Kai Parker

It was probably the fact that she was in a corner booth, not well lit, that he hadn't seen her before he started to run his mouth. What else did he do but run his mouth? Some things just never changed, and it would always burn her that he'd been given the chance to come back and be Kai once more without, like...eternal punishment in a hell dimension or something.

"I'm bored," she mocked loudly from her seat. "Mommy, entertain me. Tell me I'm a special little guy and pat me on the head. Bitch, get a hobby." Liv's words were slurred but more than understandable. "Or a job. Maybe the Mikaelsons need a footstool or something."

"Why are you here anyway?" He frowned. "Shouldn't you be - I don't know. Out doing grandma things or something?"

She took the empty stool beside him like she owned it, set her own glass down with a soft, deliberate clink, and flagged the bartender with two fingers without breaking stride. Something dark and non-glowing, thanks. Then—only then—did she angle her gaze toward Kai like she was finally acknowledging a noise she’d decided was beneath her.

“Wow,” she said flatly. “The city survives apocalypses, timeline fractures, and fae politics—and somehow you still make it everyone else’s problem that you’re bored.”

Her eyes flicked to the faint glow in his drink, unimpressed.

“Love the ambiance, by the way. Really subtle. Nothing says ‘I am emotionally stable and safe to be around’ like neon magic in a glass at a neutral bar.”

She leaned back against the counter, crossing her arms, finally looking at him properly now. The resemblance was there—annoyingly so. Same Parker sharpness. Same mouth that looked built to say things that ruined people’s days.

“And behaving yourself?” Rory scoffed. “That’s adorable. Is that what we’re calling it when you don’t actively start a massacre for, like, thirty whole minutes?”

The bartender slid her drink over. Rory took a sip, then winced.

“God, this is terrible,” she muttered. Then, to Kai: “You know, you say you’re bored like that’s a tragedy and not… your natural state when you’re not destroying lives for sport.”

She angled her body toward him now, voice dropping just enough to make it personal.

“But sure,” Rory added dryly, lifting her glass in a mock toast. “Let’s all pray the universe survives Kai Parker having a boring night.”

"In fact - I didn't even try to murder Liv again after coming back. So really, you wouldn't even have had the chance to have been born if I hadn't been behaving myself." He argued.

She glanced sideways at him, slow, assessing, then took a small sip of her drink.

“That,” she said mildly, “sounds like a you problem. And historically, your ‘I’m bored’ phases tend to become everyone else’s emergency.”

Her eyes flicked to the faintly glowing cocktail and the umbrella now marooned in it. A brow lifted. “Also, I’m pretty sure whatever’s in that glass is violating at least three health codes and one basic principle of self-preservation.”

She set her glass down, turning her body just enough to face him without crowding his space. Not wary. Not impressed. Just… present. “If you came here with the intention of behaving,” she added, tone dry, “you picked the wrong beverage to back that up.”

A beat. Then, softer — amused despite herself:

“So what flavor of bored are we talking about? Harmless whining… or ‘someone should probably hide the sharp objects’?”

He eyed his drink once more before sliding it to the side and spinning his stool to face her. "I'm not whining." Kai whined out. "Sharp objects do sound very tempting, but... I don't know, Abigail. I just need to find something to do." He shrugged once. "I'm getting... antsy."

Yeah. That explained the vibe.

He didn’t look over right away. Old habit — you didn’t make eye contact with chaos until you were sure you wanted to acknowledge it. But Kai’s running commentary had a way of filling space whether you invited it or not.

“Herbs are always a gamble,” Joey said eventually, voice low and even, eyes still on his own glass. “Either they taste like someone cared… or like the bartender lost a bet.”

He finally glanced sideways, just enough to clock the umbrella, the glow, the theatrical sigh. The assessment was quick, instinctive: trouble-adjacent, bored, a little too comfortable with magic in public.

“You came to behave and picked a bar on neutral ground?” He huffed a quiet breath, not quite a laugh. “That’s like saying you’re on a diet and ordering the dessert menu first.”

Joey took a slow sip, set his glass down with deliberate care. “If you’re bored, you’ve got options,” he added. “People-watch quietly. Talk to the bartender. Leave before the night decides to give you a personality test you didn’t study for.”

A beat. His gaze flicked to the glowing drink again, then back to Kai, steady and unimpressed.

“Or,” he said, tone mild, “you can keep announcing your intentions to behave and let the universe take it as a personal challenge.”

