Valiant: The Covenant Chronicles

[Covenant #42: The Story Goes On]

Log Date: [3/18/12765]

Data Sources: Raikaron Syntaritov, Jayta Syntaritov

Event Log: Raikaron Syntaritov

Tirsigal: Somewhere

10:16am SGT

It’s some time before my summons is answered, but it’s given me time to find a good place to seat myself in the barren hollow where I’ve spent the last couple of hours. By the time the glowing seam appears in the air and starts to open, I’ve gotten fairly comfortable on the rock I’ve chosen, and it’s started to lose some of the chill that comes from being so near to a mythical ice blade.

“Regret.” Gratitude says as he steps through, adjusting his tie and immediately shivering. “Oh goodness. That’s a bit cooler than I was expecting.”

I nod to Andalus, which is sheathed in the ground at the center of the hollow. “Not to worry. The rest of the planet is still uncomfortably warm, and will likely remain so for a few millennia.”

“I see.” Gratitude says, reaching into his white suit jacket and starting to pull out a scarf. “How did it go?”

I return my attention to the dark horizon beyond the hollow. We are in one of the mountain ranges that Azra raised; the jagged outline of the mountains eventually gives way to cooling magma plains, speckled with orange beneath a sky heavy with ash-black clouds. It’s a desolate picture, and a lonely view. “Oh, you know. They did as heroes do. Fought the villain, saved the day, rescued the girl. They even won without any casualties, and just enough injuries to give them a few scars to brag about later. A perfect ending, really.”

“Your definition of perfect is… unique.” he remarks as he walks over to stand beside me, the seam closing behind him. “I’m sure they would’ve preferred to get away without any scars at all.”

“It was perfection in the sense that it was a perfect way to close a story.” I explain, lacing my fingers together. “If mortals could defeat a demon goddess with barely a scratch, I’d hardly be inclined to believe that she was that much of a threat.”

“A fair point. You don’t seem to happy about it, though.” he observes as he finishes looping the scarf around his neck. “I thought you would be the most relieved for those mortals to succeed as they did. Their success is your success, isn’t it?”

“Yes, yes, of course.” I say, my mind still distant. “It’ll be very good for my resume, and all that.”

Gratitude glances down at me, and after a moment, takes a seat on a nearby rock without a word.

“What do you know about Tirsigal, Gratitude?” I ask after a moment. “About its history. About the people that lived here.”

He tilts his head up a little as he considers that. “Well. Obviously they were Symbiotes. I assume many of them are descended from the Ranters that were here when the planet was assimilated a thousand years ago… and prior to that, the planet was obviously a Ranter colony, populated by Ranters.”

“Yes. That is the history, up to a thousand years ago.” I murmur, rubbing my thumbs together. “You know, there was a population here, back before the Serenity War. They think it was Marshies, though nobody’s entirely sure. There weren’t a lot of records left over after the War. Point is, the War happened, and the Shyl-tari came here. They killed and slaughtered everyone that wouldn’t convert. They carved their way through about twenty percent of the population before the rest capitulated. But then the War ended, and the Dark Dragine showed up here a few years later for the cleanup. Killed the Shyl-tari that were still here, and purged the rest of the population because they had been converted into zealots.”

Gratitude gazes around the scorched landscape. “I didn’t know.”

“Well, it didn’t stop there.” I continue. “Decades later, once all the corpses had rotted and the planet recovered, the Viralix came along. Saw a habitable world with vegetation taking over urban decay, and they decided to start a colony here. And then the Venusians came along, and had some axe to grind with the Viralix over something or another. Razed the colony and turned it into a military outpost. So the Viralix sent one of their starcities, glassed the outpost, destroyed the comms relays in this system, and left what few survivors there were to starve to death. And eventually the Ranters came here, and set up a colony of their own, centuries after the Venusians.”

Gratitude folds one leg over the other. “And the Collective came and took it from them, and then Azra came and took it from the Collective.”

“Nobody ever thinks it’ll happen to them. Even though it happened to everybody else before them.” I say, taking a deep breath. “The land is soaked in blood, but still they come here. They build foundations on the bones of those that were here before them, and they think that it will be different this time. That what happened to their predecessors will not happen to them.”

“You think this planet is cursed?”

I frown, shaking my head. “No. This is just the nature of mortals. This is what they do; it is part of what makes them… mortal. Repeating history over and over and over again, even when it is written in the ground beneath their feet. Thinking they are different even when they are carving the exact same circles.”

I can see Gratitude fidgeting with his fingers out of the corner of my eye. “The Collective is going to want this world back.” he observes, carefully.

“I’m sure they do.” I say. “As does the Rantheon.”

Gratitude’s quiet for a moment, then: “Part of your commission was rendering judgement on what should be done with the planet once Azra had been evicted from it.”

“Indeed. That is something I’ve ruminated upon for much of the last day or so.” I say, studying the dark horizon again. “I think, in my report, I will recommend to the Gathering that nobody be allowed to have the planet.”

He glances at me. “Punishing both sides?”

“Not punishment, so much as a lesson. Let it remain scorched and lifeless for now. Let it be a testament that there is no victor when ambition outpaces morality. That the only thing left after the war is this: ash and blood and bodies to be buried.”

“That will not dissuade the Collective from attacking other worlds, Regret.”

“No. Probably not.” I agree. “But the message should be sent anyway. It should be said, even if it will not change anything.”

“The Gathering will not be happy with your verdict.” he says. “The individual members, that is. They will be relying on your report, and your recommendations, to lay blame. A report that recommends this world remain barren, and that nobody gets to claim it, will not give them a clear answer on where the blame for this crisis lies.”

“Is there a clear answer on who we should blame for this, Gratitude?” I ask.

“I suppose there isn’t. But that won’t stop the members of the Gathering from wanting to assign blame anyway.”

“Let them play their politics, then, and fight it out among themselves.” I say. “I was charged with seeing this crisis to its conclusion, reporting my observations, and recommending a verdict. I will deliver that, say my piece, and what they do with it afterwards is up to them.”

I think he can sense that my mind is set on this, so he doesn’t argue it further. Neither of us say anything afterwards, both mired in our thoughts and the heavy burden of our roles.

“It really was pretty senseless, wasn't it.” he says at length. “All that death and destruction, just for it to end like this. A dead world that never got fully terraformed, so no one can use it anymore.”

“I won’t change my mind, Gratitude.” I answer without looking at him. “This needs to hurt. It needs to sting. It needs to feel senseless and stupid and pointless. Otherwise, nothing will be learned. No lessons will be taken away from this. And all those people will have died for nothing.”

“If we don’t do anything with this world, then they did die for nothing.” he argues. “At least if we rehabilitate this world, then mortals will be able to live here again—”

“And let them fight over it again?” I say, finally looking at him. “Kill each other again? Soak the ground with blood once more? Build fleeting foundations on the bones of those they’ve killed? Because that is what they will do if we paper over their mistakes and heal this world. They will go right back to fighting over who it belongs to, and who should get to live here. And we will find ourselves back here in a few centuries or millennia, if not sooner, repeating this same tired story.” I look away again. “No, this world needs a break. It needs time for memories to fade and for history to drift into the past, until all that mortals remember of this planet is that it’s uninhabitable. If I leave Andalus here, slowly cooling the planet, it’ll rehabilitate itself in fifteen or twenty thousand years. And if Andalus is removed, it’ll take even longer. By the time it’s habitable again, the name of this world will probably have been lost, or named something else. Perhaps then it can have a fresh start, with a new people. Something better than the cycle of bloodshed that it’s known for the last thirteen thousand years.”

Gratitude’s lips draw tight. “You ought to give mortals more credit than you assign them, Regret. They cannot break the cycle if you do not give them the chance to do so.”

“They have not earned that trust, Gratitude. Not where it pertains to this world.” I counter. “And besides, the cycle is already broken. Just not in the way they want it to be. Tragedy and loss, while unpleasant, are powerful teachers.”

“I know we joke about it often, but I can see why you are employed in hell and I am employed in heaven.” he says, looking away. “There is a grim strength in you. Traces of the old ways.”

