#31daysofarcana

Even as the cracks in the walls and ceiling break wider and wider apart, he presses the gem onto her chest. Even as the very foundation of the Devil’s realm splits open—allowing magma-like blood to bubble and froth upward—Lucio presses the gem into her chest.

Debris from above knocks the chunk of obsidian flooring they’re on to shift downward. Lucio scrabbles with one arm, trying to find purchase as he and Lyra slide toward the boiling blood below. He manages to find a holding spot in a small divot in the surface, but his flesh-and-bone arm struggles with his and Lyra’s combined weight.

Like a breaching whale, the end of the flooring that went up finally goes down. The force of its return to relative horizontal stability sends a splash of crimson everywhere. It’s only evidence of it splashing over Lucio and Lyra is evidenced though her white dress and his pants being stained. 

“Fuck!” Lucio swears, the heat of it burning through to his skin. He struggles to get his bearings, especially as Mercedes and Melchior bark and whine. The dogs scrabble along their side of the cracked flooring they’re on.

The Devil’s realm starts to whiteout. Color drains from the very edges of the realm, being sucked from the furthest of hidden corners. The red and black are being dragged back toward the center of it all, to what remains of the Devil’s throne room.

Another piece of the ceiling falls down upon them. The weight of this chunk, however, hits the edge of the floor they’re floating on. The force of it jolts Lucio enough for him to lose his grip on Lyra. It catapults the man up and away from her.

As he crashes toward where his dogs are, Lyra’s body drops into the bloody magma.

“Lyra!” Lucio scrambles to get to the edge leading into the boiling blood. Around him, the red and black of the Devil’s realm starts to rapidly blanche. Everything around them brightens to such a white, it reminds Lucio of sunlight hitting snow.

The water-like movements of the boiling blood make the former Count stop in his tracks. He peers into the roiling liquid, trying to see if he can spot her.

Instead, his distraught visage reflects back at him.

The smell of iron makes Lucio feel nauseous. Mercedes and Melchior whine, pacing around the jagged edge dipping toward the bubbling substance.

The former Count keeps screaming for Lyra. He tries to reach into the boiling liquid, but his dogs intervene. Melchior bodily forces him back from the edge as Mercedes bites into his velvet cloak, tugging him further away.

“NO! No babies, stop! I-we, we need to get her, PLEASE—!” Lucio thrashes about, but it’s no use. He’s exhausted from the fight with the Devil.

By the time the dogs had successfully gotten him to the base of the Devil’s throne, more of the hellish palace had broken apart.

The throne itself, once split in two, is now reformed. It’s the only thing still intact with the obsidian flooring. The rest . . . the rest is dissolving into the molten liquid.

A giant crack erupts into the obsidian flooring they’re on. It’s lightning bolt-like movement continues to fracture onward . . . onwards toward them.

“Up, up!” Lucio gesticulates for his dogs to hop onto the throne. They don’t move. They whine, pacing the floor, but staring out toward the steaming patches of blood beyond.

“I’m not losing you two too—UP!” Lucio yells. That gets the dogs to move. Lucio barely has any time to get up there himself when the floor finally splits apart.

The three of them are left squeezing into the seat of the throne. Lucio sits with his legs crossed, Mercedes in his lap. Melchior stands behind Lucio, pressed into the back of the throne.

The throne somehow remains floating, bobbing up and down in the boiling blood.

The realm is nothing more than like a sheet of bleached parchment. The only things with any color are Lucio, Mercedes, Melchior, the obsidian throne, and the boiling blood below. The chunks of the obsidian floor bob in and out of existence, silhouetted against the bubbling crimson beneath.

Melchior whines, tail wagging. He looks around from his spot, attempting to sniff the air. He snorts, sneezing.

“I know . . . you miss her too, don’t you?” Lucio’s voice warbles. As he looks out around them, his hand pets over Mercedes’s head.

Melchior answers in a quiet bark, whining some more. Lucio shifts so that the dog can move to the other side. The former count leans on the other arm of the throne, counterbalancing the shifting weight.

