Valiant: Tales From The Drift

[Tails #38: Metamorphoxis]

Log Date: 3/6/12765

Data Sources: Lysanne Arrignis, Jazel Jaskolka

Event Log: Jazel Jaskolka

The Dreaming

11:51pm LST

It’s a night like most of the others.

By now, I know my way around the dreamscape that Azra and I share. Whenever I fall asleep, it doesn’t take me long to wander out of my dream and onto that dark plateau that links our minds. I know the path to the rock shelf where she keeps Kaya prisoner; I know how to sneak up on it, and mask my approach until the last moment. It always ends the same way, with Azra catching me sooner or later — but I still make that journey every night, to steal as much time as I can with Kaya before I’m caught and killed in the dream, banishing me back to the waking realm.

And that’s what I’m planning on doing tonight, at least until a voice arrests me in my nightly march to the plateau.

“You are singular in your stubbornness.”

Because it’s a dream, I don’t think it startles me as much as it would have in the waking world. There’s something about dreams that just takes the edge off things, makes them a little fuzzier and less sharp, at least when you’re not in a nightmare. Though the voice doesn’t have a direction, I still turn towards what I sense as the source, and see Raikaron sitting in a chair on a tiled terrace overlooking a verdant valley with a river running through it. There’s a table beside him, with a chair on the other side, and a mug sitting in front of it, similar to the one he has in his hands.

I almost write it off and keep moving, but there’s something that’s not clicking in my head, a sense of something being misaligned, something being off. I turn around, staring at where the forest of my mind blends into the desolate night plateau that links Azra’s mind and mine; then I turn to where the grass fades into tile on the terrace where Raikaron is sitting. “You’re… not supposed to be here.” I say slowly.

“I think what you mean to say is that I do not fit within the environment of your dream.” he says, sipping from his mug. “Your mind realizes that I am not a figment of your imagination or a product of your subconscious. I am an element over which it does not exert control, and I must therefore be a foreign object.”

All I can do is give him a perplexed look at that.

“You can be forgiven if that doesn’t make sense to you at the moment. A mind does not work the same way in sleep as it does in waking.” he says, setting his mug down. “Higher-order reason and functioning often get thrown out the window when a person goes to sleep; it helps preserve the mind’s ability to create dreams, and keep them intact even when logic slips. If you start thinking too hard about things, you start to notice all the inconsistencies, the cracks in the dream, the fuzzy bits that don’t quite click together. You are rapidly approaching that point, so please — have a seat and a drink. It will help anchor you, solidify the dream, and allow you to dream lucidly.”

I’m starting to understand what he’s saying, though even as I do, I start to realize how none of this makes sense — desolate plateau on one side, verdant valley on the other, mountainous forest behind me, all stitched together in this point in an unnatural conjoinment. Is the sky dark and sprinkled with stars? I thought it was, but Raikaron’s terrace shows blue skies with cumulus clouds. And the sky over my mountain forest was grey with winter clouds… realizing all of this, I feel myself rising, starting to fade back to waking consciousness as the dissonance starts to come into focus.

“Jazel.” Raikaron says, his voice firm and pulling me back down as he motions to the mug on the table. “Drink.”

I hesitate for a moment, then move forward and grab the mug, finding it warm to the touch and filled with a fizzing pink liquid. Lifting it to my lips, I take a little more than a sip and a little less than a swig, wincing at what tastes like a hot, heavily carbonated banana pomegranate fizzwater. Though it’s a struggle to swallow, I manage to get it down, and I take a breath, blinking as the wavering dream around me starts to solidify again. I feel a sense of… weight? No, more like… realness? As if I exist more in the dream now than I did earlier. As if this is more real than the waking world. I can feel the table under my hand, the grain of the wood, the warmth that the sun has left on its dark grooves — little details that are usually glossed over or forgotten in a dream. Everything is clearer; the dream fuzz is gone. Looking around, everything is sharp and crisp; it has depth. It feels… real.

I look down at the mug, then at Raikaron. “…what just happened?” I ask suspiciously.

“That is a serving of Dreamlock. It is a draught that allows Wakers to experience dreams the way that creatures of the Dreaming do, with full cognizance and awareness of their surroundings.” he explains, lacing his fingers together. “It will extend and enhance your stay in the Dreaming, and you will be able to think clearly now. Which is important because I will need you to remember what we are going to discuss here.”

I look back towards the dark plateau, where I can see the crimson glow of Azra’s presence. I need to get over there, to see Kaya and let her know we’re still coming for her…

“Jazel. There will be time.” Raikaron says. “You will still be able to visit her tonight. But right now, I need you to listen to me. There are things we have to discuss which can only be discussed here, in the Dreaming, where Dandy will not be able to monitor us.”

That gets my attention, and I return my gaze to Raikaron. “What?”

“After the battle on Tareya, you indicated to me that nothing was off-limits in your quest to rescue your mate.” he says, folding one leg over the other. “I asked as matter of figuring out how far you were willing to go to get her back. I have done my research, and consulted with my contemporaries, as I said I would. With the help of other parties, I have discovered a way to utilize the vial of soul that you extracted from Azra; found a way to use it to elevate your capabilities so you are better equipped to confront her on Tirsigal. So now I ask you again: what sacrifices are you willing to make to rescue your mate? Because this path is not without cost.”

“The answer hasn’t changed. Just get to it.” I say, trying to contain my impatience and failing. I don’t know how many times I need to tell people that I’ll do whatever it takes to get Kaya back. “If you don’t want Dandy to overhear us, I assume it’s something that the others aren’t going to be onboard with.”

“I don’t imagine Milor or Ozzy would object, but Lysanne and Dandy undoubtedly will.” Raikaron says, motioning for me to sit down in the empty chair. Though I don’t want to, I take a seat as he goes on. “What I am proposing will permanently alter you, in ways both predictable and unpredictable. It will make you stronger, faster, grant you heightened senses, and may grant other benefits that I cannot predict. The cost is in the burden you will have to bear for the rest of your life, for these benefits do not come for free; there is a price that must be paid to gain the goods.”

“It doesn’t matter so long as I’m still myself at the core.” I say, glancing down at the mug and wondering if I should drink more. I’m not really a fan of the taste, but I’m not sure how long the effect lasts. “I’ll take physical changes, so long as they’re not too drastic. And so long as I get to keep being myself, that’s all that matters, since that’s the person Kaya needs.”

“Whether you remain yourself will be entirely up to you, and your resolve to remain the person that you are.” Raikaron says, setting his mug down. “These improvements I am proposing have a source; they are not granted out of the aether. If you would like to close the gap between you and Azra, to assume a modicum of her speed and strength, then you must take a portion of her into yourself.”

I straighten up at that, staring at him. Not quite with shock, but with definite surprise and some concern.

“Yes, Jazel.” Raikaron says, staring right back at me. “That splinter of Azra’s soul that I told you to keep hidden — this ritual spell will require you to consume it, just as morphoxes do.”

I start working through the implications of that, and I can’t help but think back to Grimes and souls he extracted and consumed to extend his lifetime. Would this make me any better than him? How was this any different from what he’d been doing? “Are you sure that’s really a good idea—”

“No. Goodness no, it’s a terrible idea.” Raikaron chuckles. “Azra is a demon goddess; on top of that, her domain is tyranny. A splinter of her soul is one of the most corrupting things I can think of; it will be incredibly willful. Most mortals would find themselves overpowered or corrupted by taking such a thing into themselves. Mistake me not: the benefits will be tangible and considerable. Your capabilities as an individual will be noticeably increased, and not in subtle ways. It will be substantial enough that others will notice as well. But the risk is commensurate with the reward. Power is not freely gained or given, and especially so with Azra. What power this splinter can grant you, you will have to wrest from it — and keep it in check if it tries to corrupt and overtake you.”

That leaves me confused. “So if it’s a bad idea, why are you offering it to me?”

“Because though it is unwise and dangerous, it is also the most effective one. Of all plans considered, the ones with the highest risk often reap the greatest rewards.” Raikaron says, taking his mug and sipping from it. “This plan, among all the others, offers the best array of tools to deal with Azra and defeat her when you next encounter her. You will not overpower her outright, because she is a goddess and you and your friends are mortal. But this plan will close the gap more effectively than others, and put your group in a position where cleverness and quick thinking can carry you to victory, instead of merely buying you time.”

I dig my thumbnail into the handle of the mug as I think it over. “So basically… making this work comes down to me. Depends on me being strong, being able to handle this and stay in control if we go through with it.”

“It will hinge on you, yes. If your resolve falters, it will… well, I won’t say it will fail, because it cannot fail; the ritual will go through regardless. But if you falter, it will not be you that comes out in control on the other side.”

I press my lips together as I continue to think it over. I can see now why he was asking how far I was willing to go to rescue Kayenta. And I can also see why he insisted on having this conversation here in dreams, where Dandy wouldn’t be able to eavesdrop on this. If Lysanne knew about this, she would go ballistic. It’s already a dangerous idea from a layperson’s perspective; from a Preserver’s perspective as an arcane professional, this is manifestly insane. No Preserver in their right mind would stuff a splinter of a hypernatural into themselves; the risks of an adverse outcome would be incredibly high, on top of transgressing ethical restrictions on self-experimentation. Only a Preserver that had lost their mind would risk something like this.

But I also know that those rules weren’t designed for situations like this. I couldn’t pretend the situation I was in was anything even remotely resembling normal. Nowhere in the Preserver handbook does it say anything about how to deal with rogue demon goddesses. We aren’t supposed to deal with that stuff. And yet here we are…

Normal rules won’t work here, and an unusual situation demands unusual rules.

“I will do it.” I say, taking another sip from the mug and setting it down. “Tell me what I have to do, and what to expect. I want to make sure I’m prepared for this.”

Raikaron smiles. “With resolve like that, I think you’ll be well equipped to take this risk.” Leaning forward, he places a finger to the table, leaving behind a trail of red light as begins drawing a spell circle on the surface. “Because the ritual is Aurescuran in design, you must construct the spell circle, since I cannot use Aurescuran magic. I will need you to memorize this spell circle, which was provided to me by one of the Faceless Ones. The components required for it will be the vial of soul that you extracted from Azra, obviously, but also the cicada shell that your mother left with you, along with a few other rare ingredients. Some of them she left with the cicada shell; the others, I can help you source. This spell itself a variation on the forbidden renewal spell that was used by the dread matriarchs of the Forbannetland covens…”

Event Log: Lysanne Arrignis

Dandelion Drift: Bridge

3/7/12765 9:49am LST

“Alright. I know I’m not going to like hearing it, but hit me with it.” I say as I step through the spiraling doors onto the Drift’s bridge. “What’s the crisis now?”

“I hesitate to call it a crisis, if only because I don’t yet have confirmation.” Dandy says from the console she’s sitting at. A wide array of screens have been brought up on the windows of the bridge, compiling data from a wide array of sources for reasons that are yet unknown to me. “But over the last few days, I have been picking up indications that something major has happened in Collective space again. The media is still preoccupied with the Nova matter, but with the access I have to CURSE’s intelligence network, I’ve been noticing increased comms traffic from partnered intelligence agencies. There’s also movement from military resources in a number of nations, like they’re moving to ready posture.”

“You don’t say.” I say, coming to a stop beside the console as the door to the bridge spirals shut. “Over the last few days… you think it has anything to do with that angel visit?”

“I cannot say. The demon Lord never did say what came of that visit, did he?” Dandy asks.

“He didn’t. Only said that we needed to do our best to wrap up the Azra thing as quickly as possible, so we could be ready for what comes after.” I say, folding my arms. “And of course, he wouldn’t explain what he meant by that either. Deflected by saying we should keep our attention on Azra.”

“Then it may very well be that he had advance knowledge of whatever happened in Collective space.” Dandy says, another couple of screens pulling up on the windows, holding what look like memos between different intelligence agencies. “Recent Collective movements seem to be similar to their reaction to Tirsigal, so it might be another Tirsigal-level that event has occurred on one of their worlds.”

“Which would explain why the angel came to Raikaron demanding answers.” I say, glancing at her. “If he’s in charge of getting the Azra thing sorted out, and she did something on his watch…”

“It’s possible. Again, I have no confirmation — I don’t have the security clearance needed to access the more sensitive intelligence in CURSE’s network.” Dandy says. “But there is something happening, something which is serious enough to change the security posture of multiple nations. We may wrap up this affair with Azra only to find that the state of the galaxy has changed.”

I groan, pulling a hoverchair over and slumping down in it. “Could people just take a chill pill for once? Good grief… in just the last year alone, the Collective has assimilated a planet, Azra scorched one of their planets, Nova came back from the dead, and now whatever’s happening with this. This is too much. People need to space out their crises a bit more.”

