It had been some time since the Harvester willed her Focus into being and given it proper attention. The summoning for the Scythe did not need words like many of her demons did. It only desired the quick offering of a soul fragment and the pulse of a thought for it, and now it hovered before her.
Yet Safrona knew the summoning would be only half the battle.
Unlike some animated artifacts or arsenals of dark esteem, the Scythe did not have voice, but it had personality. Some fragment of vanity contained by the soul that dared to bind and wield it before she had taken it as her own. Now it pulsed with a hot resentment at her lack of attention, braiding a spike of pain to her soul like a wicked thorn as she attempted to touch it.
“Come now,” she chuckled tensely, wincing as she implored it. “I have been ungraciously distracted. I know. I’m terrible. I’ve let you go to waste. But my hands are yours now, yes?” She reached again at the midway apex of its grip at its hilt with no doubt, ready for another soul-spike of pain if the Scythe willed it, but the fuss had dampened with the coercion of her words and promise, allowing her touch finally without ‘retort’. It desired to be used and to be fed, in the end.
Attending to the Scythe required not the heavy hand and spark of a blacksmith, but the gentler precision of a gemcrafter, and Safrona learned enough to make her hands useful in such things. Gently setting the Scythe in her altar’s housing that clamped the weapon in place, she properly cleaned the segmented blade that crowned it, a thick curve she then sharpened to its familiar wickedness with the delicacy of a gem grinder.
The gems embedded to the blade’s framing were out of season, and she felt the Scythe’s rise of excitement as she unveiled the rare blasmephite to replace them. A small collection of rare gems for a rare Scythe that took its own preparation - a revelation that she planned the reworking and refitting, and only needed the time.
After some devoted work, she released the Scythe and left it to float, and felt its dark invigoration in approving pulses. A defined beauty could be given to the Scythe’s ethereal craftsmanship; she had been lucky to find such a ‘weapon’. But this was no simple tool, no sword to be swung, and no means to an end. The Scythe would protest at the ignorance to be used so and would never have given over its bonding, perhaps even choosing to remain lost to time. It was crueler, hungrier than any simple blade, and unmerciful by design as a Warlock’s arsenal tended to be.
And the sinfully vain performed so much better when they felt especially Pretty.
The cemetery was unnaturally quiet—its spirits did not wander tonight, seemingly absent under Drustvar’s full moon. Gnarled trees bowed to neglect, husks of shanties still angling to carve each star from the night sky. Cobwebs sealed each tomb with care, dripping the brine of distant shores. A mist tolled across uneven terrain as ravens gathered at wrought iron, echoing the knell to summon the unseen.
Violet eyes narrowed—catching the same hue of the blade at her leg—to follow a dance of shadows across the ruin. Gusts beckoned from cracked monuments as darkness detached from the boughs, stretching over the hem of her cloak, soft leather shifting as it caught the moonlight.
“Bit dreary for a midnight stroll, innit?” Zane offered, irreverent, hands moving idly along daggers at his waist.
He was only here at Baeldric’s…insistence. The directive of man wholly unfamiliar with the concept of true negotiation, let alone refusal. But the rogue was mostly muscle, there to ensure his employer's interests. Her expertise merely tolerated under a watchful eye. They were not allies. And certainly not friends.
Their past was spare, passing through the seedy taverns of Boralus—a shuffle of contract or distraction. He hadn't taken her seriously at first. Eluvianna had been a mark of a different kind, indifference playing right into his instincts. Entitlement that was more ego than charm. A game she had no intention of entertaining.
But he had come with that same swagger to Baeldric's office:
“Oi, what a sight, fate dealin’ me a lucky hand today—business and pleasure.”
The man was crass, but never more eager for debauchery than coin. Had their business interests not aligned so specifically, she would have declined even a simple arrangement. She had certainly sidestepped many before.
As Cormac’s rival, Zane’s reputation preceded him. An honorless rogue through and through. Their history wasn’t her concern, but his disregard for any thieves' code marked him with distrust to many. He feared Baeldric, but the man didn’t care how the work was done. Only that it was. With Zane, it wasn't pretty, but pesky morals were never a problem.
