We’re interrupting cute modern AU time from something completely different.
Emet/Wol
Summary:
Watching the Warrior of Light sleep peacefully stirs some dark desires in the Ascian obsessing about her.
E-rated, please mind the warnings.
cw: masturbation, somnophilia, dub-con, and all the dark stuff you can imagine when thinking about an unhinged, obsessed, and vengeful Ascian.
She looks so small when she lets her guard down. Unassuming, normal, almost helpless as she lies in a small room in Il Mheg, resting after a taxing battle, rejuvenating for the journey back to the Crystarium.
He has had an eye on her and her companions from the moment she started making waves after she arrived in Lakeland. It took one look for him to see, after all. To look behind the woman's feeble mortal form and see the shimmering, glittering light of her soul.
It's not blinding, radiating like it used to be. On the contrary, its dim glow is almost pitiful in comparison with what it once was. But compared to the souls around her, it is a beacon of light. Quite literal, by now, Emet-Selch muses as he watches the soul in question wither and sir, struggling against the overwhelming intrusion of light.
She struck down not one light warden but two. An impressive feat for a mortal, if, ultimately, inconsequential. He can see clearly, how much her soul strains under the light of these creatures. There are several more around; she will break under the strain if she takes all of them on.
Not for the first time, he thinks about introducing himself to her and her merry band of followers. So far, he has been content to watch them from, well, not the shadows in this world, but from a distance. The temptation is there. Each time he sees her - feels the frayed edges of her soul whisper on the wind - his heart yearns. And then he looks closer, and the yearning turns into anger, into disappointment.
Her soul is but an echo of what he has lost. She is not even close to what he wants her to be, what he needs her to be, yet she is like a thorn in his side. Insistent, burying herself deeper with every step he takes, painfully reminding him again and again that she is there. He goes from feeling a spark of joy at the fact she is there at all to hating her for it and back by the hour. If he just walks up and talks to her tomorrow, there is no way he can keep his distance.
Then again, he seems incapable of doing it now already. Naught else could explain how he wound up in her bedroom in the middle of the night, watching her sleep. Standing next to her bed, he looks down at her and frowns. The light is raging, attacking her soul with tiny barbs; like razors, it leaves small sharp cuts on the shimmering surface. To watch it is fascinating. She doesn't feel it yet; he knows. She won't for a while, but it will catch up with her, and he finds himself looking forward to watching that, too.
Emet-Selch doesn't care much anymore. Over the millennia, he has learned not to. He has emptied himself out, by circumstance and necessity, yet whenever he stumbles across her, it stirs something. Surrounded by emptiness and no purchase in sight, he feels. Whenever he looks at her, joy and anger sing together, and in the endless vacuum of his existence, they are somehow one and the same.
Even in his anger, he still wants her. The broken form, the sundered soul - merely looking at her makes him want to do unspeakable things, and he doesn't feel remorse for any of them. But it doesn't matter in the end; he can hardly break her any further.
Her soft hair lies spread out around her like a messy halo, framing her peaceful face on the pillow. Like this, she looks almost holy if he manages to ignore the broken bits of aether around her. He can only assume a pleasant dream is on her mind if he goes by the soft smile gracing her face. For a moment, he feels only warmth at the peaceful look before it scatters into the emptiness in his chest. How dare she to be at peace? This broken remainder of literal paradise, hurting him with her mere existence - how is it that she gets to sleep peacefully, in quiet reprieve, oblivious to the agony inherent to the entire world's existence while he has to see it all, every hour of every single day?
His fingers twitch with the sudden urge to wrap around her exposed neck. How easy it would be to make her feel at least a fraction of his own pain and by his own hands at that. He could have her by the throat and make her life flash before her eyes ere she could even think about defending herself. He could carve his grief into her flesh with her own weapon and until she would beg him for forgiveness. He could restore her after, to her unblemished state and do it all over again until maybe, somehow, someday, he would feel a fraction of relief.
But all of this could wait. There were things in motion, here in the first, plans painfully orchestrated, and he would see them through. And for that, a more friendly approach would be preferable. For that, she can never know the depths of his gruesome affection for her. Not yet, at least. Maybe once she starts to succumb to the light inside her, when she slowly grows more monstrous day by day, when it starts changing her from within, and he will be the only one who can offer her salvation - then he will have ample opportunity to give in to his every whim.
He is about to take his leave when she moves. Her head rolls to the side and her night shift moves along with her, revealing only the slightest glimpse at the swell of her breast to his eyes and his need for her surges. This body she is in is new to him. Not too different from the ones she had before, but different enough, and he finds himself stepping closer. With a subtle wave of his hand, he lets the blanket slip off her, and as a draft of air hits her body, she stirs. With a frown, Emet-Selh allows his aether to flow. He deepens her sleep until she calms again. It wouldn't do either of them any good if she woke and found him with her, after all.
Without the blanket covering her, she looks even more fragile. Her shift is thin and clings to her skin, hugging her form in a way that looks terribly inviting and restricting at the same time. He snaps his fingers once to get rid of it. After all, she is what he wants to see, not some garment hiding her from his view.
Like Hydaelyn hides her behind her blessing over and over again, obscuring her from his view, making it hard to find her in every single lifetime.
He will have none of that here, nothing obscuring that which he wants to lay his eyes upon. Her ample breasts move slightly up and down with each deep breath she takes, and under the fresh, somewhat chilled air from the open window, their peaks perk up. He is tempted to take off one of his gloves and run his fingers across them, to tease and take those hardened nubs and twist them. Tempted and appalled at the same time. That he would deign to lower himself and touch such imperfection, and with his bare hands? He sneers at the thought, and yet a part of him stirs in evident arousal.
His eyes wander lower, over the supple curve of her hips. He can almost imagine how her thighs would feel under his touch, how his fingers would press into her flesh, denting her skin with the harshness of his grip. Or maybe he would be soft for a while, fingertips grazing lightly along her stomach and down between her thighs, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He knows that it wouldn't take him much effort to make her body sing regardless of what approach he'd take. It never does. Once he'd pry those thighs apart, he would be greeted by inviting wetness.
Emet-Selch lets his magic do the menial work for him, turning her gently onto her back and spreading her legs apart so he can see. There is no tell-tale glittering sign of arousal shimmering at her folds now. Of course, there isn't. He has not done anything to her. Well, not anything worthy of note, at least. She would probably see it differently were she to awaken now. For a brief moment, he finds himself tempted to forget all decorum and take her like this. Unprepared and unaware as she is, he could soothe his own need at little cost. Both, the need to have her and the one to hurt her. If he were especially cruel, he'd let her wake up, only for a moment. Let her take in all he is doing to her before sending her back to sleep, leaving her with the uncertainty in the morning if she had dreamed or not. Then again, she didn't even know him yet. It would hardly have the same impact now than it would have later.
