i am still scarred from botw

Resfeber

Swedish. noun. The restless race of the traveler’s heart before the journey begins, when anxiety and anticipation are tangled together.

Fandom: The Witcher

Pairing: Lambert x Reader

Word Count: 1112

Rating: T

Masterlist

a/n: no request here, just the simple ramblings of a touch drunk romantic

Tags:   @whitewolfandthefox​ @havenoffandoms​ @MishaFaye @criminaly-supernatural​ @weathervanes-my-oneandlonely​ @magpie343​ @queenxxxsupreme​ @belalugosisdead​ @hina-chans-stuff​ @persephonehemingway​

(There is a link on my page where you can be added to my taglist :D)

Warnings: fluff, comfort, touch sensitivity, touch starvedness (?)

Lambert likes his independence. But his world is tipped on its side by someone just as sensitive to touch as he is, and he can’t help but wonder...

Lambert prides himself on being an independent Witcher. Well, that may be a bit redundant, Witchers are supposed to work alone, live alone, travel alone. But, Geralt’s got the bard and the witch, Eskel keeps finding lost goats to follow him around the continent, and Lambert? Well, he’s spent the last half a century traveling the world alone, and he’s been doing just fine. 

    Until he met you. You had been walking along the trail under the blistering sun, a small pack slung to hang across your chest. Your shirt was loose around your waist, and your skirt flowed freely along the ground with every step that you took. 

As Lambert had approached behind you, his pace a bit faster as he walked back to the town that had hired him, he watched as you tilted your head to look behind at him, sensing him there. He saw you take in his eyes and the scar through the one on the right, his twin swords, his armour, stained with wyvern blood. 

Lambert waited for the inevitable stench of fear, the accelerated pounding of your heart in his ears as you dash away. But instead, you only smirked, turning back to face the road ahead as Lambert stopped in his tracks. 

    “You know,” he yelled, rushing after you and settling into a comfortable stride at your side, “you shouldn’t turn your back on strange men walking along the road. You could be taken advantage of.”

    You hummed, glancing over at him as you reached to your waist. You deftly unclasped the skin of water that hung there, taking a sip before you held it out to Lambert. He squinted as he looked into your eyes, distrustful of this unnecessary act of kindness. However, all he found was generosity, and as he felt sweat drip down his back under the weight of his armour, he felt his distrust melt away. 

    As Lambert took the skin of water, his fingers brushed against yours for the briefest moment. You jumped, your heartbeat intensifying in his ears. Lambert clenched his jaw before he drinks from the skin, disappointed in himself for thinking that this random girl that he just chased down the trail would be kind to him just for the sake of being kind.

    You had seen him tense up at your reaction. Your cheeks had reddened as you clasped your hands to the strap on your pack. “I’m-I’m so sorry, Master Witcher,” you had stammered, “I promise, it’s not because of you, I’m just-I’m just very sensitive to touch.”

    Lambert had glanced over at you then, ready with about five different retorts about where you could shove your promise. But when he saw your eyes, recognition surged through him. He took in the flowy clothes, the hair that you had so carefully tied so as not to fall into your face, the light scratch marks along your skin. It was like being shot back in time, back to when he had just gone through the Trial of the Grasses. Everything felt too tight, too itchy, too stiff, too much. And even now, the smallest unexpected touch from someone could send him reeling. 

    Lambert had walked at your side the rest of the way to the town, peeling off once he had seen the ealdorman to collect his reward. When he had stepped back out into the sun, his coin pouch a bit fuller, he was surprised to see you still standing where he had left you. He had approached you slowly, feeling like his feet were dragging through the dust and the dirt. 

    You had watched him come with a smile on your lips and a glint in your eyes. You had nodded towards the other end of the town and Lambert looked, seeing a small home resting atop a small hill on the outskirts. 

    “Would you like a bite to eat?”

…

    Now, Lambert lay in your bed, dressed down to his chemise and undershorts, his belly full and his mind wandering. Once the basic pleasantries had been made over a hearty meal, you had explained that you had always been like this, skittish to the touch of other people’s skin. It was different if you were expecting it, you had said, but it felt like someone sending lightning through your every nerve. 

    Lambert doesn’t get it. Why would this sweet, charming woman who can’t stand being touched open her home to him, offer him a warm meal and a warmer bath, and even a bed to sleep in? The sheets are drenched in your scent, something akin to fresh rain after months of drought. Lambert feels his breathing slow with each breath he takes, relaxing into the comfortable embrace of the blankets around him. 

    He looks over at you, curled in on yourself towards him. The moonlight shines across the high points of your cheeks and down the slope of your neck, dissipating into shadows that hide the heart that calls out to him with every beat against your chest. 

He had been careful as he followed you into the bed, grateful for the chance to sleep on something other than dirt and not wanting to risk it with unwarranted advances. Lambert had let you climb in first, trailing after you as he kept as much space between your bodies. He finds himself wanting to reach out and brush a stray strand of hair from your forehead, knowing that it would bother you had you been awake. 

A crackle of thunder sounds far in the distance, the heat carrying the noise faster than the storm. Lambert watches as you shift, stretching in your sleep before your hand brushes against his arm. He stays perfectly still, waiting for you to wake and pull away. Instead, you only move closer, wrapping your arm over his stomach and resting your head on his chest, just above his heart. 

Lambert feels you nuzzle into him, the movement causing his breath to hitch a bit. He steels himself with a deep inhale, slowly letting it out so as not to disturb your slumber. Something new swells inside of him, enveloping his soul with warmth and comfort that it has not seen in decades. You, with all of your anxiety tied up in the sensation of touch, have sought him out in your most vulnerable state of sleep. 

He shouldn’t read into it. You were probably just cold. But, as you kick the blankets off and squeeze tighter around him, he can’t help but thread his fingers through your hair and let himself hope, just for a moment, that you were holding him just for the sake of comfort. 

Homecoming

Word Count: 6,800+ (chapter 6) [AO3]

(chapter 5) (chapter 4) (chapter 3) (chapter 2) (chapter 1)

Genre: Angst/Hurt/Comfort

Pairing: one-sided Emerald/Cinder

Characters: Cinder Fall, Salem, Tyrian Callows, Emerald Sustrai, Mercury Black

Summary: Making it out of Beacon alive turned out to be the easy part of the whole disaster.Returning home in agony and shame, learning how to take the first steps forward into living in this newly broken state...that, Cinder has decided, is definitely going to be the hard part.

Warnings for implications of abuse and graphic descriptions of injury.

~0~

“Does it get your blood boiling, does it make you see red?

Do you wanna destroy it, does it get in your head?

'Cause it gets my blood boiling and I'm coming unglued

It would hit you like poison if you knew what I knew.”

- Angry Too, Lola Blanc

~0~

After so many months, Cinder was beginning to feel a nervous shake in her stomach every time she turned the corner and saw the door to this training chamber. 

Ridiculous, really, she chided herself. It wasn’t even as if it were an intelligent human opponent she was facing, just a pack of the same Grimm she’d been exterminating ever since she was old enough to hold a blade. It didn’t matter how many there were. Power would always triumph over everything else, up to and including a beast’s instincts. 

But then again, there were far more frightening things in this world than the Grimm.

Salem had nothing to say to her as she opened the door and stepped inside. What had at the start of this new wave of training been reassuring smiles and instructions, had now faded into a cold glare. A warning to prove herself for another day. 

Her beloved bow and arrows still wouldn’t come to her, which twisted her heart every time she tried and failed to get them back. And even if she did, it would be another trial entirely to relearn how to use it sans binocular vision. A small, bitter voice at the back of her mind told her it wasn’t even worth it to try.

However, a single sword was getting easier to form with every attempt, and the one that molded itself into her hand now was like a slab of molten rock. It didn’t feel the same as Midnight, which she had been unshakably confident would never break. This one felt somehow incomplete. It was narrower than before, with far more visible imperfections and cracks running through the surface. And if one perfect sword was unachievable, then two was entirely out of the question. 

Cinder did not like to have Emerald’s voice running through her head as well as talking her intact ear off, but she could still hear her infuriatingly gentle reminder, One step at a time.

So she would make this do for now. She had no choice. 

She brandished the sword before her, and braced herself. Mere moments later, the shadows began to move. 

