#leviathanpat

Worry crept through Sol’s brain. She tied her ginger hair back, then pulled the mask over her head. The weight of it felt nice and comforting on their skull, though they knew it probably shouldn’t have, considering the things they’d done while wearing it. Bringing the bag back into their clutch, they headed back out of the office, with more speed in their step this time. 

(In their haste, they left their favorite purple leather jacket draped over the wheely-chair.)

Unlike most of the times they ventured around the museum, they opted to use one of the elevators rather than taking the wide, spiraling ramp that stood in the museum’s center and allowed access to everything it had on display. There just wasn’t time for a scenic route right now.

The rumbling sound that the cables always made stuck around long after Sol arrived on the Fifth Floor, after they got out and maneuvered through the corridors laid out. The attic’s ceiling-door was already open by the time they got to the right hall, its ladder splayed out like a suspiciously flexible carpet. 

Living things were usually warm. Fevers made it much more obvious, but that warmth was still noticeable with a perfectly healthy person; if you just held your hand above their skin, you’d feel the slightest heat wafting off of them. 

In most cases, a fever was actually a good thing. It meant that your body was doing its part to kill off any bacteria that was lodged in places it never needed to be lodged in. 

But those cases were for mortal beings and mortal illnesses, and Pat was neither mortal nor dealing with a common cold. 

The attic tended to be brisk, due to its main window having remained open ever since Pat had made his official return to the surface of this world. Right now, the air in here was rippling on itself, reminiscent of translucent gas fumes that leaked out of an oven before it exploded. 

Sol felt the oppressive heat try to grope at their face. All her practice with fire had helped her build up a tolerance for stuff like this, but despite that and her mask’s protective juju, it still seemed like there were tiny, invisible hands trying to yank on her eyelids, forcing the orbs inside to sting and burn.

But she kept moving, approaching the huge, fibrous, cocoon-hammock-thing woven into the underside of the museum’s roof. She looked up, and there was Pat, splayed out and wracked with shudders. He’d shrunk to the size of an average human—so, far too small for his nest—but that was only because growing any larger would probably just make him feel worse at the moment.

Pat could adjust his shape as easily as humans could adjust their clothes. Sometimes it was conscious, other times not—his mood could be a big factor, but not the only one. His void-toned flesh could go through a variety of looks and textures; smooth, rough, scaly, oily, spikey…

(Yes, hair was an option, but that was the one thing he was strict about. He only ever let it grow on his head, nowhere else. Sol had asked him about his reasons one time, only to pass out thirty seconds into his explanation. So, of course, that was never brought up again.)

For the past week, Pat’s skin had taken on the consistency of hot wax. Beads and ribbons would form out of it here and there, running and dripping off of him like a candle. Extra layers kept popping up to replace the lost ones. The melting process seemed to have slowed down a bit today, but it was still going. It seemed a bit like a snake shedding…if said snake was writhing around in a fondue pot. 

It wasn’t all that uncommon for some of his eyes to melt in their sockets (not that said sockets would ever drain completely. No, until Pat decided to stop it, the process would just keep going and going…). That was usually just one of his many, many, many party tricks for scaring mortals and showing off to other abominations.  

But right now, it was just another part of his sickness. Not only that, but this brand of ocular-ooze was tinged with foam around the edges. None of it ever made it to the floor, always evaporating a few seconds after it started dripping, but not without a soft sizzling sound. Almost like egg whites as they were cooked over-easy. 

It seemed the only parts of him that the illness hadn’t touched were his teeth. None of them were melting, or falling out, or burrowing themselves further up his gums.

Books were piled up all around him. He didn’t mind reading, although he usually preferred to fidget with more lively things whenever he happened to be idle. But he didn’t want any of his current experiments to be contaminated by the virus he’d caught, so...

Besides, many of the chronicles in Pat’s collection were just downright amusing to him, and that was a good way for him to stay awake.

(Especially those by H.P. Lovecraft, considering just how wrong that scaredy-cat been with every. Single. Detail. The King in Yellow had come a little closer with certain subjects, but was obviously limited to the perspective of a creature with experience like Pat. Still pretty, though.)

Pat never, NEVER slept if he could help it.

“Can’t get comfortable, huh?” Sol wondered aloud. 

“Whå† gåvê ï† åwå¥?” Pat let out a long-suffering groan, reaching up to clutch at his temple. “†ïmê jµ§† ¢åñ'† mðvê åñ¥ §lðwêr hêrê.”

“Well, you know that’s not true,” Sol countered. “You already got a vision about this, right? It’ll be over in a couple days. Maybe even tomorrow.”

Pat muttered a few things in his hideous native tongue before he offered a nod in Sol’s direction. “Ì jµ§† ¢åñ'† ßêlïêvê hðw lðñg †hï§ hå§ ÄLRÈÄÐ¥ l姆êÐ! Ì mêåñ, ÇÖMÈ Öñ! Ì'm †hê †êrrðr ð£ êïgh†-hµñÐrêÐ-£ðr†¥-§êvêñ Ðïmêñ§ïðñ§ åñÐ ¢ðµñ†ïñg! Ì §hðµlÐñ'† jµ§†…gê† §ï¢k lïkê †hï§! Ì måkê ð†hêr †hïñg§ måkê †HÈM§ÈLVȧ §ï¢k wï†h råw hðrrðr!”

“I hear you.” Sol tilted their head to the side. “Not like this is gonna change that. We’re the only ones who know about you coming down with this, and I’ve got no reason to tell anyone else. So, you being inactive for a while can just be one more mystery to keep any targets guessing and afraid. Know what I mean?”

Pat’s eyes hadn’t been glowing too much lately—that might have been a conscious choice, since light would only generate more a little extra heat on top of the fever. But they flickered like dangerously-malfunctioning bulbs as he mulled it over. “…Hµh. ï ÐïÐñ'† †hïñk ð£ ï† lïkê †hå†.” 

Sol couldn’t help but grin under their mask. “That’s what you’ve got me for.” 

Pat snorted, rolling his eyes and clicking his too-many, too-long teeth together, but Sol just barely caught a smile at the corner of his mouth. 

The monstrosity then leaned out of his nest, his torso stretching and stretching until he was about eye-level with his human companion, his lower-half still firmly planted up above. 

Sol dug through the bag and fished out one of the goods: a can that, by all means, didn’t look like much. It was the size of one that would contain the average brand of shaving cream, wrapped in neon shades of blue. Its logo was designed to look like it was made of interlocking snowflakes and hail pellets, spelling out Slush n’ Slay!

Pat reached over, one hand wrapping his spidery fingers around the can, shaking it with a vigor meant usually meant for people who had ONE JOB. After that, his other hand used the tips of its talons to pop the can’s cheap little plastic lid, revealing an even smaller valve. 

Sol, getting the hint, took several steps back.

Pat ground his jaw as he pushed the can closer to his face. Then, he pressed down on the nozzle, and a torrent of liquid nitrogen was unleashed, howling like a star as it was crushed by a black hole. It tore through the air as if magnetized to his skin.

