’s true,” Morena agrees, tapping her chin. “Very well, I’ll tell you that you’ll only be bound to one thing once the game begins, and that’s not lying or cheating. I’ll be bound to the same restrictions. If you do lie or cheat, there will be consequences!”
Morena smiles at you again. You almost want to tell her to stop that because it’s unsettling, but you refrain, looking back down at the cards on the table. Is she telling the truth? You can’t tell. Morena Prudo is impossible to read. Even if she is telling the truth, she pointedly did not say what the consequences would be for lying or cheating, and you don't think she’ll divulge any more information about the ability if you ask.
This is a huge risk, you think anxiously, but what choice do you have?
“And if I don’t want to play your negotiation game?” you try.
Morena doesn’t answer, just continues smiling at you softly.
As you thought. Not playing isn’t an option. She’s only giving the illusion of choice. Would she really kill a prince right in the heart of military territory? Tserriednich would lose his mind if he found out that she killed you, and Chrollo—no, you don’t want to think about either of them right now. You need to focus on the issue at hand. Morena Prudo is definitely crazy enough to try to kill you right now.
Could she kill you? You’re outnumbered, that’s a fact you can’t deny, and their nen—something is definitely… off about it. Their aura feels all wrong, and you still don’t know how the woman, Souffle, managed to amplify her aura in a matter of twenty-four hours. You would be able to get off Golden Standard, and you’d probably be able to conjure your glaive, but would it be enough? What type of condition and punishment could you set that would amplify your own aura to match the eight in this room?
“Explain the rules of the game,” you tell her.
“Ah, this makes me so happy,” she says airily. Her bland smile belies her apparent gratitude. “As the dealers, we have seven cards that are placed face up. As the players, we have five cards placed face down. We select one of the dealer's cards, and the dealer answers whatever question the card represents. Then the card goes to the graveyard. Next, the dealer selects one of the player’s cards and turns it face up. That card then also goes to the graveyard. This will continue until the player has a single remaining card, and that remaining card is the answer to the request made at the start of the game.”
What the fuck is happening right now? So, you don’t even get to make a decision at the end of the match. The decision is made for you by… what? By luck? By chance? Or… is it rigged, maybe? Are all of the cards that you hold yes cards?
“I would like to see what cards I have face down,” you say, and Morena raises eyebrows and then motions for you to look.
You flip over the first card. Yes. You half expect the second card you flip over to be another yes, but you’re pleasantly surprised when you find that it’s a no. You pause for a moment, gaze flicking up to Morena.
“Self-explanatory, I believe,” she says with an easy smile, “but as the dealer, you have the opportunity to set conditions to using each of the cards.”
“Conditions?”
“Conditions,” she confirms without elaborating.
So, could you, in theory, place a condition that if she refuses your request with a no card, it will be the equivalent of forfeiting her life? … Is that what will happen if you say no? You cast a long glance at her face-down cards, then at your face-up ones, looking at the no card with a question mark in the background. That must be to figure out what exactly no entails. That needs to be your first question. You exhale and flip over the next card.
Joker. You look up at Morena again.
She rests her chin on her hand and points at the card. “The Joker can transform into either yes or no. If it’s the last card you have, then it’s your choice.”
Next is a card with two Rs. She smiles easily and says, “If the R card is your last card, you can exchange it for the card that will give you the answer you want.”
There are too many ways to get the answer you want, you note in the back of your head. There must be a trick somewhere. Are both ‘yes’ and ‘no’ wrong answers? You assume that yes will be the final step in whatever condition is set for her nen ability. You have to go to whatever lengths to avoid having that card in your hand at the end of the game.
But no—no must be a trick.
You shake your head absently and turn over the last card.
X.
Morena smiles lightly. “If the X card is the last one in your hand at the end of the game, you can leave without answering yes or no, and we’ll continue on as though this game never happened. Or, my request, at least. It will have no effect on your request. Like I said, they’ll be treated as separate games.”
You press your fist to your mouth as you think. If she’s telling you the truth, there are only two cards worth your time—X and R. Two out of five cards aren’t the best chances. But… if it’s two out of five for you, then it’s two out of five for Morena, as well. And if your requests directly contradict one another: becoming benefactor of the Heil-Ly versus becoming a member, then if you let her have the first move in this game, she’ll run out of moves first, and you’ll get your answer, and might not even have to finish your own game.
“Okay. Explain each of the dealer cards.”
Morena hums and then points at the bullseye card. “This is the purpose card. If you select this card, I’ll explain my purpose to you. Why I brought you here, why I’d like for us to be allies, and what my ultimate goals are. I’ll explain everything I can, but if you have any more questions, I’ll gladly explain further. I hope you’ll give me the same courtesy.” Morena gives you a too-sweet smile, which makes your face instinctively twist in disgust. She giggles at that before she continues, pointing to the arm surrounded by nen. “If you select this card, then I’ll explain my ability to you.”
Oh. Your gaze sharpens onto the card.
That needs to be one of your first cards chosen, then.
Morena points to the QA card. “The Question A card. For any other questions you might have. However many you want, whatever they are, I’ll answer as many as you need. However, I won’t answer any questions about my purpose or my ability. You need to pick those cards for those questions,” she explains, and then says, “Additionally, I can only give three answers to your questions. They are: yes, no, and yes and no.”
How irritating, you think. Yes or no questions, and even those can be circumvented with both. What would you even want to ask her that isn’t encompassed in the purpose and ability cards? About the other Heil-Ly members, maybe? But how much can you gather from yes or no questions? Their nen type?
Morena points to the QB card. “If you want to know more about a question asked with Question A, then select the Question B card. However, with the Question B card, only the last question from Question A can be elaborated on. So be careful how you finish Question A. Any questions so far?”
Too many, you think bitterly, but instead you say, “No. Continue.”
She points at the Yes? and No? Cards. “Once you’re down to your last yes or no card, I’ll explain what happens next. If you want to know something in advance, please select these cards,” she explains, and then points at the D card. “The Deal card. If there’s a card you want to bring back from the graveyard, you can select this one, and in return for fulfilling a small request of the dealer, it’ll be revived. If, after hearing the details of the request, you think it’s too much, you can decline it. In that case, however, I’ll take the turn to draw a card, and the Deal card will go to the graveyard.”
The first thing you need to do is figure out what exactly the trick of the no card is, so that has to be the first card you ask her about. Once you know what it is, you can figure out your plan, because there’s a huge difference if there are four avenues out of five versus two.
If you can risk whatever the trick is, it’ll be best to extend the game as long as possible and shoot for as much information as you can get. That’s when the Deal card will come into play
If you can’t risk the trick, you need to decide whether you want to aim for ending it as soon as possible, or if you want to outlast Morena to try to win without finishing your end, but that’s risky, because if she ends with anything other than the Yes card, you’re screwed.
“Any last questions?” Morena asks, giving you a small smile.
“The conditions on the yes and no cards—can it be anything I want?” you ask. She hums in affirmation and nods. “How do you know I won’t switch the conditions during the game as it becomes clear you’re going to end with one of those cards? Or if I learn information that makes me want to change the condition?”
“Because that would be cheating,” Morena says simply. She doesn’t need to add, and cheating has consequences, but it rings through your head all the same.
Very well, you think, gaze darkening for a moment as you stare at her.
Morena Prudo, if you end the game with a ‘no’ card, then your life is forfeit.
She smiles as though she knows exactly what condition you just put on that card.
“And how do I know you won’t switch the conditions during the game?” you ask, voice low with accusation. Morena’s smile drops at the corners, eyes becoming a bit colder. She doesn’t like being accused of cheating, you realize, but you press on anyway. “Will you be held to the same consequences that I am? Or can you cheat freely?”
“I will not cheat,” she says, voice brisk. Then the cold demeanor disappears, and she smiles lightly again, “I will be held to the same consequences.”
What an eerie woman, you think, unnerved by how capricious her mood seems to be.
“So,” she continues, “could you please decide if you want to play the game?”
You press your lips together. It pisses you off that she’s still phrasing it like you have a choice, but you say, “On two conditions.” She raises her eyebrows. “You take the first move as the player. I will take the second.”
“Ah, you’re so kind to let your big sister go first,” Morena sighs with a sweet smile. You can barely bite back a sneer. “And your second condition?”
You pause and then raise your chin. “I pick the player cards that get discarded. Both mine and yours.”
Morena frowns, eyes sliding shut as she looks away. “Now, that hardly seems fair, if you get to pick both.”
“It will ease my mind,” you counter. “The only third parties here that can shuffle the cards are Heil-Ly members. I would prefer to be the one to pick the cards after they shuffle.”
“I said I would not cheat,” Morena says with a thin smile, “and I said I would face the same consequences as you.”
“It will ease my mind,” you repeat, unflinching even as her aura becomes more sour. She really does not like being accused of cheating, you realize, eyes narrowing. Why?
“Very well,” Morena agrees after a moment. She motions for two of her people to come forward, and you watch raptly as the man to your left takes your player cards, shuffling them carefully before he places them face down in front of you again. “Shall we begin?”
You hum in response, staring down at the cards.
Are you making a mistake?
“Okay,” you say. “Let’s start.”
Morena lets out an excited laugh, rubbing her hands together. “Ah, I’m so excited. I really didn’t think you’d indulge me. You’re such a good little sister,” she coos. Then motions for you to speak, “Since I’ll be taking the first move as player, you have to say your request first.”
“I… want to take over as benefactor for the Heil-Ly,” you say after a moment, watching as Morena’s eyes widen slightly, and then she smiles. “You won’t answer to my brother anymore. You’ll answer to me.”
“Oh my,” Morena says, leaning forward slightly. “Right from under your brother’s nose? How promethean.”
“And you? Your request?” you ask.
You know what it is, but you need to know her exact wording. You also need to figure out what route you’re going to take when picking your cards as a player, so you try to buy yourself some time to think by getting her talking. Since you’re allowing Morena to go first, she’s going to get information out of you before you get information out of her. It’s an unfortunate advantage, but you think it’s worth giving up to get your request answered first.
“When it’s your first turn as player,” she chides, giving you a teasing smile, much to your irritation. She finally points at the Question A card, much to your surprise. “Question A, please.”
Why? You feel uncertain, suddenly, as you slide the card off the table and turn it between your fingers. You assumed she would go right for ability or purpose. Ability, for obvious reasons—it’s always an advantage to have information on someone’s ability, especially when you’re sitting opposite a table from them as a potential enemy. Purpose, because if she’s sitting here trying to convince you to ally yourself with her, she needs to know your stance on everything that’s been happening on the Black Whale to properly tailor her response to your questions.
So weird. Morena Prudo seriously unnerves you. You can’t predict her at all. It doesn’t matter. Focus on figuring out your own plan. Trying to understand Morena is a goddamn lost cause.
You need to ask about the no card first, you remind yourself. You can’t get distracted from that. Once you figure out whatever condition she placed on ending with the no card, you can start to decide whether or not you want to play to outlast. After the no card, you need to understand her ability. Or, you wonder if you should ask about her ability first, it—
“Have you met your soulmate?”
What?
Your thoughts grind to a halt as you stare at Morena, who gives you that unsettling smile as she waits for you to respond. Why is she asking about that of all things? What is her play here? She was at the meeting with your brothers and the rest of the mafia bosses. If you answer truthfully, she’ll definitely put together that your soulmate is part of the Phantom Troupe, and you’re sure she must know the members aboard the Black Whale at this point, with everything that’s happened. She could easily narrow down who it is, and that’s… dangerous information for her to have. You don’t think that she or any of her little underlings could do anything to harm Chrollo, especially now that he doesn’t seem to be sick, but that’s not your only concern.
“I figure we can start off the negotiation with a little sister-to-sister bonding,” Morena says sweetly, resting her chin on her hands, “just to ease us into it.”
“Yes,” you finally answer, jaw tight.
Morena lets out a theatrical gasp, hands clamping to her mouth, lips curving up into a smile. “Oh! That’s so exciting! Is he on this ship?”
Oh, what a cunt, you think bitterly. Acting all excited for you, like she’s just trying to make casual conversation. You stare at her blankly, but she’s undeterred by your frigidity, eyebrows raising as she beckons you to answer.
“... Yes.”
“My goodness, did you guys meet on the ship?” Morena asks.
Your lips curl up into a mocking smile as you say, “Yes and no.”
