Caring for others had never been Kira’s strong suit.
She’d spent the better part of her life learning how to end people, not improve them. Asking them how they felt had never been part of the curriculum.
Unfortunately — or fortunately — the Aurelian Prince seemed to think of Kira as “helpful” and “disciplined”.
Disciplined, she could agree. If not for her exacting control, the Sages who poked and prodded at her would have already had their throats ripped out. Though, control seemed to be increasingly difficult as of late. Hunger pulled at her with every godforsaken pulse of a human heartbeat within two miles.
Adjusting back into society had been more difficult than expected. Nonetheless, she’d done a well enough job pretending. Or the bar for a well-behaved blight-born was in the gutter.
She guessed the latter.
Admittedly, since the Prince had given her the assignment of watching over two unstable blight-born — Ranni Soleil and Céline Moreau — Kira had done little more than poke her head in to make sure they were alive and didn’t actively look like they’d murdered anyone yet.
Over the last two weeks, Kira had spent her time lying in bed instead.
Eyes closed. Hands clasped over her ribcage. Slow, measured breaths. Mentally reaching inward, tugging on the invisible thread that bound the Lunarian guard to her — the one she absolutely refused to learn the name of.
Every chance she got, she latched onto his psyche like a parasite.
Like the good dog he was, he’d managed to get assigned to the moon temple. And at Kira’s order, he volunteered himself to join the expedition party.
The poor bastard had been terrified every step of the way. She felt it reverberate through her body each time she sunk into him, and hated every second of it.
He was newer to the army than she’d originally thought. Had never even seen a blight-born until he’d arrived in Dawnhaven. He’d heard the stories about what lay in the Lunarian blightlands, and yet Kira knew he didn’t know the half of it.
Ignorant piece of meat. Useful, though.
Their bond grew annoyingly fainter the further the expedition party got from Dawnhaven, but Kira checked in as often as possible. Seeing through his eyes, she kept careful tabs on Katherine. The sneaky, back-stabbing little Cricket.
Now, the bond slipped through her fingers more easily. Seeing through him. Feeling through him. Controlling him. Each day demanded more patience and focus than the last. Sometimes, his strong emotions would still reach her unbidden, but finding the thread had forcibly become less of an all-day activity. Nonetheless, she still tried every night.
But that left her days open and her mind unoccupied.
Even more aggravating was a singular sentence said to her by Ivor, before he’d also left on the expedition.
“Be good, people are counting on you!”
He’d learned about her new assignment through Eris, and wished her well. Believed in her ability to care for Ranni and Celine.
Kira had buried the sentence at first, but time refused to leave it buried. With each day that passed — each glimpse of Ivor through the guard’s eyes — it ate away at her.
It was weak to keep returning to his words. Or that genuine look in his eyes. Or that stupid, insufferable grin he’d always beam at her.
When he’d called her sister, something inside her had cracked, she knew.
Perhaps Ivor was a sort of parasite himself.
Weak.
She hissed at herself, glowering as she made her way through Dawnhaven’s dim, snow-dusted streets. Headed towards the temple. For Ranni. To ask her how she was. And actually take the time to listen.
The thought nearly made her sick.
Somewhere on the other side of town, dark smoke climbed into the sky. The scent of fire drifted through Dawnhaven, clouding her senses, but she continued forward. It wasn’t her problem — hers was directly in front of her.
Pushing the temple door open, Kira’s eyes narrowed on the “eternal” flame. She imagined kicking the brazier over.
Aelios was dead. To Kira, she always had been.
As she strode forward, her gaze landed on one of her other problems — a more physical sort of parasite — Sya.
“I didn’t take you for the religious type.” She said smoothly, expression unmoving as her voice broke through the silence of the inner chamber. Her orange gaze pulled away, searching the perimeter and landing on the hallway that led to the temple bedrooms.
When he’d been selected for the expedition, Zeph had been thrilled. He’d jumped at the opportunity to get outside the walls, stretch his legs, and kill a creature or two. Not having to wake up every day to stand guard over an ice covered gate or follow an equally icy Princess around sounded like a blessing. A way to wash away the mundane that had saturated his life.
The first couple days, however, had been grueling — if only because he had been forced to follow behind the Moon Priestess’s cursed wagon. Staring at it for hours on end, unable to think about anything except the two cold bodies of his fellow guardsmen concealed within.
The constant reminder of the guilt he carried was relentless. Enough to drive a man mad.
Luckily, however, he’d convinced some other poor sap to switch positions with him only a few days into the journey. Instead of being behind the wagon, he shifted to be in front of it — directly behind the Sun Priestess’s party.
His mood had improved then. Funny what a change in scenery could do.
Every day of their journey had brought something new and exciting. New sights to see, new conversations to be had, new creatures to slay.
Around six days in, some kind of overgrown blighted deer-squirrel hybrid had charged the camp and gotten a little too close for comfort, but a few arrows to the heart and the chopping of its head had finally brought it down. Zeph had fought worse — much worse.
Somehow, they’d been very fortunate.
He knew real dangers were out there, even if they were choosing to be quiet at the moment. Likely lurking. Waiting for the perfect opportunity. He knew better than to let his guard down.
Besides, he couldn’t give old Coswain the satisfaction of seeing it happen again.
Now — the first day at their official camp — he was tired. He felt it in his muscles as he awoke for the day, stiff and aching. He’d nearly forgotten how worn down one could get on the road. Or how annoying it could be to be an entire party's lackey.
Unloading and carrying crates back and forth. Setting up tents. Tending to the horses. Chopping firewood. Tending to the fire. Cooking dinner. Making sure the Sages had their backs watched every time they took a piss.
It no longer felt so lucky to have been chosen.
Nonetheless, he was grateful they wouldn’t be traveling far for at least a couple days. The rest would be needed for most of the party — save for the blighters, probably.
“Guard Hale.”
Zeph looked up from the fire he’d been stoking, finding Lady Hightower looking at him with those big blue eyes beneath her fur-lined hood. He raised a brow.
“Would you mind finding Nesna for us?”
Another task to be done for the Aurelian Sage. Of course. He almost didn’t feel so bad about scaring her when he’d dropped off the gemstone.
Still, he gave her a lazy two fingered salute and a smirk, then silently headed towards where he’d help set up Nesna’s tent at the furthest edge of camp.
He knew Lady Hightower and the Prince's Advisor had some kind of plan for the day, though he hadn't been told the details. All he knew was that it would take them closer to the blighted village, which made him both wary and excited.
Wherever the blight bled its purple fog from the earth, something godforsaken usually lurked.
But his job would be simple, the same as it had been the entire journey — protect the Sages as they did their work.
“Nesnaaaa,” He called with a slight lilt to his voice, slowing to a stop beside her tent. “You in there?”
He paused to listen, though no answer came. He sighed. Nothing was ever easy, was it?
Grabbing a nearby lantern, Zeph headed toward the edge of camp to see if any of the guards had —
He paused, spotting Nesna's unmistakable silhouette as she emerged from the woods, headed into camp.
“There you are.” He greeted, a hint of a smile lifting his lips.
Lucky after all.
“Hightower was asking for you. Look at you — big shot now.”
Location: Office inside the Alchemy Chambers Collabs Between:@Qia, @SpicyMeatball, @enmuni, @Beard Dad, @Queen Arya & @The Muse Exhausted from the earlier events of the day, Flynn conducts the blight-born interviews with Orion at his side. Fatigue is evident on his face, though he tries his best to hide it. He begins the interviews cordially, forces a faint smile when introducing himself and his advisor, but his eyes are clearly very weary.
Orion stands nearby, observing the conversation with Flynn and each blight-born sitting across the desk from him. For every interview, two guards stand watch outside the closed door.
“What is your full name?”
“Aldrick Corveau,” He answered, looking across Flynn’s tired expression without comment, “Very much at your service.”
Flynn paused, eyes thoughtfully scanning the man sitting across from him. He could’ve sworn he’d heard that name before.
“Thank you, Aldrick.” He said, brushing the feeling aside. “How long have you been blight-born?”
“At my best guess, about three years now, but I was long away from villages for a while. Hard to keep track of time when you’re all alone.
“Understandable… are you fed by blood, energy, emotions, sex, psyche, souls, or magic?”
“It’s strange how appropriate it seems, but the blight deemed it that I am to feed off the emotions of my viewers and listeners. Rather fitting for a musician I would think. He smirked, moreso to himself than it was directed at Flynn, “I see it as a trade in place of money, and it seems quite harmless I assure you.
“How were you turned?”
“One does not spread the truth between kingdoms without making their fair share of enemies along the way, be it outlaws or the nations themselves. I don’t know yet who did it, nor may I ever know, but I truly believe someone tried to silence me and failed. They tried to make me disappear while I was on the road, and while they didn’t succeed, my credibility is non-existent among the commonfolk these days.”
“What abilities did you inherit? List all of them as best you can, please.”
“Don’t get too excited, your highness. No extraordinary powers from this bard I’m afraid. I seem to be bound to my instruments, though everything about them is… stronger. My magical abilities, while limited, are also certainly stronger than before. My performances were a delight to be sure, but now… Now I can make them truly incredible.”
“What of your weaknesses?”
“I am bound to the very tools that bring me joy. I feel physical pain when they do.”
And what brings you to Dawnhaven?”