Still, the thought alone has him painfully hard by now. He keeps letting his eyes wander, as his hand does too. With a quick move, he undoes his robe in the front and takes out his aching cock. The tip is leaking already, the mere idea of her having worked him up into a tension that makes the thought of leaving now impossible. Emet-Selch makes his right glove disappear, and then he takes himself in hand, a blissful sigh escaping his lips at the touch.
He keeps his eyes on her, though. The Warrior of Light, the hero of the source, Hydaelyn's chosen. She is light of his life and bane of his existence alike, and Emet-Selch wishes he knew how to quit her, how to stop feeling that last little spark that only burns in her vicinity. He knows he can't. Knows that, however broken, their souls are entwined. He hates her for it, and she is everything to him. A knowledge that burns through him as he strokes his on length with a quick and efficient touch. He rarely bothers with striving for physical release, but her vicinity is a potent drug.
She lies there, so innocently, still peacefully asleep, and he finds himself raging with need. The desire to take her, to claim her, to ruin her surges through his veins as he watches her eyes flutter from whatever pleasant thought is gracing her dream. The urge to do something, anything, to her is nearly unbearable, and he leans closer, his gloved hand reaching for her face. Still stroking himself, he holds her chin, thumb running over her plush lower lip and dragging it down, pulling her mouth open just the slightest bit before he smears the dripping head of his cock over her lips.
The desire to simply take her mouth is burning through his veins, but Emet-Selch is nothing but patient. His time with her would come; it always did when the circumstances were ripe for the taking. For now, he holds himself in check. His hand speeds up, and he feels himself nearing the brink. With a leering look at her exposed and still sleeping form, he aims himself, and then a deep groan leaves his mouth as he spends his release all over her breasts and stomach.
It does not bring relief.
The physical sensation is there, small aftershocks of his orgasm still run through his body, but all in all, it's a hollow sensation. He tugs himself back into his robes, not letting his touch linger. His eyes do, though, still glued to her form. And where the physical release had barely been noteworthy, the sight in front of him definitely is. Her face still looks peaceful, but the rest of her is no longer innocent. He watches his seed drip down her skin, marking her as his without her knowledge. She looks debauched like this, messed up, and it sends a deep shiver of satisfaction through him. He drinks in the sight for a moment before he snaps his fingers once.
He is not going to leave her like this, after all. Not when waking up and finding herself in this state would confuse her more than anything. No, if he will leave evidence behind that he can get to her where she is most vulnerable, he will do so when it has much more impact. When she can connect the dots, and the thought of letting her guard down to sleep becomes terrifying to her. Or enticing, perhaps. He never quite knows how she will react. One thing all over her shards have in common is the unpredictability of their source, after all. Sometimes she is coy, sometimes she is righteous, and sometimes she welcomes him into her bed with open arms. At times she likes his gentler side; at others, she wants his anger. Time will tell what this version of her does.
For now, all traces of his disgraceful act are gone again. Almost all, that is. He has cleaned her up and put her clothes and her blanket back in place, but there is one part he leaves out. It makes him smile, the thought that she will wake with the taste of him lingering on her lips. Enough to make her frown with unease yet not enough to send her into an outright panic yet. He is already looking forward to observing her come morning. Maybe, if her reaction amuses her, he will return the next night.
Or maybe he will finally introduce himself first once she returns to her new, temporary home. Raise the stakes, so to speak, for both her and for him. Let her get a good look at him before he starts invading her nights more thoroughly. Gain her trust by day only to shatter it by night. The thought brings more pleasure than the entire physical act he had just performed did, and it makes him smile to himself.
She would be his once again, ere this tale would be over. And if not by choice, then in pieces.
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And again some more modern a - I swear I am also going to write something else this month - eventually 😅
Emet/Reader
When Hades shows up the following evening, he holds to boxes of steaming Thai food in his hands, insisting that if you are already staying late, you should do so with a somewhat decent dinner. And it’s definitely more than decent. Not to mention the company is delightful. You talk about this and that, not even looking at the time as you tell him how you are slowly making your new apartment habitable. Hades meanwhile regales you with some more anecdotes of his friend upstairs and his never-ending quest to get him to work less. Over an hour has passed until you finally get around to talking about anything work-related.
“So, what kind of name is ‘Emet-Selch’ actually?” you ask the question that has been repeatedly on your mind.
In front of you, Hades coughs, needing a moment to not choke on his food before he looks at you with a question written all over his face.
“Pardon me?” he murmurs. “What?”
“The boss,” you point out. “I’ve wondered about that; it sounds like a strange name, don’t you think?”
“It’s more akin to a title, actually,” he says after clearing his throat, and that information makes you perk up.
“It is? Oh, kinda like a stage name?” you wonder. “That makes sense; I guess he is an artist, after all.” With a frown, you add, “So what’s his real name then?”
Across from you, Hades lets out a laugh. “I am sure you can easily find that out by employing twenty seconds of your time into a search engine, my dear.”
You shake your head vehemently.
“I am not going to google my boss; what if I find out something I really didn’t wanna know?”
He looks at you across the rim of his glasses like you lost your mind.
“And how is this any different?” Hades asks with a raised brow. “You don’t know what kind of stories I could tell you, after all.”
“Yeah, but then it would be your fault for blabbing and not mine for snooping,” you claim, nodding gravely to underline your point.
“That… is not how it works,” Hades mumbles before he goes back to his food with a shake of his head. “Seriously, you have not looked up the company you’ve come to work for even once?”
You had not. It’s not like you hadn’t thought about it, but ultimately, you had decided against it, and so you give him a shrug.
“It has a splendid reputation, everyone in my class wanted a job here, and I didn’t see the point,” you say before grabbing another bite. “I guess I just like to make my own impressions?”
“An admirable attitude,” Hades murmurs with another shake of his head. “If, perhaps, prone to complications.”
“Huh?” At his muttered afterthought, you look up, but he just waves it aside.
“Ah, don’t mind me.”
You finish your dinner with some more not work-related talk, and before he leaves to get some more work done himself, you give him the small folder you prepared with your proposed changes. He assures you that he will forward them once again as he wishes you a good night and a relaxing weekend.
You have both, but you are almost tempted to go to work on a Sunday for having nothing better to do. You could finally unpack the rest of your things, get your apartment into a state that is actually comfortable to live in, but you’re still not feeling like it. If you’re honest with yourself, it’s not necessarily the work itself you miss and wanna sit around at the company for. Out of all the people you have met over the past week, you definitely like Hades the most. He is kind, thoughtful, unobtrusive, and he listens to your complaints as well as talks to you whenever you both seem to have a little time. And sometimes… Sometimes you notice his eyes sparkle when he looks at you, and it is not only a welcome sight; it is one that sends little jolts of excitement through you each time you catch him. It doesn’t even matter that you have basically just met the man or that he seems to be a good few years older than you - you would like nothing more than to get to know him better.
