#arkn x

[feathered-iridescent]

I'm aware of the news. I'd rather not talk about it.

[frequentlycorvid]

Heretical Hypotheticals

in collaboration with @the-siren-saga

Hybrid Perpetual was in bliss, and it was deeply distracting.

Life at the Cathedral was mind-numbing in its simplicity. Wake up. Join the others in the Inner Circle for daily devotions. Practice etiquette, poise, entertaining– whatever her Lord and Master wished her to know. Get used to the lack of privacy. Get used to being scrutinized. Get used to never being good enough.

Occasionally, allow herself to love it.

Now, of course, she had a new duty that she'd been doing for the past few weeks– babysitting Marchosias's pet, who he'd unfortunately begun to tire of.

She'd expected something like a raíosa, or even something more exotic and fearsome such as a Nachtryr. Maybe even one of those fluffy little mewing animals that were often exported from the Seeds– what were they called again? Ca'ats? No, that wasn't it. Instead, the "pet" in question was… an Arkn woman named Laurien– or Moss Rose, as he called her. This fact made her a little sick when she first encountered her, a fact that she'd endeavored to hide as well as she could from Marchosias Aversen's prying telepathy. The Arkn was pleasant enough company, she guessed– a little naive and innocent, and reluctant to talk about anything but how much she loved her captor, but she could hardly be blamed for either of those things. And honestly, with the way she was being cast aside, Moss Rose needed a friend.

On this particular day, she took the Arkn mage out to one of the Cathedral's pleasure gardens, intent on making sure she knew that even with the way she was being thrown away, she still had someone. She seemed unfazed by her Master’s waning attention, skipping and babbling about her love for Him as always, but a trained eye could see the way her smile never reached her eyes; her skip wasn’t quite so high.

“Do you think He’s building up to something?” She wondered, pausing in her step to beam at her friend, purple beads shining in her hair as it settled, “Perhaps He has a secret! Oh! Do you think I have a new wardrobe on the way? O-or a shiny new collar! No, he did that too recently…”

Pausing to frown for a moment, she fell silent; something glazing over in her eyes as her fingers brushed the glittering band at her throat -- but it was gone as soon as it came, the smile plastered firmly back in place. “Whatever it is, I’m certain it will be grand! Our Lord never disappoints!”

"I'm not sure what He has planned," Hybrid Perpetual said, a bit distantly. I think he's just bored, she thought to herself, but didn't dare say it out loud. "You seem a bit less bubbly than usual, Laur– I mean, Moss Rose. Has everything been well? I'd like to think of myself as your friend. You don't have to hide anything from me."

She covered Laurien's small, delicate hand with her own in a gesture of comfort, and it's so much like what her Lord does, so much like what Shanna used to do. It's a gesture so simple, but it seems to implore– Let me in. Trust me. I have your best interests at heart.

Lauri glanced between Hybrid and her hand, her expression wavering for a single, heart-stopping moment. Her lips parted softly, ready to say something, but she seemed to catch herself a moment before; shaking her head with another smile and quickly tugging her hand back. “I’m sure it’s nothing. Our Lord would never-.. No, I’m just being silly. I’ve been told I’m clingy, you know? And with our Lord so… busy…”

She shrugged as if it were nothing, but her eyes glittered with unspoken worries.

Hybrid Perpetual didn't like this. It was true that the act she wore was often no better than Laurien's own single-minded devotion. It was true that sometimes, on occasion, she even let herself mean it. Even let herself sink, the way that Laurien had sunk, into an obsession from which she'd only just recovered. But this was different. His control over Laurien seemed, as with so many of them, to be absolute.

How am I supposed to wake up someone who doesn't know she's sleeping?

"It doesn't seem like nothing," she said with a sad smile, trying to slip back into the mindset of a devoted follower to make sure her words didn't come off as heretical. "And it doesn't make you disloyal to be a little upset, I promise. If the lack of His presence didn't sadden us, what joy would we find in His return?"

That had better be the right thing to say. I don't want to make things worse.

“I… suppose you’re right.” The frown touched her brow again; a slight squeeze of her brow like she was trying to shake off a headache. “I just. I-I feel like I’ve done something wrong.”

She slowly rested herself down on a pristine white wall in front of rose bushes that framed her like the caged thing she was. A petal loosened itself to tangle in her hair and she plucked it out absently, handling the delicate bloom with absent eyes. “He used to give me everything. I felt like His princess; his perfect petal framed by His light.” As if to punctuate the point, she lifted the petal to the sky, the light glinting in her eyes like the sky itself were mirrored there. “And now… He still gives me such kind words, such lovely things, but it isn’t the same. D’you know what I mean?”

