Qia

Realms of Sun & Shadow

_{Interactions/Mentions: @c3p-0h Amaya}

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Elara savoured the last bite of her cookie, the sweetness lingering on her tongue as she discreetly wiped the crumbs from her fingers onto her napkin. The din of the outside around her seemed to fade, swallowed up by the warmth of the pastry and the simple joy of this quiet moment. Her eyes scanned the nearby trays, debating which baked good she’d sample next when something caught her attention from the corner of her eye. It wasn’t the inviting scent of the pastries that had drawn her in this time, but a shift in the air—something more formal, composed. When she lifted her gaze, her heart briefly skipped at the sight of Amaya, standing before her with the cold breath of frost visible in the crisp air.

“Oh, Am—” Elara's words slipped out before she could stop herself. Her eyes widened in realization, and she immediately straightened her posture. “Your Highness,” she corrected softly, a flush of embarrassment creeping up her neck. “It’s good to see you are well despite the recent storm.” The words felt too formal, too hollow given everything that had happened. How could anyone really be well after such a loss? Especially not Amaya, who wore her composed mask so flawlessly, even if Elara could see the fractures beneath.

Her gaze flickered to Amaya’s face, searching for some sign of emotion—any crack in the veneer that might hint at how her princess was truly feeling. But all she found was the same practiced neutrality, the regal poise that Amaya always wore in public. Elara wanted to say something more, something comforting, but the weight of propriety pressed down on her tongue. She longed to acknowledge their shared grief, but the bustling space around them was hardly the place for such conversations. Instead, she shifted slightly in her seat, offering a small smile that she hoped conveyed some semblance of warmth.

As Amaya turned her attention to the two Aurelian women standing nearby, Elara allowed herself a brief exhale, her mind still lingering on the friend beneath the title. She wondered how long Amaya could keep up this facade before the strain of it all became too much to bear. Glancing at the tray of drinks nearby, her decision formed before she even realized it.

“Your Highness,” she began softly, “would you like me to get you something to drink?” It wasn’t much, but offering a small comfort, even as simple as a drink, might give Amaya a moment to catch her breath.

Commencement: A Foundation Institute RP

^{Earlier that day, Harper's room}

Harper fumbled with the zipper of her duffel bag, her fingers trembling as she tried to trace the jagged line of the fabric. The smooth metal teeth felt unfamiliar, alien beneath her unseen touch. Packing in her current state was more difficult than she’d anticipated—everything took twice as long, and the once simple act of gathering her things now felt like a battle. Without her sight, every task demanded more concentration, more patience, neither of which she had in abundance today. All the while, her phone sat on the desk beside her, the bright glow of the screen casting faint shadows in the corner of her awareness as Sierra’s voice occasionally broke through the quiet.

It was the first time they had spoken since the chaos of the dance. On the surface, their conversation was casual, as if they were simply catching up like they used to. Yet, beneath their words, something simmered, a truth Harper was still hesitating to confront with her life at PRCU now crumbling at her feet.

In less than 24 hours, to be exact, she would leave this island behind—leave behind the life she thought she’d been building for herself since last year.

Harper’s hands continued to shake as she struggled to fold a pair of jeans into the bag, her breath coming out in small, frustrated huffs. Her movements were jerky, uncoordinated, and each time she tried to smooth the fabric, it seemed to bunch up under her fingers. She couldn’t even see if it was straight, couldn’t tell if it was folded right. All she had was the sensation of cloth slipping between her fingers, stubbornly refusing to cooperate. The frustration gnawed at her, digging under her skin, but she bit it back, unwilling to let Sierra hear how much she was struggling.

Regardless.

“You’d think I’d have gotten the hang of this by now,” Harper grumbled, the attempt at humour falling flat. There was a bit of raspiness still in her voice, though things were improving daily in that department. “Packing while blind? Apparently, not in my skill set.”

Sierra’s voice crackled through the speaker, soft but clear. “You don’t have to do it alone, Harps. I could come back… help you if you want.”

For a minute, Harper froze, her hand still gripping the jeans. The offer sounded sincere enough, though she knew better than to take it at face value. Sierra had always been good at sounding sincere, at saying the right things, but Harper couldn’t remember the last time her sister had actually followed through. It was all just words, the brunette told herself. She scoffed, shaking her head despite knowing Sierra couldn’t see her.

“You’ve already left. Besides, I’m fine.”

“I’m not that far,” Sierra replied, her voice more persistent this time. “I can take the ferry back and-”

Harper pressed her lips into a thin line, her fingers clenching around the denim in her hand, knuckles pale from the pressure. “No.”The reply came out shorter, harsher than she’d intended, yet she didn’t bother trying to lighten it. She didn’t want Sierra here—not now, not when everything was spiralling out of control, and especially not when she knew Sierra didn’t truly mean it. If she had meant it, she wouldn’t have left in the first place. “I’ve got it. I can handle it.”

She tossed the jeans into the duffel, not caring if they were folded properly anymore.

Harper could almost hear Sierra taking a second to think, deliberating her next words and deciding whether or not to push. It felt like they were standing on the edge of something—one wrong step, and they’d both fall.

“How are you doing?” she asked finally, her voice gentler this time, like she was testing the waters. “Really.”

Harper gritted her teeth, her hands balling into fists at her sides. “Oh, it’s nothing really,” she muttered, her voice thick with sarcasm. “Just thinking about my nice little chat with our dear sister about, you know, losing her wings. The usual freak bullshit.”

She didn’t need to see Sierra’s face to know she wasn’t surprised by the jab, not entirely. Her sister had a way of getting under people’s skin without remorse, and Harper knew this conversation would be no different. It was Sierra who had dropped the bomb about their parentage on Haven—without a second thought, apparently.

Of course, she wasn’t going to be apologetic.

“That was never your secret to keep,” Sierra said after a minute, her voice calm, almost detached. “She had a right to know.”

Harper let out a harsh laugh, the sound bitter and shrill. “Oh, come on, Sierra. You didn’t tell Haven because you cared about her. You did it because you were pissed at me for not telling you sooner. You wanted to hurt me, and you knew exactly how to do it.”

Harper could practically feel Sierra's restraint through the phone, the way she held back the smug retort that was probably perched on the tip of her tongue. It wasn’t like her to play the concerned sister—that part of Sierra had died a long time ago. No, this was all about control, and Harper had handed it to her on a silver platter one too many times.

“I’m not the one who can’t stop lying here, pretending to be some righteous person that, in case it ain't clear, you’re not,” Sierra eventually replied. “This is on you, Harper. Don’t act like this was some grand betrayal. I just set the record straight.”

Each word was like a drop of ice on Harper’s skin. Set the record straight? Of course, Sierra would think she was doing Haven and her a favour by blowing up their lives.

There was a long silence between them, the kind that usually followed one of their petty arguments. Harper could almost picture Sierra on the other end of the line, arms crossed, completely unfazed, waiting for her little sister to tire herself out. It was the same dance they had always done—Sierra pushing buttons, Harper reacting, until one of them walked away.

But this time, Harper didn’t want to walk away. Not like she had when Sierra had discovered what she was. Not like she had when Haven had first met her eldest sister.

_{“A mission…”} Harper started, her voice barely above a whisper, like the thought had slipped out before she could catch it. She turned the word over in her mind, chewing on it, her frustration shifting into something greater, more focused.

“But what did Amma’s mission have to do with you?”

What aren’t you telling me?

“You were there, on the balcony, when that thing mentioned it,” Harper pressed, her voice hardening as the puzzle pieces started to align, though she didn’t fully know the shape of the picture yet. The only thing she was sure of was one thing: Sierra was not innocent in this. “He looked at you. So don’t even bother to act like you weren’t part of whatever the hell Amma was doing before coming here.”