A feeling that only grows on Monday when you go through your inbox, and an email from your boss already contains some parts of your proposed changes, together with a small thank you note for your very skillfuly adjustments. Hades didn’t waste any time relaying your thoughts, it seems, and you smile to yourself before you decide to visit the coffee cart downstairs and get him something as a thank you. You have no idea what he likes, except for coffee, of course, but the elderly lady behind the counter knows her customers, and a little while later, you are on your way up to his floor, carrying glazed donuts with you. You wouldn’t have suspected him of having a sweet tooth, but the coffee cart lady insisted that those were his favorite.
When you exit the elevator, you look around. You have no idea where his office is precisely, only the floor it’s on. You’ll simply have to ask the next person you see to point you in the right direction.
It turns out to be unnecessary, as you round a corner and practically run into the man himself.
“Persephone,” he greets you with a confused look, holding your shoulders steady to keep you from stumbling. “What are you doing here?”
The way he seems so surprised but at the same time genuinely happy to see you makes you smile. He looks a little different, and it takes you a few seconds to realize that, for once, he is not wearing glasses.
“Looking for you,” you say, holding up the bag with the baked goods to show him. “I brought a thank you for playing messenger for me.”
He looks a bit confused, but as he sees what’s in your hand, his eyes light up.
“Are those donuts?”
“You really do have a sweet tooth,” you laugh as you nod. “So, I was wond-”
You stop talking in surprise as his hands around your shoulders tighten, and he pulls you further around the corner all of a sudden, looking past you with a slight frown.
“What are you doing?” you mumble, unsure just how to react when Hades motions you to be quiet.
“Shhh, I think I saw Hythlodaeus,” he whispers, and now he has you thoroughly confused.
“Your friend?” you murmur back as you wonder about the sudden secrecy.
“He is trying to rope me into something, and I am avoiding him,” he explains quietly, shifting you just a little so he can peek around the corner. “Oh no,” he murmurs. “He’s heading straight this way. Get in there.”
He nudges you through the door right next to you into an empty office. Everything goes fast, and before you know it, you find yourself on the inside, slightly wedged between the office door and Hades, who quietly snaps the lock shut.
You look at him questioningly, trying to make sense of all this when he puts a finger over his lips, indicating you not to make a sound.
A second later, you nearly flinch when someone knocks sharply at the door.
“Hades, are you in there?” an impatient voice asks, and in front of you, Hades mouths the word ‘Hyth’ in a quiet explanation.
“You can’t avoid me forever, you know?” the voice comes again. “This fundraiser is happening, you are going, and if you want to look approachable for once, you’re bringing someone.!”
You have to swallow down a giggle as you realize what it is he is trying to avoid. Somehow, it doesn’t surprise you. He doesn’t seem like the very outgoing type.
“Come on,” comes Hyth’s voice again through the door. “You could ask that cute singing girl from downstairs you’ve been mooning over to come with you; it will be fun!”
Hades winces slightly in front of you, and your eyes widen at those last words as a sudden feeling of giddiness has your stomach jump. With the way Hades looks at you almost apologetically by now, there is little chance his friend means anyone else, and the thought is nothing if not exciting.
“I’ll just be back…” the voice from outside claims before you can hear the sound of someone walking away.
For a moment, you stay quiet, almost unwilling to say something. The slight tension in the air is far too precious, after all. But at the same time, you are not the calmest or most patient person, after all.
“Cute singing girl from downstairs?” you comment with a raised eyebrow, and for a moment, Hades has a sheepish look on his face.
“Well…” he starts, but before he can say anything more, you give him a playful wink.
“You know, I think I’ve heard of her,” you say with a knowing look. “Rumor has it she has been slightly mooning herself about some upstairs guy. So…” you trail off for a moment, grinning at him. “If you ask her, she might actually say yes.”
Something between you shifts as the sheepish look from earlier is completely gone from his face now, replaced by something decidedly different. Unveiled interest is in his eyes as a slow smile spreads across his face.
“Is that so?” Hades murmurs in a low voice, and you are suddenly acutely aware of just how close he is.
His arm against the door, he half cages you in, and with the way he is so much taller than you are, he is practically filling out your whole view. He gives you a long look, and then his other hand rises, and your stomach flutters as his fingers graze your cheek, gently brushing over your skin as he draws a strand of hair out of your face. He tugs it behind your ear, fingertips ghosting over your neck in the process, and you swallow heavily as you look up into his golden eyes that are, for once, not behind a pair of glasses. He is so close all of a sudden, and you lick your suddenly dry lips, very aware of the way his eyes follow the motion. You barely dare to breathe as you wonder if the intense way he looks at you means he is going to kiss you when his smile slightly widens.
“Good to know,” he finally says, letting his hand fall away but still keeping close.
“Are you going to ask?” you wonder with bated breath, and there is a twinkle in those warm eyes as he gives you a slight nod.
“Eventually,” Hades says, still smiling before he finally takes a step back. “But Hyth is not going to let this rest,” he adds with a frown at the door. “I’ll leave to go look for him, and you can sneak out of here a few minutes later.”
The assumption that you would somehow need to sneak out has you furrow your brow in confusion.
“Sneak out?” you ask. “Why would I need to do that?”
“You really don’t want to get people talking,” Hades says with a sigh. “Everyone on this floor is a horrible gossip; you have no idea what you’d set yourself up for if you just walked out of here.”
It doesn’t lessen your confusion at all as you wonder just why anyone would even care if you walked out of a random office with him, but before you can point that out, his hands run over your upper arms, and he nudges you to look at him.
“Persephone, I’m going to come by your office tonight, and I’m going to ask you to go to a fundraiser with me,” Hades says in a surprisingly serious voice. There is a slightly crooked half-smile on his face as he looks down at you with clear anticipation, and you smile back at him at that.
“I look forward to it,” you say with a genuine smile, but Hades doesn’t seem to be done.
“In the meantime, please do me one favor, and google this company,” he murmurs, and just like that, your confusion is back, and you scrunch your nose. “Trust me, my dear,” he insists, “You really want to know some things before you decide to say yes!”
That is not ominous at all, you think, but with a final smile, he lets go of you, unlocks the door, and is gone faster than you can process. A bit forlorn, you look at the bag still in your hand before, for the first time after being dragged in here, you look around the room. It’s the most spacious office you have ever seen. There are shelves willed with folders on one side, a couch, and a sitting area on the other, but at the center, behind a large desk, it’s the floor-to-ceiling windows that catch your eyes the most. The view from up here is so breathtaking that it takes you a few more moments to notice that some impressive things are hanging at the far wall. Honors, prizes, and rather prestigious awards. All made out to…
Emet-Selch.
You nearly let the bag of food slip from your grasp as you realize in whose office you stand, where Hades had dragged you in to. For a few seconds, you think you both can count yourself lucky that it was empty when you notice something else. There is a pair of glasses lying on the desk before you, glasses that look very familiar. You have stared at them quite a few times over the last week, after all. You realize that Hades’ colleague had straight-up assumed he was in here when knocking at the door, and behind the desk, the windows show a clear view of the nearby park as things suddenly click, and you are not sure if you are mortified, very confused or maybe even slightly angry. All you know as you put the bag from the coffee cart down on his desk for him to find later is that the first thing you will do when getting back to your office is heed his advice and look some things up. And tonight, when he shows up at your office, you will make him give you some answers.
