[hochmvt]

for the past seven years 𝐈𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐀𝐇 𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒 has been traveling the abandoned back roads of america in search of the mysteries of the world. as host of the podcast 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐒 his life is filled with the horrors of the shadows and all that lies beyond the human concept of reality. driven by his thirst for knowledge, he treads paths best left unexplored, unaware that every step he takes is just another note in the documentation of his own disappearance. 

#𝐇𝐎𝐂𝐇𝐌𝐕𝐓.  ¦  based in eldritch and cosmic horror.  —  written with and by love.  ¦  CLOSED FOR PLOTTING  ¦  [CARRD]  —  [RULES]  —  [PINTEREST]

a study in  —  cosmic dread | the beauty of horror | hubris | the philosophy of mind | obsession | humanity and identity | isolation and loneliness | being in the public eye

[limeshade]

If we could move with the freedom of a god, so that a million years pass in a second, and if we went far enough, past the nearest suns, beyond the star clouds and nebulae, in time they would end. And as if moving out from behind a curtain, we would come to an endless sea of night.

UNIVERSE (1960) Presented by the National Film Board of Canada Directed by Roman Kroitor, Colin Low

[mournfulroses]

Nikos Kazantzakis, from a letter featured in The Selected Letters of Nikos Kazantzakis

[drivoeggmanrobotnik]

fuckable bumper sticker in the appalachians

[the-wolf-and-moon]

Ring of the Milky Way

[shisasan]

𝙴𝚍𝚐𝚊𝚛 𝙰𝚕𝚕𝚊𝚗 𝙿𝚘𝚎, 𝙿𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚊𝚗 (𝟷𝟾𝟹𝟻)

[sonnenreich]

Zeev  had  always  sought  the  closeness  of  the  other.  It  was  an  inherent  magnetism  that  his  atoms  yielded  to  as  soon  as  Isaiah  was  within  reach.  Not  infrequently  even  beyond,  so  that  he  was  drawn  to  completely  different  areas  of  their  home,  even  though  he  was  busy  with  entirely  other  tasks. 

Zeev  had  grown  up  in  an  environment  where  community  meant  everything.  He  knew  that  some  of  these  teachings  also  had  negative  results. His  fear  of  abandonment  was  one  of  them. He  often  had  to  actively  decide  to  give  the  other  space,  even  though  he  found  it  difficult  not  to  have  an  influence  in  all  areas  of  life.  Not  necessarily  actively,  but  with  a  presence  that  involved  him.  Some  days  he  wondered  whether  his  desire  for  closeness  meant  he  was  robbing  the  other  of  something  that  belonged  to  him  alone.  One  great  thing  he  appreciated  and  loved  about  Isaiah,  and  under  which  background  he  had  come  to  know  him  in  the  first  place,  was  his  thirst  for  knowledge  and  discovery.  He  would  never  want  to  stop  him. He  would  never  give  him  an  ultimatum  and  separate  him  from  what  his  heart  yearned  for.

He  would  always  wait  for  him,  regardless  of  the  worries  he  carried,  because  that  was  part  of  the  pact  that  unconditional  love  entailed.  It  also  meant  understanding  the  other  person's  feelings,  regardless  of  one's  own,  and  giving  them  space  to  unfold. 

Has  he  been  hurt?  Of  course  he  had.  But  he  made  himself  aware,  especially  now  that  the  storms  of  his  fears  were  giving  way  to  the  clear  blue  sky  that  declared  his  love’s  well  being,  that  Isaiah  didn't  want  to  hurt  him. 

Did  he  want  his  boyfriend  to  be  safe?  Absolutely,  that  was  what  it  meant  to  cherish  and  love  someone.  That  would  be  the  case  forever,  but  a  relationship  was  also  something  that  could  not  be  one-sided.  Holding  someone's  mistakes  against  them  meant  admitting  one's  own.  And  Zeev  knew  that  he  couldn't  absolve  himself  of  that.  He  could  only  hope  that  his  mistakes  would  not  clash  with  Isaiah's  wishes  and  lead  to  an  outcome  that  left  him  exactly  where  he  feared  to  be  the  most. Alone.

Of  course,  it  had  not  escaped  the  witcher's  notice  that  Isaiah  had  partially  withdrawn.  Not  physically,  but  with  his  words.  He  was  more  observant  than  involved,  and  Zeev  couldn't  help  but  think  that  his  words  were  partly  to  blame.  He  also  realised  how  little  attention  he  had  shown  in  what  had  happened.  How  his  own  feelings  and  needs  masked  the  experiences  Isaiah  had  made. 

That  was  not  who  he  was. 

This  wasn't  who  he  wanted  to  be. 

And  as  he  listened  to  him—and  Octavia—about  what  they'd  encountered  in  the  clearing,  Zeev  realised,  as  he  had  many  times  before,  how  beautiful  his  boyfriend  was.

The  words  he  found  for  something  that  left  others  speechless.

What  he  saw  that  others  overlooked. 

The  colours  in  which  he  bathed  his  discoveries  and  encounters  were  so  rich  and  saturated  that  Zeev  thought  he  could  literally  see  them  reflected  in  his  boyfriend's  retina.  And  the  sparkle  in  his  eyes  outshone  the  sun.  The  recounting  of  Isaiah's  most  thrilling  experience  was  Zeev's  most  endearing  observation,  and  he  realised  that  although  he  had  not  been  there  himself,  he  felt  part  of  it  still.  His  heart  swelled  and  more  than  once  he  leaned  to  the  side  and  kissed  his  shoulder, his  gaze  unbroken  on  the  man  who  summed  up  the  splendour  of  the  world  within  6’2”  of  height.

 “No,”  the  redhead  clicked  with  her  tongue.  “But  that's  hard  to  tell  as  most  deities  don't  exactly  follow  evolutionary  laws.”  She  picked  a  fry  and  chewed  on  it,  unaware  of  the  questioning  glances  of  her  new  companions. 

“What  do  you  mean?”  Zeev  prodded  with  a  softness  in  his  voice  that  held  something  almost  apologetical.  They  had  met  on  the  wrong  foot  and  it  was  his  fault  entirely.  He  wouldn't  have  blamed  her  if  she  had  avoided  him  at  any  cost  or  even  refrained  from  interacting  with  Isaiah,  despite  him  not  being  the  trigger.  She,  however,  was  either  not  one  to  hold  grudges  or  she  was  good  at  hiding  that  she  did. 

“There  are  birds,  for  example.  Many,  but  if  you  told  someone  you  saw  a  bird,  it's  not  really  that  descriptive,  don't  ya  think?  There  are  plenty  of  birds,  different  names,  different  sizes,  shapes,  sounds,  habitats,  you  name  it.  Very  dulled  down,  depending  on  coincidental  mutations  and  so  on,  they've  changed  over  the  centuries  and  beyond.  I  mean,  they  were  motherfucking  dinosaurs  once?!  Insane!  Deities,  though,  or  those  I'd  call  such,  don't  have  a  family  tree  they  belong  to.  Or  rather  not  one  that  follows  our  logical  rules  of  evolutionary  theories.  They  exist  for  themselves,  act  for  themselves.  One  is  not  like  the  other,  one  isn't  the  product  of  another  and  so  on  and  so  forth.  So,  even  if  I've  seen  deer  antlers  before,  it  says  little  about  the  guy  you've  spotted  piggybacking  your  poor  buddy  over  there.”  Loosely  she  flicked  her  wrist  towards  Sebastian  who  hadn't  shown  any  sign  of  an  attempt  to  sit  with  them.  Somehow,  Zeev  realised,  he  seemed  quieter  than  before.  Perhaps  he  was  just  on  the  verge  of  passing  out,  exhaustion  taking  its  toll  on  him.  He  couldn't  help  but  feel  sorry  for  him  once  more—knew,  however,  it  would  stop  the  second  he  was  to  hurt  Isaiah  again.  A  thought  Zeev  clung  to  to  avoid  the  surfacing  empathy. 

Every  now  and  then  Sebastian  stirred  in  his  seat,  reacting  to  a  sound  that  wasn't  on  their  frequency.

“Which  means,  it  shares  similarities  with  a  few  other  creatures,  but  that  doesn't  count  for  anything.”  She  shrugged,  but  not  in  disinterest,  just  as  a  matter  of  fact.  Octavia  kept  munching  on  her  fries,  asking  between  chews  what  Isaiah  knew  about  the  case  so  far  and  listened  attentively  as  he  spoke.  Whenever  he  got  stuck  on  a  few  letters,  she  didn't  pay  much  attention  of  annoyance  and  just  kept  on  deciding  which  fry  to  eat  next. 

“You  think  the  Deer-Shadow-Thing  stands  in  relation  to  what  we've  seen  at  the  clearing?”

Zeev  fell  into  silence,  leaving  the  conversation  to  the  two  of  them,  listening  though  with  interest.  He  held  his  boyfriend’s  hand  throughout,  not  pulling  back  once,  taking  the  liberty  to  have  his  other  hand  caressing  his  arm,  softly  and  slowly,  fingertips  always  in  motion. 

“Hm,”  Octavia  mirrored.  “And  you  didn’t  see  it  before  but  now  you  do?  Strange,  usually  I’m  the  one  seeing  the  weird  shit. Nice  to  not  be  alone.”  A  soft  giggle  escaped  her.  “So,  with  that  in  mind  it  is  indeed  not  unrealistic  that  these  two  incidents  are  related  in  some  way.  Perhaps  you’ve  been  granted  a  certain  vision?  Or  it  stands  in  correlation  to  the  surrounding  woods,  less  so  because  both  entities  are  related  or  something.  But  who  knows,  maybe  a  great  cousin.”

She  smiled  at  Isaiah  as  he  spoke,  as  he  laid  out  his  ideas  and  theories,  about  what  they  were  about  to  do  and  whether  or  not  she  wanted  to  join.  Zeev  didn't  mind,  especially  not  as  he  noticed  the  sparkle  in  her  mismatched  eyes  at  that,  a  hint  of  disbelief  written  between  the  lines. She  most  definitely  hadn't  expected  that  to  happen.

“Oh  my  god,  Isaiah,  that  is  brilliant!”  she  gasped  at  some  point,  leaning  forward  in  excitement.  “Maybe  they  are  not  related  by  evolutionary  standards,  maybe  their  connection  solely  lies  in  where  they  live!  We  tend  to  separate  a  deer  from  a  rabbit,  as  they  are  different,  but  maybe  that's  the  connection  entities  and  creatures  hold.  They  share  the  same  sentiment  and  territorial  behaviour  based  on  the  grounds  they  inherit  and  thrive  from,  tending  to  something  or  so  in  unison  because  it  is  sacred  to  them.  Like,  imagine  a  rabbit  and  a  deer  working  together,  no  wolf  would  have  a  chance!”  Her  locks  wiggled  as  she  spoke,  framing  her  round  face  speckled  with  freckles.  Her  cheeks  tinted  red  and  she  reached  forward,  placing  a  hand  on  the  table  to  convey  agreement  and  like-mindedness,  not  touching  him  literally,  but  offering  a  closeness  regardless  by  diminishing  distance.

“Animals  usually  can't  communicate  with  one  another,  if  we  take  scientific  results  as  they  are,  but  maybe  that’s  not  the  case  for  deities.  They  communicate  with  humans  too,  after  all. It's  our  fault  if  we  don’t  speak  alien  languages.”  She  giggled.  “But  you  said  Sebastian  has  spoken  strangely,  like  a  conduit.  They  utilize  what  is  given  to  them,  like,  uh,  like  using  chalk  on  a  board,  but  like  in  a  very  uncomfortable  way.  You  know  the  terrible  screeching  that  gives  one  goosebumps  and  wakes  you  up  when  you’ve  fallen  asleep  mid  class?  That  bloomy  giant  on  the  field  wasn’t  harming  you,  it  had  no  reason  to  do  so,  so  we  gotta  figure  out  why,  whatever  is  weighing  Sebby  down  may  not  necessarily  be  of  evil  sort,  but  a  warning.  Perhaps  it  doesn’t  even  want  to  be  bound  to  him.  Maybe  it’s  just…  stuck,  like  a  very  sticky  chalk.”

“Like  resin,”  Zeev  mumbled  at  some  point,  glancing  over  at  Sebastian,  hovering  above  his  meal.  Octavia  wasn't  truly  subtle  in  speaking  about  him,  but  the  brunette  didn't  seem  to  notice  nor  care.  That,  however,  wasn't  a  choice  he  had  made. He  most  definitely  couldn't  listen  to  anything  else  but  himself.

“What?”  she  asked,  her  tone  not  following  a  harmful  demeanor,  just  rather  unabashedly. 

“Resin  is  what  pours  out  of  a  wounded  tree.  Like,  blood…  Well,  no,  more  like  polymerized  fibrin  together  with  platelets  does  so,  it  clots  a  wound  and  prevents  infections.  It's  what  people  use  to  make  jewellery  with,  too.”

“Uhhh,  I  like  that,”  Octavia  hummed.  “Not  the  jewelry  though,  that's  granny  style.  Although,  a  prehistoric  mosquito  holding  dinosaur  DNA  however  is  a  fashion  statement.  Gods,  what  I'd  give  to  own  something  like  that.  I  don't  have  the  budget  to  create  clones  though  and  build  a  park,  but  to  be  honest  we  all  would  have  visited  Jurassic  Park,  we  just  needed  to  be  lucky  not  to  be  there  at  the  same  time  as  the  film  crew.”  At  that  she  giggled,  not  noticing  the  confusion  on  the  witcher's  face  who  questioned  her  sanity  for  a  short  second  before  being  informed  it's  a  movie  reference.

Octavia  scratched  her  cheek  in  embarrassment.  “Where  were  we?” 

“Bleeding  trees,”  Zeev  offered.

“Oh  yeah,  considering  it  is  a  nature  deity  it's  not  unlikely  it  has  something  to  do  with  that.  I  don't  think  Sebby  ran  around  poking  trees,  though…”

“The  company  surely  does.  It's  sacred  land  hurt  by  oil  drilling.  The  local  natives  had  tried  to  keep  the  land  off  limits.  You  think  it's  revenge?”

“I'd  be  pissed  if  you  came  into  my  home  and  destroyed  everything.  That  is,  if  I  had  a  home  to  destroy.”  Her  chuckle  was  filled  with  sadness,  but  she  didn't  linger  on  it  for  long.

“How  come  you  know  so  much  about  that?”

“Female  intuition,”  she  joked,  then  pointed  the  remaining  half  of  her  fry  at  Isaiah. “This  guy  right  there.”

Zeev  turned  his  head  towards  his  boyfriend.  There  was  no  ulterior  reason  for  him  to  do  so,  except  the  sole  sight  of  him,  that  caused  his  lips  to  split  into  a  smile.

“It's  a  far  longer  story  that  I  don't  mind  sharing  at  any  given  opportunity,  honestly,”  she  stated,  rubbing  her  pale  eye  as  if  underlining  her  words.  “But  let's  say  that  TDF  did  not  exactly  open  my  eyes,  but  it  did  help  me  put things into  perspective.  I've  read  so  much  on  more  blogs  and  threads  and  reddit  than  I  can  count,  but  with  your  Podcast  I  knew  something  was  different.  It  felt  real. The  otherworldly  suddenly  seemed  much  more  thisworldy  than  ever  before.”

There  was  a  pause  and  a  drop  in  her  gaze.  “I  don't  think  I'd  still  be  here  if  it  weren't  for  you.”

She  smiled  weakly  at  him.

“Thank  you.”

Despite  the  saddening  connotations  of  her  spoken  words  and  all  of  which  she  didn't  mention  outright,  Zeev  felt  insanely  proud  of  his  boyfriend.  He  squeezed  his  hand  and  realised  the  magnitude  of  his  work  once  more.  How  important  it  is,  how  much  good  he  did  for  the  overall  understanding  of  the  world.  Not  everyone  believes,  scepticism  as  much  part  of  learning  as  unconditional  trust, but  those  who  did  were  able  to  grasp  the  essence  of  something  beyond  the  obvious. 

Teaching  others  however,  in  Zeevs's  eyes  at  least,  would  never  weigh  more  than  his  well-being.

He  kissed  his  shoulder  once  more. 

 As  they  returned  to  the  Motel,  an  ever  growing  group  of  four  people,  two  of  which  so  different  to  one  another  it  felt  almost  comic-esque,  Zeev  kept  holding  his  boyfriend's  hand,  brushing  his  thumb  over  the  back,  smiling  up  at  him  every  now  and  then.  Glad  to  be  at  his  side. To  be  involved.  Glad  to  see  him  well.  Happy  to  know  that  he  was  alright,  at  least  physically.  The  witcher  however  had  spent  enough  time  with  his  boyfriend  to  know  that  he  was  far  from  being  unbothered  by  thoughts  gnawing  at  his  brain’s  tissues. 

“I’m  sorry  for  what  I  said,”  Zeev  mumbled,  loud  enough  for  him  to  hear  and  most  likely  partially  grasp  for  Octavia,  but  if  she  was  listening  in  on  them,  she  didn’t  show.  He  led  him  further  away  from  the  two,  looked  over  to  the  redhead  fleetingly  as  she  turned  to  Sebstian  and  rubbed  his  arm  sympathetically. 

“Not  for  how  I  felt,  but…  I  know  you  wouldn’t  leave  me  deliberately  behind.”  His  hand  felt  heavy  in  his.  Not  as  a  burden,  but  as  something  to  keep  him  on  the  ground. To  settle  thoughts  like  a  keepsake  on  their  shelves  of  memories  instead  of  lingering  dust  that  needed  to  be  wiped  away.  “I  was  scared  and  it  wasn’t  fair  to  you  to  have  that  speak  through  me.”

Cautiously  he  moved  closer,  looking  up  at  the  man  he’d  turn  the  world  upside  down  for,  raised  a  hand  and  brushed  softly  over  his  cheek,  his  thumb  naturally  following  the  bow  of  the  bone  he  would  be  able  to  sculpt  by  memory  alone.  “I  want  you  to  discover,  you’re  so  beautiful  when  you  do.  This  earth  has  so  much  to  offer  and  to  have  you  see  it,  that’s  not  just  recognition,  it  is  appreciation  and  she  deserves  that.  Nothing  she  offers  is  lost  if  there’s  someone  like  you  to  see.” 

The  sound  of  chirping  early  birds  mingled  with  his  mind,  underlining  his  thoughts  with  a  peaceful  tune  of  earth's  orchestra  of  natural  peace. 

“I  love  you.  I  love  you  so  much  and  the  thought  of  you  being  gone…  Even  the  idea  of  that  ever  happening  fills  me  with  dread.  I  want  you  safe,  but  I  can't  protect  you  in  a  way  that  wouldn't  lead  to  something  that  makes  you  unhappy. I  don't  want  that,  not  even  hypothetically.  I  fell  in  love  with  the  man  that  you  are  and  the  one  you  are  going  to  grow  into  and  I  always  will.  We  are  a  team,  I  want  us  to  be  forever,  but  that  also  requires  me  to  trust  you.  Which  I  do,  unconditionally,  but  my  fears  have  overshadowed  that.”  He  sighed  quietly,  letting  his  hand  fall  to  rest  on  his  chest,  feeling  for  his  heartbeat.  His  favourite  echo  within  the  blooming  cage  of  a  heart  filled  with  the  excitement  of  the  world  and  those  beyond. 

“I  will  work  on  that  and  you  are  always  free  to  remind  me,  too.”

At  that  he  wrapped  his  arms  around  him  tightly  again,  pulling  him  into  a  warming  hug  of  promises  and  words  he  couldn’t  yet  find,  despite  trying  to  always. 

“I  want  you  with  me,  forever  and  till  the  end,  but  not  at  the  cost  of  extinguishing  the  light  that  illuminates  you  so  gorgeously.  I  will  wait  and  I  will  stay,  and  I  will  follow  and  I  will  lead,  whatever  you  need  and  whatever  you  want. I’m  yours  and  you  are  mine  and  we  are  one,  no  matter  what.”

He  withdrew  just  the  slightest  to  raise  high  enough  and  have  his  forehead  leaning  against  him,  like  an  attempt  to  have  his  mind’s  waves  spill  over  to  him.  To  share  his  fears  and  their  roots,  not  to  justify,  but  to  understand.  More  importantly,  however,  he  wanted  him  to  know  that  no  matter  what  these  past  traumas  have  planted  within  his  veins,  they’d  always  rush  the  hardest  with  unconditional  love  he  held  for  him.  Isaiah  wasn’t  the  root  of  his  night  time  sorrow,  it  wasn’t  an  act  of  malicious  intent,  a  careless  act  of  ignorance  on  his  part  that  had  caused  him  to  think  the  worst.  Zeev  just  wanted  to  be  a  part.  Of  his  life,  of  his  discoveries,  of  his  mistakes  and  success’,  of  everything  he  decided  to  share,  and  for  all  that  he  didn’t,  Zeev  had  to  learn  to  respect  as  well.  He  would  never  love  him  less  if  he  would.  He  would  never  leave  either. 

“I’m  happy  you’ve  returned  and  that  you’re  safe.”

And  if  he  ever  didn’t,  Zeev  would  leave  no  stone  unturned,  no  possibility  unchecked  and  no  force  unbothered  until  he  was  sure  that  he  was  safe  and  sound.

 Before  Sebastian  led  them  to  the  construction  side  of  the  company  he  worked  for,  Zeev  breathed  in  deeply  and  tried  to  have  all  his  grudges  dissolve  like  rotting  leaves  in  autumn,  allowing  the  remnants  to  fuel  the  grounds  with  new  possibilities  of  growth  and  renewal.  Zeev  wasn't  one  to  hold  grudges,  not  for  crimes  he  knew  this  poor  soul  couldn't  do  much  about.  He  wouldn't  go  as  far  to  trust  him,  but  he  wouldn't  judge  him  based  on  superstition  either.  Instead,  as  a  way  to  apologise  for  his  internal  treatment  the  man  knew  nothing  about,  he  took  his  time  to  tend  to  his  wounds  that  were  easy  for  the  witcher  to  see. Arms  scratched  heavily  till  they  drew  blood,  a  nervous  outcome  inflicted  by  a  dread  Sebastian  suffered  from  tremendously.  Yet,  he  felt  like  being  watched  while  doing  so.  Not  by  Sebastian  himself,  but  something  nestled  within.  The  drawing  of  Isaiah  remained  clear  in  his  mind.

“What’s  your  position  at  Berco?”

Sebastian  seemed  confused  for  a  second,  answered  regardless.  “I'm  a  Roughneck.”

Zeev  furrowed  his  brows.  At  least  that  brought  a  slight  chuckle  out  of  the  brunette, hinting  at  the  cheerful  man  he  used  to  be.  “I'm  a  general  labourer,  I  keep  the  rig  running.”

“Do  you  know  when  everything  changed?  Has  it  happened  at  work?”

“I  told  the  two  of  you  I  don't  know,”  he  grumbled,  his  lack  of  knowledge  ground  for  frustration  and  anger  alike.

“Okay,”  Zeev  whispered  calmly,  concentrating  on  the  task  at  hand.  “Sometimes  we  deem  something  insignificant,  because  we  don't  pay  much  attention  to  little  things.  May  it  be  a  fleeting  itch,  a  sudden  coldness  or  some  whispering  we  shrug  over.  It's  not  unlikely  you  missed  it,  but  it  doesn't  mean  you  can't  remember.”

Upon  looking  upwards,  Zeev  felt  like  he  was  staring  at  a  solidified  manifestation  of  a  question  mark  right  above  his  head,

“Sebastian,  I  believe  you’re  aware  you  came  into  contact  with  something  that  is  hard  to  comprehend  and  harder  to  accept.  Whatever  it  is,  we  can’t  promise  you  to  free  you  of  it  as  we’re  just  as  much  confused  as  you  are.  But  we’re  trying,  but  for  that  we  need  any  help  from  you  we  can  get.  Every  little  thing  you’ve  experienced  might  serve  as  insight  to  fully  grasp  the  scope  of  this.”

“I  just  want  it  gone…  I  haven’t  lived  since  then…  My  friends  turned  away  from  me,  not  even  my  parents  care,  I’m  all  alone  and  no  one  would  notice  if…”

Gently  and  observantly,  Zeev  took  his  hand  in  both  of  his,  kneading  his  palm  in  hope  to  help  him  relax.  He  reacted  bewildered  at  first,  but  something  about  the  witcher  seemed  to  calm  him  down. Something  he  didn’t  understand  as  much  as  what  was  happening  to  him.

“You’re  not  alone,”  Zeev  mumbled.  A  recurring  theme,  he  figured.  “But  that’s  part  of  the  problem,  too,  I’m  afraid.” 

Sebastian  nodded  quietly,  more  aware  than  ever  of  his  dire  situation  but  seemingly  grasping  that  for  once  in  his  life  there  were  people  understanding.  Believing.  Aiding. Potentially  not  him  as  a  person,  but  the  greater  scheme  of  things.  They  were  investigating  the  case,  but  it  was  less  about  him  as  it  was  about  the  strangeness  surrounding  them. 

“Sebastian,”  the  blonde  tried  to  gain  his  attention  once  more,  applying  more  pressure  as  he  massaged  his  hand,  satisfied  by  the  work  he  had  put  into  cleansing  his  wounds  and  wrapping  them  with  bandaids  from  the  first  aid  kid  of  the  Motel  complex.  “The  clapping,  would  you  say  it’s  humanly  made?  Like,  truly  clapping  hands  or  is  that  just  your  way  to  describe  the  sound?”

“I  don’t  understand…”

“Does  it  sound,  uh,  like  skin?  Or  could  it  be  mechanical?  Stone?  Something  nature  based?”

“Uhh.”  Once  more  he  was  left  confused,  which  seems  to  be  a  default  state.  Measured  by  the  sensations  he  had  endured,  Zeev  couldn’t  judge  him  for  being  overwhelmed  and  left  empty  headed.  “I  don’t  know…”  Defeated,  his  shoulders  slumped  forward,  eyes  falling  into  his  hand  wrapped  in  delicate  fingers,  adorned  by  golden  rings  reflecting  the  shine  of  the  afternoon  sun. 

Zeev  patted  his  knee  and  raised  to  his  full  height,  looking  down  at  the  other  in  empathy,  albeit  still  noticing  the  discomfort  the  other  causes  within  him.  An  undeniable  warning  that  dares  to  overtake  the  witcher  whenever  his  eyes  lingered  on  him. Isaiah  had  been  able  to  perceive  the  being  that  clung  to  him  with  sight,  Zeev  most  definitely  had  been  aware  of  it  by  presence  alone.  In  a  way,  Zeev  felt  pride  to  have  his  assumption  confirmed.  Sebastian  wasn't  followed,  he  carried  the  root  of  trouble  with  him.  Was  it  a  mere  coincidence  that  he  had  been  picked?  Were  there  others  suffering  too?  Whatever  it  was,  they'd  get  to  the  bottom  of  this  and  Zeev  felt  encouraged  to  do  so. 

 The  Berco  Resources,  Inc.  construction  site  laid  bare  at  the  far  east  of  Montana's  high  mountains,  cradled  by  a  woodland  that  seemingly  surpassed  the  density  of  any  forest  Zeev  had  seen  before.  The  further  they  went,  the  more  crowded  it  turned.  Tight  knitted  whispering  trees,  chanting  and  ushering  to  one  another  in  a  way  that  felt  foreign  to  Zeev.  Like  a  language  he  potentially  possessed,  but  hadn't  practiced  enough  to  speak  fluently.  There  was,  however,  a  way  to  communicate  that  surpassed  any  barrier: nonverbally.

And  when  they  left  the  car  and  stared  at  the  crater  tearing  into  the  heart  of  the  woods,  Zeev  felt  weakened  and  devastated.  From  their  elevated  position  they  looked  upon  the  work  of  the  company  in  mutual  disturbance—or  empathy  towards  the  witcher,  although  he  doubted  Octavia  and  Sebastian  to  grasp  the  significance  of  the  sight. 

Zeev  knew  wood  was  a  resource,  he  wasn't  stupid  to  deny  that  some  sacrifices  needed  to  be  made  to  build  their  homes,  to  offer  flooring  and  shelves,  to  burn  wood  to  stay  warm  during  colder  days.  His  family,  too,  had  gathered  logs  to  create  their  spaces  and  keep  them  secure.  Witches  though,  or  anyone  who  saw  the  offerings  of  the  world  as  something  sacred,  took  differently  than  most  common  folks. 

Humankind  took  and  destroyed  without  remorse,  feeling  ulterior  in  doing  so,  as  if  it  were  a god-given  right.  They  took  without  a  thanks,  without  giving  something  back,  without  asking  for  permission, ignoring  warnings  from  people  who  knew  about  the  importance  of  those  woodlands—and  for  that  arrogance  they  were  punished  by  powers  beyond  their  comprehension.  The  tribe  had  known,  Zeev  figured.  It  wasn't  just  their  homeland  that  fell  victim  to  greed,  but  also  those  who  lived  inside.  Perhaps,  in  a  way,  they  hadn't  just  tried  to  protect  the  inhabitants, but  also  the  people  who  dared  to  stir  potential  slumbering  gods.  Some  powers  aren't  meant  to  be  set  free,  some  powers  are  best  left  with  an  idea  of  what  the  sky  looked  like,  hidden  underneath  the  dome  of  treetops. It  came  to  no  surprise  that  many  gods  had  left  the  earth,  leaving  them  to  their  own  self-destructive  fates.

Unbeknownst  to  him,  he  had  clutched  Isaiah’s  arm  in  shock,  his  breath  stuck  in  his  throat.

The  Sundawn  Woods  hadn't  taken  well  centuries  prior  to  have  been  chopped  down  to  offer  shelter  to  the  ignorant,  but  compared  to  those  this  woodland  trembled  with  a  rage  so  deeply,  Zeev  felt  the  quake  in  every  fibre  of  his  being. He  felt  the  wails  of  agony  prodding  at  his  consciousness  and  with  a  look  towards  his  boyfriend,  Zeev  figured  he  did  too. 

The  barren  crater  was  filled  with  busy  people,  excavators  and  transporters  bigger  than  Zeev  had  ever  seen  before,  but  the  most  gruesome  sight  was  the  oil  pump  digging  its  claws  into  the  ground  like  a  lapping  vampire,  draining  the  earth's  essence  for  personal  gain.  A  creature,  far  more  terrifying  than  any  deer  antlered-deity  could  ever  be. This,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  wasn't  natural.  It  wasn't  born  out  of  this  earth,  it  was  crafted  from  pieces  taken  from  the  grounds  they  lived  on,  a  patchwork  of  claimed  parts  that  didn't  belong  together  but  were  forced  to  be  a  creature  of  destruction. A  threat.  A  nightmare  fuelled  and  man-made  entity  that,  of  course,  scared  any  being  enough  to  turn  hostile. The  deities  were  too  sentient  to  flee.  They  were  protectors  and  for  that  Zeev  could  hardly  blame  them.

“Jesus,”  Octavia  breathed,  rubbing  her  eye  as  if  disturbed  by  the  dry  dust  stirred  up  by  the  massive  wheels  roughening  the  earth.  “With  all  in  mind  that  you  guys  told  me,  this  is  a  hard  thing  to  watch.”

Zeev  turned  his  head  towards  her,  nodding  in  agreement  and a  rising  sympathy  he  held  for  her. 

“How  long  has  this  been  going  on?”  he  managed  to  croak,  his  voice  tainted  by  the  pain  he  felt.

Sebastian  shrugged,  brows  knitted  tightly  as  he  seemingly  fought  against  the  same  pain  he  held  no  understanding  for.  “Officially?  Two  months.”

Zeev  couldn't  help  but  snarl.  “Officially?  What's  that  supposed  to  mean?”

The  brunette  flinched  at  the  intensity  the  witcher  flung  towards  him  by  nothing  much  but  his  pressing  presence.  “Work  started  four  months  ago  already.  I  think  there  were  still  some,  uh,  legal  conflicts  going  on.”

The  witcher  couldn't  help  but  clench  his  teeth,  enough  to  keep  him  from  blaming  a  mere  worker  for  the  decisions  of  a  company  operating  for  profit. 

“What  are  we  supposed  to  do?  We  won't  be  able  to  stop  any  of  this,  apart  from  the  fact  that  the  damage  has  already  been  done,”  chimed  the  redhead  in,  noticing  the  discomfort  in  both. 

Zeev  sighed.  “That's  too  large  of  a  scope  to  think  about.  First  things  first.  Helping  Sebastian  and  taking  a  look  at  how  bloody  this  wound  has  gotten.  The  case  has  been  closed  in  their  favour,  but  maybe  there’s  a  way  around.  They  can  hardly  take  the  entire  forest…  As  much  as  it  hurts  to  say,  if  we're  lucky  we  can  find  compromises.”

“You  want  to  be  an  ambassador  between  literal  supernatural  entities  and  a  non-believing  company?  I'd  read  that  book  in  a  minute.”  She  chuckled.  “Oh,  will  you  write  me  as  a  handsome  redhead  with  kickass  one-liners  and  a  dashing  personality?  I  want  to  be  played  by  Jessica  Chastain  please!”  She  clapped  her  hands  in  excitement  to  which  Sebastian  flinched  vigorously.  “Oh,  sorry,  Sebby.”

