#to bring her back to life and offer her the immortality she so sought
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A DC X DP IDEA #29
The Heir
Imagine dis…
You know what, it’s been a while since I added the infamous Al Ghuls to my stories.
…
The Lazarus Pit, a sacred lake in the League of Assassins' fortress, was said to provide immortality and bring back life. However, its underlying nature was considerably more sinister than its therapeutic properties indicated. Ra's al Ghul, the centuries-old leader, stood before the pit, his ancient and knowledgeable gaze fixed on the pool's depths. He sought the ideal successor to take his mantle and lead the League into a new age of domination.
Ra's al Ghul had governed the League for generations, utilizing its vicious assassins to further his goals. As his death approached, he realized he needed to safeguard the League's future for it to survive. As the Lazarus Pit continued to bubble and churn, Ra's al Ghul considered the gravity of his decision. The selected heir would need strength, talent, wit, and ruthlessness to traverse the League's treacherous internal politics.
Ra's al Ghul's ravenous thirst for power ruined his yearning for the ideal heir, Talia's son Damian. Despite knowing Damian had the detective’s DNA, Ra was concerned that his influence would corrupt his heart and undermine his ruthlessness as leader of the League of Assassins, just as Damian's compassion and sense of justice would jeopardize his legacy.
Ra's al Ghul stood in front of the Lazarus Pit, its menacing glow casting eerie shadows throughout the enormous chamber. Though he was not religious, he couldn't help but feel fascinated by the magical power hidden within. He had achieved immortality here, at the very founding of the League of Assassins, and he was now looking for something even more valuable: a worthy heir to carry on his legacy.
Ra's offered a secret prayer to the Lazarus Pit, pleading for an heir who would transcend all others. And, as if in answer to his intense desire, the pit erupted in a dazzling burst of light, temporarily stunning Ra's and his collected assassins.
When the light faded, they saw a sight that struck them with awe and wonder: a newborn floating serenely amid the Lazarus Pit's shimmering waters, its eyes gleaming with an otherworldly green light. Ra's felt a rush of elation and insane glee pouring through his veins. He saw in this infant the embodiment of his deepest desires, the ideal vessel to carry on his legacy of conquest and immortality.
Ra's al Ghul approached the newborn with almost fanatical reverence, reaching out to hold it in his arms. He felt a force emanating from the child, a potential so huge and untapped that it sent chills down his spine. Here was his heir, the one who would take the League of Assassins to even higher levels of power and dominion.
As his supporters watched in wonder, Ra's al Ghul pronounced the newborn to be his chosen heir, the League's future leader. And in that moment, basking in the light of the Lazarus Pit, he realized that his legacy would last for centuries.
…
Talia stood in the shadows of the League's fortress, her heart full of mixed emotions. She had previously thought her son, Damian, would inherit her father's legacy, but the appearance of Daniel Daan Al Ghul dashed those expectations. The resentment of being passed over for a new male heir wounded her, reflecting the patriarchal norms that had formed her existence.
Nonetheless, as she watched Daniel develop under her care, she couldn't deny the wisdom and power emanating from him. His eerie green eyes appeared to look right through her, penetrating her soul with their ferocity. Despite her initial disdain, she found herself captivated by the youngster, seeing in his brilliance that much above her desires.
When Daniel was just five years old, he shocked her by entrusting her and Slade Wilson with separate sections of the League to lead. It was a gesture of trust and empowerment that left her dumbfounded, as she realized Daniel saw potential in her beyond her role as caretaker or assassin and guardian.
In epochs gone by, when the female hand grasped the scepter of might, she ascended to the echelons of immortality. Why am I precluded from such transcendence with you? I perceive the dormant titan within you, hence I proffer my dominion, both to you and to its awakening, for in you resides the essence of dominion.
He told her when she asked why. At that moment, she realized the extent of Daniel's strength and compassion, and she promised to serve him faithfully.
Talia's allegiance switched dramatically when Daniel personally intervened to save Jason Todd, her beloved’s son, from the lunacy of the Lazarus Pit.
Intervening just as her father, Ra Al Ghul, was about to order Jason Todd's execution because he was no use to him or the league, Daniel silently appeared beside her father and slowly walked down from the throne to the floor where Jason Todd was kneeling, still brain dead, as it was still a mystery to all how he was revived as he dug himself out of his grave.
Guard the tender soul, mend his wounds, for he is but a fledgling, entrusted to my care for solace and salvation.
He proclaimed to her father, who stared at Daniel, perplexed as to why Daniel wanted to keep this teenager, but agreed to utilize the pits for his purposes. When Jaosn emerged, he was already deep in the pit madness; when he raced towards Daniel, all assassins had created a wall around the heir, but Daniel told them to step aside; with a single touch, the madness left Todd and he went out.
Talia took on her job as Daniel's right hand from that day forward, leading him with her knowledge and cunning. Though her heart grieved for Damian, she knew Daniel was the rightful heir, destined to lead the League to greatness. And when she stared into his hypnotic green eyes, she saw not just a leader, but a judge and a god on the rise.
…
Slade Wilson, often known as Deathstroke, had always been a formidable force in the League of Assassins. His skills were unparalleled, and his reputation was legendary. However, as the years went by, a seed of ambition germinated within him, fuelled by a desire to seize League leadership for himself.
The discovery of Daniel Daan Al Ghul's emergence as a new heir fueled Slade's internal strife. On the one hand, he wished to stage a coup, seize authority, and establish himself as the legitimate leader. On the other side, he was captivated to the mysterious power emanating from Daniel, the heir born of the Lazarus Pits.
As Slade trained Daniel and Damian, he couldn't help but be amazed by Daniel's extraordinary abilities. The youngster was a genius in every way, with an intellect and prowess unparalleled by anybody else. And when Daniel, with his penetrating green eyes that appeared to capture the essence of the Lazarus Pits, recognized Slade's worth and appointed him to a position of responsibility within the League, Slade felt a weird mix of awe and reverence.
Untouched by the forge of opportunity, you, a blade honed in both physique and intellect, lay dormant amidst neglect, gathering the patina of obscurity. Yet, now, I bestow upon you the helm of leadership, for only you possess the whetstone to sharpen others to their zenith
Daniel informed him after he sought for an audience.
In that instant, Slade realized his fate was connected with Daniel's. He pledged his unwavering service, promising to serve his new lord until his soul was shattered. Slade saw Daniel as more than just a leader but as a being with incredible power and potential. And as he peered into Daniel's fascinating green eyes, he knew he'd follow him into the depths of hell, for even death couldn't break the link between master and servant.
…
Damian Wayne, raised under the League of Assassins, had always felt he was meant to carry on his grandfather's heritage. But when Daniel emerged from the Lazarus Pits, enveloped in their miraculous waters, Damian's fate changed.
As they grew, Damian was awarded the duty of Daniel's guardian, a position of great distinction in the League. He fully committed to this role, practicing tirelessly to prove himself worthy of defending the League's successor.
Damian was upset when Daniel unexpectedly dismissed him from the League at the age of 10. He couldn't understand why his lord would dismiss him so abruptly. Damian confronted Daniel, desperate for answers about his dismissal.
Youthful spirit, the horizon stretches before you, beckoning freedom's call. Yet, wanderer, when the winds of destiny bring you home, return to me. I relinquish the chains of selfish desire, for I discern your potential for greatness. Embrace the world, then return to my side, where together, we shall forge greatness anew.
Daniel then disclosed his genuine goals, which were to drive Damian to greatness and help him reach his full potential outside of the League. Though initially astonished and offended, Damian realized the underlying message in Daniel's actions and decided to earn his master's trust.
Going to his father's side, Damian sought out Robin's mantle, battling Tim Drake for the title. In doing so, he aimed not only to recover his place by Daniel's side but also to establish himself as a suitable successor to his grandfather's legacy, ready to embark on the path of greatness that Daniel had envisioned for him.
…
Daniel, a young heir to Ra's al Ghul, led the League of Assassins with unrivaled potential and strength. His wisdom and charisma won the respect and allegiance of powerful individuals such as Lady Shiva, Cheshire, and David Cain. Ra's al Ghul trusted Daniel to protect his legacy, knowing that the League would continue to develop and prosper under his leadership, assuring its domination for future generations.
…
Daniel meanwhile at the back of his mind kept screaming as he never thought that it would get him far.
He was just walking around Amity when his ghost senses pinged something he could not see, one moment he was in his teen self and then he was a baby surrounded by ectoplasm and being carried by someone with major fruitloop vibes. He tried he tried, he tried to become a cryptid like Clockwork since it always makes him grit his teeth at the vague sentences that came out of him, heck even Pandora and Frostbite look at Clockwork and thought of strangling the ghost for his cryptic answers, he is pretty sure he does that for shit and giggles, but it made him look like mature and wise, someone who has infinite wisdom.
Danny thought of laying down low when it came to training but with the combined efforts in training with his mom and the various ghost mentors and fighters in the Infinite realms, he became a formidable fighter before he even reached his double digits. As years passed by each time he tried to deflect or even pass on his so-called political power to others was returned with undying loyalty that he didn't need.
He just hopes that the Bat Furry brigade can help him out.
…
PS: If someone out there wants to continue or make a fic about this you are free to do so, don’t forget to tag me though.
PPS: As you can see, I posted a bit early, I am busy during May so this is another early post. bye-bye!
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pre-the last olympian nico doodles
#its big nico and bianca hours#i like to think that nico feels guilty for bianca's death#since she joined the hunters of artemis to escape the responsibility of being a big sister#so now he tries to maintain total independence#and spurns anything that could thwart that aspiration#(i.e. friends and relying on others)#and he wants to apologize to her by bringing her back#by correcting what he views as injustice#for the fates' wrongdoing and his own#its just grief and guilt and anger with nowhere to go#so he channels it into one mission that can be realized#to bring her back to life and offer her the immortality she so sought#even if it's at the cost of his own life#it's all he can do now#the only way he can feel closure is to be of use to the person he holds so dear and feels he has wronged so deeply#he doesn't want his last impression on her to be one of frustration and annoyance#he wants to be more to her than the cause of her death#and he needs her to be alive for that to happen#anyways!#nico di angelo#bianca di angelo#(mentioned)#pjo#pjo/hoo#pjo fanart#percy jackson#pjoverse#nico di angelo fanart#percy jackson and the olympians#soup art
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Matthew Patel
Romantic Headcanons – Yandere
WARNING: violence, death, implied stalking, mentions of religious concepts, toxic mindset.
From the moment you invite Matthew into your life, he will carry that memory to his deathbed. The bond you forged that day is unbreakable and immortal for him: he will go blind to all other reasons for living, consumed with rage at your absence, and ecstatic at any sign of your favour.
Talk of other suitors sends Matthew into a frenzy from which he will not emerge until this obstacle to his happiness is laid low. Dispute over the value of certain traits leaves Matthew resentful—of himself for not being better, of the other person for possessing what he lacks, and of the universe for cursing him with such horrid luck.
When such a person speaks your name, Matthew is driven by his own insecurities to loathe them. The sound of their voice becomes like a cheese grater to his ears, a reminder of how close he is to losing his world for the second time, and from thence into a sound he will fight to the death to silence.
The look of this person, particularly when they light up at the mere mention of you and receive such a look in kind, is a ghastly thing. Matthew's takeaway is one of doubt and bad memories, of all the similarities to Ramona's waning interest that he had been too immature and inattentive to rectify. He vows not to make the same mistake twice.
Seemingly overnight, Matthew transforms from a brooding presence lurking in your shadow to a wellspring of offers to solve even the smallest of issues. He makes a habit of dropping to one knee and delivering a Pagliacci-esque soliloquy about how deep his affection runs, professing that you've become his whole world and that to lose you would leave him with nothing.
Despite your promise not to "betray" him, as Matthew so graciously puts it, he fears it would be a mistake to let his guard down. He believes you were sincere at the time, but Ramona's flippant attitude has left him anxious that you may change your tune and turn your back on him for no apparent reason.
For years, Matthew sought answers as to why she hurt him: on bad days, he blames her for playing with his emotions; on worse days, he blames himself for not trying hard enough to become someone she wanted. Now that he has another shot at human connection, this earth will burn before it slips away from him.
Matthew's actions arise from a peculiar sense of justice: he views himself as retribution sent down upon all those who have wronged you. By daring to replace him, their way of looking after you is inherently and unforgivably flawed. Someone who could, in reality, be quite decent will devolve in his mind into a parasite who takes advantage of you.
Whether they are cruel or kind-hearted, what obsesses Matthew and keeps him stewing for potentially years is the notion that they've robbed him of his one chance at happiness. So long as they keep you company, he sees his future darkening.
What should be a private affair, Matthew turns into a spectacle: he takes to the stage in his most flamboyant attire and declares war, goading his enemy to meet their doom at his hand. Everything, from the venue to the battle itself, is a power play, a performance art in which he displays his prowess for all to admire and envy.
Once he has struck the first blow, there is no version of events where Matthew shows mercy or admits defeat. The harder they fight, the prouder he is to butcher them. Their death will be a triumph, a testament to the fact that he is strong enough to win this war. Anyone who rolls over in the face of his challenge must not be truly committed to you and therefore deserves to feel his wrath for stringing you along.
Coming to over the shiny remains of his enemy, Matthew forgets his rage and revells in the thought of having the sole being who brings him happiness. Ready to pick up where he left off and confident he's earned that right, Matthew throws himself at you and proclaims how thrilled he is to be together again.
Matthew struggles to move beyond the past and to envision a future where he is alone. Having spent much of his life pursuing others, Matthew has no concept of living for himself. He stakes his survival on the volume of applause at the end of every performance, and in the home environment, his tendency to cling to petty recognition has taken root in all interactions.
This emotional hunger reveals itself in the unnecessary extremes to which Matthew proves his devotion, convinced that the obsequious nature of his company and continual sacrifices gives them meaning. He jumps at every opportunity to be near you, no exceptions, afraid that missing even one will be termed neglect and spell the ruin of his life with you.
At his best, Matthew is an unrelenting thespian who serenades you with ballads and calligraphic poetry. But at his worst, he is an unstable and violent creature full of pent-up rage, who conspires with Daemonettes to bind your soul to his, making it virtually impossible to give him up for another.
Do anything you want with my work, but never make me boring!
#Matthew Patel#Scott Pilgrim#Scott Pilgrim vs the World#Scott Pilgrim Takes Off#Imagines#Reader Insert#Yandere#X Reader#Yandere x Reader#Yandere Imagines#Yandere x You#Yandere Headcanons#Gender Neutral Reader#Scott Pilgrim x Reader#Matthew Patel x Reader#Yandere Scott Pilgrim#Yandere Matthew Patel#Yandere Writing#Fanfiction
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I just saw ur Cti/Eus and l think you're the greatest person to ever exist bc I HAVE BEEN SHIPPING THEM FOREVER OMG!???? No hate to Cti's husband but like... I don't think she likes him
look. we can justify it by saying that eurylochus (ctimene's husband) was a clown. that just bullied odysseus throughout the odyssey. so much so that odysseus legit thought about killing him but didn't cause he's his bro in law
Eurylochus alone sought to hold back all my comrades, and he spoke, and addressed them with winged words: “‘Ah, wretched men, whither are we going? Why are you so enamoured of these woes, as to go down to the house of Circe, who will change us all to swine, or wolves, or lions, that so we may guard her great house perforce? Even so did the Cyclops, when our comrades went to his fold, and with them went this reckless Odysseus. For it was through this man's folly that they too perished.’ “So he spoke, and I pondered in heart, whether to draw my long sword from beside my stout thigh, and therewith strike off his head, and bring it to the ground, near kinsman of mine by marriage though he was; but my comrades one after another sought to check me with gentle words
AND HE'S ALSO THE GUY THAT GETS THEM TO EAT THE CATTLE OF THE SUN
And meanwhile Eurylochus began to give evil counsel to my comrades: “‘Hear my words, comrades, for all your evil plight. All forms of death are hateful to wretched mortals, but to die of hunger, and so meet one's doom, is the most pitiful. Nay, come, let us drive off the best of the kine of Helios and offer sacrifice to the immortals who hold broad heaven. And if we ever reach Ithaca, our native land, we will straightway build a rich temple to Helios Hyperion and put therein many goodly offerings. And if haply he be wroth at all because of his straight-horned kine, and be minded to destroy our ship, and the other gods consent, rather would I lose my life once for all with a gulp at the wave, than pine slowly away in a desert isle.’ “So spoke Eurylochus, and the rest of my comrades gave assent.
and then he dies for his clownery.
SO PERSONALLY. i think ctimene deserves to live out some happy years with her childhood friend that she was raised with and was very close to and happy with and her parents clearly loved. and i think odysseus will also be chill with it cause her other husband pissed him off and was stupid.
we can have the: together as children but she was sent to marry someone else and we now live in different worlds but OH we've been reunited lets make up for time lost time and be happy because ive always loved you ship of our dreams.
#also thank you!! im glad you like my dumb brain thoughts ASDFGHJK#ody thinks his sister deserves better ASDFGHJK
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BASICS.
name: rahşan özkara
birthdate: november 29th, 1784
age: 229 years old
species: vampire
face claim: miray daner
tw: ottoman slavery, murder
HISTORY.
Born into a mercantile family of little means but blessed with beauty even from a young age, her father saw little value in a daughter than a bargaining chip. She was only a girl of sixteen when the deal had been struck, a new gift for the favor of the Sultan to join his harem. Rahşan had little say in the matter of her own fate, her lack of thrill for the idea ignored and disregarded swiftly. Instead, she was told to worm her way into the Sultan's favor, to bring good fortune to their family with her rise.