Dandy turns to me. “Have you considered asking the Academy for a quieter posting? I am under the impression that a position at a planetside lab has far less variability than a mobile posting such as the Drift.”

“This posting isn’t the problem. This posting was supposed to be just like a planetside posting, with the only difference being that it’s mobile.” I say, throwing a hand out. “The rest of the galaxy is the problem. Everybody just needs to chill the hell out. Why can’t we all just get along and not kill each other?”

“I assume that’s a rhetorical question?”

“It is, yes. I already know the answer.” I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “All this suffering and violence… and what is it even for? Azra nuked a planet full of people, and for what? Just to get revenge for something that happened nine hundred years ago? No one that was on the planet at the time is even alive now; who was that for?”

“Well, if Maelstrom and Radiance are to be believed, then it was intended to send a message to the Collective—” Dandy begins.

“I mean, I know that part, Dandy.” I sigh. “Like, I know why she did it. I’m sorry, I guess my question was rhetorical. It was more of… I dunno. A whole planet of people dead and what does anyone have to show for it? What was it all for, y’know?”

“Ah. So an abstract question that demands a philosophical answer, not the actual answer.” Dandy surmises. “I cannot say, Lysanne. The only purpose of those deaths on Tirsigal was to serve as a warning to the Collective, as far as I can tell. They seem to have been assigned no other meaning, and intended for no other purpose. As disheartening as it may be to say it, that is what it was all for. People died by the billions for the sole purpose of sending a message to the Collective.”

“Gods, that’s just… depressing.” I say, slumping even further in the chair. “Imagine that being the endpoint of your life. Dying just because someone wanted to send a message to the nation you belong to. I don’t know if there’s any hope for the galaxy, Dandy. People are just going to go round and round in circles, never learning from the past…”

Dandy turns towards me in her chair. “We’ve had this conversation before, Lysanne. You see only the worst things, mostly because that is what the news incentivizes. But what is shown by the media is not representative of the galaxy as a whole, and does not capture the many good things that go unreported because they do not bring in as many views as chaos and catastrophe.”

I take a deep breath and close my eyes. “You’re right. You’re right… it’s just so hard to see it when you’re in the middle of all this. When you have a genocidal goddess dumped in your lap and you’re expected to deal with it. Do you think CURSE will let us take another vacation when we’re done with this?”

“I doubt it, considering our fraught relationship and the media firestorm they’re currently caught in.”

“Yeah… I think I knew that already, I just hoped we’d be able to catch a break.” I sigh. “Well, there’s no point in moping over it. Only way to shorten our suffering is to get it over with as quickly as possible. How many days until we arrive at Tirsigal again?”

“Roughly a week and a half. Assuming a positive outcome, we have no other pending commitments, so we should be able to relax on our way back to the CURSE HQ.”

“For what that’s worth, after the blowout we had with the administration…”

Dandy leans forward out of her chair, bracing her hands on the arms of my chair as she leans down and gives me an unexpected kiss. It’s gentle, but commanding, and takes me by surprise since I’m usually the one that initiates. “Lysanne. You need to relax.” Dandy says firmly once she pulls back. “You are putting yourself in a doom spiral, only seeing the worst of what can happen. There is a difference between pessimism and a realistic outlook.”

“I— well, I know that, but—” I begin weakly.

“No excuses. You need to practice positivity and recognizing the good things that balance out the bad things. What are some of the good things in our favor right now?”

“I mean… I can’t really think of any—”

“We have a demon Lord with extensive connections on our side.”

“I mean, I don’t really trust him—”

“We have the approval and backing of Kayenta’s parents, who are deities.”

“Well… yeah, but they could be helping more—”

“Lysanne.”

I squirm beneath Dandy’s digital-blue gaze, knowing that I’m doing a bad job at reining in my compulsive pessimism. “It’s just hard to see the positives, with everything we’re dealing with right now.” I say, trying to slink out of the chair, but Dandy doesn’t move.

“You don’t leave this chair until you can name something positive in your life right now.” she says, nailing me down with her stare. “We are going to practice gratitude, and perspective thinking. You can leave this chair when you have listed something positive about our current circumstances or your life.”

“Really, Dandy? This is silly—” I say, looking down and seeing if I can completely slouch my way out of the chair and onto the floor, only to find Dandy planting a knee on the edge of the chair’s seat, right between my legs. Escaping by slithering out of the chair is no longer an option, and I glance back up to find Dandy still staring intently at me.

“I’m waiting.” she says.

“I… well…” I wheedle, looking around and racking my brain for an answer that’ll meet her demand. I’m trying, I really am, but I just can’t think of anything. My head is full of all the big problems we’ve been dealing with, crowding out my other thoughts. “I’m trying, but…”

“There is a very easy answer right in front of you, Lysanne.”

It takes me a second to realize she’s speaking literally, not metaphorically. “Oh! Yeah, you, of course you’re a positive part of my life. Of course I’m grateful for you, and everything you do for us. Without you, I don’t know where we’d be…”

“Good.” Dandy approves. “Now let’s go from there. Tell me another thing you’re grateful for.”

“Mmm.” I say, scrunching up my nose. “…I like my rum raisin ice cream.”

“Good.” Dandy chirps, taking her knee off the seat. “Remember those things. Keep them in mind whenever you are feeling down and discouraged. And I will give you something else to be positive about.” She leans in again, giving me another quick kiss, followed by a whisper. “I intend to visit your room tonight.”

I find myself heating up; again, I’m not accustomed to Dandy being the initiator. And she doesn’t give me the chance to stammer out a question, since she stands up and heads for the door at that point, leaving me blushing and half-spilling out of my chair. “There are some dailies that need doing, so I am going to go handle those now. Just let me know if you need me, Lysanne.”

The door spirals open so she can leave, and then spirals shut behind her, right as I’m trying to push myself upright and turn the chair around. “I— well, I need you… right now… is what I would say, if you weren’t already halfway down the hall…” I mutter, groaning as I realize my flirty lines are about fifteen seconds too late. “Goddammit. That could’ve been so smooth…”

After another minute or so of slouching in the chair, I get up with another halfhearted grumble. Much as I’d like to, I couldn’t just loaf around all day feeling depressed and sorry for myself and all the shit we’re having to deal with. Stuff still needed to get done, even if the galaxy was falling apart around us.

And besides, now I’ve got something to look forward to tonight.

Event Log: Jazel Jaskolka

The Dreaming

3/8/12765 11:14pm LST

“Two more days.” Raikaron says, sipping from his mug. “The waterfall pool in the temperate biome is the ideal location, since you will have to be submerged for most of the ritual. Some members of my House will be present to assist in the proceedings.”

I fiddle with the mug in my hands. “Demons? From the hell that you work for?”

“Harpies. Nothing serious, just an extra set of hands. All the high-ranking demons in my House have much more important matters to tend to; mainly, the task of running the House in my absence.” he demurs. “There will be no mischief, and once the ritual is completed, they will be returning to Sjelefengsel.”

I can’t help but feel like I’m not entirely in control of this plan. Raikaron’s taken the reins on making the arrangements and setting everything up, and for some reason, that makes me vaguely uncomfortable. Maybe it’s because it’s an alteration of what his role’s been up until this point — he’d shied away from being an active participant in our group, preferring instead to give advice, hints, and logistical support, then letting us act on that information or aid. But with this, it felt like it was the other way around: he was setting everything up for me, and all I had to do was be prepared when the time came. It had required almost no work from me so far, and I thought I would’ve liked something like that, where someone else did all the hard work and I just had to follow orders.

But after months of doing the hard work myself, I’m finding that it makes me uneasy to follow a path someone else is laying out for me.

Raikaron seems to sense my concern when I don’t say anything. “There is still time to change your mind, you know.” he says. “If you feel like this gambit demands too much of you—”

“No, no, it’s fine.” I say quickly, shaking my head. “I’m just used to… doing more, I guess. Having to put in the work to make the big stuff happen. I’m not used to other people making arrangements for me. In fact, I’m usually having to fight other people to make things happen.”

“You and your friends are unaccustomed to receiving help.” he surmises.

“Yes. That. We don’t get help very often. And over the last couple of years, CURSE has had almost zero interest in providing it when we ask for it.” I say, considering taking another sip of the Dreamlock. I’m not really a fan of the taste or the temperature, but I feel like it’s important to remain lucid when having a conversation with a demon Lord. “We normally only get help from our close circle of friends and family. Not people like you.”

“People like me?”

“People that are high up. That have connections and influence. We did get help from Medukat, but that was because I killed one of the other black market barons and told him he was next if he didn’t cooperate.” I mutter. “I wonder if he’s still pissed at me about that.”

“If he benefitted from it, he is liable to let it slide. Leaders in such industries are willing to forgive a certain level of aggression if they come out on the other side better off than they were before.” Raikaron says. “I know it well myself. Threats, posturing, and coercion are just part of the business when you work in certain industries. Just make sure your bark isn’t bigger than your bite, because people will take your threats and put them to the test if they are not convincing enough.”

I glance at him. “I don’t plan on being regularly involved in the black market. I only went that deep to find out where Kaya was so I could get her back. Speaking of which…” My eyes stray towards the portion of the dream where the terrace melts away into the dark plateau.

“Are you sure it’s wise to continue visiting her while we are in the final stages of preparation?” Raikaron asks. “Normally I would not be concerned, but Dreamlock anchors you within the dream. You will not wake up if Azra starts clobbering you, and you will not die either. I admire your resolve, but if she realizes you cannot wake through death, you may be in for an extended beating session, during which she’ll try to squeeze information out of you.”

“I’ve come this far. I’m not going to let my mate think I’ve abandoned her.” I say, setting my mug down. “How long does it take this potion to wear off?”

“Draught. And the length of the effect is proportionate to the volume consumed.” he answers. “You’ve only been sipping on it, so the anchoring effect should wear off within an hour, assuming you consume no more past this point.”

“That should be fine.” I say, standing up. “We meet again tomorrow night, just to make sure everything’s ready to go?”

“Indeed. I’m looking forward to it. Leave the preparation to me; I will make sure that everything’s in place so that you can focus on your part and your part alone.” Raikaron says, setting his mug down. “Good luck with your… visitation, Jazel.”

I nod, and turn without another word, heading towards the dark plateau. It isn’t long before the light around me fades, and I’m treading over the desolate expanse once more, patches of black sand glittering beneath my feet. The way there is a familiar one, as I’ve made this trek dozens of times; but under the influence of Dreamlock, everything feels different. Not changed, but sharper, clearer, like I was seeing it with a haze peeled back from my eyes.

I don’t have a way of measuring time in dreams, so I can only assume that when I arrive to the shelf that holds Kaya’s cage and Azra’s throne, it’s been several minutes. That’s what it feels like, at least. I can always tell if Azra’s there, because she gives off a crimson glow that can be seen from all the way across the plateau; I guess you can’t hide your divinity in dreams. She’s there tonight, carving lines into the rock shelf with flicks of her fingers — if I had to guess what she was doing, I’d assume she was mapping out what she wants the surface of Tirsigal to look like once she’s done with it.

And tonight, instead of trying to sneak around her, I stop several yards from the edge of the rock shelf. “Azra.” I call out, inviting her attention.

She looks up, and upon seeing me, turns from her mapping efforts. “Not trying to be sly tonight, are we?” she says, sauntering to the edge of the rock shelf as her crimson tails flare behind her.

“It won’t be long before we arrive at Tirsigal.” I state.

“No, please, take your time.” she says, rolling her eyes. “I hate to break it to you, but I’m a little busy. Terraforming a planet doesn’t happen overnight; I’ll be lucky if I’m done before the end of the year. So whatever preparations you and your friends want to make, go ahead and make them. Take all the time you need. Raise a goddamn army if you want. ‘Cause I got shit to do, and I’d rather you stay out of my fur until I’m done with it.”

“I’m not going to delay our arrival just to overprepare. And I want my fox back. So we’ll be arriving soon, whether you like it or not.” I say.

“Rude.” Azra mutters, stepping off the rock shelf. “Are you going to invite me to surrender and end this peacefully now? Try to make it easier on yourself before you get here?”

“No. It’s pointless, trying to convince someone like you to do that.” I say, staring at her, feeling like I’m seeing her in a different light now that I’m under the influence of Dreamlock. It’s not even that she looks any different, but that I can perceive her with full cognition, instead of merely through the basal instinct of fear and anger brought on by the haze of dreaming. “What is it all for, Azra? What was all of this for?”

She stops short of me, clearly not expecting that query. “I thought you only cared about getting back your whiny little mate.” she says, her glare condescending. “Don’t tell me you’ve discovered a sudden wellspring of sympathy for the Collective.”

