the pen who gained sentience

News Reporter: As the 'Freedom' magic swells through, more and more objects gain sentience. The onset of memories intertwined with emotions has overwhelmed quite a few unwilling participants onto the path of villainy. Though as Barbie Dolls banding with the Robots in hopes for a World Takeover (rooted in deep hatred over human treatment) are becoming commonalities, there are shocking cases like that of an ancestral pen writing its autobiography which are taking the world by storm!

The entires go as follows:

I remember being crafted by my master. After the searing molten metal was molded into my form, he carved his seal onto my back and forever branded me as his. My master's hands were rugged against my polished finish; he never took care of his hands. They were always calloused, scathed or scratched in one place or the other: I observed for as long as I stayed on his display shelf. Regardless, he held each of my siblings with ardent care, a representation of love for his craft.

I would miss him, I remember thinking, when a contractor claimed me away as a prize for a writing contest. Though, my master's memories would soon be shadowed by the eccentricities of my first owner. 

He was a gentleman by facevalue, a man of refined clothing and graceful eloquence. He smiled charmingly, curtsied to every compliment and housed me proudly within his breastpocket. A scholar, one would think him as, until they'd spend a night in his working quarters against the bright warmth of the kerosene lamps on his limping oakwood table and witness him writing so passionately that his tongue would poke out of his pursed lips.

One would think he's drafting the constitution or writing the Declaration of Independence with such fervor, but no! Oh Master, if you would only witness the utter filth he used me for. His sharp Ts and cursive Gs were using my precious ink for writing erotica! And mind you, he was not poetic about it! He was crass, descriptive and imaginative (trust me, I'd know) within those pages and somehow he made a fortune off of them!

It truly baffles me, to this day, how he accounted his success to me. 

"'tis all because of this pen," he'd say to his friends, as if it were I, an innocent non-sentient object, who was whispering the devil's ideas into his head at the arseclock of dawn! The Audacity! 

That is how the nature of my existence became ancestral. 

I was passed down to my first owner's son, even though he had a perfectly fine daughter who could use me for better purposes, who seemed to inherit his father's exceptional imagination.

Though, my second owner used his imagination for a purpose quite contrasting to his father's. While his father was using me to bring bodies together, my second owner used me to bring bodies apart. Quite literally. No, he wasn't a divorce lawyer. My second owner was a member of the Mafia and he was masterful at coming up with ways to dismember his brothers in Christ. 

He used my delicate head in evil ways, scratching illegible cursive over the parchment, whilst seated in a dingy office with moonlight as his governing agent of sight. No wonder the letters seemed equally threatening as to what they read; and honestly, I would have been fine with such misuse if he wouldn't use his pantpockets as my placeholder.

That was straight up abuse.

And the stench was often nauseating. Not that I could feel it then, though, as everything is coming back to me now, I have since leaked my ink twelve times on the paper while trying to write about him.

Thankfully, he lost me in a gambling debt. I remember being estatic as I was held being passed onto a better man. A man with soft hands and an erudite gleam in his eyes. He combed his blonde hair in different styles everyday and kept me on his well furnished bedroom desk and used me seldom. 

Though, when my third owner did use me...it was somehow even more devious, albeit oddly wholesome and weird. He used me to write letters, love letters, normal isn't it? Yes. His letters were poetic and innocent, often desperate and fervent with emotion — but he drafted them to the man he loved while his illiterate wife would be hanging by his arm, peeking over the parchment and giggling. Never without her.

"I w'nder what yer writin. Is it for me? I do love ye!"

"Of course, my darling, it is for you. I'm always thinking of you and writing of you," he'd reply to his wife, still using his straight and sharp-edged handwriting in the honour of his manly lover. 

His moral delinquency, brought on by the times he lived in, thrived for as long as I remained with that family. Therein, I faced the first traumatic event of my life. There are no pen therapists, but I do insist humans to come forward for this profession because pens genuinely need a grip for their sanity to cling on. We might be mightier than swords only because swords merely kill, while we can do much more than that.

The odd couple eventually had a kid; the kid got its grubby claws on me and ABUSED MY GENTLE NIB-HEAD OVER THE PARCHMENT, SCRIBBLING AND SCRATCHING TO THE POINT WHERE I FELT THE PARCHMENT TEAR AND CRUMBLE IN THE FACE OF MY EVIL MINISTRATIONS. That child made me a criminal, a first degree murderer, and if that wasn't horrible enough, that demon-spawn threw me off the open window.

I was flung down three floors and into the muddy wet fields, traumatized and abandoned. I call that event of my life as APENDONMENT, you get it? yeah? funny? no? My bad. 

Why are you still reading? 

Regardless, those insect infested fields were my new home. At least for a week, I remained unused and degraded, until a dog ran up to me. It peed in my line of sight and we looked at eachother, intently, while he did his business. It was to no one's surprise that the animal found fancy in me, after the quick moment we shared and picked me up in his salivating mouth.

Are you writing that down, my future therapist? Yes, thank you. 

The ten minutes I spent in his slimy mouth felt like a lifetime's worth of goo accumulating in my crevices. I was let go at a middle class doorstep, a little downtrodden albeit homey and picked up by a little girl.

As a wise pen had once said, after all ink-ridden scratches on parchment comes a new ink filter and the smoothest, most flourishing writing.

Finally, my time had come. After all the trials and tribulations, my perfect body worn down by my paint chipping away and my master's mark pierced by a dog's canine — I found a family who accepted me at my worst. They bathed me and placed me in their happening living room, a family of three who ate together and made merry. 

They used me seldom (my ink was expensive) but when they did, it was for honourable purposes. I filled out the little girl's school admission form in that house. I was used to write greetings on birthday cards and sign a deed for a field. My new owners were content with what they had and were always striving to do more for their little girl. 

Placed on top of a cabinet, in a stand of my own, I witnessed the little girl mature into a lady and her parents curve into old gentle souls. Their shaky hands had no use of me anymore and the invention of a telephone line had me forever stuck in my place, steady and observant. I would have felt neglected if the mother did not do her weakly dusting chores whilst humming to a new tune.

She was a beautiful singer and she passed on with a smile on her face. I was used to sign on her Death Certificate and I put my best curves forward in her honour. 

Her husband did not do the dusting after she was gone. He remained on the living room couch, where the family had eaten dinners together, celebrated happiness and hugged eachother in moments of sorrow. He remained there, now alone and staring into the ceiling.

I would have felt lonely but somehow, I knew he was more. Alone but not forgotten; for the last time, I was used to write the little lady's wedding invitation. Her father found his smile again for her husband-to-be was a good man. She took her father into the city after the wedding went through and I was packed up in a box, abandoned on an attic, never to be used again.

Laptops and texting had taken over, I heard as I laid in my bed of dust for many an ages, hoping someone would use me again.

I was made as a tool for a free human society, to be used by those who pursued freedom of passion. Though, when in their hands I begged for a life of my own but now that I have one — I have nothing to do with it. Odd, is it not? 

Crowned 2 - left to die.

 

CHAPTER 2

 

“Mhm…arrgh…”

Elvira’s eyes blinked in an attempt to open. The sudden light was blinding so she placed a hand over her eyes. The action birthed instant regret as a goop of mud landed on her face. Her left hand stung and the pain shot through her entire arm.

“Arff-argh-thoo-thoo!”

Elvira spat the gross wetness from her mouth and forced herself to get up. She opened her eyes and confirmed her surroundings to be the Humid Linch forest in the East. Her torso was soaked in mud and quite possibly Linch dung, she guessed from the stench of it. Her head and feet were relatively dry, covered only in dirt and moss.

She grimaced as she looked around to spot a giant tree with a hollow bark behind her.

“Ha--!” Elvira scoffed, “How kind of them to provide me with a new home,” she scoffed again, exasperation dripping off her frowning face. “In a Linch forest, no less, three towns away from home!” she grumbled to herself as she stood up.

