Sketches in Ink

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.

“Nolixea,” her mother hissed as she passed by. “Where do you think you’re going?”

The Chiro princess froze at the top of the steps, glancing between her mother and the door which Firsen had just gone through. “I was– because Firsen just left, and I–”

“I didn’t leave, I was coming right back.” 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. 

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. 

So that’s what Firsen was cooking up with that smirk. A serving of humble pie.

“I noticed she looked a little weak, maybe overheated when I came in,” Firsen explained. “She said she wanted a glass of water. I was happy to get it for her.”

Calire nodded. That… actually seemed accurate. Maybe she was trying to get water. Even though she didn’t remember having that conscious desire or decision, the intent still stuck in her mind. “Thank you, Firsen.”

“You got water for her?” 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.

“Oh, did you want one too, Lixy?” Firsen asked. “Sorry, I was in a bit of a rush. I just didn’t want to make Lady Calire spend extra energy, since she already looked… a little unwell.”

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. 

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 didn’t know, but she figured Firsen would let her know in private later.

The tension was fairly visible now, especially to Calire’s flare-reading ability..

Nolixea’s 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, Firsen’s 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 Calire’s wrist and walked her back down to the seats, but not before whispering to Lixy as he passed,

“If you don’t know how to ask politely, then get your own drink, Princess.”

-

807 words

I’m 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? They’re 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 these–

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 girl…

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. 

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 didn’t hear as high as Chiros did– 

Perfect.

The sheets slipped out from the Avie’s 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 Avie’s feathers and fingertips. 

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 Lixy’s 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. 

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 hadn’t been so focused on maintaining her frequency, Lixy’s 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 girl’s shoulders, sending a bright pulse of Dyne that snapped Lixy’s 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.

“She… that’s different. She’s just waiting for our parents to do business. A-and I’m the only one her age here.”

Radian pointed at the card. [She made an invitation, by HAND, for you.]

“M-maybe she was… bored?” Tanager reasoned. “She’s already very good at crafts.”

[She also brings you pastries every week.]

“She does.” Tanager hunched his shoulders. “I should probably pay her back…”

[PAY her?? You really are something else.] Radian face-palmed and shook his head, but his grin seemed to get even wider. [It’s so OBVIOUS.]

“What is?”

[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.]

“W-w-what do you mean?” he stammered, voice made more tremulous by the shaking.

[Despite how many excuses you make to yourself that you don’t deserve friendship without strings attached. Your attempt to conceal your mutual enjoyment of her company makes you seem heartless.] 

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.]

“Yeah?”

[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.]

“What do I tell my parents?”

[They have a booth at the festival. Were you not aware?]

“Ohh.”

-

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 ^^"

–

That afternoon, she entered his cell carrying several thick blankets. Enough for him to use as a makeshift mattress (since he couldn’t climb onto his bed), with at least one left over to keep him warm.

She dropped the blankets in front of him. He didn’t move, didn’t 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.

“I’ll be back,” 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. “Oops.”

Huh, this wasn’t a window from this side, but one of those one-way mirrors. Most Icruxti didn’t like looking at their reflections, which stripped away much of the Dyne aura that gave their appearance vitality and energy. 

Perhaps this really was used as a cell back in the day. Psychological pressure or something. 

She picked up the corner of the drape to tack it back up, then left the room.

–

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.

She’d panicked at first when she didn’t see him at a cursory glance from her room, wondering if he had run away somehow. 

(Highly doubtful, with half a leg missing, though she wouldn’t 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 wasn’t going to work.

“I cannot see you,” Calire intoned slowly, trying for a second chance at communication, “when you sit away from the door. And then we scare each other. Like just now.”

His knees were drawn up to his chest, head tucked between them and under one arm. The other hand held out, a gesture of ‘please keep your distance, you’re too close’.

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… couldn’t process? 

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 they’d 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. Calire’s 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 must’ve seen that she was bothered by the reflection and wanted to test that. The thought amused her; she didn’t 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 wasn’t 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! 

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.

–

Though she’d never interacted up close with a human before, she’d seen enough of them from a distance to make a few useful observations.

This human was a male human. Age, she couldn’t 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 weren’t 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. 

Like, half of a leg.

–

He was a runaway.

After asking one of the station sentries more about this human, she’d 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. 

How he’d 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 didn’t 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.

–

Her closet was right across his cell. 

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 couldn’t understand his tongue, but she was obsessed with its sound. Such a strange, dusty language. So organic, so rough, so raw.

She didn’t 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 communicate… 

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 :>

“My first field assignment and they leave me on read,” 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. 

Or maybe that’s what she talked herself into believing. Because in the event that this was real, and there was something more going on… she wasn’t 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.

