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hothian-snow · 3 years

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Sparagmos: First Draft

To celebrate me reaching 32K with my WIP, here’s a bunch of drabbles which inspired the initial first draft. I might reuse one or two scenes, but not the stuff with Darth Zhorrid. Both Yen and her master has changed a lot through my second revision of the fic too, and so has my writing style. Enjoy!

Darth Kharopos knew damn well that he was intimidating. He must be, lest all the other Darths devour him whole. He was also acutely aware of the effect he had on Yennevyr. It was almost amusing, the sudden change in her posture, her back snapping straight the moment he stepped into the room. Her deference towards him, the soft words and lowered eyes. Was she eager to please, or eager to survive?

From her quick feet and mind, he thought it was the latter. Self-preservation was a necessary trait among the cutthroat Sith, but for his apprentices - his legacy - he wanted more. He thought with her keen eyes and her outsider’s perspective, she’d be able to see the Empire for what it was. To see beyond the rabble, beyond the rat’s race and see what truly mattered. Instead, her eyes were puffy and pink, the next morning they met during saber practice.

Pathetic.

And it wasn’t a one off occasion too. Every time she’d come back from a particularly grueling mission, her mind was elsewhere, her blows lacking the conviction he’d expect from an acolyte worthy of being called his apprentice.

Drawing his attention back to the current practice, he swung a saber at her, the saber deflected mid-swing by a well-placed parry. He stepped aside, and noted how her feet were firmly planted into the ground, readying the body to absorb the weight of a heavy thrust or jab. A defensive stance- again. Must he truly hurt her for her to finally switch to the offense?

The tip of her saber was shaking, her stamina running low.

With the ease of swatting a fly, Darth Kharopos knocked the saber out of her hands. Scowling, he walked away, not pausing to glance back..

*******

Something was different. Clearly, something had changed.

Yet, it was less of a change or a growth and more of a pot bubbling over, the pressure and the heat exploding, the fragile cage of a badly crafted glass teapot cracking, its jagged shards flying into the wall before smashing into sharp little pieces.

Something flared in her eyes and her single red blade came to life, slashing in his direction.

He stepped right and striked left. She jumped back, moving like a spooked jungle-cat, before bouncing back forward with an unexpected speed and thrusted her saber towards his form. He blocked her, catching her blade with the end of his own. Her stance buckled under his strength, and so she slid her saber away but not before suddenly twisting her grips - shifting form, right in the heat of combat, inches away from her enemy - and plunging the blade into where he stood. Darth Kharopos spun his double-bladed saber, creating a quick shield that deflected away Yennevyr’s weapon.

The weapon flew out of her hand.

He felt her clearly. Frustration. Loathing. Wrath.

Their force bond was never this strong, but now he could feel her closer than ever. The way her heart raced, the blood thumping in her ears, her ragged breath and barely held back sobs- it was a dam broken loose, her force presence like a whirlpool throwing the cold serenity of his mind into chaos. Decades of careful restraint and calculating control kept him from drowning in the waves of her emotions.

Yennevyr, with her lithe form and dancer physique, sent a butterfly kick towards his head. Darth Kharopos reeled back. He could’ve blocked her again, that he was more than capable of- but his senses were screaming, alarm bells ringing.

With that distraction - that uncharacteristic distraction, that daring, was so different from the cautious acrobat who used to dance in and out of his range - she summoned her saber back, the hilt smacking into her palm with a loud slap. Fluid like water, she leaped and swung the saber like a guillotine axe above his head. Eyes wide, Darth Kharopos raised his saber up to form a cover, digging his feet into the sand below as the impact hit him. Yennevyr was not relenting.

Her eyes were scarlet. Those amber orbs now glowed red, the color looking like freshly spilt blood against her snow-pale skin. It reminded him of the first time he saw a total lunar eclipse: the moon bled red, as if someone had stabbed its white soil and the wound began gushing glistening ruby.

He let her hit him.

*******

Despair was an emotion Darth Kharopos never experienced, not truly and certainly not personally. Whether that was an indication of mental strength or privilege, he didn’t know.

Lord Atala’s death hit them all hard; the empty space where his mother once stood still felt like a void. Darth Kratais second marriage with Darth Labrys could never fill that gnawing, missing hole, but the woman’s hands were tender and her gaze was warm and when she whispered words of comfort to him, it felt like he had a mother again. Her presence had gentled his father’s severe disposition, and when she brought about his half-sister - Tatyan - into the world, the younger Sith Pureblood felt like a tiny bird fluttering in his palms. She truly was worth protecting.

When his father passed, it felt like a bad dream had come again.

Except this time, mother was grieving and Tatyan was bawling and they all cried together.

“Never show weakness in front of outsiders”, Darth Labrys said. “But here, we’re family.”

Because of family, he’d never known despair.

He was used to inflicting it upon others, though.

Hearing prisoners beg for death, attempting to gouge their eyes out as if the act could wipe away the vision of seeing their loved ones writhing as lightning tore through them, was something he’d grown accustomed to. He saw it coming like a holofilm in slow-motion: the moment where a war veteran’s mind was about to break, their will and determination ready to be shattered into dust at just a single jab. He always made sure their descent into madness was quick- no need to prolong the suffering. Genuine torture was only reserved for the worst of his enemies. It was satisfying, forcing some arrogant Republic general to their knees and making them scream, or exposing some tough Jedi for the weakling they were, like ripping open a bandage to reveal the ugly pus beneath.

How then, had he become so numb to the agony of others, that he missed seeing the same signs in his apprentice?

She was in despair, so upset she wished she’d died.

The circular burns on her arms looked like the ones he was used to inflicting upon Republic foes. It was an easy interrogation technique: stamping a recently deactivated lightsaber onto bare skin, the still-hot metal like a sizzling brand. And when he gazed into her eyes (oh sweet Yennevyr, when was the last time he truly looked at her?), they were dead. Empty glass orbs that had given up on life, if only her heart would just stop beating and give up on her too.

“Do I disappoint you, my lord?”

There was no mockery, no snippy retort in her voice, only pain.

*******

“I’ve always wondered how the law would work out in the long run,” Darth Labrys said, her voice lilting through the holocall. She was referring to the law to bolster Imperial ranks with worthy slaves and aliens, the law which also applied to the Sith. “You can’t expect a slave or a foreigner with no background, no exposure to Sith culture or history to integrate smoothly into Sith society without intervention, much less demand top performances from them.”

Not to mention the consequence of overwhelming power suddenly awakening within someone never taught to wield it, Darth Kharopos thought. The dark side was intoxicating, and one could lose themselves to everything from bloodlust to misery.

“I’m not advising you to go easy on her… but do be understanding, Tyrkos.”

His mother warned that even with the best medicine or therapy available, it would take time, and heavens knew that the Sith journey was already difficult enough, requiring one to fall apart and be reborn from the ashes, to kill who you were for what you could become.

Trust between Sith, especially master and apprentices, was rare. Now, he doubted she’d ever place her faith in him beyond hoping to one day take his place.

*******

Is this how I die? Darth Kharopos thought.

Every breath felt like hot knives stabbing his lungs. The rebreather was dying on him, for he could taste soot in his mouth. Collapsed against the cool floor of his hideout, back leaning against a bloodied wall, his apprentice loomed over him. How embarrassing, for his apprentice to see him so helpless.