All she had on was the white ceremonial dress and the excuse of a tree-house. “Not a single penny, nothing, pfft,” Elvira spat again, blowing the mud off her lips. She looked around at the short bushes, prickly vines, blue berries and lilac flowers around her.

“Perfect place they picked,” she snorted, “Not a single thing that isn’t poisonous! Well, the mud isn’t, yet—but who knows?!” she exclaimed to the bushes and the bees, whosoever was listening.

Linches were giant creatures with cylindrical body shapes and an inflated middle abdomen. They were characteristic for their more-than-a-thousand mini tentacle-like feet which possessed enough suction to suck the living juice out of anything that came in contact with it. They thrived on Purbush Berries and their poison, which made their skin equally venomous. They had a soft sheen of hair over their skin, both of which were lethal.

“One touch and you’re dead,” Elvira giggled to herself. “What am I supposed to do now?” she grinned at the flowers. “Why am I behaving like this?” she giggled again, “Zinna must have given me a big boost. Ahahahahaha.”

She stopped talking and her face fell. Carefully, Elvira got up. Her stiff limbs ached with every step she took towards the hollow tree-trunk. Only to find it empty and narrow enough to only let her stand and move her arms.

“What was I expecting even…?”

She picked up a thick branch from the foot of the tree and inspected it. Though, before she could draw a conclusion—her ears picked up the subtle rustling of mud and leaves. Her academy teacher’s words resonated in her head. She remembered her class, the small muddy glass bowl everyone was given and the angry little Linch inside it.

“Linches want to be as stealthy as snakes but the sheer number of their so-called feet affects their mobility, quite a lot. Remember to never come in direct skin contact with a Linch or you will die before you could even call for death. Now, you see that thin membrane below its head and over its body? That is the only weak point of a Linch. This right here—hey! Pay attention! This, this is the vessel that can burst—”

The crawling closed in.

Goosebumps travelled all over Elvira’s body.

She struck the stick against the bark of the tree and created a, albeit weak, lance for herself.

“Distance, distance, I must maintain distance…”

She looked around in order to determine the direction of its location. Her left hand was still covered in mud, which was seeping through the open gashes from last night. If Elvira did not find a water source as soon as possible—she would have to lose a hand.

She needed to escape fast but the only way out of the Linch Forest of the East was the Linch cliff. Beyond it, Elvira closed her eyes to imagine the world map, “Come on…what’s beyond Linch Cliff? I know there’s Amoris Town but what’s in between? Forest? What forest? Marshes?”

Leaves rustled.

Elvira put her right leg out and leaned slightly, readying the makeshift lance.

“What am I doing…I should be running away?” she mumbled to herself, head jerking per second in all four directions, “But mother did not raise a quitter…” she whispered, subconsciously enough.

Then, Elvira grimaced, halted her fighting stance and got back into talking position, as if explaining to herself, “No girl, mother raised no one.”

The words were confirmation enough for Elvira to nod and shrug. “True that,” she mumbled.

“Are…you talking to yourself?”

“AAAAAHHH!” Elvira screamed, jumped to switch her stance, slipped over a wet leaf and fell face-first into the mud-dung puddle again.

“Woah, woah, easy there!”

Elvira jolted to a stand, her wooden lance wielded as a sword. She looked around only to find a Linch nearing her.

“AAAAH WHY ARE YOU TALKING?!”

“What do you mean talking?” the creature stopped and stared at Elvira with big beady eyes.

“This—words, what?! I am talking to a CREATURE! Bug-Insect Creature—Linchs cannot talk!” Elvira shouted and grabbed the end of the wood lance with both of her hands.

“Oh! come on, sweets, all creatures talk!”

Elvira grimaced. Her brows mushed, eyes crinkled, nostrils flared and lips flattened to a line.

“Please do not call me sweets,” Elvira gagged, “Knowing that you could literally consume me any moment does not help your case.”

“But mages are desserts,” the Linch replied in a matter-of-fact-tone. It began crawling again.

“The Linchs I saw in class did not talk! You cannot talk! I’ve never read about it!” Elvira exclaimed, backing off into more mud puddles.

“Way to deny reality and awful that you’re getting reality checks from the lowest ranked creature out there…but yes, all creatures, who are naturally bred, can talk.”

“Wow…this is a real low for me.” Elvira dragged out in a breath.

“But hopefully a pleasant meal for me!” the creature exclaimed and pounced at its prey.

“NOO! I WON’T DIE BEING YOUR FOOD!”

Elvira shouted and ran all the way back into the hollow tree.

“Why run when you cannot hide, sweets?” the Linch sang. It had a deep voice with a resounding baritone to it.

“Come on, think about it…what was the weak point of Linchs? We covered it last year, I should remember this…”

The creepy crawling neared with every second Elvira spent thinking. The hollow was small enough for someone with Elvira’s lanky limbs to hide.

“Come out, sweets!”

Suddenly, its forebody was grasping at the edge of Elvira’s skirt, pulling it outside. Its middle abdomen was too big to enter the hollow so it resorted to dragging Elvira out.

Though, his tugs snapped just the right memory.

When the creature recoiled with every pull, the thin membrane hidden between his forebody and middle abdomen would show up.

“Just a little touch would be enough!” the creature sang.

“Just a little touch, yes,” Elvira sang back and stabbed the wooden lance right into his weak-spot.

Mauve fluid oozed out as the creature burst open, its body scattering around the forest floor in hundreds of bite-sized pieces.

“Argh…gross!” Elvira moaned as she placed the wood lance right before the edge of the cloth that Linch had died grasping. Then, she pulled her dress from behind it. What could have been a perfect horizontal tear suddenly ran all the way up to her waist, vertically.

Elvira yelped as she let go of the fabric before it could cross all of her thigh. Though, instead of catching a glance of her pale skin, Elvira spotted a piece of paper taped over her right thigh. She ripped it off, owing to surprise—and instantly regretted it because of the pain.

The paper read: Meet me at Dowdry Lane, FX83551

“Huh? 83551? Zinna? It’s her handwriting.”

Elvira mumbled as she stepped out of the hollow. As if on cue, a blob of mauve fluid dropped from the tree and drenched her in Linch blood.

“Arrghhh, CoMe On!” Elvira stomped as she marched out with the stick in one hand and the paper in another, her white dress-skirt now flailing like a flag of defeat. She tried to wipe the fluid off of her but the more it came in contact with its kind, the more it kept sticking into each other.

“There was something about these…the Linch blood…I remember…what was it?”

She marched past a cluster of dense Purbush Berries.

“Umm…it isn’t deathly, I know that, but…”

She turned back after reaching a rock wall. The deeper she walked into the forest, the more it rustled, as if trying to communicate with her presence.

“What was it?”

Beady eyes glinted behind a tree as they caught the sun.

“Where even is Dowdry Lane? Is it in a town? A city? Who stuck the note?”

Leaves rustled behind her, as if crunching notes of doom in her behest.

“Note? Oh! I remember!” Elvira’s face perked up, “It was in the upper left side of the textbook, in a yellow box reading note to remember! Linch blood attracts other Linchs and in mourning they consume the remanent of the dead Linch in order to immortalise the memory of the lost!” she clapped.

“Well done, sweets.” Another deep voice complimented.

The non-existent colour drained from Elvira’s being. Hair stood up on her face as her eyes widened in the horror the realisation had created.

Elvira did not turn.

Elvira bloody ran.

The You in Me: 4 - Friends and Rivals.

 

CHAPTER 4

Behind Seraphina, he stood aiming a double barrel silver gun at the lot in front.

“Don’t worry about it, they’re just sleeping shots,” His golden eyes pointed at the gun in his hand, quite nonchalantly. He stood tall and at ease with his athletic build and wide shoulders, prideful of his very own existence. From his point of view, it would be safe to say that he was used to looking down on people, and why wouldn’t one, if they were blessed with a face like his. Sculpted in pure leisure, his narrow eyes and sharp features complimented his tanned skin and dark hair, unruly and slightly elongated around his nape. Over the thick yet pointy ends of his brows were embedded two iridescent crystals, each, marking him the most powerful true Astherian in the room.