Once  more  Zeev  glanced  across  the  surrounding  mountains,  a  landscape  so  vast  it  ensured  a  biodiversity  habitat,  but  also  offered  a  great  deal  of  importance  regarding  oxygen  production  and  carbon  sequestration. All  of  which  hopefully  taken  into  consideration  beforehand,  but  most  likely  and  unfortunately  deemed  unworthy  of  ensuring. 

“Earth  knows  how  to  protect  herself,”  Zeev  mumbled,  hand  gliding  down  from  his  beloved's  arm  towards  his  hand,  intertwining  their  fingers,  stabilising  himself  like  a  tree's  root  digging  into  the  solid  ground.  “She  has  offered  shelter  to  us  as  a  gift,  but  she  will  never  watch  herself  be  torn  down.  She  prioritises  herself. Floods,  storms,  wildfires,  volcanos,  high  temperatures…  If  a  kid  doesn't  know  how  to  appreciate  a  gift,  it's  taken  away  and  she  will  act  in  much  the  same  manner.  Whatever  lives  there,  it  doesn't  just  protect  itself,  it  doesn't  want  their  home  being  taken  away  either.  If  you're  not  the  hunter  chances  are  you  are  the  prey.” 

“That’s…  awfully  scary.”  Octavia  glanced  down  towards  her  feet,  between  the  space  and  towards  the  ground  she  stood  on.  Slowly,  she  got  down  to  her  knees  and  patted  the  spot.  “I’m  sorry,  Sweetie,  Mama  Vi  will  think  twice  when  ordering  a  take  away  next  time.”

Zeev  smiled  softly.  “Alright,  did  everyone  pack  their  hiking  shoes?”  He  knew,  for  a  fact,  that  his  shoes  weren't  meant  for  trodding  in  the  woods,  but  he  had  many  years  of  experience  to  do  so  regardless.  Besides,  he  wanted  to  look  his  best  when  meeting friendly  giants in  the  woods—and  with  no  one  else  would  he  rather  discover  the  pains  of  the  seemingly  unbelievable  than  the  one  he  loved  the  most.  In  a  way,  he  figured,  Isaiah  was  his  earth. And  he'd  be  any  deity  he  needed  to  ensure  a  life  basked  in  sunshine  and  mysteries.

[hochmvt]

A certain arrogance has been inherent in humans since the beginning of time: regardless of whether they believed the story of creation or relied on historical events, the same patterns recurred repeatedly. The belief that man could make use of all natural resources, supposedly inferior tribes and fantasies was unshakeable. Man had conceitedly crowned himself, slyly crept up the food chain and, even though there was so much that was still above him, declared that they were king; enthroned high above both beast and sapling, but also above the entities and deities that had formed and inhabited these lands long before them. Forests were felled exponentially faster, rivers were emptied and bled dry, tunnels were cut into monumental mountain ranges for the sake of convenience, as if the earth was nothing more than a commodity rather than a home to be cherished and cared for like one's own four walls. Isaiah had always been aware of this. Not only because of his profession, but also because of his empathy, which often became the downfall of his characteristic world-weariness. And yet he had buried this fact deep in his subconscious, simply to protect himself. The podcast host was an optimist, he tried to focus on the good things in life, but now that he saw the horror with his eyes as the earth threatened to collapse under the unspeakable weight of human greed, he became painfully aware of what his own species was doing. It was one thing to read about it in the newspaper or watch a documentary on TV (and he remembered thinking about Koyaanisqatsi for a long time as a teenager [and how magnificently Philip Glass had captured the essence of the movie, in Isaiah's eyes the best soundtrack Glass had ever made] and at the same time remembering he still needed to see the other two parts of the trilogy). It felt like the statement, a container of ashes might one day be thrown from the sky, which could burn the land and boil the oceans, was actually coming true and turning out to be a prophecy.

The drilling site stretched out before them and while the image was an ever-present one for Sebastian, Isaiah was shaken in his being as a whole. And he couldn't even imagine how Zeev felt. It wasn't just the machines that made Isaiah's heart feel heavier, the way the metallic screams rang out again and again, leaving pools of black gold in their wake—it was the indifference. The ruthlessness. The way all these men, especially the executives, went about all this as if they were standing in the checkout line at Walmart. They displayed a composure that did not necessarily suggest that they were about to irrevocably destroy sacred land that was older than all of them put together.

Black, thick smoke billowed from one of the heavy machinery's exhausts and Isaiah felt Zeev tighten his grip on his arm. Even though it was hard to look away his gaze went to his boyfriend, he lifted the witcher's hand and gently kissed his knuckles before taking him in his arms and kissing his temple. Silently, he supported him while he spoke to Sebastian. Zeev had been tense since they got out of the car. And even though they hadn't known each other a lifetime, Isaiah knew Zeev well enough to know that there was not only anger in the other, but also an emotion far deeper than that: Grief. Gently, he stroked the other's back, kissing his temple again as the witcher grew louder. He could understand the impulse to get vociferous towards Sebastian; he was currently the face of the whole operation, and yet each of them was aware that Sebastian was a small cog that turned incessantly and was ultimately not the one who had started this endless machinery.

As he stroked Zeev's back in circles and listened absentmindedly, he glanced again at the image stretched out before him. His shoulders slumped slightly, the weight of helplessness settling on his shoulders. Even if they managed to shut down this site in a daring move now, there were still thousands of others they would have to undermine in order to actually make a difference. As an optimist, such thoughts were not particularly beneficial. The podcast was born out of his nature that even the actions of one could contribute to the good of all. But this...?

None of this was new to him. He had often written in his notebooks about the deeds he had witnessed, how people put themselves above everything again and again, even the things they held dear and sacred. His gaze went to Octavia, whose eyes alternated between Sebastian, Zeev and the drilling site. Even her cheerful disposition was clouded. Isaiah remained silent, primarily because he didn't really want to get into the discussion. He couldn't. As if his words didn't do justice to the situation. 

Instead, he let his gaze wander over the horror scenario before them. He looked at the machines, the hustle and bustle below them, crowds of people moving around like an anthill, all going about their business. None of them even gave the impression that any of them were ashamed. A second thought. But Isaiah couldn't blame the simple workers either. As someone who made his living by creating videos for end consumers, whose streaming of a three-hour podcast produced around 990 grams of CO² emissions, resulting in 1485 tons of CO² with an average audience of almost 1.5 million, he was also in a dilemma himself. With around 20 episodes a year, they were the equivalent of 20,000 passengers making a round trip between New York and London. And that was just for one year. And only on YouTube. Isaiah swallowed hard and looked almost a little more sympathetically at Sebastian, lowering his gaze and promising himself that he would make a timely appeal for donations for the preservation of forests and contribute a considerable amount. 

All this was a different horror to the one he normally faced. There were no ghosts or shadowy figures here, no cryptids hiding in the treetops. Instead, there was destructive force in lockstep, without so much as a second thought to the consequences. He pulled Zeev slightly in front of him, wrapping both his arms around him, thus moving his fiancé away from Sebastian, burying his face in the blonde strands and closing his eyes. An unspoken apology, even if he wasn't sure for what exactly. For bringing him here? For the ugliness of the world? His gaze went back to the site in front of them. Over machines, over people, over more or less “expertly” cobbled-together huts and over a white tent in the middle of the turmoil. 

It was far less dirty than the other huts, and the contrast made it almost impossible to miss. Even the neon-colored high-visibility vests of the staff were less conspicuous than the bright tarpaulin in the middle of the site. Isaiah furrowed his eyebrows slightly, focused on it, detached himself slightly from Zeev, stood next to him again and observed the commotion—and how none of the workers went too close to this tent or even entered it. As if it only existed on another level of consciousness. Was he imagining it? His gaze went briefly to the others as they talked. Then back again.

A cold shiver ran down his spine; it was as if there was something about this tent that demanded Isaiah's attention. He had seen a lot of strange places—former homes that had lost all earthly life and were inhabited by something deeper that words could hardly explain, forests whose inhabitants were not just animals but things that never had a name—but something was... different. His lower back ached and he closed his eyes briefly, sighing quietly in pain.

“Alright, did everyone pack their hiking shoes?” asked Zeev, and Isaiah gingerly grasped his wrist, holding him back with a “Wait,” the witcher's soft smile faded as he looked up at the blonde. The sudden gravity in the way he said it gave Zeev pause, even without Isaiah holding his hand. As someone who tended to move towards danger to gain an advantage, fear had become a rare companion when it came to research for content for his podcast. He was more afraid when he was sitting in a restaurant and was supposed to speak up, because the waiter brought the wrong food or when he actually wanted to say no and still said yes. Now there was a certain uncertainty and respect in his voice that was suspiciously close to his anxious one. Octavia also paused and looked at Isaiah questioningly, his gaze went to his boyfriend and he scrutinized him briefly before taking another step towards the drill site, then his gaze went to Sebastian. “What's under that tent?” he asked, tightening his grip on Zeev's hand slightly as his back pain worsened. Why now of all times? The witcher searched for the tent for a moment, then his gaze went back to Isaiah. There was worry there.

Sebastian reacted more guiltily about it than he would have liked. His shoulders were hunched slightly, he swallowed hard and glanced briefly at the tent, but within a few seconds he was looking somewhere else. As if to negate the existence of this snow-white monster. “That's where the elevator is,” he replied quietly, his voice breaking briefly, and Isaiah suspected that it wasn't just due to the weeks of exhaustion that had been inherent in this man. “What elevator?” Isaiah asked, releasing his hand from Zeev's wrist. “Goes down to the old mineshaft.” Irritated, Isaiah drew his eyebrows together and straightened up a little more despite the pain in his back. “Mineshaft? This is an oil site... What does an old mine shaft have to do with any of this?” Sebastian looked once more at the place where he was working, then back up at him. He spoke words that did not belong to him, but instead to one of his superiors. He had probably been indoctrinated with the justification for a multifunctional site, along with work instructions and occupational safety measures. “It used to be a mine before it collapsed. They repurposed it because it was cheaper to drill here than clean a new site.”

Sebastian's statement sounded like something he had said so often that he had lost all connection to it. That it was simply accepted as fact without ever being questioned again. Isaiah looked at Sebastian, whose facial features were becoming increasingly different. His gaze went blank and he swallowed hard, rubbing his wrist. “How many died down there?” he continued to ask, eyeing the general laborer. His shoulders slumped and his gaze dropped, as if he didn't want to remember. “Eighteen,” he mumbled in reply, “they...—were trapped when it caved in. No one got— got them out.” Sighing, Isaiah stroked his face, then tussled his hair and clasped his hands behind his neck, letting his eyes wander over the scene before him.

Zeev and he had read every report they could find online. The history of the place, looked it up in the city archives, but there had been no mention of a collapse anywhere. No services, no newspaper reports and no court cases. Except for the one they had already been informed about. But none about a collapsed mineshaft. As if it had never happened. Still, Isaiah doubted that Sebastian was making up a mine cave-in. “We didn't find anything about that,” Zeev finally remarked, eyeing Sebastian as Isaiah felt the witcher's hand on his arm. It grounded him somehow. “They erased everything, nothing was supposed to get out and... I guess they succeeded at that. They didn't want anyone to know.”

The disparate pieces of the puzzle came together in Isaiah's mind, he looked at Sebastian and understood a little later. “You were down there when it happened,” he realized, feeling a sinking feeling in his stomach. The mineshaft hadn't collapsed before the patrons of this operation had decided to set up their drilling site here, but afterwards. Isiaah hadn't asked Sebastian a question with his statement, but had rather spoken the truth, which he probably couldn't get past his lips. There was fear and guilt in his eyes when he finally managed to lift his gaze and look at the two investigators. “I was,” he confessed, taking off his cap to reveal his dark hair, “I was the only one who came back...”

The assumption that this collapse was not simply a result of gravity was not exactly something Isaiah wanted to say out loud, but his gaze found Zeev's and he nodded at him, gingerly taking his hand, kissing his knuckles and smiling at him. The Sundawner knew what the logical conclusion was even before Isaiah spoke. Before he could say anything however, Isaiah winced slightly as another pain went through his lower back and he shook his head slightly as Zeev put his arm around him and looked up at him with concern. “What's wrong?” he asked and Isaiah waved him off. “Lower back pain, guess me running through the night half naked wasn't the best thing for my body,” he smiled weakly and kissed Zeev's temple. “I'm fine, baby, nothing to worry about... I'm sorry,” he smiled reassuringly and kissed Zeev's lips gently, straightening up again.

“We need to go down there, Sebastian,” he finally spoke, deliberately but firmly, as if there was no room for argument, even if the law wasn't entirely on their side, “We need to see it for ourselves.” Sebastian's eyes widened and he looked over at the two of them in disbelief, scrutinizing them as if they had lost their common sense. “No,” he replied louder, more bewildered, as he shook his head to clarify his position on the proposal. “No, absolutely not. I'm not going back down there, you can't ask me to do that. That's—Are you retarded?” Isaiah grimaced at the choice of words and ran his fingers through his hair. But he remained patient, unwavering in his calm demeanor, even as his gaze became more focused.

“Sebastian, we're not asking you to relive it,” he spoke calmly to the man across from him, who had actually come to him for help. Someone who didn't think he was a weirdo for telling anyone, he was chased by something no one else can see. Now, he needed to bring Sebastian back to his senses and convince him that this was the right approach. “If we don't understand what happened in full detail, we can't help you... We won't understand fully until we know what's down there... We need to see it.” From Sebastian's reaction, Isaiah quickly knew that it wasn't just a collapse, but something else had happened that he didn't want to say out loud. It didn't necessarily mean that Sebastian had seen something down there that he shouldn't have. Maybe he had done something that caused the guilt in his gaze. Isaiah's train of thought was interrupted by Sebastian's wild statements anyway.

“You don't get it, Pines,” he spat and got even louder, taking a few steps towards the American and he gently nudged Zeev behind himself. The worker's hands trembled as he wiped his face. “It's not about what's down there, there were no monsters crawling on the walls like in your stupid fucking stories!” Isaiah looked at Zeev as he took a step forward and started to say something, but Isaiah shook his head. Logic and reasoning structures were out of place here. Sebastian was laying himself bare before them in all his despair, and he didn't mean the things he was saying. Isaiah knew that. “It's what happened down there, I lost friends in there, man, if I didn't get to the elevator just in time, I'd be fucking dead! You...— I cannot face that again!”

They were quiet for a few moments. Zeev had remained silent up to that point, but seemed to regain his composure and Isaiah let go of him, studying him carefully and keeping an eye on Sebastian. If Sebastian went below the belt or became violent, Isaiah would pack his things within a few minutes and leave Sebastian to his fate. “You're right,” his boyfriend began, taking the slightly taller man's hand. In the way he sought closeness, Isaiah realized that Zeev wasn't particularly comfortable and that he felt a certain unease, which Isaiah couldn't blame him for. “It's not about monsters or curses, Sebastian... It's what happened down there. What happened to you down there... That's exactly why we need to see it for ourselves.” Zeev took another step towards Sebastian and Isaiah did the same, glancing briefly at Octavia, who kept her distance, which he welcomed. “You survived it but it's still holding you hostage... It's dragging you down every time you close your eyes.”

That seemed to get to Sebastian. Not only because of the truth inherent in Zeev's words, but also because of the fact that his words didn't sound like they were just said, but as if Zeev had gone through a similar hell as his counterpart. There was vulnerability behind the hard features. Isaiah gently placed his hand on Zeev's back, stroked the fabric and then looked at Octavia, who bravely took a few steps towards them. “And you won't be down there by yourself,” she said, smiling encouragingly at him, standing between Zeev and Isaiah, her smile turning proud. “You got us! The coolest gang out there,” she smiled and crossed her arms, Isaiah smiling back at her, even if she was the reason he had to break physical contact with his boyfriend.

Sebastian's exhale was comparable to the sound of defeat. He agreed wordlessly and looked towards the tent again. Isaiah carefully placed a hand on his shoulder. “We won't leave you behind... Not in that place, not down there, not up here... We're in this together, okay?” Defeated, Sebastian nodded and stroked his hair. “Tonight... The last guys leave at ten...” he mumbled and Octavia smiled, clapped her hands and shortly afterwards apologized for her enthusiasm. ”We'll get back to the motel, prepare for tonight, sleep some and we'll meet on the parking lot at 10pm. Eat some before we leave.” Octavia looked up at him and grinned before tying her hair into a loose bun, putting an arm around Sebastian and walking back towards the car while she told him about how she was going to pack lunches for everyone and that she'd never been down a mineshaft before. The other two lingered behind, the taller one looking towards the drilling site and then to Zeev. He smiled sincerely at him and took his hand, kissing it gently and studying him, leaning his forehead against the other's and sighing softly. “I love you, Zeev... More than anything,” he confessed softly and kissed him again. “I'm sorry you had to see this...”

Dusk fell slowly and beautifully, making the sight of the digging site even less bearable. Neither of them spoke much as they made their way back to the motel. Even Octavia had been silent and the conversation with Sebastian had died down. Isaiah had quietly held Zeev's hand, repeatedly placing his hand on his thigh to give him silent support. After their arrival, Sebastian had said his farewells, claiming he was tired and needed to rest. Meanwhile, Isaiah had lit a cigarette and Octavia had also retreated to get some sleep. Hours later, the three of them were sitting in Zeev and Isaiah's motel room. Octavia had actually put together packed lunches for them all (which were actually rather meagre considering the sparse selection from the snack machine). And although each of them tried to approach it with a little more levity, there was a heaviness hanging over them that was hard to pin down. Isaiah sat at his laptop, making various notes, Zeev sat on the desk itself, watching him while Vi laid down on the bed. Her red, wild curls contrasted prominently against the white sheets. Zeev was currently fiddling with a thread of his pants, which Isaiah noticed out of the corner of his eye.

Gently, he reached for his fiancé's hand, lifted it and kissed his palm, as he had done many times before. A silent promise that he was not alone. His smile suggested as much. The kiss sealed it. “What did you write down, Isaiah? Any theories you might want to share with the group?” The photographer spoke into the room at some point and Isaiah turned his gaze away from the witcher, albeit reluctantly, over to the new companion he had found. Or rather, who had found him. Isaiah's hand rested on Zeev's thigh as he skimmed over his notes, supporting his head with his other hand. “Hm,” he muttered. “I've been spinning theories. Maybe the deity was bound by the miners, maybe it had slept for centuries before they woke it, maybe the land itself is cursed and now that the wound is ripped open, it's bleeding out through cracks in the earth. Hell, we don't even know if the creature, deity or curse clinging to Sebastian is the same as the one down there...” He thought loud for a moment and leaned back, looked up at Zeev again and stroked the fabric of his trousers with his thumb.

“What if he was meant to die down there? Everything comes with a price. Stealing earth's resources surely must, too," he murmured, looking up at the witcher, smiling faintly and leaning down to kiss the other's knee. “So Final Destination logic?” Vi asked and Isaiah laughed. ”Basically. Just ain't Tony Todd here telling us what the real reason is,” he replied and turned to her, smiling wider. “I've never seen those,” Zeev confessed a little later and Isaiah's gaze went back to him, his smile growing warmer. He leaned forward and brushed a few strands of hair from Zeev's forehead that had never bothered anyone at all. His voice was soft and patient as he talked about how those films played with the idea of death as a force—not a being, but a pattern, a law, something that couldn't stand being cheated. If someone survived a disaster they weren't meant to, death would come back for them, in ways both subtle and violent, one after another, until the balance was restored. Balance, he thought, was a crucial construct in normality and magic alike. His words came slower as he leaned in, shortly after standing up, coming to halt in front of his fiancé, brushing a kiss against Zeev's cheek mid-sentence, then another at the corner of his mouth, before finally letting their lips meet in a lingering kiss that softened the weight of the evening, if only for a moment.

“You guys even make Final Destination sappy. Ain't really my type in movies,” the redhead commented, straightening up and stretching, yawning. She left them with a promise to return after getting herself ready, her gaze sharp and knowing as she exited, leaving the door ajar behind her. Isaiah rolled his eyes, chuckled, closed it shortly after and returned to Zeev who was now sitting on the edge of the bed, standing in between his legs. He watched the other for a long moment, then moved even closer. Without asking, he sank down onto his knees between Zeev's legs, his hands gentle as they slid up along his thighs, without an ulterior motive, placing soft kisses on his inner knee. He looked up, his expression open—and worried. “How are you holding up, my love?” he asked softly, looking up at him, resting his head on the witcher's leg. When Zeev placed his hand on Isaiah's cheek, the podcast host closed his eyes and lost himself in the touch for a few moments. The silence filled with Zeev's sigh long before he could give an answer to what was going on inside him. What followed was the witcher moving from the bed, sitting down in front of Isaiah and leaning against him. The blonde moved slightly to be able to hold Zeev, putting his arms around him supportively, kissing his temple and burying his nose in his hair.

"That place just felt... horrible. All of it. I couldn't stop thinking about everything they've taken already and everything they're still taking. I've heard the trees whispering before and couldn't understand them and once we were there, everything was just... quiet. It was horrifying. It's like watching a body get torn apart piece by piece and knowing you can't stop it," he murmured and Isaiah looked at him, kissed his cheek gently and pulled him onto his lap, holding him still for a while and closing his eyes. His kisses were to remind the witcher that there was still gentleness in this world. That not all was lost. That love outlasted everything. Weltschmerz was a terrible feeling that Isaiah had become aware of again and again in the course of his life. And there was no combination of 26 different letters that would ever be able to outweigh how terrifyingly awful the world could be. “I know, my love,” he confirmed his feeling, showing his compassion, “it's ugly and it's cruel and the worst thing of all is, that it's everywhere.” What was the point of glossing over things that didn't have a single spark of beauty in them? "But you don't have to carry all of it... Not alone. We will do our part, okay? They're doing something illegal, once we helped Sebastian, we'll help the land and try our best and get them away from there. And after that, we can raise money to plant trees and start a reforestation program. We can even go back here and plant trees ourselves. We'll raise awareness and even though it's not the only place in the world where this cruelty prevails, it's one less." Another gentle kiss found its place on Zeev's cheek. Isaiah stayed there with him on the ground for quite some time, quiet most times but steady nonetheless, offering no promises except this: that he wasn't going anywhere. That he would stand beside him, even in the ruins.

At night, the digging site seemed almost as if the extent of the destruction was not as bad as first thought. The silence seemed deafeningly loud when one considered the picture that had stretched out before them just a few hours ago. Zeev and Isaiah had decided without further ado not to rest, but had driven away to watch the sunset away from the motel while eating something with more nutritional value than sugar, salt and saturated fat. The peace and quiet (and yes, presumably the fact that Isaiah hadn't just given in to his next best cravings) had fortified them both for the evening and what lay ahead. It had grounded them, too. They moved carefully around the Berco Resources, Inc. property, moving between the nissen huts that loomed on either side of the narrow paths they took. A few hung with naked bulbs, their light weak, as if trying to suggest there was still life around here somewhere and yet, they failed. 

Sebastian walked ahead and even though he tried not to show his fear, his stride, his hunched shoulders, his restless gaze to the left and right gave him away. Isaiah didn't know if it was the construction site alone that made him restless, or if he heard the clapping again and didn't want to admit to himself that he was doing it. Octavia walked behind him, seeming much more alert and euphoric with her camera hanging over her shoulder. Isaiah wondered if she had changed her film in the meantime and couldn't imagine how she was going to take a single photo in the dark that was remotely correctly exposed. In the end, however, he simply didn't care. His attention went back to Zeev beside him, squeezing his hand lightly and smiling at him as he looked up at him. They were here together. Gently, he kissed his cheek and put his arm around him. 

At some point, between the machines and the huts, the tent loomed up like a supposed ray of hope. Pale and ghost-like, it stood out from its surroundings, making it seem almost surreal in the scenery. At the same time, it didn't really seem inviting to any of them, even though Isaiah was desperate to find out what had happened down there. They stopped in front of it, Isaiah's gaze going to Sebastian and then up to the floodlight illuminating a larger patch of ground not far from the tent. “Stay close,” he finally spoke after moments of pause that seemed to demand their surroundings. He himself wasn't quite sure who his command was actually directed at, Zeev, Sebastian or perhaps all three. Octavia, Zeev and himself looked at each other intently, while Sebastian had lowered his gaze. The podcast host took a bold step inside. 

The helmets hung from a rack just inside the tent, their dull yellow shells barely recognizable and streaked with dark brown or black marks of long use. After deciding once again that the only way to find out what had happened was to go down, Sebastian was the first to pick up a helmet and put it on, as he had probably done hundreds of times before. Octavia was the second, Isaiah grinned at the sight of the red, wild curls emerging from underneath and it almost looked like the photographer was surrounded by a red halo as one of the spotlights illuminated her from behind. A beautiful motif. His eyes rested on them for a while as he put on his helmet, then his gaze went over to his fiancé. The witcher stood a little apart from them, looking down at the helmet in his hands as if it took him more effort to put it on than to go down a mine shaft, one branch of which had recently collapsed. He wasn't making a scene, but his reluctance was plain in the slight furrow between his brows, the way his thumb pressed absently against the hard plastic as though trying to convince himself to tolerate it. Isaiah knew that look and his heart grew warmer and heavier alike. He knew the quiet battle of discomfort behind it and how much Zeev hated anything on his head—hats, hoods, helmets. In the beginning, Isaiah thought of it as nothing but a quirk. Maybe due to some sort of vanity, but eventually he had come to realize that it was neither about the weight nor the way it pressed against his hair, making it seem touseled, but the way it made him feel boxed in. Something Zeev was afraid of. 

When Zeev looked up at his fiancé, there was no impatience in Isaiah's eyes, no urging to do something he didn't want to do. Instead, he came close and smiled gently at him, placing his hand on his side and stroking the fabric of his shirt with his thumb. “You want me to help you?” he asked cautiously and Zeev hesitated for a while before nodding barely noticeably and holding the helmet out to Isaiah. Isaiah took it gently from his hands, holding it in one palm as the other brushed a stray lock of hair back from Zeev's forehead. His touch was slow, deliberate, not rushing him. There was reassurance in his caresses. “It's just for down there,” he murmured. “We'll take it off the second we're back up.” Zeev swallowed and finally nodded, leaning against Isaiah and closing his eyes. “Sorry,” he murmured and Isaiah shook his head, kissing the top of the other's head. “Nothing to be sorry for, baby.”

Carefully, he guided it down onto his head until it settled over Zeev's curls. His fingers lingered at the sides, making small, patient adjustments to ensure the best possible comfort for Zeev at all times. “Is this okay?” he asked, stroking his cheek gently. Zeev met his eyes, they way he looked up was almost boyish, innocence woven into the way his dark eyes met Isaiah's blue, and as Isaiah smiles down at him, Zeev passed something quiet towards the other—gratitude, trust and the unspoken confession that this was easier with the other. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Good,” he replied and leaned down, kissing Zeev gently and observing him. Then he reached under his chin and tightened the clasp, careful not to pinch his skin and leaving enough room that Zeev didn't feel constricted. It wasn't exactly in line with any security protocols, but Isaiah wouldn't report it to the authorities anyway. It wasn't a grand gesture to anyone but Zeev. There was something grounding in it the way they handled one another. Neither of them had to thank the other, not for letting him help, neither for making it easier and being patient. It was all there, quiet reassurances and unspoken confessions of love in all its shapes and forms. 

Isaiah almost felt attacked when he heard the elevator groan as it started to move with the weight of the four of them. Granted, he'd resorted to Snickers as a substantial meal more often than not over the past few days, but it hadn't mattered so much that he was now putting industrial elevators out of commission where twenty men normally rode into the abyss. His hand went to his stomach and he pouted as he looked at Zeev. “That elevator just called me fat on so many non-verbal levels that I feel utmost insulted,” he confessed, looking down at his fiancé, who looked back at him and then laughed softly. That was nice, Isaiah thought, how he laughed, even though he would probably rather be anywhere in the world right now than in this place. And without a helmet. Wordlessly, Zeev put his arms around Isaiah, who put his arm around the other's body and looked at Sebastian. 

He stood at the control lever, his knuckles white even though he had already pulled it seconds ago. As if holding onto that lever meant holding on to control over the situation. Isaiah stroked Zeev's back in a calming way, suspecting that his claustrophobia might get worse down here. “I'm with you, my love... At all times. And if you want to go back up, we'll go back up, okay?” he promised him quietly and studied his face closely, while Zeev nodded weakly but didn't look up at him. “Why is he given the choice? I don't wanna be down here,” Sebastian commented, drawing his eyebrows together. Isaiah pressed Zeev closer to him with his hand, his voice remained calm but became stricter. Ain't no way, Sebby. “Zeev leaves if he has to because he's here for me. You stay because you're here for you. And if you can't face what happened, then nothing we do down here will matter," he argued, tilting his head slightly to the side. “You want to end this? Then you don't get to pick and choose the easy parts of the road. You stay. You see it through to the last step, even if your legs shake so bad you think they're going to give out. Zeev didn't sign up for your ghosts, but he's joining you despite his fear anyway and that's a kindness you haven't even thanked him for. You're here for you, Sebastian. For your own life. And if you walk away from this again, if you take the easy exit because it's hard down here, then whatever's chasing you will never stop. It'll keep finding you. With all due respect: Don't go there and don't even think about going after Zeev or you and I will have a serious problem.” In the silence that followed, Zeev had pressed himself closer to Isaiah and looked up at him with a grin. The mischievous, boyish smirk made Isaiah laugh and he kissed him gently as they continued down the shaft, the elevator eventually touching down on the platform with a thud.

The gates opened and a long mine shaft stretched out in front of them, which Isaiah could barely make out. The helmet lamps illuminated it only sporadically, the cones of light seemingly dissolving into the gloom rather than illuminating it because of the dust down here. The lighting away from their helmets was almost non-existent, the bulbs looking like tasteless decorations in their sockets, as if they were mocking the workers here and constantly reminding them that everything was swallowed up in this darkness. “Eerie,” Octavia commented, tying up her hair. “Sebby, can you recommend a good shampoo that gets rid of the dust? Feel like it's gonna cling to my hair for weeks. I usually choose my memorabilia more carefully,” she commented and took the first steps ahead, even though she didn't even know where she was going. “Let me turn on the light first. Before we go.” It was the first thing Sebastian had said since Isaiah had read him the riot act. “What?” Isaiah asked bluntly, having justifiably assumed that the sparse lighting was all that would provide light and certainty down here.

The worker flipped a switch, revealing the true extent of what had happened below the surface. With a low hum, the massive, industrial lights illuminated a shaft, the end of which Isaiah couldn't even see. He held his breath. Not because it was particularly beautiful or because he was impressed by man's capacity to create. Rather, it was the speechlessness of looking at a wound for a long time and only realizing in retrospect how deep it actually was. The shaft was by no means as small as the podcast host had imagined from Sebastian's stories. It was vast and felt almost cathedral-like in scale, considering this activity has been going on for as long as it has—illegally so. The sheer size wasn't an act of craftsmanship; it was theft. Monumental. Unapologetic. Manmade. Conveyor belts stretched towards the far ends, where the lights had failed. Probably from the collapse. Zeev stood still next to Isaiah, the light completely illuminated by cold white light, which made him look paler than usual. There was no reverence in his expression. Only something tight, the way a man looks when his stomach turns but forces himself not to look away.

The sight made Isaiah feel small. Not in the way that mountains or forests made him feel small, that was irrelevance he was comfortable with. Rather, it was helplessness that spread through him: owed to the fact that there wasn't much he could do to cushion Zeev's feelings just because there was a small group of people who had decided the world was theirs. And they were facing a testament to the extent of that misperception.

The worker knew how to navigate and the three followed him wordlessly. Several tunnels led away from the central chamber. “Where did it happen?” Isaiah asked at one point, after Zeev had wordlessly taken his hand. "Shaft three. Further down," Sebastian replied, while Isaiah listened to him but looked at the chalk markers on the wall instead. This didn't just look like mineral resources had been extracted here. Silence fell again, interrupted at regular intervals by the echoing footsteps.

The bright lighting of the central chamber did not reach as far as Shaft Three. Instead, the dimly lit light bulbs provided a supposed remedy and the helmet lamps did the rest. The deeper they went into the shaft, the more each of them realized that it was less about extracting oil or ore here, but that Berco was actually after something else. “Sebastian,” Isaiah spoke quietly at one point, examining the walls of the shaft, bearing strange scoring that he could not associate with the heavy machinery they had seen in the central chamber, “what were they really after here?” The oppressive silence sufficed as an answer, while Sebastian's helmet lamp shone into the darkness before them. “I don't know,” he answered honestly, and Isaiah assumed he didn't want to know what Berco was really after either.