“If Asra didn’t have any reason to kill me before, this would be a damn good reason to . . .“ Lucio chuckles wryly. Tears brim along his eyes as he brings the palm of his gloved hand to his cheek.

Mercedes raises her head into Lucio’s other palm. Her red eyes stare up at him through the spaces between his fingers.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

O*O*O

A current brings them further and further away from where the Devil’s palace once stood. There’s just . . . nothing all around them. The sky above is nothing but white, and the boiling blood is now an ocean they’re floating through.

There are times when Lucio nods off to sleep. It’s not long before he wakes up, screaming as he relives losing Lyra in his dreams. Mercedes and Melchior do their best to comfort him, but there’s only so much they can do before the cycle repeats itself.

The former Count has all but lost track of time. It doesn’t matter how long he’s been floating on the buoyant throne that he and his dogs are crammed in on: they all lost Lyra.

Lucio rubs over his eyelids, grimacing. The pure white of the sky above has been hurting is eyes for the past however-the-fuck-long it has been.

Lucio and Mercedes jump as Melchior starts wildly barking.

“EASY!” Lucio yelps, barely dodging some of the back-splash from the boiling liquid below. ”Melchior, what are you—?”

Lucio looks to where the dog is barking toward. He can’t see anything.

“Melchior, you’re going to knock us all into the—”

For the briefest of moments, Lucio sees a pale, silvery green light. It’s shining in the distance, bobbing just above the undulating crimson liquid.

Before Lucio can register its familiarity, Mercedes joins in on the barking. With two sets of tails wagging around him, Lucio can’t see shit.

Gripping the top rail of the throne, Lucio pulls himself up. He’s wobbly, but he gets to his feet. The throne pitches back from the shift in weight distribution, making all occupants freeze.

With the throne swinging like a pendulum, it surprisingly bobs toward where the silver-green light shines.

As they get closer and closer, a flat island made of craggy rock emerges into view. There’s splashing in the distance, like someone . . . someone—

Someone struggling to the surface.

When the base of the throne touches against the landmass, Lucio gets off of the chair. He stumbles, falling on his face. With a groan, Lucio gets to his feet. He beckons for Mercedes and Melchior to jump off the throne.

“I’ll catch you!”

Mercedes makes the first go of it. She’s caught by Lucio, who almost topples over. Upon setting her down, Melchior takes his turn. The dog successfully knocks Lucio over, making them both crash into the ground. To Lucio’s horror, it’s a crumbly, ashy surface.

“Augh!” Lucio grimaces, seeing the state of his white pants. As he dusts off his pants, both dogs perk up in unison.

Before he can do or say anything, the dogs race off toward the splashing in the distance.

The man shakes his head, sighing in exasperation. Summoning his sword, Lucio races after them.

O*O*O

After the first instance of getting lost, fog begins to roll in. Lucio loses track of his dogs’ paw prints several times because of it. When the former Count manages to retrace his steps, he finds himself in front of a waterfall.

Considering that all he’s seen for the past however-long-its-been is a blindingly white sky, ashy black ground, and the occasional tell-tale boiling blood surrounding the land, it seemed to materialize out of nowhere.

It spills out from a wall he cannot see, but he can definitely feel, if his pawing around told him anything. The water(?) pouring out and over the top seems to be made of starlight, surrounded in liquid night.

He moves on, still tracking pawprints. It isn’t long before he can spot Mercedes and Melchior prancing about the shoreline of this landmass. As Lucio gets closer to them, he notices that both dogs are dragging something out of the boiling water.

“Put that down you don’t know where that’s been!” Lucio rushes over, pushing the dogs off of whatever it was that they pulled up from the boiling blood.

To Lucio’s disgust, it was a charred . . . something. Sheathing his sword, Lucio cautiously pokes the covered end of his blade onto the, the thing.

With effort, Lucio flips it over. With disgust, he realizes it’s a humanoid body. Whatever they were before, they were about his size, give or take a few inches.

As Lucio turns away, sighing, something glints. It’s a flash in his peripheral, but the dogs react immediately. They try to get at the charred body once more, but Lucio intervenes.