“You wouldn’t have the heart to use it otherwise, O’ great hero Kaizer,” the redhead drawled as she stepped forward and stood right over the white line made in front of the weapon stand.

“You’re a Dread,” Kaizer made the wise observation from the dark crystals over her brows.

“The name’s Ahren,” the redhead mocked a bow, then she turned to face the other three panting behind her, “Come now, don’t you want to win number one?”

“I’d rather we play rock, paper, scissors to pick a winner,” Seraphina grumbled under her breath as she got up. With silence now dominating the crystal room, the eeriness of the situation had creeped up on her. Though Kaizer had his gun pointed over their heads, he wouldn’t attack for as long as they remained unarmed.

Seraphina never fathomed the thought that the only ground rule of the competition was its biggest demerit. The system, once again, proved itself to be rigged in the favour of a singular power.

“I think we’ll stay behind the line for a second, why don’t you choose first?” Nysa urged Ahren.

“What! No, bitch, do not decide about us all by yourself! That’s why I say you’re so selfish! I’ll choose!” Irewin jerked himself away from Nysa’s shoulder and limped forward, only to be smacked on the back of his head.

“Can you not get a hint, you nitwit?!” Nysa snapped and pulled Irewin back in her grasp. “Kaizer won’t attack us as long as we’re unarmed, though, as soon as we pick a weapon, we’re dead because he chose the best one for long- and short- range combat,” Nysa whispered an explanation in Irewin’s ear as the brunette stood and nodded dumbly.

“Oh, now’s not the time to be wimps,” Kaizer joked, “You’re Heros. Stand tall and accept your fate.”

His golden eyes met Seraphina’s scarlet ones, hoping to either urge her into action or propel her into an understanding. The ravenette merely stepped away to get out of Nysa and Irewin’s range of sight and stood beside Ahren.

The redhead raised an amused brow to which Seraphina nodded sombrely. They were both Dreads, so they better stay together.

“Yeah, come along, we can at least stand side by side,” Ahren insisted the hero duo.

The couple hesitantly made a move forward. Ahren pushed Seraphina away to host the couple by her side, now all under Kaizer’s vigilance.

“Someone has to lose their pride or rank for someone else to win,” Seraphina announced after a minute of nobody moving. Her eyes were busy scanning the shelves for a weapon appropriate enough to win over Kaizer’s gun.

“Why don’t you do the honours?” Kaizer turned to face her, pointing the barrel over her forehead.

“Never really been the first at anything, I have. Second daughter, second choice of my crush, second house in the locality,” Seraphina shrugged and pursed her rambling mouth shut.

“I see you’re moving out of your shell then,” Kaizer snickered, looking slightly above her head.

Ha. Everyone else could see the glaring number one on her head. She wondered what everyone else had chosen.

“Ha,” Seraphina inhaled, “Won’t you congratulate me for it?” she pushed her lips in a fish pout and batted her lashes in a harsh attempt to be cringe.

She succeeded and Kaizer turned to Ahren instead.

“Ah, the Dread,” he coughed, awkwardly, and it was a moment enough for Seraphina to propel Irewin into the weapon shelf. His limping-self crashed into the crystal with a resounding thud; Kaizer moved to help the fellow hero and Seraphina took it as the cue to rush towards the furthest shelf.

Covering her fellow Dread, Ahren jumped into action and kneed Nysa in her back. She fell forwards, onto her lover, and Ahren used her moving body as a cover to sneak up to Kaizer’s side.

He was prepared though he couldn’t point his barrel at Ahren who was already elbowing his side. Their fists moved in a flurry of matched skill but before Ahren could realise it, Kaizer had her wrists pinned behind her back and head in a chokehold.

Way behind them, Seraphina struggled to pick up a weapon while simultaneously keeping a check on the fight. Though, when she saw the gun pointing directly at Ahren’s head, she reached for the microphone, flipped it on and chucked it to the crystal floor.

The crystal walls, embedded with hidden speakers, echoed the most ear piercing ‘beep’ that made even the sleeping students squirm for their lives. Ahren and Kaizer doubled over, his grip on the gun loosened and it fell to the floor as he used his hands for covering his ears instead. Ahren too curled to the floor at the sudden auditory assault, though, she was conscious enough to kick the gun out of their reach.

Seraphina, with a clenched jaw and curse words invading her mind, crawled forward despite the pain. As the vibrations tuned down, Seraphina’s crawls got more desperate. On the other side, Kaizer and Ahren too had begun twisting their limbs around to gain a leverage over the other. Like two toddlers fighting over their favourite toy, Kaizer and Ahren had descended to pulling at each other’s hair and stomping their feet.

“That’s a spectacle if I ever saw one,” Seraphina snorted into the microphone as soon as she grabbed it.

The bickering duo turned to face her.

“Catch!” Seraphina shouted and flung the microphone toward Ahren.

At the same time, Kaizer cursed, “Freaking Dreads.”

Ahren caught the microphone and wrapped its cord around Kaizer’s neck. Seraphina ran to reach their side and pulled the microphone toward her, behind Kaizer’s back. Ahren detained his hands until his air flow ceased and his body stopped resisting. He fell to the cold hard floor, quite handsomely.

“We did it! We knocked out the strongest Hero! We won!” Seraphina clapped and flicked the microphone phone off.

“Charming, is it not?” Ahren untangled herself from the passed-out boy and stood up.

“Very! Very charming! We’re the luckiest in our crowd!”

Ahren stood up and Seraphina ran in for a hug; she welcomed the ravenette with open arms and then tasered her in the back. As her limp body descended to the floor, Ahren clarified, “I was the first person to get a weapon, but I don’t believe in making a big deal out of things. It was fun while it lasted, Sera-Sera.”

A white aether circle shone underneath the passed-out student body, restoring their uniforms. Ahren glanced at Seraphina’s Class: S badge and couldn’t help the snicker which escaped her lips.

No fanfare greeted the redhead after her win. There were no claps or confetti or cheers, merely a digital screen which showed her face on top of all the other students.

No. 1 – Dread – Ahren Vassilissa – S – Ability type: Freeform, Chaos.

No. 2 – Dread – Seraphina Dysis – S – Ability type: Freeform, Chaos.

No. 3 – Hero – Kaizer Malvern – SS – Ability type: Holy.

No. 4 – Hero – Nisreen Alamara – AA – Ability type: Knight.

No. 5 – Hero – Irewin Paix – AA – Ability type: Berserker.

 

And it was enough for her eyes to crinkle with mirth and a big grin encasing her face. The future, this term, seemed way more promising than the previous ones.

The You in Me: 4 - What fun.

 

CHAPTER 3

The world has always had an unfair power dynamic, even when it was only littered with humans. There’s always someone in whose favour the scales of fate tip just a little more – enough to annoy someone less favoured. The Astherians were no different, owing to their bifurcated society subdivided by classes in pursuit of a constant power struggle. Every breath was an occasion to do better for these souls.

So, it was a surprise to Seraphina when the white aether circle erupted all over the crystal floor and their academy uniforms dissipated into plain white overalls.

“Your class and identities will remain anonymous for this competition in order to bring out fair results. Your abilities will be nullified by the crystal that surrounds you, instead, you shall be provided with human weapons to sustain!” an invisible announcer announced.

Seraphina slapped a hand against her forehead. The Astherians’ fascination with everything human was their only consistent character trait. So much for being a superior species when the crux of their existence was merely being copycats.

“Additionally, the student who chose number one will not be able to see everyone else’s ranks, for fun, of course.” The invisible announcer added.

Seraphina facepalmed, again, as the number clouds over everyone else’s head disappeared for her sight.

