#aracelia

It was deep into the night and the trees were illuminated with purple light. The half re-formed Crystal of Beginnings was crumbling as Vane began to wake.

“Percy?” Vane groaned, struggling to sit up. A sharp white hot pain from his leg jolted him awake and he threw his head back on to Aracelia’s lap, grinding his teeth in agony. The stab wound in his thigh had been cauterized by the same fiery sword stolen from his friend. “…Celia? WAH! Celia!” He exclaimed as his vision refocused. Grabbing Celia’s arm, he begged “You need to find Percy! J-just leave me here,” His voice shivered despite the sweat drenching his forehead. “I’ll be fine but Percy! Th-th-that jerk knows we f-found out, I don’t know what he’ll do with Per-rcy. Ara—“

Celia looked up in the direction she had sent Ezecrain, ensuring that he would go the wrong way.  

She kept watching, biting into her lip until it bled, waiting for the jangling of his chains to trail into silence. Now, it was safe to find Percival. Leaving Vane alone left him open for any monster or bandit to find but she had a choice between taking a chance and letting both of her friends live, or stay and guarantee that one dies.

Gently, Celia lifted Vane’s head and pillowed it on her folded coat.

“Thank you, Celia.” Vane grinned wide and even when he was as pale as bone, for a split second, it felt like nothing was wrong.

“I’ll get Percival back, I promise.” Celia whispered before she gingerly stood, clutching her badly bruised side. With rushed steps, she limped back through the woods to the Grandcypher.

The cut wasn’t bleeding as badly as it could have. She had surprised Vane’s captor and he had swung wildly, hurting her without meaning to. Celia could tell from how upset he looked.

Maybe that meant that Percival was starting to wake up.

None of this was his fault. Finding the salvaged remains of the shards wasn’t his fault. That was because Celia had been careless and everything that had happened after was from her being willfully blind.

It was obvious from the start that Percival hadn’t been acting like himself.

His swordplay wasn’t right. Percival seldom unsheathed his blade and when he did, Celia didn’t see how he defeated the monsters. The few times she caught the knight testing the weapon’s weight, he lodged it into something or an unfortunate someone nearby.

He didn’t speak the way he usually would either. Percival had always been a little, maybe a lot, curt. Harsh and insensitive at the most tense of times but he would never say anything solely to hurt someone.

When Lancelot tried to find out why his friend had been avoiding him, Percival gave some choice words to his concern. Though Celia didn’t hear what he had to say, she did have an inkling that it had something to do with Lancelot immediately assuming Siegfried had been insane when he had apparently acted out of character too. Not just any small argument could send Lancelot storming into town to disappear for half a week, only returning when Vane ran hollering through the streets.

Meanwhile, Percival would hardly sleep, jolting awake when he did. Celia would see his fright slowly twist into an ugly scowl, hearing something break or see his fist denting the wall when his anger boiled over.

This Percival was a stranger to Celia and she was stupid enough to chalk it up to grief. The anniversary of his mother’s death had been approaching and even when he never acted out like this before, loss and grief were unpredictable monsters to Celia. Her mistake was thinking that Percival didn’t handle them better than she did.

“Mmph.” She stifled a pained grunt, tripping over the debris the Grandcypher had left when it crashed. Its hulking hull had slid to a stop at the base of a mountainside, leaving a hole low enough to the ground for Celia to climb into.

There had to be some kind Astrals out there and Celia thanked them for having Lyria and Vryn leaving the ship an island back. They had only stepped off the Grandcypher when it was hijacked and flew off into the evening.

If they were here, Celia was sure she’d lose all control and bawl her eyes out in front of them. Both were kind and gentle, something Celia couldn’t be right now.

Scaling the stray ropes dangling from the mast, Celia was able to haul herself into one of the halls and stood, willing the moisture in the air to gather in her hands. They hardened into a double edged icy sword, wreathed in a frosty fog that spread over the floor as Celia made her way to Percival’s room.

The door was ajar and Celia pushed it open, waiting for the room to light and for fire to rush at her face.

What she found instead were all of the books she had offered to translate for Percival, stacked in eight different piles. He tricked her into thinking that the research was going to be use to help Aglovale. Percival’s older brother may have been suffering from the lingering effects of dabbling in that otherworldly magic. These books that had been collected over the course of the Grandcypher’s journeys could hold remedies.