A tiny spark of excitement runs through you as you hear the familiar voice coming from your doorway. You hadn’t seen Hades again for the past two days. Then again, the last two evenings you had actually taken is advice to heart and gone home at a regular hour. Not today, though. Today you are swamped with work.
“I think my boss hates me!”
“Pardon me?” he asks, and as you look up, you are greeted by an utterly confused look.
“Well, maybe he doesn’t hate me,” you admit.
You haven’t even met the man in charge yet. At least not personally. Busy as he seemed to be, all your communication had been via the internal emails and memos.
“But maybe he just has it in for me,” you claim with a skeptical look at your to-do list.
“Why would you think that?” Hades murmurs, and with a sigh, you shake your head.
“Well, the task lists are all over the place, there is absolutely no system behind what is due when, and I don’t think his way of referencing past projects is in any way compatible with the actual filing system the company seems to employ,” you explain what has you so busy on this evening.
“So you’re saying he’s really bad at organizing?” he asks with a raised brow.
“That would be the very polite way to say it, yes,” you chuckle as you tear your eyes away from your laptop. “But don’t tell anyone I said that,” you hurry to add, as you realize that complaining about your boss in a company you’re new in might not be the wisest thing to do.
At your suddenly worried look, Hades lets out a soft laugh.
“Don’t worry, my dear,” he says with a small wink. “Your secret is safe with me.”
It’s only now you see he carries a tray with two cups with him, and your eyes widen as he takes one and hands it to you.
“I saw the light on my way down and thought you could use a coffee if you’re still up here and working,” he explains. “And the coffee cart outside is far better than anything you can get in here, I promise!”
“Thank you, that is very kind of you,” you murmur as you take the steaming cup. It smells absolutely fantastic, and for a moment, you close your eyes, savoring the scent. “You know, I actually took your advice the last few days,” you add when you open your eyes again.
“Oh, that’s why I didn’t see you around,” Hades comments with a smile, and though it sounds like an aside note, it makes you perk up.
“You were looking for me?”
The thought sends a small spark of giddiness through you as you try not to look too eager at your question.
“Keeping an eye out for a fellow late-worker,” Hades says with a casual shrug, but there is this way his eyes linger on your face for a moment that nearly makes your stomach flutter. Hastily, you take a sip from your drink to keep yourself from thinking too much about it. It tastes indeed much better than any office coffee you have had.
“Damn, this is good coffee,” you say with a smile at him before you wonder, “So, do you actually ever leave this palace?”
Hades snorts before he gives you a slightly indignant look.
“I do; I just went to the coffee cart,” he points out. “It’s outside!”
At his completely dry tone, you can’t help but laugh.
“No, I mean really,” you try again, looking at him expectantly. “Nobody’s trying to drag you away from work, ever?”
For a moment, you worry you sound like you are prying into his personal life, but luckily he doesn’t seem to take it that way at all. Instead, he simply smiles and shakes his head.
“You know I have a friend upstairs who regularly tries,” Hades says with a grave nod. “He sends me pictures of everyday things and explains them in detail to me like I’m some kind of hermit.”
He rolls his eyes, but his tone is fond and not at all put out.
“Really?” you grin at the amusing thought, and with a nod, Hades puts his own coffee aside for a moment to reach for his phone. He adjusts his glasses as he scrolls through his messages until he seems to find what he is looking for.
“Listen, just today, he sent me a picture of a duck and wrote: Hades, this is a duck, it’s a local species of waterfowl one can observe when going outside and to the park for longer than two minutes. Sincerely, Hyth.”
You can’t help but start laughing as he reads with a slightly changed voice, probably imitating said friend as he relays the message.
“I think he’s trying to tell you something…” you point out with raised eyebrows, and Hades gives you a grave nod, looking almost utterly serious, except for the spark of delight in his eyes.
“I know, but what might it be?”
His again utterly dry tone makes you chuckle again, and this time, before you can think any better of it, you ask what’s really on your mind.
“I’m guessing you live alone then?”
You think you did a thoroughly fine job of sounding casual, but from the way he pauses briefly, it doesn’t seem like all that. A slow smile spreads over his face.
“Are you asking if I’m single?”
You count yourself lucky that you are not drinking your coffee at the moment, for at the blatant way he looks at you at his words, you would have certainly spluttered and made a fool of yourself.
“I am not,” you claim hastily, but the slight flush in your cheeks is something he most likely notices if the way his eyes still sparkle at you is any indication. Something in you just gives up the pretense, and you smile at him. “Are you, though?”
“I have not had that many opportunities to meet new people lately,” he says with a slight shrug, and you try hard not to read into his eyes what you would like to see in them.
“No shit,” you reply with a laugh. “How would you if you never leave work?”
“Actually, I got a message about that too,” he says, and then he is back to scrolling through his phone.
A moment later, he takes a step closer and holds it out for you to see. On his screen is a message from said ‘Hyth.’ It’s a picture of a crowded street, and underneath it says:
Hey, Hades! These are other people. They can be found outside and in nearly almost any location that isn’t your office! And no, looking out the window into the park doesn’t count!
You chuckle again at reading the message. It seems that your first impression of this man being a complete workaholic has been absolutely spot on.
“Wow,” you murmur when something else catches your interest. “Wait, you have an office facing the park?”
When he nods, you let out an impressed whistle.
“Lucky bastard!”
“Well…” he starts, but what he is trying to say, you don’t find out, as something else is on your mind, and the words are out before you let him finish.
“Oh, you work higher up, don’t you?” you ask, and for a moment, he gives you a slightly thrown look before he scratches the back of his neck.
“Uhm, yes, you could say that,” he answers, and a broad smile appears on your face.
“Brilliant,” you exclaim, only for him to frown, and immediately you try to tone down your exuberance. You certainly don’t want to give off the impression like you want to… No!
“Wait, that sounded awful,” you murmur. “I’m not… I wasn’t trying…” For a moment, you splutter, looking for the right words before you shake your head once to clear it.
“Here’s the thing,” you start again, sounding much more leveled. “I have some ideas on how to make some of this more efficient, streamline it a bit, you know?” Broadly, you gesture on the open task lists sitting on your laptop. “It would certainly also make the process easier for my boss. Less effort for everyone means everyone wins, right?” You look from your plans back to where Hades regards you with a curious look now, and you wince slightly.
“But I feel kind of awkward just writing an email going, ‘hey, let’s change everything you do because it’s bullshit!’ - I’m the new girl, after all,” you point out before giving him a winning smile. “Do you think you could hook me up with someone there that I can talk this through and not come across as rude?”
His earlier frown is completely gone as he regards you with a thoughtful look.