"What better place to behave than somewhere with so much temptation to do otherwise?" He questioned and grinned, finally looking over at the man. "Ooh, dessert... I should think of something for later." He muttered before shaking his head and bringing his thoughts back from their roaming.

"People-watch? Ew. That sounds the opposite of interesting or exciting, Little Bro. And I'm pretty sure the bartender is tired of listening to me talk to him. Man has absolutely no taste in good movies or music, I swear." He shook his head.

Not because of the glowing drink — though, yeah, that helped — but because Kai had a way of occupying space like it was a stage he’d never agreed to audition for but somehow still owned. Kolton paused just inside the bar, took in the scene in one sweep (neutral ground, low tension, bad glamour, worse music), then slid onto the empty stool one seat over.

He set his own glass down — mercifully non-glowing — and eyed Kai’s drink with open suspicion.

“Bold of you to say ‘behave’ in a place that serves beverages with ambient light,” Kolton said dryly. “That feels like false advertising at best and a dare at worst.”

He tipped his head toward the cocktail umbrella, watching it bob.

“You know the bartender’s going to remember you as ‘the problem with props,’ right?” A beat. “Actually, no. That’s probably already your brand.”

Kolton took a sip of his drink, winced faintly, then rolled his wrist like he could shake the taste out of his mouth.

“Herbs in alcohol should be a crime,” he added. “I don’t care how artisanal it claims to be.”

His gaze drifted over the room again, casual, alert, then back to Kai — mouth curved in that familiar, dangerous hint of amusement.

“So,” Kolton said lightly, “what kind of bored are we talking about? The ‘I need conversation’ bored, or the ‘I’m about to make this everyone else’s problem’ bored?”

The heretic rose his glowing drink to his lips and sipped for a moment, biting back a wince of his own as he sat the glass back down. "They're not too bad once you get used to them. Suck when you get one in your mouth though; but if you can avoid that - they're pretty good at boosting the flavor." He shrugged.

He cut a glance at the male's questioning and hummed as he spun on his bar stool. "I haven't decided yet." He answered honestly. "It's not fair though. Everyone else gets to pretty much do as they want. Yet, tap a person's neck like a party keg and you're suddenly the one in the wrong. Like, no one else has to go on a diet around here. And it's not like most of us can't feed and keep people alive at the same time..." Kai grumbled and spun back to face Kolton.

"What do you think, kid? You for or against all these anti-vampire policies this place has?" He questioned bluntly.

“bonding through mutual poor impulse control,” she drawled. “tragic. happens to the best of us.”

at his question about the shadows, her gaze flicked upward again, eyes tracking the way they coiled and held, obedient in their disobedience. her jaw tightened just a fraction — not annoyance, not threat. acknowledgment.

“layers,” she said simply. “old commands braided with newer ones. fear helps. respect works better.” a pause, then a glance back at him. “and before you ask — no, they don’t listen to you.”

his comment about not being able to clock her earned him a low, amused huff. violet uncrossed her arms and took one deliberate step closer, heat rolling off her like a living thing.

“that’s because i’m not trying to be seen,” she said. “and you’re not asking the right questions.”

gold flickered brighter beneath her skin — not fire, not threat. presence. something ancient settling its weight just enough that the Court itself seemed to lean in.

“violet,” she added, like the name itself was optional. “and trust me — the guards appreciate you choosing not to eat them. paperwork’s a nightmare.”

she circled him slowly, boots clicking once, twice against obsidian, studying him the way predators did when deciding whether something was interesting enough to keep alive.

“you wanted to go the other direction,” she repeated. “and ended up here instead.”

her gaze snapped back to his, sharp with interest.

“that wasn’t the guards, kai. the Court rerouted you.” a beat. then, lighter — but no less dangerous: “it does that when it smells curiosity wrapped in chaos.”

she stopped in front of him again, close but not crowding.

“so,” violet said, head tilting. “you’re either here to learn something you’re not supposed to… or to prove to yourself you’re not afraid of places that bite back.”

a crooked smile. teeth, just barely.

“good news is — you’re still breathing.” bad news went unspoken. “which means it hasn’t decided yet.”

"Ooh, Curiosity wrapped in chaos? I like that - I'm coining that." The heretic remarked. "Seriously, though, I don't know where I am or what I'm doing here. I just wandered... and now I'm talking to you... whoever Violet's supposed to be. Or whatever." He stated. He narrowed his gaze, mulling over her remark that he wasn't asking the right questions.

The force knocked the breath out of Luke’s lungs in a sharp, panicked gasp, his back hitting the obsidian wall hard enough to rattle his teeth. His hands came up on instinct, gripping Kai’s wrists not to fight—just to stop him from getting closer, eyes wide and unfocused with sudden fear.