The clicking of claws and gnashing of teeth followed soon after. A small pack of Beowolves stalked towards her in a semicircle, surrounding her. She hadn’t had to fight down her fear of death like this since she was a child...

(“Feel nothing,” rumbling in her ears as the hilt of the knife slips around in her small, sweating hand, shaking more than ever. She tells herself it’s from exhaustion, but the eyes boring into her always know better. “Fear nothing. You’re still too weak to matter.”)

She grit her teeth, burningly aware of the scar on her face. It had taken years for her to understand. But he was wrong. She did not fear. She was not small. And she was not weak!

Heedless of danger — for nothing could be more dangerous than the eyes boring into her back — Cinder threw herself into the fray with a vicious slash of her blade. The Beowolves howled with hunger and fell upon her, all six of them. She couldn’t take her eyes off their claws, long as her arrows. A chill settled in her gut that hadn’t in years: the one that chased away all thoughts of battle and replaced them with those claws curving underneath her remaining eyeball to tear it out and blind her completely.

(“ — no point in keeping broken tools. If you’re no longer useful, you’ll be thrown away.”

“Like they threw you away?”

Her heart leaps into her throat, afraid that she’d blurted out too much. But the mouth twists further, into a sickly smile. 

“Exactly.”)

She was no longer the refuse of Mistral’s underbelly. She was more than him, more than all of them, like he’d wanted but never believed.

Just a few months ago her flames had been second nature to her. Now, to swing her arm and bring a swath of fire with it was like pulling teeth. Well...her arm worked just fine, more or less. It was this thing stuck to her that was holding her back. She swung and clawed back, as she weaved her way around the thrashing limbs and snapping jaws. Her heart pounded, to flood her veins so strongly with adrenaline that she barely felt it when they tore her dress and grazed her skin. 

She felt nothing. She feared nothing. Her determination to kill, the wrath that spurred her forward, were all that mattered. 

It was as natural to her as breathing, why were only these pathetic spurts of flame coming out now, after everything she’d done?!

Even now her attacks still hit more often than not; she wasn’t entirely broken. But still it took her what felt like an eternity to do what once took only minutes. She stood like a cornered animal at the side of the room, as the final Beowolf advanced on her, growling and slavering. It wasn’t like the Wyvern, or any other Grimm. It did not see her as a hand of its master, or as one of its own. Only as prey. A worthless little thing to be slaughtered and tossed—

(“Alone now, girl?”) 

The beast surged towards her, towering over her, gold shining from its faceless head as the giant hand reached for her — no —

Hands —

Blade —

Claws —

Her blood hasn’t spilled yet but gods, she can smell his, sour and heavy, filling her nose and polluting the fresh air, and that’s what she’ll look like, they’ll rot together, if she doesn’t do something right now!

A sharp white point starts to dig under her skin, snapping her back into the present with a gasp. Why had she been reaching for Scorching Caress when the blade was in her hand? This wasn’t — she wasn’t the one who —

Sunlight and wind were worlds away. Everything now was darkness and smoke and how long had she been frozen, her shoulder swelling and burning? She didn’t have time to consider it. Before she knew it, fire was flaring from what felt like every pore in her body, beyond any semblance of her control despite the arm she had thrown out in front of her much too late. 

The Beowolf didn’t have time to howl as it burned away, scraps of filmy black floating into the air before disintegrating. Cinder heard it anyway, in the ringing of her ears in the newly silent room. 

As she crouched there — like a cowed animal, the small rational part of her sneered — she realized several things in rapid succession. She realized that she was frozen, unable even to tremble. She realized that a thick, warm drop of blood was trickling down her good cheek, her depleted Aura delaying in patching up the claw graze beneath her eyelid. And she realized that the narrow place around her left shoulder, where flesh met Grimm, was a ring of searing pain. The only reason the arm hadn’t dropped limply to her side like the rest of her was —

Her gasp of horror came out sounding more like a cough, but it seemed to burn her throat all the same. The arm was rippling, stretching, elongating and springing off like the branches and twigs of a dead tree. Every muscle in her upper arm felt ablaze, and her mind raced trying to remember her lessons, what to do to make the Grimm inside her bend to her will instead of letting it run free and wild on its own. 

But she couldn’t, her head was too full of glittering gold and burning, burning silver to fit a single other coherent thought in. 

And then there came a different kind of burning, a cold and ice-white burn, and all of a sudden she felt as if her entire limb was shriveling, sucking itself inward. It didn’t hurt, exactly, but the pressure and the wrongness of the sensation took Cinder’s breath away and nearly doubled her over. A soft, disappointed sigh came from just above her shoulder, and without thinking about it she went utterly still.

“Cinder. Did you listen when I taught you how to control your gift?” 

Her instinct, shamefully, was to cringe. But she fought it — her master was not the sort to be sated by groveling — and turned to look her in the eyes as she nodded. 

Salem fixed her with a glare that would shrivel lesser humans like weeds in frost. “Then why do you continue to let it control you?”

Cinder did not whimper as her master’s claws retracted from her skin, their tips thinly lined with blood; after all her treatment sessions, she was used to it by now. The Grimm in her was cowed back to its proper shape and size, but she could feel its roots buried deep in her muscles and nerves. It was a part of her now, it would obey her like any other part. It should obey her...

“You already know, don’t you? You still dread it.”

She swallowed hard, uncaring of the twinge of pain it still caused her throat. Sometimes she truly hated it when her master was right.

“In the spawning pool, while it was bonding with you, it communicated with you, didn’t it?”

Cinder startled badly. It was only a vague memory now, like a childhood nightmare. But still, it had happened, and she was glad for the concrete confirmation. She nodded.

“I told you before I put you under what was in there: everything a Grimm is. Hunger, desperation, fear...the things that were buried deep inside you and that now have been brought to the surface.”

Cinder had to try very hard not to stare. So that was why...

“You must be better than that part of yourself. If you’re not, after all the time and effort that’s been put into you, then at best you’ll never unlock the Maiden’s true power again. At worst, the Grimm will realize it’s the dominant presence in your body, and consume you from the inside out.”

There was a stirring from deep in her muscles, right around her shoulder bones, that felt almost spiteful. As if it were agreeing. She remembered when just the thought of rage and vengeance would bring tongues of leaping flames to her fingertips, warm her like boiling water from the inside out, the Maiden’s power surging up at her command. Now, she could practically feel it being quenched the instant she tried to let it loose. It was the closest she had come in seven years to feeling helpless again...

Without Emerald there to translate for her, it took a painfully long few seconds to choke out, “I...will...m-ma’am.”

She could have sworn she saw a smile ghost across Salem’s face. “One more question, Cinder. Do you think you’ve earned your voice back?”

Cinder didn’t enjoy feeling as if she was now the one having a carrot dangled from a string in front of her face. And she especially disliked that she didn’t have to think about the answer: not what she thought her master wanted to hear, but simply what was. 

“...No.”

“Very well, then. You are dismissed.”

With a bow, Cinder made her exit. Now that she could walk unassisted again, she appreciated the long and thankfully lonely walks around the castle. She thought she had learned as a child never to take a single thing she had for granted, but after this, the lesson was burned into her like any one of these scars. 

Now the immediate question was: where was she going? 

Before heading to her training session, she had instructed Emerald and Mercury to go to the castle library and get some research done for her, but she was hesitant to go join them just yet. The weight room appealed: her muscles still weren’t in one hundred percent fighting form, and a few runs through the basics she’d perfected years ago, and had no chance of screwing up, might make her feel better. Exhaustion was no excuse to avoid training...but it wasn’t exhaustion that made her decide against it. It simply didn’t feel like enough.

Going back to her room to rest wasn’t an option, either. Sleep had never been much of a respite for her, but she hadn’t had such constant nightmares since...well. And this time they came twofold. Gold and silver, gold and silver...

Both her fists clenched tightly; it appeared she and the Grimm were of one mind about one thing only, and that was the thirst to kill. She envisioned sinking her claws into Ruby’s flesh, the optic nerve tearing free, soft tissue shredded with a swipe of her fingers. Like the gold before it, the silver would be drowned in blood, and the girl’s scarless body ruined until even her sister couldn’t recognize her. Justice for her own body at last; she would never trust anybody who said that justice and vengeance weren’t exactly the same thing. All that was left was how to achieve it...and for that, she could not be caught off guard again. 

Fortunately, she already had the spark of an idea. She just needed information, more relevant than what she had gathered from her spying at Beacon.