“Few other places are quite as accepting of such an outwardly presenting blightborn as myself. Especially with the appearance I have now. My parents have both passed and I have more money than I know how to spend, and yet nothing to spend it on. I heard of this little haven from someone like me, a messenger of sorts, and well… I have nothing to lose and everything to gain. Why not bring some joy to a town prophesized to fail?”
Flynn glanced up from his notes, green eyes steadily meeting Aldrick. For a breath, he held the gaze, his expression solemn. Thoughts shifted behind his eyes, but never left his lips.
“Are you willing to abide by the laws and customs of our town?” He asked, returning his attention to his journal.
“Without a doubt. Even in my past life, though I frequently skirted borders, I was not one to break the law. I have spent a few nights in cells, yes, but only because certain members of both governments wanted to scare me away.”
Flynn couldn’t help but find himself thinking of the escaped prisoner — Halcyon — a supposed truth-sayer himself. He wondered what sort of “truth” Aldrick spewed that got him thrown into cells and earned him an assassination attempt.
“Can you co-exist peacefully with the humans and other blight-born here? You are not permitted to feed on anyone in Dawnhaven. This is a sanctuary, and I expect you to treat it as such. Do as you will with the people outside of Dawnhaven, but if you are caught, there is nothing I can do to help you. You will be at the whim of the King of Lunaris. I advise you to try to find other means of sustenance, not humans.”
“But of course. It wouldn’t do me much good to make angry the people of the last safe haven available to me, now would it?”
“To live here, you must contribute to the wellbeing of Dawnhaven. As with all people here, you will have a job and commit to helping the community. Are you willing to do so?”
“My parents were farmers, and as such, so am I. These hands are not afraid to get in the dirt, so to say. Give me a shovel and I will dig, an axe, and I will cut. It would be boring otherwise, would it not? To sit back and do nothing every day?”
“What was your profession before you turned?”
“My name used to be one that was recognized among the commonfolk as a truth-bringer. One that could be trusted to inform the people of happenings throughout both kingdoms. I was a messenger, but not one that hid behind the censors of city parchments. I was also briefly a member of the city watch in the capitol, as well as, like I previously mentioned, working in the fields with my parents.” He paused, a slight smile across his lips, “I am a master of none, but I have done much.”
“How would you like to work in the local tavern — the Eye of the Beholder? You said you’d like to bring joy to the town…” Flynn set down his pen and closed the journal, meeting eyes with Aldrick. “You mentioned that you can make your performances incredible. I think the town is in need of some levity… we could use your talent. So long as you do not feed on your audience.” He paused, eyes searching Aldrick’s, though it was difficult to tell much of what was happening behind those glossy yellow orbs.
“I’ve been acquainted with the tavern and it would be my pleasure to entertain its patrons. I will do my best to not get lost in my art though, by your order.”
“A blight-born by the name of Sya runs the Eye. One of our best citizens and assets in Dawnhaven. I’m sure she’d be happy to show you the ropes.”
Aldrick nodded and a small, but warm smile spread across his lips.
Orion had remained still throughout most of the exchange, his attention divided between the man seated before them and the weary yet persevering prince beside him. He listened as Flynn offered him a place at the Eye of the Beholder. Listened as the name lingered in his thoughts.
Corveau
Music drifting through an open courtyard in Aurelia long before Dawnhaven existed. Long before the Blight had carved its mark into him. A lone voice carrying stories not found in any official records.
“You used to perform in Aurelia.” His crimson eyes studied him now not as a stranger but as someone returned from the dead. “I remember the name now. More importantly, I remember hearing about a few of those…truths you speak of, and while you will find Dawnhaven does not fear inconvenient truths, Corveau, it does require loyalty and the willingness to do no harm to its subjects, human or not.
“The intent has never been to be inconvenient, but to provide the people with the knowledge that their leadership should have shared. To remove the bias of royal edicts and make aware the public of happenings outside of their own kingdoms. I may have been born of Aurelia but my allegiance lies with the commonfolk, regardless of their heritage.” He paused, looking between the men, “Worry not, I am not here to cause issues. Whether or not you find the tales I tell or the news I deliver inconvenient, well… that is up to you.”
“What is your full name?”
“…Nesna. Nesna is the only name I use these days.”
The Prince hesitated for a moment, considering whether or not to press further. “Nesna… How long have you been blight-born?”
“Forgive my imprecision; it’s been long enough that I forget. Six years, I believe it’s been. Yes, six, perhaps closer to seven these days.”
“Nearly from the beginning… Flynn mused, almost to himself as he scribbled more notes into his journal. “Are you fed by blood, energy, emotions, sex, psyche, souls, or magic?”
“Blood, I’m afraid. I simply can’t stomach anything else.”
“How were you turned?”
“By the Blight, of course. I ran into it, in hopes of a swifter death than the frost would have offered me. Alas, instead of death, I received a second breath.”
Flynn glanced up from his journal to study her briefly, then returned to it. “I see… What abilities did you inherit? List all of them as best you can, please.”
“As one might expect, I can fly. I’m no faster, and certainly no more agile, than a carrier pigeon, but I can fly nonetheless. Now, my hearing, my hearing is second to none. I can press my ear to a chimney and hear a conversation in the furnace room as though I were standing there. As far as physical prowess goes, I gather my strength and speed are lesser compared to most blight-born, though certainly still much improved relative to my living self.
Physically, I can put up with quite a lot of impact. I’ve crashed into trees and stones and so forth while flying, and mostly just needed to dust myself off. I’m not as graceful as I’d like to be, but I can certainly sustain the results of my lack of grace. Similarly, I can go much longer than most without rest or nourishment. I think my being is just slow by nature these days. I can amble along for a day or two without sleeping to no ill effects.
Now, the ability I’m most pleased by is my magical ability. Even before the enduring night, things came more easily to me than they once did. Really, I haven’t been able to explore it as much as I’d like due to lack of worthwhile instruction, so I can’t offer a precise reckoning of my potential, but I imagine it’s significant.
Lastly, though I’m unsure if one would count it among abilities, I should discuss my blood. It’s thick, similar to syrup in consistency, and as dark as pitch. I couldn’t say what it would do to humans or blight-born, but on animals, it seems to behave as a fatiguing balm when put into contact with the skin. From what I’ve observed, it doesn’t appear terribly pleasant, but its effects are temporary, and nonlethal.”
The sound of Flynn’s pen scribbling on parchment filled the room for a few moments as he tried to jot down everything Nesna was (thankfully) divulging. When he had more time — and his head wasn’t pounding or his eyes weren’t burning to be closed — he’d return to these notes to go over it with Lady Hightower.
Interesting… And helpful, thank you.” He finally said, “And what of your weaknesses?”
“When I said I was slower than most blight-born, I should emphasize that I’m no faster than a normal person. Perhaps even slower than most when it comes to reflexes. I’m afraid I’m just not built for those displays of prowess for which blight-born are known. My joints are no good, and I certainly can’t summon this sort of hysterical strength that many seem to have.
But really, if it were necessary to contain or kill me, the easiest way would be by means of light and warmth. I simply can’t handle bright lights. It hurts my eyes to stare at a lantern or into a fireplace. And as for heat? It’s uncomfortably warm here for me as it stands. I imagine a normal Aurelian summer’s night might be deadly to me. In a warm bath, I’m liable to faint and go limp. I simply cannot bear heat, much as I may miss the warmth of the fireside.”
I see… thank you for your detailed answers, Nesna. What brings you to Dawnhaven?”
“Pardon if I sound coy in saying so, but any Lunarian blight-born would be hard-pressed to end up anywhere else if they missed civilization. And how I do miss it dearly.”
Flynn nodded in understanding, briefly glancing up from his notes to her. She’d been away from civilization for so long. “Are you willing to abide by the laws and customs of our town?”
“Without question, I am.”
Surprisingly, he didn’t doubt her.
“Can you co-exist peacefully with the humans and other blight-born here? You are not permitted to feed on anyone in Dawnhaven. This is a sanctuary, and I expect you to treat it as such. Do as you will with the people outside of Dawnhaven, but if you are caught, there is nothing I can do to help you. You will be at the whim of the King of Lunaris. I advise you try to find other means of sustenance, not humans.”
“Blight-born though I may be, I do like to imagine there’s some measure of humanity left in me. And good, decent folk have no business gnawing on one another’s bones. Rest assured, I have no intention to stray from my diet of animal blood.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” Flynn said, jotting down one last note before closing the journal. “To live here, you must contribute to the wellbeing of Dawnhaven. As with all people here, you will have a job and commit to helping the community. Are you willing to do so?”
“Wherever I may be of use, I shall do my duty.”
“Thank you. What was your profession before you turned?”
“Regrettably, I have never had a proper profession. I had several aspirations, none of which I was able to pursue in any official capacity. To name them, I had hoped to become a Sage, a Magistrate, or perhaps simply content myself with running the family estate once I had become head. But, if it would please His and Her Highnesses and the Sages, I would be most honored of all to make myself of use to them. I am well-read and possess swift and seemly handwriting.”
Flynn considered the idea for a few moments, his gaze shifting behind Nesna and to the door that led out into the Alchemy Chambers. Adding a blight-born to the team would likely make the Lead Sage uncomfortable — especially one who looked as striking as Nesna did. But this one…
His eyes shifted back to her. From what he could tell, she seemed to genuinely want to help and integrate herself back into society. A rare attribute to come by, he was finding.