“No. I don’t feel sorry for them.” I say, remaining where I am. “I’m not surprised this happened, after all the worlds they’ve assimilated. But what was the point of all those deaths? Just to send a message?”

Instead of pacing towards me, Azra starts pacing around me. There are hints of irritation in her expression, but also a recalcitrant curiosity. “To send a message, yes. And to avenge those we lost when Tirsigal was assimilated nearly a millennia ago. But nothing more than that. That’s what it’s all for, little witch.” She draws level with me, standing shoulder to shoulder as she faces in the other direction, staring out across the dark plateau. “That’s what all those Symbiotes died for. Rather hollow, isn’t it?”

“Seems like a waste. All those people dead, just to send a message.” I observe. “But you did it anyway.”

“If you’re fishing for a way or a reason to make me a sympathetic figure, you won’t find one, little witch.” she says, starting to pace around me again. “I’m not going to pretend I’m a good person, and you shouldn’t either. What I did was justified, but it doesn’t mean it was good.”

I furrow my brows as I work through that statement. “You don’t want to try and make your case to everyone else?”

“The hollowness is the point, little witch.” She runs her fingers through the air, leaving behind crimson trails that drip like they were seeping blood. “All those senseless deaths, all those innocent lives cut short. It needs to feel empty and meaningless and arbitrary. The only justification I give the Collective is that it’s retaliation for what they took from us all those centuries ago. All they need to know is that this is the price of their creeping ambition: blood and violence and senseless death; the innocent and the guilty alike paying the toll. Suffering for the sake of suffering, multiplied upon itself and repeated again and again and again until the stars run red with blood and the lesson has been learned.” She stops to stare at me, her hot green eyes burning in the dark. “For everything they have taken, for everything they have stolen, let them repay in blood, and the interest in suffering. Let them know the grief and the hollowness we felt when they took our worlds from us. And if they do not learn from it, let it repeat again, and again, until they are extinct or they have learned.”

To others, the callousness would probably be staggering. That Azra does not care to sanitize or whitewash her actions is so appalling that it wraps right back around to being impressive. And yet listening to her, I don’t find myself disgusted or repulsed; perhaps, because we’re in dreams, I sense the deep well of anger and loss that this river of cruelty flows from.

“It’s supposed to feel senseless.” I realize softly. “You’re not the cause; you’re the consequence.”

Azra’s fluffy ears lift a little at that, as if she was hearing something she hadn’t expected to hear. Closing the distance between us, she lifts a hand towards me; I fight the impulse to duck away as she uses pair of fingers to brush a lock of hair away from my eyes, her fingers continued to travel down the side of my face until they end up beneath my chin, tilting it up. After a moment like so, her fingers travel down my neck and along my shoulder until her hand rests on my back, pushing me towards the rock shelf with Kayenta’s cage.

“Go spend some time with your mate. You have thirty minutes.” she says as she walks past me, towards the empty expanse of the dark plateau, and what looks like a distant hurricane wall on its far edge. “Behave, and don’t give me a reason to regret my generosity.”

She says nothing else as she continues out into the dark, and I watch her go, half-expecting her to wheel around and pounce me, saying it’s a prank and I’m a fool for believing her. But she never does turn around, just keeps walking out into the dark.

So I turn, and with the occasional cautious glance over my shoulder, make my way to the rock shelf so I can catch up with Kayenta.

Event Log: Lysanne Arrignis

Dandelion Drift: Common Room

3/9/12765 7:03pm LST

“You were quiet at dinner tonight.” I remark as I step into the common room, my hands tucked into my pockets.

Milor, who’s standing by the long window of the common room with his phone out, glances up and over at me, and snorts. “Everybody was quiet tonight. Dinner’s been a little different without Fluffy McFoxtails spilling her every thought at the same time she’s stuffing her mouth.”

“True.” I concede, making my way over to the window as well. “I miss having her at dinner. We always had something to talk about when she was there.”

“With any luck, we’ll have our chatty fox back soon, and everybody can stop mopin’ around.” he says, tucking his phone away.

“Yeah. Here’s to hoping it’s that simple.” I say as I settle by the window, staring out over the biosphere. “Dandy told me something happened in the Junondon System.”

“Mm. Did she now.” he says, folding his arms and leaning against the window as he turns his gaze out to the biosphere.

“Yeah. And I figured you might know something about it.” I press on, rocking from one foot to the other. “The news hasn’t broken anything yet and Dandy can’t get any details out of CURSE’s intel network. Her clearance isn’t high enough. But you seem to have a way of getting ahead of this stuff, with the connections you have.”

“And are you sure you wanna know, with everything that’s going on?” he asks, pulling a toothpick out of his jacket and sticking it between his teeth. “Might be better to keep your focus on what we’re already dealing with.”

“Willful ignorance was never my thing. I’d rather know than be blindsided by it later.” I say. “So spill. What happened in the Junondon System?”

“Something similar to what happened on Tirsigal.” he says without looking at me. “A whole Collective planet, right down the shitter.”

I wish I could muster the will to be shocked, but with everything we’ve dealt with up to this point, I can’t bring myself to be surprised. “Azra wasn’t happy with just Tirsigal, was she. Had to take it even further, as if things weren’t bad enough already.”

“That’s the thing, though. I don’t think the foxbitch was responsible for this one.” Milor says, chewing on his toothpick. “If she was, I think something would’ve changed here. The red bastard would’ve shifted his posture and made adjustments after his angel friend came to check on him. But he came back after that walkabout, and we stayed the course. Business as usual; nothing changed. So whatever happened on Juncosa, I don’t think it’s Azra’s fault. Especially since the world that got cooked had twice as many Symbiotes as Tirsigal had.”

“That world had even more people?” I say incredulously. “Tirsigal had what, seven billion people? So that means this second world…”

“Fourteen billion people or something thereabouts, yeah.” Milor confirms. “And it seems tactically motivated. It was a world that was a major industry hub for that part of the Collective’s territory. That’s also why I don’t think Azra was responsible. Based on what we know from her parents and the red bastard, her motivations are personal, emotional. Tirsigal used to belong to the Ranters, and she wanted it back. She would’ve torched that world regardless of whether it was a tactical asset or not; it wouldn’t matter if it had ten million or ten billion Symbiotes on it. Juncosa, on the other hand… that was tactical, intended to maximize damage to population and industry. It’s the sort of thing you do if you want to disrupt supply chains and wartime logistics. An opening shot in a larger campaign.”

“Wait, you think there’s gonna be a war?” I demand, seeing where this line of thought is leading.

“There’s gonna be a war, blondie. I’d bet you a bottle of Venusian vintage on it. Speaking of which, we’re gettin’ low, so I added it to the shopping list for the next time we go planetside for resupply.”

“Who cares about the booze, you’re telling me there’s about to be a war!” I exclaim. “You’re joking, right? Tell me you’re not being serious!”

Milor shrugs. “Only reason the Collective haven’t already gone to war over Tirsigal is because there’s no one here on the mortal plane they can point their fingers at. Nobody’s going to believe them if they say that a demon goddess cooked their planet, and everyone would laugh at them if they declared war on a mythological figure. I guess that’s why the Collective’s duking it out in whatever heaven-court the gods are using for their legal battles, while we clean up the mess down here. But Juncosa — if it turns out that some group or nation was responsible for that, then the Collective will absolutely move on it. You can’t just let someone barbecue one of your planets and not do anything about it; it makes you look weak. It invites challenge and defiance. If it turns out that one or a few of us puny mortals were responsible for Juncosa, and the Collective finds out who it was, there will be a war, Lysanne. There’s no gettin’ around that.”

I blow out a long sigh, running my hands through my hair. “Great. Just… great. Y’know, I think this started when Songbird resurfaced and the Challengers started coming back? Whole damn galaxy lost their minds and went ballistic, and here we are, two years later, teetering on the verge of war… as if we didn’t already have enough to deal with.”

Milor shrugs again. “Hey, you’re the one that asked me. I warned you, but you wanted to know what was coming, instead of keepin’ yer blinders on.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” I mutter, massaging my temples. “Alright. I’m compartmentalizing. We’re not dealing with that right now; we’ve got our own problems. Don’t need to worry about Nova, don’t need to worry about Juncosa; just gonna focus on Tirsigal and Azra and getting Kaya back. We can deal with everything else after that.”

Milor raises an eyebrow at me. “Not enough space in that pretty liddl’ noggin for all these problems?”

“Unlike you, I actually get worried when galaxy-altering events happen.” I growl at him. “Not all of us can kick back with a bottle of whiskey and drink our way through every headache-inducing crisis over the last six months.”

“Never know until you give it a try. It’s kept me sane all these years.” he suggests.

“Yeah, that’s an example I’d rather not follow.” I say, turning and starting back the way I came. “If anything else major comes up, let us know. Or let Dandy know, so she can break it to me gently. I’m gonna go help Dandy finish the cleanup for dinner; you’re on dailies tomorrow, since you skipped out on that, and you didn’t help with prep.”

“Aw, c’mon blondie, don’t do me like that. I had to step away to check on what my contacts were saying about the Juncosa thing!”

“And tomorrow, you can step away to do the periwinkle count for the marsh biome. The galaxy might be going to hell in a handbasket, but chores still need to be done. Check in with Jazel if you need help finding the periwinkle picker.”

“Well, I never. Destined to defeat demon goddesses, but forced to do snail census. The indignity of it all, I say…”

Event Log: Jazel Jaskolka

Dandelion Drift: Temperate Biome

3/10/12765 3:48pm LST

I’ve walked this path through the woods many times before, but something feels different about it today.

It isn’t just that I know something else is waiting for me at the end. The path itself feels different, almost foreign. I know its curves and twists, the dips and crossovers, the particular way it follows the stream that leads back to the waterfall pool. But something about it feels different. The trees rustle in a way I’ve rarely heard them rustle before; there is a wind pushing through the forest when we rarely get wind in the biosphere. It seems like the entire forest is uneasy, slowly shifting and swaying around me.

Beside me, Ravoc brushes his shoulder against me, and I rest a hand atop his head as we make our way down the maintenance path. Normally I would be carrying a conversation with him, considering how good of a listener he is, but I can’t bring myself to do so today. I think it’s starting to set in, the realization of what I’m about to do, the weight of what I’m about to attempt.

Nearing the hill that rims the waterfall, I start to pick up on voices and chattering; I slow for a moment, then continue up the slope. Cresting over the top, I’ve greeted with an unusual sight; there’s a decent number of people already here. Raikaron is immediately recognizable with his radiant red hair, and Sång, with her stone-and-lightning halo, and the two Faceless Ones that Kayenta and I encountered in the Aurescuran cathedral, their heads wreathed in swarms of cats and crows, respectively. Those four are all together on one side of the pool, speaking with each other, but there are others as well. There’s over a dozen half-humans that look like they have winged arms and birdlike feet, roaming around and planting little saplings with ocean-blue leaves around the edge of the pool. The feathers on the bird people seem to correlate to different species of birds; I can pick out feather colors and patterns that indicate a few different species of hawks, corvids, falcons, and owls at just a glance. A trio of them with white hair and pink-red eyes, akin to white ravens, who remain near Raikaron and notice me almost as soon as I crest the hill. They immediately reach for Raikaron, tugging on his clothes and pointing in my direction; Raikaron, along with Sång and the Faceless Ones, turn to look in my direction.

“Jazel. I’m glad to see that you’re here early.” Raikaron welcomes me. I find myself a little thrown — instead of his usual snazzy business attire, Raikaron is dressed in a very different set of white clothes. His pants are loose and billowy; his shirt has wide sleeves and red cuffs, and is cut out at the shoulders and across the sternum, exposing his midriff — which has thin, symmetric patterns stenciled over his skin in what I hope is red ink, and not blood. It’s a completely different vibe — rather than being the paragon of a demonic C-suite executive, he seems like the embodiment of a particular breed of wild magic, or ancient tradition.

“I hope he has come prepared. You ask much of him, and this ritual will also demand much.” Sång says to Raikaron. “We should proceed. If he makes it through the ritual, he will only have a week or so to acclimate to his new capabilities before he has to face Azra again. Every moment delayed is a moment wasted at this point.”

“Trust me, I feel the pressure as much as you do, herald.” Raikaron assures her, turning his attention to the albino raven harpies near him. “Girls, if you would help get him prepared.”

The trio immediately leave Raikaron, and move in my direction. As they’re coming over to me, I feel reality shift and bend, and I realize that the Faceless Ones are communicating, their intent sensed by everyone, though it is primarily directed at Raikaron.

When the ritual begins, you will not be able to hide what is happening. The others will come to investigate. We cannot keep them from this place, but we will prevent any attempt to interfere in the ritual’s completion.