But of course, reality is often so different than expectations. In truth, she saw very little of his majesty for the first several years of her life in the Topkapı Palace, instead spending the majority of her time with the other consorts and the Valide Sultana. It wasn't a fate Rahşan minded, much less frightening than she had first thought. While the Sultan had his favorites, she was free to spend her time learning to sing and play many instruments. It wasn't freedom, the eyes of guards were always strict upon the harem, but it wasn't misery either.
It was her singing, in the end, that caught the attention of the Sultan. One of his favorites had succumbed to sickness the winter before, and the Valide had sought to put someone new before him to distract from his sorrow. Rahşan was young, and had played her part well, currying favor with the queen mother. She would make a suitable replacement who would offer little threat in way of attempt to control her son, or so the Valide thought.
Taken to his bedroom, it was Rahşan's voice that brought a smile to the Sultan's face, for the first time in months. She was quickly raised in position of the harem, and though it made her new enemies amongst the other consorts who conspired for her position, Rahşan enjoyed much more comfort and power with the position. But it still wasn't freedom. In the end, it was something that could not be forgot.
When assassins came for the Sultan, while a few of the other concubines attempted to protect Selim, Rahşan only stepped back. It was during the chaos that she found there would be no better time to run — a new Sultan would be crowned soon, at best she would be sent away to Bursa, at worst married off to someone of their choice, and neither fate seemed enviable to Rahşan. So instead, she ran. Out of the palace, out of Turkey itself, as far west as she could make it, trading her jewels and even performances on her lute for passage with merchants, until she finally made it to Europe.
But her new life was much harder than she imagined, surviving by her own two hands. She made money as both seamstress and entertainer, though neither paid particularly well. After forming a friendship with another seamstress she'd later discover was a witch, the young woman was introduced to the world of the supernatural, and suddenly saw her path forward with complete clarity. There was more to the world, she was meant to be more, and Rahşan would make sure she got it.
Though becoming a vampire took more effort than she thought, Rahşan was nothing if not determined, eventually emerging as a creature of the night with sharp new fangs. She had a new outlook on life, everything she wanted at the tip of her fingertips, and all she had to do was take it. From that day forward, everything was going to be different.
She made the most of her immortality, indulging on every passing whim that crossed her mind — the things she'd lost in the trade seemed worthwhile to what she had gained, at least at the time. It was only after more than a century had passed of her new life that she had begun to question the hastiness of her decisions, when watching everything Rahşan had once known while the vampire still remained. It felt like there was an impernance to the world, one that had not existed before; or perhaps it had, but she had never thought to take note of it.
It was a new lesson to learn, to not make attachments to anything that could be taken from her, by either person or passage of time — one that she would use as a guide for the rest of her immortal life, flitting in and out of lives at the drop of a dime, becoming close with only precious few. It was easier than allowing her heart to be broken again and again with the changing of the seasons.
New York is always somewhere Rahşan ends up coming back to. After landing first in the early 1900s, she fell in love with the city, and always finds herself back in it's grasp after her flights of fancy. Though she'd been gone nearly ten years now with her latest return, it still felt as much of home as it ever had.
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【ＶＥＲＳＥ ~ ＢＡＣＣＡＮＯ！】
315 BC. in ancient greco-roman egypt, a fringe society called the collectors is formed with the goal to archive all of life starting from its inception. they're a secretive people who soon gain the greatest powers alchemy can offer: transmuting minerals, creating perfect homunculi, and from those beings, the liquor of immortality.
with no names by nature, the collectors amass, hoard, and collect every iota of information for themselves - and when their perfect creations sought to spread the studies to others, more perfect homunculi they created and sent to exterminate dissenters.
this second wave become followers of the collectors, offering their bodies and spoils for the collectors' goals.
but this collector only wanted to play.
play with their creations, make friends as one of few children in this society of theirs.
sneaking out, traveling for hours, he finally found perfect homunculi left, with children of their own.
but before they could lay a hand on them, they were sealed up. in a basement, a prison of diamond and volcanic glass just small enough for him to fit. only a master alchemist or other perfect homunculus could free them.
it was the perfect game of hide and seek.
1672, AD.
philip wittebane goes on an expedition to egypt, hoping to uncover the secrets of alchemy in the remnants of a little-known group named the collectors.
what he finds instead is beyond his wildest dreams - a real collector, alive, speaking from what appears to be a disk roughly waist-height and made from expensive, dense material, a crescent moon emblazoned on its side. a child's voice has him skeptical, but humoring instructions on a low-level transmutation produced the results needed to believe them.
phillip wittebane brings this new asset back to america.
this collector, on the other hand, found a new best friend.
and soon, he will be free. just as soon as they win at witch hunters.
...it's 1932, AD. things in the new york-connecticut area are getting dicey. prohibition driving up alcoholism and crime families alike, plus the depression. forget about it!
in the shadows of a little town called gravesfield, someone who hasn't been human in a long time is trying to make a perfect homunculus. collector thinks it's for his freedom, but he's just a temporary solution to a big knowledge problem... and his patience is just about to run out.
(icons used are of c.ous.tas from wi.tch h.at a.tel.ier!)
1910s, america. a certain traveling circus once was the talk of the town. started by the immigrant otori rakunosuke, it sported such acts as trained animals, boxing lasses, and so-called magical vampires.
it was like something out of a dream. one that made a pretty penny—in the first decades of life, this circus grew, and so too did the otori family—a richer and richer family that put entertainment first thanks to its patriarch.
after a couple generations, four children were born: the oldest, keisuke; then shousuke, hinata, and finally, emu.
from birth, emu was a handful to deal with, but a bubbly joy regardless—enamored with circus life and sitting cushy in the lap of luxury, she wanted for nothing, and spent many days with her grandfather rakunosuke as she grew older.
still, nothing can last forever. one day, rakunosuke left this world—and the traveling circus put its stakes down as a permanent location. the younger otori generations found it unfeasible to constantly travel while keeping their estate afloat, see.
at first, emu loved this change—she enjoyed exploring whenever she wanted. but then, her beloved memories started changing—older attractions built by her grandfather torn down for newer, land-bound attractions—the open frontier was little more than a pipe dream now.
the depression threatens closure, absorption by other organizations. but emu will do anything to save her grandfather's pride and joy. it's all she has left.
luckily, a pianist and young aspiring actor might be just what she needs to make her dreams come true...!
#𖤓 (verse.collector) EMBRYOGLYPH ~ 𝗕𝗔𝗖𝗖𝗔𝗡𝗢!#lil explanation post#his character relies a lot on other characters using him which is why i involve oldman so much v_v but i hope this is illuminating#HOPE THIS DOESNT SHOW UP IN THE MAINTAG I USED FONTS GUYS
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𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐚𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬: lara in her london flat for the first time after sam moved out got arrested , mid 2015.
lara shared a small flat in london with samantha nishimura, and kaz weiss briefly, before kaz permanently moves with jonah. the flat was shared by both lara and sam throughout their years in college ( they moved out of campus dorms during the second semester because lara couldn’t stand the atmosphere and needed her own space that she would only share with sam ), and rent was paid by both sam and lara’s effort and part-time jobs next to school.
after yamatai, lara and sam tried to find a semi-normal routine akin to what they had before the doomed expedition. lara found a job thanks to the pull of the croft name at the national british museum, and sam went on to work for a documentary crew. lara receives a video ransoming the life of a previously presumed dead grimm held by a gang in mexico. after failing to negotiate control over her trust from her maternal uncle atlas de mornay to pay the ransom, lara, sam, kaz, and jonah set out to mexico on a hopeful rescue mission, under the guise of a documentary crew looking to find evidence on the chupacabra. the mission quickly spirals when sam begins to exhibit violent, uncharacteristic behaviour, constantly arguing with lara specifically, that throws a wrench in a barely put together plan. a series of unfortunate events lead to the reveal of the hostage being grimm’s twin brother, still in need of rescue from the gang known as las serpientes que caminan, led by leticia cortez, the queen of the serpents. who proudly reveals to a disgruntled captured lara that she’d been one of richard croft’s wirlwhind romances, before he left and never returned.
the rescue eventually goes through, lara successfully escapes and ensures the safety of her friends, but her concern for sam grows when sam violently murders one of the gang members during their escape. lara and sam couldn’t be further apart than they are now. back at london, lara’s employment at the museum is terminated, but she manages to secure grim’s brother a job. on her way home, she purchases a box of cupcakes as a peace offering for sam, but sam lashes out at her again. lara’s left in despair and alone at the apartment, considering even leaving london behind and returning to yamatai given how hard it was for her to cope with constant paranoia and fear of being pursued. the idea is quickly shot down by kaz and jonah who arrive to comfort lara and encourage her to turn within to soothe her troubles.
lara receives a call that sam, who’d been out on a jog, has been arrested for assaulting a stranger on the street. when lara goes to the prison to talk to sam, she’s in a catatonic state, in and out awareness of lara’s presence. lara’s determined to find a way to bail sam out and get her help, and decides that she will follow in her father’s path and find the proof to divinity and immortality he sought out. she is also determined to to bring to light the events of what happened on the island. so she takes to her trustee keyboard to write her findings into her very first publication and resumes her father’s research into the tomb of the deathless prophet.
on november 10th, 2015, the daily bell publishes the spread titled ‘Another Crazy Croft’, discrediting lara’s account of the expedition to yamatai. this along with her research into the deathless prophet’s tomb turn trinity’s attention to her once more, after their failed recruitment of her the previous year.
#me finally remembering that i gotta finish my timeline between the games? yuh#this is penultimate to the beginning of rotr#i'm still gonna time and date all the comics after tr13 including the first time lara went back to the island#rescuing kaz#and the trinity recruitment#so many posts#☼ ⁖ ◽ ◽ ︱ headcanons — a survivor is born.#☼ ⁖ ◽ ◽ ︱ creations — she burns.#the picture of teh article is included
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NAME. Valentian Gaius
AGE & BIRTH DATE. 31 & October 28th, 1900′s
GENDER & PRONOUNS. Female & She/Her
SPECIES. Spirit ( Former Narcissus Witch )
VARIANT. Wraith
OCCUPATION. Owner of Fates
FACE CLAIM. Jenna Coleman
biography
( tw mutilation, childbirth, blood, death, gore ) Often when people speak of Valentina Gaius in hushed voices, when they questioned how un-inhibited and wild she had became -- it was often said that Valentina was born underneath a dark sign, that the skies were painted purple as the sun began to set and a cold wind moved through the trees outside the windows. Beasts howled in the night and a cry signaled that she was alive, her mother passed away quietly on the bed after such a laborious birth, even in the womb Valentina demanded a lot. She was born at the turn of the nineteenth century, invention flowed around them and city scrappers towered around them. As she grew in age, she fell in with the culture that surrounded girls her age, at least the flappers that she choose to keep as company.
Valentina was born into money but she liked the idealistic life of working at a café, being able to keep her own money and spending it as she pleased in gin joints and wearing down the heels in her shoes from dancing all night. It was during such a night that she sat at a clothed table in the back, a songstress was singing out of a microphone on stage and she drank her gin martini that she began a conversation that would turn her life on its head -- they began to speak of notions such as magic and she began to learn of certain schools, Alteration, Illusion and a certain dark wanting spoke within her when she learnt of Destruction.
The young witch wanted to harness the power of the skies, to bring into creation that which wasn’t before and the spirit world called to her -- divination and talks of beyond the veil were beginning to emerge and Valentina followed the call of the occult with grace and girlish eagerness to consume what the world had to offer. She found her place among the witches of Narcissus who sought similar like pursuits, who weren’t restricted in the ideals of wonder and magic, dabbling in slit palms and giggling over gravesites as they called the dead from their resting place. She passed the Narcissus initiation with ease, having practiced calling demons and making them submit to her control for simply a good ol’time many Saturday nights.
Valentina was a restless one and constantly wished to learn and grow in the darker craft that took more sacrifice to achieve, so it was with secret that she tried to achieve Godhood. A private ritual that she planned to conduct in the private chambers of the Narcissus house, it was long before they joined the senate but they still lived together in coven. She had gathered the ash, the incense, animal organs, a representative of each element, lit the candle at each side of the pentagram and offered her soul to the skies for immortality and incredible power. Darkness curled around her bedroom floor before plunging into her chest and acting as the ritual she had set up, a miscalculation as she sealed her own death.
The now created Wrath was not finished with her conquest for the Narcissus coven and so Valentina stood believing that the ritual had been successful, for she had many new gifts and still remained within the walls of her coven. Years passed and her understanding of her death will flicker in and out of lucid states, she continues to look after her Narcissus witches and enjoys the power that she can inhibit within the estate with slamming doors and dream-weaving. She will continue to haunt the Narcissus as she is a needed part of the coven and as generations continue to seek refuge in the coven, she will be there to take care of them.
personality
+ curious, protective, stubborn
– impulsive, materialistic, self-seeking
played by amy. gmt. she/her.
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no one is born a reaper. we’re all made. my story is one of war, heartbreaks and loneliness. and i would’ve done anything to escape my prison, including making a deal with Death.
ABOUT CALYPSO
FULL NAME: CALYPSO OF OGYGIA
NICKNAMES: CAL, CALY, DREAMWEAVER, SEA WITCH, SEA QUEEN, SORCERESS, SIREN, STARLIGHT, THE REAPER
PRONOUNS: SHE/HER
SEXUALITY: DEMISEXUAL, BIROMANTIC, POLYAMOROUS
AGE: ANCIENT
EYE COLOR: MIDNIGHT BLUE, ALMOST BLACK
HAIR COLOR: DARK HAIR WITH SILVER HIGHLIGHTS UNDER THE MOONLIGHT
SKIN COLOR: BROWN
SPECIES (VERSE DEPENDENT): ATLANTIDE (sea nymph) // DARKLING (servant of the Dark) // REAPER (first ever made reaper and assistant of DEATH)
FAMILY
(father) TITAN ATLAS
(mother) THE OCEANID PLEIONE also known as the protector of sailors
SEVERAL SIBLINGS, THE PLEIADES
PLACE OF RESIDENCE: OGYGIA // EARTH
OCCUPATION: SEA WITCH, QUEEN OF OGYGIA // WANDERER, COLLECTOR OF SOULS
LANGUAGES: ANCIENT/GREEK, ENGLISH, FRENCH, ALL LANGUAGES OF PLANET EARTH AND OF THE UNDERWORLD
THIS MUSE INSPIRED BY GREEK MYTHOLOGY, THE FAIRYTALE THE LITTLE MERMAID BY HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN & THE INVISIBLE LIFE OF ADDIE LARUE BY V.E. SCHWAB.
FACTS
Calypso used to be a powerful sorceress of the sea who was condemned to be trapped on the island of Ogygia forever for the support she provided her abusive Titan father Atlas in the war against the Gods. Atlas threatened to harm her mortal lover if she didn’t perform a spell for him. But what she didn’t know, though, was that he’d never planned to return them to her. Instead, as soon as the spell was done, he killed them in front of her to teach her a lesson about caring for humans.
The island of Ogygia exists outside the constraints of time and space. Therefore, people from all time periods and all universes can wash up on the island. They just need to have been lost at sea in one way or another.
While trapped on Ogygia, she fell in love with about every person who washed up on her shores. She tried to make them stay, tempting them with immortality, but they would always refuse her. They had families and loving partners waiting for them back home. Whilst she understood their desire to go back to their families, each goodbye would always leave her more heartbroken and lonelier than before she’d known them.
When she was at her lowest mental health-wise, a powerful entity sought her out and offered her what she’d been craving more than anything in the world: freedom. But it didn’t come without a price, of course. It came on the condition that every person she would meet in the outside world would forget about her the second she was out of sight. At first, she thought she could bear it. So, she agreed. She sold her soul to this entity she’d come to call The Dark because they would always visit her after dusk, under a sky devoid of stars, draping themselves over her like a comforting blanket. The Dark calls her their Starlight because she is like a north star walking the earth. Her hair glows under the moonlight and she is also the sister of the Pleiades who became a constellation.
As time passes, she comes to resent them, for confining her to this infinite solitude. But while she resents them, she also cannot bring herself to stay away. She comes to realize that she and The Dark are the same. Both are unable to leave a lasting impression on the world. And so, despite the resentment, she comes to find solace in their company and believes they share an intimate bond… until The Dark grow frustrated by the fact she isn’t breaking apart and surrendering her life to him like they’d hoped to.
She leaves and, once again, she is lonelier than before. Death starts to feel appealing but spite keeps her going. She refuses to let Them win and so she lives as much as she can and as loud as she can. She falls in love many times and every goodbye is heart-wrenching. Still, she has hope. Hope that, one day, someone on this earth will remember her.
She eventually comes to the striking realization that the only way she will be remembered by someone is if she strikes a bargain with a mortal, like her Benefactor had done with her (because she was made into the entity she struck a deal with and has now the power to strike bargains with mortals too).
Calypso is eventually visited by another entity. DEATH strikes another deal, one that clears her debt towards the Dark. She becomes a Reaper, the first one ever. Her curse is finally broken, which allows her to finally leave a lasting impression on this world and actually get a chance to connect with people and work on building lasting relationships, even though her duty as a Reaper takes up a lot of space in her life.