The petal fell from her fingertips and danced to the ground, her smile a little sad if still dreamlike as she looked back to Hybrid, “I’m probably being silly. He’s a busy God after all; how can I expect Him to be with me all the time? But it just… feels like He’s not there anymore, even when He is with me.”

Without saying a word, Hybrid Perpetual listened attentively to Laurien's struggles. The current 'counselor,' Montezuma, didn't know how to listen at all– not unless you were Tea, at least– and honestly, nobody else in the Society did either. So when Hybrid Perpetual put her own thoughts and interests aside for a moment and focused her attention completely on Laurien's pain, it came as quite a surprise.

It was only when she was finished, and not a moment before, that Hybrid Perpetual said anything at all.

"I know exactly what you mean," she hummed, looking at her with sympathy, but strangely, without pity. "Laurien–" she used her real name now– "when's the last time anyone ever just held you? Not in a possessive or greedy way, but just… because you're a person who deserves comfort?"

This is teetering on the edge of heresy. Be careful.

Laurien met her gaze for a long moment, confusion flickering there, “I-.. My Lord, he…” Swallowing heavily, she stared down at her own idly swinging feet; almost guilty. “I’m not sure. Why does it matter?”

With a quizzical tilt of her head, Hybrid Perpetual smiled thinly. "Thought so," she said with a slightly bittersweet tone. "It doesn't really matter, but… may I?"

As if she honestly hadn’t seen that coming, Lauri’s head snapped up again, eyes wide. There were conflicting questions in her mind, flickering through her ever-transparent gaze for a long silence, followed by the shortest, most sheepish nod imaginable. The guilt still hung in every breath she took as she sat there, not moving to go for the hug nor to move away; just waiting.

Hybrid Perpetual embraced her– not moving to take anything from her, not demanding any form of reciprocation. There were no overtones of expectation in the way she held Laurien close. It was just comfort, freely given. "Something is coming," she whispered. "I'm not sure what it is, or what will happen, but I want you to know that I do consider you a friend. Good luck."

As soon as the word ‘friend’ left her lips Laurien pulled away. Her expression had shifted, eyes still sparkling but the dazed smile back on her lips -- if a tad more forced this time. “You can’t tell Our Lord that. He’s-.. You can’t tell Him anything I said. Promise?”

Her smile grew wider, her panicked words and the soft-calm tone she spoke them with a chilling contrast.

"He won't know a thing." Hybrid Perpetual's smile seemed to be that of a mindlessly content worshipper, but there was an air of inscrutability from it. She, unlike most in this place, knew how to hide things. It was somewhat disconcerting.

The word "friend" was a dangerous thing in the Society of the Purple Rose. Most of the time, one used it to refer to those people who His Holiness had ordained that one should be spending time with. To use it in a more personal way– to say this person is home to me, to say we find comfort in each other– that was heretical. It was an insult to the idea of the Society as one flesh, one body, looking towards its Master as the brightest possible light. But Hybrid Perpetual… that's what she'd just done. She called Laurien a friend, in the sense of "person I have chosen to care about."

Why had she done that?

[feathered-iridescent]

My Lord has been so busy, of late... It feels like something is changing. I hope it's a good change!

That is to say, I'm sure it will be. Everything our God-Emperor does is Glorious I just

miss Him

[the-siren-saga]

What Happened That Night

SHANNA

LoneCameraman: Anyone else get taken recently? Kellamity: not that I've seen, no. Asra hasn't mentioned anything either. Kellamity: I'm going to the Cathedral tonight to rescue Iskandar. They're all gonna be at the Golden Door, it'll give me a great opportunity to get in and out before I'm seen. LoneCameraman: And you're telling me this now? Who even GAVE you that intel Kellamity: Who do you think? Moirah told me. LoneCameraman: Due to personal reasons I'd rather not hear anything about Moirah. Kellamity: ...What happened?

As if on cue, there was a sharp, yet hesitant, knock on the door. Timothée jumped to his feet.

LoneCameraman: Nothing. Don't focus on that. Remember how I said I could get us Shanna?

At the door was Shanna Averil, cold and shaking. There was a look of panic in her eyes, like a wounded prey animal. He opened the door, gesturing for her to come in and sit down.

"What's mine is yours," he said, offering a hand. "I know it's not much, but it's what we've got."

She took his hand, walking with him to the couch. "Has my aunt talked to you?"