And unfortunately, there was only one person she could go to about that.

Cinder bit back a frustrated growl and made a sharp turn, towards the other side of the castle.

~0~

Tyrian didn't think he was ever going to get used to this.

It certainly wasn’t the worst part of the whole disaster, but the nagging feeling of being off-balance just wouldn't go away. Perched on a wide spike jutting out from the castle’s surface, he could feel how his whole center of gravity had shifted just from losing part of his tail. He had never used to wobble up here, never feared that he would fall. 

Now, though...

Carefully, so as not to lose his balance, he brought what remained of his tail out in front of him, grimacing at the leaking blood and venom that still stained the thick bandages on the stump. He knew that the others wouldn’t notice or care, but whenever he moved, he felt as ugly and ungainly as a one-winged bird, flying helplessly in circles. 

It hadn’t had to come to this, had it? What more could he have done, what must he remember so that he would never again fail his queen so shamefully? Would he have to change his fighting style to compensate for the loss of a stinger? What was —

All right, what the hell was that incessant thumping noise behind him?

He turned and looked below him to see Cinder standing by the large window he’d climbed out from, glaring up at him and banging impatiently on the outer wall with her gloved hand. 

Tyrian’s face broke into a grin. “Why, Cinder, how long have you been there?” he called down. “If you wanted to get my attention, you should have said something!”

He didn’t understand why the girl made such a fuss about being rendered essentially mute. As she demonstrated now, she could still perfectly communicate ‘I’ll kill you’ with only her remaining eye, and really, wasn’t that all anyone could ever need? 

Despite her clear irritation, she was now gesturing insistently for him to come down to her level. Well, considering how, whether she’d wanted to or not, she had watched as he was humiliated before their queen, Cinder was perhaps the last person he wanted to interact with at the moment. But, on the other hand, the sooner he gave her whatever she had come for, the sooner she would go away and leave him alone.

So, he stood up, darted forward, and leaped from the spike, front-flipping twice in mid-air before landing hard in front of Cinder. (He managed to land on his feet well enough, but hoped that the way his legs quivered wasn't noticeable.) Before, this would be the part where Cinder would roll her eyes and call him a show-off. Now, she just gave him an unimpressed look. 

“Well, then, what is it you want?” He glanced around the hall, and realized that the little green-haired girl was nowhere to be seen. “And where's your pet rat?”

Cinder made an indignant noise and pulled out a small notepad, with a pen stuck in the spiral binding. With some difficulty, she balanced it on her new left hand, which Tyrian couldn't see underneath that huge sleeve, but which seemed to be remaining stubbornly stiff. And with her decidedly smoother functioning right, she started to shakily write something out.

Tyrian snickered. “Look at you, you’ve managed to get some of those fingers working! What an amazing accomplishment!”

She ignored him. After a moment, she held out the notepad for him to read: Tell me about your fight with Ruby Rose. 

Any happiness Tyrian had gleaned from mocking her dissipated. “You get right to the point, don't you?” he drawled, narrowing his eyes. “Have you come all this way to gloat?”

No, for once I’m taking the high road. Cinder paused, then wrote some more. You weren't really doing it for my sake, but I appreciate your ‘eye for an eye’ offer. But you understand how I can’t exactly go out and take a tail for you. For a number of reasons.

“Yes, that is rather unfortunate. It would have been an interesting little experiment had I succeeded, though, wouldn’t it? What would happen to you, I wonder, if we stuck one of those precious silver eyes in your empty socket? I ought to bring it up to our dear doctor, don't you think?”

Cinder grumbled unintelligibly: clearly, the idea of such a replacement didn't appeal to her. She has to have changed since the fall of Beacon. Tell me what she looks like now.

“Why do you need to know that? You think she’s undergone as drastic a transformation as you have?”

It’s part of my training. I won’t hold back when I’m killing her. That should be enough for you. 

“Hmph. You’re not exactly in a position to be making demands of your superiors, you know,” Tyrian reminded her, crossing his arms and pointedly looking away. 

He didn’t know how Cinder managed to make a cough sound so annoyingly high and mighty, but she did. The trademark smirk didn’t help either, as she gestured with the notepad at his poor bandaged tail: Superior? You?

“That’s right. My failure, though tragic, has left my body largely in one piece.” His goddess’ displeasure had cut far sharper than the little rose’s scythe, but Cinder’s loyalty did not quite go that far. “And my priority above all is making up for it. Where do your priorities lie, dear sister? Do you wish to further our cause, or only yourself?”

Cinder grit her teeth. Good luck, then. But that has nothing to do with this.

“And why should I help you with anything? Consider yourself lucky that I’m taking time out of my busy day to speak with you at all.”

With a disgusted noise and a roll of her eye, Cinder wrote for a very long couple minutes, while Tyrian waited. Technically, he didn’t feel the need to tap his foot impatiently, but oh, how he did love that growl of irritation the action elicited from the back of Cinder’s throat. 

You can’t tell me you don’t want to see that girl beaten and bloody. Broken beyond repair, while we recover. Move on with our lives, while hers ends here. You know more about what that might entail than I do, don’t you? 

“Oh? Don’t tell me you intend to go against our lady’s wishes by actually killing the little flower?”

Aggressive scratching of the pen. You can end someone’s life without killing them. Trust me.

“And you’re satisfied with that.”

Being captive here would be a fate worse than death.

“You really think so?” he prodded further, fighting valiantly to repress his grin.

Whatever Salem wants her alive for—

Oh, he couldn’t help it any longer, he burst into a fit of giggles. “How did you manage to infiltrate the academies with such terrible acting, little stepsister?”

Cinder nearly cracked the pen in half. She bared her teeth, hissing through them, and took a threatening step forward. Tyrian’s eyes were drawn to her fingers and the way they twitched, straining for fire and barely achieving sparks. What a far cry it was from when she had first won the Maiden powers, raising and commanding powerful flames as if she’d been born doing it. How awfully sad. How funny. 

“I would love to help you, Cinder, you know that. But in order for me to do that, you’re going to have to be a little more honest with me. Why do you actually want my help? What’s so important about hearing this, of all things?”

Why do you care? Cinder wrote, pen tip threatening to pierce the pad. The details don’t matter so long as we get what we want.

“Oh, there’s no fooling me, dear sister. You have something in mind, and I think you ought to share it with me if you want to get anything out of this conversation. If not...” He gave her a dramatic shrug. “Well, then I suppose you’ll just have to get used to being left in the dust by the privileged few, after all.”

Before she could do anything but look outraged, he spun on his heel and started away, idly waving his tail as he went. Most people, he assumed, would have left it at that, deciding that they’d thrown enough fuel on this fire for now. Tyrian was not most people.

“My, what would your father say?”

The reaction was as immediately explosive as raw Dust. Tyrian felt the heat washing over his back even before he saw the fire. 

He whipped around to see Cinder much closer than she had been a second ago, having clearly just caught herself while lunging for his throat. Flames flared from her eye, poured from her hand, and spun in a furious wheel around her feet. He could feel the sparks flying off of it, catching him in the neck and chest, and grinned.

“Oh, what’s the matter? Daddy still a sore subject?”

Cinder glared absolute murder at him, and a series of awful hissing and rattling noises came up from her throat, like a snake about to strike. Even without speech, the message was crystal clear: Not my father. Not from you. 

Perfect.

“I have to say, it’s been a long time since you wore your heart on your sleeve like this, sister. I’d say...what, seven years?”

She ground her teeth harder, plainly regretting being fifteen and far easier to trick into letting slip her deeper vulnerabilities.

“You surprise me. If I had brought up your little family just a few months ago, you wouldn’t have batted an eye. But now...what’s made you so sensitive? Something remind you of him?”

Cinder looked at him suspiciously, sensing that he already knew. Very astute of her; he would never taunt somebody with a question he was not certain of the answer to. 

“When you can, you really need to tell me exactly what it’s like down there in the depths of the spawning pool. I hear it has such sights to show you. All the things you like to think you’ve already overcome and put behind you.”

Her lips pulled into a stiff, crooked smirk as she picked the singed notepad up off the floor and scrawled, ink bleeding through the paper, I bet you’d love to relive how you got those scars on your chest, wouldn’t you?

Tyrian’s tail stump twitched, and his eyes narrowed. She clearly thought that two could play at this game. Well, she was sorely mistaken. 