The tunnel grew narrower the longer they followed Sebastian and Isaiah kept looking back at Zeev, taking his hand and kissing his knuckles, smiling reassuringly at him and nodding silently. I'm with you, my love. The dust had slowly settled and the air grew colder, leading Isaiah to assume that they were going even further beneath the surface of the earth. Even if neither of them felt the air thinning, it felt as if it had remained motionless since the cave-in. Even the intrusion of the four hadn't set it in motion. “This way,” Sebastian spoke coolly, walking deeper into Shaft Three until he eventually came to a stop in front of a steel door. “Behind there. It's all collapsed... What good does that do us now?” Admittedly, the pessimism was starting to get to Isaiah, and even if it could be explained by lack of sleep, paranoia and hopelessness, it was increasingly getting on his last nerve. Running towards a solution instead of away from it was the only thing Sebastian could do at the moment. Otherwise, he could just sit at home and wait for his own demise, as if it were his grandmother coming over for cake. Zeev seemed to realize that it was primarily Sebastian's manner that seemed to put Isaiah in a less than good mood, which was why the witcher's hand rested on the podcast host's lower back. I'm with you just the same, Isaiah. Silently, the blonde leaned down and gently kissed Zeev's lips before breaking away and opening the door, despite Sebastian's protests.

The air behind the door was colder than the air in the shaft, carrying a faint scent like rain on stone, and he saw Zeev shiver. With a gentle touch, he stroked his shoulder and kissed his forehead before turning around again and realizing what was hidden behind it. The walls, floor and ceiling of the supposedly collapsed shaft greeted them in unparalleled splendor, each component covered in crystalline, jagged but gleaming formations. Nothing here suggested a collapse. The light of their lamps got caught and the crystalline formations in front of them refracted each into a dozen fractured beams, scattering the gloom into shifting spectrums of pale blues, silvers, and faint, iridescent greens. Some of the crystal spires were no thicker than a finger, clustered together like frozen glass, while others rose thick like roots, splitting the floor and pushing upward. He felt Zeev's hand in his and smiled softly as he saw the play of light on the other's face.

As Zeev walked carefully ahead, Isaiah took off his jacket and helped the witcher inside, putting his arms around him and gently rubbing his chest to warm him, kissing his neck, albeit a little awkwardly due to the helmet. Together they examined the crystalline surfaces more closely, some shapes embedded within the larger formations on the wall. He furrowed his eyebrows in irritation and took a step back together with Zeev when he realized that these hazy shapes were not shadows or even random, but human. Figures half-swallowed by the crystalline growths, limbs and torsos twisted into the frozen geometry of the cavern they had entered. Some sat upright as though resting, their features soft and oddly serene for capturing them moments before death, others caught in motion—arms outstretched towards the ceiling, faces turned upward as though toward air they never reached. “They're people,” Isaiah mumbled and as realization hit, Zeev pushed his body more against his fiancé's. 

“They're beautiful.” Isaiah, Zeev and Sebastian's eyes turned simultaneously to Octavia, who leaned forward and gently ran her index finger over the surface of a crystal. She only realized this a little later and straightened up slightly, clearing her throat. "In a very tragic way, uh, beautiful for— people dying down here and uh,... turning into crytsals. In that way." Isaiah smiled faintly at her, knowing all too well the stutter of making a supposedly tactless comment without giving it a second thought. “I agree,” he assured her and offered her companionship, knowing her comment came from a good place.

Sebastian exhaled with a scoff and shook his head, this time it was Zeev who gave him a look but didn't comment further. Instead, he walked towards the wall and scrutinized the crystals and reflections in front of him. “This isn't destruction... It's protection.” Isaiah furrowed his eyebrows questioningly. “What do you mean?” His right hand hovered over the crystals and his expression softened. Isaiah thought for a moment about how gorgeous he was. How beautiful curiosity and the joy of discovery looked on him. And how beautiful he looked when the reflections of the crystals caught in his hair.

“It's like when a wound scabs over. The earth was hurt, deeply, and this is how it's healing itself... It's not just one mineral, it's three. Clear quartz, selenite, and green aventurine.” Isaiah smiled gently at him and Zeev smiled back. Then he continued as his hand moved over a silky white section until he finally traced a green vein threading through with his index finger. “Quartz amplifies energy. Selenite cleanses it and restores purity. And aventurine heals.” He straightened slightly, glancing over his shoulder at Sebastian. “Together, they form something like a concentricity. Energy is drawn in, cleansed and used to repair. The crystals are restoring what was broken. Earth did, what any living thing does... It tried to stop the bleeding. Even if it means reclaiming what is human.” The moment Zeev spoke his last word, Isaiah realized how insanely attractive his fiancé was and how terribly suitable this place was for kissing him. And to get married. 

Before Isaiah could put any of the many things that had just crossed his mind into action, it was Octavia who summarized what Zeev had just conveyed: “It's like the earth put on a bandaid for itself. The prettiest one of all.” Isaiah nodded and silently searched for Zeev's hand as he looked around again. There was a strange peace in this crystal cave: the once-human figures stood completely still, preserved, gently embedded in the crystalline embrace of the earth. But the beauty didn't soften the weight in his chest, that never really left ever since they had seen the true scopes of Berco's endeavors—and Zeev's painful expression that came with it. If the earth had needed to heal here, it meant something had wounded it badly enough to take eighteen people in the process. And that wound hadn't been born of nature, but carved by human hands.

Sebastian seemed to have had enough of the admiration of the three people helping him. The worker shook his head, hands curling into fists at his sides, but he didn't argue Zeev's words, seemingly because he had found truth in them as well. His eyes flicked towards one of the figures, and for a brief moment, his anger faltered into something heavier, harder to carry. Guilt. The beauty of the cave didn't erase the horror, but it put it into another perspective. This was not a tomb born of cruelty, but of necessity. Working against each other and not being there for each other in times of great need was not in Isaiah's nature. He released his hand from his fiancé's and took a few steps towards Sebastian, putting his arm around him and trying to give him some quiet encouragement. “You're allowed to grieve, Seb... You lost some good men in here, huh?” he spoke to him calmly and Sebastian's tense posture slowly relaxed and he leaned almost imperceptibly against Isaiah, examining the remains of his deceased colleagues. Silent grief, which Isaiah gave space to. “If the earth is still healing...” Sebastian began at one point, looking up at Isaiah, “what happens when someone tears the wound open again? If they don't stop?” Even though he would have liked to give him an answer, Isaiah had no choice but to shrug his shoulders helplessly. 

“I don't think we wanna find out, Sebastian,” he commented and stroked his back, drawing his eyebrows together and straightening slightly when he heard a noise. “Stay here,” he murmured and let go of the man who had sought his help a few days ago. Sebastian didn't need to be told twice and stayed behind with Octavia, while Zeev followed Isaiah in silence. Even though Isaiah would have liked to protest, he knew that it would never bear fruit and would send the wrong message. Especially after the incident of his disappearance at night. Isaiah wanted Zeev with him, but he didn't want to put him in danger. Carefully, he took his hand and led him back through Shaft Three, looking at him. “I'm glad you're here with me,” he spoke and stopped, leaning down to kiss his lips gently, placing both his hands on his cheeks and studying his face. “I'm also very glad we got out of there, because when you explained about that crystalline concentricity? Damn.” As Zeev's cheeks flushed and he smiled shyly up at him, Isaiah's heart warmed. “Dunno how I did all of this alone for so many years. Wish I had you with me for longer...” He spoke the words to give Zeev reassurance that he wanted him around more than anything and still, they didn't hold less truth because of it.

At some point, Octavia and Sebastian's voices had faded into a barely intelligible murmur, swallowed up by the corridors of Shaft Three. They both moved slowly but steadily towards the central chamber, repeatedly hearing muffled noises interrupted by long pauses. The lights of their helmets barely reached the walls of the shaft and Isaiah wondered if Berco was really so ruthless and cut corners that they didn't even provide their employees with proper equipment. At the same time, none of this seemed far-fetched. Cautiously, Isaiah looked along the central chamber, first to the left towards the elevator, then to the right towards the darkness where the lights had gone out. Nothing. Carefully, he took a few more steps until he stood in the middle of the large tunnel, the ceiling meters high above him. Again he looked around. Until he heard it.

Clap. Clap.

Even if he guessed the sound was coming from the darkness, he didn't know exactly where it was coming from due to the echo. Zeev seemed equally disoriented. A shiver ran down his spine and his lower back began to ache before he heard the steady clap a second time. Clap. Clap. Gripping Zeev's hand tightly, he quickly ran with him to the other side, hiding in a small indentation in the stone wall and pressing the witcher against the cool surface as whatever was moving towards them let out muffled noises that sounded like ponderous footsteps. Clap. Clap. The steadiness and patience of the clapping somehow just made him realize that this creature, whatever it was, knew it could reach them whenever it pleased. Pressing Zeev's back against the stone, his own body tried to block the view from the open floor and in case anything happened, it happened to him and not the witcher. The rough wall was cold against his knuckles as he braced one hand beside Zeev's head, the other rising in slow, deliberate motion to cover his mouth. Not a sound. Zeev instantly stilled beneath him, not in resistance, but in the way that he understood and did not refuse. Slowly, he turned off their helmet lights, felt the inhale and exhale against his palm and the tensing of his fiancé's shoulders. Before something changed in the witcher's dark eyes.

Surprise. Not the way one rejoices over birthday cake but secretly knows it would be there anyway, but a strange recognition mixed with disbelief. As if whatever had emerged from the dark or from the elevator was not unknown to him at all, but something rather unwelcome in an impossible place. The witcher's gaze had gone past Isaiah entirely, fixed over his shoulder, following whatever moved through the chamber. Despite the urge to see what was walking the halls for himself, Isaiah was too afraid to turn, fearing it might draw attention to him and, thus, to Zeev as well. The podcast host's neck hairs stood up and he realized that Zeev wouldn't have expected the creature, whatever it was, to be here. That meant it wasn't just wandering, that it was lost, or that one was just unlucky enough to encounter the creature. It had come for them.

[freakytikigifs]

Boyd Holbrook as Peter Kristo A WALK AMONG THE TOMBSTONES

[hochmvt]

𝐀𝐍 𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐏𝐒𝐀 ⁺˚༓*.⊹

𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬 !

as some of you may have noticed, my activity on this blog has fallen off a bit over the last few weeks and months. of course, this is partly due to the fact that it's summer right now and i've got my hands full getting out in the fresh air (and do stupid walks for my stupid mental health). 

however, my sporadic activity is in fact predominantly due to me not really being able to identify with the way of writing on this platform anymore, the way it is done here. 

as someone who can't keep it short for the life of them, i spend a great deal of time on every text and every reply. we're talking several hours here, with research and plotting and translating and all sorts of stuff. my creative process consists largely of atmosphere and a lot of world building, which takes time. sitting for hours on an answer that then involves long waiting times has really frustrated me in recent months.

(as a brief disclaimer: i'm a big advocate of always writing what makes you happy and what you feel at that moment. for me personally though, at some point the lines between “i'll reply when i'm in the mood” and ghosting have become very blurred, which led to insecurities on my part and not having the guts to ask people if there was something wrong with my text. in the end, this way of writing includes two people and you have to do it together or it won't bear any fruit. and yet i also have texts that have been unanswered for months, i don't exclude myself at all. the reason why i didn't reply to these texts was because i needed time to think about it and ultimately came to the realization that this way of writing might not be the right one for me.) 

at some point, my frustration level reached the point where writing here was more exhausting than inspiring. i don't want to go into too much detail because i don't think it's fair and my problems with all of this can't be generalized. just because it's not right for me, it obviously works for many many people. which i think is great and i envy everyone who thrives in how the rp community flourishes and creates. 

this post is by no means a complaint against anyone, but more an attempt to make my perspective a little more transparent.

so what does this mean for the future? isaiah is a character i'm very attached to and have put a lot of work into for over 1½ years now. work that i wouldn't just throw out of the window. this blog will continue to exist and be used secondarily for me as an archive of the texts i continue to write beyond “giving up plotting” (kussi, zeevie ♥ & stiles). primarily, this blog will serve as a source of inspiration and a mini-diary because i simply want to tell isaiah's story. not quietly in an rp community, but as a coherent narrative that will eventually lead to a manuscript. i want to write a book. not with the aim of getting it published and becoming a super-rich multi-millionaire (obviously), but simply to say: i've written a book. so i'll be posting little mini-updates, resources, a few muse games and maybe passages of text, but i'll see. i'll still be online on dc and would love to stay in touch with you nonetheless. 

thus plotting will be closed. i won't be doing any plotting with other muses anymore. i'm sorry for everyone who is still waiting for a reply from me, but unfortunately i don't have the time to do something that is more of a headache than a pleasure. you are welcome to continue following, but i understand anyone who doesn't feel like it. i'm not angry with anyone and i don't hold grudges anyway. 

either way, i would like to thank you (in case you unfollow after this post) for a great time, during which i was able to meet great people from all over the world. i think the support of this community (let's not talk about the idiots and unnecessary drama) and the enthusiasm is fantastic and i'm always touched when a shared hobby brings people together and everyone forgets their differences. so thank you for all the hyperfixations, for every inspirational boost and all the kind words that have reached me over this time. maybe i'll regret this decision in three months and then you'll have me annoying you again. 

either way: bussi baba and much love to you.  — love

[mournfulroses]

Marcel Proust, from a letter featured in The Selected Letters of Marcel Proust

[sonnenreich]

With  confidence  came  laxity.  Zeev  didn't  need  to  have  been  in  contact  with  many  people  to  know  how  easily  they  could  fall  prey  to  arrogance.  And  he  was  certainly  no  exception—any  other  assertion  would  be  pure  irony.  Still,  there  was  nothing  sacrilegious  about  pride.  There  was  a  reason  why  his  kind  was  rare  and  why  he  had  survived  as  long  as  he  had.  MeriTech's  interest  in  him  would  have  been  shorter-lived  had  he  performed  poorly.  In  retrospect,  this  might  have  been  the  tactic  he  should  have  gone  for.  Would  they  have  let  him  out  into  the  world? Probably  not. 

The  mind  game  was  dismissed  again  and  tainted  with  a  realism  that  would  have  been  more  likely.  MeriTech  would  have  found  another  use  for  him—even  if  it  had  only  been  in  the  study  of  his  kind.  They  must  have  drawn  enough  blood  from  him  in  the  past  to  fill  entire  storage  units.  Zeev  didn't  want  to  imagine  what  else  they  would  have  asked  of  him  if  he  had  stayed  any  longer. 

Admittedly,  in  view  of  what  the  friendly  family  had  revealed,  the  urge  to  explore  was  a  good  thing  in  principle.  There  was  a  bleak  indifference  in  the  stoic  acceptance  of  things  that  Zeev  couldn't  get  anything  out  of.  From  what  he  still  knew  about  humanity—most  of  the  time  he  wasn't  even  sure  why—man  had  always  shone  with  its  inventiveness  and  adaptability.  It  was  remarkable  how  the  pair  had  developed  a  solution  that  entire  nations  would  benefit  from.  They  knew  they  couldn't  change  the  circumstances—not  them,  who  were  just  worrying  about  their  survival  on  a  farm,  with  limited  resources  and  a  fragile  mortality—so  they  had  to  accept  the  circumstances  and  embrace  what  was  and  not  dwell  on  what  would  no  longer  be.  They  had  not  given  up  in  the  hopelessness  and  grief.  That  is  why  humankind  would  endure,  no  matter  what  came. That’s  what  Zeev  was  most  fascinated  about.

Zeev  had  listened  to  the  conversation  in  silence.  In  an  absurd  way,  he  felt  not  only  compassion  but  also  envy  during  this  undoubtedly  poignant  story.  They  longed  for  their  child,  for  an  integral  part  of  their  family  and  memory.  A  person  who  had  left  a  mark.  Even  if  these  were  only  felt  on  the  soul.  They  were  still  as  real  as  the  scar  tissue  of  all  piercing,  but  not  fatal,  injuries. 

How  nice  it  would  have  been  if  this  had  been  the  destination  of  his  journey—but  it  didn't  take  a  particularly  broad  comprehension  to  know  that  he  wasn't  the  son  they  mourned  and  they  weren't  the  parents  whose  faces  were  never  really  that  clear,  no  matter  how  hard  he  tried  to  remember.  He  felt  phony  and  deceitful  for  projecting  his  own  desires  in  their  display  and  openness  of  their  pain  and  loss. 

Does  his  mum  talk  about  him  like  that  too?  Did  she  meet  strangers  and  looked  longingly  out  of  the  window  while  reminiscing  about  him  and  talking  about  what  he  was  like  before  the  blackout?  The  few  scraps  of  memory  he  still  possessed  could  only  give  a  meagre  picture  of  what  kind  of  personality  he  might  have  had.  He  knew  that  he  had  spent  a  lot  of  time  in  nature  when  it  had  still  been  safe, that  he  had  always  felt  closest  to  the  sun.  He  remembered  warm  hugs  and  love,  but  as  he  looked  at  Sarah,  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  forgotten  one  aspect.  A  detail  that  was  in  the  blind  spot  of  his  periphery.  A  shadow  that  slid  across  the  glistening  light. 

Zeev  had  never  questioned  his  mother's  love,  but  had  always  known  that  it  existed.  That  somewhere  a  sister  was  waiting  for  him,  longing,  as  he  was,  to  embrace  him  again—and  yet  the  sight  of  Richard  and  Sarah  was  so  much  more  than  his  memories  could  provide.  They  were  tangible,  clear.  Zeev  gazed  at  them  intently,  smiling  and  interested,  incidentally  assessing  how  they  completed  the  picture  of  a  family.  Now  and  then  his  gaze  drifted  to  Isaiah,  who  was  sitting  diagonally  across  from  him  and  had  become  strangely  silent  during  their  stories  of  their  son. 

A  little  later,  he  helped  Sarah  clear  the  table  and  restore  order,  for  which  she  thanked  him  with  a  smile  that  contained  more  than  gratitude.

“I'm  sorry  for  your  loss,”  he  announced  to  her  and  gave  her  back  the  towel.  The  kitchen  was  in  a  organised  disarray.  There  were  utensils  everywhere  that  had  probably  not  been  used  since  the  blackout  because  they  simply  didn't  have  the  ingredients.  Treacherous  moonlight  shimmered  past  the  crocheted  curtains  in  silver  threads,  the  stitches  casting  a  multitude  of  patterns  on  the  walls  and  the  kitchen  counter.

“Don't  be,  honey,  it's  not  your  fault,  but  I  appreciate  it.”  She  smiled  gently  at  him  and  rubbed  his  shoulder.  For  a  moment,  Zeev  felt  like  crying.  Still,  he  smiled. 

“We'll  be  out  there  for  some  time,  perhaps  I  can  be  on  the  lookout?”

Something  that  he  could  only  describe  as  hope  glimmered  in  her  eyes.  “That—Oh,  sweetie,  if  you  see  my  boy,  please  tell  him  to  come  home…  Please  bring  him  back  to  us,  wherever  he  is.” 

The  thought  of  her  son  seemed  to  overshadow  the  spark  of  a  happy  future  with  pain,  and  as  quickly  as  the  hope  had  appeared,  it  was  shattered  again.  Zeev  couldn't  make  her  any  promises,  couldn't  tell  her  a  lie,  even  if  it  might  make  her  sleep  better  for  the  next  few  days,  believing  that  he  was  back  at  the  door  with  their  child.  The  emotional  fall  if  he  didn't  would  be  so  much  greater  than  before.  He  didn't  want  to  open  her  scars.  He  didn’t  want  to  give  her  too  much  hope.

Besides,  he  harboured  no  intention  of  returning,  not  if  he  was  successful. 

And  the  likelihood  of  a  human  surviving  the  condition  out  there  was  almost  non-existent.  There  was  also  the  possibility  that  he  might  not  even  want  to  return  home.  Though  the  witcher  found  it  hard  to  imagine  that  there  was  anything  better  than  having  these  parents. 

Zeev  smiled  faintly  at  her,  took  her  hand  in  his  and  squeezed  it  weakly.

“If  I  happen  to  come  across  him,  I'll  point  him  the  way.  All  he  needs  to  do  is  follow  your  light,  so  don't  you  ever  stop  shining  your  brightest.”  At  that  moment,  Zeev  realised  another  thing: he  had  never  seen  a  mother  cry—until  now.  He  wasn't  sure  whether  this  was  a  good  thing  or  something  he  should  question.  She  embraced  him,  suddenly  and  quite  abruptly.  Zeev  stiffened  for  a  moment,  unsure  of  how  to  behave.

Finally,  she  thanked  him  and  rubbed  his  back  until  the  tension  left  his  body  and  he  melted  against  her.  Tentatively,  he  mimicked  her  gesture  and  stroked  her  back  too.  She  seemed  to  regain  her  composure,  most  likely  equally  aware  of  the  effect  loneliness  could  have.  She  broke  away  from  him  and  rubbed  her  eyes,  embarrassed  by  her  emotional  faux  pas.

“I'm  sorry,”  she  apologised  meekly. 

“No,  it's  fine…  It's  okay.  Don't  suppress  your  emotions.”  Tentatively,  he  put  a  hand  on  her  shoulder  and  stroked  her  upper  arm,  his  warm  smile  seemingly  receiving  her  immediate  approval.  Surprise  appeared  on  his  face  when  she  suddenly  caressed  his  cheek  and  squeezed  his  chin.  The  smirk  on  her  lips  assured  him  of  the  tender  intentions  behind  the  gesture. A  motherliness  that  was  somehow  alien  to  him.  How  odd.

“You're  such  a  lovely  boy…  My  son  would  have  liked  you,”  she  told  him  openly  and  Zeev  didn't  know  exactly  how  to  react.  On  the  one  hand,  because  she  was  paying  him  a  heartfelt  compliment,  and  on  the  other,  because  she  was  suggesting  that  somewhere,  hypothetically,  there  was  someone  who  might  like  him.  In  a  world  where  everything  was  fine. In  a  world  where  having  friends  was  something  realistic.  Something  that  wasn't  threatened  by  survivalism  and  hostility.

“Uhh,”  he  replied  eloquently.  “Thank  you.”

As  he  turned  away  from  her  and  wished  her  a  good  night,  Sarah  tilted  her  head  and  watched  him  hurry  away.  Despite  the  darkness  of  the  night  and  the  sparse  light  from  her  lamps,  the  farm  owner  thought  it  had  become  strangely  darker  since  he  had  left  the  room.

 Rattling,  he  placed  the  rucksack  against  the  bedpost  and  pulled  the  belt  from  the  loop  of  the  overall.  They  were  given  a  meal,  a  cosy  sleep  and  a  warm  bath  to  get  rid  of  the  sweat  and  dirt  of  the  last  few  days.  Zeev  shook  his  damp  hair  and  slipped  into  a  change  of  clothes,  which  was  a  diminishing  commodity  as  the  journey  continued.  Perhaps  he  could  wash  them  the  next  day  before  they  left?  He  couldn't  imagine  that  Sarah  would  object.  His  gaze  travelled  around  the  room  and  he  looked  at  some  of  the  posters  and  pictures,  which  weren't  that  old. 

“Unbelievable,  isn’t  it?”  Zeev  initiated  the  conversation  after  he  felt  the  other's  gaze  on  him,  but  received  no  explanation  as  to  why. 

“What  do  you  mean?”  his  companion  mumbled.

“To  leave  a  place  like  this  behind  and  never  to  return,”  he  continued.  His  fingertips  brushed  over  a  few  toys  and  mementos.  Small  planets  that  had  obviously  been  crafted  by  them.  He  weighed  them  in  his  hand  like  juggling  balls  and  then  put  them  back  on  the  dresser  in  the  correct  order. Mercury,  Venus,  Earth,  Mars,  Jupiter,  Saturn,  Uranus  and  Neptune.  They  rolled  back  and  forth  on  the  unevenness  of  the  wood  and  didn't  quite  want  to  follow  their  orbits.  It  was  also  strange  that  there  was  one  ball  too  many.  A  yellow  ball  with  dents  and  scratches,  colourful  lines  that  no  doubt  must  have  rubbed  off  because  it  had  bumped  into  other  surfaces.  Zeev  turned  it  in  his  hand  and  felt  a  pain  in  his  chest.  The  other  half  had  been  painted  messily  with  a  dark  pen,  so  hastily  that  it  was  still  possible  to  see  the  yellow  shining  through. 

“Do  you  truly  think  he  left?  Without  a  word?”

Isaiah's  question  made  him  think  as  he  continued  to  turn  the  sun  in  his  hand.  Slowly,  he  moved  towards  him  and  sat  down  next  to  him  in  the  moonlight,  looking  out  of  the  window  at  the  sky  alongside  him. 

“I  don’t  know,”  he  confessed.  “I  wouldn’t  have,  but  then  again…  I  don’t  even  remember  how  I  got  separated  from  my  parents.”  There  was  something  sad  about  his  nonchalant  shrug,  an  involuntary  acceptance  that  there  was  something  he  couldn't  change.  “But  his  reasons  or  not-reasons  are  of  less  importance,  hm?  He  either  tried  to  return  to  his  parents  and  died  horribly  or  he  got  lost  and  they’ve  been  looking  at  the  same  sky  for  years  now,  either  way…  he’s  gone.  Why  he  left  will  never  change  what  is  left  behind.”  He  pulled  up  his  legs  and  rested  his  arms  on  his  knees,  turning  the  sun  in  his  hands  from  the  black  side  back  to  the  golden  side—repeat. 

“Hm,”  resonated  from  Isaiah’s  chest.  “Memories,  for  example.”

There  was  something  in  his  eyes,  as  Zeev  looked  to  the  side  and  at  him,  that  he  couldn’t  understand  or  interpret. Something  hidden  from  his  comprehension.  Instead  of  his  body  language  the  witcher  concentrated  on  his  words. 

“Memories  will  fade  one  day,”  he  whispered.  “I  don’t  know  what  the  voice  of  my  sister  sounded  like  or  how  my  mother  smelled.  If  I  ever  did…”  His  words  broke  off.  Guilt  washed  over  him.  If  his  memories  truly  were  the  only  thing  that  kept  him  connected  to  his  family,  the  only  part  of  him  that  no  corporation  had  claimed  and  used  like  a  lab-rat, why  was  he  so  terrible  at  protecting  it? 

“That’s  impossible,”  the  blonde  tried  to  reassure  him,  his  smile  weak  however.  “You  might  not  remember  it  upon  calling  for  it,  but  memories  can  be  triggered  by  many  different  stimuli.  Smell  is  one  of  the  strongest  even.  No  matter  how  faint,  you’ll  always  remember.”

Zeev  shrugged.  “You’re  saying  this  to  someone  who  has  literally  woken  up  after  the  Eclipse  with  no  memory  whatsoever.  I’m  not  even  sure  if  Zeev  is  my  name  or  just  something  I  had  heard.”

“Does  it  feel  like  it  is?”

“I  suppose.”

“Then  it  is.”  Slightly,  he  swayed  to  the  side  and  nudged  his  shoulder.  “Or  does… Steve sound  better?”

The  witcher  scrunched  up  his  nose  and  made  a  sound  of  disgust.  “No,  nope,  that’s  a  big  decline  from  my  side.”  He  couldn’t  help  but  laugh  at  that,  his  shoulders  shaking  with  slight  amusement. 

“That  seals  it  then,”  Isaiah  smiled.  “Besides,  you  remember,  don’t  you?  The  picture  you  drew…  That  was  from  memory,  wasn’t  it?”

Zeev  lowered  his  gaze  and  kept  on  fumbling  with  the  ball.  Had  Richard  crafted  this?  Perhaps  a  present  for  a  son  he  wished  to come  home?  The  joy  of  before  fleetingly  as  the  blink  of  an  eye.

“I  assume,”  he  whispered.  “But  I  don’t  know  my  sister's  name  or  her  age.  I  don’t  know  what  she  likes  or  dislikes.  I  remember  playing  chase  within  the  woods  with  her,  tying  flower  crowns  with  her,  bathing  in  the  sun…  When  mother  asked  us  to  come  eat,  she’d  always  be  the  one  to  convince  me  of  staying  longer.  Of  course  I  would…  I’d  have  never  left  her  in  the  woods,  alone…”  After  that,  Zeev  fell  silent  for  another  moment,  eyes  fixated  on  the  sun  in  his  hands.  Zeev  wondered,  not  for  the  first  time,  what  he’d  do  if  he  were  not  able  to  find  them. 

“I  never  would  have  left  them…”  he  added,  pushing  himself  onto  his  feet,  eyes  narrowed  with  sadness  and  sorrow.  “So  why  did  they  leave  me?” 

The  question  wasn’t  one  for  Isaiah  to  answer  nor  would  he  be  able  to.  It  would  remain  unanswered  till  he  was  successful  in  his  endeavor  and  his  quest  to  find  his  happiness  in  a  world  that  didn’t  feel  like  his  own.  All  else  would  follow  after.

He  sat  down  at  the  edge  of  the  bed  and  suddenly  he  felt  uncomfortable,  but  he  didn’t  want  to  seem  ungrateful  either.  Friendliness  was  rare  as  it  is,  to  treat  it  like  a  burden  would  just  serve  as  a  hotbed  for  egoism.  So  he  laid  down,  eyes  towards  the  door  and  his  head  rested  on  a  cold  pillow  that  hadn’t  been  touched  by  the  right  head  in  ages. 

To  the  faint  smell  of  lavender  he  fell  into  a  slumber  and  became  a  victim  to  his  exhaustion. 

 The  next  day  offered  a  thunderstorm  disguised  as  breakfast  in  bed.  That  was  nothing  to  worry  about  for  their  current  journey,  but  it  was  a  hindrance.  Zeev  did  not  have  a  certain  time  frame  for  reaching  his  destination.  He  didn't  know  where  his  family  was,  nor  whether  they  even  existed.  Maybe  they  were  already  in  a  colony,  maybe  they  were  part  of  MeriTech's  network—maybe  they  had  put  him  in  the  hands  of  the  Corporation  in  the  first  place.  The  thought  shook  him.  No,  he  refused  to  believe  that  this  would  be  the  rude  awakening  of  his  desperate  optimism. He  refused  to  consider  disappointment,  no  matter  how  painful  it  would  be  if  it  turned  out  to  be  the  truth. 

The  only  positive  thing  about  the  changing  weather  in  the  new  world  was  its  volatility.  The  strong  wind  and  acid  rain  might  be  demotivating  now,  but  it  was  not  impossible  that  in  the  next  second,  glistening  sunshine  would  fall  on  them  and  warm  them  up  as  if  it  were  summer  in  2015.

Zeev  helped  Sarah  with  breakfast  and  learnt  a  little  more  about  the  artificially  created  ecosystem,  emphasising,  now  that  he  was  not  too  consumed  by  his  envy,  how  utterly  remarkable  he  found  this  technology  and  was  glad  that  the  ingenuity  would  make  a  future  possible  for  many  people.  Not  like  back  then,  but  different. 

Towards  afternoon,  the  weather  changed  as  expected  and  fine  rays  of  light  filtered  past  the  fast-moving  dark  clouds  as  if  to  erase  and  dispel  the  pain  they  unleashed  upon  the  earth.  The  sun's  rays  lashed  like  whips  towards  the  chariot  of  destruction  before  them  and  chased  them  away  into  finitude. 

“Thank  you  for  your  hospitality,”  the  witcher  thanked  him  and  smiled  good-naturedly  at  Sarah  and  Richard,  while  the  former  wrapped  him  in  a  friendly  hug  as  if  they  had  known  each  other  for  years. Interestingly,  Zeev  didn't  find  their  closeness  strange  either.  Sarah  had  prepared  some  food  for  them  and  topped  up  their  water  rations.  She  didn't  have  to  do  any  of  that.  But  she  had.  “And  thank  you  for  your  company.”

She  stroked  his  cheek  sweetly  and  nudged  his  chin  lightly,  for  a  while  she  just  looked  into  his  eyes  and  seemed  to  read  something  that  unsettled  him.  He  turned  away  and  held  out  his  hand  to  Richard,  who  took  it  tightly  and  firmly,  but  not  exuberantly  or  imperiously.

While  he  waited  for  Isaiah,  Zeev  trudged  out  onto  the  porch  and  stuck  his  nose  out  into  the  fresh  air.  The  sun's  hot  beams  would  vaporise  the  rain,  and  breathing  would  be  difficult  for  the  next  few  hours.  He  rummaged  around  in  his  rucksack  and  pulled  out  the  breathing  mask  that  was  connected  to  the  O2  canister.  Unfortunately,  he  doubted  that  the  contents  would  last  until  the  next  shelter,  but  it  would  still  be  enough  for  the  acid  density  in  the  respiratory  air.  At  least  for  a  few  hours  until  they  reached  dry  areas. 

When  Isaiah  came  to  a  halt  next  to  him,  he  also  seemed  to  notice  the  circumstances.  He  wrinkled  his  nose  slightly  and  seemed  to  be  concentrating  on  breathing  less.  Something  they  wouldn't  be  able  to  do   once  the  exertion  of  the  journey  set  in. 

Zeev  shook  the  rucksack  off  his  back  and  removed  the  bottle  from  his  backpack.  Before  the  tall  blond  could  complain  about  it,  he  attached  the  canister  and  pressed  the  mask  into  his  hand. 

“Please,”  he  insisted,  shaking  his  head  when  Isaiah  made  an  effort  to  give  it  back  to  him.  “We  can  share.  You  start.”