It felt like half an hour had passed before Pat finally released his hold, cutting off the spray before setting the can down on the floor. His face was now hidden by an abstract mask of glinting frost, crystallized in the most horrific way. Most of it was concentrated on his forehead, as well as the bridge of his nose and the space underneath his eyes.

Sol blinked at the display. True, they’d been instructed to bring an extreme cooling agent back from the store, but they were only just now realizing that they’d never asked how Pat intended to use it. 

Sol had never gone out of their way to touch Pat (in a platonic, co-worker/friend/ritual-assistant way. They weren’t even a blip on his age-radar, considering he’d been around since before humanity had even evolved, so get your damn head out of the gutter), but they were fairly certain he was cold-blooded. 

Yes, they’d seen smoke or steam pour out of his eyes or his ears or between his teeth from time to time, but it never seemed very hot. More like dry ice or early-morning fog.

And yes, they’d seen him breathe fire once or twice, but that had been strictly for a project that normal fire wouldn’t have been strong enough for. He hadn’t even triggered that fire all by himself; he’d had to take some vile concoction of tears and stolen memories and jar-fulls of ashes gathered from certain furnaces hidden in certain buildings around town. (In fact, that particular endeavor even seemed to have left him a bit out of it afterwards, with some very literal heartburn. It certainly explained why he'd helped Sol adopt Charcoal.) 

Being in Pat’s presence gave you shivers, both literally and figuratively. A strange chill tended to radiate off him the same way heat wafted off of mortal beings (while they were still alive, that is).

Now, that didn’t mean he sought out heat. In fact, he’d shown a preference to the cold.

He went out to hunt very often, but only at night. Not because sunlight posed an actual threat to him, but because it apparently just felt itchy if it ever hit him. And while he always got a kick out of his work, he especially liked it when storms came along. Wind and rain helped up the ante to his whole terrorizing-and-stalking–and-looming-and-sowing-dread schtick. Plus, from what he’d said, it also just felt refreshing. 

As of late, however, his blood had apparently wanted to shake things up a bit and set itself to a boil.

Rolling his shoulders, Pat slammed his hands against the floor, his claws digging into the wooden boards. After that, his arms each grew a good few feet in length, warping and bending to a chorus of crAcks and PoPs. 

He then reared back, craning his neck further and further until the top of his head was practically touching his thoracic region (that is, if he’d actually formed a spine for this. It looked like he had, but it was just so hard to tell with him).

With that, he was suddenly a blur of movement, lunging back forward with enough ferocity to make a train jumping the tracks look like a falling leaf. 

Sol couldn’t stop themself from screaming at both the sight and the impact, but their voice was drowned out.

Pat's face met the floor with a deafening CRA-A-ASH!, which was quickly followed by crinkle-tinkling that usually accompanied glass when it shattered. Although, as the seconds passed by, that din fell into a deeper octave that was closer to snapping bones.

The monster lay there, face-down and still, for an uncomfortably long moment. 

Just as Sol decided to test their luck and inch forward, Pat let out a big, loud sigh and lifted his head up, his arms becoming slightly more proportional as he propped himself against the floor on his elbows. 

Much like a rotten pumpkin, his head had been split open, the new crevasse lining up almost perfectly down the middle, and…

Well, no matter what bones may or may not have been present under the skin below his neck, it was obvious he’d formed a skull here.

The fresh hole seemed to branch through it, revealing the pulsing mess of his brain here and there. Steam was wafting off of it, along with ribbons of abyssal blood that trickled on through. Some of those ribbons dripped up rather than down. His nose was all but gone. The freshly-broken edges of skin were still covered in frost, but it already seemed to be glistening; the melt would probably start in a while. A couple shards had lodged themselves in Pat’s eyes—he made his talons into makeshift tweezers to manually remove them. 

Even with all of Sol’s experience, she still needed a moment for her stomach to stop churning before she finally piped up again. “...Feeling any better?” 

“Öh, ¥êåh. Ä LÖ† ßꆆêr, 墆µåll¥,” Pat replied, his voice still raspy, but much less strained than before. “†hêrê wå§ §Ö mµ¢h þrꧧµrê ßµïl†-µþ ïñ †hêrê, ßµ† ñðw…”

He trailed off, a relieved smile spreading across his features. Or, what was left of his features, at least. “†hï§'ll hêål µþ ðñ¢ê m¥ ïmmµñê §¥§†êm £ïñåll¥ gꆧ ï† †ðgê†hêr.”

“Well, that’s awesome!” Sol nodded, truly meaning it but still having to fight instinctual revulsion. “Is, uh, is there anything else you need?” 

Pat hummed, drumming his claws against the floor. “Håvê ¥ðµ §êêñ m¥ ¢ðþ¥ ð£ Ì Håvê ñð Mðµ†h, åñÐ Ì Mµ§† §¢rêåm? †hêrê’§ §ðmê grêå† ÐrêåÐ þå¢kêÐ ïñ †hå† ðñê; Ì kñðw ll hêlþ Ð阮r墆 mê, ßµ† Ì ¢ðµlÐñ’† £ïñÐ ï† åñ¥whêrê.”

He was distracted from his thoughts, however, when his and Sam’s daughter, Alexa, cautiously walked into the living room.

“Alexa?” He asked softly, “what’s the matter, dear?”

“It’s nothing,” Alexa murmured, giving him a smile that he knew was forced, “just… Dad… does it feel a little cold to you?”

Jay blinked. Now that he thought about it… there did seem to be a chill - the kind of chill that you knew without investigating had spread throughout the whole house, which was especially unusual considering the warm, tropical evening outside.

“It does…” he answered Alexa.

“Might be Rift stuff,” Alexa said, “should I text Jack or Aunt Tosh?”

“Not right yet,” Jay replied slowly, “we’ll just wait and see if anything happens first.”

Alexa paused at this, phone in her hands and thumbs presumably poised over the keypad. Then she nodded.

“Okay.” She said quietly.

“Don’t be afraid, sweetheart,” Jay assured her, “I’m sure it’s nothing. You know better than me that sometimes weird things happen around a Rift - especially this one.”

Alexa nodded again, but didn’t say anything more.

Jay knew she was still on edge - and he couldn’t blame her, he was too, something definitely felt off in the air tonight.