“I’m not ashamed of any of my scars, Cinder. Can you say the same?”

Her smirk broadened, but she was...shaking her head? The much-abused notepad burst into a high flame in her hand, and it stayed burning that way even after the paper was ashes on her glove. 

What a confusing girl. No matter, his guesses were usually good.

“You will one day? How optimistic. Tell me, when?”

If she tapped at that glass mask just a little more aggressively, it would probably shatter. Not that it could do much more damage to that half of her face, but still. The fire in her fist burned even brighter. 

“When you get your precious revenge? How lovely. I’ll be waiting with bated breath for your next riveting performance. And I suppose I can give you the little leg up you need from me. If you fall again, it won’t be my fault, after all.”

Cinder continued to glare, and he could picture her new claws flexing hungrily inside her billowing sleeve. But that was all: with a sharp nod, she turned and started away, considering their business here finished. Tyrian wasn’t quite satisfied yet.

“Let’s just hope that when you finally face your little Huntress in battle, you’ll have more luck than Daddy did with his Huntsman.”

Cinder whirled back around blurringly fast. A truly feral growl ripped its way from her throat, and though she was visibly fighting to keep from flying at him again, her eyes burned murderously. She could only make a harsher rattling sound instead of words, but in their place, fire poured from her mouth, gleaming off her bared teeth. 

Tyrian quirked an eyebrow, still snickering. He wondered if that was the look she had worn as a child, hands about to be filthy with blood. 

This was certainly more like the Cinder he had known for so long, the one who had swapped barbs with him and shown off her new powers the same way she had the day before she left on her long mission. And yet, even with all that fuel, she still couldn’t quite bring her fire back the way she used to. It was almost a shame.

“What’s the matter, little stepsister?” He leaned forward, tail reflexively curling upward. True, it was no longer intimidating with its end blunt and bandaged, but it was just second nature. And they both knew it was far from his only strength. “Itching for a real fight? I have to say, I don’t know how well that will turn out for you. As we both have wound up with handicaps, I see no need to go easy on you.” 

Cinder kept up the growling for a few seconds more, then broke off into a frustrated huff, her shoulders sagging as the flames went out. It looked like it was physically painful for her —and, Tyrian realized, it probably was — but she surrendered the bout to him and wrenched her body around, stomping back off down the hall. Rage still radiated from every inch of her, from her frizzing hair to the downright aggressive clack of her heels.

When she was raw and irritated like this, it was so easy to poke her into an entertaining rage, and he hadn’t seen her in such a fun mood since she was a teenager. Whatever she wanted with the information he had to give, only time would tell if her plan would work. 

It was no real concern of his, anyway. Perhaps if the troublesome girl still failed to live up to Her Grace’s expectations, it would start to redeem him somewhat in her eyes. 

Giggling to himself, Tyrian spun on his heel and bounced cheerfully back out the window, swishing his tail in a far more jovial manner. It was like when Her Grace sent him out as her liaison with the sects of Grimm worshippers, scattered out there in the shadows of Remnant: conversing with the less fortunate never failed to make him feel better about himself.

Back and forth his tail swung, slower and more purposefully this time, and he made his way to the edge of the crystal spire with far better balance than before. He supposed that only time would tell whether Cinder’s stability would improve as well. 

For now, he decided, it would be home life as usual: skulking in the shadows and waiting for the next bit of fun to arrive, before he had to leave again on his endless duty.

~0~

In hindsight, Cinder thought, she should have expected to walk away from this conversation seething, no matter how calmly she had entered it. Tyrian could be perfectly tolerable when he felt like it, but in the past few months he had made himself just as unbearable as Watts. She had hoped that being beaten and mutilated just as she had would humble him somewhat, but apparently no such luck. Perhaps it was the ability to speak that made all the difference.

Well, no matter. She would get what she wanted out of him, and that was what counted, she had to remember. She could not be mired in her own self-pity any longer: she was one step closer to grabbing a rope that would pull her out of it, that she would climb back where she belonged with. Now she could, for a while, put her teammates out of her mind. 

It was a ten-minute walk from Tyrian’s chosen brooding spot to the fortress’ library. When she pushed open the heavy door, she had barely taken a step into the cavernous room before Emerald’s head popped up from behind the huge book she was perusing at a nearby table. 

“Cinder!” she said brightly, sitting bolt upright. 

She flipped over the book and left it on the table, heedless of what it might do to the spine, and darted out of her seat and over to her leader. Cinder’s leg had healed and she hadn't needed help to walk in weeks, but Emerald still felt the need to hover over her anyway, just in case of a relapse. 

(Of course Emerald would never say it out loud, but Cinder could tell: Salem’s method of healing was not one she trusted at all.) 

Cinder had been doing her best not to mind, which she had to admit had gotten much easier as she gained more and more of her autonomy back. But still, she was glad that Emerald didn't try to touch her as she walked her to the table. She didn’t think that she quite needed to have her chair pulled out for her when she got there, but she wasn’t going to complain. 

Emerald did seem to be put in better spirits by Cinder’s presence, but she still let out a huff as she sat back down in the wooden chair. 

“This whole library,” she groused, “this whole gigantic library, and only four books on sign language!”

“Well, actually...” 

The two of them looked up (and up) at the towering bookshelves next to the table. Against one of them was laid a long wheeled ladder, and twenty feet high on that ladder was Mercury, pausing from pawing through the books to smirk down at them. 

“We've only looked through half a row of these.” He waved his arm around at the dozens upon dozens of rows of floor-to-ceiling shelves, and his voice echoed in the cavernous room. “We still have the rest of this freaking place to hunt through!”

Cinder rolled her eye. Maybe the library could do with some reorganization, yes. But if a little bit of frustrated searching was the price to pay for unrestricted access to the collection her master had been patiently putting together for millennia now, then she didn't think it was anything to complain about. She caught Mercury’s eye and pointed emphatically to the chair next to Emerald.

“Fine, fine...”

Mercury gave himself a strong push on the ladder, zooming on squeaky wheels down to the end of the row and leaping off the top. Rather unnecessary, Cinder thought, giving him a supremely unimpressed look as he made his way over to them.

“So,” he said, flopping down in the chair and immediately leaning it back onto two legs, arms behind his head. “This is going to be a fun time. Does anyone remember any of the stuff Neo used to do?”

He glanced at Cinder, who shrugged. She’d reasoned back in Vale that she wouldn’t be working with Neo long enough to justify the effort of learning to understand her completely, so she hadn’t bothered to pay too much attention to the sign language that the girl had been trying to teach them. Oh, well. It wasn’t as if she’d ever see her again for any further conversation. She suspected that the Fall of Beacon had gone even worse for Roman and Neo than it had for her. 

From the blank looks Emerald and Mercury gave each other, it appeared that they hadn’t been paying enough attention either. 

“Okay. So we know nothing. Great start,” Mercury said flatly.

“That’s not true! Remember, she did that spelling thing with her fingers? We can start with that, can’t we?”

Cinder tried to answer properly anyway, lifting her hand and twisting her fingers into what she recalled of the fingerspelling alphabet. It was about the only part of the language she did remember, and only because an increasingly exasperated Neo had resorted to spelling things out when her temporary teammates couldn’t understand her words. Closed fist with the thumb outside, A. Flat hand, thumb inside, B. Curved hand, C. D...

She narrowed her eyes at her hand, as if it were to blame for her lapse in memory and would reveal its secrets if she just glared it down. 

“The D, it’s like this, right?” Mercury put his pointer finger and thumb together, holding it out to her sideways. 

“No, no, like this,” Emerald said, putting her middle finger and thumb together with the pointer sticking out. “That’s D.”

“What? No, it’s not!”

“Yes, it is!”

One hiss from Cinder nipped their argument in the bud. With her good hand — it was still hard to think of it as her human hand — she flipped back several pages in Emerald’s textbook and pointed. 

“Oh.” Mercury blinked. “Point for Emerald, then. It’s kind of cheating to look at the answers, though.”

“It’s not a test. We are all just learning this language together. Wasn’t it you who said learning was fun?”

“When do we learn the swears? Neo taught me the swears but I forgot.”

“That’s not in the book, Merc!”

Cinder tapped the thick pages with her knuckles, pointedly glaring and making the next letter sign with perhaps more aggression than was called for.

