“What kind of a name is Adrenaline anyway?”

Nali turned her gaze away from the stars overhead and fixed them on the man lying beside her. He looked different without glasses and his long white hair undone across the pillows.

Nali blinked back tears against the smoke wafting from the narrow opium pipe pressed to her companion’s lips.

“That stuff is poison, you know,” Adrenaline said, knowing full and well that she had no right to advise anyone in that area.

The mercenary – Mantis – coughed against his arm. His grunt came out choppy.

“To be honest, I’m really not a smoker.”

Nali noticed the way that he turned the pipe over in his hands and studied it.

“But you had a friend that was?” She guessed. Judging by the way he creased his brows, she had guessed right.

“You never answered my question,” he snapped, flaring his nostrils to make room for more opaque swirls of poppy smoke. “Where’d you get your name?”

With a head light with fruity booze and a heart heavy with the presence of the star system above, Nali sighed, “The sun might come up before I finish explaining.”

Mantis set down the pipe and rolled onto his side to face Adrenaline better.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered. “And no offense to you, but I’m not going to fall asleep with you hanging around.”

Given the sex they had not long ago was clumsy and far from sentimental, Nali wasn’t surprised that Mantis preferred to sleep alone. If anything, his distant nature made him more trustworthy to her. What would a guy like him care about all that she wanted to say?

Mantis didn’t seem like the type to want anything from anybody. If Nali told him everything on her heart, he wouldn’t care. But he would listen. And in the morning, he would disappear, her secrets most likely forgotten, but at least they would be safe.

Like the stars at their impossibly hot cores, Nali burned with the urge to reach with her light and connect with someone. If only for a brief moment in time.

The exiled warrior longed to tell her story.

“Adrenaline wasn’t the name I was born with.” Nali met Mantis’s dark, metallic gaze. “It was one I had to earn.”

.

.

.

~ Avalon. An Island Kingdom ~

"The first dreamwalker is believed to derive his electric prowess not from thunderclouds but from our holy lunar surface." ~ excerpted from Lua Mãe: Histories in the Age of Decisiveness

Mestre Whisper looked over many shades of red hair to the central block where the clan Head and his closest council sat. Since a meeting was in session in the zenith of the tiered gem pyramid, all the mestres referred to each other by their historic titles.

Mestre Moonfire, the Malachite Son and Prince, Head of the Malachite Clan, and the only mestre with naturally black hair instead of red, was wrapping up on the plans to challenge Salvador, Head of the Bone Clan.

If anyone in the room had objections, they had chosen to not draw attention to themselves. Probably because Mestre Moonfire had made a compelling case against those who were soon to be their former allies. Selling obsidian glass to the Silver Clan was troubling, but it was one of the few sources of income that the Bone Clan could rely on. A Capoeira duel between clan heads with no intention of selecting champions to fight in their stead… it seemed harsher than necessary.

Mestre Whisper kept his mouth shut for now. He was no lightning paladin like the founders of the Fatal Fifty, who were seated closer to the central block. Instead, Mestre Whisper was up near the rafters with the rest of the Beloveds. They were called such because of their choice to become repeating mentors for the rising generations of the clan.

The input of Beloveds was valued for sure, but not when it came to military concerns.

“Moving on to the batizado this weekend…”

Mestre Whisper’s body language shifted. Now here was an area where his thoughts would be welcome. A hopeful part of him had faith that he could connect his concerns to the Bone Clan without raising too much alarm. The topics were linked afterall.

“We’re expecting at least a hundred more lightning paladins to add to the Fatal Fifty,” Mestre Moonfire announced, his eyes flicking up to where Mestre Whisper sat. “We have our Beloveds to thank for that.”

There was applause from the founders, as well as looks of gratitude that Mestre Whisper and his peers were compelled to nod to. He noticed that Mestra Crescent really took the praise to heart. Her cherry red bob swayed as she clutched the fabric at her chest and inclined her head to nearly every considerate glance that fell on her.

A tireless instructor, that one. Mestra Crescent didn’t flinch at having multiple students under her tutelage, ranging from aluno youngsters to seasoned adult mestres and contra-mestres. Mestre Whisper didn’t know how the woman did it. Though he was no stranger to raising children into full grown Capoeira masters, he could only handle one student at a time.

And thank Mother Moon that Mestre Whisper knew his limits because his current ward, Contra-mestre Rosario, was nothing short of a handful.

The Beloved decided this was a good time to put in a request to speak before the Council. It was granted by the Head.

“Mestre Whisper, the floor is yours.”

Despite the implications of his historic title, Mestre Whisper spoke at a normal volume. But his voice was soft and did not betray any of the worry and uncertainty that he felt.

“I wonder if it’s too soon to graduate the lightning paladins directly after a weekend-long batizado. It’s not as if the Fatal Fifty is lacking in numbers.”

Mestre Moonfire... why are you rushing to add to the ranks?

It was the real question that Mestre Whisper was trying to get at. Everyone in attendance knew that Fatal Fifty was short for the Fatal Fifty Thousand. Of course, there was once only fifty paladins. They were all sitting in this room. But what had started as Avalon’s elite militia had transformed into a full blown army. Had no one else noticed?

Mestre Whisper received strange looks from some of the paladins, but he kept his eyes locked on the Head of the clan. In an even tone, Mestre Moonfire asked, “Are you worried about your student, Arthur?”

Mestre Whisper blinked back his shock. The Head had broken one of his own rules. The upper chamber of the pyramid wasn’t meant for common names – only names that were bound for the history ledgers.

Mestre Whisper didn’t know how to feel about this.

“She is quite young,” Mestre Moonfire went on as if no boundaries were crossed, “A prodigy to be sure. You should be proud.”

“I am proud.” This time Arthur’s words did come out as a whisper.

“I can understand if you believe she isn’t ready,” Mestre Moonfire concluded.

Arthur took a moment to swallow and briefly break eye contact with the Head. After collecting himself, he looked back up and said, “I believe that none of the new paladins would be ready for a clash against the Bone Clan should one come to pass.”

All around the hall, jaws fell. Mestre Whisper felt the other Beloveds firing looks of warning in his direction. But the seasoned mentor didn’t move his body or his eyes from the central block. The mestres closest to the Head – Mestre Cloud, Mestra Assassina, and Mestre Magro – all slowly turned to face Mestre Moonfire. As if they expected a command from him to move against Arthur.

Without taking his dark eyes off of Mestre Whisper, Mestre Moonfire lifted a hand to keep his close council at bay.

“The only clashing that will take place will be between me and Mestre Papa.” Mestre Moonfire’s painted face twisted into a grin. “Do you predict that I will lose?”

Once again, Mestre Whisper spoke honestly. “I predict that should you win, the caimans will not back down and just hand over their obsidian trade to you.”

Such a scenario would give the Malachite Prince the perfect opportunity to order a force of fifty thousand lightning paladins against the Bone Clan.

The fifty founders in the room knew what militarization looked like and what it meant. To follow orders and suddenly shift your view of your friends as your new enemies. To move against them with a single word from the Head of the clan, for the good of the clan.

They knew, but the majority of the Fatal Fifty, they had no idea–

“We can talk more about this after the meeting,” Mestre Moonfire said, interrupting Arthur’s thoughts and effectively stopping him from pursuing this issue in the presence of the council body.