“Kai—!”

The shove sent him stumbling sideways, boots scraping against the floor as he barely stayed upright. His chest burned as he dragged in air, heart pounding so violently it felt like it might tear free.

He didn’t move when Kai released him. Didn’t speak. Didn’t breathe right.

When Kai collapsed against the wall instead, Luke stayed frozen where he was, shoulders tight, magic buzzing under his skin like a live wire he didn’t trust himself to touch.

“I—no,” Luke said finally, voice rough, uneven. “That’s not—whatever you’re talking about, that didn’t happen to me.”

He swallowed hard, forcing himself to keep his eyes on Kai even though every instinct screamed not to.

“I don’t know what you think you remember,” he said, breath still shaky. “But it wasn’t me. I didn’t do anything to you. I didn’t challenge you. I didn’t try to stop you.”

His hands lowered slowly, fingers curling into fists at his sides.

“I don’t know why you’re saying I should be dead,” Luke continued, quieter now but firm. “I’m standing right here. I’m breathing. I’m not—” he hesitated, then shook his head. “I’m not whatever you think I am.”

Kai muttered to himself, unraveling, and Luke flinched at the sound—but held his ground.

“You’re seeing something that isn’t happening,” Luke said. “Maybe this place is messing with you. Maybe you’re mixing things up. But I’m real.”

A beat.

“And when you grabbed me just now?” His voice cracked despite himself. “That’s why I’m scared.”

Not judgment. Not accusation.

Just truth.

“I need you to stay away from me,” Luke said quietly. “Because I don’t know what you’re going to do next.”

He stayed where he was—tense, breathing hard, very much alive— watching Kai with careful, wary eyes, waiting to see which way this broke.

“I know you didn’t,” he said flatly. “That’s the messed-up part.” His jaw tightened, words grinding out like they hurt to say. “You didn’t challenge me. You didn’t step up. You didn’t try to be a hero. And my brain keeps trying to shove you into the same shape anyway.” His fingers curled against the floor, nails biting into stone. “Because the Luke in my head won’t shut up. Thirty years of him judging every thought I have, flinching when I think about blood, feeling bad about things I used to be very efficient at not caring about - constantly in the back of my mind like he evicted the voice that used to live there and cheer 'Go, Kai, Go' when I stabbed someone.”

He glanced at Luke then - quick, sharp, assessing; not fond, not soft. Real. Alive. Wrong in a way that made his chest twist. “The one I merged with fought me,” Kai said. “He pushed back. He made himself part of me; thought he could win.” His mouth pulled into something ugly. “You’re just…standing there. Breathing.” A huff of air escaped him. “My head keeps telling me one of you is a mistake.”

Silence stretched. Kai didn’t move from the ground.

“I know that you're real,” he added, slower now, deliberate. “But, my instincts don’t know what to do with you.” He shifted, planting his boots more firmly as he curled into himself and brought his knees to his chest. “I grabbed you because for half a second I thought if I proved you were solid - if I tore out your throat, it’d shut him up.” His eyes flicked away again. “It didn’t. I couldn't do it anyway. He stopped me. Or, I stopped me. I don't even know anymore.”

He paused once more. “Oh - long story. Heretic now. Happened not too long after we Merged, honestly.” He explained offhandedly. After a moment, he looked at him with a begrudging scoff, “I won’t touch you again. Well... maybe.” No apology wrapped around it, just fact.

The chuckle. The frayed edges under the sarcasm. The way he said niece like it scraped something raw on the way out. She clocked all of it without comment, her expression barely shifting except for the faint tightening at the corners of her eyes.

“Yeah,” she said evenly, “you scream ‘sentimental.’ Nothing says family man like lurking in alleys talking about snacks.”

His monologue earned him exactly one slow blink. That was it. No visible reaction to the vampire logistics, the missing-people math, the casual cruelty wrapped in humor. Roxy had grown up around worse truths delivered with kinder voices.

When he finished, she pushed off the wall just enough to stand fully upright — not advancing, not retreating. Present. Deliberate.

“Good,” she said simply. “Because I wasn’t planning on unsheathing anything tonight.”

A pause. Then, dry as bone:

“And if you’re hungry, you picked the wrong neighborhood. People here notice when someone doesn’t come home. Even the ones pretending they don’t care.”

Her gaze held his, steady and unflinching.

“But let’s be clear,” she added, voice low, all the humor burned off now. “I don’t care what you aren’t here for. I care what you are going to do when you leave.”

