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moonlightreal · 2 years

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Fate season 2-4

We’re reached episode four! First, an update to the last one. Terra didn’t get a fancy outfit because she wasn’t going to the party. Musa also wasn’t going to the party but she was wearing this… skintight sheer colored camo? So I didn’t connect that those two just weren’t dressed to party while the others were. So the show wasn’t actually dissing Terra.

This next episode is entitled An Hour Before the Devil fell which portends… I’m not sure what but it certainly is portending hard!

Methinks this show portends too much.

But, per google, it is a quote! The full quotation, “until an hour before the Devil fell, God thought him beautiful in heaven,” is uttered by Miller's John Hale, a puritan pastor involved in the Salem witch trials, and it warns against deception: what seems sweet may be wicked.

...I’m trying to think of characters that ‘seem sweet’ and that’s pretty much Terra and… just Terra!

As we finished last episode, Beatrix was getting got! And it looks like she wasn’t killed or drained of magic, she was kidnapped! Did the scrapers fly off with her? No, I suppose they injured her enough that the human with them hauled her off. This kinda feels like B’s arc could be coming to an end. Frees Rosalind!→doesn’t get the appreciation she hoped for→loses her dudes→loses her powers→nothing left to live for→dramatic death or sacrifice. I think B hoped to be Rosalind’s protege and right-hand minion, and finally make her debut as Andreas’ favored foster daughter as well, and none of that happened. Rosalind had no more use for her and Andreas does seem to love her but he’s loyal to Rosalind first.

Andreas is very worried, he wants all the soldiers to go out and look for Beatrix. Rosalind is just like eh, kidnapped by Blood Witches, predictable, they just want to draw us out so they can catch some fairies. Andreas is happy to throw another fairy away to get Beatrix back, he suggests an exchange. Rosalind says, “Because we have history, I’ll pretend you didn’t say that.” So… Rosalind won’t hear of sacrificing a fairy student? Another fairy student, because B is a student. Andreas says Beatrix is like a daughter to him and Rosalind just says she warned him not to “form attachments” in case exactly this happened.

Yeah, “Raise this baby every day for sixteen years and don’t get attached” like that’s possible for any non-sociopath human. Though Andreas is kind of a face-smashing murderhobo soooooo…

It is nice to see that he loves Beatrix though. It’s a breath of fresh air in this show where it’s often hard to tell how any character feels about any other character.

In the school’s one classroom Badass Marco is grading papers. Congratulations Marco, promoted to teacher! Guess he got tired of being a soldier after his partner got killed last season. And the school had to promote somebody before they ran out of teachers entirely!

But Marco may not get to enjoy his new job for long because Andreas attacks and strangles him! Not to death I don’t think, just to unconsciousness. Murderhobo.

Opening sequence!

But school is going on as usual, students in the cafeteria, doing homework, staring at Bloom because she was outed as having the Dragon Flame just like they did over her being a changeling last season. Aisha tells Bloom “The Dragon Flame’s a legend and now you are too.”

So the two girls are supposedly studying, in a perfect opening for an infodump since Aisha has been swimming with Grey instead of studying. But Bloom first teases Aisha about “what’s Grey’s favorite ‘stroke’?” Spare me.

Then we get to the good stuff! Lore from the textbook!

Aisha: “I know about Blood Witches. They aren’t super common but they’re a thing.”

Bloom: “Their element is blood so they can control muscles and bones. Theirs and other people’s. Creepy.”

Back in Dominion War times Blood Witches were so powerful they could puppeteer people’s bodies from miles away.

And that was the “last time the Dragon Flame existed” and since then it’s been dormant.

Aisha asks if it’s hereditary, suggesting that some magic is, but Bloom says Rosalind’s theory is that it “surfaces in times of great conflict”

Aisha reminds Bloom that Rosalind is shady and Bloom says they want the same thing: to stop Blood Witches from stealing fairies’ magic. And Bloom’s glad they have Rosalind to help fight them.

Which… kind of a good point. Now that we know about Blood Witches from a source other that Rosalind directly telling Bloom that confirms they are at least a thing that’s real. I wish I knew more history though. Why Blood “witches” instead of “blood element fairies” if it’s just another element? In fact why not “Healer fairies”? Or “Shapeshifting fairies” if they can control their own flesh? Does bloodbending automatically make you evil? I figured it’d be something like “they’re humans with no magic who get magic by performing blood sacrifices” which would cover how they’re all evil. I almost wonder if we’re going to have a “Blood Witches were evil back in the First Dominion but the ones now are a persecuted minority” plot. Either way maybe it’s better for the plot to leave the door open for good Blood Witches just in case.

This show better keep its hands off Mirta though. Seeing my and other writers’ special witch messed with might make me actually angry rather than just befuddled.

But let’s leave that terrible thought and go outside for some archery! Fairy magic doesn’t work on scrapers so the specialists gotta step up! Silva is back to teaching like he never left, which rubs Sky the wrong way. Riven asks if he prefers Andreas and sky says at least Andreas is who he says he is. Of course who he is is a “massive prick” as Riven points out. They wonder if it’s because Beatrix is gone. Rosalind claims to have sent her on a mission but nobody’s heard from her. Riven is just happy she’s gone.

They’re shooting homing arrows which are enchanted to curve and hit the target. Pretty cool. Wonder how that works, magically. You’d have to form a sympathetic link, so the arrow knows what the target is, easiest enchantment would be for the arrow to hit whatever the shooter is concentrating on hitting.

Rosalind and Silva share some more wisdom: they expect scrapers and Blood Witches to attack together. Mind fairies can protect the Specialists from Blood Witch bloodbending.

Musa is here to observe. She’s wary of using her magic after what happened with Sam. Rosalind says Musa is the strongest mind fairy in the school. To do this they have to concentrate on protecting one individual specialist. Musa tries to protect Dane while Rosalind “simulates at attack” it’s just a battle of glowing eyes but Rosalind wins and Dane’s arrow goes off course.

Over in the greenhouse Flora is checking out the fishtank o’ scrapers, which has been parked in here for some reason. Hopefully not in the infirmary section where sick or injured fairies will have to try and get better with that in the room! Flora wonders what the scrapers evolved from, so evolution is understood here. Terra says maybe it didn’t evolve since it’s from the “Realm of Darkness, whatever that is.”

Aimee LeRoy the fluid mechanics alumni is going to be the new teacher for potions and Terra wants to get the greenhouse tidy so she doesn’t think their family are slobs. The cousins talk a little about Ben and Sam leaving. Terra is still angry at Musa, thinking she’s the reason Sam has to leave. Which, yeah, Musa definitely made bad choices but Rosalind is the root of the problem.

Flora is going off to see the specialists. Riven in particular. Terra looks upset at this.

Over to Stella, wearing a lavender knitted tube top and sweater with little sequin flowers on it. The clothes aren’t quite as washed out as last season but they’re pretty strange. She’s been texting Beatrix to see if she’s all right. Stella also wants some of B’s booze. Stella is also searching the secretary’s desk outside of Rosalind’s office, which I guess is where Beatrix worked. In one drawer are croc shoes. Stella’s croc shoes were a symbol of her not caring about her looks while she was depressed, then Beatrix fried them with lightning but I don’t immediately get the significance of crocs in the drawer. they’re B’s and she went off without them? Bloom catches her and she says she was just looking for a package from her mother.

Rosalind arrives, Stella flees and we go to a Bloom and Rosalind scene. Bloom has been studying hard for her Blood Witch quiz since she wants to know everything about the people who kidnapped her when she was a baby. She also read all of Rosalind’s reports on the fairies who were drained, and she’s amazed Rosalind managed to write long detailed reports, study the victims, and run the school. Rosalind just says, ‘Sleep is for the weak. What I’m doing matters to the entire Otherworld. I make time. You’d better too.” Bloom looks horrified at the idea of giving up sleep.

Rosalind is leaving for the capital. Bloom is impatient to go after the Blood Witches, she wants answers about her past. Rosalind comes and sits down with Bloom and gives her the “you are valuable, you need to stay safe, Blood Witches are going to try to get you.” and Bloom displays her fire. She could just flame ‘em! She says “I have the Dragon Flame” in an awfully confidant voice for someone who didn’t know what it was a few days ago and maybe still doesn’t. Cool fire effect though, a little sparkler flowing around her hand.

The Rosalind spills the beans about Beatrix being kidnapped. She thinks it’s a Blood Witch in the school! But they need more information before they can act, information she’s going to the capital to get. Telling this to the student whose tendency to go off half-cocked is so strong it freed you from magic jail is… certainly a choice, Rosalind. Bloom is shocked that they haven’t told anyone that a student is missing. Rosalind says it’s safer not to because ‘people are irrational. They act on emotion.”

And guess what Andreas is doing! Acting on emotion! He’s out in the woods striding along hauling Marco along by the leg. I thought Marco was a specialist but maybe he just never did magic on screen and he’s a fairy. Andreas texts somebody a pic of Marco’s knocked-out face.

Rosalind tells Bloom emotion is only useful for magic so Bloom needs to stay in and study, not let emotions cloud her judgment. Bloom looks horrified not sure why, then as Rosalind leaves Bloom’s expression changes. Bloom is ready to do something foolish while Rosalind is away! And I am here for it, now that Bloom’s emotions are gonna maybe make trouble for characters that actualluy deserve it this time.

Back in the suite I think Bloom came to rouse the troops for action but she finds Terra dressing up. Or, talking like she’s dressed up but she’s just wearing a dark buttonup shirt and black pants. With Rosalind out of town, everybody’s going to the pub! Aisha, wearing a hideous mustard yellow jumpsuit, is going too! Musa is in a n olive top and leggings like she’s going into battle and Flora is cute in a velvet jacket. Nobody’s scared of the blood witch since they have Bloom and her dragon flame along!

Stella, as a princess, would not wish to be seen by commoners in a gross dingy pub.

So they all go get beers! Everybody else is there, and after a minute of drinking Sebastian comes in and Bloom goes to talk to him while Sky goes to find Riven, who he expects to be puking in a corner by this time. But Riven is in fact bringing IPAs to Flora and Musa and a cider for Terra. Which is sweet. He proceeds to flirt with Flora. Musa tries to make small talk with Terra but terra shuts her down, not forgiving her for messing up things for Sam and her dad.

Terra texts Stella a “wish you were here” but Stella is leaving a message for Beatrix. She couldn’t find the whiskey but she found the crocs, she hopes the mission is going well, she’s worried… Stella is positively mooning over Beatrix! Not sure this is supposed to be shipping or loneliness; Stella hasn’t really connected with the rest of the girls and she and Beatrix do have evil parents in common.

Sebastian tells Bloom he used to come to this pub to drink after failing in Specialist school. He was a student when Andreas was a teacher… wait, Andreas was a teacher? I thought he was just soldiers with the other adults before they became teachers. He says Andreas is a bully. And he brings Bloom a list of all the catering staff from the party, assuming the Blood Witch snuck in as part of the staff. Bloom says she’ll start looking through it now and Sebastian says he does not condone underage drinking but he also does not condone ignoring friends and doing work in a pub.

Bloom says she has history with blood witches, and that she’s “the only fairy who can take on a blood witch.” what? Why? And that she doesn’t know how her friends will react when she tells then Beatrix is missing. Serbastian says, “You’re also a teenager, Bloom. Get drunk, act your age.” and tells the bartender to put Bloom’s drinks on his tab. He gets a text and leaves Bloom with that encouragement to get plastered!

Like… do grownups really do that?

But Bloom opens the folder to start searching for answers.

Everyone else has fun. Terra brings Riven beer and he says this is the nicest thing she’s ever done for him. Terra then delivers the “If you hurt Flora-” threat. Riven says they’re just having fun and Flora says, ‘You don’t have fun. You ruin people.” and indicates that Dane is ruined from the post-trio heartbreak. That was Riven having fun.

Dane sits down near Musa, who reads his mind. Dane says he knows it’s pathetic, he’s the strongest specialist dating the hottest one (Dane has several hangers on, not sure which is his boyfriend) but he still moons over Riven. Musa says relationships are hard. Dane heard about what happened with Sam and tells Musa not to beat herself up over it. They talk about mind fairies and emotions and Dane says he likes training because it’s just ‘do’ no ‘think’ He also says he felt Musa when she tried to protect him in the training exercise, and she almost blocked Rosalind, the strongest mind fairy in the Otherworld. Musa is powerful.

Daytime, Rosalind goes to meet the head of the army, the Indian woman from the party. The commander has blood witch contacts! Who are “old guard” and don’t want to fight with fairies. They don’t know anything. So there are peaceful blood witches! But the unpeaceful ones are stirring up trouble. They killed Duke Hammerstrom.

Andreas is approached by a bald dude with fuzz beard. He offers up Marco, “the most powerful air fairy at Alfea” for Beatrix. The dude says ok, then Andreas throws a knife at him and puts a sword to his throat. But this guy was only a puppet! The real blood witch kills him by snapping his bones!

The… same thing Rosalind did to Miss Dowling.

Huh.

Then the witch starts bloodbending Andreas! He says he’s sorry to Beatrix as the blood witch seizes control of him!

...is it Sebastian? He did just leave the pub right before this.

Bloom reads the folder while everyone else dances to a really insipid pop song. Outside it is daytime! Why are you drinking in the day that’s just weird! Sky is on the phone with Silva, who wants him back before dark. Sky’s like, “So if I miss curfew do I get a lecture like you do or a torture like Rosalind does?” Silva comes back with, ‘You’re speaking to your commanding officer” which I guess will not-work as well as anything else he could’ve said.

Bloom has come outside, and tries to say Silva’s just looking out for him. Sky says that when Silva disappeared he finally felt like his own person, free. Which… I can see. Dad stuff and commanding officer stuff are two streams that definitely should not be crossed. Bloom says she’s learned from Rosalind that things are usually more complicated than they seem. Sky says “that does sound like Rosalind” which Bloom finds disturbing. So Bloom says they need to let loose, and chugs her entire beer. Sky’s like, “Oh. That kind of let loose.”

So they go in and dance with everybody. Yaoi kissing with Dane. Terra stands and disapproves of everything.

Aisha and Grey have gone off outside. Aisha says if she was still in the pub she’d end up worrying someone was too drunk and end up ruining the fun trying to protect them. Grey says he’s more into acquaintances than friends, that makes it easier to go after what he wants without worrying about other people. That’s a weird philosophy to say out loud, Grey. Right now he wants Aisha, with him, walking through the unbelievably lovely countryside this show shows off. They hold hands on an ancient stone bridge.

Back at the pub Riven is outside smoking. Flora finds him and asks if he’s going to offer her a hit, but he says drama waiting to happen. And here comes Terra, more drama waiting to happen. Terra invites them to come play darts versus her and Kat and Flora cuts her off with, “What’d you say to him?” Terra assumes Riven told, Riven says he didn’t and walks off, leaving them to drama it out.

Terra: I was just looking out for you. he’s not a good guy.

Flora: according to who? You?

Terra: No, objectively. Trust me.”

Which is exactly what I was thinking. Hah! But Flora says they’re just hanging out, it’s not a big deal so who cares? She shoots Terra down as “You know everything, right?”

I feel like Terra is a lot less badass this season. In the first season her character was “insecure about her weight, but super competent in a crisis” and this season she just seems to be judgy and unforgiving. Correctly judgy; Musa did misuse her powers and Riven is objectively a bad idea, but how Terra is handling it is just not at all competent. She’s coming off as a jerk.

Back at school Stella lies in bed watching videos of the dancing at the pub. Then she gets a text. From Beatrix! She thinks she’s in some ruins. She needs help.

Bloom gathers the girls in the pub’s bathroom. Terra thinks she knows the ruins, she found beer bottles and a creepy doll there once. Hah! Musa suggests grabbing the less drunk specialists to mount a rescue.