Mestre Whisper nodded respectfully and looked down at his stack of papers. He spent the rest of the meeting ignoring all of the looks coming from other Beloveds and lightning paladins.

When the session was over, Arthur waited for the whole chamber to empty out before meeting Mestre Moonfire down by the central block.

To his relief, Mestre Moonfire had dismissed his attendants. He beckoned Arthur to follow him to a lower level in the pyramid, where custom and tradition would not weigh on them so heavily.

“Mestre Julio,” Arthur began, using the Head’s less ornate title, “I meant no disrespect in there.”

Julio, the Malachite Son and Prince, took a pitcher of water from a panel of refreshments and poured some into one of the empty altar basins scattered throughout the hall. He used a towel hooked just below the basin to start cleaning the makeup off his face.

It was no secret that Encantados – shifters – aged slowly. Yet the clan Head baffled all who came face to face with him. Though he was older than Avalon’s history books, he looked not a day past eighteen.

Julio was a fair height with a strong, lean frame. Depending on how much exposed himself to the sun, his skin seesawed between olive toned and a high bronze. His eyes were as black and heavy as the curls that framed his face and clung close to his scalp everywhere else. Though he appeared young, his expression was that of a prince who knew the daunting role into which he had been born and one that he did not shy away from.

Mestre Julio used the wet towel to scrub away the broad band of glittering black that he painted from temple to temple. Beyond its ceremonial meaning, Mestre Whisper assumed that Julio relied on it to blur out some of that illusion of youth.

“Arthur, it’s fine,” Julio sighed as he held his head over the basin and squeezed the towel above his forehead. “You can’t be the only one with concerns. You must understand, however, that I have thought this through.”

Arthur’s short red dreadlocks swayed as he jerked his chin. “With no vote? When did we stop voting on these things?”

Julio gripped the edge of the basin with both hands and glared at his reflection. “And drag this out for weeks and weeks? Meanwhile, the Silver Clan continues to stockpile weapons made of materials that they purchased right out of our backdoor?”

The two mestres went on arguing civilly for several minutes before Mestra Brisa, or as she was more formally known, Mestra Assassina, entered the hall. The intimidating woman with deep, magenta waves that fell below her hips approached them and rested a protective hand on Julio’s shoulder.

“Masters,” she greeted, levelling her gaze with Arthur’s in what felt like another suggestion to back off.

By now, Mestre Whisper was tired of jumping hoops just to get his point across. He greeted Mestra Brisa by her historic title and wished Mestre Moonfire luck against his upcoming duel. Then he turned for the exit.

To Arthur’s surprise, Mestre Moonfire called out to him one last time, asking if he had a proper name chosen for Rosario’s graduation to the status of mestre.

“Yes.” Mestre Whisper paused for a moment to consider how he should word his answer. He took a deep breath.

Thoughts wandering, Jacqui started when he felt a familiar sensation of lips pressing between his shoulder blades. He tried to ignore it at first, but when he felt it again, further down his spine, he couldn’t. Face warm, he looked over his shoulder, searching the bar over again, this time looking for the only person who could possibly be responsible for those fleeting kisses.

It took longer than he thought it would, but eventually his eyes locked on a familiar head of mostly white hair, a few strands of black framing his face. Sun Bai—no, just Bai, Jacqui reminded himself—the bounty hunter. When Rodrigo had dropped him off at the Sea Palace, Jacqui figured that would be the last time they would see each other, but luckily, he had been wrong.

They had run into each other at various ports and cities well over a handful of times now, and each time they had gotten closer and closer, both of them skirting around and behind Rodrigo’s back. The last time they were together, Bai had introduced Jacqui to another aspect of his psychic abilities; that he could project kisses into the other man’s mind. It was a skill that had captivated Jacqui, and it was a skill which Bai was making full use of now, as he sat across the bar from him, almost completely hidden in the shadows.

A shiver ran down Jacqui’s back as he felt lips press over his shoulders, and he gripped the handle of his tankard tightly in his hand.

[Fancy seeing you here.]

He rolled his eyes slightly but couldn’t hide the twitch of his lips as Bai’s voice entered his mind. He glanced over at Rodrigo, then back at Bai, hoping that was enough for Bai to understand that they had to be careful. Neither of them wanted to risk getting caught by the captain, not that they cared what he thought, it was more that he would never shut up if he found out, and he was insufferable enough as it was.

[Leave him.]

Judging from the way Rodrigo was pressed up against the same woman he had been chatting up for the past hour, Jacqui felt comfortable assuming he wouldn’t be returning to their shared room for a while, at least. He pushed away from the bar, leaving his tankard, but as he started to turn, heard Rodrigo’s voice over his shoulder.

“Where are you off to this early?” Rodrigo was staring at him, curiosity lacing his tone.

“Bed,” Jacqui said, meeting his gaze. “I’m tired.”

Rodrigo hummed, his dark eyes narrowing slightly. “Lame. Whatever, just don’t lock me out this time, got it?”

Jacqui resisted rolling his eyes, though it was hard. “Knock louder. I’m deaf, remember.”

Snorting, Rodrigo waved him off. “Shut the hell up. You’re only half deaf, asshole.”

Before Jacqui could say anything else, Rodrigo turned back to the woman in front of him and proceeded with whatever conversation he was having earlier that involved his hand traveling up her leg.

Shaking his head, Jacqui turned away to leave the bar and head upstairs, but as he did so, he felt another kiss against the nape of his neck, and shivered. He looked back over his shoulder and met Bai’s dark eyes again.

He gave him a look and a jerk of his head to say, are you coming? Not waiting for an answer, psychic or otherwise, he turned back and started heading up the stairs. Before he had reached the top step, he heard the stairs creaking behind him, felt Bai’s familiar presence as they made their way to his room. He didn’t look back at him until they were in his room and the door was closed—and locked—behind them.

He wasted no time in leading Bai up against the wall—not pressing, not yet, just leading, their eyes roaming each other’s bodies as if they weren’t still fully clothed. They were close enough that when he spoke, his breath disturbed the dark strands of hair around Bai’s face.

“Don’t tease me, Bai.” He said, voice low. “That’s not fair.”

“Was I?”

“You know you were.”

Bai’s hands clenched at his side. “If I was, what are you going to do about it?”

Jacqui exhaled through his nose, finally closing the gap between the two of them like they had done before, their lips finding each other. He planted his hands on the wall on either side of Bai, focusing as much as he could on kissing him. They were still working on finding their rhythm, but they were getting better, each time they met up finding their way back into that rhythm faster and faster. Bai’s quick, chaste kisses had started to slow, and he was more comfortable with pushing against Jacqui, who bit back a moan as Bai nipped cautiously at the ring in his bottom lip.

[Does that feel good?]

Jacqui nodded, moving his hands to start undoing Bai’s layers, still kissing him. “Yeah.” He let his eyes slide closed as he felt Bai start to pull his clothes off, going button by button down his tunic.

They both stepped out of their clothes, leaving them tossed haphazardly on the floor as they made their way to the bed, Jacqui’s lips slowly making their way down Bai’s neck. He waited for any sign that Bai was uncomfortable, knowing that touch was still such a sensitive thing for him, even if they were leaps and bounds beyond where they used to be.