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ABOUT THE MUSE
FULL NAME: CALYPSO OF OGYGIA
NICKNAMES: CAL, CALLIE, DREAMWEAVER, SEA WITCH, SEA QUEEN, SORCERESS, SIREN, LADY OF THE NIGHT, STARLIGHT
PRONOUNS: SHE/HER
SEXUALITY: DEMISEXUAL, PANROMANTIC, POLYAMOROUS
AGE: ANCIENT
EYE COLOR: MIDNIGHT BLUE, ALMOST BLACK
HAIR COLOR: DARK HAIR WITH SILVER HIGHLIGHTS UNDER THE MOONLIGHT
SPECIES: ATLANTIDE (sea nymph) // DARKLING (servant of the Dark)
FAMILY
(father) TITAN ATLAS
(mother) THE OCEANID PLEIONE
SEVERAL SIBLINGS
PLACE OF RESIDENCE: OGYGIA // EARTH
OCCUPATION: SEA WITCH, QUEEN OF OGYGIA // WANDERER, COLLECTOR OF SOULS
LANGUAGES: ANCIENT/GREEK, ENGLISH, FRENCH, ALL LANGUAGES OF PLANET EARTH AND OF THE UNDERWORLD
THIS MUSE INSPIRED BY GREEK MYTHOLOGY, THE FAIRYTALE THE LITTLE MERMAID BY HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN & THE INVISIBLE LIFE OF ADDIE LARUE BY V.E. SCHWAB. est. march 2023
FACTS
Calypso used to be a powerful sorceress of the sea who was condemned to be trapped on the island of Ogygia forever for the support she provided her abusive Titan father Atlas in the war against the Gods. Atlas threatened to harm her mortal lover if she didn’t perform a spell for him. But what she didn’t know, though, was that he’d never planned to return them to her. Instead, as soon as the spell was done, he killed them in front of her to teach her a lesson about caring for humans.
The island of Ogygia exists outside the constraints of time and space. Therefore, people from all time periods and all universes can wash up on the island. They just need to have been lost at sea in one way or another.
While trapped on Ogygia, she fell in love with about every person who washed up on her shores. She tried to make them stay, tempting them with immortality, but they would always refuse her. They had families and loving partners waiting for them back home. Whilst she understood their desire to go back to their families, each goodbye would always leave her more heartbroken and lonelier than before she’d known them.
When she was at her lowest mental health-wise, a powerful entity sought her out and offered her what she’d been craving more than anything in the world: freedom. But it didn’t come without a price, of course. It came on the condition that every person she would meet in the outside world would forget about her the second she was out of sight. At first, she thought she could bear it. So, she agreed. She sold her soul to this entity she’d come to call THE DARK because they would always visit her after dusk, under a sky devoid of stars, draping themselves over her like a comforting blanket. The Dark calls her their Starlight because she is like a north star walking the earth. Her hair glows under the moonlight and she is also the sister of the Pleiades who became a constellation.
As time passes, she comes to resent them, for confining her to this infinite solitude. But while she resents them, she also cannot bring herself to stay away. She comes to realize that she and The Dark are the same. Both unable to leave a lasting impression on the world. And so, despite the resentment, she comes to find solace in their company and believes they share an intimate bond... until The Dark grows frustrated by the fact she isn’t breaking apart and surrendering her life to him like they’d hoped to.
She leaves and, once again, she is lonelier than before. Death starts to feel appealing but spite keeps her going. She refuses to let Them win and so she lives as much as she can and as loud as she can. She falls in love many times and every goodbye is heart-wrenching. Still, she has hope. Hope that, one day, someone on this earth will remember her.
Centuries later, she comes to the striking realization that the only way she will be remembered by someone is if she strikes a bargain with a mortal, like her Benefactor had done with her (because she was made into the entity she struck a deal with and has now the power to strike bargains with mortals too).
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A Dragon’s Favor
Summary: A newly reforged Paladin journey’s up a mountain to ask for safe passage through a dragon’s territory...
No one ventured this far up the mountain anymore. Not in years. Not since the last intrepid adventurer blew through town with her group trumpeting their every horn and singing songs of victory before they'd ever marched the summit. They were well known, famous, as much as anyone can be in this world.
But like every man who'd passed through the peerless heights of the Dragon's Pass, they'd never returned, and the Dragon's well fed laughter had shook the ground and rang through the valley, like always. It scared her how much death amused Him. It amused her that people still sought a funeral by fire anyway.
But she didn't baptize her blood in the power of Dambola to sit idly on the floor of her world. No one human ventured this far up the mountain, and the only way out of the valley, His valley, was up the mountain. There was a world screaming for her to see it just beyond a Dragon's reach and she was going to meet it standing tall. Her legs weren't her own, her eyes weren't her own, her back wasn't her own. She'd given them up to Dambola for the power to see this world before death snatched her away from the dust of the earth and the blue of the sky.
She was close now, there were bones scattered here and there, animals and man and everything betwixt. No one living ventured this far up the mountain. The walls were painted in old viscera and decorated with bone shards. The stories from the soothsayers lips sang of an Army indebted to the red beast, called to service long after their breath had rattled its last in their lungs. She could see them now, smell them now, taste them now that her senses were strengthened by a deity. They lurked; hidden away from the light, waiting their Master’s orders as tireless as all unliving things.
The light.
She had chased that sun, the fire that barely reached her village to burn away the darkness, all her life.
Once she made it over the mountain, it, like everything else in this world, would be hers. No one mortal ventured this far up the mountain. She stood before the maw of a dank cave; a creature so immense within that His breath whistled through the hollows of the earth, an uncanny moaning. He was of the immortal race, undying and ancient, longer lived than her father's father could even name his ancestors. And she was...unafraid.
Three thousand and eleven.
Three thousand and twelve.
Three thousand and thirteen.
Three thousand and fourteen.
Three thousand and fifteen.
With a delicacy belied by their size, the massive claws set down the tiny stack of five coins next to a small forest of similar stacks, precariously balanced on a bed of similar coins. So tiny. Such intricate workmanship. He loved them, every one.
Three thousand and sixteen.
Three thousand and seventeen.
Three thousand and eighteen.
Three thousand and nineteen.
Three thousand and twenty.
Another stack of lovely golden coins. Their perfect finish glowed in the light... The light of His own glowing, demonic eyes. He loved to see them, to count them, in this dark place, the only illumination, the glowing spark of His own avarice. He counted them, one by one, over and over, till He knew them all like children. Every foolish face, striving to escape their own mortality by impressing their visage onto precious metal. Each mortal, long dead or soon to die. Their lives pointless and useless. Carefully, methodically, He lined them up once again in neat rows.
Like the row of petty mortals that had brought Him these new coins. Tribute to His greatness, offerings, to His might. True, they did not intend to bring Him this treasure, but rather to steal His own... but if they did not mean to give it to Him, then they should not have died so quickly... That must be the purpose of mortals, He had decided long ago. They existed to bring Him His treasure... and His meals.
There was a noise, far away. Footsteps, at the mouth of His cave.
His mouth began to water. The endless, bottomless hunger at the base of His throat began to stir.
A feral growl, sounding like an ancient quake of the earth, vibrated through the stones and to the entrance of the cave. Sharp and grinding, sharp and grinding, the sound of His scales over stone. She took a final breath of the sun soaked air, and walked into the cavern.
It was dark, but Dambola's eyes needed little light. The glow from the summer's afternoon sun spilled deep down into the bowels of the earth, reaching like desperate claws to rend the naked flesh of the darkness below.
It was wet, but her feet didn't slip, didn't falter. Not like the breath caught in her chest, struggling to free itself from the thrumming horse race of her heart. The dew caught in her hair, and stuck to her armor, slicking the leather and giving the precious metal shine.
It was hot, but her skin had ice running across it. Shivering, demanding fingers raking down her back and twisting across her throat, rubbing it raw with its frozen grip. She could hear the stirring, the scales sliding over precious gold, thick lain across His floor.
He was near, but still fear did not grip her. The ice was the thrill, the horse race her joy, the caught breath too wrapped in the excitement to chance leaving her breast. Soon. Soon...
The great firedrake lifted His body into the air. Around Him, coins trickled and ran like water from His scales, spilling into the greater pool underneath. The neat rows were washed away. No matter. He would not mind counting them again later. After.
The footsteps splashed through puddles near the mouth of the cave. He could hear them, pinpoint them with His superior senses. He could tell that His prey was small. Alone. Bound in metal, as so many were. A vain hope—what metal could withstand His slashing claws and crushing fangs? Perhaps a female? He liked those. Enjoyed the way their pretty screams echoed through His home.
Still. Brave of her to come alone. Perhaps she had some sort of enchantment to protect her? Such things were not unheard of.
The great dragon breathed in. The massive bellows of His chest whipped the still air into a frenzy. In and in He drew, His rib cage flexing beneath His scales, expanding. The wind rushed across the olfactory cells in His great snout, revealing the world to Him in a way puny mortals would never understand. He braced himself for the stench of fear. Mortals always feared Him, and their terror made them reek.
Human. Female. The tang of metal and sweat. Leather and skin. All these were familiar to Him. He could smell her excitement. Her exhaustion.
But He smelled no fear.
At last, the angle of her descent abated, claustrophobic walls losing their grip as the path opened onto the final cavern. The last gasps of light gobbled by the curtain of darkness shielding the final alcove from even her new eyes, she strode to the edge of her vision and waited.
And waited.
And waited...
The grinding and clinks of metal on stone never ceased. She could hear it echoing between the whipping moan of the Dragon's fetid breath. Creatures scurried in the gloom, just out of sight, smelling of death and bloated maggot bait. His Army. She didn't draw her weapon. A hurriedly grabbed iron blade, unwillingly gifted by the blacksmith when her back was turned, sat heavily at her hip. The smith hadn't wanted to part with the last piece of her quest's cobbled equipment, for fear of her demise. She'd handed over every piece of coin she'd ever saved to apologize for the deceit before climbing the mountain. She already missed the sun, its heat was so unlike the molten fires boiling off the red Wyrm’s scales.
Scales, dull and smooth, she saw writhing just at the start of the gloom. Finally, a shape materialized from the shadows. Peering through a gloom that slid away from Him like water from a hand running through a river, His face came into view.
Big. The thought seized her. Big was all she could think to describe Him. His eyes were like smoldering coals, glowing red and dull, mottled with thick black crisscrossing it. The scales she had thought dull, glinted in the low light, catching even the barest hint of sun and transforming it into glimmers of red. There was the gold, she realized. Caught between the plate scales like dirt would wedge between her toes. Gold coins of every mark and size and variety, nestled against Him like old friends. He brought His face so close she could smell the ash and brimstone before moving away and settling in once again.
He was silent. By the gods, how something so large could move so silently was beyond her. The grinding and clinks had been His treasure horde moving aside in the wake of His steps, not Him. Still, He hadn't spoken. That she knew He could do, every tale of dragons spoke of their versatility on the subject of language, though even she could admit that dragon tales lacked a certain verisimilitude when pressed for details.
She would have to break the silence. It occurred to her like thunder reverberating through her mind. She hadn't considered she would have to speak first. She had nothing prepared, and words were like sand slipping between her fingers. Nothing seemed...adequate for the occasion. Finally, she latched onto the purpose of her climb. "I've come to ask safe passage through your mountain pass." Her voice rang into the hollow of the earth and came back to her with the deepened contrived roar borne of echoed noises.
She waited.
The dragon continued His silence for a long moment. The light of the setting sun slid across the floor as He considered this... mortal.
Who was this mortal that stood steadfast against Him, unafraid? How dare she make requests of Him? His pride had not been so affronted in living memory. His first impulse was to scorch the flesh from her body. Leave her writhing in the purest agony, cooking in her own armor. He had tasted her air. He knew that she had no enchantment, no magicks capable of resisting His power. It would be so... easy.
But something stopped Him.
His face leaned in again. A puff of air from His nostril—not too hot to burn, He thought, though He noticed her cheeks reddening—sent the strange, broad-brimmed pointed cap spinning from her head onto the floor.
He spoke, finally. His voice was the grinding of stone against stone. Deep. Powerful. Like the bones of the earth, shifting. The sound of it made her flinch, as if the cave itself was collapsing. It was not, of course. It wouldn't dare. "You are no wizard."
It was, of course, not a question. He was a God, and Gods did not ask. He pronounced. He demanded. He did not ask. "Tell me... why."
His pointed query left her flat footed. She had expected Him to do everything from demand she remove herself from His presence to roast her alive on the spot upon tiring of gazing at her. A question? It hadn't even occurred to her He would care.
She took a moment to swipe at her cheeks, worried that He had burned them. It was the first heat she'd felt on her skin since striding below the earth. His breath had chased away the fingers of ice and replaced it with a deep fire. After assuring herself that her cheeks were still intact, and capable of stalling no further, she addressed His question.
"I hear the song of distant lands. The lap of the ocean against far away shores, the beat of feet in far flung cities, the taste of exotic fruit, the scent of newness and adventure. I wish to chase the sun to the edge of the horizon, until my feet can carry me no more. I wish to know the stars under different skies."
She averted her eyes as she spoke, worried she'd already offended Him in her uncultured ways and stumble-tongued manner. Country living in a mountain valley hadn't gifted her much, no matter how her mother praised her thoughtful speech.
He had been slow to respond the first time, she had no expectations this reply would be any sooner. Why would it? He had all the sand in the hour glass, while hers raced away like a new colt first leaving the stable. But if her life had gifted her anything it had been patience.
She'd waited to help with the harvest, and waited for the news that so rarely came to her village, and waited for a lifetime for this moment. Waiting was something she was good at.
He almost devoured her in that moment—that moment she dared speak to Him in such a manner. He had taken the heads of young dragons for failing to use the proper honorifics, and here, now, she did not even try. Even the fool knight He had slain last fortnight had known to call Him 'Lord Dragon' at the last, or suffer a far worse death than his 'honor' could stomach.
But again, something stopped Him.
He turned away, claws sinking into His pile of lucre, a few coins skittering away into the fetid pools or rolling into... fouler things. Smoke trickled up from between His fangs as the hunger in His throat grew thick.
Those words...
He felt the memories of a younger dragon, slouching towards His conscious mind. That dragon youth—for even Gods can be young—had desired the same things. New vistas spreading before Him as the wind caught in His great wings; the beat of feet, fleeing uselessly to hide in far-away cities; the taste of exotic people, spilling their lifeblood across His tongue...
He shook His head as if to dismiss these unwelcome thoughts, the great scales flashing in the light as coins spun off into the air. Centuries upon centuries had buried these experiences.
He hissed, low and guttural, in the language of His Army—for He, naturally, had taught them only a new tongue of His own devising, so that none other could attempt to command them. Immediately, they obeyed. Broken forms, twisted beyond nightmares, shifted in the darkness just beyond her vision. The shambling remains of mortal toys he’d found humorous to reanimate, or the skittering lesser creatures living in His mountains that worshiped him. Scale and stretched sinew, rotting flesh tanning on still moving bones, milky eyes and the chill of undeath. In a moment, they were gone.
Only then did He turn back to her, His carmine eyes bearing down on her. He spoke again, His voice impossibly deep and low, like the earth itself shaking.
"Your dreams are folly. You will abandon them."
“I..." she started before she could stay her tongue. She didn't know where to finish that sentence from there. She hoped He'd forgive her trailing off. Her momentary lapse written off as the dim witted flaws of the mortal races. What was she to do? He had already brushed aside her every desire, her every hope for the future. He, in His infinite age and wisdom, had declared her dreams a fool's errand and commanded she merely abandon them.
Abandon them to what? To the life of mediocrity and tedium she already led? To the dull, dreary, damnable existence plowing fields and herding cattle. To the bed of some dirty pig farmer and a gaggle of squealing children tumbling forth from her womb from the moment she first warmed a bed? To aching bones and old age as toothless and poorly swaddled as she'd been as a babe?
The mountains sang to her, the sky called her name, the wind tangled her hair and pulled her wrists and ankles away, away, away. She was born for greater things than anything this valley could offer. How could she make Him see that she was? She was a speck, and all specks were particularly uninteresting and undifferentiated from another...
Then she couldn't be a speck. She had to be something He desired. She had to be spun gold, and shining jewels. She had to be worth letting go and returning.
"I baptized myself to Dambola." She finished her sentence plainly. It was true, and it made a difference in her opinion, as little as He thought of her opinions she was sure. "I wish, vaulted ruler of these ancient lands, to spread the values of my deity. The call of distant shores is the trumpet of my joy at the newness of life and the rightness of spreading worship of him to all corners of the earth." She resisted the urge to shuffle under His penetrating gaze. He felt implacable, and she felt foolish and ill-equipped even trying.
But she had to try, what else was she to do? Slip silently down the mountain to a life of idleness and ignominy upon her return. Nay, she'd rather die standing, than spend the rest of her life stooped in the dirt.
The Dragon's great eyes narrowed to slits, and His head sank silently down, level with hers. Suspicion filtered through His mind. Were the old cults still alive? Or was this some sort of trick? He had demanded worship and praise some centuries ago, when He still enjoyed the groveling of mortals. But that was well beyond the memory of any living human. Had there been texts? He didn't know. He had eaten a mortal once that He had caught following Him around and writing down everything He was saying... but how long had she been doing it before He noticed?
Still, it sounded familiar. He wondered what His values were supposed to be.
"You are a zealot, then." His voice was softer, but no less threatening. "You think to appease me with worship." The trap in His words was subtle, but He still had not decided whether she was about to die, screaming.
She blinked owlishly as the meaning of His words sunk in. To appease Him? He was the Dambola the religious texts exalted in praise with the fervor of pure devotion? How could this be? It seemed...unlikely. Dambola was the God of the North Wind, a Platinum Dragon of ice, cold, and justice. A metallic dragon. He was a proper patron deity for a paladin, as she had decided she would be upon rebirth, but how could the stories of old have turned a Red Great Wyrm into a Platinum Dragon?
It must be some sort of trick, some test to check the sincerity of her devotion to Draconic faith and the validity of her claims. Dragon tricks were notoriously subtle and hard to divine. Even if it was a trick meant to ensnare her like a plump rabbit, she had no way of determining what answer He was seeking.
With the first seeds of dread building in her heart, she thought over His words once more. He had called her a zealot, and it wasn't entirely untrue. She did not give her soul to a dragon deity because she lacked religious passion. It wasn't entirely true either; her previous statement to Him notwithstanding. While she believed in the values of her new patron deity, she had no real urge to sing the praises of Dambola's name all around the world. Her claims had been exaggeration, of a kind, true in statement though not in intensity.