How did books on curses, live sacrifices, and living mana fuel sources help him?

Not at all.

‘It’s good to know,’ Percival had said, patting a dusty tome. ‘That’s another option to cross off the list. A shame that all of the author’s work is going to waste.’

At the time, Celia didn’t delve into it and didn’t try until more than half of those books had been translated.

That was because most the work was done at Percival’s desk, sitting so close to him that Percival would sometimes doze off on her shoulder. It was fine. Yes, it did make concentrating difficult because of how loud the blood rushing through her ears was but she managed. Percival took it as a sign that he could drape himself over Celia without any pretense of exhaustion.

‘Why so nervous? Lyria holds your hand all the time and Vryn gets to sleep on your lap. Aren’t we friends?’  He asked. ‘Aren’t we?’ He repeated in a whisper, snaking his arm around Celia’s waist and buried his nose into her hair, deathly starved for warmth.

There was a deep fear rooted in Celia, a seed her father had planted when he left her and Vryn alone. He treated his parting with her with as much care as someone would a complete stranger. For years, Celia had gone quiet and kept herself far away from the rest of the villagers. It wasn’t until Lyria and Katalina came crashing into Zinkenstill that Celia remembered how to speak and laugh.

So what if someone she loved left again? What if someone she loved dearly went away and it confirmed her worst fears about how being abandoned wasn’t beyond her control. What if people left her because she was the problem?

‘Aren’t we friends?’ The phrase posed gave her a place to meet midway. If they were just friends, it made it easier to lie about it not meaning as much.

‘We are.’ She had said, curling into Percival’s embrace. The knight had suddenly gone stiff; like he hadn’t expected her to so confidently agree to the arrangement.

What was so strange about it anyway? Percival was freezing. Celia could feel the chill in his skin through his clothes. She had only been helping him feel warmer.

“What’s wrong with me?” Celia grimaced, dearly wanting to take her sword and split that chair in two.

To avoid the temptation, Celia took her gaze away and found herself staring somewhere even worse.

‘Percival! Percival, it’s ok!’ Celia was at the knight’s bedside after he had finally fallen asleep during one of their research sessions. The captain was glad to carry him to his bed but Percival wasn’t prone for long.

The moment his head touched the pillow, Percival snapped awake and grabbed for her throat. Celia’s neck cracked from the effort Percival threw into holding her down, eyes burning with self-righteous rage. Once he realized where he was, the knight pushed himself away and was about to leave the room, callous to Celia’s shock and burdened breathing.

‘Where are you going?’ Celia had grabbed for Percival’s arm. ‘Please, Percival! You need to tell me what’s going on! Let me help you!’ The leer he gave her made Celia want to melt into a puddle and seep into the cracks in the floorboards. It was as though he hated her as much as the soldiers from the Erste Empire did.

But moments before, he had been scared. Why scared?

Then Celia’s mind went back to the date, how close it was to the anniversary of his mother’s death. A new idea formed, a wild stab in the dark that let him get off scott free.

‘Dying isn’t like falling asleep. You don’t need to be afraid to go to sleep,’ She assured him, calm washing back over her. ‘You’re not going to slip away.’

Percival laughed in her face.

‘I don’t need you to patronize me. If I wanted to get babied, I’d go look for E…hm,’ Percival turned towards her with his thumb hooked in his pockets, posture slouched in a way he’d usually find unbecoming. ‘How would you know anyways?’

He hadn’t completely wanted Celia to leave if he hadn’t shaken her hold off. Celia pulled his hand over her stomach. The scar there was so pronounced that Percival could feel its outline through her clothes.

‘If Lyria hadn’t saved me, I would have stayed dead,’ Celia released his arm but he didn’t move away. ‘I didn’t realize how much I feel things when I’m alive. When I stopped being able to see and hear, I also stopped caring. I wasn’t angry or lonely, I was blank. It was actually sort of a relief until I heard Vryn crying.’ Celia reached up to cup Percival’s guarded face, letting her heat sink into his cheeks. ‘Sleeping isn’t like dying at all. Your worries follow you into your dreams,’ Carefully, Celia slid her hands behind Percival’s neck and pulled him into a hug. ‘And so do all of the good things. There’s nothing wrong about being angry and afraid but try thinking about all of the good things first.’