But Bloom shuts it down. No rescue. This is a trap. Obviously. Nobody hears from Beatrix and now that Rosalind is gone Stella gets a text? Trap. Bloom is smart, but Bloom is also wobbly and drunk. Stella still wants to do something and Bloom says, ‘I know for a fact Rosalind is at the capital because she is handling this.” And so everyone finds out that Bloom knew Beatrix was kidnapped! Noises of disbelief!

Which are a bit weird considering Beatrix is a bad guy but ok. I guess the girls never found out she’s a murderer like they don’t know Rosalind killed Dowling.

So the girls feel betrayed that Bloom didn’t tell them, and it does not look good Bloom keeping Rosalind’s secrets. But sensibly Bloom says they are all sloshed and should go back to school and sober up and make a plan.

But outside the pub, which must be a real place in Wicklow, Sky and Riven are suiting up. When the girls didn’t help, Stella called the boys. Bloom tells Sky it’s an obvious trap but Sky points out that they’re trained and mind fairies can protect them. Musa says she’s in. Bloom says it’s not safe for fairies and none of them are going, but Musa shoots back that “for once my magic’s useful. I need this.” Bloom is not happy, I think some of Rosalind’s need to be obeyed is rubbing off on her. Then she realizes Aisha isn’t here.

Aisha and Grey are lounging on rocks by the stream. Aisha says she’s an overachiever because of her family. They “run a bunch of hydro-energy facilities on the border of Andros” for anyone playing home-realms bingo. They wanted Aisha to take over the family business, she wants to be an academic, so she has to overachieve to prove she made the right choice.

Grey makes the water light up with “tiny bugs” so his magic is water creatures? Aisha splashes him. They kiss. They kiss some more. Water rises in magical streams around them.

Night has fallen! Sky, Riven and Musa have arrived at a gorgeous ruined stone barn with moss on the roof. Musa thinks it’s creepy and asks why they never get to break into a playground. The boys put arrows on strings and they go inside.

Back in the suite Bloom paces and waps her phone on her hand. Stella says, ‘You don’t always have to be the one to save the day, I know that’s a tough pill to swallow.” heh. But Bloom shoots back that Stella doesn’t risk herself at all. Stella tells them that she physically can’t leave, and finally shows them the tracking gem. Flora and Terra gather around in pity, and Bloom in guilt. Stella says she didn’t tell them because of those looks. She gets up and goes into her room.

And that scene is the platonic example of the “the girls aren’t really friends” problem I have with Fate. Stella couldn’t depend on them to empathize and leap to help her, and when they found out they didn’t. Bloom didn’t ask what a tracking gem is, Flora didn’t know a risky acid potion to burn it off, everyone looked horrified but nobody said out, “This isn’t right, your mother’s terrible, and we’ll get this thing off you.”

Ok. back to the action.

The ruin is overgrown and, I think, a soundstage because they go upstairs to find Beatrix. she’s unconscious but Musa says she’s alive. Musa also realizes an unconscious fairy couldn’t text Stella. Then they hear the chittering of scrapers! As the boys take aim someone else shoots Riven’s arm, knocking off his aim. Ominous music plays as Andreas appears through a fallen archway! he’s being puppeted! Sky tells Musa to run and she does, as the boys draw their swords!

Musa makes a break for it but there are scrapers on the ground floor! One grabs her arm and sucks out some of her magic before she throws it off and gets into a tunnel or something behind a door. She calls the girls and tells them what happened. Flora seems to know a lot, she says after a short scraper bite Musa will lose her magic for only a little while, it takes a longer attack for it to be permanent. So Beatrix probably lost her magic permanently, she was attacked by a couple of them. But Musa will be ok later. She tells them that Andreas is here but he’s being controlled. She felt “years and years of anger. A grudge like whoever’s controlling Andreas knows him.”

Yeah, it’s Sebastian. That’s why he wanted Bloom to get drunk, so she couldn’t stop his evil scheme.

The boys fight valiantly but Andreas knocks them both down. All seems lost!

And Silva rescues them! Most dramatically, he jumps in and parries the descending blade with a shout of, “Andreas, no!”

Riven grabs Beatrix and carries her outside and hands her off to Dane. Was he there before? And props to the dudes who all seem to be strong enough to princess-carry Beatrix, which is harder than it looks. They realize Musa didn’t get out. Riven curses and goes back for her.

Musa is still in the tunnel. Her eyes are glowing purple and I think she’s experiencing the sword fight above as Sky and Silva take on Andreas. So her magic isn’t gone it’s just messed up I guess?

Back in the school the rest of the girls are realizing the Blood Witch isn’t an outsides, he’s someone who knows Andreas so-- Bloom realizes! She runs off to go after Sebastian! Without saying his name, but she says “hates them more than anyone, someone who’s been by our side this whole time” She goes by herself, Terra and Flora text Aisha but don’t go with Bloom for some reason.

Bloom gets to town while the sword fight in the barn still continues. That’s one long sword fight! Eventually Andreas has Silva pinned and begins choking the life out of him! Sky begs him to stop, just as--

Bloom enters the shop and goes into the basement and there’s Sebastian with his eyes glowing red! But he’s distracted so he loses his hold on Andreas. Wonder what it takes to re-control someone, can he just puppet Andreas anytime or do they have to be close enough to enchant?

Sebastian says Bloom’s ballsy to come alone but she counters quite confidently that all his scrapers will be at the barn trap and blood witch magic doesn’t work on fairies so she can just haul him back before he can do anything.

But Sebastian has a backup plan! His veins start glowing silver. he’s filled himself up with stolen fairy magic! He got some light fairy magic, some water magic, a weak mind fairy… and Beatrix. Sebastian throws down lightning and all the TVs in his show turn on with static and distorted pictures. Quite a well done bit of creepy!

Bloom says, “Whoever you’ve got, they’re not me.” In the most obnoxiously edgelord “lookit my stone cold confidence” teenage voice. And she summons a handful of fire.

And she summons her wings! She can just have her wings whenever she wants? There’s no “transformation” they just flame out behind her. But it is kind of cool. The wings shed light and the flame seems to move the air, blowing Bloom’s hair. For a real life magic, it’s not awful.

Sebastian is not impressed! He starts talking about how he knows all about Bloom, her powers, her childhood, her parents, and also her real parents.

Of course all he had to do was mention birth parents and Bloom unflames and goes completely vulnerable, stuttering a little as she says, “You know who my birth parents are?”

Sebastian says he’ll tell her if she joins him. Joins him to what, he doesn’t elaborate. He also says “if you’d stayed with me” and “it’s not too late” implying Bloom had previous chances to join him. Just a writing weirdness or is he meant to be the Blood Witch who kidnapped baby Bloom and he planned to raise her or something? Hard to tell.

Anyway Bloom’s totally about to join Team Blood Witch. She doesn’t say so, just looks thoughtful, but Fate Bloom is so single-issue and impulsive I think was can all deduce what her choice would have been.

Rescue arrives as all the pipes in the shop burst and water sprays into the air, flowing to form a wall between them. Aisha has arrived! With a pretty useful power, Aisha has advanced since season one. Bloom just says, “Great timing.” Sebastian escapes into another room and of course when the girls get there a second later he’s gone.

Back at the castle, with a gorgeous outdoor shot of the building, Terra and Flora are in the greenhouse arguing. Flora did the research, but Terra wants to recheck. Flora: Why do you always have to second guess me?” Terra: Most of the time you need second-guessing.” Flora says like with Riven and Terra says yeah like with Riven. Then Flora says, “It’d be easier to talk about what’s happening if we could talk about what’s happening. you’re jealous. It kills you when I succeed without you.” Terra gapes in surprise and says, ‘Is that really what you think? If I’m so horrible why are we even friends?” and Flora says, “Sometimes I ask myself the same question.”

And here is another platonic example of nobody being friends. I don’t even know what that scene’s trying to say. Flora assumes she knows what Terra is thinking? Terra is a busybody?

We go to Rosalind walking through the darkened courtyard. A specialist tells her they found Marco completely drained of magic. Maybe that was his lightning Sebastian had not Beatrix’s. Students are milling around worried and Rosalind shouts at them to go back to their rooms. Bloom and Aisha return and immediately tell Rosalind it was Sebastian. He went to Earth through the portal in his shop. Rosalind asks if he said anything and Bloom looks super shifty and says he offered her knowledge for betraying Rosalind. Rosalind is unbothered and says that all in all the day was a win.

Beatrix wakes up coughing and sputtering in Stella’s bed. Of all strange places that are not the infirmary. Stella tries to comfort her. But Beatrix’s magic is gone.

Terra is moping in her room. Flora comes in to apologize for what she said but Terra says, “You were right, I’m jealous.” She offers her phone which has a picture of her and Riven snuggling. Before the start of the series Riven and Terra were close, they even kissed once while drunk and then Terra puked because drunk. it’s in the prequel novel and Terra mentions it in the first season. Sparks did not fly and the drunk kiss was so embarrassing Riven started ignoring Terra and she was so mad she started ignoring him back.

But that’s not the jealousy. Terra is really jealous that Flora is so free to be herself and go after what she wants. And Terra can’t. Then Terra drops the bombshell1 Very hesitantly she says she thinks she picks bad idea guys because she’s not really into guys. Flora says “You can say it” and Terra says she thinks she’s gay and Flora says “you’re perfect, everything about you is perfect” and they cry and hug. It’s a very sweet scene.

But we’ve got Blood Witches to chase! Terra, Flora and Stella join Bloom and Aisha in the courtyard. Bloom asks if Stella’s ok after the emotions before and Stella says she is. Then Sky appears and Bloom goes to him to say sorry she didn’t rescue him instead of going after the blood witch but Sky says she saved his life.

Flashback-- yikes! Bloom broke Sebastian’s control but only for a second. Andreas had time to basically say, “Do it!” and Sky ran him through! He’s dead! Flashback to Sky weeping over his father’s body. In the present Sky says, “He was gonna kill Silva. I didn’t have a choice.” and Bloom hugs him.

Wow! I’m not surprised, but I’m surprised it happened in a flashback. Poor Sky. Poor Beatrix, how will she go on without her magic and without her father?

The other girls talk about what happened and how Aisha and Bloom saved everybody, and then they realize Musa hasn’t come back.

And Riven staggers in carrying her and calling out for help! Musa is all bloody and unconscious!

Whew! That was a lot!

Unrelated observations:

Rosalind says fuck and shit a lot. More than the teenage characters do. I’m sure this is supposed to say something about her personality but I don’t know what.

It occurs to me that Fate is teens vs. adults while Winx is teens vs. teens. The Trix are the same age as the Winx. Some of the other villains are adults but they’re never adults in a position of authority over the Winx. I’m sure that says something about the difference between the two shows but heck if I know what.

This show is very befuddling.

#fate the winx saga

8 notes · View notes

haknew · 3 years

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pls talk about your thoughts about chanhee and also the other concepts!! I always have such a hard time interpreting music and videos but i love to read about it

“bestie pls share ur thoughts on make your own concepts specifically chanhee’s but any others that are ur fave too 🎤- mar”

omg mar thank you for enabling me all day today 😭🥺🧡 thenks bestie ily :,)) and thank you too anon ! i should preface that T-T i have not read any other theories or analyses so these are just my opinions / impressions but i hope it’s entertaining to read about haha :p ! (feel free @ anyone to add on or share your thoughts too ! :,))

HYUNJAE - okay so audio cues... if you listen to the beginning there’s a sound of a bomb going off before the music starts ? and that ties into the dystopian / cyborg aesthetics that jump out at me of course, but what i immediately thought of was their no air perfo ? like we know hyunjae in the no air mv got that shot where he’s laying in the bathtub filled with water but also their kingdom performance with it also had those underwater shots ! so i think it ties into that... i feel like we saw in gen z, he’s a very straightforward person he says things on his mind which can come off as blunt but he thinks it’s better than not saying it ? which is interesting bc i think that speaks to his self- determined personality, he’s much more inclined to do whatever it takes to get something done, which i think falls perfectly in line with the “make your own air” phrase that he gets, if it’s something he needs he makes it himself, in a situational sense methinks u.u

JUYEON - JUYEON’S DJSKHDG i’m waiting for dri’s essay but in essence we see the gen z “juyeon is not such a good boy” shot and these text bubbles that pop up that say “sexy” “you so hot” “such a bad boy” and tbh i like this ‘concept’ ? for him better than his gen z one ? it’s not bc of the concept itself but i like the idea that he can “make your own character” as in he has the capability and power to be whoever he wants to ! you see him throwing white paint at the gen z canvas and i think ?! that’s symbolic of like a fresh canvas ! of remaking himself to whatever he wants bc the canvas is now blank again thanks to the white paint and flowers usually indicate spring ? so renewal and stuff like that ! i really like his, it’s also fun word play on “character” which has been juyeon’s intro in tbz (bc his name sounds like main character in korean) but yea :o ! i really love his the idea he can just repaint / paint over a literal image of him gives it the possibility of becoming smth new and that’s so so cool

CHANGMIN - SCREEEEECH okie um oh boy um *windows shutting down noises* this was so so so very different from his gen z stuff but i actually think BOTH are equally perfect for him ? the way that he set up the sparklers and neon lights on this very obviously trashy and kind of rundown rooftop with the cityline behind him is so ?!?!? LITERALLY making his own stage as his tagline goes, sort of like how the physical stage itself does not matter but rather it’s changmin himself that makes the stage special ! i talked about this in gabi’s set that i rbed ;-;/ but changmin puts a lot A LOT of stake in his position as a dancer it means almost everything to him as a form of expression from what i can see ? so he’s always trying his best to put forward the best performance possible and seeing this segment makes me feel like he’s doing just that ! pouring himself into it to make his stage pls i care him

HAKNYEON - god i’m a jusadan but just u.u rest in peace me, i’ll ... T_T be kind of honest this one confuses me a little ? i have assumptions and i feel like i know ... quite a bit about haknyeon (LMAO) my best guess is it has smth to do with self assurance ...? the way he’s framed and the fact that he’s sitting on a bed in the middle of a church surrounded by candles gives me christ figure symbolism (where my ap english takers at :/) and the light that perfectly frames him in a halo gives me angel vibes too, but the tagline of “make your own romance” paired with him kissing his reflection makes me think it’s about self love ;;;; from what i can tell haknyeon has always been someone who really likes feeling validated and praised for the stuff he does well, which he does for himself a lot of the times too ! but sometimes i think the self assurances he compliments himself with is more for reassuring himself rather than bragging (which i think people misinterpret) so it’s more about becoming the person he wants to fully love and being happie with himself which *tears* i might be reading too much into who knows i just love him ok ... U.U

KEBINNN - i know !!! dri mentioned this in my gifset tags but ! kev on kpop daebak (? was it) or smth mentioned how he strives to keep a childlike wonderment for the world around him, which is a reason why i think he loves drawing and sound / music production, he talked in a fancafe post once about an artist who turned mediocre everyday objects into art and he said he really loves that sense of wonderment so peter pan who “never grows up” is actually perfect for his worldview ahhhh T^T also kev really likes disney lmao, the way he’s doing this outside in this “neverland” garden on a balcony which is a part of this very typical apartment backed by a typical city bg also i believe ties into this turning a mediocre everyday thing into smth wonderful through his sense of childlike wonderment and his tagline of “make your own fantasy” (i also care him a lot this concept >>>>>>) and keeps to his referencing movie plotlines like he did in gen z jddkfj