The trap was in the last sentence then, about appeasing Him with worship. She was not so dull witted to believe He was truly an aspect of Dambola, and equally so He was not so obvious as to claim He was worshiped without it being so.
The only aspect she could conceive of Him being the inspiration for was..."Forgive me, Great Dragon, but is not Dambola a Great Platinum Dragon, and Yourself a Great Red Wyrm? If this is so, and not merely a pathetic error on the part of mortal men, then I do not understand how I could be worshiping You." She paused before squaring her shoulders and continuing. "This is not to say You are not worthy of worship, oh Great One, but that Your likeness is more in line with Tiamat than with Dambola. Are the great texts yet mistaken; driven to inaccuracy by the clumsy minds and stumbling fingers of the mortal races?"
She heard stirring away from their closely held conversation. His Army slithered, skittered, hissed, and moaned just outside of her range of sight. They were much less silent than their Master, but no less intimidating. Sword of iron or not, she had no formal training, and barely any idea on how to wield a sword. Perhaps she should have just strapped a farmer's rake to her side; it would have been far easier to wield.
The plaintive clinks of dropping gold drew her mind back to the Great Wyrm in front of her. He had a look about His eyes she could not identify, that chased away the dread and replaced it with the eerie calm she'd felt all throughout the descent into the cave. Something about His presence settled her soul. Maybe He was Dambola after all.
The great scaled head drew back into the darkness so that she would not see the surprise, the shock on His face.
She knew the ancient lore of dragons! Or, at least, the part of it that some dragons shared with humans. He had foolishly assumed it would be safe to allow her to speak, once He had confirmed she was not a wizard, despite her attire. But anyone could learn the lore, not just wizards, and a little knowledge could be more dangerous than any spell.
Tiamat, of course, had been what they called Him. Her words triggered the memory. Tiamat, they had called out to Him in sacrifice. Tiamat, they had screamed for the mercy He would not give them. Of a platinum dragon, His memories also hinted... but did not become clear. Was it a true memory? Or merely a legend? A myth? These mortals would worship rocks and sticks if you left them alone long enough.
His gut burned with shame to have been challenged so easily by this slip of a mortal. Had He grown so complacent? So careless? It didn't seem possible. His desire to consume her had grown even more fierce... but to merely slay her now would be to admit defeat. The shame of it would destroy Him. He would have to act quickly to reclaim the high ground in this battle of words.
"Yessssss..." He hissed from the darkness. "Tiamat, I have been called by mortal man. Tiamat, the Fire-Lord." With the last syllable, He spat a small ball of flame to the floor, illuminating the grin curling His lips, His fangs shimmering in the brief light. "Tiamat, the Cleanser of Worlds." His voice tumbled from the darkness like a rock slide. "Tiamat, the All-Destroyer!" He roared, and fire washed over the ceiling of the cave. The stone shuddered at His awesome power. As the fire dissipated, His words tumbled through the darkness, repeated and again, the very earth shouting in praise and fear. Even the rocks knew to fear and obey Him. Their obeisance bolstered His pride, and He drew back again to the darkness.
"You are wise to know your place, in service to those greater than yourself. But you do not ask the Platinum One for passage this day." He smirked. Undignified, perhaps, but He was still cloaked in darkness. "I must seem greater than he, that you must ask a boon of Me that he could not provide."
An aspect of Tiamat! She'd imagined it possible, but wished and prayed against it. The rocks shook with His roar, and the smoke and ash He'd created floated against the top of the cavern before the fading light stole the image from her view. The whole room was hot enough now that she sweated inside her armor, cold fingers or no. Still, stories said that Tiamat cared only for destruction and fire, and here she stood over an ocean of treasure, a horde greater than she could imagine. The tales even claimed, on occasion, that Tiamat was insane.
Surly the being in front of her was not, not in the least. And certainly further, there was treasure when by all accounts there should not be. But aspects were governed by different rules than the deity themselves. His display of fire and the tales of His mercilessness were completely in line with Tiamat, and human tales were not always the most truthful, no matter how passionately held the belief. Perhaps even less veracity was involved in the most fervently held views.
"I ask this boon of You, Great Tiamat, not because it is out of His power, but because it would be an offense against Yours. These mountains, and all inside them, are Your domain alone. Dambola could protect me through Your mountain, but what an insult it would be to Your proper due. I submit myself to Your permissions as is only proper of a traveler in the hall of a King or a God." She bowed then resting with one knee against the compacted earth and stone, head lowered in reverence.
She knew now to whom she spoke, and an aspect of a deity was to be as respected as the deity itself, especially one of the Draconic pantheon. She heard the cave moan and whistle as the bellows of His breath worked in otherwise silence. She was growing accustomed to the pauses before the earth rattled again with the grinding scream of His voice. Even when He whispered her ears ached of it.
She felt the air still again as He finished taking His breath. In the stillness of the cave, she could feel the undeath circling behind her. They unnerved her. A perverse wrongness to them that emanated from their very being. Pulsing and pressing against her senses as solidly as any magical globe of light. One of them skittered closer, and she could feel the coldness where warmth should have lived. She could smell the decay and soulless shambling want.
Hunger.
They were hunger, and her bones were their feast. Dambola help her, if Tiamat decided destruction was more favorable than rebirth and exploration this day.
Hot shame washed over the great firedrake. She had had Him, trapped by His own words. She was not cowed by His boasting or frightened by His threats. And yet, instead of pressing her advantage and catching Him out in His deception, forcing Him to grant her a boon to salve His pride, she merely repeated her request. In the politest of terms. She was being downright humble!
He did not understand, and things He did not understand bothered Him. Was she toying with Him? He did not think so—He could smell no deception on her. Did she not realize the truth? That seemed unlikely as well. No one with the knowledge of dragon lore that she had displayed could miss the slip. And yet...
And yet, here she was. Kneeling in the dirt and dragon dung and the leavings of His Army. Debasing herself in His honor. Her reverence seemed... genuine. Not the self-serving pleas of mortals eager for power. Not the false beggars who thought to gain mercy through their cries. Not even the mechanical, obligatory deference showed Him by other dragons, who deferred to Him because of age and status but cared as little for Him as He for them. She accepted His claims at face value, even when they were tinged with untruth. She accepted His judgment, even if it meant her death. She did not want to die, He could tell. But her death was an end she was willing to accept, if He but willed it.
Long moments passed as silence filled the cavern. His Army, made hungry by the presence of living flesh in the cave, stirred in the darkness, but He stilled them with a hiss.
He searched through His memory for another instance of a mortal offering genuine respect and reverence untarnished by greed... and found nothing. She was unique, to His knowledge. Like no other mortal He had ever met, in the long slow roll of centuries. He felt the burning of hunger deep within Him again, but this was a different sort of hunger. Unfamiliar to Him.
His voice rolled again, but this time, it was not the grinding of stones but the pouring of gravel and sand. Rough still, but with a liquid quality that made it bearable to mortal ears. "Rise, mortal, and stand tall, for you have found My Favor."
Relief tingled through her body, washing away the previous calm like a gentle rainstorm cleansed the world of dirt. It was almost overwhelming, rolling in a wave from her head to her toes. She found her legs back under her at the strength of His command, and the movement carried through her, rising from kneeling to standing tall, head still held down. She took a deep breath and fully straightened, staring directly ahead into the gloom, waiting for the aspect of fire and destruction to appear before her.
A strong hiss echoed through the stone vestibule and the undeath finally receded far away from her, suitably subdued by their Master's command. She knew not how they communicated or how He controlled them and put them out of her mind. There was the physical representation of a Draconic God waiting before her, and she had no intention of letting her mind become distracted by slithering nightmares.
His Favor. He said it was hers. Dambola had her devotion, but what was it like to have the Favor of a God? Piteous duty and Favor were not the same thing. And a part of her longed to know the limits of the difference between Favor and duty. She gripped and stuffed down the fire suddenly trying to start in her breast. She had no idea from whence it came, or what its true nature was, but she had no intention of exploring it at the moment.
"I thank thee, Great Tiamat, for Your kindness and the hospitality You've shown me so far. Your Favor, the good will of the God of Fire, Destruction, and Cleansing, is more than any mortal is worthy of. It is the highest of honors to be considered worthy of even a modicum of Your Favor." Her voice drifted off into the stone walls and came back to her a distant imitation of its true nature.
When He had last spoken, His voice hadn't hurt her ears, as if He'd softened it for her comfort. A ridiculous notion, that a dragon deity would change anything for a mortal's slight inconvenience. Perhaps it was the first sign of His Favor? That as soon as it was granted she was given some measure of inoculation against the effects of the raw power He radiated like the heat from His scales.
That heat was now the only source of warmth in the mountains, the sun having long slid its way across the sky, setting below the horizon into the bosom of the earth. The air had changed. Even this far underground, she could feel the cool and the moisture of the night air; its familiarity borne from a lifetime living in the valley. She resisted the urge to slink closer to Him, wanting His heat to sink deeper into her bones. Bones that ached as much from the climb, to heights above which her lungs had previously been capable of sustaining her, as the settling cold that wrapped its way around her form.
To think, she'd liked the icy cold before this! His ruby scales appeared from out of the darkness once again, coming closer than ever before to account for the thickened shroud of shadows caused by the dim lighting of the moon. He knew her eyes could not compare to His, and pitied her puny mortal abilities enough to humor her deficiencies.
Favor. What a new thing indeed.
The metallic sound of coins jangling across the treasure pile filled the cave again as the great wyrm shifted His bulk, relaxing somewhat. She had accepted His Favor—as if she had a choice—and He did not need to guard Himself so carefully anymore.
He searched His memories for what He was supposed to do next, to a mortal that He had shown His Favor. A hazy memory surfaced—the last time He had granted His Favor to some mortal had been uncountable centuries ago. Let's see... there was a boon to be granted. That was easy, she had already asked for one. He probably shouldn't eat her now, of course, but He still wasn't sure if He wanted to anyway, hungry or not. Ah, yes. There was a mark He was supposed to give her that showed she was under His protection, and a task she was to perform to demonstrate her worthiness. He remembered there used to be a metal brand of some kind that He would heat up with His fire and then scar the mortal's flesh with it to mark them. Was it a few letters? Or some sort of symbol? He couldn't remember and, regardless, He didn't have one handy and wasn't particularly inclined to make another. Besides, the smell of her flesh cooking would just make Him hungrier, and He might forget that He wasn't supposed to eat her.
Then another idea occurred to Him. Some other dragons used tokens or symbols to mark their Favor. He considered it gauche, because the practice came from the human-made deities who did the same thing. But it would do in a pinch, and He actually possessed a token that He felt adequately represented the value of His Favor. Almost.
"You will carry a mark of My Favor, so that you will remain unmolested by other mortals. They will see it and know that to harm you is to risk My wrath." He reached into the deepest part of His horde, digging down through the coins, retrieving and then tossing aside a ruby-encrusted sword sheath, then a silver-shod staff covered in ancient runes, and black metal cauldron, before finally finding what He was looking for.
He paused when He withdrew it from the treasure horde, momentarily entranced by its beauty. It was a fire opal, about the size of a child's fist, of exquisite cut and surpassing clarity. But even considering this, it was an unusual specimen—for deep inside the crystal, a tiny flame could be seen, dancing and twisting, emitting a soft orange glow. None like it existed on this world, He knew, and none ever would again.
He was seized by the urge to bury it into the horde again, to hide it before some other being could see it and covet it. But then He remembered why He had retrieved it, and turned back to the girl. He held out the gem, hesitating briefly, before placing it in her outstretched hand. "It's still mine," he said gruffly. "I'm not giving it to you to keep." His talons twitched briefly as He resisted the urge to snatch it back. "You may not sell it or lose it."
The weight of the gem, shimmering and glinting in even the bare amount of moonlight, surprised her. She had underestimated its size, when held gently between His talons, and subsequently its weight as well. She gazed deep into the shining smooth red; she'd never seen such a brilliant gem. If she were honest, she'd never seen a gem at all. She pulled her eyes away from its rippling light catching surface and back to the aspect before her.
The token was beautiful, dazzling really, and she was to...wear this someplace openly? She didn't doubt others would recognize this mark and that many would leave her be because of it; just the same others would not and would try to take it. She was no fighter, no wizard or sorceress. She had no ability to defend this from thieves or madmen or any other sort of vagabond who simply wished to possess something this extraordinary. How was she to stop it from falling into another's possession?
She felt her lips draw thin in thought before nibbling on her bottom lip in concentration. Surely there was a way around this? If she placed it on a chain, someone could snatch it from her or simply snap it. If she had it placed on a brooch for a hood or some such, the result was the same. It needed to be placed in something heavy and strong, something-Her armor! If it were welded into her breastplate, it would be prominently displayed and difficult to steal. She would have to be dead for them to take it from her, and well, if she were dead, it's not like she could stop them from stealing it.
Unfortunately, the only blacksmith she knew, and for miles around at that, was back in the valley, and she had no intention of returning there. Her parents would have rounded up every able bodied person by now, and they wouldn't allow her to leave. No. She had to think of another way to place the gem into her armor.
Oh.
She almost cursed herself for her own stupidity. Here she was standing before an aspect of Fire itself, and she wrecked her mind for how she would place the token into her breast plate. Her eyes drifted back up to His face, waiting patiently as she drew the gemstone back to her chest. She removed her outer traveling robes and placed the gemstone on top. Next she removed the breastplate and set it nearby. She took a deep breath.
"My Lord? Though I am sure the state of my mortal abilities is of little concern to You, I feel it is only righteous to admit to my lack of skills. I am no fighter, no wizard of course; I possess no great skills in any combat. It is thus that I fear evil men may succeed in removing Your token from my person while I still draw breath." She paused and flicked her eyes between her removed armor and the ruby stone.
"I'm sure this solution is paltry compared to any You could devise, but if the token were to be welded into my armor, thieves could not remove it while I exist un-slain. And any mortal blacksmith could not compare to Your skills, no forge to Your fire, no hammer to even the smallest press of Your mighty talons. I humbly suggest the most efficient solution I can conceive, that You place the token upon the armor itself." She finished the final words in a scant whisper into the thick darkness of the cavern. Such a request was bold, and she had no intention of losing the Favor He'd so graciously granted.
He drew back, surprised. Not by her sheer cheek, in making a second request of Him. Not even by the irritation He felt at being asked to perform such a menial and mundane task. But by the way she made the request sound so... reasonable. Was she, in fact, laying some enchantment upon Him? Could she be such a mighty sorceress, that she could lay such an enchantment on His senses to disguise the very presence of enchantments themselves?
The worst part was, it seemed like such a fair request. He had given her the token, but it lacked even so much as a necklace to hang it from her neck. A dragon would simply wedge it between two scales and be done with it—but she had no scales. Placing it in her pocket wouldn't do—what was the point of having such a symbol if it was not prominently displayed?
The more he thought about it, the more He recognized He'd thought of the idea Himself. Oh, and He could have put her on the defensive again by demanding she remove her armor, too. Another missed opportunity. She really was getting the better of Him here. The sooner He could be done with the conversation, the better!
Except that... He didn't want to be done, the begrudging realization rolled through him like a wave heading towards the shore. She was the most interesting thing to enter His cavern in the last century. Perhaps several centuries. This tiny slip of a girl, wearing ill-fitting armor and carrying a sword like a burro bears a third sack... why, she couldn't have been weaned more than twenty years ago!
Wordlessly, He reached forward and lifted the breastplate in His claws. It seemed incredibly tiny in them. A toy, perhaps, or a costume worn by a child. He held it up to His eyes. It wasn't even steel. Crude iron of the type used to make farming implements, most likely. It smelled like farmer's tools, anyway.
No matter. True steel would be denatured and ruined by what He was about to do. He knew that much, having spent a lifetime ruining the armor of uncountable knights and warriors.
He carefully placed the breastplate on the stone by the side of the cave—He didn't want to accidentally melt any of His treasure, after all. Then He reared back and breathed deeply. In, in, in He drew more and more air. His great body widened, His massive ribs pushing out further and further. He held it for a few seconds, the fires inside Him churning and growing, leaning forward to peer at the armor with one barely open eye. It would have to be precise.
Finally, He opened His mouth slightly and let out a thin, hard stream of white fire. It struck the breastplate in the exact center, which immediately began to glow red hot, like the embers of a bonfire. Still, He breathed, and the radiance of the plate grew and turned as white-hot as the flames. Satisfied, He turned away and faced the rear of the cave. With a long, guttural belch, He unleashed the rest of the flame trapped in His belly, splashing against walls and evaporating a few fetid pools.
He took a few deep breaths to make sure He would be able to speak clearly after the display. Eventually, He turned back to the girl. "Go and press the gem into the center of the plate." He gestured with His snout. "Do not worry for the safety of your mortal flesh. The fire within the stone calls to its own, and it is greedy—it will not share the heat with you."
She felt a solid genuine smile break across her face like the dawn. He'd readily agreed to help her place the stone in her breastplate, and He hadn't required anything else in return. He was truly a gracious and kind deity...far more unlike the tales than was really logical. She brushed the thought aside as quickly as a broom sweeping out the stables and stooped to pick up the stone. Another time she'd have spare moments to examine the conversation. For now, she needed to simply do as asked and complete it as efficiently as possible.
The stone hummed in her hands, warm and comforting like a fluttering heartbeat. It was magical, and she hadn't noticed it the first time she'd held it. Well, she wasn't planning on being a wizard, and it seemed she had made the right decision in that regard. Holding the stone in front of her like a shield from the heat still rolling from that part of the cave, she made quick work of the space between her and the breastplate, careful to watch her step over the shadowy leavings of His Army strewn haphazardly across the stones.