‘Hiding identities was a good idea but subduing abilities…’ Seraphina clenched her jaw, ‘I am nothing without the aether.’

Suddenly, the phrase ‘haste makes waste’ made so much sense to her as the number of peering eyes increased on her back. The crowd was dead still, maybe choosing their targets, baited breaths awaited the weapon stands materializing though the crystal walls. Iridescent shelves came forth, housing an array of weapons ranging from a gun, sword, saber, nun-chunk, net, scythes, spatula to a microphone.

“Before you choose a weapon, know that you can only see the chosen number of a person within the same range as yours. So, if you’ve chosen 599 as your number, then, you can only see the numbers of students 590 to 600. Though, as you move up in your ranks, your range may expand.”

As soon as the announcement ceased, whispers and gasps rose amidst the students. Seraphina looked around and sighed in relief as formerly piercing glances tore away from her head and found newer targets to pursue. This was nice. This was easier. This meant her opponent count took a staggering hit from 1199 to a mere 10! This was some good, good, fate! Even though she was standing at the very end of the room, an aeon away from the weapon shelves.

A grin snuck its way to Seraphina’s lips. Upon two and three observations, she gathered that no one in her immediate proximity was within her fighting range, hence, making it a good circle to hide behind.

Now, all she needed was a good weapon which would work well in long as well as short range combat and she’d be set to win!

“On the count of three, run for the weapons!”

Seraphina did not know why she waited for the system to stay loyal to the countdown. Maybe she was distracted by the fact that the they were attempting a jab at fairness. Yes, that should be it. But when the system went, “Zero, one, three!” Seraphina realised that her trust was easily earned.

The crowd rushed like starved cattle let loose on a fresh grass pasture. All they missed were pointy horns to impale Seraphina and lift her into the air like a sad battle prize. If it wasn’t obvious enough, Seraphina had never been the most athletic person in the lot.

But she knew a few mundane tricks like elbowing people in the sides to move forward.

It came up as an unsaid fact that the only way to reach the best weapon was through mortal combat, as the Dreads believed; or a stampede, as the Heroes figured.

Someone pulled the other in a chokehold; another threw a resounding, concussion inducing, kick to the person in front; some girl grabbed two others by their hair; screams erupted within the crystal hall, vibrating through its aether and reaching up to the upper-most section, behind which the Aetherunes Staff sat and giggled.

What fun.

Seraphina avoided a trip and pushed her hair in a bun for safety measures. She crouched low and poked her elbows out, hoping to survive the battlefield like a lucky grandma if she figured the best way to reach the gun shelf.

She winced as she saw two people in an intense punch fight right in front of the gun. Those hefty bruises would require a Class 2 Healer, at least, she thought to herself.

Suddenly, Seraphina doubled over, grappled with pain as someone punched her side. “Freaking hell, are you trying to sell me life insurance? Because I’m almost convinced,” she spat out. Her face fell into a grimace as looked up to see a smirking curly haired ravenette wriggling her wrists, steadying, for another punch.

“I dunno what that is but I’m only trying to win over rank one,” the girl replied with a click of her tongue.

She threw another punch but Seraphina blocked it with a knife-hand-strike. She lunged her foot forward to wrap it around Seraphina’s but the latter found it as an opportunity to grab a hold of the hand she struck and gain a footing. The girl tried to trip Seraphina while simultaneously attempting to choke her, but Seraphina twisted with the grip on her hand and swung her over her shoulder and onto the crystal floor.

The loud thump attracted more attention than she was comfortable with and Seraphina couldn’t help the maniacal grin on her face. Her body was moving on instinct, as if some latent muscle memory had decided to resurface in the face of flight or fight. It was way nicer than being beaten to a pulp.

Another student slung an arm around her neck and clenched it for a choke. Seraphina elbowed him, but to no momentary avail. She began clawing her nails into his arm only for him to grab them by his free hand and twist it behind her back. Choking for air, Seraphina haphazardly looked around for some kind of help. Then, she saw it. A sturdy back in proximity.

Seraphina used one leg to propel herself and another to bounce off the sturdy back, using momentum to throw her attacker off balance. She landed behind him, twisted and in a heap. She had a moment to pant and suddenly there was a gun shot.

Oh, this was fun. The best weapon was already grabbed. Seraphina couldn’t lose anymore time. She stepped over the boy and grabbed a hold of the splattered curly haired girl. She slid her hands under her armpits and began circling; as her steps grew wider, the body swayed harder and faster. Like a man-made tornado, Seraphina stormed through the crowds, parting them with partial awe and partial annoyance.

She succeeded halfway through, until someone grabbed the girl’s foot, mid-sway, and flung her off balance. Seraphina fell and the world zoomed around her; left momentarily vulnerable, a sword wielding student raised his arm, ready for slaughter, but was stopped by a bullet being shot into his armed hand.

“No attacking the defenseless. Haven’t you learnt?” the gun wielder snapped.

Seraphina’s hands grappled against the crystal, trying to hinge herself back into reality. The sword fell beside her, clanking, and a hoard of students clamored forth for the taking. Instinct drove her to kick a person’s shin and pull them down so she could stand up. She turned to face her savior but caught no glimpse of him as another body lunged at her.

Seraphina merely stepped away and missed the attack by a finger’s width. She sped towards the weapon shelf, only to be caught again, this time in the middle of already two fighting students.

“Do you even know how to use nun-chunks? Do you even know what they are, you hard boiled egg brain?” the girl shouted, throwing a punch.

“I, for one, pay attention during weapon mastery. Have been doing it for fifty years now, unlike someone who constantly simps for the professor!” the boy scowled, as he stopped the girl’s punch with one hand.

Seraphina was brought into it as the girl interlocked her fingers with the boy’s and they flung a kick each in her direction. Sandwiched, Seraphina stalled the kicks by holding onto their ankles, midway. She hurled a kick at the boy but he was swift to stop it with a mid-way grab of his own. She smirked and using his grasp as a hinge, Seraphina twisted into a jump and knocked her foot into the girl’s jaw.

She faltered, about to fall, when the boy rushed to grab her by the collar. Slanted, scowling, but conscious, the girl gained back her footing. Seraphina barely landed on her two feet when the girl was chucked at her.

“Can you see how she fights better than you? You’re disappointing, Nysa,” the boy taunted.

Nysa growled as she threw punch after punch at Seraphina, haphazardly.

“Who are you? My love rival? How dare you try to hit on my man?!” Nysa screamed as Seraphina tried to block the punches being rained down on her.

“Are you kidding me? You call that your man?!” Seraphina tsked and blocked a punch to her nose. “And you guys literally pulled me in this!” she tsked.

Without a pattern to observe, several of Nysa’s bony fists landed on Seraphina’s gut before she realised the uselessness of Nysa’s feet and kneed her groin.

“Shit,” Nysa jumped into a backflip and swung a kick at the boy’s head. “How dare you try to manipulate me, you dog, Irewin. I bet you’re trying to hit on her!”

Irewin, mostly out of shock, could not avoid the kick and spun a three-sixty on his heel. Though, before Nysa could attack again, he leaped forward, grabbed her by her hair, pulled her back and launched himself at Seraphina like a bullet.

In the blink of an eye, his hands were grabbing her by the shoulders whilst he was suspended over her head and he was able to pull her along in a semi-circle and thrashed her into the floor.

“How dare you turn my girlfriend against me, you bitch, do you like me?” he mocked her.

Seraphina groaned. “There is something wrong with your head, but, thankfully, both of ours is a Class 1 healer’s problem,” she smiled and swooped her foot to make him trip. Irewin jumped but Seraphina was already twirling into another kick as she shot up. The blow struck against his face, hard and he propelled into another person nearby.

Nysa instantly went for an underhook, a chin for a chin or some poetic revenge, but Seraphina evaded with backward bend. The punch, instead, landed under the chin of the person who was right behind Seraphina, ready to attack. He was a big, burly, giant of a man with an ill proportioned head to body ratio.