Another beat.

“You don’t touch anyone connected to Riley,” Roxy said. Not a threat. A boundary. “Not directly. Not indirectly. Not as collateral damage in one of your existential spirals.”

The wolf stirred — not snarling, just there, a quiet promise under her skin.

“And if you’re looking for permission to exist quietly in her orbit?” She tilted her head, studying him like a bad photograph that didn’t quite lie but didn’t tell the whole truth either. “That’s between you and her. Not me.”

She exhaled, slow.

“So yeah,” Roxy finished, folding her arms again — grounding, steady. “We can keep claws and fangs sheathed.”

A faint, dangerous curve touched her mouth.

“Just don’t make me regret agreeing.”

“Relax,” he drawled, hands lifting a fraction in something that almost passed for compliance. “If I wanted permission to go feral, I wouldn’t be chatting you up first.” His gaze slid back to her eyes, sharp and assessing. “And for the record, I said niece because that’s the word; not because I scrapbook birthdays or bake cookies shaped like werewolves.” A beat. “Trust me. If I were sentimental, this conversation would be going very differently.”

He shifted his weight, casual on the surface — coiled underneath. “Riley’s fine,” Kai went on lightly, like he was talking about the weather and not a person who anchored far more of his conscience than he cared to admit. “Annoyingly fine. Stubborn, mouthy, very invested in pretending she’s indestructible.” His eyes flicked briefly, unconsciously, toward the direction Riley would be if she were anywhere nearby; then back to Roxy. “Which tells me she picked you because you don’t hover. Or because you do. Hey - don't look at me like that, I don't know her.”

A thin smile cut across his face. “Good boundary, by the way. The ‘don’t touch anyone connected to Riley’ thing.” He let the words hang, then added, softer but sharper, “You don’t need to worry about collateral damage from me where she’s concerned. I’ve already learned that lesson the hard way.” No apology there; just fact, etched deep enough to scar. “Besides - I told my friend and my sister both that I'd try to behave myself...”

“i’m not one of the usual suspects,” hanae agreed. “but i’m not an anomaly either.” a pause, thoughtful. “i’m a celestial kitsune. i listen to things that predate courts. i remind old magic of what it was before it learned how to be cruel.” she tipped her head, studying him the way one might study a storm cloud—curious, not afraid. “and you,” she added, “are exactly the kind of person this court enjoys pulling apart. not because you’re weak—” her eyes flicked, sharp and knowing, “—but because you joke when you’re cornered, and it wants to know what you’re hiding behind that.”

closer now in tone, not distance. “so if you’re going to keep poking around,” hanae said softly, “do it with your eyes open. this place doesn’t punish curiosity.” her foxfire warmed the air between them again, just enough to be felt. “it collects it.” then, with the faintest curve of a smile—sharp, amused, not unkind. “and if it decides you’re interesting enough to keep?” she shrugged. “well. i suppose you’ll find out whether that’s inconvenient… or illuminating.”

He rocked back on his heels, hands slipping into his pockets like that alone might keep the place from taking notes. “For the record, I do not just joke when I am corner. I am not cornered. I'm just a naturally funny guy. Ask anyone.” He watched the foxfire dance at her fingertips for a moment. “Whatever this is,” he gestured vaguely at the foxfire, “feels like the kind of magic that judges you for asking the wrong follow-up questions. And I already have enough voices in my head without adding an ancient cosmic HR department.”

His gaze sharpened a fraction, humor thinning but not vanishing. “So wait, what's a... fox... thing, doing in a land of fairies? Don't you have your own magical world or something?”

she stepped closer, not crowding him, just enough that he couldn’t pretend she wasn’t there. “but hear me on this, kai. it’s not that i think everyone you hurt is innocent. it’s that every time you decide you get to be judge, jury, executioner—you’re letting dad win. you’re letting him decide what you are.” her eyes softened, fierce and sad all at once. “and i refuse to believe you survived all of that just to become his echo.” his fear—real fear, raw and jagged—didn’t go unnoticed. jo’s tone gentled when she said, “you’re right about one thing. you should never be locked away again. not in a prison world, not in a cage built out of everyone else’s expectations.” she swallowed. “what happened before wasn’t justice. it was fear. and i won’t be part of that again.”

when he spoke about love—halting, uncertain, poisoned by doubt—something in her chest ached. “you did love,” jo said quietly. “you don’t have to put a question mark on it just because it didn’t look like anyone else’s. hatred doesn’t come from nothing, kai. it comes from caring twisted by pain.” her gaze followed the lanterns for a moment, then returned to him. “you don’t owe me proof. you don’t owe anyone redemption on a deadline. all i’m asking is this—when you feel that urge to burn the world down, pause. choose something else. not because i said so. but because you can.” she didn’t reach for him. she let the choice be his. “you’re not broken beyond repair,” jo said, steady as bedrock. “you’re angry. you’re scared. you’re grieving a childhood that taught us all the wrong lessons.” a breath. “and whether you believe it yet or not… you’re still my brother. i’m not giving up on you. not today.”