“Education comes in many forms. Sometimes it is cruel.” I reply. “That is one of the enduring lessons of my ancestor; one of the ancient truths of the Dreaming. Existence must necessarily have suffering and hardship, so that we can better understand the true value of happiness and peace. Hereby I deliver this lesson, so that mortal and immortal alike may be reminded of this ancient axiom.”

“Don’t expect it to make you popular at the Gathering.” he mutters, looking around. “You were right, by the way. About the genocide at Juncosa. It was carried out by mortals.”

I give him a sidelong look. “You mention this now, after telling me I should be giving mortals a chance to prove their better angels?”

“I bring it up because I am realizing your argument has a foundation, even if I’m reluctant to admit it.” he retorts. “But because it was a mortal action, it is for mortals to resolve, and I was not tasked with handling it. Once you finish your report, finish your cleanup, and surrender your commission, I will likewise be released from my obligation to monitor you.”

“And we will both be returned to the mess that awaits us in our respective places of employ.” I conclude. “I will admit, I am not looking forward to it.”

“Neither am I.” Gratitude concurs. “There have been… a lot of complaints from my peers.”

I glance at him. “About you?”

“No, about the conditions Kolob has been shoved into. Not that I’m surprised, but the Collective produces a lot of agnostics. The way their culture is structured, it makes it hard for anachronistic religions and traditions to survive the scrutiny of logic, reason, and community exposure. A lot of Symbiotes end up with a generalized belief in the afterlife, but no adherence to a particular deity. So Kolob ends up fielding a lot of Symbiote souls.”

“That tracks.” I say, adjusting my glasses. “So what I’m hearing is that you’re encouraging me to take my time with wrapping things up.”

“Don’t abuse it, obviously. But don’t rush, either. I go back to work when you go back to work, so.”

“‘Go back to work’? I’ve been working this entire time, Gratitude.”

“You want me to believe that spending a couple months babysitting mortals was ‘work’? Please, Regret. We both know better.”

“You weren’t the one that was having to babysit them.”

“It can’t have been that bad.”

“You have no idea. Mortals nowadays have no respect for angels or demons. Like none whatsoever. And they are so mouthy sometimes! If you think I’m lying, just ask Sång, she was there with me. The disrespect was unbelievable.”

“If you say so…”

Event Log: Jayta Jaskolka

Dandelion Drift: Kitchen

3/19/12765 8:12am LST

There’s part of me that still wants to be in bed when I shuffle into the kitchen, rubbing at my eyes. The sizzle of meat catches my attention, and I blink a couple times, looking around and noticing Lysanne at the stove, cooking… eggs and sausage.

“Oh… hey.” I say drowsily, just staring at her and stove. “Aren’t you vegetarian or something?”

“It’s for Kaya.” she says, picking up a fresh blueberry muffin and biting into it. “Normally I wouldn’t even be cooking the stuff, but Dandy said that after losing her tails, Kaya’s going to need protein and red meat to help with the healing and replenish any iron and hemoglobin deficiencies she may have due to blood loss.”

“Oh. Yeah, that makes sense.” I say, turning and looking towards the pantry, then the fridge.

“You want a muffin?” she asks, picking up the plate and holding it out to me.

“Yeah, I guess.” I say, taking a muffin, then shuffling to the cupboards for a plate and a glass.

“Your boyfriend’s still not back yet?” she asks as I pull the milk out of the fridge and start filling a glass.

“He’s got a lot to take care of. He’ll be visiting the Gathering today to deliver his final report.” I say as I screw the lid back on the milk. “After that, he’ll have to check in on the Maelstrom, and visit the Dreaming to handle a matter with the fire sword he took from Azra. He’s going to be busy for a few days.”

“Guess we’ll be keeping you a few more days, then.” she says, moving the scrambled eggs to another plate. “You’re not eager to go back to hell, are you?”

I shake my head, swallowing a mouthful of muffin before answering. “I’d rather be here. Sjelefengsel’s okay, most times, but that’s only because I’m a demon of the Sixth Circle, and I work directly beneath a demon Lord. Most people wouldn’t dare mess with me, but that’s only because of my position and my connections.”

She glances at me. “Do you want to come back here? To the mortal plane, with the rest of us?”

I squirm a little. This is the conversation I’d been trying to avoid up until now. “I mean… yeah, I do, but I can’t, Lysanne. My contract binds me to Raikaron; Raikaron’s contract binds him to Sjelefengsel. I have to go back with him when he goes. Besides, there’s… I can’t come back to the mortal plane. There isn’t a future for me here.”

The spatula clicks against the pan as she shuffles the sausages around. “Because you killed someone.” she says.

I press my lips together. With her girlfriend being a Cyber that was linked to a major security organization, Lysanne probably knew all about what happened on Coreolis. “Yeah.”

Lysanne gives another couple pokes to the sausage in the pan, then looks to me. “Do you really love him, Jayta? Because the way it seems to me, you’re a prisoner. Stuck in hell, bound to a demon Lord — that doesn’t look like love to me.”

“It’s more complicated than that, Lysanne.” I say, washing the muffin down with a swig of milk. “I’m not the only one trapped in Sjelefengsel. He’s trapped too. So is everyone above me and below me. From the First Circle all the way up to the Ninth, we’re all prisoners of our sins, or the contracts we’ve made.” I rub a thumb over the manacle marks around one of my wrists. “The only thing that sets the Circles apart are what freedoms we’re allowed, how thoroughly we’re enslaved. For me, it’s… it’s pretty good. I have to obey, yes, but I have a lot of freedoms. A lot of privileges that lower Circles don’t have. And I have a kind Lord that loves me and shields me. All things being considered, and what I’ve done… I’ve got it pretty good.” I give a shrug. “Better to rule in hell than serve in heaven, and all that.”

Lysanne starts loading the sausages onto the plate with the eggs. “If things don’t work out, and you end up needing a place to go, we’ll always have plenty of rooms here on the Drift, Jayta.” she says, putting a couple muffins on the plate. “And for the record, I think you could do better than a demon Lord. You deserve someone that won’t trap you in a contract that literally keeps you bound to hell.”

I look away at that, because while the sentiment’s nice, I can’t bring myself to agree with it. Even though I want to believe I deserve more than that, I know that with the things I’ve done, I don’t. As much as I want to return to the mortal plane here with everyone else, where I can visit my mother and brother, I know there’s a reason I’m in hell. I might not be damned, but that doesn’t mean I’m not being punished.

“Here. Why don’t you take this to Jazel and Kaya.” Lysanne says, holding the plate out to me. “I’ll get some breakfast put together for you and me while you’re doing that. You’re good with pancakes and fruit, right?”

“Yeah. I’m good with that.” I say, taking a last sip of milk before snagging the plate. “I’ll be back.”

With that, I head back out of the kitchen, making my way along the halls to the rooms assigned to permanent crew. It isn’t long before I’ve reached Jazel’s room, and I ring the doorbell; it takes the better part of a minute for the door to spiral open, revealing a room that’s steeped in shadows, with only the dim glow of witch lanterns set to their lowest lighting. The terrarium against the wall has the glow of living spirit blooms, and on the bed I can see the outline of a raised head with vulpine ears, and the glow of green eyes staring at me. It resembles the flickering tapetum of a wild animal’s eyes when you point a flashlight at them, and it takes me a second to realize those green eyes belong to my brother.

“Lysanne made breakfast for you two.” I say, slipping inside and making my way over to the bed. “Eggs, sausage, blueberry muffins. Forgot to bring milk or juice, sorry.”

“That’s fine.” Jazel says. As I near the bed, I’m able to make out that he’s reclined against the headboard, with a lump beneath the covers tucked in against him. As I get closer, it moves, another head with silver fox ears tilting up and looking at me. My heart just about breaks when I see those big, teary orange eyes pointed at me; I can tell she’s been crying since yesterday. “You can set it on the bedside; we’ll get to it.”

I nod, setting the plate down, then reaching over to give her a pat on the head. She retreats from my hand, though, her silver ears folding back as she turns her head and buries her face in Jazel’s chest, shrinking up against him. I quickly pull my hand back and start to apologize, but Jazel shakes his head. “It’s okay. She’s just dealing with a lot right now.”