Vaguely amused by the tension, Baeldric turned in his chair, giving them his back. The audience had concluded.
He waved a hand.
“Just get me the item.”
This was all against her better judgement. And Cormac’s. She could imagine his weary look now. But this was not his business. And the business was indeed tempting.
She hadn't told him, either. So far, the nature of their relationship would only truly earn respect from someone like Zane. And the timing never seemed right—most business discussions required more clothing than none at all. But caution hardly crossed her mind: Zane was a rogue with a weak mind. Trifling with a shadow priest was not in his best interest.
Fresh dirt piled high around several open graves. Her brow furrowed, his comment about the stroll unclaimed.
“Restless spirits hardly make for easy plans.”
“Aye, even my considerable charms fall flat with the dearly departed.”
Zane laughed, patting his belt. “Though can't blame a man for trying, now can we?”
She continued to watch the cemetery.
“Well, we don't seem to have an audience this evening.”
In the distance, a galleon etched into stone caught her eye. It was one of the few markers bearing more than just a name. Beside it, a broken hilt thrust deep into moss.
Without a word, she passed the grounds, cloak lifting at her heels. Kneeling at the excavation, darkness swallowed. Displaced soil held withered shoots struggling to breach.
“Curious that whoever had been here before didn't take it.”
Her fingers hovered over the hilt, surveying the trench…and a distant touch of the Arcane.
“Some sort of protection…”
Zane crossed his arms, allowing her thoughts to drift from him. But he couldn’t help himself.
“It needs a sacrifice, love. Equal power. A dark key for information,” he tested.
His shadow loomed at her back, voice now a warning too late.
“—That's where you come in.”
Before she could grasp the meaning, steel sang through cloth at her shoulder and bit deep into flesh. Unbalanced, she braced a knee to earth. Throwing her shoulder back, he staggered with a rough breath. Her vision fractured, the landscape split and blossomed into bands of haze. Fingers now sinking desperate into the dirt.
A heavy laugh came as Zane steadied. Leaning forward with a reluctant exhale, he swiftly caught her shoulders, easing back an arm reaching for her blade.
His mouth was at her ear, a whisper sharpened.
“No, no, no, no...We all play our part—let's not ruin it, now.”
He squeezed the gash across her shoulder, drawing a pained gasp. Her head tilted as though seeing the wound would somehow help her understand.
He quirked his lips, nodding. “Simple trick, really. But it’s not what’ll be killin’ ye.”
Then, with a swift shove, he sent her tumbling into the grave. Limbs clawed through loose dirt before she crashed, limp, into the coffin below. Rotting wood cracked beneath her weight as soil poured in around her, ragged coughs ripping from her throat. Movement was slow—wading through the spin of poison, just enough coherence left to see his shadow pass.
A grin bloomed in the moonlight as Zane’s elbows folded over bent knees, low enough that she might have seen him—if she still could.
He let out an amused sigh. Watched as she shifted, weighted by pain and hallucination. Struggled. Almost pitied the state he would be leaving her in.
Then, finding no sympathy to spare, two fingers flicked to his brow in a sharp salute. “You've been a great help, m'lady.”
Her vision blurred and spun as the wooden lid quickly followed with a whump, pinning her against the bottom of the coffin. The click of his tongue carried down through the timber. His words already gritting her teeth.
“What a waste of a lovely evening. Not how I usually entertain such a fine lady.”
“Should've played along, love.”
Nails drove into wood, pounding in rhythm with her fading consciousness.
“Wish I could say it wasn't personal.”
Loose earth thudded over the lid, a rhythm slowly muffling into a ritual of silence and darkness.
She didn’t know how long they’d been standing out there in the early hours of the morning. The sun had not yet begun to rise, there was no paying witness to the spread of dawn as the world was splashed in light and colour. At least not yet. For as much as she had oft found herself in situations where she simply wanted time to stop, she wondered if this was one of them. A part of her did. If time stopped, they could simply stand there together in silence for… forever. She’d never have to say anything. She’d never have to start diving into the complicated mess that her heart and its contents truly was. But in the moment of their silence, however long that might have been, it was perfect.
…Wasn’t it?