They don’t wait for Raikaron’s acknowledgement, turning and making their way up the hill that rims the pool as the albino harpies reach me. These ones seem more human than the others, only having white feathers mingled into their hair, and they lay hands on me, their fingers soft but firm as they pull me down into the hollow.

“Come, little witch.” the one on the left says.

“Circumstance is calling you to a place of honor.” says the one on the right.

“You are the catalyst of an occasion most rare to behold.” the one behind me says as she pushes me forward.

“Wait… wait, what?” I ask, feeling thoroughly confused as I’m walked around the edge of the pool. I’d expected a lot, but I hadn’t expected this.

“For your sake are three powers gathered.” chirps the harpy on the right.

“The Rantheon, the Dreaming, and the Old City.” whispers the harpy on the left.

“Where often they stand at odds, in this moment they stand together.” explains the harpy behind me.

“I… I don’t understand.” I say hesitantly as they slow me to a halt, one of them taking the basket I’d brought with me.

“They refer to the powers that have set aside their differences so that they can invest in your success.” Raikaron says, taking the basket as it’s handed to him. “Sång is a representative of Maelstrom and Radiance, who belong to the Rantheon. The Faceless Ones are part of the Order, which oversees the Old City. And I am a child of the Dreaming, which cultivates the minds of mortal and immortal alike. It is rare that powers like these unify for a singular purpose.”

“Oh.” I say as the harpies start tugging my shirt upwards. “Hey, what are you doing…”

“Divest yourself of your clothes.” Sång orders. “You are about to be born again, and no one is born into this mortal plane clothed.”

“I see you composed the spell as instructed.” Raikaron says as he carefully extracts the cicada husk, which I had enspelled this morning using the instructions and spell circle that he had given me during our meetings in dreams. Instead of a dull brown, the husk is now a virulent red, with the crack in the back sealed up, and the interior filled with the extracted portion of Azra’s soul — a crimson miasma that twists and swirls within the translucent husk. “I see no deficiency in its construction. This is excellent spellwork.”

“I kept a bit in the vial, like you told me.” I say as I pull off my shirt, one of the harpies taking it and folding it. “It should be in the bottom there.”

“Indeed.” Raikaron says, handing the husk off to Sång as he reaches back into the basket, pulling the vial out of the basket. It’s mostly empty now, save for a bit of Azra’s soul swirling around at the bottom. “That should be enough for our purposes.”

Uncapping the vial, he holds it out over the pool, carefully turning it on its side. The red miasma trickles along its length until it reaches the rim, where Raikaron gives it a light tap, knocking a single drop loose; when it hits the surface, it immediately billows outwards, ripping across the pool and turning the water bright red and clear as glass, all the way down to the bottom. Tilting the vial back upright, Raikaron hands the vial back to one of the albino harpies.

“Use the rest to anoint him. If there is any left over, use it to reinforce the lines.” he orders as the saplings planted around the edge of the pool start to shimmer, and that shimmer spreads along the shore and away from the pool. In its wake, soft grasses speckled with little red flowers spring up beneath our feet, and continue rippling up the hill and out into the forest beyond.

“Uhm… is that supposed to be happening?” I ask as I hop out of my pants, handing them off to one of the albino harpies.

“It is an occlusion of the Dreaming. The saplings have brought it near so that it may overlap with the waking realm.” Sång explains. “The Dreaming is a place of mutability, a realm where things may be changed and reshaped and remade. It is particularly useful in matters of metamorphosis.” Her eyes flick downwards. “All of your clothes, witchling. Unless your birth was marred by a particularly profane circumstance, you did not come out of the womb with underwear.”

“Feel no shame, little witch.” one of the harpies says, dipping a narrow, pointed tool into the vial that Raikaron passed off to her.

“We are all naked before the eyes of others at some point in our lives.” another says, taking my underwear as I strip them off.

“But do hold still, so we do not mar the lines of your anointment.” the last one says as she takes my arm, and with one of the tools dipped in the remnants of Azra’s soul, begins to draw a thin circle on the back of my hand, with lines leading up the back of my forearm. I draw a sharp breath and fight the impulse to pull away; the crimson lines are hot, and carry a lingering heat. Not quite burning, but I can feel it seeping into my skin, and I realize it carries a mental heat as well. A restlessness, a simmering passion, impatient desire, burning ambition…

This must be what drives Azra, makes her so stubborn and domineering and tyrannical.

“Goddamn.” I mutter through gritted teeth as I feel the other two harpies start drawing lines on my back and legs. “How can she stand being like this?… I can barely stand still, I feel like I need to move, to do something.”

“She was always a lively child. Very ambitious and sure of herself.” Sång says as Raikaron starts directing some of the other harpies back through a gap in the air. The only ones remaining appear to the albino ravens that are attending me, and some of the owls and hawks. “The only thing that would calm her was the approbation of her parents. Even now, she craves it, though she will not admit it nowadays.”

I grind my teeth together, fighting to stay still as the crimson lines continue to be drawn over my torso, shoulders, and hips. “Gods, in-laws are such a pain in the ass…” I blurt out.

That earns a chuckle from Raikaron, but Sång’s regal austerity breaks for a moment, her mouth twitching before she smiles and laughs. It’s a bewildering thing — the entire hollow seems to light up for a moment, filled with her feathery laughter. The oppressive atmosphere eases, the restlessness being etched into my skin fades a little, and the colors and light on the surrounding trees seems to be sharper and clearer with her mirth. There’s a strange power in her voice, like it was present at the creation of a world, and might’ve been used to shape things.

And then it fades as her laugh does, with the gravity of the proceedings sinking back in, though a small twitch of a smile remains on her lips. “Yes, I suppose the Rantheon is not the easiest family to marry into. Ordeals like this are standard fare for anyone with the audacity to take one of children of Maelstrom and Radiance. Kayenta may be adopted, but it holds all the same. You are proved herewith by your determination to see it through.” With that, she turns to Raikaron. “The moment draws nigh, son of Syntaritov.”

“I feel it dawning upon us.” Raikaron replies, glancing up. Overhead, clouds have started to coalesce above the trees, flickering with lightning that seems almost to be synchronized to Sång’s stoneshard halo. The gathering thunderheads are dimming the daylight cycle from the biosphere’s dome, with the scarlet pool and the glowing saplings becoming more prominent in the shadowed conditions. “We can no longer hide what we are doing, for it is well underway already. The occasion demands a voice, and though I wish it would be mine, I think you can give more to this moment than I will be able to. Would you honor us, Sång of the Faroea?”

“I will answer the moment.” she replies with a solemnity that matches the gravity of a high ceremony. Her gossamer wings tilt away from her back somewhat, lifting through the ebony waterfall of her hair, and she turns to me as the harpies finish drawing the lines, offering a hand out as they retreat from me. “The time is upon us, witchling. You cannot turn back after this point, and there will be no undoing what will be wrought here.”

I can tell what she’s implying with that statement. This is my last chance to change my mind, to back out. After this, there will be no more exit ramps.

But I did not come this far to back down.

Lifting my arm, I place my hand in the one she has offered me. “Let it be done.”

She smiles, her fingers closing around mine, and turns towards the pool, leading me down to the crimson water. I follow along behind her as the white raven harpies start moving around the edges of the pool, taking up positions at equidistant thirds; between them, the other harpies move to the water’s edge, kneeling down among the rocks and sand. Sång doesn’t hesitate to step out onto the water, but her foot doesn’t sink into it; she walks on the surface like it’s solid ground, with only faint ripples echoing away from her feet. I hesitate to follow her, unsure if the water will hold my weight the same way it does for her, and she looks back at me, giving my hand a tug. Taking a deep breath, I step out onto the water — and find that it is firm beneath my sole, with just a little give, like walking on carpet laid over cement.

Reassured by that, I fully follow her out onto the water, letting her lead me to the center of the pool. As I go, I notice that the harpies each have one hand planted on the surface of the pool, with the other hand formed into a fist and raised in the air. All of them have their heads down, with the exception of the albino harpies — they are standing, waiting, watching, just the same that Raikaron is.

Once we’re at the center of the pool, Sång turns to face me. “Let it be seen that the Old City has waived their objection to the alteration of one of the old souls of Aurescura. Let it be heard that the Rantheon has given their permission for a shard of one of their members to be used in this manner. Let it be known that the Dreaming presides over this ritual, and bears witness to what transpires here.” With that, she holds up the crimson cicada husk to me. “Partake, witchling, as your predecessors in the Forbannetland once did. Shed your old life, and be born anew.”

I carefully take the husk from her; where it once felt papery and thin, it now feels smooth and glossy. I know what comes next, but I still have to mentally brace myself for it; taking in a deep breath and letting it out, I open my mouth and put the red cicada inside, biting down on it.

Sång lunges forward and clamps her hand over my mouth, using her other hand to grip the back of my neck as my gag reflex kicks in. I don’t know what I expected, but having an ancient spell unfold in your mouth isn’t a walk in the park; everything in my body is shouting at me to spit out what I just bit down on. The cicada shell crushed easily, but the thing that came out of it was red-hot pissed, and was immediately looking for a way out. There’s a heat in my mouth that’s quickly growing uncomfortable, like a cloud of plasma starting to ionize, and the taste of spice, pungent and strong. In that instant I realize I’ve got a shard of a seething demon goddess in my mouth, and that what we’re doing here is completely insane.

“Swallow, witch! Swallow!” Sång hisses, keeping my mouth clamped shut with her hand. “The spell can only hold her in check for so long! You need to swallow and trigger the rest of it or she’s going to melt your skull from the inside out!”

Despite the exhortation, Sång isn’t waiting for me to follow her orders; she shifts her grip on my neck and and mouth to tilt my head back, forcing the smoldering morass in my mouth to start pooling at the back of my throat. As a last resort, she pinches my nose shut, and after a few seconds of resisting, I have to swallow on reflex, despite how painful it is. The writhing swirl of Azra’s soul burns and struggles all the way down my throat, and only when it hits my chest and the heat starts to spread out does Sång let go of me. I collapse to my hands and knees, coughing and wheezing as the lines all over my body start to warm up and burn, and I realize that they are meant to contain Azra. These lines form a cage, and I am the scaffolding which holds it together.

And she is very unhappy about that.

I grit my teeth as I feel the roiling ball of heat slamming against the inside of my chest, trying to get out. Around me, I hear a loud boom; glancing about, I see the harpies rimming the edge of the pool pulling their fists back, before hammering them down against the water in a single synchronized motion. The entire pool resonates with another boom as they slowly pull their arms back to slam their fists against the surface again with slightly less force, producing a quieter boom; but the next one is louder, then quiet, then loud, then quiet, forming a steady, alternating cadence. A beat on top of which a song can be built.

Around me, the crimson water starts to lift from the surface of the pool, as if magnetized towards the red-hot lines in my skin. Layers of water start to curl upwards and wrap around me, like the petals of a flower closing into a bud again; looking up, I can see Sång’s wings have started blurring, lifting her into the air as her hands coax my crimson cocoon into following her. I find myself weightless as I’m further submerged in water, and as the layers finish closing around me, I can still hear the muted, steady thumping of the harpies hammering their fists against the pool. It soon develops into a more complex set of notes, with other beats woven between the one-two cadence; a rhythm hammering out the musical chain that will bind me to the seething shard I’ve swallowed. I close my eyes and wrap my arms around myself, hoping that the seething ball of rage in my chest won’t find a weakness it can puncture through to escape.

And as I’m pulled deeper into the ritual, Sång’s voice is the last thing I hear as the world outside my chrysalis fades away.

Event Log: Lysanne Arrignis

Dandelion Drift: Laundry Room

3:57pm LST

The sound of loud, regular clanking is what draws me to the dryer, pausing the dry cycle so I can go rooting through the damp clothes within. “Bet you a million credits I know what that is…” I mutter until I find the culprit and yank it out of the dryer. “MILOR! For the last time, you cannot leave your utility knife on your pants when you throw them in the wash! You’re going to destroy the drum!”

“I don’t think he’s nearby, is he?” Jayta says, looking up from the hamper of clean clothes she’s sorting through.

“He’s not, but it’s cathartic to scream his name whenever he does something that pisses me off.” I say, unclipping his switchblade from his pants and tossing them back in the dryer. “He’s such a man sometimes. Whiskey-drinking, meat-eating, swashbuckling, bootstrapping, bar-brawling, gun-loving knucklehead. Useless in the kitchen and he doesn’t know how to keep house, but he’s good at grunt work and he could shoot an apple clean off someone’s head at five hundred feet. If I had to pick someone to have my back in a fight, Dandy would be my first pick, but Milor would be my second pick.”

“And you said he used to be a Challenger?” Jayta asks, folding a shirt.