After successfully pushing his dogs back yet again, Lucio spots the silvery, green light within the torso of solidified ashes. He blinks, feeling a cold chill seize the base of his neck. Realization dawns upon him in where he’s seen that shade of light before.

No, not light—

Magic.

“LYRA!?” Lucio drops down to his knees, pulling the charred body into his arms. “Ly! Ly!? Can you hear me!?” He gently shakes her, tears rushing down his face. “No, nononono—”

Melchior bays loudly, making Lucio’s ears ring. Mercedes, in turn, runs circles around the group.

“Ly, Ly c’mon—” Lucio pleads, brushing his hands over where her face would be.

Some of the ash is easily wiped away, revealing a cheek. Her skin is dyed to a crimson red. Cracks full of gold light traverse her chin and the arch of her cheek.

Swearing under his breath, Lucio hefts Lyra into his arms. He looks to Mercedes and Melchior, tears and ruined makeup streaking down his face.

"Th-there was a waterfall back there. I don't remember—" Mercedes races ahead, determined to find it first. In turn, Melchior nudges his muzzle against Lucio's side, whining softly.

"I know, I know. You're worried too."

A/N: I have had this in my drafts for almost an entire year. I do not know when the next part is coming. I just know I can’t add to this anymore without it feeling it is too much.

Lyra thinks, trying to remember. “Asra told me not long after I arrived at I didn’t want to do anything with the region I came from.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah . . . apparently I had too many bad memories. According to him, I had a hard time even eating foods that came from my hometown.”

“Aww,” Portia replies. “That’s sad.”

“Yeah, but I’m open to try again when we get back to Vesuvia . . . according to his last letter I have some family—”

“What!?”

“Yeah!” Lyra nods, chuckling. “Apparently I have family back in Vesuvia! My biological uncle, his partners, and their kid. I’m excited to meet them all and get reacquainted!”

They keep walking, greeting everyone they pass by. Portia strikes up some small talk with those she grew up with, introducing Lyra as Ilya’s girlfriend.

Time to time, Portia shifts to the local dialect. Ilya’s name pops up more than once, which makes Lyra raise an eyebrow.

“No worry,” one of the neighbors says to Lyra, “she not shit-talking you. She mischief girl, but good girl.”

“I’ll agree with that,” Lyra replies, laughing softly.

Before long, they’re back at the inn where they’re staying. Julian is nowhere in sight, most likely helping around town with medical-related things.

Lyra opens the door, having Portia go in first before she follows. The pair greet the receptionist kindly and then duck into their room.

It’s a quaint little room with two beds, a nice window with a flowers lining just outside of it, and a water closet. Ly and Julian barely fit into one bed—or alternate sleeping on the floor with a futon they brought from one of Julian’s friends back in Vesuvia—while Portia and Pepi had the other.

Lyra lies flat on the bed she and Julian slept on, groaning softly.

At the end of the night, the Ambassador forgave Lyra’s slip of the tongue. That was the most important thing.

Lyra had rushed to their shared chambers immediately after the Ambassador left the dining room. After stripping down to a loose tunic and sleeping shorts, Lyra hopped into bed.

Nadia had some late-night reading to do in preparation for some paperwork. Said paperwork was to be finished by tomorrow night and mailed off to the intended recipients after being signed.

She was wrong to assume that Lyra would not have slipped out on her own. When severely stressed, as previously explained to other staff members, Lyra would walk off her anxieties. It could’ve taken anywhere from an hour to three hour stints before Lyra would return. The younger woman usually told Nadia when she was going out to do so . . . but tonight was the first time she didn’t.

The Countess is drawn out of her thoughts when she hears the fountain in the hedge maze. Hiking up her skirt, Nadia traverses each bend of the area until she reaches her destination.

Raising her lamp, Nadia squints in the darkness.

Illuminated before her, Lyra is lying flat on the rim of the fountain. Her eyes are pointed to the stars above. Considering how lifeless Lyra looks, if it weren’t for the fact the young woman was sniffling, Nadia would’ve feared the worst.

“Lyra!” Nadia exhales, relieved. This gets her fiancée’s attention. Swinging her legs out to the side, Lyra sits up. She stands, wobbly, and meekly approaches Nadia.