He just hoped it didn’t have anything to do with Sam, and that she was alright.

~~~

“...𝖂𝒽𝖆𝓉 𝓀𝖎𝓃𝖉 𝖔𝒻 ℊ𝖆𝓂𝖊 𝖉ℴ 𝓎𝖔𝓊 𝓉𝖍𝒾𝖓𝓀 𝓎𝖔𝓊'𝓇𝖊 𝖕𝓁𝖆𝓎𝖎𝓃𝖌?…”

Sam sat bolt upright in the hotel bed with a loud gasp, hand instinctively reaching for The Lion’s Breath - even though it had all been a dream, and it wasn’t like the sword would’ve done much to protect them, they felt like they needed it.

They sat there in the dark, panting and sweating and pointing the sword at a non-existent enemy, for a good five minutes before their frantic heartbeat finally began to slow down.

Allowing The Lion’s Breath to transform back into the simple bracelet they typically disguised it as (they weren’t sure they were comfortable just setting it aside at the moment), Sam reached out through the dark with their other hand until the cotton sheets turned to soft, warm fur.

Zephyr stirred slightly as their fingers reached her, shuffling a little closer to her owner in her sleep, but didn’t wake. Sam slowly lay back down beside her, pressing their body into the massive feline’s shape and realizing they were shaking - although that might’ve been from the sudden dry coldness in the room, one that Sam was certain hadn’t been there when they’d arrived back at the hotel.

Now that they were awake, they could remember that finding their way back here hadn’t been much trouble at all. Though they did faintly recall looking back in the direction they were certain that The Abnormal Orchard had been in and not being able to see it. Although, after having gotten a good look at Pat in the dream, they had an easier time believing that was just some clever trick of reality the eldrich being had pulled - whether it was specifically to freak Sam out or just something he always did.

As harrowing as the conversation with Pat had been, along with the frightening knowledge that a creature one could only imagine in their wildest nightmares actually existed out there… it wasn’t just that that was bothering Sam. Something about the appearance of his supposed counterpart, who’s name Sam didn’t dare try to think of in case it melted their brain, had equally chilled them to the bone.

Seeming to sense their nervous thoughts, Zephyr nuzzled into them with a sleepy rumble, and Sam finally felt themself begin to actually relax, though the strange coldness in the air didn’t seem to want to subside at all.

Their back was now facing the window, and even though they weren’t exactly happy with that, they’d much rather be cuddling Zephyr than facing away from her. Even if it meant being more vulnerable to whatever was outside.

If only you could twist your neck all the way around without breaking it like Pat. A small part of them joked, and they almost laughed. The only thing that stopped them from it was the shiver that ran up their spine at the memory of Pat taunting them in the dream-that-really-hadn’t-felt-like-a-dream, head twisting at unnatural angles as he spoke. Jesus, that fucker was creepy, and they knew he liked that Sam thought that of him. But for some reason, right now he didn’t hold a candle to the ethereal being who had suddenly shown up - Pat definitely knew her, but hadn’t been expecting to see her.

Something about the way she’d made Pat simply disappear, the way she’d looked at Sam with all those eyes of hers… she was almost scarier than Pat.

Did Harmonia know her? Sam wished they could ask her, but to contact the Ancient Ones they’d have to go back to sleep, and right now there was no way in hell they were doing that.

Suddenly, a flicker of movement caught Sam’s eye, and they glanced up to stare at the wall of the hotel room.

Nothing moved, and the wall was cast in darkness - not even the moon outside was at the right angle to shine any light through the window.

For some reason, that was a hundred times worse than seeing anything.

Just as the feeling of uneasiness started to pass, Sam saw it again. A tiny pinpoint of radiant light dancing across the wall.

This time it didn’t disappear immediately, and Sam sat up to peer at it, leaning over Zephyr’s sleeping form.

The tiger stirred, but still didn’t wake.

The tiny speck of light kept shimmering and bouncing up and down against the room’s nasty yellow wallpaper (ironic that it was that color, considering how Sam felt right now), even ever so slightly seeming to grow in size.

At first, Sam wasn’t sure what the hell to even make of it, until they remembered that light typically didn’t just randomly appear on surfaces without an outside source.

Outside…

Slowly, with a sense of dread creeping into their bones, Sam turned their head around to look out the window.

Despite the darkness in the city outside, somewhere in the near distance, there was light. Glowing and ethereal, just like in Sam’s dream, just like… her. And it was moving, getting steadily closer as Sam watched, finding themself standing right next to the window without realizing they’d moved at all.

Now, Zephyr awoke, her head abruptly snapping up as if on command and a growl rumbling in her throat as her piercing peridot eyes searched the shadows of the room.

Sam glanced back at her, holding their hand up to signal her to stay put, and when they looked back to the window, the view of the city was blocked by a massive, luminous face.

~~~

Deep in the impossible jungle, a place so full of life and light and a sense of peace one might think they’d found the biblical Garden of Eden if they stumbled upon it, another great beast raised her head.

Harmonia swiveled her ears around, listening to the faint wind whisper through the trees. Something had definitely awoken her, and it had done so for a reason.

“Luca?” She called faintly into the night, but no reply came.

Regardless, the Leonasus stood from her nest and stretched, waiting for an answer to come to her.

That answer came in the form of Barsus, the Pronghorned Wolf, slinking out of the shadows of the trees, his amber eyes gleaming with a light of their own.

“Harmonia.” He rumbled, dipping his head in greeting. Harmonia copied the gesture.

“Barsus. What brings you here?”

“Can you not hear the voices in the wind? They have a message for you and I.”

Harmonia tilted her head at him.

“Us? Why us?” She asked, swishing her tail.

Barsus stared at her gravely.

“Because we are the only ones who ever met… her.”

The single word sent a shiver through Harmonia’s wings, and she instantly found herself in a vision - or perhaps more of a memory - of when she was no more than a cub.

Back then, the island now known as Saint Lucia had been dominated by the Ancient Ones, though it wouldn’t be for much longer.

Barsus was a little older than Harmonia, standing next to her on wobbly stilt-legs as she struggled to stand at all.

Harmonia couldn’t remember what had happened before or after this moment, only that the sky had suddenly turned dark - so dark even the light of the stars could not get through - and great balls of fire shot across it, as the ground shook with the distant sound of an agonized wail of despair.

The adults had begun murmuring to each other, all with worried looks on their faces, and a common name that was repeated over and over was a name Harmonia was not familiar with - “𝕾𝓎𝖑𝓅𝖍”.

Time seemed to pass quickly, but while fire still rained from the sky, a luminous figure appeared, a creature neither Barsus or Harmonia had ever seen before.

She was crying, tears of burning sunlight falling from her many eyes, and the adults all gathered around to comfort her as she wept, telling them of a terrible mistake and a lost love.

“Mama,” Barsus asked when his mother broke away from the group, having promised to hunt a Cloud Buffalo in the hopes that it might help calm this strange visitor, “who is she? Why is she so sad?”

Barsus’ mother simply glanced back over her shoulder at the despondent newcomer, a look of deep sadness in her amber eyes.

“She is a friend,” she answered finally, “a friend who needs our help. She has done something that has broken her own heart.”

“Can we help?” Harmonia had spoken up.

Barsus’ mother gazed fondly down at her for a moment, then smiled, nodding.

“Yes. Perhaps you can, if you go and sit by her.”

The two of them had made their way to the strange visitor’s side, Harmonia’s legs so wobbly that she hardly made it, but eventually a few of the visitor’s eyes had fallen on the little ones who had appeared next to her, and some of the pain in her expression seemed to ease.

“𝕺𝒽, 𝖑ℴ𝖔𝓀 𝒶𝖙 𝖞ℴ𝖚…” she cooed in a voice like howling hurricane winds, “𝖞ℴ𝖚 𝖕𝓇𝖊𝒸𝖎ℴ𝖚𝓈 𝓉𝖍𝒾𝖓ℊ𝖘. 𝒰𝖓𝓉𝖔𝓊𝖈𝒽𝖊𝒹 𝒷𝖞 𝖙𝒽𝖊 𝖈𝓇𝖚ℯ𝖑𝓉𝖞 𝖔𝒻 𝒽𝖚𝓂𝖆𝓃𝖎𝓉𝖞.”