Percival’s arms wrapped around Celia suddenly, crushing her against his chest. They fell on to his bed and he hung on to Celia for dear life.

‘What were you afraid of?’ That question startled Celia more than the embrace.

‘I don’t think I could live on my own.’ Celia replied in the vaguest way she could. Oddly, this wasn’t uncomfortable. Not even awkward. They were only friends after all.

‘I think you did,’ Percival said. ‘Isn’t it frustrating? You do all that you can to make people see you and once they do, they pick apart everything you did. Always twisting it as something wrong so they can throw you back to the side.’

Celia experience wasn’t exactly like that but she could empathize. Percival being the youngest of three noble boys, under the both the scrutiny and lower expectations set by the people of Wales and even his family. Hearing about that made Celia feel much better; someone who shined as much as Percival could feel the same selfish things as her.

Shocked back into the present, Celia had to stop the memory there. Any farther and she would be going over all of the things she had told the person that had possessed Percival. He knew everything about her life in Zinkenstill, the fears she still had on the run with a family she was scared could scatter at any moment, and had traced all the scars she had gotten from keeping her promises.

Worse, he didn’t even pretend to be Percival. For days, he talked about stories from the village of Amethysts in all ways but name. And she had eaten all of it up.

That, and effectively let him cut her off from Lyria and Vryn the entire time. While she fell asleep to the beat of Percival’s heart, he had used the research to restore the Crystal of Beginnings at the low price of the rest of the crew’s lives.  

The shards of the Crystal fell out of the desk drawer right when the Grandcypher was forced off course, waking Celia from her dream. A few bits were still on the carpet.

Celia bit her lip so it wouldn’t tremble, taking to searching through all the books and materials he left behind. She made a quick mess of a room, concluding that he hadn’t returned to resort to a plan B now that his first attempt had failed.

“Where could he have gone?” Celia was relieved to leave the room, sprinting through the Grandcypher searching for a blood trail to the villain.

With no signs to be found, Celia couldn’t think of anywhere else on the ship he’d go to take cover. That meant he was out on the run and Celia had no clue what he was planning. That was arguably worse than using the multitude of other heinous spells she had helped him learn.

Swearing at herself, Celia made a stop at her room to grab runes, the Revenant dagger, and whatever else could possibly help. Then, Celia went to leave and found him leaning against the door, flitting through the pages of Percival’s journal.

“Baldir!” Celia raised her sword, itching to run him through for what he had done.

“Did you think Percival was a diva too?” Baldir asked, striding towards her in Percival’s body. He didn’t look up from the journal or particularly care that Celia had the point of her sword against his belly. His mannerisms were no different than before and Celia was ashamed she had done nothing about it. “He won’t drink wine that’s younger than ten years, he keeps that gaudy armor so shiny I can’t believe he hasn’t polished it into dust, and he has to keep himself so groomed that a misplaced hair makes people worry.”

“Stay back!” Celia ordered and it fell on deaf ears.

“His mother dying on this same day saved me a lot of trouble keeping up,” Baldir flipped to the next page. “Everyone, even the mongrel he says gets on his nerves so much, remembered and I didn’t even care to look up her name.” He closed the book one-handed, smirking at the cute snarl Celia had.

“You were going to kill Vane!” She hissed. If Celia and Ezecrain had caught on to the scheme a second late, Vane would have been dead.

“That’s one thing Percival and I have in common. We didn’t think that mangy dog paid that much attention to him. Almost got away with burying him before you found out too,” Baldir’s mouth twitched into a scowl for a moment and it was then that he decided to acknowledge the weapon aimed at his gut. “Relax,” He held up his hands. “I’m at the end of the line.”

When Celia refused to budge, Baldir pushed by her blade and tilted her chin up. They were seeing eye-to-eye and Celia jerked away, swing her sword back to cleave him in two. Baldir watched the blade hang in the air.

“Do you want to take a shot at me? Now’s the time,” He turned his hands over in a shrug. “You can make that sword phase right through Percival and kill what’s left of me. I know how much you put into studying magic. In fact, there isn’t anything I don’t know about you,” Baldir tilted his head back and laughed in a way so condescending, Celia could barely believe in Percival’s voice. “It’s flattering how charming you think I am.”  