"She sent me this long message when she heard you were coming over… Seems like she's pretty pissed off at herself for pushing you away the way she did." Timothée shrugged, sitting down beside Shanna.

"Yeah, well, I don't wanna hear her apology. Not yet," Shanna grunted. "And after what I did, I doubt she'll want to hear mine."

LoneCameraman: Just happened… a little sooner than I expected.

A pang of guilt came over him. I am a horrible, horrible person, he thought to himself. He repeated to himself that he didn't know what would happen when he showed Shanna that post-- he was trying to be a good person, and after living in a world of lies the way they had, who wouldn’t want to know the truth?

"You have a right not to," he soothed, holding out a hand for her to take. Awkwardly and hesitantly, she placed her hand in his. “It was an accident, I don’t hold it against you.”

She leaned against him. Timothée was a safe person. He wouldn’t hurt her or sell her out, he knew exactly what she’d gone through and how it affected her. “I used my… My thing I can do. I promised I never would again. But it just happened,” she muttered. “How do you move on from that? How do you deal with the fact that your power makes you a danger to others?”

The silence that followed seemed to hang in the air like a thick fog.

"Maybe I shouldn't have asked," she sighed.

LoneCameraman: I think we might need a couple of days. Kellamity: Take your time.

He wrapped one arm around her in a loose hug. "It's fine," he said. "My advice is to put it out of your mind for now. You're… you're not just your power, okay? And you're not the person who hurt you."

Hesitantly, Shanna settled down, her head on his shoulder. His words rattled around in her mind for a while– You're not the person who hurt you. Coming from someone who'd been hurt in similar ways, that meant a lot more than it otherwise would. She believed it, at least for a moment, in a way she wouldn't believe it otherwise.

LoneCameraman: Thanks for understanding. She's been through a lot today.

"Who are you texting?" Shanna asked.

Timothée, the lovable idiot, merely responded thusly: "You'll meet them soon."

KELLAN

The city was quiet. Only the soft hum of electricity and the distant sounds of feral animals prowling the streets disturbed the silence as a lone hoverbike sped through the deserted cityscape. On this hoverbike was a man with a mission. His name was Kellan Dehara, and he was a member of a certain clandestine organization– a resistance cell, covertly fighting against the actions of the Society of the Purple Rose.

"Are you sure about this, Kellan?"

The man on the hoverbike laughed. "I've never been sure of anything in my life," he answered with more confidence than such a statement warranted.

Asra paused. "Come again?" Their voice had a nervous edge to it. "Because we need you to be sure. We've never done a retrieval mission this risky before."

"More sure," Kellan corrected. "I've never been more sure of anything in my life. Let's do this."

"Right, right, let's get on with it, then." A few shuffling noises could be heard over the earpatch as Asra looked around for the mission plans. "Okay. You should be nearing the entrance point soon… again, are you absolutely certain you want to do this?"

Kellan sighed. "I just said so."

"Roger that."

"Four times, Asra."

"Roger that," Asra said, clearing their throat. "Let's just get this over with."

For a long time, there was silence. Silence enough for Kellan to bring the hoverbike to a stop behind a certain purple and silver building in the Entertainment District.

With Marchosias and his attendants on some sort of mock pilgrimage to the great golden door, to touch it and stand beside it and pat themselves on the back for supposedly bringing such a divine sign into the world, Kellan was free to enter the Cathedral without fear of being found and indoctrinated. Every single corridor was so intimately familiar to him from his own time spent walking these halls, every room an echo from within his own mind. It was maze-like. Intentionally so.

And only by accepting His love can we find our way to the center. To the Heart, Kellan recited to himself, not even realizing he was doing it. No. No, no, stop. I don't want to find my way to you. I want to find my way to Iskandar, I need to make sure he's okay, I need to get him out of here. Nothing else matters right now, not even you, 'Master.' In his own internal monologue, he said the last word mockingly, disdainfully. The version of himself that existed in his mind was every bit as cruel to Marchosias as Marchosias used to be to him.

He continued his exploration. The hallway he was in looked to be a dorm hallway, with gray, undecorated walls. Much of the Cathedral was richly decorated, but the dorms, save for the temporary rooms designed to impress new members and the luxury suites inhabited by Marchosias's favorites, were sparse and cold. Ostensibly, this was to encourage "contemplation," but it had an effect more similar to sensory deprivation if a person spent too long in one of the tiny gray rooms. A few of them had windows. He peeked inside one– yep, it was definitely a dorm, and it was every bit as bleak as his own when he was a member. Gray walls. Gray carpet. Gray furniture. The only color in the room was a skinny purple vase, holding one long-stemmed, deep purple rose. The bed was inhabited by a woman who had to have been at least eighteen, as only adults lived in the main building, but looked sixteen. She tossed and turned fitfully in her sleep.