“Apparently. Seems like he washed up pretty hard after the program got shut down.” I say, closing the door and starting the dry cycle again. “He was handing out traffic tickets on some tiny frontier world when we came across him. I think he undersells himself on purpose, though. The man’s got connections, and he can make things move if he puts his mind to it.”

“I always wondered what happened to Challengers once the program got shut down.” Jayta muses. “It’s interesting to see where some of them ended up… oh, fun fact: there’s a Challenger in Sjelefengsel. He works for the House of Regret.”

I give her a sidelong look. “Really? A Challenger? In hell?”

“Yeah. His real name’s Harro Garkia, but they called him Shieldwall when he was a Challenger.” Jayta says, stacking the folded shirt and going for another one. “Apparently he got sent there for betraying the Challengers and causing the fall of the Citadel.”

I blow out a long breath. “Yeah… well, if there’s something that would send you to hell, that would do it. I remember hearing about how messy and bloody that one was… wasn’t a good look for CURSE or the Challengers.”

“Lysanne. I need your attention; something is happening.” Dandy’s voice suddenly comes through the screen by the door, with no prelude or warning. “Unnatural weather is developing in the temperate biome. I cannot locate Raikaron or Jazel.”

That immediately gets my attention; Jayta and I exchange looks before I answer. “Unnatural weather? What do you mean by that?”

“There are cumulonimbus clouds forming within the biome. I am also seeing evidence of lightning and sustained winds. I cannot account for what is causing it, though I am detecting elevated energy readings within the forest.”

“Somebody’s getting up to something.” I growl, pushing away from the dryer and moving towards the door. “Have you accounted for everyone else?”

“Milor is still doing dailies in the marsh biome. Ozzy is taking his afternoon nap.”

“Wake Ozzy up and get him down to the biosphere. I’ll call Milor and tell him to get up to the temperate biome.” I say, pulling my phone out as I leave the laundry room.

“What’s going on?” Jayta asks, hurrying after me.

“I think your demon Lord is getting up to something.” I say, scrolling through my phone for Milor’s contact. “The biosphere can’t generate storms; it can only do light showers and overcast weather. If there’s a thunderstorm forming in the temperate biome, it’s coming from something other than the Drift’s weather control systems.”

“Are we sure that it’s Raikaron, though?” Jayta asks. “Maybe Dandy couldn’t locate him because he had to leave the ship to answer a summons?”

“Maybe. We’ll see.” I say, not bothering to argue it as I call Milor. I don’t have the time for it right now, and Jayta’s not likely to be believe Raikaron’s the problem unless she sees it with her own eyes. “Pick up, you lazy cow-tipper…”

“Howdy there, blondie. We doin’ dinner early tonight?”

“Only if you actually help make it.” I retort on reflex, stepping into the elevator with Jayta. “Something’s going on up in the temperate biome. I need you to get up there right now.”

“Sure, sure, I’ll get on that as soon as I’m done with sea snails.” I hear something sloshing around on the other side of the line, probably Milor wading through the marsh and reeds. “Somehow these sneaky liddl’ buggers keep getting away from me.”

“Forget the periwinkles. I need you up there now, Milor.” I order as the elevator starts rising. “There’s a storm brewing in the temperate biome, and it’s unnatural. Dandy also said that she did a head count and she didn’t have eyes on the demon Lord, and couldn’t account for Jazel.”

“Oh really? Can’t say I’m surprised… that red bastard was always a little too smooth for my liking. Wouldn’t be surprised if he talked the kid into doing something he shouldn’t be doing.” Milor says, something clanking on his end of the line. “I’ll start heading that way now. Where’s everyone else?”

“Dandy’s waking up Ozzy and she’ll be getting down to the biosphere. Jayta’s with me and we’re heading over there now.” I say as the elevator starts to slow down near the deck we’re heading to. “Dandy says she was picking up elevated energy readings in the forest. Once you get up there, give me a call and let me know what you’re seeing. If you see something problematic, don’t try to fix it on your own. Wait for the rest of us to get there.”

“Yeah yeah, buddy system. I get it. I’ll see you there, blondie.” Milor says before ending the call.

I put away my phone as the elevator opens, stepping out and heading down the hall. As I go, I pat around in my pockets, and curse when I realize that the only thing I have in terms of weapons are my bone bracelet; Jayta notices and speaks up. “What’s wrong?”

“Don’t have any weapons on me at the moment, and there’s no time for me to stop by my room and grab them.” I say, pulling out my phone again. “I’ll call Dandy and ask her if she can swing by my room on her way down…”

“I don’t think you should do that.” Jayta says. “Raikaron’s here to help you guys, remember? If he’s doing something, it’s to help you guys defeat Azra so she can be sealed back in the Maelstrom.”

“Jayta, I know he’s your boyfriend, but he’s a demon Lord. I don’t trust him.” I counter, figuring I might as well just come right out and say it. “And even if he is trying to help, it doesn’t mean it’s the kind of help we want. I’m worried that his version of help is going to be some kind of twisted demon deal where you sacrifice something to get something else.”

Surprisingly, Jayta doesn’t argue that. She just gives a half-hearted shrug instead. “I mean, even if you did have weapons, it’s not like they’d make a difference.” she mumbles.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I demand, looking over my shoulder at her.

She shrugs again. “He’s a demon Lord of Sjelefengsel for a reason.”

I don’t like the implication there, but I don’t bother arguing it either. I don’t want to admit it out loud, but she has a point; I don’t think Raikaron is scared of any of us. In all our interactions with him, I’ve gotten the feeling that he’s generally unconcerned about what we think of him, in the way that an adult patiently endures the complaints and suspicion of children they’re babysitting. If he’s up to something and we show up to try and stop him, I can all too easily imagine him reacting with vague bemusement.

Eventually, we reach the access deck ringing the biosphere, and I quickly make my way over to the access point, where Dandy and Ozzy are waiting. Dandy’s already got the biosphere rotated so that the access hatch for the temperate biome is connected to the access point, so that we can just walk right in once we arrive. “Do we have any more information about what’s going?” I ask as she passes me a taser prod from the equipment rack.

“The clouds have developed into a proper thunderhead. Ambient energy readings are continuing to rise in the forest.” Dandy answers as our group heads down the airlock tube. “I’ve narrowed down the likely source to the waterfall pool; the concentration is the highest there.”

“Well, at least we know where to go.” I say, stepping out into the biome proper and immediately stopping. The wind in here is stronger than I’ve ever felt it before; it isn’t violent or gusty, but it is definitely steady, tugging my hair across my face. The grasses and trees in the biome are all swaying and rustling; from the way they’re tilted, it seems like wind is moving in a continuous circle around the biome, akin to a hurricane’s rotation. “Yeah, something’s up. The weather control systems can’t manage this kind of output.”

“Oh, my. Now that is quite a breeze.” Ozzy remarks as he steps into the biome. “Yep, that is definitely not natural, not in a place like this. Circumpolar wind shear in a region this small just isn’t a thing that happens. I mean, objectively speaking, the biosphere is huge, but from a geographic and meteorological standpoint, too small to create its own rotary storms. Plus, there’s no solar body to drive the circulation of the atmosphere, not like there’s much atmosphere to circulate in here, at least from weather perspective—”

“So that means something is creating this or causing it.” Jayta cuts in before Ozzy can ramble much further. “And if it’s a rotary storm, we’ll probably find the source at the center.”

“The waterfall pool is not exactly at the center of the biome, but it is fairly close.” Dandy says as I start along the beaten path through the meadows, and the others fall in line behind me. “It stands to reason that we will find what we are looking for there.”

“Just a heads up, Jayta, if we catch your boyfriend doing something he’s not supposed to, we will stop him, and we will use force if we have to.” I advise over my shoulder. “I don’t take any pleasure in it, but that is what we’ll have to do.”

“Okay.” is all that Jayta says in response, and the way she says it, I can tell that she’s not concerned about Raikaron getting hurt.

“Wait, are we sure that’s really a good idea?” Ozzy says, his tone very much concerned. “I mean, he’s a Syntaritov… it’s really, really really really really not a good idea to pick a fight with one of them. I mean, don’t get me wrong, you can win, it has been done, but it’s usually a bitter victory. Winning a fight against a Syntaritov usually costs you something that leaves you hurting for a long time afterwards.”

“We will not resort to violence if it can be avoided. Dialogue and negotiation are the preferred methods of resolution.” Dandy says, before lifting an arm to point towards the trees. “Milor is waiting for us at the forest’s edge. Perhaps he will have additional information for us.”

“Glad to see he actually listened and didn’t try to go in there solo.” I say, picking up my pace a little. Once he notices us coming, he pushes off the tree he was leaning against, moving to meet us halfway there on the winding path.

“Went up the path a little ways, but uh, I saw something a little odd.” he says, glancing back over his shoulder into the forest. He’s still in the chest-high waders that we use when doing work in the marsh biome, inhibiting his mobility a little. “You guys only got critters in here, right? Squirrels, deer, cat dragons, that sort of stuff?”

“Well yeah, among other things.” I say, walking past him but slowing down a little. “What did you see?”

He starts walking along with us, scratching at his scruff as he goes. “This liddl’ lady in a schoolgirl outfit. Normally I’d say she was a cute liddl’ thing, but uh. She had somethin’ going on with her head. Bunch of crows all over it, to the point that you couldn’t see anything from the nose upwards. Figure you wouldn’t be able to see anything with that many birds swarming your noggin, but the birds were staring at me wherever I went. Creepy as hell and I decided I didn’t want to try dealing with that until I had someone to watch my six, so I just backed off and headed back to the treeline.”

I furrow my brows, looking back at the others. “Doesn’t sound like anything we’ve ever come across.”

“Did she have a red scarf or a neckerchief around her neck?” Jayta asks.

“Yeah, she did.” Milor says, glancing at her. “It was the one spot of color on her. Everything else was in black and white. D’you know who she is?”

“I don’t, no. But I saw her a while ago, when Mom visited us.” Jayta says. “Raikaron said that it was one of the Faceless Ones, one of the angels of the Witchling. Apparently they’ve been on the ship for a while, but we can’t see them because they manipulate reality so that we’re always overlooking them.”

“I dunno what that thing was, but that was not an angel.” Milor declares as we pass into the shadow of the forest. “Angels don’t give you the creepy crawlies. That was more along the lines of a horror holo and I’ll be happy if we never see it again.”

The wind gusts at that moment, sending a rippling rustle through the trees above and around us. It susurrates, rising and falling like the approximation of a chuckle, and prompting Milor to glance around. As it fades, Ozzy clears his throat. “Might want to be careful about badmouthing deminatural creatures, Deputy. They usually have good hearing and a long memory.”

Milor grumbles something inaudible that scales up into “…let’s get to the pool. Clouds up there are getting darker.” He picks up the pace, taking the lead as we hurry down the maintenance path winding alongside the stream.

“I think there’s blood in the water.” Jayta states a minute or two later. I glance back to see she’s looking at the stream, and I look as well to see traces of a virulent, glowing red swirling in the current, coming from further up the stream.

“Blood typically does not glow.” Dandy states. “But something clearly has contaminated the pool further up the stream. We should make haste and find out what it is.”

“If we’re seeing traces of it this far down the stream, there’s gotta be a whole ton of it in the pool. Liquids usually dilute with distance.” Milor says, shifting forward into a measured jog. “Let’s move. I want to know what that red bastard’s up to.”

The rest of us likewise start running to keep up with him, the tension growing the deeper we delve into the forest. And as we get closer to the pool, I start hearing what I think is drums — a slow, steady cadence that booms, is silent for a few seconds, then booms again. It’s rhythmic and precise, almost like it was timed to a metronome, or something being hammered on an anvil.

“You guys can hear that?” Milor calls over his shoulder.

“Yeah, we can hear it.” I reply as much as our jogging pace will allow me.

“Oh, that’s not good. Not good.” Ozzy wheezes from the back of the line. “Drums in a dark forest. Never good.”

“Guys, I can see it.” Milor says as we come around the last bend in the maintenance path before it rises up the hill to the pool. And I can see what he’s referring to — we can’t see the pool from here, but hovering above it is a churning sphere of red liquid with a silhouette within it. And flying around it is Sång, her wings blurring as she slowly cycles around it, leading lines of golden light from her fingertips as she constructs a three-dimensional seal around the sphere.

“Wait, isn’t that the angel from the Rantheon?” Jayta pants as we pelt up the hill. She has to raise her voice a little to be heard; the regular thumping is still going, but it’s interspersed now with more complex layers of beats that are timed over it, some that are deep and resonant in their pitch, others that are sharper and more staccato. Filling the space between is a low hum that glides easily between different notes, almost like a bassy, synthetic horn, raising the hairs on the back of my neck. That it’s a song is obvious, and it’s one that has a particularly ominous bent to it, like a war march or a gathering storm.