“Yes… I think that could work just fine.” He said, though a thread of hesitation laced his words. Lady Hightower likely wouldn’t be happy, but she would adjust. It would be good for her to better acquaint herself with the people so deeply affected by what she was studying. “I believe your assistance could be invaluable.”
This was when Orion, quiet and listening in all this time, finally spoke up.
“One last thing…Nesna,” he said, “Do you regret surviving? You expressed what sounded like regret earlier.” The question was not meant to carry cruelty. It was only that Orion himself had once stood on the other side of it, which kept him from looking at Flynn when he asked it. The prince knew him well enough to understand.
Nesna froze in place at the question. Her neutral expression wavered, as if several different thoughts were fighting their ways to the surface. She sighed. “I…Well…It—It’s hard to say, exactly. Make no mistake, I’ve had plenty of time to consider the matter. But, as I’m sure one might imagine with as much time to think on the matter as I’ve had, it’s just…hardly so simple. It’s all regrettable, yes. In truth, I regret a great many things outside of my control which led up to my death. But at this point? I can hardly imagine there to be any way one might avoid regret here. I’ve wondered, sometimes, if my state be the rejection of the Goddess herself, barring me from leaving this world. Or perhaps my state is a cruel gift of some manner. I am no priestess—I could not say.” Nesna stopped speaking abruptly. She shuffled in her seat and tightened her jaw. “I regret that I do not understand why I remain here. I do not even know whether all of this is nothing but hallucinating as my body freezes over. But I do, I do regret that I have experienced seven years now as some abominable beast of the night. If my eyes do not deceive me, then I shall only regret not helping more in the search to see the Blight resolved, whether it means a medicinal cure or my proper death.” Nesna bore a bitter expression, with a stiffened upper lip. Despite her obvious form as a blightborn, it was clear she held no more love for being one than many a wellborn Lunarian might have felt for an average blightborn.
Orion listened to the uncertainty in her voice. The searching. The absence of clean conclusions. The bitterness that had not yet calcified into hatred. He recognized it, though not its precise contours, as his own journey had followed a different geography and a different god. And yet the shape of it was unmistakable. That particular wound left by faith's abandonment. The hollow where answers should have been, filled instead with questions that echoed and multiplied. He had asked himself the same ones once, in the tenebrous hours before a dawn that didn’t come and when sleep refused to do the same and when the past refused to stay buried.
Different god. Different sky. Same silence in return.
When she finished, the room settled into quiet again as if waiting to see what the prince and Orion would make of that answer. Orion's gaze, for his part, rested on her in understanding.
“The blight does not grant purpose,” Orion said then, his tone gentle but unflinching. “It only removes what came before. Strips away the scaffolding we built our lives upon and leaves us standing in the rubble, wondering why we remain standing at all.” He had seen it enough times to know the pattern. Had lived it himself. “What follows, what we build from that rubble, is decided by the one who remains. Not by any god, though she is great. Not by any design, either. But by us.”
He cleared his throat.
“Though you may be slower and weaker than most, I’m sure there’s something we can find for you to do, like with your flying or magical abilities, perhaps. Rest assured, you will find your place in this civilization.”
“What is your full name?”
“I…I’m sorry, could you repeat the question?” Even before she’d entered the room, she had felt his overwhelming presence. It wasn’t just the authority and confidence of a groomed leader as she had expected. There was a deep, dense weight that accompanied him, one that could have crushed her were it physical.
Celine’s heart pounded in her ears, threatening to fracture her skull wide open. Everything sounded muffled, even as Flynn repeated himself; she barely understood the words. “Ah, yes, Celine Moreau,” Sweat began to bead on her forehead. She forced as reassuring a smile as she could, her eyes briefly casting over Orion, wondering if he could feel the pressure of the man he stood beside.
“Thank you, Celine. How long have you been blight-born?”
“Some months now,” her brain felt like putty, “though the exact dates I’m unsure of without going through my notes.”
“I see.” A fresh blight-born always left Flynn on edge. They hadn’t had much time to fully understand their new capabilities — or how to control themselves. “Are you fed by blood, energy, emotions, sex, psyche, souls, or magic?”
She paused, unsure if the answer would only make the man more uneasy. Then again, perhaps if he knew how torturous this was to her… “Emotions…”, she stated rather flatly, “please…forgive the impertinence, but are you quite alright?”
Flynn’s green eyes flicked up to meet hers. He studied her in the dim candlelight, letting silence fill the room. The fact that she could feel whatever he was feeling was an uncomfortable thought, but if he took a moment to consider her question…
His head, his heart, his soul. It all ached — deep, sharp and painful. He was not alright. Far from it.
But there was no time to analyze or sit with the feeling of it. He needed to keep moving. If he didn’t, his legs might buckle under the weight of it all.
“I’m alright.” He replied with a calm, steady voice. “It’s been a long few days.” Months. “I apologize if you are feeling any of the… exhaustion coming from me.” Exhaustion and everything else he refused to address. “We can try to make this quick for you. How were you turned?”
Exhaustion felt like a heavy understatement. Every thought, every ounce of pain, the weight of the town upon his shoulders, it all felt like dagger tips drilling into her temples. Celine could not produce the same mask as Flynn and visibly winced at his lie.
She knew he hadn’t intended on causing her discomfort, however this was her first time having an extended conversation with someone undergoing so much turmoil; the stress was almost unbearable. In an odd way, the man before her felt distinctly more lagomorph than herself.
She inhaled sharply, fighting against her darkening vision and maintaining consciousness. “I’m a doctor, I go where I’m needed. Under that notion I went, perhaps foolishly, where others dared not to tread. During my short time in the blighted lands I became infected…cursed…whatever you call it via proximity. I don’t remember how I died, only that when I awoke, my appearance had changed to…this.” The woman gestured towards herself and her elongated ears flexed in response.
Flynn nodded, glancing up at her ears before jotting down a few more notes. “And what abilities did you inherit? List all of them as best you can, please.”
Celine shook her head, “As I said, I can feel the emotions of others, as to the extent of those abilities, I have yet to discover every facet. All that said.” She turned towards her satchel, movements slow and deliberate, careful not to provoke retaliation as she rifled through its contents. Eventually producing a leatherbound journal, she slid the book towards the prince, resting it on the center of the table between them. “I’ve been carefully documenting everything, treating this like I would any other disease. I think what you’ll find in there will be of interest, both you and your sages~.”
Everything became too much, the room started spinning almost as simultaneously as her words began slurring. The oppressive weight behind the prince’s emotions was pinning her down like a chokehold. As consciousness slipped from her grasp, reality spinning away, so too did her grip on the table. Celine’s body slowly slumped and crumpled from her chair, threatening to crash hard into the stone cold floor below.
Flynn stood abruptly. In the blink of an eye, Orion was at Celine’s side, steadying her back into the chair. Flynn’s brow furrowed, his gaze lifting to Orion, then to the door.
“Guards!”
The door flew open and an Aurelian guard burst inside with a hand on his sword, another guard trailing closely behind. “Sire?” The first guard's eyes darted around the room for any sign of danger, finally settling on the crumpled form of Celine.
“See that she gets medical care — now.”
The guards quickly shuffled into the room, hands falling away from their weapons as they moved around Orion and began trying to cradle Celine to take her out of the room.
For a breath, he did not move. The guards were there, their hands reaching to take her away, and Orion's grip on Celine's arm squeezed in a reflexive refusal before he forced his fingers to unlock.
He had vouched for her. Had sat across from her in the cold, studying her face for cracks, and decided she was worth the hazard. Had asked, with the same directness he afforded everyone, whether she would hold her ground when the moment came, and she had answered him honestly. That honesty, however, had not included this: the way she now slumped between the guards, her gaze fixed on some middle distance that offered no solace.
And there was something unbearable about watching a person you had assessed as resilient simply fold.
Orion watched the guards maneuver her toward the door. Then his eyes moved to Flynn. "I'll see her settled," he said, "and I'll be back before the next one."
He didn't wait for permission. He rarely needed to with Flynn, and Flynn rarely required it of him. He simply followed the guards through the door, pulling it closed behind him.
Sighing heavily, Flynn lowered himself back into his chair. Now, without eyes to perceive his poor posture, he slumped into the back of it. For a moment, he stared at his desk — at nowhere at all. Eyes glazed over. Thoughts too loud to hear the commotion outside the door, or the crackle of the candles lining the room.
He hadn’t known how much time had passed before a knock at the door came. Flynn sat up straight, blinking back into reality as a Sage peeked her head into the room and asked if he was ready for the next blight-born. He shook his head. “Give me a moment, please.”
She nodded and disappeared, closing the door as Flynn leaned back again. This time, his gaze found the journal Celine had left behind. Leaning forward, he opened it.
“...I made my first foray into a village since my turning, I donned the thickest cloak I had, concealing my appearance from those around me. Although the denizens turned a queer eye towards me, they did not question me directly. My new ears, however, seemed to have a heightened sense of hearing; even obscured through the heavy cloth I was able to piece together some of their conversation. Beyond the physical, there is also something else, something that feels almost intuitive in nature. I cannot explain it more than I seem to have the ability to feel what others are feeling around me. Some of it comes in as waves, pleasant as the shore, while others feel harsh, menacing and oppressive, if not painful…”
“...I found a crying child today, in an effort to console them I attempted to recall an old story my mentor had told me. In that effort of recollection, before the words had even spilled out, the child seemed calm, almost wistful, almost as if they mimicked the emotions I felt. This requires more interactions to confirm a hypothesis I have, but just this one alone has left me feeling rather exhausted. Will regroup and come back to this later…”
What of your weaknesses?