Back then, Barsus and Harmonia hadn’t known what “humanity” meant. That was before any human had ever set foot on this land.

Sometimes, Harmonia still wished she knew what Sylph had meant - although she had an idea.

Had humans destroyed her homeland too? Was that the heartbreak Barsus’ mother had spoken of?

It seemed like she might be finally getting an answer.

“She has returned.” Harmonia murmured, and Barsus dipped his head.

“She has.” He replied.

“But why?”

“That I am not sure of. But I feel that the universe wants us to know she is here for a reason.”

“Agreed. We must leave immediately. I had hoped Sam would have gotten home by now, but I could send one of the Guardian Cobras to relay a message to her family.”

“That seems like a good idea. I will wait here for your return.”

Barsus sat down in the tall grass where he stood, and Harmonia dipped her head to him before spreading her wings and leaping into the sky.

From above the treetops, she could see that the Tree of Life had taken on an unusual glow, slightly brighter to look at than normal. It almost hurt her eyes to gaze upon it for too long.

That was definitely a sign from the universe as well.

Harmonia wasn’t sure why Sylph had returned, but it seemed she might be in need of their help, and if that was the case, Harmonia would follow her parents’ teachings. Helping other beings was the way of the Ancient Ones, even when they themselves were much weaker than they had once been.

She only hoped that after all these thousands of years, Sylph remembered them all as well as they remembered her.

~~~

Jay was finding it hard to sleep.

He couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something was wrong - and even without it, it was still so damn cold in the house, cold enough that Jay was considering getting up and rummaging through the closet for his old long-sleeved pyjamas he’d bought when he, Sam, and their kids had still been living in Wales.

Maybe his mind was just playing tricks on him. Sometimes the air in a room felt colder when under the covers just because the bed was so warm. That had to be the reason. Or maybe he was just overtired.

Jay took a deep breath that turned into a yawn, rolling over so his back faced the bedroom window.

The bed felt so empty without Sam. Now that he thought about it, not having his living-furnace of a spouse sleeping next to him might’ve also been contributing to the chill in the air. The only part of Sam’s body that didn’t radiate constant warmth was their feet, which were always cold, something their older brother Daniel had always said they should get checked out since it could mean they had poor circulation.

Sam would always roll their eyes when he said that, tell him they’d give him poor circulation if he didn’t leave them alone about it.

A smile had found its way onto Jay’s face as he thought of Sam. He could almost imagine them suddenly climbing into bed next to him after a late-night weevil round-up, snuggling up close to him and complaining about being dragged out of bed at this hour, pressing those cold toes of theirs in between his legs and making him shriek loudly enough to wake Athena in the nursery at the end of the hall.

Jay was startled from the half-fantasy, half-dream by the sound of the horses braying outside.

He had sat up in bed before he knew it, the vision of Sam being there shattering in the face of whatever had caused the horses such distress.

Throwing the covers off of him (and in doing so noting that the room was, in fact, still as cold as he’d expected it to be), Jay got out of bed and ran to the window, pushing it open to scan the yard for anything that might have disturbed the horses. However, their frantic neighing soon subsided. Jay could still hear them nickering to each other, but that sound was quickly replaced by something else.

Ssssssssssssss…

At first, Jay thought it was the wind in the palm trees outside. Their leaves were dry this time of year, so they usually made a hissing sound when the breeze picked up.

But then it came again, louder and closer than before.

Sssssssssssssssssss…

Jay stepped back from the window, frantically looking around. The noise seemed to be coming from everywhere at once - above, below, directly in front and behind him, his left and his right.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS…

The sound was now more like that of the steam coming out of a boiling pot who’s lid had just been lifted, or someone pretending to be a snake, or-

Jay froze.

Pretending to be a snake, or actually a snake? He thought.

The notion seemed ridiculous, since the sound had to be coming from something pretty big - larger than any animal besides maybe a blue whale could ever possibly be - but now that the thought of snakes had entered Jay’s head, he couldn’t deny that the organic hissing likely couldn’t have come from anything else.

His thoughts were confirmed when there was a dull scraaape from the balcony outside, followed by a faint creak as the door was pushed open.

Hiiiissssssssssss…

Jay fell back with a cry of fear, tripping over his feet and falling out into the hallway, landing hard enough to feel a sharp pain shoot up his spine from his tailbone as it hit the floor.

The long, shadowy form that had broken and entered into the bedroom slithered further across the floor, then raised its impossibly large head and blinked down at Jay with three massive, glowing yellow eyes.

Its forked tongue flicked out with another tiny hiss, and then, to Jay’s utter bewilderment, it spoke - without even opening its mouth.

“Do not be afraid, I do not come to bring you harm.”

Jay realized his mouth was opening and closing as he breathed heavily, but no words would come out.

“I am Serpentus,” the massive snake continued, “a friend of Harmonia, and of the human named Sam.”

That finally snapped Jay out of it. This was an Ancient One, not just some random talking snake.

That really should have been more obvious.

“Sam’s not here,” Jay replied steadily, with an edge to his voice, “Harmonia sent her away on some quest, or whatever you call it.”

Serpentus bobbed their head, and Jay realized they were nodding.

“That is why I am here. Something has occurred elsewhere on this planet tonight, and Harmonia had to leave to take care of it. She asked me to tell you so that Sam does not worry if they return before she does.”

As much as Jay was annoyed that this was the way the Ancient Ones were passing on this strange message, he knew Harmonia was right to suspect that Sam would worry if they came home and she had gone.

At least the Ancient Ones cared enough about Sam to ensure they wouldn’t worry needlessly - they’d done enough of that in their life, and not just over weird semi-mythical Rift-creatures, Jay knew that better than anyone.

He dipped his head briefly in respect.

“Thank you,” he murmured to Serpentus, “I’ll tell her that.”

Serpentus flicked their tongue out again, then wordlessly made to slither back out the way they’d come.

“Wait,” Jay said, “do you know if Sam’s alright? Has this… other thing Harmonia has to deal with affecting them?”

Serpentus blinked at him, head tilting to one side as their tongue poked back out and tested the air for a bit longer this time. Then they unhelpfully answered, “that, I do not know.”

~~~

Sam couldn’t help but scream and jump back from the window, just as Zephyr leaped from the bed and came to stand defensively next to them, still growling softly.

The massive face in the window remained impassive, thousands of eyes the color of smoky quartz all trained on Sam and their feline companion.

The being’s gaze focused on Zephyr, and slightly softened.

“𝕾𝓁𝖊ℯ𝖕 𝖓ℴ𝖜.” She murmured, and suddenly Zephyr had sunk to the floor in a ball, her chest rising and falling rhythmically.

“What did you do to her?!” Sam barked against their better judgment, defensiveness momentarily overcoming their fear.

The being’s eyes all slowly moved back to Sam.