Nysa’s eyes widened at the sudden enraged scream the man let out. She instinctively reached out for Seraphina’s hand and pulled her towards herself, away from the raging madman.

“Shut the hell up!” Irewin erupted like a volcano of his own, charging at the man with a whirlwind kick. But he was blocked with that man’s knife-hand-strike and sent flying back into the girls.

“You’re almost as annoying as he is,” Nysa spat at Irewin, eyeing the raging man.

“Oh please! That’s so you when things are not going your way!” Irewin retorted.

“Can we focus on the matter at hand? Please?!” Seraphina exhaled in exasperation as she somehow found herself standing in between the two.

“Of course,” the couple looked snapped in unison.

“I’ll go first,” Irewin announced and ran before confirmation. His long legs worked like swords, urging blow after blow on the big man’s hands. Bruised enough, the big man kneed him in the gut and shot Irewin high into the ceiling.

Unconcerned, Nysa instantly went for his gut with a flurry of her own punches. The big man doubled over, momentarily, and Seraphina saw it as an opportunity to lunge forward. She grabbed his arm and used Nysa’s back as a stepping stool to snake her way onto the big man’s shoulders. She wrapped her thighs around his thick neck and elbowed his nape with vigor.

The big man shook himself, violently, to dislodge Seraphina but Nysa’s punches kept him occupied momentarily. Though, he instantly figured to throw himself on his back in order to crush Seraphina instead.

As he toppled backwards, Nysa dashed as several jumps back, her jaw hung in awe with what she was about to witness – probably a skull being cracked open in front of her very own eyes.

Seraphina’s breath hitched, awaiting her demise. ‘A hard crash against this crystal floor and being buried under the size of this giant man’s sweaty back…what a lame way to die. Mother would be so asham—Oh heaven, I cannot die! I still need to put away that skeleton in my bathtub!’ she thought to herself.

Before Seraphina could attack or even break her skull, someone else had already taken action and lodged themselves in between the floor and that hulk of a man. Seraphina slipped onto the floor, on her own accord, chest heaving as she saw a girl grinning menacingly at her. Her ruby hair covered her face for she was leaning slightly forward, her elbow stuck right against the big man’s spine.

“How much do you consider your life’s worth?” the girl wheezed, raised her head and pushed the big man to fall face-first into the crystal floor, “Because I just saved yours.”

“Thank you,” is all Seraphina could say. Her savior was beautiful; her eyes, big and glimmering like the ocean under the summer sun and the soft curves of her nose, lips and cheeks made it impossible to believe that she could survive even the sight of blood. Over her arched brows were embedded two dark crystals, at the ends, making Seraphina gasp in shock.

That girl was a true Astherian. One who had mastered Two Ancient Runes which would fulfil her purpose. A true S-Class aetherfolk.

Seraphina was saved twice even before she could reach the weapon stand.

The weapon stand.

Ah.

Seraphina looked around as soon as she realised the silence around her, only to witness all the student body passed out on the crystal floor. The only ones standing were the redhead, Nysa, Irewin limping and lodged on Nysa’s shoulder and him.

All the paths lead to you — 1: Met a Grandpa and with an agenda!

The wall clock flashed 9:00 P.M. The dim lighting poorly reflected off a nametag reading: Larissa J. 

As the isolated office neared closing time, Larissa stretched out her hands while she stood in front of the air conditioner, in a desperate attempt to absorb as much as air as she could before the flap would shut close. 

A contended smile was wrapped over her thin lips, eyes closed to cue pretenses of standing in the middle of a rainforest rather than the city center, clad in a blue and gray cleaning lady uniform with a mop leaning against her chest. 

She inhaled the cool wind like a woman starved, feasting over the last clean gust until it was too late. The swing flap of the air conditioner swung close and with dejected shoulders, Larissa too stepped away. 

She grabbed the mop again and began sliding it against the marble flooring. Her hands moved fast while her eyes kept glancing at the clocking. 

'In twenty minutes, the office would heat up like a portal to hell,' her brain reminded. Her bushy brows banded in determination as worked her way through the wide expanse of an entire office and the adjoining hallway. 

Her head bopped to a popular song, body swaying to-and-fro with the mop as she lost herself to the beat while mopping. So, it was consider her surprise only human when she opened her eyes and spotted an old man standing on the end of the hallway. Under dim lights. Clad in all black. Awaiting her like an angel of death.

Larissa let out a startled scream and let go of the mop. It fell with a loud thud, eliciting a similar response from the man. With one hand, he seemingly clutched his chest and gasped, with the other, he pointed an accusatory finger at Larissa.

"You— you!!"

"I—I, uh, I am sorry!" Larissa immediately bent into a ninety degree bow. "Are you okay? I didn't mean to startle you!" She called out and walked towards the man. 

"I'm good, you're good," the old man replied with a gruff voice. 

"Let me fetch you some water, come sit," Larissa said as she grabbed the old man by his arm and led him inside the office. "Do you work here?" She asked as she seated him on one of the cubicle chairs and speed-walked towards the pantry.

"I suppose I do," the man replied with a nonchalant shrug. "Put a slice of lemon in my water dear, it elevates the taste," he called out to Larissa shuffling inside the pantry. "Do you work here as well?" He asked, while Larissa replied affirmative to both.

"I just part-time, you know, I'm a college student so this is one of the many jobs I do," Larissa clarified as she jogged out with a glass of water and a singular slice of lemon in hand. "I didn't know how you'd want it...eh, should I just put it in? Wedge it to the brim? Squeeze it?" She asked, side-eying the lemon slice. 

"Just put it in," the man sighed.

Larissa did. He thanked her and took a sip of the refreshing drink. Larissa looked up at the clock and panicked. The heat was already beginning to consume the closed space and in a matter of moments the walls would start emanating all the heat they consumed.

"Do you work for security? The office closed an hour ago, there's no other reason a person like you would be here." Larissa asked as she fetched her mop from the hallway. 

The old man replied something but it was muffled owing to the distance between them. Larissa picked up the mop from the end of the hallway and ran back to the office. 

"Don't you want to go back home? To the familiar warmth of your wife, a table filled with food and everything nice?" Larissa asked as she walked back inside.

"I don't anyone to go back to," the man shrugged. 

"Oh— I, uh, I am sorry! Again!" Larissa bent into another apologetic bow. 

"No, no, I mean, my wife is angry at me...for something, yes," the man confessed. 

Larissa let out a giggle. "Bring her some flowers and apologise. I'm sure she's working her best," Larissa advised with a smile. 

Even under the dim light, the old man exuded an otherworldly glow through his wrinkled skin, beady eyes and crisp black suit. His lips were pushed up in a smile as he followed Larissa's movements with his crinkled eyes. 

"Don't you want to go home? It's quite late for a young girl like you," he pointed out. 

"Oh don't mind me!" Larissa waved a hand in his face, "You know how it is like to earn money, don't you? I have a sick aunt at home. She's a teacher. She leaves me copies to correct each day and sometimes I make the report cards as well. She has a lot of allergies — not a sickness for a poor soul, am I right?" Larissa snorted.

"Mhm, my wife is mad at me because our grandson is in love with a wrong person and I'm not doing anything about it," the old man revealed.

"Oh?" Larissa's dark eyes twinkled and her head perked up, "Is it a man?" 

"No," the old man replied promptly.

"Then what? Is it a child? A convict? A prostitute?" 

"You're making her sound like a saint now," the man sighed.

"I don't understand," Larissa confessed.

"Fancy a drink?" The man asked.

Larissa made a face and took two steps backward, "Grandpa, the best I can do is help you sit in a bus." 

The man let out a laugh and Larissa did not understand what in her words was so amusing. Heat had begun emanating off the walls and boiling the floor up. Larissa could feel it in the clogged air and her sweaty armpits.

"What's your major, in college, that is?" The old man asked.

"I cannot tell you that, for privacy concerns," Larissa replied. "We should get going though, this place is going to boil soon."