Sierra’s response was maddeningly calm, as if Harper’s new accusations barely ruffled her. “I didn’t know about her ‘mission,’ Harper. Whatever Amma was wrapped up in, I wasn’t involved. I stayed out of that mess.” The words slid from her mouth so smoothly that Harper could almost believe her. Except not quite.

“Right. You didn’t know about her mission,” Harper repeated, a slight mocking lilt in her tone. She reached down, fumbling for her water bottle on the desk, her fingers brushing over the cold surface. “But you knew who Amma was.”

It wasn’t a question. Harper let the words hang there, a quiet dare for Sierra to correct her. And sure enough, there was something different—a lull, just a fraction too long.

Sierra’s silence, this time, said more than her words ever could.

“I see,” Harper said slowly, leaning into the moment. She opened the water bottle, taking a long sip both to clear the itch in her throat and to give her time to really think this over. “So you knew Amma. That’s why it looked at you. And you’re telling me you had no clue what she was doing?”

“She was supposed to kill me.”

….

Harper froze, her mind tripping over the admission. The casual drop of a bomb she might have guessed but genuinely hadn’t seen coming.

“I—what?” she stammered, her voice cracking as she grasped for clarity. Almost helplessly, she searched for any possible contradictions and, finding only one, pointed it out. “But she went after me. Not you.” That didn’t line up with Sierra’s story, did it? Amma had gone for her, nearly killed her—so how was Sierra the target?

There was a deep, weary sigh on the other end of the line before an answer came through.

“Because she’d promised me that she would continue to look after you. She targeted you because-”

“Because you figured I wouldn’t question it?” Harper interrupted, the words tart and biting as they escaped her lips, her own shock fueling an uncharacteristic outburst.

There was a brief pause, then Sierra’s voice softened, losing its usual edge. “Because she knew how much you meant to me. The creature…it’s like it twisted something inside her.”

“You mean Tiamat?”

Sierra exhaled sharply through the phone. “I don’t know exactly. Whatever it was, it wasn’t fully her anymore. She wouldn’t have attacked you otherwise.” There was a rawness to her voice now, an emotion Harper hadn’t expected—an almost reluctant tenderness. “I’d…told her not to let the world turn her into what it wanted her to be. She didn’t deserve to go like that….”

Her thoughts spun, each one snagging on the image of Amma’s claws around her throat, the recall tightening like a noose. It suffocated any clarity she tried to find in Sierra’s explanations, squeezing until her head felt like it would explode. Harper pressed her fingers to her temples, allowing her body to sink into the mattress of her bed in abnegation.

“I just… I don’t understand,” Harper muttered, her voice low and almost lost, more to herself than to Sierra.

“I never wanted you involved,” Sierra's voice broke through, almost apologetic. “You were supposed to be safe. I kept you out of it for a reason.” For a moment, the line went quiet, and Harper thought that might be the end of it—that Sierra had nothing else to offer.

But then came the inevitable twist. “Or at least I tried to keep you out of most of it.”

Most of it. Something unsettled stirred in Harper’s chest.

Most of it.

“Because I needed you.”

“I mean, it doesn’t matter anymore because...she’s gone. Amma’s gone. And you wouldn’t believe me even if I told you.”

“Try me,” Harper responded immediately, her voice steady but her heart pounding.

Sierra’s voice cracked—a rare crack, but it was there.

“It’s possible that Mom got herself tied up with dangerous people, Harper. I don’t know if it was on purpose or not but…they’re people I can’t protect you from. I could barely protect myself. Amma did that…and she paid the price for it.”

Dangerous people? Harper repeated in her head, the image those words brought up appearing strange to her. The idea that her mother—their mother—could have been involved in anything nefarious simply didn’t match the woman she remembered, the woman who read them bedtime stories and filled the house with easy laughter. Her mind raced, trying to reconcile the warmth of those memories with the cold reality Sierra was laying bare. Part of her didn’t want to believe it, didn’t want to see her parents as anything but victims.

Why had she ever read that message back then?

“And these people…” Harper said after some time, clearing her throat from the discomfort that had risen. “They’re connected to the Foundation in some way?”

Sierra’s response was so muted that Harper almost didn’t catch it.

_{“Something like that…”}

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That hesitation—just enough to let Harper know there was more to the story. More secrets. Her sister was still hiding things from her, still trying to shield her from the full truth of whatever this situation was.

But Harper wasn’t a child anymore, wasn’t someone who needed so much cosseting and coddling.

And maybe her big sister needed reminding of that.

^{_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

_{Location: The Beach - Dundas Islands, Pacific Ocean}

Human #5.015: In No Man's Land

^{_{_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}}

_{Interaction(s): *Insert Everyone gif here* except for the people who aren't there and who are not Haven duhhhhh}

Previously: Where the Fire Burns

“I'm... going to join the Foundation.”

Harper inhaled deeply, the slightly cold air stinging her throat, allowing the question she wanted to ask sit inside her: Why? It wasn’t anger that simmered beneath her skin, but it wasn’t understanding either. The feeling was closer to a dull, persistent pain, like the memory of a phantom limb reminding her of something she'd lost but couldn't pinpoint. Choosing the Foundation felt like stepping willingly into the belly of the beast, a place that had potentially already taken so much from her—maybe even everything.

But when have you ever let the prospect of danger decide anything for you?

Leaning back, Harper's fingers sank into the cool sand as she absentmindedly traced circles and lines. Lorcán was speaking now, mentioning his plans to head to Crestwood Hollow. It sounded like the kind of place where people went to disappear for a while, surrounded by family, where they could pretend things were normal until it was safe to come out again.

Practical. Sensible. Harper could almost admire the simplicity of it.

If only things could be that easy for her, as well.

But not everyone had the luxury of choice. Harper knew that all too well. As the two newcomers introduced themselves, however, her hand stilled in the sand, the patterns she’d been drawing unknowingly vanishing under her fingers.

Scylla Fluerane. Stephen Anderson. House Gulo. The words were like pebbles thrown into still water, ripples of unease spreading through her chest.

Amma’s house.That was the first thing that flickered through her mind, a fleeting connection that hit her with more weight than she expected.

The second thought was heavier, darker. What was this Scylla talking about? Harper tried to focus, but she couldn’t see them, couldn’t see anything. Whatever they had, whatever they were handing over to whomever, she had no way of knowing. The frustration of her blindness rose again, suffocating her thoughts as her mind spiralled through the stages of grief like a carousel-

Denial: My vision will come back, just like before. No worries….

Anger:: Why is this even happening to me? Haven’t I been through enough already?

Bargaining: Maybe if I figure out what’s causing this, I can reverse it. If I can just get control of my powers again….

Depression: What if I’m stuck like this forever? I can’t live like this….

Acceptance: None. Harper found herself stuck on the previous horse, going round and round in a dizzying circle of melancholy.

Her finger resumed its tracing, this time slower, more sombre. Now that she thought it over, she hadn’t sketched since the Trials—hadn’t even felt the desire to. The realization hit her like a punch, and she pressed her fingertip harder into the sand, carving deeper lines as if that simple action could pull her back to the version of herself she used to know. The girl who found solace in drawing. Who could see. Now, that person felt like a distant memory, slipping further away with every grain of sand that scattered under her touch.

But is that who you even want to be anymore?

Harper bit down on her lip, tuning everything out, the murmurs around her continuing as voices rose and fell like waves. It wasn’t until Rory’s voice, or more so his rant, broke through that Harper found herself being pulled back into the present like a slap.

