Covered in golden scars, with beautiful blonde hair, Manoel Fortunato Archelaos, formally Archelaos, or for friends close Arch. He's the Main Character of Soul's Library, and, if you've read the latest chapter, you may have noticed how he thinks and casts magic in Spanish. That's because he was born in 1300s Spain, specifically in the city of Valladolid!
I can't give much of his background to avoid spoilers, but after death, he became a Forgiving Soul and later chose to work as a Librarian.
He's highly viewed by everyone around him and is one of the most diligent members of the Soul's Library, never neglecting his duties and helping those around him.
Calm and collected, he's well-versed in different cultures and history, and is fluent in Latin due to his upbringing.
The image of the face in the window stayed in his mind long after they returned to Stormwind. Sin was attentive toward Archelaos on their return, if not doting; he drew the old inquisitor a bath to soak his aching legs, let him rest while he tended to the dogs and the few odd house chores that remained.
He tried not to think about the face in the window (who was he? how did they die? why was there so much pain?) and he tried not to think about the bright golden glow of Archelaos’ eyes (was it bad? was he leading him down a path too far? did it matter as long as he was happy?). It was only after Archelaos settled into bed that he allowed himself the space to focus on anything other than the present.
Sin quietly slipped out of the bedroom, leaving the door open only a crack. Off to one corner there was a guitar stand now, and on it the red-stained instrument that beckoned to him even now. He picked it up by the neck and carried it to the little chair by the window where he sat down, his fingers instinctively sliding gently across the strings.
He began to softly play without any song in mind, his hair sprawled out over one shoulder; he thought about the hatred and fear he felt in the house, enough that it made the hair on the back of his neck rise even now. He thought about the golden light in Archelaos’ eyes, snuffed out in one swift act. The questions rattled through his mind a million miles an hour.
Is this wrong? Would I change him if I could?
No, came his immediate answer to both questions, and that provided him some relief as his fingers eased across the strings. Archelaos was a monster as much as he was a man; Sin had no desire to change him, only to walk the careful knife’s edge alongside him.
Still. The bead of hatred in the old man's heart might be growing. Sin’s music became briefly discordant.
Am I bad for him? Should I go?
NO. No. Sin picked out a few notes and let them warm the air around him, surprised by how quickly he was able to silence his own guilt. He was more certain about Archelaos than he was about anything else in his life: the rest was all details and navigation about what it would look like as they went. His fingers stilled on the strings as he sat back, considering what he and Angie had both said.
He exhaled a breath that he didn't need, setting the guitar back on the stand again. As he did, his eyes caught on a vase filled with roses on the table. Despite attentive care to keep the water fresh and give it a little bit of sun, the blooms were losing petals and fading away.
Beautiful things were never meant to live long, after all. Not when they’re broken. Broken things can only die.
Sin scrubbed his face with one hand, exhaling into his palm as he neatly packaged and tucked his thoughts away for another time as he retreated to the sanctuary of the bedroom and his lover within it.
Looking back on it, it had really only happened by chance.
The junior agents and Lili were at a town a few miles away from the quarry; a day out to have fun and take a break from classes. To take their minds off of unexplained murders and wordless disappearances.
It had been working, mostly. Or maybe that was because it had been more than a month since Augustus’ worried call to Lucrecia. More than a month since Raz found out the circumstances secondhand. The news had long since settled in by now.
The rest of the Aquatos were due to arrive a few days from now. The tour had originally been planned to last for fifteen weeks—a quick round trip to drum up interest and money, to test new routines.
But that was three months ago, before tents were set on fire. Before bodies were found on the edges of fairgrounds. Before older brothers disappeared without a trace.
Raz wasn’t thinking about that right now, though. Truman had sent the junior agents out to have fun today, and not worry. They had the senior agents working this case, he’d said. Go act your ages and have some fun, he’d urged.
And it was easy not to worry, when Raz’s hand was in Lili’s and they were watching a movie together, jumbo popcorn and soda between them courtesy of Adam’s wallet.
Mental commentary passed between them as they watched, bits of I can’t believe they did that and okay but that scene looked cool as hell, with the occasional how did they make that effect work.
When the movie ended, Raz and Lili dallied a bit, though there wasn’t really anything interesting going on in the credits. They collected their things and walked down the aisle, slipping in behind a woman chattering with her daughter.