“Okay, finish the rest, we got it...” 

The rest of the section went by with few hitches. Cinder found it much more palatable to remember that it was just learning a new language, instead of relearning how to talk, of all damned things. It was...surprisingly calming, as well as interesting. This, however, only lasted until they moved on to the Basic Words and Phrases section.

Mercury thumped his chest with a flat palm and tapped both his middle and pointer fingers together — My name is... — and then looked over to Cinder and tilted his head in concern. “Uh...you think you’re gonna be able to do the rest of this okay with, um, your little buddy there?”

Both of them went tense in their chairs, as if trying not to flinch away, when Cinder shrugged her sleeve back and lifted the Grimm arm. She experimentally flexed the long-clawed fingers. They were stiffer than she would like, and still felt like whatever was inside the limb was actively fighting her when she tried to move it. It would be difficult to bend them to her will...but not impossible, she decided. Fine motor control practice, and all that. 

It took her several moments longer to do it than it did Emerald or Mercury, but she managed to perform the signs properly with both hands: My name is Cinder. She peered over at the book —Emerald helpfully turned it around so she could see more clearly — and added a slower, careful I learn MSL with both her arms. 

Emerald watched, copied her movements. “It took some digging, but we found an Upper Mistrali dialect book and a Lower Mistrali one, a Valerian one, and one with lots of dialects from all over. I wanted to focus on Mistral, but maybe the variety will help?”

Cinder nodded. Even after getting her voice back, it could come in handy to be able to communicate nonverbally when necessary...when they were back out in the field together.

Emerald and Mercury weren’t specifically trained for stealth missions like she was, but they could learn. Though the element of surprise regarding their Semblance and prosthetic weapons, respectively, had been spent, they could still be plenty useful. She could keep them by her side until the day they eventually exhausted their usefulness, however far in the future that ended up happening. 

It might even never happen at all, it occurred to her, and the thought brought a small smile to her face. Perhaps they would stay following at her heels for the rest of their natural lives, existing only for her use.

Emerald blinked, hands pausing mid-sign. “Cinder? What is it?”

Cinder glanced at the book once more — yes, she was reading it right — and her smile broadened. She rested her head in the Grimm hand, and she pressed the fingers of her human hand to her lips and then extended them towards Emerald, locking eyes with the girl as she did. 

As expected, Emerald startled and went wide-eyed, and Cinder could almost imagine a blush on her cheeks. “Uh...”

Mercury looked puzzled for a moment, then squinted at the book and sighed. “She’s not blowing you a kiss, Emmy. She’s saying ‘thank you.’”

“Oh! Thanks for...helping you? With this?” Cinder tapped the book and nodded, and wanted so very badly to laugh at the way Emerald’s face lit up. “Don’t worry about that, I’m happy that I can do this for you!”

Emerald subtly bit her lip to keep herself from rambling on further, as she used to do very early on, but Cinder still knew her well enough to hear the unspoken I would do anything for you. Now that she had her attention, Cinder checked the book again, looking to see how to construct the sentence she wanted.

Before she found her answer, her eye landed on another diagram, and stuck there for a moment. Without thinking about it, her hand rose to copy it...but stopped as her fingers brushed up against her throat, before it could say father. 

They faltered there for just a second, and she swallowed against them, remembering another pair of hands around her neck: warm and rough, fingers interlocking, so much stronger than her...

No. This was her hand, his no longer mattered. She gave herself an imperceptible shake, and focused her attention back where it needed to be. The first word, naturally, was easy enough.

I... 

Cinder pointed to herself with the Grimm hand while rifling through for the rest with her human one, so as not to shred the pages in her claws. This chapter didn’t seem to tell her any way to say she had something, so she ground her teeth in annoyance and went ahead even faster to the nouns section. And...there, that would work. She laid a flat palm on her chest, then pressed the tip of her pinkie finger to her forehead and pulled it back out into the air again.

My idea.

“Your...I know it was your idea, but —”

Ugh. Cinder cut her off with a frustrated shake of the head. “N...n-new.”

“Hey, I thought this was a no-talking game,” Mercury said with a smirk. Cinder didn’t think that hissing and slashing a clawed finger across her throat was an official MSL gesture, but it got the message across perfectly clearly anyway.

“You have...another idea?” Emerald guessed. “Do you want us to put the books away, then?” 

Cinder groaned again. This was going much less smoothly in real life than it had in her head. She searched through the book again: this was going to take so many words to explain...

Smaugust 02 - Ancient

Victor and Clara stood at the mouth of the huge cave. Above were the claw scratches of a young dragon, kept fresh over the centuries - nay, millenia - by careful, loyal kobolds. It displayed the name of the master of the cave in a script forgotten even by Time himself. Above it, in similar fashion, but with the deeper cuts started by the claws of a far older dragon, was the name "Gehrakt" carved out in an old, primitive form of Draconic writing. However, the two humans focused their attention on a metal sign, on which was carefully carved in several modern languages: Gehrakt's Cave Those who seek power, begone. Those who want riches, flee. Those who require knowledge... Enter, and prove your mettle.