Just  as  they  were  about  to  set  off,  Sarah  stepped  outside,  despite  her  husband's  best  efforts.  She  turned  to  the  witcher  and  suddenly  grabbed  his  hand.  He  looked  at  the  small,  but  not  petite  woman  in  confusion. 

“You’re  one  of  them,  are  you  not?”  she  wondered  uncertainly.

Zeev  swallowed  heavily.  “What  do  you  mean?”

“Sarah,  please…”  her  husband  tried  to  intervene,  gently  placing  a  hand  on  her  shoulder.

“He  had  seen  it,”  she  tried  to  explain.  Her  voice  suddenly  cracked.  “He  had  always  looked  at  the  sky  and  he  had  always  known  things  no  one  else  knew,  he  was  so  clever…  I  wish  we  had  listened  more  closely.”

“Sarah,”  Richard  urged  more  sternly,  but  his  wife  didn’t  seem  to  care.  “Please  let  the  boys  be.”

“Why  did  you  say  he  should  follow  the  light?”

“What?”  Admittedly,  Zeev  had  understood  her  fairly  well,  all  of  her  words  however  left  him  confused.

“You  said  he  should  follow  the  light… That’s  what  he  did  when  I  lost  him…”

Zeev’s  eyes  widened,  deep  lines  drawing  across  his  forehead.  Whatever  Sarah  had  wanted  to  tell  him  it  died  on  her  lips  and  she  nestled  herself  against  the  chest  of  her  husband.  Compassion  etched  itself  into  his  features  and  he  whispered  quiet  soothing  words  into  her  ear  all  while  gesturing  to  the  former  guests  to  keep  going. 

 After  so  many  weeks  and  months,  one  would  think  that  Zeev  would  be  tired  of  the  sight  of  nature.  So  far,  however,  he  had  not  been  to  any  place  twice,  and  each  one  provided  new  impressions  and  realisations  that  he  had  not  made  before.  Apparently,  a  certain  sensitivity  was  anchored  in  his  perception  that  related  to  more  than  the  mere  ability  to  foresee  dangers. 

The  world,  regardless  of  the  change,  was  still—or  precisely  because  of  it—a  beautiful  place.

“You're  getting  more  secure  with  your  footing  in  this  terrain.  Good,  we'll  be  faster  then.”  Still,  he  wouldn't  risk  pushing  the  moment  to  the  last  minute  before  they  scrambled  to  find  shelter.

The  Appalachians  had  harboured  a  certain  mystique  even  before  the  blackout,  as  did  most  large  forests  where  people  not  only  disappeared,  but  may  never  return.  The  narrow  paths,  the  rocky  slopes  and  the  slippery,  swampy  areas  at  the  foot  of  the  countless  mountains  were  no  habitat  for  humans,  but  offered  protection.  Zeev  didn't  know  which  direction  he  was  really  following,  but  if  he  could  trust  his  instincts,  the  path  seemed  brightly  lit.  If  the  Appalachians  had  been  an  example  of  a  self-sustaining  ecosystem  back  then,  now  it  was  a  patchwork  quilt  of  the  old  days.  One  kilometre  of  forest  was  followed  by  three  kilometres  of  flatland.  It  was  both  fascinating  and  frightening  how  the  new  weather  conditions  seemed  to  mould  the  earth. 

“Do  you  smell  this?”  Zeev  asked  from  his  elevated  position  on  the  assortment  of  boulders.  They  had  decided  for  a  break,  still  Zeev  remained  on  alert,  eerily  resembling  a  groundhog  than  a  human  as  he  looked  around,  eyes  on  the  surroundings  constantly.  Occasionally  drifting  down  to  Isaiah,  interested  in  what  he  was  drawing  and  writing,  but  too  reluctant  to  ask.

He  watched  as  Isaiah  stuck  his  nose  into  the  air,  pulling  his  legs  closer  to  secure  his  notebook  and  sniffed.  Saddened,  he  shook  his  head.  Zeev  smiled  lightly  at  his  attempt.

“A  large  body  of  water,”  he  explained.  “It’s  a  different  scent  of  dampness,  less  warm  and  rich.  Perhaps  a  sea.  We  need  to  avoid  it.  Walking  around  might  cost  us  hours  otherwise.”  He  raised  his  head  towards  the  sky,  squinting  through  the  narrow  spaces  of  the  treetops.  The  sun  had  been  covered  by  clouds  for  hours  now,  leaving  them  with  a  cunning  coldness  that  gnawed  on  their  bodies  till  reaching  the  center,  settling  and  impossible  to  get  rid  off  easily.

Without  complaint,  Isaiah  followed  Zeev  and  did  so  for  hours  upon  hours,  days  over  days.  More  often  than  not  they  rested  in  dilapidated  buildings,  pulled  back  into  the  heart  of  nature,  overgrown  and  covered.  A  memento  of  humankind. 

They  shared  their  meals  and  quietly  fooled  each  other  into  eating  a  little  more  the  next  day—no  wasting  of rations,  right? 

This  time  around,  they  were  sitting  in  a  narrow  spaced  cave,  a  few  nauseating  feet  above  the  ground.  The  path  they  had  wandered  wasn’t  even  visible  from  their  current  position,  covered  by  a  green  canopy  carpet,  dusted  in  golden  specks  through  the  setting  sun.

The  rather  sad  looking  campfire  crackled  quietly  as  it  tried  to  bite  through  the  wet  twigs  and  branches,  trying  its  best  to  serve  warming  results. 

Softly,  Zeev  pulled  on  Isaiah’s  sleeve  as  he  sat  by  the  fire  and  scribbled  something  into  his  journal.  His  blonde  companion  followed  him  to  the  entrance  of  the  cave,  glancing  outside. 

“Look”,  Zeev  exclaimed  softly,  a  fine  smile  grazing  his  lips.

Pinkish  and  violet  hues  cut  through  the  sky  like  brushstrokes  on  a  canvas,  fluidly  transitioning  into  the  gold  of  the  sky  as  it  turned  darker  and  darker,  the  day  falling  asleep  right  in  front  of  their  eyes.  A  sight  he’d  never  get  used  to  nor  be  bored  by.  Like  an  apology  for  the  doom  she  had  brought  without  her  intentions.  Zeev  couldn’t  have  been  mad  at  her  for  things  she  had  no  say  in.  She’d  never  be  responsible  for  the  cosmic  event,  she  was  a  victim  like  the  rest  of  the  world. The  reasons  weren’t  of  little  importance,  weren’t  they?  It  only  mattered  what  has  been  left  behind.

“Beautiful,  isn’t  it?”  Zeev  mumbled,  resting  his  head  against  the  cave’s  frame,  the  edges  of  the  rock  piercing  slightly  into  his  skull  which  he  ignored  in  favour  of  the  current  sight.  “No  matter  what,  she’ll  always  be.”

“The  sun?”

“The  earth,  but  the  sun,  too.”  He  kept  his  eyes  on  the  horizon.  Watched  the  huge  celestial  body  sink  deeper  into  her  peaceful  slumber,  hiding  in  shame.  A  thought  that  made  his  heart  follow  her  motion;  sinking.  The  witcher  looked  over  to  the  Technician.  Watched  as  the  warm  tones  caressed  his  skin,  gifting  his  tired  eyes  a  liveliness  he  had  missed  since  their  meeting.  Zeev  had  to  admit,  it  was  nice  to  have  someone  around.  To  share  his  thoughts.  To  receive  an  answer  to  a  question. 

To  not  be  alone.

“Why  do  you  want  to  return?”  he  suddenly  asked.

[hochmvt]

Human existence at its core had always been about warmth and companionship, a sense of belonging and love. Brought together by something like a primal instinct rather than weakness, support was found in the memories of togetherness and care. The smell of honeysuckle caught in the sheets of the bed, mom's hand on your back when she hugged you, strawberry cake on your birthday. Sensory impressions as testaments to companionship were the true survivors in this post-apocalypse, how they outlasted everything that seemed lost. When cities burned and sense of civilization dissolved to pieces, when the stars of night fell from the sky, memories became beacons of refuge, a reminder of an eternal pursuit of love and warmth, as man's final act of testifying to our humanity.

The farmhouse had fallen silent hours ago. Occasionally the floorboards creaked, or the wooden bedstead where Zeev slept. The moonlight continually illuminated the room and Isaiah looked out the window to see the curtains blown slightly forward by the wind, then his gaze fell back to his companion, who had turned to face him on the floor within the last thirty minutes. In here, Zeev seemed to be sleeping peacefully, moving from time to time, but not as restless as before, sometimes mumbling in his sleep as he was probably dreaming. The blonde was half turned on his stomach, one arm under the pillow. Zeev was actually resting, instead of drifting in and out a half-asleep state. The faint wrinkles on his forehead had disappeared completely as he had willingly become less attentive to his surroundings. Here, he didn't have to hide from anyone—couldn't due to his unconscious state—and Isaiah liked the idea that he seemed to have found a peace here where he didn't have to prove himself to anyone. Not even in front of him. 

His glance wandered back up to the ceiling, examining the architecture of the wooden beamed ceiling and he wondered how much work Richie and Sarah had put into this child's room. How long Sarah must have worked on these posters to make them resemble the ones that must have hung in the room of the boy who disappeared in the middle of the night years ago. Like Zeev, Isaiah didn't understand how anyone could leave this behind. Because if he was honest with himself, this farmhouse, filled to the brim with love, gave the impression that nothing bad was happening outside these walls. As if this house protected one from everything that was happening on the other side of the single-glazed bedroom window. 

The days that followed the great eclipse were almost completely lost to him. The memories were buried somewhere under thick wafts of fog that blurred what once was, and as soon as he tried to shine light into it, it spread out like clouds and blinded him so much that it gave him a headache. He only remembered how everything went dark. And how insanely small he felt when the earth and all its inhabitants surrendered unconditionally to their fate. Vaguely, he thought he remembered walking or perhaps even running. How he had hidden in a forest, how probably no one had been able to find him in the darkness. Had he gone missing or been left behind? He thought he remembered going hoarse from all the screaming and crying and calling out again and again for someone he couldn't name today. And then MeriTech had come. Men in white who put an oxygen mask on him, gave him water and drink, moved him onto a gurney and finally evacuated him to the facility up North. Later, they had told him that they didn't even know if he was still alive when they recovered him. He had been lucky that they had found him at all. Now he asked himself, if he was taken or rescued.

Once again, his eyes went to Zeev. There was something so insanely vulnerable about sleep. How the body inevitably surrendered to unconsciousness. And how we dreamed at the same time, ideally of all the things that drove us to carry on the next day. The creation of dreams was a topic he was particularly interested in, too, had started his studies within his second year at MeriTech, but had quickly put his studies on hold in order to become an expert at constructing memories first before pursuing other endeavors.

For Zeev, he had devoted all his expertise and love into what he was forced to do. He had spent his days in the glass dome, leaving the trance-like state only when his body left him no choice. His nights had been spent at Zeev's bedside. Reading to him from his favorite books and comics, sometimes creating stories from the spot, telling him about the horrible food served at the canteen and how he'd love to taste a Snickers once more in his life. Other times, he told him about what memories Isaiah had created for Zeev, even if some, if not most, never recieved clearance and thus, were never authorized by MeriTech and ultimately discarded. Several hours of work on his part, lost to the void at the touch of a button.

And quite often he had also apologized and assured him that he had gone to great lengths not to alienate his existence. He hadn't been able to protect Zeev from most things: From the sedatives, from bearing the burn scar on his palm, from lying in a clinically sterile room while MeriTech prepped him to be ideal for their purposes. But he could give him something instead. Something like a light at the end of the tunnel; something to work towards. Memories of what really had been. Of the things Isaiah himself had been allowed to gain a vague insight into: Zeev's sister with sun-drenched, long blonde hair, golden cascades shimmering bright while dancing to the music of his coven. His mother's gentle hand running through his blonde strands. The scent of pine trees and lavender bushes, reminding him of the forest he grew up in. All real, though brightened and refined.

One day, Isaiah had deactivated the small metallic pill-shaped device that was inserted into every witch as soon as MeriTech got their greedy hands on them. Devices that were used for GPS tracking and monitoring the vitals of witches working for MeriTech. They had a technical vulnerability that Isaiah was able to exploit through his access rights without anyone noticing. He had forced the subdermal device into DSM—Diagnostic Sleep Mode—, which was usually for maintenance only. After a short while, the runtime parameter was set to indefinite by injecting a custom code into the config file. A setting that would prevent the device from resetting itself when Zeev's vitals would normalize by waking up from the induced coma. This low-power dormant state of the MT-TRK.07 cut off all communication with satellites and logging systems without ever triggering the failsafe: A code that ensured no tampering without consequences—sending a final ping to signal destruction. And after Zeev had escaped, to the MeriTech network it looked like he has gone into long-term unconsciousness. Or death. With that, he had given him freedom and a world he could no longer be tracked in.

Zeev shifted in bed and turned his back to him. Isaiah looked at him briefly and then did the same, looking at the wall opposite the window. Of course he had always felt guilty, of course he had always thought about waking Zeev up, explaining everything to him and helping him escape. He had gradually shed the romanticized view of his profession that MeriTech had indoctrinated into him over months. Isaiah was not the bringer of hope in this region of the former United States. He was responsible for a whole part of a nation being misled by a megacorporation that sedated people and gave them hope to keep them quiet. He was the antagonist in many people's reality once they woke up from their daydream. What if Zeev would wake up one day, too, realize what Isaiah had done to him and not be able to forgive him?

Pushing these intrusive thoughts aside and swallowing hard only helped him little to cope with these fears that had haunted him ever since he met Zeev. If he was honest with himself, they originated much earlier, after the eclipse, when everything was a blur and he was… lost. Not knowing if his parents were still out there, he couldn't even tell what they looked like and admittedly, he felt incredibly guilty about it. Everything he could remember encompassed two memories. The first was dominated by the weight of his mother's hand in his own, how she accompanied him on his first day of school the day after he lost his first tooth. And even if school and getting to know so many people all at once was exhausting and scary, he had a piece of strawberry cake in his lunch box that was marked with big, chunky letters that read his name. Because he had been brave. And how his mother lay under the covers with him in the evening, as it thundered terribly outside and he had been afraid, when she had hummed a lullaby. The same lullaby he had sung to Zeev when he had been unconscious at MeriTech. Those two memories were uniquely his, he had never recreated them for the world, for Zeev or for himself, fearing they might get in the wrong hands. Just as each memory that was created was unique to Zeev instead of a mass-produced product with a clever tactical broadcasting strategy.

Silence prevailed and in this silence he asked himself if his parents had searched for him, when he got lost. Did they still? Or were they given memories of other children? The ones that were now in their care? Would they even recognize him? Zeev moved one more time and turned his body back towards Isaiah. The witcher furrowed his eyebrows briefly and then relaxed them again. This made Isaiah smile slightly and he turned back towards the wall. As long as he was with Zeev, it wasn't him against the world. He didn't think about how he would find his way back to his work once he was at MeriTech. How he would be alone again and every day would look the same. Right now, he wasn't alone but in good company, together with someone who hadn’t left him behind to die and for the first time since the eclipse, he tasted something like freedom. Something to battle the loneliness. That and hope. Hope that his work, no matter how blurry it may have been compared to reality, had brought Zeev a moment of peace. That it had never taken, only given.

MeriTech's alarm was neither loud and flashy, nor did it seem completely out of place when Isaiah first heard it. It was a repetitive, distinct rise and fall that undoubtedly attracted attention, but in no way caused panic in anyone who heard it. At first, Isaiah hadn't even noticed the alarm going off. He was too busy placing baby frogs near the rippling stream, not far from where Zeev stood but not obtrusively close. More as if he could remember that they were there when he really tried, but the frogs, whose croaking added to the background noise but were regularly drowned out by his sister's laughter, were not the protagonist of the whole thing. That was Zeev himself, who was splashing around with his sister in the brook near his home. Zara had found great pleasure in getting Zeev wet. The hem of her white dress was getting increasingly soaked, turning greyish-white. Pollen had gotten tangled in her hair and when Zeev let his gaze wander, the wind made the lush meadows in the distance look like a green sea. Standing to his calves in the water, he felt pebbles and san under his bare feet and the faint current running around his calves. In this memory, he was about ten and an exhausted, brave dragonfly would have gladly taken rest on his linen shirt if Zara hadn't splashed water around so furiously. He had almost finished building the scenery and then just had to adjust the background noise parameters. But he didn't do anything with Zara's laughter. He had never changed it, neither made it louder nor softer, but always left it unchanged. Just as he had perceived it through Zeev. It was just as sacred to him as it was to the witcher himself. 

The warm white light of the dome had changed, changing into a deep orange as if sun was about to set, and Isaiah furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, wiping away his current project with a wave of his hand, and thus storing it in his drafts. He walked towards the exit and placed his employee badge down to see what was going on. The word declined appeared on the scanner in red letters. Hm. In hope of a change in outcome, he waited a moment and tried again. Usually, he had unrestricted access to every room in the facility with the exception of floor 18, which was only accessible to management. He was a senior technician after all. This didn't seem to hold any weight today. Before he could try a third time, the doors opened and three men in heavy armor with rifles entered the Memory Architecture Chamber, or MAC for short. They did not raise their weapons or shout, instead they stopped near the entrance. “Please step away from the exit, Mr. Pines. You are not in danger. We are here to maintain your safety.” Isaiah didn't move and looked at the man who had just spoken for a while. “Why is my badge rejected? I have an all access pass,” he argued and then briefly asked what was going on. There was no reply. 

It had taken the memory technician a few minutes to realize why he was not allowed to leave his workstation. There must have been a security breach. “Did someone break in? Have you checked in on Zeev... Uh, my subject? Is he safe? Is he guarded?” he asked more angrily and still got no answer. He asked a second, third and fourth time until he finally got an answer that was anything but satisfactory: “Please resume your work until we lift the containment, Mr. Pines.” Even before the containment was lifted, Isaiah realized what had happened. Frankly, with a color that intense and his mind being everywhere but crafting memories, but rather with the subject of his projects, he felt his heart racing and his chest swelling. He wanted to scream, not because he was worried about Zeev, but because he was proud. He wanted to cheer and have confetti rain down. Zeev had made it out of here. He had escaped. Had defied security measures and surveillance and cycles of sedation and the firm certainty of MeriTech's board having broken and instrumentalized Zeev and made it beyond the walls. Maybe through a maintenance tunnel that Isaiah had told Zeev about in his sleep, probably not quite himself, but he'd made it and he was free. And MeriTech would never find him.

The day that followed, the board had convened all those who had been granted emerald clearance to inform them why the alarm had been raised. Isaiah's suspicions had proved correct. His superiors had let him continue tinkering with the witcher's memory and when he tried to visit Zeev in the evening, a security guard intercepted him. He gave the memory he had made into his hands and thus did nothing wrong. No one knew that he had visited Zeev every night and no one would ever know. Not even Zeev. The facility's manager announced quite nonchalantly that a subject had gone missing and escaped. They had waited all night for the GPS tracker to show up on their radar, but the signal never came. They therefore assumed that the escapee, was deceased or in a comatose condition and thus deemed him useless for MeriTech's purposes.

Throughout the entire speech, they hadn't mentioned Zeev's name, even though it couldn't be anyone but him. Neither had they mentioned that he had been in “Neural Development” for so long, been artificially molded into something that would be of use for MeriTech. Isaiah sat far back and said nothing, looking through the facility's manager instead of at him and finally looking down at the floor as the corners of his mouth lifted into a slight smile. He had made it. The boy he'd read stories to at two in the morning, who he'd trusted with secrets, about the memories he created for him, about how he sometimes feared dying as a nobody when he was replaced by MeriTech because he got too rebellious. And how much he dreamed of freedom. Zeev had never answered. And yet Isaiah had imagined that he had listened to him closely. That he had recognized something like affection and the desire to belong between the drowsy words when Isaiah had almost fallen asleep at his bedside. 

That day, he had returned to his dome once more, given the new assignment of creating memories for the general population again for the time being. Isaiah had lain down on the padded floor and worked long into the night. He had only started crying late, had simply stared into space for a long time before that, creating a night sky for himself and putting the stars in the firmament for Zeev, even if he would never get to see them. Meanwhile, he remembered the nights he had spent in the chair next to Zeev. Stories of monsters and cities and villains and sunrises and sunsets that couldn't have been more scenic. Stories of a boy who had forgotten his name, but never his heart. His tears came quietly and slowly. He didn't sob, but smiled every now and then. Oh, the places you will go, Zeev!

Days and weeks passed in which Isaiah continued to think of Zeev. He wondered if the witcher subconsciously remembered him somehow. Or if he felt anything. Even if they had never spoken to each other, even if their entire interaction had always been one-sided, Isaiah had never just “worked” on him. In a way, Isaiah had loved Zeev. Not in an overly romantic way, but he had gone to great lengths, he had wanted Zeev to be well, to be hopeful, to find and realize something in this world worth fighting for. Perhaps because Zeev was the only person he had ever met that he had had to create memories for. That he had ever seen. Secretly, Isaiah had wanted to rekindle his fighting spirit with memories. That he wouldn't also give himself over to a corporation that just couldn't get enough. Isaiah had grown fond of a boy made of broken and lost things, of promise and light, who had, if only for a little while, made Isaiah feel a little less alone.

Sarah had packed both wanderers a lunchbox each. Zeev's was green and contained all sorts of food that would spoil quickly: hard-boiled eggs, cheese, peaches the farmers had canned last summer. Isaiah's was red and would come in handy in the long run when they had used up all their supplies and might not find any food anywhere: Synthetic, dried meat, nuts, salt-crusted bread. As she handed them the lunch boxes, Isaiah couldn't help but feel like a child in this moment. And it broke his heart. He stroked the lunch box, from whose surface the design had long since peeled off. Then he put it away. “Thank you,” he murmured and accepted the food hesitantly, primarily because it was difficult to accept such kindness. As much as Sarah was kind-hearted, she didn't seem as if she would give any room for saying no when it came to lunchboxes. 

Parting from them was hard even if they had only known one another for a day. The way Sarah hugged him felt strangely familiar and as Isaiah broke away from her, he found himself holding eye-contact without much difficulty, as if a switch had flipped inside him, he just didn't know which circuit it belonged to. The farmer joked a little later, as she hugged Zeev, that they could bring the lunch boxes back sometime. Zeev replied that he would certainly try and Isaiah remained silent. Even though he hoped for promising he'd bring them back, he knew that once he was back at MeriTech, it would be impossible for him to visit anyone ever again. Once more, he wished for freedom. He shook Richard's hand and there was just as much warmth and connection in his version of a farewell as there was in Sarah's embrace. She smiled at both of them and her smile was a testament to them that kindness still existed in this world. His gaze went to Zeev and he remembered the past days with him. As he lowered his gaze, he felt his heart grow warm and the corners of his mouth lift inevitably.

“Zeev, no,” Isaiah protested as the witcher took off his oxygen mask and held it out to him, “You need it more than I do.” The blonde looked at him for a while, wordlessly, his eyebrows raised slightly. Just like Sarah, he gave him no room to talk back. The gesture spoke volumes and Isaiah put the mask on, breathed through it and only took it off briefly to say thank you. “That means a lot.” As they continued their journey, Isaiah reminisced the past days, how Zeev treated him. How selfless his actions were. With each gesture and every moment that had passed, the world outside the headquarters seemed a lot less hostile than MeriTech indoctrinated it to be. A smile graced his features as his gaze kept going to Zeev. He really looked at him, scrutinized the delicate nose, the high cheekbones, the full lips. And for the longest time he lingered on Zeev's brown, warm eyes, which held far more kindness than he had seen in many others. Walking next to Zeev felt like sunbathing, like coming home after it had been raining all day and the fireplace was already running, welcoming you to safety.

There was something about the Appalachian woods that seemed to blur one's perception of time. Isaiah had lost track on how long they had been walking and how many day and night cycles had passed. Their path was influenced by many breaks: Primarily because Isaiah needed them, but because Zeev never went far ahead, too. Isaiah was slower than him, simply because he wasn't used to the terrain and the only physical activity was getting from his housing unit to the MAC and back again in the evening. The thought of Zeev seeming to get something out of walking beside him instead of in front of him moved Isaiah. As if he wasn't just a weight that held Zeev back, but an addition to his journey.

They spent their seventh break on a rocky ledge covered in moss: moss that only grew because of the dense canopy of leaves. A beautiful place. It seemed completely untouched and he recalled that back then, many people longed for something exactly like this. For places that reminded them of what it might have been like in the past, before there were big cities and skyscrapers and shared office spaces. Today, these places of untouched nature seemed to be increasing in number again. He ate some of the eggs Sarah had given them, drank some of his water and drew and wrote in his notebook, trying to capture the scenery, and along the way he found words that would remind him of how he'd experienced being here in the future.

“How do you know all that?” Isaiah replied after Zeev had informed him of the nearby body of water, and a little later he was annoyed at how plump his question was. Zeev answered it much more philosophically than Isaiah had assumed: "If you stay out long enough and really listen, the world will tell you a lot. Especially the woods," he smiled and the corners of Isaiah's mouth lifted. So he put down his notebook, closed his eyes and tried to listen. To perceive what Zeev had perceived.

The two of them talked progressively more day by day. Zeev showed him time and again which plants were edible and how he could find out whether their edibility had been completely destroyed by the acid rain. He showed him how to find out which way was north when he didn't see the sun and how he could filter water when he didn't have a filtration system at his disposal. The chances of Isaiah never needing this knowledge again were high and still, he wrote everything down carefully and underlined key words that would help him get up to speed more quickly. To help him understand (and to make sure he wouldn't die if he ate the wrong plant just because he'd written something down wrong), he read a few things back to Zeev every now and then. On their seventh break, he also showed him what he was drawing: the scenery, trees, some flowers or their gear. Even quick sketches of Sarah and Richard.

Just not everything.

He didn't show him how Isaiah had illustrated him. How he was leaning over a stream and filling up their water supply or how he was standing there leaning against the tree or how he had closed his eyes, stretched his nose to the sky and enjoyed the sun. Occasionally, he had written down words or phrases that were not particularly useful when it came to survival in the Appalachians, but which had a lasting effect on Isaiah. Even though there were many moments that the writer would have liked to capture in ink on paper, he sometimes focused on how he felt or how the moment sounded. As if he was absorbing all the sensory impressions in order to be able to reconstruct them later. Not for the public, but only for himself. They would remain in his drafts forever, just so that he could access them again and again, even if he never "worked" on them again.

The days were long and it would be wrong to say they were carefree, but the longer they walked and shared rations and talked with half-full mouths about the few memories they had left before the eclipse, the more he realized that it wasn't the sun that made him feel warm. And on the sixth day of their walk in the rough direction of headquarters, he thought that there was actually something to rebuild, that this world wasn't actually lost yet, if this was what it actually meant to survive: To feel warmth not from the sun, but from another human being. 

Although the cave where they had chosen to spend the night was not particularly warm and welcoming, it was dry and would shield them from the wind. They sat on the ledge, the campfire behind them was already burning, since Zeev had assured Isaiah that the night would be cold and they had to take precautions to not freeze while asleep. That he believed without question. As a final act of the day, they admired the sunset's vibrant hues in front of them. Leaning against the wall with his arms folded loosely across his chest, Zeev mostly observed in silence. Isaiah didn't want to bother the other and watched some feet away from him, while still looking over every now and then. Even though he wanted to talk to Zeev, he kept quiet to not disturb the peace and quiet. In the end, everything would end up in him being alone again when he got back to MeriTech, so why even bother.

“Where have you seen the most beautiful sunset ever since the eclipse?” he finally asked, resting his chin on his knees. Zeev thought for a moment, then looked over at him: “In the far south. Near the Stellar Basin... It's dead water, but— The sun was low for a long time, the whole sky looked like fire, as if the world had realized it was still alive, but just... different. Different from before. That was shortly after the solar eclipse, a few weeks after. It was painfully beautiful to watch... how the sky was reflected in the water. It had a melancholy of its own, but there was beauty in the midst of it all...” Isaiah nodded understandingly and tried to imagine what Zeev had described.

“Do you ever feel lonely out there?” Isaiah continued to ask, thinking at first that he had crossed a line when Zeev remained silent for so long. But the witcher seemed merely to be pondering his question. “More often than before...” he answered truthfully at one point. At least that's how Isaiah perceived it. “You learn to deal with it differently. But it's different now.” There was a finality in the way he answered that Isaiah decided to not probe further. And yet, he smiled blissfully to himself. He made Zeev feel less lonely. His smile only faltered as the witcher finally asked a question that made Isaiah pause. He felt caught off guard as it was a question he could hardly answer himself.

“Because I have to,” he answered eventually and sighed, looking back at the canopies before him. “MeriTech has the resources and the environment to keep me alive. They know what's out here and how to navigate, they know the world isn't what it used to be and—” The words he spoke were empty and he questioned himself whether he could really let go of the doctrine that MeriTech preached over and over again. Everything he said in response to Zeev felt weirdly practiced. He absentmindedly stroked the fabric of his overall, examining the seams as if it held the answers he was searching for. The sun was dying in the sky before their eyes. What a melancholic picture.

“I don't know where else to go,” he confessed at one point, the words feeling more like his own and less like something a mega-corporation executive would say. His voice was softer, a testament to the fact that Isaiah was more fragile than one would expect behind his outward appearance. “I don't have a family, I wouldn't know how to survive out here... I don't have the skills and the abilities like you do. I can't hunt or grow anything, it's— I'm a technician... That's my only skill and... yeah, that's pretty much all I am,” he smiled faintly and looked over at Zeev, then lowered his gaze slightly and examined his shoes he couldn't care less about. “There is no one waiting for me on a farm, hoping their son would come back,” he mumbled against his knees and he wasn't even sure if Zeev had understood him. In the end, it didn't matter because it didn't really add anything to the content of his answer. His silence wasn't a heavy one, he had simply come to terms with the fact that he could merely fantasize about a life like the one he was temporarily living now without ever actually living it. That was reserved for people like Zeev.

When the first rumble of thunder sounded, Isaiah woke up. The rain had started hours ago, but the rain hadn't woken the memory technician. Zeev sat by the fire, trying to stay awake as scattered embers and ash particles rose into the air from the fire. The cave was sheltered from the wind and the fire helped to ensure that none of them really shivered. He was briefly disoriented, rubbing his eyes and looking around until his mind caught up with him, cleared up and he straightened himself. “Why didn't you wake me?” he asked the other, drawing attention to the fact that they had agreed to split the night in two. Zeev shook his head: “You were sleeping so peacefully.” Isaiah smiled and scrutinized him, stretching and running his fingers through his hair.

As the witcher lay down after Isaiah insisted that he sleep for the rest of the night, he observed him for a while, smiling to himself because he kind of liked that Zeev's rebellion against the system itself went so far as to not wake him, even if it cost him the night. It touched Isaiah how he cared for him, even though he was, in fact, a stranger. Occasionally Isaiah yawned, at first he found it hard to stay awake, but the closer dawn came, the more awake he became.

At some point he got up after throwing more branches into the fire. It was still midnight and the rain had stopped. The night sky was dotted with constellations that he had last seen before the solar eclipse. Maybe he was into astronomy like Sarah and Richard's son was, too. The idyllic scene in front of him, the woods and the grassland behind it, was disturbed by distant rotor noises of four helicopters alongside heavy trucks driving South, all scanning the surroundings. MeriTech, no doubt. He chewed on the inside of his cheek, took a quick look at their little camp. The fire was too deep in the cave and too hidden for the search party to see. Luckily. And yet, this search party supposedly was where his salvation would be. Right in front of him. But his salvation from what? Zeev? Hardly. At most from the dangers of nature, but if he was honest with himself, MeriTech would not really help him. Not like Zeev did. Because he, on the other hand, had taught him much more about the world after the eclipse. He had realized days ago that Zeev had learned to live with nature, while MeriTech had always chosen the approach of placing themselves above it in order to dominate what was never at their disposal in the first place. A sacrilegious attempt.

Another rumble of thunder suggested that it was indeed only a matter of time before another downpour would start. Not risking to be found by the search party, he had hid deeper in the cave. His gaze went to Zeev, who was sleeping peacefully by the fire, and for a while he felt guilty that he would continue to be dead weight for him, but... something inside him just hoped that their journey wasn't over yet and that he could enjoy a few more days of freedom before he had to go back to his dome and not leave the headquarters for a long, long time. He didn't want to go back. Everything he did and what he thought and how he would experience the continuing days made it clear to him that he did not want to go back at all. That he no longer wanted to manufacture false memories for the general public. No warm white light during work, no cold white light in the corridors leading to it. No instructions, no sifting out his work because what he produced did not meet the quality standards that MeriTech expected.   As another rain-laden cloud pushed itself in front of the clear starry sky, Isaiah returned to the fire. The witcher had moved slightly in his sleep, one arm outstretched to where he himself had lain earlier. As if Zeev was searching for the warmth the blonde had left behind. He sat down opposite him, rested his head on his knees, losing himself in the sight of the fire, which he watched tiredly with half-opened eyes. 