He wasn't blind to his part in everything. He knew the first Prison World had been the only punishment his coven could decide fitting enough after what he had done to get his father's attention. He knew the second Prison World had been a bittersweet punishment for what he had put Bonnie through when she was trapped with him - yet he still felt bitter that she hadn't even considered the Merge might have changed him. And the third? Well, that one was just unnecessary. At least Ric sent him some company for that one.

He shifted his weight, hands loose at his sides instead of folded in on himself. “You’re right about Dad.” The admission cost him; it showed in the way his jaw set. “But here’s the thing nobody ever says out loud: when everyone’s waiting for you to prove you’re a monster, sometimes it's easier to play the part and prove them right; rather than try to convince them of something they won't believe.” His gaze slid away again, tracking the lanterns as they scattered, some rising clean, others guttering out. “Feelings are... messy.”

He looked back to her then, really looked; not searching for absolution, not bracing for a lecture. “I can try to pause,” he said quietly. “I can try to choose something else.” He gave her the smallest shrug. “Just don’t ask me to trust the whole Mystic Falls miracle machine on day one. If you’re not giving up, fine - but I’m not signing a blank check either.” The lantern nearest them bobbed, steadied, and lifted. Kai let it go without touching it. “We’ll call this… not burning the world down. Tonight.”

she leaned one shoulder against a pillar, completely unbothered by the way the shadows twitched closer at her back. “and don’t lie to me. if you weren’t terrified, you wouldn’t be talking this much. this is, like, textbook kai parker panic banter. next you’ll be making jokes about murder or asking if anyone’s got snacks.” a beat. her brow arched. “also—‘studying’?” she snorted. “last time you ‘studied’ something, a coven died and we all needed therapy. so forgive me if i don’t buy the casual academic vibe.” she pushed off the pillar and stepped closer, voice dropping just enough to bite. “good news is, the sentient shadows already judged you. bad news? they agree with me.” then, crooked grin, sharp as hell— “now come on. before you lick a ward or accidentally start a prophecy. again.”

He tipped his head toward her, grin sharpening because she’d nailed him and they both knew it. “Okay, maybe, panic banter is happening. But that’s not fear, that’s… advanced situational awareness mixed with charm.” He paused. “And snacks would genuinely help. Blood sugar is important for emotional regulation; don’t let that mother of yours trick you into thinking otherwise.” His eyes flicked to the twitching shadows, then back to Riley. “Also, I resent the implication that every time I ‘study,’ a coven dies. I've only killed one coven, thank you.”

When she stepped closer, Kai’s grin softened just a fraction - still cocky, still reckless, but threaded with something more careful than he liked to admit. “Wow, judged by sentient shadows and my niece in the same afternoon,” he sighed. “This is what growth looks like, right? Being roasted by the next generation and the older generation? Thought that was supposed to only be a Millennial thing.” He pushed off the pillar she’d abandoned, deliberately turning away from the most aggressively whispering sigil. “Fine. Lead the way. I promise not to lick anything. Maybe.”

He fell into step beside her, voice dropping into something quieter and real through the cracks. “But just so we’re clear - if I didn’t come back from places like this, everyone would assume I was dead, again.” He gave the woman a crooked, sideways glance. “Can’t have that. Right. Come on, Lockwood. Save your uncle from himself before the nightmares start charging rent.”

she stepped away from the pillar then, letting the shadows rearrange themselves around her like they’d been waiting for permission. at his heretic reveal, her foxfire flickered—not in alarm, but in the kind of intrigued recognition one predator might offer another with good table manners. “mm,” she hummed, tipping her head. “vampire, witch, chaos, ego… yes, i felt all that.” the way she said it wasn’t cruel, just startlingly observational—like describing the weather or the flavor of tea. at his question, her gaze swept the glowing runes, the jagged obsidian arches, the shadows that curled like living ink.