Victor stared at the sign, then looked to his friend. "Well, that's us, then," he remarked, lighting his lantern before the dark, deep tunnel ahead. "We really can't afford to burn time now." Clara nodded as she did one last gear check before picking up her hiking staff, and together, they ventured inside. They walked in silence for a minute, following a simple tunnel around gentle curves until the entrance vanished from sight. Though they passed a few discarded, rusting swords and flails, and a number of snapped wands and bows, they pressed onwards; if their equipment was not enough for them, the legacies of failed conquerers would be of no aid. From time to time, Vincent thought he saw something scurry in the darkness, but there was nothing when he swung the light around, and he could hear nothing but his and Clara's footsteps. "Do you think it was a bluff? Assuming nobody would try to fight or steal from a dragon who'd lived so long?" Victor asked as they rounded another bend. Clara shook her head, her eyes glued to the walls of the cavern. Nothing more than some kobold-sized claw scratches and some paintings, presumably also by kobolds, so far. "I don't think so. Bluffs only work if your opponent doesn't call them. And while nobody in their right mind would try, he still has to contend with those out of their mind." "True. Oh, look ahead!" He held the lantern aloft, where, rather than a single tunnel, the path split off into two, separated by a thick wall. "Tisk, tisk, Clara," he joked with a grin, "this never would've happened if we'd just kept assuming there was nothing." His companion snrked and playfully pushed him. "Alright, wiseass, but I reckon that assumption would lead us down a random path, and I like having better than fifty-fifty odds on my life." They looked closer, careful not to step into either tunnel yet. Down one lay scattered weapons and armor, much like they'd passed already, but in good condition. Arranged rather than tossed aside, arrows bundled next to a bow gleaming with magic. In the other, a few silver coins from ages long, long ago were scattered near the entrance; they turned to gold a number of feet beyond, and from there, the wealth started piling up. Diamonds, rubies, golden statues, and more poked out of mounds of gold currency and bricks. Both humans felt the desire to step in, and take just one, so even if the dragon wasn't helpful, their visit would not be a total waste. And yet... "Okay, so they both scream 'trap,'" Victor remarked, "one for power and one for wealth. But there's not third option, barring tunneling, and we don't have the tools for that." "Could be the middle? It's wide enough for a person, and those parables often come from SOMEwhere," Clara reasoned, then tapped her walking staff against the wall by her feet. Solid as, well, rock. "Darn." "To be honest, I'm relieved. Can you imagine if all the dragon older than the ancestors of our ancestors had keeping people out was a trick wizards learn to hide contraband from their parents and siblings? Still, where does that leave us?" "Backwards? Maybe the cave changed after we passed, or there's an illusion that hides a passage from one direction." Victor shook his head. "Nah, then this would reward people for giving up on it. The sign didn't say 'prowess' or 'sense,' it said 'mettle.' I think it intends on people to push forward and find the solution." "Well, if back's not the answer, the walls are solid, and forward's trapped, what's left?" As she said it, they both looked at each other, and slowly drew their gaze upward. Hanging next to a stalactite, a coiled up rope ladder was visible amidst the shadows. "I got it," Clara said, and reached up with her staff to smack the ladder. It came tumbling down, the lowest rung hanging a foot over the ground. "Right, then, up I go," Victor said, and began his ascent. His friend, meanwhile, swiftly unscrewed her staff into several shorter pieces to stow away before she followed him up. "Short, hard to reach, hidden... this feels like a kobold maintenance tunnel," he grumbled. They soon found a ladder down, and Victor descended. Clara called after him, "maybe it is! Makes the test all the more fitting, if we turned out to have beaten not just the puzzle, but the system it's framed in, no?" "Eh, it's also a simple enough answer that it's probably the intended solu-" he cut himself off as he looked around and sighed. "Man, beating the system doesn't feel as good when the system is THIS." Clara stepped down the ladder. "Why, what is it- oh." A two-foot wall obstructed the entrance to the narrow tunnel they had climbed into, revealing that it was, in fact, the middle path, hidden by a rocky illusion. "Okay, I agree with you. That's a disappointing puzzle." She reached her hand out to pass through the fake barrier, but was stopped by something solid in mid-air. An actual illusion. "You know, if it didn't just happen to me, I bet I'd find this pretty funny," Victor quipped, "now let's keep going, if anyone's got that cure, it's Gehrakt the Eldest." And the two of them set down the tunnel. They passed several sets of significant-looking scratch marks, but from what they could tell, it was all code, or at least unknown abbreviations and slang by the dragon's kobolds. Eventually, they came upon another metal sign in several languages. Upon this one was written, simply: Stand on the X to meet Gehrakt The humans looked down at the floor. There was a large circle painted on the smooth, rock ground. They looked around, but all of note on the walls or ceiling were some claw scratches in what were decidedly not X-like shapes. "So... do we stand on the circle instead?" Clara asked. Victor shook his head. "I don't think so. It's not an easy shape to mix up. Unless this is some illusion of an O on top of an actual X, which would be kinda unfair." Clara nodded. "And, like the going-backwards option before, it would allow in people who didn't understand the trick, too. Here, let me try something." Having reassembled her staff, she used it to scrape an X inside the circle, then placed a foot carefully on the new symbol. Nothing happened. The two of them read and reread the sign a few times, wondering if there was an error in translation that had been missed when putting it into their first language. To no avail, however; everything but the single, translation-unneeded X was as good as they knew it could be. Clara narrowed her eyes. With careful balance, aided by her walking staff, she placed her foot on the sign, right over the X. Almost immediately, a small section of the wall above the sign slid away, revealing a small, scaly head. The kobold yapped and wiggled an arm through the hole to point at the circle. "Stand on the circle?" got another yap. So the two humans stood on it, and in a flash of light, they were suddenly in front of Gehrakt. To say that Gehrakt was big was an understatement. Dragons do not stop growing if they are not killed, and Gehrakt was the oldest dragon by a long shot. He bore an old scar, now the size of three men end-to-end, across his eye. Victor and Clara had seen dragons the size of horses. They had heard stories of dragons the size of a house. There were myths and legends of dragons big enough to stand over houses and barely scrape their belly-scales. But Gehrakt? His scales were visibly tougher than just about anything. With a wayward bite, he could devour entire trees and barely notice. The two of them looked at him, and were given the distinct, unsettling impression that to walk from the tip of his snout to the end of his tail would take hours upon hours, if not entire days. HELLO, HUMANS. WHAT DO YOU SEEK? The voice was loud, impossible to ignore, and was not spoken, but rather appeared in their heads. Clara was glad she had her walking staff to lean on, and Victor rather wished he had one as well. It took them a couple of seconds to recover, before Victor could respond. "We... our town is afflicted by an illness turning victims to stone. We have no books on it, and seek knowledge on its cure, and on its prevention." AND NOT ON HOW TO RECREATE OR HEIGHTEN IT? "Uh... no? Look, one of our town's teachers is made of marble now, and when we left, my best friend had lost a foot to it. Subjecting anyone else to this is beyond our furthest thoughts." "Plus, if anyone actually wanted to weaponize petrification, there's always chucking a basilisk over the wall," Clara muttered, and was quickly shushed by Victor. THAT IS SUFFICIENT. KREER VITGEHRAKT WILL GUIDE YOU. IF IT IS WRITTEN, YOU WILL FIND IT ON THAT SHELF. The rapid sound of scaly feet pitter-pattered up behind them. The humans turned to see the kobold from earlier before them. Kreer yapped, and began to walk off. The pair followed it, and only once they brought themselves to look away from Gehrakt did they see his hoard of knowledge. Hundreds of spiraling, conical pillars jutted out of the ground, each one lined with bookshelves filled with countless books. As Victor stared at them, he spotted a number of moving shapes browsing the shelves, each one presumably having gone through a similar trial to meet him. He squinted, making out not only humans, elves, and kobolds, but also gnolls, some sort of slime, and a couple of harpies browsing the stacks. Clara hung back a couple steps. "Uh... Mister Gehrakt? May I ask a couple questions?" A bemused glint appeared in the eye of the dragon. YOU HAVE ASKED ONE ALREADY; WHAT IS THE SECOND? The human smiled at having seen the joke coming, then asked, "just before we got here, there was a sign saying to stand on the X, but it was an O that we stood on to get teleported here. Was tapping my foot against the X on the sign really the solution?" Gehrakt drew his massive head back, and for a moment, Clara was terrified that she had offended him. Instead, however, he turned to face Greer, who chirped out a few short phrases in Draconic. IT WAS NOT INTENDED TO BE SO. ONE OF MINE HAS MISLABELED THE TELEPORT GLYPH. IT WILL BE FIXED. THOUGH... THAT SOLUTION IS NOT A BAD IDEA. Clara let out a breath, then sped up a bit to catch up to her companion and the kobold. "So," she said quietly to Victor, "Kreer gave us the answer to that last test, because it wasn't supposed to be one. We overthought a mistake." They walked towards one of the nearer spires of literary knowledge, and as they climbed its slope, they passed by a gnome, a politely coiled lamia, and a small, yellow pegasus before the kobold yapped once more and pointed at a bookshelf, then stepped past them and made his way back down. The books were all medical texts on uncommon and rare communicable diseases. Between the two of them, Victor and Clara quickly found the information they needed. On a sheet of paper they had brought, they copied down facts about the strange disease and made multiple copies of the instructions for creating and applying the cure. Once done, they carefully walked back down the spire. The lack of handrail was much more apparent as they descended, but they eventually managed to get back to Gehrakt and the teleportation ring. HOLD, HUMANS. MY KNOWLEDGE COMES AT NO GREAT EXPENSE, BUT NEITHER IS IT FREE. They froze at the dragon's booming, telepathic voice. "What- what would you ask of us? We do not bring much gold," Clara said. I VALUE LITTLE OF PRETTY METALS. YOU WILL TRADE KNOWLEDGE FOR KNOWLEDGE. A new kobold skittered up to them, carrying a roll of parchment and a quill. It scratched a few words to test, then looked up at them. A COPY OF THE STORY OF YOUR JOURNEY. THAT IS THE PRICE OF THE CURE YOU SOUGHT. WORRY NOT, YOUR TOWN NEEDS YOUR TIME MORE THAN I, SO YOU MAY ABRIDGE YOUR TELLING. Vincent and Clara shared a glance, nodded, and began their tale...                

The tale of the three head beast. The marching fishes (17/20)

Second part of the tale of the three head beast series, you can read the first part The chosen children Here and here, or look for the tag  3t3hb  on this blog.

Resume: Three years had pased since Taichi won the hand of princess Sora and both get crowned King and Queen of the living land, now they must faced the duty of the monarchs, but the King is must worried about cover his affair with royal guard. The war started on the Honest Island, does the King Joe would manage it?. Mean while at the other side of the sea Takato and Ruki stronger their forces.

And you can read all past chapters of the marching fishes in the links below

ACT 1. ESCENE 1: THE RAIN

ACT 1. ESCENE 2: THE WILL  

ACT 1. ESCENE 3: THE TRIP

ACT 1. ESCENE 4:THE SON

ACT 2. SCENE 1: THE ARRIVAL

ACT 2. SCENE 2: BROTHERHOOD

ACT 2. SCENE 3: MOTHER | **warning suicide attempt**

ACT 2. SCENE 4: THE BATTLE OF THE IKKAKU ISLAND

ACT 3. SCENE 1: THE INTERROGATION

ACT 3. ESCENE 2:  DELIVERY

ACT 3. ESCENE 3: RED DRESS

ACT 4. ESCENE 1:TRIAL

ACT 4. ESCENE 2: THE SAINT QUEEN

ACT 4. ESCENE 3:THE SPY

ACT 4. ESCENE 4: INTRUDERS

ACT 4: SCENE 5: THE BROKEN SWORD

ACT 5: SCENE 1: THE WIDOW After the cut

Everything that could hurt her, hurt

Her body had been shattered, her legs felt weak, the throbbing pain of her missed eye made her crazy; on her right, covered by a thin white sheet her son slept, the scars of his lost childhood were visible on his face.