“You tricked me!” Celia shouted, gripping her sword so hard that the hilt began to crack. “I wanted to help Percival and you used him! If I knew it was you—“

“But you weren’t talking to Percival.” Baldir tsked, shaking his head as he walked closer to Celia. “No, you were talking to me. You wanted to know about me. You wanted to stay with me!” Becoming increasingly erratic, he lunged at Celia and swiped at air as she jumped out of the way. Just that effort made him fall to his knee, already drained from having to keep Percival in check with only slivers of his soul. “Ha…Haha…” He panted, watching Celia’s shadow fall over him. “What? Am I wrong?”

Using all of the fury building up inside her, Celia slashed her sword down with a shout. It smashed into pieces, leaving only the fractured hilt in Celia’s hands. A piece of the sword had bounced off of Baldir’s chest but nothing more.

Celia kept her chin down, keeping her contorting expression hidden. Her lips were pressed in a hard straight line and her eyes were squeezed shut in an attempt to keep from sobbing. A stray tear managed to escape, dropping between her boots.

Baldir said nothing, hand hovering over Celia’s long blue hair. He braved brushing his hand over a strand, looping the soft lock around his fingers so gently, Celia couldn’t feel it.

“Using Percival as a host isn’t the worst thing that’s ever happened to me but it comes pretty close.” Baldir stood to go sit on Celia’s bed.

It reminded her that a couple of times, Baldir would go to her room for no reason other than to visit. Perhaps to keep up the pretense that he was Percival but, to come here at his most vulnerable, Celia knew why and refused to acknowledge it.

“I glanced at a mirror and I thought I repossessed my own corpse by accident.” Baldir went on as Celia wiped her stinging eyes.

Percival’s hair was close to the same shade as Baldir’s, he had a similar lean and muscular build, and was even around the same age Baldir was when he was shot dead. This was the closest he could get to being alive.

“It’s ironic how close we look like each other but he has everything from blue blood to—“He let out a strained laugh. “—actually being compatible with the crystal.” He tried to use the chain and gem he had stolen from Ezecrain’s cabin one last time for any sort of answer.

It pointed at Celia again.

“No, it’s not ironic,” He flung the chain into the corner of Celia’s cabin. “It’s infuriating! One last insult before I go blank.”

That got Celia to look at Baldir falling back on her bed.

“I’m actually glad. If finally dying is just like how you said it’d be, I’m going to welcome it.” Baldir had been able to take a host thanks to the shards of the Crystal being clumped together. But Ezcrain shattering the crystal like weakened him terribly. His hold had a limit this time and he had wasted the last of his energy on that outburst. Now, he was going to disappear in a handful of minutes and at best, his boasting sounded flat. At worst, he sounded pleading. “I won’t need to see Ezecrain again and your crew won’t rip me apart for breaking their dog’s leg.”

“Stop talking.” Celia said, crawling to the side of the bed.

It wasn’t despite Baldir’s atrocities that Celia reached out to clutch his hand. It was because of them. The real irony was that on his final breaths, kindness would hurt the most.

Celia could be as greedy as she pleased.

“Aracelia,” Baldir regarded her in a way she would never let anyone else. She didn’t see a smirk or a sarcastic sneer. Celia saw a smile so sad, it almost made her stop hating him. “Isn’t he your Prince?” He asked with a dry throat, recalling what Percival wrote in his journal about his vassal staying by his side when he was injured. “You need to kiss him awake.”

A thought crossed Celia’s mind; one where she and Baldir grew up in the same place. Maybe if they were lonely together, Baldir wouldn’t have done such awful things and Celia wouldn’t be such a desperate person.

Taking those meaningless dreams, Aracelia climbed on the bed and cupped the side Percival’s cold cheek. They held each other’s gazes, Aracelia feeling his cold breath tickling her skin. She shuttered her eyes slowly, almost able to see Baldir in the dark when her lips brushed against his.

Baldir’s breath hitched and Aracelia took her chance, kissing Baldir deeply. He slid his hand under her clothes and over her ridges of her back, tangled his fingers in her hair, and bit at her soft lip. Baldir did everything he wanted to do when he had only wanted to be near her because he had been cold for so long, and more when he learned her name.