“That door was more than big enough.” Lili argued, finishing off the soda before tossing it into a nearby bin. Raz’ agreement pulsed through their link. Yeah, that whole scene was kinda dumb.
“I still don’t understand why Lizzie suggested that movie.” Raz complained. “It doesn’t seem like her style.”
“Maybe she got titles mixed up.” Lili suggested, shrugging.
Raz hummed. “Maybe.” He opened his mouth to continue the conversation—
The words died on his tongue.
There, in the crowd leaving one of the other theaters—it couldn’t be.
But it couldn’t be anyone else, could it?
The world seemed to slow down, Raz’ mind racing. Was that really—
“Raz?” Lili’s concern rolled across Raz’s brain, warmth filling in the edges like ivy crawling up a wall.
Raz sent back a pulse of reassurance, not wanting to risk taking his eyes away from what he was seeing. “I gotta check something.” He mumbled, already moving to catch up. Let the others know I’ll be a little late to the meetup.
He barely registered Lili’s surprise as his hand slipped from hers, his focus almost entirely on the teenager meandering through the crowd.
It couldn’t be. It made no sense.
But as Raz got closer, weaving between people in the lobby to catch up, the more certain it became.
That was Dion, right there, finishing off a soda as he left the theater. The clothes were new, and his hair had been cut short—
But Raz knew what his brother looked like. Blue jeans and a leather jacket wasn’t going to change that. Three months and a haircut wasn’t going to change that.
Dion exited the building, turning left. Raz kept pace behind him.
The cafe was in the opposite direction, a fact Raz was ignoring. He’d be a little late to the meetup, sure, but this was more important. Way more important. He had so many questions that needed answers, so many where were you?s and what have you been doing?s that he was going to get out of Dion one way or another.
Raz reached out with his mind. If he could just get Dion’s attention—
It was like slamming into a brick wall.
Raz jolted.
Since when did Dion have mental defenses?
Dion paused, gripping his drink a little tighter. Raz felt something brush against his mind.
Dion picked up the pace, discarding his drink in a nearby bin.
Raz began to run. “Hey!”
Dion’s shoulders hunched. The foot traffic wasn’t as bad here; Raz was gaining.
Nothing about this was in character. Nothing about this felt right. But that was Dion, Raz was sure. That wasn’t some lookalike he was projecting onto. It couldn’t be.
Raz wanted answers. He was going to get them.
Dion stopped. Stood there.
Raz skidded to a stop behind him.
“In here.” Dion grunted, turning into an alleyway.
Raz followed his brother into the alleyway.
Dion leaned back against the wall. Raz stood at the opposite wall.
Now that he could see his face clearly, Raz knew for sure that this was Dion. This was his brother. It couldn’t be anyone else.
Raz fumbled for something to say. There were so many questions he needed to ask—he didn’t know where to start, now that he had the opportunity.
Dion broke the silence for him.
“Why are you following me?” It almost sounded like a statement, hanging quiet and firm in the air between them.
Raz traced his fingers over the brick behind him, grounding himself with the texture. Nothing about this felt right. Dion didn’t—Dion wasn’t acting right. Wasn’t acting like himself.
Dion said nothing, arms crossed in front of him. His eyes narrowed, corners of his mouth tugging into a frown—
“You cut your hair.” Raz blurted.
Dion blinked.
Raz fumbled. “You—I haven’t seen—your hair was always long—” He pushed both hands against the wall behind him, the brick rough against his palms. “Why did you cut it?”
Why did you set that tent on fire?
Why did you run off?
“I’m sorry,” Dion’s voice was calm and unbothered, like he hadn't been missing for the past two months. Like this was just another conversation, and nothing was wrong.
It made Raz’ hackles raise.
Dion cocked his head, considering. “Have we met?”
Raz startled.
What.
The silence stretched between them as Dion waited for an answer.
The emptiness of it had Raz realizing just how quiet Dion was being. No thinking out loud under his breath, no tapping his fingernails against the bricks for the sound. Even his thoughts were strangely silent, buried under defenses Raz didn’t know how to bypass.
Just standing there, waiting for an answer Raz wasn’t sure how to say.
“Di—”
“Look, kid.” Dion started, uncrossing his arms. “I don’t know who you think I am, but I don’t know you.” His eyes narrowed, left hand curling into a fist. “So stop following me.” He pushed off the wall, turning to leave the alleyway.