He would never run careless to the rain again

On her left her daughter suck out of her breast,  the tiny girl was sweating from the effort, Mimi could not help but cry every time she looked at her, she was such an ugly baby,her skin had a greenish hue, not a single hair peeked through her head, so small, so weak, so lucky to be born alive.

The queen did not breast feed her first child, a nurse took him by her arms as soon as she asked for it, she was bathed  in rose water and fed  with red fruit and nuts before she asked to see him again. So she had no idea it would hurt that much, that it would leak and stain the sheet around her, that her arm would be cramped by the effort of carrying her newborn  for so long.

Two children lying on the bed next to an exhausted mother, she would like to sleep too, to dream that her husband would return, that he would take her back to his castle with baths of roses and red fruits.

Joe Kido, the pacifier; what a beautiful title, she remembered the exact moment when she fall for him: in their first dance, when he introduce himself not as a warrior but as a healer; Mimi had know so many warriors, killers, soldiers, but never a man as Kido, a man with the promise that his children would never knows the war.

But he lied, a man who seek justice cannot escape from the battle; she  wanted the strength to stand up and fight along him, the opportunity to...

An explosions sound at the distant, the little girl cried; as she could she pick her on her arms and hold her closer, even that movement brought pain to her body, the noise of the battle shook the walls, she expected  for the worse, and the worse happened.

Soldiers of the light army stormed on her room, bright armors splashed with blood and dirt, the King himself appear at the door, triumphantly; the wolf knight by his side with the face of a broken man.

That could only mean one thing

“The Sea King is death”  The King of all land said

A scream died in her throat, and she thanked the goddess that the children were asleep

Taichi Yagami didn't expect to found her like that, one-eyed, weak, pale, haggard, with two children hanging from her arms; she saw the pity in his eyes and make the greatest effort of her life.

“he got…” she barely could speak “what he deserve your majesty”  

The room make silence to her statement, the lies comes from her mouth in a attempt to save her own

“What did you said?” Yamato Ishida step forward, all him was intimidating, Mimi look at him and then to the King, did they really expect that she respond to a knight?

“he.. he allies with the men” her heavy breath interrupt her words “with the men who imprisoned me and.. and my son”

“Did you mean this men?” With a movement of his hand Taichi impart orders to his soldiers, immediately they drag Ken and Iory inside, Ken was gagged and Iory was crying, their hands were tied and their spirit broken

“Yes, no “she correct, her mouth was dry “ they don't …”  her hand hold her missing eye “not only them, Akiyama…”

“It's good to see that you have not forgotten about me honey”  he was there,along with the soldiers of the light with Davis by his side, none of them were tied

Instinctively she hold her children, if the looks could kill Ryo Akiyama would be death

“before it defeat, my master and I leave the rebellion” Davis mutter shamefully and the few blood that still remain on the queen body boiled  with rage

“You betrayed the rebellion” Iory spoke between  tears “you didn't just leave”  

The King raise one hand and they gagged Iory too

“We are not here to discuss the fate of Davis and his master” Taichi continues as the interruption didn't matter “Both of them are forgiven”

“Your highness!” Yamato exclaim but he also was ignore

“We are here for the last wish of Joe Kido” everybody keep silent for a moment, the wolf knight spoke next

“Don't kill the children”  his blue eyes turn to her, to her babies “that was a mistake we made the last time”  and he held the broken sword tightly, it leaked fresh blood

A sudden revelation “You killed him” she whisper, so slow that almost nobody could hear her

“I'm a merciful King, i would forgive the infants” Taichi voice sound over his trusty ally “Take them”

The soldiers move faster “No please!” they come closer to her “Please don't take my children!”  she didn't has the strength to resist

“They will be raise on a light temple, with the sister of the light…”

“No please….” she beg

“You will be imprisoned  and judge for yours crimes again the crown”

“I never committed treason to the crown! Look at me!” her arms  moved frantically “I am a prisoner, they kidnapped me! mutilated me! and then somehow they convinced my husband to fight for them! " heavy tears follow her screams “Please!”

One sight of his hand and the soldiers left the kids on the bed

“Promise loyalty to me, bend a knee and you will return to rule over the islands, the tributes for the capital will be doubled and the banders of the light will raise over the land”

“Yes…” she mutter, calming the children “wherever it takes your highness”

That would be enough, she thought, but he awaits for her, everybody did

She had not gotten out of bed since the birth of the girl, as she could she crawled to the edge and slid her feet to the ground, as the tips of her fingers touched the floor, slowly she tried to support her weight on her legs but the movement disorient her,  she grabbed hold of the rail feeling that her skin could not contain her body.

Nobody came to help her

She bent the knee and crashed to the floor.

“Lift her” the hands of her husband's murderer put her back in bed “return her to coral palace, is time to leave this Islands”

“Your majesty” she barely could spoke “Can i have a request?”  

“what more do you want beside your throne and your children?”

“Revenge…” her words come spiteful from her mouth “I want those who started this to rot in the dungeons of my palace, I want, when my health allows me to be the one who executes the traitors of the islands "  her sloppy eyes turn to Iory and Ken

“Davis and his master had been exonerate for his war crimes”

“Yea i know...” inexplicable she smile “i'm sure they would be fine following you to the capital, living the rest of theirs lives under the light” she closed her eye afraid to faint “please allow me to punish at least the ungrateful childrens of the islands”

“Ichijouji and Hida will remain under your custody, the wolf knight will take care of that”

“The wolf knight?” she laughs “that's such a cute name for a wild who bite his chains” her voice become deep and scratchy “he is not a protector… “ she babble “he is Kings´s predator”

and after those words she lost consciousness

When she woke up she was back in her bed, she smelled roses and a glass of strawberries shone on her table, her son, although awake, still curled up on his right, his daughter, still small and weak, was crying on her left

"Majesty, allow me" a Maid approached to take the baby but she stopped her.

"No one is going to touch my children again" and she held the tiny creature on her hands, ready to fulfill that promise.

Rhuli’a’s trial pt.4 Determination (RP Scene)

Rhuli’a has passed a trial of speed and a trial of agility.  The young man still has a way to go before he can fulfill his life long dream of becoming a Fist of Rhalgr.  Tired and wounded, he presses on.  What further trials await the young man in the next arena? He’s about to find out...

((https://youtu.be/ICKrtbT3PqE <---scene BGM))

As Rhuli'a enters the room, a stone door behind him slams shut. The room is dark, and starts to brighten slowly with a hazy, pinkish ambience that comes from nowhere in particular and everywhere at the same time. From the three walls ahead, three ghostly figures begin to emerge. They seem blue and whispy, but are very much the souls of fallen Fists of Rhalgr, as it can be determined by the temple uniforms they wear. The one on the left holds a spear while the one on the right is carrying a sword. All three say and do nothing, save for stare at the Miqo'te, waiting. Whether it be a friendly greeting or aggressive attack, or anywhere in between, they would not act first. Rhuli'a frowned.

He knew this wasn't the place for politics. He knew he shouldn't open his mouth to converse with potentially, century-long dead. Nonetheless, he did. "Does it not trouble you so that you remain bound to this temple, brothers? Forever damned to languish in its halls, as hallowed as they may be, caged? A cage is a cage is a cage. So suffers those who walk the path of Light."

Turning, he began to pace, quiet as he dwelt on his next words. Even if offered a reply, he would continue to monologue, almost grateful for this respite after all the trials before. "Chains. We should seek to break them in all things. Constraints are an unnatural part of our existence Liberty is all that matters. From kings, from blood, from..."

The Keeper paused, looking to the ghosts. "Life? Mayhap this be only a lesson..." Rhuli'a shook his head. "Nay, Worren clings to tradition. His is the way of bright. Unyielding, static light. A hell I would see none suffer in."