Demetra, he realized. Oh, Hethe, that's Demetra. She had been a member of his cell for a few months before returning to the Society without so much as a goodbye. Many suspected she'd been kidnapped, Kellan included. He pulled on the door, trying to see if it would open. It didn't. Fuck, he swore silently.

The voice that interrupted him was soft and anxious and so familiar. Turning around, Kellan saw a man in a white silk robe, with dark skin, short braided hair, and eyes that had once been a deep, rich shade of brown. "She's being punished," he said as if talking about a teenager who’d been forbidden from going out on dates rather than a grown woman locked in a colorless room. "You'll be punished too if they find out you came back. But it's okay. We'll get to be together afterwards."

Paying no mind to the creepy things that the other man was saying, Kellan ran to embrace him. "Oh, Iskandar, mirthali Hethe. I was so worried I'd never see you again."

"All you had to do was come back to His embrace, Kellan Dehara. You know this." Iskandar stood motionless, not returning the hug, just continuing to speak in the same soft yet unnerving tones. "We could have been together this whole time, had you only accepted your place under His guiding hand. But it's no matter. You're here now. Here with me, and with our Most Divine Ruler."

Kellan shook him gently, trying to snap him out of it. "Hey, stop, this isn't you. Remember in college when the two of us went on that bar crawl and you got so plastered that you ended up belly-dancing on a table and singing karaoke to The Sisters Wander? Because I do. And let me tell you, that is not belly-dancing music." He wondered briefly if it was like those Ersis fairy tales, and a kiss would be all it took to awaken Iskandar, however, he wasn't keen on the idea of kissing someone who didn't explicitly make it clear that they wanted it. Instead, he just sighed. "Do you even remember anything before this place? Anything about us?"

"He took all of that from me so I could serve Him without distraction," Iskandar said, again, as if it was the most ordinary thing in the world. "I missed you so much when you left us. He eased my pain– isn't our God-Emperor wonderful?"

He forgot about me? Kellan thought. He wanted to forget about me?

This was too much for him to bear. "I'm sorry," he whispered to his former lover. With a quick, precise nerve pinch, he rendered Iskandar unconscious in a pile on the floor. "I'll come back for you. Just… not tonight."

And out he ran, away from the maze-like Cathedral, away from the former lover with the dead-eyed stare, onto his hoverbike and towards the last person in the world who he was certain still loved him.

[the-siren-saga]

Scenes from the City

Shanna

It starts with thunder so loud it seems to beckon to the land, lightning that strikes into it like the sharp sting of a blade, and the land responds in kind with feverish tremors. The sky is vivid, aurora of green and blue and deep purple flashing across it like brush strokes on canvas. It seems to coalesce in a roughly circular area around the city, as if creating a barrier, or perhaps a focal point. 

Needless to say, Shanna Averil is not impressed. 

"Figures this happens on a day I have to go into work," she sighs, flopping onto the couch in her pajamas. 

Victoire looks over from her computer. "They've closed all the roads anyway. Looks like all three of us have been granted a little forced vacation."

"Speak for yourselves," Moirah laughs. "My work is never done. A client wants info on this new TV preacher who's blown up overnight, and by the Hethe, this one's a slippery son of a bitch."

"The client or the preacher?" Victoire asks innocently.

Moirah slumps in her chair, an utterly lifeless expression on her face. "The preacher. And he's so calculatedly inoffensive, can't find a single crack in that disgustingly squeaky clean image he puts on for the cameras. I just want to break every bone in his body," she hisses.

"Is this what you're doing instead of going after the real threat here?" Shanna snaps. "I'm going back to bed. Wake me up when you've got your priorities–"

Another shudder as the ground moves under their feet. Shanna scrambles for something to hold onto, and, finding nothing, hits the floor with an unceremonious thud. 

Moirah offers her a hand, which she refuses, either out of anger or pride. "We'll have this conversation when the sky's not falling," she murmurs. Crawling to her feet, she looks out the window, to the electric-flashing sky and the wall of clouds that is beginning to build around the perimeter of Taveril'domaine, and as the immense golden door begins to materialize on the outskirts of the city, she silently curses the Hethe for never allowing her life to be normal.

Timothée

He can't stop looking at the sky. It's his nature to distrust anything that transfixes him so, but it's impossible for him to look away. But oh, how he wants to. How he wants to run, to never look back. How, if he wasn't obligated to stay, he'd have done it already.