“How fascinating,” Morena says, leaning forward. “I heard some rumors you were involved with those thieves from Meteor City. Is your soulmate one of them?”
Just as you feared. You want to say no. You want to say no so badly. The air in the room feels terribly cold; all of your fight or flight instincts are screaming at you that Morena Prudo cannot know who your soulmate is. But you know very well that she probably already knows the answer to this question. She isn’t asking to learn. She’s asking to see how you flinch. She’s trying to throw you off your game before you can ask her questions.
“Yes.”
“Oh, I bet brother dearest wasn’t happy about that one,” Morena sighs, the picture of girlish fascination. “Was he angry?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not surprised. He always has been so possessive over you, hasn’t he?” Morena says with faux sympathy. “It must’ve been hard on you after that whole debacle on Tier Two a couple of weeks ago. Have you had the chance to see him since? Your soulmate?”
Morena smiles. A slow curve of her lips that’s far more dangerous than the rest of her fake ones had been. You stare at her blankly. If you admit this, and she runs off to tell Tserriednich, you’re screwed. What are the consequences of lying? The thought passes through your head temptingly—no, you can’t risk it. Maybe she’s not trying to rattle you. Maybe she’s trying to bait you into lying. She never said what the consequences would be. Would it automatically void your request? Worse, would it grant hers?
“Yes.”
“Ah, lovely,” Morena sighs dreamily. “How very star-crossed, sneaking around behind Tserriednich’s back like that. I do love a good romance. Which one of the spiders is it? Hmm, let me guess—the head?”
“… Yes.”
Morena smiles. It is a cruel and ugly smile that makes your skin crawl. The silence between the two of you draws on too long. This was a mistake, you realize. You were better off trying your hand at killing Quorolle and trying to take out the rest back in your quarters. Tserriednich would’ve heard the commotion. He would’ve come. It would’ve been fine.
Morena traces a fingertip against the table as she leans forward again, teeth sharp. “Chrollo Lucilfer,” she draws out his name long, like she’s tasting it on her tongue. Her lashes flutter as though she’s decided she likes the taste of it. “Your soulmate has a beautiful name—sinister, perhaps, but beautiful.” She pauses and then asks, “I heard rumors that he’s sick. Is it true?”
Is—present.
“No,” you say. Chrollo isn’t sick anymore.
Morena pauses as though your answer caught her off guard. Her eyes narrow slightly, but then she smiles easily again. “He’s recovered, then. He was sick previously, though?”
Bitch, you think bitterly, barely withholding a roll of your eyes.
“Yes.”
“I’m glad then that he’s doing better. I suppose that means you’ve finally accepted the bond?” You blink once as Morena’s words process, and then, your face twists in confusion. Morena raises her eyebrows, amusement dancing in her dark eyes. “Hm? Black veins running through his heart… coughing up blood… nen turning against him? Those were the symptoms, right?”
You don’t even think to worry about how she knew that, staring at her in disbelief. Your mind is moving far too sluggishly for your current company. You desperately need to pull yourself together before you get in trouble.
“Yes,” you rasp out.
“Classic signs of a rejected soulbond, sweet sister,” Morena sighs, resting her chin back on her hand as she pushes out her bottom lip in mock pity. “You didn’t know?”
Liar, you want to accuse, but your tongue feels too heavy. She can’t lie, if you’re to believe she’s been held to the same conditions that you are. And if she wasn’t—the curve of her lips, the pleasure that briefly flashes through her eyes, you can tell that she’s not lying, and it’s precisely why she’s so amused.
“… No.”
“Ah, well, I suppose you can’t be faulted for that,” Morena says easily. “It’s not exactly a well-known phenomenon.” Her voice goes soft on the word, like she’s almost trying to soothe you, and that makes your stomach lurch. She’s savoring how you’re trying to stop yourself from spiraling. “People rarely reject their soulmate, and most people who are rejected don’t live long enough for the rejection symptoms to become public knowledge. I only knew because someone I knew personally experienced it. Honestly, it’s impressive he lived long enough to woo you into accepting it.”
You were killing Chrollo.
You stare at Morena, counting each breath in and out to stop yourself from falling apart in front of her. You were killing Chrollo. Your ardent determination to hate and spurn him at every opportunity was killing him. You—you should’ve realized this as soon as Leorio said his nen was rejecting him. Nen is entwined with the soulmate bond, you knew that, so of course, it was rejecting him, because you were rejecting him. And when Leorio encouraged you to accept the bond, and Kurapika told you to stop punishing yourself for his sake, did they know too? That you and your rejection was what was killing Chrollo, and would eventually kill you too?
He deserved it, you try to rationalize. He brought it upon himself.
But—Shizuku and Kalluto, Chrollo slumped on the floor of a cramped cabin on Tier Five, Hisoka. Everything that happened because Chrollo was sick and dying and wasn’t at his strongest, you’re the root cause of it. You—
“Do you love him?”
Your head jerks up. The question lands like a gunshot. You can’t hide the way you let out a shaky breath this time, and when Morena glances down at your hands, you realize that they’re trembling just slightly, so you force them flat against the table to still them.
Do you love him?
You don’t even know the answer to that question yourself. You don’t think you do. You’ve certainly come to care about him—you can’t deny that anymore—but love? No, no, it’s not possible, and you can’t spare the energy to actually consider what you might feel for him, not right now. You need to keep your head on.
Get back under control, you tell yourself harshly. Tserriednich has put you through worse than this, and you’ve handled it unflinchingly.
Who even are you, right now? Why are you acting like this?
(Because you’re tired. You’re so, so tired.)
“No,” you say coldly.
“Hm,” Morena replies, a bit surprised. “Ah, well, that’s all the questions I have for that card. Thank you for indulging me. You can pick a card for me to discard.”
Your gaze flicks across the five face-down cards, and you point at the one at the far left. Your tongue presses hard against the back of your teeth as Morena flips it over much too slowly, and the tension in your shoulders eases slightly when the no card is revealed.
Good. You would’ve rathered it be the R card, so she can’t retrieve the X at the end of the game, but the no is a good second. Best case scenario, she ends with the yes card, and you can take over as benefactor as the Heil-Ly. Having them in your pocket, and more importantly, out of Tserriednich’s, for the last three weeks of the voyage would change everything. You wouldn’t mind the no, because if she was telling the truth, it would mean her life is forfeit if she used it.
A dead Morena is as good as a leashed Morena in your books.
Worst-case scenario: the X card. The last thing you need is the game being nullified, and Morena running off to tell Tserriednich that you were conspiring to take the Heil-Ly from him. That would be… really bad.
“Your request?” you ask her.
“I want you to join me,” she says simply, “as a member of my family. We will work toward the same goals, and help each other, as good sisters should.”
“I am a prince,” you reply coldly, and Morena doesn’t like that, because her expression goes cold for a short second. “I can’t become a member of a mafia.”
“Did I mention the mafia?” Morena asks with a mysterious smile. “Go on, pick a card, and I’ll answer truthfully.”
What?
If she doesn’t want you to join as a member of the Heil-Ly, then it won’t matter if she ends your game first with a yes, because it won’t directly contradict the request of her game. She purposely misled you, you realize, livid—she knew you would assume that she wanted you as a member of the Heil-Ly, that’s why she brought up the results being contradictory earlier. But if she doesn’t want you to join the Heil-Ly—what the hell is ‘her’ family?
Focus, you remind yourself, suddenly in an even worse position than you were in five minutes ago. She already has the advantage of information now by going first. You need to be at the top of your game. You can figure out what ‘her family’ is through Question A, if it’s not answered by Purpose or Ability.
You point at the No? card. “Explain the conditions of no.”
Morena frowns, disappointed. “I really thought you’d want to know more about your big sister before anything else.” She sighs and then explains, “No means that you won’t be joining us, but because you’ll know too many of our secrets by the end of this game, we can’t let you leave, so you will be used as fodder to level up one of the members of my family.”
Fodder? Level up? ‘Her family’ again? No, you can’t focus on that right now; they’re just more questions to be asked with Question A if they’re not answered by other cards. You need to focus on the issue at hand. She did answer one central question: no is the same as death, just like the condition you placed on yours.
That means you must end the game with the R or X card.
Two routes of five.
“If X nullifies the game, I’ll still be leaving with knowledge I would have if I ended with no,” you note. “What is the difference?”
“Well, because it means the fact that you learned our secrets will also be nullified,” she says, like it’s simple. What the hell kind of dumb reasoning is that? Does she have a nen-ability that wipes memories? “We will trust that you’ll act as though none of this ever happened, and we’ll do the same.”
“But the risk is—”
Oh, you realize. The risk. It’s like Golden Standard. If this game is part of her nen ability, the death conditions, the lying conditions, and now this exposure risk—they’re all limitations to amplify the ability, like the punishments you set for yourself if you can’t meet your goal.
You need to figure out what the fuck her ability is, because if you’re right, then it’s going to be formidable.
“No more questions regarding the no card,” you finally say. “I will send a card to the graveyard now.”
You flip over the second card, and let out a irritated breath when it is indeed the no card.
What a waste of a question.
Morena hides a giggle behind her hand, clearly amused by the turn of events, and you give her a flinty look. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she says, hiding her smile with her laugh. “It seems no is no longer an option for either of us. How fun. My turn again!”
Morena rests her elbows on the table and laces her fingers together, resting her chin on top of them. “Question B, please.”
“If you want to know more about a question asked with Question A, then select the Question B card. However, with the Question B card, only the last question from Question A can be elaborated on.”
Do you love him?
Cunt, you think, chest twisting violently and heart squeezing painfully when you realize what she’s about to ask, this fucking cunt.
“Well then,” she says lightly, “if not love… what is it, exactly?” Her voice is curious, almost gentle, but you see the thinly veiled sadistic pleasure she finds in making you uncomfortable. You hate her. “What do you feel for him?”
“It’s complicated,” you say through gritted teeth.
“All things worth having usually are,” Morena replies softly. Then she asks, “Why is it so complicated?”
“It just is,” you snap, and Morena raises her eyebrows, silently warning you that not answering isn’t an option. “He hurt someone that I care about.”
“Hm,” Morena hums, studying you carefully, as though deciding whether or not she thinks there’s more to what you’re saying. Which, there is, but you do not need her knowing the extent of your issues with your soulbond. She already has too much that she can use against you. “How sad. I bet you wish you had a different soulmate, don’t you?”
“Yes,” you reply after a moment, ignoring the tight feeling in your chest as soon as you say the words.
You do, don’t you?
“Would you choose a different one?” Morena asks, leaning forward, dark eyes gleaming dangeorusly. “If you had the chance?”
“What do you mean?” you ask her carefully, brows furrowing.
“If you had the chance to choose a different soulmate, would you choose one?” she asks again, lips curled up. “Anyone in the world—say, even that person he hurt who you care about?”
How much does she know? You feel far too seen right now. You have to push away the discomfort to think of the answer to her question. Your instinct is yes, you would choose differently, if you had the choice. It’s the logical answer—you wanted Kurapika to be your soulmate long before you even knew who yours was, and finding out who it was only served to make those desires stronger. But—
But you hesitate.
Because being with Kurapika now feels… wrong. For better or for worse, when your eyes slide shut as you picture your soulmate, the only face you can see is his—Chrollo’s. You try to picture a life with Kurapika as your fated other half instead, and your imagination comes up frustratingly blank. You force yourself to think of something else instead—the corpses, the burning village, the gouged eyes, bringing back the revulsion you felt this morning after you woke up from the dream. And you feel it. You feel the disgust, the rage, the bitter: what does this say about me?
But you still cannot picture anyone else.
“No,” you say after a moment.
“No?” Morena asks, eyebrows raising, “why not?”
“Because it’s not right,” you answer simply after a moment. “I’d rather not have one than have another, if he’s meant to be it.”
“Would you follow in our father’s footsteps then?” Morena asks, leaning forward slightly. “Hypothetically, if you were to win this… contest, would you choose to sever the bond and become king?”
You swear you can hear your heartbeat in your ears as you stare at Morena. How many times have you considered this same question? King Nasubi told you himself that the crown and love cannot coexist. You know that all of the old Kakin kings sacrificed their bond with their soulmate to show their devotion to their people and gain favor with the divine. You know you’ll be expected to do the same.
Would you do it? Is it worth it? If you genuinely believe that Kakin cannot be saved, then is sacrificing your other half, no matter who he might be, justified?