SUNWOO - i also mentioned this in my tags on sunu’s set but this gives me 100 degrees vibes which i still to this day think is one of the most “sunwoo” vibe things ever, it’s a lot of him having fun and doing his own thing, and mixes both more mature and youthful aspects together in a way that i’d only ever describe as sunwoo vibes LMAO like the roller skating around and all the soap bubbles ! cute and youthful ! the crop top and celine wasitband (don’t laugh at me we all noticed) more mature and a callback to his gen z look methinks U.u, think sunwoo has always been a more go-with-the-flow or do whatever he feels like doing sort of person and so “make your own vibe” fits well with him in that sense to me

SANGYEON - .... *silence* *more windows shutting down noises* *jess.exe has stopped working* OKAY i feel like ! sangyeon’s is also more self explanatory :p i love the juxtaposition of boxing AND the arcade type fighter games ?? like both require very different sets of skills i feel like one is more physical the other is more mental ? but both require adapting to changes whether in the game or the boxing ring which as leader sangyeon would know a lot about, esp being flexible and quick to respond to different situations, and the “make your own glory” i feel is maybe more on the nose, but tbz are this man’s pride and joy you can see it literally anywhere and for him, as leader, to have made it this far with tbz, winning rtk and building their popularity through their hard work and efforts really is building his own glory and i just HHHHHHHHHH

YES EYYSFDHSHF CHANHEE YES - i said it in the tags of my srb before deleting it so i’ll just repeat it here but CHOI CHANHEE !!!!! this detail i didn’t quite process first watch was the continuous flashing of lights in all his scenes, like ... from the shots and the set it looks REALLY empty ?? but the flashing seems to indicate cameras and photos being taken of him despite there being no people we can really see in any of the shots ? WHICH IS SO COOL i think the implication is like “all eyes on him” type which SO TRU i love that idea, like i said the walking past the wedding dresses ? v heavily implies fashion designer which i think you mentioned mar :o ! and i see it in the sense of his tagline “make your own stereotype” bc white wedding dresses are the very traditional / typical choice and obviously feminine in stereotypes, whereas chanhee is wearing a SUIT which is all black in a very clean b/w set with no color which i feel is very stereotypically MASCULINE and the glasses too, it’s such an interesting contrast of his “stereotypically feminine” features (in my view) with very masculine symbols, like glasses we usually associate with more soft hearted / meek stereotypes ? but the geometric shape of the windows and again his suit seems to indicate the very opposite ? it’s a mixing of stereotypes which i think is the point, by putting those together he quite literally makes his own stereotype and puts on the crown while the cameras continue flashing while pointed at him AHHHHHHHHHHHHH

YOUNGHOON - okie might have less to say about this one :o i feel like both hak’s and younghoon’s i don’t see the connections quite as readily but ! i think it’s interesting that his tagline is “make your own classic” but then in the scenes itself he has a flip phone ??? with an antenna (okay boomer /j JDHFKFG JK PLS) and a teddy bear while in PERIOD stylized clothing and setting where those two things are more modern / contemporary in origin (but also not modern enough bc ,,, it’s a flip phone LOL) like 90s kid vibes ? you know but as an emperor in the joseon era haha :p while eating shrimp chips and reading a (comic ?) book, like idk too much of what it means but it’s a cool dichotomy LOL, think it might also tie into actor ! hoon bc it’s make your own classic and i think acting has become a very important aspect to him :o after seeing what he’s capable of in love revolution and his atbz video so it’s interesting u.u (need help w/ this one)

JACOB - think my explanation in han’s set’s tags didn’t really make sense so lemme ... reexplain LOL,,, so ! similar to his gen z video ? like he’s talked about how difficult it is to open up about his own feelings etc. and he said it’s less bc he realizes he needs to but rather just to make other people feel more comfortable when it comes to understanding him, and like the whole breaking the mirror with his reflection in the wanna be angry jacob, it’s about freeing himself to the point he can express the emotions he wants to ! in gen z it was about being able to be angry when he felt that way instead of being tied by his image of being just nice ? and in the video with his pilot uniform not only does he control the ride but he also rides on it himself ! quite literally making his own freedom (symbolically), a sort of realizing he can free himself ? from what’s been tying him down and i think the really big smile he has while riding it just comes to show how he wants to feel :,))) (jacob bae i care you)

ERIC - last one :p AHHH this is one of my favs too, the quite literal “make your own pride” I LOVE IT ! sooo i think the biggest takeaway i got was that of course in this video his “pride” is symbolized by the hot pink car (that he’s going to pick up his christmassy date in of course u.u if he has a license which he does n- his driver’s license in this was literally his aaa / boy version of reveal photo which in no dmv anywhere would a license picture be allowed to look that good-) and LITERALLY when he finished and takes it for a joy ride while sitting on the roof he’s STILL covered in the dirt and grime stains ! from working on it ! which i think is so symbolic ! it’s my favorite detail actually, he literally put sweat into this car which is his pride and now that he’s finally riding around in it, it feels accomplishing ! his pride ! love that, also when he’s grabbing a stub from that flyer i noticed he chose “youth” over the others (which was like .... ca$h, beauty, ice cream, hamburger...) which i think also just indicates that despite all this hard work he put in he still cherishes his youth and still lets that be a huge part of who he is (i mean pink car so of course) so idk i think it’s very neat go bestie mwah

#sunnew #anon #asks #not tbz #jess.replies #be your own king analysis #I WROTE SO MUCH PLS #even more than my gen z analysis i think #anyway if anyone reads all of this oof thank you #HHHEEELP #i just did all of them ....#my weakest ones are def hak sunwoo yh #idk but i like what i came up with for the others ! ^^#i've seen a few twt threads but haven't read any lol #wrote the most about chanhee but no one is surprised of course

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thequietmanno1 · 3 years

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Thelreads, Vigilantes 55, Replies Part 1

1) “Well, we finished the arc on a bit of a sour note in my opinion, but I won’t let it get to me, it’s time to see what the future holds for us, in Chapter 55: Number One Hero”- Well, turns out the arc isn’t quite done yet. Know Knows, seeing Knuckleduster in full ‘batman with a gun’ mode might be just what we need to end this cop-out on a highnote- after all, Knuckle’s made it quite clear that this time, he’s not holding back the lethal options in a fight. This will be quite messy methinks.

2) “…

Wait, weren’t we done with the arc already? Is there more, or is this just the closing chapter, like we had with Knuckleduster and Knuckledaughter?”- Funny you should mention those two… though this time, it seems that, rather than the crises event going on simultaneously along with Knuckle’s obscured Deatchmatch with the orchestrator, Knuckle opted to wait until Scarface’s plans had utterly failed, so his guard would be down and he wouldn’t see that first shot coming, hence he kept to the shadows and let the plan play out in full until he’d expended all his Bomu cards in a futile effort to cause some casualties in All Might’s presence.

After all, Knuckle could do precisely Jack and Squat to help anybody in a collapsing tower scenario, and if Scarface sic’d one of the Bomu on him, he’d be hard-pressed to take it down without letting the real target escape.

3) “Alright, it was a big thing on TV, it involved a lot of pro heroes, a lot of people almost died, and it was even reported how weird it was the fact that all the villains had self-detonation quirks… Which makes it once again weird how connections weren’t made after USJ, but then again, people were already really desensitized towards this sort of stuff.”- It seems like the public tend to recognise these Bomus by the fact that they violently explode in the process of enacting their villain attacks, whereas the later Nomus are more along the lines of horror movie monsters- hard to kill/subdue, but solid and very much non-explosive once subdued. Plus, it sees like, rather than the multiple quirks that the Nomus are later known for, these Bomu can have multiple abilities, but not as many. I might be misremembering but I recall the Nomu could have 3-5 different quirks at once, depending on the grade used, but these Bomu’s limits seem to be maybe 2, at maximum.

Sure, that explode-fist Bomu was able to basically clone itself through rapid regeneration, but seeing as the explosive properties seem to be a uniform trait the Bomu share, I wonder if it’s only ability was regeneration, and it could just get creative with it thanks to the inherently destructive self-detonation ability interacting with his regenerative ability. I’m guessing that the wings and such were less traits gained from quirks and more like body features specifically grown into them through the process of their creation, letting them have the ability of flight to maintain mobility whilst also allowing them to have extra abilities tacked on as needed, though I guess, given the low numbers of Bomu, that the whole process isn’t as stable as the later Nomu would be- in fact, the whole ‘lack of stability’ seems tied into the fact they’re all built with explosive functions inside them, highlighting the fact they can be easily used and disposed off with a button push, which means they’re strong and dangerous, but not as strong as the Nomu would be, and whilst less harder to make, are less capable of handling the strain that the Nomus could.

The Top-tier first High-end we saw gave All Might his first serious fight in a while, and here he handled an entire swarm of Bomu in under 10 minutes. They might be similar to the Nomu, but they’re overall weaker and generally less effective than the later monsters that will appear, which might be why not many people draw the connection between them.

4) “Alright, hold the phone, I’ll need to be annoying again- What is this shot? Look, I know that showcasing the event would be hard without some artistic liberties but what is that oh my god look at the size of All Might in relation the murder dome what the fuck is All Might like 8 meters tall or did the egg shrink in fear of falling into the ground, because there’s no way there were 50000 people inside that thing I’m losing it this looks so bizarre my eyes are unable to process it all oh my god why-“- Well, All Might has demonstrated that he can increase his size and muscle mass when shifting between forms before. Maybe he ended up literally doubling his mass or something to have the strength needed to keep the Murderdone aloft. It’s not like his ability to stay buff by determinedly flexing was every really given a satisfactory explanation in MHA canon either, so who knows. It’s hardly the most extreme bullshit action he’s pulled off here anyway.

5) “Yeah good luck catching up to the super-fast mega-god-hero suckers!”- Being a reporter in All Might’s heyday must have involved having great cardio if they even wanted to catch a glimpse of the man as he dashed between crises

6) “god fucking dammit Furuhashi, wasn’t this supposed to be the end of the arc? You lost your chance to kill the captain, or to toy with me and make it seem like you’d kill him. You either execute him in cold blood with a shot to the head or move the fuck on.”- A shot to the head you say? An excellent idea, but it seems Knuckle has a better idea on who to use that particular method on…

7) “Alright, I won’t even mention how a real person would’ve raised at least an eyebrow to the man using a loose All Might costume, that has the same voice as All Might, in a place where transformation quirks exist and seeing someone turning into a super-muscular version of themselves is completely possible, due to the simple fact that All Might is going to wear an official Captain Celebrity trademarked hoodie, and koichi has absolutely no idea of it- oh my god this is hysterical I can’t-“- Well, he didn’t wear it for long. Good thing too- if it had managed to stay intact when he transformed I think Koichi would have had a heart attack seeing All Might endorsing CC’s merch.

8) “And you rest right now Cap, there’s another hitman on the way to try to kill you, but don’t worry, unfortunately they are bound to fail since All Might is here.”- There really is no other way to describe Scarface’s actions here than ‘spitefully vindictive’- and stupid, let’s not forget that. Continuing with his generally unstable personality and psychotic issues he’s unable to recognise or accept the fact that he’s lost even as All Might more or less printed it out in neon letters for all to see and just pushes on with his course of actions even as it becomes pointless and potentially self-destructive. He just exposed the fact that the Bomu can regenerate from a single cell like the Blob or a flesh-based T-1000 to the heroes so they know to be wary of all future remains if he pulls another terror attack in what was ultimately a futile gesture that harmed no-one and cost him a potential advantage. He’s still hanging around the scene of the crime even if it’s not necessary for him to see everything in person, and that’s allowed Knuckle to line up his sights on him.

It seems that, like Koichi isn’t the most effective vigilante on his own without Knuckle’s sage advice to help guide him, Scarface is kinda short-sighted, unable to recognise the fact that it is possible to lose an encounter or come away from it without any kind of victory over the heroes, with only following the guiding advice for his handler preventing him from making a fatal slip-up to their operations. He needs to be carefully monitored when on the field because, unlike Kuin, he tends to make things personal when on the clock, hence why the mastermind is almost using this whole situation as an abject lesson on the stakes in the kind of game they’re playing, and exactly what kind of foes they’re up against.

9) “…

You know, how’s the huge hole on the side of his building, right where the bathroom was, going to be explained? All Might? How are you going to explain that one? All Might? All Might don’t ignore me how are you going to explain being seen on the place where All Might just showed up, that is halfway across the city, when you just went to the bathroom- All Might come back here don’t ignore me, All Might-“- Between his gaunt looks and generally sickly demeanour, not to mention the public’s focus on how amazing and awesome a hero looks in the thick of the action, it’s very likely that any footage of Yagi caught on camera is erased or overlooked simply because he’s not the kind of hot footage they’re looking for when All Might’s around. People are too busy looking at the surface-level appearance of heroes at this point, so if anybody does see or photograph Yagi, they’ll just overlook him because he’s obviously as un-heroic an appearance as you can get.

10) “OH MY GOD I DIDN’T EVEN NOTICED WHAT HE IMPLIED THERE

ALL MIGHT PLEASE

AT LEAST WAIT UNTIL MARRIAGE BEFORE YOU TELL HIM THAT”- It would appear Midoria is not the only one totally crap at hiding the truth behind OFA from the world. Kinda Hypocritical in retrospect that Yagi admonished him for telling Bakugou when he almost blurted out the whole thing along with a love confession.

11) “And okay, seems like by then Aizawa and All Might hadn’t crossed paths, and as such he wasn’t on in the secret. Now it is clear that Aizawa only got to know about All Might’s secret identity after the latter joined U.A. that was something I was wondering about, but it is now somewhat confirmed that they weren’t close before the school.”- I wonder if this whole meeting here between different but tangentially related aspects of the game investigation was what led to All Might eventually enrolling as a teacher in UA? Sure, it was Nezu’s suggestion, but given that Aizawa’s colleagues have already taken steps to start enrolling him in the education system by this point, it’s possible that he ends up discovering Yagi’s secret at some point in the course of this investigation and busting the VF, gets told that his new employer at the school is one of the few who also know, and then he and Nezu discuss the truth behind All Might and wind up putting their common sense brain cells together to suggest to Yagi that he also join the school to look for a successor, rather than running himself ragged until his time runs out. That’s the kind of illogical reasoning that’d irk Aizawa no doubt, and he’d be compelled to intervene even if he couldn’t force Yagi to give up being a hero entirely.

12) “So you’re gonna try some new bullshit, is that it? Yeah, should’ve expected this after that All Might comment, but now I’ll have to ask, what the fuck can you even do after you wasted all your bullets against that wall of steel?”- Turns out he had one sure-fire round left in the chamber, but when even that didn’t work he finally had to swallow the bitter pill of defeat. It really does highlight how dangerous he is though- unlike Kuin, who was completely uninvested in the VF and her side-job because she could always quit the job and jump bodies to somebody else if she wanted to, Scarface gets too invested- if he can’t end things the way he wants to, he tries again and again in escalating attempts until he succeeds in hurting somebody- and since the only reason he failed this time was All Might, next time he’s facing off against any heroes who aren’t him, he’ll be even more determined to ‘win’ to make up for his loss here. Assuming, of course, that he can dodge a bullet you can’t see coming… 13) “WHAT FUCKING SHIA SURPRISE TYPE OF CRAP EVEN IS THIS WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU EVEN MEAN BY THIS BULLSHIT THE NOMU IS NOW A T-1000 OR SOMETHING?!”- It seems the Bomus are indeed more ‘liquid’ in form than the later Nomus, which makes them overall weaker and less durable than them, but resultantly more flexible and adaptable to any situation that doesn’t hit them with overwhelming force. Of course, overwhelming force isn’t exactly the vigilantes’ strong suit here- that’s more in the wheelhouse of Izuku and the rest- so these Bomus are still a high-tier threat for somebody like Koichi to face off with.