"What's happening in the palace?" he asks his contact through their earpatch network.

Carine, an experienced spy in the Court, looks around briefly before answering. "They're all transfixed. Obviously. I don't blame them."

"Where's Marchosias?" he asks. "Does he have anything to do with this?"

"Ha, yeah," Carine laughs, trying not to draw attention to herself. "Marchosias Aversen controls the weather. Is that what they teach in that Society of his?"

Respectfully, Timothée chooses not to dignify that with a response.

"No, he has nothing to do with it. He seems pretty interested, though. I'm sure he's gonna make some grand address on the subject later– I'll patch you in to watch if you want."

Timothée makes an effort not to cringe. "I'd prefer not to hear whatever he has to say. Just send it to Asra, they're more able to handle that shit than I am."

"Asra's a little busy right now," Asra's voice echoes through the earpatch. A deafening chant can be heard, almost drowning out their voice. 

"Where the hell are you?" Timothée questions them. "And for the love of Ced'ric, please turn on push to talk. That chanting is incredibly distracting."

"Done, there, got it," Asra pants in response. "And to answer your question, I'm at the door. I wanted to prove it a fake, just in case it turns out to be one of Marchosias's schemes. But, uh–"

Timothée can feel himself growing impatient. "But what?" he sighs. "Please tell me it's a, like, a cheap stage prop or something. Just once, let SOMETHING be simple."

"...To tell you the truth, I'm not sure what it is," Asra says quietly, a definite note of awe in his voice. "But I can tell you one thing. It's definitely not a stage prop."

Marchosias

Once the sky is clear, he gathers his faithful in the High Cathedral– and not just his faithful, either. Somehow, whether due to his celebrity status both within the Court and outside it or simply due to his otherworldly talent for swaying the minds of others, he's managed to get a camera crew to film this address and broadcast it on every channel in the city. A message to all with ears to hear it, Malistrade had said when he heard about the plan. Absolutely inspired, Master– my mind thrills at the thought of what a boon this could be. Marchosias's mind is, admittedly, caught up in the same thrill.

Forgoing his usual royal purple suit for a robe of flowing black silk trimmed in gold, he sits upon a gilded throne surrounded by flickering candles. His High Companion sits at his feet, looking up at him with an expression of worship, and his dear, sweet consort leads the assembled faithful in songs and chants of adoration, working the energy in the room into a frenzy. One heart, one soul, one body, one mind. One Power to lead us, one Purpose defined. It's more than music to his ears. Their worship is as much a drug to him as his presence is to them, and right now it's coming over him like a hit of pure jacrit, sharpening his senses and making every nerve in his body awaken. It's this moment that he lives for, the knowledge that his power is so absolute and unquestioned that he could tell them to fight for him, to die for him, to kill for him and they would accept this new directive without question.

He turns his power up as he rises, just enough to leave them craving more. To the ones who have come before him, kneeling at his feet and clutching at his robes, weeping and gnashing their teeth for more of him, more of his intoxicating aura, he gives a fond smile. To those in the back, scarcely an acknowledgement is given.

The cameras turn on.

"It's rare that I address the people like this," he purrs, stepping down from the altar to create at least the appearance of humility. "The sight of this innermost sanctum is usually reserved for my truest and most dedicated servants, those who are held eternally within the pulses of my Heart. But today… oh, today is a special occasion."

The earlier argument forgotten as arguments between those who truly love one another often are, Shanna, Moirah, and Victoire are in the living room, flipping channels as background noise for a more pleasant conversation. Shanna suddenly freezes, her whole body going rigid. Staring out from the screen is the face of none other than the man she used to serve.

"No," she whispers. "Not him. Can't be him. Can't be– I don't want to go back to him, please don't make me, don't lead me into the Heart, please…"

"Victoire, scrap the current project," Moirah says in a low, cold tone. "See to Shanna, make sure she's okay for the night. Looks like I've got unfinished business to take care of."

"You may have seen the door that appeared just outside of our fair city earlier today," Marchosias says in a tone that can almost be described as reassuring. "I want to make an announcement, both as a Master of the Dekn Court and as the head of this Society, that no one has anything to fear from today's events, or from what lies on the other side of that door. In fact, quite the opposite– that door is but a symbol, my beloved people, a symbol of a new age which is beginning to dawn upon the Lathrym as a whole!"