Bai didn’t resist, though Jacqui felt his heartbeat quicken against his lips as they reached the bed. Before they got too comfortable, Jacqui pulled away, and grabbed one of the inn’s towels to lay out on the bed underneath them.

Bai raised an eyebrow. “Is that necessary?”

“I still have to sleep on this bed tonight, you know.” Jacqui was uncomfortably familiar with sleeping in cum-soaked sheets, and he liked avoiding it as much as possible, especially in beds that didn’t belong to him.

He didn’t feel Bai in his mind like he had before, but he still seemed to understand as he nodded. “Got it.”

As Bai laid back on the bed, Jacqui went over to his bag and grabbed the vial of lubricant he had learned long ago to keep on him. He could feel Bai’s eyes on him as he made his way back to the bed, gunmetal gaze trailing over his bare chest and further down, between his legs.

Jacqui sat down on the bed and took Bai’s glasses off, ignoring a small noise of protest. He studied the lenses, cracked in a few places, before setting them on the bed’s nightstand. “You sure break those things a lot, don’t you?”

“You would too, I’m sure.” Jacqui could feel Bai’s impatience grow, and almost predicted the next words out of his mouth. “Are you going to comment on the state of my glasses all night, or are we going to do this?”

Jacqui huffed, leaning over Bai on the bed, his locs falling over his shoulder. “You started this with those damn kisses of yours, remember?” His hand crept between Bai’s legs, fingers wrapping around his cock, and he watched a blush spread across Bai’s face. His thumb teased Bai’s slit, stroking him frustratingly slow. “How does that feel?”

Bai held his gaze, though his cheeks were burning. [Good, but it could be better.]

“Oh?” Jacqui pressed a finger against Bai’s asshole, and felt his lips quirk when Bai’s cock twitched in his hand. “Would this be better?”

[Gods, yes.]

At that, Jacqui let go of him to pour some of the lubricant on his hand, and returned to stroking Bai, pressing his finger inside just as painfully slow, watching his eyelashes flutter at the sensation. He sped up slightly, and after a moment, when he was sure Bai was ready, joined a second finger inside, both of them opening him up more.

“Fuck—” Bai gasped, cutting himself off by biting his lip. Jacqui leaned forward to kiss him, pulling out more noises from him as his mouth opened against his—though their kisses were sloppier than before.

Jacqui could feel Bai’s body tense beneath him, reaching his climax, but he wasn’t ready for him to come yet. He sat back, hand on Bai’s cock stopping completely. “No. Not yet.”

Grey eyes flashed at him in the moonlight, but Bai didn’t argue. His hands dug into the sheets, watching as Jacqui’s fingers continued to move in and out, chest rising and falling as he panted beneath him, holding back from his edge.

[I need more.]

“You’ll get it.” Jacqui’s hand moved from Bai’s cock to his own, stroking until it was completely hard against his stomach, and covered it in lubricant. He pulled his fingers out of Bai and shifted away from him. “Turn around.”

When Bai was on his knees, back to Jacqui, hands braced against the wall, Jacqui pushed inside of him, a grunt escaping both of them as he slowly filled Bai with his cock. He placed his hands just above Bai’s on the wall, thrusting forward slowly.

He was content to keep his pace slow, gentle, not wanting to go to fast and step too far. He didn’t want to push Bai before he was ready, it had taken them this long to get where they were, and he worried about giving, about being too much.

As it turned out, he didn’t really need to worry.

[Are you holding back?]

Jacqui groaned. How Bai knew that he was holding himself back—he was always holding himself back—he didn’t know, but it didn’t matter. He nodded, still moving inside of him.

A beat of silence, and then—[Don’t.]

“Okay,” he murmured. “But if I’m going to let go, I need to be able to hold onto you. Just onto your hips.” He paused, licking his lips. “Is that okay?”

Bai glanced over his shoulder at Jacqui, meeting his golden eyes. “Yes,” he said, aloud.

Jacqui’s hands left the wall to sit on Bai’s hips instead, pulling his ass flush against his skin. He felt Bai shudder underneath him, but he was rocking back against Jacqui in a moment. Holding onto his hips gave Jacqui a better angle to thrust forward, and he did, breath stuttering in his chest. “Fuck, you feel good.”

He kept up his same pace, and it didn’t take long for Bai’s voice to enter his mind again.

[You’re still holding back. Go harder. You’re not going to break me.]

Jacqui huffed out a laugh. “Cocky bastard,” he murmured, digging his fingers into Bai’s skin as he listened and jerked his hips forward harder. The bed creaked in protest with every thrust of their hips, but neither of them cared, their voices mingling with low moans and grunts. The rough, wet sound of their skin meeting over and over joined them, and as he moved Jacqui found he liked this combination of noises more than the sounds of the bar before.

At that faster pace it didn’t take long for him to feel Bai approach his climax, breathing shallow, sweat trailing down his spine. He was holding himself back, Jacqui could feel the tension gathering in his stomach, and felt a smirk tug at his mouth.

“Are you… are you afraid I’m going to say no again?”

The moan that spilled from Bai’s lips as he snapped his hips forward was all the answer Jacqui needed, and he shook his head.

“Not this time. Go ahead.”

That was all Bai needed to hear before he arched back into him. “Gods, shit—” He almost whined as he came over the towel below them, his hands clenching into fists against the wall.

Jacqui knew he wasn’t far behind with his own climax and kept moving even as he felt Bai’s legs shake against him. When his breath caught in his throat, and he felt the tension in his stomach unravel, he pulled out, his cum spilling over his stomach and Bai’s back as he rode out his orgasm

“Sh-shit,” he groaned, forehead pressed to the other man’s shoulder blades. When he finally stopped shaking, he sat back with a sigh, grabbing the towel from under them to clean their skin off. “Sorry for not warning you.”

Bai turned around, and Jacqui wiped off his stomach as well. “It’s okay.”

Not the type to hang around, Bai stood, picking his clothes up from the floor where they had left them, and started to put them back on. Jacqui watched him, not moving to put his own clothes on, as there wasn’t really a need to. He got dressed in silence, which Jacqui wasn’t used to, but appreciated all the same. He was too familiar with partners who only ever wanted to talk, when he much preferred the quiet after sex.

When Bai turned towards the door, Jacqui noticed his glasses were still sitting on the nightstand.

“Wait.” He held them out, being careful not to touch the lenses as he walked over to Bai. “Don’t you need these?”

Bai squinted for a second, then nodded, taking them from Jacqui. “Ah. Yeah.”

Before Bai could put his glasses on, Jacqui pressed a light kiss to the beauty mark that normally sat hidden under Bai’s hair and glasses. Just as quickly, he pulled back, and reached over to unlock the door and open it for him.

“Don’t let Rodrigo see you.”

With a huff, Bai put his glasses on and stepped past him. “Trust me, I won’t.”

Before he could stop himself, Jacqui murmured, “I do.”

“Hm?”

“Trust you.” It felt strange to admit, even to himself, but Jacqui meant it. Even if his face felt like it was suddenly on fire, he meant it. Before he could embarrass himself further, he stepped away. “Goodnight, Bai.”

Bai dipped his head and turned to walk down the hallway. Jacqui closed the door behind him, but before he had let go of the doorknob, felt that ghosting of lips over his cheek, traveling down his neck to his chest.

[Thank you.]