“...How you could have possibly chosen the janitor over your own team? Or if you thought leading us to where Haven was kidnapped would make up for nearly getting her killed the first time. If you thought playing the hero then would make up for what Harper, Gil, and Calliope went through. Or if you even fucking cared.”

She didn’t need to see who he was directing his fury at to know who it was.

Katja. Sunny, carefree Katja—someone she’d trusted, someone she’d shared moments of laughter and care with, someone she thought had her back—had betrayed them all in the worst possible way. Had betrayed her. It was so unbelievable, so absurd, that for a moment, Harper almost wanted to laugh. For how could it be true? To have not just one but two people betray her, lie to her face, about any true intention they may or may not have had.

“The only justice, Kruger, is that you're alone. Hyperion and his children are dead and gone. There's no more Pacific Royal, no more Blackjack. You've burned everything to the ground. No one loves you.”

“Not even Amma.”

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The name. It was the name that did it. It was like Harper’s mind had decided that if it couldn’t get to acceptance, it might as well go back. Past bargaining and straight to what she’d known best all those years ago.

Anger.

She snapped her head in Rory’s direction, her jaw clenching so tightly that it hurt.

“Shut the fuck up Tyler,” she hissed. “You don’t get to speak for her just because you’re hurt. You don’t get to throw Amma’s name around like you know what she felt.”

Her voice trembled, not from fear, but from the sheer pathos she was barely keeping in check. Amma was gone—taken from them, twisted by forces none of them could fully understand—and hearing her name used like a weapon, used to hurt, was more than Harper could stand. She wasn’t sure which it was exactly. If it was the anger, the guilt, or the pain of her own helplessness that made her voice shake.

But once she started, she couldn’t stop. Not until she made one more thing clear.

“I am not defending you,” she said to Katja, wherever the hell Harper thought she stood in her complete darkness, before turning back to Rory. “But you don’t get to say no one loved her. And you sure as hell don’t get to act like she didn’t care.” At this, Harper had to suppress the recall of an embrace, a shudder passing through her as she felt that sensation akin to the first rays of dawn piercing through the early morning mist. A voice whispering that everything was going to be okay.

And they were. Things had gotten worse before they had gotten better, sure. But they had been okay as she’d said, at least for a while.

Harper swallowed hard, her final words escaping in a hoarse, bitter sigh.

“Don’t talk about the dead like you fucking know.”

”Stop!” Cleo yelled out then, forgetting her proximity to Manny as the powderkeg of emotions around her had fully seeped in, turning her aura a dark shade of pale. ”Why would any villain need to send their swords to cut us down? We do it to each other.” Cleo dug her fingers either side of her head into her temples, painfully pressing back against the migraine that lunged forward. ”Splintered, broken, separated.”

Pressing her fingers harder into her temples, Cleo felt the migraine pounding at her skull, as though her very blood pulsed with the ache of it. Sundered, the word spilled from her lips like a curse, a breathless stammer.

“What good is it to hate each other now?” she asked; her voice hollow and cold. Unlike her. Unlike Cleo. Warmth all but gone. She stared around at the eyes that looked back. “You create the Hell that chews you up.”

Cleo took a breath, closing her eyes again until finally, something pushed through the darkness that burnt her up from the inside, the thought of her brother. Enough for her to get her senses, enough for her to sway away from the gravitational pull that was what remained of Blackjack and Eclipse.

”I don’t... I’m sorry… She said, confused and scrambling for her belongings before pushing away across the sand, her skin pulsing with the faint glow that began evaporating away.

Realms of Sun & Shadow

_{Interactions/Mentions: @c3p-0h Tia}

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Orion watched silently as Tia retrieved her notebook, her fingers trembling slightly from the cold. There was something about the way she moved, a subtle grace that reminded him of a still lake—calm on the surface but with depths he couldn’t quite see. He waited, sensing there was more on her mind, something she hadn’t yet voiced. But when the book and pencil slipped from her grasp, sinking into the snow, his instincts kicked in. He almost stepped forward, but then he noticed the shift in her—how her gaze turned distant, unfocused, as if she were no longer standing there with him.

His breath caught as he observed her. The way her body stilled, how her breathing seemed to stop—it was more than a mere distraction. He hadn’t seen Tia like this before, lost in an apparent vision, but it left him feeling unsettled. His hand hovered near her shoulder, an unspoken offer of support, but he didn’t touch her. There was an aura of fragility around her at this moment, and he didn’t want to disrupt whatever had gripped her mind. When she finally came back, her breath ragged and her eyes wet with unshed tears, Orion felt a tightness in his chest. Something had changed.

“Is there another… priestess? Here?” Tia's voice, when she spoke, was frail and shaky, which only deepened his concern for her. Orion’s gaze followed hers toward the town, though nothing seemed amiss to his sharp eyes. Still, he trusted her instincts.

“If there is, I don’t know of her,” he replied. Whatever had just passed through Tia’s mind, it wasn’t random, and, perhaps, there truly was another priestess here that she needed to see.

“I can make inquiries… if it would give you peace of mind.”

Commencement: A Foundation Institute RP

^{Two days after the Senior Dance... Infirmary, PRCU}

Harper's heart stopped for a moment, the delicate sound of Haven’s voice slipping into the silence like a quiet confession. She didn’t move, didn’t breathe, as if any sudden shift might break the fragile thread of the moment. Her arms tensed ever so slightly around Haven, though she kept her face still. Her eyes stayed fixed on the far wall she knew to be in front of her, as if the full load of Haven's revelation hadn’t just landed in the room like a physical thing that she wouldn’t be able to see clearly even if she tried.

But she felt it just the same, and along with it came one burning question: How? How had Haven figured it out? Harper had barely allowed herself to process the truth since discovering it, let alone expected Haven to come to the same conclusion through some unknown means.

So…how had she done it?

For a fleeting, disorienting second, Harper considered the impossible—wondered if Haven had sensed it, as if some invisible bond had suddenly snapped into place between them. Harper had always felt an odd pull toward the girl wrapped in her arms, an instinctive protectiveness that ran deeper than she had ever wanted to admit. It was easier to chalk it up to their time together at PRCU that first year, to the sense of familiarity that had grown over months of being on the same team, in the same house—mere coincidences. But now, in the wake of Haven’s whispered admission, the truth clawed its way to the surface, refusing to be ignored any longer.

Haven had his eyes, without the secrets Harper’s father had hidden behind their hazel depths. She had the wings too, but without the fears surrounding them that Harper had carried alone for so long (Or so she’d thought, at least).

Harper swallowed against the dryness in her throat, the ache from her bruises flaring up again as if to remind her of all the ways she’d failed to speak when it mattered and in the right way. The admission sat there between them, uninhibited and real, yet she felt a strange, almost guilty sense of relief at not being the one to tear Haven’s world apart. A selfish part of her—one she despised—was almost glad it hadn’t been her voice to deliver the truth. Because what would she have said? How could she have looked into Haven’s eyes and told her that the one family she could have had was hers?

It would have been worse coming from me.

She tightened her hold around Haven, her hand smoothing over her sister’s back in a slow, tentative rhythm. _{“I didn’t want… I didn’t want to hurt you.”} Her fingers curled against the fabric of Haven’s shirt, and she took another breath, forcing herself to loosen her grip. _{“I just wanted to protect you.”}

“I know… I’m not mad.”

Maybe she’d been angry with Harper before for keeping it a secret. Angry with her for how Haven had to find out from Sierra, with her sharp tongue and cruel games, instead of gently being given the news. Angry because she wondered how long Harper knew it, and if she was ever going to tell her if Sierra hadn’t interfered.

