Hello! I've discovered recently the need to back up some of my worldbuilding and stories somewhere else besides Google Drive (especially when the school account you've procrastinated backing up for three years decides to lock you out yesterday).
I probably won't be posting full stories (bahaha bold of you to assume I have anything past chapter like... six... that isn't cringy), but I do write my stories in snippets and side-arcs so those will probably live here, or on my "Sketches in Ink" Wixsite (if I ever remember to maintain that one).
Anyways... oh dear, I did forget to do an intro, didn't I? Speed run~
--- updated January 2026 ---
Call me Skit! She/her. [Happy Cousin Prime]. Image bearer of an Awesome Creator. Musician. Science nerd. Writer. Artist.
I do the Words and I do the Art because the things that live in my head need somewhere to go so I can clear out space for other things. (Look, this school thing? It requires a lot of storage space and processing power up here.)
I used to be active on the PaperDemon ARPG/Community site under the username Scatteriskity. I loved investing in my fun band of adventurer trouble magnets there, but I miss dabbling in my old stories. With the sort of schedule I have now, I think I'm going to pick up some of my neglected projects and bring them slowly back to life again.
Flash Fiction Friday has been a fantastic thing I've found here that keeps my fingers limber and juices flowing. In fact, I use this account almost exclusively for FFF entries, though maybe one day I'll put some lore drops for other things as well.
Everything else about me is nothing that I think you'll find useful gleaning from this box. After all, where's the fun in dropping all the lore right away?
Thanks for visiting my little corner ^-^
-
[Link to a stories masterlist or something will go here. At some point. Yes, it's 2026 now and I still haven't made a list.]
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-verse: Off the Rails
Story: The Circadyne Succession
Heads-Up: Swap to Calireâs POV. Continuation of âHeat of the Momentâ, where a rivalry for the ages is forged⌠as well as some very high-powered Dyne users.Â
â
â... âback down, okay? Calire?â
Calire scrunched her eyes shut, then opened them again. Had they been open in the first place? She couldnât remember.Â
There had been that hot, brilliant, purifying blast that had coursed through her, like someone throwing open her bedroom curtains to reveal that it was already high noon. But unlike the startled-awake panic of sleeping in that normally followed, her brain was taking its sweet time dragging itself out of a deep, clingy fog.
The heat was still on her shoulders, which she realized came from Firsenâs hands. He was standing in front of her, watching her face carefully with part concern, part impatience, waiting for a sign of comprehension.
âMâsorry FiersâŚâ Calire mumbled, rubbing her face. âWhâwere you saying?â
Firsen glanced behind him. The discussion of the meeting had stalled.Â
Riiiiight. Weâre in the middle of a council meeting.Â
She had been sitting in the meeting and sorting her notes and⌠andâŚ
âDo you want water?â Firsen asked. âJust say yes.â
âUm⌠sure?â
âGreat. Go sit back down,â Firsen instructed, his eyes flickering through the faces in the crowd before they narrowed. Calire barely caught the briefest smirk on his lips before he patted her on the shoulder and turned around towards the door.Â
Hadnât he just gotten here? Where was he going?
Apparently someone else was wondering the same thing. A flurry of footsteps accompanied by the swishing of silk rushed up the stairs behind her. The youngest heiress of Melonykas. Calire had never seen her run before. Or any Chiro run, for that matter.
âNolixea,â her mother hissed as she passed by. âWhere do you think youâre going?â
The Chiro princess froze at the top of the steps, glancing between her mother and the door which Firsen had just gone through. âI wasâ because Firsen just left, and Iââ
âI didnât leave, I was coming right back.â Firsen reappeared in the doorway, holding a glass of water. He handed Calire the glass with two hands, which she accepted likewise, with two hands.Â
Out of the corner of her eye, Calire noticed Nolixea stiffen, as if she had just seen something incredibly improper. Using two hands was the standard display gesture for a favor between equals. Normally they just handed each other things with one hand with no regard for decorum.
Which meant he was performing, trying to make a point. And by the looks of it, Nolixea had not expected Calire to be on the same level.Â
So thatâs what Firsen was cooking up with that smirk. A serving of humble pie.
âI noticed she looked a little weak, maybe overheated when I came in,â Firsen explained. âShe said she wanted a glass of water. I was happy to get it for her.â
Calire nodded. That⌠actually seemed accurate. Maybe she was trying to get water. Even though she didnât remember having that conscious desire or decision, the intent still stuck in her mind. âThank you, Firsen.â
âYou got water for her?â Nolixea pointed at Calire, and Calire could just imagine how the princess was labeling her in her mind. Apprentice. Serving girl. Mid-tier.
Okay, maybe that was her own fault for wearing her plain clothes to this meeting.
âOh, did you want one too, Lixy?â Firsen asked. âSorry, I was in a bit of a rush. I just didnât want to make Lady Calire spend extra energy, since she already looked⌠a little unwell.â
Though his tone was light and cordial, there was something else in his burning stare, some unspoken half of the conversation completely missed by anyone not privy to their thoughts.Â
The way he had leaned in to emphasize her title also did not fly past unnoticed. He never used that title in everyday interaction. Now he was pulling rank on her behalf. She felt justified. Against what kind of wrong, she still didnât know, but she figured Firsen would let her know in private later.
The tension was fairly visible now, especially to Calireâs flare-reading ability..
Nolixeaâs jaw was set tight, her features still composed and elegant, but the Dyne flare she was giving off had all the subsurface simmer of a bitter, insidious brew..
Meanwhile, Firsenâs flare was fierce and territorial. It felt like the glow of a sword in the forge, ready to be shaped into something bright and deadly.
There was going to be drama. Very behind-the-scenes drama, Calire knew, based on how the two of them tried so hard to keep up appearances. Oddly enough, she was looking forward to being a spectator. Hopefully not too often caught in the crossfire.
Firsen took hold of Calireâs wrist and walked her back down to the seats, but not before whispering to Lixy as he passed,
âIf you donât know how to ask politely, then get your own drink, Princess.â
-verse: Off the Rails
Story: The Circadyne Succession (pre-canon)
Heads-Up: Overheated bat princess tries to brainwash bird girl to get her a glass of water, and dragonfly prince gets mad about it.
â
Good grief, this meeting was beyond boring.Â
And contributing to its mindnumbingly, voice-droningly, time-draggingly slow crawl was how warm it was.Â
A room full of high-cap Dyne users would do that, especially with half of them being Essents, and one of them â the most important one â the runix himself. The Dyne flare of those belonging to House Streykas tended to release heat, in the opposite manner that nobles of House Melonykas would suck warmth from a room.
Unfortunately, it did not cancel out. There were twice the number of Streykas nobles in attendance for every Melonykas representative. To be expected, of course, since House Streykas currently held the Crux.
Which meant every gathering always ran warm.
Still, Lixy added this to the growing list of reasons why her House should be running things instead.Â
Would anyone listen? Probably not.Â
There were still four years (and three siblings ahead of her) before she would be old enough to even have a seat in decision-making meetings. Until then, she would have to sweat it out in the corner and pretend to keep up with the proceedings.Â
What were they even debating now? The mines? Ugh, the one place she could imagine that would be hotter than this room. Just thinking about it made her sticky and uncomfortable. How strongly the urge seized her to roll up her sleevesâ but she knew sheâd get an earful from her mother later about exposing her Dyne markings in the middle of a gathering.Â
How inappropriate!
How scandalous!
How unnecessary!Â
It wasnât like she would even be using Dyne. If she did, sheâd have to roll up her sleeves. Using Dyne without displaying markings was considered uncourteous. Just as using Dyne openly in the middle of a meeting was impolite.
So many signals for so many situations, and an infinite number of ways to get the signs wrong.
Iâm going to MELT because of these dumb rules, Lixy stewed, looking around for a servant to fetch her a cold drink. Not a single one in sight.
Seriously? Theyâre all out of the room right now?
Lixy knew they were probably attending to the adults, but so great was her irritation and thirst that her patience reached its boiling point. Bah to double bars of double rules! Bah to slow meetings in steamy rooms! None of the other young nobles had to sit through theseâ
The sharp sound of pages flipping caught her attention. She whipped her head around, about to hiss some curt, snippy complaint, but stopped just short.
What is an Avie doing in this meeting?
The Avie girl had a stack of papers in front of her and a couple more pages in her hands, which she was attempting, rather poorly, to reorganize without making so much noise.
Interesting. The two Great Houses of the Avies did not have representatives at this level of the Crux. And based on the plainness of her robes and cap, Lixy doubted this was a diplomatic visitor.
Come to think of it, she recognized this feathered girlâŚ
Oh, yeah. The little bird that always followed Firsen around.