Raz bristled. “Dion—”
“Never met him.” Dion didn’t even turn around. He just kept walking, like this whole conversation was boring and pointless.
Raz’ hands curled and uncurled. Something was definitely wrong with Dion. Memory loss, or brainwashing, or—something.
Whatever it was, Raz needed to fix this. Needed to bring his brother home.
Raz didn’t even take the time to think before he was hurling his psy-portal at the back of Dion’s head. Didn’t even take the time to remember that psy-portals weren’t supposed to work on minds under eighteen.
Not that it mattered. The miniature door beaned directly into the back of Dion’s head and stuck there, door opening. Raz felt the tug of astral projection forming, pulling his mind towards Dion’s.
+=+=+=+=+
Lili watched Raz run off in stunned silence.
“Oh, you cannot be serious!” Not even an explanation? What was he thinking?
Lili moved to chase after him—
Wait.
That guy Raz was following.
He looked… kind of familiar. Like Lili had seen him somewhere before.
She gasped. “It can’t be…”
Lili turned towards the cafe.
Raz was right. Someone had to let the junior agents know he’d be late.
+=+=+=+=+
Raz found himself at the edge of a river, the sky above him whorls of neon and fluorescent pink. Mountains twisted up into nothingness in the distance, not so much fading into the horizon as they were melting into the sky like watercolor, chunks of orange and green fading into swirling pinks.
The river churned, figments of fish flowing through whispers and passing thoughts. As far as rivers went, it was fairly normal, curving through the terrain—no, wait, it also twisted a convoluted path up into the sky, branching out and feeding dark blue into the pinks.
Raz turned to survey the rest of the mental landscape. Figments of cattle grazed in scattered herds. Censors dressed in chitons meandered the fields.
There was a plateau up ahead, with a villa atop it. It seemed both miles away and right in front of Raz; a fixture so important to the mindscape that it was indeterminable and concrete all at once.
If he had to guess, Raz would bet that that villa was where he needed to go.
Raz backflipped. The action did nothing to dissipate the nervous energy building in his gut.
This—none of this was right. Where were the circus tents? Where was the familiarity?
What was going on with Dion’s brain?
+=+=+=+=+
Adam had been having a good day.
Had been.
When Lili arrived at the meetup without Raz, the day was still salvageable. The junior agents would just have to split up and look for the kid. Adam went with Lizzie, Morris went with Gisu and Lili, and Norma with Sam. It shouldn’t be that hard to track one kid down, right? Not even Raz could get into that much trouble in the time it took for Lili to get to the cafe.
It didn’t even take long to find him—maybe ten minutes had passed, at most, by the time Morris ‘pathed a message to everyone.
That was about the point that Adam’s day became considerably less good.
+=+=+=+=+
Raz had never been more thankful for levitation in his whole life.
Well, there was that one time in Loboto’s mind—oh, and that other time—
Okay, so maybe Raz was just thankful for levitation in general. He couldn’t achieve the height that Milla or Morris could, but it was still a useful skill, especially for getting around quickly. Case in point: getting up onto the plateau.
The villa loomed ahead of him, tall and imposing. Now that Raz was up here, he could see it was surrounded by a lush garden, thick with all sorts of plants that Lili would appreciate if she were here to see it. Some of the foliage was so tall as to obscure Raz’s view of the villa, casting shadows over the paths. Statues of men and women Raz didn’t know dotted the grounds, some made of stone, others of bronze.
“I really hope these aren’t the kinds of mental constructs that’ll come alive and attack me.” Raz mused, wandering past the statues. The garden gave way to a perfectly manicured lawn, allowing Raz to see the villa again.
Something growled off to his left. Raz’ head whipped towards the source.
A pair of lions was lounging on the lawn, their manes flecked with gold leaf and beads of silver. Gold bangles decorated their tails, their fur glittering with gems. One of the lions yawned, stretching their paws out in front of them. Raz’ eyes followed the movement.
Between the lions was a memory vault.
Raz’ hands twitched with the need to hunt the vault down and crack it open. A memory vault meant answers. Answers that Raz was very much in need of.
But could he get it without disturbing the lions?
Raz stepped back. He still couldn’t use invisibility or shielding after the Rhombus of Ruin, and vaults couldn’t be lifted with telekinesis (he’d tried). He could probably fight the lions, but they looked so strong, and those teeth looked sharp.
Yeah, no, Raz wasn’t fighting them.
So how would he get the memory vault?