“Sierra told me at the dance… before-” She choked on the lump in her throat, taking a shaky and pitiful breath to keep herself from going into another fit of sobs.

The motions of Harper’s hand against her back was the reason why she wasn’t mad. The loving touch was both comforting and a painful reminder that her wings were gone. So did that anger really matter, now? Did anything really matter anymore?

“I-I’m mad at him. For all of it. How could he turn his back on my mom like that? Did he even know? I just don’t understand.” Because it did matter. All of it. And it hurt. It hurt as much as losing her wings.

Harper wasn’t surprised—not really. The moment Haven said Sierra’s name, something inside her clicked into place, like the final piece of a puzzle she hadn’t wanted to solve. Of course, it had been Sierra. Her sister had always known how to take control, how to weave herself into situations in ways that left others off-balance. It was Sierra’s nature to stir the pot, especially when it meant getting under Harper’s skin, whether she deserved whatever came to her or not.

But maybe, deep down, Harper had known that this would happen, that the truth would come out, not from her lips but through Sierra's twisted delivery. She hadn’t tried very hard to hide it, had she? Leaving the journal where anyone could find it if they looked... had that been intentional on her part? She wasn’t sure anymore. And it wasn’t what mattered right now, anyway.

_{“I think… Dad did want to take you,”} Harper murmured, her voice fragile, as if she was trying to assemble pieces of a story that had never quite fit together. _{“But… you weren’t there anymore.”}

Back then, she’d thought the only thing that had been left behind was a stuffed rabbit, worn and loved. But that hadn’t been all. She’d been wrong—so wrong.

_{“As for your mother…I don’t know. I really don’t know.”} If there was anything more to learn about Haven’s mother, Sierra might know, Harper figured. The brunette, however, had stopped herself from reading further, too afraid of what she'd find, unwilling to face more truths once her worst suspicions had been confirmed.

_{“He’d drawn you a few times, you know?”} Harper’s lips curled into a small, sad smile as she rested her chin against Haven’s hair. She shook her head, the faintest trace of disbelief tugging at her. _{“I thought, for the longest time, it was me in those sketches…but it was you.”}

A subtle line etched itself between Haven’s brows as she listened. Somehow the admission comforted her, easing some of the weight she felt on her chest. He’d looked for her even if she was a child lost to the system. He’d drawn her, either by visiting one of the orphanages she’d been in or by searching for photos of her. She’d been on his mind. Somehow watching over her even if he’d been too late or too scared to take her into his arms.

“What was he like?”

Harper felt a lump form in her throat at Haven’s inquiry. What was he like? How could she begin to answer that, when even her own understanding of their father was messy, wrapped in layers of conflicting emotions? She hesitated, her hand pausing mid-motion on Haven’s back. Memories stirred, uninvited and tangled—his voice, always so stern; his hands, strong yet surprisingly warm when he ruffled her hair and called her that pet name she hadn’t heard in years. He had been so many things to her—strict, focused, determined—but more than anything, he'd been hers. And perhaps, with the right words, he could be Haven’s as well now, despite no longer being here.

So, Harper began with what she knew for certain. That their father had been complicated, a quiet person, much like herself, but not in a gentle way. It was more like he was always thinking, always somewhere else. Yet, despite that, there were moments-glimpses-where he was more than just the soldier. That he wasn’t perfect as she’d once naively believed as a child. That he’d made…mistakes. Sometimes big ones. But he always tried, in his own way, to show how much he loved them, his family, including Haven. She wanted to believe that the man who had drawn Haven in his quiet moments had loved her, even if he'd never been able to show it in the way she deserved.

_{"He used to sketch a lot when we were younger,”} Harper said after a pause. _{"It was how he... disconnected, I think. From everything. From us, from his work."} She shook her head again, her fingers tracing idle patterns on Haven’s back. _{“It was one of those drawings that made me realize who you were, actually. Along with…something he may have left behind as an apology…maybe."}

Harper’s heart thudded in her chest as she stopped her movements, her fingers stilling again. The next words slipped out even softer, almost tentative.

_{“Would you…. like to have it? That drawing?”}

There was a moment of silence as Haven took a breath. She considered the person Harper had described to her. How Harper believed that he’d done things out of love for Haven despite the distance. She wasn’t sure if she would call it love, herself, but it was nice to imagine a world in which their father had truly felt that way.

She nodded against Harper’s shoulder as an answer. She’d felt Harper’s hesitation as the featherlight strokes along her back halted. Strange, how she wished that the gentle ministrations hadn’t stopped. She heard the way her sister’s heart thumped behind her, and it was obvious that Harper was reluctant to let even a small piece of her father go. It meant a lot to Haven that she even offered it. As if Harper was allowing Haven to have a piece of her own heart with it. Her hand squeezed Harper’s arm where she still held onto it as a silent thank you.

Harper felt the small squeeze on her arm, and it almost broke her. The simple gesture held so much weight, a silent thank you that dug at the edges of her composure. She wanted to give more, offer Haven the comfort she needed, but that wasn’t something Harper was always good at. She’d been trained to be tough, to hold things back, to fix things from a distance. Yet, now, the next words she had to say stuck in her throat, frightening but necessary.

_{“Haven…”} Harper’s voice came out lighter than she intended, cautious. She hesitated, chewing over the right words, wondering how to say this without making everything worse. _{“I need you to promise me something.”} The rhythmic motion of her hand against Haven’s back resumed, but this time slower, more deliberate. She felt Haven stir a little, a signal of attention, but also of apprehension.

_{“Don’t freak out, okay?”} Harper’s voice trembled ever so slightly, despite her best effort to stay composed. Leaning back a little, she felt her body stiffen, preparing for whatever was about to happen.

_{“My eyes… they’re a bit different now,”} she explained, her voice low but calm. She didn’t go into details, didn’t have to. The truth was right there, staring back at Haven—her eyes, once vibrant, now completely white. They looked as though they had been washed clean, like a fog had rolled in and stolen all the colour from her irises, leaving nothing but an empty canvas behind. No pupils, no irises—just an uncanny, ghostlike void.

Shame crept in, uninvited and all-consuming. She hated this part, the way people looked at her like she was broken. Like a part of her was missing. And though Haven, of all people, could probably understand where she was coming from, it didn’t make it any easier.

It had never been easy. Not during the long, lonely years when she’d been stuck with this... this blindness that came and went without warning, making her feel powerless and out of control.

Her chest tightened, a familiar knot forming there. She could feel the moment pulling her down, threatening to overwhelm her. Gripping the walking cane she had set beside Haven’s bed earlier, Harper averted her gaze. _{“I’ll get you the sketch later,”} she muttered, the excuse weak, even to her own ears. Still, she couldn’t stay, not now.

Before Haven could respond, Harper pressed the cane against the floor, the soft thud giving her something solid to focus on as she moved. Each step widened the distance between them, as if she were physically severing the fragile connection they had only just begun to rebuild.

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_{Location: The Beach - Dundas Islands, Pacific Ocean}

Human #5.006: Where the Fire Burns

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_{Interaction(s): *Insert Everyone gif here*}

Previously: Alone & Mourning Dove

Harper sat cross-legged in the sand, her fingers brushing against the gritty grains, feeling their coolness slip through her hands. She couldn’t see the fire, but its warmth kissed her skin, offering a faint comfort amid the cold that clung to her insides and outsides, despite the gray turtleneck tunic she’d donned herself to hide the last remnants of bruises on her neck. The fire crackled softly, its sound constant against the backdrop of shifting feet and stifled sobs from the others. Her eyes, now ghostly white, blank and unseeing, faced downward. She’d tied a piece of torn cloth from her old hoodie around them earlier, not so much to hide her blindness but to avoid the pity in anyone’s eyes—the looks she couldn’t stand.