“I don’t know,” you say truthfully, and you feel distinctly unnerved by it, because you’re reaching the end of the voyage, and now more than ever, you need to understand what you want and what you’re willing to sacrifice to get what you want. This isn’t the time for uncertainty, and yet, you’re swimming in it.
“No further questions,” Morena says with a too-knowing smile. With a heavy feeling in your gut, you place the Question B card into the graveyard. “You can pick a card of mine to discard.”
You point to the one on the far right, heart beating rapidly in your chest as you wait for her to turn it over. Please, you think desperately, please be the X. You think Morena must be enjoying the show, because she takes agonizingly long to flip over your chosen card, and your heart immediately sinks when the yes is displayed plainly before your eyes.
No way.
“Oh!” Morena says, pleased, and you feel sick to your stomach, “looks like your request will either be nullified, or it’ll be up to me to make a decision. Heh. That means no more pulling teeth to get answers, you’re going to have to try your best to convince your big sister to say yes!”
Fucking bitch, you think for the nth time in the past hour. As though Morena can sense your thoughts, she gives you a sweet smile.
“Your turn, please pick a card and I’ll do my best to answer!”
You point at the Ability card, and say, “Tell me about your ability.”
Morena claps her hands together. “I’m so glad you asked! I’ve never gotten the chance to explain my ability to someone who knows nen already. So, you’ll be able to properly appreciate it!” She’s watching your face carefully for reactions, so you make sure to wear the mask that Tserriendich drilled into you. “I’m a specialist, and my ability is centered on awakening abilities in those who haven’t developed them on their own yet.”
Then, why is she so focused on you? You’ve already awakened your nen, and you’ve developed your abilities. She’s being purposefully vague. There’s definitely more to it than this.
“Elaborate.”
“Sure,” Morena replies. “To put it simply, my ability involves granting abilities—” Plural? Your eyes widen slightly in alarm. Plural as in granting abilities to more than one person, or multiple abilities per person? Both are concerning, but one significantly more so than the other. “—to those who share the same goal as me and growing that circle of influence. I’m the parent, and there’s a limit of twenty-two children. When the children accumulate a certain number of points, they can become parents themselves and create more children.”
Like a fucking plague, you think, gaze shifting around the room to the members of the Heil-Ly Family lingering around watching the game. Has Morena used her ability on all of them? Is that why their nen is so strange?
“How are points accumulated?” you ask.
Morena smiles, “By killing people. A regular person is worth one level, a nen user is worth ten levels, and a prince is worth fifty levels.” Oh, you think, suddenly understanding why the guards she sent up to watch over you looked at you as though you were a meal. This is why they were massacring people on the lower levels earlier on in the voyage. Morena gives you that sugary little smile. “You’re the rarest drop in the game, sweet sister. My little jackpot. So, you see, I can’t say I wasn’t a little disappointed that no was your first card out, but rest assured, I do hope that yes is your final answer still.”
“And how does that work?” you ask after a moment, feeling too much like prey in your current company. The only time you’ve ever felt like this before is with Tserriednich. “I’ve already awakened my nen and have developed abilities. What would I add to your family?”
“I’m glad you asked!” Morena purrs. “You would keep your original nen ability when you join at level zero, and each time you level up, your aura amount and output will increase. At level twenty one, you’ll develop another ability. Since you’re a specialist, I plan for you to develop an ability that will help us achieve our goals, but unfortunately, you must choose the yes? card if you want to know what it is.”
Ah, you think, irritated. Each question answered only leads to you having more questions about the other cards. What are Morena’s goals? What role does she want you to play in them?
“What are the conditions to become a member of your family?” you ask instead, eyes narrowing.
“Hm,” Morena hums, watching you with eerily blank eyes for a second. You wonder if she was hoping you wouldn’t ask. “There are three conditions,” she explains after a moment, lifting up one finger. “One, your final card in the game must be the yes card.” She lifts a second finger. “Two, we must share a kiss.” You give her a disgusted look, but she only hides her giggle behind her hand. “Three, you must be present while a member of the family commits a murder.”
Great. So, pretty much, if you end this game with the yes card, then you’re fucked. You have no doubt she’ll figure out a quick way to steal a kiss from you, and after that, it’ll be easy to kill someone in front of you with five of them as your guards. You can’t end this game with yes—you think you’d rather die with no instead.
“This game is part of your ability, then?” you press.
Morena doesn’t respond for a second. “Yes.”
“What are the consequences for lying or cheating?”
Morena hesitates for longer this time, dark eyes cold and calculating in comparison to that unsettling ever-present smile. “If you lie or cheat during the game, you will be forced to use the yes card at the end, regardless of what card you end on.”
As you expected, you think, suddenly very grateful that you went with your gut and didn’t fall for the bait during the first two cards she picked. What else do you need to know? You know her ability acts as a type of contagion, infecting up to twenty-two people and drawing them into her family. You know the conditions to be brought into the family. You know how leveling up works. You know the game is part of her ability, and there’s a manipulative aspect if someone tries to lie or cheat.
Oh—
“Once drawn into your ability, is there a manipulative aspect?” you ask. “Say I end on the yes card, and both other conditions are fulfilled. I will be part of your family, what’s stopping me from just taking advantage of the level ups and otherwise ignoring you?”
“Nothing,” Morena replies with a small smile. You blink. “You’re free to act as you please once you’re fully a member. For example, although I wouldn’t recommend it. Neither infighting nor betrayal is explicitly prohibited. And I cannot remove you from the family—as all families go, even if there are rough patches, you don’t stop being family. The effects of my ability will remain until you or I die.”
God, understanding this woman is impossible. With so much risk, you almost wonder if it’s worth it.
“More risk to make the ability stronger?” you ask dryly. She nods. “So, then, what benefit do you get for seeking out people that might betray you in the future?”
“Hm,” Morena hums, making that small noise in the back of her throat that she seems to do whenever she’s displeased with one of your questions. Your gaze sharpens, you tilt your head to the side. “Well, as the parent, I have certain ways of looking after my children, of course. Monitoring levels and points is expected, but I can also monitor my childrens’ locations and situations, too. I can see through their eyes and hear through their ears as though they’re my own.”
She wants to see everything that’s going on behind the scenes with Tserriednich and the rest of the princes. She wants to use you as a fucking walking surveillance camera. Morena smiles at you lightly, eyes upturned and head tilted to the side.
“How creepy,” you say snidely. “Your children don’t care about that invasion of privacy?”
“They do not,” she confirms. “Is that all about my ability? You had so many questions, it makes me so happy that you want to get to know your big sister better.”
Right, you think sarcastically. “Yeah,” you agree. “That’s all.”
You exhale and then glance down at your face down player cards. Four left: X, return, joker, and yes. You have a fifty-fifty shot at getting rid of one of the cards you want. It comes down to luck. You just have to pick the right one. You exhale through your nose before flipping over one of the ones in the middle.
Luck, unfortunately, has never been on your side.
The X card stares back at you.
To your credit, you don’t think the fear that shoots through you reflects on your face. You stare at the X card for a moment before placing it into the graveyard with the rest of the used cards. When you look up at Morena again, her smile is far more menacing.
“I’m so happy,” she says. “One step closer to joining us.” She points to the Purpose card. “This one next, please. I would like to know your goals.”
So vague, you think, thrumming your fingers against the table. Should you be vague back? A comment about how your goal is to get off the Black Whale alive? But if your goal is to convince her, then maybe you should say more than that. The only issue is that you have no idea what Morena’s goals are, and you don’t want to say something that’s completely contrary to them, because then you’ll just fuck yourself over even more. Fuck, you should’ve asked for the Purpose card before Ability.
You’ll start vague.
“My immediate goal is to get off the Black Whale alive,” you say simply.
“Hm.” Morena is displeased, tapping her fingers against her cheek as she studies you. “That’s not a very convincing reason if I’m left with Return or Joker at the end.”
You stare at her for a moment, thinking hard. What are her goals? Why is she making her family? Why did she choose leveling up through murder? And who—
Who was she targeting?
Countless civilians, a dozen members of the Cha-R, and almost four hundred members of the Xi-Yu Family. Was that an intentional choice, or just happenstance? Was she purposefully targeting them, or just a matter of them assuming the mafiosos would be more likely to have nen, and the Xi-Yu, on Tier Four, were easier to access than the Cha-R, on Tier Five?
No—what did you do to get her attention at that meeting? It was when you doubled down against Zhang Lei and Onior Longbao, wasn’t it? She definitely has something against the Xi-Yu. You can talk about that.
“I want to get off the Black Whale alive,” you repeat, “and I want to make sure my older siblings and the Mafia Familes do not.”
“Because—” you cut yourself off abruptly, eyes sliding shut as you try to think of what to say. Chrollo, seventeen years younger. Sarasa, dismembered and stuffed in a bag. Carne Levare. “Because they’re rotten. Because Kakin—Kakin is rotten. That is my goal. To get off the Black Whale alive, and to make sure everything that’s rotten with Kakin doesn’t.”
Everything that’s wrong with Kakin.
What if—
What if that’s everything?
What if everything is wrong with Kakin?
No, you think, not now. You can’t do this right now.
Morena’s expression softens. Her lashes flutter, and for a second, you think her smile might almost be genuine. To your surprise, she says, “No further questions. You can pick a card for me to discard.”
You exhale and point at the middle of three cards.
Please, you think, please be X.
She flips over the card.
The Joker card.
Fuck. You’re so fucked. Return and X—that’s all that she has left. She doesn’t even need to extend the game to retrieve a card. You’ve lost. You fucking lost. Morena will nullify your request, and two out of the three cards you have left lead to either death or becoming part of Morena’s fucked up family.
“Your turn,” Morena reminds you with a smile.
You sigh, barely refraining from rolling your eyes. “Purpose,” you say flatly, following her in suit. “Tell me your goals.”
“Ah, sister dearest, I think we’ll really bond over this card,” Morena says, nodding to herself. She lets out a giggle, wiggling in her seat. “You see, my goal is the destruction of the Kakin Empire. After that, I plan to focus on the extinction of humanity. We’re the same, you and I! I had a feeling that day in the meeting, but now I know for sure.”
What?
You feel a bit disoriented as you stare at her, but you’re careful not to let it show on your face. You steady yourself with an inhale and then ask, “Why?”
“I suppose, I should start with admitting something to you. Please don’t be angry at me,” Morena sighs. Your brows furrow, and Morena pushes out her bottom lip. “I’m… not actually Morena Prudo. The real Morena is in my grave.”
“What?” you demand, voice little over a rasp as you stare at her. “Who are you then? What’s your name? How did you become boss of the Heil-Ly? Are we even related?”
“I don’t know,” Morena says simply with a small smile, eyes hauntingly empty. “I don’t know who my mother and father are, and I was never given a name. I was only ever referred to as meat.”
You feel as though there’s a rock in your throat as you stare at her, a cold feeling settling in your chest. You brace yourself for whatever she’s about to explain to you, hands sliding off of the table into your lap.
“Meat?” you echo, voice little over a breath.
“Meat,” Morena agrees, drawing out the word. “I was a Carnevale orphan, you see. My mother was kept from resting or sleeping while she entertained your family and their entourage for days on end. She apparently died when I was two, never even knew she was pregnant and had a child.”
Carne Levare.
Everything comes back to that depraved fucking thing. Sarasa and the Phantom Troupe. Morena and the Heil-Ly. There is nothing to fix—that wretched thought passes through your mind again. Kakin is working precisely as it’s meant to, as it always has. It was never the ideal regime of the world. It’s been a pit of vices and depravity since its conception. Every inch of its glory and greatness was bought in blood, you were just ignorant to it, maybe even willfully so.
If there’s nothing to fix, because nothing is broken, then maybe the only mercy left for this dying empire is to put it out of its misery.
Morena hums as though she knows exactly where your thoughts are headed.
“I thought Carne Levare only happened every ten, twenty years,” you say, trying to ground your thoughts. “Two years ago, fifteen years before that, but you’re only what? Two years older than me? Three?”
Morena lets out a noise of agreement. “Carne Levare is the big, publicized festival. There were smaller carnevales to, ah, celebrate the births of our illustrious princes. I was born during the carnevale for the Ninth Prince.”
Does that mean there was one to celebrate your birth too?