“What’s the meaning of this?” she cried out. “Master!”

He thought he’d take that secret to the grave, to ensure that the fallout was minimal. Sith Pureblood, heir to the Rosokor family, involved in a light-side conspiracy. Should he be exposed, the Dark Council would have his mother’s and sister’s heads.

He pleaded for her to understand.

And if she didn’t, he wouldn’t blame her.

Her left hand clutched his holocommunicator where the damning evidence of his treachery laid, and in her right hand was the scarlet lightsaber, poised for execution. In the months under his tutelage, she’d grown into a stunningly beautiful Sith assassin indeed.

He closed his eyes.

“Tell me how to help.”

In shock, his eyes snapped open.

Her eyebrows were scrunched up but whether in anxiety or concern, he could not tell. There was a flush in her cheeks, and wildness in her eyes. Against his every expectation, Yennevyr chose mercy. She chose a chance at the Light. She chose him.

Master, did you not choose me, on Korriban? You saw something in me. I see something in you, too.

*******

Yennevyr hated mopping up blood. She had watched her late father’s maids do it all the time, his underlings scrubbing a crime scene clean. She later played the role of the domestic servant, doing the same back when she was enslaved under the Hutts, whether it be with spilled drinks or bloodstains from a brawl. She wasn’t afraid of blood- the coppery stench just smelled revolting.

Her master bled liters, the liquid forming sticky pools beneath his broken body. Sealing the wound wasn’t too difficult once she found the medkit, although her clumsy handiwork would definitely leave a scar. What was even more concerning was her master’s breathing, the fact that it sounded agonizingly labored and worryingly irregular.

With effort, they managed to haul their way to the hideout’s medical wing before he slipped into unconsciousness.

When his armor was stripped away and it was only his form in plain robes on the simple bed, her master looked more exhausted than she’d ever seen him. Heavy fatigue was written all over his sleeping face. It reminded her of those times she woke up especially early to see the Kaasian sunrise, the soft orange peaking through grey, stormy clouds. Some days, she deduced how master had been running some secret errands the night before, and she’d spot him limping home, his feet dragging, with an uncharacteristic slouch burdening his usually proud posture. Logically, she knew her master was no more or less a person than her, but to glimpse him tired and worn out had shocked her.

She spent the night by his side, the implications of her actions becoming clearer with each passing moment.

To reform the Sith society from inside out, she thought. A lofty dream. When did I become such a cynic?

With curious eyes, she glanced at her master’s resting form, the sound of his still ragged breathing filling the room. She wouldn’t even need a lightsaber; all she had to do was wrap her hands around his neck, and squeeze. She wondered if suffocation felt like sleep.

Oh, will I ever see you this vulnerable again?

Instead, she gingerly placed a palm on top of his limp hand, entangling her fingers with his. His hand was warm.

*******

After the suspicious death of Darth Jadus, Darth Zhorrid - in her sick ways - sought to consolidate her position as a Dark Lord of the Sith.

As if the Council would stand her, Yen scoffed. After they’ve sucked her dry of whatever knowledge Jadus may have passed down to his daughter, she’s dead.

It was no secret that her master disagreed with many of the actions taken by Darth Jadus, but he’d always respected the chain of command, bowing whenever the Dark Councillor requested his presence, amicable before his superiors. This time, however, Darth Zhorrid asked for her master and would not expect anything less than absolute submission.

“Wait outside, Yennevyr. Do not interfere no matter what happens.”

Many may claim force cloaking to be an act of defense, like the Jedi Shadows who’d rather sneak past their foes than needlessly spill blood. Perhaps she truly was like that, in the past. Eager to run, to dart in and out unseen. Conflict-avoidant.

But a cloak was also a tool, like a viper’s green scales that blended into the grass, obscuring fangs and venom. To take it a step further: force cloaking was manipulation. It was to force upon someone a false visage, to bend the mind of onlookers to the point of them rejecting the evidence of their own eyes, denying the existence of a sword pointed at their head. On Korriban, Yen had figured out how to twist her force cloak, inverting it so that her opponents’ visions were plunged into darkness and the world became invisible to them.

It only took hearing her master scream for the first time for her cloak to become a dress.

The scent of ozone reeked through the semi-closed office door. By god, no matter how many times in the past she’d angrily fumed - fantasizing of sweet it would be to give her master a taste of his own medicine - actually hearing her master who had just barely recovered from his previous ordeal now screaming under the powers of some bratty Darth who probably did not even deserve that title...

Yen’s hands curled into a fist, and she was surprised by the anxious lump that formed in her throat. She took in a sharp inhale and when she breathed out, the Force coiled around her like serpentine tendrils, slick and cool. Shadows rested around her shoulder blades like a fashionista’s scarf.

Or for her enemies, a noose.

When her master stumbled out of Darth Zhorrid’s office, a hand clutching at his side, she took the opportunity to peer into the slit of the half-opened office door and caught the Dark Councillor’s sadistic gaze. Yen gave a smile.

*******

Yen had always been good at force cloaking. But this time, instead of projecting the lie of invisibility, she’d chosen an illusion- a glamour, a mirage. To project something false into the world required unwavering will and mastery over that image.

Her mask was fueled by hatred.

Never had she thought she’d one day hate anyone more that she hated the Hutts or herself, until she met Darth Zhorrid. That pathetic mix of insecurity and sadism was infuriating. She had read up on Darth Jadus’ treatment of his daughter. It took everything for her not to barge into that office and wring that sick woman by the neck and ask her if she thought she was the only one who had ever faced abuse. Everyone faced pain at some point in their life. Suffering was the story of all beings, especially so if you were Sith. Yet, when she hated herself, Yen only hurt herself. Unlike Zhorrid, she’d never tortured others as a way to lessen her own pain, to hide her weakness.

And for that, Yen wished Zhorrid was dead.

But not before providing use for her and her master, of course.

Wearing the Force - the fabric of the universe - as if it was a garment, was an act of complete domination. With a smile, she had sparked a flame of interest within Zhorrid. With a light touch of her fingers, she’d quicken or calm the Dark Lord’s pulse, the woman’s heartbeat hers to command at her pleasure. In a blink of an eye, Zhorrid would forgive her master for any misdeeds he’d supposedly done, and most importantly, Zhorrid would leave him alone.

Why pay attention to some grumpy old Sith when the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen was standing there in front of her eyes?

A drugged cupcake ready to be eaten.

Darth Kharopos felt his stomach sinking when he received the holocall requesting that Yennevyr go meet Darth Zhorrid in her chambers. His muscles tightened, as if readying for battle. He wasn’t scared of that snooty brat; anything she threw his way he could take. But Yen, his student, his ward, his protege, his apprentice-

She was smiling.

The Force swirled around her, draped all over her form like a dress blowing in the wind. It was as if she wore a robe of woven flesh, of slithering serpents and tendrils that wrap and cling and coil. There was a gleam in Yen’s eyes, her russet eyes mirthful, radiating confidence. The last time he remembered seeing his apprentice so self-assured was when he was bleeding on the cool tiled floors, her red lightsaber hanging over his head like a bloody guillotine.

“My lord, I am every bit your apprentice. Trust that you’ve taught me well.”

When Darth Kharopos was later summoned to Darth Zhorrid’s office, Yennevyr sat on Zhorrid’s lap like an overpriced poodle. What Zhorrid did not see was the undulating threads latching onto her, their ends sinking into Zhorrid’s skin like a snake’s fangs, or parasites whose teeth pierced her bloodstream, draining her dry.