14) “Nevermind… just lets watch All Might punching that thing into orbit as well, shall we?”- It’s hilarious watching him try so hard to succeed for such a petty reason as getting satisfaction over the heroes, and fail so utterly. He really is Koichi’s opposite- he’s driven to push himself and his available resources to achieve his selfish goals, and just buckles down when the going gets tough, even when it becomes increasingly obvious he can’t win, and fails utterly at his stated objective, whereas Koichi never really tries or pushes himself unless other’s lives are on the line, and is fine with being unable to achieve his objective himself if somebody else can do it for him, so long as lives are saved long the way. @thelreads

#bnha vigilantes #bnha #thelreads #chapter replies #my hero academia #vigilantes 55

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viktorfm · 4 years

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(MAXENCE DANET-FAUVEL, NONBINARY) - Have you seen VIKTOR SAMUELS? VIKTOR is in HIS/THEIR SENIOR year. The VISUAL ARTS MAJOR is 24 years old & is a CAPRICORN. People say HE/THEY are OBSERVANT, INGENIOUS, RETICENT and DEPENDENT. Rumors say they’re a member of KINCAID. I heard from the gossip blog that THEY'RE HAVING AN AFFAIR WITH THEIR THERAPIST. (JAMES. 21. EST. THEY/THEM.)

dont. look at me. i know. anyways if it wasnt obvs i abandoned cupid (n darrow) in order 2 bring the two ocs tht he ws inspired by n ws a combination of bt. theyre better as different ppl methinks.

DEATH, HEAVY GRIEF, OVERDOSE / DRUG ADDICTION, HOSPITALIZATION, HYPERSEXUALITY, RELIGION MENTIONS TW

aesthetic.

old tvs and their static, worn tapes, horror movie screams, spilled ink, a sculptor’s hands, clay-stained, chicken scratch handwriting, messy notes, messy hair, scoffs and eye-rolls, bruised knuckles, sore throats, funeral homes and a crying preacher, shattered ceramics, knife fights, high ledges, vertically-striped pants, red lights, the moon shrouded in clouds, cigarette butts, graveyards and half-empty wine bottles, sitting there for hours and talking to nothing, about nothing, a god complex, gold rings adorning both hands, barbwire baseball bats, having never played baseball in your life, deep eyebags and broken mirrors, a permanent chip on one’s shoulder, yearning, longing, wishing.

basics.

full name: viktor phillip samuels

nickname(s): icky vicky :/

b.o.d. - january 2nd, 1996

label(s): the black hole, the crepehanger, the impious, the opaque, the tempest, etc.

height: 6′1″

hometown: preaker, vermont

sexuality: pansexual uwu

stats

favorite song: disorder, joy division / it’s getting faster, moving faster / now it’s getting out of hand / on the tenth floor, down the back stairs / it’s a no man’s land / lights are flashing, cars are crashing / getting frequent now / i’ve got the spirit, lose the feeling / let it out somehow

background.

born to mama and papa (preacher) samuels in preaker, vermont - fifteen minutes after his twin sister, tatiana samuels. years later, rosa samuels joined the gang.

was an awkward, quiet kid growing up, he didn’t interact well with others and preferred being left alone to dig up worms and draw on the walls of their childhood home. the only exception was his twin, really.

as he got older he grew out of this, but instead became like … sort of an asshole? maybe to compensate for years of childhood awkwardness. he’s the sort of person who will bite the hand that feeds him & developed into a full time nuisance by middle school, unlike tatiana who was much more subtle about her conniving manners.

always has been a fan of ‘darker’ materials. grim & creepy morbid shit. probably the biggest tim burton fan, ever since he was a kid … not a good look for a preacher’s son, but he never really felt ‘in’ with the rest of his family to begin with. classic black sheep syndrome.

drew disturbing pictures as a kid that probably prompted one or two or five phone calls home to assure everything was fine.

just really had a knack for art at a young age, from drawing to painting to playing with clay. it’s always been his thing and probably is the only thing he’s good at.

being twins with tatiana was hard. they were near opposite besides both being quite mean-spirited. tatiana handled being in public better, left a better image behind - but viktor had talent, more than she did. they loved each other deeply - y’know, those unbreakable twin bonds as cliche as it sounds - but found each other as competition for their parents’ attention. a rivalry for affection.

in high school is when viktor really started to act out. it started extreme, like losing his virginity in their church and vandalism around the neighborhoods. faked being possessed in the middle of sunday service & almost had an exorcism performed on him.

his only redeemable trait was like … just his sheer talent in the arts. was in a 3d art ap course and specialized in sculptures. he could pretty much create anything he wanted with enough dedication.

because he was the problem child, the one who deserved to be disciplined for all his antics, tatiana could sneak away and get away with whatever she wanted much easier. on the bright-side, for her, i guess.

not a very motivated person - wasn’t planning on going to college, much less going to yates but his parents literally wrote & sent his college application for him because they weren’t going to house a deadbeat but had too much heart to kick him out onto the streets. cool!

he’s actually pretty smart but he just doesn’t apply himself. has a minor in english because he didn’t care for an extra course-load, but he’s good at writing & analyzing literature. is going to use it to write and illustrate his own series of children books with a style similar to tim burton’s. not for the kids, but because he likes to leave a trail of terror in whatever he does.

has been experimenting with himself since high school but college is where he really had started to crack down on himself. was out as pansexual & nonbinary by his sophomore year of college just … not to his parents, who don’t really need to know.

if you asked him if he believed in twins having a psychic connection with each other - he’d tell you he wouldn’t know. it felt believable at times, but sometimes he had no idea what was going on inside of tatiana’as head. on the other hand - viktor had always felt oddly transparent to her, like she knew all of his moves before he did. the only person who could predict him accurately.

( tw death, grief, overdose / hospitalization beyond this point )

when tatiana disappeared, viktor knew something was up. it was a twist in his gut, pure instinct that something wasn’t right. and it wasn’t right - and when she was proclaimed missing, they couldn’t find her.

and when tatiana died - viktor knew. it felt wrong, something cut so severely in him he could pinpoint her death to the second. he didn’t know how, or why, but he knew it. knew it before anybody else had.

afterwards he went on a sort of bender. he’d begun to struggle with a mild drug addiction late senior year of high school / early college, but he was managing it up until this point.

his mental health had also sunk to an all-time low, when it’d never been great to begin with. (manic & depressive episodes. once fixated on a sculpting project for six months and then knocked it off the table and destroyed it as soon as he finished it for no apparent reason.)

tatiana’s body wasn’t found immediately, and when it was … viktor went off the rails. ended up overdosing & being hospitalized. spent six months in & out of psychiatric care after that.

came back to yates to finish his senior year because … for the reasons above, he hadn’t been able to complete it. just wants to get his credits and get out of here.

is still dealing with a lot of trauma & grief - causes him to spiral and be unpredictable in regards of his mental health. he stopped taking his medication, so. :/ some days are alright, other days are pretty bad.

personality & facts.

the human embodiment of a gremlin that was fed after midnight. a goblin, if you will. one of those cats with a narrow head and really big ears … that’s them!

a big horror & halloween enthusiast. loves the old campy horror movies & probably has an abundance of masks from different movies. dresses like a grimy millennial beetlejuice more than they should because they just … love those black & white vertical-striped pants.

can appreciate the ~urban legends~ at yates and likes to feed into the fear that surrounds them. is probably the cause of a few ‘anomalies’ and ‘paranormal sightings’ because they’re just … a jerk.

fashion alternates between e-boy (they would be tiktok famous if they were 17 & didn’t think that a majorly minor based app was weird.), millennial beetlejuice, and goth in a crop top & sweatpants. big fan of crop tops and a big fan of sweatpants.

they can be really fucking mean? petty, aggressive, a major instigator. will literally spit in your face for little to no reason, you could just look at them the wrong way. the kind of person who will stick their gum into someone else’s hair. other than that? they’re like … sort of okay. they’re not always mean, just a dick about 90% of the time lmao

like okay yeah they’ll call someone a stinky bitch for no reason except they feel like it and believes it. it’s fine, they’re fine, we’re fine.

despite the fact that they’re probably getting into a fight whenever, considers themself to be a lover and not a fighter but that’a primarily because they fuck a lot. uses it as a coping mechanism, like they’re this big fancy carnival show that’s like ‘come one, come all! fuck the dead girl’s twin brother!’ and it’s … a lot. might have a problem with hypsersexuality but they’re not fully aware of it.

the preacher’s whore son, basically :)

pansexual & nonbinary, switches between he & they pronouns often and without a pattern, but they have such a fragile grip on their identity that you could call them ‘dog-faced bitch’ and they’d turn around like. sup.

vastly impulsive … like i said, they destroy their own creations for the fun of it. spends all their money on useless shit, will cheat on someone because they feel like it & likes the thrill, screams into the night sky frequently like a cat in heat.

will also spend months creating useless shit for no reason too. spent six of them sculpting a hollowed out tree the size of them & then took a sledgehammer to it.

they’re very super dramatic. would play the organ at church when nobody was looking after them and service was about to start. would just churn out these super haunting, creepy melodies like they were phantom of the opera. would do the same exact thing at home on their keyboard with the pipe organ setting whenever they got grounded until their parents took it away hbdsjfngkh

will absolutely not talk about their ‘time away’ because it’s not anyone’s business, not even their own younger sister. still refuses to talk about tatiana’s death, or their mental health, or their addiction (fallen back into it but it hasn’t gotten severe … yet :/), or anything involving their own emotions.

will just change the topic abruptly, no warning. asks about the jonas brothers instead and they fucking hate the jonas brothers.

that being said they’re absolutely not over tatiana’s death & it’s to the point of obsession over it. like there’s some kind of secret that needs to be uncovered, even though there just. isn’t. tatiana was their rock and they were pretty much dependent on her. kept them grounded. could control them when nobody else could, got into their head easier than others. it’s sort of like rosa lost two siblings that day because viktor hasn’t been the same since.

emotionally unavailable while also crying twice a day. cries during their brawls but still wins. is stony-faced when they tell you they cheated on you with your much hotter best friend.

will tell you straight up what they want from you, no bullshit & no beating around the bush. just blunt. if they want to fuck, nothing else, then that’s it. if they feel deviation or developing feelings then they’ll ghost in less than a second. is awful like that but feels no shame.

but also emotional as shit and it’s confusing. will cry on a whim and then flip you off if you try to console them or ask them what’s up. will bite you.

they go to therapy but they just fuck around and wastes their therapists’ time … also is fucking their therapist, but that’s neither here nor there. so they’re not really getting the help they need.

likes to be intimidating but not … with their body or anything because they’re a twig but uses their love & knowledge of horror and creepy shit to their advantage. has an abundance of fake blood. has channeled the energy of jack nicholson and used it on tatiana’s boyfriends before (also is a big fan of sfx makeup & has dabbled in it)

probably chases kids around with a chainsaw without the chain on halloween every year.

generally never doing good, both mental health wise & morally. would probably steal candy from a baby for funsies.

i don’t know if there’s a good to them somewhere deep down, but they don’t see any issues with themself either. nothing really breaks through to them anymore because the only person who ever made them stop and think about their actions was tatiana, and well, y’know. :/

an introverted reclusive type who doesn’t like most people or going out, but does so anyway if it means a quick high & a cheap thrill.

pretty observant and likes to analyze people even though they’re often like … partially wrong. judgmental because they like to make people feel bad, not because they’re a righteous mighty person. because they’re not. so like, a hypocrite!

wanted connections.

religious trauma? oh worm ;; three cheers fr <3 guilt <3 anyways uh. just people tht viktor hs known thru the church in some way even tho hes a fkn. freak now. maybe even family friends.

the horror of our love :/ ;; hmm. any romance tht cld b toxic i think this cld fit. just rly a bad fit. viktor doesnt rly know hw to love so nothing rly lasts bt. maybe they try n try n nothing works bt they keep trying. cld also just be anything unrequited.

little fkn gremlins ;; theyre all evil n mean. bt theyre all friends. <3

you are nothing ;; uuh. enemy plots. spicy enemies. rly bad enemies. rivals. they r brutal towards each other bcos nothing viktor does is ever soft.

fuck u dont pity me ;; uh. people who try to get close to viktor n he just. bites at them. he’s like no. bc he assumes ppl who r kind in response 2 his vileness r. theres smth wrong w them. n it might hv to do with pity. n he hates pity.

ugh. locals x ;; ppl who also grew up around preaker, vermont. the samuels r <3 well known folks n the uh. hm. the murder is an ongoing case. so they cld know abt it <3

dont tell anybody x ;; this is for soft plots. i dont know much about soft plots but.

maybe i am part of the problem ;; the problem is chlamydiagate. this is a hook-ups connection. fwbs n one night stands. ppl viktor hs brutally ghosted. he doesnt acknowledge their existence outside of these events, perhaps.

dont u just wna go apeshit ;; this is where viktor becomes a bad influence.

bt uh. anything. pelase

#yatesintro #death tw #grief tw #murder tw #addiction tw #drug abuse tw #hospitalization tw #overdose tw #hypersexuality mention #religion mention #zooweemama

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hyperfixateandchill · 3 years

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aaand because I can’t stop thinking about it i’ve written down my ranking of post-finale deancas scenarios including a non-exhaustive list of pros and cons for each. read on at your own discretion.

1st place: Deancas open up the new Roadhouse. My personal favorite because, again, Dean’s canon dream. I think Dean would LOVE running his own bar and playing host and serving people food and drinks is basically his love language. Cas isn’t as into the bar vibe specifically but he enjoys seeing people come and go and getting to know the locals who come by and just being with Dean. They get to stay connected to the hunting world without being actual hunters which is probably the perfect win win situation for them.

Other Pros of the Bar scenario (i’ve thought about this a lot): Claire and Kaia come by increasingly often to visit until eventually Claire basically works part-time at the Roadhouse when she’s not off hunting and Dean starts only semi-ironically calling it the “family business.” Claire puts up pride flag stickers on the front door and Dean makes a thing of it at first but then warms up to the idea. People start catching on and now local queer people will come from several towns over to visit the bar because there aren’t exactly that many queer friendly spaces in their corner of Kansas. Then it’s pride month and Claire and Kaia secretly update the bar’s online info to explicitly draw in queer customers and on the evening of the nearest pride march the bar is PACKED with all the local gays and Cas has the pop music blaring and he will NOT let Dean change it but it’s ok because Dean’s made friends with a drag queen who’s a professional comedian and now they’re comparing calendars to see when she might be able to come do a set at the Roadhouse and basically their bar is now a gay bar. “LGBT friendly”, Dean insists, because 1. he’s not gay and 2. he still caters to the local straights and the hunters. but now hunters come in and end up sitting 2 stools away from a flamboyant!gay and some are slightly weirded out but most don’t care at all and all of them end up making some kind of comment about how they’d heard about Dean Winchester and his angel... guess it’s true huh? And Dean shoots them a cocky grin and says ‘yep’ but he still holds to the rule that pop music is only allowed on tuesdays and thursdays and maybe very late at night on the weekends when everybody’s drunk and dancing. The Roadhouse is a second home to Dean and it’s the perfect mix of middle american dive, hunter’s hangout and lgbt space, and that’s literally DEAN so it’s perfect and he gets to work with his family by his side and be a part of a community (or several) and he feels useful and happy.

Cons of the Bar scenario: Doesn’t work great with having a small child or hobbies. very long hours and unusual work schedule. would encourage Dean’s drinking habit. I.e. it might be more intense than some alternatives (unless the bar is more cafe/diner during the day and Claire/Kaia/whatever other youngins can mind the place on their own if deancas aren’t in and the bar is located quite close to their house to they can come and go).

Overall works pretty well for a more active/energetic take on deancas’s lives post-finale. 8/10

2nd place: Mix of mechanic!Dean and retired!deancas. Dean’s never had a proper job before or much of a social circle who aren’t hunters, so I find it hard to imagine Dean working at an autoshop and playing mr. normie with his coworkers. Same with Cas and a regular job.