“Bullshit, huh?” he asks, picking up your phrase. “It is that bad?”
Maybe you should have phrased this nicer. You don’t even know if he is perhaps on excellent terms within your boss, but to your relief, he doesn’t look put out at all, just… thoughtful. And slightly amused?
“Well, I could sugarcoat it,” you murmur, but Hades shakes his head with a small laugh.
“You could give your ideas to me, and I could slide them into a conversation perhaps,” he suggests, before he assures you, “I’ll make sure you get all the credit, of course.”
“Really?” You perk up; this seems like a wonderfully straightforward yet easy solution. “That would be such a great help, thank you!”
“If you turn them into something on paper I can have at hand to reference, that would be great,” he suggests. “I’m afraid if you email things to me, they might get lost in my day-to-day schedule.”
At his almost apologetic look at that, you have to chuckle again.
“Oh, so you are also organisationally challenged then?” you tease. “Or you really don’t want to give me your email…”
At that, his eyes spark again as he puts his phone away at picks his coffee back up.
“Or, perhaps, I want a perfectly valid excuse to show up tomorrow night at your office again, my dear,” he says smoothly and with an accompanying look that has you actually taking in a sharper breath.
“I guess it will remain a mystery,” you reply after a long moment before you add with a smile, “I’ll have something to show you tomorrow then?”
“Same time tomorrow then,” Hades agrees before he wishes you a good night and leaves you to your own devices.
It’s about work, you fiercely remind yourself, and yet everything about the way the two of you had talked feels like it is definitely more than that. It doesn’t even bother you that same time tomorrow means you’d have to stay late again.
It’s only your first week, and already you find yourself alone on the third evening, staying late after almost everyone else has left. It’s not something that bothers you. On the contrary, when you look at the things you still have to do, there is a sense of relief running through you at the knowledge that this might keep you busy for a good time.
You are completely immersed in trying to familiarise yourself with the structure of this place when there is a soft knock on the half-opened door to your small office.
As you look up, a smile spreads over your face as you see it is the friendly guy from the elevator on your first day. You hadn’t seen him again since then, but given how big this place is, you hadn’t been surprised by that. Even though you had kept an eye out every morning, regardless. Not that you would admit that out loud, of course.
“I was on my way up and saw there was still light here,” he explains as he leans against the doorway. “And who do I find to my surprise, but the singing new girl.”
At his last words, his smile widens, and you chuckle at the description of you. There were definitely worse first impressions to leave with people, singing new girl certainly doesn’t sound too bad. A warm feeling spreads through you at the thought that he has obviously remembered you.
“It’s Persephone, actually,” you introduce yourself, unsure if you imagine the little spark in his eyes as you do or not. It is hard to say in the dim light of your office.
“Persephone,” he says with a nod and another smile. “How nice to meet you. And I must say, that rolls off the tongue much easier than singing new girl did.”
“I can imagine,” you reply with a laugh. “So, elevator-pep-talk-guy, care to help me out here with a name as well?”
“Maybe I like elevator-pep-talk-guy,” he muses, and this time you definitely see a twinkle in those golden eyes. “I have been called way worse nicknames.”
A moment later, he inclines his head.
“Hades,” he introduces himself. “And I see you are still busy trying to make the best first impression,” he adds with a pointed look at his watch and then back to you. “Though I notice a distinct lack of singing.”
“The work did not make me nervous yet,” you reply with another laugh. “Which I am counting as a good thing, by the way. But I’m sure once I actually get the hang of all of this, there might be some happy humming in the future.”
“Are they overworking you in your very first week?” he asks suddenly, eyebrows raised in a skeptical look, and you hurry to shake your head.
“No, nothing like that.” With a sigh, you look at your laptop and the many open files on it. “If I am honest, I could probably do all of this tomorrow, but you know how it is, new job, new city, empty apartment…”
You trail off for a moment, caught by the thought of just how much you actually dread the idea of going home.
“Never mind,” you finally say with a sheepish smile. “I’m enjoying the work, and it keeps me busy.” Then, with a slightly secretive timbre in your voice, you add, “If I went home, I’d have to face the fact that I haven’t unpacked a single box that isn’t clothes yet.”
Hades regards you with a thoughtful look, and for a brief second, you wonder if you’ve just horribly overshared, then he smiles again.
“Well, as long as the company is not trapping you behind your desk against your will,” he says with a slight shrug, and you find yourself chuckling again.
“Does that happen around here often?” you ask, only to immediately add, “Stupid question, given that you somehow haven’t gone home either.”
Hades lets out a little snort.
“Oh, that happens all the time, I’m afraid, my dear,” he says with a shake of his head before he glances at his watch again. “I have to go, but you should make sure to get some sleep at least; it is nearly 10 pm already.”
When he points out the time your eyes widen a little, you had not been aware of just how late it had already gotten, and empty apartment or not, he is right. You do need sleep. It wouldn’t do you or the impression you are making in the offy any good if you fell asleep on your desk the following day.
“That is an excellent point,” you agree, closing your laptop, driven by suddenly quite tempting throughs about warm blankets and soft sheets.
As you gather your things, you glance at Hades still watching you from the doorway.
“Are you going to take your own advice then and call it a night as well?” you ask, and for a brief second, he looks almost sheepish before he shakes his head with a small laugh.
“Oh no, I can’t. I have a project with a very tight deadline and a semi-comfortable couch in my office,” he explains.
For a second, you just look at him dumbfounded.
“And you’re telling me to go home and get some rest when you are quite obviously the embodiment of a terrible work-life balance?” you point out in disbelief as you nonetheless reach for your bag. “Sending me home to sleep while not taking your own advice…”
It’s all playful banter, but you can’t keep yourself from pointing this out. It is a little surprising just how easy you can talk to this man. You barely know each other. All you’re aware of is that he works in the same building as you and is, apparently, a workaholic if you can trust your first impression. And someone that sets you at ease like you are talking to an old friend. Something that you can’t help but appreciate immensely.
“I am going to sleep,” Hades claims, sounding almost a little defensive. “Eventually!”
“On a couch in your office,” you point out. “I’d say compared to that, my empty apartment beats that by a landslide!”
“Hm, debatable,” he murmurs, and you blink in confusion, unsure how to take that.
There is a thoughtful, almost faraway look in his eyes before he softly shakes his head.
“But I don’t want to keep you,” Hades says a moment later, his usual smile back in place. “Have a good night, Persephone.” With a wink, he adds, “Maybe when we meet again, you have unpacked a box or two.”
“Or maybe I have gotten myself a sofa for my office by then,” you reply, laughing as you grab your jacket and turn off the light.
“A completely valid alternative,” he agrees, nodding seriously before he gives you a little wave and leaves you to your own devices.
On your way home, you can’t help but smile to yourself at the thought that you might really like working at this company, and it’s definitely not because of the job alone.
Firsts are always nerve-wracking. Wherever you go, really. Be it the first day in school, not knowing all the children yet that you'll spend most of your time with from now on, or the first night in a brand-new apartment where every noise is unusual and the lights from outside are strange and unusual.