At least she was alive, wasn’t she? Pity was best reserved for the ones that hadn’t made it.

Or perhaps jealousy?

It had been a week since Haven’s wings had been torn out, a week since their lives had changed in ways none of them could comprehend. The Chernobog was gone, swallowed by the abyss it had come from, but so were Amma, Calliope, and everything that had made the team- her family- feel whole. Every attempt to wrap her mind around what had happened felt like pushing through dense gloom; nothing became clearer. The absence of sight, both literal and emotional, left her feeling empty in the worst possible way. The void inside her was vast, dark, and indifferent, just like her eyes—devoid of hope, devoid of peace.

She dug her palms into her thighs, willing herself to stay in the moment, but her thoughts rebelled, dragging her back to the past as they so often did. The crack of bone and Haven’s scream pierced through her again, the scent of her blood, Gil’s blood, Luce’s blood-so much blood- thick in the space around her. She’d stood frozen, powerless, like a spectator in her own life, her hands useless at her sides. Useless. Blind now in every sense of the word, as though the universe had stripped away every ounce of control she thought she had, leaving her with nothing but guilt and the haunting weight of her failures.

Her fingers twitched involuntarily, her body aching to reach out, to feel something real, something solid. But she didn’t. The words she might’ve said were trapped somewhere deep inside her, buried beneath the fear and anxiety. How could she admit that she was terrified? That she had no idea what came next, or that without her vision, without the clarity it had always provided, she felt like a ghost herself, just drifting?

She couldn’t let them see how lost she was.

Go home or go to the Institute. That was the choice they all had to make. Simple, on the surface, but for Harper, it felt like being asked to pick between two traps. She didn’t have a home anymore, not really. She’d turned her back on them both, one to avoid being a burden, the other because it had become something unrecognizable—changed without her even noticing.
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_{“A mission…”}

_{“But what did Amma’s mission have to do with you?”}

As for the Institute? That was a blind leap into the unknown, full of uncertainties and doubt. What if her sight never came back? What if she couldn’t protect anyone, not even herself? How was she supposed to trust a power that failed her when it mattered most, that flickered on and off like a broken lightbulb?

She bit down hard on her lower lip, tasting a hint of copper as she inhaled the salty sea breeze, letting it cool her heated nerves. There wasn’t a good option, she knew that. But she couldn’t sit here forever, paralyzed by indecision, by fear.

Decision. The word echoed like a drumbeat in her mind. Harper needed to decide. Slowly, she lifted her head, her blank, shrouded eyes staring into the empty space before her. She didn’t need her sight to know they were all waiting—waiting for someone to speak, waiting for someone to lead. And maybe, just maybe, that person was supposed to be her. She was still Rory’s deputy, after all?

Harper scoffed under her breath, the sound barely audible, as she caught the tail end of Immanuel’s words: “I think… I think I miss my home.”

Home. The word sounded so distant, so unreachable. It wasn’t just a place they were mourning—it was the life they once knew, the sense of belonging they thought they had. Harper’s chest tightened. She had no home to go back to, no certainty waiting for her beyond the horizon of this decision. And yet, Immanuel had a point. What they needed right now wasn’t just a destination—it was an anchor. Something—someone—to remind them who they were and who they could still be, despite everything. Maybe that was the only thing holding them together now: scattered pieces of their past selves, searching for a reason to keep fighting, bound by one simple truth.

None of them wanted to face it alone.

Harper’s lips parted, her voice barely cutting through the crackling of the fire, raspy and unsure.“This was…is my home…” she began, the words feeling strange in her mouth. She hesitated, feeling the shift as some eyes turned to her. “It’s the only one I’ve known since my parents died. And I... I don’t think I’m ready to let that go.”

A long pause followed, the tension ever present in the air as the fire popped and hissed in the background. Her heartbeat thudded in her ears, but she pushed through, letting whatever vulnerability she had left bleed into her voice.

“Maybe I don’t know where I’m going next, but whatever that looks like…I don’t want to do it alone. I don’t want to lose my home.”

She lowered her head after this was said, her voice trailing off, leaving the space open for someone else to step in, whether they agreed with her or not.

Umbra: The Abyssal Connection

A

_{Interactions: Le Frey-@Estylwen}

---

A's heart lurched painfully in her chest as Val crumpled to the ground, his body wracked with violent coughs that spattered blood across the dusty floor. She lunged forward, her legs moving of their own accord as panic seized her mind. By the time he regained consciousness, fumbling for a cigarette with trembling fingers and trying to act as if nothing had happened, her emotions had twisted into a confusing knot of relief and bewilderment. What in the world had just occurred? How could he brush off such a terrifying episode so casually?

“See, told you the big guy would be up for it,” Val rasped, his voice rough and strained. He winced, a flicker of pain crossing his face as he added, “Dust me though, that stung a bit.”

A watched him closely, her brow furrowed with concern as she noted the tight lines around his eyes and the way his shoulders tensed with each breath. Yet, before she could inquire about it, a hesitant voice called out, “Hello? Is anyone there?”. A’s own instincts kicked in, and she moved to stand beside VV, her eyes scanning the dimly lit shelter.

A watched as VV stepped forward to meet the source of the voice, the same look of confusion back on her face after she stated they knew this new person.

They didn’t. Or, at least, A didn’t recognize her. What was VV up to?

Despite her misgivings, A made a split-second decision to trust her teammate, silently vowing to play along with whatever plan was unfolding.

---

The Next Morning...

A’s eyes snapped open at the sudden, sharp pressure against her ribs, her entire body tensing before her brain even caught up. She barely had time to process the low, unfamiliar voice before her gaze locked onto the man towering over her, the barrel of a rifle pointed directly at her chest. Her instincts immediately screamed at her to fight, to lash out and disarm him, but the hard press of the weapon against her ribs held her still. Now wasn’t the time to act recklessly. Not again. They’d already lost too much.

Her hands rose slowly, trying to convey submission without giving in to the terror that clawed at her insides. She kept her gaze fixed on the man’s face, or what she could see of it at least.

He doesn’t know who you are. That was her one edge, the only card she could possibly play right now. If he had any idea what she could do, this wouldn’t be happening like this. Her eyes flicked to the side, searching for a sign—any sign—that VV was awake, that her partner had noticed the threat in here with them both.

But there was only the sound of her light snoring.

She could feel the weight of the decision she needed to make pressing down on her then—act too soon, and VV would be caught off guard; wait too long, and they’d lose their chance to turn this around. Helplessness. The feeling churned in her gut, and she hated it. But without more information, any move she made could cost them both their lives. Her voice, when it came, was cold and calm.

“Who are you?”

Realms of Sun & Shadow

_{Interactions: Gadez-@Dezuel, Sya-@PrinceAlexus}

---

The awkward curtsey drew a soft chuckle from Elara, who appreciated the gesture, knowing how much effort it likely took for Sya to maintain grace with her new limb. As the snake woman gestured toward the spread of baked goods, the silver-haired woman could barely contain the warmth within her—there was something deeply comforting about being surrounded by the scent of fresh baking. It brought back fond memories of her mother’s kitchen, of stolen moments as a child sneaking warm cookies off the counter before they’d cooled. Though these treats were different, with their unusual shapes and unfamiliar ingredients, the sense of home was greatly felt.

Stepping closer, Elara let her curiosity guide her as she took in the vibrant array laid before her. She gently picked up one of the Eye of Beholder cookies, admiring its texture and the subtle gleam of sugar on top. She hesitated, but the scent was too inviting, and she took a slow, deliberate bite, savouring the mix of flavours that exploded on her tongue.