You feel sick suddenly, eyes sliding shut as you try to pull yourself back together. God, it’s even worse than you imagined. Focus, you remind yourself—now isn’t the time for this. Be on the top of your game.
“All of us carnevale orphans had our faces slashed at birth, and we were sent to a facility. It was the hideoeut for a human trafficking ring operated by the Heil-Ly. Here, we were sorted into Second-Track Fakers or meat. As I said, I was meat,” Morena continues. “I lived twenty years as meat. I was not given a name. I was referred to as meat or twenty-two, because that was the number I was labeled in my group of carnevale children, and I was expected to spread my legs, keep my mouth shut, and take whatever they had to give me, or they would kill me. So I did.”
You taste blood in your mouth. You realize that you’ve bitten deep into your tongue in an effort to not react to what she’s saying. In, out, in, out, in, out—breathe. Just breathe. Push down the vomit threatening to come up.
“How did you become boss?” you finally ask, voice steady in spite of how your fingers are trembling in your lap. “How did you take Morena Prudo’s name?”
Her smile becomes a bit more genuine. “She was weak, and I had grown tired of being meat,” Morena murmurs, tracing the table absently with a fond smile. “While fulfilling my role as meat, I became aware of a certain talent I had and gradually developed it. It eventually got me into a position where I could kill the Heil-Ly boss.”
“And take her name and place,” you murmur. “You wanted to inherit her criminal network.”
“Names are just another weapon, sweet sister,” Morena purrs. “Did you know, since my group of carnevale orphans, there have been seven more groups? A group dedicated to you—” You almost can’t bite back the bile that rises to your mouth. The taste in your throat brings tears to your eyes, but you blink them away. “—to the Eleventh Prince, the Twelfth, the Thirteenth, Fourteenth, and soon, the Fifteenth, though those babies haven’t been born yet.”
“That’s six,” you say, voice barely audible.
“Mhm,” Morena agrees. “Those were the smaller carnevales. The latest group of orphans—ones who have been born, at least—came from the big Carne Levare that took place after the grand festivals commemorating Kakin’s democratization. I’m sure you understand what I’m trying to say. Kakin hasn’t changed at all, and it never will.”
Kakin cannot be saved.
“So, that’s the right sequence of events that led me to believe that Kakin must be destroyed,” Morena says, clapping her hands together. “Are you satisfied? Don’t you agree?”
“Kakin is rotten,” you say after a moment, “and the rot must be pruned, but you speak of more than just Kakin. You speak of humanity as a whole.”
“I do,” Morena agrees, smiling lightly, “because Kakin is a product of this rotten world. Therefore, the world must be destroyed, in order for a better one to be born.”
“I disagree with that,” you tell her, watching as she frowns. “There’s good in this world, and there are innocents who live in it. I cannot agree with a plan that sacrifices people who have done no wrong. I won’t see a world reduced to ash.”
Morena’s smile thins, then brightens with the ease of someone who enjoys being disagreed with. Your face doesn’t move. You keep the mask you’ve been told to wear for as long as you could remember. Inside, bile and anxiety churn, but you force them down with slow, even breaths. You will not give her the sight of your unease.
“How noble,” she hums. “And to think that you were the one raised by Tserriednich. I’m sure he, of all people, would’ve taught you that sentimentality is unbefitting of a prince. How did you end up like this?”
You don’t know if Morena means that as a compliment. You can’t read her well enough to figure it out. But you take it as one anyway. All your life, people have seen you as Tserriednich’s mini-me, and maybe it’s your fault, it’s an easy mask for you to slip into when you feel threatened, but there’s something… reassuring about someone seeing you as opposite him.
“It’s not sentimentality, it’s principle,” you say after a moment, finding yourself more at ease than you were a few moments ago. “Destroying everyone and everything that stands in your way is not a path to a new world. It’s meaningless slaughter, vengeance dressed in pretty words. I won’t be complicit in the suffering of innocents. I’m a—”
Prince. Soldier. Hunter. All your life, you’ve struggled to keep those roles from bleeding into each other, because you were taught they couldn’t. One demanded masks and spectacle, another discipline and order, the last, freedom and instinct. They were all contrary to each other, irreconcilable—you could not be all three at once, that’s why you had to choose. Were you a prince to the court you were bound to, a soldier to whatever line you were sent to, or a hunter to the sky you were told not to look at?
You think, maybe, that you were wrong. They are similar, at least in one regard, and that’s why you pause before finishing your sentence.
A prince protects his subjects.
A soldier protects the commonfolk.
A hunter protects the weak.
You find yourself smiling for the first time in days, a small curve to the corner of your lips, eyes sliding shut. Perhaps that wishful, girlish dream of romance and fated love wasn’t the only thing that Tserriednich failed to crush. The girl that tended flowers and nursed wounded birds back to health does still live, she’s just learned to take on a thousand shapes since then. She adapted and survived, learned how to protect differently, in whatever form she had to inhabit to keep moving forward.
“That’s not who I am,” you finally finish, looking at Morena, who’s watching with you an uncharacteristically unguarded expression head tilted to the side curiously. “We disagree. Let’s move on.”
You exhale as you look down at your player cards and let out a soft puff of air. Three cards left. If you pick Yes or Joker to discard, you’ll have a fifty-fifty shot at coming out of this unscathed. You’ve already lost with your request—Morena will choose her next question and discard her last card with her next turn, and either way, she’ll be able to nullify your request. You just need to not pick the Return card.
Please, you think, jaw tightening for a moment before you reach out to flip over the middle card.
The Return card sits damningly in front of you.
“Oh my,” Morena giggles, “it seems you might be joining our family, sweet sister.”
Your lashes flutter as you try to collect yourself, quell the panic bubbling in your chest. It’s okay, you tell yourself—you have one more chance. You’ll use the Deal card to extend the game, get the X card from the graveyard, and then you’ll be back in the same position you were just in.
Surely, you won’t have such awful luck three times in a row.
Morena points at the Power card. “I want to hear about your ability now. I heard rumors that it’s pretty incredible. And it must be, considering you went down to handle the Chimera Ant crisis all on your own. Tell me, tell me, I’m so excited to know my little sister better.”
You exhale. “I’m also a specialist. My ability is called Golden Standard. I set a goal or ideal to meet, and a punishment for if I don’t. During the period of time I’m trying to achieve whatever I set as my goal, my nen will amplify and adapt to help me obtain it. How much it amplifies and adapts is dependent on how hard the goal is to reach, and how harsh the punishment is if I don’t achieve it.”
“Fascinating,” Morena breathes out, “very fitting for you. Have you developed any other abilities?”
You pause, staring at her for a moment. “I have.”
Morena raises her eyebrows, beckoning you to continue.
“A conjuring ability,” you say simply. “I can conjure a glaive.”
“Ah, that’s what you did during that first banquet, right?” Morena asks, leaning forward. Man, she really had eyes all the way up here that early on, even when she was down wreaking havoc on the lower tiers. “Any other abilities?”
Bitch, you think bitterly. “Only a manipulation ability,” you answer after a moment. “If the person I target subconsciously acknowledges me as above them, I can issue commands that they’re forced to follow.”
“A lovely ability. You’re well-versed in nen, aren’t you?” Morena hums. “You must be quite the prodigy to have abilities that span three different nen types.”
You scoff. “It’s not that impressive,” you say, looking away. “I’m a specialist, I’m naturally more proficient in conjuring and manipulation abilities. Is that all?”
Morena hums in agreement and then motions for you to pick one of her cards. It doesn’t matter which one it is. If it’s X, she can simply use the Return card to get it back. And if it’s Return, then your request is nullified. You point to the card on the left, and you feel nothing when the X card bares its face to you. You exhale, watching as Morena smiles softly, flipping over her final card—the Return card—cradling it carefully in both of her hands and holding to her chest. The picture of peace, the opposite of you.
“Well?” you ask coldly. “Finish the game.”
Morena hums. “I’ll wait until we finish my request. We’ll come to a decision at the same time, as sisters should.”
“Seriously?” you ask, voice strained. “We both know what you’re going to pick.”
“Then, there’s no harm in waiting,” Morena replies with a small smile. “Your turn, please pick a card.”
You exhale through your nose, desperately trying to will away your irritation. You say, through gritted teeth, “Deal card. I want to bring the X card back from the graveyard.”
Morena’s eyes widen slightly. She smiles, dark eyes flickering with amusement, “Ah, then won’t you come kiss your big sister? A deep one. Mouth to mouth.”
You knew this was coming, but your stomach still drops. If you end with Yes after the kiss, then that’s two of the three conditions. It’ll be far too easy for them to complete the third. But, if you don’t get the X card back, you’ll be in an equally bad position. You’ll have to make your final move of the game, and it will either be the Yes or Joker, which might as well be Yes.
At least with this, you have a chance. A slim one, but a chance nonetheless.
You rise to your feet and make your way over to Morena. “Don’t call me sister when you’re asking to fucking kiss you. That’s disgusting. You just said you don’t even know if we’re related.”
“It’s true,” Morena agrees with that infuriating smile, “but I’d like to believe we are. And I am Morena Prudo now, anyway.”
You roll your eyes, not bothering to hide it this time as you come to stand next to where she’s sitting. Morena flutters her lashes as she smiles up at you, and you bite back a sneer as you lean your head down to brush your lips against hers. You let out a noise of protest against her lips when her hands come up to cradle your cheeks, holding you down, keeping your lips pressed to hers. Her tongue darts out to swipe against your bottom lip, and you shove her back against her chair, pushing her off of you and taking a step away.
She only giggles, pressing her hand over her mouth with flushed cheeks. “Chrollo Lucilfer is a lucky man.”
“Don’t make me sick,” you snap, taking a seat back on your side of the table.
You let out a shaky exhale, and then watch as Morena picks the X card back up from the graveyard and passes it over to the Heil-Ly member on your left. He picks up your three face down cards, shows you that they’re the X card, Yes card, and Joker card, before shuffling them and placing them back down on the table in front of you.
“Your turn again!” Morena declares, resting her chin back on her hand.
“Question A,” you say, motioning to the card. As she picks up the card and moves it to the graveyard, you try ot decide what you want to ask. It could be anything, and there are countless you have, but for some reason, you cannot think of a single one now that you have the opportunity to ask. You try to sort through what you do and do not know, and you finally decide upon: “There are currently twenty-one members of your family, not including you.”
“Yes.”
“You hope to make me the twenty-second?”
“Yes.”
“Of the twenty-one current members, there are no specialists?”
“Yes, there are none.”
“Of the twenty-one current members, there are at least five conjurers?”
“Yes.”
“Six?”
“Yes.”
“Seven?”
Morena looks grossly amused as she says, “No. Will we be doing this for all nen categories?”
“Yes. Of the twenty-one current members, there are at least five enhancers?”
“No.”
“Four?”
“Yes.”
“Of the twenty-one current members, there are at least five emitters?”
“Yes.”
“Six?”
“No.”
“Of the twenty-one current members, there are at least five transmuters?”
“No.”
“Four?”
“No.”
“Three?”
“Yes.”
So, that means…
“Of the twenty-one current members, there are three manipulators?”
“Yes.”
Okay. You feel a bit more at ease now that you’re getting some useful information out of her. Twenty-one members—no specialists, six conjurers, four enhancers, five emitters, three transmuters, three manipulators. Can you figure out what level they’re on now? Or, at least, how many are over level fifty? Are any at level one hundred? That would change everything, because then there could be way more than twenty-one members.
“Of the twenty-one current members, are any level one hundred?”
“No.”
“Are any level seventy-five or higher?”
“Yes.”
“Are there at least ten level seventy-five or higher?”
“Yes.”
“Fifteen?”
“No.”
“Eleven?”
“Yes.”
Half of them are twenty-five levels from being able to create their own families. Twenty-five levels from the J-curve. You can’t even let a single one get there. How are you supposed to figure out who they are? How are you supposed to kill them?
Move on. What question do you want to ask with Question B, next? You need to end with something that will lead into it. Think.
Ah.
“Your ultimate goal is the extinction of humanity?”
“Yes,” Morena confirms with a smile.
“Your first step in achieving this goal was taking over the Heil-Ly Family and stealing Morena Prudo’s name?” you continue, and Morena squints at you with an amused smile, as though wondering why you’re asking questions about something you already know the answer to.
“Yes.”
“Your second step was eliminating the former Heil-Ly Family and replacing them with your family?”
“Yes and no.”