“I taste horrible and also I’m spontaneously flammable,” 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 she’d witnessed with Scap’s case. He was insecure in his personal value to others. Jasi knew the Visors needed her skills. If she were scared (which she wasn’t 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. 

Relic Fields, to her knowledge, were full of half-tangible memories; the echoes of events and the silhouettes of souls. While they were allegedly “safe” for missions, the supporting evidence was hardly a strong case. 

Yes, Telerand had been on many Relic Assignments. Yes, he’d survived them all, so far.

But he’d 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 Jasi’s books, survivable did not necessarily mean safe.

“Then again,” Jasi murmured with a little laugh, “he’s 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 area–”

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!

“Of course,” she hissed, fumbling with the device and trying to kill the volume. “Of course everything all happens now. Answering my wishes at the most inconvenient time possible.” 

She was fully about to pop open the case and disconnect the wires, but a new symbol on the display caught her eye. “What in the–”

Those stacked signals had certainly looked like Telerand’s signatures, but a second look at the dimensional wave in particular showed her that they were peaking at all the wrong frequencies. 

Actually, they were exactly opposite all of Telerand’s peaks. 

She would know; she’d spent far too many hours trying to track his location for the lab that she had it memorized by now. 

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 Telerand’s 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--

–

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 would’ve found a way to effectively silence them for sniffing too close to Catalyst’s underground scheme.

But he could kill two birds with one stone – or rather, get the bird away from her trio, and acquire her talents for Catalyst’s cause.

“Lady Calire, I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation with the runix the other day. I’ve heard whispers of this group – we’ve been trying to track them down for decades, but not many are willing to investigate a mere rumor.” “If rumors were investigated more often, fewer disasters would happen… I’d do it. I’ve asked Firsen, and he says I should. But I don’t even know where to start. Do you know what they’re called?” “Yes… I believe I’ve heard they call themselves ‘Catalyst’.” “Finally, a name! This is helpful. So helpful. I– ah, thank you, Master Dulagast.” “Anytime, Lady Calire. I wish you well on your investigation.”

Bingo.

–

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 Firsen’s personal guard, his shield, his anchor.

But the strength of his vow to Firsen would be the weakness Dulagast would exploit. 

The rules were different in the court. While Arensky may have helped Firsen gain favor with the lower regions, a human’s 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. 

It was only a matter of time before he sought something to do. And Dulagast had a place prepared.

“Master Advisor.” “Scutar. What brings you here?” “I’m afraid my role as Firsen’s defense is lost here. The Crux is well-protected. Is there some other way my services are needed?” “You are in Firsen’s closest circle. Did he not extend a title to you?” “I… with all due respect, sir, I can’t see myself doing that. Firsen already offered. I couldn’t take it. Give me an active role, please.” “It 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.”

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 Arensky’s dignity, wouldn’t it?

–

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 Melonykas’ 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. 

“It is wonderful to see a Streykas Essent on the throne once more.” “... Father seemed to think otherwise.” “Your 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.” “But it’s my duty. He didn’t even give me a chance to prove I can handle it.” “I know you can. The power you have? I see it. And I see that you are strong enough to harness it.” “Really? Then… will you help me do that, Dulagast?” “It would be my pleasure, Your Highness.”

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

“I had breakfast with my parents before we came here. This is for you.” 

She dropped the bag in his lap, because clearly he wasn’t 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. 

Maybe conversation would get him to loosen up. And forget about his stomach’s outburst.

“Is the shop closed today?” she asked. “Wait, my parents had to pick up someth–”

“No, we’re still open. Just not the workshop,” Tanager replied. He opened the paper bag and took a deep, satisfied sniff of the bread inside. “Some people are coming to inspect. Happens once a month.”

“Oohhh.” Lark watched Tanager take a bite of the croissant, chewing in silence with his eyes closed. He took another bite, and then another. 

Maybe the intermittent rustling of the paper and the lack of Lark’s usual commentary made him suddenly feel self–conscious, because he glanced at her with one hand covering his mouth. “What? Do I have something on my face?”

She turned her head away briefly, fighting another smile. “I was just wondering if you do this every time.”

“Do what?”

“Sit outside on the bench by yourself and stare off into space.”

Tanager swallowed, setting aside the half-eaten croissant. “Well, normally I’m by myself. But I’m not staring off into space.”

Lark bounced up and down on her toes. “So what would you be doing instead?”

“I… I mean, normally I have–” He stopped himself, scratching his head as if trying to figure out what felt off. Finally he scooted over on the bench. “Could… could you please sit? It’s weird that you’re standing and I’m not.”

“Why, thank you. I thought so too.” Lark took the free space. “Soooo?”

“So… what?”