Was she his servant or scribe or something? Sure, Firsen was the crown prince of Streykas, and technically had the same access to servants and perks like Lixy did (if not more). But that seemed a little unfair.
Firsen was not here right now, and if he was skipping lecture while Lixy was melting here, then she rightfully deserved to borrow his servant.Â
Her tutor had been praising her for her progress with Dyne tuning frequencies, even going so far as to say that Lixy would likely surpass her family members one day in this regard. Thus, confidence and frustration simmered together, enriching the coaxing croon that Lixy directed towards the Avie girl.
Lixy tucked her hands beneath the table, secretly walking her fingers through the vibrations until she found the right resonance. A little lower, a little lower; Avies didnât hear as high as Chiros didâÂ
Perfect.
The sheets slipped out from the Avieâs loosened grasp, her previously focused gaze now a thousand yards distant. Lixy felt a brief flutter against her frequency, like the wingbeats of a cornered bird, but she pressed her melody harder until an indigo wash started to stain the Avieâs feathers and fingertips.Â
That should be good enough. Didn't want to be too obvious. Now, time to form the request.
((Hello Avie. Isn't it so warm? I'm very thirsty. I'm sure you are as well. You would probably like a nice glass of water. While you're up there, fetch me a cold drink as well, will you?))
To Lixyâs satisfaction, the Avie girl rose from her seat and started heading to the door. No one gave her a second glance, either too preoccupied with the meeting itself, or their thoughts were somewhere far, far away thinking of cool breezes and icy desserts.
And then the top doors opened, a characteristic click-and-wham that preceded the entrance of runir Firsengal Streykas, heir to the Crux.
His hair was unkempt and his collar askew, looking as if he had sprinted through the halls being chased by a swarm of killer bees on the way here.Â
Now all eyes were on the prince, who ducked his head with a breathless apology and motioned for them to carry on with the meeting.
Lixy pursed her lips to redirect her smirk. This was the crown prince of Streykas? Really? More like a stray spark that was always on the verge of starting fires.
If she hadnât been so focused on maintaining her frequency, Lixyâs sensitive ears would definitely have been able to hear Firsen. It seemed like he was trying to greet the Avie servant.
Oh. There it was, a sudden shift in posture. Head tipped back, eyes narrowed. He brushed a darkened strand of hair from her face, noting the hollowness of that stare.
He suddenly set both hands on the Avie girlâs shoulders, sending a bright pulse of Dyne that snapped Lixyâs delicate hold on the frequency. It felt like being seared for an instant by hot metal, and made Lixy jerk in her seat with a little gasp.
She knew Firsen saw that. She had been discovered. And somehow, she had been overridden by his Dyne.
But most importantly, he was about to tattle on her to the whole room.
-
1062 words
I'm back! ^^ Uhh we make up for missing last week with an extra 62 words on this end, ehehe.
More backstory, from a different perspective this time. Lixy and Firsen pester each other all the time, and while they aren't exactly on friendly terms, they're not sworn enemies. More like rivals.
They're practically pre-teens right now so they're just bothering each other as children do, y'know?
This takes place wayyy before Arensky arrives (maybe about 9-10 years) - see "The Weight of Radiance".
This also takes place before Calire and the Other Human (maybe 5-6 years) - see "The Fledge and the Fugitive".
Some context:
Nolixea (Lixy) - one of the "princesses" (runere) of House Melonykas. Bat based. Elegantly boiling inside.
Firsen - crown "prince" (runir) of House Streykas. Dragonfly based. A little bit of a hot mess.
Calire (the Avie girl) - Firsen's companion and healer's apprentice (not a servant). Bird based.
-verse: Antikrypha
Story: Round Robin
Heads-Up: Weâre having fluff today. Mechanic boy navigates friendship feels with help of his android pal.
-
Tanager left the door open a crack, enough so he could wave to Lark and her parents as they pulled out of the parking lot. When the crunching of tires on gravel became inaudible at last, he shut the door.
He leaned against the wall, looked up at the ceiling, and closed his eyes.Â
âI couldnât get my hands on one of those nice, official looking ones. But this should have all of the info, I made sure of it! Iâd⌠like to have a friend there.â
Clenched in trembling fingers was the hand-decorated index card Lark had handed him just before leaving. She had seemed uncharacteristically⌠nervous? Not timid or stammering, but buzzing and breathless and beating around the bush. Usually she was quite direct, to the same degree that Tanager was reticent.
But maybe that was why she had given him the card instead. Because he wouldâve shut down when she asked.Â
He heard the slightly lopsided clink-clank of Radian approaching, and opened his eyes to meet the androidâs concerned stare.
[Is something on your mind, Tanager? You seem down.]
âNot sad. Just⌠processing.â
[Is this about Miss Lark?]
âShe⌠she invited me to the summer festival.â
[Oh! Congratulations!] Radian beamed, patting Tanager on the shoulder. [You ARE going, right?]
Tanager looked out the workshop window, seeing if his parents were still closing up. âWhat about all the work that Iâll miss-â
[Isnât it on a Saturday?]Â
He looked down at the card. âUm. Yeah. Butââ
Radian set both hands on the boyâs shoulders. [The only possible true excuse you can use is if you donât want to go to the festival at all. Do you not?]
âI-I⌠I do want to go!â He winced, suddenly embarrassed, then appalled at his own guilt of voicing his desire for something. âIâve just⌠Iâve never been asked to a-a dance before, and maybe she just invited me out of courtesy.â Would she really want to hang out with him all day?
[And yet! She spends hours in your company every Wednesday.]
âShe⌠thatâs different. Sheâs just waiting for our parents to do business. A-and Iâm the only one her age here.â
Radian pointed at the card. [She made an invitation, by HAND, for you.]
âM-maybe she was⌠bored?â Tanager reasoned. âSheâs already very good at crafts.â
[She also brings you pastries every week.]
âShe does.â Tanager hunched his shoulders. âI should probably pay her backâŚâ
[PAY her?? You really are something else.] Radian face-palmed and shook his head, but his grin seemed to get even wider. [Itâs so OBVIOUS.]
âWhat is?â
[She LIKES you. She wants to be your FRIEND.] Now Radian was practically shaking Tanager by the shoulders. [And I know you feel the same way, Tanager Kytan.]
âW-w-what do you mean?â he stammered, voice made more tremulous by the shaking.
[Despite how many excuses you make to yourself that you donât deserve friendship without strings attached. Your attempt to conceal your mutual enjoyment of her company makes you seem heartless.]Â
Tanager said nothing, but the redness of his face verified the truth of that statement. Now he looked ashamed. How could an android know more than a human boy about something so nuanced as feelings?
Radian softened his grip. [Tanager.]
âYeah?â
[You can be so oblivious, you sweet summer child. But you are not cruel. Only confused. Shutting away your heart is not protecting it, it is stifling it. Be human. Go to the festival.]
âWhat do I tell my parents?â
[They have a booth at the festival. Were you not aware?]
âOhh.â
-
595 words
Oh the fluff returns. Radian is such a good older bro. He is much better at Feelings than the actual human kiddo is. Maybe because he's spent so much time analyzing human feelings so he can get good at them.
Sorry if this pinged twice, I had some weird copy-paste fight with tumblr, but if it doesn't count this time that's okay ^^"
Flare: Think of it like a halo or aura of light. It's correlated with Dyne capacity; the bigger the potential, the brighter the shine.
Flare can tell you a lot of things - Dyne capacity, energy levels, emotional state, even health status - but not all Icruxti can read the auras in great detail. At best, they can probably eyeball which altitude you're from. Sometimes big displays of magic or emotion will make the flare very obvious as well.
(Calire is one of those who can read flare - she's a healer! Most healers can. As well as those working more espionage or security type roles where it's important to gauge who's in the room.)
[How Humans Deal With It]
They can't.
It's completely overwhelming to the senses. Flare is magic radiance of a wavelength that can't be processed by the brain, which defaults its experience to "bright and blurry". This usually triggers some crossover to other senses as well: a sharp taste in the mouth or stinging smell, pressure or prickling upon the skin.
Wouldn't go so far as to call it an eldritch overload experience, but it's undoubtedly unpleasant.
[On Reflections đŞ]
The perception of flare is completely done by the brain. It doesn't exist on a visible light spectrum. And for some reason, it doesn't do well in reflections.
A camera that doesn't use any mirrors will still be scrambled by the radiant output of flare. But a mirror (or any reflective surface, really; a shiny tray, a still pool, etc.) will dissipate the smears of light and leave you with a nice, plain, non-shiny image of the Icruxti.
On that note, the Icruxti don't really like mirrors (particularly the high-Dyne ones). With their glow and glamour stripped away, it's almost like looking at a corpse. Because the only time Icruxti do not glow with Dyne (even those with minimal baseline), is when their life-force is fully spent.