“Hm,” you hum to yourself, squinting slightly. “Your second step was eliminating the former Heil-Ly Family?”
“Yes and no.”
My god, you think, wondering if she’s being purposefully difficult. Yes and no to elimination and replacement; yes and no to elimination alone. So then…
“Your second step was to eliminate all of the members of the Heil-Ly who wouldn’t join your family?”
“Yes.”
Okay, you think.
“And that’s because of the part they played in your suffering?”
“Yes.”
“Because they handled trafficking for Carne Levare and the smaller carnevales?”
“Yes and no.”
You frown. “Because they handled the domestic trafficking for Carne Levare and the smaller carnevales?” you realize, eyes widening slightly. “Because they were the ones who made sure the carnevales happened, and they took over the handling of all carnevale orphans?”
“Yes,” Morena agrees, pleased that you put it together.
“And that’s why you were also targeting the Xi-Yu—because they handled foreign trafficking? They brought in more… entertainers for the carnevales, like your mother.”
Like the children from Meteor City.
Like Sarasa.
“Yes.”
Okay, pivot, you tell yourself. Get to the question you want to ask with the next card.
“Your next step is sinking the Black Whale?”
Morena’s smile widens, teeth glinting like knives in the dim lighting of the lounge.
“Yes.”
“You want to use me to make sure it happens?”
“Yes.”
“No further questions,” you murmur, ignoring how your chest tightens with anxiety. You glance down at the three cards. Yes, Joker and X. You can’t possibly pick the X right after you just got it. Your heart is in your throat as you flip over the leftmost card, and you let out a breath of relief when it’s the Yes card.
Morena’s lips curl down in disappointment. “Oh.”
“Question B next,” you say. Morena lifts the card with a teasing smile before tossing it into the graveyard. “Without explaining what the ability you want me to develop at level twenty one is, how do you intend for me to help you sink the Black Whale?”
“Heh,” Morena says, smile returning slowly. “I plan to have you cut the power and open the cover of the ship when we get closer to the Dark Continent.”
Your eyes widen slightly. “Are you—”
Insane, you finish silently, but you stop yourself because you know the answer to that question. Morena Prudo is a mad woman, and though you can understand where she’s coming from with her rage, there are children on this ship. Civilians who spent their life savings for the chance to go to the Dark Continent, who have nothing to do with the rot that’s spread throughout the empire. You won’t play a part in senseless slaughter.
“And if I refuse? I thought you said there’s no manipulative aspect of your ability once someone joins your family. That even infighting and betrayal aren’t prohibited.”
“That is true,” Morena says simply. “You will not be forced to open the cover.”
It doesn’t make sense. “Then how can you rely on that?” you demand. “It can’t just be risk, not this time.”
“It’s not,” Morena agrees, aura suddenly becoming far more sinister as she stares at you. She finishes softly, “There are more ways to ensure an outcome than puppeteering nen.”
Ah, and the fangs finally show.
“You care a great deal about people. It’s admirable, all things considered,” Morena says, almost kindly. She hums lightly, like she’s thinking out loud. “And when people care, they can be… encouraged. Gently. Indirectly.”
“Fuck you,” you tell her coldly. “If you think I’ll let you blackmail or extort me, you’re slower than I thought.”
She gives you that sweet, polite smile and says, “We’ll see. Is that all for Question B?”
“Yeah,” you say, jaw tightening as you look down at your last two cards.
One of them is X, and you will win. The other is Joker, and you will lose. A fifty-fifty shot at walking away from this. Morena watches you expectantly, a small smile on her lips. You give her a flinty look before reaching out to flip over the right card.
The Joker card stares back at you.
You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, eyes sliding shut in relief. You hear Morena let out a noise of disappointment as she dramatically lets her head fall forward.
“I was so excited,” she complains. “I wanted us to work together so bad.” She sighs, pouting exagerratedly, “Oh, it can’t be helped. You win some, you lose some. I’ll pick my card, and you flip yours at the same time, ‘kay?”
“Okay,” you say faintly, still trying to combat the debilitating relief that flood you. You can’t let down your guard until—well, you don’t even know when. Not if the Heil-Ly are staying with you until the banquet. Maybe once you get to Chrollo tonight. Assuming you can, that is.
Morena hums as she flips over the Return card that you knew she had, shuffling through her graveyard cards to find the one she wants. Once she has it, she looks up at you expectantly, and you let out a soft puff of air before you flip over your last turned over card, prepared to see the X card staring back at you.
Instead, it’s the Yes card.
What?
You stare down at the card, blinking once, then twice, harder the third time, as though the card might change shape and transform into the one you expected to see, but it does not. Your body feels cold, and your head feels light. You’re not breathing, you realize distantly, but you can’t even bring yourself to manually force yourself to breathe, because the fear that fogs your mind is paralyzing.
No, you think. No, no, no.
You reach for your graveyard cards. Your fingers aren’t trembling, but you think they should be. You flip through the cards numbly until you find the Yes card that you discarded, and then you place it next to the Yes card you just flipped over, staring at them both before you finally look up at Morena, who looks surprised as she stares at your cards.
“Liar,” you breathe out, and as soon as the word crosses your lips, the blinding fear and numbness of shock disappear, replaced by white-hot rage. “You lying bitch, I’m going to rip your fucking head off!”
Your glaive is in your hand in an instant, and you’re throwing yourself over the table to drive it right between her eyes. The two men on either side of you move quickly—something wraps around your wrist, cold and thin, slicing through your skin down to the bone. A palm slams into your back, hard enough to make stars explode in the edges of your vision. Their nen is suffocating, there’s far too much of it; these two must be two of the eleven that are level seventy-five and higher.
You can’t beat them, not without activating Golden Standard, and you’ve lost the element of surprise. You taste copper in your mouth, and you glare up furiously at Morena, who hasn’t budged from her seat, watching you curiously.
“I didn’t lie,” Morena says simply, and then waves the two men to let go of you. Your body trembles with barely restrained fury, vision tinting red as you try to calm yourself down. “I wouldn’t lie to my little sister.”
“We both know my last card was the fucking X card, Morena,” you say, voice strained. “Why do I have two Yes cards now?”
Morena gives you an infuriating smile. “I told you, sweet sister, there’s no cheating or lying allowed in the game, otherwise you would be forced to use the Yes card at the end.”
“I didn’t lie or cheat,” you respond loudly, voice rising in fury. “I was honest. I played a fair game.”
“Lying to yourself counts as lying,” Morena purrs, leaning forward. “You should’ve been more honest with yourself when I was asking you about your soulmate.”
What?
You stare at her. Your immediate reaction is to reject her words—a convenient excuse to throw out as to why the Yes card appeared where it shouldn’t have, an easy way to make it seem like this whole game wasn’t a sham. But then you pause. Were you lying to yourself? About how you feel about Chrollo? How do you feel about him then?
No. You can’t do this right now, not when—
“I decided to go with the Yes card too,” Morena says sweetly, sliding the card across the table to rest next to yours. You stare at it, uncertain. There’s no way she willingly chose it. There’s no way. “I’m so happy we can be partners. I’m excited for us to work together.”
“What did you lie about?” you breathe out, staring at the card. “What the hell did you lie about to get that card? Did you cheat? What did you lie about?”
It’s about her ability. It must be about her ability. She lied and said that there wasn’t a manipulative element once someone joined her family. You knew it. You knew it in your gut. You need to get out of here before they can kill someone in front of you. You need to—
“I didn’t lie,” Morena says, expression becoming colder as she stares at you. “And I didn’t cheat. I chose the Yes card, because I’d like for us to be partners. A show of goodwill, if you please.”
Liar, you want to spit out again, you fucking liar.
You’re scared. Fear claws at your chest, and you don’t think it’s even fully dawned on you how badly you’ve fucked up. If Morena was lying throughout the whole game, willing to end on the Yes card, then who knows if anything she said was true? You think you might throw up. Your vision spins, you feel nauseous.
“Now, let’s finish the last step, mkay?”
No, you think, immediately turning on your heel to make a run for it, but two hands wrap around each of your biceps, holding you in place. You extend your arm outward to conjure your glaive again, but you freeze when you see who it is that they shove into the room from the far door.
“Otocin,” you breathe out, watching as he pushes himself to his knees from where he went sprawling onto the ground. He recognizes your voice, and the terror that had been swimming in his vision starts to ease when he sees you, relief flooding his face. He sighs your name, and then before you can say anything else—
Blood bubbles at his lips, something warm and sticky splatters across your lips. You see the confusion cross his face, the way his hand lifts to touch the grotesque smile suddenly carved into his neck. He gurgles once. Twice. Then his body collapses forward into a heap on the ground.
Morena’s smile is malicious, her dark eyes unnervingly empty as she stares at you, finally dropping the benevolent act. You can’t draw your eyes from Otocin’s glassy blues, even as the blood begins to halo his head, staining his blonde hair red.
“Welcome to the family, sweet sister.”
————————
You hardly have any energy left when you finally get to the casino an hour later. The only upside to Morena landing on the Yes card was that you could do what you want without fear that they would go running back to Tserriednich reporting what you’d done. Still, it’s not enough to quell the weariness you feel. Worse, you realize, once you get there, that Chrollo did not tell you where you were supposed to meet him when you got there.
The casino spans two floors and a quarter of Tier One. There are so many people that you can hardly see more than a few feet in front of you before before your line of vision is blocked by another group of people huddled around a machine or table. You find yourself increasingly more frustrated as you push through people, desperately searching for a familiar head of black hair or an obnoxious coat.
You’re too tired for this. You almost want to just go back up to your quarters, but he needs to know what happened with Morena Prudo. It’s only when you get your hands on a drink that you vaguely recall Chrollo arriving that night during the beginning of the voyage and leading up to the second level into one of the private rooms.
Your gaze flicks up as you take a sip of the pink liquid, wondering if that’s where he’s waiting for you. You figure there’s no harm in going up to check, considering you’re making little to no progress on the first floor. You scowl as you try to make your way over to the staircase, shouldering away a drunken man who stumbles too close to you. Your feet hurt, and you have to pull your dress down with every step you take. You wish you’d just come in your uniform or something, but you didn’t want to stand out among the rest of the hedons, where the women are lacquered and glittered like rare birds. Just because the Heil-Ly won’t rat you out doesn’t mean that anyone else who recognizes you won’t.
Once you get to the staircase, you can finally breathe, but it’s an even more difficult process trying to get up them. Not because you’re drunk, but because every other person in this god forsaken place is. You realize, bitterly, that this place isn’t half as fun when you aren’t seriously inebriated.
After nearly knocking another man right over the railing when he misses a step and falls into you, you finally get to the second level. You let out a long breath, willing yourself some more patience and energy as you brush off your coat and make your way over to the receptionist who handles the casino’s private lounges. She looks up as you approach; if she recognizes you, she’s careful not to let it show on her face, which you appreciate.
“No walk-ins tonight,” she says simply. “Do you have a reservation?”
“Maybe,” you respond. “Lucilfer?”
Her eyes widen slightly, which tells you that not only she does know who Chrollo is, but she definitely knows who you are, too. Your eyes narrow, and she gives you an apologetic look before returning to the carefully practiced indifference. You internally sigh. You hope the casino wants to remain a neutral party in the conflict happening between the princes, otherwise you might’ve just doubly screwed yourself. That being said, you seem particularly prone to screwing yourself today, so who knows. You would think that they’d prioritize anonymity solely for profit purposes—the last thing they’d want is to piss off one of the princes’ factions and lose their patronage for the duration of the expedition, but you never know with these people anymore.
“Room ten,” the receptionist tells you. “It’ll be on your left.”
You let out a hum of thanks, taking a moment to finish your drink and place the empty glass down on her desk before you make your way down the hall. You think it should be alarming how quickly the weight seems to trickle off your shoulders as you make your way to where Chrollo is waiting for you, but instead, it just makes you move faster. You pause outside the room, hand hovering just shy of the door handle for a moment before you force yourself to open it, pushing in without bothering to announce yourself.
The room smells like wine and expensive perfume, and the light from the crystal chandelier is a dim amber that casts a pretty glow over the area. Everything in the room seems designed to tempt—velvet cushions, dark, polished marble, a haze of warmth that’s too deliberate to be coincidental. Chrollo is waiting for you, lounging back on the black sofa on the far side of the small room. His arm is draped lazily over the backrest, a glass of whiskey poised in his other hand. The liquid catches the light as he swirls it. When you enter, he looks up, expression unreadable save for the slight tilt of his head. The door clicks shut behind you, muffling the distant noise of the casino, and for a moment, it’s just the two of you, suspended in silence.