"Oh? You can turn on the air conditioning if you want to," the man pointed at the the remote place beside the air conditioner, drilled with a stand on the wall. 

"Oh-ho ho! How can I? A mere cleaning lady? Ha! You're so funny! They're going to have me killed and hang me at the community center to make an example out of how people like me should stay in their lane!" Larissa bellowed in between exasperated dry laughs. 

"You've got a vivid imagination," the old man scoffed, "Do you fancy easy money?" His words immediately stilled Larissa.

"Who doesn't?" She scoffed back.

"How far would you go for it?" 

Larissa crossed her arms over her chest and threw a deepened frown at the old man. "I didn't imagine you to be sleazy, wow, there's no place for kindness in this society anymore," she scoffed, throwing disgusted glances at him.

"What! No! What even— How could you!" The man struggled for words and stood up in his defence. Larissa considered it as him making a move and took three steps back. 

"I'm telling you, I will hit you!" She exclaimed, welding the map as a lance. 

"Oh please," the man rolled his eyes, "I love my wife very much, thank you, but what I was suggesting is— would you fancy a wedding to my grandson?"

"A'ight, too much out time for me today, I'm going home, old man, who even are you?!" Larissa scoffed and walked into the hallway to complete the cleaning and leave as soon as possible. 'Surely, if not senile, he must be a human trafficker,' Larissa concluded, very wisely, in her head and made a mental note to report him first thing tomorrow morning. 

"I understand it sounds ridiculous —" the man started as soon as he stepped out of the office, "But my wife is just so mad at me and I cannot think of any other way to get out of this. Surely, if I get him to fall in love with another person, surely he would leave that girl and marry a decent one. I am willing to pay as much as you desire. I am quite well off, you see—"

"I think you need medication!" Larissa cut him off with a shout from the end of the hallway. 

"Opportunities like these never knock twice! How does 50 million dollars sound to you?" The old man shouted back from the other end of the hallway.

"Like the price of my organs that you're gonna illegally harvest!" Larissa shouted back, clearly alarmed, she threw the mop in the janitor's closet and beelined towards the stairway exit. 

"No— hear me out! He's a very dashing young man! His name is Nikolai and he likes dar—"

"Hello? 110? This is an emergency! At Hurain Corp, yes, there is an old who might be trafficking girls, yes he is coming after me, please help— oh my—"

"— Here me out lady, this is actually a great deal, looking at you, you're absolutely his type—"

"—Can you hear that?! He keeps forcing me to marry his grandson?! Yes please —Help!" 

Suddenly, the stairway exit door burst open and Larissa screamed with all her might. 

A flash of light made Larissa look away. They were in the Police Station, bustling with cops and operators handling finncky civilians and criminals. The man flashed light into Larissa's left eye. Again, she looked away.

"You don' seem blind, you quite al'ight, lass then why can't you recognise the big boss o' your workplace? Hurain Kairos? The founder and maker of Hurain Corp? Whatchu some kinda Patrick Star?" Her assigned cop chided as he looked at Hurain and Larissa, simultaneously, giving an apologetic look to one and a pointed look to another. 

"I am sorry..." Larissa sighed, properly slouched in the chair with her shoulders slumped, head bent and back curved into a shameful C. 

"My husband was treating you with kindness and here you are calling the cops on him," an old woman tsked. She stood behind Hurain's chair with a hand on either of his shoulder. Her persona exuded the same otherworldly glow that her husband possessed. Her curly silver hair, sharp blue eyes and unblemished wrinkled skin qualified her as the richest woman in the entirety of the nation. 

"I am sorry ma'am," Larissa slouched further than humanly possible, "Please do not sue me," she all but begged. 

"They gon' do what they like. You can't jus' offend the Kairos' yaknow," the cop snorted, excitedly exchanging glances between the duo. 

"We won't press charges, of course, as long as you co-operate with us," the old man, Hurain Kairos, said ever so kindly.

His soothing tone instinctively urged Larissa to glare at him through a side-eye. "You should have started with your name, old man," she grumbled, unapologetically. 

"It's all the same, all the same," Hurain let out a hearty laugh and patted Larissa's slouched back. "How about we discuss this in the presence of my beloved — or do you wish to be sued instead?" 

Larissa spotted an evil glint in his eye and groaned internally. What she wished was to go home, not be wedded off on the whims of an old rich couple. Surely — it must trespass some of her fundamental rights. Right?! 

Nonetheless, Larissa willed herself to get up and launch into a flurry of apologetic bows for wasting a government official's time and closely followed the old rich couple out of the prison.

The old woman glanced at Larissa twice before patting a hand on her shoulder. "Go home for now, let Arnold take you. We will continue this in the morning. Know that we are only trying to do the best for everyone, okay?" She smiled at Larissa. A dimple birthed on each cheek and her lips pursed into absence while she smiled.

Her touch was warm against Larissa's cold shoulder.

She wished she had grandparents...or parents... Larissa sighed as she walked inside the small one bedroom apartment and locked the door behind her. Aunt Nora was sleeping on the sofa with her glasses still on. Her nose was puffed and red, clearly indicating that her allergies flared up again. A pile of books was placed by the foot of a sofa and a red pen gently swayed (owing to the tall standing fan placed behind the sofa) on top of them. 

The table in front was laden with covered dishes and more notebooks. To the right, by the window, laid a mattress with a folded sheet on top of it. Larissa smiled gratefully.

She took off her shoes at the small shoe cabinet behind the door and tip-toed her way to the bathroom on the left. She washed her face and took her phone out to google the name of the man for whom her life was being ruined.

Her bangs were standing up and as soon as the face of the man popped in the image results, all of Larissa's body hair sprang up.

What awful fate she had.

What fucking awfully hilarious and random fate she had to have for Nikolai Rudbrek Kairos to be the same man she detested with more passion than her hopes to drop dead. 

Blood Bride — 2

The moon hung low in the sky, big and round, giving an illusion of close proximity to those who dared to reach out for its touch. Dyed crimson, it haloed the head of the fabled man whose name had sealed her fate with death. 

"Hasty to die, aren't we?"

His cold touch against her warm body seared her sense of speech. Dark hair strands fell over his cataclysmic grey eyes peering into hers. Elowen's gaze meandered to avoid contact and instead ended up skimming over his prominent collarbones and chiseled cold chest. As soon as she registered his semi-nudity, her eyes pressed close.

"H-haste makes waste," she stuttered, "I don't want to die w-wastefully." Elowen hated her tongue for not rolling as planned. To think she was more eloquent in front of the King and Queen now felt like a far fetched dream.

"How productive of you," the man couldn't help the snicker that escaped his lips as he helped her back to the ground and sped backwards to put some distance between them.

Elowen's hammering heart and flushed body found much solace as the cold rooftop air embraced the emptiness he left behind. 

"We mustn't delay the ritual. It might not seem so but we have eyes and ears around us," the man informed, his voice oddly deep and calming to Elowen's flustered senses.

"Wouldn't expect otherwise," she said with a firm nod then patted her palms against her thighs, awkwardly, "But...I don't really know how to go about it." 

The man, with his hands on his belt buckle, stilled upon the revelation. "Oh? Oh, Astrid, makes sense. I missed your arrival so she skipped the guiding, understandably so," he whispered to himself.

The stars surrounding the crimson moon had begun to twinkle a red glare onto the pond. The man infront cleared his throat, almost human-like, to gain attention.

"I am Prince Valen Sythar, the heir to Valoria," the man introduced himself with a curt bow and a hand over his heart, "And as per ritual," he said as he walked towards her, "A human princess, also known as the Centennial Blood Bride," he held out a hand and urged, with his eyes, for her to do the same, "That is you, Princess Elowen Calyx, has consented to be sacrificed at the Blood Moon's altar for peace and safety of Eidryn. Am I correct?" 