Even though he was ashamed of the thought, he hoped that the storm would last longer than the night. That they would be stuck here for a while and that the weather would force them to rest here for longer so they were forced to talk to each other more. Or maybe keep quiet while and watch the nature, coming to the conclusion that they just had to wait out the rain before moving on. Anything. Or maybe it rained so much that a stream became a raging river and they would have to take a long, long, long detour that would buy Isaiah a few more days. He just wanted more time. Not to find answers or inspiration, not even necessarily to get to know people like Sarah and Richard, but rather just to be. To learn what it was like to be with someone who made you feel warm. To talk to someone. What it was like to broaden your horizons because you were confronted with a reality of life that was not your own. To feel kindness, to recieve care and give back the same in return.   The hours passed slowly. The storm had indeed not stopped, it was still raging out there, but the cave still offered them shelter and protection. A few moments before Zeev tossed and turned in his sleep for the first time, he had added firewood. Then Zeev shifted again. Isaiah furrowed his eyebrows slightly, eyeing the witcher as he grew more restless and seemed to be having a bad dream. At some point, when it was almost unbearable to watch him struggle in his sleep against something he couldn't seem to defeat on his own, so he had gotten up, walked over to Zeev and sat at the top of his bedrest, placing his head hesitantly and gently on his lap and stroking his hair over and over again without waking him. His fingers trembled at first, but then gradually calmed down. If Zeev woke up now, he wouldn't even know how to explain this to him. 

Repeatedly he stroked his blond strands, looked down at him and smiled weakly. “Hey,” he whispered calmly into the silence between them, the crackling of the fire only slightly louder, “You're safe... I'm here, I got you.” The witcher's restless movements gradually subsided, his facial expressions barely noticeably relaxed as his eyes moved behind his lids. Isaiah exhaled calmly and began to speak, hoping he would be a light to Zeev, no matter what darkness he was subconsciously struggling through. 

“The light current on your legs felt nice. It's terribly hot, and whenever it's been terribly hot, you and Zara have found refuge in the nearby stream. You've been there all day, Zara has found great pleasure in splashing you when you least expect it and because you're a good big brother, you never expect it. The wet hem of her dress suggests you've been in the water all day as she walks through the tall grass in front of you. You run your hand over the blades of grass that reach your waist, then you look up. The sky looks so wide, you think to yourself, dreaming as you look up and see the golden fleecy clouds drifting away against the pale pink sky. Zara keeps looking back, just to make sure you're still there. She always does.” Isaiah smiled slightly and studied Zeev's expression, stroking his hair again and again as he continued to speak and threw a few more branches into the fire.   “And now that the sun has set, you look up... Now that you think about it, you have never seen so many stars all at once. In a way, you think, it feels like they have been waiting their lifetimes for you to look up and enjoy them. You're almost home. You hope Mother hasn't noticed that you're not back yet, and Zara is sure neither of you will be scolded. Now that you look around, the grass looks like a sea you're wading through, the air is filled with the scent of wild mint and lavender and earth. It smells like home. Mother and your sisters are already cooking at home and even though you can't really smell it, you're convinced you can pick up the scent of the roast lamb that's already.” His fingers kept tracing the same paths in the witcher's blonde strands and his gaze briefly went to the fire, eyeing the embers that rose and he smiled slightly, continuing to speak and wouldn't shift his gaze back to Zeev for a few moments.

“At some point, Zara stops and so do you. The fireflies rise like embers between the grasses. At first there are only a few, later dozens. Some buzz around you, you hold out your hand and one lands on your palm. It buzzes briefly before flying off again and you stand still for a while, marveling, even though you should be home by now...” He paused for a while and looked at Zeev as he slept much more peacefully than before, his smile grew sadder and he continued to stroke his hair.   “It doesn't feel like the end of the world out there, you think. You see the beauty in it. You belong here in this world and this is just another moment that proves it. You bring so much light into this world, you seem brighter than any swarm of fireflies that emerge from between the grasses.” Isaiah's smile grew warmer and he fell silent for a while, taking in Zeev's calm face and gently stroking his hair. “No matter where you are, you are never alone... You are always part of this world, which is so much bigger than you, but you are one with it...” 

Then he fell silent again and looked at Zeev for a while, every now and then at the fire or beyond. Zeev's body had calmed down, his breathing had returned to normal, limbs more relaxed, facial expressions softer. MeriTech had said at the time that a memory like this was not conducive to recovery, so they had been erased for irrelevance. “I wish they'd let you keep it...” he murmured softly and stroked his cheek before gently placing his head back on the backpack, tucking him in once more and finally standing up. Zeev, he had learned over the last few days, did indeed seem to have a heart of gold and from that, Isaiah concluded that he deserved at least one memory that didn't come with pain. 

When Isaiah woke up, no one was resting on the backpack anymore. The fire had gone out, the sky stretched in apricot hues outside the cave entrance, and any hope that the storm would continue was gone. And with the hope, Zeev was as well. His things gone, Isaiah straightened up and slumped his shoulders. Once more, he was alone and even if he was closer to the headquarters, his chances of survival alone were simply unrealistic. The blonde swallowed hard and looked around, a little disoriented, looking up at the sky again. How he would have loved to share the sight with Zeev. Tired, he pulled himself up, folded the blanket and stowed it in his rucksack. 

“It's pretty, isn't it? The morning light?” asked Zeev, who had entered the cave as if he had never been away. Isaiah tried not to let his pleasure show, perhaps Zeev would feel offended if he thought he had left, but he smiled at him and nodded. “It is pretty...” he agreed and took the lunch box out of his backpack, but Zeev shook his head and squatted down next to him. “I've gathered some elder- and cloudberries. Should keep us full for some time... So we keep the non-perishable food for a little while,” he explained and Isaiah looked up at him and smiled, studying him for a while before averting his gaze shyly and thanking Zeev, holding his hands open and watching as he dropped a few berries in them. 

Mist had caught between the trees, the sky had changed a little, turning orange, lilac and blue. It promised to be a beautiful day, and even if Isaiah had wished for rain for very selfish reasons, he was glad about the change in weather simply because Zeev was. He asked how his night had been and nodded as he spoke, apologizing again for falling asleep, but the sound of the rain had concluded in him just giving in to his tiredness. Today Zeev was sitting right next to him. There was something so innocuous about this moment. They drank from the same tin cup, ate in silence and watched the sunrise. Silence because there seemed to be a familiarity that they didn't have to fill every room with words. 

They had already eaten the berries, the sun was a little higher in the sky and the fog had lifted when Isaiah spoke again for the first time. “If I wasn't here, what would you be doing now?” he asked and Zeev looked over at him, his eyebrows furrowed slightly and Isaiah turned his upper body more towards him. “I mean, like... Would you be looking for your family? Or would you take work, like contracts or...” He didn't want to pry. No matter what answer would follow, he wouldn't allow himself to judge. He was curious and genuinely interested in his counterpart. And he hoped that Zeev felt the same and didn't take it the wrong way. “You don't have to answer,” he finally continued, “I was just thinking that... I could help. If you need to get somewhere. If you want to find your sister. I know I'm not the best help, I can't do much out here and I'm slow but... I can help with maps. Or planning. Or running an abandoned distribution center... I could help you figuring things out.”

As Isaiah spoke, his gaze rested on Zeev's slender fingers. Until he dared to look at him. “You don't have to do this alone anymore, if you like... Just for a while.” And with his offer, he found words for a hope he had been harboring for a long time. That he would find a place in someone else's endeavor. Not because he had stumbled into something by chance, but because someone wanted him there. Because he meant something to someone beyond his abilities as a memory technician, but as a person with qualities that were worth having around.

[heylsgowt]

[midnightmurdershow]

Planet Earth II (2016) Episode 05 “Grasslands” Directed by Chadden Hunter

[arthisan]

curiosity kills the cat ,   and it leaves the carcass drifting out to an event horizon ,   never to return .   his comrade's speech isn't spoken on deaf ears ,   each word like a heavy weight dropping on his brain ,   crashing through his chest ,   making the space he reserves between tar and lungs tighter ,   harder to breathe than ever before .   he listens closely ,   eyes unwavering to the frame of what seems like a little boy now ,   only scanning his demeanor for the sake of concern ,   wondering how long his mind could run before it could crumble ,   wondering if he reached out and touched him ,   would he collapse in on his fragile self ?

❝   what ?   ❞   for himself ,   stoicism prevails ,   remaining molded onto bold features ,   only creasing through the means of an everlasting furrow .   an expression of composed worry ,   but also concentration .   he listens through ,   letting the mystery of certain discoveries hit him one by one ,   like cars he never saw coming until the very last moment .   still ,   arthur is unaware ,   oblivious to what he means .   as these little tidbits of information ,   bordering something like delusions ,   sprinkle through building accusations .   when did all these feelings bubble up ?   when did pines self - proclaim himself as this adversary ?   and more importantly ,   since when was anybody dying ?

the thought makes his stomach churn ,   enough to make the bearing of a well - composed man falter the second time he hears any implication of it .   even still ,   as nausea settles in the back of his throat, it pushes out dread through a collected demand .   ❝   stop it ,   ❞   he says ,   between the younger man's reeling words ,   fear internally weaseling its way through his heels ,   rising up the stature of his legs ,   his back ,   neck .   the hairs by the hairline across his nape stand up ,   while a myriad of conclusions begin to enwrap the program of his mind and making him hope to god   —   it can't be true .

among it all ,   his eyes drop now from his companion's face ,   finding comfort in vacant space where he can try to calculate a point in time where something could've gone wrong .   in the cold state of his own silence ,   arthur flashes back to the months before their liftoff ,   when the warmth of earth accompanied him in the excitement of a green light ,   the proud feeling of shaking hands with government officials ,   as they smile at him kind and prideful ,   telling him ,   we know you won't fail .   it meant so much to him then ,   he told them he wouldn't disappoint .   but perhaps ,   arthur suddenly thinks ,   it was predisposed knowledge .   all along ,   they knew he wouldn't fail .   all along ,   there was no way he couldn't .

deaf ears .   even as the words of a condemning voice blends in with with white noise ,   the hum of the aircraft emanating from hollow ,   fallacious walls ,   pines' speech still doesn't fall on deaf ears .   arthur listens .   in fact ,   by the time he finds him in his line of gaze once again ,   he's attentive ,   letting accusations pierce him with cause ,   a desire to learn more ,   wanting to pry ,   as much as it wants to deny .   quickly ,   he shakes his head ,   bridging a gap between him when he ignores a request for solitary ,   stepping forward .   ❝   what do you know ?   ❞   he finally asks him and ,   without thinking ,   draws his hand to the man's collar and yanks him along to the closest wall .   one hand wound in his shirt ,   anger is below a boiling point ,   calm and collected even in the wake of his actions as his demeanor remains eerily calm ,   forcibly internalized ,   everlastingly stoic .   though ,   the energy surges and it shakes in his fist ,   buzzing within the pressure of his grip .   inches away from his face ,   he looks at his comrade ,   studying his face ,   finding vulnerability ,   fear   ...   sincerity .

at this ,   arthur's chest aches ,   the gravity of an impending situation finally melting down his eyes ,   along the slope of his cheeks ,   his bottom lip .   an empathy for a scared kid merely projecting for the way his outwardness reflects his own inwardness .   and now ,   instead of what ,   he can only wonder why ,   in the tremble of his jaw ,   as he hisses   ...   ❝   why didn't you tell me any of this ?   ❞

[hochmvt]

The passage door to the ship's primary room closed with a hydraulic hoist and crushing silence that followed. His gaze was lowered as he stepped back under Arthur's eyes. Shame, guilt and hopelessness clung to him, settling into the fibers of his clothing. His eyes were red from crying, his breathing had slowly regained control. Despite the humming of the machines and the lights built into the ceiling panels, everything seemed too quiet. The physicist usually liked silence, but now it seemed unnerving and unpleasant instead of calming. Perhaps he wasn't ready to face Arthur again after all. And yet the console, on which his calculations now inevitably bore witness to the fact that they were correct, drew him in. His fingers stroked the glass screen, the numbers had not changed, but still showed that they had recently passed the point of no return. Not the event horizon, but the gravitational pull was so strong, the spaceship's fuel wouldn't suffice and now they just drifted. Isaiah sighed.

Then he heard Arthur, and a little later felt him grab him firmly by the collar and press him against the wall nearby. Before Isaiah could prepare for the impact, his head struck the metal, narrowly missing a protruding rivet. The sharp edge of a panel dug into his shoulder and he grimaced slightly as the fabric of his shirt gathered, making it difficult to breathe. “What do you know?” Arthur had asked him and Isaiah scrutinized his eyes. Irritation turned to fear. His superior's voice had barely risen—that was the worst part. It seemed to boil inside him, but he remained... calm. At this moment, Isaiah began to be afraid that Arthur would turn out to be a ticking time bomb. His hands moved to the other's arm, clutching it lightly and as he did, breathing became difficult. The closeness and the basic level of stress he was currently experiencing released a primal feeling in him: panic. He thought of the curiosity store in the neighboring town with the owner, whom Isaiah hadn't dared to ask if he wanted to go to the movies with him until today. His eyes closed as he concentrated on breathing and answering. “I didn't— I wasn't sure if you knew, if you were part of it... You're the captain, you're supposed to know.”

Isaiah swallowed even harder at his second question. Had the blonde put too much faith in the other man's abilities? “I was scared,” he pleaded and rubbed his eyes, wiping them dry in vain. “I thought you knew, I thought you...⸺ you could get us back out. I— I didn't want to meet my hero like this.” He sobbed and apologized. “When they said you were joining the crew, I— I couldn't sleep that night. You— I always looked up to you, you talked about space like it was poetry, you⸺” Isaiah broke off. “I thought the instruments were faulty. And when I checked the third time, it was too late. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Mr. Mabee.”

They were both silent for a while. Arthur had let go of Isaiah, who had, after catching his breath, turned his attention back to the instruments. “Can I say something?” he had asked at some point, looking up at the captain of the spaceship. He had looked at him briefly with a facial expression that Isaiah didn't know how to interpret. His gaze returned to the parameters in front of him, which he had calculated. “I know it sounds mad what I will say, but... I don't know if what is in front of us is truly a black hole... Don't get me wrong, you still have a strong gravitational pull, you have something that resembles the event horizon, but... The mass isn't—behaving right.” His gaze went back to Arthur. “I don't know, but... This could either mean it's... I don't know, artificial? Like, we're a failsafe, so to say, as why they sent us here, or— We've been inside a black hole for, uh, quite some time.” Stifling silence hung in the room. “Can you look at this? Please?”

[maureen2musings]

Atanas Dzhingarov

[brokenightlight]

[sonnenreich]

The  day  had  triggered  many  changes.  Not  all  of  them  were  fundamentally  positive.  They  simply  existed  in  the  course  of  things  and  hovered  over  their  heads  until  they  were  acknowledged  and  incorporated.  Zeev  didn't  know  if  his  revelation  to  Sarah  would  have  consequences  they  would  regret.  It  was  probably  like  that  with  all  decisions  that  shook  up  an  entire  worldview.  Then  again,  perhaps  he  had  completely  shattered  the  secure  construct  she  had  had  of  the  world.  It  distressed  him  to  imagine  her  standing  among  the  rubble,  bewildered  by  what  she  had  doubted  until  a  few  hours  ago.  Compared  to  that,  her  reaction  had  been  relatively  calm.  But  shock  sometimes  only  sets  in  days  later.

Not  all  people  were  like  Isaiah.  Most  were  afraid  of  shadows  in  the  closet  and  would  do  anything  to  avoid  an  encounter. They  could  only  hope  that  Sarah,  despite  her  open-mindedness,  would  have  a  peaceful  night's  sleep. There  was  nothing  they  could  do  to  influence  it,  though  Zeev  kept  sending  a  fresh  helping  of  “Sleepy  Tea”  to  the  family. 

Gaining  new  insights  was  both  exciting  and  challenging.  It  involved  endeavours  that  few  people  wanted  to  face.  Granted,  Zeev  knew  Isaiah  better  than  he  knew  Sarah,  but  he  was  her  son  and  there  was  so  much  of  her  in  him.  It  was  easy  for  the  witcher  to  trust  that  she  would  be  able  to  integrate  the  new  changes  into  her  life  and  look  at  the  world  around  her  from  a  new  perspective.  Perhaps  she  would  discover  one  or  two  new  things,  but  she  would  soon  be  reassured  that  her  life  would  continue  as  before.  After  all,  she  had  always  lived  in  this  world. After  all,  magic  and  strangeness  have  always  existed  with  and  between  them. 

The  day,  though  it  had  demanded  little  physical  effort  from  them,  had  left  a  certain  weariness  in  his  body  that  tainted  his  every  movement  with  a  melancholy  that  belied  his  typical  grace.  There  was  something  quite  therapeutic  about  lying  in  Isaiah's  arms  and  knowing  that  the  worst  danger  had  been  averted  for  the  time  being.  His  zest  for  action  was  inspiring,  even  if  Zeev  felt  little  motivation  to  move  at  the  moment.  He  knew  they  had  to.  Not  only  in  the  short  term,  because  sleeping  on  the  couch  was  always  associated  with  pain  in  the  limbs,  but  also  in  the  long  run.  The  coven  would  not  stop  at  this  one  intrusion  into  their  lives.  It  hadn't  been  a  bad  joke  or  a  ridiculous  prank. 

There  would  be  a  few  more  days  for  Zeev  to  process  the  shock  before  the  inevitable  return  of  what  he  had  already  felt  while  the  love  of  his  life  had  suffered  in  their  bed:

Anger.

And  everyone  knew  that  angering  a  witch  brought  serious  consequences. 

Aside  from  the  fact  that  their  reasons  were  inane  and  absolutely  rubbish,  there  was  no  justification  in  Zeev's  eyes.  If  they  had  harmed  him,  that  would  be  one  thing.  After  all,  he  seemed  to  be  the  cause  of  a  conflict  that  wasn't  really  a  problem.  But  to  involve  someone  whose  sincerity  and  innocence  was  known  even  to  the  sun,  whose  love  was  so  pure  and  unconditional,  not  just  for  him,  but  for  life  as  a  whole? For  the  witcher,  it  was  not  only  a  crime  against  them,  but  also  against  the  beauty  of  life. 

Zeev  gingerly  played  with  the  hands  that  held  his,  stroking  the  back  and  smiling  at  the  excitement  Isaiah  felt,  the  urge  to  do  something,  to  seize  the  danger  by  the  scruff  of  the  neck  and  get  rid  of  it  as  quickly  as  possible. 

“I  don’t  know  yet,”  Zeev  admitted  honestly,  his  shoulders,  which  were  already  a  little  loose,  now  sagged  even  lower.  “Benevolent  magic  is  for  protection  and  healing.  Anything  that  harms…  Well,  I  wouldn’t  know  how  to  stop  them  for  good  without  hurting  them,  too.”  A  sign  of  how  serious  the  pain  they  had  caused  him  was.  Hatred  led  to  the  worst  things  and  Zeev  was  afraid  to  be  honest.  Because  deep  in  his  heart,  he  hoped  that  they  were  suffering.  That  they  felt  the  pain  that  Isaiah  had  to  go  through.  That  they  were  lying  in  each  other's  arms,  begging  to  be  released. 

However,  blood  was  not  repaid  with  blood. Revenge  was  an  endless  circle.

But  he  also  knew  that  words  of  reconciliation  were  out  of  the  question  and  no  matter  what  their  reasons  were,  he  would  never  go  for  it. 

He  would  never  leave  Isaiah. He  would  never  leave  him  behind.  He  would  set  his  entire  life  on  fire  as  long  as  it  meant  he  was  happy  and  alive.  He  didn't  want  to  imagine  what  he  would  have  done  if  the  podcaster  had  actually....

The  thought  shook  him  and  he  hastily  pulled  the  blond  back  into  his  arms,  caressed  his  back  and  his  head  and  breathed  in  his  soothing  odour,  which  gave  him  a  feeling  of  stability  and  home. 

For  a  while  now,  he  had  been  more  than  aware  of  the  restlessness  in  his  chest.  The  wild  beating  of  his  heart  and  the  tantalising  urge  for  something  he  shouldn't  give  in  to.  How  easy  everything  would  be  if  he  did.  Why  waste  time  on  plans  that  might  not  work?

“I’m  not  sure  if  the  girl  will  ever  return  to  the  Sanctuary,  but  we  can  start  with  that.  Also  they  got  Reddit  and  I  know  someone  who  is  rather  versed  in  handling  that.  Perhaps  they've  dropped  more  information  than  they  are  aware  of,”  Zeev  suggested  after  a  while,  leaning  back  again,  still  remaining  close  to  the  other,  his  hands  moving  down  his  arms  and  towards  his  hands  again,  holding  them  tightly. 

Admittedly,  as  he  began  to  talk  about  it,  making  a  few  approaches  and  suggestions,  an  old  feeling  of  anticipation  returned.  A  reminder  of  what  they  had  often  done  in  the  past. Investigating,  discovering,  finding  out,  speculating  and  getting  into  dead  ends  from  which  they  pulled  each  other  out  again.  There  was  nothing  normal  about  the  case,  but  wasn't  that  exactly  what  moved  Isaiah  the  most? 

This  was  his  element.  Zeev  only  intended  to  contribute  the  magical  aspects,  the  possible  insider  knowledge.  Although  it  is  difficult  to  draw  conclusions  from  one  coven  to  the  next—especially  as  they  harboured  malicious  intentions—at  their  core,  they  too  follow  fixed  rules,  a  pattern  from  which  no  one  escaped.  Neither  creature  nor  human. 

He  lovingly  caressed  his  cheek  and  smiled  sweetly  as  he  leant  into  his  touch.  “I  wouldn’t  go  anywhere  without  you  anyway.  This  is  you  and  me,  like  it  always  has  been.  I  want  them  to  see  that  we’re  no  one  to  mess  with.  And  I  want  them  to  regret  ever  having  gotten  this  close  to  you.”  Confident  words  that  he  couldn't  back  up  with  proof,  but  perhaps  that  was  all  they  needed  to  start  with. 

Despite  his  tiredness,  there  was  a  fire  in  the  witcher's  eyes  that  was  reflected  in  the  warmth  of  his  body. 

“Thank  you,  my  love,”  Zeev  hummed  quietly,  his  renewed  promises  lingering  between  them,  slipping  from  his  lips  and  straight  into  his  mind.  Making  itself  a  home.  “I  will  always  protect  you,  too.  I  won’t  let  them  destroy  what  we’ve  built.  This  beautiful,  gorgeous  life  that  has  your  handwriting  and  mine.  Every  corner  of  this  house  speaks  our  name  and  wherever  I  look  I  see  you  and  I  won’t  let  them  have  it  tainted  beyond  recognition  and  have  all  of  this  be  a  memory  instead.”  He  brushed  his  cheek  again,  aware  of  how  quickly  gentle  gestures  like  this  could  become  meaningless  if  the  other  person  didn't  recognise  them.  His  palm  nestled  against  his  face  and  his  thumb  made  circular  movements  as  he  looked  deep  into  his  eyes—attentive,  homely,  friendly.  No  pain  remained. 

“Let  us  come  up  with  an  approach  tomorrow,  okay?”  he  pleaded,  moving  closer  towards  the  other  and  nestled  himself  onto  his  lap,  head  hidden  within  the  crook  of  his  neck  soon  after,  arms  wrapped  around  his  shoulders  to  pull  him  as  close  as  possible.  “The  night  feels  exhausted,  too,”  he  argumented,  mumbling  against  his  skin,  smelling  of  lavender  and  something  musky.  “I  hope  it  wasn’t  a  mistake  to  fill  Sarah  in.  I  know  she  isn’t  the  kind  to  lie,  but  if  she’s  anything  like  you…  She’ll  think  about  it  for  quite  a  while.  I  hope  she  won’t  suffer  under  her  conclusion.”  Having  two  people  she  trusted,  one  more  than  the  other,  reveal  supposedly  truths  surely  would  cause  a  disruption  of  the  mind.  Zeev  only  hoped  she’d  reach  out  before  faltering  to  the  pressure  of  knowledge. 

They  rarely  went  to  bed  early,  Isaiah  even  less  so  than  him,  but  this  time  they  both  agreed  that  this  day  had  to  come  to  an  end  in  order  to  start  a  new  chapter  in  their  lives.  They  needed  to  recharge  their  batteries  for  something  they  both  didn't  know  how  it  would  end.

Admittedly,  neither  of  them  slept  right  away.  The  cosiness  and  security  of  their  marital  bed  had  lured  far  too  inviting  temptations  out  of  them,  which  they  never  actually  resisted.  There  was  neither  haste  nor  impatience  in  that  but  a  significant  calm  and  serenity  that  was  evidence  of  how  their  love  was  fundamentally  composed.  Of  tenderness  and  understanding,  of  gentleness  and  consent,  of  communication  and  trust.  Nothing  mattered  more  to  Zeev  than  what  they  had.

And  he  would  defend  it.  With  blood  or  without.

 “Zeev?”

Isaiah’s  voice  echoed  off  the  paper  walls,  bumping  against  their  restored  and  rescued  belongings  inside  their  shelves.  Alien  figure  perched  next  to  a  spider  plant  whose  leaves  looked  like  reaching  tendrils,  soon  enough  hitting  the  ground  to  scurry  away  on  the  hardwood  floor,  framed  pictures  throning  on  the  mantelpiece,  memorabilia  nestled  everywhere.

The  moonlight  was  shining  through  the  floor-to-ceiling  porch  windows,  barely  covered  by  the  decorative  curtain.  As  the  light  hit  Zeev’s  skin,  he  seemed  paler  than  usual,  lacking  intensity  and  colour.  At  night,  Zeev  didn’t  maintain  his  otherworldly  attraction  as  much  as  he  did  in  broad  daylight.  Something  that  wasn’t  inherently  a  bad  thing,  as  he  still  shone  the  brightest  for  Isaiah  even  at  the  darkest  of  nights.  This  time,  however,  he  was  lacking  everything  that  was  usually  inseparable  from  him.  He  had  his  arms  slung  around  himself,  shaking  so  subtle  that  the  only  indication  was  the  clacking  of  his  teeth.  A  miserably  rare  state  for  someone  who  never  turned  sick,  unless  he  turned  careless  at  picking  his  meal.

With  a  thud  he  had  heard  Isaiah  crashing  towards  the  ground  next  to  him.  Considering  the  sound  and  the  speed  it  must  have  hurt,  Zeev  figured, unable  to  work  upon  his  instinct  to  check  for  him,  to  rub  his  knee  or  even  kiss  it  better. All  he  could  do  was  sit  there,  wrapped  in  his  arms  from  behind,  a  hand  brushing  over  his  forehead,  probably  checking  for  his  temperature.  Yet  another  endeavor  that  wasn’t  as  much  proof  as  he’d  wish  it  to  be.  Zeev  maintained  a  temperature  higher  than  any  other  human,  making  it  hard  to  grasp  any  clear  indicators  for  a  fever. Well,  that  applied  to  everyone  except  Isaiah,  though. 

“You’re  burning,  baby,”  he  whispered,  his  voice  distant  but  yet  soothing. 

The  witcher  felt  unable  to  answer,  the  only  reaction  and  indicator  that  he  was  listening  was  a  low  buzzing  within  his  chest  as  he  groaned. 

“I  better  get  you  into  a  cold  bath,  what  do  you  think?  Just  to  get  your  temperature  down…”

He  only  nodded.  Frankly,  Isaiah  could  have  suggested  anything  and  Zeev  would  have  trusted  him,  at  loss  for  any  other  ideas.  His  brain  swirling  inside  his  skull,  preventing  him  from  any  coherent  thought.

All  he  felt  was  how  his  husband’s  hand  slipped  underneath  his  legs  and  around  his  back,  heaving  him  into  the  air  almost  effortlessly.  Carrying  him  like  it  was  the  easiest  task.  Not  an  uncommon  gesture  of  care.  In  any  other  situation,  Zeev  would  have  nuzzled  into  his  neck,  planted  kisses  to  grow  and  blossom  into  soft  declarations  of  love.  This  time,  however,  he  leaned  against  him  weakly,  the  tremor  inside  his  body  unmistaken  this  close  to  his  husband. 

“What  is  going  on,  love?”  The  worry  in  his  voice  grazed  his  heart  like  a  sharpened  blade.  “Why  were  you  sitting  down  here?”

Zeev  tried,  he  truly  did,  to  answer  him,  but  apart  from  his  gaping  mouth  nothing  seemed  to  happen.  His  voice  got  stuck  and  his  teeth  clacked  against  each  other  again.  His  head  leaned  against  his  shoulder,  barely  able  to  be  held  by  his  own.  Now  that  Isaiah  was  with  him  it  seemed  like  his  body  and  mind  was  less  willing  to  maintain  composure  and  basic  functionality.  He  felt  taken  care  of,  even  though  all  inside  him  begged  to  not  be  of  annoyance. 

Albeit  knowing  he  wasn’t  it  still  remained  a  remnant  of  times  where  productivity  and  leadership  required  wakefulness. 

As  the  water  ran  into  the  bath,  Isaiah  knelt  in  front  of  him,  holding  his  head  as  it  lolled  on  his  shoulders,  his  breathing  shallow,  his  eyes  darkened,  it  almost  seemed  like  his  pupils  had  dilated  to  the  edge. 

At  his  point,  Isaiah  seemed  to  remember.  It  had  been  so  many  years  ago,  Zeev  couldn’t  blame  him. 

“Oh  baby,”  he  mumbled,  leaning  forward  to  pull  him  into  a  hug,  holding  him  as  steadily  as  humanly  possible.  Admittedly,  Zeev  could  have  cried  at  that  moment.  It  had  been  his  decision  solely  to  use  dark  magic  and  have  an  urge  resurfacing  that  was  hard  to  overcome  and  harder  to  witness,  but  he’d  do  it  again  in  a  heartbeat.  A  suffering  he  had  thought  to  never  experience  again,  all  worth  it  as  long  as  it  assured  his  love’s  safety. 

Zeev  fell  against  him,  hands  digging,  with  as  much  strength  as  he  could  muster,  into  his  shoulders.  Even  though  his  body  was  heated,  he  still  wanted  to  get  closer  to  the  other.  Practically  hiding  in  the  warmth  of  his  chest,  never  to  come  out.  There  he  surely  would  be  able  to  overcome  the  withdrawal  symptoms.  The  urge  to  move  upstairs  and  cut  his  hand  severe  enough  to  draw  a  scar,  to  carve  out  a  spell  so  powerful  it  shook  his  entire  being. Alter  his  mind,  his  perspective,  his  magic.  It  had  been  so  long  since  his  abilities  actually  had  any  sort  of  impact.  Not  just  some  tea  to  soothe  senses,  not  just  some  cooking  with  herbs  or  ointments  to  help  muscles  relax. Incantations  that  testified  to  his  nature. That  was  capable  of  destroying  curses—and  causing  some  even  more  severe.

If  he  wanted  to,  he  could  change  the  world.

Zeev  pulled  himself  much  closer  against  Isaiah,  holding  onto  him  as  best  as  he  could.  He  knew,  however,  even  if  he  let  go,  he’d  still  not  fall.  A  reassurance  that  some  part  of  his  swirling  brain  got  more  and  more  aware  of. 

The  cooling  water  worked  wonders  along  with  Isaiah’s  continuous  embrace.  The  second  he  felt  guilty  for  having  kept  him  awake  he  knew  the  worst  part  of  this  outburst  had  been  overcome.  For  now. 

“I’m  sorry,”  Zeev  apologised,  turning  his  grasp—comfort  always  something  to  be  found  in  the  narrow  space  of  their  tub—and  brushed  over  his  lover’s  chest,  meeting  his  eyes  that  were  still  covered  in  worry.  Isaiah  reached  up  and  brushed  his  cheek.

“It’s  fine,  love,”  he  reassured  with  a  soft  smile,  most  definitely  aware  that  the  witcher  was  slowly  recovering.  It  wasn’t  hard  to  believe  him.  “How  are  you  feeling  now?”

“Exhausted,”  he  mumbled,  bedding  his  head  against  his  chest,  the  water  tickling  his  cheek  and  chin.  “But  better.  I’m  sorry  if  I  frightened  you.  I  had  just  gone  to  grab  some  water…”

Softly,  Isaiah’s  hand  moved  through  his  hair  and  lastly  down  his  back,  causing  him  to  sigh.  “All  that  matters  is  that  you’re  better  now.  It  will  happen  again,  right?”

Zeev  kept  quiet  for  a  moment,  then  huffed.  “Most  likely.”

“Is  it  like…?”

“Last  time?”

He  felt  the  other  nod  by  the  rippling  of  the  tub  water. 

“Strange  enough  I  don’t  remember  much,  as  if  my  mind  has  decided  to  erase  that  part  of  my  history,  but  I  believe  it  is…”  Zeev  turned  his  head  and  kissed  a  few  arbitrary  spots  of  his  skin  as  Isaiah  started  to  shift  underneath  him  for  comfort  reasons  and  the  goal  of  kissing  his  husband’s  forehead.  “But  I  got  you  this  time  around.  No  distance  between  us…  Thank  you.”

“Always,”  he  promised.