“what exactly is this place?” she repeated, as though tasting the phrasing. then—soft, wry, a little too honest. “the court of nightmares is what happens when you give an ancient, traumatized chunk of land too much sentience and not enough therapy.” she walked a slow circle around him, not predatory—evaluating. “it tests people,” she continued. “judges them. listens to what they don’t say. it’s not a court meant to be understood. it’s meant to reveal things.” her eyes glinted gold, foxfire stirring at her fingertips. “and it seems very interested in you.” she paused, leaned in just a fraction—not touching, but close enough for her foxfire to warm the air between them like a secret. “so tell me, kai parker,” she said softly, “when you poked around the other courts… did any of them poke back?” a beat. “because this one will.”

He followed her gaze as she spoke of testing and revealing, jaw tightening just a fraction. “Yeah,” Kai murmured, thoughtful now, “that tracks. Every time I walk into a room that claims it’s ‘ancient’ and ‘sentient,’ it usually means I’m about to learn something deeply inconvenient about myself.” A pause; his eyes glinted with wry honesty. “I couldn't tell you about the other courts. This is the first one I decided to start poking around in. Don't I know how to pick 'em?” His shoulders lifted in a small shrug.

When she leaned in, Kai didn’t retreat, but he didn’t close the distance either. He breathed in slowly, like he was grounding himself on purpose, voice dropping a notch. “What are you?” He finally questioned. “Because you can't just be one of the usual suspects...”

Not because she startled him - she didn’t. She moved like the room already belonged to her, like the shadows parted out of respect rather than instinct, and that alone pulled his attention the way gravity does when it decides to rearrange your priorities.

But because the wards…the sigils…the Court itself… They liked him?

He glanced at the pillar, which pulsed brighter like an overeager heartbeat tattling on every stupid impulse he’d had in the last five minutes. His mouth worked for a second before he got actual words out.

“Oh. Great. Fantastic. I always wanted ancient cosmic warning systems to have a crush on me.”

He rocked back on his heels, hands sliding into his pockets like he needed somewhere to put the jitter of energy she hadn’t caused but had definitely amplified. Her presence felt... different. Like she operated on a frequency he wasn’t built to process but couldn’t stop trying to decipher.

Her foxfire brushed the air and his magic flared in response - curious, unsettled, alert.

“You’re…not human,” he said, not accusatory, more awed confusion. “You feel like magic and moonlight had a baby and then taught it manners.” He winced. “That sounded better in my head.”

She crouched beside the sigils and they actually calmed. Kai stared at that, then at her, then at the sigils again, finally pointing at them like a man accusing a very cute dog of betrayal.

“So they listen to you. But when I touch them, it’s ‘sound the alarms, this idiot has ideas.’ Cool. Love that journey for me.”

Despite the words, something in him eased. She made the space feel less predatory and more…curious. Like the Court itself had paused to watch instead of prepare to swallow him whole. He shifted and gave her a crooked, half-embarrassed smile.

“For the record, I wasn’t trying to snack on anything. I don’t even know what a magical stabilizer tastes like. Probably metallic. Maybe spicy.”

she rose from her crouch with a fluid ease, her gaze drifted to the sigils he pointed at, expression fond in a way that suggested she might have had this conversation—this dynamic—more times than she could count across centuries of curious mortals. “and you’re right,” hanae continued, tilting her head. “you weren’t trying to snack on anything.” a beat. “you just have the look of someone who might. on a dare.” she said it kindly, like it wasn’t an insult at all—just a truth she found endearing.

when he said she wasn’t human, something in her posture softened, shoulders easing into a familiarity she rarely allowed. “no,” she admitted, voice warm as dusk light. “i’m not. but i try to be polite, when i can.” her smile grew—not bright, but genuine, touched with a shy curve he hadn’t earned so much as coaxed out of her by simply being… him. “and you?” hanae asked softly, stepping closer to the sigils so their glow reflected along her cheek. “you feel like someone who burns at both ends and hasn’t decided if that’s a blessing or a warning.”

her eyes flicked to his, gold catching in the shadows. “the wards respond to intention, danger,” she added. “they react to curiosity, to chaos, to… possibility.” her gaze dipped to his hands, then back up. “and you have a great deal of that.” she let the moment settle, then—light as stardust—added. “for the record, stabilizers taste like cold starlight and regret. not spicy.”

When she returned his remark to him, he smirked just slightly enough to show the amusement he felt at her vagueness. "Not human either. Heretic - vampire with witch power." He explained. He didn't respond about burning at both ends. Instead, he gave her a small scoffing sound and shook his head.