Full name: Mestra Rosario Adrenaline

Nicknames: Adrenaline, Nali (most commonly used), Rio, Zar, Dre (these last three were only used before her exile from her homeland.)

Age: 34

Height: 5′10

Pronouns: she/her

Sexual Orientation: Pansexual

Most likely to… make you call in sick and drag you to a day spa.

Occupation: Formerly a lightning paladin (a small elite militia made up of storm mage capoeiristas). Currently works as a freelance bodyguard.

Favorite Food: barbecued pork ribs (the stickier the better)

Favorite Drink: watermelon daiquiri

Zodiac: Pisces Sun, Cancer Moon, Aries Rising

Patron Minor Arcana: Three of Cups

Upright: friendship, community, happiness

Reversed: herd mentality, conformity, solitude

Flower: Corsage Orchid

Personality:

LOUD. AND PROUD

Boisterous, energetic, playful, scrappy

She’s the most high maintenance of the three. One of the things she and Bai bond over

If you look up the phrase “Work hard, play harder,” Nali’s headshot is right next to it

A proud party animal. Don’t tempt her with a drink unless you came to go hard.

Fiercely loyal. She doesn’t play around when it comes to people she cares about or even her clients. She would absolutely die, and more importantly, kill for them.

With that being said, good luck trying to fight her. She’s built like a mountain.

Legendary Origins: Brazilian/Amazonian legend of the boto encantado – a dolphin shapeshifter known to behave similarly to the Western concepts of incubi/succubi, Power Rangers, Capoeira (Brazilian dance-fighting)

Magic/Abilities: A black belt (mestre) in Storm Capoeira (also known as Capoeira Tempestade) Think Last Airbender’s Princess Azula’s style of lightning-redirection/firebending mixed with Brazilian dance-fighting. If it sounds very cool to see, believe me, it is.

Technicolor feathers and glitter rained down from the night sky like a festive, tropical snow.

The Malachite Citadel shone under lua mãe as a gem-encrusted beacon. The great domed fortress was wedged at the very end of an aisle carved from limestone edifices and outdoor bridges.

Since Rosario had been practicing all day and hadn’t had anything to eat since that morning, her stomach was hurting pretty bad. But the young dancer knew better than to complain. Her foster siblings were all going through the same hardship.

Rosario stood with them under the lanterns and bejeweled streamers. The children were in full costume and makeup, about to lead a party walk from the Ruins to the central plaza in the heart of Avalon. The Malachite Citadel was the only building massive enough that could be seen from where they were.

Rosario’s stomach grumbled at the thought of covering all of that distance. And to have to do it masked in sticky body paint while sweating under her headdress –

“Zari. Look alive!”

Rosario’s back automatically straightened at the command. She looked up at her troupe leader.

“I want you to take the lead tonight.”

Rosario swept a hot pink braid out of her eyes. “But Davi is supposed to–”

The troupe leader gave a sharp snap of her fingers. “Davi twisted his ankle during our dress rehearsal last night, remember? You’re his understudy. So get to the front of the line.”

Without waiting for a response, the troupe leader steered the child to the front row of the parade. Rosario swallowed nervously as her toes met the edge of the broken Ruins. The crumbling shelf dropped off into a watery channel crowded with decorative turtle rafts.

“Remember to wait for the drums.”

The troupe leader’s stern reminder barely cut through the drone of the miles of performers and musicians. Even so, Rosario heard her and gave a tight nod. There was nowhere for her to wipe her sweaty hands. Her body was a canvas for ceremonial paint and glitter. She couldn’t mess up the historical mural swirling around her torso and spiraling down her legs.

“And Zari?” The troupe leader gave her a hard pat. “Don’t break formation. Hold the line until you reach the Citadel.” The last part was unspoken. Or else you’ll go to bed hungry.

It didn’t take long for Rosario to see exactly how Davi had injured his foot. Dancing a path over the backs of the giant, drifting sea turtles was one thing, but doing so while also setting the pace for the rest of the troupe was another. Not to mention that her party was surrounded by parade floats with their own competing rhythms and performers…

It took all of Rosario’s concentration to hold the line.

She tried to remind herself that this was a celebration. She was supposed to look like she was having fun. Never mind that she was dancing for her life. Or that if she ever refused to dance, then she didn’t get to eat.

Tomorrow when everyone would be sleeping off sore muscles and hangovers, Rosario and her foster siblings would be back to rehearsal in their hot, cramped studio, preparing for yet another street performance.

A lull in the troupe’s set brought Rosario to a stop. Grateful for the break, she nearly collapsed as she took a knee. Her shift in form created a wave among the performers behind her as they copied her movements.

Rosario used the moment to steady her breath. Once again she had to remind herself to not drop her smile. The whole clan had come out that night to see the lights and the dancers. She couldn’t let them down.

At this juncture in the parade, Rosario didn’t have a problem with faking her excitement. Her smile was genuine because… they had arrived.

The capoeiristas.

If there was one way to escape the life of an orphaned street performer, it was by becoming a dance fighter. Capoeiristas had everything they could ever want – mentors, warm beds, meals every day, and a normal sleep schedule.

Best of all, they had family.

Rosario didn’t know what she would have done without the friends she had made in the troupe, but at the same time, those friendships were not always guaranteed to last. The troupe leaders were known for encouraging rivalries among their wards. They wanted dancers to strive to outshine each other. The harder a dancer performed, the more coin they earned. Everyone knew that.

Troupe leaders wouldn’t hesitate to use what limited resources they had to create competition, no matter how cutthroat, in order to grow their pockets.

But for the capoeiristas, it wasn’t the same. Rosario could tell the difference in their faces alone. Even now as they sparred head to head atop the backs of the prehistoric sea turtles, Rosario could read the truth in their laughter and honest concentration. It was evident in the way they lost themselves to a whirlwind of armadas and mortals that the rivalry between them was healthy, the bonds between them real and lasting.

The capoeiristas’ performance stayed in Rosario’s mind even after it had passed and she was back to leading her troupe over the criss-crossing turtle rafts.

Rosario momentarily forgot her fatigue and tuned in to the roar of the fireworks overhead. Her muscle memory took over as she daydreamed of becoming one of the elite lightning paladins. In the parade, the paladins used storm magic to add depth and extra spark to the fiery lightshow. Rosario was simply dazzled by it.

But the distraction cost her.

The young performer took a wrong step and slid off the edge of the turtle’s shell. Rosario gasped at the sight of the glowing waterway about to swallow her up. The paint on her body would be soaked. The paper ornaments in her hair all ruined…

Something bobbed up from below in time to catch her. Rosario whistled in relief as she clung to the backside of a pale dolphin. She knew she would be punished for breaking the party walk, but she held tightly to her rescuer and waited for them to take her back to the troupe leader.

Instead, the rogue dolphin swam to a free platform on the edge of the parade. As Rosario got to her feet, her escort shifted into their bipedal form and joined her on the sidelines.

While Rosario thanked them, she scanned their lack of festive garb. The Avalonian was dressed in the typical white sweats. They wore a hooded cowl that left their chest exposed and their hair covered. A pair of black mestre cords swung imposingly from their hips.

Rosario’s eyes locked onto the cords.

A master?

“Are you all right?”