Finally, she stood before the still brightly incandescent breastplate. Despite the fact it shone like a small bonfire, she felt no warmth. The stone in her hands easily swallowed it all, and yet felt no warmer itself. She pressed the stone into the soft iron, watching it sink inside until it was halfway into the metal before stepping away for it to cool and solidify. What a marvelous thing to have on her armor, iron or no. If the stone still absorbed heat when she wore it, perhaps it would protect her from the flames? How better could she show the Favor of an aspect of Fire than to be immune to fire itself?
She turned and bowed again deeply, grateful for His help and His token. "I thank thee, Great Tiamat, for Your divine and incredible assistance, no mortal could have done as skillful a job." She stood and smiled up at Him the grin she'd been sporting since He'd agreed to aid her. Politeness be damned, she didn't think He'd take offense to an earnest show of her delight and thankfulness.
She could already sense the light growing dimmer at her back, casting shorter and lighter shadows into the cave. Soon, she'd have a breastplate worthy of a far greater hero...and then? She'd asked for His permission to press through His Pass. With His token pressed to her armor, meant for the world at large to see and recognize it, He must soon agree to allow her passage into the outside world. Surely? Hope stirred in her breast at the thought of freedom and new scenery, at the thought of saying ‘farewell’ to the valley of her first birth.
The grin on her face was satisfying indeed. Not because He took any pleasure in her happiness, He reassured himself. But because it confirmed to Him something that He hadn't even considered—that she was completely innocent. She had no ulterior motives. She accepted everything He said at face value. Only an innocent would smile at the Favor of a dragon. Only an innocent would grin at His awesome display of fire mastery. Only an innocent would accept His aid and not expect a price. He had never met a genuine innocent before. Or at least, He had never spoken to one.
"Now," He growled without preamble. "We come to the matter of your task." He laid back down on His pile of treasure, settling comfortably. He felt at ease, finally, with this situation. Clever she was, insightful she could be, but He knew He was safe because she, amazingly, meant everything she said all the time.
He lowered His head to level with her eyes. He wanted to see if she would, at last, become afraid. "Of course, I don't actually need anything. I am completely self-sufficient. I take what I want, and who would dare deny Me? Those who wish to die, I suppose."
He shifted His bulk again, swishing back and forth in the treasure pile. He could feel the coins becoming trapped between His scales. It pleased Him to wear the coins in such a manner.
"No. My task for you is to be done because it will please Me for you to do it..." He stretched languidly, claws extended, digging into the pile of gold and silver, and let out a great yawn. All this talk and posturing and fire-breathing and whatnot had left Him mildly sleepy.
"Here is what you will do. You will go forth from this cave, and see the world as you expressed your desire to do. You will go forth and explore new lands and meet new people. And you will learn..." He broke off as his jaw stretched in another, larger yawn. Rows of razor-sharp teeth glistened in the dying light of the heated armor and the flicker of the fire opal, now glowing brighter for having been fed so well.
"You will learn that in the mortal realms, one people is just like another, and one land is just like another, and that there is no point in wandering around like a vagabond just to see the same things over and over."
He wanted to nap now. He wanted a cow as well. Maybe two. He wanted to take a nap, and then wake up when the sun was shining and fetch a couple of cows and eat them. That sounded marvelous in fact.
"And then you will return here, and explain to Me how wrong you were, and how you learned that your dreams were folly, just like I told you." Or maybe a knight. Yes... knights were delightful. He loved the way He could get a real crunch out of them. Also, they could be amusing for sport as well. And then the horse afterward for dessert... yes. This was an excellent plan.
"Shouldn't take you but a year, I should think. Yes, a year from now, you will return. No later. Mortals are so fragile, and if I let you run around for longer than that, you will probably manage to get yourself killed somehow, and you won't be able to finish My task." He folded His long, scaly arms before Him and rested His head on them, still watching her through half-lidded eyes.
Oh.
Oh. It hit her like a wave breaking across her skin. Of course He wanted her to do something. He'd done plenty enough for her, and here she'd only asked to be allowed to leave the valley. It was only proper to repay Him, and yet, what He'd asked was so simple. That she’d return in a year and tell Him of her travels—No. That she returned in a year and explained how much she'd learned the wisdom He'd already shared. That the world was an ultimately dull uniform place, devoid of uniqueness and change. That one sky was so much like the last. That one city is just the same as any before or after it. He asked that she come back when the shine of newness had been buffed from this earth, and expected that it would only take a year to do it.
She felt the last of the heat from the armor fade away from her, casting the cavern back into deep gloom. Only the red glow from His eyes stood out against the pitch blackness on the true floor of the antechamber. He sat patiently, settling among the massive bulk of His treasure, for her to respond. Some sort of response was in order, but nothing readily came to mind. The task set before her was both simple and complex. She had no control over her feelings, and only the gods knew if a year was long enough to taste all the world had to offer. It was an enormous varied place, or so she'd been told, and would a year really be enough time to make her weary of it?
She glanced hesitantly behind her. Bouncing between the armor and the shape she could now barely make out against the darkness, trying to decide between retrieving her armor and responding to His task. Finally, she straightened her back, and cobbled together something coherent. "I gladly do this task, Great Tiamat, to repay your kindness, wisdom, and aid." She heard the pinging and clanging of the treasure horde moving beneath His claws and took another deep breath. "A year from now will be nearly the summer solstice, and I will return with many tales and even greater treasures to give in Your honor." She nodded once and turned to retrieve her breastplate.
Even though the metal itself had long since cooled and solidified, the crimson stone now embedded inside glowed still. There was a bright flame inside now, flickering in time with the warm pulse of magic she could sense coming from the gem. It danced in the low light like a real fire, and she felt compelled to continue watching it instead of redressing. Still, she summoned up her will, and shrugged her way back into her breastplate, before making her way back to where she'd left her traveling robes.
On the way, she found her discarded and nearly forgotten hat, snuffed off of her brow what felt like a lifetime ago. The hat felt rough against her hands, having just handled the smoothness of leather straps and cool—unnaturally cold—metal. She struggled back into her over-robe, feeling slightly foolish at how difficult the process was. Still, before long, she stood before His great scaled countenance. She plopped the hat upon her head and bowed onto one knee one last time. "I thank You once again for your Favor and for the time to complete Your task. Despite the hour, I will make my way through the Pass and over the mountains; I do not wish to impose upon Your gracious hospitality any longer. In a year's time, I will return with tales and treasures a plenty." She glanced up when she heard another large shifting of the horde. She could no longer see His eyes, and she assumed He had turned away, dismissing her from His presence.
Suitably heartened, she turned and began the long climb out of the depths of the Earth, that same overwhelming grin still stuck on her lips. Her steps echoed deeper away from her and back down the tunnel. Before long the tempo of the steps changed from a steady beat to a quick patter. It wasn't fear that drove her steps, but joy, excitement, and exhilaration. Finally, she rounded the last corner inside the cave and broke out into the still, cold moonlight of the mountain night. Her breath fogged in front of her, creating a silvered misting shroud, as her lungs worked the icy air deep into her heaving chest. She looked up at the sky. The inky blackness spread away from her, looking as unfathomable as the shadows inside the cave behind her. The twinkles of light embedded inside, painted in patterns and rivers, smiled down at her.
The last time.
The last time in a whole year she'd look up at the same sky. The one she'd known all her life. She drew her eyes away and up the mountain. Even in the moonlight, she could make out the Pass and the way through to the other side. A few hours of climbing, and she'd be done. She set off at a steady pace, knowing from the moon itself that she'd make the other side near dawn. Up and up she climbed...
No one ventured this far up the mountain. No one ever made it that far. They were drawn in by the whispers of the Dragon's legend to their doom. Tales of gold, gems, and conquest. A chance at historical immortality too great a temptation to give up. Adventures, knights, wizards all devoured by scores into the insatiable maw of the aspect whose token she carried. It glowed brightly in the night, pressed against her breast. Red, and real, and as smooth as the breastplate it was embedded in. Red and smooth and strong, like the scales of the Dragon she'd gotten it from. Strong, like she'd have to be to return.
They'd never returned, but she would. Not just to keep her word, but to repay her debt. She owed Him not just for the passage, but for the opportunity. Her parents had never thought she'd amount to more than a farmer's wife, and somehow He'd seen differently.
But she didn't baptize herself to Dambola to die in muck and vegetable soil. No one human ventured this far up the mountain. The wind snatched at her hair and whipped her robe against her legs, but still she felt no cold. Her lungs took in the snow laden air and breathed it with the same ease as the valley's summer dust below. The glowing gem on her breast, well fed by the Dragon's flames, spewed forth a solid light and warmth. Her new body was stalwart against the cold and steadfast against the wind. Her new eyes peered powerfully, cutting through the dark. Her legs, her arms, her feet, her back, all of it worked with a strength she was unused to, with a promise of greater power humming inside of her muscle and sinew.
She was close now, glimpses scattered here and there between the rock formations. Rolling green hills, unfamiliar to her, cast between thick fingers of soil and knuckles of water. Calm and clear. No one ventured this far up the mountain. The walls shifted from the deep red of the brownstone native to His valley to the softer muted browns she'd never seen outside of pictures. As if the land itself was acknowledging the end of His territory. The wind howled and hollered in her ears, moaning like a dying call, reminding her of His Army.
She looked above her, and saw the beginnings of dawn painted against the sky. Light spilling across the firmament to chase away the inky blackness.
The light.
She had chased the sun over the mountains and finally it was hers.
No one mortal made it this far up the mountain. The dawn's light unfurled like a blanket across the land, a golden warmth that spread away from her as far as she could see. The world stood before her, harsh and shining, like the blinding glint off of her warm armor. Farther than even her father's father had walked, she'd reached the other side. Everything was behind and before her, and she was...
Unafraid.
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Turbulent Beginnings
This forms the opening act to Macaque’s story, showing just how different his and Wukong’s early lives were and why he took Wukong’s disappearance so hard.
The idea Macaque was born from the wind was inspired by @animemoonprincess. And yes, I am a shameless fan of Macaque originally having white fur. The angst is just too perfect.
Brace yourselves, this isn’t going to be pretty. I am essentially shoving our boy through an emotional meat grinder.
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On a remote island, a day’s travel from China’s eastern shore, a massive hurricane raged as it had since the beginning of this world. The surrounding storms fed into it as its winds carved stone. No life had dared blossom on its soil out of fear of a painful demise. The merciless storm drank deeply of the waters of the sea, draining all aspects of potential and life before casting it aside. Not even curious spirits were spared.
Various deities had wondered why such a storm existed or why the Jade Emperor allowed such a dangerous presence to continue unchecked. Most believed that since the hurricane was stationary and prove no threat to the established order of the world, it was not important.
One day the hurricane vanished. As though it had never existed. Or rather that it had been transformed into something else.
It was the night of a new moon and with the hurricane gone, the island experienced its first cloudless sky. The only one to witness the momentous occasion was a monkie with pure white fur and six ears. Minding his manners, the nameless monkie bowed to the four winds in greeting.
The newborn proceeded to spend his days searching the island for something. Some clue as to the reason behind his birth. He could hear strange voices and words he didn’t understand yet at the same time could. He knew he wasn’t the only creature alive, so why was he alone?
For food, he walked his way through a cave system towards the sea, where he enjoyed the fish that were drawn in through the whirlpools and the mussels that clung to the sharp rocks. He grew to savor the taste of life, even though there was a part of him that craved something different.
Almost forty years passed before he mustered the courage to leave everything he knew to seek out those voices. He gathered all the driftwood and rope that had drifted onshore over the decades, fashioned it into a makeshift raft, and sailed towards the closest source of voices.
His voyage was actually pretty boring once he cleared the whirlpools.
The only exciting part about it was when that strange fish tried to sink his raft. It was bigger than any fish he’d previously seen with a mouth to match. Didn’t mean it survived past the first blow. Taking a bite Macaque wasn’t sure if he liked this fish. The muscles were tough and the flesh was rough on his tongue. He didn’t particularly like the taste. But there was enough to feed him for a full day.
In the end, he chose to eat a third of the fish’s muscles along with its heart before tossing back into the water.
§~~~~§~~~~§~~~~§
Docking on dry land was an experience that would haunt him for years.
At first, he was filled with wonder at the sight of buildings and new creatures riding rafts far bigger than his.
When he stepped onto shore the whispers began.
The creatures, who he later learned were called humans, were pointing out his ears. They acknowledged his obvious intelligence. He heard them grip wooden instruments tightly. It was as if they expected him to do something.
No one made a move against him. No one approached him, but he could tell he wasn’t wanted. Everywhere he turned he saw eyes that cursed his every existence.
He didn’t stay in that village for long. In his mind, satisfying his curiosity wasn’t worth being stared at as though he was the source of all evil.
Demon.
That is what they called him. Was that what he was?
He didn’t know, but he didn’t like it.
§~~~~§~~~~§~~~~§
He aimlessly wandered the countryside for far too long.
The first act of kindness he received was from a couple who could not have children of their own. He stumbled upon them by accident, but instead of the normal fearful expressions he’d come to expect they greeted him with genuine smiles and an offer to join them for dinner.
They took him in and treated him like family. He became the son they always wanted. They taught him how to properly speak and how to walk comfortably on two limbs. They blessed him with a name.
They were kind and nurturing. In another world, they may have been called bodhisattvas. But sadly, due to them being ordinary mortals, his time with them only lasted four decades.
He buried them with love but grew resentful of his weak emotions.
He learned what it was like to have someone welcome him home after a long day. He learned to savor the taste of a mother’s home-cooked meal. He enjoyed having a father figure who was willing to teach him old military tactics. He experienced friendly competitions to see who could paint the most accurate portrait of a flower they saw earlier that day. It was everything he never knew he craved and then it was gone. Leaving him with an empty home and a broken heart.
§~~~~§~~~~§~~~~§
Nearly fifty years later he joined a band of traveling performers.
Their natural oddities allowed them to see who he really was and welcome him into their party. With their compassion, he was granted the opportunity to heal. He learned that despite the group’s large size, very few of them had any direct blood relations. What made them special was how they created their own family and turned what many called strange into something beautiful. Out of respect, he delved into the world of entertainment, found he had a natural talent for it.
When he took the stage people assumed he was in costume, but that didn’t matter. The applause of the audience was a gift he cherished. The sheer passion this family expressed through every second in life warmed his heart beyond words. They were just what he needed to bring him out of his depression.
Alas, it was not meant to stay.
One night their camp was ambushed by a group of demons. They were nothing special, hardly worth mentioning. But for him, back then, it was a fight he never imagined. He could easily handle human bandits, so could his family, but never had he traded blows with a small army of his fellow demons. With the rising of the sun, Macaque stared at the cruelly bright sky covered in blood. All around him bodies lay scattered, life essence soaking into the ground. Despite being tasked with fighting off nearly five dozen demonic opponents he managed to survive with barely a scratch, but he was alone. Again.
§~~~~§~~~~§~~~~§
He tried to change things by sticking to his fellow demons. At least they lived longer.
Somehow that ended up with him becoming the apprentice to a demon healer for almost a century. She was a cold-hearted bitch with a heart of gold. Meticulous in her work, masterful in deduction, and short-tempered with the foolish. She gave everything to her practice and expected the same from him. It was bitter work, but he found it fulfilling. The knowledge that he now possessed the ability to restore others to peak condition settled some unknown part of his soul.
Of course, they would have visitors who wished to take advantage of her skills or steal the medicine. Between the two of them, they protected their clinic, but they weren’t always together. While she may try to hide it, she wasn’t the strongest demon out there. Apparently, the entire reason she got into medicine was to uncover why she was so weak. Centuries of research turned up nothing, but it did make her incredibly skilled at using poisons with her knives to compensate.
One day after he returned from gathering ingredients, he pulled back the door to find the shop in disarray, five unknown bodies slowly dying of extensive blood poisoning, and his master bleeding out from her severed arms. She always said she had no intention of entering Naraka alone.
Guess she kept her word.
§~~~~§~~~~§~~~~§
The cycle repeated itself over centuries. He would experience a brief window of happiness only for it to be savagely stolen from him, leaving him to mourn and curse his weak heart.
The small glimmers of kindness humanity showed him only made him curse their race even harder when he couldn’t walk into a village without being harassed. The humans who had proven stronger were sadly a rare breed. He was rare to encounter one a century and often they perished at the hands of their kind rather than by demons.
There were times when the ignorance had gotten so bad he’d taken to traveling with a constant glamour, disguising himself as an average human. Whenever he was in the presence of other demons, he allowed his true form to manifest, however, he made it look like he only had a single pair of ears. Standing out was the easiest way to wind up in a complicated situation he had no interest in trying to defuse.
That’s not to say his time was wasted.
Quite the contrary, he had learned much during his travels. He could hardly be compared to the happy young monkie, who was ignorant of the dangers and hardships this world held. In a sad attempt to fill the void, Macaque sought out wisdom and strength. He located masters of both the mystic and martial arts. He may have had to lie about his age, he was becoming quite the accomplished liar, but the results were more than worth it. With every stop, he found himself growing more certain of his strength and his identity.
Eventually, he discovered a strange monastery hidden in a cave in the face of a mountain.
He had never seen anything like it during his travels. But what truly drew his attention was the feeling the temple exuded, every stone exuded a strange aurora. Something powerful dwelled within, powerful yet there was an undeniably human quality to it all.
Hiding beneath his usual glamor, Macaque approached the temple with the desire to discover exactly what was being taught. Before he knew what was happening, he was speaking to the immortal sage who was running the joint. Master Subhuti welcomed him to his home and offered some tea. The disguised monkie was bombarded by dozens of questions, all of which he attempted to answer as though he was a normal human.