Zeev  smiled,  looking  up  at  him  once  more  and  placed  his  lips  feather  lightly  against  his  lips.  “I  love  you.”

“I  love  you,  too.”

“More  than  strawberry  cake?”

“More  than  two  even.”

 Humming  softly,  he  moved  through  the  kitchen.  Housework  seemed  like  a  hurdle  to  most  people.  An  annoying  necessity,  not  only  to  keep  things  clean  and  tidy,  but  also  to  show  that  you  had  your  life  under  control.  When  things  got  out  of  hand,  basic  hygiene  was  always  the  first  thing  to  be  neglected.  Something  that  could  not  be  found  in  Zeev's  cosmos,  which  he  had  created  around  himself  like  his  own  personal  solar  system,  no  matter  how  many  light  years  of  research  were  done.  He  would  never  allow  it  to  be  said  that  he  had  a  compulsion  to  wash  and  was  meticulous  about  cleanliness,  he  let  far  too  many  ‘carelessnesses’  pass  for  that.  Whether  it  was  a  coffee  mug  that  reminded  him  of  where  Isaiah  had  last  sat  or  an  unfolded  blanket  that  was  evidence  of  their  evening  together  on  the  couch.  Zeev  was  conscientious  about  maintaining  domestic  standards,  but  never  overdid  it.  Nevertheless,  he  admitted  to  himself  that  it  satisfied  his  need  to  be  useful.  He  knew  Isaiah  would  never  ask  him  to  do  that,  and  he  also  knew  that  a  day  or  two  wouldn't  disgrace  him  should  he  put  his  feet  up  and  simply  read  a  book.  He  did  that  in  quiet  moments,  but  action  always  preceded  it. 

Apart  from  that,  it  felt  as  if  his  thoughts  were  strangely  more  comprehensible  when  he  coupled  them  with  familiar  hand  motions  that  symbolised  productivity  but  did  not  require  concentration.  In  addition,  the  muffled  sound  of  the  wall  cupboards  closing  had  a  calming  effect  on  him.  Something  like  normality  had  returned  to  their  lives  a  few  days  ago,  even  if  Zeev  often  caught  himself  glancing  from  the  kitchen  counter  to  where  Isaiah  had  been  crouching,  ready  to  hurt  himself  in  a  way  Zeev  could  never  have  healed  in  time.  At  least  not  in  a  way  that  would  only  have  had  minor  consequences.  Which  didn't  mean  he  wouldn't  have  done  it  still.  Zeev  would  do  anything  for  him.  A  fact  that  was  both  frightening  and  romantic.  A  fact  he  didn't  want  to  think  about  any  longer  than  fleetingly.  Any  thought  construction  that  presented  him  with  vivid  choices  always  involved  heavy  sadness  in  the  long  run. 

Instead,  he  focussed  on  the  fact  that  the  curse  had  been  broken  and  that  for  the  time  being,  as  far  as  he  could  be  certain,  all  danger  had  been  averted.  Isaiah  lived,  smiled,  breathed  and  pondered.  For  the  moment,  that  was  all  that  mattered. 

To  escape  the  organic  silence  that  could  not  be  filled  with  the  clink  of  cutlery  and  the  clatter  of  shelves  and  cupboards,  he  hummed  quietly  to  himself,  a  simple  but  patterned  tune.  He  couldn't  name  the  title,  let  alone  the  artist,  suspecting  that  he  had  been  subtly  and  unconsciously  influenced.  Perhaps  from  the  car  radio?  Perhaps  a  passer-by  on  the  street  had  whistled  this  song?  Or  maybe  he  was  just  very  talented  musically  and  had  just  developed  a  song  whose  lyrics  he  had  yet  to  write.

The  turbulence  of  the  days  gradually  subsided.  Housework  was  not  only  a  source  of  satisfaction,  but  also  a  distraction.  More  often  than  in  the  last  few  days,  Zeev  managed  to  show  a  certain  lightness.  When  his  thoughts  weren't  drifting  off,  he  exhibited  a  surprisingly  intense  reaction  to  everyday  things.  The  witcher  had  always  been  able  to  enjoy  and  appreciate  them,  but  now  he  saw  a  certain  urgency  in  them. 

Nothing  about  the  circumstances  had  been  natural,  yet  it  reminded  the  Scot  of  how  fragile  life  actually  was.  Humans  felt  superior  to  everything,  usually  without  base  intentions. But  death,  Zeev  knew,  was  completely  unaffected  by  man's  self-perception. 

The  dusk  accompanied  his  evening  motivation  boost  and  shone  on  the  smooth  surface  of  the  sinks,  accentuating  the  soft  green  of  their  kitchen  counter  and  the  light  brown  worktop  with  inviting  colours  of  pink  and  orange,  while  the  sky  itself  tinted  the  clouds  in  shades  that  insured  all  variations  of  purple  and  red. 

A  prepared  cereal  bowl  awaited  use  the  next  day,  as  did  the  handmade  coffee  mug  with  a  misshapen  UAP  perched  on  its  rim.  Zeev  had  carefully  placed  both  to  the  right  of  the  coffee  machine  and  made  sure  that  there  was  enough  water  in  the  tank,  as  well  as  freshly  ground  coffee.  Little  things  that  didn't  take  much  time.  A  domestic  life  in  which  Zeev  had  quickly  found  fulfillment. 

Goosebumps  rolled  down  his  spine  even  before  he  felt  his  husband's  hands  around  him,  or  his  kisses  on  the  back  of  his  neck,  his  hands  sliding  under  his  shirt  and  over  his  stomach.  Smiling  broadly,  the  witcher  lifted  his  arm  to  reach  behind  him  and  brush  through  the  other's  hair  while  his  other  hand  leaned  over  his.  Zeev  realised,  now  that  he  felt  Isaiah  so  close  to  him,  pressed  warmly  and  firmly  against  his  back,  that  he  was  still  moving  continuously.  To  the  beat  of  his  melody,  he  had  given  in  to  the  smallest  of  swaying  motions  and  was  now  more  than  astonished  when  they  continued.  They  were  minimal,  but  they  triggered  a  surge  of  warmth  and  happiness  in  Zeev.

“Isaiah,”  he  mumbled,  fearing  his  words  might  lead  him  to  stop,  lost  in  attention  and  attraction  towards  him.  “Are  you  dancing?”

He  felt  his  soft  lips  grazing  his  neck,  leaving  the  most  subtle  of  kisses  upon  his  skin,  that  all,  without  fail,  caused  him  to  sigh  and  shiver  simultaneously.

“No,”  his  husband  answered  lastly,  the  smile  on  his  lips  audible  in  that  short  syllable.  Zeev  joined  in  on  that,  grinning  from  ear  to  ear  as  Isaiah  kept  his  lower  body  pressed  against  him,  his  hips  swaying  with  him  from  left  and  right.  Admittedly,  to  call  their  shared  moment  of  serenity  and  gentleness  dancing  truly  was  far  reaching  and  insulting  to  some,  but  considering  his  husband's  resentment  to  anything  that  resembled  tactful  movements  underlined  by  melodic  frequencies, it  surely  did  feel  like  their  wedding  day  all  over. 

For  a  moment  Zeev  closed  his  eyes,  hands  resting  against  his  husband  as  he  turned  contendly  with  the  given  situation;  no  working,  no  pressing  thoughts  of  past  horrors,  no  responsibilities.

Zeev  knew  it  was  dangerous  to  make  his  own  happiness  dependent  on  another  person.  He  was  perfectly  capable  of  forging  his  own  happiness  and  existing  outside  of  Isaiah,  but  the  thought  of  living  a  life  without  him  not  only  caused  refusal  in  him,  but  also  deep-seated  panic.  No  one  needed  another  person  to  live,  yet  it  was  those  they  loved,  those  who  taught  them  and  those  who  accompanied  them  that  made  life  worth  living. 

Slowly,  he  turned  in  Isaiah's  grip  and  stroked  his  hands  up  his  upper  arms,  over  his  firm  shoulders  and  slightly  bent  neck,  up  into  his  hair.  A  natural  attraction  that  Zeev  was  weak-willed  to  resist.  He  stood  close  to  him  and  closed  his  eyes  when  their  foreheads  touched.  Isaiah's  hands  slid  over  his  back,  covering  as  much  area  as  they  could  with  roaming  fingers,  and  then  landed  on  his  hips,  pulling  him  closer.  Zeev  crossed  his  arms  behind  his  neck  and  smiled  peacefully  to  himself  as  they  continued  to  sway  shallowly  back  and  forth  to  a  non-existent  tune,  not  really  moving  from  the  spot.  In  a  way  they  were  merely  nudging  each  other  with  their  bodies.

“Do  you  remember  our  wedding  night?  You  were  so  pretty,”  revelled  the  witcher  “In  that  fitted  suit  and  your  sneakers.”  Needless  to  say,  Zeev  thought  his  husband  was  beautiful  at  all  times.  “The  way  you  smiled  at  me…  I  don't  think  there's  a  single  person  except  you  that  has  and  will  ever  look  at  me  like  you  do.” 

Once  more,  his  fingers  tangled  with  his  hair. 

“I  know  that  you  love  me  just  by  the  way  your  eyes  light  up  when  you  see  me.  Being  seen  by  you  is  truly  an  honour  and  the  most  beautiful  experience.”

“Says  the  man  who  literally  glows  when  I  smile  at  him.”  His  soft  laugh  caused  chrysanthemums  to  blossom  around  his  heart.

“Proves  my  point,  doesn't  it?  I  shine  for  you  only.”  As  dashingly  as  he  was  aware,  he  grinned  up  at  him,  pulling  him  down  just  the  slightest  while  at  the  same  time  pushing  himself  up  onto  the  tip  of  his  toes.  In  quick  successions  he  kissed  his  lips  several  times  before  lingering  longer,  drawing  him  closer,  body  pressed  against  him.  Softly  he  nipped  at  his  lower  lip,  slightly  letting  his  teeth  graze  the  skin,  they  breathed  in  and  out  between  breaks,  aware  of  the  other’s  interval.  Before  Zeev  knew—but  should  have  suspected—Isaiah  pushed  him  back  against  the  kitchen  counter,  his  coccyx  hitting  the  edge  of  the  wood.  Soon  the  taller  man  bent  his  knees  a  wee  bit,  grabbed  his  thighs  to  lift  him  effortlessly  onto  the  space  Zeev  had  thoroughly  wiped  all  morning.  Zeev  dodged  hitting  his  head  at  the  hanging  shelves  barely  by  leaning  forward  to  keep  kissing  his  husband,  brushing  his  tongue  against  his  while  being  pulled  closer  once  more.  A  hand  at  his  lower  back,  the  other  moving  across  his  legs.

“Are  we  feeling  adventurous  today,  my  love?”  Zeev  chuckled,  already  breathless.  He  arched  his  spine  just  enough  to  have  himself  be  pressed  as  flush  against  Isaiah  as  possible.  There  wouldn’t  be  a  day  in  their  life  where  Zeev  wouldn’t  react  immediately  to  anything  his  husband  did.  In  a  logical  sense  his  body  belonged  to  himself,  but  in  reality  Zeev  felt  himself  utterly  at  disposal  towards  Isaiah.  How  could  he  not?  He  deserved  everything.  Zeev  was  willing  to  grant  him  whatever  he  wished,  as  wishes  were  rare  anyway. 

“I  believe  I  was  born  that  way,”  Isaiah  repeated,  his  tone  a  nuance  lower  than  usual.  Enough  to  have  the  witcher  response  as  he  most  definitely  had  anticipated.  With  a  hum  and  a  sigh  against  his  lips,  diving  back  in.  The  shiver  of  his  body  followed  as  the  palm  of  his  hand  moved  underneath  his  shirt,  brushing  along  his  warm,  tanned  skin. 

“I’m  such  a  lucky  guy,”  he  added.

“You  are,”  Zeev  agreed,  his  own  fingertips  moving  down  his  chest  and  towards  the  hem  of  his  shirt.  Not  to  free  him  of  it,  even  though  that  would  have  been  much  beneficial,  but  to  shove  his  hands  underneath  as  well.  The  tender  and  soft  skin  gave  in  underneath  the  pressure  of  his  fingertips  as  he  dug  them  deeper  to  pull  him  closer. 

“A  loved  guy  even,”  he  continued.  “Admired,  desired,  appreciated…  I  love  you  so  much.”

He  felt  Isaiah  smile  against  the  corner  of  his  lips  as  his  kisses  trailed  off. 

Instinctively,  he  tilted  his  head  to  the  side,  eyes  falling  shut  at  the  contentment  flooding  his  veins.  It  wasn’t  even  pure  arousal  taking  hold  of  him,  but  a  sense  of  peace  as  well.  Anything  that  was  bothersome  shoved  into  a  far  corner  of  his  mind,  inaccessible  and  lacking  importance. 

Just  as  Zeev  pressed  his  thighs  firmly  against  his  hips,  he  felt  Isaiah  pondering.  He  didn’t  need  to  say  anything,  his  hesitation  alone  conveyed  all  that  the  witcher  needed  to  know. 

“What’s  the  matter,  my  love?”  he  whispered,  turning  his  head  back  towards  him,  hand  cradling  his  head  as  his  brows  knitted.  Something  spilled  from  his  blue  eyes  and  Zeev  didn’t  mind  catching  all  of  it,  with  heart  and  mind  alike. 

Isaiah  rubbed  gentle  circles  over  his  husbands  thighs,  meeting  his  eyes,  remaining  quiet  for  a  second  longer.  “Are  you  feeling  better?”

“I  am,”  Zeev  promised,  kissing  his  cheek  softly. 

“Is  there  anything  I  can  do?”

The  question,  as  innocent  as  it  sounded,  filled  with  his  characteristic  compassion  and  urge  to  be  helpful,  inherited  far  more  between  the  spaces  than  he  most  definitely  wanted  to  share. Even  the  cones  of  light  that  shone  through  the  kitchen  window  didn’t  burn  the  self-doubt  and  powerlessness  in  the  eye  of  something  far  greater  than  the  two  of  them.  It  wasn’t  comparable  to  what  had  happened  to  Isaiah,  but  Zeev  thought  he  knew  what  was  going  on  in  the  other’s  mind.

“You  are  doing  so  much  already,  my  beautiful,”  he  assured,  nudging  his  cheek  with  the  tip  of  his  nose,  mimicking  a  behaviour  that  their  Russian  Blue  had  most  definitely  taught.  A  kiss  followed,  as  well  as  a  smile  that  left  no  doubt  about  its  genuinity.  Zeev  knew  that  this  alone  wouldn’t  help  against  the  doubt  settling  in.  He  saw  it  pushing  and  prodding  inside  his  brain  to  make  itself  a  neat  space  to  get  comfortable  in.  The  witcher,  though,  wouldn’t  allow  it. 

“If  it  hadn’t  been  for  you,  I’d  have  sat  there  all  night.  If  it  wouldn’t  be  for  you  I  wouldn’t  have  been  able  to  pull  myself  out  of  there.  Contrary  to  back  then,  I’m  not  alone  and  this…  withdrawal  is  something  I  have  to  go  through,  there’s  nothing  I  can  do  about  it  as  well…  And  as  much  as  it  unsettles  me,  it’s  not  half  as  bad  as  it  could  be.  The  only  reason  I’m  able  to  resist  the  pull  is  you.”  With  a  sigh,  Isaiah  pushed  his  head  against  his  palm,  averting  his  gaze  in  something  that  resembled  shame.  The  display  broke  Zeev’s  heart,  but  it  wasn’t  about  him,  despite  being  part  of  the  reasons. 

The  Podcast  Host  has  always  been  responsive  to  outer  influences,  whether  it  be  openly  displayed  emotions  or  vague  assumptions.  His  sought  for  knowledge  didn’t  just  start  and  end  with  that  of  the  dark  unknown,  but  included  those  of  the  humans  as  well,  the  grand  emotionality  of  a  person’s  mind,  their  intentions  and  their  ambitions. To  understand  the  world  it  was  essential  to  understand  oneself  as  well  and  thus  the  complexity  of  humankind. 

Interpreting  the  human  mind  however  more  often  than  not  led  to  something  akin  to  a  malfunctioning  of  his  own  senses.  A  never  ending  spiral  that  pulled  him  down  despite  his  strong  rationality,  submissive  to  his  emotionality.  Questioning  led  to  answers  he  only  could  give  himself  and  if  those  failed  to  be  delivered  what  followed  was  an  endless  circle  of  doubt,  worry,  helplessness.  But  he  wasn’t  there  yet.  Zeev  knew  what  that  looked  like.

He  wrapped  his  arms  around  his  neck,  his  chest  pressed  against  his,  breathing  with  him,  brushing  through  his  hair  in  sedative  motions. 

“We’re  much  alike  in  these  regards,  love,”  he  continued  quietly  after  a  while,  pulling  back,  searching  for  his  eyes.  “We  believe  we  only  are  helpful  if  we  do  something  physically.  If  we  grab  some  lunch,  if  we  clean  the  kitchen  or  take  out  the  trash,  if  you  take  me  to  work  or  if  I  sneak  a  coffee  downstairs  onto  your  desk.  You’d  built  a  castle  for  me  if  I  asked  you  to  and  I’d  do  the  same  even  if  you  don’t  ask  for  anything.  All  of  that  is  part  of  this  beautiful,  gorgeous  and  magnificent  love  that  has  been  cared  for  and  tended  to  over  years,  but  there’s  much  more  within  the  passivity  as  well.” 

Zeev  leaned  forward,  pressing  his  forehead  against  his  lover’s,  still  slightly  taller  than  him,  despite  being  seated  elevated. 

“You  influence  me  all  the  time  by  essentially  just  existing.  You’re  my  inspiration  and  role  model,  too.  I  love  you,  I  admire  you,”  he  pauses.  “I  need  you.”

“You  wouldn’t  have  needed  to  do  this  if  it  hadn’t  been  for  me,”  he  pointed  out,  hands  resuming  to  move  the  slightest  across  his  lower  back  and  thigh,  his  chest  rising  as  he  inhaled  deeply,  dragging  himself  as  best  as  possible  out  of  his  mind.  Zeev  knew  that  was  a  hard  thing  to  achieve,  but  he  did  so,  without  fail,  sooner  or  later.  And  everytime  the  witcher  couldn’t  be  more  proud. 

“Don’t  go  there,  baby,”  he  denied,  shaking  his  head.  “It  was  my  decision,  and  I  wouldn’t  have  needed  to  make  that  decision  if  you  hadn’t  been  cursed  in  the  first  place.”  Involuntarily,  his  jaw  clenched.  They’d  need  to  think  about  those  witches  soon  enough.  Was  Zeev  avoiding  that  matter  in  some  way?  Yes.  But  he  knew  he  couldn’t  forever.  The  longer  they  waited,  the  more  time  they  offered  the  Mark  of  Solaris  to  prepare  for  a  counterattack.

“Surely  we  could  blame  them,  but  in  the  end  it  was  my  decision  and  hence  they  are  my  consequences  to  bear.”  A  delicate  smile  pulled  his  lips.  “I’m  just  glad  you’re  alright  now  and  in  a  way  I’m  glad  you  don’t  remember  most  of  it,  too…  I  don’t  ever  want  you  to  suffer  like  that  ever  again.”  He  shook  his  head,  concentrating  on  the  here  and  now.  “You’re  doing  more  than  you  are  aware  of,  believe  me.  You’re  like  the  wind,  moving  cloudy  monuments  and  changing  landscapes  just  by  being  what  you  are,  you  can’t  be  anything  less.”

Zeev  noticed  his  cheek  hollowing,  but  also  a  small  nod.  The  witcher  knew  his  worries,  just  formed  and  on  the  brink  of  taking  shape,  weren’t  so  easy  to  destroy  as  he  would  like  them  to  be.  It  would  take  time  and  patience—and  Zeev  planned  on  having  that  aplenty.  Till  the  rest  of  their  lives  he’d  spent  every  waking  hour  loving  him,  holding  him,  kissing  him,  soothing  him.  For  as  long  as  it  took,  Zeev  would  love  the  parts  of  him  that  he  thought  were  unsightly. 

“I  love  you,”  he  heard  Isaiah  mumble,  as  if  it  were  the  punctuation  at  the  end  of  a  sentence,  representing  the  end  of  the  conversation.  Even  though  Zeev  felt  the  urge  to  continue,  he  knew  that  every  further  comment  would  not  lead  to  the  desired  result.  Isaiah  needed  to  come  to  the  conclusion  on  his  own,  supported  by  the  words  of  his  husband,  but  ultimately  left  to  his  own  judgement.  Zeev  knew  that  he  would  eventually.  He  had  grown  much  since  they  got  to  know  each  other,  healing  each  other  in  the  gentlest  way  possible. And  they  would continue  doing  so. 

“I  love  you  endlessly,”  Zeev  murmured  in  return,  smiling  to  brighten  the  mood  and  as  he  felt  Isaiah  press  his  lips  against  him  more  urgently,  he  couldn’t  help  but  giggle  cheerfully. 

 The  steam  of  the  chamomile  tea  in  his  hands  raised  unbothered  into  the  air,  carrying  a  satisfying  smell  that  aided  his  thought  process.  The  arch  of  the  condensation  water  was  reminiscent  of  a  river  flowing  into  a  lake,  dynamic  and  unpredictable,  without  any  influence  on  his  part.  It  found  its  own  way.  Similarly,  Isaiah  and  Zeev  tried  to  master  the  torrent  of  events  that  had  caught  up  with  them  unexpectedly.  They  organised  the  events  in  chronological  order.  It  had  started  three  weeks  ago—or  at  least  what  had  been  simmering  behind  their  backs  had  spilled  over.  Someone  had  known  they  weren't  there.  How  long  had  they  been  watched?  Zeev  shuddered  at  the  idea. Were  they  still?

“What  were  you  doing  anyway?”  Zeev  wondered  as  he  watched  his  husband  write  down  the  date  of  the  intrusion,  pinning  the  post-it  against  the  board,  deciding  on  a  pin  which  colour  suited  his  refined  artistic  taste.  Zeev  sat  cross-legged  on  the  couch,  a  blanket  wrapped  around  his  shoulders.  In  summer,  being  downstairs  in  Isaiah's  hobby  room  and  office,  was  an  absolute  refreshing  delight.  Even  though  the  witcher  was  fond  of  the  heat  and  in  most  cases  was  alone  in  this,  he  couldn't  deny  how  nice  it  was  to  cool  off  in  his  husband's  sacred  halls  and  listen  to  him  develop  concepts  and  silently  curse  or  cheer,  depending  on  whether  he  was  successful  or  hit  dead  ends.

“What  do  you  mean?”  he  replied  in  confusion,  scratching  his  stomach  gently  as  he  put  a  hand  on  his  hip  and  looked  from  the  board  to  him.  Zeev  had  to  be  honest,  the  grey  sweatpants  had  either  been  the  worst  or  the  most  brilliant  idea  the  other  had  had  to  wear,  depending  on  what  his  goal  was.  The  witcher's  gaze  followed  his  movement  and  for  a  fleeting  moment  he  looked  at  the  narrow  strip  of  skin  above  the  waistband  of  his  joggers.  He  sighed.  They  couldn't  stray  from  their  plan  again.  He  had  to  concentrate.

He  could  suck  the  soul  out  of  him  later. 

Which,  regardless  of  greyscale,  would  most  likely  have  happened  anyway. 

Concentration,  Zeev. 

“When  I  came  home  you  weren't  there.  Where  were  you?”

For  a  strangely  long  moment,  Isaiah  looked  at  him  from  his  position,  his  head  lowered,  his  brows  drawn  shallowly  together.  Whatever  was  going  on  beneath  the  top  of  his  skull  seemed  to  be  rapidly  unravelling  though.

“That’s  a  surprise,”  he  offered  as  an  explanation.  He  knew  exactly  how  bad  Zeev  was  at  enduring  surprises.  He  knew  that  they  were  usually  signs  of  Isaiah's  expression  of  love,  of  offering  him  something  special,  be  it  an  evening  together  or  a  gesture  of  affection.  His  surprises  didn't  equate  to  unexpected  twists  or  turns  of  fate  that  he  hadn't  seen  coming,  it  wasn't  a  loss  of  control—and  yet  Zeev  still  got  nervous  every  time.. 

His  blonde  brows  raised  towards  his  hairline.  “A  surprise?  What  is  it?”

“Don't  change  the  topic,  my  love,”  he  chuckled,  moving  towards  him,  tipping  his  chin  with  a  curled  pointer  and  bent  down  far  enough  to  kiss  him.  Zeev  narrowed  his  eyes  playfully.  He  accepted  the  apology,  but  he  wouldn't  forget  the  confession.

“Was  it  a  planned appointment?  Could  someone  have  known?  Was  it  spontaneous?”

Isaiah  shook  his  head,  attention  back  towards  the  board.  “I  had  thought  about  it  before,  but  I  didn't  tell  anyone  until  I,  uh,  got  there.”

Zeev  smirked  against  the  brim  of  his  cuppa.  “Someone  is  involved  in  the  surprise?”

“Zeev!”  He  laughed,  a  noise  that  filled  the  witcher  with  warmth.  He  was  in  love  with  his  voice  as  it  is,  but  his  laugh?  There  was  hardly  anything  more  beautiful.  “You're  investigating  the  wrong  case.”

“I'm  a  professional,  I  can  get  to  the  bottom  of  two  cases  simultaneously.”  The  witcher  chuckled,  taking  a  warming  sip.

Isaiah  shook  his  head  in  amusement,  turning  back  towards  the  board.  “Do  we  need  to  put  down…  You  know,  the  symptoms?”

This  time  Zeev  fell  quiet,  remaining  so  for  a  few  minutes,  eyes  fixed  on  his  hands  gripping  the  cup  tightly.  If  all  of  this  hadn't  happened,  he'd  be  holding  an  entirely  different  mug.  “A  week,  it  got  gradually  worse.  The  peak  has  been  after  four  days,  Sarah  and  Richard  came  three  days  in.”

Without  commenting  the  taller  one  nodded,  writing  down  onto  the  small  pieces  of  paper,  his  handwriting  almost  childlike,  as  erratic  as  his  mind  at  times.  He  pinned  them  onto  the  board  as  well.

“I've  met  a  girl  from  the  Coven  on  day  six,  I  believe  Zara  implied  she  might  be  from  University.  Perhaps  we  can  figure  out  her  name  when  checking  their  websites,”  Zeev  suggested.  “Yearbook  or  something,  or  maybe  she's  some  cheerleader  or  did  something  else  fancy  to  be  mentioned  by  name.  If  she's  invested  in  species  protection  it's  not  unlikely  she  might  be  in  some  clubs  too.”

“Zeev.”  His  husband's  voice  was  soft  and  gentle,  stopping  his  words  as  they  fell  spitefully  from  his  lips.  Carefully,  Isaiah  lifted  the  cup  out  of  his  hand  and  replaced  it  with  his  palms,  fingers  intertwining.  Zeev  noticed  how  tightly  he  had  gripped  the  mug  as  he  felt  his  strained  knuckles  relaxing  again.  “It's  over  for  now,  it's  okay.  I'm  okay.” 

He  nodded,  looking  up,  raised  his  hand  towards  his  lips  and  kissed  it  with  a  sigh.  The  wild  beating  of  his  heart  slowly  dulled  down  again  to  an  even  rhythm. 

“Okay,  so,  that  is  a  good  start.  If  they  operate  anything  like  your  family,  they'll  be  tightly  knit  together.  Finding  out  who  she  is  and  where  she's  from  will  make  it  easier  to  find  out  who  she's  conversing  with.” 

“It  has  been  a  curse,  a  deadly  one  even.  She  seemed  so  young,  so…  inexperienced  even.  It's  hard  to  imagine  she  has  been  able  to  conjure  that.  Not  without  paying  tremendously.  Admittedly,  I  couldn't  care  less  about  her  wellbeing,  but  why  have  her  do  the  dirty  work?  She  is  either  stronger  than  she  seems  or  someone  doesn't  care  if  she  fails.  Like…  cannon  fodder,”  he  pauses,  knitting  his  brow,  leaning  back  against  the  couch.  He  couldn't  help  but  feel  slight  compassion.  “If  the  last  is  true,  we  have  to  expect  anything  from  them.  A  Coven,  criminal  or  not,  should  care  for  their  own  kind.” 

“The  Mark  of  Solaris  is  perhaps  less  a  Coven  and  more  like…”

“A  cult?  Not  unlikely,  whatever  they  call  themselves  is  little  of  importance  though.  They  will  do  anything  to  reach  their  goal,  whatever  that  truly  is.” But  so  will  he.  Instinctively,  Zeev's  jaw  clenched,  his  teeth  grinding  against  one  another  audibly.  Reason  enough  for  Isaiah  to  sit  down  next  to  him  again,  brushing  through  his  hair,  kissing  his  temple.  The  pain  and  pressure  of  the  days  still  rested  heavily  on  his  chest.  Isaiah  might  have  forgotten,  but  he  never  would. Neither  would  he  forgive.

“Not  saying  anyone  deserves  to  be  cursed,  but you?”  Zeev  viciously  shook  his  head,  felt  a  few  strands  of  hair  tickling  his  forehead.  Isaiah  was  the  best  and  goodest  man  that  he  ever  met  and  knew  existed.  He,  who  was  bummed  for  days  for  accidentally  having  split  a  stem  in  half  of  the  Monstera,  who  couldn't  sleep  when  having  had  a  quarrel  that  didn't  get  resolved  one  way  or  another,  who  did  everything  in  his  might  to  have  everyone  around  him  happy,  regardless  of  his  own  emotional  state,  who  wanted  little  more  than  to  be  liked  and  remained  kind,  even  when  others  weren't.  Surely,  it  wasn't  like  he  didn't  know  how  to  be  angry,  unfair  or  protective  as  well,  but  those  moments  rarely  were  approached  by  him  voluntarily.  Either  provocated  or  the  result  of  similar  behaviour  towards  him.  Zeev  knew,  and  he  didn't  just  stick  to  that  opinion  because  they  were  married, that  Isaiah  wasn't  deserving  of  bad  things  to  happen.

Still,  being  alive  consisted  of  those  moments  as  well,  disregarding  good  deeds  or  intentions. Thunderstorms  came,  no  matter  who  you  are.

That,  however,  didn’t  mean  that  Zeev  had  to  accept  what  the  Mark  of  Solaris  had  done.  He  despised  that  revenge  never  served  anyone.

They  continued  to  gather  what  they  knew  and  the  suspicions  they  harboured.  Mark  of  Solaris  was  apparently  in  Macomb,  if  what  the  young  woman  Zeev  had  met  provided  anything  to  go  by.  They  often  attracted  people  in  need  of  help. A  practice  that  Zeev  was  not  too  unfamiliar  with  and  one  that  could  not  stop  the  shame  that  ran  through  him.  He  may  not  have  cursed  anyone,  but  having  any  resemblance  to  them—even  if  it  related  to  past  deeds—left  a  bitter  aftertaste.  They  must  have  been  watching  them  to  know  when  the  house  was  unguarded.  Long  enough  to  carry  out  such  chaos  and  ritual.  Had  they  risked  it  or  planned  with  specific  timing?  Zeev  was  going  to  intensify  the  protective  spells  that  very  day.  None  of  those  witches  would  set  foot  in  their  house  again.  Not  as  long  as  he  could  do  something  about  it.

Their  target  was  Zeev,  at  least  in  the  broadest  sense.  The  young  woman  had  stammered  something  about  wanting  to  win  him  over—they  had  chosen  the  worst  possible  approach—and  that  Isaiah  was  a  poor  choice  as  a  mate  in  their  eyes.  Zeev  remembered  his  mother's  rules,  which  had  equally  discouraged  partnerships.  This  had  always  been  for  protection,  never  out  of  pure  unjustified  hatred. 

He  knows  too  much.

What  was  that  supposed  to  mean  anyway?  Who  he  trusted  was  supposed  to  be  his  business?  Isaiah  knew  about  the  existence  of  witches,  without  his  involvement.  That  they  could  also  be  extremely  beautiful,  eloquent,  impatient  and  helplessly  addicted  to  him  was  just  a  piece  of  shared  information  that  only  concerned  him,  and  in  no  way  jeopardised  the  safety  of  any  other  coven. 

“They  feel  threatened,  in  some  way  or  another,”  Zeev  assumed.  “I'm  not  sure  how  they  have  even  picked  up  the  impression  that  one  of  us,  or  the  both  more  likely,  are  turning  into  a  nuisance  and  hurdle.  Amber  and  Helena  have  been  living  here  longer  than  we  did  and  they  haven't  heard  of  them  before,  nor  noticed  other  witches  living  here.  Considering  their  Reddit  though  they  are  operating  for  quite  a  while  now.  Whatever  it  is  that  makes  them  feel  unsafe,  they  pin  it  on  us.” 