He walked anyway, boots clicking on the glossy floor as he passed a cluster of pillars etched with silver sigils. They pulsed faintly - too faintly, in a way that almost made it worse - and he crouched beside one despite every instinct telling him to keep moving. "Okay, see, this is exactly the sort of thing I’m not supposed to touch," he muttered to himself, leaning in anyway. "Hm. They look like stabilizing wards. Or warnings. Or… really intense interior décor? I mean, who am I to judge? I’ve lived in worse apartments. Well, not worse, exactly - just, you know, more murder-chic." He trailed off, clicked his tongue, then straightened abruptly. "Right. Focus. Don’t lick the magic. Even if it's screaming at me to do so."

He hadn't even made it through the cavernous hallway and into the Court proper when the sound of footsteps echoed from deeper within the hall - slow, confident, unmistakably belonging to someone who wasn’t fazed by the ambient nightmare aesthetic.

Kai pivoted so quickly he almost tripped over his own boots, then immediately tried to play it off with a smile that carried equal parts charm and please ignore that. "Oh," he blurted. "Hi. Sorry. I’m not vandalizing anything. Or summoning anything. Or… anything-ing anything." A pause as he gestured weakly at the sigils. "I was just, uh - studying. Casually. Like a normal person who absolutely isn’t terrified of being judged by sentient shadows. How’s your night going?"

( @darkskiesrpgstarters )

wings weren’t visible, but the presence of them was — that hush of air, that heat, that sense of a predator coiling itself into a human shape. her boots clicked once against the obsidian before she stilled, arms crossing loosely as she watched him stumble through his excuses.

“hm,” she said, head tilting as her golden eyes dragged slowly from the sigils… to his hands… to the doorway he’d nearly tripped over. “you say you’re not summoning anything like someone who is absolutely two seconds away from summoning something.”

she stepped closer — unhurried, assessing, amused in a way that made it unclear whether she planned to scold him or bite him. maybe both.

“and for the record?” she added, glancing up at the ceiling where the shadows rippled like they were holding their breath. “these aren’t sentient shadows. sentient implies they have self-control.”

her eyes snapped back to him, embers flickering briefly beneath her skin.

“nightmares here take whatever shape they think you can’t handle.” a beat, her gaze narrowing with wicked interest. “so… this should be fun.”

she stopped just in front of him — close enough for the heat of her to chase away the Court’s cold edges — and flicked a finger lightly against one of the sigils he’d been inspecting.

“you shouldn’t touch these,” she murmured. “they bite.”

a beat.

“i mean, i bite too,” her mouth twitched into a smirk, “but at least you see me coming.”

her voice softened then, losing none of its edge, just settling into something warmer. something that recognized him — his chaos, his curiosity, the crackling potential under his nerves.

“relax, heretic. if this place wanted you dead, you wouldn’t have made it past the first archway.”

she leaned in slightly — not threatening, just… close.

“now tell me the truth,” violet said, eyes gleaming. “are you here because you were curious? or because you were bored enough to hope something tried to eat you?”

When he finally spoke, his voice was distant.

"You're not supposed to be here." The words were sharp and carried with them an almost accusatory tone - as if he was lecturing a child for misbehaving. "No.. No you aren't - you can't." He stammered out and shook his head.

He couldn't even bring himself to fire a smart remark at Luke's empathetic concern towards his well-being and misplaced sense of curiosity. The question hit him harder than he liked - the genuine concern in Luke's words feeling heavier than mountains of bricks. "N-No!" He stated. "I am not okay. You can't be here. I killed you. Not like Joey or our other siblings - no, you should be dead dead. The Merge - I won. There shouldn't be a you to be here right now!" He remarked and stumbled backwards a few steps.

How could Luke stand there in front of him when he clearly felt his influence fracturing him from the inside out still? It didn't make any sense - less so than the recent resurrections already made little sense.

"I've finally lost it." Kai laughed suddenly. "Or it's this place. What do they call it 'Court of Nightmares'? That has to be it - a nightmare of some sort." He stepped towards Luke now. "Because you can't be there -" He pointed vigorously at the spot his brother stood, "- when you're still here." He tapped his own skull several times.

Kai stepping toward him— Kai pointing at him— Kai talking about killing him—

All of it slammed into him like a childhood nightmare suddenly wearing adult teeth.

“No—Kai, stop.” The words tumbled out fast, breathless, instinctive.

He didn’t move forward this time. He backed up—a sharp, startled shift of weight, sneakers scraping on obsidian, eyes wide.