“Yeah, makes sense.” I concur, straightening up. “Well, I’ll let you two alone. Sorry for bothering you.”

I quickly retreat with that, feeling embarrassment start to creep over me; I don’t know why I thought it was a good idea to try and pat her head. She barely knows me, even if she is my sister-in-law; I suppose I just saw fluffy ears and sad eyes and I couldn’t help myself. Slipping out of their room and starting down the hall, I begin to make my way back to the kitchen.

I manage to make a good distance before I hear a door spiraling shut, and look back to see Jazel stepping out of his room in his pajamas and moving towards me. “Hey, Jayta. I’m sorry about that; she didn’t anything by it. It’s not that I don’t want you in there, it’s just—”

“It’s okay, Jazel.” I say, turning towards him. “I get it. It’s only been two days since we banished Azra; it’s probably still hard for her. I don’t blame you.”

He runs a hand through his hair as he reaches me. “It’s been… yeah. It’s been a lot.”

“We’ll be at a world with a hospital soon.” I point out, trying to reassure him. “And then you guys can get a therapist for her, and have someone treat her tail stub, and… y’know…”

A heavy sigh precedes his response. “The possession, I don’t think… I don’t think that’s the biggest problem. That part didn’t seem to bother her too much; I think she just shrugged it all off once Azra was banished from her body. But her tails… they can’t be reattached, and…” He looks around, almost as if he was checking to make sure no one is around, like he’s about to tell me a secret. “…morphoxes get their magic from their tails. The more tails they have, the more powerful they are. And if you cut off their tails, they lose their magic.” He gives that a moment to sink in. “All of it.”

I turn to him more fully at that. “All of it?”

“All of it.” Jazel repeats, biting his lip. “Jayta, she was the strongest person on this ship before she got kidnapped. She had so much power. She could beat all of us. At the CURSE HQ, they put her through combat tests, and she beat all of the CURSE Peacekeepers she went up against.” He snaps his fingers, lighting a small flame over his thumb. “She can’t even do this now. She wouldn’t even be able to light a candle.”

“That’s…” Anything I could say to that sounds trite and overused. Going from that much power to being completely helpless… it sounds awful. “…I can’t imagine how hard that’s gotta be for her.”

“That’s what she’s been crying about ever since she woke up and realized her tails were cut.” he says, letting the flame go out and dropping his hand. “I’ve been with her since then, trying to comfort her, and I just… I just don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to help her. One of the first things I tried to do was feed her one of the vials of soul that was extracted from me a year ago, and it nourished her, but it didn’t help grow back a tail. So we tried a second vial. And then a third. And then we tried a spirit bloom. And then another one, and another one…”

“And none of it helped.” I guess.

“I don’t understand it.” he says, twisting one of his bare feet against the floor. “They said she’d be able to get her tails back in the usual manner, so I figured I’d just need to feed her enough soul for her to grow her tails back, but that’s not working… maybe… maybe it has to be raw, unfiltered soul? The stuff that Grimes took from me, the stuff that’s in the vials, that was extracted by a machine that processed and refined it, so maybe it’s… different somehow? And the spirit blooms, maybe when you feed soul to them, it alters the composition when they absorb it and form flowers? Maybe she actually has to extract soul from a living person herself, instead of having it filtered through another medium—”

“Jazel, calm down.” I say, taking one of his hands. “She might have lost her magic, but she’s alive right now, and that’s what’s important. You’ll have time to study it, and figure out what’s going on, and how to help her get her tails back.”

He takes a couple of deep breaths, nodding. “Yeah, I know, I know… I just… I feel terrible because I’m the one that cut them in the first place. I’m the one that did this.”

“And you had to do it.” I remind him. “That was the only way to cut Azra’s anchor on the mortal plane. The only way to send her back to the Maelstrom and get Kaya back alive. It’s not great, it definitely sucks that you had to do it that way, but that’s what you had to do. You shouldn’t feel bad about having to do that. It was the only way to do it.”

“Yeah. You’re right, it’s just…” He gives a halfhearted motion to his tail. “I’m one of them now, so I feel it. I know it. I understand how much it would hurt to lose all your tails, to lose all of your magic. And I feel bad because here I am, I’ve got a tail, I’ve got magic, and she doesn’t, and I know that hurts her, how unfair that must seem to her. Just being there, just having a tail reminds her of what she lost, and…” He looks away, using a palm to rub at his eyes. “It’s just hard. I feel like it’s my fault, and what I’ve become has made it even harder for her than it would’ve been if I had just stayed human.”

I let of of his hand and instead pull him into a hug without saying anything. I don’t know what to say because I’ve never seen Jazel like this, and we’ve never talked like this. As siblings, as adults that need help and don’t have someone there to tell us what comes next, or how to handle a situation like this.

“It’s just… really hard.” he mumbles as he tentatively hugs me back. I can feel his chest hitching with deep breaths, the way his voice is thick with emotion, and the tears that are falling on the shoulder of my nightshirt. “I feel like this is my fault, and I need to fix it, but I just don’t know how to fix it.”

“You’ll figure something out.” I say, running my hand over his back in little circles. “You came this far, kept her alive and fed all this time, fought a demon goddess and got her back. You’re smart and determined, and once you have the time to work on it and research it, I know you’ll figure out a way to get her tails back. If you want, I can text Raikaron and ask him if he knows anything that might help. He’s busy right now, so it might take him a while to respond, but he’s worked with souls for centuries. I’m sure he’ll know something that might help.”

“That would be nice, yeah.” Jazel says, still sounding out of breath from whatever sobs he’s been holding down.

“Hey Jayta, the pancakes are ready.” Lysanne calls from down the hall, then seems to realize we’re having a moment and comes out of the kitchen. “Oh, whoa, what’s going on here?”

“Oh, nothing, I just. It’s been a long couple of days.” Jazel says, quickly letting go of me and wiping at his eyes.

I let go of him more slowly. “He’s trying to figure out how to get Kaya’s tails to grow back. She’s really been struggling with that, since she lost all her magic. And he thinks it’s his fault, which it’s not.”

Lysanne arrives, placing a hand on his arm as she looks up at him. “Oh, Jazel. C’mere.” She pulls him into a hug, slowly rocking from side to side. “The last week is starting to catch up with you, isn't it.”

I can see his lip quiver like he’s fighting it, but he nods and says “Yeah-” in a weak little whisper that’s on the verge of breaking down, with his fluffy ears flattened down to either side, all sad-like. I’m torn by wanting to laugh at how pathetic it sounds and cry at how sad it looks, and I step over to make it a group hug, wrapping an arm around Lysanne and one around Jazel.

“Go on and let it out. It you bottle it up, it’ll just fight its way out later.” Lysanne murmurs. “It’s been a lot of stress. It’s okay to let it out. It’ll be better for you, and better for Kaya.”

He gives in with that, and starts openly crying, though it mostly just takes the form of big breaths and lots of tears, and the occasional sad little noise. It’s over in less than a couple minutes, and his breathing is already starting to come back under control as Lysanne loosens up on the hug a little. “Feel better?” she asks.

“Yeah. Yeah, it feels a little better.” he says, taking deep breaths. “I should… I’ve been out here for a while, I should get back to her so she doesn’t come looking for me… can I get something to eat before I go back? I’m starving! Crying always makes me hungry and I don’t know why, because I don’t even feel like eating right now!”

Even though my eyes are a little damp, Lysanne and I can’t help laughing at that. “Yeah, no problem. I made some blueberry muffins; let me grab a couple for you.” Lysanne says as we let go of him, and start to head back to the kitchen. “We can get you a glass of milk, too. And one to take back to Kaya, since we forgot to send one with the plate that Jayta brought for you two…”

Event Log: Raikaron Syntaritov

The Neko Cafe: the Heartforge

3/20/12765 6:26pm SGT

“Of all times to be bringing this to me, you had to choose dinner rush.” Miqo says as I follow her through one of the many doorways that lead off from the Neko’s main room. We leave behind the murmur and clatter of the Neko during one of its peak hours, and instead find ourselves crossing a glass floor in a large atrium room that’s several stories tall. Bridge-linked balconies ring every level all the way up to the glass dome at the top, while beneath our feet, I can see a massive array of clockwork gears beneath the thick slab of glass, steadily ticking away.