Okay, there was no way he had that short of a conversation memory. Now he was actively dodging her question. She didn’t 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. 

“You put something away when I called your name earlier.”

There, a twitch. Jackpot. “Oh, that… nothing important.”

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? 

She leaned forwards. “Are you writing… poetry?”

Tanager leaned back. “What? No. Do I look like I write poetry?”

“Secretly wonderful poetry, I bet. About flowers and sky and stars–” She tilted her head, sweeping her arm as if visualizing such a landscape.

“Not poetry–” Tanager repeated, shaking his head, but she didn’t stop, knowing he would break soon.

“And the birds that you wake up to in the mornings, before the sun is even up, during the breakfast time that you don’t 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 gears…” 

“It isn’t poetry, I’m telling you – here, look!” He whipped out a little notebook from his pocket and thumbed through the pages, flipping it around to show her. “They’re ideas. Mostly scrapped ones. Not really worth trying.”

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. “That looks really cool. You should try it. I think you can do it.”

He seemed startled, like he wasn’t expecting a compliment. “Well… maybe when I have more time.”

“I was right about there being birds. Maybe you are a romantic.”

“That was all you. Also, ‘deepest yearnings of the soul’... really?”

“I was just trying to sound like my English teacher.”

-

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.

I hope nothing bad happens to them later :)

–

The Icruxti came by to gawk at him. 

At least, he assumed that’s 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. 

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 weren’t 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 wasn’t looking very well. 

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. 

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. 

He laid one arm over his eyes and tried to conserve his energy, his state of mind.

–

The hum of the force field changed. Halos and whispers danced at the edge of his awareness, though at this point he couldn’t tell if they were spectators of his misery or specters come to guide him out of it. 

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 didn’t mean people couldn’t 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 “spirits”.

The hand he felt on his jaw was very much tangible and very much real, however. 

He opened his eyes and instantly regretted it, the sparking haze above him setting off fireworks in his brain’s optic processing center. Too weak and overwhelmed to fight back, he could only shake his head back and forth in protest.

“sTop moving… tRYing to… hELp You.”

Words! Words he could understand, despite them coming through like fragmented static on a bad radio. 

“DriNk. All oF it.”

Something cold and smooth tipped into his mouth, flavor indescribable to taste, momentarily so intense that it consumed him, almost unraveled him. 

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.

“Dyne saturation crisis. Sorry you had to go through that,” his rescuer whispered, lifting his head gently to put a cushion underneath. “Your name?”

When he paused, wondering what odd magic was allowing him to understand her, she clarified, “I speak your tongue.”

That was the most encouraging news he had heard all day. He cleared his throat. “... Arensky.”

“Just Arensky?”

“That’s all I need, and all you need.” 

“Fair enough, Arensky. My name is Calire. And you are at the Crux.”

-

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".

–

“It isn’t enough.”

Firsen’s heart dropped. He fought to keep his voice under control, the husky tremor coming out more like a low warning whisper. “Those are not words I want to hear.”

“So the runir came to a healer’s apprentice to solve this?” 

“Calire, none of the healers were going to do anything about it.”

“Why would they? They won’t waste their resources on an outsider.” She paused. “But why did you come to me?”

“Because… because you know Arensky’s physiology the best. Calire, please.”

“Your Desperateness, do you think I’m going to turn down a request from my runir?”

The prince’s ears flicked upwards, and a fizzle of hope lit itself in his eyes. “So you can help, then?”

“I don’t know what I can do, but I don’t want him to die either.” Calire carefully peeled back the wet rags over the gleaming burns on Arensky’s arm and torso. She grimaced. “Scalded silver is poisonous. To everyone. What were you even doing in the shafts?”

“Long story, irrelevant right now.” Firsen tried not to be in the way, but he was having a hard time masking his concern. “Can it be reversed?”

Calire put her ear close to Arensky’s chest, hearing the rattle of toxin-ravaged lungs, then shook her head sadly. “I fear not. He just doesn't have enough… life capacity.”

“How does one even fix that?” Firsen braced his forearms against the table and bowed his head, pressing his fingers into his forehead so hard that it started to hurt.

“Fiers.” Calire’s voice only became quiet when things were urgent, though she maintained a casual observatory tone. “You’re leaking.”

“Oh–” 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. 

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? 

“What if I gave him my Dyne?” Firsen held out his hands, concentrating some of that flickering magic into his palms. “That would heal him, right? Would that make him Icruxti? One of us? I read something about Dyne-transfer, and-”

“I would get in sooo much trouble if I let you do that,” Calire cut in. “I know what you’re 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.”

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. “Is there no way to heal him?”