Rosario looked back up into the stranger’s dark eyes and nodded, wondering if they were also a lightning paladin. Probably not, she decided. This mestre looked too young.

They smiled. “Good.”

Turning their head in the direction of the Malachite Citadel in the distance, they asked, “How would you like to leave that troupe and come dance for my household?”

Rosario’s nose wrinkled at the invitation. She wasn’t sure what a teenager would need a street performer’s services for.

Rosario narrowed her eyes. “Who are you?”

The mestre turned their attention back to her, looking rather caught off guard by her question.

“Well, I…” They paused awkwardly. Then, something unmistakably sly and evasive crossed their features. “I stay at the Citadel.”

“Do you really?” Rosario could barely contain her excitement. She was really being recruited! The thought of no longer having to dance just to have something to eat…

“Would I get my own room?”

The hooded stranger smiled. “You could have anything you wanted.” They held out their hand. “Come. I’ll show you.”

Rosario grabbed their whole arm, nearly taking them both off the platform again. The mestre laughed and hoisted Rosario into a straighter direction. They were surprisingly strong for someone only a few years older than the street performer herself.

Rosario threw out another question. “Are you one of those lightning dancers?”

Under their hood, the mestre’s dark eyes seemed to glisten. “I am.”

Rosario couldn’t stifle the urge to tug the recruiter with a little more force than necessary. She told them that she wanted to become a paladin just like them someday. They told her that there were many mestres who would want to help her dream come true.

After that night, Rosario was hired into the Malachite Citadel’s hospitality staff. Oddly enough, she never saw the hooded mestre again.

~ Avalon, Central Plaza ~

The children swam to the edge of the platforms in their true forms. They whispered and gossipped at elusive frequencies. They lifted their pale beaks to the surface and whistled in excitement. The dolphins’ pink skin was dappled with a pattern that reflected starry constellations – a trait shared by all Malachite shifters. Outsiders found these markings quite useful when telling the dolphins apart from their non-shifting kin.

Today, however, there were no outsiders in Avalon’s central plaza. Only Malachite locals and thousands of capoeiristas had gathered for the Troca de Corda – the changing of the cords ceremony.

Some of the children that had found a way to the front had chosen to shrug off their natural skins. Their permanent pink grins were replaced with human faces and even broader smiles.

Many of them came from the streets. They gathered in a tight row, scanning the aisles of graduating mestres with hungry eyes.

One capoeirista in particular caught their attention. Her hot pink hair stretched in rows along her scalp before exploding into a voluminous cloud behind her ears. The street kids could tell by the bangles around her ankles and the rings on her toes that she came from similar origins.

She was the same as them.

Rosario was aware that the little crowd of street urchins among the waves and waves of Avalonians were looking up at her, open-mouthed and awestruck.

For a brief moment, she tore her gaze away from the induction ceremony and shot them a wink.

The acknowledgement happened so fast, the children nearly missed it. Like a flash of lightning, Rosario’s focus was back on her teachers and superiors, awaiting her new title.

Finally, after what felt like years of listening to boring traditional mumbo jumbo, the Beloveds approached the first row of new mestres.

Mestre Whisper came bearing a corded black bundle. Arthur offered the master’s uniform before his student of eight years. Rosario had already removed her transitional contra-mestre cords and draped them over her shoulder. Arthur lifted them and looped them around his own shoulders before bringing forth the bundle and letting it unravel.

Rosario fought to keep her eyes from smarting as her mentor looped the crisp black cords through her belt loops and spoke the most important words of the day.

“You will now and forever be known as…”

He paused as he knotted the belt firmly against her left hip.

“Mestra Adrenaline. Lightning Paladin. Motivator of Storms.”

.

.

.

~ Somewhere Between Home Reef and Tartaruga ~

Rosario went cliff-diving with her friends every afternoon and today was no different.

Stella, Nicos and Paulinho were lounging atop a turtle raft, waiting for Rosario to impress them with some sort of cartwheel-aerial combination.

In the end, Rosario settled on au bacardi – a cartwheel combined with a front flip with her knees tucked in. Once she landed the dive, she joined her friends on top of the living raft. The giant sea turtle’s name was Duchess and she belonged to Nicos. Although Duchess was large enough to carry a party of six, there was once a time when she was so small, she could fit right in the center of Nicos’s palm.

The recent Troca de Corda was the topic of discussion that afternoon. Rosario and Stella did their best to describe the whole event to their companions, who had been born into the neighboring Bone Clan.

“Kinda weird that the graduation wasn’t open to the public this year,” Stella noted after the four of them spent what seemed like forever dissecting Rosario’s new nickname.

Nicos looked pointedly at Rosario and Stella. “All I’m saying is this. Somebody needs to stand up to Mestre Moonbeam and politely tell him to chill out.”

Stella dipped her hand over the side of the turtle and hurled some water in his direction. “It’s Moonfire, you ass.”

Nicos splashed her right back. “Yeah, yeah. But can you tell me why he’s jumping down the throat of my Clan Head?”

Paulinho nodded. “Right. What does Moonfire got to gain from trying to bully us out of a good trade?” He snickered. “Everyone knows we’re poor!”

Stella came to her clan leader’s defense. “See how Mestre Papa didn’t back down from that duel either? Mestre Moonfire isn’t the only hothead around here, Paulinho.”

Ignoring her, Paulinho repeated his clanmate’s sentiment. “Well, are you going to tell your prince to cool it? Surely, you all can vote on some of this stuff.”

Rosario saw the way the caimans were staring at her and scoffed, “Don’t look at me. I’ve never even met the guy.”

Nicos stretched out along the turtle’s shell like he was preparing to sunbathe. “Ay, but Rio, weren’t you living in the dude’s castle once upon a time? Course you’ve met him.”

Rosario snorted, “Pft. Sure, I lived there. Right along with a dozen hundred others.”

Nicos tucked his hands behind his head and yawned. “Which one was it? A dozen or a hundred?”

Stella interjected, “I think what Rio is trying to say is that no one saw Mestre Julio. Think about how huge the Citadel is. The Head has more important things to do than check in on his hospitality staff.”

Rosario inclined her head. “Thank you, Stella. Besides, I was only there for a couple of years before Apu picked me up.” The teenager smiled fondly at the memory of Arthur taking her on as a student.

Nicos opened his dark green eyes and sat up. “What the hell is an Ah-poo?”

Rosario started to explain, but Stella beat her to it. “That’s what she calls Mestre Whisper. I think it’s cute.”

Nicos and Paulinho both stole cheeky smirks.

“What?” Rosario folded her arms. “I couldn’t pronounce my r’s until I was fourteen.”

“Whatever. Just promise me this,” Paulinho gestured to the watery basin where they floated. “After this stupid duel, we all meet up back here. No matter which mestre wins.”

Nicos’s hand shot into the air. “I’ll be here.”

Stella sniffed, “I’ll come as long as we don’t talk about the fight.”

Paulinho smiled knowingly. “One of us is bound to be salty about the outcome, Stell. There’s no avoiding that.”

Stella whined, “That’s exactly right! And I’m already tired of it, so then what’s the point of talking about winners and losers?”

Paulinho pushed his lips into a fake pout. “Stop being so damn sensitive, Stella.” He leaned over to pat her on the cheek. “You gonna cry over our Clan Heads puffing out their chests too hard? It’s just another pissing contest. Lighten up.”