Would have been if it weren’t for the knotting apprehension that was eating and chewing and consuming Laeynna’s insides. Was it noticeable? Probably not. She had, for years, become accustomed to simply holding everything inside of herself. That had, of course, done terrible things to her. Everyone else did too, though, didn’t they? Wasn’t that just a normal thing people did? Bottle everything up, never let it out, just slowly and slowly grow more resigned and angry and upset. She was almost positive that was virtuallythe definition of being one of their kind. She’d always had such a grim way of looking at it all, though.
Peridot gaze carefully flicked to her right just in time to watch fishing line and lure hit the surface of the water. The sound she heard first, breaking into her self-perceived silence, and she watched as ripples started small and grew larger and larger. People were like that a little, weren’t they? Like ripples. They all started as a singular, individual piece on the playboard in the cosmologically vast thing called ‘life’ and over time and circumstance, that piece became more than it was.
Today, you are more than you were yesterday, and thus for you, my love continues to grow. Tomorrow, you will be more than you are today and thus for you, my love shall continue to grow.
The words echoed between her ears and though she tried to ignore it, she felt the cold stab of her worry, wrapped into a single grand mass. Its clutches pressed along the small of her back, like sharp fingers that grappled along her. Pulling, pulling, pulling. Where was it going to take her? She didn’t want to see. The flutter of panic began to rise from her insides. The intensity of her breath, which had been nothing at all, suddenly shifted—quickening and just as sharp as the touch had been.
“I can’t imagine you invited me out here to just stand around in silence.” There was the telltale adjust of her posture and the soft leathers she was donning on the very dark morning. “On the other hand, it’s you we’re talking about, so that might be your intention after all.”
“Sorry—” Laeynna’s response was almost immediate. It felt practically like a muscle memory, words sitting on the tip of her tongue. Yet, it was stupid to think that ‘sorry’ was going to fix anything. Especially when it came to her life’s reflection. All of the feelings that had begun to swell to something she wouldn’t be able to control were hastily wrapped up and shoved further deep into the darkest parts of her person. “Of course I did not invite you along to say… nothing. I just… I have not known what to say. I keep thinking about it. For days now before this one, I went through all of the words I could use and none of them feel right. I thought perhaps I could practise what I wanted to convey, but even that—”
“It’d be really impersonal if you did that,” her sister chimed in, a hint of amusement in her thin voice. “I get it. I do. But instead of trying to be perfect, why don’t you just… I don’t know. Be you. It doesn’t have to be an art piece. It doesn’t have to be grand. It doesn’t even have to make that perfect sense that you seem to be obsessed with. You’re not being evaluated, Laeynna. Not everyone is going to do that. Maybe relax a little.” Ankalei lifted a hand and she gestured out to the lake in front of them, crystal blue clear water that they could see right down to the bottom of, teeming with fish. “The fish are definitely relaxed. Do your best fish impression.”
The characteristic gentle furrow of her brow ensued and Laeynna looked between her twin and the water indicated. “...Glub… glub?” she asked somewhat dumbly as her lips scrunched up into what she imagined a fish mouth’s might have.
She was rewarded with a laugh and it echoed in the quiet otherwise around them. “That’s pretty good, actually. ‘Glub glub’ indeed.” Grinning, with the same hand, Ankalei motioned for her to continue. “Humour’s a pretty good start. Use that energy. It’ll help you get out everything that you feel like you need to get out. And—” As she looked over to Laeynna, her blue eyes found her counterpart’s with ease. “If it’s too hard, don’t rehash it.”
Laeynna simply stared at her for a moment or two, the similar dumbfounded expression drawn across her fae-like features. Then she moved her gaze back onto where her fishing line met the water, untouched by the lake’s plethora of denizens. An idle thought rolled around in the back of her mind about having brought the wrong bait, but it was merely a moment before it was replaced with the matter at hand. Drawing in a deep breath, her thoughts still spun, continuing to wonder where she should begin. Yet Ankalei’s reminder had been needed.
She wasn’t being evaluated. Not everyone was going to do that. She didn’t always need to stand on ceremony or expect the worst of others. Like so many of her other habits, it was going to be another difficult one to overcome.