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[FFF#356 - Into the Mirror] - Lessons from a Looking Glass
-verse: Off the Rails
Story: The Circadyne Succession
Heads-Up: Continuation of "The Fledge and the Fugitive". Apparently humans aren't good at interacting with things they can't see.
Part I - Part II (you are here)
â
This human was so hard to communicate with.
At first, sheâd thought his disinclination to interact with her stemmed from his being understandably afraid of her, a strange being, not unlike those he had been running from. That, or he was just suffering too much to care.Â
He never made eye-contact with her, one arm always covering his face the moment the click of her talons were audible in the hallway. Once, she tried talking to him, but he only set his jaw with a grimace. Maybe another day, then.
Three days after she began tending to him, doing little more than bringing him water and food (largely untouched) and ensuring his wound was not infected, she noticed an improvement.Â
At least, she hoped it was an improvement.Â
It was impossible to tell by his luminance, because humans did not have the flare by which Icruxti could judge health status, energy levels, innate Dyne capacity. Without that flare, it was frustrating, like trying to see through a tinted window.
So what? Sheâd just train her eyesight. Sheâd learn to read his surface and infer what was going on underneath.
She noticed he now sat up more often, rising by degrees with each passing hour until he was able to prop himself up at the corner of the wall. This was accompanied by a good deal of muttered noises and sharply inhaled breaths, and by the end of the ordeal, his face glistened with moisture.Â
Was the moisture from relief? Exertion? Pain? She made a note of the three possibilities and resolved to track that symptom further.
Her eyesight was good enough to observe him from across the hall, but she couldnât read the nuances of his expression and posture very well from a distance. Every time she drew near, any closer than the threshold of her room, he would turn away.
Shy? Afraid? Defiant? How was she supposed to tell anything if she couldnât get a good look at his face? Was he expecting her to do something worse?Â
She would do something nice for him, then. Change that variable, see how he responded.
â
That afternoon, she entered his cell carrying several thick blankets. Enough for him to use as a makeshift mattress (since he couldnât climb onto his bed), with at least one left over to keep him warm.
She dropped the blankets in front of him. He didnât move, didnât open his eyes.
His water bucket was empty. Might as well go out and refill that, if he was going to sit here and be boring again.
âIâll be back,â she told him, not sure if it was understood or reassuring to any degree, but she was tired of this silent charade. She turned around, misjudging the doorway by a few inches and skirting the wall instead. The drape over the window fell down. âOops.â
Huh, this wasnât a window from this side, but one of those one-way mirrors. Most Icruxti didnât like looking at their reflections, which stripped away much of the Dyne aura that gave their appearance vitality and energy.Â
Perhaps this really was used as a cell back in the day. Psychological pressure or something.Â
She picked up the corner of the drape to tack it back up, then left the room.
â
The human had set up his new blanket pile to face away from her, against the wall right under the covered window so that she could not see him at all.
Sheâd panicked at first when she didnât see him at a cursory glance from her room, wondering if he had run away somehow.Â
(Highly doubtful, with half a leg missing, though she wouldnât take her chances.)
But when she poked her head frantically into his room, her first rightward glance brought them face to face, inches away from smacking his head with hers. So startled that he actually yelled, and she squawked in surprise, and they both jerked away with wide eyes and pounding hearts.
Yeah, this wasnât going to work.
âI cannot see you,â Calire intoned slowly, trying for a second chance at communication, âwhen you sit away from the door. And then we scare each other. Like just now.â
His knees were drawn up to his chest, head tucked between them and under one arm. The other hand held out, a gesture of âplease keep your distance, youâre too closeâ.
It suddenly occurred to her that she was the problem. Her presence overwhelmed him somehow. Was there something about the Icruxti that human minds just⌠couldnât process?Â
She backed away, not totally out of sight, but hoping the distance would coax further response from him.
Now he was pointing at the far wall. He wanted her to come back inside and stand over there? Well⌠okay. At no point did she ever suspect any trickery from him. This was the most interaction theyâd exchanged thus far. Driven more by curiosity than anything else, she obliged, positioning herself right next to the original bed.
He reached up, feeling for the edge of the drape, then yanked down to reveal the reflective surface. Calireâs feathers ruffled slightly at the sight of her reflection, but she remained where she was.
Did he think she had a weakness to mirrors? He mustâve seen that she was bothered by the reflection and wanted to test that. The thought amused her; she didnât know whether to praise his cleverness, punish his craftiness, or pity his incorrect conclusion. Maybe she should play along? What would he do in response?
But no, he wasnât paying attention to her. Not directly, at least, He gripped the windowsill now, trying to balance on one knee and one stump as he looked into the glass, catching her reflected gaze with his, making eye contact for the first time.
He was looking at her!Â
Ohh, it made sense now. The reflection dissipated her Dyne flare, and he could see her true features underneath.
Maybe she could repurpose this looking-glass to help them both.
-
1001 words
For the amount of plot that actually happened here, I reaped way too much worldbuilding on the side out of it ^^"
On the plus side, I've figured out some sciencey stuff behind Dyne flare and mirrors! Fantastic prompt to flesh that out.
[FFF#355 - A Curious Connection] - The Fledge and the Fugitive (I)
-verse: Off the Rails
Story: The Circadyne Succession
Heads-Up: Backstory glimpse at the history between Calire and that first human. A little bit of injury description, nothing particularly graphic. I expect this will be at least a two- or three-parter :)
Part I (you are here) - Part II
â
Keep it alive.
Those were her only instructions. That was her only responsibility. This was outside the scope of anything sheâd ever learned. Because this was a human.
She barely had time to lay eyes on that dusty, dim form before being hustled out to the next hallway.Â
Her mentor for this rotation was not a shining example of patience nor presence. After a wordless whirlwind tour of the station that she couldâve given herself, she was left in the hallway while more Important Matters were attended to.
No one was going to tell her why a human was being detained here?
Or maybe why she needed to keep the human alive?
How alive? The biology between Icruxti and humans was not totally analogous. They were trusting a healerâs apprentice, who had never been responsible for a patient on her own, to take care of this other creature, without reliable supervision?
Ohhh.Â
They probably didnât care about this human. Like they didnât care about her.
So they gave her a subject to practice on, one that was low-stakes enough so her mentor wouldnât be accused of medical negligence if she messed up, but distinctly different enough to really test her skills.Â
It was a bit like asking a doctor to operate on a stray dog someone rescued.
Or maybe it was more like setting her up for failure.Â
They were incredibly unsubtle about their disdain for her pursuit of the healing arts. And for being so buddy-buddy with the crown prince, even though she was from a totally different House and shouldnât be in the Circuit anyways. Probably why they sent her to such a remote rotation.
Too bad for them. In four weeks, she would return. Even if she didnât get to learn the spells and interventions she was hoping to, she was determined to get something out of this.
â
Though sheâd never interacted up close with a human before, sheâd seen enough of them from a distance to make a few useful observations.
This human was a male human. Age, she couldnât really tell, because even the older humans were relatively young compared to the long-lived Icruxti.
This human was still alive. Which was a good starting place. She had been told to keep him alive, not to bring him back to life, and she was so glad that they werenât so eager to fail her as to ask her something ridiculous like that.
But this human was not doing well. Most humans stood up and moved around and made noises. This one just laid there. Especially while she was watching him.
Also, he was missing something.Â
Like, half of a leg.
â
He was a runaway.
After asking one of the station sentries more about this human, sheâd gleaned some backstory. He had been found in the storage area below the station, having left trailmarkers of his pain all the way from the cliffside path into the service tunnels.Â
How heâd managed to drag himself here with such a badly injured leg amazed them all, but the moment someone pointed out the mangled cuff around that weeping, blackened ankle, the sparks of sympathy fizzled away, replaced by swift, systemic protocol.
In their eyes, he had brought this upon himself. He didnât deserve their pity.
The only medical intervention they had provided for him was to remove the source of infection and pain. And with it, all his chances of escape.
â
Her closet was right across his cell.Â
Well, both of them were rooms. Normal rooms, just repurposed (and a bit small), so she felt a rebranding was in order. After all, what was she but a tool, and what was he but a prisoner?
He was always silent when she came in to tend the dressings on his leg or monitor his temperature. But when darkness fell, in the throes of pain and fever and nightmares, whispers and groans escaped unbidden.
This particularly fascinated Calire. She couldnât understand his tongue, but she was obsessed with its sound. Such a strange, dusty language. So organic, so rough, so raw.
She didnât know how to take care of him. It was hard to tell what he wanted, or what kind of pain he was in, or if he was thirsty or hungry or too hot or too cold. If only she could understand, if only she could communicateâŚÂ
She left her door open at night, hoping to catch those whispers, find a pattern, and understand.