Raz wandered around for a bit, looking for something that might help.
The garden had nothing to offer but the sense that Raz would get lost if he went in too deep. The statues couldn’t be moved no matter how hard Raz tried. The lawn and the paths cutting through it were clean, devoid of anything useful.
Raz had the distinct sense that the statues were staring at him.
The villa still loomed above it all. Raz half-considered giving up on the vault and going towards the villa—
But something was telling him to get the vault, first. A gut feeling, psychic intuition—Raz couldn’t be sure what it was. He needed to see whatever was in that vault.
Maybe he could just… sneak by?
It was a terrible idea. Crazy, insane, dangerous—
It was exactly what Raz was doing now, inching across the grass towards the pair.
The lions continued to snooze, seemingly without a care in the world.
Raz crept towards the lions. Closer, closer.
One of the lions yawned, mouth stretching open to display some very sharp teeth, whole body stretching with the motion.
Raz crept forwards another step.
The lion eyed him, considering.
Raz inched his foot forwards.
The lion huffed and went back to snoozing.
Raz breathed a sigh of relief. He crept towards the vault.
The other lion shifted, lazily batting a paw at nothing.
The memory vault whined when Raz got to it, popping open with barely any prompting.
Raz picked up the memory vault.
A title card reading “Living History.”
A slide depicting a Macedonian footsoldier, marching into battle with a sarissa.
A Roman stonemason, carving a commission for an Emperor.
A jester, levitating colorful balls of fire and stone to entertain a king.
A wandering trader on the Silk Road, failing to notice rats crawling into their crate.
A sickly man orating to a group of followers, bits of earth floating above his palms.
A peasant woman in the crowd, watching a guillotine behead a noble.
A man in a suit, having a meet-cute with a southern belle.
A woman in a factory, producing ammunition for soldiers on the front lines.
A father, listening to the radio with his daughter, both worried by whatever they’re hearing.
A man on the edge of the fairgrounds, nervous and shifty, casting his mind out for—something.
Raz dropped the vault as though it had burned him. That—that couldn’t possibly be Dion’s.
Which meant—
“How did you get in here?”
Raz startled, whirling around to face the source of the voice.
A man stood there, draped in russet robes. A golden mask styled after a lion covered his face, dark hair spilling out behind it.
Raz shifted his stance. “You’re not Dion.”
“You’re not supposed to be here.” The man replied, voice cool and unbothered.
Raz bristled, plucking a piece of the ground with telekinesis. “Where’s Dion?”
The terrain shifted under his feet, chunks of earth heaving into the air at the man’s command. The lions from before sauntered to the man’s sides, tails lashing angrily, golden bangles jingling at the motion. “You don’t belong here.” The man whispered, voice low and dangerous.
“Get out.”
+=+=+=+=+
Gisu followed along behind Lili, the eleven year old practically beelining down the street.
“If anyone can find Pooter, it would be Lili.” Morris pointed out, gliding alongside them.
Gisu nodded. Raz couldn’t have gotten far—not even on a lev-ball. There simply hadn’t been the time for Raz to get far.
Lili froze in place.
“Lili?” Morris floated over to her, “Something happen?”
Lili put a hand to her forehead. “I think Raz just went into someone’s mind.”
Well, that was unexpected.
But then again, maybe they were all due for an adventure. Gisu shifted her hold on her levboard, ready to kick onto it if the need arose.
Lili concentrated, focusing on the link between her and Raz. Astral projection made the signal a little weaker, but it was nothing Lili couldn’t handle.
“Hmmm…” Lili turned slowly, testing for where the signal was strongest.
Not that way, but—
“Aha!” There! “This way!”
Lili ran, the two junior agents close behind her. She led them towards an alleyway, stopping at the entrance of it.
Gisu caught up barely a second later, only to freeze at what she saw. At who she saw.
“Dion?”
+=+=+=+=+
Raz jolted back into his body, stumbling at the sudden dementestration. The world spun for a few seconds before righting itself.
Not-Dion gasped, yanking the psi-portal off of his head and whirling around to face Raz. “You—” His face tightened, cold fury leaching out into the air around him.
“Where is it?” Raz demanded, fists trembling.
He barely registered Lili appearing at the mouth of the alleyway, Morris and Gisu right behind her. Barely registered Gisu’s stunned “Dion?” or Morris’ soft “holy shit.” Barely registered anything but the imposter in front of him, wearing his brother’s body like a costume.