The same breath released and Laeynna struggled to find her voice, a gentle little waver in her tone, as if she hadn’t quite committed herself to the words just yet. “I took everything from you.”
“Laeynna—”
“Please,” the dark-haired elf began. “Let me say this in my way. It is the only way I know how to.” From the corner of her eye, she could see her sister wearing a somehow softer, gentler pull of her expression. If she was distracted from her thoughts too much, she wondered if she’d still have the courage to continue. “I… took everything from you. I wish… I wish I knew why I did it. I have spent years thinking and thinking and thinking about it. It is not something I can undo. I wish that I could, Ankalei. There are… so many things I would... if I could… go back and do differently. But there is nothing in my life I regret more than what I did to you. I wish that I could give you my life.”
She shook her head, shaken breath falling out of her, and she could just scarcely feel the gentle tremor in her arms, as if the weight of her fishing pole was daring to become too much for her to endure. It was not… grand or over the top. As her sister had said, maybe it didn’t need to be. Maybe all that was needed was for her to be straight forward and honest. Both of them could go over everything with a fine-tooth comb, but what good would that really do? That was then and this was now.
Her sister was quiet, undoubtedly thinking in her own way about how to approach the matter. Perhaps surprised, even, that Laeynna had been willing to take the sisterly advice she’d gotten. Still housing that gentle smile, however, there was sincerity, a warmth of older days, and a sadness all combined into one, showing that even a curve of the mouth was not always as simple as it appeared to be. Nothing in life seemed to be, really. Complexities abound.
“I know,” Ankalei finally began, her weight shifting from one foot to the other, causing the moist dirt beneath her boots to adjust as well. “I know that you regret it. I know… that things have changed a lot. For both of us. And I know that you worry. Not just about what happened that day or how I’m handling it, but about everything.” When she looked over to Laeynna, she shook her head, “You don’t need to worry so much. Unless you’ve got a miniature member of the Bronze that you’re carrying around in your stuff—highly unlikely—you don’t need to get caught up in trying to revisit the past.”
Her hand lifted, covered in ashen colour, damaged nails from normal wear and tear and her poor habits when she lived, and she gestured around them. The forest, in its perpetual autumn, was beautiful. Trees of plated gold and licking flames of orange and red, creating canopies that looked as royal as the growing reconstruction of their fair city.
“We all want to do things differently,” she continued, then. “All of us. We can’t and we begrudgingly accept that. Because we can’t, it’s important to do the best within our ability each day.” As she began to reel in her line, her chin dipped. “None of us can live in the past. We shouldn’t. The present and the future are in front of us. Maybe not the way we envisioned, but that doesn’t make it any less worthy a present and future to experience. You get what I’m saying, Laeynna?”
Laeynna watched her sister finish retrieving her line. As Ankalei set down her pole, nice and orderly, she gestured to her twin and it didn’t take long for her to pick up the hint. Following in suit, she accepted their loss of fish with what elegance she could, and in the minutes that came after, her pole sat with the other. She joined Ankalei in the grass not far from the lakeshore and as they sat, Ankalei offered her lap, guiding her sister’s head of sable hair to it.
As Ankalei began to carefully card her fingers through the ends of dark hair, Laeynna felt a soft little lump form in her throat, something she tried to swallow down, though it did nothing and she was unsurprised. “...I do,” she agreed. “I have been living in the past for a long time. For so long that sometimes… I forgot what it was like to live in the present.”
“I know,” Ankalei reassured her with the same gentle smile. “Sometimes I’m like that, too. For a long time I thought the only place for me in the world was the Order. Thought if I couldn’t make it there, there wasn’t a point to anything. But uh… that’s not really true. You know that guy, from the clinic. Shit—what’s his name. Veilos? I don’t even call him that.”
“Veilos Dai'goa.”
“That’s the one. Right.” Ankalei carefully shifted the way Laeynna’s hair framed her face in its overabundance of waves and… well. Length, in general. It practically drowned her lap as she was really looking at it. “I don’t remember the exact wording he used, but there was a night a bunch of us were sitting in one of the city’s taverns. All around a table. Well—most of us anyway. He brought up a good point. That in my case, I don’t have to be just a soldier. Wasn’t just him, either. Everyone there had good guidance.”