What I can imagine, however, is Dean having his own small business where he fixes up old cars (for like, vintage car enthusiasts). It starts as a hobby but then he realizes people would pay him to do it so now it’s a business. Deancas obviously have a a house on a big plot of land near the woods and a lakeside, so there’s plenty of outdoor space for him to set up a small shop and most of his customers call ahead so he doesn’t have people just coming in anyway. The work is not quite enough to pay all the bills but again, Charlie’s magic credit card, so who cares. Cas gardens and beekeeps and occasionally sells the extras at the local farmer’s market. Dean cooks and fishes and uses Cas’s ingredients whenever possible. They spend their days on their own property, doing their hobbies on their own time and making enough money from them that they don’t feel useless and still have plenty of time left to get over-involved in Jack’s pta. It’s a very calm, contented life. the millennial hipster dream, fulfilled by two 40-some year old dads.

Pros: deancas getting to spend their days doing what they love, being ridiculously domestic and married (even if they’re not officially married), both being absolute malewives in their own ways and it’s disgustingly sweet.

Cons: this scenario doesn’t have quite as much excitement and opportunity for shenanigans as the bar scenario. Less connection to a community, more living like hermits. Dean might appreciate the more social atmosphere of a bar. Cas might be equally happy either way, but he’d probably like having Claire help them out at the bar so that’s a plus for him.

Overall a good scenario for a more placid semi-retired life. 7/10

3rd place: a bait and switch. Cas is the one who ends up still having something you could call a ‘job’, Dean is the househusband. It starts with deancas still helping saileen with HOL (hunters of letters) stuff but eventually Dean is very decided that he wants out now that things are in good hands. Cas agrees with him but still consults with the hol network since he’s got all that lore knowledge. Dean very occasionally helps with research/strategy for a hunt but that’s IT no more hunting for him, and so it ends up that Cas still comes by the bunker fairly often and works from home the rest of the time on research and translations etc and Dean’s 100% amateur chef-in-training and papa bear because now nobody can look down on him for being a housewife (or nobody he gives a shit about anyway) so he’s gone all in. and whenever he comes by the bunker these days is after he’s picked up Jack from school and he comes to join their family to cook them all dinner while they finish up the work.

Pros: love me a Dean who’s gotten over his hypermasculinity and is now comfortable with doing whatever he likes even if (sometimes specially if) that thing is considered stereotypically feminine. It’s his big fuck you to his dad and it’s the life mary had wanted when she was young and dean is mary and therefore he’s honoring her memory when he spends his days on a bright airy kitchen making lunch for his 4 year old and waiting for his ex-soldier husband he adores to come home and doing not one bit of hunting. except dean never had to lie about his past and cut ties with his hunter family to get this. which is why this time for him it works, when it didn’t for mary or sam. love that energy.

Cons: Dean is not in fact just a malewife and would probably still want some more action in his life. might feel kinda useless with Cas having a ‘thing’ to do when he doesn’t. Cas would be perfectly happy regardless though.

Overall heartwarming and sweet but not as realistic: 6/10

4th: Disheveled-magic-shop-owner!Cas (+ Sam and Dean). Just thought of this. Cas knows his shit about spell ingredients and magical objects and supernatural weapons, probably more than even Sam. And Cas gardens. And Cas most likely enjoys pinterest and mom blogs and finds out about etsy... So Cas may or may not start growing/hoarding specific goods he knows are useful in the hunting world. at first it’s just to help HOL out but eventually Dean realizes like... we could profit off of this? And Cas eye-rolls because he doesn’t care but then again he knows his shit so he sets up a poorly-designed website to sell hunting stuff. and maybe Sam goes in on it with him because Sam also knows his shit and it’s kind of cute because they work together and Dean probably does the mechanic/barkeep/househusband thing though he does help with making the special bullets and dropping off parcels at the post office and so on. And maybe eventually they open up a small magic shop where they sell their shit. And maybe the shop is next door to the Roadhouse and it’s all become ‘your one-stop shop for everything a hunter might need’ (and you know the gays like their new age shit too so it all works), and the bunker isn’t even far away either and all three business are interconnected, the ‘family business’ that AU John Winchester of Hunter Corp wished he’d created.

Pros: Cas gets to do a thing he’s knowledgeable and passionate about and Deancas get to leave hunting while staying adjacent to the community. Cas as a disheveled shopkeep who’s not particularly nice to customers but who provides them with insights and mysterious comments that make people certain he must be legit.

Cons: Cas using his knowledge of the supernatural to profit off of hunters sounds too capitalist and not very Cas-like. He would be the type to gladly give people stuff for free and methinks that Dean and Sam would feel that way too. Cas helping with HOL stuff is basically established in options 1-3 already and so is him gardening for potentially useful ingredients. He doesn’t need to sell this stuff in a shop.

Overall makes sense theoretically but doesn’t vibe well for me. 5/10

5th: full on retirees, doing basically the same things as no 2 except with maybe some more travelling and less caring about making money from any of it.

Pros: the “and they lived happily ever after” they deserve after all the shit they’ve been through.

Cons: boring. uneventful. Dean and Cas are still quite young and neither’s had a chance at something even resembling a normal life for more than a couple of months at a time. They should get more of a middle aged married life experience before moving on to full retirement.

Overall valid but less interesting: 4/10

6th: Cas gets a job at a local library or shop, Dean is either a mechanic or a househusband. To preface, if Cas were to get a job out there in the world, my favorite would be like a magic shop or a bookshop with *unique* books. But I find that unlikely unless Cas is running his own shop (see 4th place for that). So here we’re talking about a regular normie shop.

Pros: Cas has a job he likes and feels useful in? And he’s not completely tied down to Dean all the time (though not sure that counts as a pro). More of the ‘normal life’ vibes.

Cons: Cas working at a random bookstore or library or shop or whatever would be passably interesting but not as fulfilling or useful or fun as any of the other options.

Overall valid but not interesting or all that heartwarming. 2/10

6th: deancas don’t know any life outside of hunting so they keep on doing it, except now with lower stakes than before and they go on less actual hunts.

pros: umm... consistency? they keep working closely with saileen and the new hunters who start coming by/moving into the bunker.

cons: everything. Dean’s wanted out and he should get it. Cas literally died several times over and he should get to experience a human life with the man he loves and not just do more dangerous shit.

Overall a terrible idea. 1/10 (because 0/10 would be the Cas never comes back and Dean dies and goes to heaven scenario)

#spn #supernatural #deancas #destiel #dean winchester #and #castiel #deserve a happy life

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hamethyst · 4 years

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Fool Dreamers

Summary: Before she was a hero, she had been a warrior. A hunter. A sister. A girl, dreaming simply of a better world.

Of all the people who could have understood that, she didn’t expect the foremost to be a prince. Friendship, introspection, backstory, and Buduga Boys. <12,000 words (yeah, it’s long lol).

&&&

She should have seen this coming. Could have, if she had heeded Leveva’s advice and continued practicing her astromancy in the midst of her conjury. Then again, perhaps the other woman had seen that she wouldn’t, and only spoken so she could, however subtly, rub it in her face upon her next visit to Ishgard. It sounded like something she would do.

Either way, she felt the regret of her oversight keenly now, the gaps between her fingers itching for the knife-edges of her cards as she held her opponents in her sights, missing the weight of an astrometer against her back.

She came out here, a half malm away from Mol Iloh, seeking time away from the boisterous celebrations happening in the village. It had been all just a touch too much, after so many years away. The Scions could be lively, but they could not compare to the Xaela clans at the dawning of Spring. And at the time, near a quarter of them were packed within the boundaries of the Mol’s small encampment, still basking in the highs of a hard-won victory.

So, Odzaya left, avoiding the light of the bonfires, the dance floor, the sounds of merrymaking emerging from every yurt. Only one saw her before she vanished: Organa, who shooed her on with a knowing smile and a finger to the lips that she playfully returned. She found a shallow plateau, one that reminded her of the larger one over Reunion’s proper, and settled with the tastes of buuz and warm tea still on her tongue, the stars above already in her sights. A bell passed, mayhap two, as she sought to refamiliarize herself with constellations that for the last eight years she had only seen from the perspective of one from Eorzea. Then she was duly interrupted.

“And what, pray tell, is the great khagun doing out here by her lonesome?” she heard from behind her, and looked over her shoulder to see, unexpectedly, the familiar dark forest green of the Buduga. Lower-ranking members, the three of them, by the way they stood, obviously too big for their britches, and Daidukul nowhere in sight. She felt a familiar simmer of annoyance start low in the pot of her belly at the sight.

“Seeking a small reprieve from the festivities,” she answered coolly, twisting in their direction with a casual air. “And you all?”

One of them, rosy-skinned with flames for hair, smirked condescendingly. “Looking for you, of course, dear daughter of the Dawn and Dusk.” She sniffed. Was that her new title, then?

“We have a small favor.” Another, skin bluer in tint, a sleek mane of pale bark-brown tumbling down his neck, took a lanky step forward. Instinctively, Odzaya’s hands tingled, aether building and spreading to her extremities in an instant.

“To ask?” she calmly guessed.

“To fulfill.” The third, his skin violet-brown, short blue hair in a coif that accentuated his chiseled features. “Eldest Daidukul could not be here himself, due to the injuries he sustained in the Naadam.” His eyes, pale silver and ringed in cobalt, narrowed. “Injuries you suffered him.”

She shrugged, unbothered by the hint of hostility in his tone and face. “Such are the stakes when one chances for the Throne. Surely you as warriors know this.”

“Nevertheless, we have come in his stead, to fulfill that which we know he would desire.”

They come without his knowledge, then, she thought, catching the way of their wording. They act on their own. “And that would be…?” she prompted, her brow lifting in time with the recesses of her magic.

“Poor warriors are we who failed to protect our eldest from harm, especially from that of someone clearly lesser.” The inflamed one spit out the last word as one would a bloody, too-loosened tooth. “‘Tis a failing for which we plan to atone.”

She sighed to herself. Why are we always so dramatic a people? “Look, men,” she began, and struggled not to apply too much sarcastic emphasis on a word, herself. “If you wish to contest my claiming of the ovoo and the subsequent privilege of being named khagun, then feel free. But it should be done at a proper time of day, among proper witnesses, yes?” She used an upturned hand to indicate the plains around them, empty but for wildlife, the wind, and the stones of which she mentally noted the positions. “However much the land comes alive during this time of year, I do not believe it counts as one.”

“There need not be proper procedures taken for an improper khagun,” the sleek-haired one sneered. “You are false, Odzaya Malaguld, as false as you were the first time you claimed blessings from the Sun, and we will prove it by besting you here and now.” He grinned. “There will be witnesses enough to see when we present your head to our khan at the Da– ah!”

A small stone, no larger than her thumb, pelted the center of his forehead, stunning him silent. “Thank the Mother,” she muttered, rising to her feet and brushing stray grass from her rear, her stave simultaneously manifesting in her unoccupied hand. “You’ve all spent far too much time amongst the Oronir,” she said, louder. “Bloody orators, the whole lot of you. The Buduga I knew were at least aware enough to know when they were being ignored.”

“The woman uses her magicks!” the inflamed one hissed to his brothers. “Be on your guard!”

“Probably for the best,” she agreed, grabbing their attention. “The only parts of you covered are your arms, legs, and private parts.” Another stone, slightly larger than the last, she sent at one’s bare stomach, just to prove her point. At least that has stayed the same in the last eight years, she joked to herself.Still, Odzaya kept her stance open, her shoulders loosened, her legs relaxed. Her stave she planted into the ground, presenting it more as a walking cane than a weapon. “Are you sure about this?” she asked them, clucking her tongue in skepticism. “Methinks you might be a touch out of your depth.”

“White-scaled witch! Worry not for the warriors who will soon drink of your blood!” The blue-haired one drew his spear and rushed her, only to be taken off course as a blast of wind knocked him back. He grunted as the skin of his left side, catching the brunt of the air’s force, opened in a scattering of paper-thin cuts.

“Must have gotten that one from Daidukul,” she chuckled, referring to his epithet. “It was always a favorite of his.”

“Do not speak the eldest’s name!” The sleek-haired one, wiping the dirt from his forehead, drew daggers from his belt and charged. He missed the rise of the sizable stone at his back until it hit him there, sending him sprawling to the grass with a skid.

They were younger than she thought; young, or exceptionally unskilled. No strategy, no eye for their surroundings. They were little better than a trio of rampaging dzo, so uncoordinated were their efforts. She remembered seeing them during the Naadam; they had remained at the rear, offering support to their clan’s more seasoned members. Now she knew why. Warriors, they mayhap were, but infantile ones, untested outside of Bardam’s ancient trials. Excessively passionate and daringly dim. She smiled to herself. Little worse than me, all those years ago. “How old are you all?” she asked, suddenly curious, leaning lightly on her staff, her tail wrapping lightly around it, the weight of her locs shifting as her head tilted, her earring tinkling with the movement. She tucked one vine-like strand of pink hair behind a fanned ivory horn.

“Old enough to know well your crimes, False Sun,” the inflamed one (what were their names, anyhow?) snarled. He made another attempt to enter her orbit, only for the wind to send him spiraling back to his comrades. His grimace deepened.

“My knocking your eldest brother flat is not a crime,” she corrected. “Be thankful that was all he suffered.” Gods know she had stayed her hand with no small effort as her stave had connected like a pole-arm to his neck, the sharpened adornments cutting deep into his shoulder.

“Thankful?!” He scoffed. “Thankful for some arrogant imposter of a Xaela pretending to be one of us, only to eschew our ways and steal the Throne from those to which it rightfully belongs? A woman who brought foreigners into our sacred rites, making a mockery of centuries of tradition?” The sneer returned to his face, uglier than before. “You are a usurper, Malaguld, a conniving succubus who slithered her way into Illustrious Brother Magnai’s bed, then left him shamed as you crossed the seas, only to return and rob us of our home.” Odzaya felt her eyes widen when he stepped forward, spine straight as an arrow, his branch-thin chest puffed as a pissed halgai. “That day you fell from the Dawn Throne, the land should have drank of your life as well as your blood. As what should have occurred today.”

“No doubt it was her foul magicks that saved her,” the blue-haired one drawled, drawing off of his companion’s confidence. Beside him, their sleek-haired brother joined them.

“No matter,” he declared. “She will not escape her fate this time.”

Odzaya eyed them each in turn, absorbing their accusations with pursed lips. Her stave remained at rest in the grass, supporting her weight, tuned to the aether swirling deeper in the earth, connecting her to a small vestige of its presence, warm and thick. She closed her eyes, breathing in, and felt it in the air, frissons that bypassed clothing and skin and settled in her bones.

She laughed. Great, resounding bursts that left her throat and made her small body fold unto itself with the force. She snorted, probably; hiccuped, definitely, the natural abrasion of her voice growing in time with her mirth. When she went to cover her mouth – because by the Sun the looks on their faces could have melted the ground at her feet – it somehow only made it worse.

“You laugh?!” The inflamed one looked so livid she swore his hair began moving, licking locks seeming to flit about his head like the fires they resembled. The others, predictably, were calmer, but their faces were no less stormy.

“Apologies, warriors,” she wheezed. “I am merely surprised.” Another hitch found its out of her mouth, and she finally sought to calm herself enough to remember how to breathe and speak. “I am sorry,” she said again, and that time it was comprehensible. She continued, straightening, her staff still held tight in her grip. “You just caught me unawares. No idea had I that such a tale had been woven in my absence.” And what a tale it was, she thought, containing small smatterings of truth cushioned by enough fluff and drama to impress even Ishgard’s High Houses. To think I am that dastardly, she thought, giggling once more to herself. ‘Tis almost impressive.