The master welcomed him as his newest disciple and showed him his new home. Later he learned the master could see through his disguise and sensed his potential. Apparently, the old immortal believed that the monkie would do well to learn his disciplines and he was fascinated by the monkie’s natural talent.Said something about how with proper guidance only the Buddha would be able to peer past his façade.
The monkie even received a new name to celebrate his rebirth. From that day forward he was Liu’Er Mihou, or the Six-Eared Macaque. He liked it. While he cherished the name his first family gifted him, he felt this was a good sign. A tribute to show that he was a changed monkie.
Regardless, he refused to drop his glamor. He had seen too many demons be cast out and attacked for getting sloppy. The other students were not thrilled about the newcomer showing them up and he wasn’t willing to give them a true reason to despise him. He learned quickly, more so than any other human disciple, but that put him at odds with those who were still struggling after years of training.
Macaque distanced himself from the others. They weren’t that interesting anyway. He didn’t care that they talked about him behind his back or were fully aware he could hear them. He couldn’t risk getting close so soon. He was determined to break the cycle. He didn’t care about immortality. He didn’t care about obtaining power. All he wanted was to end the pain. So far things had been working out in his favor.
Then heshowed up…
§~~~~§~~~~§~~~~§
That trice damned monkie with peach-colored fur and markings like a golden mask. He was so naïve about the world. He treated everything as though it was some exciting game. His upbeat energy made Macaque sick. Some twisted part of him wanted to snap his neck just to end it, but a small part was fascinated by it. The other monkie reminded him of a time he had almost forgotten.
The Monkey King, or Sun Wukong, didn’t bother hiding his true appearance. Truthfully, Macaque wasn’t sure he knew how or that he should. He didn’t seem to notice how other students would keep their distance or how they kept their conversations as brief as possible without crossing the threshold into being considered rude.
He was so earnest and happy, it was painful. The new monkie pestered everyone about everything, it was like dealing with a newborn, but it seemed Macaque was his favorite to bother. The worst part was how he stared at Macaque as though he could peer past his glamour. Although Macaque wasn’t sure if that was truly possible. The Master could, but he dedicated centuries to refine his skills. Wait. How old was this annoyance? Perhaps he could smell he wasn’t like the other disciples.
Either way, he knew it was just a matter of time until the truth got out. He just didn’t expect it to be when he was changing.
Each student was offered a meager room for privacy. They were all the same size and offered little to no space for any customization, but the walls were enchanted to cut out sound whenever the doors were closed.
Behind those flimsy walls was the only time Macaque allowed his glamor to drop. While he valued being cautious, even he couldn’t keep up the glamour indefinitely, much less when he was asleep.
It was in that small space of safety that he discovered he wasn’t alone.
He had just allowed himself to relax when a smiling face covered in peach fuzz was shoved into his own.
“I knew it! You’re like me.” Sun Wukong happily exclaimed, stars practically dancing in his eyes.
“Shut up.” Macaque clamped his hand over the other’s mouth. Checking to ensure no one else was present and the door was shut, he faced the intruder. “Have you told anyone?” He hissed, while berating himself for failing to check the ceiling. You always look up when scanning a room, he knew that.
“Nope. Why are you hiding? You’re beautiful.” The cheerful demon spoke as though they were old friends. His golden eyes took in every hair of his fellow monkie’s true appearance.
“I’m a demon. And there is nothing beautiful about me.” Macaque growled.
“Yes, there is.” Wukong insisted. “You didn’t answer my question. Why are you hiding? The Master let me in, I wager he knows about you, so why?”
Sighing, Macaque massaged the bridge of his nose. “I have been hurt enough times to know keeping a low profile is optimal in survival. It is better to keep one’s head down than risk getting called out.” From observation, he knew the newer student wouldn’t leave until he received answers, so the best option was to just give him what he wanted and pray he knew enough to leave.
“That’s no fun.” Wukong stuck his tongue out in distaste. “You shouldn’t have to hide who you are. We were born this way.” He jumped high into the air only to catch himself on his tail with a cheeky grin. “So, they’ll just have to deal with it.”
“Cute speech. But my answer is no. Now leave.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll fix that attitude right up.” Thankfully Wukong left, but not before sending a smile laced with mischief his way. “See you tomorrow.”
Macaque prayed to every deity that would be the end of it. But even he knew it was a futile attempt.
“Do you have a tribe?” Wukong asked, hanging by his tail from Macaque’s favorite tree.
A startled Macaque blinked at the random question. “A what?”
“A tribe. A family. A place to call home?” Wukong asked smoothly even if he wasn’t familiar with the term family until recently he knew it was important.
“Not anymore.” Glaring Macaque returned his focus to his meal.
“Aw.” Wukong knew that look. He had seen plenty of monkeys wear that arura after watching other tribe members die. “Then you should come with me!”
“What?”
“Yeah. You can join my tribe. There are dozens of us back home. Plenty of food and water, you’ll constantly be surrounded by others like us.”
“Other demons?”
“No.” Wukong smiled as though he told a funny joke. “Other monkeys.”
“There is no reason for me to join you.” Macaque stated, wishing he could finish his lunch in peace.
But Wukong wasn’t letting him go that easily. “And there’s no reason for you to refuse.” He stated, ignoring any and all social cues or common sense for respecting personal space.
It went on like that for years. Every day Macaque would awake to find gold eyes staring at him, waiting for his answer to change. Breaks were spent dodging the hyperactive monkie as he tried to eat alone. Training sessions soon found him sparring with the same partner.
The monkie was stubborn no doubt and Macaque feared his actions were slowly breaking down his walls. The pale furred monkie missed having a connection. He adored being able to talk to others, but whenever he opened up he only got hurt.
But maybe, maybe this time could be different…
Wukong was training to obtain immortality. He had already proven to be stronger and more clever than anyone he’d known. The simian showed that he wanted to know him better. He constantly tried to touch his fur, something he called grooming, which felt pretty nice.
Maybe…maybe this time he could truly have a home.
§~~~~§~~~~§~~~~§
A streak of light accompanied by a sharp whistle pierced the night sky. For a brief moment, it vanished before exploding in a beautiful display of color and light.
On the monastery’s rooftop, Wukong backflipped in joy at the sight, his golden eyes wide. “Happy New Year!” The monkie cried. In the village below, he could make out dozens of voices echoing the greeting.
It didn’t matter how many times he saw them, fireworks were a sight he always adored. “This has got to be mankind’s greatest invention!” The flowers of fire were simply too beautiful. So unique. Nothing on Flower Fruit Mountain compared to such beauty, it made him thankful he decided to leave.
From the corner of his eye, Wukong noticed that his companion was clutched his ears wincing with every detonation. “You okay, bud?”
“I’m fine. Just loud.” Macaque said. He was truly questioning his sanity by joining Wukong on the roof. Normally he barricaded himself in his room, but his friend was so thrilled about sharing their first New Year together he couldn’t say no.
“Oh.” Somehow the new set of fireworks didn’t look that attractive. “We can go inside if you want.” They were beautiful, but nothing was worth feeling helpless as his friend curled up in pain.
“I’ll be fine. I’m adjusting to the volume. No different than punches that break the sound barrier, right?” Macaque tried flashing a confident grin to varying success.
Wukong suspected that Macaque was lying, but learned enough to know further prying would just cause the other monkie to simply shut out the world. “I’m glad you’re coming with me.”
“You made a persuasive argument.” Anyone who could harass him for nearly five years straight proved their determination.
Wukong playfully stuck his tongue out. “Hehe…Seriously though, I’m happy you chose to be part of my tribe. No one should be alone.”
“Then why have I been for so long.”
“I doubt even Master knows. But you won’t be able to say that anymore.” Wukong wrapped his arms around his best friend. Pulling him close, Wukong faced the fireworks, unconsciously grooming Macaque as he savored every pop of color.
Beneath those gentle digits, Macaque steadied himself against the soothing heartbeat of the one he slowly learned to trust. As the display continued, the pale monkie learned to appreciate the human’s creations. Turns out they weren’t so bad so long as you have the right company.
§~~~~§~~~~§~~~~§
“I’m sorry. You’re what?!” Macaque’s response was perfectly justified. There was no way he just heard what he thought he heard.
Wukong flashed a blinding grin. “I’m heading to the Celestial realm. I’ve been given a position in Celestial Bureaucracy.” Not seeing any problems whatsoever.
“Why?” Just why? From everything he heard about those stuck-up deities, they would never hand over a position to anyone without requiring the completion of an impossible task, much less to a demon. Least of all a demon who has done nothing but terrorize others and unleash chaos whenever he went.
“Don’t know. But I got to go right now.” Wukong shrugged as he finished packing. The Gold Star of Venus was waiting just outside the waterfall.
“But what about Flower Fruit Mountain? What about your subjects? What am I supposed to do? How long are you going to be gone?” Macaque fired off a rapid stream of questions. Panic was beginning to take hold.
Wukong, however, was as calm and confident as ever. “Stop worrying so much. Look I’ll be back as soon as I can. Until then you’re in charge.” He finished as though it was obvious.
“Me!” A white tail nearly burst into twice its normal size in shock. “But I have no idea how to run a Court!”
“Neither do I. Not in the traditional sense at least. Look just keep an eye on things. Protect the monkeys from hunters and malicious demons. Sometimes one of the allied demon kings will ask for some help. It’s nothing you haven’t helped me with before. I’ll be back before you know it. I’m sure you’ll be able to handle things until I get back.”
Seeing his companion and good friend growing even more lost, Wukong closed the distance and took his face in both hands. “This is a good thing. If I can make this work, none of us will ever have to worry about being hunted or not having enough food ever again.”
In a snap, Macaque grabbed the king’s arms. “What if I don’t care about any of that? What if I just want you to stay?”
For the first time in their conversation, Wukong’s cocky attitude vanished replaced with a loving smile. Gently prying Macaque’s claws off his shirt, Wukong placed his cheek on a palm as he kissed the knuckles of another. “I can’t. This is too good an opportunity to pass up. This isn’t goodbye. I’ll keep in touch. The time will fly. We’ll make this work. Trust me.”
“Alright, Wukong. I trust you.” Macaque said, ignoring every fiber of his being that screamed this would end poorly.
“If things go wrong, remember I’m just a telepathic call away.” Summoning his cloud, Wukong back flipped onto it with his bag. “Monkey King, out!”
One sonic boom later and he was gone, along with a good chunk of the cave walls.
“Hpmh. That’s my idiot.”
§~~~~§~~~~§~~~~§
How did this happen? How did this happen?!
One moment they were fighting for their lives against the army of the Celestial Realm and the next Macaque bore witness to Wukong being carted away in a diamond snare.
Now as he stared at the charred remains of what once was a growing village of monkeys, Macaque felt something within him change.
For almost two months he had burned in celestial fires. The sounds of the dead and dying rang out, making his namesake almost bleed. He choked on the ashes of the mortal monkeys. The air had a strangely sweet and bitter taste to it.
Macaque lost count of all the times he charged back into the fires to save as many heartbeats as he could. He wasn’t sure but he suspected he blacked out more than once. With every heartbeat that stilled before he could reach them, a part of him followed them into Yama’s realm.
Finally, the fires had died down. They didn’t have anything left to burn.
All around him he saw the pitiful leftovers of what was once a thriving community. He had treated the survivors the best he could, but he lost his medical equipment in the blaze. The only ones he didn’t have to worry about were the monkeys Wukong made immortal, but he did what he could to ease the pain.
But still, he wondered why…why were they staring at him as though they were confused?
Maybe he was overthinking everything. He just worked through 49 days without any sleep. Everything was stable for now. The best course of action was to wash off the ash and get some much-deserved rest.
There was nothing the Celestial Realm could do to Wukong that he couldn’t handle. Besides Macaque didn’t even know how to get there even if he was at full strength. Wukong couldn’t die so it was only a matter of time before someone tripped up allowing him to return home.
He just had to be patient.
Stepping into the clear river, Macaque’s jaw almost dropped as the water around him immediately turned gray. He didn’t realize he was that filthy.
He started scrubbing himself, ducking under the water to ensure he didn’t miss a spot. He had to move a few times due to the sheer amount of shoot and ash that clung to him. The entire cleaning process took a full hour before the water ran clear.
Stepping out, Macaque felt more refreshed than he ever remembered. Shaking to remove as much access water as possible, all the towels were soot so he had to make do, he paused by the waterside to see how much fur he lost. But what he saw met none of his expectations.
Instead of fur that invoked images of the moon, he was cloaked in the color of the darkest ink.
“What happened to me?”
§~~~~§~~~~§~~~~§
Five hundred years.
Five hundred years he searched, for any trace of the legendary Five-Fingered Moutain Buddha used to trap Sun Wukong only to find nothing. Macaque scoured far and wide. Neither the winds nor the shadows could lead him towards his friend.
He picked fights with countless demons who claimed to witness the great Monkey King brought low. It barely took two punches before they broke down crying how it had been nothing but a lie, how they only repeated rumors.
He bargained for any information he could find, but all accounts claimed the mountain didn’t exist. Many refused to answer him on principle of not interfering with the Celestial Realm’s issues. Their last mistake. Others took Wukoong’s punishment as a sign to amass as much power as possible out of fear that they would be targeted next.
Macaque had witnessed the formation of more alliances and territory grabs in the past century than had been recorded in the last thousand years. Demons were becoming more power-hungry and suspicious, which meant even more trouble for the humans. Things were becoming so chaotic, Macaque had to wonder if it was planned.
But he couldn’t dwell on that.
He hadn’t visited Flower Fruit Moutain in years. His clones kept guard, but slowly he was losing the drive to keep replenishing them. The only reason he called that mountain home was because of Wukong. It wasn’t home without him.
But he had to keep looking. Had to keep trying. He would find his friend.
Somehow.
§~~~~§~~~~§~~~~§
He tricked himself into thinking this would be different. That he would no longer be alone. That finally he had found a family he could keep.
He was an idiot!
The truth was he was no different than anyone else. The world was Sun Wukong’s toy chest and Macaque was merely a shiny new trinket to bat around until he grew bored. Seeing him with that group, knowing that he chose them over their past, was too much.
He was sick of being left behind. He had been left alone so many times. What made him think he couldn’t be replaced?
He could have attacked, ripped their precious monk to pieces, he could have...should have...but he was tired.
Returning to Flower Fruit Mountain was a chore, but one he swore he would never complete again. The monkeys questioned his return, asking where their king was and if he’d return soon. Macaque ignored them all. He simply walked to the part of the manor he and Wukong had shared for years, where he had been waiting for his return.
Staring at all the knickknacks and souvenirs they had collected from their adventures, Macaque made up his mind. Grabbing a large sturdy bag, he swiftly packed his essentials. In another, he packed non-perishable goods and water containers.
Stepping out, a flash of something peach-colored caught his eye. Spinning around, hope burning a hole in his chest but his dreams once more were proved false. It was just the special peach tree Wukong had planted from the leftover pit he had saved from his time in the Celestial Realm. Apparently, it had reached maturity and was proudly bearing the first fruit Macaque had seen despite having been planted nearly half a millennia ago.
Macaque wasn’t sure why it was so special, Wukong just winked and said it was a surprise for when they could share a fresh one. Feeling something wet on his arm, Macaque looked down to see his hand stretched towards the tree and the memories he held. Feeling his cheeks, he realized he was crying, which was strange as he didn’t think he had any tears left.
Spurred by longing and spite, Macaque plucked six peaches from the tree and stuffed them into his bag. It wasn’t like Wukong was going to miss them. And he needed the food.
#lego monkie kid au#Vanishing Shadow Au#six eared macaque#liu er mihou#sun wukong#abandonment issues#no communication#angst#white macaque
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breathe deep, breathe clear, and know that i'm here (solomon x reader)
When the tendrils of doubt start to wrap around you, how do you battle them when your new state of existence is entirely unknown?
ao3 link here!
CW: F!MC
When Solomon finally found her stumbling through the enchanted woods in a daze, he considered scooping her up in his arms and carrying her out of the forest, never to return. Every second spent away from her sent a sharp fear through his chest. Immortal as she was, she was not indestructible, and the creatures inhabiting the woods could be unexpectedly dangerous. Even with the experiences she's had with magic, there was so much she didn't know - there was so much ignorance that could still kill her.
Instead, he settled for running to her and holding her close, tucking her into himself tightly as if trying to force their bodies to meld. He could feel her tense, then relax, tremors taking over that he knew better than to comment on. As her shoulders heaved, Solomon couldn't tell if they were sobs or gasps for breath, but he rubbed her back soothingly anyway. Eventually, her hands weakly found purchase in the back of his shirt, and he placed a gentle kiss to the crown of her head.
Solomon didn't pull back until he was absolutely sure she had calmed down, and even then he took her hands in his and rubbed his thumb over Lucifer's ring. She was here, and as long as it was still on, everything was fine. Everything was fine.
Except everything was not fine. She insisted on staying in the woods until Solomon found the roots he was looking for, even after his protests and offers to leave. They walked hand-in-hand until nightfall, slowly traversing the uneven ground and looking for the small, purple flowers that marked their targets. They prepared to leave the forest with a sizable bundle of the plants, and as they crossed the final bridge, Solomon noticed MC stop and stare out over the ravine. The long shadows cast seemed to swirl with the unnatural fog settled within the cliffsides, so dark even the full moon couldn't permeate it. As silent tears streamed down her cheeks, he noticed those that fell, could.
"When will you get tired of me?" She asked, her voice small and shaking. The way she watched the fig beneath her, Solomon wondered if she thought it would swallow her whole, or maybe even hoped it would.
"What do you mean?" Tentatively, he inched closer to her. The simple suspension bridge swayed with his movement, but she didn't seem to mind.
"How many things have you gotten bored of before? How many pacts do you no longer call upon? Even some magic can't capture your attention sometimes." The sadness in her tone was palpable the more she spoke, eventually straining her voice so she could hardly push the words out. Solomon had heard pain in the voices of many, but it never hurt as much as it did to hear from her.