“Ah, you’re here, Darth Kharopos,” Zhorrid said with a grin. “Very good, you look very nice indeed, perfect for the job.”

Darth Kharopos only nodded, his eyes glued to Zhorrid’s pale hand which stroked Yen’s hair as if she was some exotic pet.

“I need you to look into two places: Belsavis, and the Arcanum.”

Belsavis was a tightly guarded secret he was privy to knowing, but his heart skipped a beat when he heard the name ‘Arcanum’. The Emperor’s property. Jedis have died to get a glimpse of the space station, and there were words of a rogue Dread Master recently robbing the place. Was it even under Intelligence’s jurisdiction?

A squeal snapped him from his thoughts.

“So you do know about the Arcanum!”

Her voice went from a slimy purr to an abrupt shriek. He felt a hard shove and invisible cold fists pinning him to the wall. His legs hung in the air, and he glared at that wretched woman.

“My lord,” Yennevyr murmured, her doe-like eyes widening at Darth Zhorrid. “My master’s a Darth of Imperial Intelligence. Is it not his role to know all that is going on?”

The pressure released and soon he was free. Zhorrid made a noise of agreement, muttering ‘Yes, yes… you’re right, of course.”

Zhorrid began ranting, a semi-coherent monologue punctuated with giggles and sudden screeches on the unfairness of her fate and the need to prove her worth to the Dark Council. Before her anger boiled over, a force tendril planted soft kisses on Zhorrid’s lips, quieting the woman’s anxiety in one swift move.

When the Dark Councillor appeared distracted, Darth Kharopos broke eye contact and glanced at his apprentice. He suppressed a shudder, seeing the predatory glint in Yennevyr’s eyes. Everyday, they grew more scarlet.

You will drink my words, or I will pour them down your throat.

*******

Belsavis he took care of alone, but as per Darth Zhorrid’s orders, he allowed Yennevyr to accompany him on the mission to the Arcanum. It was perfect: with every eye glued to the young rising-star commander, a Sith not-yet-a-lord with the bewitching presence of a black hole, nobody noticed him slipping away, leaking whatever information he could find on the Emperor to Republic SIS. His heart thundered the whole way, but every time he looked at Yennevyr - black hair tied up in a bun, a saber and light armor ready for combat - he felt like he could breathe easy again.

The mission was a success. They tracked the thief, Lord Tagriss, down to Ilum. His dualsaber stabbed a hole in the Sith Lord’s chest, and he felt his apprentice’s pride flared through their bond the moment Lord Tagriss’ dead husk fell into the snow.

When they returned home, she was ready to be a Lord.

“From this day onwards, you are known as Lord Soteira,” he declared, his apprentice kneeling before him. “It means savior.”

His apprentice stood up. When she looked at him, something swirled in his chest.

You honed my blade and sharpened my edges until they are lethal. You scrubbed away the rust, and revealed the blood-soaked truth. Master, don’t feel guilty thinking you turned me into something I already wasn’t. I’ll try to reach for the Light as you want me to, my lord, but don’t pity me if I fail.

#fic: sparagmos

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suncatchr · 4 years

Note

thank u! hehe

36. “How much do you remember?”

“Wow, Seoll, thank you!”

Rare happiness sparks in Khaon’s eyes when I hand him the journal I found for him. It’s dark and leather-bound, clasped with a stark gold latch. I thought it was pretty. I’m elated to see that it’s put a smile on Khaon’s face.

“It’s so fancy for a food journal, don’t you think?” He turns to Delta, who’s staring over his shoulder at the new book. I wonder if I should have gotten him something, but the journal just stood out to me as something Khaon should have. I’ll get something for Delta tomorrow, I’ll remember.

“You can write about more than food in it,” Delta suggests, reaching around Khaon to draw his finger over the golden latch. “Right? You can like, write about how our day went before we stopped for our meal.”

“Well, I already do that,” Khaon responds. “I don’t wanna- uh…” He stops himself, fiddling with the clasp to let the book fall open. I wait for him to continue, but he doesn’t. Khaon does that a lot, actually, lets his sentences fall flat on their faces before he’s done.

“What?” I ask, trying to be helpful. Khaon screws up his face and turns to Delta like he’s looking for help.

“Like, lose track?” Delta supplies. I wish I had what they do, that ability to see the words in each other. They travelled together for a while before the last eclipse. We all run together now, but I can tell there’s something that keeps us on separate levels. I wonder if that’s how we’re supposed to be. You know, since they’re both drawn from the night in a way that I’m not. Or something. I don’t completely understand it, honestly, I didn’t do a lot of reading on our history before I met them. The closest thing I did was look at photos taken and sketches done the last few generations of us. In the museum-academy we visited before we left.

They all had wondrous things to say. About places they went and lives they had. It was cool, I guess, but it was also like reading the journals of long-gone poets. I can write my own poetry, you know? I don’t need their life story to do it. Else I get caught up in what they did and I forget what I really want.

Which brings me back to Delta and Khaon. Am I really willing to let the idea of them being the moon and stars keep me distant from them? No, right? That can’t be the way it’s supposed to be. I’ll grow to understand them, I know I will. So I try not to feel too locked out when they pick up the edges of each other’s trailing sentences. Right now, all I need is for the sentence to be completed.

“Yeah,” Khaon says. “Without context, the food stuff isn’t the same. It’s about…”

“Memories?” I supply. It’d be nice, I think, if it’s all about sentiment. And finally keeping track of the places he’s been in a way that draws fondness.

“Yeah, like the people we met and the stuff we did.” Khaon shuts the journal and locks it back. “I have to finish my old one. But I like it a lot, C, thanks.”

He likes it. Warmth makes my head fuzzy. “I’m glad!”

Delta smiles over at Khaon and then up at me. So Khaon really likes it, if Delta can see it too. Oh, I’m happier than I thought I’d be.

“What’re you grinning at? C'mon, flag down the waiter, wouldn’t you? I need coffee.”

“K, it’s nine-thirty,” Delta chastises. “You shouldn’t-”

“D, you’re not my mom.”

Delta leans off of him to wave at a young man walking towards us. “But I care about your heart and your sleep. Tell him, Seoll.”

“I was gonna get one too,” I admit before I think about Delta’s reaction. He narrows his eyes at me, and then shoots a criticising glance at Khaon when he snickers. “Sorry, I just wanna stay up with you guys.”

“There will be no staying up. I’m going to bed when we find a hotel, and so should both of you.”

Khaon’s expression flattens when he returns Delta’s glare. “D-”

“It’s okay, Khaon. Just relax on the caffeine, will you?”

Well, this is unfamiliar territory. Delta’s words are coming from a context that I haven’t got. “Wait, what’s wrong?”

“Khaon has trouble sleeping at night,” Delta says quietly, like it’s a secret. Khaon does tend to be secretive. I can see why he would want to hush about this, I guess. Around other people, though. Not me.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask. Khaon doesn’t answer. He glances instead past Delta to the waiter that just arrived.

“I want a red-eye, please,” he mutters.

“No, he doesn’t,” Delta snaps, laying a hand over Khaon’s and pushing him away from the waiter. “You wouldn’t even serve those so late, would you?”