His gaze slides over you once, curious, and then again, slower the second time. You can practically feel it tracing the lines of your body, from the low-cut neckline of your dress to the hem that would have the Kakin nobles blanching in horror if you ever dared to wear it to court. You swear you see his pupils dilate, the gray of his eyes darkening until they look almost black, and you regret wearing the dress. It’s not your typical style, and you don’t even really know why you went with it, but you feel out of depth with the way Chrollo is looking at you.
“I was beginning to think you’d gotten lost,” he says, tone deceptively mild.
“I did,” you bite out, crossing the room to stand in front of him. You slide the jacket you’re wearing off of your shoulders and place it down on the table as you pass by it. Chrollo inhales sharply. You ignore it. “You could’ve mentioned where to meet you. Or were you hoping I’d wander around until someone recognized me?”
Today was really bad, you want to say, but stop yourself, exhaling heavily as you turn to face him again.
Chrollo hums, distracted, and you catch his gaze slipping down again. You’re about to snap at him to control himself, but the words die on your tongue when he reaches out to grab your hand. His fingers are cool when they close around yours, and you watch as he turns your hand over in his palm, thumb grazing the inside of your wrist. Your breath catches when he lowers his head to brush his lips against your pulse point. He exhales, breath warm against your skin, and you’re not sure if you’re breathing as he lingers there for a moment before he finally drags his gaze back up to you, gray gone near-black.
“Do you have any idea what you look like right now?” he murmurs, thumb stroking your wrist, tracing small, absent circles that leave your head light and fuzzy.
“Chrollo,” you whisper, and you think you’re trying to tell him to stop, but you can’t push the words out, so it only comes across as a breathy plea of his name.
He lets out another noise of acknowledgment, dipping his head back down to your skin again, slower this time, a deliberate drag of his lips that makes you shiver. The second kiss lands just above the first, and you feel his breath hitch when he feels how your pulse races beneath his mouth. You feel dizzy, almost, and you think you should step back, but you don’t. In fact, when Chrollo gently tugs you closer to him, you follow along without any pushback.
His free hand finds your waist, and you swear that your mind goes blank when he pulls you down into his lap. You tense on instinct, hands lifting to brace against his chest—his skin is warm beneath your touch, heart racing just as fast as your pulse is. Your world narrows to the muted music from the casino outside the room and the steady rise and fall beneath your palms. With your legs straddling his thighs, your dress has ridden up even more. You don’t move to fix it. You can’t seem to do anything at all.
His hand stays at your waist, touch infuriatingly light, as though he’s testing the boundaries of what you’ll allow him to get away with. His other hand drifts from your wrist to your thigh, fingertips slipping just barely beneath the fabric. He looks up at you then, gaze lingering on your mouth for too long before finding your eyes again.
“You shouldn’t wear things like this,” he rasps. “Not around me.”
“And here I thought you had more self-control than this,” you reply, grateful that your voice doesn’t come out as off-kilter as you feel.
“If you think this is me without restraint, then you really don’t know me at all,” he murmurs. He leans in just a little, lips ghosting your jaw, and your lashes flutter shut. “I promise you would know if I’d stopped controlling myself.”
You let out a huff that you hope comes out closer to scathing than weary, but you think you fail, because Chrollo immediately pauses. His hands slide down to your hips, and he pulls back to look at you, gray eyes sharp and suspicious before he frowns.
“What’s wrong?” Chrollo murmurs.
Ah, you think, what a dreadful question.
Your lips part to respond, but you can’t push any words out. How humiliating, you think, lashes fluttering shut as you try to collect yourself. Breathe. In one breath, out two. Again. A third time. You try again, bracing yourself to force out the words this time, but before you can, you feel one of Chrollo’s arms slide around your waist, palm flattening against your upper back as he pulls you closer to him.
Oh. Your eyes slide shut as you let him hold you to his chest, arms instinctively slipping around his waist. Your face falls into the crook of his neck, and you take in a deep breath, basking in his warmth. His lips ghost the top of your head, and your lashes feel wet and heavy. It’s so wrong, you tell yourself desperately. You remind yourself of what you dreamed of last night, the smell and sight of the massacre, but it remains only a fleeting thought as the weight of the day continues to sink on your shoulders and his presence alone is enough to unburden you of it.
How screwed up, you think, but you find comfort in him anyway.
(What does that say about you?)
Enough. Enough. You need to tell him what went down with Morena. You need to figure out how to fix this—if you can fix this. Is she watching through your eyes right now? She could be. Fuck. The frustration that floods you is endless. You hate this ship, and you hate this contest, you hate Morena Prudo and you hate Tserriednich, you hate your father and all of your siblings, you hate Kakin, you just want to go—
Where?
You don’t have anywhere to go. You don't have a home. Your family has never been a family. Your home was always a cage. You have nowhere to go.
Chrollo hums. “Not as badly as I did three weeks ago, I’m sure,” he replies, and he’s trying to make you feel better, but it only makes you feel worse, because it might be as bad as what happened three weeks ago. You have no idea what it means for you now that you’re part of Morena’s family. If she picked the Yes card because she lied, then she could’ve lied about everything. Chrollo seems to sense your hesitation because he pauses. “What happened?”
You sit back slightly so you can look at him, and his hand drops back down to your hip from your back. He frowns as he studies your face, as though trying to figure out what went wrong without you having to say anything at all. You wish he would, because you swear you can taste ash in your mouth as your lips part to speak again. Your tongue is heavy with reluctance, your throat swollen with embarrassment.
It’s mortifying to admit just how badly Morena got you.
This whole voyage you’ve been a mess: you fucked up at the first banquet when you tried to kill Hisoka and Kurapika had to save you, you fucked up in Tserriednich’s quarters and Chrollo had to save you, you fucked up in your bathroom and Machi had to save you, you got tangled back up in Tserriednich’s web and fell right into old habits until Chrollo, again, saved you, and you were finally in a position where no one could save you, and you fucked up so badly that there might not be any coming back from it.
It’s not all your fault, you remind yourself. It’s not all your fault. You’ve been put in bad position after bad position. You’re doing the best with what you’ve been given.
But you should’ve done better. You could’ve done better. You shouldn’t have gotten distracted by Kurapika. You shouldn’t have let Tserriednich get the better of you. You should’ve been more aware of your surroundings. You never should’ve allowed yourself to fall back into old habits. And you never should’ve played that game with Morena Prudo.
“I met with Morena Prudo earlier,” you say after a moment. “The Heil-Ly took over as my guards, I… I didn’t have a choice. I wouldn’t have been able to beat them five on one—their nen is… It’s hard to explain. I wrote everything down that I learned in the meeting. I’ll give you the notebook, but—”
Chrollo says your name quietly when you cut yourself off and then asks, “What happened?”
“She had me play a negotiation game with her,” you tell him, taking in a deep breath. “The negotiation game, if ended with a certain card, was a condition to her ability. I ended with that certain card. The other conditions of her ability were fulfilled as well, during and immediately after the game.”
Chrollo stares at you and doesn’t speak for a long while. His lips part, he presses them back together. Tears of frustration almost spring to your eyes, but you grit your teeth and look away, willing yourself to have some shame.
“It’s okay,” Chrollo says, clearly realizing that you’re upset, which only serves to further humiliate you. “It’s not the end of the world. You have the notebook with you?”
“Yes,” you respond quietly, pushing off of him to make your way over to where you put your jacket down.
You fix your dress, slipping your hand into your jacket pocket to grab the small notebook. Your chest feels far too heavy as you walk back over to him, passing it to him before taking a seat next to him, leaving space between the two of you this time. His gaze lingers on you for a moment before he turns his attention to the pages. You watch him, his tongue darts out to wet his lips as he reads—an unconscious habit, probably, you find it endearing—and his brows furrow slightly. Studying him is easier than dealing with the thoughts currently threatening to consume you, so you keep your gaze trained on him; the corner of his lip twitches as he finishes the first page, he uses his middle finger to flip over to the next page, he presses his fist to his mouth as he gets to the middle of the third page.
“When did you learn how to read Kakin script?” you ask quietly.
His gaze flickers over to you, and he smiles softly before telling you, “Languages were a special interest of mine when I was a kid. I taught myself as many as I could with the books I would find around the junkyard.”
“The dubs,” you remember from the dreams, with a small smile. “You were the one who translated them.”
Chrollo’s eyes unfocus from the pages of your notebook briefly, lifting to stare at the wall opposite him. He looks as though he’s going to speak for a moment, but then he sighs and says softly, “Yeah. I was.”
“I had another dream the other night,” you tell him, rubbing the palms of your hands against your thighs. His gaze slides over to you, cautious, but you press on. “Did you?”
He hesitates but finally says, “I did.”
“Can we talk about them?” you ask, voice far too faint as you brace yourself for immediate rejection. You don’t dare to look at him this time, waiting for him to answer.
“... What was yours about, then?”
You exhale. “The Kurta clan massacre,” you answer after a moment. Your lashes flutter, and you see the corpses again behind your eyelids, you swear you can smell the smoke and rot even now. “I spoke to you. I think it was a couple of weeks after it, but it was… there. I guess—did you used to dream of it?”
“I see,” he murmurs, fingers stilling against the parchment of your notebook. His gaze lifts again to stare absently at the opposite wall before he finally says, “Yes. I did. I, ah, apologize, you shouldn’t have had to see that.”
You look away. “I think it’s good that I did. I… needed to be reminded.”
You don’t mean it the way it comes out, but it seems to bother Chrollo nonetheless. But if you are to accept this bond, you need to look at its teeth, not just the parts that are sweet and flattering, not just the parts that can be dressed in theology and fate and pretty inevitability. You need to accept the parts that make your stomach churn: lies and theft and blood that can never be washed away.
You need the ‘why him? How could it possibly be him?’ and you need to understand it anyway. Choose him anyway. If you’re to accept this, it will not be because of the bond, it will be in spite of the bond. You will see him for him, all of the good and all of the bad, and you will say still, he is mine and I am his.
Chrollo makes a noise in the back of his throat. You’re not sure if it’s a scoff or laugh or something in between. When you look at him, there’s a small, bitter smile on his face. “Of course.”
“That’s not what I—” You shake your head, stopping yourself. Instead, you ask, “Did you ever find out what happened to her? Your friend?”
Chrollo doesn’t respond for a long while. After what feels like an eternity, he finally answers, “No. We never heard from her again. Never found a body either.”
“Did you ever think that maybe she doesn’t want to be found?” you ask quietly. And then add more resentfully, “Instead of it being some big conspiracy because you found a book?”
Chrollo’s expression is oddly reserved as he stares down at your notebook. “I did consider it,” he affirms, and says nothing else.
You ask him, for the second time now, “Do you… regret it?”
Chrollo inhales through his nose, expression contemplative, lips curved down and lashes lowered. He tells you the same thing he did the first time you asked, “I don’t know.” Before you can press for an answer, he questions, “Does it change anything?”
“I already knew it happened,” you say simply, repeating what you told the version of him in your dream.
“It’s different seeing it for yourself,” he answers, and then adds, “I wouldn’t blame you—”
“Stop,” you interrupt, lashes fluttering as you shake your head. “I already had this conversation once. I have no interest in having it again. Tell me what your dream was about. Please.”
“It was… after we met,” he tells you. “After Yorknew.” Your eyes widen slightly, and he smiles wryly. “Yes, it was, ah, not a… pleasant conversation, but a necessary one, I think.”
You could imagine. Your wrath in the aftermath of the events of Yorknew was as biblical as your pain was. You spent half of the days drowning in cheap liquor and whatever powder you could get your hands on. Eventually, Nugui had to come fetch you in Ochima after you made too big of a scene and recommended that you reenlist to get yourself back into shape.
“Before or after I returned to Kakin?”
“Before, I believe,” he confirms.
“Ah,” you murmur, “how humiliating.”
“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” he tells you. “Everything that you said was well-deserved. I expected worse, truthfully, once I realized what had just happened for you.”