“...I had heard of the incredible strength and durability of blightborn. Since my turning I haven’t felt any surge of power or notion of immortality. I once heard of a blightborn cleaving an entire boulder in half, although I don’t predict myself doing so, I figure attempting to strike an object with a similar hardness in nature should be a good experimental equivalent…”
The next written sentence is not nearly as neat, the written Aurelian appearing jagged and scratchy.
“...Update, the experiment did not go well. I hit a tree as hard as I could and it hurt BAD…”
What brings you to Dawnhaven?
“It’s been 128 days since my turning, I’m so tired. Tired of hiding my visage, tired of running when people discover what I am. The cold is tolerable, but I miss the warmth of a hearth, the chatter of company around me as I pore over my books, a warm cup in my hand. I desperately wish to have that kind of normalcy again, and if the rumours are true, there may be a town that could accommodate an aberrant such as myself.”
Are you willing to abide by the laws and customs of our town?
“There is a fear, in the back of my mind, that this town is nothing more than a hoax. That I shall one day arrive there and immediately be caged like an animal, or worse yet slaughtered like one. Yet something pushes me forward, a sort of blind faith, one where people simply want to coexist together in peace, where cooler heads prevail and the word of law is a just one. It may be a naive notion, blind faith, but I have little left to lose.”
Can you co-exist peacefully with the humans and other blight-born here?
“Hunger feels like a greater vice than when I was mortal. When I was hungry it was easy enough to consume food, but as I am now, emotions seem to satisfy. The emotion seems to offer a different level of satisfaction, almost akin to flavouring foods with salt and spices. Indulging too much on an emotion, however can… I almost killed a man doing it once, I can’t afford to lose control like that again.”
“In that effort I piece together emotional snacks, a bit here from one, some there from another, but it’s not satisfying. I'm left in a constant state of hunger and some days I feel more nauseous than others because of it. Perhaps if there is someone like me in that town, someone who feeds on what others feel, maybe they’ve found a better way to control those urges, or to satisfy their hunger.”
To live here, you must contribute to the wellbeing of Dawnhaven. As with all people here, you will have a job and commit to helping the community. Are you willing to do so”
“Priestess Tia has been kind to me these past few weeks, her anxiety has been palpable, but she’s been a welcome breadth of fresh air. During our time together, holed up during the blizzard along with the gentleman called Gadez, she spoke nothing but accolades for the perseverance of Dawnhaven and its people. There is a community here, growing, surviving, barely a scrap and yet it defies the heavens to forbid its existence. Now with the blizzard cleared I’m finally able to make my way into the town proper, and use my skills to pay it forward. Blind faith brought me here, now it’s time to do something practical with it.”
Flynn closed her journal, setting his pen aside.
For a moment, he stayed there, leaning forward with his head propped up on one hand, staring at the worn leather binding.
Gadez.
Halcyon — whatever name he chose to wear. He’d stayed with the High Priestess through the blizzard. Flynn’s jaw tightened faintly. What did Tia or Celine know of the man? The criminal.
With a sigh, Flynn stood on weary legs. He stowed both his and Celine’s journals safely in his coat pocket before crossing the room toward the office door.
As he opened it, he spotted Orion returning. Their eyes met. Flynn took in the exhaustion lingering in his old friend’s gaze — the heaviness in his posture, the strain neither of them had the energy to address right now.
For a fleeting moment, Flynn remembered summers in the capital. Training together, baking beneath the sun. Laughter came easier then.
The memory faded as quickly as it surfaced. Their carefree days seemed so far in the past now.
Stepping aside for Orion to enter, Flynn straightened, pulling himself back into the shape duty required of him. His eyes met the Sage who waited with the blight-born.
“Send the next one in.”
“What is your full name?”
”Priestess Ranni Soleil. Uhm, Your Highness, you seem drained. Should you still be working? We often had to treat overworked clerics who passed out from exaug-” The Priestess said softly, catching herself halfway in the act of starting to get up in an attempt to render aid. ”R-right. You know that. My apologies, Your Highness.”, her cheeks flushing with color from the embarrassment gripping her very soul.
A brief hint of a smile touched the corner of the Prince’s lips. “I’ll be okay. Thank you, Priestess. His gaze returned to his notebook. “How long have you been blight-born?”
Still, Flynn pressed on, his second question causing Ranni to turn her attention away suddenly. Her previous attentiveness slipped for a second as if her mind briefly traveled somewhere else. In a small, deflated tone the Priestess whispered simply, ”I-I don't know.”
Flynn lifted a brow, glancing up at her. “You don’t know?”
She fell silent, refusing to elaborate further. For a breath, the Prince quietly studied her, assessing.
“Are you fed by blood, energy, emotions, sex, psyche, souls, or magic?”
”Wouldn't I be fed by fo-” Ranni said, catching herself midsentence as his options played through her mind.”D-does my condition mean I'm fed by one of those? H-how would I know?” She asked, mind flicking back to the present for but the briefest of seconds as her brow furrowed, clearly trying to figure out the answer to Prince Flynn's question.
Confusion flickering across his expression. “Are you saying you haven’t had cravings for any of those thus far?” He asked curiously, then jotted a few notes down. “It is… odd… that you do not know.” He added softly, meeting eyes with her once more. “As far as we are aware, all blight-born need one of those to survive. And it is almost uncontrollable for them, at first…. You would be quite the anomaly if you are able to survive on food alone.” He eyed her for a moment, cataloging the emotions that shifted through her eyes. “How were you turned?”
Nearly the moment the words left his lips, Ranni's eyes shot wide and once more stared straight ahead, her mind once again seeming to slip to another time and place. Only this time, powerful feelings from that dark place that'd stolen her mind ripped out via her psychic aura. Raw, unfiltered, and accidental. Fear and pain came first, just vague senses. Then bursts of clear memory ripped out across her aura. The burning and tightness in her throat as she tried desperately to draw another breath… only to be further filled by that burning miasma. Drowning her… without an inch of water.
The Prince watched her silently, observing as her gaze slipped past him. Past the room entirely, into a realm they couldn’t see. Flynn had seen a similar look on her before. In the temple, merely days ago. Standing before the eternal flame, that same vacant stare that seemed to—
His gaze abruptly dropped from her, brow furrowing as his attention turned inward.
His throat felt…. wrong. Thick. As though something unseen squeezed around it. His inhale came thin, barely reaching his lungs. A sharp pressure began to creep through his chest.
He swallowed. It didn’t help.
Suddenly, the world lurched. Whatever realm she had fallen into, she’d dragged him into the depths with her.
He was no longer inside his office. He was on the ground, watching his hand — No. Not his. A woman’s hand reached out, fingers clawing at the dirt. Purple miasma curled thick in the air, burning at their lungs with every breath.
“I don’t want to go!”
Ranni’s voice. The words tore through a ruined throat, strangled by the same invisible vice now closing around him. His eyes — her eyes — lifted. Just beyond the veil of blight, another figure collapsed to her knees.
Dyna. Horror carved into her features. Helpless. Devastated.
Flynn’s breath hitched, the vision snapping like a thread pulled too tight. He was back in his office. Still suffocating.
His gaze returned to the Priestess, eyes narrowing with suspicion. As his mind raced, a memory struck. Amaya had accused the Priestess of invading her mind. The Priestess, seemingly, was entirely unaware of it at the time. And now…
He tried to clear his throat. Tried to take another shallow breath.
“Priestess.” His voice came strained as he tried to project loudly enough to break through to her. “Ranni.” He tried again when she didn’t react, the rasp in his voice worsening. The next breath came audible — tight, uneven.
Orion had been watching the Priestess since the moment she sat down with the kind of scrutiny that had become reflex. He noted how her attention wandered at Flynn's second question, a brief deflation in her posture, as though some internal tether had gone slack. When her answer disappeared into an unfinished silence, he also recognized it for what it was. Blight-born carried their histories differently. Some buried them deep; others found the terrain of memory had eroded beyond recognition. And some, like him, had been forced to leave everything behind while still bearing its full weight. He had not judged her for any of it.
But this was something else entirely.
His heightened senses registered the change in the room before his conscious mind could supply a name for it. Then Flynn's expression shifted: the bone-tired weariness that had clung to him all evening sharpened into something involuntary, something desperate.
Orion pushed off from the wall in a single fluid motion. His first instinct was to reach for Flynn, but his eyes moved past him to Ranni—still elsewhere, still lost in a place the rest of them could not follow. A cold clarity settled over him, and he stepped forward and positioned himself at the edge of her eyeline, close enough that his presence might register through whatever held her captive. When he spoke, his voice was stripped of anything that might startle.
“Priestess.”
Flynn's breathing had grown ragged. The sound of it pulled something taut behind Orion's sternum, a tension he did not permit to reach his face.
“Ranni.” He used her given name without hesitation, without apology, because formality was a luxury for rooms where no one was suffocating.]“Come back.”