Once she’s am arm’s length away, Nadia draws Lyra in for a hug. The Countess presses her nose and lips to the top of Lyra’s head, sighing softly.

“Come on. Let us go back inside,” Nadia recommends. Numbly, Lyra nods. Arms crossed over her chest, hugging herself, Lyra follows Nadi back to the palace.

⁂ ⁂ ⁂

Once the search parties are told that Lyra’s been found, Nadia thanks them for their hard work. Before they could disperse, the Countess also notes she’ll make sure they would all get monetary compensation for the late night call. Having Portia write down all their names, Nadia dismisses them.

As she returns to her shared quarters, Lyra is sitting on the floor in a small pile of blankets and pillows. She’s pulled a blanket up and over herself, looking like she was a small hooded figure.

Nadia’s expression becomes concerned, approaching quietly. In a low voice, she asks, “Lyra, may I sit next to you?”

Her fiancée nods, scooting to allow Nadia to sit down beside her.

It’s quiet for a bit. Before long, Lyra is anxiously fidgeting. With this, Nadia knows that she’s fit to burst into tears.

“Lyra, did you leave because of what transpired at dinner?“ Nadia gently reaches out to Ly, offering the former her hand.

Under her cocoon of a blanket, Lyra unfurls a hand. As she grasps Nadia’s hand, the Countess lifts it to her lips.

Lyra watches, rapt as Nadia presses a gentle kiss to the top of it.

That breaks the dam, and she begins to cry.

“Ohhh Lyra . . .” Nadia exhales, pulling her into her arms. Lyra sobs into her chest, clinging to her like a limpet.

It comes out in a blubbering stream: Lyra’s intended compliment to the Ambassador’s brooch in Venterra turned into a dramatic insult when she messed up the pronunciation.

“Ididn’tmeantoitwasreallypretty—!”

“I know, I know,” Nadia soothes, gently smoothing her hand over Lyra’s head.

“I-I practiced saying it with you! I don’t understand how I messed up the accent!“

Nadia rests her chin over Lyra’s head, thinking. “You have been anxious about the meeting for the past few days, my love,“ Nadia points out. “Your stress might have exhausted you . . .”

Lyra groans, rubbing her face with her free hand, “I’m just happy you helped to smooth it over . . .”

“You’re still new to all of this,” Nadia reminds. “While she did react negatively to you for the mistake, I do not think she should have yelled and insulted you with wild abandon.”

“Mm . . .” Lyra nods, sniffling.

“We’ll practice some more another day,” Nadia tucks an errant strand of Lyra’s hair behind her ear. “For now, lets get to bed . . . we both have had a long day.

“Okay . . .”

Lyra picks up after herself, getting the blankets and pillows back into the bed. She furls the biggest blanket over Nadia. Ly dives in under it, snuggling with Nadia.

“Goodnight Lyra.”

“Hi,” Lyra greets weakly.

Wordlessly, Asra draws her in for a hug. From his scarf, Faust slithers out to squeeze their friend in a snug (snake hug). The touch is greatly welcomed, and she can’t help but break down into tears.

The pair take their seats on her window seat. Asra’s cradling her in his arms, resting his chin just on the top of her head.

“Are you going to stay in here forever?” Asra murmurs, looking out to the street below. People are passing by, unknowing and uncaring that one of his best friends is hurting, hurting deeply . . .

“Just another week or two,” Lyra replies, sniffling. “When it all cools down . . .”

“Are those idiots still giving shit to your family?” Asra murmurs.

The magic shop and Bảo’s shop have been closed ever since Lyra was ejected from the academy. Eggs, glass bottles, bricks, and other items have been thrown at the outside walls. Asra’s also seen James sporting a black eye on the way back from his job in The Heart District. Neha herself has been needing to walk around with one of her sticks—typically used for weekend games with her friends—at all times.

“They won’t leave us alone,” Lyra murmurs tiredly. “Sometimes they want my uncle to send me out to ‘teach me a lesson’.”

“He kicked their asses immediately, didn’t he?”

A nod confirms it, adding, “He got the best of them and they got the worst of him.”