“𝕯ℴ 𝓃𝖔𝓉 𝒷𝖊 𝖆𝒻𝖗𝒶𝖎𝒹,” she said, “𝖘𝒽𝖊 𝖎𝓈 𝒶𝖘𝓁𝖊ℯ𝖕, 𝓃𝖔𝓉𝖍𝒾𝖓ℊ 𝒸𝖆𝓃 𝒽𝖆𝓇𝖒 𝖍ℯ𝖗.”

Sam took a shuddering breath.

“Who… what are you?”

“𝕴 𝖆𝓂 𝒮𝖞𝓁𝖕𝒽.”

The last word was indiscernible, but it still sounded familiar.

“That’s what he called you.” Sam said, once again without thinking.

Pain momentarily flooded the being’s gaze, but quickly vanished.

“𝖄ℯ𝖘. ℒ𝖊𝓋𝖎𝒶𝖙𝒽𝖆𝓃 𝒶𝖓𝒹 ℐ… 𝖈ℯ𝖗𝓉𝖆𝒾𝖓𝓁𝖞 𝖘𝒽𝖆𝓇𝖊 𝖆 𝖍𝒾𝖘𝓉𝖔𝓇𝖞.” She said.

Sam wanted to say that based on what they’d seen, Pat and this being definitely shared much more than just “a history”, but decided against it.

An angry ethereal being was just as bad as an angry eldrich being, and by now Sam knew better than to tempt either.

Instead, they dipped their head respectfully.

“I see,” they murmured, “forgive me for not being courteous. Your presence here startled me.”

“𝕴 𝖈𝒶𝖓 𝖘ℯ𝖊 𝖙𝒽𝖆𝓉.” The ethereal being said, with a hint of annoyance. “𝕿𝒽𝖆𝓉’𝓈 𝓌𝖍𝓎 ℐ 𝒸𝖆𝓂𝖊 𝖍ℯ𝖗ℯ. 𝖄ℴ𝖚 𝖆𝓇𝖊 𝖎𝓃 𝒻𝖆𝓇 𝒶𝖇ℴ𝖛ℯ 𝓎𝖔𝓊𝖗 𝖍ℯ𝖆𝒹, 𝖑𝒾𝖙𝓉𝖑ℯ 𝒽𝖚𝓂𝖆𝓃. 𝖄ℴ𝖚 𝖉ℴ 𝓃𝖔𝓉 𝒷𝖊𝓁𝖔𝓃𝖌 𝖙𝒽𝖎𝓈 𝒸𝖑ℴ𝖘ℯ 𝓉𝖔 𝖘ℴ𝖒ℯ𝖙𝒽𝖎𝓃𝖌 𝖑𝒾𝖐ℯ ℒ𝖊𝓋𝖎𝒶𝖙𝒽𝖆𝓃.”

“I understand,” Sam replied, head still bowed, “but I think you may not know the reason I’m here. I was sent here by ethereals like yourself.”

“𝕿𝒽𝖊𝓃 𝓉𝖍ℯ𝖞 𝖘𝒽𝖔𝓊𝖑𝒹 𝓀𝖓ℴ𝖜 𝖇ℯ𝖙𝓉𝖊𝓇 𝓉𝖍𝒶𝖓 𝖙ℴ 𝒶𝖑𝓁𝖔𝓌 𝒶 𝒻𝖗𝒶𝖌𝒾𝖑ℯ 𝓂𝖔𝓇𝖙𝒶𝖑 𝖙ℴ 𝒸𝖔𝓂𝖊 𝖘ℴ 𝓃𝖊𝒶𝖗 𝖙ℴ 𝒶𝖓 𝖊𝓁𝖉𝓇𝖎𝒸𝖍 𝖊𝓃𝖙𝒾𝖙𝓎.”

Defensiveness flared inside Sam again.

“They sent me here to assure that they weren’t in danger. I am connected to them in ways that shield me from Pat. Besides, he said they might know you, if you are who I think you are.”

“𝕿𝒽𝖊𝓃 𝓉𝖊𝓁𝖑 𝖒ℯ - 𝓌𝖍ℴ 𝓈𝖊𝓃𝖙 𝖞ℴ𝖚 𝖍ℯ𝖗ℯ?”

“The Ancient Ones.”

The world seemed to stop for a fraction of a second - and, considering who Sam was talking to, perhaps it actually did.

“𝕿𝒽𝖊 𝕬𝓃𝖈𝒾𝖊𝓃𝖙 𝕺𝓃𝖊𝓈…” the ethereal being echoed.

“That’s right,” Sam replied, finally finding the courage to look up into her face again, “I am bonded to the Ancient Ones, chosen by the universe itself to defend the space-time Rift they call home and assure that the balance of the cosmic energies in the galaxy remains intact. I wield the etherium sword named The Lion’s Breath, and I am The Queen of Hearts.”

The ethereal being stared at them for a moment longer.

“𝕿𝒽𝖊 𝕼𝓊𝖊ℯ𝖓 𝖔𝒻 ℋ𝖊𝒶𝖗𝓉𝖘,” she murmured finally, “𝖙𝒽𝖊 𝖕𝓇𝖔𝓅𝖍ℯ𝖘𝒾𝖊𝒹 𝓈𝖆𝓋𝖎ℴ𝖚𝓇 ℴ𝖋 𝖙𝒽𝖊 𝕬𝓃𝖈𝒾𝖊𝓃𝖙 𝕺𝓃𝖊𝓈. 𝕸𝓎 𝒶𝖕ℴ𝖑ℴ𝖌𝒾𝖊𝓈, 𝖞ℴ𝖚𝓇 𝓂𝖆𝒿𝖊𝓈𝖙𝓎.”

“Just ‘Sam’ is fine.” Sam replied with a wince.

It felt weird for an ethereal being to be calling them ‘your majesty’, even if Sam had been fond of the term in any way - which they weren’t. It was likely just a formality.

This being wouldn’t need to have any real respect for them, she wasn’t the one they were connected to.

“𝕾𝒶𝖒,” the being echoed, “𝖞ℴ𝖚 𝖒𝒶𝖞 𝖈𝒶𝖑𝓁 𝓂𝖊… Sylphanie.”

Sam nodded respectfully.

“Sylphanie,” they repeated, “I’m glad there’s something I can call you that I can say without my brain melting through the roof of my mouth.”

To their surprise, Sylphanie laughed, though it sounded more like huge sheets of metal scraping together on a building site, or an old, rusty machine trying to do its job one last time before collapsing under its own weight.

“I’m here to ensure the safety of the Ancient Ones,” Sam explained when the sound died down, “they sensed your buddy’s presence nearby and wanted to make sure he wasn’t coming after them.”

“𝕿𝒽𝖊𝓃 𝓉𝖊𝓁𝖑 𝖙𝒽𝖊𝓂 𝓉𝖍ℯ𝖞 𝖍𝒶𝖛ℯ 𝓃𝖔𝓉𝖍𝒾𝖓ℊ 𝓉𝖔 𝖋ℯ𝖆𝓇,” Sylphanie said, “𝕷ℯ𝖛𝒾𝖆𝓉𝖍𝒶𝖓 𝖎𝓈 𝒶𝖓ℊ𝖗𝓎, 𝖘ℴ𝖗𝓇𝖔𝓌𝖋𝓊𝖑. ℬ𝖚𝓉 𝒽𝖊 𝖎𝓈 𝓃𝖔𝓉 ℴ𝖚𝓉 𝓉𝖔 𝖍𝒶𝖗𝓂 𝒶𝖓𝓎𝖔𝓃𝖊. 𝒲𝖊𝓁𝖑, 𝒶𝖓𝓎 ℯ𝖙𝒽𝖊𝓇𝖊𝒶𝖑𝓈, 𝖙𝒽𝖆𝓉 𝒾𝖘.”