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 he’d spent in the realm of the Icruxti had certainly bolstered his constitution, but it wouldn’t be enough. Icruxti methods of healing required a minimum life capacity that a human simply couldn’t 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.

“-give it time,” Firsen heard Calire murmur.

“He doesn’t have time,” the prince replied, frustration sparking up again.

“No, give him time. Not your power. We don’t need to heal him completely, right now,” the apprentice clarified, opening drawers and shelves with renewed purpose. “We just give him enough time so that he can heal gradually.”

Firsen nodded, slowly at first, but more confidently as the pieces clicked together. “Tell me what I need to do.”

-

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.

-

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. 

Going out. Won’t be back until after supper.  In case you’re wondering where I am. Don’t.

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 wasn’t 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 didn’t involve her tablet, but she looked too deeply absorbed in her work for Tanager to ask a question. 

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.

“Oh… it’s Vireo’s mint,” 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 didn’t want to disrespect the older boy by thinking such a silly thing of his alleged botanical obsession.)

“Don’t use the sink, get water from the fridge,” Petrel called out. 

“Yes ma’am,” Tanager said, recognizing now that she was working with pieces of the flowerpot that had once held this plant. “Did it fall?”

“Condor knocked it over when she was trying to beat a wynndi out the window this morning.”

Tanager turned his head sharply. “A wynndi? Here? Are they gone now?”

“Yeah, no thanks to you, Sleeping Beauty,” Condor’s voice cut in, preceding her appearance around the corner. “Blasted creatures waking us up at unholy hours. I can’t believe you slept through the whole fiasco. You have a button for ‘Do Not Disturb’ mode or something?”

He felt his face heating up. “I-I didn’t hear anything at all. I’m sorry, I- I’m–”

“She’s only joking, Tanager.” Petrel gave Condor a pointed glare. Apparently someone had forgotten the rule to stay away from the robot terminology and teasing.

“Yeah, if you could sleep through all that, you must really need it,” Condor said, pulling up a chair at the table. She ran a hand through her hair, blowing out a sigh. “I was gonna ask Vireo to run to the city and pick up some new supplies, but he ghosted out hours ago.”

Petrel blew on the half-reassembled flowerpot to dry the glue. “Perimeter sensor showed he left right after the wynndi incident. He didn’t even go back to bed.”

“Well, if he comes back soon, I’ll ask him about th-”

“Um,” Tanager cleared his throat, “he won’t be back until after supper.”

“What?” Condor sat up straighter. “He knows how I feel about sundown.”

“You did knock over his mint plant,” Petrel pointed out.

“Oh, now it’s my fault.”

Tanager was mostly glad they weren’t shooting the messenger, and poured himself a glass of water before looking for the toaster.

“The toaster? Condor broke that too.”

-

1000 words

Vireo ran out for different reasons, but the mint plant is definitely a contributor to staying out later.

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. 

And then actual wings. Unfurling like a cape from the shoulders, spreading wide and magnificent and colorful like a stained-glass butterfly. But they didn’t look delicate in the least, rather dangerous and dizzying, flown through fire and untouchably refined.

 “I 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.”

Something in the way that was said made me really not want that to be taken care of right now. 

I looked down, snapping my attention away from the hypnotic patterns. Recovering my voice, I repeated my question. “What were you singing? I chased it because I’ve never heard it before, or maybe I had. And… I needed to know.”

Moments of quietness passed, stretching to minutes. I didn’t dare look up, focusing on the water swirling around me, my body now numb to its temperature. At least my leg wasn’t 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 didn’t 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.

“You shouldn’t have been able to hear that.” It lifted its head, that piercing red glare becoming slightly duller, slightly more distant. “You shouldn’t have been able to sing that.”

“Was… was I righ-”

“NO! You were wrong, you got it wrong, that wasn’t my song!” the creature screeched, bearing down with more pressure on my ribcage. “Why did you sing it like that? Who taught you that? Was it a rival? A hunter?”

“I-I’m sorry!” I cried, breathless words tumbling out as air was squeezed from my lungs. “I-I don’t know why I’m here! I woke up in the middle of the night and sleep-ran up the mountain, and goodness knows I don’t trespass for fun because I don’t even like walking on a normal day– hhhhey!”

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. 

“Let go, let go let go, it hurts–” 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. “You brought this dissonance into my domain?”

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 wasn’t my fault?

“It’s a dissonance to me too,” I found myself saying. Well, it wasn’t an apology, at least. Maybe a musical observation could stall my demise again.

“You don’t hear it like I do. You can’t possibly hear all the noise. No one ever wants to listen closely enough.” The growl in the voice wasn’t exactly a snarl, and it wasn’t 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.

“Would you show me, then?” I asked. “What it sounds like?”

–

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~