“Shut up! I’m not that sensitive” She tried to dunk him in the water, but the boy was too slippery.

“You totally are.” Nicos said, dodging another one of Stella’s attempts at a tackle.

“I’m not!”

Paulinho’s face suddenly lit up. “Wait Stella, hear me out. What if you actually got a name at your graduation that proved how much of a whiny infant you are? Like Mestra…um… Crybaby!”

Nicos howled and beat his fist on the turtle’s shell. “That’s perfect!” He cleared his throat. “You will now and forever be known as–”

“Don’t you fucking dare!”

Paulinho shrugged innocently. “Why not? If it happens, you can’t get mad at us.”

This time Paulinho did get shoved into the water. By Rosario’s foot.

“Leave her alone.”

Nicos and Stella burst out laughing while Paulinho sputtered and tried to collect himself. Rosario leaned over the side and easily dragged him back onto the turtle’s shell.

“I agree with Stella. After the fight, let’s not talk about it anymore. I just want to swim and hang out. Forget the clan bullshit.” She hugged Paulinho. “This right here? This is what’s real.”

Paulinho rolled his eyes, but he hugged her back. “Aw, Zar, don’t be such a sap!”

Nicos leaned back onto his elbows. “She's Malachite, Linho. Can’t help herself.” He glanced over at Stella and winked. “Right, Mestra Crybaby?”

Stella groaned.

Rosario laughed as she wrangled the other two into a tight embrace.

.

.

.

~ Later That Week ~

Arthur sat alone in his apartment reading the worst of his fears in the Avalon Paper.

The match was a draw, upon which the mestres had decided in advance would automatically lead to a round of sudden death…

“No, no, no, Julio,” Arthur whispered under his breath. “Tell me you didn’t.”

The Clan Heads honored their agreement to the very last—

Arthur had to hand it to the journalist for making everything seem fair and completely normal. The mestre folded the newspaper and pushed it to the side.

Salvador, the Bone Clan Head, was dead.

Tartaruga, the island where most of the caiman population resided, was ordered to be evacuated for the scheduled burning of the obsidian mines.

“Apu! I’m home!”

Rosario’s natural scent of melon and sweetness greeted Arthur’s senses as she opened the door.

“Got those plantains like you asked.”

She deposited them on the small table where Arthur sat, but he didn’t move or thank her.

“Apu? What’s up?”

Mestre Whisper stared out the window. He watched the activity in downtown Avalon with an empty expression. His hand drifted over to the newspaper, but Rosario snatched it up and read the headline aloud.

“Studies Show That Turtles Can Smell When You’re Lying… ?”

Arthur closed his eyes, making a weary sound. “The other side, Rosie.”

“Oh.”

The paper rustled as Rosario absorbed the news.

“Hold on, Mestre Papa is… but how? Didn’t he, like, invent Capoeira? He’s been a master way longer than Mestre Moonfire.”

Arthur slowly opened his eyes. “Salvador is an older student of Capoeira, but the same cannot be said regarding Capoeira Tempestade.”

“But,” Rosario set down the paper, “that doesn’t make any sense. Caimans can’t do storm magic.”

Arthur shook his head. “Yes, I know that. And so does Mestre Julio. It’s the only way he would have been able to win. The article won’t admit it. No one will, I imagine.”

Rosario swallowed hard. “But Apu, that’s… that’s not fair.”

Finally, Arthur turned away from the window and met his student’s naive, incredulous gaze.

“Rosie, nothing will be the same after this.” He took her hand. “You must prepare yourself. You’re only seventeen, but that doesn’t matter. You’re a lightning paladin now.”

Rosario squeezed her mentor’s trembling hand. “Prepare for what? Apu, I don’t get it. Where are the caimans going to go while the mines are getting cleared out? Can Nicos and Linho stay with us? Or…”

“Oh, child.”

Arthur didn’t know how to tell her.

An hour later, Rosario received a special summons from the Citadel to report to the Tartarugan border at dawn.

She was instructed to be fully charged and wearing her mestre uniform.

.

.

.

High up as we were, we saw the smoke that day. We tasted its disgrace. A bonfire had been set in the soft shared belly betwixt Avalon and Bone Country. A wretched fire made for burning alliances and torching history. ~ excerpted from Remembering the Bone Bonfire, A Diamond’s Witness

.

~ Dawn ~

Rosario stood shoulder to shoulder in a throng of roughly fifty thousand lightning paladins on the cliffs where she and her friends used to jump off and land aerial tricks.

The young mestre should have been honored to join the ranks in a show of the clan’s military might, but she just felt sick.

This place that was once a playground for her and her friends was poisoned and Rosario felt entirely responsible. But nothing had happened yet. She wasn’t even on the front lines.

Far up ahead was Mestre Moonfire and his close team. Rosario couldn’t see them, but she could feel the rock under her feet trembling as the mestres charged in crouching headstands – bananeira de cabeça. Storm clouds boiled and congregated overhead, casting the Bone Clan’s small turtle-shaped island under a blanket of darkness.

Rosario waited for the moment when the most elite mestres would extend their legs into a more elongated headstand. The shift in position would call the lightning down from the sky and set the land below ablaze in the Clan Head’s ghostly white moonflame.

Rosario had never seen the legendary moonfire in person before, but she had read about its devastating power in the history books Apu kept.

When the time was right, Rosario was supposed to follow a mandatory sequence in Moonfire’s wake. The young lightning paladin mentally went over the moves.

Ginga – armada de frente – meia lua de compasso – back to ginga and repeat. She had been ordered not to stop or break formation no matter what. The sequencia was meant to keep the fires burning until there was nothing left.

This was not Capoeira. There were no drums, no singing, no community. There was no Trance.

This was someone’s death march.

The sky opened up and unloaded onto the thousands of lightning paladins, soaking their plain jersey uniforms and black master cords. Despite the rain’s cool touch, Rosario felt faint from fever. She wondered if anyone else was fighting the urge to run, but she didn’t dare look away from her target.

Thunder struck. It sounded like it came from everywhere.

A fat bolt of white lightning ruptured the fabric of reality. For a moment it left Rosario blinded. Several breaths caught in that blink of terrible silence.

The fires were set. The whole isle of Tartaruga was burning. The hills rich with obsidian ore were burning. The palmettos. The villages. The markets. The turtles in the pools and lagoons.

Rosario couldn’t do it. She never made it into ginga.

No one seemed to be paying attention to the one mestre that had broken rank and escaped to a small, isolated cliff where they leaped off into the untouched ocean.

Rosario took a dive into the waters where she and her friends splashed and chased each other just a few days ago.

Moonfire wasn’t just magic. It was sorcery. Nothing should ever burn so completely. The island wouldn’t be ash when this was all over. It would be bald, smooth rock. The Malachite Prince was using Storm Capoeira to morph the Bone Clan’s only territory into nothing that would ever again be habitable.

And then there were all the turtles caught in the fire… the smell alone.

Rosario supported herself against the rock and bowed her head. She coughed and wretched miserably for a while. When everything had passed, she took comfort in her true form and swam off.

Rosario traveled southward, where she hoped she wouldn’t be followed. The paladin didn’t expect to cross paths with a procession of Tartarugans sailing on turtleback. They looked like they were headed for the Mainland.