The waiter looks a bit confused. “We still serve espresso drinks,” he says plainly. Delta makes a frustrated noise in the back of his throat and the waiter blinks as though he realises he’s made a mistake.

“Although-”

“Forget it,” Delta mutters. The waiter nods. Delta grips Khaon’s hand too tightly. “I’ll take a hot chocolate, please.”

“Can I just have some water?” I ask quietly. I don’t want to be on the receiving end of Delta’s sudden wrath. The waiter nods and thankfully walks away. “K, why didn’t you tell me-?”

“It’s not a big deal, Seoll, it’s just another stupid trick the gods are playing on me. If I can’t sleep at night, what choice do I have but to Chase the moon?”

“But you don’t do that,” I remind him. “So why-?”

“To try to force me, I bet. Leave it alone, it’s not like you can talk it out of me.”

“But why the coffee if you want to sleep?” I try to ignore how his face contorts with discomfort. He’s not making sense, doesn’t he see?

“Haven’t you ever stayed up a little too late before? I at least want the energy to do something if I’m gonna be stuck by myself until five in the morning, you kn- I don’t know.”

I didn’t know all of this! “K, I’m-”

“I’d like to stop talking about it. It’s really not a big deal, only D thinks it is.”

Delta’s cheeks go flushed. “You need to sleep!”

“Well, take that up with the gods, then. All they do is pick on me, I’m used to it.” He shrugs. “Did you guys want to see the market square before we go home?”

“No, we’ll go tomorrow.” Delta is still holding Khaon’s hand and Khaon doesn’t let go. I don’t think they’re fighting anymore, but I don’t want to reignite it so I’m going to leave Khaon alone about this for now. I guess. “If we wait too long, all the hotel rooms will be gone.”

“That’s not true. It’s never true.”

“I’m scared you’ll keep saying that and then one day it will be.”

“Well, then you can tell me I was wrong.”

I laugh a little so they remember I’m still here. Then I add, “Regardless, it’s late. These small towns sleep at night.”

“Okay, tomorrow, then.”

We get our drinks after a minute, and Delta makes a point of turning up his nose at the scent of Khaon’s coffee. Khaon ignores him, though he winces when he tastes it. I don’t understand what’s going on here. I stir the ice cubes around in my water and wish I could have held my awkwardness off for long enough to get something hot.

After Delta explains the function of our badges (for the millionth time in our lives) to the waiter, we pick up our stuff and head out. It’s cold outside, colder than Khaon is comfortable with. He shoves his hands into his pockets with a wordless complaint.

“Can’t believe you guys would have wanted to go to the square in this!” he whines. Delta blinks.

“You were the one who asked,” he says.

I shush them. For best friends they certainly do argue a lot. Besides, I need to concentrate. My falcon is flying somewhere above this place, and I have to call him back before we find a place to stay. I’m never afraid that he won’t return, but sometimes I hesitate to let him free because I’m not sure when I’ll stumble into an area where people hunt birds of prey. I mean, who knows, right?

“Are you calling that damn bird?” Khaon asks just as I slide my bag off my shoulder to pull out my sleeve.

“I don’t know, maybe,” I answer playfully, pulling the leather sleeve over my coat. It’s tight but it doesn’t hurt nearly as much as raptor talons in my arm. “Why? Do you not like him?” I’m teasing, I know Khaon doesn’t like birds.

“I just don’t get why you don’t let it free.”

“He’s domesticated.” I pick up my stuff and start walking again. Waiting here for Bennu will take too long, and I know poor Khaon’s about to freeze to death. “How cruel of you, Khaon.”

“You can’t domesticate a bird of prey!”

“He’s Seoll’s pet, Khaon, we’ve been over this a million times,” Delta cuts in insistently. He shoots me an apologetic look, as though I’m not totally used to Khaon’s relentless complaining.

“Well, then, I’m going to adopt a sewer rat from a New York subway and name it Iah. It’ll be my lunar guardian and you’re both gonna have to put up with it sleeping in our bed and giving you rabies.”

“Bennu doesn’t have rabies,” Delta sighs.

I like that Khaon assumes we’ll all keep travelling together after this eclipse.

“What’re you smiling at?” Khaon huffs, “I’m dead serious.”

“I know. But my bird will eat your rat.”

For a hot second, he actually looks upset.

We find a quiet local hotel off the side of the highway, after twenty minutes of walking and Khaon’s increasingly high-pitched remarks about frostbite. As soon as we open the door to our room I spot my falcon, perched on the balcony rail outside the glass back door.

“There you are! You took your sweet time tonight.” I rush to open the door for him and he swoops inside, settling himself onto my arm like he’s offended at how long I took to let him in. “Sorry, your highness. Are you cold?”

He shuffles his feet and looks away from me. I hope he’s not mad.

Khaon drops his bag. “I’m gonna go wash up. Seoll, you’d better go next, wash the bird flu off of you.”

“Ha, ha. If he had the bird flu I’d have caught it already.”

“That’s not reassuring.” He walks into the bathroom and shuts the door.

Delta trails up behind me, lays his head on my shoulder. “You know he’s only playing, right?”

“Of course I do. You think Khaon’s misery has the power to hurt my feelings? Or his?” I ask, gesturing to the bird.

Delta snickers, reaches with a finger to stroke some of Bennu’s feathers. Normally I don’t let anyone touch him, for the safety of their fingers, but he seems to understand Delta and Khaon’s presence by now.

“I don’t know, he seems to have that effect on other people.”

“I feel like I know him too well for that.”

“Hm,” Delta says, leaning back. He looks at me like he’s not sure he believes me, but before I can ask the look fades away and he goes to seat himself on the bed. I don’t see any issue with what I said, so I decide not to ask lest Delta bring one up. Instead, I set myself to setting up Bennu’s temporary roost, jessing and hooding him so he’ll rest for the night. I make sure to set it all up on the dresser away from the window, since Khaon likes to sleep by the window.

He comes out of the bathroom a little while later, after Delta and I have already lain down. We’ve been watching TV this whole time, even though I don’t think Delta’s very entertained. He glances up when the bathroom door opens, and then immediately sighs and rolls over to sleep. I guess he was waiting on Khaon, but that was about as far as he could get. I hand Khaon the remote when he sits down. He accepts it wordlessly and changes the channel. Feeling a little off-put, I follow Delta’s lead and just close my eyes.

Snow flickers past my face.

I shoot a glance to my side, but whoever I had expected to be there isn’t there. I’m standing on the edge of a valley, fat snowflakes hardly visible where they fall relentlessly against the white ground. Without meaning to or feeling it I creep forward, walking along the valley’s edge. I don’t call for anyone, though I think about it. I think about it constantly, actually.

There’s a patch of ice under the snow; I’m on my knees before I even realise that I’ve slipped. It’s cold under my hands, bitingly so, and I worry I might freeze out here. I’m not wearing my jacket, I notice- gods, my mother’s going to kill me! I’m not to play outside in anything less than three layers all over. Khaon and Delta won’t tell her, will they? I don’t even know why I’ve come out without my coat, it wouldn’t be fair if I were to get punished for it.

The cry of a falcon makes me jerk my head up to the sky. There’s no sight of Bennu anywhere, but there’s a person standing in the snow when I look back ahead. They weren’t there before. I get to my feet and try to back away from the ravine’s slippery edge, but it seems to follow me back, the dip just touching the toes of my boots each time I move.