He pauses a moment, to allow the raucous cheers from the gathered worshippers to pass. What a lovely sound, the sound of those unable to restrain their adoration of him. He smiles as he takes it in, rewarding their enthusiasm with yet another pulse of that delicious, addictive aura. The deep purple neon lights that line the ceiling pulse in time.

He takes a breath before continuing. "We are entering an age of benevolence, of wisdom," he continues in the same soothing, disarming tones. "An age where all suffering shall be washed away, leaving only the joy and the thrill of worship. An age where the true God of this world shall be revealed in full. This door is the symbol of my new era, and within it is all power given to me for the building of this world. And so I offer a hand to all of you who wish to assist me in this creation."

Kellan and Asra watch the address with a sinking feeling of dread. All they've done, all they've tried to sabotage him, and he just comes back stronger.

"We can turn this off if you want, love," Kellan says, brushing a strand of hair out of Asra's eyes. "It's okay to take a break. I know how much this is hurting you."

Asra turns away, their eyes still glued to the screen, not out of Beguilement, but out of a compulsion to understand just how bad things are about to get. "Leave it on," they answer. "I don't want to be caught unprepared."

"All you have to do," Marchosias says with a chilling gleam in his eyes, "is come to me, and give yourselves over into my hands. You have my word that I will keep you safe– in fact, I may be the only one who can do so."

[the-siren-saga]

Join IV Sparrow on Patreon to get access to this post and more benefits.

"You know,” Uvall said conspiratorially, “I actually came over here because I had a story of my own to share with you.”

Shanna looked at him quizzically. "Really," she replied, skeptical about any attempts to get on her good side. Uvall was such a gentle presence, steady and quiet and trustworthy and completely alien from what she'd known for the past six months or so, but she didn't want to trust him, or anyone, for that matter. Not yet, at least. Not now. 

"Really," Uvall answered. "I'm… I've actually been waiting to tell you this one for a while. It's about you, and your mother, and… how much she always cared for you."

Read the rest of this exclusive epilogue on Patreon!

[the-siren-saga]

Moirah’s Quest

The ship was quiet as it neared the unmapped subrealm of Altamir'zin. The only sound was the soft mechanical whirring and beeping of the ship's various systems, working hour after hour to keep the crew alive and moving.

"Uvall," Moirah said softly, resting her hand on her assistant's shoulder in an attempt to put the nervous man at ease. "Are we nearly there?"

"Yes, ma'am," the wiry and somewhat high-strung Dekn answered. He hated how easily he seemed to slip into his old timid, servile persona, especially with the great pains that Moirah had taken to make sure he knew it was unnecessary since he'd come into her employ.

"You can just call me Moirah, you know."

Uvall chuckled lightly, though it was more for her benefit than his own. He didn't like seeming traumatized in a way that could be seen as inconvenient. "Ha, yeah, old habits. Sorry 'bout that," he laughed, in a rather forced manner. "But, yeah, we're getting close. I used the codes Lysandra gave us to hack the IFF so the border system thinks we're a Purple Rose ship."

Moirah smiled brightly and patted her assistant on the shoulder. "You're a fucking genius, Uvall. Great work." He really had made a lot of progress since they’d started working together. Moirah was never one for mentorship, but when she met Uvall, she felt there was no other choice. So, she started teaching him her trade– security, diplomacy, information dealing, and infiltration– and found that he excelled in it.

"Hey, we're almost there," Uvall said after a while, before picking up the mic. "Purple Rose vessel 87724 requesting clearance for entry."

A muffled voice came through the other side. "Glory to the Faithful, for we shall ensure His Ascension."

Uvall looked back at Moirah, who flashed him a sympathetic, concerned look. Do I have to? he asked her through their mental link.

Yeah, Moirah replied. I'm sorry, I know it hurts.

Uvall swallowed his pride, giving the countersign. "Glory to the God-Emperor, for by His Ascension shall our faith be rewarded." To his credit, the immense revulsion he had at that phrase didn't really show in his voice.

"Welcome, my brother in service. What's your destination?" the guard asked.

Uvall cringed, but pushed forward, his resolve stronger than steel. "I have a lowly piece of heretical scum with me who requires purification by the Twenty-Second Sacrament."

"Name and division?"

Uvall had been prepared for this, and slipped a new name into the registry. "Jessamine Thallios," he answered immediately. "Of the Samael'evri encampment."

The guard laughed at this. "All the way out there? Well, shit. No wonder she was tempted to heresy so easily."

They have no idea, Moirah transmitted to her assistant. She had changed into a simple white dress and put a glamour on herself, so that to most who saw her, she would appear much younger and less threatening. "Here, dope me," she said matter-of-factly once the radio was off, handing Uvall a vial and a syringe.