Judging by the layer of black ash clinging to their clothes and skin, they looked like they had barely escaped.

Rosario kept a safe distance, keeping her eyes peeled for one shell design in particular. But she was close enough to hear the caimans’ cries.

“Why! Why! They told us they were only clearing out the mines!”

“My babies… We have to go back! I’m not a fucking merchant – those turtles are my only income!”

“Don’t be stupid. Look at the flames. Mestre Papa is gone. We can never go back.”

Amid the voices, Rosario’s sharp senses recognized one. She followed the sound until she matched it with a swirling shell pattern.

Duchess crooned at the dolphin’s arrival. To Rosario’s relief, Paulinho and Nicos were the only ones riding on the turtle’s back. She winced when she registered that a piece of Duchess’ front flipper was missing.

Like the rest of their clan kin, the caimans’ faces were blackened with fresh ash. Nicos’s eyes looked faraway and blank. Duchess vocalized again, but Nicos didn’t seem to care.

Paulinho knelt down to stroke the turtle’s shell. “What’s wrong, girl?”

Sticking to her true form, Rosario reached out to establish a mental link with her friends.

It’s me.

The two caimans’ eyes went wide.

“Zar?” Paulinho hissed, discreetly looking for her in the water. “What are you doing here?”

Nicos didn’t wait for an answer. He suddenly snapped out of his daze and gripped the edge of the raft.

“What’d they have to go and do that for? Burning our homes? Over some stupid black rock! What’d we ever do to Moonfire, huh?” He scrambled to his feet. Meanwhile, Paulinho steered the raft away from the earshot of the other refugees.

Nicos jabbed the air with his finger. His green eyes blazed from behind his mask of ash and tears.

“Mestre Papa showed Moonfire what Capoeira was all about! Isn’t that what it says in the history books?” He waved wildly at the ocean. “We drive your people anywhere they want for pennies! We work our turtles to death, we do!”

Paulinho looked around anxiously. “Nicos, calm down.” He tried to get him to sit.

“No, let me go, let me go!” Nicos shook Paulinho off him and went back to fuming at Rosario.

“The Malachite already have everything they could ever want. You throw your fucking parties and dance over nothing for no reason. What d’ya want with our homes, huh? Pftah!” He spat in her general direction and dragged the back of his hand over his face, smearing the ash with his snot and tears.

Low and surprisingly calm, Paulinho added, “Where do you reckon we’re supposed to live now, Rio? No choice now but to go to the Mainland.”

“The swamps!” Nicos exploded. “With the fucking serpents, Zar!”

Rosario didn’t know what to say. It all happened so fast. She wanted to get closer and hold her friends. She wanted to tell them everything would be okay.

“Moonfire barely gave us enough time to evacuate. We don’t even have all of our stuff.”

“Had to leave half the turtles behind—”

Rosario blurted, You have no idea how sorry I am.

Nicos flinched. “Sorry? You’re one of his lightning puppets!”

I got away from the fire just now! I didn’t — I couldn’t.

Paulinho narrowed his eyes. “You ran, but you didn’t stop them?”

Stop them? Linho, there’s no stopping… I’m one paladin. What am I supposed to do against fifty thousand?

“Just go, Rosario. Get lost.”

This was just like being back in the dance troupe. Rosario had friends until a grownup made them fight each other. Rosario didn’t want to fight. She didn’t want to be better than anybody!

But–

“Moonfire didn’t burn all the obsidian,” Paulinho said. “The merchants snatched what they could. They’ll probably use it to buy us a place to stay in Silver territory.”

Nicos looked meaningfully in Rosario’s direction. “Yeah. So go away before someone sees you. Obsidian glass is sharp, you know.”

Rosario rolled over in distress. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. We were supposed to go swimming—

Paulinho ripped off his sandal and chucked it at her. “Don’t be so fucking dense, Zar! We ain’t your friends no more!”

Furious, hot tears streaked his sooty face. His olive green eyes boiled with unspoken sadness.

But Rosario was angry too.

We are! You, Nicos and Stella are my friends and nothing can change that!

“We are not friends.” Paulinho closed his eyes and turned away from her. “Look at what Mestre Moonfire did. We can’t be. It’s all in the history books now.”

All in the history books.

Encantados only said that when there was nothing left to say. When the things that happened could not be undone.

Sascha wordlessly took a seat beside her brother.

“Hello, Solo,” she sighed, helping herself to a deep drink of water.

“Sasch,” he greeted tentatively, patting his pearl-laden fingers against his sister’s knee. Sascha felt his charms creep into her bones, slowly taking the edge away.

“Solomon Honore, I know you aren’t performing magic at my table,” Floribeth said icily.

Solo snatched his hand back as if struck. “No, nanang. I was just–”

“And Sascha, if you don’t take that filth off your head–” Floribeth glared at the black wide-brimmed hat that Sascha came in with.

Sascha looked at her pointedly as she cut into her steak without making any indication that she would remove the hat.

Beth’s sneer deepened. “Solomon. Go to your room. Your sister and I have some things we need to discuss.”

Sascha swallowed her forkful of meat and said casually, “No Solo, stay awhile. Listen to the story of how our little mother bribed a couple of actors to intimidate and coerce me into handing over my shop.”

Solo blinked several times before looking back at Floribeth. “Nanang?”

Beth threw down her napkin. Her features were steady but there was something keenly venomous in her honey golden eyes.

“Stop exaggerating, Sascha. They were only supposed to scare you.” Then she gave a weary sigh, picked up the napkin and folded it neatly. “Solo, sweetheart. Go to your room. Now.”

Sascha didn’t blame Solo for doing as he was told. He shot her a look on his way out. It was one that she knew very well back from when they were children – I’m going, but I won’t be far.

It made Sascha breathe easier to know that after everything, Solo was still willing to push the envelope with Floribeth. He would stay close by in case Sascha needed him.

But truth be told, Sascha didn’t know how this was going to play out.

Once Solo was out of sight, Florbith started talking fast.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to, Sascha. You’re waiting around for that pirate.”

Sascha almost forgot to breathe. Is that what this was about? She hoped she didn’t look as horrified as she felt when she stared wide-eyed at her mother and asked, “How do you know about Sun Bai?”

“My contemporaries and competitors have seen you two around the city. It’s not uncommon for you to date your clients, so I didn’t think anything of it at first. But apparently that man is no client. He’s a mercenary with a record so messy it’s hardly discernible from his targets’. I’ve heard that he returns to Vesuvia every few months and he’s clearly spoiling you–”

“You know what?” Sascha stood up. “Forget I asked. It’s none of your business and you need to get out of my personal life.”

Floribeth, of course, spewed her same justification. That this was her business and whether Sascha liked it or not, she was still a part of this family. She carried the Vega name around with her and that meant something.

“You’re hurting the De La Vega image by galvanizing with a,” Beth made a graceless gesture. “… a gangster.”

Sascha’s eyes were burning now. She tried to keep her voice from trembling. “Nanay, You’ve never even met him.”

It was too much. Sascha took off. She headed up the stairs, towards Solo’s room. She would spend the night with him, recover as much as she could. Then she would leave. Forever. She had the Nautilus now.

But Floribeth was hot on Sascha’s heels.

“I don’t have to meet him. He’s trash, Sascha.”