Not bad. Not bad at all.

As for the offered drink, Elara smiled softly, shaking her head. “Perhaps a little later?” she suggested, the thought of drinking not something she found herself drawn to often. The gesture was kind, but alcohol wasn’t usually her comfort. Books were. Still, she didn’t want to refuse Sya outright. “I’ll start with the cookies and work my way up,” she added with a light laugh, hoping to keep the mood warm without offending her host.

Seeing that Sya had moved to take care of someone else, Elara gladly turned away, fully intending to enjoy the rest of her snack and perhaps sample a few more of the inn’s offerings. But her desire was cut short when a man approached, his movements polite as he bowed in greeting. Elara blinked, her brow lifting in mild curiosity. She dipped her head in return, acknowledging the unfamiliar figure. His suggestion of a puppet theatre for the children seemed… surprisingly thoughtful, an idea that caught her off guard. It was the kind of simple kindness that softened her usual reserve, though she said nothing aloud, instead turning her attention back to the half-eaten cookie in her hand. She allowed herself to savour the last of her treat as she glanced around for something more to indulge in.

Commencement: A Foundation Institute RP

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_{Location: The Augmented Reality Center - Pacific Royal Campus}

Dance Monkey #4.088: Alone

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_{Interaction(s): Haven @Skai}

Previously: In the Eye of the Beast

Harper's breath rasped in uneven, shallow gasps as she slammed into the blood-soaked floor, her body flung like a lifeless doll by the force of Amma’s blow. Every ounce of air she had left in her lungs was knocked out of her, leaving a terrible, hollow ache in its place. Her throat burned, raw and bruised, each attempt to draw in oxygen feeling like shards of glass scraping down her windpipe. She coughed weakly, her hand flying instinctively to her neck as if she could massage away the pain,calm the frantic drumming of her pulse that pounded like war drums beneath her skin. But the panic was there, clawing at the edges of her mind, and no amount of soothing could quiet its relentless beat.

Everything around her blurred, reality dissolving into distorted shapes and muffled noises, like sinking into a cold, crushing abyss where the light could no longer reach. Amma’s screech tore through the fog, sharp and visceral, reverberating in her skull until her teeth ached from the intensity of it. The brunette’s vision wavered, catching the sight of dark, scarlet tendrils unfurling from Amma’s chest like something twisted and ancient, summoned from a place where nightmares were born. The very air around her thickened, heavy with the other girl’s anguish, carrying the scent of death, decay, and something far worse—a sense of hopelessness that suffocated everything in its path. Harper gagged on it, bile rising in her throat as her body trembled against the floor, too weak to move, too dazed to think clearly.

The phantom touch of Amma’s fingers still lingered on her skin. The memory of that crushing pressure, of being so close to the end, gripped her like a vice. Harper couldn't shake the feeling that oblivion had almost claimed her, that she’d been seconds away from slipping into nothingness. She felt like she was drowning in it now, her mind still trapped in the terror of those moments, unable to claw her way out. Her body shook violently, the adrenaline fading only to leave behind the sickening, unshakable truth that she had come terrifyingly close to death.

She blinked against the tears that stung her eyes, her vision swimming as she focused on Amma once more. Her teammate—her friend?—had collapsed in on herself, clawing at her own skin as if she could tear away the madness that had consumed her. The rawness of it, the rage, the torment—it clung to Amma like a dark shroud, suffocating her, pulling her under with every agonized scream. Harper wanted to speak, to say something, to reach through the darkness and pull Amma back, but her throat was too raw, her voice too broken, and her mind too fractured.

And beneath all that desire, that fierce need to help, was a single thought that chilled Harper to the bone: she didn’t want to die.

Her fingers curled into the blood-soaked ground, muscles shaking from the effort of just staying conscious. She couldn’t stand yet, not when her lungs felt like they were still burning from the inside out, every breath a shallow gasp. But even through her pain, Harper’s eyes caught movement, something small and desperate —Haven.

The sight of her sister, drenched in blood, with wings weighed down by the nightmare they had been dragged into, sent a surge of panic through Harper’s chest. Her vision flickered, her enhanced sight flashing in and out, amplifying every detail—the tremor of Haven’s hands, the slump of her shoulders, the way her feathers sagged under the load of her own despair.

Harper’s heart lurched, fear stabbing through her as she watched Haven move toward the towering creature, her every step filled with a false bravery that Harper could see through in an instant. She knew that look, knew what Haven was feeling—the crushing hopelessness, the urge to end the nightmare, even at the cost of herself. But it was more than that.

Beneath the brave facade, Haven was afraid. She was terrified, and that fear pierced through Harper’s own pain, spurring her forward even when her body screamed at her to stop.

Harper gritted her teeth, forcing herself to push up from the ground, her muscles quivering as pain radiated through every fibre of her being. Each breath was a fresh wave of agony, the bruises on her throat flaring with sharp, fiery pulses, but she couldn't let that stop her. She wouldn’t stop—no, she couldn’t. Her body betrayed her with every shaky step forward, her hand trembling as she stretched it out toward Haven, desperate to steady herself, desperate to reach her sister. She couldn’t let Haven do this—couldn’t watch her walk into destruction the way so many others had.

It couldn’t be like them.

The memories crashed over her, relentless and suffocating, the faces of those she’d lost flashing before her eyes, their absence still a raw wound she hadn’t allowed to heal.

She wasn’t sure she could survive it again. She would rather die herself.

She would rather die.

_{“L-Little Dove,”} her voice came out in a broken rasp, barely more than a breath. It hurt to speak, her throat burning with each syllable, but she needed to reach Haven. She needed her to hear, to know she wasn’t alone.

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I don't want to be alone.

Commencement: A Foundation Institute RP

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_{Location: The Augmented Reality Center - Pacific Royal Campus}

Dance Monkey #4.083: In the Eye of the Beast

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_{Interaction(s): Amma @Rockette, Cass @Lord Wraith}

Previously: A Cat and Bird Game & The Catbird Seat

Harper's grip on Cass’s arm had been automatic, a reflex pulled from something unspoken between them since she’d slipped into that red dress—the one that now felt too big, too bold for her. The second his arm tore free, her breath snagged, the raw charge rolling off him hitting her like a live wire—dangerous, electric, and wild. For a heartbeat, she was stuck there, eyes locked on his coiled frame as he spun, fists up, ready to throw punches she knew weren’t meant for her. But it didn’t matter. The static still buzzed under her skin, a reminder of the strange boy’s earlier words: she was always on edge, always bracing for the next hit, whether it came or not.

That was how she lived—armour up, senses hawklike, waiting for the next threat, real or imagined. It had always worked, kept her safe, but now, with Cass standing before her like this, it all felt painfully inadequate. She should’ve seen this coming, should’ve read the signs clearer, but his anger caught her just the same. His rage wasn’t about her, but now she was trapped in the storm of it, drowning in its eye as he struggled to rein himself back in. She hadn’t meant to provoke him, hadn’t wanted to be part of this...but here she was, right in the center of his unravelling.

Just like that stranger had warned her she might be.

When his fists unclenched and the heat of his power faded, so did the thrum in her chest. Her eyes dropped to the jacket in her hands, a quick tug pulling it from her grasp as Cass reclaimed it, his only words being a clear-cut warning. He was pulling away, retreating behind those thick walls she’d seen him put up before- when they’d talked in the infirmary, when she’d tried to let him know she was there for him with whatever was going on with Lorcán. The temptation to break through those walls now, to say something that would reach him, was overwhelming.

But this time… she couldn’t even try.