“Wh-what do I do?” I call to the figure. Apprehension is rising cold in my belly as I keep trying to run back. Eventually my rushed stumbling makes me lose my balance, and I stay where I’ve fallen in the snow this time. The edge freezes.

“Move forward!” The figure gestures to me. “Walk along the edge.”

But I’m scared! I nearly fell so many times, he just watched the ground recede with every step I took, didn’t he?

“I brought your coat!” He raises what seems to be another figure, until I realise it’s legless. It really is my coat! I can’t get in trouble with my mom now! Carefully standing myself up at the edge, I start forward again. “Come get it, I’m not far.”

I try to run.

“No! Take your time!”

Right. I don’t want to slip. Frustration prickles in my fingertips, but that might also be the cold. It’s my own fault for coming out here coatless. The figure gestures me to him again and then extends a hand to me. He isn’t wearing a coat either. I keep my steady pace until I’m close enough to reach out for his hand. He pulls me to him and drapes my coat over my shoulders, warming me from head to toe. Thank the gods for this thing. I try to thank the figure, too, but I can’t open my mouth. He smiles at me, and there’s something familiar about him, in a fuzzy sort of way. I don’t quite understand his features.

“Good work,” he says. “You can go back now.”

Back? Back where?

I jolt awake, opening my eyes to darkness and sitting up to try to make sense of where the hell I am. The bed rocks underneath me, that’s right. I’m in a hotel bed with Khaon and Delta. Delta didn’t notice me waking, he’s still curled into his pillow with no trouble on his face. Thank goodness, I wouldn’t want to scare him awake.

“Seoll? What’s the matter?”

Khaon is here too, that’s right, it’s all coming back to me. I sigh my relief. He blinks curiously.

“Weird dream,” I report. “Aren’t you tired yet?”

“Dream?” he asks urgently. Oh, is he trying to deflect again? Delta wouldn’t let him. “What kind of dream?”

“Maybe we should take a walk, see if that helps you feel tired.”

He huffs. “What kind of dream, Seoll? Answer me.”

Is it that important? “I don’t know, just a dream. Nothing bad happened, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“What do you remember of it?"

"What’s with the interrogation, K? It was snowy and cold and then someone gave me a jacket.”

“Who?"

"I don’t know!” He’s really starting to freak me out. “Why?”

“Seoll, we don’t dream!” he drops his voice to a noisy whisper, like he’s worried about Delta hearing.

“What do you mean? I just had one.”

“No, you didn’t.” He growls with frustration, shaking his head and turning away from me. “Do you see now what kinds of stupid tricks they play on us?”

“What are you on about? It was just a dream!”

“Were you in danger?”

“I was cold..?”

“Was there something you had to find?”

“My jacket.”

“They’re pushing you to something. There’s something else they need you to do for them, you-”

“Khaon, what are you talking about?” I hop out of the bed because I’m scared to disturb Delta. “I think you need to rest, you’re freaking out.” This happens to people who don’t sleep, I know, they become agitated and frustrated and both of those things describe Khaon perfectly right now.

Khaon gets up, too, meets me at the foot of the bed and braces his hands against my shoulders. “Seoll, you- I read a lot of stuff while we were staying in Greece. People like us don’t have dreams. If you didn’t see the afterlife, you saw something that the gods were showing you, do you understand me?”

The more he insists upon it, the more I’m convinced that not only my dream but his insomnia are a lot more normal than he thinks they are. “Why should they care about me getting cold? They don’t care about anything else about us.”

“You thinking that is probably why they sent that dream,” he whispers.

“Sent-?”

“You should have paid more attention to the artifacts the last few Chasers left behind,” he mutters crossly. “You might be in danger, Seoll, the gods don’t like it when we don’t listen, that’s why I don’t sleep!”

“Khaon, I think you’re getting a little ahead of yourself.”

“Would you please just listen to me?” A whine threads his words all of a sudden, a desperate one quite unlike his normal complaining. “Seoll, you’re our Sun. You-"

He lets go of me.

I’m trying to hear him out. "I what?”

“Seoll, if you ever have another dream, tell me. They’re giving you puzzle pieces, you have to make up for whatever they’re mad about.”

“How do you know they’re mad?”

“Other Chasers say that’s the only reason they ever heard from the gods.”

“We’re not other Chasers.”

He groans. “We’re all the same. That’s why we exist, Seoll, to live the same life again and again.” He backs away from me. He turns suddenly to face the window as though something had startled him. It’s dawn, the sky is paling.

“Khaon?”

“I feel stupid now.”

My heart sinks. “I didn’t mean to make you-”

“Shh. Just…”

“If I hurt your feelings I’m sorry.”

“This isn’t about me, C, it’s about you.”

“But I don’t understand what’s wrong!”

“Oh, Seoll, of course you don’t.” He shakes his head. I feel bad. “Don’t tell Delta about this, okay?”

“Wh-Delta?” Does everyone know something that I don’t?

“Yeah, he’ll worry. Just… just keep me updated on any other ‘dreams’ you might have.”

“Okay, K, I will.”

He’s silent.

I’m so confused, but I’m relieved that this seems to be… over? I think. My worry is all for Khaon, I don’t know what he thinks is going on with me but he’s really scared of it. I put my hand on his shoulder and try to offer a few comforting strokes. He doesn’t seem to notice me.

“I’m gonna clean up for the day,” I mutter, backing off.

“Okay,” he grunts, going back over to his side of the bed. Before I close the bathroom door behind me, I spot him grabbing his new journal off the bedside and drawing his knees up to write on. He reaches a hand over Delta’s shoulder, but he hesitates. Slowly he picks up a pen instead. Biting down on my rising worry, I close the door.

#long post #genuinely don't know how readmores work anymore but they don't appear for me so sorry if im just bombarding yall ;;;#my writing #my ocs #the sun hunter #the lunar skeptic #the lost stars #this is my first finished thing about them and let me just say i love them

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phthalology · 6 years

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HZD: Winter’s Bargain Chapter 3

Read here on AO3

This fic is becoming a jigsaw puzzle of a project, so the posted chapter numbers may change, but not likely by much. This also seems like a decent time to say thank you to the people who have reblogged or commented so far. Especially in a small ship in a small fandom like this, comments can make a big difference.

Marad had suspected. The Eclipse had been scattered, its leadership slain in front of Avad’s eyes. Those people still held their grudges, though, as Dervahl had done. Some, with efforts at restitution, could be bought back into the Carja proper as quiet citizens who could live their lives, tilling their ground and nurturing their children or their village’s children. Recovery was a steep hill, but one that could be climbed.

Others would not turn aside from the mission they had been told was holy. Marad sighed, lifted his hand against his forehead to shield his eyes and steel his nerves as he stood at one of the golden railings near Avad’s canopied throne. He had foiled eight assassination attempts in the parlor stage in the last year, eight people or groups of people who had wanted to see Avad’s young blood on the golden floor. Marad’s agents had ensured those plans never got past the parlor, never got past drunken boasts. When people were guided home and the bottle eased from their hands, a knife held to their throat or an embarrassing secret whispered in their ear, that attempted revolutionary would go to sleep into nightmare and wake up sick and ashamed of jumping at shadows. Most political furies could be eased this way, with the right pressure point of embarrassment and threat.