-
745 words
No, this human is not Arensky. There was one human Calire got to interact with before Arensky came, which is why she knows how to speak with human sounds.
"He is just a backstory side character," I tell myself that as I write him and get attached and set myself up for heartbreak :>
-verse: Katanorias
Story: Incomplete Rendering
Heads-Up: I donât know what Iâm doing :DÂ And neither does Jasi.
â
âYou know, every time I complained about having an office job, that was a joke.â
She kept her voice just audible enough for her to hear, a quiet conversation with her immediate space-bubble that was only occupied by herself. Loud enough to feel like she wasnât whispering, soft enough to not mar the stillness of the empty subway tunnels.
âWell, partially a joke. I didnât think anyone would take me up on it.â With the Katanorias klyptai, it was impossible to be certain when they were being serious or not. âGuess I was wrong.â
She adjusted her jacket, tugging the hood out from under her bag straps so it wasnât being an annoying lopsided lump against her shoulders. With that imperfection of balance restored, she suddenly became aware of the uneven tightness of her boot laces.
How did Telerand do this? Travel? All the time? By himself?
The silence hadnât bothered her up until this point, when she found herself wishing for someone else, anyone else, to be here with her.Â
All her desk-work at the lab, stationary though it was, sat in the middle of a hub of activity and arguments, interaction and interruption. Messages pinging her screen, a dozen tabs open and two physical drawers as well, with a couple of granola bars and a half-full soda can somewhere in reach.
There was an unopened can of soda in her bag, but she didnât feel like sheâd earned it yet. And the fizz always tasted better when she was multitasking to the beat of constant notifications and clicks of her keyboard.
Now that she thought about it, the fact that her pager had remained quiet since sheâd stepped out of the station was a slightly disquieting observation. Not a single message, not a single beep, not even the background chatter of people flipping through the wrong frequency.
Meia had told her that she would receive directions of some sort. A hint. A clue. Jasi was good at piecing together information. But that assumed she had information in the first place to work with.
Was the signal bad here? Was she supposed to talk to that ticket collector girl?Â
Had she missed the prompt?Â
âMy first field assignment and they leave me on read,â Jasi huffed, trying to keep her mood light. She brought the screen closer to her face, the pink glow from the fiery ends of her hair casting wavering shadows around her.
Suppose they were just messing with her. Everything was a game to dimensional beings. A game or a test.Â
Or maybe thatâs what she talked herself into believing. Because in the event that this was real, and there was something more going on⌠she wasnât sure she was prepared to deal with it.
A low, melancholy moan whooshed through the tunnels. It stopped for a few moments, then started up again. Not regular enough to be considered breathing, but it made the tunnels feel like the throat of some colossal creature.
âI taste horrible and also Iâm spontaneously flammable,â Jasi called out, feeling a little silly, but it felt necessary to keep her mood light and banish the looming, shadowy feeling.
She refused to fall prey to the same paranoia sheâd witnessed with Scapâs case. He was insecure in his personal value to others. Jasi knew the Visors needed her skills. If she were scared (which she wasnât right now, no, just a little uneasy), she felt that she was more deservedly paranoid of external things, like whatever inhabited and permeated these temporal wastes.Â
Relic Fields, to her knowledge, were full of half-tangible memories; the echoes of events and the silhouettes of souls. While they were allegedly âsafeâ for missions, the supporting evidence was hardly a strong case.Â
Yes, Telerand had been on many Relic Assignments. Yes, heâd survived them all, so far.
But heâd also fallen off a cliff twice, been attacked by creatures, been attacked by pirates, nearly froze to death, and gotten lost in a shifting labyrinth for days.
And in Jasiâs books, survivable did not necessarily mean safe.
âThen again,â Jasi murmured with a little laugh, âheâs not exactly the stealthiest signal in the sector. Electrical, biological, and dimensional wavelengths all stacked on top of each other. Practical beacon for all sorts of trouble in the areaââ
The tunnel moaned again. Louder, sharper, more⌠anguished, if she were to assign a feeling to the sound. Her hair flared brighter; she yanked the hood over her head to douse its light, not wanting to become the very thing she was just picking on Telerand about.
Then her pager chose this exact moment to come to life.
PING! PING!
âOf course,â she hissed, fumbling with the device and trying to kill the volume. âOf course everything all happens now. Answering my wishes at the most inconvenient time possible.âÂ
She was fully about to pop open the case and disconnect the wires, but a new symbol on the display caught her eye. âWhat in theââ
Those stacked signals had certainly looked like Telerandâs signatures, but a second look at the dimensional wave in particular showed her that they were peaking at all the wrong frequencies.Â
Actually, they were exactly opposite all of Telerandâs peaks.Â
She would know; sheâd spent far too many hours trying to track his location for the lab that she had it memorized by now.Â
Telerand had always considered his dimensional signature a residue of the thing that had been taken out of him.
Then the inverse of that would have to be⌠the rest of it.
Now that Jasi thought about it, there was nothing in Telerandâs records that ever mentioned what had been done with the extracted being. There existed no standard protocols for how to properly dispose of dimensional beings separated from their hosts. Katelais had been the first (and only) group to successfully manage that.
Suppose they were experimenting.
Suppose they had gotten careless.
Suppose⌠well, Jasi supposed she was going to find out soon.
-
999 words
What started as exploring Jasi's shift suddenly became a speculation about Telerand's past. What is the prompt indeed.
I had an idea. I had such an idea. I was going to grab Technician back in here but he ended up not showing up at all. Telly why are you mentioned so many times you're not even physically present- this is Jasi's story get out of the limelight--
[FFF#353 - Wolf in Sheepâs Clothing] - Fuel for the Flame
-verse: Off the Rails
Story: The Circadyne Succession
Heads-Up: Â Dulagast, the duke of gaslighting. He is so totally a problem. And none of the trio can see it because he has such supportive-uncle vibes.
â
The collapse of House Melonykas meant the succession would have to pass back to House Streykas. Many of the remaining court members and council were anticipating with mixed emotions the return of the Exarch prince to the throne.
The princeâs choice of companions had already been causing a stir in the court; a healerâs apprentice and a human guard, of all people, to have as his closest confidants? An unlikely trio of support for someone about to rule the realm.
Yet there was no denying the fact that they were an impenetrably tight-knit team.
There was no way to single Firsen out without the other two picking up on it. And there was no way to get rid of the other two without Firsen noticing.
This would be a long game. A long game of trust slowly built, slowly withered; of miscommunication and distance; of misunderstandings and mistakes carried out with the best of intentions.
And Dulagast, advisor to the throne for decades now, had perfected this strategy.
â
The healer had the sharpest eyes, the keenest perception. Calire knew the most about both Firsen and Arensky, and she was the least likely to be duped by misunderstandings. To leave her in the equation would risk undoing so many of the snares Dulagast would set, so she needed to be kept away first.
Thankfully, that was quite easy. She was drawn to disaster like a scavenger to carrion, not to ravage or dismantle, but for the much more noble calling of providing remedy and relief. The spike in Crit incidents had been keeping her busy, either in the wards or out in the city, trying to catch new cases before they went off.
She had mentioned to Firsen once, while Dulagast had been in the room, her suspicions of a secret party involved in causing these Crit incidents.
Sharp as a raptor, unsuspecting as a swallow. A bright, dangerous mind indeed. If it had been anyone else, Dulagast wouldâve found a way to effectively silence them for sniffing too close to Catalystâs underground scheme.
But he could kill two birds with one stone â or rather, get the bird away from her trio, and acquire her talents for Catalystâs cause.
âLady Calire, I couldnât help but overhear your conversation with the runix the other day. Iâve heard whispers of this group â weâve been trying to track them down for decades, but not many are willing to investigate a mere rumor.â
âIf rumors were investigated more often, fewer disasters would happen⌠Iâd do it. Iâve asked Firsen, and he says I should. But I donât even know where to start. Do you know what theyâre called?â
âYes⌠I believe Iâve heard they call themselves âCatalystâ.â
âFinally, a name! This is helpful. So helpful. Iâ ah, thank you, Master Dulagast.â
âAnytime, Lady Calire. I wish you well on your investigation.â
Bingo.
â
The guard was the most grounded, most emotionally aware, and so far had subverted all the expectations of the Icruxti so far with the resilience of his human frame. At no point in their entire history had a human ever served as a scutar. This was beyond a simple guard position; he acted as Firsenâs personal guard, his shield, his anchor.
But the strength of his vow to Firsen would be the weakness Dulagast would exploit.Â
The rules were different in the court. While Arensky may have helped Firsen gain favor with the lower regions, a humanâs opinion and way of life meant nothing in the Crux. He would be as useful to Firsen as a fish would be in teaching a bird to fly.Â
It was only a matter of time before he sought something to do. And Dulagast had a place prepared.