“Dinner rush comes once a day. Extracting the soul of a family member from a mythical weapon comes decidedly less frequently.” I reason as we pass into the circle of sleek workbenches that are located in the center of the atrium’s glass floor. “Besides, she held up her end of the deal, so I am obligated to hold up my end.”

“You shouldn’t make a habit of making deals with relatives. Mixing family and business rarely ends well in this family.” Miqo says, holding up Aephero as she passes the center of the atrium, and letting go of the fire blade without breaking her stride on the way to one of the workbenches. A pale column of light instantly springs up, catching the blade and levitating it there while she starts sorting through the tools on the workbench. “I’ve seen it come to resentment too often. And why the two of you had to structure this as a binding deal is beyond my comprehension. She is your great-grandmother; you are her great-grandson. The two of you should’ve just helped each other because that’s what family does, instead of this transactional nonsense.”

I slow my stride, coming to a stop beside the hovering sword as I consider that. “That… is a good point.” I admit. “Not entirely sure why we didn’t do that instead. I can’t think of any pending grievances that would’ve prevented it.”

“It’s because Syntaritovs love making things more complicated than they have to be. You like the drama and the high stakes.” Miqo says, unbuttoning her cuffs and starting to roll her black sleeves up to the elbows. “On that note, the Gathering was not happy with your report. Your insistence on taking a measured view of who should be blamed for the crisis left many parties dissatisfied.”

“A good compromise leaves everyone unhappy.” I say, studying the intricate machinery beneath my feet. I’ve noticed that beneath the glass, beneath the clockwork, there is no foundation, but instead an abyss, an emptiness that descends down into darkness. Every now and then, a pulse of rainbow light will trace along the sides of the atrium, through the grooves in the glass floor, and then down into the abyss beneath it, outlining vague shapes in the dark before fading into distance and shadow. “But I spoke the truth in my report, or as near to it as I could get with such a nuanced situation. If that makes them unhappy, it reveals more about them than it does about me.”

“Well, at least you share your ancestor’s predilection for speaking truth to power, regardless of the detriment.” Miqo says, picking up a block-headed hammer with a short handle and looking it over. “That being said, it would be wise to remember that speaking the truth has consequences, and hypernaturals have long memories. The trifles of mortals are soon forgotten, but they are slower to forget the actions of their peers.”

“I’m complimented, but I wouldn’t consider myself a peer of anyone in the Gathering.” I demur as Miqo turns and starts to make her way back over to Aephero. “Simply another deminatural among a numerous host of such individuals.”

“Faux modesty does not serve you when they know you are a Syntaritov.” Miqo says as she prowls around the sword, sizing it up as her red-banded tail flicks back and forth. “A thorn may be small, but when it’s jammed in your side, the aggravation it causes is considerably larger than the object itself. Something which you are perfectly aware of, Mr. ‘Blackthorn Demon’.”

I make a face at that. “Look, I thought it was a good name when I was younger. I was at a rough spot during that time in my life, and you know that.”

“I suppose youth does lean towards edgier expressions during the fledging years. And what are we without our embarrassments?” she says, her blackfurred hand gripping the hammer a bit tighter as she settles into a good angle to strike the sword. “Sole would say that we cannot be cool if we do not know what is cringe. Not the way I would phrase it, but the sentiment holds.”

With that, she gives the sword a firm rap with the hammer, producing a clear, resonating tone. The translucent ruby blade blurs, like it’s vibrating at high frequency, and out of that vibration, a line of light seems to be coalescing in the center of the blade. Flipping the hammer around, she touches the base of the handle to the blade, stilling it and causing the line of light to bend towards the handle until it’s made contact with the base of it. From there, she slowly pulls the hammer away from the blade, drawing out the long strand of light attached to it.

“Remarkable.” I murmur. “You really must teach me how to do that sometime. It’s… artistic, really.”

“That will not be happening anytime soon, unless you intend to resign your current position in Sjelefengsel.” Miqo says sharply, lifting the hammer up so that the strand of light is hanging towards the ground. “An apprenticeship in the Heartforge is not an idle hobby. It requires one’s attention, dedication, and study.” With that, she takes a fist and bops the head of the hammer, causing the strand of light to detach from the bottom of the handle. Before it hits the glass floor, it’s morphed out into the ghost of Raiko, dressed in military boots, jeans, a battle jacket, a red infinity scarf and an empty sword sheath across her back.

“Whoa, look at that. Am I finally free? Thank god.” she says, looking herself over. “What a relief. I was wondering how long it would take him to follow through.”

“I’m right here, by the way.” I announce, waving a hand as she turns around. “I saw to your release as expeditiously as my responsibilities would permit. Thank you for helping keep the foxwitch alive, by the by.”

“Yeah, I figured you needed him. He had a look about him.” she says, taking in her surroundings. “Oh, hey Miqo. Long time, no see. You’re the one that pulled me out of there?”

“Yes, and I would recommend that in your next life, you do your best to avoid having your soul trapped in such an object.” Miqo says, walking over to set the hammer down on one of the workbenches before returning. “If you’d gotten your soul trapped in a less durable object, you might’ve been freed long before now. Not that I expect you to follow my advice, since you and Kyto went out of your way to do the exact opposite during your first lives; but the point stands.”

“I’ll take it under advisement.” she says, stretching her arms over her head. The sound of a door slamming open in the main room gets out attention.

“WHERE IS SHE?!” someone shouts from out of view. A feminine voice, but clearly furious.

“Whoop, that’s my cue. The wife is calling.” Raiko says apologetically, turning and hop-skipping in that direction. “Lemme go take that. Wouldn’t want her to scare off the regulars.”

Miqo and I watch her go. “Spritely, even in death.” I remark, returning my attention to Aephero. “I assume that vocal entrance was Kyto?”

“I knew the curse bound them together, but I hadn’t expected it to trigger that quickly.” Miqo says, scratching behind one of her fluffy ears. “I at least expected some delay on how long it would take Kyto to arrive here.”

“Well, at least they are blessed with an expedient reunion.” I say, reaching out and turning the fire blade somewhat in its column of light. “As you know from my report, I elected to leave Andalus on Tirsigal.”

Miqo glances at Aephero. “Are you planning on returning that one to the Rantheon?”

“It would be the right thing to do, I suppose. It was forged at the dawn of Rantecevang, so it does belong to them, as one of the ancient artifacts from the creation of their world.”

“…so you do not intend to return it to them.”

“I will admit, I have been tempted to keep it. An item like this is a remarkable addition to any collection of arcane rarities.”

“Raikaron.”

“I know, I know. But it did sit in Raiko’s tomb for four millennia without anyone coming to grab it, so do you really think the Rantheon would notice if it went missing again?”

“It’s not a matter of whether or not they would notice, it’s a matter of returning it to its rightful owners. If you steal from someone and they don’t notice, that’s still theft, Raikaron.”

“Yes, but if they don’t notice, that should tell you something about how important the object is to them, no?”

“Now you are rationalizing.”

“I’ll take it with me for now, and decide what to do with it later. If I’m feeling virtuous, I’ll return it to the Rantheon.”

“YOU DUMB BITCH!” The shout breaks into our conversation as I’m in the middle of sliding Aephero back into my vest pocket. It seems to have originated from the main room, where there’s more of a commotion than the usual dinner rush.

“Oh my. We can’t have language like that in front of the patrons.” Miqo says, starting to roll her sleeves back down as she heads for the doorway leading back to the main room. “Ink’s grandchildren are here tonight, and I’m not interested in telling their mother that they expanded their vocabulary while they were here.”

“Seems like their reunion isn’t lacking for passion.” I murmur as I finish sliding the sword into my pocket and follow her. We come back out into the main room to find that Kyto is here, looking just as ghostly as Raiko, and it’s the first time I’ve gotten a good look at her since the dream where she and Raiko danced together. Instead of the ascendant dress she had on during that occasion, she’s now dressed in something decidedly simple and understated — a soft, loose t-shirt and jeans. Still, that doesn’t mask the fact that her long white hair has fought its way loose of the clips holding it back, and she’s picked up Raiko by the throat and slammed her onto one of the cafe’s tables on her back, and currently has her pinned there with that same hand.