Avad did not carry out the threats, of course. Avad’s anger was patrilineal and sated. That was a valued trait in a ruler, true sanguinity and true kindness. Marad was fond of Avad for it.

This was why Avad gave the spy work to Marad and his agents. This was one of the reasons Avad chose not to hear every record of Marad’s work.

Another reason: it helped the king sleep.

Aloy’s return had spooked the dissidents. While not many were left after the attack on the Spire had torn up everyone’s carefully planted plans, Marad had been beginning to see new signs of anger. He was not yet certain whether they had come from a central source, an idea person, or whether they were working on their own. They could even be newly adult hunters, flush with too much energy and not enough work in the fertile maizelands. Whoever they were, Aloy would find them. The Sun shone gently onto him as Marad thought it, and his own mild religious devotion stirred vaguely godward and rolled back to sleep.

He just had to be sure that she did not become the claw of the Carja such that when she left — and she would — people perceived Avad as defenseless again. Her companion seemed savvy but harmless; Aloy had had to rescue him from falling off a cliff, Marad recalled. He shook his head and turned to go back into the halls at the center of the plateau, there to walk down to the library near the cliff’s edge. Aloy and Vanasha would reach the top of the hill soon.

The library in the palace at Meridian had not been sacked during the coup. This had been a matter of apathy, not choice: the Sun-Priests had burned and exalted other books in their day. Many were the scrolls that had burned in the city’s public braziers for the crime of mentioning the prowess of kings before Jiran. The king’s private library, inherited and redecorated by Avad and his advisors, had remained a sanctuary for older texts in which records of Meridian’s founding had been given the newly fashionable, more amicable political slant. Meridian’s expansionary wars were reframed as noble explorations under both regimes.

Sylens enjoyed the quietude of the place. Tightly rolled scrolls wrapped in neat ribbons sat in cubby holes made of wood stained red and bronze. Books were open to delicate drawings and detailed maps. Even the pieces in places of honor were not chained down. The library occupied a cool stone vault inside the plateau palace, and it would take just a day more of casing to figure out how to walk out with the best of its works.

Aloy moved ahead of him, following Vanasha, both of them loping along the neatly organized walls as comfortably as Aloy had moved in the maizelands. She touched her fingers to her Focus, holding the scan for just a heartbeat before marking off any reactive data for later. Vanasha did not seem to notice. They quickly outpaced Sylens and the Kestrels.

Avad, Marad, and Nasadi met Aloy at the other end of the room. Sylens had not seen Nasadi since Sunfall; the queen looked as if she had aged backwards, becoming more radiant and straight-backed after her captivity. She spread out a map across a table and began to weigh its edges with stones.

“This isn’t the first attack.” Avad, barely more than a boy-king, looked nervous. In the oppressive heat he acted as if he was cold, arms crossed and jaw tight. His gaze skimmed over Sylens, more concerned with Aloy and Vanasha. Good. Would it not be a nightmare to be recognized here? Sylens had travelled to the furthest outskirts of Carja territory and now stood here, back inside by some law of physics that demanded objects in circular flights stay in circles. If that track was interrupted, the forces released would be terrible.

If Bahavas or Helis were still alive and spotted him here, he could be executed on the spot … but he and Aloy had made sure that they were not.

Sylens kept half of his attention on Avad as the king explained that Eclipse marks had recently been found on gates, on masons’ stones, on wells poisoned by corpses of dead rabbits. Marad cautioned that it could be copycat work, an unsubtle attempt at mockery now that the wars were officially over, the Eclipse mostly scattered, and the rumors of the attack on the Spire running wild. Or perhaps it really was remnants of the Eclipse, shorn of their leaders, trying to rally around delinquency instead of or in advance of genocide.

Aloy, concerning herself more with logistics than motive, began to trace lines where machines had come from. Nasadi conferred with her about where traders or refugees entered the city, and Marad offered quick summaries of where people had been displaced after the fighting. Marad had been in Jiran’s court while Sylens was recruiting Bahavas, but he had not been a spymaster then. Bahavas had remembered him as a clever page, one whom Behaves had eyed as a potential for priesthood. Marad’s own inclinations had never lead him that way, though, and Bahavas had moved on to recruiting toughs and dead machines.

Aloy and Vanasha muttered at the war table in the corner. “A new break in the tree line here —“

“—not likely to come from the city if —“

“—searching around the waterfalls —“

Sylens examined the scrolls nearest to him. What could Meridian possibly have from before the attack that HADES itself did not? Had anyone measured how machines behaved around it? If the method of transmission could be understood in more detail … He had been inducted into some of the mysteries of spectrum, but some studies needed to be put aside because they did not involve the specific frequency through which the Focuses spoke to one another or, Sylens remembered with a chill, HADES spoke to its FARO Scarabs.

There was something in the cubby among the scrolls, a black machine claw like the tread of a Corruptor. Sylens glanced at the guards. He might pick it up just to see what they would do. How much did they know about what secrets this library might hold?

The claw was half way inside one of the shelves. Sylens reached in and slid it out without wrinkling the paper to either side.

Yes, this was something important. The guards reacted quickly, a coordinated flinch across three men. The man nearest him reached out a hand but did not quite touch him. “Excuse me. Do not move the artifacts.”

Sylens turned the claw over. “This?”

“Do not …”

“I find both your hierarchy and security to be disappointing, if removing two Bellowbacks is not enough to allow one the privilege of touching an artifact set out in the open.”

“It was inside the shelf,” one of the guards attempted.

It was this that seemed to finally draw Marad’s attention. He glided over from the king’s side. “What’s this?”

“Captain said we aren’t supposed to let anyone touch anything in the library, except the king and queen-mother.”

“Remind me of your name,” Marad said softly.

Sylens opened his hand. “I am an interested wanderer.” The Corruptor claw thumped onto the table. With no power source at all and not even a way to connect to one with the ends sheared clearly apart, it was as heavy and lifeless as a rock. “Aloy and I worked together, before the attack on the Spire. You have us to thank for some of your walls holding.”

Marad’s expression smoothed out, replacing an increasingly sour look with an envoy’s blank one. He looked over at the table. “Is that right, Aloy?”

She had been bent over the map, pointing at a location nearer to Nasadi. While Avad hovered like a frightened bird, Vanasha had almost blended into the background. Uncannily for someone so striking, she could lean against a table and project an aura of astonishingly convincing boredom. Just a citizen visiting the library. No information here at all.

Aloy’s gaze was even more unsettling as she turned to Marad. “I didn’t hear you.”

“Your friend says that we owe him for our city still standing. Is that right?” I just saw him palming the artifacts, Marad did not say. The Carja could be so courteous about their cruelty.

Not the reaction Sylens had wanted, but neither a problem he could not solve. Aloy, though. She caught his gaze and stared, her cheeks flushed, clearly feeling as blind under the Sun as he had been when he thought about his orbit around the library too long. She would hold information over his head, but which part exactly? That he had founded the Eclipse? That he had worked with HADES? That he had taught Bahavas and cultivated Helis through inaction? Helis could have been talked down from his mad devotion. Sylens had not done that.

Aloy narrowed her eyes. “Why?” Her suspicion was cold and fiery at once. “Sylens. What did you do?”

Marad raised an eyebrow.