Dropping into a combat stance slowly, Rhuli'a faced his opponents, mismatched eyes traveling between the trio of undead. His left arm extended almost as if to ward off his opponents. Right arm firmly cocked, flickers of aetherical lightning traveling over the limb erratically. "I will deliver you and yours from your torment, spirits, if I can. Drive your proud souls away from this star and into the great, slumbering Dark. Destruction. Just as Rhalgr teaches. Wills it. Demands it."

The two apparitions on the sides both give a small snort and look over to the one at the end of the room. All three are highlander Hyur, standing tall and at ease. The third stands with a blank expression. He then speaks flatly, voice deep and gravely. "So be it." Is all he says, before walking to the center. The other two follow suit and all get into a combat stance. As the first reaches the center of the platform, Rhuli'a loosened his posture for just a moment. And struck like a viper as soon as the other two stepped forward. To the aggressor goes the victory. Lightning flew across his person as he delivered a salvo of blows at his phantasmal foes, a mighty war cry of his name loosing itself from his lips. "Kanjun! Kanjun!"

The three ghostly figures were obviously much more experienced, and it showed. They could have struck back, but did not. Yet. They simply deflected any blow that came their way, and worked in tandem as if they all were one, even blocking strikes meant to for another. If a kick comes out from Rhuli'a, another kick would come from a different ghost to knock the leg away. If a punch is thrown, a spear stick would lash out to displace the incoming fist. The unarmed monk speaks as this goes on. "Why are you here, young one?" Rhuli'a didn't answer at first, seeking out a way to overwhelm the trio. However, as time went on, his pace slowed, and eventually, he stopped altogether. Ears pinning back, he rose to their challenge. "To become the next stepping stone, why else? Gyr Abania needs strong people inhabiting her. This is a way to become strong."

"Oh, really? And how do you think you will accomplish that?" The apparition crosses his arms, the other two still holding their weapons at the ready. "You speak as if you were there, like you know everything. You speak of light and shadow. We are all Fists of Rhalgr. Nothing more. Nothing less. Except those who are unproven, such as you." He looks on and goes quiet, waiting for a rebuttal. Rhuli'a scoffed. "To pass these trials. To walk the path of Shadow, of discord. Never compromise in my beliefs. You think I've not studied why we fell? Our order was nearly exterminated because of those who sided with the ruling family. Sold themselves out as whores for naught but a hoax! An attempt to garner station when we, the Fists, had no need of such frivolities. And again, do they rally, with their thrice-cursed 'structure'. Poisoned tongues bidding all to become subservient, to involve themselves in an order which will ally with the state again."

Tossing his head, Rhuli'a thrust his finger forward, accusingly. "And I'll not let that happen. There must be a balance. I'll not see the Art extinguished by those who pursue a power other than that which the Destroyer offers."

"Bold words, whelp. Yet, you do not see clearly what you speak of. You speak of balance, yet here you are persecuting what which you do not even know. I hope your master knows what he or she is doing." He then turns his back on Rhuli'a and begins to walk away. He then glances back. "Learn some humility, and the meaning of brotherhood. Then maybe, Rhalgr may grant you what you seek." He says this coldly, and continues walking away. The other two, however, remain. They still stay ready to fight. "Coward! Face me!" Rhuli'a broke into a run, rage in his eyes. Snapping out of his anger, he noticed the other two incorporeal foes still at the ready. Shirking from his path momentarily, he charged the one on the left, a kick aimed dead center towards the chest of the ghost.

The apparition was of course ready, using his free hand to push the offending leg away by stepping a bit to the side and parrying the leg into the other direction. The other with the spear would move fluidly in tandem with his partner to swing the stick out low and sweep Rhuli'a off of his other foot, before the both of them point the tips of their weapons down at the Miqo'te's face.

The other turns as he makes it to the wall on the other side, and leans against it. He begins to phase through it, but does not leave just yet. "You speak of chains, yet it is you who are chained by your own pride and rage. You spoke a name. Worren. Who is he to you?" The Keeper tumbled on his back with an indignant grunt. The cold stone dug into him as he narrowed his eyes at his two assailants. Looking towards the departing spirit, he spat out. "Naught but a teacher for now. Nothing more. Nothing less." Swinging his legs under him, Rhuli'a attempted to knock the spirits off-balance, to clear space for him to regain his footing.

The two jumped back to avoid the sweep, and they turned to follow the other. Whom of which finally broke out into an expression other than a blank face and tone. He chuckles a bit. "Heh heh heh. Such fire and anger. This Worren has a lot of work ahead of him to temper you into a proper fist for the destroyer. When next you see him, ask him what it means to be a fist." He nods, and phases through the wall. The other two become intangible as they also make their way to the wall. "Beasts, stonework, and now ghosts..." Rhuli'a knelt down, sitting as he found himself alone once again. Thinking upon the words the ancient ones had imparted upon him, his brow fell. Furrowing into an expression of contempt, he shook his head. "Something to dwell on later..."

The Miqo'te looked towards his right hand. Callused, scarred, and bruised from today's tribulations, he slowly closed it into a fist. Pushing off the ground, he cast his gaze around the chamber searchingly. Surely there was a puzzle or drawing he must follow. If not... His eyes fell to the door next, gold and yellow both regarding it with impatience.

The door, unlike the others, was devoid of any moss or markings of any kind.  If touched, it would be observed to move freely to be pushed in and slid to the side.  There would be no puzzles or reactions. Rhuli'a gave a small smile. It was probably the first sign of joy the Miqo'te had shown throughout the entire encounter. Walking past the threshold, his features fell once again into a grim nature. Set for the challenge ahead.

There is a short hallway here that leads outside. In this outside area, the stones are covered in moss all over. Further down the path, there is a short staircase that leads to stone double doors that are closed. To the right of this door is another chest sitting there. If opened, there would be a pair of short armored gloves waiting inside. Memories of the moss was still fresh in his mind. Moving carefully, the Keeper tiptoed past the most obvious parts, gingerly passing over them. As he started down the steps, Rhuli'a's eyes snapped to the chest with a hungry gleam to them. Another piece! Barely able to contain his excitement, the main threw it open, starting slightly at the all-too-familiar appearance of the contents.

Where the other pieces of his outfit were tossed aside too fit the new, Rhuli'a took his time with these. Making sure every strap was fastened, locking them into place. Turning over his wrists, he flexed slightly, a satisfied hum coming from his throat unexpectedly. Feeling as if he could take on the entire star and win, he turned to the door next. Waiting to see if there was anything needed to be done.

The door remains as is, though under the moss, there is a symbol of a fist etched into it's surface. There is an outline drawn around the fist, as if it were radiating a light, or power. Nothing else happens. No traps or anything. Yet. Only silence and the sounds of rushing water of the nearby falls and birds. And for some time, it remained that way.

Gazing upon the stone, Rhuli'a blinked slowly, almost in a trance. Was he to...? Clenching his fist, he stood back, allowing some power to flow through him. With a lurch, he struck forward, his knuckles coming within an ilm of the door. The symbol faintly glowed in reaction, then dimmed. Again, Rhuli'a made over exaggerated motions with his limbs. Aether built and flowed through his body like a river's current in a storm. And again, the Keeper struck towards the door.

Again. Again.

Frustrated. Rhuli'a let the natural haze of his anger flow through him. Almost like his Aether, it began to soak through him, his breathing become more and more focused, sharp and resolute. Finally, he stepped towards the door in a strange, shuffle, like he was approaching an enemy.

A feint, two quick palm thrusts...

And his right hand, almost soaked in Aether, trembled, and was bolted forward, squarely into the middle of the passage. The door's symbol faintly glowed each time he struck out.  The aether was definitely affecting it, but it just wasn't enough.  Over and over, it remained as it was, until Rhuli'a struck out hard against the door.  This time, the strong contact had a much more noticeable affect, with the symbol glowing brightly this time.  It fades again, this time slower with the promise of progress.  Yet still, the doors remained closed. The Keeper blanched. The last strike he delivered had taken quite a lot out of him. However, if the only way out was through...

Blow after blow was rained against the unyielding stone. Rhuli'a's aether transferring violently into the frame as he continued his assault. The constant strikes keep the symbol glowing this time, going brighter and brighter until it finally it bursts into a blinding light before fading.  Then there is a short rumble and the two doors slide open, revealing a square platformed area.

TO BE CONTINUED

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