The Priestess felt… abandoned. Forsaken. As that terrible, rotten miasma filled her lungs and drank her strength like wine. Ranni's strength started to fail, as if she were slipping back into that same pit she'd fallen into before…
Until a voice cut through, not one she was familiar with yet one using her name as if familiar with her. The dreadful scene slowly faded away, replaced once more with Flynn's office… and the face of the man who'd previously been off the side. Ranni's form jumped slightly as she let out a gasp of surprise and her tail snapped around behind herself… only to realize the tightness in her throat had disappeared. She could breathe. Looking up towards the two with sad, tormented eyes, the girl muttered a soft apology.
Flynn drew in a sharp breath, instinctively rubbing at his throat as air rushed back into his lungs. The burn lingered in his chest, slow to fade. For a moment, he said nothing. Only breathed, his gaze set firmly on the Priestess.
Her meek apology didn’t quite reach him. All he heard — all he saw — was yet another danger sent directly to him from the temple of Aelios.
His eyes flicked briefly to Orion. Just a glance, a silent wary exchange as their gazes met. Awareness. Confirmation. Then back to her.
She had suffered, that much was clear. He had felt it — seen it, through whatever vision she’d forced into his mind. Nonetheless, she was far from harmless. She was a threat. And given her political standing, a very difficult one to get rid of.
His hand fell from his throat.
“Priestess. I understand you didn’t do that on purpose,” He said at last, voice quieter now, roughened at the edges but steady.
He exhaled slowly, recalling how distressed the Priestess had been when Amaya had confronted her about her untamed power.
“But we can’t have that happen again. Not to me. Not to anyone.”
His eyes searched hers. Not for guilt, but understanding. For a willingness to learn control.
The wide, uncertain look in her eyes pulled faintly at an old instinct. His youngest sister. Small, nervous hands clutching at his sleeve. The thought stilled as quickly as it came.
He might’ve been softened by it if she hadn’t just threatened his life.
“When your power begins to overtake you, if there’s any warning at all, please tell someone immediately.” A slight pause. “You won’t be left to manage it alone. We have many blight-born here who have learned to control it. I can find someone to offer guidance. Someone who understands what it feels like before your power… spills.”
His jaw tightened slightly, the memory of suffocation still fresh at the back of his throat.
“And I’ll inform the Sages. They’ll want to monitor this, especially if you haven’t felt the need to feed on anything in particular yet.” Another brief pause, his tone steadying further as he settled back into something more structured. “They may be able to help you with that, when the time comes.”
Clearing his throat, Flynn reached for his pen. Returning his gaze to his journal, he attempted to move forward with the interview. Attempted not to be too cold or too distant… not to a member of the clergy, especially.
But he felt it all the same. Something cold, closing in. Containing. The feeling of cold steel walls pressing in around him.
If not for Orion’s intervention, she could have killed him. His grip tightened faintly around the pen.
Orion held his position as the room resettled around Flynn's words. His eyes swept once over the priestess with the same assessing look he had given her from the start. She was distressed. Genuinely so. He had felt the visceral echo of whatever had seized her, and he did not doubt the suffering behind it. And yet, that did not particularly reassure him. He had watched Flynn's hand move to his own throat. Had seen the colour drain from his face and then, ever so slowly, return. It had been a near thing. Too near for any measure of comfort.
A single, pernicious thought lodged itself in the back of his mind: Would she have let him suffocate? He did not voice it. The question was unworthy of the moment, and possibly of her. But it remained a splinter beneath the skin.
Flynn finished speaking and reached for his pen. The soft scratch of the nib against paper filled the lull. Orion let the silence stretch for a breath, then two, long enough for his words to land without the taint of urgency or accusation.
"The offer stands regardless of what the Sages determine," he said, his gaze on Ranni, steady and unreadable. "If you feel it beginning again here or anywhere else in Dawnhaven, you find one of us. Immediately." There was no equivocation in his tone. No room for polite refusal or self-sacrificing solitude. He had learned long ago that some dangers could not be faced alone, and that the hard thing was sometimes simply admitting that aloud. He did not add That is an order or Do you understand? either. She was not a soldier, and he was not her commander. But the significance behind his words carried the same feeling. Some offers, after all, were not truly optional.
Flynn nodded in accordance with Orion, his gaze shifting away from his advisor and back to the Priestess. She looked so innocent sitting there, and yet…
“Now then… What abilities have you inherited? List all of them as best you can, please.”
”It would seem as if I've inherited some… type of psychic abilities. I… can feel others, sometimes influence them a-as you've seen.” The priestess explained, her tone sounding… tired and dulled. As if she were answering quickly in a bid to escape after what she'd caused.
“What of your weaknesses?”
”I-I can't control my abilities… but otherwise… I don't know yet.”
And what brings you to Dawnhaven?”
”I was wandering after I woke up… and I could… feel, I guess, my sister. So I followed her, and wound up here.” For a brief moment, a short of color flooded her cheeks, as if embarrassed by this admission.
Flynn made a mental note to speak with Dyna about the matter of her sister as soon as possible.
“Excuse the next few questions, Priestess, but it is customary. Are you willing to abide by the laws and customs of our town?”
”Of course. A good priestess would never break such rules.”
“Can you co-exist peacefully with the humans and other blight-born here? You are not permitted to feed on anyone in Dawnhaven. This is a sanctuary, and I expect you to treat it as such. Do as you will with the people outside of Dawnhaven, but if you are caught, there is nothing I can do to help you. You will be at the whim of the King of Lunaris. I advise you try to find other means of sustenance, not humans.”
”I-I shall certainly try! I… think our Radiant Lady still has work for me, so I shall perform.” She said softly, looking away as she once more pondered what method of feeding she'd inherited.
“To live here, all must contribute to the wellbeing of Dawnhaven. Are you willing to do so?”
”I am.”
“Can I assume that you will be able to continue your work as a Priestess of Aelios for the people of Dawnhaven?”
”Yes, I am both a Priestess and a trained Healer. I can diagnose and address various ailments, illness or physical. I can also give spiritual guidance.” Ranni said softly, a hint of irritation in her tone for a brief second, as if the Priestess resented the implication that her current status might've affected her profession.
Flynn nodded, “You and your healing abilities have already proven to be of great importance here, and for that, you have my deepest gratitude.” He paused, giving her a slight bow of his head out of respect before meeting eyes with her once more.
“Welcome to Dawnhaven, Priestess.” He said, watching Ranni rise from her seat and head for the door.
“Dyna, could you come in for a moment?” He called out, projecting his voice so that it reached the Champion he knew was waiting diligently for her twin sister just outside the door.
Dyna had barely gotten a chance to check on her sister, just enough to notice the utterly defeated look upon Ranni's features. Enough to have driven the Champion to already be halfway towards the door when the Prince asked for her to enter. A mere moment later, the Champion in her brilliant golden armor stepped into the room and allowed the door to shut behind herself. Standing just behind the chair Ranni had no doubt been sitting in, the Prince would find his own gaze met with a resolute gaze. Giving nothing away, despite the heavy hand of protective anger in her heart. ”I should remind you, your highness, ‘tis customary to refer to me via my title. I've done naught to earn the trust usage of my name would imply between us.” The Champion said firmly, her tone even to avoid coming across as chiding the Prince, merely repeating the customs drilled into her mind.
Flynn leveled his gaze with hers, but didn’t speak.
Orion, on the other hand, allowed his eyes to track Dyna as she crossed the threshold, taking in the set of her jaw and the carefully contained quality of her anger. He understood it. A sister walking out of that room looking the way Ranni had looked. The impulse to push back at something, anything, was not difficult to read.
But Flynn had nearly suffocated twenty minutes ago.
"Protocol noted," Orion said, his tone even. "Though I'd suggest the Prince has earned a measure of good faith this evening."
”You wished to see me?” She asked after a moment of silence, deciding it better for now to ask her sister what happened instead of simply making assumptions. For now, Dyna decided to hear out the reason for her summons… after all, she'd be a liar to say she wasn't curious…
“Yes,” Flynn began, sitting up a touch straighter in his chair. “It concerns your sister.” He studied the Champion intently as he spoke, trying to find what emotions might surface behind that rigid wall she’d been built behind.
“Her blight-born powers are out of control.” he said evenly. “She’s invaded the Princess's mind once before. Just now, she did the same to me. I saw what I believe was the memory of her death.” He paused, letting that sink in for a moment.
“By the end of it, I could barely breathe. She was suffocating me.”
His gaze shifted briefly toward his advisor. “Had Orion not intervened, she might’ve killed me.”
His attention returned to Dyna.
“The Priestess has already proven herself very valuable, and I don’t believe she knows when her power is overtaking her.” he continued. “But good intentions don't lessen the danger she poses.”
His tone remained calm and steady, though the exhaustion pressing behind his eyes seemed to harden slightly around something he left unspoken.
“She needs guidance. People who better understand this transformation and what it takes not to succumb to it. I’ll be asking the Sages to help her, and I intend to find another blight-born capable of teaching her control before someone is seriously harmed.”
His gaze held hers firmly.
“I tell you all of this because you are her closest source of support here.” A slight pause. “She’s going to need it.”
As the champion listened to the Prince's words, she felt the barest hints of anxiety form in her gut. Ranni, possibly the most gentle soul Dyna could think of, had nearly killed the Prince. Yet at the same time, there was something unsaid in Flynn's words that the Champion did not like. For the briefest of moments, a flash of concern shown in the Champion's eyes, even as her jaw set. Her protectiveness over her sister took hold for a moment before it was crushed down. Replaced once more by the stoic neutrality she wore mere moments before.