Isaiah  nodded  in  thought,  seemingly  as  a  gesture  that  he  was  listening  rather  than  of  agreement.  Another  piece  of  paper  made  it  onto  the  cork-wall.  Considering  Isaiah's  ever  growing  know-how  in  modern  technology,  it  was  an  odd  choice  but  nothing  beats  the  tried  and  tested  reliability  of  an  old-school  cork  pinboard.  More  charming,  too.  Admittedly,  Zeev  felt  a  bit  like  a  detective  of  an  old  black  and  white  noire,  thinking  in  deep  metaphorical  monologues  about  how  dull  and  painful  the  town  has  gotten,  while  trying  to  fathom  the  cruelty  of  modern  society  and  their  part  in  the  crime  at  hand.

“Perhaps  something  has  changed  since  your  arrival?”  Isaiah  suggested,  rubbing  his  neck.

“What  should  have?  I  know  I  have  a  dashing  personality  and  an  undeniable  attraction,  but  I'm  not  shifting  space  and  time  by  mere  existence,  I  barely  did  any  magic…  Safety  spells  aside.”

The  taller  male  paused  for  a  moment.  “What  if  they  want  you  to?”

“What?”

“To  cast  spells,  perhaps  they  need  you  for  something  bigger  than  they  are.”

“Considering  what  she  has  said  it's  not  impossible,”  Zeev  admitted.  “But  they've  wasted  every  potential  of  me  ever  doing  something  for  them.  Also,  I  can't  think  of  any  spell  that'd  require  my  help,  they  seem  capable  of  doing  whatever  they  please.”

“You  said  the  girl  had  seemed  inexperienced?”

“She  was  young,  I  barely  have  anything  else  to  base  that  on.”

“What  if  you're  right?  What  if,  whatever  they  try  to  achieve,  asks  for  someone  who  has  learned  how  to  use  dark  magic  beyond  their  comprehension?”

“Even  if  they  do,  I  won't  do  it,”  he  grumbled  defiantly.

“They  are  used  to  force,  aren’t  they?  Dark  Arts  are  a  manipulation,  an  interference  in  the  natural  order  and  balance.  They  don't  seem  like  the  kind  to  ask  nicely,  they  probably  know  you'd  decline.”

“...  you  think  they  wanted  to  use  you?  To  manipulate  me?”  Hard  boiled  anger  resurfaced  and  Zeev  felt  his  jaw  tensing  painfully.

“Or  test  you  first,  see  if  you'd  consort  with  your  old  ways.  To  break  the  curse  and  prove  you’d  do  anything  to  reassure…  my  safety.”

“They'll  try  again  and  have  you  be  a  pawn,”  Zeev  concluded  quietly,  ashamed  in  a  way  that  they  had  succeeded  if  it  truly  had  been  their  intention.

“We  have  to  assume  this  much,”  Isaiah  sighed,  unsurprisingly  not  full  of  glee  at  the  prospect  of  being  the  target  of  malicious  intentions  once  again.

The  witcher's  head  bowed  guiltily,  realising  that  all  this  could  be  a  potential  aftershock  of  a  time  he  wanted  to  leave  behind.  But  the  past  always  caught  up  with  oneself,  especially  when  it  was  as  bloody  and  grave  as  his.  Thoughtfully,  he  rubbed  his  thumb  over  the  bandage,  feeling  the  elevation  of  his  scar  under  the  tip  of  his  finger.  Isaiah  sat  down  next  to  him  again  and  while  he  put  his  arms  around  his  shoulders,  Zeev  did  the  same.  He  wrapped  them  tightly  around  his  chest  and  buried  his  face  against  the  crook  of  his  neck,  encouraging  kisses  against  his  temple  barely  helping  against  the  strain  of  their  investigation.  Basically,  they  knew  nothing.  It  was  all  speculation. 

“I  don’t  want  them  to  hurt  you,”  Zeev  whispered  almost  defeatedly,  weakened  by  the  thought  alone.

“I  don't  want  them  to  use  you,”  Isaiah  mumbled  against  his  head  and  planted  some  more  kisses,  to  which  Zeev  reacted  with  a  sigh.

“I  won't  let  them  hurt  you,”  the  witcher  added  through  gritted  teeth.  He  wasn't  sure  what  he  wanted  to  do  to  prevent  that  from  happening,  but  he  was  determined.  And  angry.  He'd  combust  if  he  were  to  see  Isaiah  writhe  in  pain  once  more. 

“I'll  see  if  I  can  find  the  girl  I've  been  talking  to  on  some  University  page  or  student  members  list  of  the  Bird  Sanctuary  and  you  could  check  their  Reddit?  Perhaps  they  left  hints  of  their  whereabouts.  Or  we'll  bait  them  with  a  fake  account…  Either  way,  I'll  need  to  meet  them  one  day.  The  sooner  the  better.  I  don't  think  we'll  be  able  to  have  any  impact  if  we  don't.”  Apart  from  that,  it  was  to  his  advantage  to  know  the  faces  of  those  who  harmed  them.  For  the  first  time,  however,  Zeev  wasn't  sure  whether  he  wouldn't  jump  down  the  throats  of  those  responsible  at  first  sight.

Focused  research  resulted  in  Zeev  not  being  able  to  clear  his  head,  but  to  swallow  some  of  his  anger.

A  small  satisfaction  of  doing  something  useful  and  productive,  even  though  they  basically  had  nothing  tangible. Zeev  wasn't  even  sure  what  he  was  supposed  to  do  if  he  ever  actually  met  the  witches.  It  was  comforting  to  think  that  even  dark  magic  had  limits  and  that  they  too,  at  their  core,  were  only  mortal.  He  knew  what  the  girl  looked  like  and,  wisely,  he  had  kept  her  lock  of  hair. It  didn't  mean  he  would  do  anything,  but  it  reassured  him  to  have  the  option. 

He  found  it  just  as  reassuring  to  watch  Isaiah  immerse  himself  in  his  work.  Even  if  the  subject  didn't  match  his  interests  per  se,  the  approach  was  quite  similar.  Whenever  Zeev  lost  concentration,  he  looked  up  from  the  couch,  sipped  his  tea  and  watched  his  husband  hunched  over  in  front  of  the  screen.  Zeev  was  already  making  a  mental  note  that  he  would  give  him  a  thorough  massage  that  evening  to  release  the  tension  from  his  shoulders  and  vertebrae  that  he  was  painstakingly  cultivating. 

That  was  the  way  he  liked  it  best.  Getting  to  the  bottom  of  things  along  with  him,  sharing  thoughts  and  taking  them  further,  solving  puzzles  that  could  have  been  so  simple  if  they  didn't  both  tend  to  think  too  complicated  at  times.  Again  and  again,  they  had  to  use  the  principle  of  parsimony  to  pull  each  other  back  from  their  elaborate  assumptions  in  order  to  come  up  with  clear  answers.

They  were  a  team  and  they  were  unbeatable.  Not  because  they  were  reckless  or  took  risks,  but  because  they  could  rely  on  each  other. If  Zeev  ever  found  himself  in  a  hopeless  situation,  he  knew  Isaiah  would  find  ways  to  solve  it.  It  was  obvious  that  they  could  only  fail  if  one  of  them  was  lost.

And  the  witches  knew  that.

But  they  were  wrong  to  believe  that  Zeev  would  allow  himself  to  be  instrumentalised.

He’d  turn  into  a  menace  before  ever  lifting  a  finger  to  their  satisfaction.

 Zeev  stretched  on  the  couch  and  slipped  further  down  the  upholstery,  rubbing  his  sore  eyes.  How  long  have  they  sat  here  now?  The  witcher  grew  a  bit  hungry,  he  noticed,  aware  that  Isaiah  was  way  too  concentrated  to  currently  have  any  sort  of  basic  needs.  That  didn’t  mean  he  didn’t  need  to  eat  eventually.  To  keep  the  brain  running,  it  needed  nutrients,  and  Zeev  was  keen  to  provide  Isaiah  with  them.  For  now,  though,  he  trudged  over  to  him  and  came  to  a  stop  behind  him,  running  his  hands  over  his  shoulders  and  kneading  them  lightly,  feeling  him  straighten  his  back—and  making  a  sound  that  suggested  his  spine  had  snapped  in  two.  Zeev  leaned  forward  and  pressed  his  lips  to  the  back  of  his  head.  Even  though  he  knew  Isaiah  had  no  secrets  from  him  and  was  preoccupied  with  a  subject  that  concerned  them  both  anyway,  the  witcher  still  avoided  looking  at  the  screen.  Instead,  he  slid  his  hands  further  forward  and  consequently  down  over  the  other's  chest,  burying  his  nose  in  the  thick,  tangled  blond  hair.  He  smelled  of  lavender  and  some  new  aftershave,  fresh  and  clean  and  tantalising.

“Are  you  in  the  mood  for  some  Paella?” 

His  husband  hummed,  slowly  but  surely  losing  sight  of  the  matter  at  hand,  leaning  back  against  him.  He  had  stopped  clicking  and  scrolling  seconds  ago.

Zeev  moved  his  head  into  the  crook  of  his  neck  and  softly  planted  kisses  against  his  skin,  nipping  just  the  slightest.  “Won’t  take  long,  I  prepared  most  of  it  this  morning  already.  I’ll  get  you  in  fifteen  minutes?”

That,  however,  didn’t  seem  to  be  in  the  blonde’s  interest.  He  turned  on  the  office  chair  towards  his  husband  and  pulled  him  towards  himself  at  his  wrist.  The  seat  made  a  sound  akin  to  a  warning  call,  but  it  had  never  given  in  underneath  the  weight  before.  Zeev  felt  optimistic  it  wouldn’t  this  time  around  either.  Cheerfully  smiling,  the  witcher  took  place  on  his  lap,  legs  dangling  left  and  right  and  immediately  fell  into  an  even  interval  consisting  of  kisses  and  sweet  words  of  affirmation.  No  matter  how  many  years  they  had  been  married,  he  would  never  take  his  husband's  deeds  for  granted. 

“Did  you  find  something?”  Zeev  wondered,  kissing  along  his  jaw,  hands  moving  underneath  his  shirt  to  have  skin  against  skin.  He  felt  Isaiah  nod,  sighing  in  delight  as  well.  It  wasn’t  hard  for  the  witcher  to  listen  to  him, his  voice  the  only  frequency  that  would  get  through  him  at  any  given  moment  without  fail.  He  was  drawn  to  his  husband  that  suggested  obsession—and  he  didn’t  mind  that  comparison  at  all.  Every  explanation,  every  revealed  information  that  Isaiah  had  prodded  out  of  the  farthest  corner  of  the  internet,  left  Zeev’s  blood  boiling  with  arousal.  “Sun,”  he  purred  against  his  neck,  leaving  open  mouthed  kisses.  “You’re  so  hot.” 

Shortly  after,  Zeev  was  given  the  same  question  and  he  hummed  lofty.

“I  got  a  name,  she’s  in  some  environmental  conservation  committee,”  he  murmured  towards  his  lips,  grinding  down  instinctively.  The  nature  of  the  sweatpants  made  it  easy  for  the  witcher  to  have  grand  successes.  Every  movement  of  his  went  straight  to  his  beloved’s  dick,  just  as  intended. 

As  he  had  promised  himself  and  Isaiah  without  his  knowledge,  Zeev  slipped  down  his  lap  soon  after,  dropping  in  between  his  legs  like  his  mind  and  bit  his  lips  in  immense  anticipation  before  thanking  his  husband  for  his  hard  work—good  and  proper.

 Thunderstorms,  however,  even  came  to  the  goodest  of  people.  The  ways  of  the  supposedly  Coven  were  uncertain  and  unsuspecting  and  imagining  the  worst  would  never  truly  prepare  any  of  the  two  of  what  was  about  to  come.  Zeev  saw  the  stroboscopic  lights  at  the  corner  of  his  eyes  before  taking  in  the  sight  of  a  police  car’s  approach. 

At  first  the  witcher  suspected  they  wanted  to  share  new  insights  of  the  case,  but  was  left  wondering  why  they  needed  lights  for  that.  And  why  they  didn’t  just  call.  Wrote  a  letter.  Informing  them  they  dropped  the  case  most  likely.  Which  wouldn’t  have  been  necessarily  the  worst  thing  to  happen,  considering  they  were  against  forces  the  law  knew  nothing  about.

With  knitted  brows  Zeev  turned  the  stove  down  proactively  and  watched  a  man  and  a  woman  in  uniforms  approach.  They  didn’t  look  very  delighted,  not  like  they  were  harbouring  good  news.  Zeev  felt  his  stomach  drop. 

The  bell  rang. 

To  not  look  like  he  actually  had  committed  some  crime  he  shook  himself  slightly,  ran  his  hand  through  his  hair  and  put  on  his  most  dashing  smile,  refined  during  his  modelling  years.  “Good  afternoon,  officers.  What’s  the  matter?”

“Mr.  Pines?”  the  man  said.  His  voice  was  deep  and  rough,  scratching  the  inside  of  his  ears  like  sandpaper. 

“That  I  am,”  Zeev  agreed.  The  woman  didn’t  look  at  him,  observed  the  area  behind  his  back,  eyes  scanning  the  hallway.  The  man  checked  a  file  in  his  hands,  brown  eyes  darting  up  and  down  as  if  trying  to  find  similarities  in  what  he  was  looking  at  and  the  man  in  front  of  him.

“You’re  Mr  Zeev  Pines?”  he  corrected.

“Yes,  I  am.  What  is  the  matter?”  the  witcher  repeated.  His  knuckles  turned  white  against  the  doorframe.

“Is  Mr  Isaiah  Pines  currently  available?”

Zeev  gradually  turned  upset.

“I’m  not  giving  out  information  until  I  know  what’s  the  matter.”

“I’m  very  sorry,  Sir,  we  need  to  talk  to  your  husband  only.”

“You’re  talking  to  me  now,  though.  If  it’s  about  him,  it  is  about  me,  too.”

The  female  officer  clicked  her  tongue,  her  hand  resting  against  her  belt,  way  too  close  towards  her  service  weapon.  Zeev  couldn’t  help  but  curl  his  lips  distastefully  for  a  fleeting  second.  “Listen,  Sir,  you’re  disrupting  active  investigations  and  we  ask  you  to  give  information  about  Mr  Pines  whereabouts,  otherwise  we’ll  be  forced  to  approach  this  differently.”

“Are  you  threatening  me?” Zeev  raised  his  eyebrows,  drawing  the  door  closer,  ready  to  shut  it  on  a  whim.  Unfortunately,  that  much  he  knew  about  himself,  he  wouldn’t  be  able  to  defend  himself  against  two  officers.

“No,  I’m  informing  you,”  she  continued,  her  eyes  speaking  of  boredom  almost.  “We’ll  have  a  warrant,  obstruction  of  justice  is  a  crime,  Mr  Pines.”

“And  not  telling  me  what  this  is  all  about  is  anything  better?”

Zeev’s  glance  darted  down  as  one  of  the  officers  moved  closer  to  the  doorframe,  but  hesitated.  As  if  held  back  by  forces  he  couldn’t  quite  grasp.  Zeev  exhaled  for  two  reasons. 

One,  the  protection  spell  seemed  to  work.  They  wouldn’t  get  into  the  house  without  their  permission.

Secondly, the  protection  spell  seemed  to  work. They  were  here  to  harm,  one  way  or  another.

When  suddenly  he  felt  a  hand  on  his  back  and  Isaiah’s  attentive,  wakeful  blue  eyes  transfixed  on  the  law  enforcers,  he  grew  much  aware  of  the  tension  growing  between  the  four  of  them.  Like  a  balloon  ready  to  burst. 

The  male  officer  straightened  his  back,  inhaled  deeply,  checked  his  files  for  a  second  again  just  to  be  one  hundred  percent  sure  and  then  filled  them  both  in  on  what  Zeev  had  been  trying  to  get  to  know  for  minutes  now:  “Mr  Isaiah  Pines,  you  are  under  arrest  for  the  suspicion  of  murder.  You  have  the  right  to  remain  silent.  Anything  you  say  can  and  will  be  used  against  you  in  a  court  of  law.”

Zeev’s  blood  ran  cold.  “That  is  ridiculous.”

“Sir,  there’s  nothing  ridiculous  about  murder.”

“You  know  exactly  what  I  meant, Officer.”  His  eyes  were  narrowed,  but  he  didn’t  move  and  he  kept  covering  half  of  Isaiah’s  body  while  remaining  in  the  doorframe.  “Who?”

“Excuse  me,  Sir?”

“Who  did  he  supposedly  murder?”  Zeev  pressed.  His  grip  around  the  doorframe  tightened  further  and  he  had  to  grab  Isaiah’s  hand,  to  be  with  him  and  to  show  him  silent  support  as  well. He  felt  nauseous.  Dizzy.

And  even  before  the  man  opened  his  mouth  after  a  round  of  contemplation,  the  witcher  knew  what  he  was  about  to  say.

Elvira  Higgins

The  girl.

[hochmvt]

Mankind had been irrepressible since time immemorial, always striving to position itself at the top of the food chain. If one party had a real advantage, it was ruthlessly exploited to secure power and influence. Kingdoms had been built because one race had placed itself above another, legends of the gods had been created by fear and fire—and still it had never been enough. More influence, more glory, more dominion over something of lesser importance were the underlying motif of humanity's own agenda and insatiability. It wasn't necessarily something profoundly evil, nor was it necessarily ambition; it was a disease of the mind that had become ingrained in human history, as if it were an innate genetic defect passed down from generation to generation. And in this endless hunger that could never truly be satisfied, people did unspeakable things to master this power—to own it, to control it and to break all those who did not conform to their worldview and understanding of values. Isaiah had realized early on that Zeev was different, that he had a power that was not common among every witch. But it had never occurred to Isaiah that Zeev's power had such a radiance that others yearned to use it. Use him. That they hunted him—not out of love or admiration, but for their own profit. Because they craved influence and power. Now that he understood what the Mark of Solaris was really up to—how they were trying to drive wedges between peaceful parties, creating hierarchy and power imbalances where there were none—fear began to settle into the podcast host's limbs. Messing with someone like Zeev wasn't just foolish or particularly appalling, it was outright suicidal. And Isaiah, for all his empathy and softness, had no desire to be on the wrong side of whatever force was binding Zeev to this world.

The terror of the last few days had slowly subsided. It was almost as if normality had returned to the walls of the house on LaFayette Street. The pictures and photographs did not hold glimpses of horror anymore, but were once again preserved memories to tell their story. The aftermath of what had happened came not with neither big declarations of love resulting in mediocre dancing flashmobs or fanfare corps blazoning news that was over, but with the sound of the dishwasher running, of pages turning, of the fireplace crackling, of scribbling down a chronology of what had happened—of hearts learning to beat in the same rhythm again. At some point, Isaiah had grown tired of running away from all of this. Instead, he had decided that the best escape was always going forward. Since then, he had always found it easier to actively throw himself into the chaos than to simply surrender to his fate and wait for the chaos to come to him. This had a lot to do with aspects such as a certain sense of expectation, having more control over things, which ultimately resulted in him not blindly chasing after every impulse, but approaching things with a more measured approach and a level head. 

But now, with terror and fear absent from their comfort zone, with Zeev lying beside him at night and the Sundawner's body leaning calmly against his—safe, resting, wounded, but alive—Isaiah longed for peace and not necessarily a quick fix. For normality, even though in society it often stood for stagnation. Perhaps he saw Zeev (although he had the feeling he knew him inside out) a little differently after all that had happened: he wasn't afraid of him, he knew that he was allowed to criticize him and that Zeev would never hurt him, and yet there was a small, vain voice inside him that always began its sentences with "but”. And at the same time, he chose Zeev again and again, for all the qualities beyond his abilities: For his selflessness, for his lightness, for his intelligence, his charity, for all the many little things that Isaiah had come to love.

As a result, more and more self-picked flowers appeared on the kitchen windowsill when Isaiah was outside and Zeev was doing the dishes. Isaiah always looked up to Zeev with an almost boyish grin, telling him they were for prettifying the space, knowing fully well that Zeev knew better, especially when the podcast host's cheeks were tinted red and he avoided eye contact shyly. He kissed him more often when he was sitting on the couch reading and Isaiah walked by, before kissing him again soon after, simply because the sun was positioned favorably, causing Zeev's eyes to shine brighter than the star itself. He had cooked for him two nights in a row, once lemon garlic pasta and once breakfast waffles for dinner (in future with homemade jam! He was already looking forward to the look on Zeev's face and the thought alone made him proud), because Isaiah didn't believe in the social convention that you could eat desserts in the morning but shouldn't indulge in them in the evening. And even if the pasta was more than al dente, the waffles sometimes undercooked in the middle and the lemon to garlic ratio a little off, the effort and love in each of these little things was clearly visible. With each serving, he had apologized and tried to make up for the lack of cooking skills by arranging the food exceptionally pretty and Zeev finished it all every time. 

And even now, when they had devoted themselves to the unpleasant subject of research, he would write down what had happened, then he would go to the couch and kiss Zeev, then he would think, stop mid-theory and kiss Zeev's shoulder, and sometimes he would just look at him as if he were the answer to all the questions he had ever had. Admittedly, most of the time Zeev was. Or at least he had them on hand. All the while, Isaiah made sure Zeev was always smiling or reminded that Isaiah was there for him—no matter if he was feeling happy, sad, worried, angry, if he was close to relapsing, or whatever. Every touch, every kiss, and every look was a testament to the fact that Isaiah's love for him was unwavering. And through each of these actions—through every flower, every kiss, every over-salted meal—he reassured Zeev: You're my home. And you're loved.

Isaiah hadn't even noticed the doorbell ringing at first. He had barely looked up from his screen as he foraged through the deepest corners of various internet forums to recover the traces of Mark of Solaris, who were promoting their dubious recruitment campaign online to all those in emotional distress. Fear to this day made people docile and history repeated itself constantly to remind one of it. Meanwhile, Zeev had started preparing the paella, the scent of saffron and garlic was present even down here, and Isaiah's stomach growled. He imagined them sitting at the dining table, the light of the ending day illuminating the floorboards and inviting them to reflect on the day in warm beams of light. How Isaiah complimented Zeev's cooking for the thousandth time and kissed him and went back for seconds, even though he wasn't hungry anymore because the food was just that delicious. An illusion that would remain one.

Zeev's voice had not become loud, he would have heard that in the basement, but his tone had changed. He was tense. Something that not only irritated Isaiah, but also made him unable to concentrate. So he stood up vigilantly, put the laptop into sleep mode and walked up the stairs to the front door, where he quickly identified the two uninvited guests: two uniformed officers stood in front of his husband, their eyes immediately on him, their posture stiff. Isaiah calmly approached them and put his hand on Zeev's back, asking if he could be of any assistance. 

The minutes that followed seemed to rekindle the terror. His muscles stiffened, he nodded apathetically and swallowed hard as disbelief paralyzed his body. He didn't panic, but he still felt the weight of the world on his shoulders. On this rare occasion, Isaiah's mind didn't start running, but it felt surprisingly empty, because it couldn't decide what reality he had to come to terms with first. Murder? He had been home for at least a few days straight, with Zeev. Every day. Every night. Or had he? His gaze went to Zeev, who began to argue, and Isaiah scrutinized him as he was handcuffed. His profession had made him realize before how important it was to keep a calm and collected mind even in stressful situations, but now he had the feeling that it would probably benefit Zeev the most, whose expression had changed from confusion and disbelief to horror. Isaiah scrutinized him and leaned forward slightly, kissing his lips. “It's okay, this must be a mistake, my love...” he stated the obvious. “We'll sort this out. I love you.” Then he kissed him one more time, gazing into his eyes. As he was led away from his house, the smell of saffron still lingered in his nose, reminding him of the now forgotten paella on the stove that was slowly beginning to burn.

The interrogation room seemed to be getting narrower and narrower, the cold white walls felt oppressive in their emptiness and Isaiah sat at the table and hadn't moved for minutes. He had been absent-mindedly playing with the loose thread of his jeans while his gaze was fixed straight ahead. All of this was ridiculous, obviously. Zeev knew that, he knew that himself, his parents knew that. But did the police officers standing on the other side of the room know too? He wasn't innocent because he had an alibi, but because the very idea of harming any other person was so far from anything in line with his moral compass that it didn't even remotely feel like the possibility alone was worth a thought.

Both had introduced themselves as Detectives Macie Davenport and Kieran Vaughn. The latter had looked at him as if he'd already decided the case for himself and read the last chapter, in which Isaiah clearly came out as the culprit. He spoke first, standing in front of the table where Miss Davenport sat opposite Isaiah. He found it difficult to maintain eye contact, which probably made him even more suspicious, but Isaiah felt smaller than he actually was, even though he had absolutely nothing to account for in this instance. “Mr. Pines. Where were you on the night of the twenty-fourth between 9PM and 1AM?” Isaiah furrowed his eyebrows slightly and let go of the loose thread. “Home... With my husband. My parents visited from Michigan, too. We were home all night, still...— we tidied the place after the break-in and... yeah.” Davenport took meticulous notes, while Vaughn eyed the blond suspiciously.

Isaiah usually approached law enforcement officers differently. More self-confident. He was perfectly aware of his rights, he knew how far he could go and even though his mother had always taught him that it was important to treat everyone with respect, he found it inherently more difficult with police officers. Now he sat in front of them like a picture of misery, in a room that didn't feel like home once again, torn away from an environment that was supposed to teach him what it was like to feel safe and at ease. His foundation had simply crumbled away and the little time that had passed in between had not been enough to rebuild his support system in such a stable way that he could stand up to situations like this one with his head held high. The last few days had been shrouded in fog anyway and now he was supposed to make statements about what he had experienced over the past week that would have to withstand trial if necessary and not put him at risk of being declared mentally unfit.

“You didn't go out for a walk? Step outside to clear your head? Took a drive to get some air?” Isaiah looked at Detective Davenport and shook his head. “No,” he denied, ”I've barely slept since the break-in, we've been... quite occupied. I got sick after that and Zeev...— my husband never really left my side. “Did anyone else see you that night?” Again, Isaiah negated, referring to his husband and his parents. Everyone was silent for a while. “Do you know an Elvira Higgins by any chance?” He furrowed his eyebrows slightly, looked at the table and shook his head. “Sorry, I've never heard the name before,” he replied truthfully. “She's eighteen, lives a little outside of town. Goes to Eddison High. Or, well, went.” The blonde's heart felt strangely heavy. Probably not unusual when you hear of an eighteen-year-old losing her life. “I'm sorry, sir, I don't know her,” he repeated in a quiet but firm voice. “She was found dead at the Bird Sanctuary yesterday. Strangled. The pathology suggests she was killed around 10 or 11 in the evening. No fingerprints, no signs of defense. We assume that the perpetrator had been planning the crime for some time.” Isaiah swallowed hard and stroked his hair, looking up at the detective. “I'm sorry, I don't know anything about this.”

Davenport had put down the clipboard. Isaiah had no insight into the notes she had made. “You've been researching occult groups, haven't you?” she finally asked, as if mentioning it casually. This irritated Isaiah. Had he forgotten to turn on his VPN? “Forum threads, message boards... Stumbled an awful lot about the Mark of Solaris, right?” she continued, and Isaiah tilted his head slightly to the side, feeling tense at being so scrutinized. “I've been... Uh, I've been looking into them... For my podcast. And because they might be dangerous. But...— That's not illegal, miss.” She tied her hair up and dismissed 'Mark of Solaris' as an internet hoax that Elvira Higgins had fallen victim to. “It's just interesting timing.” Excuse me? “What do you mean by that?” he asked, straightening up slightly. “Mr. Pines. We found hints to Mark of Solaris on Miss Higgins personal devices. She reached out to you numerous times. Apologizing. This is—”

Vaughn interrupted Davenport and leaned forward. “We'll cut this short: Were you at the Bird Sanctuary last week?” the detective asked and Isaiah furrowed his eyebrows, shaking his head. “No, sir, I wasn't,” Isaiah assured him vehemently. “Are you sure?” Davenport asked and Isaiah repeated his first answer clearly. “I'd remember. I didn't kill anyone.” The interrogation room fell strangely silent. Both detectives looked at each other meaningfully before Vaughn looked towards the one-way mirror. Shortly afterwards, the door opened and a laptop was handed into the room. “What's that ruckus?” Davenport inquired over the volume somewhere else in the bureau. “His husband.” Isaiah looked at the young cop and shifted slightly, as if he might be able to catch a glimpse of Zeev. An impossible task, given the floor plan of the police station.

“Tell us what you see,” Vaughn spoke as Davenport turned the laptop around to the podcast host and showed him a video. Isaiah leaned forward slightly, the screen displaying footage from a surveillance camera of the Bird Sanctuary, which he now knew inside out thanks to Zara. A narrow corridor, the Sanctuary Trail at night. The time display was unreliable and indicated that it was daytime, although it was undoubtedly night. The year was 2006. Great. But that the facility didn't necessarily have the financial means to afford a high-tech surveillance camera system wasn't a surprise either. The trees were blowing in the Macomb wind and Isaiah was primarily looking in the background, trying to spot anything. Elvira Higgins walked past and looked at her cell phone. And a little later it was him.

Isaiah's expression dropped when he actually saw himself in the footage. His heart sank, he felt sick to his stomach and his restless legs, which had been trembling since the beginning of the interrogation, were now completely still. He stared at the laptop screen with a blank expression on his face. Watched the figure on the video wearing his jeans, his Vans, moving like him, the desolate hair visible on the noisy image; even if the technology looked like it was from the 90s. On video, he looked around for a moment, his face was recognizable. He watched silently as he...— no, his doppelganger overpowered the young girl, put his hands around her neck and slowly strangled her. She didn't scream and barely put up a fight. The image glitched briefly and then showed the lifeless, strangled body of Elvira Higgins lying on the floor. Carelessly left behind, like an unwanted piece of waste. When the video ended and the signal cut out, Isaiah saw himself in the black screen, his eyes slightly widened, his lips parted. Bewilderment in every pore of his body. He couldn't say anything. He couldn't even move.

Minutes that felt like hours passed Isaiah by. Vaughn and Davenport talked to him, but the voices just bounced right off him. “Mr. Pines,” the man's voice eventually got through to him. “The evidence is pretty clear, don't you think? If you just confess, it will make the whole thing a lot easier.” Wordlessly, Isaiah looked up at him briefly and then back at the laptop. The video played incessantly in his mind's eye. “That's not me,” he spoke quietly into the silence and stirred slightly. “But it looks like you,” Davenport commented dryly. “I was home with my husband, I—” He swallowed hard, spoke a little louder and now sounded almost pleading. “I didn't do this, I swear to God, you have to believe me!” he begged the two detectives and ran his fingers through his hair. “Then explain the video,” Vaughn ordered, slowly running out of patience. “I can't—” he mumbled, his voice breaking on the second word. “I don't know what this is, I didn't do it, I could never— I would never—”

The tone in which the other policemen spoke about Zeev suggested that the witcher had made a real fuss at police headquarters. Vaughn had explicitly informed him of this while handcuffing him: That Zeev wanted to pay his bail, insisting on it, but since he was being held under suspicion of first degree murder, no bond has been set and that the judge had to review the case first. “You live alone with your partner, you don't have a job tied to a company. You move around a lot. People like you are hard to track.” And so he would probably not be eligible for bail and would remain in the a detention center until the trial. Even though Isaiah had come into contact with the law several times before, he had never been sent to prison or anything alike. “Please, you have to believe me, that's not me... Something else is going on here, sir,” he pleaded, looking at the policeman through the one-way mirror as the cold metal closed around his wrists. The eye contact was not returned. And as Vaughn spoke to him, a terrible certainty spread through Isaiah: Something, probably related to the Mark of Solaris, was impersonating him. And the break-in and the curse were just the beginning of a detailed plan to destroy him, his career and everything he held sacred. 

He didn't even realize what else had been explained to him about his stay in county jail. His hands were clammy, his mouth dry, his heart beating so fast that he felt like he was about to have a panic attack as the policeman led him out with one hand on his shoulder. And then there was Zeev, standing at the desk of the police station, arguing with three policemen before his voice faded away. Isaiah wanted to take a big step toward him, but Vaughn held him back. It was only a little later that he finally stopped in front of him. “Zeev,” Isaiah barely managed to get out. His voice broke again, tinged with terror, disbelief and fear. After that, he couldn't get anything past his lips for quite a while because the stuttering got so bad. “I didn't do anything, I swear, I need a lawyer, I didn't d—” were the only sentences he managed to utter. They were also repeatedly punctuated by involuntary pauses. His hands were shaking. Zeev took a step toward him, Vaughn stepped slightly in between, looked at Zeev, but spoke to Isaiah, “That's all for now.” The tone wasn't cruel, only procedural. Isaiah's gaze never left Zeev. 

While Vaughn's hand rested unceasingly on his shoulder and the detective made all the arrangements for his removal, Isaiah's gaze never left Zeev, who had moved to his side. Isaiah leaned down and kissed him, studying his eyes, and even though he hadn't done anything wrong, he looked at him as if he needed to memorize his face for a long, long time. “I love you,” he said and his lips quivered as he did. 