A pause ensued where ordinarily a breath might have been taken. Ankalei emulated the sensation, but even Laeynna knew that it was only an emulation. Something to make her seem like she was one of the living. Maybe habitual or a subconscious reaction made by the company she kept.
Laeynna nodded slowly as she looked up to her sister, “I… noticed that. I mean, that they are…” Awkwardly she paused and then she smiled somewhat sheepishly, light and subdued, as if she was afraid to let it become anything more. “They are good people. I like them a lot.”
“...Hm. Look at that,” her twin looked fond then. “You admitting that you like people.” In a way, her tone had betrayed just a tint of jest, but then, there was a subtle shift in her expression to something a touch more serious. Thoughtful. “I don’t think you realise it, but you’ve changed since you met them. The clinic. The bakery. I’ve been watching you for a long time. You aren’t the same person. You’re more than you were.”
Laeynna felt uncertain then. Conflicted. Not because of the notion that her sister had been looking after her, but because as ever when something like praise entered the situation, she didn’t know how to handle it. Instinct told her to refuse, to shove it elsewhere, and perhaps to pretend she’d never heard it to begin with. Compliments about her person were still difficult to hear and just as difficult to accept.
“...Mayhaps,” she finally agreed with a quiet little sigh. It wasn’t exactly acceptance, but it was something like it. Better than nothing considering she had often protested otherwise or used less than shining words to describe her person.
“Bet you’re wishing Andy was here, huh? He’d probably lighten everything up with some of that humour of his.”
Even as Ankalei’s face broke into a grin, Laeynna’s expression nearly darkened. She tried so hard to avoid him coming up into conversation. Just days before, Junarra had shown to the bakery dressed as him and Laeynna had felt so emotionally conflicted that in one moment, she wanted to laugh because the notion was so incredibly sweet and then in the same breath, she’d nearly burst into tears. For all she wanted to answer, she couldn’t bring herself to use words to do so. Instead, her gaze moved off of the twin who leaned over her and back onto the surface of the lake, thinking it was so much more still than her insides were.
“Yeah… That’s what I thought,” Ankalei observed with a slow nod. “When’s he coming back?”
Laeynna shook her head, “I hardly know. He—” For a moment, they stopped in her throat, trapped by that lump that had formed their previously. Was it her imagination or had it grown? “He has not written me since he left. I write to him and receive nothing. Does he even get my letters? Does he even want to?” He wouldn’t have abandoned Rags and that she knew. Did it mean, then, that something had happened? Maybe he’d realised in his absence away just how unworthy she was of him. Maybe he’d realised in their time apart that he hadn’t loved her. Or he’d simply fallen out of love with her. Out of sight, out of mind, no? Her hands lifted and as she felt her expression contort and twist, she covered her face to hide behind.
“Hey, hey—” Ankalei stopped fiddling with her hair and she reached down to touch her sister’s hands. “Hey, it’s okay. Come here. It’s okay.” Helping guide Laeynna up from where she withdrew into her proverbial shell, she pulled her twin into her arms and embraced her tightly.
I miss him so much. The entire world feels dark without him here.
Every time he got mentioned, she was afraid she’d start crying. She felt like she kept lying, though in reality, she didn’t have the answers. Didn’t know how long he was going to be gone for. Didn’t know how he was doing. Didn’t know if he’d gotten himself into danger. Didn’t know if he’d come back in one piece. And the more time she spent thinking about it, which she did plenty of in her solitude, the more she worried and the more she expected the worst.
“I’m sorry—” she murmured into her sister’s shoulder.
Ankalei shook her head, carefully, soothingly drawing a hand up and down Laeynna’s back. “No, no,” she began. “Don’t do that. It’s not a weakness to show feelings, Laeynna.” Resting her forehead to her twin’s temple, she dropped the volume of her voice. “He’s gonna come back. I don’t know the guy well, but if you’d seen the guy I saw when he found out you were missing, you’d get it. He’s not going to let anything stand between the two of you. He’d claw his way back to you if he had to.”