âMaster Advisor.â
âScutar. What brings you here?â
âIâm afraid my role as Firsenâs defense is lost here. The Crux is well-protected. Is there some other way my services are needed?â
âYou are in Firsenâs closest circle. Did he not extend a title to you?â
âI⌠with all due respect, sir, I canât see myself doing that. Firsen already offered. I couldnât take it. Give me an active role, please.â
âIt is astounding to see such loyalty to House Streykas, from a human too. Truly noble. Have you considered the training level? Some of the younger nobles may need some practice sparring.â
How ironic: the first place Arensky had been assigned as a fresh prisoner of the Icruxti, rescued by Firsen to be his guard, now returning to that very same job.
Dulagast would make sure the young nobles did not hold back. To do so might insult Arenskyâs dignity, wouldnât it?
â
Finally, the young ruler. Caught in the complicated emotions of his return, not as an heir coming to rightfully claim his throne, but the spare stepping up to do his duty in the wake of House Melonykasâ collapse.
He had so much potential. All that leaking, unstable Dyne⌠he was either a Crit incident waiting to happen, or he could be the ultimate force of House Streykas to change the realm forever.
Both choices were favorable for Dulagast. He just needed Firsen to embrace his power.Â
âIt is wonderful to see a Streykas Essent on the throne once more.â
â... Father seemed to think otherwise.â
âYour father did not think you were weak, Firsen. He was trying to protect you from the stress of the throne. It can be dangerous. Certainly taxing. He was worried for you.â
âBut itâs my duty. He didnât even give me a chance to prove I can handle it.â
âI know you can. The power you have? I see it. And I see that you are strong enough to harness it.â
âReally? Then⌠will you help me do that, Dulagast?â
âIt would be my pleasure, Your Highness.â
He would fuel this flame, making Firsen the brightest thing the Crux had seen in decades.
And when the young ruler finally reached his critical point, Dulagast would sit back and watch the fireworks.
-
997 words
Honestly, this was good for plot outline notes, and it has made me realize how complicated this series of unfortunate events will be, because Dulagast will just stack misunderstanding upon misunderstanding... duke of gaslighting indeed.
Yes, it gets worse. Much much worse, for Fiers and Arensky (and also Calire as she side-quests). But I also know how it ends and it will be spectacular and Not Totally Tragic, I promise :D
-verse: Antikrypha
Story: Round Robin
Heads-Up: I just finished taking a 3 hour exam about kidneys. It was rough. So now we are doing fluff. Lark manipulates Tanager into conversation. Takes place after "Breadcrumbs".
â
She found him sitting on the bench outside the workshop.
Sheâd never actually seen him outside the workshop before. She wasnât even sure sheâd ever seen him sit before.
âHey Tanager!â
The red-headed kid jerked his head up, tucking something quickly away into his pocket, but his posture relaxed when he recognized his visitor. âHi Lark.â His gaze flickered to the paper bag in her hands, only for an instant before averting his eyes.
Lark fought back a grin. She knew he was expecting sweets. Why did he look so embarrassed? âDid you eat breakfast yet?â
Tanager rubbed the back of his neck. âI⌠had a glass of orange juice?â
âThat absolutely does not count,â Lark said, jaw open in exaggerated disbelief. She opened the paper bag. âChocolate croissant. All yours.â
âO-oh but what⌠what about you?â he stammered.
âDo you not want it?â
âI⌠it⌠I guess IâŚâ He kept glancing over his shoulder (at what? No one was in the shop) and then over her shoulder, as if someone might come rescue him from making a decision.
This boy. Really cannot.Â
With a dramatic sigh, Lark closed up the bag. âI guess I can save it for lunch, but then it wonât be warm and melty and soft anymoreââ
âNo, wait! Iâll eat it!â Tanager cried, catching her wrist to stop her from putting it away. He let her go immediately with a string of mumbled apologies.
âItâs okay.â She still had the bag in her hands. âSo are you going to eat it because you want it, or because it seems like I want you to want it?â
Tanager pressed his lips together, and she could see the gears turning in his brain. âThatâs an unfair questionââ he started, but his stomach answered for him with a loud gurgle.Â
She raised an eyebrow, trying to play it cool, knowing that if she started laughing, he might just combust and disintegrate from mortification.
Though it was amazing to see how close his face could get to the shade of his hair.
âI had breakfast with my parents before we came here. This is for you.âÂ
She dropped the bag in his lap, because clearly he wasnât about to take it himself, or ask her for it, or move an inch without getting input on what he should be doing. He looked a little bit⌠lost. His hands looked like they needed something to do.Â
Maybe conversation would get him to loosen up. And forget about his stomachâs outburst.
âIs the shop closed today?â she asked. âWait, my parents had to pick up somethââ
âNo, weâre still open. Just not the workshop,â Tanager replied. He opened the paper bag and took a deep, satisfied sniff of the bread inside. âSome people are coming to inspect. Happens once a month.â
âOohhh.â Lark watched Tanager take a bite of the croissant, chewing in silence with his eyes closed. He took another bite, and then another.Â
Maybe the intermittent rustling of the paper and the lack of Larkâs usual commentary made him suddenly feel selfâconscious, because he glanced at her with one hand covering his mouth. âWhat? Do I have something on my face?â
She turned her head away briefly, fighting another smile. âI was just wondering if you do this every time.â
âDo what?â
âSit outside on the bench by yourself and stare off into space.â
Tanager swallowed, setting aside the half-eaten croissant. âWell, normally Iâm by myself. But Iâm not staring off into space.â
Lark bounced up and down on her toes. âSo what would you be doing instead?â
âI⌠I mean, normally I haveââ He stopped himself, scratching his head as if trying to figure out what felt off. Finally he scooted over on the bench. âCould⌠could you please sit? Itâs weird that youâre standing and Iâm not.â
âWhy, thank you. I thought so too.â Lark took the free space. âSoooo?â
âSo⌠what?â
Okay, there was no way he had that short of a conversation memory. Now he was actively dodging her question. She didnât want to be too direct; it was like trying to approach a bird that was seconds from taking off. But maybe just a nudge in the right direction would get things rolling.Â
âYou put something away when I called your name earlier.â
There, a twitch. Jackpot. âOh, that⌠nothing important.â
Even more curious. Because if he thought even breakfast and basic needs were not important enough to carve out time for, then what side interest could possibly capture his attention in such a way?Â
She leaned forwards. âAre you writing⌠poetry?â
Tanager leaned back. âWhat? No. Do I look like I write poetry?â
âSecretly wonderful poetry, I bet. About flowers and sky and starsââ She tilted her head, sweeping her arm as if visualizing such a landscape.
âNot poetryââ Tanager repeated, shaking his head, but she didnât stop, knowing he would break soon.
âAnd the birds that you wake up to in the mornings, before the sun is even up, during the breakfast time that you donât eat, but maybe you drink in sunrays and silence instead. The deepest yearnings of the soul for nature, walled up in a world of metal and gearsâŚâÂ
âIt isnât poetry, Iâm telling you â here, look!â He whipped out a little notebook from his pocket and thumbed through the pages, flipping it around to show her. âTheyâre ideas. Mostly scrapped ones. Not really worth trying.â
She looked at the page that was open. A clockwork bird, with intricate gears and articulated wings. Notes in a hurried script filled the margins and spaces in between. âThat looks really cool. You should try it. I think you can do it.â
He seemed startled, like he wasnât expecting a compliment. âWell⌠maybe when I have more time.â
âI was right about there being birds. Maybe you are a romantic.â
âThat was all you. Also, âdeepest yearnings of the soulâ... really?â
âI was just trying to sound like my English teacher.â
-
1000 words
I was going somewhere with the prompt, but then it took a big detour in the middle because Lark decided to tease Tanager a little bit, and then we had croissants and poetry... and then the actual prompt-related thing appeared in the last 100 words.
I guess you could say my original idea was a scrapped idea XD
Oh, the pure innocent friendship of two barely-even-teens.
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Dyne: the magical force of this realm. Technically, saying that the Icruxti possess Dyne is not a totally accurate description; they all possess a capacity to use it.
Ambient Dyne is everywhere in the atmosphere. The saturation of Dyne in the atmosphere increases the higher up you go.
The higher up you go, the greater Dyne capacity you must have to live up there.
The higher Dyne capacity you have, the more you can do with it.
What does this mean? Higher capacity Dyne users living at higher altitudes. Indeed, the realm has a vertical progression of power. It's not purely social stratification, but a physiological one as well.
It's less of an elemental manipulation power, and more like a force? An energy? Something like that.