Said imposter said nothing, fist tightening around the psi-portal. Even the anger written across Dion’s face was all wrong, cold and quiet where it should be loud and poisonous.
Raz’ chest tightened. “Where—” He smacked out with a psi-punch, only to hit a shield that wasn’t there moments before, “is my brother’s—” Another smack, just as soundly blocked, “BRAIN?”
Not-Dion sneered. “You say that like it matters.” He taunted, the shield around him barely rippling.
Raz smacked the shield again with a wordless cry.
The shield flickered away into nothingness, Not-Dion stepping back in surprise.
Raz finally registered Lili standing next to him, fire dancing on her fingertips. Finally registered the teens at the mouth of the alley, faces a mixture of quietly dawning worry.
Concern and reassurance pulsed through their link as Lili put her hand in Raz’. He could feel his own mind responding in kind, worry leaching into Lili’s brain like water into soil.
Not-Dion glanced at the mouth of the alleyway, where Gisu was still standing, Morris holding a hand to his temple behind her.
He looked back to Raz, eyes narrowing.
Raz readied a psy-blast. He just had to subdue the imposter. Subdue them, and then figure out where Dion’s brain was.
Not-Dion flicked his left wrist. The concrete beneath Raz’ feet buckled.
Raz’ shot went wild as he and Lili stumbled.
Gisu made up for the miss with a shot of her own, stinging Not-Dion directly in the shoulder.
Not-Dion’s gaze whipped towards her, and the concrete beneath her feet heaved, knocking Gisu backwards.
Not-Dion huffed. Frustration mounting, he reached out to all the stone and sand in the pavement around him—
And pulled.
The concrete buckled violently, jerkily twisting and heaving. His shoulders shook with the effort.
Raz struggled to aim a psy-blast while maintaining his balance. Maybe if he rode out this wave—
The alley lit up with a brilliant flash.
The concrete froze in place, cracked and bent and distorted.
When the spots finally cleared from his vision, Raz’s heart lodged itself in his throat.
Not-Dion was gone.
And with him, any chance of getting further answers disappeared.
Raz stared at the crumpled psi-portal on the ground in disbelief.
He—Dion had—Dion’s body had been right there, and Raz had—
Gisu picked her way through the rubble and twisted concrete. Morris floated over along behind her.
“The others are on their way.” Morris said.
Raz barely heard him over the anxious buzz in his brain.
+=+=+=+=+
Arc stumbled out of the teleport, fighting to stand through the momentary dizziness.
Ohhh, how he hated having to teleport. The further he went, the less control he had over where he’d end up.
Case in point—he had no idea where he was. It looked like a rooftop, gravel crunching under his boots, but Arc couldn’t name the city.
Arc shook his head. Whatever. It was fine. He’d be able to get his bearings easily enough.
He had more pressing matters to worry about, anyway. The towns near the Motherlobe were supposed to be safe—a mess of other psychic presences with which to hide his own, and keep away his host body’s old life.
So what the fuck was an Aquato doing there? And using psychic powers so freely?
Arc headed for the door, not really feeling up to trying to find a fire escape or scaling down the side of the building. He was too on-edge for levitation.
Had the child been disowned, for being psychic? No, that didn’t feel right. The little snot had been clearly concerned about Arc’s host body, which implied there was still a connection.
But every psychic who cared to know knew that the Aquatos despised psychics. It was hard not to, when Arc himself had once tried to join the circus for the experience, only to be chased off.
But that was more than seven years ago. Arc knew well that people were capable of greater change in less time.
But what had happened? What was it that Arc had overlooked?
Arc busted the lock on the door and kicked it open, body fading to nothingness as he turned invisible.
That took longer than it should have. I might need to brush up on invisibility.
Walking down the stairs, Arc fumed. He’d been careless. He’d made a desperate move into a new body, then saw it as an opportunity to let loose again. Hadn’t really dug into his host body’s memories—he hadn’t really dug into any of his hosts’ memories, not for lifetimes. He hadn’t needed to, when he’d been carefully selecting his bodies beforehand. He’d forgotten that he would need to do that now, when circumstances forced him to grab the first mildly psychic body he could find.
Arc stalked through the building lobby, pushing open the door. The receptionist blinked at the door moving on its own, but Arc was long gone by the time she made up her mind whether to investigate.
Arc let the invisibility go after a while, checking street signs as he wandered down sidewalks and across streets.