'Consented was hardly accurate. Destined? Too fancy. Fated? Too flowery. Thrusted upon? Yeah, that sounds about right.' Elowen thought, though these tangents hardly mattered on the topic. So, she held out her right hand as he did and said, "Yes, I consent."

Valen took her hand in his and turned them to face the pond. He rested the back of her hand over two of his fingers and pressed his thumb in the centre of her palm. "It might hurt a little, hold onto me if you're scared," he said as the clean cut nail of his thumb suddenly began growing sharper and longer against the skin of her palm.

Elowen clenched her teeth and shook her head upon his offer. Maybe if he had a shirt on, the thought would have been more in consideration because Elowen would rather bleed in pain than grab his bare arms and embarasses herself just moments before her death. 

The nail pressed deeper into her palm and drew blood. Elowen withdrew a slight gasp as Valen instructed, "Close your fist." She closed her fingers around his thumb and he held her hand as a stream of blood bled into the pond, creating new ripples of fate. 

Valen chanted something under his breath, a language Elowen couldn't decipher, and as soon as he let go of her hand Elowen's wound was healed. He did not have to heal her but the small gesture felt like a gust of kindness in a desert of cruelty.

"Able bodied and a consenting will are necessary for the ritual," Valen clarified just as small whispers of smile threatened the corners of Elowen's lips.

"Oh-" she uttered, dumbly. 

"Now we will have to soak in the pond until the scarlet moon wanes, as you must know, it is to stabilize the yin and yang of Eidryn." 

'Hence the stripping,' Elowen thought as she nodded her head in understanding. Suddenly, her eyes widened at the implication of her own thoughts. 'STRIPPING?!' Her head swatted to Valen and surely, he was unbuckling his pants with no concern whatsoever. Flustered, Elowen flipped her head away. 

"A-ah, do I, of course, right? Have to partake in this?" 

A gust of wind brushed past her and in the blink of a moment, Valen was in the scarlet tinted pond, soaking with his bare chest out for depraved sight. He ran a wet had through his dark locks and shrugged, "It is what is necessary." 

Eidryn was a land of many a species living together in a forced pact of harmony brought out of mutual loss. The Mortal Empire, Imania, consisted of the Fae Continent Sylvaris, the great waterfolk ridge called Aquor's Spine, Lykorra Peninsula of the Shapeshifters and the landlocked human kingdom of Calythia. 

As the weakest of the Mortal Empire's quadrant, it was Calythia who was destined to sacrifice a princess, at the end of every century, in order to be at peace with Dark Realm of Nocverra. Failing to do so would end in upheaval of the Nexus, and quite possibly the end of the world.

"Heh," Elowen scoffed and briefly considered the hygiene issues of bathing in a pond with her blood but the rushing thought of her eventual death subsided the concerns. She looked down at her shirt and flared pants, sighed heavily, then proceeded to unbutton the collar of her shirt. 

For a sacred and centennial ritual, her hosts were pretty lax with the planning. The least they could have offered her were a small sette to keep clothes on and a bathrobe to wear after. Was it too much of a consideration? Then again, her thoughts were with the Valoria Vampires as context.

The glaring scarlet eyes of the second prince invaded her memory. 

Elowen did not bother to undo her pants and entered the water. She rested her back against the pond's edge with only her face out for sight. The water was lukewarm and comforting around her heightened senses; Elowen could have almost enjoyed it if not for Prince Valen, at hand. 

"What's next?" She asked.

He coughed to clear his throat before answering, "We wait for the waning." 

"Ah..." Elowen nodded. The silence gnawed at her soul, "Sounds a bit boring, does it not?" 

"I don't know, it's my first time trying," Valen shrugged, a hint of amusement in his tone.

Elowen's sight was stuck at the darkened skies but from her forced peripheral vision she witnessed Valen resting his elbows on the pond's edge while he threw his head back to stretch. The young princess gulped as water trickled down his prominent adam's apple on a leisurely pace.

"I liked your carriage," Valen commented after a minute or a century, Elowen wasn't sure. 

"Hu-" she almost gulped the bloody water, "Ah, thank you, I engineered it," Elowen strung together a sentence before embarassing herself, "How, I mean, where did you see it though?" 

"While working, through a window," the Prince shrugged, "How did you calibrate human inventions with fae artefacts though? It is quite brilliant." He referred to the elongated pentagonal stone hovering on top of her carriage and powering it.

"Heh, this and that," Elowen smiled, "I liked getting into new stuff ever since I was a kid. It is because I—"

Horror dawned on Elowen as she pursued her lips. She had almost uttered it out and put all of Mortal Empire at stake. Involuntarily, her hands reached the back of her waist, concealed underneath the high waistband of the pants, and her fingers felt for the familiar bump on it. 

"You must have been an important asset to Calythia," Valen whispered under his breath. 

"Heh," Elowen said awkwardly, "No, no, I was just selfish in my pursuits. No body knows, of course," Elowen nodded. Any and all of her intrests were merely a liability to Calythia's treasury.

"The blood ritual takes place over the span of a week. You shall be sacrificed seven days from now...is there something you want to do before that? Anything you regret or expect?"

Elowen flipped her head to look at him. His words were barely above a whisper, his eyes were hooded and his head was titled just enough for his hair to curtain his face from her partial nudity.

"A-are you, no, I mean, why do you ask?" Elowen gulped, for sure, she couldn't get ahead of herself.

"Even though there is a certain comfort in knowing one's destiny, the weight of bearing its knowledge might wear us down someday. Now that you are so close to accomplishing it, I wish to alleviate some of that weight." 

"But...why?" 

Suddenly, he looked up, his grey eyes zoning into hers. Elowen backed up, flattening herself against the pond's stony edges for it felt like Valen was closing in.

"Why because we're married now. I am bathing in your blood, afterall." 

At that moment, Elowen realised that she should have brushed up on vampire lore before sending herself to be eaten. 

An Unexpected Union — 10

— catch, compel, conquer.

Aurelia opens her eyes, which is quite baffling to her own self, and finds herself resting on a cloud— or something of equal comfort. 

Did the Hoarder save her life... because she wasn't dispensable to him...?

Her heart tugs a little and she jolts up with a smile on her face, but the jolt is quick to turn into an ache as she spots a scowling Lili sitting on a chair right in front of her. One of her hands is wrapped around a leg, tugged close to her chest, and her other leg hangs off the chair. Her ivy eyes are narrowed at Aurelia with fury and the latter decides to fall back into the clouds — which she now realises is a bed — and wish death upon herself.

"Sit back up." 

Her voice is cold and commanding. Aurelia obliges in a split second, sitting up straight as her hands feel her neck and wrists for stitches or marks of some sort. There aren't any, to her surprise, they look as plain as they had all her life. Even her neck doesn't ache at all.

What happened?

"You wouldn't die."

"Oh?" 

Aurelia gasps, just as surprised as Lili is abhorred. The castle spirit stands up and floats through the bed, closing the distance between them. Aurelia is quick to curl up to the headrest of the bed, trying to keep the distance between them.

"Oh-?! Oh?! OH-!! IS THAT ALL YOU HAVE TO SAY?! AFTER I RISKED MY EVERYTHING TRYING TO SET YOU UP WITH THE HOARDER?!" 

"Oh—?! You did?" Aurelia raises her brows, quite fascinated by the situation she is in. 

"SHU— SHKUHD, SHUT UP! I HATE THE SOUND OF YOUR VOICE!" Lili seethes. Aurelia is quick to purse her lips and hug her knees to her chest, eyes wandering away to everywhere but Lili.

She realises that she is resting in a room. A room bathed in soft, golden light filtering through stained glass windows. The walls are adorned with intricate tapestries of Merfolks, their vibrant colors contrasting with the muted tones of the stone. 

"I TRIED CHOKING, RELEASING POISON IN THE AIR— ALMOST ALERTING THAT DAMNED DRAGON AND EVEN GETTING THAT DAGGER THROUGH YOU! BUT YOUR STUBBORN LITTLE SPIRIT WOULDN'T BUDGE!" 