Cresting the top of the hill, the waterfall pool comes into view and we can finally see where all the sound is coming from: the pool itself has turned completely crimson and still, translucent all the way down to the bottom. A ring of birdlike people — harpies, I think — are ringing the pool on one knee, their fists hammering into the surface in unison to form the beats we are hearing. Some of them maintain the main beat, while others hammer out the more complex beats between, with palm strikes forming a deeper, resonant notes, and finger or knuckle strikes producing the sharper, higher notes. Three albino harpies are spaced around the pool’s edge, swaying to the cadence as they produce a wordless chorus with their voices; and off to the side is Raikaron, in a much different set of clothes.

As we come over the top of the hill, Raikaron turns his head to us, and I can see that the glasses are off and the whites of his eyes are gone — his irises are just bright green rings superimposed over a jet-black background. In the same moment, I suddenly become aware of two shorter people standing on either side of him, one with crows swarming her head, and the other with black cats twining around his. I’m not sure how I missed them before, but they’re definitely there now.

“Oh, no.” Ozzy breathes as we take in the scene before us. “That’s all of them…”

“What in the blue blazes is going on here?” Milor demands, although the symphony of sound echoing up from the pool almost drowns him out.

Tracking all the people in the hollow, I realize that I don’t see Jazel, and my eyes flick back up to the churning sphere of crimson water that’s hanging in the air above the pool. And I suddenly realize why the curled silhouette within it seems familiar, even though it’s blurred by the swirling water. “Is that him? What are you doing to him?” I shout.

At that, Raikaron’s black and green eyes flit to Sång, who is still circling the sphere. Catching his look, she tilts and angles her thrumming wings, rising to hover above the sphere; there’s a regal authority in her ruby gaze, a divine condescension in the way that she regards us. As if our questions don’t deserve answers.

And after a moment of this, she gives an imperial smirk, lifts her arms to either side, and opens her mouth to add to the music rising out of the hollow.

I was born of blood

And in fire forged.

“Soldier, take your place —

For Death must gorge.”

Her voice hits like a truck; it’s like honey, rich and thick and smooth and golden. There’s something about it that carries a physical force, staggering me on the spot, and I can only assume it’s a certain type of magic; the others struggle the same, and Ozzy buckles to his knees altogether. Around the churning sphere, the golden lines of the seal vibrate in time to Sång’s voice, contracting until they’ve locked into place around it. The surface begins to solidify into a sleek red glass, slowly spreading away from the golden lines as Sång continues singing.

There’s a war that calls —

Sister, join me there!

Burning blades and broken steel

Challenge me if you dare.

I grit my teeth and straighten up, curling my hands into fists. It’s obvious now that we won’t get an answer, or that this is their answer. I still don’t know what they’re doing, and if they aren’t going to explain, then I’m going to do the only thing I can do in a situation like this.

“Dandy. Milor. I think it’s time we break this party up.” I say, getting a grip on the taser prod that Dandy handed me earlier.

“You know we’re probably gonna get our asses handed to us.” Milor grunts, rolling his shoulders as he tries to shake off the suffocating weight of Sång’s voice. “We’re about to pick a fight with an angel, a demon Lord, and two creepy kids with an animal control problem.”

“I concur with the Deputy. Our chances of success are quite low.” Dandy agrees, warming up her taser prod as well.

“Yeah, I know.” I say, starting down the hill and into the hollow. “We’re gonna try anyway.”

Event Log: Jazel Jaskolka

Location Unknown

4:09pm LST

I have been here before.

It is the place beyond the veil, within the depths of the soul. It is the place where memories of past lives, in the form of dreams, leak into the sleeping hours. It is the place wherein the moribund history of Aurescura is recorded in all souls that were once trapped within the Cycle.

In this field of stars, amidst the indigo void, I stand upon a path of stones leading to a distant throne.

Around me is the low thunder of drums, like a far-off storm. The steady cadence moves like a war march, grim and unyielding, impelling me to take the first step of many on the stones of the path. Like those who came before me, I know this march leads to death — and yet I march still, for those who are trapped in the relentless cycle of reincarnation must not fear death. We face the curse of Aurescura with heads held high, ever defiant, for it is that defiance which eventually granted us our freedom.

And as I make my way across these stones, I can hear a voice, smooth and rich like wild honey, lacing through the starry void around me. Beckoning, pulling me ever onwards.

I was born of blood

And in fire forged.

“Soldier, take your place —

For Death must gorge.”

With every step, I am treated to a remembrance. Every stone is a memory; a recollection of things that have happened; a glimpse into lives that once were. Many of these lives are mine, but as I continue along this path, I come up against some that are unfamiliar. Moments that I do not recognize, lives I did not live. They belong to someone else, someone that has found her way in here with me. A warrior, a tyrant.

There’s a war that calls —

Sister, join me there!

Burning blades and broken steel

Challenge me if you dare.

For a moment I stand on the the frontlines, with a shout from the regiment captain bringing us into order. Shields are lifted and locked together into a metal wall, braced against a flood of voidlings streaming over a ruined plain. Squirming bodies hurl themselves against that line again and again, and the air is filled with the smell of mint and sweat and blood. We stand alone against the breach until the line breaks, and then there is only savagery. Hacking and slacking and shield-slamming until the sword shatters, and then punching and kicking and clawing and whatever else it takes to beat the voidlings into pulp and rip them apart. The hours pass, but the flood does not cease; the exhaustion sets in, but the fighting continues. In rage, then desperation, until a feral nirvana is achieved and there is only the endless violence of battle, looping back over on itself in a self-sustaining cycle, a perpetual-motion machine of death and brutality.

Then my foot leaves the stone, and Azra’s memory fades as I step onto the next stone, and am consumed by another.

I live these memories in instants, in the space of time it takes me to step from one stone to the other. No matter how deep the memory, how intense it is, it only lasts for the duration of the step, fading away as soon as I take another step. Yet I never lose sight of the path; the memories may take place on the backdrop of the void, wiping away the stars, but the stones are there, ever before me, the winding staircase that rises up to the distant throne. Though they were dry at first, they have started to become warmer and wetter the further I ascend; and even though I do not look down, I know the liquid that’s clinging to my bare feet is too thick to be water.

Fill the cup with sacrifice,

Raise it up and drink it down.

Climb the stairs, slick with blood —

This the price for a crown.

I still do not know where that voice is coming from, but there is a suppressed anticipation in it; as if the singer is excited, but still bound to the obligations of ceremony. Something seethes beneath the surface of her voice; an ancient obsession, a primordial instinct. And I find myself swept along with it; this is old magic, an antediluvian force that was present at the creation of worlds, when things are still being shaped and named. I do not resist; I do not push back or shy away from it. I move with the flow of the song, letting it carry me forward, weaving me into the greater tapestry of creation.

And carry me forward it does, step by step upon the winding path. With every step, I feel one of my past lives meet me on the stairs, passing through me as if I was the gate through which they would find rest. Or perhaps I am moving forwards through them, collecting my past shade by shade; I am starting to see them now, each bloodstained stone holding an echo of a person that I once was. Men, women; witches, priests; soldiers, scholars — I have been all of these and more. They await my arrival, stepping through me every time I step onto another stone; and when I look over my shoulder, I can see them join the grand convocation of faces in the darkness below, staring back at me.

Stand up, rise up

You must climb these stones alone

These hands drip with sins

For which you cannot atone

Don’t you dare look back

For you cannot go home

Bloody stones and broken bones

For a throne

The drums are no longer distant, booming overhead like the storm has arrived. Every step carries me closer to the throne at the end, and in the darkness on either side of the path are hooded witches — past iterations of myself, or ghosts of the present, I cannot tell. The shadows cast by their hoods are too deep to see past; their cloaks are black, and carry none of the coven patterns I am familiar with. Yet their voices sound out all the same, a wordless wailing that harmonizes with the voice that sings above it all, providing a choral backdrop that strengthens and elevates it. And as I ascend the stairs, step by step, they reach out, their fingertips brushing my arms and shoulders and leaving smears of blood on my skin — an ancient rite of solidarity, a long-abandoned tradition, for witches that came of age in the coven. A sign they were no longer children, but men and women.

And these chains that I forged

Of my fallen friends —

Remember them still

While on my demons I depend.

The higher I ascend, the bloodier the stones become; it started as flecks of blood, but gradually became streaks, then splatters, then stains, then slicks, and now, every step I take produces a scarlet splash. There is an active flow spilling down the winding path, a river of ichor that paints every stone red and drenches my legs up to the shins. It’s a grim march, the symbolism of which is not lost on me; the path to power and dominion is paved with blood, and only gets bloodier the higher you ascend. Realizing I must be nearing the source, I look up to see that the throne is only a dozen steps away.

And standing there in front of it is Azra, half-turned towards the path as she stares down at me. There is something intent in her hot green eyes, watching to see if I will forge past those last stones to reach the throne. She is searching for weakness, or faltering, or the absence of resolve. Anything that would perjure me in a contest of willpower.

Curling my hands into fists, I continue the ascent, each step deliberate, declaratory, and drenched in blood.

At the glass you now stand,

And within, you can see —

Not what you’ve become,

But what you used to be.

My feet leave crimson stains on the white stone as I step onto the platform on where Azra and the throne await. I tread towards both of them, but it is only then that I notice that Azra is not blocking the way to the throne — she is standing slightly to the side, out of the way. And the throne itself is an angular, geometric affair, made of mirrored glass; I slow to a halt before I reach it, glancing at Azra.

Far from what I expected from her, there is an absence of antagonism; instead, she looks back to the throne, and I follow her gaze. The highbacked throne acts as a full-length mirror, and in it, I can see Azra’s reflection staring back at us. But it is not the Azra that stands here with me, in her greaves and bracers and breastplate; this Azra is a younger Azra, with only a single tail, and without all the resentment and anger and bitterness built up from thousands of years of imprisonment. This is Azra before she was banished to the Maelstrom; Azra before the Void Wars; Azra before she was a demon goddess.

Then the image is gone, and the throne silently beckons me; I move towards it, only to find Azra stepping into the way. It’s abundantly clear that the path to the throne goes through her; but before I have the chance to brace for a fight, she lifts an arm towards me, opening a closed fist. Hovering above her palm is a scarlet pearl, carved in the shape of a curled-up fox with twin grains of inlaid jade for the eyes. A virulent red miasma enwreathes the gem, swirling around it like a coronasphere; there is a force coming off it that seems almost like it’s trying to push me away.

I lift my eyes from the gem to Azra; she stares back at me, unyielding and silent. No words are spoken, and none are needed; the condition for the assumption of the throne is fairly obvious. I lift a hand towards the pearl, hesitating when I realize that the gauntleted fingers of Azra’s offered hand are slathered in blood that drips from her red-and-gold armor. Hands that drip with sins, for which she cannot atone.

And at my hesitation, her regal facade finally breaks into a smirk, as if she had found the falter in my resolve. Her hand starts to pull back, fingers starting to close once more.

But I did not come this far just to be denied.

I lunge forward, closing my hand around the pearl before she can fully retract the offer. The burn is immediate; the coronasphere is leaking between my clenched fingers, the glow penetrating through my skin and lighting up all my veins. Azra stops pulling her hand back, though her smirk does not fade; I know that she is watching in anticipation, hoping this will eat me alive, and she’ll get to watch as I’m burnt to cinders in front of her. But I did not come this far just to fail.

So I glare back at her as a crimson blaze starts working its way over my knuckles and down my arm, infusing me with this shard of Azra’s soul.

Stand up, rise up

You must climb these stones alone

These hands drip with sins

For which you cannot atone

Don’t you dare look back

For you cannot go home

Bloody stones and broken bones

For a throne

It’s like being set on fire from the inside out.

The heat is excruciating, forcing me to grit my teeth as the coronal blaze burns down the length of my arm and starts spreading across my torso and neck. But I don’t shy away from it, because I know that if I do, it won’t just scorch me; it’ll turn me to ash. I face into it head-on, because the entire point of this ritual I have to accept it, take it into myself, allow it to become a part of me, no matter how painful it is.

And it is, without a question, painful.

My fist remains clenched around the soul shard as it continues draining into me, feeding the blaze that’s working its way over my body. There is a perverse satisfaction in the way that Azra watches me, knowing how much pain this is causing me; as if she was proud of how much agony a shard of herself could inflict on anyone that had the audacity to try and take her power upon themselves. And that, in turn, feeds my spite and determination to see this through. I cling obstinately to my desire to prove her wrong, to show that I’m stronger than her, just the same as I proved my strength to Kayenta a year ago.