The first day at a new workplace is no different. It comes with a brand new set of expectations, but most of a, a whole lot of unknowns and uncertainties. A permanent sense of nervousness hums within you as you leave the personnel office, your brand new badge and a small box of office supplies in your arms as you get on the elevator. It's an exciting first day to have. Fresh out of university, you've landed a job at the city's most prominent architecture firm. The opportunities are endless, and despite the nervousness, you are beyond giddy to start this new chapter in your life.
The building is tall, gigantic, really. Enough to be a little bit intimidating in its dark colors and the hint of art deco designs going through it. Alone in the elevator on the long way up, the nervousness almost threatens to take over until you decide to silence it like you always do - by singing.
Fear can't take hold with a song in your heart , your mother always used to say. And she was right. Whenever something feels daunting, an upbeat song manages to take your mind off it. It might be a bit silly being on your way up to a prestigious job while singing in the elevator, but it does its job as a distraction. Well enough, so you don't even notice the elevator stopping and the door opening for a few beats.
When you do, your voice breaks off in the middle of a syllable as someone gives you a confused look before he gets on the elevator with you.
"Oh please, don't stop on my account," a deep, melodic voice says, and when you look up at the older man who addressed you, there is an amused look on his face.
"Embarrassing," you murmur, mostly to yourself before you shake your head and clear your throat. "I'm sorry, it's my first day, and this is certainly not the impression I wanted to make on my co-workers," you say with an apologetic smile.
He is handsome, this stranger that pushes a button a few floors above your destination. Tall, looking well built in the elegant combination of a dress shirt and vest he wears. His dark, chin-length hair frames a sharp and angular face with a single white streak falling in front of eyes in a peculiar color. They look almost golden, and they regard you with a questioning look.
"You are so excited to start working that you break out into song in the elevator?" he asks, a half-smile on his face as he looks at the box in your hands. "And all that before even making it to your desk the first time, I assume?"
You let out a nervous laugh.
"I am excited," you say with a slight shrug, "but if I'm honest, I was singing because standing in here and just waiting made me nervous," you admit. "I've never worked in such a big place before. I mean, what if I manage to break the copier?"
"Is that something of a regular issue for you?" he asks with a raised eyebrow, and it takes you a few seconds to realize he is joking.
"You can never know," you say with a grave nod. "There is always a possibility. And it would be a terrible start for me to piss off my boss in the very first week!"
At that, the man lets out a hearty chuckle.
"Don't worry, my dear," he assures you, "I am quite certain your boss doesn't care all that much about a copy machine."
What a strange conversation this is, you think. But for the first talk with anyone at this new place, it is delightfully light-hearted, taking your mind off your worries far more effectively than even the singing did.
"Have you worked here for a long time?" you ask curiously, and again you are met with a raised eyebrow.
"Are you telling me I look old?" the man replies smoothly, and for a second, you nearly flinch, thinking you have said something insulting when he laughs softly again.
"Ah, don't let yourself be so easily thrown," he says with a glint of mischief in his eyes. "I've worked here for almost twenty years by now."
Your eyes widen at that information. "You've been here since the start of the company?" you wonder. He must have some interesting stories to tell if he has been around for the entire rise to the top, from a small firm to the most sought after in town.
"I've been here since the very beginning, yes," he says before he gives you a conspiratorial look. "So believe me when I tell you, you'd have to break way more than a copier to evoke the ire of your boss."
"That's a relief," you reply with a laugh of your own. "So, have you managed? To piss off upper management, I mean?"
He looks at you funnily for a moment before he straight up laughs.
"Oh my dear, you have no idea. Every hour of every day," he says, eyes sparkling with amusement. "They still put up with me."
The elevator is slowing down, and you realize you have reached your floor.
"So, this is me," you murmur, the nervousness from earlier suddenly making a return, and you swallow heavily, grabbing your box a little tighter before you look at the man once more.
"Thank you for the uplifting pep talk," you say with a genuine smile that he returns as he inclines his head at you.
"I hope you have a great first day," he wishes you. "One good enough to still make you feel like singing on your way down in the evening, perhaps."
You can't help but giggle at that.
"Thank you, and who knows, maybe it's so fun I'll sing during work even."
"That's the spirit," he agrees as the door opens, and with a last nod, you step outside. "I hope I'll see you around," he adds just before it closes, and you are not entirely sure if you imagined a little wink going with that or if he had actually looked at you like that.
For a moment, you just stand there, wondering about it, before you give yourself a push and start looking for the office you are supposed to report to. It's still your first day, after all, and despite the reassuring talk from the stranger on the elevator, you really don't want to start your career by leaving the wrong impression on the person in charge.
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Emet-Selch/f!WoL || E || Read on Ao3
written for @julls 💕
There are many things about this man, this Ascian, she doesn't understand. Why he appeared to them in the first place, what his motives might be, and why he seemed so determined to keep an eye on them. If Juria is honest, though, what catches her interest most is the way he sometimes looks at her...
There is a scent in the air. Flowery, mixed with herbs, and the faint taste of ripening apples, it is reminiscent of a warm, late summer afternoon. The air slightly thick with the heat of the day slowly passing, chased away by the first few fresh breezes of colder evening air carrying the smell of wildflowers on its wings.
She finds herself on her back in the grass, tiny green blades tickling her skin as she shakes with laughter, trying to wiggle away from hands brushing along her ribcage.
He doesn't let her.
When she tries to roll out of his grasp, he cages her in with his arms, his hips pressing down on hers, keeping her still underneath him. She blinks a couple of times, strands of light from the low-standing sun fall onto their faces, nearly blinding her with their brightness. Above her, she hears his deep, melodic laughter as she scrunches her nose and squints to better see him. All she can make out is his shadow above her, a silhouette, his face obscured by the light, but it doesn't matter. She knows his face, after all. Knows and loves this face, even though she can't remember for the life of her what it looks like right at this moment. Strands of white hair nearly glow under the evening sunlight as he bends down to kiss her.
Juria wakes with a start.
For a moment, she is utterly confused as to where she is until the world slowly slides into view and she starts to remember. She is in a forest. Rak'tika. Above her head blazes the eternal light that engulfs this whole star, obscuring the night sky with never-ending brightness. With a groan, she sits up, feeling like the hard wood beneath her has left its imprints over her whole body. She had only sat down for a minute, trying to catch her breath - she hadn't planned on falling asleep. Not far from her, she can hear the rest of the Scions searching for the same thing she is, and Juria lets out a breath of relief. If no one has come looking for her, she had only been asleep for a few minutes at best.
Cold, sharp, and full of edges - the world, nay worlds, have turned into endless pain.
It’s funny, he thinks sometimes, how in this broken state and without the powerful creation magic he is used to, this husk of a world still manages to come up with new concepts.
Like torture.