Ah, so now Aloy was suspicious. That was a problem — and he felt guiltier about it than about dislodging the work of an anonymous librarian. She had rescued him. She had tied both of them together in their deals and plans, risked death for one another. The world owed them both, and the pressure of it made them into diamonds.

He gestured at the claw. “I examined that.”

Aloy’s cheeks flushed. She knew something. Maybe she was thinking of Ban-Ur, of the theft that had unlocked the very first door to the Metal World that Sylens had ever known. “Your examining is going to get us into trouble.”

“And why is that?” Marad said.

“He’s a tinker,” Aloy said. “He used to work with the Eclipse, too. But we have a deal, Marad. You won’t break it.”

Sylens felt cold. Aloy’s regard was like water seen through ice: distorted, shifting. He had the sudden and terrible sense that she might reveal him. What would that give her? She would lose a partner in the research. He was certain that she would not risk their alliance. Or was he? He knew himself to be a liar and so struggled to think of a reason for Aloy not to lie.

Marad shrugged wry assent. “I trust you, Aloy.” The royalty by the table had raised their heads to look over now. Conscious of his audience, Marad raised his voice. “Aloy’s deeds allow her leeway. Her deeds and the rumors. They say you can become invisible, that you kill people who displease you, that you call machines. Some rumors are kind, others are fearful. Both serve different ends, depending if one wants to demonize the Nora or the Carja or another group entirely. You understand the value of a good rumor, I think.”

Aloy said, “Give us — he and I and whoever you can find for us — the chance to catch these Eclipse soldiers, or pranksters, or whoever they are. If we find out who did it and there’s proof that it wasn’t Sylens, we’ll go on our way. Ways. If we find out it was him, I won’t stop you from whatever you want to do.”

Good, Aloy. Appeal to their desire for control.

The Kestrel behind Sylens had begun to bristle, his expression souring and his grip on his long, thin spear tightening so hard that his knobby knuckles turned bone-white. The man with the Oseram-style mustache straightened his shoulders. “Keep him inside the city, not outside the library.” Marad crisply chastised the guards. When he met Sylens’ eyes he managed to look calm. “You must understand that your prior association may be useful in this endeavor. We ask —”

“You insist,” Sylens said.

“We do.”

Was that a civic plural, the whole city arrayed behind Marad’s reptilian-cold eyes? Bahavas had been contrary too, sometimes. Helis had been easy to lead, as simple to goad as a Strider on a rope. What hooks could he put in Marad? Sylens made an obvious effort to turn away from the claw.

Marad pressed his fingers on either side of his nose. “There is also the chance that someone may have let those machines in, or driven them in out of the forest.”

“They could have had Focuses, to see the tracks,” Aloy said.

Marad made a sound of recognition. Aloy turned to him. “Do you know something about that?” She asked.

“I had thought they were referring to you,” Marad said. “But there are rumors of people with strange devices that glow like your Focus.”

“If so, that would remove the possibility that they are with the Eclipse,” Sylens said.

“Because we took down the network.” Aloy nodded at him. “So we have a way to eliminate some suspects. If they have a Focus, they weren’t part of the original Eclipse.”

“Yes.”

“Yariki, the envoy from the Banuk, is in the city and might have seen something.”

“Good,” Marad said. “Talk to her when you can.” He looked at Sylens.

Sylens spoke before Marad could. “Am I a captive then?” He glanced at the guards. Aloy rolled her eyes behind Marad.

“Stay in the city and the fields until we sort this all out. Not past the Spire.” Marad looked at the guards to be sure they understood. “And Aloy, talk to Yariki if you think she knows something.”

Some of that work would be easier than others, Sylens thought. With Aloy keeping his identity secret — if only to hold the information over his head — he didn’t think Marad would bother him. Something had stuck in his mind about Marad, though, some data point that Sylens thought he had seen somewhere else. Had he ever met the man before?

It would have to be one of the many answers he found here.

After they were done mapping out potential routes for the machines, Aloy left the library quickly. The room had started to feel stuffy. Carja architecture was beautiful, but so heavy. Something had also begun to nag at her about Sylens’ presence. She wasn’t used to being in the same place as him for so long, for so many of her actions to have consequences around him in particular. After Sunfall she had begun to lean against the idea of him, to take comfort in his grudging aid. She had started to wonder again what it would be like to touch the cords on his arms, or to kiss him against the shelves in that library.

Having the reality so close was odd.

He seemed to think so too. He followed her at a distance, looking out over the steep drop toward the pools below.

It didn’t quite feel right insisting that Sylens be a captive in the city, but nor did it feel right knowing that he could still be working on something for HADES. Their bargain was set: Sylens would pause in his dangerous experimentation as long as Aloy kept the Carja from skinning him alive. Had she said the right thing to Marad today? She supposed she would have said the same thing about Nil. He is dangerous, but only when it serves him, and usually then it also served Aloy.

She started to speak without preamble. They were far enough away from one another that the Focus picked her voice up, transmitting to the channel he had forced open. Once she realized it, she lowered her voice so that the passersby could not hear. “Look, when you said that Marad was keeping you captive I wasn’t angry at you. I was disappointed. You can be subtler than that.”

Sylens ranged further around the other side of the balcony. It was so much easier to talk this way, Aloy thought. Without looking at his eyes but knowing he was there. “Now I know that. I will be. Don’t start ordering me around, too.”

This was more familiar ground: Sylens being short with her and Aloy not caring. “Remember, Marad said that I kill people who displease me.”

He paused. The slight crackle around the words, stronger in the stone palace, was as soft as an indrawn breath. “Do I displease you, Aloy?” he said, wry.

She felt her cheeks heat up. Well, that would haunt her.

“No, Sylens.” The balcony curved; it brought them together at the bridge, to stand in front of stony-faced guards. Aloy met his eyes, willing him to understand. She would say this like she had him at spearpoint, and she would say it as if they were sitting side-by-side in safety by a fire. “You and I have a bargain.”

She broke the stare and moved across the bridge at a jog, relishing the slam of her own feet on the solid wood.

Last night she had dreamed about walking through the maizelands with Vanasha. They needed to reach a particular canyon in the mesa walls, but neither of them could find the right paths despite their familiarity. Maps became blurry, memory more so. Vanasha said that they needed to find the most quiet pathways, and so they moved from trail head to trail head listening. Aloy woke up before they found the canyon and lay under her blankets thinking about how they had gone from place to place looking for silence, silence, silence.

The slam of her own feet did not distract her too much from the voices around her. Over the sound of Sylens’ own footsteps and the shuffling of the guards, she heard Vanasha call her name insistently, as she had done when they first met.

“Aloy,” said the spy. “Wait.”

#Horizon Zero Dawn #Aloy/Sylens #Aloy #Sylens #Blameless Marad #Vanasha

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sassycassie-s-writing · 7 years

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The Eclipse

By: SassyShoulderAngel319

Fandom/Character(s): Avengers - Peter Parker/Spider-Man + Team

Rating: G

Original Idea: There was an ECLIPSE IN NORTH AMERICA YESTERDAY Y’ALL! I AM THE BIGGEST ASTRONOMY NERD (Okay not really but whatever)! I didn’t get to see the total eclipse, but I had 90% coverage where I live so that was cool too. (I was gonna out this up yesterday but OF COURSE my INTERNET BROKE last night.