The two of them marched up the main spiral staircase. Tears were streaming down Sascha’s face. She felt too foolish and pathetic to even register her anger.

“You don’t know him!”

“He’s a drifter?” Beth's words came out softly as they both reached the top of the stairs. “Gets you nice things and treats you like you’re the only woman in the world when he’s there?”

Sascha paused.

Behind her, Beth kept going. “He leans on you. And when he confides in you, he lets you see his whole heart?”

Finally, Sascha turned to face her mother. She did not expect to see so much understanding emanating from Beth’s keen golden gaze.

The elderly woman sighed. “But he won’t stay. He won’t sit still. Not for marriage or for family. He only thinks of adventure and freedom. Never once does he consider the possibilities. He cannot be convinced to stay and build a family – the adventure of a lifetime in its own right.”

Sascha dragged her knuckles over the wet parts of her face. “Nanay, please.”

Floribeth shook her head. “Trust me, Sascha. I know more than you think. I’ve wasted many years waiting around for a rolling stone. You’ll only get yourself hurt.”

Sascha grabbed the railing and shouted, “Stop making my life about you and Honore! Haven’t you realized that it doesn’t work on me!”

She tried to run away, but Floribeth surged forward and grabbed the thicker curls at the nape of her neck. They wrestled awkwardly. Sascha struggled to keep her anger in check as she tried to disengage herself without hurting her mother.

Floribeth, however, wasn’t holding back. She had both fists in Sascha’s hair now. As she knocked off her hat and tried to yank her down to her knees, she hissed, “I don’t believe for one second that I raised a daughter that would leave her family. And for what? He’s a thug, Sascha!”

“You can’t stop me!” Sascha was screaming now. “I’d do anything for him!” Then very quietly, she gasped, “I love him, nanay.”

“No you don’t!” Floribeth snarled in Esmeraldi.

Sascha cried back, “I swear on my life. I do love him!”

Then the oculist tore herself free and stumbled onto the sandstone tiles. She braced herself with both hands and wept.

Sascha begged the gods to lend her mother some shred of maternal softness. Just this once!

“I love him, nanang,” she repeated between sobs.

At first all Sascha could see were her mother’s heels. She didn’t resist when Floribeth lifted her head up by the chin and asked. “You love him? More than you love your own family?”

Sascha didn’t answer. She couldn’t.

This wasn’t fair. How dare she make Sascha choose when she had done nothing but twist the meaning of family all these years!

Sascha’s lip trembled in both shame and defiance. She refused to give Beth an answer.

“No?” Floribeth dug her nails into Sascha’s face. “Then you’re a fucking whore just like your father!”

Before Beth’s nails could break her daughter’s skin, Sascha slipped away and wrenched herself to her feet. Mother and daughter began to claw at each other’s faces.

Neither of them heard the frantic shuffle of slippers in their direction.

“Nanang! What are you doing? Stop it!”

Floribeth barked, “Stay out of this, Solomon! Go back to your room!”

But Solo was deep in the knot now. The three of them stumbled and shrieked backwards until they all lost their footing and went hurtling down the staircase.

Floribeth held onto Sascha the whole ride down. Solo clung to both of them, screaming the loudest. Sascha held her breath, too shocked to do anything but avoid banging her head or crushing Solo.

When the three of them tumbled off of the last stair, Sascha checked herself first before reaching out with her magic to make sure no one’s organs had been ruptured.

Floribeth groaned as she rolled over. Her lip was split, but other than that, she was fine. Beth propped herself onto her elbows and spat, “If Solo is hurt, it’ll be your fault!”

That’s enough!

Sascha uncovered her gun from her jacket pocket. She moved swiftly, shoving her hand over Beth’s mouth. The old woman grunted as her back hit the iron railing. Sascha held her mother there and dug the gun barrel into her thigh.

“Shut up!” The gunslinger cocked the hammer. “Shut. Up.”

Beth’s eyes went from incredulous to furious. She bit down hard on her daughter’s hand, drawing blood faster than expected.

Sascha cried out and pulled the trigger.

Floribeth’s scream was muffled by Sascha’s hand. Sascha tried to pull away, but Beth only dug her teeth in.

Solo’s voice was hollering in the background. Beth was bleeding onto the tiles and not giving up. Sascha was trapped.

She was so tired of being trapped.

So she pulled the trigger again.

.

.

.

Sascha cradled her hand against her abdomen as she jogged through the rain across the pool yard, chanting instinctively in a dead language in order to stitch her skin back together.

The Nautilus. She needed to get to the Nautilus.

Someone was following across the property, but this time it wasn’t Beth. It was Solo.

He limped in her wake and shouted, “Sasch! Sascha, wait!”

Sascha listened to her sibling. She turned around and waved her gun helplessly at the house in the background.

“I can’t do this anymore, Solo. I tried to put distance between us. I did my best. But she doesn’t want me to be a part of this family unless she owns me.”

Floribeth was still inside, wounded but she wouldn’t bleed out. Sascha had made sure of it.

Solo came closer, pushing his soaked blue hair out of his eyes. Despite everything that happened, he looked down at his sister with nothing but fondness and concern.

“Sascha. You’re leaving? You’re really leaving this time.”

Sascha stored her gun away and held out her hand.

“Come with me.”

Solo reached for her other hand — the partially injured one — and held it both of his. He shook his head. “You know I can’t.”

Sascha’s gaze dropped to the ground. Of course she knew. Solo’s roots ran too deep in this family. And Beth knew it too.

“Come here,” Solo whispered softly as he brought Sascha in. Despite his limp, he hugged her with a fierceness that he usually kept hidden and scattered in the line of his ancestral pearls. Sascha supported most of his weight, like she had so many times before.

“Did I hear you correctly when I was eavesdropping on you and nanang? That man I found sleeping in your bed back when you first got the shop – the one with the long white hair… you’re in love with him?”

Sascha nodded against his chest.

Solo pulled back and hummed in celebration. His tears looked like river pearls against the rain.

“Well then you have to go. Not because of Beth.” He worked his cool pearls into the wounds in Sascha’s hand as he drew it up to his face. “But for love.”

Solo dropped a fond kiss to her knuckles while massaging in the pearls and mixing it with Sascha’s healing magic. The pain dissolved and the rain didn’t feel as cold.

Sascha squeezed Solo’s scarred hand. “This won’t be the last time you see me. I’ll send a way to contact me.”

Solo grinned. “I’ll be at my window, waiting for the messenger bird. Just don’t send an ugly one.” He patted the back of Sascha’s hand before letting go.

For the first time that night, Sascha smiled. “I love you, Sol.”

“Love you too, Sasch.” He said earnestly. “If you ever come back, know that I will be here for you. Always.”

Solo hugged his sister one last time before watching her run off into the rain.

****

~ The Nautilus ~

Sascha settled into the pilot’s seat of her new home. The only thing that she brought with her from the shop was the chest of glasses that Ozy had gifted her.

Sascha took out a set of frames and put them on. Combined with the floodlights illuminating the sandy bottom of the sea floor, the frames lended Sascha a sharper view.

She saw squid, pale as the moon, coasting along the bottom. The moonlit cephalopods made her think of Sun Bai’s hair and the way his gray irises became shards in the night. It reminded her of their first date almost two years ago and all of the interactions scattered in between.