“A ‘tale’ that tells the history of your arrogance and treachery, Raen witch!” the sleek-haired one yelled. “A history that failed to put you in your proper place when it should have. We will not allow it to happen a second time!” At his cue, he and his brothers retook their stances, weapon edges a gleaming threat under the moonlight.

She snorted again. “I don’t suppose you will allow me to tell my side?”

“So you can fill our heads with lies and empty slander?” the blue-coiffed one rumbled. “We think not.” Lowering his body into a crouch, lance pointed at the ready, she saw the winding of the coils in his legs, preparing to launch him forward...

“A shame. I, for one, was looking well forward to hearing more.”

...before he stumbled to a stop just as he began to lift off, shocked as they all were to hear a voice not among their own speak. The mystery did not last as Odzaya turned in the direction of a movement out of the corner of her eye, only to see a bristling tail of ebon hair appear over the edge of her small plateau, soon followed by the now-familiar visage of one smiling Doman prince.

“Hien?” she murmured, at the same time the Buduga trio exclaimed, “Fire Walker!”

“Fellow warriors,” the Hyuran man greeted them. With obvious ease, his arms pulled him up over the lip of the plateau, where he rose and genially approached them, his fur-trimmed yellow dogi bright against the deepening blue of the night. To the trio he lifted a friendly hand; to her, she noted, surprise making her eyes widen slightly, he gave a shallow but notably respectful bow. “Lady Khagun,” he addressed her, and after hearing the title spoken with such insulting abandon over the past several instances, hearing it in such a distinctly reverent tone threw her, enough that she failed to react in any kind of appropriately timed manner. Hien, thankfully, moved on before it could be made obvious, though not before she thought she caught an amused quirk in his grin. “Quite the interesting gathering we have here tonight,” he said, the words and his expression clearly implying curiosity. He made a point of eyeing the boys’ unsheathed weapons. “And lively.”

To Odzaya’s continued surprise, the boys froze, then scrambled to compose themselves, their bloodlust disappearing as quickly as their weapons lowered in the next heartbeat. “We were, ah, having a discussion with the khagun, Brother Hien,” the inflamed one fumbled a reply. Hien nodded.

“I heard this discussion.” The trio blanched, their colorings seeming to reduce to near-stark white. Hien maintained his grin, as well as his approach. “Or part of it, at least. ‘Twas a truly fantastic tale you had to tell of our khagun.” One thick, scarred eyebrow lifted to his bangs. “A pity that you refused us to hear her version.”

“We wished not to hear her lies, Fire Walker,” the sleek-haired one boldly asserted. “You know not her reputation, the damage she has wrought!” He glared at her. “Comrades we know you are, but she is not to be trusted.”

“I see.” Hien crossed his arms, his expression contemplative. “Forgive my ignorance, gentlemen, but these are rather serious accusations, are they not? And not made lightly, nor in mere idle gossip, as you three took the initiative to seek out Odzaya Khagun with them in hand, yes?”

It was still very odd to hear someone say her full name and new title; she blinked when she heard it leave his lips, altered slightly by his Doman dialect, and caught the corner of his gaze once more when she looked at him. That time, the quirk of amusement at the edge of his mouth was obvious to her sight, and she wondered what it meant.

“Correct, Brother Hien.” The inflamed one nodded vigorously. “Eldest brothers Magnai and Daidukul could not be here, due to prior responsibilities. No doubt they would have, otherwise.”

“Aye, perhaps,” Hien spoke, nodding in seeming agreement. He lifted his gaze to them. “And do you all think that, given the severity of these matters, they would have handled them thus?”

“Ye-” The inflamed one’s mouth shut before his reply could be completed, his gaze suddenly unsure. The other two, as well, finally seemed to take stock of the situation as it stood. The three of them, members of a losing clan, weapons drawn with obvious intent, and her, the new khagun, alone and a malm away from the nearest settlement.

The laws of the Steppe could be and were often few and far between. The laws that existed, however, were understood to be absolute. And one such law forbade the forceful removal of a khagun without due process.

Even a trio of rampaging dzo could see where they had faltered. Odzaya let loose a small smile.

“I am afraid you have landed yourselves in quite the cavernous pit, gentlemen,” Hien continued, leveling them with a calm but assertive look. “Not only have you taken it upon yourselves to act in the name of your khans without their express permission, you have used this false authority to attempt what I am afraid can only be called assassination. Not only of the rightful representative of the Xaela, but of a member of the clan to which I am so honorably bound. Not only a leader or comrade, but a friend.” Abruptly, the prince’s stance changed, hardened almost imperceptibly, and Odzaya, for the first time, noted his positioning: directly between herself and her offenders. When next he spoke, his tone, too, was different, a note of depth and intensity that had been utterly absent before. “Foreigner I may be, but I cannot, in good faith, take such brazen moves lightly.” A distinctive click sounded in the windswept quiet, and she noted the katana looped through his obi, the fingers he had wrapped around the hilt, and the thumb that had partially, near-imperceptibly loosed the blade from its sheath, revealing just a hint of glimmering steel. “What say you, warriors?” he asked, deceptively nonchalant.

If the young men before her had blanched previously, they fair bleached now, their gazes locked on that blade. Odzaya looked at Hien herself, no small measure of surprised and impressed.

And then he met her gaze, for just a moment, just out of the corner of his eye, and winked, his mouth turning upward.

Ah. She schooled her own reflexive smile before it could become visible, and tailored her expression into that which she only used when dealing with those with particularly hard skulls. Stepping forward, she made a show of laying her hand over the hilt of Hien’s katana, covering his bare, calloused fingers with her own. She eyed the three young men, exuding a diplomatic calm. “Mayhap you’d be willing to consider my previous suggestion now?” They startled at her voice, eyes still wide as their gazes shifted from the prince to her. Still shell-shocked enough to momentarily forget the hate they were meant to be spewing. She took advantage. “You obviously feel strongly about the new status quo that has been established on the Steppe. You deserve to air those grievances. Agreed?”

They looked at one another, then at her. Nearly revived their tirade, she thought, before their gazes fell once more to the barely-visible shine of Hien’s blade. “Aye,” one finally answered gruffly.

“Then approach your khan,” Hien declared, stepping forward ‘til he was at her shoulder. “Make your case. And if supported, proper motions can be made before her, as witnessed by the appropriate parties.” He looked down to regard her briefly. “Something Odzaya Khagun suggested ere your conflict began, if I recall.”

Then he’d been present for longer than they realized, Odzaya thought, lifting an eyebrow, before focusing on the trio. There was more reluctant agreement on their side, in the form of shuffling sandaled feet, and weapons that were finally put away. Hien seemed to take it as a signal; as quickly as his intensity appeared, it vanished, and the young lord regained his genial smile as his blade disappeared back into its sheath so quickly one wondered if they had even seen its initial flash of light.

“We will do this,” the blue-haired one declared. To his credit, he looked at least partly chastised, as did his brothers as they took a definitive step back. “Thank you for your council, Fire Walker.” He hesitated a moment, then, and with even more reluctance than before, met her gaze. “And yours, khagun,” he added, low enough that they only heard it because it carried on the breeze she still controlled.

“Eldest Brother Daidukul still wants you with us, samurai,” the inflamed one declared. “Our loss in the Naadam does not change this.”

Hien simply nodded. “A matter for another time, perhaps.”

“A time that will come soon,” the sleek-haired one vowed, to the prince’s easy amusement. Then, in sync with his brothers, he stiffly bowed; his gaze found hers as they rose. “‘Til next time.” Only the slightest hint of that now-familiar sneer, no doubt reduced to avoid another glimpse of Hien’s blade, as well as any more stones to the face or wind shears to the extremities. Odzaya smiled.

“Tell Daidukul and Magnai I liked the story. T’was nice to hear a gist of all that has been said of me these summers past.”

A grunt was his reply, and her smile widened. Then she and Hien watched as the Buduga warriors began their trek back across the plains, carefully bypassing Mol Iloh. When it became clear there would be no sudden backtrack, Odzaya sighed and allowed her stave to dissipate. “Well…” When she looked up, Hien was watching her, the amused grin she caught on his lips now out for the world to see. She matched it. “That was fun.”

“Certainly eventful.” Unexpectedly, he pointed upward. “Will that still be necessary, do you think?”

She followed his finger. “Ah.” She sent a small wave of her aether to the sky; mere moments later, the ground shook as a boulder – wide enough for Gosetsu to comfortably seat his rump on – hit the ground several fulms away, mere ilms from where the Buduga trio had previously stood. “I suppose not,” she said, smiling at the black brows that rose near to Hien’s hairline. “Thankfully, I did not need it.”

“Full glad am I that you did not!” he chuckled. “Though I suspect it may have offered more effective support than myself or my measly blade.”

“Tis the thought that counts, my lord,” she replied, her smirk teasing. “Besides, rocks cannot spout ancient Auri law. It was impressive to hear.”

“The praise should go to Cirina. I must thank her once more for those weeks she stayed by my sickbed, entertaining what certainly must have seemed an endless spiel of questions.” Hien looked, smiling absently, in the direction the Buduga trio departed. “My idea to petition the Xaela clans to aid in Doma’s liberation came shortly after I awoke on the Steppe; it did not take long, after all, for me to see the strength of your people. I knew from the first, however, that I would stand little chance of convincing anyone without proper knowledge – and respect – for Xaelic history and customs. So, once my injuries allowed me to remain conscious for longer than a bell, I plead with the Mol to educate me; and Cirina, being the khatun’s granddaughter, as well as having essentially taken on the role of my caretaker, became my primary teacher.”

Odzaya lifted a dark pink brow. “And here I thought you spent all that recovery time stuffing yourself with boortsog.” Hien laughed.

“The Mol made idleness more tempting than I care to admit. Cirina, however, turned out to be quite the pedagogue. Once I was well enough to move, she declared I would only continue to learn if I began reconditioning my body in conjunction. Fortunately, I did not need to be convinced.”

Odzaya fairly beamed with pride. “I always knew she had a knack for instruction. She always said she was too soft-hearted.”

“She said she learned her oh-so-effective ways from another. Her older sister, I believe.”

Her grin froze, for just a moment. Then softened. “Did she?”

“Aye.” Hien eyed her, his smile like her own. “When I asked who she was, she insisted it mattered not, that the young woman in question had left the Steppe long ago.” He watched her, his gaze turning gently scrutinizing.

Odzaya let out a breath. “So she had,” she replied, shrugging. “Probably for the best.” Hien chuckled.

“Oh? And why is that?” Odzaya snorted at him.

“Rather sure you heard, eavesdropper.” She went over the Buduga trio’s seemingly endless list of scathing epithets. “She was a troublemaker. An impostor. A would-be usurper.”

“A witch?” Hien arched an eyebrow. “A succubus?”

“At least the last two show some creativity,” she muttered, smirking to herself.

“‘Tis certainly an interesting interpretation of one woman’s character.” Hien crossed his arms, his expression pondering, his head at a tilt. “Quite different from the impression I received from Cirina, if they indeed speak of the same person.”

“And how did she describe her?” she asked, admittedly curious.

Hien grinned. “In a word? As a hero.”

A memory at her subconscious, of Mol Iloh in a different place and time. Of her soaring over those familiar red-draped white-clothed roofs on yol-back, only to land and be immediately pounced upon by a half-dozen tiny bodies. One always hung back, equal parts patient and shy, until she approached herself with outstretched arms. Only then would little Rina run up to and into them, pale, black-scaled hands gripping her shoulders, her laughter a soft, high-pitched chirp, like a bird, as she spun them around.

Odzaya smiled. “Cirina always had an active imagination. She also used to swear I looked like a flower.”

“I can see that,” Hien said, to which she shot him a tolerant look. “Is her interpretation of you so far-fetched?” he asked, sounding skeptical.

“I was young, no older than twenty summers, and thought I could change the world.” She chuckled, looking out over grassy plains. “My world, at least. I wasn’t heroic, just arrogant and naive.” She tossed her head in the direction of the Dawn Throne, where three soaring figures, dull white against the ink-blue sky, could be seen. “Like them.”

“They were certainly passionate about their views. And more than a little belligerent.” Hien looked at her, curiosity stamped openly across his wide brow. “Were you the same at their age?”

“Belligerent? No.” She smirked. “Could I pick a fight every now and again, sometimes against senior clansmen? Sometimes.”

“So, an occasional troublemaker you were, then? Making their tale at least partly true?”

Odzaya tipped her head, considering, before meeting Hien’s expectant gaze with a half-sheepish shrug. The young lord immediately laughed, and she could not help the small giggle that she released alongside him.

“My interest in this tale continues to grow!” he exclaimed. “I daresay I will end this day unsatisfied for not having heard it in its entirety.”

Odzaya jerked a thumb in the general direction of the palace. “The boys haven’t gotten too far. Even if you miss them along the way, you can always take a friendly night flight to the Dawn Throne yourself and ask the skilled orators to recite it for you.” She allowed a hint of sarcasm to enter her tone. “The ‘Fire Walker’, I am sure, would at least be welcome.”

“Hmm.” Hien made a show of stroking his bearded chin. “A tempting offer. The view from the Dawn Throne is quite spectacular.”

“Beats mine, I’d bet.” Odzaya stretched her arms overhead, sighing with relief as her spine cracked; little surprise, it always seemed to stiffen when she spoke of the past. Then, with a small burst of wind-aspected aether, she leapt up, lightly planting and plopping herself down atop her new boulder, swinging her legs and tail and tossing her locs over her shoulder. She looked down at Hien, who grinned up at her amusedly.

“Is this a sign that my presence is no longer welcome?”

“More a signal that your duty is complete.” She smiled at him. “I thank you kindly for your assistance, Hien. I have a feeling that encounter would not have gone as peacefully as it did without your intervention.”

Hien stepped forward, his hand finding the boulder’s surface as he examined it. “Were you truly going to drop this on them if they had not kept their distance?”

“No,” she answered honestly. She paused. “Perhaps. But not to smash them.” As he chuckled, she shrugged. “A hindrance, it served as, little more. Though I am a bit disappointed they never noticed it.” Their faces would have been priceless.

“You and me, both,” Hien replied, no doubt imagining something similar as his smile turned toothy. He removed his hand from the boulder and took a step back. “Full glad am I that I could be of help, khagun, however far you were from having need of it.” He gave her a princely bow, obviously done in jest but somehow still seeming sincere in its execution. As he rose, his gaze matched. “One can only hope there will not be a reoccurrence.”

“I can always find more wind and rocks,” she joked. “And more boulders. Though it may prove difficult to find any more foreign princes with a penchant for knightliness and ancient Auri law.”

Hien shook his head, looking profoundly disappointed. “And here I was led to believe that this land provided all one could ever need.” Odzaya giggled.

“Will you be attending to the Dawn Throne, then? Something tells me they might be lacking for one, as well.”

“That depends,” said prince replied, one expressive eyebrow rising. “Would one still be appreciated here?”

Odzaya briefly contemplated, then answered by scooting her bottom to the right of her boulder and patting the empty space that emerged. “If he does not mind a not-quite-so-spectacular view.” For some reason, she wasn’t quite ready to return to her lonesome just yet. Hien grinned up at her so widely his eyes crinkled.

“From where I am standing, I do believe that may be arguable.” And before she could properly reply, or even parse his meaning, he took her invitation. Odzaya felt the boulder shift slightly as Hien walked around, climbed aboard, and settled himself beside her, legs crossed, the warmth of the bare skin of his arm minutely felt through the sheep’s wool of her coat. “Surprisingly comfortable,” he said admirably. “You found quite the quality stone, my friend.”

“Only the best for those I threaten to squish,” she japed.

“Such care taken, even for her enemies,” Hien chuckled. “Perhaps this dreaded succubus is not so horrid a figure, after all.”

Odzaya huffed in amusement, still finding herself tickled by the Buduga trio’s tale. “Or perhaps she is just seducing you into believing such. I have a history of that, apparently.”