On Celia’s part, she dug her nails into his skin, wanting Baldir to regret everything he never had. Holding her breath, she enveloped herself in this horrible mistake, hoping Percival would do the right thing and never forgive her. Celia’s regrets rose in a crescendo, turning away from Baldir right at the end.

His last act was lifting his head, touching his forehead to the crook of her neck. Baldir hoped Aracelia had lied about what it was like to die, filling his thoughts with the one good thing he had.

Choking on a lump in her throat, Celia cushioned the back of Percival’s head when it fell back. His eyes gradually opened and it was the knight that was gazing back at her.

“Celia?” Percival knitted his brow, wondering why he ached from head to toe. The captain hugged him tightly, hiding her face in the pillow. “Celia, did something happen?”

The captain kept holding her breath, concentrating on her slowing heartrate and the warmth returning to Percival’s body.

“Don’t worry about it, Percival,” Celia sat up, giving him a reassuring grin. Her tone was the perfect picture of cheer but Percival couldn’t overlook how drained Celia appeared. “Rest. Vane’s injured out there so I’ll go get him first. Then, I’ll tell you everything, I pr...” She cleared her throat, coughing into her fist.

‘Do you promise?’ Percival thought to say, scrambled as his thoughts were. There was a voice in the back of his mind that stopped him; warned him that this was for Celia to choose.

“I’ll wait for you.” Percival said, hand sliding out of Celia’s once she moved away. Her gaze lingered on Percival, at ease as the sun began to rise, shining through her window over him.

Last July’s Boracay Trip

Cannons are heard, sounding throughout the arena as blood is spilled. The faces of the tribute who fell in the bloodbath appear in the sky that night.

10th - Noah Bruce, killed by Jo Bakker.

9th - Elijah O'Conner, killed by A.J. Panier.

8th - Aracelia Aiken, killed by Venus Bishop.

7th - Venus Bishop, killed by Charlotte Laramie.

6th - Charlotte Laramie, killed by Venus Bishop.

5th - Colborn Manning, killed by Jo Bakker

4th - Jo Bakker, killed by Benin Soto

Ashton opened his eyes to the sound of a school bell and cheering children. Something was off. Things were different. He wasn’t where he was when he fell asleep. He did recognize something though, well two to be exact. Charlotte, the girl from his district, and another tribute. They seemed to have the same look on their faces.

By the way it looks, those two aren’t out for each other, Charlotte could easily take her out Ashton thought to himself. So, in Ashton’s mind he only had one option, especially with his available weapons…

When Charlotte came to, she was lying on her stomach, someone’s scrambling feet disturbing the wood chips beneath her.

“Celia, what–” She grumbled. She looked over at her friend, who had shoved herself back against a metal bar. What were they underneath of? When did they move? Charlotte shifted herself to sit up. “Are you okay?”

Aracelia’s eyes were trained elsewhere, like glassy blue missiles. Charlotte followed her line of sight, quickly finding Ashton sitting opposite of them. “Wait, what? When did you even–” A hand grabbed her shoulder, and when she looked over, Aracelia’s eyes were giving her a warning. Shut up.

From the moment that the sunlight of the arena burst through the tube and Siavash was revealed in his uniform to the world watching from the outside in, it was obvious what his first move was going to be. Which item in the Cornucopia he would be running for before making his next move. His breath was willed down to a level pace even though his stomach and heart were combating each other to see which could make him feel worse. The countdown took an eternity in the time it took to count down and the boy from 10 primed himself to bolt from his platform as soon as he was physically able.

The claxon roared and Siavash felt the wind in his long hair as he ran forwards towards his prize, Ignoring the weapons closes to him as he launched forwards towards the mouth of the Cornucopia to land his hands on the book. Books were home for him, a connection to mystery, stories and information. The words on the page could hold the key to victory and Siavash wouldn’t pass up on that opportunity...

Fighting yesterday made my nipples hard and I want to do it again. So thats how I'm starting my day today. Hopefully, I get to spar with another tribute today. Always open to opportunities to evaluate. Lucky for me, There is already a blond getting ready at the Hand to Hand station.