"...You sure about this?"

"As sure as I've ever been of anything," Moirah answered in the same brisk tones. "Just do it before they figure out we're up to something."

Uvall performed the injection with the unflinching proficiency of a practiced medic, catching Moirah as the drug began to take effect and bringing her to rest on a gurney that they'd wheeled onto the ship for precisely this purpose. The drug in the syringe was a formula that Moirah had stolen from one of Andras's facilities a long time ago, capable of inducing what looked like a deep sleep while preserving all higher brain function and psionic abilities.

From this point until he woke her up, he would be on his own.

"87724, hang tight, we're bringing you in for processing."

Within a few minutes, Uvall had wheeled Moirah into an expansive brutalist monstrosity of a compound. Processing, as the guard had called it, was a long and grueling series of questions meant to gauge the nature and severity of "Jessamine's" crimes. After what seemed like hours, the session was, mercifully, over. "Through this door," the interrogator said, "then down that hallway until you see a blue metal door with a sign that says CR 1–25. Those are the conditioning rooms. Take her into room ten. Our Eternal Master is here at the facility today, so He will take it from there."

He's here?! Uvall thought to himself, taking refuge in Moirah's shield to avoid anyone else overhearing. "Thank you. Elucidis be praised," he said by way of greeting, bowing his head respectfully. If the interrogator returned the greeting, Uvall didn't stop to acknowledge it.

On the way to the conditioning rooms, Uvall began to get a massive, pounding headache, intercut with moments that seemed to be seen through another's eyes, and cast in a strange, purple light...

"You are a disgrace to me, Malistrade," Marchosias sneered, striking his Consort across the face. "You knew about the treachery of Lysandra Myrrine, her little ‘Random Element’ scheme, and you did nothing to prevent the HARM THAT HER ACTIONS WOULD CAUSE."

Malistrade staggered backward, gripping a table to balance himself. "Master, I… I never intended to aid her by my inaction, there were so many possible futures surrounding the Irinith child's escape that I–"

"Don't try to explain yourself. Your gift belongs to me, just like the rest of you, and you've betrayed me by keeping your visions a secret."

Uvall stopped in the middle of the hallway, nearly doubling over from how clearly he saw and felt everything in that vision. Was that retrocognition, or was Malistrade actually here? Suddenly, he felt very small. Usually, when he saw through the eyes of one of the others in his triad, he could count on Moirah to reassure and comfort him. He could count on her to be there for him until it passed and to remind him to take care of himself while it was happening.

He brushed a strand of hair out of Moirah's face as they neared CR 10. Not much longer now, he transmitted, knowing she could still hear him through the effects of the sedative.

The door to Conditioning Room 10 opened automatically as Uvall entered with Moirah, and immediately, he felt the intensely blissful presence of Marchosias Aversen. Malistrade, who was standing at attention against the back wall, locked eyes with Uvall, and an unspoken contract formed between the two. We protect each other. We have no other choice.

Marchosias, much friendlier and more affable than he'd been in Uvall's vision, stepped forward to greet him. "It's great to see you. I must admit, I don't make it out to Samael'evri very often, but it pleases me to know that even so far from me, there are those of you who keep the faith." He put one hand on Uvall's shoulder, pulling him slightly closer. "Malistrade, guard the door. I don't want anyone walking in on us."

"As you command," Malistrade answered promptly, moving to exit the room and stand guard.

"Now that we're alone– well, alone with the exception of the sedated heretic you've brought me– I think you and I should have a talk."

Uvall scanned the room for things he could use to his advantage. Marchosias's back was turned to Moirah, that was good. He slipped his hand in his pocket, and found the device that Moirah had given him– a device that, when activated, would tell the bracelet around her wrist to produce an electric shock that would wake her from her chemically induced sleep. Not yet, he thought to himself. Soon, but not yet. "Yes, my God-Emperor. Anything you wish."

Marchosias smiled wickedly and looked deep into Uvall's eyes, causing him to reflexively look down. "You know, I very rarely have problems with my Consort. I've trained him well, and his behavior is, most of the time, exemplary. But today, since you've shown up, he seems to have picked up a bit of a rebellious streak." Caressing Uvall's shoulder, he lowered his voice, slipping into a hypnotic baritone. "Now, I wonder why it is that a farm boy from Samael'evri could have that effect on him. Tell me who you are, I want the satisfaction of hearing you say it in your own voice."