Sam nodded awkwardly.

“Thank you,” they said, wishing they could know more about her past with Pat, but smart enough to know that asking a deity-like being nosy questions was a good way to end up dead - or worse, “I’ll tell them. Though from what I gathered at The Abnormal Orchard, I was already fairly certain of that.”

“𝖄ℴ𝖚 𝖆𝓇𝖊 𝖜𝒾𝖘ℯ 𝒻𝖔𝓇 𝒶 𝒽𝖚𝓂𝖆𝓃, 𝖙𝒽𝖆𝓉 𝒾𝖘 𝖖𝓊𝖎𝓉𝖊 𝖈𝓁𝖊𝒶𝖗,” Sylphanie murmured, “𝖕ℯ𝖗𝒽𝖆𝓅𝖘 𝖎𝒻 𝓎𝖔𝓊 𝒽𝖆𝒹 𝒷𝖊ℯ𝖓 𝖆𝓁𝖎𝓋𝖊 𝖆 𝖋ℯ𝖜 𝖍𝓊𝖓𝒹𝖗ℯ𝖉 𝖈ℯ𝖓𝓉𝖚𝓇𝖎ℯ𝖘 𝖆ℊ𝖔, 𝓌𝖊 𝖜ℴ𝖚𝓁𝖉 𝖓ℴ𝖙 𝖇ℯ 𝓌𝖍ℯ𝖗ℯ 𝓌𝖊 𝖆𝓇𝖊 𝖗𝒾𝖌𝒽𝖙 𝖓ℴ𝖜.”

Sam had absolutely no idea what that meant, but again, they knew better than to ask questions.

Besides, at that moment, Sylphanie looked up into the sky, and Sam leaned closer to the window to see what she’d seen.

At first it just looked like two of the stars against the blackness of night were shining brighter than the others, but as Sam watched, they realized these weren’t stars at all, and they were slowly getting closer, turning to brilliant silver and gold.

The gold ball of light took the shape of a massive winged lion, with a silky flowing mane and blazing blue eyes, and back legs that ended in pale pink hooves instead of paws.

The silver orb became an amber-eyed wolf the size of a horse, with three sharp horns like those of a ram on its head, and that appeared to be walking on nothing but the wind.

Sam opened the window and jumped out onto the ground, momentarily forgetting about Sylphanie.

“Harmonia!” They exclaimed, “Barsus! What are you doing here?”

“The wind directed us to come here,” Barsus answered, “there’s been another disturbance in the universe tonight.”

“And I believe we’ve found her.” Harmonia added, stepping up to Sylphanie.

Now that Sam was outside, they could see the way Sylphanie’s body seemed both there and not-there, flowing in intricate billowing patterns like clouds in the wind, or translucent silk. She glowed like the afternoon sun, though if one looked closely, they would notice small ribbons of rainbow colors twirling within her form. Her flower-like head and shoulders were dotted with thousands of eyes, the only things dark about her, though they still glowed from within, as though someone had held a light up to a piece of amber.

She had been staring at Harmonia and Barsus since they appeared in the sky without saying a word, and now she bent closer to them, as if trying to get a better look at them both.

“𝕸𝓎 ℊ𝖔ℴ𝖉𝓃𝖊𝓈𝖘…” she murmured, “𝖎𝓈 𝒾𝖙 𝖗ℯ𝖆𝓁𝖑𝓎 𝓎𝖔𝓊? 𝕿𝒽𝖊 𝖉ℯ𝖆𝓇 𝓁𝖎𝓉𝖙𝓁𝖊 𝖇𝒶𝖇ℯ𝖘 𝕴 𝖒ℯ𝖙 𝖆𝓁𝖑 𝖙𝒽𝖔𝓈𝖊 𝖞ℯ𝖆𝓇𝖘 𝖆ℊ𝖔?”

“It is us, 𝕾𝓎𝖑𝓅𝖍,” Harmonia answered as she and Barsus both dipped their heads respectfully, “we heard your voice on the wind and thought perhaps you needed our help again.”

Again? Sam thought, but was too awestruck to say out loud.

“𝕴 𝖉ℴ 𝓃𝖔𝓉,” Sylphanie said, “𝖇𝓊𝖙 𝕴 𝖆𝓂 𝓋𝖊𝓇𝖞 𝖕𝓁𝖊𝒶𝖘ℯ𝖉 𝖙ℴ 𝓈𝖊ℯ 𝓉𝖍ℯ 𝓉𝖜ℴ ℴ𝖋 𝖞ℴ𝖚 𝖆ℊ𝖆𝒾𝖓, 𝒶𝖓𝒹 𝓉𝖔 𝖘ℯ𝖊 𝖍ℴ𝖜 𝖞ℴ𝖚’𝖛ℯ ℊ𝖗ℴ𝖜𝓃 𝓈𝖎𝓃𝖈ℯ ℐ 𝓁𝖆𝓈𝖙 𝖘𝒶𝖜 𝖞ℴ𝖚. 𝒴𝖔𝓊𝖗 𝖕𝒶𝖗ℯ𝖓𝓉𝖘 𝖜ℴ𝖚𝓁𝖉 𝖇ℯ 𝒽𝖔𝓃𝖔𝓊𝖗ℯ𝖉 𝖙ℴ 𝓈𝖊ℯ 𝒽𝖔𝓌 𝓈𝖙𝓇𝖔𝓃𝖌 𝖞ℴ𝖚 𝖇ℴ𝖙𝒽 𝒶𝖗ℯ, 𝖆𝓃𝖉 𝖙𝒽𝖆𝓉 𝓎𝖔𝓊’𝓋𝖊 𝖋ℴ𝖚𝓃𝖉 𝖙𝒽𝖊 𝕼𝓊𝖊ℯ𝖓 𝖔𝒻 ℋ𝖊𝒶𝖗𝓉𝖘.”

“Thank you, 𝕾𝓎𝖑𝓅𝖍,” Barsus rumbled, “and we are honoured to be in your presence once again.”

At that moment, there was an abrupt wrrouwr! from inside the open window of the motel, just before Zephyr shot out into the night.

She pranced up to Harmonia without hesitation, chuffing and rubbing her head under the larger feline’s chin.

“Hello, my dear,” Harmonia said adoringly, “oh, how I’ve missed you. You must tell me all that has happened, my love.”

Sam smiled warmly as she watched the mated pair, but found their gaze subconsciously drifting to Sylphanie’s face. They were shocked to see that an almost mournful expression had manifested in her thousands of eyes.