“I was rotting in the oceans of the Dreaming for FOUR THOUSAND YEARS because you got yourself killed and your soul stuffed into Aephero!” Kyto snarls at her. “FOUR THOUSAND YEARS, Raiko!”

Most people would not be having a good time, but judging by the way that Raiko’s biting her lip and smiling at Kyto, she’s quite enjoying this. “I missed you too, darling~”

“DON’T YOU ‘DARLING’ ME!” Kyto snaps, adding her second hand to Raiko’s throat. “I swear to the gods—”

“What, you’re gonna choke me to death? We’re both dead already. And you know I like the feeling of your hands around my throat~”

“Kyto, sweetie, you’re in a public establishment—” Miqo says, coming forward with a calming hand raised.

Kyto turns her head, her furious green eyes fixing on Miqo. “This establishment might be public, but this violence is about to get domestic, Miqo! Stay out of it!”

Raiko giggles. “Don’t threaten me with a good time, Ky.”

“Perhaps we could take this behind closed doors?” I speak up, stepping forward at this point. “Just so, y’know, we’re making less of a scene?”

“Your great-grandson makes an excellent point.” Miqo says, placing a blackfurred hand on my arm as she emphasizes my place in the family structure. “Girls, I think you should take this upstairs. There are spare rooms on the second floor where you can talk things out. It would make me very happy if you did that, mm?”

Kyto pauses, her eyes flicking to me at the news that I am apparently one of her descendants; and then flicking back to Miqo as she registers the exceptionally sweet tone that’s being used. I’ve only heard it used once or twice before, but every Syntaritov instinctively recognizes it for the flashing warning sign that it is: it’s the last chance to straighten up and get in line before Miqo starts laying down the law.

“Very well.” Kyto says, letting go of Raiko’s throat so she can grab Raiko’s shoulder, flip her over, grab the neck of her jacket, and yank her off the table. “We’ll take this upstairs. I apologize for the disruption, Miqo. I did not mean to disrespect you in the Cafe; I am just very… I have much to deal with right now.” With that, she turns and starts dragging Raiko towards the stairs leading to the Neko’s second floor.

Raiko, for her part, lets herself be dragged across the Cafe’s floor like a cat grabbed by the scruff of its neck. “Hey Miqo, the rooms upstairs have sound damping, right? ‘Cause—”

“Quiet, Raiko.” Kyto orders as she starts up the stairs. “If you make another innuendo—”

“I was just gonna say, we might need sound damping because of all the shouting you’re doing.”

“You’ll never be a full-blooded Syntaritov, with that lying mouth of yours.”

“Well, if you don’t like it, I know a way you can shut me up…”

Their voices fade into the hallway as Kyto turns the corner on the stairs and drags her wife along with her, leaving us in awkward silence. After a moment, I take a deep breath. “Those are my…”

“Your great-grandmothers, yes.” Miqo says, clasping her hands together as she nods.

“I was expecting something a bit more…”

“Dignified? Regal?”

“I mean, they were legends in their time, from the history books I’ve read.”

“Never meet your heroes, my dear. Or your ancestors. Come along, why don’t I pour you a draught before you go? It might help soften the shock of meeting your predecessors…”

Event Log: Jayta Jaskolka

Dandelion Drift: Kitchen

3/21/12765 7:19pm LST

“Alright, Jazel and Kaya have their plate. I don’t think they’ll be looking for seconds, so…” I begin as I step back into the kitchen, only to find that it’s abandoned. The dishes have been taken back to the counter, but nothing’s been put in the dishwasher or storage containers yet — it’s like all the others just up and left without cleaning up.

“What the heck.” I mutter, looking around. “Where did everyone go?”

After another moment of looking the kitchen over and determining that there’s really no one in here, I poke my head back out into the hall, then start heading down to the common room. As I get closer, I start to hear the murmur of one of the window screens, likely with a channel on; even before I reach the doorway, I can tell by the tone that it’s a news channel. I arrive to see everyone else present in the room while a breaking news segment plays across the windows, with the scrolling chyron on the bottom reading something about a Collective fleet.

“Something going on?” I ask as I make my way over to where the others are standing around the couch. Ozzy is the only one sitting, and Lysanne still has a drying towel slung over her shoulder.

Milor reaches up, taking his toothpick out from between his teeth. “It’s started.” he grunts, nodding to the window screens.

I look again at the news display, properly this time, and see that next to the reporter is a looping video of a massive Collective hiveship emerging from tunnelspace, followed by several other Collective ships. Underneath it is a map graphic, showing the system that the ships had arrived in, then zooming out to show that system’s location in the galaxy. At least one other spot on the galaxy map is marked with the same red dot as the one marking the first system.

“Apparently the Collective was able to trace the destruction of Juncosa back to the Losinadae System. Initial reports are sparse, but the working assumption is that the Confederacy has built a weapon of planetary destruction into the Losinadae Ring, which is currently under construction.” Dandy explains, another one of the common room’s windows transitioning into a screen that displays feeds from various other news channels. “In response to this, the Collective have launched an incursion into the Losinadae System to assert control over the ring. A second incursion into the Anguliot System, on the border of Confederacy space, has also been reported. Local defense forces have mobilized in both systems, while the Confederacy military is now on high alert, and has dispatched standby defense fleets to both systems to help reinforce them.”

“This is it. The war is starting.” Ozzy murmurs, running a hand through his wispy hair. “Never thought I’d live to see it…”

“Galaxy’s a big place. Wars happen every day; there’s a few going on in the rim and the outer colonies right now.” Milor says. “But those are little spats, and they happen all the time. This, though… this might turn into an actual, proper war with major powers slugging it out.”

“Calls for restraint have so far been ignored by both sides. Deescalation is considered statistically impossible at this point because the destruction of an entire world will force a Collective response. Turning the cheek will not be an option for them.” Dandy continues, dialing down the volume on the screens a couple notches so there’s less crosstalk. “It is possible that this is only the first two prongs of a multi-armed invasion. Collective war doctrine is known to favor multiple combat fronts, forcing the defenders to spread out their resources instead of concentrating them all in one front, which allows the Collective to make better use of their numerical advantage.”

Lysanne looks at Dandy. “You’re saying that they won’t stop here? They might invade more systems?”

“If this is one of their major campaigns, which it likely will be, then yes. I expect at least one more system to be invaded, in addition to the two that have already been invaded.” Dandy confirms with a certain mathematical factuality. “Possibly more, depending on the scale of their retaliation. The Confederacy seems to be anticipating the same, as they have instructed all member systems to go to high alert and ramp up regular security operations. Reserve troops across the length and breadth of their territory are being activated and placed on standby.”

“Wait, the system we’re heading to for the hospital — isn’t that a Confederacy system?” I suddenly recall.

“It is. I have already assembled a list of nearby, alternative systems we can divert to if we are denied entry at the system border, and the appeal process seems like it will take more than three days.” Dandy answers. “Normally CURSE credentials and security authorization would allow us to easily bypass the borders of most Colloquium member nations, but with CURSE’s reputation in the state that it is currently in, and with Confederacy systems being placed on high alert, there is a decent possibility we will be denied entry.”

“What for?” Lysanne demands. “I know war just broke out, but we’re not Collective. I mean, what if we were a refugee ship? Would they be blocking us then?”

Milor snorts. “You say that like you think it’s a rhetorical question, blondie, but you might not want the answer to that. People can do some pretty heinous shit when they’re scared and they don’t have all the facts. Take it from someone that’s had to deal with it.”

“I mean, would you really blame them for keeping us out? Why would anyone trust CURSE after what Nova pulled?” Ozzy says. “That was the longest con on this side of the galaxy. I sure wouldn’t trust anyone working for CURSE after something like that. And if you ask me—”

“Ozzy, no. We are not getting into this right now.” Lysanne says, putting a hand up. “I just— I can’t. I don’t have the emotional bandwidth for the conspiracy theories right now…”

The words of the others start to turn into white noise as they continue talking and halfway arguing with each other. I know I should care about this more than I presently do, but I just can’t bring myself to feel all that moved by it. It just feels… distant to me, something that’s happening far away. I know these are big happenings; that Nova’s return was a galaxy-shaking event, and that the Collective incursions will kick off the first major war in recent memory. I know that with the scale and the aggression of the incursions, loss of life will probably be high, with some of those souls making their way to Sjelefengsel. And it won’t be death alone, because war is more than just death. It is all the horrors that it brings with it — injury and maiming, desperation and trauma.