Notes: (Masterlist)(About Me) I used a lot of Astronomy terms in this that I didn’t bother to explain, but if you’re interested in what they are, Google them or even send me an ask and I’d be happy to explain as best I can. I took an Honors Intro to Astronomy last semester and got a VERY high A---something my teacher told me is hard to do. I love space and I love this stuff so if you have a question, ask away!

“The Eclipse”

^^^^^

Peter and I held onto each other’s shirts in anticipation, paper glasses on over our eyes and heads craned towards the sky. I was biting my lip in excitement, watching as a dent appeared in the top right corner of the sun. “It’s starting!” I whispered excitedly, giving Peter a little shake.

“You see it too?” he replied. “I thought staring was just messing with my eyes.”

“Nah kid, it’s there,” Tony put in.

The eclipse progressed slowly, the sun slowly rising through the moon, but the difference became noticeable. As more and more of the sun was blocked by the moon, the temperature dropped and the air… oh the air. I grew up in one of the driest states in the country where wildfires were common. Mostly during August, the air would get dark and hazy—almost orange—due to all the smoke. The eclipse had a similar effect on shadows and the lighting. Except, instead of orange, the tint was black.

“This is incredible,” Bucky remarked.

“No kidding,” Steve agreed.

As the event neared totality, it got colder. I huddled closer to Peter, absorbing his warmth and watching raptly. It looked like someone had taken a massive bite out of a giant, glowing yellow cookie. Or the Cheshire Cat’s grin from Alice in Wonderland. Thank science for the eclipse glasses that let us watch it. Peter held onto me too, unconsciously unzipping his jacket and wrapping it around me.

“Look!” I exclaimed as I glanced down. “Look at the shadow bands!”

Everyone looked down and took their glasses off, watching the phenomenon for a moment. It looked a bit like watching light dancing on the bottom of a pool—if the light was absolute darkness and the pool was just the normal concrete we were standing on.

We put our glasses back on and looked back up quickly after making sure we got a picture or a video of the bands.

“What are the beads of light around the moon called again?” Peter asked.

“Baily’s beads,” I answered.

“Thank you, Astronomy Google,” Sam remarked sarcastically.

“Shhh!” I hissed.

“The diamond ring,” Peter murmured as a flare of light on the edge of the eclipse appeared. I smiled in giddiness, giving him a squeeze.

“This is super fantastic!” I squealed quietly.

I wasn’t sure why we were all being so quiet. There was just a sense of reverence to watching. A lot of the team wasn’t particularly religious, but I at least felt like this experience was spiritual and sacred—a testament, to me, of the beauty of the beauty of nature. I had my arms around Peter, both of us holding stock still, and just staring with awe at the diamond ring phenomenon. Until it faded.

Beep! Beep! A little notification went off on Tony’s phone.

“Totality reached!” he announced. “Glasses off! We have two-and-a-half minutes!”

I ripped my glasses off, looking straight up. The hot summer day had grown chill, but not completely cold.

“Wow!” I breathed.

I looked around at the horizon. A 360-degree sunset was wrapped around our area of privacy. The whole team expressed their amazement as the birds and bugs quieted. I gave Peter a little shake, a wide grin on my face. He returned the expression without taking his eyes off the event.

“Look!” Wanda exclaimed, pointing into the sky.

Stars. Just a few. The sky was dark enough for them.

Or, more specifically, planets. There were four.

Vision began to explain something about the planets. I ignored him in favor of looking back at the eclipse itself. “You see the light we can still see?” I whispered to Peter. He nodded. “That’s the corona—the upper layer of the sun’s atmosphere. Total eclipses are the only time we can see it since usually the brightness of the sun blocks it out.”

“That’s cool,” he replied quietly. He glanced down at me. “How ‘bout a kiss under the umbral shadow of the moon?”

“Absolutely.” I tilted up onto my tiptoes and we shared a deep but quick kiss.

“Hey, you two are missing out!” Steve pointed out.

“We’re in the umbral shadow!” I retorted. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime chance! Like kissing someone on top of the Eiffel Tower or something!”

“I've done that,” Tony remarked casually, not taking his eyes off the sky.

Bruce was off to the side with the camera—a special lens on it so it wouldn’t get fried. He was taking videos and pictures. Both for research, and for our own enjoyment. He didn’t say much, but he did chuckle at Tony’s comment and mutter, “Of course you have,” under his breath.

Peter and I ignored them. We ignored Vision explaining Mars and its position to Wanda with his arm around her shoulders. We ignored the fact that for the first time, Sam and Bucky weren’t bickering. We ignored Steve trying desperately to sketch out the eclipse before it was gone—he wanted to get the bones of the thing to fill in later. We ignored Rhodey sitting in the camp chair. We ignored Clint’s kids’ oohs and ahhs, and Natasha’s smiles.

We ignored everything, instead paying our full attention to the incredible eclipse above us. It wouldn’t last long.

“Hey, should we invade the Fire Nation while they're Bending won’t work?” Peter asked quietly.

“Would everyone stop saying that?!” I hissed back angrily. “One of the themes of season three was the fact that not all Firebenders are evil! I'm a Firebender, for crying out loud!” I snorted. “Besides, an eight-minute eclipse is generous. The one coming in twenty-forty-five will be five minutes, but eight is super long.” I wasn’t actually a Firebender—I just knew that if I was part of that universe, I would be.

Peter chuckled and gave my shoulders a squeeze and my head an absentminded kiss. “I know. I'm just teasing you.”

I sighed. “Thanks.”

“I do love you, y’know.”

“Yeah I know. I love you too.”

Beep! Beep! “Totality ending! Glasses on!” Tony shouted. “I don’t want to be responsible for the Avengers damaging their eyesight. Come on people!”

Everyone looked down to find where they’d set down their glasses. I threaded mine back over my ears and tucked my hair down over them to keep them in place before sliding my hands between Peter’s jacket and his shirt again, seeking his warmth.

For being such an astronomy nerd, I hadn’t realized that the eclipse would make the air so cold. I should have expected it but didn’t. So while I beat myself up over forgetting my jacket, I was grateful Peter had his and was willing to share with me. He was a sweetheart.

We watched the diamond ring and shadow bands reappear—the diamond of the ring now on the opposite side. Somewhere behind me I heard Bruce reassuring Steve that he had taken a plethora of photos and videos he could use for reference to finish his eclipse drawing. The air gradually grew warmer and the sky returned to its light blue. The planets that looked like stars—but didn’t twinkle because planets didn’t while stars did—faded back into the pale blue and vanished. The hazy gray shade cast on everything from the moon’s penumbral shadow receded as the heat of the summer day returned. I retreated from where I’d been snuggled against Peter so that I wouldn’t be too hot. He shed his jacket and let it fall to the ground.

When it was all over, my neck was stiff and everyone had a bit of a headache, but none of us could stop talking about it. “That was beautiful,” I stated, breaking the reverent silence around us. Everyone else started talking too. The bugs and birds had resumed their noises, no longer confused about what time of day it was. They’d gone silent during the eclipse thinking it was night again.

Peter and I sat down in our camp chairs and started talking. I was explaining how the moon was created and its effects like procession and tidal forces while Peter stared at me.

“How do you know all this?” he asked.

I shrugged. “I took a college-level Astronomy course last year,” I answered. “That’s how I knew about this eclipse in the first place.”

“Incredible. It’s such a unique event. Wow.”

“I know. We’re so lucky that we got to see it like this.”

“Yes we are.”

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