She was simply too exhausted. The constant push and pull of trying to be everything for everyone was draining her dry. Why had she let herself become so wrapped up in it? Trying to be needed, to be useful—what had it even amounted to? When had she let herself become this pathetic?

“I didn’t mean to…” The words came out hoarse, barely scraping past the lump in her throat. She didn’t know what else to say, didn’t have the strength to force out an apology that didn’t feel right. The sound appeared to echo—thud—loud and jarring, but it wasn’t from her she realized then.

Cass went still, his eyes snapping upward as the noise repeated, louder this time. Harper’s gaze followed his, a fresh wave of tension curling through her spine, thick and suffocating. Whatever had been simmering between them vanished, replaced by something far worse. This time, the threat wasn’t an emotion or a misunderstanding. This time, it was real.

Fear. Cold and undeniable.

The air in the room shifted just before a bone-chilling roar reverberated through the building. The floor trembled under Harper’s feet, as though the very structure of the A.R.C. was buckling under the weight of something monstrous. Her breath skipped as the ceiling gave way, shrapnel raining down around her, scattering across the dance floor. Chaos erupted. A massive, winged creature descended into the room, its leathery wings casting shadows over the panicked crowd. Harper’s eyes widened, her pulse hammering in her ears as she took in its horned brow, razor-sharp claws, and the predatory way it moved despite its immense size.

The temperature dropped in an instant, frost crawling up the walls, forming an icy barrier that sealed everyone inside. The terror around her was almost suffocating, the panic spreading like wildfire as screams filled the air.

And then—silence.

Harper’s gaze locked onto the creature’s glowing red eyes as they slid past her, focusing on Haven and Amma. The words it spoke—"mothers"—made no sense, but the calm menace behind them sent a shiver down her spine. It didn’t care who stood in its way; it was here for them, and nothing was going to stop it.

They were going to die if they intervened.

Cass moved first.

The roar that tore from his throat made Harper flinch, but she barely had time to process it before he launched himself at the creature, energy crackling violently in his fists. The explosion that followed was blinding, and Harper instinctively threw her arms up, shielding her face as the blast rattled her senses. When the dust settled, her heart sank. Cass—her Cass—was caught, the creature’s massive hand wrapped around his throat, lifting him off the ground with ease.

No.

Her feet refused to move, panic freezing her in place as she stared at Cass, helpless in the creature’s grasp. He wasn’t supposed to be the one caught, the one overpowered—he was the fighter, the one who always got back up. But now he dangled there, and that strong but vulnerable organ inside her squeezed painfully as Torres stepped forward, trying to negotiate.

Her attempt was just as short-lived.

When Torres fell, struck down in an instant, blood splattering across the floor, something inside Harper snapped.

The creature wasn’t bluffing.

It wasn’t here to threaten—it was here to take.

Before her mind could catch up, her body was already reacting. Her enhanced vision kicked in, a piercing sting flaring behind her eyes. Pain surged through her temples, threatening to shut her down, but the rush of adrenaline racing through her veins numbed it, dulling its sharpness just enough. She winced, a quick intake of breath as the world around her shifted into something more distinct, more intense. There was no time to dwell on the discomfort—her body was already reacting before her thoughts could form.

Colours around her snapped into clarity, the world suddenly more vivid and hyper-focused than before. The creature’s leather-like wings shimmered under what little light poured in from above. But it was the trail of blood smeared across the floor that caught her eye, bright red against the pale tiles. She could see the raw fear etched into the faces of the students nearby, each expression laid bare to her in a brutal instant. Her breath hitched in her throat, but she forced herself to push past the pain, to embrace the rush of sensory overload that was now her reality.

She saw everything.

Harper’s eyes snapped to the creature first, her vision narrowing, searching desperately for something—anything—she could use to gain the upper hand. She scanned its hulking form, looking for a weakness, some opening to exploit, but there was nothing. No vulnerable spot, no crack she could strike, no advantage to be found. Her frustration increased at that realization, a tight knot forming in her chest as she realized just how powerless she was in this moment.

She watched as Rory went to Amma and Gil, the three of them exchanging words with each other. Meanwhile, Haven’s wings barely moved, twitching slightly with each tense breath, her hazel eyes locked onto the hulking gargoyle before them. Every fibre of Haven’s being screamed readiness—poised to act, waiting for the signal from Rory. Harper knew this was all part of Rory’s plan; it had to be. Yet, a gnawing sense of unease crawled below her skin, stirring something deep inside her, something innate to her.

Her gut instinct screamed at her to run to Haven, to protect her, the only thing stopping her being the striking familiarity of the scene before her. Something about Rory and Amma’s stance, when she looked again, told her all she needed to know—their movements, the way Rory’s body angled protectively toward Haven, the crackling energy surrounding Amma. They would protect her, just like before. Harper had to trust it.

Trust them.

But trust evaporated the moment the Chernobog moved, its deep, rumbling voice shaking the very air around them. The beast’s wings thundered, sending gusts of freezing wind tearing through the room. She didn’t even have time to react before Rory was struck, his body locking into place as ice crept up his form. Panic surged like a flood through her veins, but her limbs wouldn’t move. She was trapped in that split-second between realizing the danger and being helpless to stop it. The sickening crunch of bone, followed by Rory’s anguished scream, shattered the air, his leg crumpling unnaturally under him, the jagged white of bone piercing through his skin. Harper’s stomach twisted, bile rising in her throat at the sight.

Her mind screamed to move, to do something, but all she could feel was the cold grip of fear—and something darker, something she couldn’t place. This wasn’t just about Rory anymore; Harper’s eyes snapped to Amma, whose entire body seemed to hum with a dangerous energy. The Chernobog wasn’t just attacking them physically; it was pulling at something within Amma, coaxing it out, tempting her. Harper saw it in the revenhead’s eyes even from where she stood.

The predator waiting in hiding

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And then…the memory of a soft confession.

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_{“Maybe I am... lost.”}

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_{“Maybe I'm still ... trapped in the dark.”}

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_{“All I know is that I’m… trying.”}

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“I want to try.”

Harper had heard it in Amma's voice-the weight of everything she carried—and it had stayed with her. That pain, that doubt, that flicker of something beneath the surface yearning to break free. It wasn’t about power or revenge; it was about loss, about holding on when everything else seemed to slip away. The memory twisted painfully in Harper's chest. Amma had been so sure, so resolute, even as she admitted she might be lost.

But now, standing in the thick of things with the Chernobog taunting her, Harper could see it—the same vulnerability, the same struggle.

Gil’s voice rang out, bold and defiant, as he stepped between Amma and the monster, declaring that she wasn’t Tiamat. She was Ammaranthe. A powerful truth known only to him it seemed, for Harper had never heard the name before, Haven’s voice mimicking this very sentiment.

But Harper couldn’t do it. She couldn’t call her that. Not "Ammaranthe."

That wasn’t the person standing before them, the one battling both the monster and the darkness inside herself. To Harper, she was still Amma—the girl who had confided her doubts, her fears, the one who had admitted she might be lost, and Harper had felt that loss like it was her own. Amma was trying so hard, fighting against something none of them fully understood, and Harper wasn’t about to abandon her now by embracing a name that made her feel more distant.

Amma wasn’t Tiamat. She wasn’t some ancient destroyer meant to bring ruin.

She was just a woman- no, a girl- still trying to find herself.

“Amma!” Harper's voice broke through the noise, raw and urgent. Her heart raced, not from fear, but from the desperation to reach her before the creature—or worse, her own doubt—pulled her under. She couldn’t let it happen, not to Amma. Not to the girl who was still trying, still clinging to the sliver of herself that hadn’t given in. Harper had to believe that the person she was starting to know was still in there, buried beneath everything that had been thrust upon her.