Typical uses:
Common: create a spark/light a fire, jumpstart a small device, hold something together temporarily
Skilled (often in combo with casting): minor healing or mending, short-range telekinesis, ability boost (speed, sensory, strength), change temperature
Dyne overload affects Icruxti and humans differently. Humans are not built to breathe Dyne, which displaces oxygen at high saturation. The result is a Dyne saturation crisis, functionally leading to hypoxia that can be fatal if not corrected rapidly. A late stage sat-crisis can also present with blue-tinged sweat, tears, or fluid coughed up from the lungs.
True Dyne overload, however, exerts its effects on Icruxti who are in Dyne environments that are more concentrated than their capacity can handle. Often presenting as a "fever and flare" - new or existing Dyne markings glowing and radiating heat - with agitation and aggression, or confusion and lethargy.
This can be avoided through proper capacity training, and by not ascending altitude too quickly.
[FFF#351 - Behind the Lights] - The Weight of Radiance
-verse: Off the Rails (new!)
Story: The Circadyne Succession
Heads-Up: Description of difficulty breathing and life-endangerment. Humans are not meant for Dyne dense atmospheres. Heâs fine heâs fine.
â
It had been two hours into his new captivity, and he was beginning to wonder if heâd make it through the night.Â
Right now, he was lying flat on the floor of his enclosure, taking deep, gasping breaths to fill oxygen-starved lungs.
It wasnât like the air here was thin. The higher up he found himself, the thicker the air felt. It didnât feel like air that he was supposed to breathe, and that concerned him. Saturated with something heavy and rich, a substance that his lungs were not equipped to handle.
He knew there were other humans in this realm. They mustâve had some way to survive, right? Come to think of it, heâd hardly seen any humans in this area, only down by the trading paths that he and his companions had traversed.
Companions? No. He saw it for what it was now.Â
âWeâre looking for someone to accompany us through the Icruxti realm.â
He had been selected for this journey, not because he was particularly valued as someone with combat experience and survival skills. There had been no need for that up until this point; they had followed a well-traveled merchantâs road and had stopped in small towns for lodging and food.Â
âIt wonât be a tough job. Just a bit of security while weâre on our way.â
As it turned out, his value as âsecurityâ was not in physical defense, but as a bargaining chip. They had planned for this. He was a stranger to their party, and they needed someone they werenât too attached to to be the offering.
The mercenary lifestyle hadnât been one that he relished having to enter, but he wondered if his morals had gotten him into this mess this time. He shouldâve been tipped off by the fact that they suggested paying him all at the end, rather than splitting it up with an initial, secure fee.Â
But no. Heâd just said yes.
The entire journey up to this point had been bothering him, and at last he could actually pinpoint its source. The realization of all this couldâve been a weight off his chest.Â
If only the crushing weight of this supernaturally saturated air wasnât counteracting that.
â
The Icruxti came by to gawk at him.Â
At least, he assumed thatâs what they were doing. What he could see of their forms were silhouettes backlit by hazy halations, sometimes blurring like a picture out of focus, sometimes glitching like a chromatic aberration.Â
All the time too bright to look at, without making his head feel like it was going to implode.
He could hear them too. The walls of his enclosure werenât solid, bounded by some buzzing, charged force that he had no desire (nor physical energy) to test right now. Every hiss and click, every whistle and shriek, sounds that bordered the cadence of language, yet were so obscured by these other noises to be frustratingly foreign and familiar at the same time.
Maybe they were trying to figure out what to do with him.
Maybe someone would notice he wasnât looking very well.Â
His face and arms glistened with sweat, yet his fingers felt numb with cold by comparison. He turned his head and coughed, bringing up nothing except a few drops of something frothy blue.Â
Was it⌠supposed to be that color? Were his eyes just playing tricks on him?
If only he could understand. If only he could communicate.Â
He laid one arm over his eyes and tried to conserve his energy, his state of mind.
â
The hum of the force field changed. Halos and whispers danced at the edge of his awareness, though at this point he couldnât tell if they were spectators of his misery or specters come to guide him out of it.Â
Suppose his human ex-team had really tried to sacrifice him to whatever higher beings lived up here. It finally entered his mind that he might expire here. Imminently.
He was certain the Icruxti were not divine beings. The ones they had traded with were visible and interactable, after all.
That didnât mean people couldnât mistake these for such, if some of them lived up here where the air was unbreathable and their forms unresolvable and their words indistinct, creatures of distorted light and sound. Maybe they were the closest things the locals had to âspiritsâ.
The hand he felt on his jaw was very much tangible and very much real, however.Â
He opened his eyes and instantly regretted it, the sparking haze above him setting off fireworks in his brainâs optic processing center. Too weak and overwhelmed to fight back, he could only shake his head back and forth in protest.
âsTop moving⌠tRYing to⌠hELp You.â
Words! Words he could understand, despite them coming through like fragmented static on a bad radio.Â
âDriNk. All oF it.â
Something cold and smooth tipped into his mouth, flavor indescribable to taste, momentarily so intense that it consumed him, almost unraveled him.Â
It peaked, like a wave cresting, then carried him back down with a rushing throughout his nerves and vessels, breaking upon the shore, and receding into bubbles and foam. The coast left clean and clear.
It left him breathless, but in a much better way. He could fill his lungs now. And when he opened his eyes, the blinding flare was gone, and he could see the creature standing over him, features both soft and sharp at the same time. Slightly avian. Eyes large and dark, a mixture of concern and relief.
âDyne saturation crisis. Sorry you had to go through that,â his rescuer whispered, lifting his head gently to put a cushion underneath. âYour name?â
When he paused, wondering what odd magic was allowing him to understand her, she clarified, âI speak your tongue.â
That was the most encouraging news he had heard all day. He cleared his throat. â... Arensky.â
âJust Arensky?â
âThatâs all I need, and all you need.âÂ
âFair enough, Arensky. My name is Calire. And you are at the Crux.â
-
1003 words
Backstory! We are starting at the beginning of this threesome's adventure. Arensky meets Calire. She is the first nice Icruxti and also just about the only one who bothers to try to speak to the humans. Or learn that humans can't survive in high Dyne environments.
He's the first human in a while though, so naturally they have no idea what the difference is between "normal scared human" and "human who is hypoxic and very much needing medical intervention".
Also this storyverse of random things (mostly things that have campaign running potential, like the world of the Icruxti and anything I write about Skeli/the Kokolsta) now goes into the big sandbox called "Off the Rails".
-verse: new! (okay not really, because I told myself to stop)
Story: also new! Collaborative idea project with a friend.
Heads-Up: Acute toxic injury (non-graphic) and an emergency non-consensual magical medical intervention? Heâs fine. Theyâre fine.
Pre-reading note: there's some context at the bottom if you want to look at that first. Or look at it after and read it again. The worldbuilding kinda hit me all at once on this one.
â
Though his eyes watered and his lungs burned, Firsen stood at the mouth of the trembling shaft, counting heads to make sure everyone made it out to open air. He squinted, counted again, then looked back into the smoky darkness.
There was still one missing.
âArensky?â He dared poke his head into the shaft, down the dragonâs throat, tasting the dangerous air breathed back into his face.
He remembered a figure coming between him and the heated blast of one of the noxious vents. He remembered a hand on his back pushing him forwards, toward the exit. âArensky!â
He felt a hand on his shoulder now, but it was Admiral Savron, one of the exploration leads pulling him back from the entrance. âAway from the fumes, Firsengal, please.âÂ
âNot until everyone makes it out. Everyone.â Firsen tried to shrug the hand off, but the grip tightened, as if fearful that the prince would foolishly dive back into the shaft.Â
Well, I just might.
But a figure stumbled out now, splattered with scalded silver, a hand lifted in a weak salute. âApologies for the wait, my lordâŚâ
The fatal rattle in that voice gave it away before Firsen even registered that Arensky was falling.Â
Now he wrenched out of Savronâs grip, running over to the fallen form. Hovering uncertainly between trying to see the extent of injury, and the reluctance to cause further harm by moving things around. He looked up to find that they were all staring at him. âWhat are you doing? Help him!â
When no one moved, Firsen bit back the exasperated yell that was clawing up his throat. He pointed at one of the bystanders. âYou! Get me two tent poles and a tarp.â
âThis is a waste of effort and time. The human is unlikely to survive.â
âNot if you stand there and do nothing!âÂ
Blast it all, he needed to see. See if Arensky was still breathing. Scalded silver was toxic enough to his own race, even with all their resiliencies. He imagined it was deadly for something so fragile and fleeting as a human.
Arensky had proved so far to be a remarkable human.Â
Firsen hoped that the time Arensky had spent in this realm would be enough to get him across the line.