A simple nod after a long few moments of silence heralded the start of her reply.
”I see. I apologize, as I am certain Priestess Ranni has for intrusions.” He said, her own gaze holding his own, unfaltering. ”And I appreciate the candor, your Highness.” She said, pausing a few moments as she seemed to debate her next words.
”However.” She began, straightening herself slightly. ”The very logic you apply to the Priestess, can be applied moreso to both your family and my Church. At any moment, a single individual in either of our organizations can give a single order and innumerable will die.” She said, pausing for only a moment. ”Priestess Ra- no, my sister is scared, she is dealing with something that could not have been prepared for. She has shown both regret over what she has caused, and a desire to control it.” She said, still holding his gaze as she allowed the unshakable warrior she'd been trained to be to show in her eyes.
”We appreciate the offers of assistance, and happily take you up on them. We will do everything in our power to help my sister learn control, and minimize any risk she poses in the meantime.” She said, hoping she was doing an adequate job at showing she was agreeing to terms he'd set out thus far, words had never been her strong suit.
”Out of respect for your willingness to let her try, and your previous candor, I shall be candid as well. I have heard similar conversations to that which we just had. Typically, they've ended with suggestions of pre-emptive action to nullify a danger.” She said, holding his gaze.
”Until it is proven there is intent behind Ranni's danger, I will not accept such an action against her. Either as a Priestess under my guard or as my sister.” She said, before realizing who she'd just threatened, and color filled her cheeks. Flynn lifted a brow ever so slightly – the first expression he’d shown since Dyna had begun speaking.
Dyna finally allowed her gaze and tone to soften before speaking again. ”That being said, your highness, I do apologize if I have misread the intent in your words. If you truly saw what you claim, then you understand why I must be protective of her.” She finished, lifting her head slightly after she did, preparing for whatever response he'd deemed necessary.
“You didn’t misread my concern.” Flynn’s gaze held hers steadily. “But you did misread my intent.”
Silence settled briefly between them.
“Seemingly, the Priestess regrets what happened. She wants to do better. That’s precisely why we’re having this conversation instead of a very different one.” Flynn watched her for any movement — any shifting of emotion behind her eyes. “If I believed she intended harm, Champion, we wouldn’t be discussing tutors and sage oversight.”
Not a threat. Simply a fact.
His eyes drifted toward the door through which Ranni had departed.
“You don’t need to convince me that she’s frightened. I saw– I felt enough to understand that much.” He leaned back slightly in his chair, his gaze returning to her.
“Dawnhaven was built to help those affected by the blight. I intend to stand by that.” A brief pause. “I have no intention of harming her.”
His gaze flicked briefly to Orion. His advisor, his friend — affected by the blight too. Flynn returned his attention to Dyna.
“But Dawnhaven’s safety comes first. The Priestess — your sister — is dangerous. Without intent, but dangerous nonetheless.”
The weight of responsibility pressed heavy over his shoulders. The people of Dawnhaven had already been gravely affected by a dangerous blight-born.
He’d already failed to protect them once.
“Helping her learn control isn’t a punishment. It’s the difference between giving her a future and leaving her to a world that will not hesitate to decide it for her.”
Orion held Flynn's glance for a second before looking at Dyna. "He means it," he said quietly without elaboration. He had been exactly where Ranni was now, dangerous without intent, and had ended up in this room because someone had decided he was worth the risk. Besides, his role here was not to fight the champion's battles or the prince's. It was to ensure that when words failed, something else remained, like trust perhaps or the faint possibility of it.
“Then I apologize for my speaking out of turn, your Highness.” Dyna replied, her tone softening just slightly from before. “I daresay on her behalf that the Priestess appreciates your generosity and will work towards control of her newfound abilities.” The Champion added, with a small bow of her head. “And… thank you. From a concerned sister, this time, not a guardian.” She said finally, speaking softer and with a hint of more emotion in her tone than usual.
Location: Camp “Don’t worry, girl.” Eris said softly, breath fogging in the air.
A black dapple mare huffed as the Sage rose onto her tippy toes, struggling to pull a large wool blanket over the horse's back. The blanket was thick and heavy — clearly expensive — and decorated with intricate geometric patterns in the signature Aurelian colors of emerald green and gold.
“There.” Eris tugged the blanket snug and fastened the clasp beneath the mare’s neck.“Nice and warm for you, Ves.”
Vesper flicked both ears flat against her head and simply stared.
Eris stared back, pursing her lips in response. “I know…”
The horse looked unconvinced.
Yesterday’s arrival had been merciful. Calm skies. The bright moon overhead to light their path. Almost pleasant.
But now, the landscape seemed to remember itself.
Large snowflakes drifted from the sky. Storm clouds gathered, obscuring the moonlight. What had once been a gentle breeze was slowly becoming aggressive gusts.
Within the first two days of the eleven day journey, Eris had discovered she despised the wind. The way it kept her awake at night, howling at the fabric of her tent. The way it made the air feel like tiny razor blades against her skin.
Long gone were the days where she yearned for it in the dead heat of an Aurelian summer.
And the cold… the cold was relentless. Ever present, stiffening every muscle and joint in her body. Even now, under her fur-lined hood and insulated winter-wear, she knew the cold would manage to find its way under each layer.
The Lunarians would laugh at her for saying this was the worst weather she’d ever experienced, she knew. The worst was yet to come, they’d say.
The thought did little to comfort her.
Gently, with gloved hands, she cupped Vesper’s face and pet the bridge of her nose. The mare protested immediately, lifting Eris’s wrist with her nose and nibbling at the end of her coat sleeve.
Eris yanked her hand away, shooting Vesper an unamused glare. “Hey! You goat.” She said pointedly, then smiled.
Vesper looked entirely unapologetic.
“Fine. Get some rest.”
Stepping back, Eris surveyed the makeshift coral. The expedition’s horses stood bundled beneath blankets, heads lowered as they grazed on hay that had been tossed out for them. Like the people who accompanied them, they looked exhausted from their long journey through frozen mountain terrain.
Her gaze shifted beyond them.
The camp sprawled across a clearing. Tents scattered in a loosely organized fashion, clustered around a central fire. Guards patrolled the perimeter while others unpacked equipment or tended to the animals. Snow piles lined the edge of the clearing where they’d shoveled it to make room for crates of research, medical and food supplies.
Beyond the trees lay the western sea. The scent of salt lingered faintly in the air.
People moved slowly, milling about as they settled into what would become their new home for the next few days. Some warmed stiff hands around the fire. Others were only now emerging from their tents — deservedly.
She, too, was exhausted.
Sleep had been hard to come by since she’d arrived in Dawnhaven, but out here, it’d been ten times worse.
Every snapping branch. Every distant howl. Every unfamiliar sound set her on edge.
Her gaze lifted, following an old road that had long been forgotten. Abandoned and snow covered, until they had arrived.
The path climbed steadily towards the ruins of a village perched atop a distant hill. Even here, when the moonlight hit just right, she could see the deathly purple glow of blight emanating from it.
It made her stomach knot.
Turning away from the village, she spotted Orion heading toward the campfire.
Good. Yesterday, they’d agreed to begin research immediately.
Time was not on their side.
There had only been so much they could safely haul from Dawnhaven and back. Food would only last so long. They couldn’t remain here indefinitely.
And none of them truly knew what lingered at the edge of the blight — or in it.
Leaving Vesper’s side, Eris quietly made her way into the center of camp.
As she approached, her eyes briefly settled on one of the figures already standing around the fire to warm themselves. The High Priestess of Seluna.
Admittedly, Eris hadn’t spoken to her much. A greeting here. A brief conversation there.
Eris had spent most of the journey buried in her journal, trying to document everything. The paths they took. Plants. Wildlife. Weather patterns. Animal behavior. Anything she thought might prove useful later.
If she documented enough, perhaps she would eventually see something everyone else had missed.
“Good morning, Priestess.” She greeted softly, offering a respectful bow of her head as she passed, then continued forward.
“Good morning, Lord Nightingale.” Eris slowed to a stop beside him, offering another polite bow.
“Thank you for meeting with me.” A faint smile touched her lips. A forced habit despite the nerves twisting her gut.
“I believe Ivor already went ahead to scout the area.” Her gaze briefly followed the road. “Nesna should join us today, too.”
She paused, scanning the camp, but failing to find the blight-born.
Surprisingly, she’d grown fond of the woman’s company during the journey. Nesna’s curiosity sparked something in Eris, which helped to ease her nerves and refocus her mind. Her casual conversation had even become something to look forward to.
“Guard Hale.” Eris called, spotting the dark-haired Lunarian guard as he tossed a log into the fire. He turned and met her eyes, raising a brow. “Would you mind finding Nesna for us?”
Hale answered with a lazy mock salute and a smirk before disappearing between the tents.
Eris watched him go as the wind picked up again, carrying a swirl of snow through the center of camp. Around them, more expedition members were beginning to emerge from their tents. Some carried mugs of steaming coffee or tea. Others began checking their equipment or speaking quietly with one another.
The camp was waking.
Eris folded her gloved hands together in front of her for warmth.
“The weather appears to be worsening.” She stated softly, her gaze flicking briefly to the distant ruins of the village and then back to Orion. “Once Ivor returns and Nesna joins us, perhaps we should gather everyone near the fire?”