Whether she knew that or not, Laeynna had to wonder. Had Ankalei seen something in him that she hadn’t? Something that she, perhaps, had been blind to? Something she’d been unwilling to let herself see? She wanted to believe Ankalei was right. Her heart wanted to believe it with such a ferocity that she almost couldn’t contain herself. But… what if she was wrong? What if she suddenly developed hope and the worst came to pass?
…She didn’t want to think like that.
As Ankalei drew back, she studied her sister carefully, taking in every feature. Guiding some of that dark hair back behind long, graceful ears, her own resolve strengthened, perhaps. Maybe in recognition that Laeynna needed someone to be her supportive tower. The role of the older twin. Ankalei had been made for that.
“I think…” she began, words betraying a depth of thought that had likely lingered and welled for some time. “Do you remember when we were younger, there was something you wanted to do. Before you got caught up in Dad’s things. Do you remember, Laeynna?” Fingertips gently bunched up tresses of dark hair and the focus of her stare sought recognition. “Remember that. The person you wanted to be.”
Held so securely by her sister, Laeynna knew what Ankalei spoke of. She’d never really discussed it at length. In fact, she’d only made mention of it once or twice and such moments had been brief.
Laeynna began to shake her head, “I… I would not even know where to begin. I am much too old to begin—”
“No. I won’t accept that,” Ankalei broke in, not giving her twin a chance to protest. “You shouldn’t either. Find a tutor. Someone you can learn from. Start reading about it. Start practising. Start studying. It’ll give you something to do.”
Freeing a heavy sigh that did nothing to relieve the weight atop her chest and her shoulders, Laeynna shook her head. “No. I… That time has passed. That possibility ended years ago. I made that impossible.”
Ankalei’s hands carefully dropped from the round face of her counterpart’s and to her shoulders. The touch there gentle until it wasn’t. She gripped, perhaps tighter than she’d meant to. Just enough for Laeynna to feel the ache in how she was held. “I didn’t die to watch you wither away, Laeynna.” With just enough force as if she could jostle her sister’s poorer thoughts out of her, Ankalei carefully shook her. “Just because you don’t want to see it doesn’t mean others can’t. Or that they won’t. I…”
For some moments, she quieted, as if considering her approach. Then she found herself shaking her head. “Zaihne didn’t give me the details about what happened down there. But he did tell me it was serious. Based on the stories given by the others the expedition recovered, I can take a guess and I’m probably not far off the mark.” Looking her sister over again with scrutinising eye, Ankalei rested a hand along the curve of her neck, thumb passing over the throat. “I want to tell you to get looked at. That you need help. That you can’t keep trying to do everything alone. And it’s fine if you don’t want me to be involved. But if you feel like you took everything from me, the closest thing I have to having anything is you. You’re what I have left. It’s your responsibility to make sure it stays that way.”
Laeynna met her sister’s severe expression, somehow sharp and gentle at the same time, and she wallowed in muted thought. Perhaps she’d never considered it before, the idea that if Ankalei felt like she had so little, she still had her sister. She still had her life’s reflection. Regardless of how things had come to be as they were in the prominent present, they still had one another. Despite the way Laeynna had deliberately built a wall between them, no amount of running could save her from the truth. Ankalei was an animated representation of so many of her regrets, but in that same body, there was an undeniable validity to her sister’s claims. She hadn’t been the same since the City of Threads.
Dropping her glowing gaze onto her hands that somehow seemed more frail than she even knew herself to be, her insides swirled with uncertainty and a desire for the same strength and resolve that her twin wielded. She didn’t have to be Ankalei. She never had to be. She could get away with just being herself, as long as she allowed it. The only person who had stood in her way was herself.
…But how was she to begin? It all felt so daunting.
“It’s okay to be scared,” she heard her sister say. “And it’s okay not to know. But it’s not okay for you to lock yourself in this prison you’ve made.” When Ankalei took her hands, Laeynna lifted her gaze again, words on the very tip of her tongue, more protests, but she wasn’t given the opportunity to say them. Not when Ankalei continued in that authoritative voice. “You’re a botanist, Laeynna, but you’re not a flower. You’re not an experiment. You’re not a poison. Not to me. Not to Mom and Dad. Not to your friends. Not to Andy. You’re so much more than that. Than all of that.”