“Far worse fates I can imagine, if so,” he replied, and his smile turned slightly cheeky again. “I should think Illustrious Brother Magnai felt a similar way.”

Odzaya snorted so hard, her nose burned. “Magnai never feels anything, except pride and perhaps constipation due to the stick up his arse. Even if he did, it’s not as if we were ever truly together. Merely…” She stopped herself abruptly, realizing what she was revealing. She glanced at Hien only to find him watching her, his eyebrows arched, his mien open and unobtrusive. And dreadfully curious. Odzaya shifted her sights to the stars overhead, wondering, briefly, if her astromancy would allow her to turn back time just enough to retake her words. No such luck most like (another point in Leveva’s favor), and feeling the proverbial maw open at her feet, ironically about the size of the boulder she excavated, she released a surrendering sigh. “Merely betrothed,” she finished, lamely.

“Ah,” Hien said simply, nodding. The utter neutrality of his tone only served to make the unspoken question of “and the difference is...?” all the more obvious.

“Our union was never consummated,” she explained, before he could find a polite way to ask or awkwardly tread around it. “I left before it could be. A mutual decision.”

“I see. Interesting; by the Buduga’s reckoning, the decision was yours and yours alone, with Magnai little more than a jilted lover left to salvage the remains of said pride in your absence.”

“Magnai was fine,” she said immediately, attempting to picture the Oronir brokenhearted. It failed to come together in her mind’s eye. “It would have been a simple matter of him picking someone else to replace me.”

Hien lifted his brow once more. “Someone else?”

“Do you remember Dorbei very loudly lamenting during our journey back to the village after the Naadam? Something about my ‘having my pick of the Steppe’?” At the prince’s nod, she shrugged. “He wasn’t entirely joking. A particular perk of being khagun is the privilege of choosing romantic partners.”

Hien made an expression of recognition, then grinned. “Quite the perquisite, that is.”

“So long they are not previously, exclusively bound to another, anyone can be chosen. And one’s fortune is considered great if they are.” Odzaya set her eye on the Dawn Throne, her brow furrowing in remembrance. “That year, my twentieth summer, Magnai won the Naadam for the Oronir. And chose me.”

Mol Iloh, those same comforting red-draped roofs, even if she no longer had the means to see them from above. She saw Cirina, no longer so small a bird, no longer able to fit in her arms quite so easily, but still running up to her like she always had, only more carefully, as if her big sister would break if startled or handled too roughly. Still smiling, but there was something different behind it, urgent in her grass-green eyes. Odzaya knew not what it was until another figure had made itself known behind her, tall and imposing, clad in dark leather and darker fur, the blonde tips of his hair and the gold of his gaze catching and binding the sunlight that beat down on them from a too-blue sky. And as she had risen, cautiously, to face him, hands speckled with dirt, still clutching the herbs she had plucked from the earth, that gaze had been strangely gentle.

“I rejected him, the first time,” Odzaya said, smirking. The moon, large and round and flooding the land with silver, reminded her of the sun that day, how it had coated her back with warmth and heated the dirt under her hands and turned the backs of her eyelids yellow, until Magnai’s shadow had blocked it all out. “I thought it was a joke, or a trap. But then he came back, insistent that he was serious.”

“What manner of trap might it have been?” Hien asked.

“In the aftermath of the Naadam, victorious clans have been known to target those who previously opposed them on the battlefield. Sometimes, it is a simple matter of establishing dominance, ridding them of whatever compulsion they may have to object to the land’s decision. Other times, those opposing clans are near-decimated, people and all, as a means of eliminating future competition.”

“An effective if not ruthless tactic,” Hien commented. Odzaya nodded in agreement.

“T’was not a very common practice until recently. Some of the abandoned villages you see scattered across the land are the last vestiges of raids that occurred over the last two epochs.” Tilting toward Hien, she indicated one such set of remains, far off in the distance, only noticeable by the skeleton of a watchtower. Hien momentarily leaned close to see it, his eyes squinting.

“They remind me of the ruins I could see from the palace as a boy, when I scaled the outer walls to survey the lands beyond,” he remarked. “Hollowed out buildings, the pillaged ruins of small towns and caravans.” He sighed and leaned back. “I am almost loathe to say it, but the tactics are similar to those the Empire employs. Seeing such disaster, with no certain way of knowing if the people themselves survived; it certainly does well to lower morale.”

“So it does.” She pointed to another landmark, this one far easier to see due to the lantern’s light that separated it from the night. “‘Tis not all bad, though. The beacons one finds all over? Those were remains, as well. A number of clans, most notably the Qestir, repurposed them over the years, that they might serve travelers seeking sanctuary and safety from the wildlife. Or opportunistic clansmen.”

“Do they not all eventually lead to Reunion?” At her nod, Hien smiled. “The one place on the Steppe where violence is prohibited. Not a coincidence, I’m sure.”

“Correct.” Odzaya smiled, as well, pleased by his deduction. The origin of the lanterns had ever been one of her favorite stories. Lights in the dark, and all that.

“Ingenious in its practicality,” the prince said. “And beautiful in its symbolism.” His smile sobered and softened in equal measure, his gaze turning inward. “I wonder if perhaps…” He trailed off.

“Perhaps…?” Odzaya repeated. Hien came back to himself, then shook his head. To her surprise, he looked a touch sheepish.

“Bah, nothing. Just getting ahead of myself, as I am sometimes wont to do. One step at a time, after all.” He looked at her. “Tis truly a wonderful way to honor the past while accounting for the future. I imagine, however, that you wished not for your own clan to share such a fate, thus your caution when Magnai approached you.”

“Mm,” she confirmed with a hum. “That year, I entered the Naadam as the only representative of the Malaguld; the first, apparently, in decades. As you can probably guess, we are of the more peaceful clans, wholly uninterested in the goings-on of constant warfare. We are also one of the few clans that accept Raen members, and most of ours are refugees, former citizens across Yanxia and Hingashi displaced from their homes in the wake of the Garlean invasion.” Suddenly recalling, Odzaya turned to him, her expression eager. “Some of them are Doman; they’ve wished to speak with you.”

“Aye, they approached me during the celebration. We spoke for some time; a number of them wish to accompany us to join the Liberation Front.” Hien’s eyes were bright with the prospect. “I will have to thank your khatun for granting them sanctuary all these years. It means more than words can say to know they found the safety of another home, and even more that they have not lost hope for their former.” His expression then turned curious. “Tell me: are the origins of the Raen in your clan, then, a representation of your own?”

More roofs, tho ugh these were not draped with red . Rather, they were looped over and around by swathes of rich plum purple. To the Xaela, it was a color that meant balance and harmony, unity and sanctuary. It covered everything, like the Mol’s red back home. Tables and chairs, horsebacks and floors. And people. Beautiful designs woven across robes and pants and tunics, encasing arms white -scaled as well as black . Something she had never seen before excepting her own reflection .

Would these people know her? Recognize her? Would they be able to tell her from where she came, and from whom?

S he remembered herself a moon before, sitting by the river with her friends , smearing her arms, her legs, her neck and cheeks and horns with rich loam. She had lain out in the sun, per instruction, waiting for it to dry and harden, all of them waiting with bated breath for the transformation it would bring. She remembered her secret, keen disappointment when, later that eve, the water from her bath had washed away their efforts so easily.

No more, she thought, as she clutched Temulun’s hand in her own tiny one and they passed under a familiar archway bracketed by matanga tusks. N o more loam, n o r ashes, nor ink for her scales . N o more hood s to cover her horns. No more targeted threats to her loved ones’ safety for the sole Raen girl in their midst.

No more reminders that while she was not Xaela, she was Au Ra.

In her young eyes, the color purple meant belonging.

“Perhaps,” she edged, and accompanied her response with a carefree shrug. Hien’s brow perked with his curiosity. The frequency of the gesture almost made her smile.

“You do not know?”

“I was adopted into the Mol as a baby,” she explained, her gaze finding the clan’s village in the distance, still lit from within with the warm light of bonfires. “Then, when I was seven, I was given to the Malaguld, as a means to ensure I would not...stick out, quite so much on the Steppe. The Mol were already regular targets of the more aggressive clans. My being among them only made the eyes on their backs larger, hungrier. Like wolves preying on sheep.” She recalled Cirina’s words.

“And you were a lamb with white horns,” Hien interjected, and gave her a light smile. Odzaya snorted at his quip.

“So I was.”

“Then no one ever told you your origins.”

“No. I suspected some might know, but I never inquired much, to be honest.” She shrugged easily. “While the differences between myself and the others may have bothered me as a child, as time passed, it no longer seemed to matter as much. I was hardly the only person in the world without parents or a known history, and though I may not have shared a story with any of those who raised or grew with me, we shared a home. That came to be enough. They were my family, both clans, and I would do my utmost to protect them.”

“And so you entered the Naadam,” Hien concluded. It was not a question; nevertheless, Odzaya nodded.

“We had experienced raids since I was a child. Every time, we lost something, be it our possessions or our livestock, our homes or a person.” She brow dipped with the weight of old trepidation. “I grew sick of it. Sick of living in fear. Of being seen as weak.” She looked at Hien, and knew the look in her eye was just this side of ferine. “Lamb though I was, I had my horns. Eventually, I sought to learn to use them.”

“I can hardly fault you that.” Hien impressed her with a look of his own, his eyes glinting once, fiercely, under the starlight. “I often felt the same as a boy, locked away in the palace, a gilded cage of the Empire’s make. A bird with clipped talons.”

Odzaya smirked. “So you sharpened them with a sword.” On a whim, she reached out, around the bend of his knee, to tap a slender finger on the hilt of his katana at rest between them. “They seem to be serving you well now.” He chuckled.

“That they are. I greatly anticipate using them to capacity in Doma.” He gave her a bracing smile. “And from the prowess I’ve seen, I am sure your horns became rather sharp, as well.”

“They did,” she confirmed. “Figuratively as well as literally.” He laughed, and she continued. “I started practicing swordplay on my own around the age of twelve. Poorly. Then Organa found me out and set me on the proper path.”

“The Malaguld’s khatun?” Hien smartly recalled. “She certainly seems a formidable woman.”

“At the time, she was still only a hunter, though one of our best; after she discovered my secret interest, she took it upon herself to train me, if only so I wouldn’t accidentally kill myself. She periodically took me on her trips out into the wilderness to procure the clan’s meals, and used those trips as her lessons. She taught me how to properly care for armor and weaponry, to inspect for damage or wear, to be cognizant of the effects my wielding could have, both good and bad.” Odzaya chuckled. “All before she ever let me actually use anything, mind you.”

“The role Organa played in your life is sounding increasingly like the role Gosetsu played in mine,” Hien commented, shifting his cross-legged stance and lacing his fingers in his lap. “He taught me, too, the arts of war. My father asked him to, as a means to simultaneously occupy my time, temper my apparently boundless energies, and teach me discipline.” He shrugged his scarred shoulders. “Obviously, he would have done so himself, but balancing both the kingdom and the Empire’s grip on it understandably took precedence.” He smiled. “At the time, of course, I did not comprehend the scope of such politics. All I knew was that my father was the greatest samurai in Othard, renowned for his bladework. If he would not teach me, I declared, no one would.”

“Well, well. And how’d that work out for the little master Shun?” Odzaya asked, raising her brows at him expectantly. Hien shot her a mock scowl, reminded of the closely-guarded secret she was made privy to that first night after their official introduction. Then it melted into something sheepish.

“Spectacularly, once I finally managed to surface from the pond Gosetsu tossed me into in reply.” Odzaya chuckled.

“Saw that one coming.”

“If only you had been there to share your foresight,” he said. “Was Organa’s handling of you equally as rigorous?”

“Well, she never threw me anywhere, if that’s what you’re asking,” she quipped. “She was tough, but fair. Strict when she felt she needed to be, but forgiving of my mistakes, and always willing to lend an ear to listen or a shoulder to lean on.”

“You sound close,” Hien commented with a smile. Odzaya returned it.

“She is my sister, as much as she was my mentor. In truth, I had hoped she would participate in the Naadam with me. It seemed almost obvious to me that she should. Even after I began hunting on my own and overcame Bardam’s Mettle, I still saw her as the best we had.” Her smile sobered. “If anyone could have changed our lives for the better, alleviated the fear we lived under, t’would have been her.”

The hollow of her horns rang. High above, silhouetted against a dusky sky, their yol circled, surveying the surrounding land for more prey. Their current catch, a pair of wandering baras, had breathed their last long ago, their tusks gleaming with a morbid beauty in the dying sunlight. She could already imagine the work ahead, the skinning, deboning, and tanning that would be done upon their return.

For the first time, n one of it mattered. Only the rejection that echoed between them, caught between their locked gazes. “What?” she finally asked, and felt shame as her voice came out hoarse with shock.

Organa sighed, her glowing-ember gaze amused. “You heard me.”

Odzaya’s heart sank. “But why not?”

“Because,” she began, approaching their quarry. With a light grunt, she flipped one baras over and kneeled, inspecting its hide for damage. “I am tired.”

“Tired?” she echoed. “Of what?”

“Clans,” her sister answered simply. “Rules, rituals.” Odzaya shook her head, watching her work.

“I do not understand.”

“Mother is getting older,” Organa declared suddenly. She tapped a tusk’s tip with her finger, nodded with satisfaction. “She has thus decided it time for me to consider taking her place in earnest. For the past three moons, I have spent my mornings, afternoons, and eves in the main yurt, listening to the oh-so-wise prattle of our elders.” That amusement in her eyes turned exasperated. “Gods know I love them, but they love to talk. About history, about hierarchies, about the unpatched holes in the roof. About everything and nothing.” She gusted out a breath strong enough to riffle the fur under her inspecting fingers. “I leave those walls yearning for one thing: to get away. Gather my bow, grab my yol, and go hunt.” She looked up at her. “I am tired. And now you bring this up.” Her tone held no serious accusation; nevertheless, Odzaya felt the sting of something like it.

“Do they not also gather to discuss routes for the clan to take to best avoid trouble? To take stock of our resources in the case that we’re pillaged? Plan funeral rites in advance for those we will inevitably lose to both?”

Organa sighed. “Dzaya–”

“Are you not tired of hearing that, as well? I am.” The older woman lifted her brow, a smirk forming.

“You’ve been eavesdropping.” Her brow rose higher. “Again.” Another non-accusation. Odzaya boldly straightened her spine, inclining her head stiffly.

“Yes.” Organa chuckled.

“I thought I saw a shadow lingering around the yurt’s entry-way. Should have known it was not the stray muu shuwuu it looked like,” she said, playfully referencing the younger woman’s pink hair, fairly glowing in the orange of dusk. Odzaya pursed her lips.

“This is serious, Gana. We are courting disaster. Entire clans have been lost to the recent goings-on, and we are on the road to becoming next. We all know it. We have to do something.”

Organa’s smile dropped, and she finally returned to her full height. “ And by ‘something’, you mean participate in the Naadam,” she concluded. Odzaya nodded determinedly.

“We’ve tried negotiations over the years, yes? The more powerful clans have laughed at us; the neutral ones have shown us little more than pity. What option is left but to fight for our survival?”

“So you would have us go to war for our peace.” Organa crossed her arms, humorous pretense diminished to near nothing, her gaze penetrating. Odzaya met it with her own.

“Is that not the way of the Steppe?” she challenged in turn. Organa smirked.

“Aye, though I always hoped to avoid falling prey to it.”

“We’re already prey, Gana,” Odzaya argued. “Scavengers on our own lands, hunting for scraps with our tails between our legs like packs of starving gedan.” She clenched her fists, summers’ worth of fear and anger rising like bile in her belly. “The Naadam has been used for epochs to take our livelihood from us. Why should we not use it in turn to take it back?!” She took a breath and let it out, swore it came out hot like steam from a whistling kettle, or a dragon’s maw.