Current Moon Phase: Waxing Gibbous | Current Weather: 20F (-6C), scattered clouds, light breeze | Current Time: 10am
Two long weeks have passed. For some, the days were harder than others.
Fourteen days ago, preparations began for a journey into the blightlands. Notices were sent to those selected for the mission, and the following three days were spent gathering supplies, preparing equipment, and making final arrangements for the journey ahead.
The expedition was kept deliberately small, composed only of those deemed essential.
In the Aurelian Prince’s stead, his advisor, Orion, was entrusted with leading the expedition. Two Sages — Eris and Nathaniel — would oversee the team’s research efforts, aided by the eager blight-born Nesna, whose ability to traverse the blight and provide aerial reconnaissance made her an invaluable asset. Tia, High Priestess of Aelios and Dawnhaven’s greatest healer, accompanied them, should her skills be required. Ivor, an experienced navigator, was tasked with guiding the group safely through the unforgiving Lunarian wilderness.
Accompanying them were the bodies of the recently fallen guards, Aliseth Kain and Abel Egelidus. High Priestess of Seluna, Katherine, joined the party to tend to the deceased and ensure they would receive proper Lunarian rites before being committed to the sea.
To protect the expedition, a unit of guards traveled alongside them: Dyna, Adonis, Zephyros, Daphne, and a handful of younger guards from both Aurelia and Lunaris who had been brave enough to volunteer.
Eleven arduous days passed before the expedition finally reached its destination near the edge of the nearest blight zone. The journey had been long and unforgiving. Bitter winds swept across the ice, snowstorms reduced visibility to mere yards, and the frozen terrain tested even the hardiest of travelers. Yet despite the harsh conditions, the expedition suffered no major setbacks. A handful of blighted animals crossed their path, but the guards dispatched them swiftly and without serious injury.
Against the odds, the journey there had been a success.
Now, at last, the true purpose of the expedition begins.
Far away, Dawnhaven waits. The town carries on beneath the long winter night, hopeful that those who ventured into the blight will uncover answers where so many have failed — and return safely.
Location: Eye of the Beholder A faint smile ghosted across Eris’s lips as she listened to Sya — ever warm and welcoming. Her eyes continued to scan the wall of unfamiliar books for a few minutes, lingering briefly on a title labelled “The Space Between: When Light Shared the Sky”
Hearing her name, she turned, blue eyes settling onto Valthyr. Instinctively, her posture straightened at the request for a healer. She reached for her magic, the delicate threads she incessantly pulled at until they frayed or snapped.
It was there, a slow drip returning back to her system with each passing moment. She could feel its warmth — only a small ember, begging not to be smothered. She needed to rest, to leave it alone. She was nearing the limit, and yet…
As Valthyr peeled away a strange leaf-woven bandage, something sharpened in her expression. Fatigue overwritten by focus.
You’re capable of more. Push yourself. A Hightower knows no ceilings. Was it her brother's voice she recalled? Her fathers? Perhaps the voice had become her own.
As Sya slithered out of the room, Eris stepped closer to Valthyr. Gently, she took his arm in her hands, examining the wound. It no longer appeared to be bleeding, but the skin was still broken and alarmingly inflamed. No visible signs of decaying flesh that she might’ve expected from the blight. The giant before her didn’t appear to be in any feverish or serious state. Lucky for him.
“I can try,” She said quietly, meeting his gaze. “I… I should warn you, I’m not at full strength.”
An understatement.
Before she could say more, Sya returned. Eris stepped back from Valthyr, blinking as a small purse was pressed into his hand, then her attention shifted to the liquid being poured.
The smell hit her first. Sharp. Strong. It turned her stomach slightly.
Out of courtesy, Eris accepted the glass anyway.
“You made this yourself, Sya?” she asked curiously, trying to keep her facial expression warm as she eyed the small glass of what might as well have been acid. “You’re too kind.”
As Sya made her toast, Eris hesitated only a fraction before lifting the glass.
“To… good company.” She added before taking the smallest possible sip.
Instant regret.
Her face tightened — just slightly, but enough — a faint wince she couldn’t fully hide as the liquid burned its way down her throat. It was… aggressively potent. How in the world was Sya making this?
Eris lowered the glass almost immediately, setting it aside with quiet finality. That was more than enough. There were important things to do and she couldn’t afford to be drinking herself blind.
Her attention returned to Valthyr, hoping to evade any request Sya might have for her to drink more. “Let me see,” she said, stepping closer and reaching for his arm once more.
She paused just before touching him. A deep breath. A moment to center herself, to feel every ounce of what was left of her magic. Then, carefully, she placed her fingers near the wound and reached inward.
Normally, it came easily. A current. An overflowing well. A responsive, familiar flow of magic waiting just beneath her skin.
Now… only something faint and muffled remained. Distant. Like trying to stoke a fire in the middle of a rainstorm, she tried to coax it.
Eris’s brows knit slightly as a sharp burst of pain spread deep in the veins of her arms. She tried again, slower this time. More deliberate. Pulling not with force, but with patience.
A thread answered. Thin. Flickering. But there.
Relief flickered across her face as warmth spread slowly from her core. Soft light gathered at her fingertips, weaker than she would have liked, but steady. It sank carefully into the wound, guided with precision.
She worked slowly. Methodically. Every motion measured. Every ounce of energy accounted for.
A pounding headache began to form along her temples, but she weaved what little magic she had into Valthyr. Slowly, the wound began to close.
Her breathing grew shallow. Then heavier. The light flickered once. Twice.
Eris swallowed, forcing focus, pushing just a little further. Just enough to ensure the worst of it was handled. Then she pulled back. The light vanished. Her hand lingered on his arm for a moment longer as she examined where a red scar remained — something that would not have happened were she at her full strength.
Feeling dizzy, Eris found herself a seat among the many pillows littered across the room. She exhaled slowly, her shoulders dipping just slightly as the effort caught up to her.
“That should…” she began, voice softer now, a touch strained, “be good, for now.” She paused, closing her eyes to steady herself. “Please let me know if you have any other complications.”
She reopened her eyes, looking up at Valthyr. Every bone in her hands felt worn. Brittle.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t do more.” She meant it. “Another healer could try to remove the scar, if you like. Or I can, once I’ve recovered.”
Location: Hot Springs > Eye of the Beholder Looking up — far, far, far up — Eris met the man’s eyes as he introduced himself. In a way, he reminded her of Ivor. His imposing stature, his unruly hair, the outwardly friendly nature — in a much quieter sort of way. Unlike with Ivor, however, she couldn't get an immediate sense of which kingdom Valthyr belonged to based on his surface alone.
She offered a small, formal bow, lips parting to introduce herself, but Sya beat her to it. Smiling, Eris turned her focus to the innkeeper, trying to keep her gaze fixed on Sya’s face and not her bare chest or the reptilian tail she’d so suddenly gained.
As Sya led Valthyr away, Eris quietly followed behind the mismatched pair. Her blue eyes flicked between the two, curious about the nature of their relationship, but her attention inevitably pulled back to Sya’s tail as it slithered through the dampened dirt along the spring’s edge. The hair at the back of Eris’s neck stood up, sending a chill creeping down her spine. Nervously, she swallowed, trying to steel against her inner instinct to run back to the safe warmth of the temple.
Fingers curling tight around Tia’s hairpins, Eris looked up to meet Sya’s eye as the two came to a stop. She smiled, and felt herself soften as Sya — sweet, sweet Sya — showered her with more undue praise and called her sister.
“You’re too kind, Sya.”
Eris shifted her gaze back to Valthyr, the faint smile still in place.
“I’m Eris Hightower. The Lead Sage here. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Valthyr. Anyone who is a friend of Sya’s is a friend of mi—.”
Suddenly, Sya was hugging her. Eris stiffened, eyes growing wide, but the tension eased almost immediately. Hugging Sya felt no different than before. She was just as warm, just as inviting.
Slowly, Eris removed her hands from her pockets and returned the embrace. When Sya kissed her cheek and booped her nose, a quiet laugh escaped her, her smile briefly turning playful as let Sya step — slither? — out of the hug.
Her smile faltered, however, at Sya’s next comment.
“vou came back, I can convince vou to join ve in bed with your handsome lover, Voking, joking!. But vou are pretty Erisss.”
Her… lover? The word hit her harder than it should have.
What sort of gossip was circulating about her?
Sya’s compliments weren’t unusual. She praised many people freely and generously. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard Sya call her pretty. That wasn’t out of the ordinary. But who was she referring to as Eris’s lover, exactly?
Had Ayel already spread word of his intentions to marry her? No… no, surely he couldn’t have been that confident in her acceptance… right? And Sya wouldn’t have called him handsome… would she? He didn’t seem her type. Her type seemed more…
Eris’s eyes found Valthyr briefly before shifting back to Sya, who had already moved on.
“Uhm…” Eris tried to force herself out of her panicked train of thought, acutely aware of how rumors could cling to people. Gossip held weight — especially for people like her. It always had. “Going to the eye sounds wonderful, Sya.” She forced another faint smile, despite the nerves building and buzzing within her chest.
“How are vou Eris, i hear handsome man ask vou to dance, you have do vi need to ban anyone vor hurting you? Any Interesting … talk about town? “
Her heart sank. The dance. The damned dance she let herself partake in. Of course.