I know I should care, and yet… I don’t feel moved by it. If anything, I feel a little annoyed. These are not my problems, and I simply don’t have the desire or bandwidth to care about them. My problems are all back in Sjelefengsel, where an ungodly amount of work is probably waiting for me and Raikaron. I don’t like giving thought to the drama of mortals when I have my own set of problems that will probably soon need my attention.

And then in that moment, it all becomes clear:

I no longer think of myself as one of them.

That realization stops my mind dead in its tracks. The sudden, jarring understanding that all of this — the Collective, CURSE, Nova — to me, it all feels like someone else’s problem.  Those problems belonged to mortals, not hellions like myself. I didn’t care as much about what happened on the mortal plane now because I don’t live there. And in that sense, all these terrible things don’t feel like my problem. I don’t want to be bothered by them, or have them take up my time of day.

This must be what it feels like to be a god or a goddess. And this feeling must be why some of them, like Maelstrom and Radiance, still walked among mortals from time to time. To remember that mortals are people too.

“The food’s still out.” I say abruptly. “I’m gonna go wash the dishes and pack up the leftovers.”

That catches Lysanne and the others off guard. “Right, that’s a good point. Let me come help you.” she says, starting to follow as I head for the door again.

“No, that’s fine. You can stay and keep talking. I don’t mind having a little bit of quiet time. Help me work through my thoughts and all that.” I say quickly, waving for her to stay with the others. “Seriously. You guys do your thing, don’t worry about me. I’ll get everything cleaned up.”

They’re surprised by that, enough that they don’t say anything, and I leave on that note, and without any more explanation. Heading back down the hall, I find myself absentmindedly rubbing the manacle marks on my wrists. Quietly marveling at the fact that somewhere along the way, I’d stopped thinking of myself as either human or mortal. 

And perhaps a little disturbed by the fact that it really didn’t bother me that much.

Event Log: Raikaron Syntaritov

The Maelstrom: Azra’s Palace

3/22/12765 9:57pm SGT

“If you’ll wait here, my Lord, I will go see if her Divinity is available.” the cat-eared attendant informs me as we come to a halt outside the throne room. It’s night in the Maelstrom, and the halls of Azra’s palace are lit by roving foxfires, all of them a sullen red hue. I’m not sure if that’s their default color, or if it’s a reflection of Azra’s mood at the moment, but it certainly lends an eerie, hellish tint to halls that are far more bright and inviting during the day.

“By all means. I will wait.” I say, and with that, the attendant opens one of the doors of the throne room, slips inside, and closes it behind himself. While he is gone, I pull out my pocketwatch, popping the cover and checking the time. I had not intended this visit to be so late, but I had been called back to the Gathering to clarify some portions of my report, and provide additional testimony to the assembly. As expected for a crisis of this magnitude, there had been some grilling involved, some of it starkly partisan, and I had made liberal use of my right not to remark on some of the more disingenuous questions that were pushed my way.

I close my pocketwatch when the door opens again, and the attendant slips back out. “Her Divinity is available, and will see you now, my Lord.” he says, stepping out of the way and opening the door a little wider. I nod to him, and step into the throne room, with the door being quietly shut behind me once I’m inside.

Within is a regal hall with redwood columns running the length of the room down to the elevated throne at the end. The throne itself is a warped tree, the trunk bent and twisted into the shape of a throne while the canopy fans out in an radial pattern from the back of the throne; it is lit from above with a golden column of light, while the wall behind it is crimson and cast in shadow. Along the sides of the room, behind the columns, the wooden walls are carved into murals that depict select moments of Azra’s history; moments of triumph, accomplishment, or perceived injustice, such as when she was banished to the Maelstrom by her parents. The floor is tiled in massive slabs of red, yellow, white, black, and green, and in such a way that the slabs form the image of dozens of foxes in various states of activity: curled up, stretched out, at a sprint, peeking out of a burrow, and on and on. In the air between the columns, spheres of levitating water hang with fish darting around inside them, and each one having a pale glow at their core that translates into the rippling pattens of light that illuminate the throne room. A little past the center of the room, a few of the tile slabs have lifted out of the ground and floated to the side, revealing a sumptuous bathtub underneath that’s closer to the size of a small swimming pool — and it’s this luxurious tub where Azra is currently soaking, flicking at the floating islands of bubbles that drift across the surface of the water.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t my guardian demon.” she drawls as I make my way across the vast room. “Could’ve used you earlier when my dad was chewing me out.”

“I doubt I would’ve been much use to you in that situation.” I say as I idly take in the luxury that’s on display here. I often think that I have it good as a Lesser Lord of Sjelefengsel, only to be reminded that my estate and its staff are relatively modest in comparison to the luxuries of a deity’s palace. “I’ve heard that your father is a formidable presence when his wrath is kindled, though I’m also told that’s a rare occurrence.”

“Yes, he’s usually disapproving or disappointed, rather than outright furious.” Azra says, flicking a few bubbles into the air as she rolls her eyes. “We had a shouting match for the ages, though it’s hard for me to win those since he’s a storm god. Every time his temper gets up, you can hear the storm rumbling in the distance, and it just gets worse the more pissed off he is. It’s an easy way to tell whether he’s actually angry or just annoyed.”

“I take it he was not pleased with you, then.” I say, taking a seat on one of the floating slabs as I reach the bathtub.

“When is he ever.” she replies, lifting one of her feet out of the water to study her toes. “Going on about the damage my actions have done, and how it’s set a bad example for mortals and immortals alike, how it’s created a permission structure for committing atrocities, and on and on. He’s stopped trying to tell me he expects better from me, because he clearly doesn’t at this point, so that’s something, at least.”

“Still feeling justified then, I assume.” I say, folding one leg over the other.

She glances at me. “I did what had to be done, Raikaron. What needed to be done to wake people up, remind them that the Collective can’t be trusted, and that they’re abusing the Rules that are in place. And I may have broken the Rules, but I was doing it in defense of that gift that the Inkling gave to all of us at the birth of the universe. The right to choose — something that the Collective takes from everyone it assimilates.”

“Committing atrocities in defense of virtue. I’ve some thoughts on that, but I have a feeling your father has already covered the topic with you.”

She snorts at that, looking away. “Extensively.”

“I’ll not harp on it, then.” I say as she ducks under the water and resurfaces again. “Were you given your punishment when he visited?”

“Another fifteen thousand years in the Maelstrom. Brings it to seventeen thousand when you tack on the other two thousand years I still had on my sentence.” Azra says, letting some of her tails float to the surface of the water so she can inspect them. “It’s the hardest he’s ever come down on me. My biggest punishment prior to this was four thousand years. Suffice to say, I won’t be leaving my time-out corner anytime soon.”

“Mmm. Well, you already know my thoughts on that.” I say, deciding to skip that discussion, knowing it wouldn’t go anywhere productive. “It may seem harsh, but it is a far lighter sentence than what the Gathering would’ve rendered had you been remanded to their jurisdiction.”

“I don’t care. I would’ve worn it with pride, since I know they’re all hypocrites and cowards anyway.”

“You’ll be on the fast track to Forbannet with an attitude like that.”

“I wouldn’t mind. The Inkling is Forbannet and he literally created the universe.”

I can see where this conversation is going and I know there’s no point in arguing it, so I let the topic drop. “I’m sure you’ve probably heard, but the Collective have begun their retaliatory campaign. The war has begun, and it seems likely the mortals are going to lean into it. None of them seem to be in a particularly forgiving mood, and some of them have been waiting a long time for an excuse to take the fight to the Collective.”

“Good. Let’s hope they play their cards right and give the Collective a walloping they won’t forget anytime soon.” Azra says, stretching out in the tub. “I even did some of the heavy lifting for them, gave them a leg up by purging Tirsigal and taking it off the board. They’ve got a strong starting position; here’s to hoping they don’t waste it.”