â
âIt isnât enough.â
Firsenâs heart dropped. He fought to keep his voice under control, the husky tremor coming out more like a low warning whisper. âThose are not words I want to hear.â
âSo the runir came to a healerâs apprentice to solve this?âÂ
âCalire, none of the healers were going to do anything about it.â
âWhy would they? They wonât waste their resources on an outsider.â She paused. âBut why did you come to me?â
âBecause⌠because you know Arenskyâs physiology the best. Calire, please.â
âYour Desperateness, do you think Iâm going to turn down a request from my runir?â
The princeâs ears flicked upwards, and a fizzle of hope lit itself in his eyes. âSo you can help, then?â
âI donât know what I can do, but I donât want him to die either.â Calire carefully peeled back the wet rags over the gleaming burns on Arenskyâs arm and torso. She grimaced. âScalded silver is poisonous. To everyone. What were you even doing in the shafts?â
âLong story, irrelevant right now.â Firsen tried not to be in the way, but he was having a hard time masking his concern. âCan it be reversed?â
Calire put her ear close to Arenskyâs chest, hearing the rattle of toxin-ravaged lungs, then shook her head sadly. âI fear not. He just doesn't have enough⌠life capacity.â
âHow does one even fix that?â Firsen braced his forearms against the table and bowed his head, pressing his fingers into his forehead so hard that it started to hurt.
âFiers.â Calireâs voice only became quiet when things were urgent, though she maintained a casual observatory tone. âYouâre leaking.â
âOhââ Indeed, the iridescent markings on his arms were glowing, his antennae had lit up, and the scales on his back buzzed with the trapped energy of wings on the verge of manifesting.Â
He ran his hands through his hair, trying to calm down the Dyne in his system. So much power, and not a good way to use it⌠or was there a good way?Â
âWhat if I gave him my Dyne?â Firsen held out his hands, concentrating some of that flickering magic into his palms. âThat would heal him, right? Would that make him Icruxti? One of us? I read something about Dyne-transfer, and-â
âI would get in sooo much trouble if I let you do that,â Calire cut in. âI know what youâre talking about. Better than you, I assume, if you happened to forget the horrible consequences for both source and siphon that were detailed for chapters after the fact.â
Firsen bristled. Not exactly mad at Calire, but at himself with setting his own hopes up for disappointment. He swallowed, trying once again to keep his emotions in check. âIs there no way to heal him?â
They both looked at Arensky on the table, breaths still scraping like desperate claws on life. Still fighting, still holding on, against all odds. The time heâd spent in the realm of the Icruxti had certainly bolstered his constitution, but it wouldnât be enough. Icruxti methods of healing required a minimum life capacity that a human simply couldnât possess, because humans did not inherently have Dyne.
But if they increased his capacity just enough, maybe they could get him out of the red zone.
â-give it time,â Firsen heard Calire murmur.
âHe doesnât have time,â the prince replied, frustration sparking up again.
âNo, give him time. Not your power. We donât need to heal him completely, right now,â the apprentice clarified, opening drawers and shelves with renewed purpose. âWe just give him enough time so that he can heal gradually.â
Firsen nodded, slowly at first, but more confidently as the pieces clicked together. âTell me what I need to do.â
-
1003 words
SO. New story idea. I don't think I've ever done so much worldbuilding in one sitting, and now there's just Context floating around but without roots so I feel I must provide a little bit, at least until I start doing lore drops here and there >w<
Main Characters: (of which their dynamic is strictly loyal and platonic)
Firsengal "Firsen" - essentine Icruxti, young prince of House Streykas. A little bit idealistic and a lot bit passionate, but with a big heart for the people. Has an immense (untapped) potential for Dyne, and sometimes it leaks out when he gets the feels.
Arensky (a surname? maybe?) - human*, been stuck here for a couple of years due to some bargaining chip/treaty thing, and the court did not know what to do with him but heyyy he's pretty good at combat so we'll make him a guard.
Calire - avterine Icruxti, healer's apprentice. Knows Arensky the best because her healer boss would not let her get clinic experience with other Icruxti yet, so she was left tending the human. Older than Firsen, younger than Arensky.
Words:
Icruxti - the species populating this realm. There are many subspecies, and that's a post for another time ^^
runir - "prince", in their language
Dyne - the magic of this realm. All Icruxti have a capacity for Dyne, which first of all grants them a slightly longer lifespan, but also some extra magical abilities for those who possess Dyne in excess. Example: Dyne-users with a high capacity and ability can manifest wings for flight.
scalded silver - probably not silver, but very hot and very toxic. To everyone. Now that I think about it, it's probably closer to mercury or something.
Feed your dashboard by answering my question, blogger.
Once upon a time, this entity used to go by "Skittles" in the realm of the interwebs.
Someone shortened it to "Skit". Nice. Got some of my favorite letters. Sums up my skittery-scattery-ness. Didn't have to worry about inadvertently promoting a franchise, because the candy has betrayed me since changing the green flavor from green apple to lime :/
As if there aren't enough citrus flavors in the lineup already-
Unfortunately, Kahoot thinks "Skit" is too close to a bad word, so I have back-ups ^^
Extra lore:
My pen name - author insert persona whatever you call it - went through a couple of iterations: Katia Arensky, Skylin Artais ("Arensky" is a nice neutral mid-length one. I've used it a few times).
My current username "Scatteriskity" has proven to be a bit of a challenge to pronounce. I will respond to "Scatter sky" or "Skitter kitty" or anything vaguely resembling that, I can tell you're trying and I give you a gold star for effort.
If you want the REAL lore - it's from "Scatterisk" (made up Beyblade when I was in that phase), plus "Skit" because I must, plus a "y" to tie it together :D
-verse: Antikrypha
Story: Round Robin
Heads-Up: More Tanager/Radian lore, and a glimpse of their new life at the Avenadir base.Â
-
One of the side effects of growing up as a mechanicâs kid â Tanager could sleep through most disturbances like he was powered down to the world.Â
Part of that was probably a result of sheer drop-dead exhaustion at the end of a workday. If it had been otherwise, he mightâve trained himself to be a light sleeper, ready to spring awake at the slightest sound or shift. He wished he had that level of sensitivity and reactivity.
Unfortunately, what he poured out in relentless focus and burned out in energy capacity, he had to pay for with a complete system shutdown once he did allow himself to rest.Â
This had become particularly problematic in the last two years.
Radian would never have let Tanager run himself dry, not while Tanager was still technically a kid under his parentsâ roof, working in his parentsâ shop, and therefore partially under Radianâs sphere of responsibility, as an android programmed to help the Kytans with their responsibilities (which he had interpreted to include Tanager).
Once the shutdown of the workshop had forced Tanager and Radian into the Capital, both of them had become âCapital propertyâ. A dangerous place for a droid with a tendency to defy programming, and a boy who did not know how to defend his physical human limits.
The Capital supervisors watched Tanager far more closely than his parents ever had, and they had more threat and weight to their words than Radianâs suggestions to rest could counteract, so it was work and work and work until he couldnât anymore.
Combine that with the stress of his kidnapping, the torrent core commission, Radianâs overwrite of his own programming, and the subsequent escape of the Capital which included stowing away on a train and then jumping off said moving train, it was a miracle Tanagerâs body hadnât called it quits.
But even after moving to the Avenadir base, which by comparison felt like a vacation retreat, his body couldnât shake off the sleep-shutdown mode.Â
To be fair, he probably had years of sleep to catch up on at this point.
He didnât realize it meant sleeping through something so acutely disturbing as a midnight attack on the base, however.Â
-
Morning had come without anything glaringly out of the ordinary, though little clues here and there started to add up. It started with the note taped to the doorframe, written in a thin, narrow script.Â
Going out. Wonât be back until after supper.Â
In case youâre wondering where I am. Donât.
Tanager could only assume it could be Vireo, and while it was normal for his roommate to already be out on errands before anyone else was awake, the use of written correspondence was not. Paper was not a common commodity at the Avenadir base, and Vireo was most of all the strongest proponent for sparing its use.
Though it was also uncommon for Vireo to miss supper. He was usually very good about coming back before sundown. Mostly because Condor got all squawky and unpleasant about them staying outside too late.
Tanager wasnât looking forward to being the one to communicate this news to Condor. Oh, well. Best get it over with.
The atmosphere in the kitchen felt more disheveled than usual when he came down for breakfast. That was the next oddity; finding Petrel sitting at the table with a bowl of glue on her left and ceramic shards of something on her right.
It was strange to see her doing something that didnât involve her tablet, but she looked too deeply absorbed in her work for Tanager to ask a question.Â
He snuck behind her and went to the sink for a glass of water. Just before he opened the tap, he looked down and saw a pile of dirt with a sprig of small, green leaves poking out.