It’s entirely new. In all of Amaurot’s long-lived glory, the concept of causing endless pain and suffering was never even an idea. And yet, this new world, this abomination of what once was paradise, has no trouble coming up with the cruelest of mockeries.
It changes him over time.
Back in the old days, the mere thought of causing pain or even distress to any living being would have been unthinkable to him.
Now, though?
Emet-Selch finds himself watching the already broken mortals suffer under their lot, and there is a small part of him that doesn’t feel sorry for them anymore. It’s not their fault that they are wrong, but it’s their fault for reminding him of what once was every hour of every day.
Especially when he finds them.
The first time almost overlooks them. They used to be radiant, the sun incarnate, but now they are dim and unremarkable. A soul barely worth being called that.
Broken, tattered, and frayed at the edges, he can barely look at them. He doesn’t have to, not for very long. There are plans in motion, a calamity strikes the land, and they are, once again, gone.
They don’t stay gone, though. In a cruel twist of fate, he stumbles over them again, and they are a little bit brighter than before but still almost impossible to look at. And yet he does. If he is driven by some morbid curiosity or by a darker urge, Emet-Selch can’t even say, maybe doesn’t want to know. But when he seeks them out, he finds them ridiculously easy to steer and manage.
Unlike when they were whole, this broken shard of them is easily bent. They have no defenses against him, and like a twig under his boot, they snap into pieces. It gives him an instant, a second of satisfaction, and then the emptiness is back, and he curses himself for his impatience.
His wrath, unlike him, is untempered and wild, and if he wants to gain any longer-lasting satisfaction, he knows he needs to tame it.
When the next calamity is done, he finds them again, and this time, Emet-Selch is patient. He reels them in with honeyed words instead of force, revels in the way their eyes glaze over as he tells them what they want to hear, and watches with grim satisfaction how they freely walk into his trap.
It is much more satisfying than a momentary snap of fury. Like this, his anger gets to simmer and seethe as he applies all the new concepts this broken world has taught him one by one.
The first time he makes them cry, his soul sings. Each hot tear he draws from them is like a ray of light through the darkness that surrounds him. It is fleeting, a pallid echo of what he truly longs for, but if Emet-Selch has learned one thing from his entire world dying, it is that tears are an endless abundance.
Until their mind gives out, unable to take all he puts them through, and he is alone again, already scheming and planning the next time. He learns something new from each approach.
Too much suffering and a feeble, fractured mind will simply give out. Too much leeway, and it becomes defiant, determined to end itself before it lets him do the honors. One time he pushes and prods at them enough to draw them onto his side, begging him to let them stay with him, to let them join him. It is not at all the satisfaction he had expected it to be. They are like a mindless pet, obedient but utterly dull. Not even squeezing their last breath from them with his own hands sparks even a tiny bit of joy when their eyes are already empty.
He doesn’t want them pliant; he knows by now. He wants them to be like they were, defiant, radiant, and strong. Only then does it truly feel soothing to break them apart. Never too much, always leaving them some hope to build themselves back up again so he can start anew.
It takes him a few tries, a bit of practice. But Emet-Selch is immortal, after all. And he has the inclination to always start anew and improve on failed experiments. He is, first and foremost, an architect. Be it society, scenarios, or people, building something up is where he excels - and tearing it down is what he now revels in.
Back in Amaurot, they were everything to him. The light of his life, his shining future. The whole of existence made sense and felt right because they were a part of it. The smile on his face is equal parts sadness and elation as he watches them now.
Maybe this time, he’ll drag it out a little longer. Make them fall in love with him again. Not that it’s worth much coming from a shattered piece of glass, a shard of a mirror that shows only ruin. But the illusion might be entertaining for a while. Especially once he takes that love and twists it to his liking. This new, still blissfully innocent version of them comes with an endless capacity for taking plains and shedding tears after all, and Emet-Selch can’t wait to collect.
In this endless circle of death and destruction, they are still, somehow, his everything. They can never redress the balance; they can never atone. Their suffering is for him alone to savor, and if he has lost everything else, he will make sure to never lose this. They give meaning to a tempered existence. When he has them on their knees begging him for mercy he is no longer capable of granting, it makes him forget his own pain for a moment. Each time they appeal to his heart, he smiles. It has stopped beating millennia ago, and yet when he drinks in their despair, he can almost hear the echo of his own heartbeat again. Like drums in the distance, reminding him who he once was.
In those sharp moments when he does unspeakable things to them, their pain breaks open his own. When he takes it to the extreme, they make him feel things that otherwise no longer reach him. Loss, regret, and endless guilt crash into him with a force, and just for the smallest of moments, Emet-Selch feels like he’s still real, still alive. Like anything he does still has consequences.
It hurts, an unspeakable pain punishing him for his sins - and then it is gone. When the light leaves their eyes, they take all traces of that with them, and he returns to his one purpose of serving the one that had led to all of this.
He allows him this small indulgence every now and then. It never lasts, after all. In the end, they always perish, and Emet-Selch returns to his path, all lingering traces of the man he once was, the man who would be horrified at every single thing he had done since then, forgotten. Until the next time he finds a piece of his shattered heart again, and the cycle begins anew.
With a frown, Adriene looks up from the book in her lap, her nose scrunched as she gives her twin sister a skeptical look.
"Excuse me, what?" she asks, thoroughly confused by the topic, though if she takes a moment, she thinks that, coming from Cassia, this question probably shouldn't surprise her.
Cassia shrugs as she puts her tea aside, leaning back and making herself more comfortable on the large couch in front of the fireplace.
"It's a love story, right?" she points out. "So that kind of makes you wonder…"
"No, it really doesn't," comes Layanna's dry reply from where their cousin sits in an armchair, looking at Cassia with raised eyebrows over the rim of her reading glasses, her notes on magical herbs of Coerthas forgotten for a moment. "It's obviously a metaphor," she insists and Adriene finds herself nodding along.
"I have to agree with Lay," she says with a little laugh. "It's a metaphor." A moment later, she furrows her brow as her mind goes into a decidedly strange direction. "Has to be, I mean, have you seen their sizes? If they are proportional everywhere…" Adriene trails off, her eyes widening a bit before she shakes her head. "Has to be a metaphor!" she insists.
"Anything else just wouldn't make sense," Layanna agrees with a nod.
"I don't know," comes Nayan's voice from the floor where he lies on his back, his legs propped up against the sofa as he fiddles with a piece of leg armor, bending each scale carefully back into shape.
"Maybe they mean it quite literal," he suggests with a wide grin before adding, "You gotta think a bit more creatively about it."
"See?" Cassia points out with a laugh. "That's the spirit. At least one of you is willing to entertain the more interesting questions!"
Nayan gives her a thumbs up from the floor while Layanna fondly shakes her head.
"Interesting, you say," her cousin murmurs, "but I'd say terrifying is a far more apt description!"
"I'm going to find out!" Cassia declares a moment later, filled with determination, and Adriene lets out a soft snort.