“Kai, listen to me,” Luke said, voice thin but steadying as he forced himself to breathe. “I don’t know what version of events you’re talking about, but it wasn’t me. I didn’t merge with you. I’m not the one you killed.”

His pulse thudded painfully in his throat.

“You’re seeing—something else. Some other timeline. Some other version. But I’m Luke. Liv’s twin. Your—” he swallowed hard, “—brother. Little brother.”

Kai tapped his skull again, frantic. Luke flinched—hands coming up between them not in aggression, but pure reflex.

“I’m real,” Luke said quickly. “I’m real and I’m alive and whatever happened to the version of me you’re remembering—that wasn’t me.”

Kai kept muttering, laughing, spiraling.

Luke’s breath stuttered.

“This place is messing with your head,” he said, trying to keep his voice even. “It wants you off-balance. It wants you confused. But you’re not—” He hesitated. He softened—just a fraction. “You’re not hallucinating a ghost.”

He held up both hands, palms open, a physical please don’t carved into the gesture.

“You didn’t kill me,” Luke repeated, firmer now. “I’m not dead. I’m not supposed to be dead. I’m from before all of that.”

Kai stepped toward him again.

Luke’s magic flickered for the first time, instinctively defensive under his skin.

“Kai—stop. Please.” His voice cracked—not with pity, not with affection— but with the kind of fear people carried from the age of four and never fully shook.

“I’m not here to haunt you,” he whispered. “I’m not your Merge. I’m not your victim. I’m not the Luke you killed.”

Another breath—uneven.

“And I need you to stop looking at me like you expect me to disappear.”

In a single, blurred movement Kai stood in front of Luke - hands tightly gripping the male's shirt as he glared down at him with blackened veins and bloodshot eyes. "Come on..." He muttered, but remained motionless. "It's right. There. Just...Argh!" Kai released Luke with a shove. That same hesitation - the one that had kept him from taking that final step against Olivia back then - now stood in his way from tearing into his baby brother's neck. The veins slowly faded as Kai sank away and collapsed against the nearby wall.

“Well,” he said, voice light but edged with a glint that didn’t quite match the softness of the word, “if you were somewhere you shouldn’t be, you’d know. There’d be… you know.” He twirled his fingers vaguely, conjuring invisible fireworks. “Screaming, running, probably me making a dramatic entrance with something on fire. The usual.”

He pushed off the cabinet and drifted a few steps closer; not threatening, just curious, the way a cat wanders toward a noise it already understands. His eyes skimmed her posture, her breathing, her pulse at her throat - human, clearly, and trying very hard to be brave. Something about that quiet bravery tugged at him in a place he never liked admitting existed.

“Relax. You’re not trespassing on my… spot,” he added, amused by her choice of word. “I don’t collect abandoned arcades. Yet.” A beat; he let his gaze flick to the flickering speaker as if it had personally offended him. “Honestly, if this were my hideout, I’d at least fix the ambience. Get a working jukebox. Maybe set up a bar. Something less serial-killer chic.”

He joked about screaming and fire like most people joked about the weather.

Great. Fantastic. Wonderful.

Her heart thumped harder, but she managed a tight, shaky smile anyway. “Okay, well… thank you for not setting anything on fire just to make a point,” she said, her voice a little breathless but steady enough to pass for brave. “I appreciate the… restraint.”

He moved closer and she tracked it without shifting her feet, though her fingers curled lightly at her sides like she was bracing for a jump scare.

“I mean—honestly?” She gestured at the dead machines around them. “If this were your hideout, I’d hope you’d have, like… a chair. Or a heater. Or… insulation.” Her nose wrinkled at a gust of cold air slipping under the cracked window. “This place feels like it’s never heard of central heat.”

A beat. Then her shoulders softened, just a little. He didn’t look like he was about to murder her — not immediately, anyway — and he hadn’t mocked her for being lost, which was more mercy than she usually got in this city.

She blew out a slow breath.

“I wasn’t trying to invade anything,” she added quietly. “I just—got turned around. Again.” A self-conscious laugh. “Seems to be my thing lately. Wrong streets, wrong doors, wrong… abandoned arcades.”

Her gaze flicked to him — blue eyes, sharper than someone who made jokes about ambience improvements. Definitely dangerous. Definitely aware of it.

“But if you’re not here to chase me out or light me on fire,” she said, attempting humor because her nerves demanded it, “then… could you maybe help me get back to a road that exists on a map? Any map? Preferably one that doesn’t shift when I blink?”

And softer, without meaning to:

“I really don’t want to be lost in here when the lights decide they hate me again.”