“And if they do waste it?” I ask out of curiosity.

“Then I’ll still be able to say I cleansed Tirsigal and avenged the colony there.” she says, tilting her head to the side to get some water out of one of her sodden ears. “I can say I did my part, and did what was in my power to create a better galaxy for everyone else.”

“A better galaxy at the expense of billions of innocent lives.” I remind her.

“These things aren’t bloodless, Raikaron. Good things don’t come for free.” she retorts. “And don’t think I’ve forgotten what you did with that shard of my soul. What are you planning to do with the boy now that you’ve created a hybrid godling of myself that can roam around on the mortal plane while I’m stuck here?”

“Planning?” I say, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t plan to do anything with him. That little… experiment was for the purpose of better equipping him to defeat you, and to satisfy my curiosity about a few things. It provided some good data that I’ll likely be able to incorporate into future projects. But as for the boy himself?… he is free to do whatever he likes. I have no plans for him, though I may be watching just out of curiosity to see how he develops and whether that seed of divinity fully germinates in the due course of time.”

She narrows her eyes, sinking a little lower in the water. “If it was anyone else, I’d call your bluff. But a Syntaritov… it’s too easy to imagine your family pursuing heresy just for the sake of idle curiosity. I wouldn’t recommend you make a habit of repeating that experiment, though. Other hypernaturals might not be as forgiving as I am.”

I smile at that. “You secretly appreciate what I have done. The idea of a piece of you being able to wander the mortal plane and experience life while you are trapped here — it pleases you, does it not? It is a subtle spiting of the seal that is intended to trap and punish you.”

“Do not push your luck, Raikaron.”

“Of course not, your Divinity.”

“And call one of my attendants. Tell them to go retrieve the draughts you gave me for my centennial. I haven’t had the chance to go through them yet, and I think we should enjoy a celebratory drink.”

“Of course. If they bring the entire crate, I can review the selection and recommend one of the bottles…”

Event Log: Jayta Jaskolka

Dandelion Drift: Common Room

3/23/12765 12:53pm LST

Lysanne lets out a deep sigh as she finishes straightening out my jacket. “You got everything?”

“Yeah.” I nod, my hammerspace case hanging from one hand. Raikaron had finally returned from his wrapup tour, and it was time for us to return to Sjelefengsel. With Azra handled, our business on the mortal plane was over — there was no more reason to stay here.

“If you ever feel like visiting and you can get away from dead red for a few days, we wouldn’t mind having you back.” Milor offers from the lazy chair where he’s reclined with his hat tilted down over his face. He’d been napping up until recently. “You’re not too bad.”

“We’ll see. I usually only get to come to the mortal plane when I’m working, and it’s always to specific planets. I don’t get to choose where I go.” I say, leaving out the part where my work usually involves punishing a mortal or reaping a soul that’s been promised to Raikaron. “Besides, Sjelefengsel keeps me busy. And there’s going to be a lot of work for the hells to do when there’s a war on the mortal plane. Lots of dead people. Lots of souls to be judged. Some that will need to be punished.”

“If you do come back, though, maybe you could bring some… souvenirs with you?” Ozzy asks tentatively. “Nothing major, mind you. Just like, a few rocks from hell, or maybe some hellfire in a jar, if you can manage it? It would be really useful for, uhm. Research purposes.”

“We are not keeping hellfire in a jar on this ship.” Lysanne says sharply. “If you want to learn about hellfire, there are books for that. We’ve got licenses to several online research collections and a bunch of academic repositories.”

“What do you want me to tell Mom?” Jazel asks from where he’s been standing silently, with his hands tucked in his pockets. He’s always been the sort that doesn’t say anything unless he’s got something to say, but ever since he’s become a morphox, he’s been more… charismatic about it. It’s hard to put my finger on it; it’s like there’s this weird, low-level, passive smolder that he just emits whenever he’s idling now. He just looks good when he’s doing nothing.

I shrug. “She knows now. She isn’t happy about it, but there’s really not much to say about it… I can’t change it, she can’t change it, it is what it is.” I motion to him. “Besides, you’ll probably have more on your hands explaining why you’ve got a tail now.”

He reaches up to gingerly touch on of his fluffy ears. “…I probably won’t give her the full story. It would just make her worried.”

“Tell her you sacrificed your humanity to defeat a demon goddess.” Raikaron says as he steps through the door into the common room, with Dandy following along behind him. “It is essentially the truth, and makes your transformation a noble act. It will be easier for her to accept it if she believes it was in the service of the greater good… which technically, it was.”

Lysanne scowls at Raikaron. “Or you could just tell her yourself, and explain what you did to her son.”

“A bold suggestion, Ms. Arrignis, but I am not in the habit of aggravating the relatives of my loved ones.” Raikaron says as he reaches our group. “The time has arrived for Jayta and I to take our leave. Work awaits us back in Sjelefengsel; a galaxy at war keeps the afterlives busy. It has been an honor working with all of you, and I wanted to commend you on the sacrifices you made in the pursuit and defeat of Azra. I know it was not easy, and I know you risked much in doing so — not just your lives, but your livelihoods as well. I also understand that even with my intervention, your contract with CURSE may still be at risk, which is something I brought up with Maelstrom and Radiance when I met with them. After a little bit of deliberation, they agreed that it was only right that there be something of a safety net prepared for all of you, as thanks for the work that you have done for them.”

Reaching into the pocket of his vest, he pulls out a small data drive. “In the past, it was tradition that heroes, upon the completion of a great quest, would be rewarded with gold, jewels, riches, and that sort of thing. Objects of great value, or lands to call their own and titles that would grant them esteem in the eyes of others. Now, quite obviously, the modern day is quite different than the days of old. Gold and jewels still hold value, but are not easily utilized as a medium of payment, and besides that, they are difficult to store and keep secured. So as a more practical token of thanks, Maelstrom and Radiance had their seraphs assemble a diversified portfolio of assets for each of you, which carry considerable value, should be well-insulated from major shocks to the stock market, and will likely appreciate in value with the passage of time.”

“Oh, that is a really modern way of doing it.” Ozzy remarks. “Makes sense. There wasn’t really much of anything to loot in Azra’s castle, come to think of it.”

“Indeed.” Raikaron says, holding up the data drive before Ozzy can start rambling. “The account information, passwords, and encryption keys for each of those portfolios are contained on this drive. While it may not look impressive, it represents a considerable sum of value intended to act as a safety net for each of you, should CURSE decide to cut your contract and end your employment.”

“That’s very thoughtful of them.” Lysanne says, moving forward to take the drive.

“Which I will be giving to Dandelion for proper safeguarding and administration.” Raikaron continues quickly, moving the drive out of Lysanne’s reach and offering it towards Dandy instead. “She has exhibited sound judgement and seems to be the most stable member of your crew, so it stands to reason that she would be the best individual to trust with this responsibility. Are there any objections to this?”

Lysanne narrows her eyes at Raikaron. “I don’t have a problem with it.”

Jazel shrugs. “Fine by me.”

“Yeah, let strawberry soda take care of it. She’d probably do a better job than the rest of us would.” Milor says, flopping a hand around. “Still a shame we walked away from this with nothing to show for it except a few scars and a bit of extra fluff for one of the kids.”

“I had suspected you might complain about that, Deputy.” Raikaron says as Dandy takes the drive and tucks it away. With that hand freed, he reaches back into his pocket, procuring a gold coin and flipping it across the room to Milor. “So I went to the length of producing this souvenir for you.”

Milor reaches up, catching the coin and looking it over. “Huh. This has some heft to it, actually looks like it came out of a mint. And let’s see what’s printed around the edge here… oh ha ha, you think you’re so clever, don’t you.”

“What’s it say?” Lysanne asks.

“It says ‘I defeated a demon goddess and all I got was this stupid coin’ around the edge.” Milor grumbles. “Just gotta twist the knife, don’t ya, dead red.”

“Is that actual gold?” Ozzy asks, leaning over and studying the coin. “Do you have any others? I wouldn’t mind having one.”

“Solid gold, extracted from the crust of Tirsigal itself. Blood money, you might say.” Raikaron says cheerily. “Do you still want one, Mr. Oxiris?”