“Don’t let it control you!” Harper's voice grew stronger, steadier. “You’re not who it says you are!” She knew what it felt like to be suffocated by expectation, by the roles others wanted you to play. But Amma was more than this, more than some ancient name or prophecy.

“You said you were trying. I believed you then. I still believe you.”

There’s little explanation for what happens next; mere seconds sheared and spun away into eternity, the plummeting fall of the woeful thing standing there, lost within the tides of limbo, a state of never being there and in-between, a half-in and half-out phase of something terrible, lost, and lonely.

Something that thrived off of pain.

It all happens too fast; it’s too much, too soon, and too little to be done to stop it. The summoning call of a name last to the dregs of despair, the trumpet of fate that shattered through woeful eyes of blue that flickered in the most delicate touches of silver before tears fell, carving through gold and black, smeared down and down and down. Trails of sorrow that curled over lips and teeth and smarted against flesh quivering with fear –

And rage.

Amma Cahors - no. Not even Ammaranthe. It is neither that slowly turns; the final call of a name slid through the sluggish pull of lashes, blinks that struggle to peel back as seconds flit on by with every shuddering breath she takes, every nerve is peeled open and heaving, every bone cracking and splintering as agony writhes through her.

And she smiles.

She rushes forward as a primal thing, no sound to mark her strike, no voice to terrorize the woeful that plead and beg and defend, nothing save the tears that stream down and down and the trembling in her hands as she lashes out and seizes Harper’s throat, a shift of hesitation that is felt through the length of her arm as she bares her teeth, weeps, and at her back do terrible coils of red rise, as great winged apparitions ran through with a vicious black that bleeds in rot. She cries, she shakes, she holds Harper there and stares into her eyes, each pupil mere slivers in a sea of glowing blue that glimmers with nothing but the most terrifying of agonies known to man. She squeezes, her hand forming a vice as she leans and whispers:

“That is not my name.”

Harper’s breath hitched, sharp and ragged, as Amma’s hand closed around her throat, the pressure immediate and suffocating. It was too tight, far too tight. Her fingers shot up automatically to Amma’s wrist, nails digging into the skin, but the strength there was unyielding, like iron beneath her grip. The world around her shrank, the edges of her vision fraying into black as the pounding of her pulse filled her ears, drowning out any other sound. It was as though the very air had been stolen from her lungs, and all she could do was fight for it.

She couldn’t breathe.

The vise-like grip crushed her airway, panic swelling within her chest like a tidal wave, crashing and relentless. Yet through the terror of the situation, Amma’s eyes cut through—glowing, agonized, pleading, and enraged all at once. Harper could see the torment there, something ancient and raw, something she couldn't fully understand but needed to reach.

_{“Y–you’re… n-not…”}Harper’s voice cracked, the sound barely a breath as her throat convulsed beneath the crushing hold. She tried again, fighting to form the words that refused to come, the pressure choking them back down into silence. Her body screamed for air, every instinct demanding she claw her way free, but something deeper urged her to keep trying, to speak.

Every breath was a battle.

_{“I-I b-believe… y-you…”}The words barely escaped, each syllable trembling with the effort to stay conscious. Tears blurred her vision, stinging as oxygen dwindled.

Her grip on Amma’s wrist slackened, her fingers numb, her limbs weakening by the second, but still, she clung on. Harper’s gaze stayed locked on Amma’s face, her lips trembling as they parted once more, fighting to make one last connection.

_{“…p-please…”}

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Umbra: The Abyssal Connection

aiming to reply mid/end of this week.

Realms of Sun & Shadow

_{Interactions/Mentions: @c3p-0h Tia, @The Muse Kira}

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As the blizzard finally began to ease, Orion pushed open the creaky door of his quarters, a cold gust biting at his face as he stepped out into the quiet. The storm's once-violent winds had left the town blanketed in a thick layer of snow, now shimmering under the pale, unblinking moonlight. His sharp eyes swept over the landscape, noting how the stillness felt foreign, almost unsettling, after days of relentless chaos. The wind, which had howled with fury, now spoke in hushed tones through the snow-laden rooftops, carrying a strange, fragile peace in its wake. For the first time in days, Orion allowed himself to breathe deeply, feeling the tension in his chest begin to loosen ever so slightly.

The blightborn joined the guards in their effort to clear the snow-clogged streets, the crunch of his boots piercing the fragile, untouched blanket beneath him. Each step left deep imprints, as if the earth had softened under the weight of the storm. The rhythmic scrape of shovels against cobblestone filled the silence, a methodical soundtrack to the early morning stillness. The main road had transformed into a frozen river, icy ridges and snow drifts towering along the edges, making the scale of the task feel daunting. Yet, as he worked, Orion found unexpected solace in the physical labor—the repetitive swing of the shovel grounding him in a way that his mind hadn’t been for days.

It was terrible timing. The storm, the royal announcement, all of it had collided at once, leaving little room to process everything that had been revealed. Hence, the Eye of the Beholder’s announcement of a communal meal had tempted him—a chance to blend in, reconnect with the people, to hear their whispers and concerns firsthand. Yet, the call of the hot springs was stronger. The blizzard had sapped every ounce of energy from his body, and the thought of sinking into the warm, mineral-rich waters felt like an opportunity to shed the deep weariness that clung to his bones, even after regular feeding. At least in the springs, he wouldn't have to endure the stares—those curious, probing gazes that came with being who he was. He had grown used to them over time, but today, he wasn’t in the mood to be observed.

While the townsfolk gathered for the meal, voices and laughter rising into the morning, Orion quietly slipped away, his breath curling in the crisp air as he made his way toward the springs. The narrow streets were still dusted with snow, though they had already begun to be cleared by those not attending the gathering. His footsteps were muffled, swallowed by the cold silence of the night. When he finally reached the temple, he entered quietly, the heavy wooden door closing behind him with a soft thud. The glow of the eternal flame caught his eye first, its light flickering in the corner, casting long shadows on the stone walls, and then his gaze shifted to the backdoor that led to the public bath area.

As Orion descended the stone steps toward the public bath, his eyes caught sight of Tia ahead, her slender figure nearly swallowed by the heavy robes she wore. Her movements were brisk, each sweep of her hands clearing the accumulating snow with a grace that seemed almost unconscious. Her breath, small clouds in the icy air, rose and disappeared like vanishing whispers. There was something about the way she worked, the quiet focus, that reminded him of their first meeting—how her determination to help in her own way had always been a constant, even in the harshest conditions provided by Willis’ antics at the time. For a moment, Orion simply watched, a sense of appreciation blooming in his chest for her quiet resilience before he broke the silence.

“Good morning, priestess,” Orion called out, his voice a low rumble that pushed through the cold, forming visible puffs as it met the chill. There was warmth in his tone, an effort to counter the biting cold that surrounded them. “How have you been faring?” While he waited for her response, his eyes instinctively flicked past her, scanning the surroundings with habitual caution.

Behind Tia, Orion’s gaze briefly settled on a figure half-submerged in the swirling steam of the bath. His eyes narrowed, sharpening as he recognized the distinctive orange-red hair of the blightborn woman, her fiery locks standing out like embers against the soft, misty haze. She was a familiar presence in these parts, though one often seen more than spoken to, her quiet demeanour matching his own. Their eyes met for a fleeting moment, and he offered her a curt nod—a silent acknowledgement, a shared understanding that didn’t require words. Just like before.

Satisfied with the brief exchange for now, Orion’s focus shifted back to Tia, his attention now fully returning to their conversation.