Now half the town likely thought she was sleeping with Nathaniel — worse, a fellow Sage, her subordinate — and casting all her responsibilities to the side. She should have just gone back to work — and everyone who had been at that tavern knew it too.
Eris slipped her hands back into her coat pockets, fingers finding the gemstone and Tia’s hairpins to grip and channel her nervous energy into once again. Her stomach twisted at the thought of the rumor getting back to her family in Aurelia.
As Sya hooked her arm through Eris’s, she fought the urge to stiffen. On the bright side, the shame spiraling through her thoughts dulled her awareness of Sya’s tail brushing lightly against her hip as they moved away from the springs with Valthyr in tow.
“Well, I… ” Her throat felt dry, her steps unsteady. Her mind was chaotic as it searched for what she should and shouldn’t say — all too aware of the stranger who followed behind. “I helped heal the Princess yesterday. Along with a blight-born Aurelian Priestess named Ranni… I believe she’s new to town, but she was a great help. I’m grateful the Princess is okay….”
As they continued toward the tavern, Eris offered safer details of her day. Meeting Charlotte, who helped her get away from a guard named Aliseth. How Aliseth punched the stone mason. And how the stonemason had, thankfully, shown some restraint after Eris tried to force the two men apart.
Purposely, she said nothing of the new blight discovery, or the intruder and the gemstone weighing heavy in her pocket. Neither did she dig deeper into what Sya had heard about the nature of her and Nathaniel’s relationship. She didn’t know Valthyr, nor trust him, regardless of Sya’s friendliness with him.
Inside the tavern, Sya guided them to a new addition that had been added to the Eye — a library. Eris gently untangled herself from Sya and wandered the shelves, eyes tracing the spines of each book.
“This is a lovely addition, Sya.” She said softly. “Much quieter than the bar. Perhaps I’ll visit more often.” She smiled, glancing at her friend briefly.
Location: Aelios Temple > Hot Springs Eris kept her expression composed as she and Lord Raunefeldt walked down the hall, leaving the High Priestess’ chambers behind them. The two guards remained near the room, already speaking in low, urgent tones about calling for reinforcements to investigate the alleged “break-in.”
Good, she thought. Little of Ayel’s story made sense to her, but she wasn’t about to question him directly. Not without evidence of what had really happened. Not when her energy was already running dangerously thin.
As they entered the central chamber of the temple, she stepped aside and inclined her head toward him with practiced diplomacy. “Thank you again, Lord Raunefeldt, for your… patience. I greatly appreciate it and I—”
Mid-sentence, a thought struck. Frazzled by Ayel’s forwardness, she’d completely forgotten to ask something.
Eris blinked and immediately turned toward the hallway, then paused. “Forgive me. I need to speak with the guards. Be well, Lord Raunefeldt. May Aelios guide you safely.”
Before Ayel could respond, she pivoted, her boots tapping swiftly against the stone floor as she returned to the two guards who were now forming a barricade at the High Priestess’ doorway.
Kale straightened at her approach. “I’m sorry, Lady Hightower, but we can’t have you back here.”
“I apologize,” she said, lowering her voice. “But have either of you seen the innkeeper today? I heard she was headed this way. Or the High Priestess? Do you know when she’ll return?”
“I saw the innkeeper head out to the hot springs a while ago,” Kale replied, glancing at his counterpart who simply shrugged and shook his head. “Haven’t seen the High Priestess since this morning.”
“Thank you.” Eris glanced briefly past him into the dark of Tia’s room. “Please let me know what you learn about the break-in, when you can.”
Kale nodded once, then flicked a subtle look down the corridor, signaling that it was time for her to move on. With that, Eris slipped away.
In the temple’s center, she paused at the eternal flame, letting its sacred heat seep into her. Quietly, she whispered a prayer for strength, then crossed the chamber and pushed open the side door that led to the back of the temple.
Warmth met her immediately. A dense wave of steam rolled from the springs, curling around her face and loosening the tension in her shoulders. A small blessing.
For a moment, it almost felt peaceful.
Her gaze swept through the drifting fog, finding the familiar alcove at the top of the steps leading into the private baths. Instinctively, she slipped her hands into her pockets, fingers finding the hairpins Tia had left behind. She recalled sitting there with the High Priestess — Tia’s quiet guidance, the push to investigate the blight-born’s blood…. but how had she known?
Hearing a faint echo of voices coming from below, Eris stilled. For a moment, she simply listened, trying to pick out each word and voice. How many people were there? Who was it? Were the tones happy? What was she about to walk into?
To her dismay, she was unable to decipher much.
Mindful of the slick stone, she began descending the large steps toward the lower springs. Sya’s voice reached her first. The northern Aurelian wilds cadence was unmistakable.
As Eris drew nearer, she spotted Sya’s silhouette through the steam. The form of a half-snake, half-woman was difficult to miss, even blurred. She was speaking to an exceptionally tall man, wrapped around him, and beginning to lead him… somewhere.
Eris’ curiosity flickered, but she kept it tightly contained, careful not to let it show in her expression as her gaze flicked between the pair. The man looked… imposing, to say the least. But if Sya was comfortable with him, then he was likely safe… right?
Her stomach tightened as the steam parted, her eyes finding Sya more clearly. The innkeeper’s new serpent tail gleamed, damp from the springwater, coiled where legs should be — where they had been only mere weeks ago.
Eris swallowed.
She’d always hated snakes. Their movement, their eyes, the way their tongues flicked. In Aurelia, many carried venom potent enough to kill. And yet Sya…. was Sya. Gentle. Warm. Earnest.
She remembered her own reflexive flinch when she’d first seen Sya’s second transformation. The way Sya’s expression flickered painfully at Eris’ speedy retreat. And the short letter Sya had written afterward, so soft and kind. Just as Sya had been from the moment they met in Dawnhaven, just over two months ago.
“Sya…” Eris called softly, slowing her pace, her gaze flicking briefly to the stranger then back to her friend. “I’m sorry… I hope I’m not interrupting something?”
Stepping into the Alchemy Chambers, Zeph scanned the room for the nobles they’d left at the door. Strangely, two seemed to be missing — Hightower and… that other guy he hadn’t bothered to remember the name of.
His gaze settled on Nesna, assessing. The warm glow of the hearth’s firelight illuminated her, the soft golden hue almost making her greyish skin tone appear more human than she was. Nearer to the flames, the older Sage who’d healed up his wrist was in the middle of speaking to her. Penelope’s dark eyes flicked past Nesna, landing on the two guards as they entered, though her voice didn’t falter.
“…our dear King didn’t deem it worth the resources until it was far too late,” she said, tone steady as her attention returned to Nesna. “We know the blight rises from the earth itself, but we’re really just beginning our research. We’re here to find out why it’s happening.” Her gaze shifted to Nesna’s wings, curious but cautious. “And how people like yourself managed to survive it.”
Stepping forward, Zeph picked up his pace to pass Charlotte. Purposely drifting too close, his shoulder brushed up against hers. With a gentle push of his elbow, he nudged her just off balance enough to force her to stumble sideways and out of his path. Shooting her a sidelong glance, he smirked, then continued ahead as though nothing had happened.
“We're hopeful that the interviews the Prince holds will help us to find a common denominator between you...”
Stopping in front of the hearth, Zeph extended his hands out towards the flames and exhaled with relief, letting the warmth settle back into his bones. After a few breaths, the silence that had fallen over the room became noticeable. When he glanced over his shoulder, Penelope was staring him down with an expectantly arched brow.
“Oh…” He gave her a sheepish smile before turning to address the room. “Perimeter looks clear.” He reported, tucking his hands into his coat pockets.
Hearing approaching footsteps, Zeph’s gaze shifted past Penelope, finding the male Sage as he emerged from a dim hallway. His eyes tracked the man’s movement as he continued, “There’s damage to one of the outer walls, though. We should let Azkona know. He’ll have it fixed up in no time… after he’s done huffing about it, anyway.”
Penelope let out a long, weary sigh, rubbing her temple but saying nothing more.
Zeph’s lips twitched upward as he turned his attention back to her, then settled onto Nesna once more. Taking a small step back, he angled himself to better see Nesna’s wings as the fire cast them in light. He leaned in, invading her space without seeming to notice, his head tilting with quiet curiosity.
“Stitching still looks good,” he murmured, inspecting what he could in the subpar lighting. “The opening for your wings… seems to be holding up well.”
He was opening his mouth to ask whether she’d found the local tailor to make adjustments to the rest of her clothing when the entry door swung open. An Aurelian guard stepped inside, snow and mud covered boots thudding against the wooden floors. He scanned the room, and Zeph’s brow furrowed at the tension in the man’s posture.
“Apologies for the intrusion. Is Lady Hightower in the building? I’ve an urgent message for her.” the guard’s gaze swept the room, lingering on Charlotte for a brief moment.
Penelope’s expression sharpened. “No. Can I take a message?”
“There’s been an incident at the jail with a blight-born. Suspected to be the one responsible for the attack yesterday. Sages are needed. There are… remains." The guard shifted, visibly uneasy. “If Lady Hightower isn’t here… what about her second? Lord Galahad?”
Penelope nodded once. “I’ll fetch him.”
With a swirl of robes, she vanished deeper into the chambers, leaving the others standing in the flicker of the hearth’s glow.
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