The mood in the room sobers up with that, and all it takes is one glare from Lysanne for Ozzy to change his mind. “Actually, nevermind. I think I’m good. Plenty of other places I can start coin collecting, I think.” he says, quickly backing down.

“A wise decision.” Raikaron agrees. “With that all said, it is now time for us to depart. Times are uncertain with war in the galaxy, but after what you all have been through, and what you have achieved, I am sure that you stand well-equipped to deal with whatever may come your way. I wish you all only the best of luck.”

On that note, Raikaron turns and heads around the counter of the common room, pulling a black and red card out of his vest as he goes. I turn to the others, lifting my arms so I can start getting in my last hugs before I go, starting with Lysanne.

“You take care of yourself, okay?” she says as she hugs me. “I’m sure there’s a way back for you, eventually.”

“Yeah. Maybe. If it’s possible, it’s something I’ll definitely try for.” I say, even though I know it’s not likely. There’s a lot of barriers that lie between me and permanently returning to the mortal plane, and I long ago came to terms with the fact that Sjelefengsel was my home now. Still, it didn’t mean that I didn’t miss the mortal plane, and this extended visit has reminded me of the parts of it that I do miss dearly.

Letting go of Lysanne, I turn to Jazel, who is waiting awkwardly. I give him a tight hug, again surprised by how strong he feels now. “I wish we had more time. I’m going to miss seeing you.” I say.

“I’m going to miss you too.” he says quietly. “I feel like I should help you come back home, but I don’t know how.”

I can feel my heart hitch a little at that, but I know it wouldn’t be fair to ask for his help after everything he’s been through recently. “Don’t worry about me. You have someone else that needs you right now. Focus on her.” I say before letting go of him. “I’ll see you again eventually. Don’t do anything stupid between now and then.”

With that, I turn and make my way around the counter to where Raikaron’s waiting; I can see that he’s using the fridge as a portal back to the House of Regret. “Really? A fridge?” I say, somewhat perplexed that this is the note we’re leaving on.

“Most of the doors in this vessel are spiral doors. We do not have spiral doors in the House of Regret.” he says simply, motioning to the open door of the fridge.

I shake my head. “Ridiculous.” Giving a last wave to the Drifters, I turn and squeeze through the fridge’s narrow opening and back into the House of Regret, with Raikaron soon ducking through behind me. As the door closes behind us, I inhale a deep breath as I take in the familiar hosting room, and slowly let exhale when I hear the distant shrieks of the harpies as they come charging down the stairs.

It was nice while it lasted, but we’re back in hell now, and we probably have a lot of work ahead of us.

Event Log: Raikaron Syntaritov

The House of Regret: Raikaron’s Study

3/24/12765 12:27am SGT

Taking my glasses off, I rub at my eyes as I let out a long sigh, and set my data slate down.

It’s just a little past midnight, and in the twelve hours I’ve been back, I’ve spent most of my time catching up on the affairs of the House and Sjelefengsel at large. Danya had compiled a running log of matters to bring me up to speed once I was back, and though it is comprehensive and well-organized, it is also exhausting. Even for as long as I’ve been working here, there have been so many major changes that I feel out of my depth as I continue to catch up and take stock of the resources at my disposal. I know it will put me at a distinct disadvantage with other Lords until I’m fully settled back in — something they are probably aware of, since Lust has scheduled a visit for tomorrow. Ostensibly to ‘bring me up to operational speed’, although I know better than to trust what she claims on the surface.

Leaning back in my chair, I consider the pile of letters and paperwork on my desk, then look around at the rest of my study. The shelves with books and artifacts, the alcove with blue fire running around the edge, the shadowed comfort of the room. It does feel good to be back in familiar environs once more, but there is part of me that longs to continue visiting other places. The icecaps of Tareya, the tropical paradise of the Eye of the Maelstrom, the flying city that is the capital of Rantecevang… it was nice to get out of Sjelefengsel, and see the rest of the galaxy.

After a moment more of quietly sitting, I get up and step out from behind my desk, heading for the door. Departing my study, I silently make my way along the halls of the House, loosening my tie and unbuttoning my collar as I go. When I reach Jayta’s room, I pause there; I know, this late at night, it’s likely that she’s asleep. Knocking might wake her.

Yet I do so anyway, because I don’t feel like I will be able to rest easy if I am alone tonight. She answers faster than I was expecting; the door slides open in less than ten seconds, and she’s laying there on the bed, looking over her shoulder at me. “You’re up late.” she says.

“Catching up on work.” I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “Mind if I come in?”

“Yeah. C’mon.” she says, shuffling a little on the bed to make room for me.

I step into her room, waving the door shut behind me, and slip out of my shoes as I reach her bed. Clambering onto it, I lie behind her; she’s on her side, facing towards the balcony door, which has a good view of Hautaholvi’s city center and the skyscrapers in it. It’s so bright that it hardly seems like night; a city that never sleeps, simply trading one type of activity for another with the advent of night.

“You haven’t been able to sleep?” I ask as I slip an arm around her.

“Just had a lot on my mind.” she says, her attention remaining fixed on the view outside her balcony. “Doesn’t really feel like we fixed much of anything, does it? We defeated Azra and sealed her back in the Maelstrom, but a war still broke out. We went through all that trouble but it didn’t really improve things.”

“The war is because of Juncosa, which is the fault of mortals.” I explain. “If it had just been Tirsigal, the Collective would’ve never gone to war. They would’ve just fought it out in the courts of the Gathering. But because mortals decided to follow up Azra’s genocide with one of their own, that conflict has now spread onto the mortal plane.”

“Just makes me feel… I dunno. Makes you kind of wonder what the point was.” she says. I can sense her discontent, a big feeling that’s directed towards the state of the galaxy at large. “Now everything’s a mess. We’re mostly safe from it here in hell, but it still bothers me.”

I find her hand, and lace my fingers through hers. “What you, your brother, and the Drifters did is not a small thing, Jayta, nor was it inconsequential. Yes, the galaxy is falling into war; yes, things are not great on the mortal plane. But you still accomplished something that was not easy, something that you should be proud of. I simply wish that we were all given more time to enjoy our victory, to feel a sense of accomplishment from it.”

She curls our linked fingers together. “We deserve that, right? That’s what it’s like in the stories, in all the old myths… defeat the dragon, overthrow the evil wizard, and everything goes back to the way it was before. Everything’s good, and everyone’s happy, and the kingdom is restored to its former glory.”

“In the stories, yes. Apokatastasis is very common in the myths of yore.” I agree softly. “I am sure you know, but myths and legends are… distorted echoes of thing that did happen. Not always in the manner in which they are told. If we were to venture back in time, I’m sure we would find that after the great evil was defeated, there was work that needed to be done to restore things back to the way they were. Villages that needed to be rebuilt, crops that needed to be replanted, wounds that needed to be healed. Sometimes there would be apokatastasis, and all that was ruined would immediately be restored once evil had been cast down… but such occasions were not common.”

She lets out a sigh. “Reality is… I wish it was more like the stories, sometimes.”

“Indeed. If only life were a fairytale, where everything goes the way it’s supposed to, and there is a happy ending waiting at the conclusion.” I say, staring into the tangle of her pale blonde hair before me, brushing my thumb over hers. “But even after the end of the quest, life must go on. One chapter closes, and another one opens… perhaps not as epic the previous one, but no less important. The story goes on.”

I can feel her fingers tighten between mine, and after a moment, she rolls onto her back so she can turn her head to look at me. “Our story goes on?” she asks softly, studying me with her slate-grey eyes.

“Our story goes on.” I assure her, freeing my fingers from hers so that I can brush them over her cheek. “And I very much want to see where it goes.”

She slinks into my arms, getting cozy up against me and tucking her head up under my chin. “Let’s find out.” she murmurs.

I drape my arm around her, shifting to stillness as she gets comfortable. In the following silence, I cannot help but feel the immense profundity of the small bundle tucked against me; how precious it is to me, and how so much value can be contained in something that fits within my arms. And in this moment, I think I now understand why Jazel never hesitated to make the sacrifices that were asked of him.

For many people would sacrifice to have something such as this.