“Wasn’t he a part of a militia or something back in Leysương?”

“The Province of Rồngkarst, but yeah,” Lyra nods. “They haven’t come since, but there are still vandals rto deal with . . . James is to stay at home until it cools down too, so there’s no income from there . . .”

Asra frowns. “Are you guys going to be okay?”

“We’ll be okay for the next . . . three months?” Her wince makes Asra wince as well.

Hex the bullies! Faust declares.

“Faust!” Lyra gasps.

Protect friends!

Asra laughs as Lyra’s left sputtering. She’s too tired to do much else at the moment.

“Lemme wash up and . . . I’m gonna lie down for a nap. You can stay, if you want,” Lyra says, getting up.

Asra toes off his shoes, pulling the curtains closed. Within Lyra and Neha’s shared room, he finds a good cushion for Faust to nap on. As he gets comfy, Lyra returns.

Her face is decently washed, and she’s changed into a nightgown. She hops into her bed as Asra settles into the cushioned window seat. Faust coils herself onto the pillow Asra got for her, The sight of the contented morph makes Lyra smile.

“You sure you’re going to be comfortable there?” Lyra asks.

“There’s a pull-out cushion under this.” Asra pats the panel containing said pull-out cushion “I’ll be okay. Get some sleep; you need it.”

Lyra takes his advice, sipping under the covers of her bed and settling down. As she begins to snore, Asra starts to plan the components of a hex . . .

He’d need Walt’s help on it.

⁂ ⁂ ⁂

An hour or so after the pair napped, Asra offered to take her out of the house to see something. He had asked permission from her aunt and uncles beforehand, of course.

Getting their coats on—and Asra with his hat—the pair discreetly leave out the backdoor of Bảo’s shop.

The plan was to go into the Heart District under a disguising spell. As much as it being an area Lyra wanted to stay as far away from as possible these days, Asra insisted that what he wanted to show her was within that district.

Under Asra’s power, the spell wouldn’t last for very long. To make sure they weren’t caught, he opted to perform it on Lyra once they got to where the border of The Heart District and Town Square meet.

Asra couldn’t help but feel bad for her. Hand in hand, she could feel his fingers twitching every so often, and when his thumb brushes over her wrist, her pulse is flying like a hummingbird’s.

When it seemed like she was going to potentially encounter a former classmate, or a person associated with them, Lyra dives behind a wall. It’s either that method, or she hides among fruit stands or within shrubbery. By the time they reach their first intended stop, Lyra has several leaves stuck upon her hood and a few branches settled into her hair.

By some grace, Asra doesn’t laugh at the sight of his frazzled friend. He helps to clear the debris from Lyra’s person, and uses some of the dirt to rub into his hands.

“Ready?” Asra whispers. Lyra nods, dipping her head a bit.

He gently traces his fingers into her skin. Asra imagines her as a girl he once encountered on the docks, many years ago. The stranger’s mallow-colored hair was wild, barely tamed within a thick, thick braid that reached her lower back. Asra adorns Lyra’s mirage of a disguise with a tasteful amount of jewelry. Before long, Lyra no longer looked like herself.

“Oh—oh!” Lyra hacks, making a face. “Oh my, what a voice . . .”

Asra chuckles, soon leading the way toward The Heart District. “This way, ma’am.”

“Carry on,” Lyra nods, trying not to walk like herself.

Head high. Eyes forward. Shoulders back, and think ‘murder’, was what one of her teachers back at the academy said about how to walk like a confident person. Of someone of high standing . . .

Someone I don’t think you’d ever grow into, Miss Nguyen, that same teacher said. Lyra’s blood boils, and she almost goes ahead of Asra, blindly letting her feet lead her.

“Wait wait!” Asra catches up to her, almost skidding to a halt and bumping into her, hard. “Madame, it’s that way . . .”

They need to hurry up; Asra’s spell will wear off soon.

⁂ ⁂ ⁂

As Lyra predicted, the spell disguising her wears off in no time. However, they two of them are alone, and there seems to be no one around. At this point, Asra is rounding about an old estate. Lyra looks up in awe, asking, “Whose place is this?”