“𝖄ℴ𝖚 𝖍𝒶𝖛ℯ 𝒻𝖆𝓁𝖑ℯ𝖓 𝖎𝓃 𝓁𝖔𝓋𝖊 𝖜𝒾𝖙𝒽 𝒶 𝓂𝖔𝓇𝖙𝒶𝖑 𝖇ℯ𝖎𝓃𝖌.” She said to Harmonia after a long silence, in which she simply stared at the two as they nuzzled each other.

“I have.” Harmonia murmured.

“𝕬𝓇𝖊 𝖞ℴ𝖚 𝖘𝓊𝖗ℯ 𝓉𝖍𝒶𝖙 𝖎𝓈 𝓌𝖎𝓈𝖊? 𝒜 𝓁𝖔𝓋𝖊 𝖜𝒾𝖙𝒽 𝓈𝖔𝓂𝖊ℴ𝖓ℯ 𝓈𝖔 𝖉𝒾𝖋𝒻𝖊𝓇𝖊𝓃𝖙 𝖋𝓇𝖔𝓂 𝓎𝖔𝓊𝖗𝓈𝖊𝓁𝖋 𝖈𝒶𝖓 𝖔𝓃𝖑𝓎 ℯ𝖓𝒹 𝒾𝖓 𝖍ℯ𝖆𝓇𝖙𝒷𝖗ℯ𝖆𝓀.”

A different sort of sadness crossed her face, and suddenly Sam understood all too well what her connection to Pat was, and why he had reacted the way he had to seeing her again.

“I understand this,” Harmonia said, “but I have taken a lesson from the humans I now share my home with, that it is better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all.”

Sylphanie seemed to consider this for a moment, then bobbed her head in a way that made her flowing body wave like sheets on a clothesline when the wind got stronger.

“𝕻ℯ𝖗𝒽𝖆𝓅𝖘 𝖙𝒽𝖆𝓉 𝒾𝖘 𝖔𝓃𝖊 𝖆𝓇𝖊𝒶 𝒾𝖓 𝖜𝒽𝖎𝒸𝖍 𝖍𝓊𝖒𝒶𝖓𝒾𝖙𝓎 𝒾𝖘 𝖘𝓂𝖆𝓇𝖙ℯ𝖗 - 𝖆𝓃𝖉 𝖇𝓇𝖆𝓋𝖊𝓇 - 𝓉𝖍𝒶𝖓 𝖆𝓃𝖞 𝖊𝓉𝖍ℯ𝖗ℯ𝖆𝓁 ℴ𝖗 𝖊𝓁𝖉𝓇𝖎𝒸𝖍 𝖇ℯ𝖎𝓃𝖌 𝖎𝓃 𝓉𝖍𝒾𝖘 𝖚𝓃𝖎𝓋𝖊𝓇𝖘ℯ.” She said.

“I… guess I’ll take that as a compliment?” Sam huffed.

“𝖂ℯ𝖑𝓁,” Sylphanie sighed, ignoring Sam’s comment, “𝕴 𝖇ℯ𝖑𝒾𝖊𝓋𝖊 𝖒𝓎 𝒷𝖚𝓈𝖎𝓃𝖊𝓈𝖘 𝖍ℯ𝖗ℯ 𝓉𝖔𝓃𝖎ℊ𝖍𝓉 𝒾𝖘 𝖋𝒾𝖓𝒾𝖘𝒽𝖊𝒹. 𝕭𝓊𝖙 𝖓ℴ𝖜 𝖙𝒽𝖆𝓉 ℐ 𝓀𝖓ℴ𝖜 𝕴 𝖘𝓉𝖎𝓁𝖑 𝖍𝒶𝖛ℯ 𝒶𝖑𝓁𝖎ℯ𝖘 𝖎𝓃 𝓉𝖍𝒾𝖘 𝖗ℯ𝖆𝓁𝖒, ℐ 𝓌𝖎𝓁𝖑 𝖗ℯ𝖒𝒶𝖎𝓃 𝓃𝖊𝒶𝖗 𝖙ℴ 𝒾𝖙.”

Barsus and Harmonia both dipped their heads again.

“We thank you for that,” Harmonia said, “and until we meet again, may the cosmic energies look faithfully upon you.”

“𝖀𝓅𝖔𝓃 𝓎𝖔𝓊 𝒶𝖘 𝖜ℯ𝖑𝓁,” Sylphanie replied, her ghostly form beginning to melt into the shadows, “𝖆𝓃𝖉 𝖙𝒽𝖆𝓃𝖐 𝖞ℴ𝖚 𝖆𝓈 𝓌𝖊𝓁𝖑. 𝒲𝖍𝒶𝖙 𝖞ℴ𝖚 𝖍𝒶𝖛ℯ 𝓈𝖍𝒶𝖗ℯ𝖉 𝖜𝒾𝖙𝒽 𝓂𝖊 𝖙ℴ𝖓𝒾𝖌𝒽𝖙 𝖍𝒶𝖘 𝖇ℯ𝖌𝓊𝖓 𝖙ℴ 𝒽𝖊𝒶𝖑 𝖆 𝖜ℴ𝖚𝓃𝖉 𝕴 𝖓ℯ𝖛ℯ𝖗 𝖙𝒽𝖔𝓊𝖌𝒽𝖙 𝖈ℴ𝖚𝓁𝖉 𝖍ℯ𝖆𝓁.”

With that, she faded from view completely, though the way the hair on Sam’s arms remained standing upright for a few moments, along with the fact that it took a bit for the chill in the air to go away completely, told them she wasn’t fully gone just because she couldn’t be seen.

“Well…” they said finally, realizing they were shaking a little, “that was… a very weird night.”

~

{EPILOGUE}

“Guys! Wait up!”

“You shouldn’t have come with us if you couldn’t keep up!”

The peace of the jungle was disrupted by the sound of bickering human voices, those belonging to Athena, eleven, and Lucas, fifteen. With them - and being much quieter - were their older sisters, Hanna and Alexa, both in their early twenties.

Lucas turned on Athena with a leering smirk.

“‘I’ll tell Dad if you don’t take me with you!’” He mocked, and Athena stuck their tongue out angrily.

“Leave them alone,” Alexa cut in before their arguing could escalate, “and shut up, both of you. Did you not listen all those times when Mom told us not to draw attention to yourself when out in the woods?”

“We’d get away,” Lucas retorted, “the short one might be easy prey, though.”

“STOP, Lucas!” Athena shouted, making to hit him, but Alexa held them back.

“Don’t, he’s just trying to get a rise out of you.” She murmured.

Ahead of them, Hanna, the oldest of the four, stopped in a clearing bathed in sunlight from a gap in the trees and placed her hands on her hips.

“Hey, ‘Lexa?” She called over her shoulder.

“Yeah?” Alexa replied, ignoring Lucas and Athena as they continued making faces at each other.

“I think we’re about to be in big trouble.”

“What? Why?”

Alexa followed Hanna’s gaze, and immediately realized what she was talking about.

“Oh…” she mumbled, just as a massive winged lion and a three-horned wolf that seemed to be walking on thin air descended from the sky and into the clearing.

From the lion’s back lept Zephyr, who raced to greet Lucas and Athena as if it was perfectly normal for her spirit-bond’s children to be wandering in the jungle.