In doing so, I find that the infusion, if not becoming easier, is at least becoming less painful. As it starts making its way over the other half of my body, I realize that the excruciating blaze is evolving into other forms of heat — a burning passion, a smoldering ambition, a crackling desire. That same insatiable fire that drives Azra’s penchant for tyranny and domination is now flowing through me, and while I can contain it, it’s still changing me. With Azra’s divinity unable to bend my soul to its will, it has instead turned its attention on my body, altering it to accommodate the new pressures and stresses of containing a shard of exaltation within a mortal frame.

And as much as I would like to put a stop to the changes being wrought upon my body, I haven’t the bandwidth for it right now. There’s a shard of Azra’s soul being woven into mine, and all my focus is on keeping it from corrupting my soul; I’ll simply have to concede to whatever changes are being made to my body.

(this the price)

(this the cost)

All for a throne…

(and is it worth)

(what you’ve lost?)

When the blaze finishes making its way over me, I am suffused with that same coronal glow that enwreathed the pearl.

And the pearl itself is gone; there is nothing left in my hand but my fingernails digging into my palm. I open my hand to reveal a few stray sparks of scarlet that spiral away and wink out. Dropping my hand, I see that the Azra before me has become faded and transparent, as if her color and opacity had been siphoned into me; she now resembles the echoes of my past lives that had been present on every stone leading to this peak. Still, she is solid enough to reach up and grip my jaw, turning my head a little as she sizes me up, like she was evaluating a new vessel. After that cursory inspection, she leans forward, placing her head next to mine.

“You may have claimed this shard of me, and all of the power that comes with it.” she whispers in my ear. “But the last laugh belongs to me. Because even after you seal the rest of me back in the Maelstrom, a splinter of me will remain free to rove here on the mortal plane — inside you.”

My breath catches as I realized why she offered herself up so freely. The absence of resistance was intentional, controlling the circumstances of her defeat so she could extract a measure of victory from it. “You’re not free. I am your prison now.” I hiss back at her.

“Well then, I better make myself comfortable. Considering the fact that this is a life sentence, I’ll be here for a while if you play your cards right.” With that, she moves forward, stepping through me in the same way that all of my past lives did on the way up here. I take a sharp breath, feeling something change with that; it was like a lock clicked into place as she passed through me, and it wouldn’t come undone again. The music seems even louder than it was before, my senses sharper; feeling something twitch and flick atop my head, I reach up with one hand, my fingers grazing over something large and soft and fluffy — the curve of a vulpine ear. And I can tell, from having stroked Kayenta’s ears many times in the past, that it is not dissimilar to the ones that she and Azra have.

I twist around, catching the sight and sensation of a tail swinging about behind me; but my attention is fixed on Azra, where she has joined the congregation of my countless past lives. “Don’t look at me like that.” she says, folding her arms when she sees how I’m glaring at her. “You wanted the power, and this is part of the price you must pay. A human body cannot handle what you’ve taken into yourself. Morphoxes have a higher tolerance for magical strain, and are better built for housing splinters of the divine.” She flicks one of her ears, and I flinch when I feel one of mine flick in response. “Now go. A throne awaits you, foxwitch.”

There is nothing to be gained from argument; I can sense the truth in her words, though I am still disgruntled at not having been warned. Still, there is nothing to be done about it now, so I turn about again. My gaze rests on the mirror throne, and I move towards it as the music begins to crescendo once more.

You’ll call my name;

You’ll call in vain.

There’s no one there —

For I am changed…

All for a throne!

Arriving before the mirrored monolith, I find my ambition arrested by what I find reflected on me. Just as Azra did earlier, I see something in the highbacked mirror; a human, lanky, with a peculiar angularity. Something easily damaged or broken, a fierce sort of frailty, and a body that could not keep up with its stubbornness. Lifting my hands, I look down at myself; there is something streamlined and economical about this body, sleek but strong. The differences are subtle, but measurable; looking back up, I know that the human in the mirror was me, mere minutes ago, but it feels like it’s a different creature altogether. I am no longer that thing, and I am unsure how to feel about that.

Then I blink, and the reflection is gone. All that remains is the mirror throne, reflecting nothing but the stars in the void and the blood on the stone. A throne earned by endurance; bought by sacrifice; sanctified in blood.

My birthright, my privilege, my burden.

Turning about, I sit down in the glassy monument. My arms take their place on the armrests as I lean back and gaze out over the path of crimson stones I took to get here; the numberless multitudes of my past lives, of which a shard of Azra is now part. It is here, at the pinnacle of this heresy, with the depths of her memories at my disposal, that I truly comprehend Azra. The tragedy of her ambition, the perversity of her stubbornness, the genesis of her yearning for acceptance, and her heartbreaking desire for approbation; it is only in understanding these things that I now have the tools to defeat her. Absorbing a shard of her soul may’ve granted me some measure of her power, but this was never about acquiring Azra Guile’s powers.

It was about understanding her.

Stand up, rise up —

You must climb these stones alone.

These hands drip with sins

For which you cannot atone!

Don’t you dare look back,

For you cannot go home;

Bloody stones and broken bones

All for a throne.

I awake, as from a dream.

The voice, I now recognize as Sång’s. The booming drums are the harpies hammering their palms against the surface of the pool; the wailing of the witches, sourced from the wordless chorus of Raikaron’s albino ravens. A song that calls upon tales and traditions older than memory and beyond the remit of recorded history, to bind together the mortal and divine.

I open my eyes to the exhortation to stand up, to rise up. I see only dim redness all about; a warm chrysalis that has served its purpose. A surge of heat rushes through me, from the tips of my ears to the end of my tail; flushed with power and a new strength.

I am born anew.

My hand finds the interior of my chrysalis as I uncurl, suspended in the crimson water that serves as my amniotic fluid. The shell is hardened and reinforced, but I no longer need its protection. When it does not give beneath the pressure I have applied to it, I arch my hand on reflex, the glow of crimson claws flaring along my fingers and puncturing the shell. Digging in, I tense my body, then rip those claws around me in a wide arc, tearing a gash in the chrysalis and nearly slashing it in half.

The water floods out through the gash, and I’m pulled along with the flow, spilling from the chrysalis as it crumbles and breaks apart. For a moment I’m weightless, falling through the air among a cascade of crimson water; and then my instincts kick in, and I twist around, hands and feet out to brace myself as I hit the surface of the pool. It’s still solid, and but my legs absorb most of the impact of my landing as I stagger forward and catch myself on my hands while water splatters to the pool’s surface around me.

The chaos around me only adds to my disorientation; I can hear shouting, and conflict. People arguing with each other, physical altercations — fighting? Lysanne, Milor, and Dandy trying to make their way onto the pool, and being demurely and elegantly deterred by Raikaron and the Faceless Ones, while the harpies continue hammering out the beat upon the pool. I can’t make sense of it, and there’s too much stimulation flooding my senses right now; the chill of cool air over my wet skin is not helping things. The new heat running through my veins starts to flare up, and I plant my hands on the pool’s surface, pushing myself to my feet. I am cold, it is noisy, and there is too much going on right now.

Baring my teeth, I hunch over and vent the fire that’s spiking within me, releasing a blast of heat that evaporates the water on my skin and billows across the hollow, setting everyone but Sång and Raikaron staggering.

The chaos drops off with that. The harpies are startled into silence; Milor and Lysanne and Dandy stop fighting with Raikaron and the Faceless Ones. The eyes within the hollow are turned upon me as I pant and glare at everyone that’s staring at me — shock for some, dismay for others, fascination for a certain few. I cannot be bothered to parse their reactions right now; my senses are overloaded, and I am in the strange situation of feeling overcharged with power at the same time that body wants to fold and sleep for eighteen hours. Brimming with energy, but also about to black out.

When nobody says anything or moves, I take a step forward, then another, only to find myself folding to my hands and knees, rolling onto my side as my body decides to throw in the towel for now. The last thing I hear is Lysanne shouting my name as she charges across the pool towards me, no longer blocked by the Faceless Ones; the last thing I see is Sång touching down to the pool some distance from me, her head tilted to one side as she smiles approvingly at me.

Then I lose consciousness, and everything slips away into fuzzy darkness.

Event Log: Lysanne Arrignis

Dandelion Drift: Infirmary

5:03pm LST

“So he’s…?”

“Lysanne. The scan will complete when the scan completes.”

I rock nervously on my heels, turning and going back to pacing. After the ritual had concluded, the immortals had dropped all their resistance and let us grab Jazel. We’d rushed him here to the infirmary to check him over and see if he was injured, and this is where we’d been ever since, with Jazel laid up on one of the beds with the scan tube extended over him. Dandy is sitting at the holoarray adjacent to his bed, checking his past medical records and filtering through the current data that was being compiled by the scan; I’m pacing near his bed, keeping an eye on the windows of the infirmary for any sign of Sång, Raikaron, or the Faceless Ones; and Ozzy and Jayta are sitting in a couple of the waiting chairs. I wish I could say they were both equally anxious, but while Jayta was tensely waiting the outcome of the scan, Ozzy had somehow managed to doze off in the wake of recent events.

“I mean, whatever’s happened to him, it’s probably reversible, right?” I say as I pace, half to the others, half to myself. “Or, or, just temporary. I mean, they couldn’t really…” I glance at Jazel, gritting my teeth at the sight of the reddish-orange ears nestled in his hair, the white-tipped tail that’s halfway draped off the edge of the bed. “…that’s just temporary. You can’t just change someone’s race. That’s like… not a thing you can do, it requires months of genetic and biological reconstruction in a dedicated lab, you can’t just do that in fifteen minutes. Right?”

Jayta doesn’t say anything. Dandy is too busy filtering through data to reply, though if she did, I know she’d tell me to wait until the scan completes before drawing any conclusions. I’m left with my unanswered concerns gnawing away at me as I continue pacing at the end of Jazel’s bed.

When the door to the infirmary spirals open, it startles me, and I twist around, winding up for a confrontation, then relaxing when I see that it’s Milor stepping in, having changed out of the gaiters in favor of his battered duster and gun harness, with his plasma pistol holstered at his side. “Not like it’ll make any difference, but I’m properly armed now.” he says, his eyes coming to rest on Ozzy. “Seriously? Couldn’t put off his nap for the fifteen minutes that I asked him to keep guard?”

Jayta glances at Ozzy. “I don’t think it would’ve mattered. If Raikaron or the Faceless Ones wanted to come here, I don’t think anyone could’ve stopped them.”

“It’s about the principle. If I tell you to stand guard, I expect you to stand guard.” Milor says, turning towards Jazel’s bed. “Any news yet?”

“He is stable. Further information will be provided once the scan is complete.” Dandy says without looking away from the screen she’s working. “As I have told others multiple times now.”

“Yeah yeah, I get it. You’re tired of repeating yourself.” Milor says, making his way over to Jazel’s bed to look him over. After a moment, he reaches towards the head of the bed and under the scan tube to poke at Jazel’s new, fluffy ears. “Wild. They really went and gave him a race makeover.”

“Do not touch the subject in the middle of a scan!” Dandy orders sharply, snapping a glare at Milor. “You are going to contaminate the results, and then this will take even longer to complete. Please keep your hands to yourself until we have completed all of the required tests.”

“Alright, alright, strawberry soda. Don’t get your tits in a twist.” Milor says, pulling his hand back. “It’s just instinct, y’know? You see something fluffy and soft, you wanna touch it.”

“Why would they do this?” I blurt out, even though I know that Milor probably doesn’t have any more of an answer than anyone else in here right now. “Jazel didn’t say anything to me… did he say anything to any of you? Why would they turn him into a morphox?”

“Kid didn’t say anything to me, but knowing him, he prolly planned on doing this and just didn’t tell any of us. He’s dense in a lot of ways, but if there’s one thing he knows how to do, it’s keep his mouth shut when he wants to do something that he knows the rest of us aren’t going to like.” Milor says, sweeping back the edges of his duster to hitch his hands on his hips. After a second, he glances towards Jayta. “Maybe family knows a little more than we do.”

Jayta scowls at him. “Don’t look at me. I didn’t know any of this was going to happen. The only reason I’m not chewing out Raikaron right now is because I want to make sure Jazel’s okay before I go hunt him down.”

Milor shrugs. “All I’m saying is that you didn’t help when we were trying to break up that party over at the pool. Just stood there up on the hill and watched.”

“Yeah, because I knew better than to try and interrupt something like that!” Jayta snaps at him, standing up. “I wasn’t going to defy my own Lord. You’re lucky they treated you all as gently as they did! They barely even touched you, and you all walked away without any injuries. I’ve seen demons and mortals alike get eaten or erased for coming after immortals the way that you all did!”