“The couple that owns this place is gone for a holiday by now. Staff is minimal,” he explains. It soon becomes apparent that Asra’s searching for a way in.

“H-how do you know this place?” Lyra asks, puzzled. Did Asra know these people? Given how Asra was beginning to become renowned in the city-state for his magic capabilities, it wouldn’t be too far-fetched . . .

“Came here once,” is all Asra reveals. Taking that as the extent of what he was willing to divulge, Lyra follows him to an unlocked servant’s door.

Before long, Lyra can smell and hear the hustle-bustle of a kitchen up ahead. She huddles behind him, closing her eyes as Asra casts the Mind Me Not spell over them both. Once she feels the magic settling into place, Lyra opens her eyes, following Asra as he gets up. Casually, he makes his way deeper into the estate. As they pass by the servants, their glances just pass them by.

“I still feel weird about this,” Lyra murmurs.

“Trust me it’ll be worth it,” Asra reassures. “It should be up here . . .”

Asra leads her down two corridors, the second turn leading to a darker path. At the end of the hallway is a bookcase. It’s almost floor to ceiling in height. It has four clawed feet at the bottom, oddly resembling clawed duck feet. The handles of the glass-paned doors look like mushroom tops, which draws a small chuckle from Lyra.

As she marvels the craftsmanship of the shelving, Asra carefully opens the door. He feels around the surface, eyes squinted in concentration. When he finally finds the appropriate panel, Asra has Lyra step back as the entire shelf swings open like a door.

Lyra quickly shuts and locks the glass pane doors, following Asra as he strides past the secret entrance. She shuts the secret doorway behind them, summoning several balls of light to see more.

“What . . .?” Lyra gasps, stock still as she processes what she’s seeing.

There are dozens of shelves holding books. Amazingly, there are what seems to be hundreds of books piled about the floor. The floor is a gray and white marble, a stark contrast with the dark covers of all the texts strewn about.

“Pretty cool, huh?” Asra’s voice echoes within room. Lyra jumps, startled, but she recovers quickly.

“How did you get in here before?”

“I had access,” Asra shrugs, waving her to come follow him. “There’s a section deeper in with illuminated manuscripts—“

“What!?”

“Yeah, hurry up!” Asra teases, shifting from his ambling pace to a light jog. Lyra races after him, her interest in seeing those manuscripts overriding any sort of common sense.

Before long, they make it to the glass cases where a number of manuscripts are housed.

“ . . . wow!” Lyra gasps. “We talked about this one in one of my classes—” she gestures to the open page of the one to their left. She dims her spheres of light, hovering them over one illuminated page. Darkness, fire, light, and water are all beautifully painted. Olde Vesuvian decorated the pages in fine calligraphy. 

“It depicts a possible creation story of Vesuvia . . . the story escapes my mind at the moment, but look at all of that!” Lyra gesticulates excitedly, hopping up and down.

Asra couldn’t help but chuckle. “If you wouldn’t get in trouble, would you take any one of these? Any one of them at all?”

Lyra shakes her head, sighing softly. “Even if I could, I don’t have rooms or a place where I can store them. Hell, removing them from the cases alone could damage them, Asra. Never mind the trek back to the Temple District on top of that!”

He laughs a little more, smiling serenely at her. “A little bird told me the head of this estate is giving away half of this library because their father recently died.”

“To where?”

“The Red Market.”

Lyra’s face winced at that. “Oh . . .”

“I can get you some of these—”

“Asraaaaa—”

“Seriously!” Asra replies. “Listen, I have enough coin saved up and I can get at least one.”

They go back and forth a while, until Lyra relents and nods her permission.

“Just point to which one and I’ll do my best to get it,“ Asra promises.

With a sigh, Lyra looks around the other manuscripts. She hems and haws over them all before she points to one that had a dark green cover. The pages were lined in silver; the title lent to it being a compendium of various mythos from Vesuvia.

Agreed upon, the two left out another back door. Returning toward the Temple District, Asra mapped out how he was going to either buy the manuscript, or ultimately steal it.

Either way, he wants to get her smiling again.

This one is far overdue, but I am working on the rest of them for this event, lol.