The sum of all of her parts, good and bad, and more.
“So you owe it to yourself more than anyone else,” Ankalei kept her trained focus with a short little nod.
“Open a book and start there. Everything else will fall into place.”
“You ever seen that woman so much as stumble?” The fruit merchant strolled up to the potter’s stall and made conversation, his eyes across the market alleyway and focused on the alchemical booth across from them. He groaned without notice as he leaned on the pole that held up the potter’s awning.
“Nah. Not once.” The potter leaned on her wooden counter, eyes caught on the laughing chemist.
“I saw her hop down from the top of her vardo once, like it was a damned ballet. Shoulda worn a tutu.” The apple in his hand was given a spin and a bounce for emphasis.
“I think she used to work in the ballet.”
“I watched her. She did.”
“You never went to the ballet!” The potter scoffed at her companion, giving him a disbelieving look.
“I did so.”
“All right, all right.” She soothed with a placating tone. “You went to the ballet.”
“It was swan lake. She wasn’t the principal dancer, though. Had a solo, though. And I saw her duet with the fella that’s the principal man, now.”
“I believe that. She’s too short for a principal dancer.” Her eyes narrowed, thinking about things.
“But she’s the most graceful dancer you ever saw. She’d make principal if she tried. You just can’t deny that sort of ability.”
“Since when do you know dancing?”
He puffed up again, indignant once more. “I was classically trained when I was young.”
“That was centuries ago now.”
“True.”
“Still. I guess you know more than I give you credit for, old man.” She laughed good naturedly, seeing him give her a grinning, slightly creaky, plié.
They chuckled and turned to gossip more directly with each other and both were startled when a moment later the alchemist had rushed up, breathless and beaming with her dimples charmingly deep in her cheeks. Her own customer was watching, mouth open and baffled about why he’d been so suddenly abandoned.
Befuddled, the whole gaggle of people in their section of the Bazaar morning markets, watched, as the alchemist swept into a perfectly elegant révérence bow toward the merchants.
She laughed and invited him to dance with her a moment, teasing him and winking, "On Tuesdays, we wear tutus."
Khaeris and the fruit seller--and the apple--laughed and twirled together easily, and for a moment, he forgot he was old.
How long had it been now—months? Time no longer moved forward; it bled. The ache remained, crawling beneath his skin like rot, and with it came the slow erosion of care. He no longer bothered to maintain the elegance he once demanded of himself.
Leo sat in front of the mirror, in the room he shared with his best friend, GiGi. They had spent more time together lately, but even that comfort couldn’t reach the hollowed-out place inside him. He stared at the reflection in silence.
What looked back at him was not the man he once was.
Tired. Unkempt. Drained of all luster. The refined image he’d once guarded so fiercely had collapsed into something raw and unfamiliar. The past few weeks had been an endless theater of pretending—charming smiles, careful posture, polite conversation. But behind closed doors, this was who he had become.
He leaned closer to the glass, pulling at his skin, grimacing at the sight.
“Pathetic. Hideous. Worthless.”
The words rolled from his tongue like venom—an incantation of self-loathing. He’d begun to repeat them daily. They were a lullaby for the creature inside his chest, the one that twisted and stirred, hungry for ruin.
It wanted out.
It wanted to destroy.
And gods, how badly he wanted to let it.
He imagined it: giving in fully, tearing through everything that dared to exist near his pain. Letting the world burn just to match the wreckage within him. But something—some fragile tether—kept him from collapsing entirely. Not out of hope. Out of fear.
With a snarl, he balled his fist and drove it forward—
The mirror exploded beneath the blow, shards flying like tiny daggers, scattering across the floor. His reflection lay in pieces at his feet, broken just as he felt inside.
With a ragged sigh, he pushed himself from the chair, stepping toward the ornate mirror across the room—an oval of gold, encrusted with glittering stones. GiGi’s mirror. It had become his salvation and his curse.
He stared into it, and slowly, the ruin faded. His features twisted and smoothed into the mask the world was allowed to see—flawless, composed, radiant. A lie, but a necessary one.