Isaiah kept his eyes on the ground throughout the entire ride. He sat alone in the back of the car, his knees rubbing against the front seat. They were silent as they drove, the metal on his wrists was equally cold as the feeling that spread through his body. His gaze was distant and blank, while the video footage he was shown played over and over again in his memory. It was loud in his head time and again and then utterly silent. Questions came flooding back, he tried to find explanations for something he couldn't understand and his emotionality denied him any access to rationality. It had looked like him. The face, the hair, even the clothes and the worn-out black vans. And then he knelt over her, choking her as if his life depended on it and as if all scruples had deserted him. He felt sick and guilty, even though he wasn't. He would never be able to do something like that. Would he? He didn't even know who Elvira Higgins was, let alone whether she was the puppet master of the coven. There was no question that she was connected to Mark of Solaris, but she didn't seem like the mastermind behind the entire thing. The more oppressive the silence became, the more tangible his fantasies became. Had he been sleepwalking and Zeev had simply not noticed? Had his subconscious recognized the danger and made short work of it? Had he done it and not at the same time?

The Detention Center greeted Isaiah with an atmosphere he was neither comfortable nor familiar with. At the time of his arrival, the potential offender was pale, completely silent and trying to hide his glassy eyes. He said nothing in his defense while he was being registered, did not speak while photos were taken of him, his fingerprints collected and the bureaucratic part completed. He exchanged his personal clothes for an overall, his vans that Zeev had given him almost four years ago were locked up and the only thing he had left that remotely reminded him that he was still himself was his wedding ring. Nervously, he twisted it slightly as he waited for his bedding to be handed to him, his name becoming a ten-digit combination of letters and numbers. IL-MC-260804. His personality had been completely erased in a short period of time and here he was no more than one of many.

His cell was even smaller than he had imagined. No windows. Just cement walls, a ventilation shaft that was better sealed than any VPN could have secured an internet line, a toilet in the corner and shadows that Isaiah was afraid to explore. Even after the door was closed, he stood motionless in the middle of the room, flinching briefly at the loud noise of the door closing and the sound of the lock closing that followed. And then it became quiet. There was nothing left to do here after he had made his bed. He wiped his eyes and tried to maintain a bravado in front of whoever. He just wanted to go home. He tried almost desperately to calm himself down. Breathing in and out in a deep breaths, like Zeev always managed to do with him when he did panic. But with a weight on his shoulders that he could barely grasp—the accusation itself, the fear, the terror and the impossibility of it all—he found it increasingly difficult to think clearly, let alone breathe.

He lay quietly in bed, closed his eyes and held his hand over his mouth as he sobbed. Not loudly, not uncontrollably, but quietly, so that his shoulders shook slightly and his throat became increasingly tight. As if it would help against the cold of the Detention Center, he pulled the thin blanket higher, despite it being late August. His thoughts wouldn't stop. What if no one believed him? What if Zeev didn't believe him? He would never survive even one evening in prison. He couldn't fight, he couldn't stand up for himself, he cried when he was overwhelmed. What if he had really done it? In his sleep. But then there would be clues, wouldn't there? Blood on his hands.

He turned to the wall and all he saw was the girl's face. Elvira. Younger than Zara, but they looked similar in age nonetheless. The way her arms had pressed lightly against his—no, not his—torso until she ran out of strength and lay lifeless on the floor. It had taken him hours to fall victim to his own fatigue, his tongue numb from silently wishing for permission to go home. Guilt finally drove him to sleep altogether: another night of depriving Zeev of his well-earned slumber. Another night in which he was unable to give his husband the peace he deserved.

The floor, which he had been mopping for almost an hour now, smelled of bleach and old rubber. He sluggishly moved the mop dipped in water and cleaning fluid from right to left and from left to right across the linoleum floor. One thousand nine hundred and fifty-three times he had always done the same sequence of movements. The floor certainly hadn't been cleaned this thoroughly in years. His hands had stopped shaking just under half an hour ago, instead his head was now empty and he was concentrating entirely on the task of moving the mop. That kept him busy. He still hadn't said a word to anyone. Not even said thank you when he was handed his breakfast, even though that went against his idea of human decency. The lump in his throat was still as big as it had been the day before. He glanced briefly at the sleeves of the jumpsuit he was wearing. It felt as if he had been found guilty even before the trial had begun. Before he could slip back into a carousel of thoughts, he concentrated once more on the mop in front of him.

Around him, several other suspects were going about their tasks—wiping tables, emptying the trash, doing the dishes—some talking to each other, others laughing about things Isaiah couldn't hear. Some watched him, a little suspiciously, others with an unwarranted (and admittedly a bit of an apish) aggression. He just stayed quiet and went about his business, trying not to stand out and become one with the mop. The hair would fit, he thought. That idea only made him smile faintly. He would have loved to revolutionize life here, like Paddington had done in the cinematic masterpiece Paddington 2. With pink overalls, a bakery and sandwiches with orange marmalade. It was hard to imagine that a few days ago he'd been getting advice from Macomb's best marmalade connoisseur and chef and now he just couldn't get around to doing what he'd planned: surprising Zeev. Enjoying the day with Zeev. Zeev. Just Zeev, if he was honest with himself. Enjoying banalities. The beauty of the mundane. But here he felt a stranger in his own skin. A revolution was unfolding in absurd realms, he didn't even know if he liked orange marmalade, and ultimately he was here because he was suspected of murder. His thoughts were with the mop again.

Isaiah paused for a moment, stroked his desolate hair and fumbled with his wedding ring. His restlessness, which he had learned to manage well at home, was worse than usual. And now he had no outlet where he could vent. No research he could throw himself into, no notebook, no microphone or camera and, above all, no Zeev to ground him. Just a mop. He hadn't slept well. Considering he'd been sleeping in his car for the longest time, you couldn't necessarily say Isaiah was someone who prioritized comfort. But by now he was finding it difficult to fall asleep without Zeev. He missed the warmth, the feeling of home, the sense of security. He had nothing here. Sluggishly, he pushed the mop from right to left and left to right again. A supervisor pushed past him and Isaiah had already noticed that they didn't really like his restlessness. They tolerated it, but watched him more attentively. Nevertheless, they didn't comment on it. Yet.

He cleaned this section of the Detention Center and then moved silently to the next room without being asked. Any distraction was welcome. He could count every movement from left to right and right to left and felt like he was regaining some control over himself and his surroundings. He was grateful for that. Two thousand, two hundred and thirty-seven. Breathe in. Right. Left. Left. Right. Breathe out. Two thousand, two hundred and thirty-eight. Then again.

He didn't know how much time had passed precisely (he didn't have a watch in sight, after all), but when he had repeated movement three thousand seven hundred and twelve, a warden told him that he had a visitor. Before the guard could even give a hint as to who this person may be, Isaiah immediately realized exactly who was waiting for him. He put the mop aside and assured him several times that he would continue as soon as he got back.

The supervisor led Isaiah to the small cubicle where Zeev was waiting for him behind a pane of glass. There was patience in his body language that looked like calm on the outside, but Isaiah knew him well enough now to know it was anything but that. There was a clock here, and Isaiah looked up at it. Ten fifteen in the morning. When his gaze went back to Zeev, who was just picking up the phone, he realized how loudly the clock was ticking and how much it felt like it was mocking him for sitting here at all. He seemed smaller than usual—not physically, but in his own posture. Shame clung to the jumpsuit he was wearing. His hair was even messier than usual, but not because he'd gone on a rampage with his nieces or given Zeev every reason to find support in his hair, but because he'd tussled it countless times. His nervous tic had become even worse here. And his reddened eyes bore witness to the fact that his last night had been dominated by too little sleep and too many tears. He slowly picked up the phone too, as if he was afraid of having to make a confession.

Despite the plethora of things he would have liked to say to Zeev, they were both silent for a while. Isaiah simply looked at his husband, trying to find support in all the familiarity that sat just across from him. In the Sundawner's tired, equally reddened eyes, in his tousled hair, in his collarbones exposed by the slightly open shirt. He swallowed hard and put his hand over his mouth, averting his gaze to look into the corner of the small cubicle and trying to keep his composure. He shook his head slightly, not knowing what to say first. I didn't do this. I love you. I'm sorry. It really wasn't me. I don't know what to do. I want to go home. I'm scared. As he wiped his tears with the sleeve of his jumpsuit, he felt ashamed that he hadn't maintained his composure. “I'm so sorry,” he had spoken into the receiver at one point, while Zeev spoke calmly to him, telling him how much he loved him, that he had contacted lawyers and that he wouldn't rest until Isaiah was proven innocent. “I just want to go home,” he stuttered later, getting stuck on the I several times. Then the G. “Everything is falling apart.”

Most of Zeev's words barely reached the surface. As much as he tried to cling to the moment, to draw from the time he had here with him, he simply could not. Most of the time he looked at Zeev, who assured him of his love, that he didn't have to worry, that they had nothing on him, and Isaiah lowered his gaze, wiping his eyes and trying not to cry again. “There's a video,” he mumbled and swallowed hard, pressing the receiver lightly against his ear and sighing, looking down at his wrist of the hand resting on the table. Then he wiped his eyes again. Zeev had leaned forward slightly and his fingertips were touching the glass. Isaiah eyed them, wanting to move, to at least pretend they were close, but he felt so alienated from himself that he didn't know if Zeev actually loved him or the idea of him. “What are you talking about, my love?” he asked quietly and Isaiah looked down at the table, sobbing and putting his hand in front of his eyes. “I'm scared, Zeev,” he revealed, confessing like a child would when they had been up to trouble. “I'm right with you, my love, I love you... You will be home soon, I promise you... But can you tell me about that video?” Zeev asked carefully and Isaiah sensed, even in his state, that Zeev was creating space for him to remain silent despite his question, should he not want to talk about it.

He swallowed hard, not daring to look at Zeev as if he had actually committed this act. “It showed me,” he spoke into the receiver and ran his fingers through his hair. “It's me... At the Bird Sanctuary. On the main trail. It's the f-face and the hair and the vans, but— I can't remember. I don't know if I sleepwalked, it's—” Then he interrupted himself. Isaiah sobbed again and put the phone down, burying his face in his hands and leaning over slightly. His shoulders trembled, as did his hands, and the 6'2ft man looked like a shadow of the man he used to be, that was becoming increasingly easy to overlook. Easier than usual. Except to Zeev.

If Isaiah had been in his right mind, he would have pointed out possibilities that could explain this supposed reality: A deepfake, perhaps a shapeshifter, and, of course, he was aware that he was ultimately dealing with witches. He had spent nights studying Zeev's Book of Shadows back then, reading about spells, about everything that would be needed for them, about Zeev's thoughts and the slow descent into the tantalizing thrill of black magic. In his right mind, he would have remembered page 205. Altering Appearance. Belladonna, Mandrake root, Mugwort, Poppy seeds, a single hair or drop of blood from the person whose appearance will change, the blood of the spellcaster, a piece of black obsidian or onyx, a mirror shard and a black candle. A short list of things to ruin a person's life. But now he had no access to any of these thoughts. His emotionality numbed every rational idea that sprouted within and all that remained was pure terror.

Zeev had carefully asked Isaiah to pick up the phone several times. He had tried to calm him down, tried to ground him, promised him that he would finally eat the paella with him soon and Isaiah had nodded tiredly, placing his fingertips on the glass so that they, at least metaphorically, touched Zeev's. “What if I don't win the trial?” he said at one point in a shaky voice. “I wanted to grow old with you...” Zeev didn't answer for a while. He swallowed hard and Isaiah saw love and wrath in his eyes at the same time. The Sundawner looked at Isaiah as if he were something sacred, something wounded and precious and above all, His. After a few moments, he placed his hand fully on the glass. “You're not staying here,” he promised and they both looked at each other for a while. Then Isaiah wearily placed his hand against the glass fully. “I promise you. I don't care about that video or what they think the know, you did not sleepwalk, you did not kill her, Isaiah. I will rip this whole case apart until we find out who did this. And how.” Isaiah nodded wearily, sighed again and rubbed his eyes. “I love you,” he confessed. The only confession that would come truthfully from his lips. “I love you, too.” Silence again. Isaiah's façade cracked once more and he nodded weakly, his lower lip trembling. He looked like he felt: anxious, exhausted and trapped in a nightmare that just wouldn't end. “Don't forget me, okay? In case something goes wrong... You are the love of my life and... I love you.”

The fluorescent lights of his cell flickered slightly and sounded like insects flying too close to his ear. Every sound seemed louder in this concrete bunker. He felt awkward in this place, which was never made for those who thought too much, whose fingers were never still; for those who had spent their lives trying to ponder every question, every uncertainty that offered room for interpretation. He didn't belong here—not in the romanticized, idealized way in which nerds in movies didn't belong anywhere until their glasses were taken off, their hair cut (and ultimately stripped of any personality), but in the way that he felt he'd been stripped of all support and roots because they simply found no place to sprout here. One of the wardens had yelled at him downstairs to stop fidgeting and talk to himself as he went back to his assigned cleaning duties. But standing still felt like a death sentence here. So he had kept moving in his restlessness.

At lunchtime he hadn't managed to eat anything and had given the tray untouched to another inmate. In the late afternoon (at least it had felt like it, it was fascinating how quickly one lost track of time when the only occupation was one's own mental maelstrom and the only indicator was mealtimes) he had cried again, his face half buried in the narrow pillow to suffocate the sounds, while shame expressed itself in every pore of his body. And then, just before he was to be called to dinner, the door to his cell opened and two guards entered the room. “Pines,” one of them announced. “On your feet,” ordered the other. Without a word, Isaiah obeyed and stood up, avoiding the gaze of the two men. They handcuffed him and led him through the facility. “You're being released pending trial. You'll be under strict conditions until then. House arrest and electronic monitoring. Judge signed off on it an hour ago.” The other officer added, “Your husband caused quite the scene. Let's be clear, though: You're not a free man. You're out under conditional pretrial release as authorized under 725 ILCS 5/110-10. You violate those terms, and you're coming straight back.” His knees trembled as they spoke. Isaiah wanted to ask if that meant he could go home, but it still seemed words had left him, so he remained quiet instead.

The process of leaving felt distant and dull, and yet it felt so good to swap his jumpsuit for wrinkled, familiar clothes. To put his watch back on. The necklace Zeev had gifted him. To have his cell phone. While one of the officers put the electronic ankle bracelet on him and he heard the click, he twisted his wedding ring and realized at the same time that he would see Zeev again. His Zeev. Who certainly hadn't rested ever since his departure, who had moved heaven and hell to get him out of here. However he had done it (and Isaiah knew that Zeev had always accomplished everything he had set his mind to), Isaiah was more than grateful for him. For everything.

During the journey, they briefed Isaiah on all the conditions he had to obey. All that however still felt far away and muffled. He looked out of the window and all he could think about was that he would see Zeev again soon. To be able to hold Zeev in his arms. To kiss him. Put his hand on the witcher's without a pane of glass separating them. Zeev, Zeev, Zeev. “What did my husband do?” he asked curiously, looking forward from the back seat to the two policemen. “Had a defense team on speed dial, I guess. The judge agreed you're a low flight risk ever since you settled in Macomb, with strong ties to the community and to your home. And your husband was very persuasive.” They didn't elaborate. To Isaiah, they didn't need to. Zeev was an achiever. Always had been, even though he didn't see it most of the time. He only hoped that it had really only been the calls from the lawyers and the judge himself. The rest of the drive to Macomb was silent. The sun had already set, that's how long the registration process and drive home had taken. Even though the air was different out here than it had been in the detention center, he still didn't feel free. As if he had been caught in a strange space in between.

“Oh, it's one of those,” the officer commented as Zeev came running down the porch. He got out of the car and stood in front of his husband while Isaiah looked out the window at the witcher. The police officer also informed Zeev of the regulations. No travel outside McDonough County without permission. No contact with potential witnesses or victims' families. No social media posts. He will remain at 501 N Lafayette Street between the hours of 7PM and 7AM. No wandering around. Tampering with his ankle monitor will be considered a bond violation. Breaking parole would result in him going back. Then he opened the door and Isaiah got out, waiting patiently for the handcuffs to be removed. “Don't make us come back,” the officer commented and Isaiah nodded. “I won't,” he promised in reply. “Thank you, officer.”

The car had left and Isaiah watched after it before his eyes went to Zeev. “Can I hug you?” he asked carefully and Zeev smiled softly, sadness in between parted lips, nodding and Isaiah wrapped his arms around the witcher, tightening his grip halfway and closing his eyes. Zeev embraced him with the same warmth that he had been forced to be denied in the detention center. And when they parted slightly and Isaiah looked into the witcher's eyes, something cracked open inside him. He couldn't get a word past his lips. He merely hugged him again, kissed his temple and rested his head on his husband's shoulder as he sobbed without restraint. Relief, anger, shame, fear and love washed over him in equal measure as his fingers gripped the fabric of Zeev's shirt tightly, only to reassure himself again and again that he was indeed here and would not disappear if he let go of him. Zeev held him wordlessly, stroking his back, his hair, not asking questions or making demands, but showing his love and care through presence.

“I...— I'm sorry—” Isaiah choked, again and again, even though he hadn't done anything. He apologized and apologized and apologized, mumbled his husband's name between short breaths and sobs. “You're okay, my love... You're safe. You're home,” Zeev spoke softly to him and kissed his temple, whereupon Isaiah shook his head, telling him how scared he was, how much he loved him, that he was clueless, confused and overwhelmed and didn't know what to do. Zeev gently cupped his husband's face with his hands and brushed away the tears with his thumbs, kissing the corner of Isaiah's mouth gently. “You're safe, my beloved... Do you want to get inside?”

Zeev had patiently led Isaiah to the couch, sat him down, kissed him tenderly on the cheek, brewed him a fresh cup of tea and warmed up a portion of paella. Although Isaiah wasn't cold, he warmed his hands on the bowl and counted the pieces of bell pepper in it. Meanwhile, Zeev had held him in his arms and remained silent for the longest time. Without eating, Isaiah eventually set the bowl aside and scooted closer to Zeev under the blanket, hugging him as well and closing his eyes, absentmindedly breathing in the familiar smell of home that emanated from Zeev. “Thank you,” he whispered against the witcher's skin at one point, taking a deep breath and sighing. His voice still sounded weak, broken, too thin and fragile to convey everything he was feeling. “Thank you for everything, for not giving up on me... I don't deserve—” He didn't finish the thought. “I don't even know how you did it...”

Zeev explained to him how the lawyers had brashly demanded, how they had written a statement to the judge within a very short time, with the many things that spoke for Isaiah not having to be kept in a detention center, even if his police record could suggest that he was a vagabond and would be keen to cross state borders or even leave the country. His roots were here and Isaiah had never been guilty of anything apart from trespassing on private or government property. Except for the one time he had accidentally stolen a Snickers bar because he had carelessly put it in his jacket pocket at the grocery store. “And they argued the inconsistencies... Regarding the video. The digital artifacts, the lack of any hard physical evidence. Sure, there was money involved, persuasion, too... But you have people in your corner, Isaiah,” he assured him, stroking his hair comfortingly. Isaiah was silent for a while while the video played in his mind's eye. How he strangled this girl. A cold shiver ran down his spine and he pressed himself closer to Zeev, hiding his face in his husband's chest and wishing silently and secretly to disappear from this world. The whole situation was disconcerting and now he cuddled with his husband while an electronic device on his ankle constantly reminded him of what he was supposed to have done. “Did you see it?” he asked quietly, chewing on the inside of his cheek. Zeev nodded. “That's not you, Isaiah...”

Silence again for several minutes. “But it looks like me... What if I am and I sleepwalked?” he repeated the assumption he'd made a few hours earlier. Zeev shook his head and lifted his face, scrutinizing his eyes. “You did not sleepwalk.” “You don't know that.” “I do,” he argued firmly, kissing his forehead and stroking his cheeks with his thumbs. “I lock the doors every night, Isaiah, you were with me, I watched you sleep, I snuggled up to you. You are a clever man, but luckily, your asleep self has not figured out how to open locked doors yet. And if it will, I will find other means to make sure you don't wander off, my love,” he smiled gently against his lips and kissed him.

It was well past midnight and Isaiah felt guilty that he still hadn't managed to sleep, but the hustle and bustle of the last few days was keeping him awake again. Something inside him was afraid that Zeev would be gone if he dozed off and woke up, or that he'd be back in the detention center cell. All of this felt surreal, like a dream that was too good to be true. “There has to be an explanation, right? It could be a deepfake... Or... I don't know... I haven't thought straight in the past 48 hours.” Zeev studied him, his eyes tired, but he seemed to be fighting against falling asleep himself too. “They are witches, too, this could be a spell...” he interjected and Isaiah looked at him, sighed and nodded silently. “Like an illusion?” he asked and Zeev brushed through his hair affectionately. “Yes,” he replied and the podcast host could feel it boiling inside his husband's chest. How was he supposed to fight the Mark of Solaris if one of them pretended to be him? Would they eventually get rid of him and take Isaiah's place? Have a relationship that was his, enjoy an intact family life that was his, maybe raise children with Zeev like he wanted? Wasn't he little more than an unwanted accessory to Zeev? He was a mere human, easily disposed of without anyone asking questions when the magic of the world was at one's fingertips.

His grip tightened around him once more and he closed his eyes, his heart growing heavy as he began to catastrophize once more and equally realize once more how much all of this was getting to him. So much so that he had barely asked how Zeev was doing. God, did he even deserve to be in his arms? “I can't lose you, I can't lose... this,” he murmured, pressing himself closer to the Sundawner. Isaiah didn't even know if Zeev had ever witnessed him lose his composure this much before. “I just wanted to make strawberry marmalade for you... We were happy again and I was making that stupid pasta and now everyone thinks I'm a murderer...” And Zeev, with his infinite patience and kindness, reassured him once again that he would not lose him, that he was not alone in all this, that together they could do anything and that Zeev would do everything he could to make sure Isaiah would win this trial. 

The morning light hadn't greeted Isaiah until the fourth waffle that he had taken from the waffle iron. The birds had been chirping before then, dew had settled on the lawn of the garden and the breeze was cool, promising wind for the next few days. He turned to look at Zeev, who was sleeping on the couch, sound asleep, seemingly peaceful even, though Isaiah knew there was a rollercoaster of emotions within him, that Zeev wasn't taking this time lightly either, and above all, Isaiah was also aware that he was in the midst of another rehab episode, running at risk to relapse constantly. Because of him. Isaiah averted his gaze again, poured the batter into the waffle iron and closed the lid. The sunlight was honey-gold and made the dust on the windowsill a little clearer, shining on Isaiah's wedding ring and making it shine a little brighter than usual in the sun. “You're right,” he murmured into the silence, smiling slightly at the reminder the sun had granted him just now. For better or for worse, they had promised one another. That he knew. And Zeev loved him. He knew that too. 

He hadn't slept. Not really. Every now and then he'd drifted off into seconds of sleep, having weirdly vivid dreams about Elvira Higgins and the terrible video footage of him in the Bird Sanctuary. He had gotten up around five o'clock in the morning; it was still night outside, but dawn approached a little later. He kept himself busy so as not to succumb relentlessly to the downward spiral of his thoughts. Zeev would surely have suspected he had a fever or had lost his mind completely in the short time at the detention center if Isaiah had wiped the floor, so he made breakfast for Zeev, knowing full well that his husband had probably eaten too little in the last few days. The waffles had been inspired by a video on TikTok, which promised to be at least as good as the waffles at Waffle House, and Isaiah simply believed what the comments said and hoped for the best. In the end, he had to admit that this normality and the simplicity of the task (in theory at least) grounded him somehow. Reminded him that he was a human being with feelings, fears and dreams. Not a number. Not an inmate. Not a murderer. 

Zeev had sat down tiredly at the table not much later after sunrise, Isaiah had turned to him, gently kissed his lips. The waffles were on the plate in front of him, served with a little powdered sugar to make it look nice. The first attempts had been less successful, so Zeev had only gotten to enjoy the waffles that were worth eating (or be looked at). Sliced fruit was nicely arranged in a small bowl next to it: Strawberries, blueberries and a few slices of banana. Instead of sitting opposite Zeev, he sat down next to him, kissed his cheek and stroked his thigh, then through his hair and smiled when he asked if he didn't want a coffee. “Good idea,” he smiled, leaning forward and kissing his lips, standing up and turning on the coffee maker, placing his favorite cup underneath and coming to a halt  behind Zeev as the coffee ran through. 

The witcher tipped his head back slightly and Isaiah gently stroked his chest, leaning down to kiss his forehead, then took a step to the side and crouched down in front of Zeev, looking up at him and gently stroking his cheek. “How are you feeling?” he asked quietly, his voice soft, though still threadbare, as if he hadn't quite returned to his roots yet, but who could blame him. Zeev certainly wouldn't. As for the circles under their eyes, they both had them. “I... I should've asked sooner... I've been—” he looked up into Zeev's eyes, kissing his knee gently, ”Caught up in my own head. I'm sorry.” And Zeev looked down at him, cupped the American's face, kissed his lips gently and shook his head. “There is nothing to be sorry for,” he assured him. “I'm okay... Close enough, I guess. Seeing you helps,” he continued to whisper against his lips and Isaiah kissed him gently, clasping his hands. He straightened up briefly, picked up the finished coffee and sat down next to him again. “And how are you feeling really?”

Although neither of them was hungry, they had both agreed to share the waffles on Zeev's plate. In the meantime, they had talked. Truly talked. With one another. Checking in like they always had done. How Zeev was truly doing, what his last 48 hours had been like for him, whether he'd had to go through withdrawal symptoms like that again, what he'd been thinking, and Isaiah talked about how detached and muffled everything had felt, how he'd mopped the floor to keep himself busy. And they had both expressed a desire to get back to normal. To everyday life. Falling asleep together, waking up next to each other. Eating breakfast. Working. Cooking. Doing the dishes. Watching miserable horror movies and missing half of them because the other person's lips were more interesting. 

“I don't know what to do,” Isaiah finally confessed, his voice low and hopeless with a note of shame. Perplexity and desperation were feelings he was not familiar with and thus, everything felt overwhelming and too much to bear. “I don't even know where to start... I feel like everything is... falling apart. As if I'm slipping and I can't get a grip on anything.” Zeev looked at him for a while and then stood up, sat carefully on his lap and kissed the other's forehead. “We aren't falling apart... You have me and I have you... You are so bright, my love...” he whispered against the American's lips and Isaiah wrapped his arms around him. “We can try together... What do we know about them? How do they approach their... coven?” Isaiah sighed, leaned his head against Zeev's chest and closed his eyes, trying to think without his fear overshadowing his thoughts. 

“We know they're finding people that join them or people that... sympathize with them through online forums mostly... They talk in code, like they don't just... tell everyone what they're truly on about. They have people amongst them, perhaps not all witches, that believe in them. In their belief system. They believe in there being a hierarchy between witches and humans and that they are not meant to be together... And they don't care who they hurt. They are following their beliefs by all means and try to force them onto others.” Zeev nodded and kissed the top of his head. “Are there structured? Is there something like a hierarchy in their coven?” Isaiah thought, remembering the private Discord channels he'd scoured, Reddit threads and buried internet forums. “They have people who pull the strings. Smart and cautious. They don't have like... marketing knowledge, but they seem to use stories a lot. Metaphors, folklore-like... They create this entire myth about themselves and we all know how people long for that and... It's— It's insane really, they're revealing enough to make themselves known but they don't leave any trails... Like, I don't know where they meet. I think the people headhunting online for new members are higher in command, too. They promise a lot, they organize... To be one of them, you have to prove your belief and your place they said... Whatever that means. Or they are very good at lying...” 

He sighed and stroked his face. “If you're thinking about it like headhunting, it's... They know how to hide, you know? And they're using digital channels now more than ever, because they know they have a much wider audience there even if they are located in fucking Macomb and it's not like... Scientology, sitting in one of the most populated cities of the United States... I believe they use encrypted forums, too, they have burner profiles, use a VPN... So there must be some sort of media literacy. You don't just... google stuff like that. Takes years to learn, especially if you're older... They went with the times. And now, they don't just hunt for believers and take whoever replies to them. They seem to curate. Like...” his gaze went briefly out of the window to the outside, ”gardeners, only aiming to cultivate the most beautiful flowers and plants.”

Zeev nodded and lifted his gaze, ran his fingers through his hair. “When you see these hierarchies and these structures... Would you go for the whole thing?” he asked and Isaiah looked up at him, shaking his head. “Hm, not really. In movies people usually go straight for the head, hoping everyone listening to them just listens to the good guys after that. Usually, if you're following a good and sustainable chain of command, you are prepared for such cases... I'd go for weak points... Maybe the people online. I don't know... But I can't even leave the house after dark, I can't get more than a few blocks away without triggering an alarm... How are we supposed to stop these... people if I have that many requirements to conform to?” he asked, huffing in annoyance and desperation alike, whining against Zeev's chest as he leaned forward again.

“What if I can't fix this, Zeev? What if we can't? What if we lose... this?” he asked, closing his eyes. “We won't,” Zeev assured him, resting his head on his husband's. “You don't know that,” Isaiah argued again. “I don't,” the witcher replied and stroked his blonde, disheveled strands reassuringly. “But I know you. I know how you think... You are scared, Isaiah. And I understand that and I am, too, but we never let that stop us. We still chased legendary figures and shadow creatures, you did, even though no one believed they were real and they told you, too. You still looked for answers when no one else wanted to. You're still here. And I will make that will be the case in the future, too.”

Isaiah looked up at him again and he felt his eyes glaze over again. He didn't say thank you, but he didn't have to. He said it all in the way he tightened his embrace, resting his head on Zeev's shoulder and uttering a soft confession of love against the fabric of his shirt. “So what do we do?” he asked after a while, stroking his hand under Zeev's shirt. “We think like them, my love... What would you do if the curfew wasn't there?” Isaiah thought again. “Infiltrate them I guess... Following the trail...” he spoke thoughtlessly, looking out the window outside and thinking. Zeev seemed to notice and didn't speak to him, instead giving him the space and safety to think without being restricted by anything. In return, he stroked his hair, stayed close to him wordlessly, and told him everything he needed to know through his closeness: he was loved, Zeev would always look out for him, and even if everything fell apart, they would still have each other. Jersey, who certainly seemed to agree, reinforced that as she nuzzled Isaiah's leg and purred. She would have their back, too. She had already perfected the death stare ever since they adopted her.

“We have two main problems really... The video and... uh, yeah, the fucking cult on our asses,” he said at one point, scratching his head and asking Zeev to stand up so he could move. The restlessness kicking in once more. Isaiah stood up, put his cup under the coffee machine again and let himself have a second coffee. “So, about the video... I think we need to find out if this is a deepfake—given their media knowledge, there surely are people who would know how to do this—or if this truly is a spell... In case it is, we need to be prepared, because they could cause mayhem in... my name and this— ain't really beneficial for the situation. In case it's truly a spell, we need to make sure the neighbors see the two of us here periodically. Doing normal things. Maybe talking to them... Is there a way to find that out? If it's a spell? Like, would there be... I don't know, remnants? Or... Is there any way to find that out? Auras? I don't know...” Isaiah spoke his thoughts aloud, grabbing his coffee cup and drinking from it as Zeev answered him. He nodded quietly, keeping everything in mind that Zeev told him, and then set the cup down on the dining table.

“Second thing and— the big— uh, thing: The cult itself. I think there are two ways to go about it... As I said, we could bait them. This curfew and everything around it really is to our disadvantage, leading them to our house is... a scary thought, but we could be prepared, you know? You are powerful, you have great people at hand... Listen, Zeev, I know I'm a clever kid and all, but... I can only do so much. With their unscrupulousness they could Avada Kedavra me and there isn't much I can do about it... You're not on your own, I wish I could do the cool stuff you can do, but...—I can't. Meeting them elsewhere could pose threats we're not aware of, they could use the place for something else, prepare it to our disadvantage and... I couldn't join you... Neither of us could pose as recruits, so we could not pretend to be blank sheets of paper— I mean, I could try online, but... That will only get us so far. To them I'm the antichrist and you're God. Which I get, because you're really cool and very handsome, but...” He paused, stroking his hair. “I always ran towards the unknown and the chaos because I was prepared that way... Who knows what would happen, if we don't get active now, you know?” He paused briefly. “There is a more careful approach, too, but I don't know if it's fast enough... We could talk to people. Reach out. Wherever there's cults, who seek out people, there's dropouts, too. Former members. Disillusioned, because the things they were promised didn't become true, or they were scared, they are trying to forget... I could do that. Trace the people they contacted and see if I find anything. If anyone wants to talk. If one person talks and we find another weak point that isn't people but something... more structural, we could tackle that...”

He sighed, stroked his hair and looked at Zeev. Neither option was ideal, Isaiah knew that, but they were the only two he could think of in the five minutes he had to think about it. “I know this isn't perfect,” he assured, then sat back down next to Zeev and placed his hands on the witcher's cheeks. “But I love you. I will fight for this as much as you. And trust me, I will kick their asses and learn close combat in a day, if one lays a finger on you. No one can have you, exploit you and use you. No one. You are the love of my life and whatever way we go, I will always be with you. Just tell me what to do, my love. I will aid you and if you need Zara, Amber and Helena, you are not weak, you are not reckless, you are reaching out for help for endeavors too big to tackle alone. I will prepare waffles for you all, I promise you... I love you, Zeev, with all I have. And we can't let them destroy what we built for years with love and dedication and care...”