And the way his powers had flickered, back in that alleyway—
That needed to be looked into.
Arc paused, raising a hand to massage his temples.
He’d need to find somewhere quiet. Somewhere safe enough to connect with the subconscious.
Not My Type | Alright | Cute | Adorable | Pretty | Gorgeous | LORD MERCY The moment he is asked, a warm deep smile finds his features as he opens his mouth to reply, but in that same moment a certain scene from the night before flits before his very eyes almost as if someone triggered them to memory as he grows weak at the knees and practically reaches for the wall. “Light have mercy on this old man… “
(( When your husbands a fine silver fox and he knows it… GOD DAMN @high-inquisitor))
Dear fellow traveler
Under the moon
I saw you standing in the shadows and your eyes won't move
You put your hand out
Opened the door
You said come with me boy, I want to show you something more
You spoke my language
And touched my limbs
It wasn't difficult
To pull me from myself again
And in our travels
We found our roads
You held it like a mirror, showing me the life I chose
And now we turn to my beautiful city
Black skies changed into blue
And my love is so wise and so pretty
But tonight I still dream of you
Sea Wolf - Dear Fellow Traveler
I really can’t express enough how damn happy I am for this beautiful artwork of Tarjei and Archelaos/Cyrus. These boys have a very special place in my heart and I’m so happy to show them off and how much they’ve grown. The above song happens to be one that @high-inquisitor sings often to Tarjei and I felt it fitting with this pose.
A VERY special thank you to @nsfwfrosch for their sketch, I jumped on their latest Kofi commissions and I’m so glad I did. Worth every penny and very kind to work with.
[ Though out of order, I’m going to begin reposting stories from Olivia’s past since they aren’t yet accessible on this blog. This one took place in April 2017 and is one of my personal favorites. ]
[ Mnemophobia: the fear of memories. ]
They say to fear your own memories is to fear losing them, or to remember only the bad things: your trauma. They say it happens slowly, it happens in people as they get older, but they don’t talk about what it’s like to have them taken. They don’t tell you what it’s like to be in a body you don’t recognize, inside a mind with no stream of coherent thoughts, surrounded by people who all know you - but you have never met them.
Thirty-two days. It had been exactly thirty-two days since the slate of Olivia’s mind had been wiped clean. Her mindscape existed of four people: her, Archelaos, Winston, and Demetrius. Olivia knew how to talk, how to eat, and how to drink. She couldn’t remember living outside of a cage in the woods of the Redridge Mountains. There was no other family, no friends, not a job, no clothes, no other home - no past life at all.
“We’re going to Stormwind.” Her uncle had told her of the kingdom, but nothing past. The King was there, she grew up there, there were people there, and that’s where he lived; that was it. It sounded daunting. Was she going to have to pretend to be someone she wasn’t now? The confirmation of the fear of disapproval came shortly after her arrival. It mattered little that others hadn’t taken much of a liking to her, but rather, the fact that she couldn’t do much about it. They’re staring; they hate me. “They just have to get used to you.” Comfort. She wondered what Winston Redright would say differently had he been there for the awful display of Olivia attempting to make friends, or even how Archelaos would act with his father over his shoulder.
Olivia enjoyed who her uncle was when his father wasn’t around; he was kind, gentle, more patient - he cared about her. But that’s not to say she always hated him with his father at his side, either. He was more strict, less patient, more aggressive, but he was her teacher, her superior, her rock, her blood - it was a labor of love.Nevertheless, no matter the audience.
“Goodnight, sunshine.” Olivia feigned the lack of reaction her uncle’s parting words had drawn out of her. And so she kept on walking, from the city of Stormwind to the mountains of Redridge.
It came in waves.
Over one year ago: I’m Olivia. He’d smiled, laughed even. He was supposed to be serious, formal, professional. “I’m Archelaos Draco.” I like that name.
In front of a building she now knew as the Command Center stood a dark-haired man in attire fitting of a Stormwind Guard. What will your nickname for me be?“Sunshine.”
Sitting on the mixture of dirt and sand by a pond by the same name as her own. “Sunshine, I’m your uncle.”
A grassy area in a district now known as Mage Quarter. “I’m not a good person, Sunshine.” But I love you anyway.
On the outskirts of Stormwind. Look at my new scars. Will you come with me? “I’ll come to protect you, Sunshine.”