Only once the illusion was complete did he move, drifting from the room like a ghost wearing borrowed flesh.
"How can any of our people have given themselves over to such cruelty?" Aneyah asked. She spoke in hushed tones as she sifted through the recovered belongings of a Nightfall cultist.
Theras shook his head, the rasp of whetstone on the edge of his glaive offered in reply before the younger man spoke, "Father would say they are fools who have looked too deeply into the Void. That they believe its lies, and have become something else."
The Arathi's lips turned down at their corners, fingers tracing the delicate ornamentation of the cultist's befouled tinderbox, "But he is not here, is he? Tell me what you think, Ther."
The whetstone stopped for a moment. In the weeks they had spent rooting out Order of Night activity among the Sureki remnants, the cleric had gained his trust. Only in recent days had she started calling him something so familiar, and it still caught him off guard.
"You know how a lynx gets when it gets backed into a corner? I think they're scared." The ranger added quietly, "I don't think they're doing what they're doing out of malice. I think they're just...so, so frightened."
The tinderbox flipped open, revealing a darkened shard of crystal embedded within. Aneyah shuddered, clapping it shut once more, "What fear could do this? Could..." She choked. Months had passed since Wenren's murder, but the wound was still fresh, the embers the cleric once held within her breast yet warm.
"People will do a lot to avoid facing the unknown alone. If Renilash really is approaching, like you think, Aneyah, they...probably don't have the heart to face it alone." He eyed the edge of his weapon with satisfaction and stood, placing it with great care of its rack.
"Ther? If something should happen? If I ever lack the heart to..." She rasped a sigh, her shoulders trembling with it, "Please do not let me face it alone?"
The young Dawnwing nodded solemnly, though he found himself, as often, at a loss for words.
The greenhouse was wrapped in the gentle thrum of rain, the heavy scent of loam and oleander clinging to the warm air. Zenith stood motionless near the threshold, but he wasn’t really here, not entirely. He was lost in a memory.
The light was softer then, warmer. The lanterns had a brighter glow, and so had his heart. Beside him moved Ladoran, sleeves rolled to the elbow, damp strands of dark blond hair falling into his eyes, a mischievous smirk always half-formed. He was holding a small pot of foxglove, examining the cluster of delicate purple bells. "Tell me something, At what point did you look at a row of deadly plants and think, ‘Yes, this will be my sanctuary’?"
Zenith didn’t look up from where he was pruning the crossing branches of some wolfsbane. His long hair was tied back, eyes focused, “They don’t pretend to be anything other than what they are. There’s honesty in that.”
Ladoran raised a brow. “And people?”
Zenith glanced up then towards his husband, meeting his gaze with that quiet intensity only the dead and those who have walked beside them carry. “People lie,” he said simply. “Even to themselves.”
Ladoran laughed, a warm sound that cut through the heavy stillness. “You’re too dramatic to be so good with plants.”
Zenith’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “That’s because you haven’t seen what they do when they’re angry.”
Ladoran stepped closer, setting the foxglove down as he knelt beside the other man. He touched Zenith’s smooth cheek lightly, grounding the moment. "You know what I see when you talk like this?" he asked, voice lower as he pressed his forehead to Zenith’s temple. "There’s a darkness around you that would make others turn away, but I find it draws me closer, like a moth to a flame. You’re beautiful. In that tragic, gothic way.”
Zenith turned to face him fully, something tender and unguarded crossing his expression. “You’re the only one who’s ever said that like it was a good thing.”
Ladoran smiled. “It was never not a good thing.”
The greenhouse hummed around them with quiet life while rain continued to trace its paths down the glass above. Between the rows of poisonous bloom, a serenity settled, strange and private. Cruel perhaps, to any other eye, but to them, this was peace.
That was then.
Now, Zenith stood alone. The memory slipped back into the shadows as he ran a gloved hand gently along the matured foxglove, its color more vivid than ever. “Still thriving,” he murmured, the faintest smile at the scarred edges of his lips. “You’d like that.”
And though the plants did not answer, the air around him seemed to pulse softly with presence, alive and listening.