“What did you expect us to do, Jayta?” I exclaim, motioning to the bed. “Look what they did to Jazel!”

“What are you shouting at me for?” Jayta snaps back, motioning to Ozzy. “I’m not the only one that sat it out; he folded like a wet napkin the moment the fairy angel started singing!”

“The scan is complete.” Dandy announces, breaking into the developing shouting match before it can go any further. The scan tube around Jazel starts to retract back into the wall as she swivels around in her chair and starts picking out certain screens to throw up to the main holoarray in the infirmary. “The evaluations on the blood samples are still ongoing, and we will likely have that information in an hour or so. For now, the early results from the tests we have conducted confirm what is evident on the surface: Jazel is no longer human. He is a morphox now, and the changes are not cosmetic; they appear to go all the way down to the genetic level.”

I rub my hands over my face. “Okay… okay. What about… his health? Is he okay? Is there anything…?”

“Surprisingly, he is actually in better condition than he was before.” Dandy says, casting another screen to the main holoarray, this one containing imaging results. “I compared the results against his medical records prior to this point in time. All signs of prior damage and injuries appear to have been wiped away. His ribs show no evidence of the time that they were broken, all evidence of scar tissue has disappeared, aside from the burn mark that constitutes his pact with Kaya. All of his core biometrics are hearty and healthy; he has even grown a couple inches and gained some muscle mass.”

“Wait, you’re telling me he got taller?” I demand, moving to the bedside to look him over. “You’re not measuring the ears, right?”

“From the sole of the foot to the top of the head, yes, he has gained one and three-quarter inches. The ears add another four or five inches.” Dandy explains.

“You said he got stacked?” Milor says, hooking a finger under the blanket covering Jazel and lifting it up, then letting out a low whistle. “I mean, he’s still on the lean side, but there’s definitely a little more meat on those bones. Can’t really call him a scarecrow anymore.”

“What? Really?” I say, snagging the other side of the blanket and lifting it up to find that Milor’s right. Just from what I can see of his torso and arms, there’s more muscle definition there than there was before. “Oh, that’s just not fair…” I mutter, reaching out and gingerly poking Jazel’s midsection a couple times.

“What’s up with these markings?” Milor asks, tilting his head to one side as he continues studying Jazel. “I’m guessing it’s some sort of leftover mumbo-jumbo from the ritual?”

“Preliminary results indicate that the marks across his body are a permanent feature. The pigmentation appears to be natural, and is being produced by his body, rather than coming from an external source.” Dandy says as my eyes rove across the patterns that Milor has mentioned. Most of them take the form of narrow, dark red lines that wind along his arms, up over his shoulders, down his back, and sweeping across his ribs, along his abdomen, and down his legs to his ankles. They aren’t really prominent, and you could easily miss them at a distance, but they’re there nonetheless. On his cheeks, the straightline scars that Kayenta had once given him are gone, replaced by narrow, elongated triangles of red.

“I don’t think these markings are normal. Kaya doesn’t have them, and I don’t think other morphoxes are born with them either.” I say, looking over the marks one more time before lowering the blanket.

“I cannot confirm that with certainty, but my general observations agree with your opinion.” Dandy concurs. “These markings seem to be a result of whatever ritual Jazel was subjected to, and are not a product of morphox biology. Other morphoxes sometimes have similar markings, but that is usually a conscious decision that is a result of a visit to a tattoo artist or a magical cosmetics parlor.”

The sound of the door spiraling open gets our attention again, and we turn to see Raikaron stepping in, still dressed in his attire from the ritual. “Apologies for being late. I had to stay to make sure the harpies finished cleaning everything up, and to discuss a few lingering matters with Sång and the Faceless Ones.”

“You stay right the hell there and don’t come any closer.” I snap at him. “Milor?”

“Yeah, blondie. I’m keepin’ an eye on him.” Milor says, brushing his duster back to rest a hand on his holstered pistol.

“I understand you may be distressed about this turn of events.” Raikaron says mildly, lacing his fingers together. His sclera are no longer black as pitch, and the glasses are back on his face, making him a little less threatening than he was at the pool — but I still don’t trust him. “But I figured you deserved to know that what was done, was done in the interest of giving you all a better chance at defeating Azra when we encounter her again.”

“Raikaron!” Jayta snaps at him. “You turned my brother! Into a fox!”

“Well, technically, a morphox, which is a type of vashaya’r—” Raikaron begins, lifting a hand.

“He has a tail! He has ears! He’s a fumrucking fox, Raikaron!” Jayta shouts.

Raikaron pauses with his mouth open, closes it, looks at Jazel as if assessing the veracity of that statement, thoughtfully tapping a knuckle to his pursed lips. “Yes,” he says at length. “I suppose I did help facilitate that, didn’t I.”

“What do you mean, you suppose?” Jayta demands. “You’re acting like this was a surprise to you when you were there! Why didn’t you tell me about this beforehand?”

Milor leans over to me, murmuring aside. “Y’know, blondie, I know I’m the one with that gun, but I think she’s the one that’s got the most firepower here.”

I don’t say anything back, but I do nod quietly; there is something satisfying in seeing Raikaron get chewed out like this. Mostly because Jayta’s probably the only one that can do it and get away with it.

“For two reasons: the first, that you all are reacting in exactly the manner that I anticipated you would.” Raikaron answers calmly. “Second, because this was Jazel’s choice to make, not yours.”

“What was this even supposed to achieve?” I demand, motioning a hand to Jazel. “Great, you turned him into a morphox. How is that supposed to help us defeat Azra?”

Raikaron raises a hand again. “You misunderstand. That was not the intention of this ritual; it was a side effect.”

“A— ah— a—wh-whu, a side effect?” I sputter, so completely baffled by that answer that I’m losing coherency as I gesture wildly at Jazel. “This? This was— this was a SIDE EFFECT?! A side effect of WHAT?! What kind of spell changes someone’s species all the way down to the genetic level as a SIDE EFFECT?! If this wasn’t the point of the ritual, then what the hell was it actually doing?!”

Raikaron lowers his hand again, lacing his fingers back together. He doesn’t answer right away, his eyes flicking towards Jayta, before his head turns slightly to take in the rest of us, as if he was measuring us up before giving his answer. “…the purpose of the ritual was to expand Jazel’s natural capabilities by fusing a splinter of Azra’s soul into him.”

My mouth drops open, and a deathly silence falls on the infirmary as that sinks in for everyone. “You… you are not seriously saying that to our faces right now.” I say in disbelief.

“No… no. No. No. No, no no.” Jayta says, pressing her fingers to her temples. “Raikaron. Tell me you did not put a piece of Azra in my brother.”

“Technically, he was the one that ingested the splinter of Azra’s soul.” Raikaron says. “I only offered the ritual. He was the one that elected to undertake it.”

“Hold up, hold up hold up.” Milor says, putting his hands up. It sounds like this is moving into headache territory for him. “You’re telling me there’s a piece o’ that crazy demon foxbitch inside the kid now?”

“It’s a little more complicated than that, but yes, from a layman’s perspective, that is correct.” Raikaron says. “Sång was happy to report that integration was successful, and that Jazel seems to be capable of maintaining control and keeping the splinter in check.”

“You can’t just do that!” I explode. “What if she possesses him again?! What if she tries to corrupt him, or turn him against us?! You can’t just shove a shard of demon goddess into our friend and expect us to be okay with that!”

“I did not expect you to be okay with it. But as you were not the ones taking on the risks and sacrifices of this gambit, your opinion on the matter was secondary to the one who would be shouldering those burdens.” Raikaron replies, unruffled by our outbursts. “Jazel was aware of the risks, and also understood that when there is much being risked, there is also much to be gained. Most importantly, he understood his shortcomings, and undertook this risk, and the burdens that come with it, for the sake of getting his mate back. It would’ve left a bad taste in my mouth to withhold the option from him when he has been giving his all, and struggling still.”

“We are also taking on the risks of this harebrained bullshit!” I retort, motioning to Jazel. “If Azra possesses him again, she’s going to try and kill the rest of us! Seems like a pretty damn big risk to me!”

“And I am disappointed that you do not have more faith in your friend, and in my judgement.” Raikaron answers evenly. “I would not have offered him this route if I did not think he was equipped to answer its demands. I would like to believe that, had you found yourself in a similar situation with Ms. Dandelion here, you would’ve gone to similar lengths, and made similar sacrifices to secure her welfare.”

That throws me for a loop, because Jazel and Kayenta’s relationship is the one that usually takes up the spotlight. Normally I’d be complimented by someone recognizing that Dandy and I were an item, except in this case it’s being used against me as leverage for an argument that’s being made. “That’s— I mean, well— yeah, but— that’s not the point!” I stammer.

“That is precisely the point.” Raikaron replies coolly. “You would want the freedom to pursue any and all remedies available to you if your significant other was compromised or otherwise needed rescuing, would you not?”

Milor winces. “Mm. He got you good there, blondie.”

I swat his sleeve. “Shut up! Whose side are you on, anyway?”

“Mr. Syntaritov, I would like to ask, in the interest of putting this to rest.” Dandy suddenly speaks up. “What has been done to Jazel — can it be reversed?”

Raikaron’s expression shifts, ever so slightly, in a way that’s hard to capture in words — it’s the gearshift that happens when you switch from talking to children to talking to an adult, and it seems to take place as he directs his answer to Dandy. “No. What has been wrought cannot be undone. Attempting to do so would do irreparable harm to Jazel, and it would likely end up mangling his soul beyond repair. What has been done, has been done, and there is no undoing it.”

Dandy nods. “Then there is no point in continuing to argue this. This is what Jazel is now; we will have to accept that and move forward. However, you owe it to us to be honest about anything else you have not yet disclosed to us. What you have done here has made it very difficult to trust you.”

“Yeah, that’s an understatement.” I mutter, folding my arms.

Raikaron takes a deep breath, tilting his head to one side as if he was considering how to phrase his reply. “That is understandable; however, you need to understand that I do not need your trust to carry out my assigned duties. The actions I undertake in the course of those duties are for the benefit of your group, even if you do not feel like it at the time, and information withheld likewise serves the same purpose. The satisfaction of my duties is dependent on the success of your group… it may not seem like it now, but I am here to help you, even if you do not appreciate my particular flavor of help.”

“Hate it. Hate it. I HATE IT.” I seethe, making strangling motions in his general direction. “Scheming, slimy little— Jayta, get him out of here. I can’t do this anymore. If he’s in here another minute I’m going to jump this bed and tear him a new one.”

Raikaron rolls his eyes. “I knew should’ve asked Gratitude to give everyone an attitude adjustment when he stopped by earlier…”

“Okay, that’s enough.” Jayta says, walking towards Raikaron with her hand raised. “You’re coming with me. We need to have a talk and everyone else needs time to cool off.”

“Very well. I doubt anyone’s going to take me up on it, but if you need me, you know where to find me.” Raikaron says, turning and stepping out the door with Jayta herding him into the hall. Once the door spirals shut behind them, I turn and brace my hands on the edge of Jazel’s bed, blowing out a long, aggravated breath.

“Not gonna lie, been a while since I’ve seen this level of drama.” Milor drawls, taking his hand off his holster. “A little bit o’ whiskey goes a long way in taking the edge off the bullshit. Either of you want a shot?”

“I don’t think—” Dandy begins.

“Yes. Please. Just bring the whole damn bottle.” I reply. “I need it with the way today’s going.”

“Alrighty then, one bottle of problemsolver, coming up.” Milor says, heading for the door. “Hang tight, ladies. I’ll be back in about ten minutes.”

He’s soon gone, leaving me splaying my fingers on the edge of Jazel’s bed while Dandy picks through the data from the scan. Both of us look up when Ozzy snorts in his nap, somehow having gone the entire argument without having woken up.

“Unbelievable.” I mutter, then return my attention to Jazel. “The things you’ve done for your fox… all the people you’ve killed, all this old magic, all these deals with the divine and demonic… I hope she’ll understand what you’ve gone through to bring her back.”

Dandy, having heard me, turns from her screens to look at Jazel, then at me. “If the cost is getting too high, Lysanne…”

I shake my head. “No. We’ve come this far. We’ve burned too many bridges and made too many enemies; it’d be wasted if we tapped out now.” I push off the edge of the bed, straightening up. “We see this through to the end.”

Left unsaid is the point that Raikaron left lodged in my mind earlier. Something I can’t help thinking about as I study the markings on Jazel’s face and the limp, fluffy tail hanging off the edge of the bed. I can’t help wondering about the lengths I would go to, the sacrifices I’d make, the risks I’d take, to get back someone I loved.

And whether, if our places were exchanged, I would be making the exact same choices that Jazel’s made.