The first time she felt he’d came to her with his hurt, the torture that was being taken advantage of. And now I’ll always protect you.
And then when he was caught. Please let me come help you. “You have to stay away, Sunshine. I can’t let them take you with me.”
On the porch of a house she once owned. Do you think anyone will ever love me like I loved him? “I know they will, Sunshine.”
In an abandoned town recognized to her as Moonbrook. “I don’t want you to die, Sunshine. I want you to be stronger.”
Outside the offices of a newspaper remembered as The Royal Courier. “Just because I have new family doesn’t mean I love you any less, Sunshine.”
The first time he gave her the gift of letting her in his mindscape. “Only two others have seen it, Sunshine.” I’m special to him.
And then by a tree, outside the grand opening of a place named the Silk Road. He loves me, she’d told him of another. “Do you think I don’t?” I always know you do.
Even looking at the gravestone, even a week later, Rask still was having trouble fully believing it.
It wasn’t numb shock as he’d experienced after other tragedies; it was more of an incredulous disbelief. Things happened to everyone, of course, but Archelaos was not the sort of man who just up and got himself killed in some explosion. (That was what the rumor mill said it was; Rask had needed to hear of the death from three different sources before he even considered that it might in some way be true.) Going to the cemetery on Valentine’s Day was a little macabre, but it felt like a perfect irony to Rask.
He’d brought his kids along; death wasn’t a new concept for the orphans, but this was the first person that had died whom they had met prior. Idalee’s hand was clenched firmly around his, and he carried little Ash in the other arm. Irvin was more interested in collecting the worms that had risen out of the ground thanks to the early spring shower a few hours prior, but that was just Irvin. “What’re you gonna do with those?” Rask had asked. Irvin’s reply was to set the worms at the base of the headstone, like a gruesome bouquet, before continuing on his quest. Rask grinned; Archelaos would’ve considered it a fitting offering, he was pretty sure.
“He’s really under there?” Idalee queried, her dark, serious eyes fixed on the stone. She was wearing her best dress, kinky hair tied back with blue bows. She had insisted it be so, because that’s what people wore to graveyards; it had taken some convincing that it wasn’t necessary to wear black, as she owned nothing in the shade, though Rask knew his adopted daughter well enough to know that he would soon need to remedy that.
“Aye, I reckon so,” Rask replied, giving her hand a squeeze. “His ashes, at least, if he was cremated.” He headed off the next question before it came, “Cremated is when tha body’s burned, ‘till it’s nothin’ more’n ash an’ bits of bone.” He smiled briefly at Ash when his namesake was used; the elf boy wasn’t looking at him, through, his large eyes roaming the graveyard, his little child thoughts obfuscated as always by his silence.
Idalee’s gaze wandered over at her brother mucking about in the dirt. “Irvin-- Pa, is he allowed to do that?”
“He ain’t harmin’ nothin’,” Rask replied easily. “All tha bodies an’ whatnot are too far down fer him ta get to, Idalee. Most he’s doin’ is makin’ a fat worm’s day a little harder.” He smiled down at her. The eleven-year-old nodded, seeming unconvinced. Rask gave her little hand another squeeze, then gently detached it, reaching into his pocket. “Y’wanna say anythin’ out loud?” he asked of the two verbal children, “Or jus’ leave yer letters?”
Irvin plopped his new handful of worms at the base of the headstone, patting it with a muddy hand. “Yer good,” he told the stone with a grin. “I like-- I like your, uh, your metal legs.”
Idalee chewed on her lip, pulling an envelope out of the little bag she’d brought. “I’ll just leave mine,” she answered, voice suddenly shy. Rask smiled, ruffling Irvin’s hair and moving him away from the headstone a little. “Good job, bud,” He told him, stepping closer to lie his own envelope at the base of the stone, his daughter mimicking the motion and placing it carefully so it was propped up, pale white shining against the grey stone. They had no fear of the wet grass; Rask had gotten specific envelopes that would weather the moisture, ones that were common among seafaring folk.
His eyes lingered on the scene for a beat, thinking about Archelaos, thinking about the dinner he’d been planning on cooking him, at some undecided future date, in the very house the man had sold him. Too late for that, now.
“Alright,” he murmured, fighting back the aching melancholy that welled unexpectedly within him as he scooped Irvin up out of the mud. “We’ve paid our respects, each in our own way. Let’s get ourselves home an’ get some dinner, eh?”