âOh⌠itâs Vireoâs mint,â he murmured, hand frozen above the faucet. Was this why Vireo had left that note on the door? Was he distraught about his plant? (Possible though it seemed, he didnât want to disrespect the older boy by thinking such a silly thing of his alleged botanical obsession.)
âDonât use the sink, get water from the fridge,â Petrel called out.Â
âYes maâam,â Tanager said, recognizing now that she was working with pieces of the flowerpot that had once held this plant. âDid it fall?â
âCondor knocked it over when she was trying to beat a wynndi out the window this morning.â
Tanager turned his head sharply. âA wynndi? Here? Are they gone now?â
âYeah, no thanks to you, Sleeping Beauty,â Condorâs voice cut in, preceding her appearance around the corner. âBlasted creatures waking us up at unholy hours. I canât believe you slept through the whole fiasco. You have a button for âDo Not Disturbâ mode or something?â
He felt his face heating up. âI-I didnât hear anything at all. Iâm sorry, I- Iâmââ
âSheâs only joking, Tanager.â Petrel gave Condor a pointed glare. Apparently someone had forgotten the rule to stay away from the robot terminology and teasing.
âYeah, if you could sleep through all that, you must really need it,â Condor said, pulling up a chair at the table. She ran a hand through her hair, blowing out a sigh. âI was gonna ask Vireo to run to the city and pick up some new supplies, but he ghosted out hours ago.â
Petrel blew on the half-reassembled flowerpot to dry the glue. âPerimeter sensor showed he left right after the wynndi incident. He didnât even go back to bed.â
âWell, if he comes back soon, Iâll ask him about th-â
âUm,â Tanager cleared his throat, âhe wonât be back until after supper.â
âWhat?â Condor sat up straighter. âHe knows how I feel about sundown.â
âYou did knock over his mint plant,â Petrel pointed out.
âOh, now itâs my fault.â
Tanager was mostly glad they werenât shooting the messenger, and poured himself a glass of water before looking for the toaster.
âThe toaster? Condor broke that too.â
-
1000 words
Vireo ran out for different reasons, but the mint plant is definitely a contributor to staying out later.
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-verse: Antikrypha
Story: Fantasy on a Siren Song
Heads-Up: We finally find out the answer to the cliffhanger question. And end with another cliffhanger question.
-
âWhat were you singing?â
Of all the possible last words I couldâve chosen, I wasnât sure what possessed me to ask such a question. Just like I wasnât sure what possessed me to run up a mountainside in the middle of the night.Â
My self-preservation instincts mustâve still been asleep. Which I wished I was, right at that moment. Exhaustion dragged at my frame once again, threatening collapse; only a dry yet detached terror at the creature in the shadows was dosing me with enough adrenaline to keep me awake and aware.
I saw the glint of that silver-fanged sneer suddenly wink out, withdrawn in surprise. The pressure of the predatory threat in front of me did not disappear, but seemed to be on hold for the moment.
âAsk me that again, boy.â The red eyes narrowed, and my heart rate shot up. Now those self-preservation mechanisms were kicking in, though âfightâ and âflightâ seemed to have been removed as options, and left me stranded with âfreezeâ.
I made it upset, I offended it somehow, I canât tell if this is a trick question or a rhetorical one, I donât know if I should answer or just stand here inâ
âSILENCE!â it roared, with a voice like orchestrated gale and flood and quake.
I fell to my knees, stunned and scared out of my wits. Iâd forgotten I was still in the river. The water was frigid and reached up to my chest; the coldness was another shock to my system that further contributed to systemic shutdown.
âNo, not you, I was talking to the noise.âÂ
The trees were quiet, the wind still, the river flowing calmly. I hadnât even realized they had been riled up while my thoughts were spiraling out of control. What was this creature?Â
âUgh, you humans. So self-centered. Thinking everything is about you, and every threat is at you, and everything is going to eat you.â
The creature finally stepped out into the light. What struck me first were those enormous ears, almost like wings, patterned with concentric half-rings that seemed to draw all sound towards their center.Â
And then actual wings. Unfurling like a cape from the shoulders, spreading wide and magnificent and colorful like a stained-glass butterfly. But they didnât look delicate in the least, rather dangerous and dizzying, flown through fire and untouchably refined.
 âI told you to ask me that again. Or was that just a fluke? You heard no song. Only your dissonance. Only your fear. I can take care of that right now.â
Something in the way that was said made me really not want that to be taken care of right now.Â
I looked down, snapping my attention away from the hypnotic patterns. Recovering my voice, I repeated my question. âWhat were you singing? I chased it because Iâve never heard it before, or maybe I had. And⌠I needed to know.â
Moments of quietness passed, stretching to minutes. I didnât dare look up, focusing on the water swirling around me, my body now numb to its temperature. At least my leg wasnât hurting. It had stopped hurting ever since the music⌠came back⌠when had that happened?
Something was different. Something was missing. It was like listening to a choir that was missing a voice. Not so obvious as a concerto that was missing a soloist.
I didnât even know that I knew which part was missing, until I heard the notes from my own throat humming the counterpoint.
Suddenly, talons seized me from the water and deposited me on the rocky riverbank. The creature had me pinned on my back, wings spread fully, jaws so close to my face that I could smell metal on its breath. I held my own gasps in, taking shallow, shivering sips of air.
âYou shouldnât have been able to hear that.â It lifted its head, that piercing red glare becoming slightly duller, slightly more distant. âYou shouldnât have been able to sing that.â
âWas⌠was I righ-â
âNO! You were wrong, you got it wrong, that wasnât my song!â the creature screeched, bearing down with more pressure on my ribcage. âWhy did you sing it like that? Who taught you that? Was it a rival? A hunter?â
âI-Iâm sorry!â I cried, breathless words tumbling out as air was squeezed from my lungs. âI-I donât know why Iâm here! I woke up in the middle of the night and sleep-ran up the mountain, and goodness knows I donât trespass for fun because I donât even like walking on a normal dayâ hhhhey!â
In an instant, I went from being pinned to suddenly dangled mid-air from my right ankle. I felt my shin straining, sending warning sparks up my leg.Â
âLet go, let go let go, it hurtsââ I hissed.
The creature did not let go, but rolled up the hem of my soaked pants to peer at the dark patch on my leg, snout wrinkled in disgust. âYou brought this dissonance into my domain?â
That had to be a rhetorical question. Everything I had said and done so far appeared to have annoyed the creature, and I doubted any further response from me would change my fate. How many times could I apologize for something that wasnât my fault?
âItâs a dissonance to me too,â I found myself saying. Well, it wasnât an apology, at least. Maybe a musical observation could stall my demise again.
âYou donât hear it like I do. You canât possibly hear all the noise. No one ever wants to listen closely enough.â The growl in the voice wasnât exactly a snarl, and it wasnât exactly directed at me. If anything, it seemed almost like a private rant below the breath.
Another question sitting on my tongue, this time actually processed by my brain yet still too slow to catch it slipping out. Or maybe allowed to pass, with no other options on the table.
âWould you show me, then?â I asked. âWhat it sounds like?â
â
999 words
Yes, the title of this main story is "Fantasy on a Siren Song", how could I pass up this opportunity >v<
Immediate continuation of "Rondo Tricantix" (FFF#319). I've been meaning to rewrite this first chapter/encounter between Peck and Piper for some time, and boy was it hard to figure out what Piper really wants from him...
New Peck quirk though, that this has helped me discover: in the face of danger, he will ask music questions. Can't tell if this is good intuition that he's dealing with a musical being, or just panic whoops self preservation out the window~
As it turns out, the best way to make peace with your old, slightly cringy artwork is to stare at it even longer while you revamp some character designs.
I haven't quite hit the next 5 year mark for this one yet, but I do think my dragons peaked in 2023 so I probably won't be doing a more recent redraw for these two, ahaa...
Anywho! Perhaps I'll drop some lore bits while I'm at it. Introducing Cap and Kali, the Starsurfer sibling duo and protagonists of my WIP, "Blue Shift".
Capella - [Alpha Aurigae] - female, 16. Protective big sis, with hypnokinesis (sleep manipulation) as her attribution ability. Bright, confident, with the physical skills to back up any threats she makes, because she will throw hands if you mess with Kali.
Kali - [Beta Aurigae] - male, 13. Little bro who ironically suffers from a number of sleep issues, with aura/ability reading as his attribution ability. Not as center-stage shining as his sister, but quietly brilliant and a fast learner, all from the comfy hiding place of big jackets.
Why is sleep a theme for star dragons and space adventures?
The real lore is that Skit went through a sleep science fascination phase, and these two popped up out of a short story I wrote along the topic.
The in-universe canon lore is that Auriga, the Constellation of their affiliation (and Capella's attribution) specializes in the domain of dreams. Now if you ask me why for that, give me some time to scrounge up a reason >v<