In the center of the room stood a grand, wooden four-poster bed with richly fragrant flowers for curtains. They make Aurelia scrunch her nose in repulsion. 

"STOP MAKING FACES! WHY WOULDN'T YOU DIE?!"

The bed is adorned with plush cushions and a delicately woven quilt, inviting Aurelia to rest and escape this wailing spirit. 

"My Queen sacrificed her last bouts of magic just so I could leave the castle and convince that useless Emperor to get the Hoarder in a bond. BUT NO! IT ALL BACKFIRES!" 

Nearby, a small wooden nightstand held a flickering candle, casting a small dancing shadow on the wall behind it. Against one wall, a large, ornate wardrobe stands tall, its doors engraved with intricate patterns. 

"ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING TO ME?!" 

Aurelia flinches due to the intensity of Lili's tone. "Y-yes, I am," she breaths out, feeling her arms over her body to realise that her dagger was gone. 

"WHY WOULDN'T YOU DIE?!"

"I don't know?!" Aurelia cried out, "Trust me, right now, I'd much prefer to be dead than hear you screech your evil schemes in my ears, okay?" 

Lili's delicate hand goes for Aurelia's neck and presses it against the headboard. Aurelia feels the glaring absence of her cap as her hair and gills hit against the dead wood. "You cannot die from my hands but that doesn't mean I cannot inflict pain on you. Do you understand?!" Lili seethes in her ear, eyes holding a menacing contact.

Aurelia deflects her gaze and it falls on a cozy reading nook beckoned from a corner of the room. A plush armchair with a worn but comfortable cushion nestled next to a towering bookshelf. 

"I u-understand, leave me, please? I'll help you. I'll help you. You need to get your Queen back, right? Maybe I can help you with that!" She begs as Lili squishes her cheeks between her thumb and forefinger.

"Look me in the eye and tell me how your pesky little lowlife self will be able to help me?" She jerks Aurelia's head to face herself.

"I-uh," Aurelia's eyes wander again, "I can get close to the Hoarder and get the orbs with the Queen's family in them?" She suggests in a moment of haste.

Lili rolls her eyes with a sigh. Her finger let go of Aurelia and she floats away from the bed to a beautifully carved vanity with a large, ornate mirror stood adorned with dried flowers. "Pathetic," Lili whispers, waving a hand to let the flowers bloom again, "You're so exasperating and pathetic, it pains me." 

Her voice breaks and Aurelia is horrified to find literal tears in Lili's eyes. "Excuse me?! Are you crying?!" She gasps, jumping off the bed and running up to the spirit. Though, her steps are a bit disoriented and her balance a little shaky without her cap.

"When folks die or cease, their soul essence can be saved into orbs. They're all dead. What can you help with?!" Lili cries dramatically, slouching over the vanity. 

"I- um, corpses to match with the soul essence...?" Aurelia offers without much thought.

Lili pokes her head outside the vanity, tears all dried up and brows mushed in horror. "Aurelia Mossbloom," she gasps, "You're a horrible person."

Yeah, tell her about it. Where did that thought even come from? Certainly it wasn't something she could concoct in a split second.

"Yeah- I'm sorry I ju—"

"No," Lili jumps out of the vanity and twirls around Aurelia's head. "I love you for it," she grins a toothy grin in the mushroom's face. "Go ahead, tell me everything!" She urges with bright ivy eyes, backing Aurelia against a window.

The small window is draped with sheer curtains, revealing a view of a lush, enchanted garden looming in darkness. "Oh, did I sleep for a long while? It's night already!" Aurelia exclaims, changing the subject.

"You've been out for two days," Lili deadpans.

"TWO DAYS?! I SLEPT THROUGH TWO DAYS? I FEEL LIKE YOU CHOKED ME FIVE MINUTES AGO!" 

Lili coughs awkwardly, floating away from Aurelia as she mumbles, "Well, for at least one and a half day, I tried killing you multiple ti— OH MY CREATOR! I DID NOT THINK OF DROPPING YOU FROM THE ROOFTOP!" Lili snaps her head in Aurelia's direction with a sparkle of hope in her eyes.

"NO!" Aurelia screeches, "REVENGE ISN'T NICE. I WILL HELP YOU. THE BODIES! I WILL HELP YOU GET THE BODIES. THERE IS THIS THUNDER RITUAL THAT A GUILD IS GOING TO DO TOMORROW. THERE'LL BE LOADS OF CORPSES!" 

"How do you know that?" 

Indeed, an excellent question for Aurelia has no idea why she knows that. She has no idea of what she spoke or the authenticity that it roots from. What thunder ritual? What guild? Why was she suddenly so obsessed with providing corpses?! 

"Tell me, Au-Re-Lia," Lili breaks her name in mockworthy words, "How do you know that?" 

Aurelia's tongue lines over her teeth, once, twice, thrice, "So, um, because— I like seeing the ritual? They do it...every year?" She breaths out, internally stabbing her mind, heart and soul for that lame excuse.

"You like seeing the Wizardkind stand in thunder and shock themselves to death?" Lili frowns, backing away from Aurelia and eyeing her weirdly as the latter nods.

Aurelia doesn't wants to mix with the Wizardkind. They're such taboos in all species. If not killed because of The Hoarder, she'll be eradicated just for mentioning that she knows of their existence, let alone enjoys their anual game of death.

"You have some...eccentric hobbies," Lili coughs. "Excellent, we'll go tomorrow." With that, her spirit disappears through a wall. 

And Aurelia exhales an anxious breath.

"What the actual rot is wrong with me?!" Aurelia gasps in mortification. She paces towards her vanity and presses her face against the mirror, checking if she was just physically another person. She wasn't. Her straight red gills for hair, her gold infused eyes, her skeletal body, it was all a testament of her true existence.

This is, very much, Aurelia Mossbloom, acting like a madwoman. "What in Creator's name is a Thunder Ritual even?! Where does it take place? What did I just spew!!" She tugs at her hair, crying to herself. 

Can she run away from here?

She runs up to the window again and squishes her face against the glass. Butterflies and bioluminescent mushrooms light a winding path — or should she say, guard it? The whole castle is sentient. How can she ever run away?!

Aurelia did not die because she saw through Lili's magic in time. She had read about Spirit magic a lot during her childhood, to help herself in efficiently and non-violently capturing the soul essence of her food. 

There are aggressive plantfolk like Mortiflora which will kill to live and there are those like Lili who hold inherent abilities to defend and survive. Though, everyone uses their magic differently, just like how they walk differently or talk differently — but there is always a pattern. 

Catch, compell, conquer. 

Lili's spirit magic was skittered in three steps. The gold dust sprinkle, building trust and tricking the consciousness of the opponent and breaking their will.

And Lili was so close to success if she hadn't reminded Aurelia of the control she had on the castle. Essentially, as a Castle Spirit, the illusion of her magic remains confined to the walls of the castle. She cannot inflict a permanent will on anyone from the outside, who knows of her powers and existence.

But it doesn't mean that Aurelia cannot be tortured to eternity's end! 

"Ugh, is this considered mortal peril? Should I cross the line and ask the Hoarder? Surely, he'd know...and he wouldn't kill me," Aurelia mumbles to herself, pressed up against the wall in melancholy. "No- what if he decides that I should stay in a cell— no! What if Lili thinks I'm going to complain to the Hoarder?! Surely, she'll know about it before I can even reach him. Ugh!!"

She stamps her feet against the floor and feels annoyed when, in return, it makes her feet throb with pain.

Instantly, she feels conflicted.

Why did she do that? Stomp on the floor for no reason, whatsoever and feel annoyed when it hurt back? She wasn't this person...what was happening?

"Ugh! It's the castle! It is driving me crazy!" She wails to no one in particular, flinging back to the cloud like bed and procrastinating her own doom.