Telling her how many of his pacts were one-time necessities or formed more as an impulse for more power seemed in poor taste. How many of his pacts did he make, knowing he wouldn't need them? How many demons were tethered to him, knowing they would never be called on by him again yet having to be ready just in case? Swallowing past the lump growing in his throat, he kept the questions to himself lest she think he'd ever string her along in the same way.
Of course she'd imagine magic to be boring for him when he's spent so long studying it. Even the more complicated, dazzling spells were familiar to him. But magic was ever-changing, and he was always finding something new about it to explore. Besides, he could never grow bored of magic when she was around to excite him.
Solomon didn't know how to articulate his thoughts. He just knew that he loved her, and he loved her so deeply it hurt. With still nothing coming to mind, he stayed silent. Oh, how he wished he had said something, anything to get her mind off of her own thoughts, just to share himself the heartache of hearing what she had to say. When she opened her mouth, she spoke with more conviction, looking up at him with wide, wet eyes and yet not a quiver in her voice.
"I can't think of anything I have that'll get you to want to stay."
The breath in Solomon's throat hitched for a moment. With her eyes searching his, he felt something like a criminal, knowing he had done something wrong and forced to wait for a punishment he knew would be inevitable. His silence seemed the trial, and after a moment, her face fell and she looked away. Caught between wanting to bring her gaze back to him so he could repent and not wanting to see her desolate face, Solomon only stood in place dumbly.
Giving a bitter laugh, she shrugged as if she could shake off her burdens. "I mean, you shouldn't have to pick up everyone else's discarded pieces. And against angels and demons, and even other sorcerers, I really don't compare."
Hadn't he thought something similar? During the exchange program, when he realized he was one of what seemed like a thousand people competing for her affections, he thought he knew how it would play out. He wasn't a demon, who's hulking form, unnatural charm and eerie good looks could haunt her for her entire life. He wasn't an angel that could offer her paradise and unquestionable love. All he was was barely human, the only pieces of himself she could ever like hidden behind centuries of masks and non-answers.
When she chose him, took his hand proudly in front of all the brothers and defended her choice, he thought for sure his starstruck face and the brothers' envious stares were enough to drive home how intensely her attention was sought after. But to hear her worry over the same things - to wonder if she was replaceable when he was the one with ten people lining up behind him, ten people he knew would never let her go - was enough to force his heart to crack right down the middle.
"I'm not built for immortality, Solomon." Looking down, she fiddled with the ring on her finger as two teardrops fell on the back of her hand. He could hear despair gripping her, and he felt powerless to battle it away. "I don't want to do this alone."
Finally, he felt he could move and he took her in his arms again, holding her close to him protectively. Though he knew it to be impossible, he hoped he could block any more doubts from finding their way to her, as if his arms alone could be a shield. As he looked over her shoulder, he saw the many spirits weaving between the trees, curiously watching the intruders on their home from behind the branches. He swore he saw something else behind a trunk, watching with satisfaction as MC shook in his arms - though he had half a mind to charge forward and destroy it for daring to take pleasure in her pain, not a fiber in his being wanted to separate himself from her. Instead, he shut his eyes and buried his face in her hair, rubbing her back in an attempt at soothing her.
"You won't be alone," he promised as the more important words got caught in his throat.
Solomon understood her fear and the creeping feeling of being replaceable. It was only natural when you thought you had to live on such a short time limit. Time felt limited, like there was none to spare for falling in love or mourning the loss of anyone. He understood feeling as if he had to scramble from person to person in fear the time may slip away, and he knew how it felt to worry others may do that to you. He had 72 pacts and a collection of scorned lovers to prove it.
People were not replaceable, and they were never boring. Each person Solomon has ever loved has remained trapped in his heart, and humans had a desire to remember every person they've ever loved even beyond their years on earth. He wasn't sure how to tell her that she would never grow boring to him - that she would continue to evolve, because the very nature of her human being didn't change with her immortality. It was a fact he found difficult to accept himself, but people evolved continuously, even after a thousand years. Those who only live out their typical lifespan just don't have enough time to see it.
But his own stagnation compared to the world made him yearn for something, anything that might stay. MC wasn't entirely unfounded in her fears; the world would leave her behind, family and friends would be ripped from her and she'd have eternity to grapple with the pain. But Solomon knew he could never leave her - that even if she did die, he would carry her with him for eternity
MC was everything he could ever think to hope for. It would just take time for her to figure it out, and they both had all the time in the world. He would stick by her side while she sorted things out, and he would stay there for the rest of time after. But for now, he held her tightly, hoping it was enough of a signal that he was here to stay.
#obey me#obey ne shall we date#obey me solomon#solomon x reader#swd solomon#obey me swd#swd obey me#solomon#mine
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Twisted Freedom
“You're an outmatched little kitten. Shouldn’t have come alone! I’ll enjoy savoring your demise.” The Warlock, placed before preparing to foresight into the steam and rid it out, lapping his lip’s with a disgusting intent at the youthful presence that smelled of hope and innocence unbroken and shattered, soon that’d be fixed, after many attempts at flailing random ice pelts throughout in hitting contact. Klethera didn’t argue, she was outmatched and inexperienced for this level, as many tried to defeat him.
However she wasn’t alone, he got that wrong. Soon as her image was seen prone in the smoke, before he could release a devastating blow, he became blind from an eye as a whizzing bullet lobbed through with perfect pin-point accuracy and went clean through his skull. Hissing and making him shriek back. Shelah huffing with all her injuries still steep and ill, only able to dish out that one concentrated attack before she plummeted with her goggles that allowed her to take the shot, and collapsed at the entrance.
Behind that crouched Deadeye, came a terrifying menace that brought fear even to the bottom of a mutually dark demon, that sensation re-struck from the Ship that caused him to flee earlier in advance in worry and horrendous dread, that Xaela jumped with a ferocity guttural onslaught of piercing symphony of massacring intent bellowing with it’s grated mask. Slicing off an effortlessly hacking off the wizard’s arm. Then slashing a fury of slashes until he stripped the plate armor of SIlv’a then with even that berserk push, he still administered a bloody ‘x’ across the torso made bare, with revenge before also succumbing to his own wounds from the battle against Captain still fresh, his regeneration cost a hefty toll and wasn’t going to give into his own gluttonous when allies were around, showing his resolve to not bend to his own pact.
Flailing back and suffering from the combination, Klethera came and took a mighty samurai pose before blitzing across past the demon with her sword drawn and flame blazing through with her added aether and combined huntress warcry screaming at the heaven’s and all that is just, to empower her to see the bane. Slicing the foe cleanly in-half and brimming with a destructive set of embers starting to scorch and consume. She screamed out with all her fury before collapsing in another heap pile aside Nihlius. The two-swords of the gold and black brand gave their all.
Agony encompassed Silv’a being met with a last-ditch effort by a bundle of pests who sought to foil. Aggravation was drowning his sanity. He brought upon himself chilly-unforgiving ice that began fighting and attempted to quell the fires, they were still novice level. Though he was struggling and helpless, an unenjoyable existence and welcomining, first time taking major damage since his resurrection.
His immortal-body wouldn’t allow this, he too had convicted cause, his belief would swallow and engulf them all. His eye’s blistered in seething agony and rage to defile dying, never, would he allow it, or go back to the Tormented Planes. He’d bring the worst and heinous evil here for them to unleash their own overwhelming pent up havoc. Twisted he was also bringing ‘freedom’, it just required pain and strife for all others! But that wasn’t to be worried if they weren’t weaklings. Many would find suitable joy in their vessel’s being shared with unbridled power and indestructibility, already treacherous fiends walking among everywhere that a crowd passed, blended in. They were the neighbors, friends, loved one’s secretly in their abyss, their thoughts and pit core laid the root of wanting more out of this cesspool of an existence. Deep down none could deny they’d take more if they were afforded it! If they could dictate it! To be of sin wasn’t a crime to his psychological break. Ends justifies the means. He saw righteousness.
Everything was meant to be taken and relinquished over to the mortals but they were defiled and denied. Told what was moral and ethical. So a fix to all that, they’d possess the levels of the gods and eat them, they’d inherit their rightful birth claim! The true Nobles soon would claim their Thrones. His thoughts repeated in infinite loops of whispering mania.
This philosophy and evil malice was so inviting and intoxicating that the tear and rift that Silv’a opened up, this grand vision, was inviting and darkness poured to him, as his mouth opened up to fetch them, gobbling countless murders and souls that were executed and slain now becoming joined to his cause, this was his crew.
His wound’s locked up and he began reformulating with terrifying regeneration that was anti-death defining. While the boy’s of opposing forces of unlikely alliances, broke from their curse in reversing their child-selves, they would be given a most unwelcoming sight. Their efforts were all bottomless! His resolve to see the ushering of an Immortal Age, outweighed anything living!
To make something better than before you first have to tear down the brittle old and flawed! As a conjurer who once earned his acclaimed title in the Dragonsong War who once wasn’t driven to this he became consumed with corruption, watching the extinguish of life too many times over again, by things that could’ve been avoided, if only they were drawn to a power higher. More, more, more, that’s all many see and demand.
To think when here long ago hearing Shiro was being announced to be born before going into the field and was attached to the infant with humane contact of unconditional love, he was a happy man like all others, but War creates many new retrospectives.
Being the one responsible to hold and maintain life is a dangerous scale to possess and command, eventually, those who hold lives in their hand’s feel like they’re gods weaving their magic to defile and push death or grant life. Eventually you sustain so many burials in failures, you become in a shallow grave of blackness, then, the Void, is what offers you a way-out, not the scarce light.
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#So rusty on poses#Nihlius Brood#I got to practice more#Shelah#Sniper#Tales of the Goldbrand#Dark Fantasy#Klethera#Silv'a#Immortal Age Saga#tw: violence#tw: decapitation#Ghoul#creative writing#gif warning
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Tale of The Nine Tailed: Analysis and Theories
First and foremost, I would like to give my sincerest praise to the cast and crew of Tale of The Nine Tailed ! It is simply a wonderful and very thought provoking show! I strongly recommend it to everyone!
Now, I’m going to forewarn you all that this post will be very LONG, but hey you might learn a thing or two and be able to draw your own theories and/or conclusions after reading this post! I had previously posted some of these connections/theories on my Twitter, but I figure hey why not post them on Tumblr too !
What Is An Imugi/Imoogi? What Is It’s Goal?
In Korean folklore, Imoogis are lesser dragons that look like big snakes or kind of like a basilisk from Harry Potter.
One of an Imugi/Imoogi’s main goal is obtain a “Yeouiju” or a celestial orb which allows it to become full fledged celestial dragons which can rule the skies. In the context of TOTNT, there is such a type of “Yeouiju” in the form of Lee Yeon’s fox bead. Therefore, I believe that the ultimate goal of the Imugi/Imoogi is get Lee Yeon’s fox bead.
Side note, I kind of think that the Imoogi not only wants to rule the skies, but the ground too. I wouldn't be surprised if he sought to do so by raising an army of zombies (maybe thats who Lee Yeon was seen fighting in the intro credits) !
Why be content with just ruling the skies when you can rule the entire world? Additionally, he could have further ambitions to not only rule the world, but to also rule all realms like the heavens and the Underworld.
The Imoogi is very strategic into getting what he wants. By strategic I mean that he likes to use people as leverage or use their own weaknesses against them.
Therefore, I believe what happened originally during Ah Eum’s time is that the Imoogi had possessed her body in order to get Lee Yoon to hand over his fox bead. The Imoogi knew how much Lee Yoon had loved Ah Eum and would be willing to do anything for her.
However like Voldemort, the Imoogi did not anticipate the power of love and sacrifice. Ah Eum had temporarily gained control of her body long enough to do either two things: ask Lee Yeon to kill her or run into Lee Yeon’s sword thereby killing herself. In either cases, she fulfilled her promise to Lee Yoon which was that she would always protect him.
Now jumping back to the present time, we know that original target of the Imoogi’s plan was Ji Ah. Why? Because his lame self wanted to do what he did in the past and use her again to get Lee Yeon to hand over the fox bead. However, this time around, Ji Ah had Lee Yeon’s fox bead inside of her which offered protection from full possession by the Imoogi. So then the Imoogi’s minion (tv station president) took the next best thing which was Ji Ah’s parents to be used as leverage at a later time so that Ji Ah would hand over the fox bead.
However, things have now changed because Ji A gave away the fox bead to the fortune teller to save Lee Yeon. Now I have mixed feelings about this situation. On one side, I find it romantic that she’s willing to give up anything to save Lee Yeon. On the other side of it, I’m like girl why are you so stupid?! Lee Yeon literally gave up his mountain title in order to give Ah Eum/Ji Ah that fox bead. It’s almost like Lee Yeon’s actions were met in vain. Plus, when Ji Ah said she doesn’t believe in destiny or that sort of stuff, it also got me riled up because it was a contradiction to the whole premise of her character in the first place. From the get go, the writer wrote that Ji Ah believes in the supernatural and mystical. So then why wouldn't she believe in fate and destiny?
Anyways back to more analysis. Without the protective effects of the fox bead, Ji Ah can once again be possessed by the Imoogi.
What the fox bead had done for Ji Ah was that it protected Ji Ah from the effects of the Imoogi piece aka horcrux that was inside of her. The notion that the bead had offered protective effects can be seen when Lee Yeon first gave it to her where a protective shield was erected and this was again seen in ep4 when Ji Ah cried. Also, it was confirmed when Sato said how Lee Yeon’s fox bead was meant to protect all beings, but instead Lee Yeon chose to use it to protect only one person.
The Fortune Teller’s Message
Something of particular interest is what the fortune teller told Ji Ah about the bead. He told her that even without the fox bead or moon, her life is still “blessed”. I think what the fortune teller meant by this is that even without the protective effects of the bead, her life is still “blessed” because she will always have Lee Yeon by her side to protect her.
What I think will happen next is that Lee Yeon will go back to the fortune teller to try and get his bead back. Meaning Ji Ah will probably confess to Lee Yeon later on just what exactly she gave up in order to get him back. And again the fortune teller will ask for something precious to Lee Yeon. There are a few things that are precious to Lee Yeon such as Ji Ah, Lee Rang, and Lee Yeon’s immortality. Now we know that Lee Yeon would never give up Ji Ah, so then this would bring about other two things into play: Lee Rang and Lee Yeon’s immortality. I think its more of a poetic justice if Lee Yeon trades Lee Rang in. However, I could also see Lee Yeon trading in his immortality since his dream has always been to become human. Who knows though!
Only One Will Live: Imoogi Vs Ji Ah and Lee Yeon vs Ji Ah
In Harry Potter, there was a prophecy that “for neither can live, while the other survives”. This same message is conveyed when it comes to the Imoogi & Ji Ah and Lee Yeon & Ji Ah.
We saw what had happened the first go around when the Imoogi had possessed Ah Eum. In the end, Ah Eum chose to sacrificed herself so that both the Imoogi and the piece of him inside of her would die. Thereby, she prevented the Imoogi from using her to get Lee Yeon’s fox bead. Now presently, the same situation is basically happening again. However, if Harry Potter managed to kill the piece of Voldemort in him and still survive then Ji Ah can essentially do the same. So, how you might ask? I think the solution greatly lies in getting the fox bead back in her. If Ji Ah can temporarily die in order to get rid of the Imoogi piece inside of her, then she can be revived by the protective qualities of the fox bead.
Even if Ji Ah survives against the Imoogi, it might be at the cost of losing Lee Yeon. The fortune teller even told our couple this, “If you two keep hanging out, one of you will die”. This same message is again heard in ep 7 preview when Taluipa’s husband tells Lee Yeon, “You or the girl. One must die in the end.” So can there be a situation where the Imoogi is dead and both Ji Ah and Lee Yeon are alive? Yes and it comes in the form of the Lee Rang factor.
The Lee Rang Factor
We all know that our little puppy, Lee Rang, may put up the facade that he hates his brother, but in reality, Lee Rang loves his brother a lot.
There was a clue dropped in ep.4 that hints in the end Lee Rang will be the one that saves both Lee Yeon and Ji Ah.
The hint was in Taluipa’s hand, the movie “A Better Tomorrow”. Briefly, the movie is about two brothers, Ho and Kit, who love each other a lot. However over the years, they began to develop great animosity and resentment towards each other mainly due to their differences in beliefs and professions. Ho was a criminal while Kit was an upstanding police officer. Eventually, Ho does see the error of his ways and seeks to atone for them. In the end, the two brother reconcile and Ho decides to join his brother Kit on a path of righteousness. Similar to Ho, I think Lee Rang will do the same. Lee Rang will atone for his mistakes and thus sacrifice himself to save Lee Yeon and Ji Ah.
What is Ji Ah?
Seems like everyone these days has been wondering what exactly Ji Ah is. Most people seem to think that she is part Imoogi. However, there has been a bunch of clues in the episodes that answers this question.
I believe Ah Eum/Ji Ah is Princess Bari, the first shaman goddess from Korean mythology.
Princess Bari was nicknamed the “Abandoned Princess” because she was the last and 7th daughter of a King who had no sons. Due to her gender, she did not receive any attention from her parents and was thus abandoned.
Eventually, her parents’ lives became endangered and in order to save them she had to travel to the Underworld to get the elixir of life. Such a tedious journey showed her deep commitment to the virtue of “filial piety” or one’s love and respect for one’s parents. She became a role model for many women during this time because she was willing to sacrifice herself for the very parents who had abandoned her.
As a reward for her strong adherence to filial piety, the Gods made her the first shaman goddess who’s job was to help and guide spirits.