"Of course you are," she murmurs, picking her book back up.
She should have known better than to think that this would be the end of it.
"So, Ysayle doesn't know," Cassia informs her at breakfast two days later, and for a moment, Adriene has no idea what her sister is talking about.
"What?" she asks between bites of her apple.
"The whole Shiva thing," Cassia explains. "Turns out even her disciples have little idea about what is truth and what is embellishment, so that was a dead end."
"You are really still on about this?"
Again Adriene thinks that it shouldn't surprise her. Whenever Cassia has this determined look in her eyes, her sister is not likely to let an issue rest.
"You should ask Hraesvelgr," Nayan suggests with an eager look. "He was there and involved. So if anyone would know…"
Layanna puts her bread down with a sigh.
"Do you really think it would be wise to ask the ages-old dragon who is still mourning his beloved if they actually did it?"
Nayan shrugs before he lets out a non-committal noise.
"If you put it that way, perhaps not," he agrees.
Adriene shakes her head and keeps eating, briefly wondering if this is one of their weirder breakfast conversations or if it is actually on par for the course when Cassia suddenly perks up.
"I know who I could ask!"
Before Adriene can ask what she means, Cassia is already busy, a soft glow of aether coming from her that Adriene recognizes as the traces of a summon seconds before Midgardsormr suddenly hovers between them.
"Listen," Cassia starts immediately, as soon as the small dragon takes form. "Can you settle a question for us? The whole Shiva thing, does lay actually mean, well, you know?" She makes a vague gesture with her hands. "Or was it a metaphor?"
For a moment, the table is completely quiet. Both Lay and Nayan stare at Cassia, albeit with very different expressions. Nayan looks eager to hear the answer, while Layanna looks like she is questioning her cousin's good sense. Something Adriene has to admit seems utterly reasonable, yet at the same time, she can't deny a certain morbid curiosity.
The dragon hovers in between them in silence before his eyes narrow.
"Thou hast summoned me to ask whether one of my brood hadst lain with a mortal?"
He sounds carefully neutral, but from the way his wings go a tad faster than usual, Adriene has a feeling he is definitely not amused. She is certain that her sister notices the same thing, but Cassia wouldn't be Cassia if she'd not dare to fish for an answer anyway.
"Yes," she admits with a bright smile. "You see, if it's not a metaphor, I have some logistical questions."
"Logistical questions…" Midgardsormr repeats and Adriene could swear she hears a hint of disbelief in his voice.
The moment Cassia takes a breath, presumably to ask those exact questions, he lets out a sigh.
"No!" he says simply, and Cassia's brow furrows.
"No, as in we're not talking about this or no, as in it wasn't a metaphor?" she asks, but instead of giving her an answer, Midgardsormr simply disappears into thin air.
"Well, that was awkward," Adriene mutters while Layanna just shakes her head.
"Why do you even want to know so badly?" she asks her cousin.
"It's just interesting!" Cassia insists. "I find it much weirder that you apparently don't want to know if I am honest."
Lay only gives her a shrug.
"What can I say? It simply doesn't matter either way, so why worry…"
She goes back to her food while Nayan nudges Cassia with his elbow, giving her a sympathetic look.
"Don't worry, I get it, I wanna know too," he assures her before his face turns thoughtful. "Maybe Vidofnir has an open mind?"
At his suggestion, Cassia's eyes light up, and Adriene groans quietly at the knowledge that this isn't over. She just hopes that her sister, in her quest for answers, doesn't cause some sort of diplomatic accident.
It's in the middle of the night a few days later when Adriene wakes up from a noise. First, a heavy door falling shut, followed by cursing. Sleep still heavy in her eyes, Adriene gets out of bed, takes the small oil lamp from her nightstand, and opens the door to her room.
At the door next to her room, she finds Cassia fiddling with her lock.
"Where were you?"
At the sound of Adriene's voice, her sister flinches before she turns to her with an apologetic look.
"I'm sorry, I didn't want to wake anyone," she says, and her voice sounds strangely raspy.
Across the hall, two other doors open, revealing Layanna and Nayan each, both looking like they had just woken up.
"Is something the matter?" Nayan murmurs, squinting into the only dimly lit hallway.
"Nothing!" Cassia insists. "Go back to sleep!"
Adriene's eyes narrow as she takes in her sister's appearance.
"What in the void happened to you?" she murmurs as she takes a step closer.
Cassia's cloak hangs half off her shoulder, a large tear splitting it in two. Beneath it, her clothes don't look much better. There is a scratch going from her cheek down her throat and disappearing beneath her shirt, and her hair looks like it has been in a storm. And she appears to be limping.
Cassia flinches under the scrutiny, biting her lips for a moment.
"So, funny story," she starts. "I went to ask Vidofnir about my Shiva question."
"Oh, not that again," Layanna murmurs as she pushes her door open and steps into the hall. "Did you manage to incense a small horde?" She shakes her head as she takes her cousin's appearance in. "Do I need to get healing supplies?"
Adriene's eyes widen.
"Did you offend someone? Was there a fight?" she asks, her eyes roaming over her sister again to assess if there were any larger injuries.
"Ahm," Cassia murmurs, for a moment looking at the floor. "Not quite. Vidofnir wasn't all that interested in answering my questions either, but there were a couple of others who were quite… forthcoming."
Adriene frowns, trying to understand how what Cassia is saying fits together with her looking like she got mauled by a bear when Nayan starts laughing loudly.
"Not a metaphor," he claims loudly, "I knew it!"
"Wait, what?" Adriene murmurs.
"You know, I really need to go to sleep," Cassia insists as she turns back to her door, and Adriene's eyes widen even further as things finally click into place.
Not a metaphor.
"You didn't," she breathes out in disbelief.
From the corner of her eyes, she can see that Layanna is looking as shocked as she is, while Nayan is holding his stomach from laughter.
"Really tired guys, definitely need to sleep," Cassia murmurs, already half inside her room.
"I am going to need details. Lots and lots of details," Nayan calls after her with a wide grin and eager eyes.
"Let me sleep for now, and I'll introduce you at the next opportunity," Cassia replies before she vehemently closes the door to her room behind her.
"Just tell me one thing," Nayan shouts after her.
"Yes, they are proportional," comes Cassia's shout back through the closed door. "Now, good night!"
For a moment it is utterly quiet in the hallway. Quiet enough to hear the wind blowing from outside as all three of them stare at the empty place where Cassia had been only a moment ago.
"Alright, I am going to go back to sleep and try not to think about this too closely," Layanna murmurs with a shake of her head. "And just when I thought things couldn't possibly weirder anymore." With a shake of her head, she, too, closes her door behind her.
"Well," Nayan shrugs, still grinning widely, "I am going to bed too, but I'll definitely be thinking about this. In great detail."
With a wink at Adriene, he bids her goodnight, and then she is alone, once again left with the thought that she isn't entirely certain she wants to actually know what happened. And once again, Adriene wonders to herself why she is still surprised.