"I'm… I'm Ezra Thallios. Jessamine's my sister. If you'll double check the membership manifest, you'll see both our names listed…"

He could feel himself succumbing. The power was too strong– if he kept fighting it, he'd end up like Shanna, with no more strength to resist.

"Nonsense. There is no Jessamine and Ezra Thallios. You are Uvall Candon, and that woman's name is Moirah Averil." Marchosias paused for a moment. "Which means that you brought Moirah Averil right to me. Asleep." He turned to Moirah, cupping her cheek with his hand. "What a prize you've brought me, Uvall. I knew that I could turn that… connection my Consort seems to have with you to my advantage."

"It was easy," Uvall said, thanking the Hethe for making him such a good actor. "She was willing to walk right into the belly of the beast as long as there was even a chance of finding the Herald again."

"She'll do much better in my service. As will you, Uvall. You, and Malistrade, and that unfortunate test subject of Andras's… think of the endless possibilities," Marchosias purred, turning back to Uvall, his voice becoming hypnotic once again. "Say you'll be mine. Say that I own you, that you can't get enough of me, that you long to please me."

"I… I belong to…" It was so easy to fall into this. It felt so nice.

Another vision of another room in another facility much like this. Marchosias whispering into Shanna's ear. "You can walk away from this free and safe, as long as you just… let… go."

"I'm the apprentice of Moirah Averil, and I sure as fuck don't belong to you," he said, activating the device.

Moirah jolted awake and gripped the back of Marchosias's neck before he knew what was happening. Using the same bracelet that had woken her up, she delivered a shock powerful enough to paralyze him, sending him crumpling to the ground. "You… you treacherous…"

"It's not going to work, Marchosias. You know what I can do." Moirah kicked him in the stomach, enjoying the way he was unable to defend himself. "I'd wager that I'm one of only three people in the Lathrym you've ever been scared of."

Marchosias hissed in pain. "I'm not scared of–"

"You're scared of consequences. You're scared of the things you can't break, the things you can't control. You are terrified of random elements, and regardless of anyone else's claims to the title? I'm the most unpredictable of them all. And I bet that just makes you wake up in a cold sweat, doesn't it." She kicked him again, snickering quietly as he cried out. "This is nothing compared to the pain you've inflicted upon others, Marchosias. Nothing. Caris Euphrasia, Laurien Adaire, Timothée Solal, Penperin Ilsenthe, Idele Serrion… Shanna Averil."

"I gave Shanna Averil everything," he spat. "You have no right to take her from me."

She bent down, taking Marchosias's ceremonial dagger from its sheath and holding it to his neck. "Tell me where she is, or I will kill you where you lie."

It's not his time yet, Moirah, Uvall spoke into her mind. Malistrade showed me what must come to pass. There's no way it'll be this easy.

It's not like he knows that, Moirah transmitted in return.

"You think I'd tell you, Moirah? You haven't been very nice to me," Marchosias teased with a confident smirk.

She drew the dagger across his neck, enough to draw blood while not doing any serious damage. "Don't test me," she hissed. "I have suffered too much and lost too many to care if I hurt you now."

"Room six," he said, his expression revealing not a trace of fear or worry over the predicament. "But if you think this is over, you're severely–"

"I've heard enough." Dropping the dagger, she charged the bracelet and grabbed the back of his neck again, this time hitting him with enough of a charge to knock the Dekn Master out for at least a few hours. "Dear God of Beetles, I can still feel his hand on my– Where's Shanna?" she asked. "I don't trust a word out of his mouth, I need to be certain."

"Room six, I made sure. Get his keycard." After the brief moment it took for Moirah to get the keycard, and Uvall to switch off the cameras in the hallway and erase the footage from CR 10, the two of them left the room. "If he asks, I incapacitated you," Uvall said casually to Malistrade before heading to room six. Malistrade said nothing in return, but could be seen to smile a bit in pride, despite himself.

***

Gripping the sides of her cot and quietly crying, Shanna Averil looked like a completely different person than she was when Moirah last saw her. "...Aunt Moirah?" she asked weakly, looking up to see Moirah and Uvall enter the room.

Moirah stepped closer, expanding her shield to envelop the other woman and nullify her ability. "Yes, Shanna, it's me. I'm here," she whispered, helping her off of the cot. "I've got you, don't worry. We're going home now."

"Back to Ersis?" she asked, clinging to her rescuer for dear life.

"Back with me."

Moirah and Shanna Averil had both been through so much pain, so much sorrow, just to get to this point, but it was okay. They had each other now, they were a family again. And nothing could change that.