You let out a soft noise of acknowledgment. You think maybe Chrollo had the right idea with not wanting to talk about the dreams. It’s mortifying realizing that he remembers conversations with you that you do not remember, when you were younger and stripped open, be it by Tserriednich or your own shortcomings. You don’t like anyone seeing more than what you allow them to see. It makes you feel far too exposed. You think he feels the same.
Perhaps that’s why the bond forces it on the two of you like this.
You change the subject by nodding to the notebook you passed over to him. “You finished reading?”
“I did,” he says after a moment, closing it carefully. “Can I keep this?”
“Yeah,” you say, and then smile tightly. “I… really fucked it up this time, didn’t I?”
“No, this is my fault,” he says immediately. “If I hadn’t been so rash a couple of weeks ago, then—”
“Except, that’s my fault too, isn’t it?” you ask suddenly, gaze shifting to study his face. When his lips instantly press shut, and he gives you a careful look from the corner of his eye, you know that you’re right. “I was the one killing you. The rejection was killing you.”
Chrollo exhales through his nose, looking away.
“You knew, that’s why you didn’t want me to press the other night. Why didn’t you tell me?” you demand. “Why did I have to learn from Morena Prudo that you were dying because I was rejecting the bond?”
“You weren’t supposed to learn at all—”
“That’s not your decision to make,” you interrupt loudly. “How long did you know?” Chrollo’s eyes slide shut, and fury spreads through you. “How long did you know? Before I even got Leorio to research it?”
“What would it have done besides make everything worse?” he snaps, not harshly, but there is heat behind the words, and you blink in surprise, not having expected it. He keeps going. “You can’t force yourself to accept me. Forcing it might’ve only made it worse, and you were—” He pauses, and then continues quieter, “—you were already suffering enough with this contest. I thought I would be able convince you on my own terms, in my own way. I… did not anticipate how quickly the illness would worsen.”
“You didn’t anticipate how stubborn and hateful I am, you mean,” you say bitterly and look away.
You feel his fingers brush your cheek before he grabs your chin gently, turning your face so that you’re looking at him. His expression is terribly unguarded, gray eyes soft instead of the steel you’ve become used to. You force away the tears that spring to your eyes, but you let yourself lean your face into his touch.
“It’s not your fault,” he tells you quietly. “You shouldn’t blame yourself. Your hatred was justified, considering all I’ve done. Was the other night’s dream not proof enough of that?”
“But I left the words on your forearm—”
“Because of what I’ve done—”
“But you said it yourself, what if you never would’ve taken that path if—”
“Are we really going to sit here and debate chicken and egg?” Chrollo asks with a wry smile. You let out a a noise that you wanted to be a laugh, but your voice breaks over it.
“You should’ve told me,” you repeat, voice weaker. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want to burden you with it,” he says, fingers tracing the curve of your face. God, the emotion in his eyes makes your chest ache. “It wouldn’t have changed anything. All it would’ve done was hurt you more—I didn’t want that. Don’t want that.”
Your guilt amplifies as you recall your dream from the other night.
“In the dream, I told you something that I knew would hurt you,” you say, averting your gaze, but he immediately taps his thumb against your lips to get your attention again. “I told you that Uvogin and Pakunoda would die because of what you did, and there was nothing you could do to stop it.”
The pain that flashes through his eyes makes your chest heavy with guilt, and then even worse, he instantly hides it with a light smile, running his thumb along your lower lip. “I deserved—”
“I told you that I said it because I thought it would hurt you, and you asked me, ‘is that what you want, to hurt me?’” you tell him, and then admit softly, “I don’t want to hurt you, and I don’t like seeing you hurt.”
Chrollo’s expression softens, his finger soothes a circle over your jaw, and you have to force yourself to keep speaking, wanting to get out your words before you can stop yourself.
“I think I’ve been lying to myself for a while now about this bond and… well, you. But I’m glad I had that dream last night because I needed to be reminded, not because I want to go back to hating you, but because if I want to accept this and try to… explore the bond with you, I need to accept all of it. I can’t just pretend that all of the lies and destruction and blood spilt never happened, because then I’ll never really be accepting anything. I need to get to a point where I can see all of the bad and say anyway ‘you’re mine, and I’m yours,’ and I’m not there yet, but I… I’m willing to try to get there, I want to try to get there. I don’t know when I will, with this contest and my—”
You let out a muffled noise as Chrollo presses his lips against yours, hands coming up to cradle your cheeks, fingers trembling lightly against your skin. You feel something wet drip down to your lips, and you taste salt, and you wonder if you’re crying or he is—maybe both of you. You don’t bother to check, eyes fluttering shut as you kiss him back, basking in the taste of him and the warmth of his skin against yours until your lungs burn and he finally pulls back to press his lips to your forehead instead.
“The last time you kissed me, you drugged me and took my ability,” you mutter when his arms slide around you to pull you close to him, forehead resting on the top of your head.
“I know,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry. I’ll do my best to make it up to you.”
You almost laugh at the absurdity of his response, but your mind shifts back to Morena Prudo and the predicament you’ve found yourself in. “How… should we handle the Morena situation?”
“Don’t worry about that,” he says, fingers carding absently through your hair. “We’ll handle it. We’ll get our hands on one of their members and figure out how much she lied about, and then we’ll decide how to move forward from there.”
“You shouldn’t say that in front of me, she could be—”
“Her knowing won’t change anything,” he interrupts, voice low with threat. “She can’t do anything to stop us.”
“If you say so,” you murmur doubtfully.
He guides your head backward so you can look him in the eye again, and he promises, “We’ll figure it all out. Everything is going to work out.”
You don’t want to believe him. This whole voyage, the last two years, your whole life has been met with disappointment after disappointment when you’d dared to allow yourself to hope, and you shouldn’t risk it now when you know how it ends but—
“Okay,” you say softly.
—but you suppose you’ve always been a fool in that regard.
‧₊ ᵎᵎ 𝑮uys hear me out: imagine Steven universe! Yuu in twisted wonderland introducing the concept of fusion and later fusing with some of the twst cast. NO WAIT WAIT HEAR ME OUT— imagine their UM's fusing with Yuu's shield and making a whole new weapon— WAIT LET ME CONTINUE— okay okay imagine their appearance and personality perfectly blending in their fusion. Also what would their reaction be? What would the people's reaction to seeing this? Who would actively try to fuse again with Yuu and who would try to minimize fusion? OMG BRO WAIT IM NOT DONE—
Thinking about a Yuu/you who isekai from Victorian/olden times, they would not want to go back to their time.
Yes, it would take time to get used to new society rules and dress code and learn everything from scratch but in the twst world they can now:
Live without social expectations and forced marriages.
Don’t have to depend on family.
Have their own home and be independent.
Have indoor plumbing.
Less restrictive clothing.
Don’t have to worry about social status (depending)
Crowley is gobsmacked. This isn’t going according to his plan.
He asks if you miss your family, and nope you never got along with them.
What about friends? Nope, society made it hard to have any.
You’ll be living in a broken house with ghosts. You get a home to yourself? And semi-working plumbing that will eventually get fixed and you’re no stranger to ghosts, not like your time didn’t have ghostly tales. You could live with all that.
On top of that? You get a cat companion? Even better you always wanted one and a talking one is great!
Of course you know that’s no one gets free housing or food without working and you’re fine with that! It’ll be your own money! Your own home you earned.
You’re not even dismayed by Crowley’s lack of responsibility. Some of your relatives were just like him.
The other twst cast don’t know what to do with you.
Ace didn’t expect you to concede not knowing anything about the world of twst when he teased you during the statue event. When he was collard, you lectured that he was rude for stealing other’s food before dragging him the next day to apologize.
Deuce was shocked at you looking at his cauldron and even climbing into it to get a better look. He blushed when you thanked him for being a gentleman for helping you carry the groceries.
Trey had to keep an extra eye on you and explain how to use the kitchen appliances. He showed you how to turn on the oven and use the mixer when making the tarts. You did make a mess, but at least you had fun.
You were cautious at first about the pictures Cater took before you got over it and started taking many with him. You made a magicam account with him.
You and Riddle got along at first. You knew etiquette and your manners were impeccable. Riddle’s overblot was interesting—seeing you and Riddle hurl insults at each other (more of a distraction). After his Overblot, you two apologized to each other. You were no stranger to expectations and rules. You two would have tea together and you learned his dorm’s rules. Riddle helped you learn about the world of Twisted Wonderland with his notes and book recommendations.
Your time at Twisted Wonderland was different from back home, but you dealt with worse than the chaos this new world brought.
I was talking to Starry (@starrycaye) and the idea wouldn’t go away so I had to write something down really quick.
Olden times MC in twst would be very fun to think about.
Before indoor plumbing, they had chamber pots therefore Yuu's canonical reaction to indoor toilet:
Advantage to this Yuu:
Depending on the position Yuu is in, I imagine the craft skills are muy chef kiss. Whether they can fix that creaky old house (Ramshackle) depends on position of their previous life. Are they regular worksman or nobility?
Also, if Yuu lived in village setting of the olden days, got knowledge on plants, food preservation basically cottage core life style. After all no grocery stores and even if there was, most of the time regular folks are taught by their family how to preserve and other skills cause money doesn't grow on trees. So think stuff like learning botany, soap making, making dyes and sewing their clothes.
For noble Yuu, the advantage they is textbook. The rich can afford to have their kids learn different languages, art skills (piano, dancing, painting, etc) alone with physical activity of swordsmanship, archery etc. Along with this depending on the family children do learn how to manage estate, agriculture and such since they'd inherit land or something.
Lets not forget that people back then some really nice penmanship as well as an interesting way to describe moments, situation and emotions. Theyre poetic basically.
Lol imagine Yuu cussing out the Adeuce boys but it's olden time Yuu so like either passive aggressiveness of a nobility like backhanded compliments or street slang of the lower class folk.
Synopsis: Years have passed since your homecoming to Earth. Your 'time' concluded and farewell inevitable at the hands of fate. After concluding their years at NRC, Wonderland's finest take it upon themselves to transcend dimensions and find the person who left without so much as a farewell. The catch is, they have no idea where you are, what this universe is like, and have to make a life for themselves in the meantime. How would they adapt to life on earth?
A/N: Hello everyone! This series makes an appearance after all these years, thanks to commissioner BunBun over on Ko-Fi! Imagine my surprise when I got the requisition notice, just to see that someone wanted a new addition (Savanaclaw) to one of my long-buried series'. Thank you so much to BunBun for their support and for asking me to share this with all of you!
Characters: Everyone.
Warnings: None lol. This is for my own enjoyment!
Part(s): Heartslabyul, Savanaclaw, Octavinelle, Scarabia, Pomefiore, Ignihyde, and Diasmonia
You are here!: Savanaclaw!
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Masterlist: (1) | (2)
Requisitioners MasterList: Here
Make a commission of your own!: Here
If you'd like to learn more about my commission rates, my medical journey, and the reasons why I now operate on a commission system: Click Here!
Nothing could have prepared the students of NRC for what lied beyond the mirror. A world unlike any of them ever known with magic being virtually non-existent ( or so it appears to the general public). With nothing but the clothes on their backs, falsified basic identification, personal items, and the small bits of knowledge gathered from you; these young adults have one mission - find the dimension hopping prefect, and try to stay out of prison. It was time to split up, cover as much ground as possible, and make a life in this unfamiliar reality.
Let us see how these fresh minds conform to 'Life on Earth' !
Savanaclaw Residence:
Africa // Australia
Location: Cairo, Egypt (Starting point)
Occupation: Nomad
Let’s make one thing clear, Leona doesn’t stay in one place. His entire life on Earth is composed of what he can fit in a drawstring bag. Leona has zero intention to stay in your world and doesn’t want any belongings tying him down when the time comes. Which it will. There are no negotiations on this matter. Despite his gripes with Twisted Wonderland, that’s where his goals are.
Well, most of his goals. The ones that don’t involve hauling you over his shoulder and back where you belong. His plan is to grab you by the scruff the first chance he gets, lay it all bare, and cast off the regret of letting you go without a word.
He also plans to use this ‘opportunity’ to take advantage of his new liberties. No Felena on his back for a bit. Leona low-key wants to see as much of your world as he can. Study its politics from the view of the common man as well as the news.
When everyone first landed - he took one look at the map and said ‘put me wherever,’ because he knew he wouldn’t stay in one place for long.