“And what of numbers?” Organa came back. “You would have the refugees among us take up arms they do not have, and fight another potentially losing battle for freedom? The same kind that took their families and friends away from them once before?”

“I would not ask them to fight if they did not wish to,” Odzaya said. “So many of them have weathered enough conflict, enough violence. The Naadam is not theirs to win. Rather, it should be…” she paused. Met Organa’s steady gaze with her own trembling, and knew she heard her.

“Ours,” her sister finished for her. Let out a gusty breath of humor as she looked away. “Of course.”

“You’re one of the best warriors on the Steppe,” Odzaya said. “And you taught me. And I’ve been training, far more than you think.” She hesitated for a moment before continuing. “The others say–”

“That you’re special?” Organa interrupted, knowingly. Odzaya’s mouth snapped shut, lips pursing tightly with surprise. Organa smirked. “Do not think you’re the only one who can hide in the shadows, little muu. I have heard all about your burgeoning reputation as a supposed chosen of Azim.”

H eat bloomed in the younger girl’s cheeks, blessedly hidden by her scales and dark skin, and she briefly dropped her gaze to the ground, embarrassed . “They are not my words.”

Organa chuckled. “I know.” She met her eyes, her own curious. “Is that why you so desperately wish to participate in the Naadam all of a sudden? Because you’ve convinced yourself that you are blessed?”

“Of course not,” Odzaya denied with a fervent shake of her head. “But regardless of whether it is true or not, could not the belief alone grant us an advantage? Maybe some of the clans will feel too threatened to fight!”

“You are playing with the Sun’s fire, Dzaya,” Organa said, her brow knitting severely. “The stronger clans will not take kindly to talk of some Raen girl toting herself as a daughter of the Dawn Father. The Oronir especially will be quick to prove your claims false, especially when one of their sons is claiming the same.”

Magnai. Odzaya failed, she knew, to keep the scowl completely off of her face as she thought of the arrogant young princeling with whom she had often clashed. “I could take him,” she boldly declared. “I’ve done it before.”

“Aye, but what of his followers? Could you take them? Could we, the two of us, alone against the brunt of thirty or more other warriors, all vying for your light-blessed blood?”

“At least we could try!” she burst out, frustration making the words echo through the dry air between them. She almost immediately regretted it, her tail reflexively lashing about her ankles with agitation, and she cautiously eyed her elder sister for her reaction.

Organa, to her surprise, merely smiled and huffed a laugh. She shook her head, and the motion was that of fondness.“You always were a dreamer,” she murmured. The amused affection wrapped around the statement, just this side of teasing, made Odzaya’s cheeks warm once more, though it allowed her to regain her composure. She straightened.

“This isn’t just a dream, Gana.” This was not her sitting by the river, a child smearing rich loam onto her horns and praying in vain for a miracle. “This is something real, that we can make happen.”

“Mm,” the woman intonated. “So you say.” Her smile diminished. “But at what cost?”

Odzaya fell silent. Organa pressed.

“To participate in the Naadam, a clan must have the resources. ‘Tis a privilege, and one we do not have. Our khatun is growing old,” she restated. “Our warriors are few. We both are two of them, and I am her successor. If we take part, and lose, that leaves our clan with two less protectors, two less hunters, and no leader for the coming years.”

“Then we proposition for additional warriors from other clans,” Odzaya suggested, regaining a foot, or so she thought. “Surely, they would join us, yes?”

“At risk of putting themselves in the same vulnerable position? Risking their warriors, their sons and daughters, what fragile stability they have?” Organa shook her head, her expression still fond, if more somber. “That is not going to happen, Odzaya,” she said.

“But–” She tried once more.

“I will be khatun,” her sister continued, cutting her off. “Sooner than I would like. And I must begin making decisions for the good of our clan. The ins and outs of every rule, the ups and downs of every choice. What is worth risking, and what is not.” With suddenly sharp, unyielding eyes, the eyes that made her a warrior, a leader, she met Odzaya’s gaze, and the younger woman felt her stomach drop abruptly to her feet with her heart and hope. “The well-being of our clan, of all our clans, is not worth risking. My succession is not worth risking. Your life, Odzaya, is not worth risking.” She shook her head once more. “Not for a dream, however sweet.”

Silence stood between them, then, at the end as it had at the beginning, broken only by a stiff breeze and the shriek of their yol, a confirmation of newly discovered prey, and then the buffet of powerful wings as they descended. She watched Organa tie and truss up their quarry, then silently secured a baras corpse to and mounted her yol, giving his mane a stroke when he chirped with concern.

The entire trip home, she kept her fingers buried in his bountiful feathers, hoping to stop their shaking.

“I imagine she had her reasons for choosing not to participate,” Hien ventured. Odzaya nodded, slowly, momentarily afloat in old disappointment.

“She did.” She shrugged, regrounding herself with the motion, and smiled with a shake of her head. “Nothing I wanted to understand at the time; too young, too stubborn. All I knew was that, between us, we had the power to make a difference. To make peace happen. To make dreams come true.” She let out a quiet, calming breath, then chuckled and looked down at her feet, idly kicking her legs against the air. “Or at least my own.”

“And what was your dream?” She looked up. Hien watched her, his gaze unexpectedly soft. Odzaya took a breath and looked back down.

“A land with no suffering,” she said, quietly. “A land where children could laugh, and none need live in fear of what tomorrow could bring.” Strangely self-conscious, she wrinkled her nose and sniffed lightly, then turned her sights up to the stars. “It seemed like something worth fighting for. Even if I had to fight for it alone.”

“So you did,” Hien asserted.

“So I did,” she confirmed. Then she huffed out a laugh. “And soundly lost.”

“The Naadam you spoke of eight years past, during which Magnai came away the victor,” Hien recalled, his face lighting briefly with realization. “T’was the same Naadam that you participated in, yes?”

Why did it feel like she was revealing some long-withheld secret as she nodded? “Turned out Gana had been right to refuse,” she confirmed. She shot him a brief smile. “Should have known, looking back. She’s never been wrong about anything.”

“Would knowing have stopped you from trying?” Hien asked.

“Probably not.” She chuckled once more. “Such is the way of a dreamer, I suppose. Or a fool. Every possible odd stacked against you, and all the world telling you not to bother, and still you feel you must at least-”

“Try,” Hien finished for her, and smiled, the gentility in his eyes magnified by the starlight seeping into their depths. It was a gaze not of sympathy, but empathy. Understanding.

Her heart thumped, once, hard as Bardam’s fist against her rib cage.

When she fell from the Dawn Throne, the wind that should have stormed past, igniting the hollow space of her horns, was little more than a whispered breeze. The short, sharp shriek of her yol as the arrow pierced his heart and he fell headlong beside her seemed little more than a small whimper. The clamor of those below, of Organa screaming her name, were a murmur, heard at a thousand malms’ distance.

H er descent was marked by Magnai’s grim mien and Daidukul’s savage grin as he lowered his bow. She wondered what they saw. An opponent defeated. A pest removed. A star once claiming to be the sun now setting , and burning away her dreams in its wake.

When her body hit the ground, the pain was strangely muted. Her skin ripped, her muscles tore. Her bones shattered, arms, legs, and ribs. Her spine was like a twig, so easily did it give against the earth, and the resounding crack of her skull, the snap of her horns breaking, resounded through her head like a hammer on stone.

A would-be star fallen back to earth, where it had always belonged.

Her vision whited out, her breath hitched with the puncture and subsequent collapse of her lungs. Her heart ceased with a last, desperate pulse. And yet, she was told later, her eyes remained clear. Locked on the sky as if in a trance, as if they saw something. As if merely daydreaming, even as her body went cold.

Which made it slightly less surprising when, moments and a small eternity later, her heart resumed its beating once more.

“Do you regret what happened that day of the rebellion?” she asked suddenly, unable to resist the inquiry as they stared at one another, as she pondered whether or not her interpretation of the look in his eyes was correct.

Hien blinked once, then smiled bittersweetly. “That depends,” he said, and lifted his gaze to the stars. “Do I regret the ease with which we were overrun? Yes. My lack of experience, my failing strength? Yes.” He took a deep breath, and when he next spoke, the pain in his voice sounded like sand caught in the back of his throat. “Do I regret the lives lost? Of course. My own stubbornness, my insistence that the fight continue even after my father fell and our forces were scattered? Yes.” He paused, lowering his chin, his gaze aimed at a middle distance she suspected led to a battlefield. “But do I regret that day in itself, joining my father and my fellow samurai and fighting for what I knew to be our dream, fools though we mayhap were for pursuing it?” His focus returned and he leveled it on her, and within its gentleness was a glittering steel that reminded her distinctly of his blade. “No,” he declared, quiet but firm. “I cannot say that I do.”

The line of her back hurt again. Odzaya shifted minutely in a vain attempt to alleviate the ache, then started in surprise when Hien suddenly chuckled. “What is funny?” she asked.

“My father,” Hien answered, surprising her again. “He used to say that one cannot fulfill any dream alone; there is always another, sometime, somewhere, whose presence or actions, no matter how small, aided in its actualization.” He laughed again, then deepened his voice in what she assumed to be an imitation. “‘One of this star’s great truths’, he insisted it was! ‘And a good ruler never forgets it’.”

Odzaya smiled softly. “Your father sounds very wise.”

“Aye, he is. Was.” He smiled back, then cleared his throat gracefully. When next he spoke, the sand had been swept away, leaving only the natural warm rasp of his voice behind. “Thus why I am here, pursuing what has been so deemed as impossible. ‘Tis the least I can do for those we lost.”

“And those we can yet save,” she finished reflexively. He gave her a confused look. “You sound like a friend,” she explained.

“A beautiful saying,” he said admirably. “Your friend sounds very wise, as well.”

“She was,” she said, in unintentional mimicry, and that heart-achingly gentle look returned to his face in response.

“Did she have dreams of saving the world, as well?”

“She did. It’s why the Scions exist. Why we’re here, in essence.”

“Well,” Hien said. “Full glad am I for her generous aid, then, as well as yours.”

“Are you sure?” she questioned him suddenly, a smirk finding its way onto her lips. “No qualms with accepting the aid of a supposedly gods-blessed usurper who seduced her way onto a throne after failing to claim it legitimately through warfare?”

“A fair question,” Hien remarked, his expression brightening. “Do you have qualms with aiding a foreign prince arrogant enough to insert himself into a series of sacred rites in hopes of procuring an army with which to liberate the homeland he himself failed to protect?”

She giggled. Could not help herself, as the absurdity of both their situations dawned on her. “Sorry,” she said, going to cover her mouth, remembering her earlier folly with the Buduga trio. “Poor habit.”

Hien managed to surprise her once more as he answered by letting out a laugh himself, deep enough to jostle her slightly as his shoulders shook. “You are certainly one of a kind, my friend,” he declared. “Of that, there is no doubt. I can see why the Buduga and Oronir find you so intimidating.”

She cleared her throat, slightly embarrassed. “Hardly,” she replied, with a light roll of her eyes. On another whim, she pushed her shoulder lightly against his for his jest, and smiled when he laughed again.

She had never iterated her story to anyone, she realized then. Not even to the Scions, who had only recently even learned her true name. How strange that, guided by a fit a nostalgia here in the middle of her long-ago homeland, she would share it with someone who, for all intents and purposes, still counted as a stranger.

A stranger, who seemed to understand only too well what guided her, fool dreamer that she was.

As they calmed, Hien smiled down at her, and his warmth she felt through her sleeve was reflected ten-fold in his eyes. “T’would be an honor to have you at my side in our fight for freedom, my friend,” he said, his expression sweet as boortsog. “I do not believe I can imagine anyone else, in truth.” His grin turned toothy as he returned her previous motion and gently returned her gesture of touching his shoulder to hers. “Questionable repute notwithstanding.”

“I assume that means I will be able to count on your support, then, when the Buduga inevitably bring forth their claims against me to the other clans?” she asked, half sarcastic. The prince chuckled.

“Rest assured that my word and blade will be yours to use against your detractors if they are so needed.” He sealed his declaration with the respectful lowering of his chin to his chest, another jesting display that somehow managed to convey sincerity all the same. “On my honor as your comrade and a warrior of the Mol, dear khagun.”

“Then it is only fair, I suppose, to pledge my stave to you in turn, as fellow warrior and khagun,” she offered. “At least until your country is yours again.” With a mild flourish of her fingers, her stave materialized in hand, its polished wood and delicate filigree gleaming under the moonlight. She held it out before them and waited, pleased when Hien understood enough to grab his blade, his expression curious. As he held it out to mimic her own, she tapped her weapon to his, the silver filigree marking her stave pinging satisfactorily off of the gold lining his sheath. “A gesture of fellowship,” she explained, “and promise of solidarity. At least until this dream of yours is fulfilled, we walk in crimson together.” After all, you did help me fulfill mine.

“Another beautiful gesture, and one I take deeply to heart,” Hien said. His eyes fair sparkled. “I look forward to seeing the hosts of Garlean soldiers that will be running from your wind, rocks, and quality boulders.” Her answering grin was wide.

“Only the best for those I threaten to squish.”

S he stood on a precipice, as she had when it all ended . Her bones still ache d with the process of healing, her horns only having regrown most of their tips in the last several moons. It hurt to walk, to bend, to sit, and the daggers, the bow that were once extensions of her self, now shook within the hold of her hands.

And yet she lived. Against all odds, against the land itself , she breathed.

“Why?” she had asked Temulun. Her old khatun has smiled with a wisdom fit for a goddess.

“Star do not fade before first casting their light. Travelers cannot depart from a destination they have not reached.” Her smile had deepened. “Dreamers will never fully wake from a dream that has not been fulfilled.”

W hen she had held out her hand, Odzaya had felt no choice but to approach. Her spine had protested with every step, and more so when she had crouched near Temulun’s chair. She had closed her eyes in relief when the older woman’s hand had found her brow, cool to the touch against the heat of her forehead, already perspiring from the exhaustion of merely walking the several fulms she had. “I am hardly in a state to travel, eji,” she had said with a self-deprecating smile.

Temulun’s eyes crinkled . “So you say, my dear.”

“Magnai said he does not wish to marry me,” she had blurted suddenly, her skin itching for reasons for reasons she could not name. “That I should leave here. Leave the Steppe.”

Temulun rubbed her fingers against her diadem of scales, soothing. “He sees you for what you are. Even his eyes, so taken by the light of the Sun, cannot deny the truth.”

“What truth?” she had asked.

“That you are no moon, my dear, however beautiful,” Temulun had said. “You shine on your own, brighter than any jewel, any singular body.”

S he had swallowed hard. “Maybe once, eji. Not now .” And then laughed, the sound choked quiet with tears. “I cannot even fly, anymore.”

Again Temulun had smiled. “So you say, my dear.”

“What should I do?” she had asked, suddenly, feeling lost, like the tiny Raen girl she once had been, unknowing of her origins. No beginning, she had thought. And now no end. “Can you tell me? Can the gods?”

“The gods are always speaking, Odzaya,” her eji had said, then, and her eyes had fairly glowed with love. “You are better equipped to hear them than you think.”

She stood on a precipice, as she had at the end . But the end of what? An engagement, a season, an era. A dream, never fulfilled.

But maybe not herself, as she had originally thought.

In the corners of her mind, she heard a voice, quiet and gentle. Come, it said, and when she sought its origin, she found herself facing the direction of the far-distant sea.

She stood on a precipice, as she had at the end. This time, she would not fall, she would leap.

Leap, and let herself dream again.

#hien rijin #odzaya malaguld #ffxiv fic #ffxiv #stormblood #storytime #otp: fool dreamers #first fic woo!#about two dorky babes who don't know how to stop caring

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