#tale of the nine tailed#lee dong wook#leedongwook#jo bo ah#joboah#taleoftheninetailed#totnt#lee yeon#leeyeon#ji a#jia#jiah#ji ah#ah eum#aheum#aeum#a eum#lee rang#leerang#gumiho#princess bari
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Rules of Engagement: Chapter Sixteen
Link to Masterpost
Well, I couldn’t wait TOO long to bring you this one! Enjoy!
~*~*~
Rowan stared at Aelin, knowing his face would show his shock. He knew by now that Aelin rarely did anything without a reason, but he couldn’t fathom why she was asking such questions of Maeve when the sensible thing to do would be to run and never look back. She had stolen him away from Maeve’s clutches, she had even gotten answers from her about her parents.
His icy heart had cracked when she’d wrung that confession from the queen. He’d known, of course, that Maeve could be cruel and vindictive. He’d also known that she never forgot or forgave someone who crossed her, not truly. Oh, she would say she had offered forgiveness readily enough. It was what had convinced him to swear to her, after all, her offer of forgiveness for everything that had come to pass with Lyria and for losing himself for as long as he had.
He had since come to learn that forgiveness didn’t come attached to a string, much less a web of half-truths and outright deceit. Forgiveness didn’t ask for the completion of difficult tasks, or for the surrender of free will.
Forgiveness was Aelin burning away his guilt and his doubts with a simple smile. Forgiveness was how he had nearly ruined everything they could come to share with his own foolish nerves, but she had come to Doranelle to demand he be freed regardless.
No, a creature like Maeve could never exhibit true forgiveness. She was too self-serving, too arrogant, too cold and cruel. Which was why Rowan was certain, so certain, that Aelin would have realized that she was at a significant advantage with the concessions already granted and leave before Maeve could turn the tables.
Deep down, he supposed he should have known she would see a possible vulnerability and seek to press that advantage, take as much from Maeve as she could possibly get. It was a fighter’s instinct, a move from someone who knew they would never get this opportunity again.
Maeve pursed her lips before responding, voice tight with barely-restrained anger. “I know a great deal more than you could pretend to, child.”
“I’m certain that you do; our histories indicate that you were present for the war, after all.” Aelin was back to carefully examining her fingernails rather than looking at the queen, her posture that of idle nonchalance. To a casual observer, it would appear that Aelin was already bored of the conversation, but Rowan knew this was all a part of a carefully calculated act. He was more than familiar with her character as Celaena Sardothien, and he could see that she was using that mask one last time.
At least, he sincerely hoped it would be one last time. He had no greater wish for her than for her to be able to be truly herself once more.
“And what question is it that you seek answers for?” For all of Maeve’s posturing, for all of her tight control over her tone, Rowan could see through to the vulnerability within. He had spent centuries at her side, doing her bidding, and this was something he had never seen from the dark queen.
Maeve was afraid.
“They were said to be terrible creatures, weren’t they? The Valg, I mean. Demons from another world, with the power to possess humans and Fae alike.” Aelin’s words were light in tone, careful and precise. “I heard the princes, or the kings like Erawan, were even more powerful. They could take on their own form and walk among us. They could manipulate shadows, or a person’s very thoughts. Is that true?”
“It is,” Maeve replied, “and you should be grateful that I worked with your ancestors to banish them all back to their home.”
“Oh, I don’t think that’s true,” Aelin said, “but that’s a different question. No, what I was wondering was something else. What sort of power do you imagine one of their queens would have possessed?”
Maeve hesitated for a moment, clearly debating whether or not to answer the question at all. “It was said,” she finally replied, “that the queens were even more powerful than the kings. Given that the kings were difficult enough to kill or banish, I would think most would hesitate before battling a queen of the Valg.”
“How interesting,” Aelin remarked, her eyes focused now on the ground near Maeve’s feet. What on earth was she doing? “I read that the princes could manipulate your thoughts, force you to relive your darkest moments so they could feed on your despair. If a prince could do that to one person, do you suppose a queen could do that to many?”
“I suppose it’s possible,” Maeve allowed.
“I’m sure you’re wondering exactly what my questions have to do with… well, everything, really.” Aelin laughed, and Rowan could feel himself frowning. He certainly wondered what game she was playing. “Don’t worry, I won’t leave you wondering for long.”
The arrogant smirk of Celaena Sardothien crossed Aelin’s face again as she finally looked the queen in the eye. “Did you know,” she finally asked, “that Brannon of the Wildfire was able to locate histories before he fled to Terrasen that claim there were only two sister-queens of the Fae?”
Distantly, Rowan knew the sensations coursing through his body were those of shock. His vision narrowed and went slightly grey, and his hands and feet were tingling. He could hardly focus on such things, however, given the implications of Aelin’s pointed question, hurled like a knife at a female who was turning out to be far more deadly than either of them could have known. To have convinced the entire world that there were always three sisters… that was more power than Rowan could comprehend.
Too late, he noticed the shadows lancing at them from the floor. Even if his reflexes had been at their best, he couldn’t have avoided this attack. Instead, he looked at Aelin, horror dawning on his face.
Aelin smiled back at him…
And then threw herself between Rowan and the shadows.
He could hear a voice screaming in the distance. It took several seconds for him to recognize it as his own.
~*~*~
Aelin gritted her teeth against the force of the blast but held strong as the shadows—or perhaps the female controlling them—shrieked, throwing a desperate line of fire between herself and Rowan to ensure he would remain safe.
As she had suspected from her research but not had time to prove, the ring she had continued to wear on her thumb was indeed a protective ward—bespelled for Athril, friend of Brannon’s and former lover of the very female she faced now, an unnamed goddess’ gift granting protection against the powers of the Valg. Rowan would have been injured, or killed, or worse had the shadows managed to reach him, but though they could bring her almost to her knees with their strength they could not actually touch her.
Finally the shadows ebbed, and she stood against a backdrop of her own flame. “Queen Maeve of the Fae,” she declared, “if that truly is your name, I must confess I have misled you until this point. My true charge, and my truest accusation, is not that of the murder of my parents. You stand accused of deceiving Mab and Mora—deceiving the world—as to your true nature, to hide amongst the Fae whilst your brethren tortured and killed us. You stand accused of being that which you professed to aid in killing, for whatever unknown purpose you may have had.”
Aelin summoned a small flame into each hand, a further reminder of her power. “You stand accused, my dear aunt, of being a Queen not of the Fae, but of the Valg. How do you plead?”
Maeve only laughed, the sound high and cold, though her eyes remained fixed on the fire Aelin controlled. “You think yourself clever, but you will never leave this place alive to utter such an accusation unless it is by my own choosing.”
“How, exactly, do you plan to stop me?”
“Surely you’ve realized by now that only two of my blood-sworn are in this room. While I believe that either of them would prove more than your match, I have called the others here. They will arrive within mere minutes.” A bluff, Aelin realized; at least one of them was too far away to be recalled in any haste.
“And I’m certain you’ve guessed by now that I did not come alone either,” Aelin retorted. “Nor am I a fool. You may strike me down if you so please, but it will only serve as further evidence to the rest of the world. War will be upon your doorstep if you do not yield, a war you have sought to avoid for centuries.”
She began to feel a weakness in her knees, and a cramping sensation toward the base of her spine. Maeve wouldn’t have to defeat her outright, she realized. If she merely kept Aelin talking for a few minutes more, she would be at the point of a burnout. And yet she could not risk lowering the curtain of flame that protected Rowan, not when she had only just won him away from the female who sat before her.
No, she had to hold on, for as long as she could manage.
“Your ancestor’s little book can be discredited easily enough,” Maeve sneered. “A bastard, who was no one until he fought in the wars and then fled across the sea, is no historian.”
“Perhaps you underestimate how well-loved Brannon Galathynius was by his people. They remember him kindly, as an honest male who was so brave, who shone with a fire so bright, that even the goddess of flame herself was entranced. Think about that, about an honor you will never know. A goddess gave up her immortal life for him. An act like that reverberates for ages to come, and does much to credit his word.”
Maeve shrugged with an air of indifference, but her cold and calculating eyes remained locked on Aelin and her flames. “There’s no way of knowing if your little book was even written by Brannon. I certainly don’t recall him writing one, and it is not disputed that I was present for these events.”
A bead of sweat rolled down the side of her face, and the hairs at the back of her neck were already drenched with it. She had to end this, and soon. “I grow weary of your games,” she snapped. “You’ve heard the accusation. How do you plead?”
“If it is answers you seek, you will find none here.” Shadows grew once more around Maeve’s feet, gathering around their mistress. “And you grow weary of more than simply games. You haven’t the strength to carry out any sentence you could deign to bestow upon me.”
Aelin laughed. “Oh, but surely you know.”
Maeve snarled, revealing elongated canines for the first time. “Know what?”
“Know that I don’t have to have the strength myself.” As she lowered the shield of flame protecting Rowan from the shadows, she drew her blade across her hand and called him to her. A quick slice across his palm and their hands clasped together as they had what felt like a lifetime ago.
Cold, swirling, ancient power slammed into her, and then there was only fire.
~*~*~
“What are you doing here?” the warrior—no, his father—hissed. “No, on second thought, don’t tell me. Don’t tell me anything about why you’re here, don’t tell me you’re who I suspect you are. You shouldn’t be here, it’s not safe.”
“You’re…” The words died in Aedion’s throat. “You’re the one Whitethorn warned me about,” he finally managed.
“Whitethorn? Rowan is back?” His father sighed. “Don’t tell me. The less I know, the better. I’m only supposed to be patrolling, there’s a chance I won’t have to get involved.”
“Involved in what, exactly? The queen’s dirty work, I would imagine.” The words came out bitter, more bitter than Aedion had intended. He didn’t know why exactly his father had left, whether it was the only protection he could give or whether whatever glory he had sought as a warrior had won over any family he could have. He’d told himself for years that he didn’t care. Aelin and her parents had been as much a family to him as he could have asked for, and he had set his thoughts of his farther aside, thinking they were unnecessary and could be forgotten.
He should have known that one day all of those ignored thoughts and feelings would come back to haunt him, though he could never have guessed that it would be in this way, with the male who should have raised him now standing between him and Aelin.
A scream sounded from the inside of the room, sounding suspiciously like Whitethorn. What was going on in that room? Aelin had told him her suspicions, her belief that the ring given to her by Dorian was unintentionally the best protection she could have acquired for this exact situation, but what if she had been wrong?
Aedion’s blood ran cold at the thought that his cousin could be injured, or worse, and he wasn’t there to help her.
His father, on the other hand, barely even grimaced, though his tawny eyes revealed a deep sadness. “I would say she was not always like this, but I’m afraid I would be lying. When it was only my own life I had to worry about, I paid it no mind. What good was my life, without a cause such as hers? For all her flaws, she protected my people. It turned out that I was good at protecting them as well—good enough to attract her attention. But know this. If you are who I suspect—and do not tell me if you are—then your mother changed everything.”
A shriek came from the room, high and cold and angry, and this time his father did flinch. That didn’t stop him from speaking, however. “For the first time in my life, I had something that mattered. And I realized what would happen if it ever came to light. Hiding our relationship would never be enough, not when all she would have to do was command me to speak the truth and it would all be revealed.”
“And so you left.” Aedion dimly realized his hands were trembling. He didn’t know what to think, what to say, what to do. Not when everything had changed so suddenly.
“And so I left, knowing that I would never be able to see her again. I couldn’t even risk knowing any more than was necessary about her life. She knew why, though. Before I left, I told her everything. I told her to keep it secret, to keep herself safe. I warned her to never come looking for me. It was without a doubt the most difficult choice I’ve ever had to make, but at the same time there was never a choice. There was only this. And there… there is not enough time in all the world to tell you everything. In fact, we only have a few more moments before her orders will demand that I bring you to her.”
“What would you have me do? I cannot abandon my—”
“Don’t tell me,” his father snapped. “And what I would have you do does not matter. All that matters right now is keeping you safe. And if that means sending you away from here, then so be it.”
“And if I don’t leave?”
“Then—” the words of the other male stopped short as he stumbled, hand going to his chest in what appeared to be an automatic gesture.
“What is it?” Aedion asked.
“The oath—it’s… but it cannot be.” The words came slowly, their speaker clearly deep in disbelief. He glanced down at his hands, and then back up at Aedion.
As one, they looked at the door to the audience chamber, where all had gone suddenly silent. Then they ran to the door, forcing it open and gaping at what lay beyond.
~*~*~
By the time the flames died out, there was nothing left of Maeve but a smoky black stain on the white stone floor. Aelin slowly let go of Rowan’s hand and approached it hesitantly, as though somehow the creature that had posed as her aunt could re-emerge from the ashes.
Then again, she had been lying to everyone for centuries. Aelin wouldn’t put it past her to come back from the dead.
As she walked, step after halting step, each breath echoing in the sudden silence of the room, she allowed herself to think a desperate prayer that this all had worked. If this all turned out to be some foolish dream, she didn’t know what she’d do.
Carefully, she drew the toe of her boot through the ashes, effectively scattering them. A black stain remained on the stone underneath them. Finally, hardly daring to hope, she looked up at Rowan. She knew immediately that his expression of wary longing matched her own, but still they stood, simply staring at one another.
One of the wolves moved behind her, breaking the silence, and suddenly they were moving, walking briskly toward each other from across the room. She had just reached the midpoint when she was swept into the arms of a laughing male.
Aelin blinked, startled from the sudden spinning, only to find that it was the wrong male who had swept her away.
He was objectively beautiful, long golden curls offset by eyes of onyx and lips curled into an easy grin. “You did it,” he was saying through his laughter. “By all the gods, I never thought this day would come!”
A growl from behind her cut off any response she could have hoped to make, but the male only laughed harder. “Oh, come on, Rowan! You’ll have her for… gods, however long this one lives, I suppose. Assuming she doesn’t get another crazy idea and get you both killed tomorrow.”
The door burst open then, Aedion coming through at a sprint with another Fae male who looked stunningly like him. Aelin gave him a pointed look and then gestured between the two of them questioningly, but Aedion only shook his head. She’d have to pester him later for answers, then.
Another door opened, this one behind the dais where Maeve had sat, and a voice, rough and dark, shouted, “What have you done, you fire-breathing bitch?”
“The queen wasn’t Fae!” the male who was still holding her shouted, laughter turning desperate and almost hysterical. “She was one of the Valg, who disguised herself to stay behind. This one here figured it out and confronted her, and she freed us! She freed us, Lorcan, could you be less grumpy for one second of your miserable existence? Gods, I could kiss—”
A strong wind blasted around the room, knocking the golden male backwards, and when she turned she saw another male knocked to the floor as well. This one was almost impossibly tall, with dark hair and even darker eyes that were angrily fixed on Aelin herself.
The black wolf beside him shifted as well, revealing the mirror image of the golden male who had approached her. “It’s true,” he murmured. “I don’t know what to make of it. But everything Fen said is true.”
Aelin’s gaze stuttered from male to male. It was too much, it was all too much, she couldn’t—
Warm arms scented with pine and snow surrounded her, and she buried her face in Rowan’s shirt, eyes squeezed shut to block out as much sensation as possible. Her fingers clutched at the utilitarian fabric, and a small part of her mind wondered what it would take to get him to wear finer shirts.
A larger part recognized that voice for the hysterical distraction that it was, but it was better than facing… everything.
Finally, she realized Rowan was speaking to the others. “—sort this out later,” he was saying, the words rumbling in his chest so she felt as much as heard them. “We’ll have time, and Aelin came too close to a burnout. She needs rest.”
“She killed our queen!” the angry male shouted. “What has she done to you, that you would not have her answer for what she’s done?”
Another growl, this one from Aedion, but she couldn’t even look at him. Not now.
A calmer voice rang out from across the room, one that hadn’t spoken yet as far as Aelin could recall. “She’s overwhelmed,” the voice pointed out. “We’ll have no answers from her in this state, none that make any sense anyway. Let Rowan take care of her, and let us speak to her companion.”
“And if her companion doesn’t wish to speak without her consent?” Aedion replied testily.
“It’s all right, cousin,” she called, pulling away from Rowan to look at him. “You can tell them whatever they need to know.”
She took one step toward him, then another, but she could feel the weakness of her knees and the trembling in her limbs. She had overextended herself, gone too far, and the strain of unleashing all of those accusations had taken its toll as well.
Soon she was swept back into Rowan’s grasp, one arm holding her legs at the knee and the other supporting her back. “As much as I admire your determination to handle everything all at once,” he said with a shake of his head, “not even you can take on the entire world at the same time. It’s all right to need rest.”
“Go on,” said the male that was standing beside Aedion. “Take her out of here. We’ll speak with her when she’s ready.”
Rowan didn’t say anything else to any of the others, instead silently stepping out into the hall and beginning to walk. “Where are we going?” she asked.
“I did live here, you know,” he said dryly. “I have rooms.”
“Why, Rowan Whitethorn,” she grinned, pretending to be scandalized. “Are you taking me to bed?”
“After a stunt like you just put us through?” he asked.
Aelin felt her face fall. Of course he wouldn’t want her that way. Being mates was no guarantee of love, or even of happiness. There had been times where she thought perhaps he wanted her, but that didn’t mean that he would ever act on it.
Before she could say anything, could play off her remark as a simple jest, he had shifted his grip on her, using the wall to support her back so he could grip her chin. “Aelin, of all the countless mistakes I’ve made over the course of my life, making you doubt this is among the greatest,” he confessed. “There is much we need to discuss, you and I, but I don’t want to have that conversation when you’re already overwhelmed.”
Aelin could scarcely believe her ears. “So then you… are taking me to bed?”
“Aelin,” he purred next to her ear. “I am absolutely taking you to bed.”
She grinned and wrapped her arms around his neck, only to fall asleep in his arms before they even reached their destination.
~*~*~
Tagging:
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@sis-it-dont-add-up
@jlinez
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