Leona is also pessimist number one on the situation. He doesn’t have much hope of finding you just by travelling around. The odds of it? Close to nothing. They don’t even know for certain if this world is your home. Just a word from the lizard who pulled strings with a tracking spell no one had any idea existed. Leona’s letting the others figure it out. Not because he doesn’t want to. No. Hah. He has WORDS for your dimension hopping ass the moment someone’s caught a lead. You will be hearing from him. Every grievance.
He’s just…taking the opportunity to get a better grasp on where you’re from.
Moving on – he covers plenty of land in a short period. Lion on a mission (not without help. Remember for later). The Madagascar, expanse of South Africa, Nigeria, Sudan. Algeria, Mali, Ghana – however long it takes, he keeps moving. Lives out of hostels.
Isn’t it funny? This is the lifestyle that would give Ki’faji a heart attack. One of Leona’s few items is a decent quality camera along with a little leatherbound journal. He’ll have plenty of documentation to bring back home and implement.
It helps that Africa’s general way of life (trade, climate, geography, class system, etc) is closest to the Sunset Savannah. He didn’t intend for the lineup. Guess he just got lucky, or the gods threw him a bone.
The luck continues, because people in hotter climates dress covered for protection from the weather. He won’t give up his chaps and jeans, but goes for a Galabeya (long sleeve, cotton, lightweight but full coverage). Just to be safe, he keeps to himself a lot and doesn’t mingle with locals beyond the necessities. Curls his tail around his thigh under the long shirt and uses his travel sack as a weight to keep it from blowing up. He wears the same sandals we know him to have back in Wonderland. High quality leather really lasts.
Leona refuses to wear a hat to hide his ears. In daylight, he goes for a headscarf. When moving or at night, he pulls his hair up to help them blend in (sometimes will wrap his braids around them). You have to really look to see them.
Although, because he’s on the go, his clothes get ruined easily. Again. He discards them and picks up whatever is common in the country he’s stopped in. Leona has no preference.
It’s odd for him, being in a place so similar to home but not. He’ll order a serving of Mandazi on a whim when his stomach starts to gurgle, not knowing what it is but willing to take whatever’s being sold for a decent price. Then bites into it without looking and realizes he’s had it hundreds of times back at the palace.
Or he’ll see a tour offered down the Nile River, and decide that a bit of tourism is better than looking at the same streetwares he’s been staring at for two hours. He doesn’t care too much until the guide starts talking about how its predictable flooding acts as a key factor in Egypt’s agriculture and civiliazation.
Bane turned boon, his people could learn from how others in similar climates adapt.
He goes through ‘Stone Town’ in Zanzibar, Tanzania - and revels in how Indian, Arabic, and other cultures have converged into this trade hub. He notes ways to help establish better trade within the Savannah, thinking of cities with less investment that sit on convergence points. Ways to mimic.
The list goes on. For Leona, Life On Earth is an educational opportunity. A once in a lifetime chance to both see some of the lifeblood of where you come from, while also gaining insights on ideas neither his brother or any councilman has the ability to.
He hasn’t forgotten his goal. Why is he here. Leona’s just a realist, and knows how to weigh his odds. Despite that little leatherbound book being filled with notes for his country, there are entries about a person that have no purpose beyond an outlet for a prince’s roaming heart.
Location Cairo, Egypt (Starting Point)
Occupation: Freelance // Side Gigs.
Pessimist number two, and the main reason that pessimist number one is able to travel around without starving to death. Where else do you think Leona is getting the money to survive?
Let’s get into the contract that’s sealing Ruggie’s future made of gold madol.
Ruggie’s mentality is the same as Leona’s. The latter thought he’d go off somewhere cushy to spend his time here, maybe start building a small cushioning for when you’re found – but nah. Ruggie’s right there next to Leona when standing over the world map.
Get in, get out, get going. Leona can make whatever assumption he wants, but the reason Ruggie isn’t killing himself with side gigs is because your world’s money isn’t going to mean anything when they get back to Twisted Wonderland. Which he will be doing, because his grandma is waiting for him.
Meanwhile – he hopes you realize what’s been put on pause just so he can drag your butt home. Will lecture you, number deux. The moment he realized you went home without letting him at least air out the mush you’ve made of his mind? Yeah. Rare hyena rage and initiative.
No staying with him. He’s worked too hard to help pull his gran out of the pit to give up. Like Leona though, he plans to let the other ones do the heavy work. He’ll just swoop in once there’s a lead and take the spoils.
A deal is made. In exchange for all the extra work he does in your world (helping Leona survive and do his research), the prince promises Ruggie a hefty bonus back home. Enough to feed the kids from his village for months, set his family up in a nice middle-class home, maybe get the good channels on cable TV. Basically every commission pay he makes is in Leona’s black book, logged and timed, and it’ll be tripled back to Ruggie in madol once they get back. He isn’t wasting a moment in this world because every second goes towards making life back home secure.
In a twisted way, you abandoning him also opened the door for him to truly keep you. To want you. He’ll have the funds, the connections, the security – finally. He’ll have it all.
The one who books hostels, bargains and barters, cooks and gets travel tickets – all of it. He takes gigs everywhere they stop. Washes dishes to pay for their meals, drives a taxi for the two months they stay in Uganda, pawns some of Leona’s neck jewelry at first to make their ends meet but his employer didn’t seem particularly attached. It got them the funds to rent the car and make it all back.
Although...he does need Leona more than he'll let go to the lion's head. Leona's the one who picks up languages like nothing and with all the travelling they do? Ruggie will buy (or swipe) the damn textbooks. Although most languages in your world align with those spoken in subsets of the Savannah. Good thing Leona knows most at an adept level.
Survival is in Ruggie's blood. All his knowledge comes to use while backpacking in a world that will chew you up and spit you out if you’re not careful. There are times when he's tempted to go join another group. If he asked Kalim, their fun-loving ‘friend’ would wire thousands in whatever currency they needed. Dude got rich quick…some guys are just lucky.
Despite being an opportunist, Ruggie won’t do it. No matter how much Leona pisses him off when he forgets that they don’t carry weight here or makes an absurd request. It’s worth it this time to do it without any help. Ruggie doesn’t want to owe anyone ANYTHING once you’re found. He has plans, and no one is getting in the way of it.
Although…he does lose focus when looking at all the reformation programs put in place across Africa. He sees the way local groups come together to help get underprivileged children proper education and what plans are put in place to aid the impoverished. Ruggie doesn’t give a shit about your world’s history, spoken bluntly. Yet Leona better be making notes on agriculture improvement and aid programs. He might take a glance at that book just to see what ideas are being stored away.
Unlike his backpacking partner, Ruggie doesn’t try so hard to blend into the shadows. Doesn’t have to when he’s the face man. Keeps his clothing lightweight and modern. Full coverage with the headscarf as well, but sticks to clothes similar to what he’d wear in the slums. Ankle-length cotton pants, plain tunic, travel sack on his back, wallet strapped to his chest under his shirt, weaved moccasins – he keeps his colors in the beige and sage category at all times. Cheaper dyes and less attention.
Also as the faceman, he’s the one making connections. Nothing long term. Just enough shmoozing to distract a saleswoman while pocketing an extra loaf of bread. Again. He doesn’t plan to stay. Ruggie is not above committing sleight-of-hand crimes while on Earth. It’s the same mentality he’s always had, just a different terrain.
Overall, he doesn’t care. Not where they go, not who they see, not what they eat or what ‘excursions’ they take part in. All Ruggie wants is to get the call that someone has a lead. Next to his wallet, the only item he holds close to his chest is the phone Shroud gave everyone at the very start. He won’t ever pawn it, and keeps it strapped to his thigh under his pants at all times.
Ruggie’s patient. He’s used to waiting, but that doesn’t make it any easier. When his feet ache and his thread is close to fraying – he just thinks ‘a little more’ because he’s invested too much from the first moment he made you smile to give up now.
Location: Bundaberg, Australia
The lone wolf. Jack doesn’t need anyone on his tail. Wherever no one else wants to be, he will go. The option to join his upperclassmen was there. He remembers Leona watching him with a quirked eyebrow when everyone chose their roles, a silent ‘you coming?’ spoken in a look. Jack appreciated the offer, but too many people in one spot does no one any good.
And frankly, Jack would rather navigate your world with fresh eyes than do so under authority. This entire situation goes against his principles…and yet, here he is. Following you on yet another adventure. Possibly the magnum opus of it all.
Pessimist three. It runs in the dorm. Walking around aimlessly is unproductive. He has no idea what the other ‘normal’ guys plan to do. Aka the non-extremeists. In Jack’s opinion, their best bets are those who can climb social spheres easily and put the ah - frankly, criminal - skills to use. The ones with a plan. He heard Riddle muttering about going straight for the western government, and knows Shroud won’t twiddle his thumbs when there’s an entire digital world to explore. Even someone like Cater or Vil. People who can draw a crowd, draw attention; people you know and will recognize on sight even if through a screen.
To Jack, it doesn’t matter who finds you. Just that he gets the chance to see you again. Hear your voice and say everything that keeps him up past his bedtime. He won’t go home until he hears it straight from your mouth that you’re happy here…without him (with him? Would he stay? He can’t think of that just yet).
That doesn’t mean he gives up. Jack travels plenty on his weekends. It’s where most of his spare money goes.
Occupation: Retail Associate
On the topic of money, Jack doesn’t need much. He works retail at a home improvement store. Think of the ‘Home Depot’. Not really into getting higher up or anything. He wakes up, ties his smock on like any hard working joe, and sets to help out whichever poor middle-aged woman that saunters up to the paint desk with twenty samples and no idea what her 14 year old daughter wants. He learned quickly that it’s usually the most eye-rotting shade of teal.
He mainly took the job for work in the warmer seasons. It does his mind good to care for the plants or help carry bags of fertilizer for those planting a garden. His manager gets a bit too reliant with it, since no one on his shift ever works out as much as he does. Yet it’s all part of a day’s work.
He lives in a one-bedroom apartment. Minimalistic style with plenty of plants. He’s not out here decorating to the nines, but Jack wants his house to feel like a home. In a way, he wants you to be proud of him when you finally meet again. If he can manage to make a life for himself in your world, just like you did in his, then it has to stand for something…right?
Very much a homebody too. The one neighbors call to pant/pet sit or help move furniture.
At first, he just chose Australia by proxy. He ends up oddly taken with it as the weeks pass by. He gets really into Rugby and as a big guy with a lot of pent up energy? Yeah. It’s not hard for him to find a spot on a local team. Occasionally he sends pictures from work, games, etc to the NRC group chat. That’s the most people hear from him though.
Curses whatever fucking sadist invented vegimite. It’s the bane of his existence and he can smell it the second someone in the complex opens a jar. On the first day he moved in, a neighborly elderly couple treated him to breakfast. He couldn’t say no to their kindness, neither the steak, eggs, hash, and…vegimite toast. Especially when they saw he liked plants and gifted him some potted hydrangeas.
It…was hard to finish. Yet he managed.
Jack loves the nature reserves and preserves across Australia. They’re usually where he travels to. His home is on the coast, but he tries to move inwards on long weekends to see all he can. He prefers spots outside big cities so he can go for scenic runs and take in sights.
Does not mess with the wildlife though. He isn’t a fool and wants no part of a thrill seekers lifestyle. Keeps to public trails and that’s it.
Still a gym-body no matter where he goes. Dresses like he walked straight out of a Dick’s Sporting Goods most days. Cameo cargo pants, slim-fit t-shirts, the same knit cardigan he’s worn one hundred times over, a few good pairs of sneakers, and one tailored suit. Jack’s a quality over quantity kind of guy. He’ll invest in a good pair of Ariat boots for work and never have to buy another pair.
If more than a year passes without word of you…Jack commits. He asks himself if returning without you is an option, because time keeps ticking and he has to be reasonable. Life in Wonderland, or Life on Earth. His radio goes silent – more than usual – and it’s because he has to be the voice of reason after choosing to go at this alone.
Oddly enough, it’s that elderly couple that convinces him. He takes one look at them from his window, walking hand-in-hand to wherever their destination lies, and knows.
Wonderland won’t be home without you, and he’s already made it this far. It isn’t a life without you in it, no matter where he goes. He’s known that all along.
He isn’t giving up but won’t idle too long. He applies to go into a stable trade, like plumbing or welding, and does all he can to achieve stability. No matter how much time passes, whether he can get back to Wonderland or not, once Jack has his mind set? It’s stone.
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