Sam jumped from the wolf’s back, The Lion’s Breath in hand and looking ready to scold their children before the four of them could even come up with an excuse.

“What are you kids doing out here?” They demanded the moment their feet touched the ground.

“Uh oh,” Athena muttered under their breath, “busted…”

“Okay, first of all, I’m twenty three,” Hanna objected, “and Alexa is twenty one, we’re adults now.”

“You’re still incredibly young, and you’re avoiding the question,” Sam shot back, “not to mention you brought your little siblings out here too.”

“We were just gonna bring Lucas, but Athena said they’d tell…” Alexa said lamely, realizing too late how stupid and childish that argument was as Sam raised an eyebrow at her.

“We can take care of ourselves.” Hanna added.

“Which I don’t doubt,” Sam said dryly, “I’m just not pleased that you took it upon yourselves to come out here for the first time.”

Hanna and Alexa looked at each other in confusion.

“First time?” Alexa echoed as they both looked back at Sam.

“Yes!” Sam exclaimed, “I wanted to take you myself! Now, you didn’t get in any fights with any wild animals, did you?”

“Uh… no?” Hanna replied uncertainly.

“Good,” Sam murmured, putting their arms around their daughters’ shoulders and leading them back towards the Ryder Estate, “your first encounter with a wild beast is important, and I want to be there to see it.”

Zephyr paused at the edge of the trees before following her human companions, glancing back at the two mythical creatures still waiting in the clearing.

Harmonia blinked fondly at her.

“Go on, my love,” she said, “we will see each other again soon.”

Zephyr chuffed in response, tossing her head before bounding after Sam and their children.

“Well. That was certainly an interesting experience.” Barsus murmured beside Harmonia, who nodded.

“Indeed,” she agreed, “it was. Though I was happy to see 𝕾𝓎𝖑𝓅𝖍 again.”

“As was I. And I have a feeling that this is not the last we will see of her either.”

“I feel the same. Though I suppose we will have to wait and see.”

“We will. But until then, what shall we do?”

“Take care of our own, and keep in mind that she is always nearby.”

Barsus nodded, and then, with a wisp of pale golden smoke, the pair disappeared, leaving the clearing looking as though it had always been empty.

“The tube would still be on, wouldn’t it? It’d just have a DVD inside. I don’t think that would change things too much,” Angel mused.

Shep shrugged, absentmindedly fidgeting with the sleeves of his favorite jacket. He’d been wearing it almost everywhere since college, and the sherpa still felt soft in his hands. Other than the abstract streaks of dark green dye that curled around the torso, the material was stark-white. “Maybe, but the risk isn’t worth it.” 

One more nightly task finally finished, he stepped back and turned to his buddy, giving him a Sue Me look for probably the thousandth time as he started walking over to the other side of the shop.

The majority of people couldn’t see Angel at all. For Shep (or the rare few with his skills), Angel appeared fairly translucent most of the time. It wasn’t a conscious choice on his part, though the way he felt could be a factor, and it fluctuated from time-to-time.

On particularly dark nights like this—when the moon couldn’t glow and the stars couldn’t glint because a ton of huge, thick clouds had rolled in and swallowed them up—for whatever reason, his form seemed to gain a lot more depth. 

His “skin” looked very pallid and gray in some areas. Other areas were adorned by dull, angry violet splotches that were outlined with sickly yellowish-green. Like bruises on steroids. It came in streaks all over Angel’s arms, and Shep would’ve put money on the ghost’s entire chest being covered. 

But the best example was his face. 

The stain had spread right across, almost seeming to divide it in half in a messy line. It started at his left temple, stretched over to the bridge of his nose, and then down to his right cheek. And it kept going from there, curving under his jawline and all the way down to his neck before disappearing past his shirt. 

While Shep had technically been roommates with the specter for so long now, he could still never look at him without terms like Livor Mortis popping up in the back of his head. 

As Angel liked to say, it was as though he’d had been at a carnival and, out of all the options for face-painting, had picked the one damn booth where the artist just so happened to be drunk.

(And, as Shep sometimes pointed out when he was feeling a type of way, Angel’s attire of a leopard-print shirt and a sleeveless jacket that was truly violent shade of raspberry hinted that he would’ve fit right in at a drunk carnival.)

As for Angel’s eyes…well, it was a bit of a stretch to call them eyes anymore. They were so damn cloudy, as though he’d been suffering from a horrible case of cataracts or corneal scarring (then again, eyes were usually the first parts to go when the real decay started). Instead of black, his pupils were a fleshy shade of white, like his head had been filled with pale, oily wine. His irises had likely been dark brown while he was still alive, but it was hard to tell if they still had that color, given how sunken the sockets were. 

Shep paused at the counter, reaching over to the lava lamp that sat by the cash register and flipping its switch three times. After that, he fished around the drawers for a small tin of salt.

The unnatural chill in the air never faded away as he resumed walking, which meant Angel was still following, as he often did.  “It’s just—you’ve been putting so much stuff on for the customers all month, but you still haven’t gotten to the Scream series. I was hoping for a marathon.”

“There’s a perfectly good TV in my living room,” Shep suggested, lifting up the doormat that lay just outside the main entrance. He sprinkled the salt out, pouring a few white lines on the floor, which he then covered back up. “You can always just take the movies up there.” 

“Well, yeah,” Angel admitted. “But it’s not the same as watching down here.”

Shep snorted as he went back to the counter. “And since when did you get all sentimental?”

For a few long seconds, Angel stayed surprisingly silent. 

“...Oh, wait!” A grin spread across Shep’s face as exchanged the salt for a microfiber cloth and his water bottle. 

(The interior brick walls around here were a nice aesthetic touch. The viscous, ink-like, blister-smelling liquid that seeped through said bricks’ crevices once per week? Not so much. It’d taken a lot of digging to learn that something in the wall was simply crying, but cleaning up after it seemed to calm it back down. Besides, it was unhealthy to bottle tears up like that.)

“You just don’t want to watch it all by yourself, huh?” 

Angel sputtered folding his arms across his chest with the barest whisper of cracking bones. “Excuse you! I’m just fine doing that stuff on my own. It’s just…it feels a lot more boring than it should.”

“Hey, I’m not shaming you,” Shep teasingly reassured as he moved over to the crying (or bleeding, or whatever-the-hell-it-was-actually-doing-in-an-anatomical-sense) wall. “Horror’s subjective. But once you’re grounded, it’s fun to be scared.”

“I don’t GET scared!” Angel insisted. “Think about all the parties other places around here have been throwing! That’s the ideal movie environment!”

“It’s also the ideal environment for you to screw around with people because there’s not much else to do.” Shep’s tone turned more knowing as carefully scrubbed at the first oozing streaks before they could stain any of the posters he’d set up. He thought back to all the times his own customers had done neck-snapping double-takes courtesy of Angel’s antics. 

But then…could Angel really be blamed for said antics? He never meant any true harm, and being dead for as long as he had—scratch that, being dead in general, no matter what kind of shape your soul wound up in, was so, so much harder than being alive. 

Even if a spirit hadn’t died painfully, they’d still feel pangs and aches that were all but beyond comprehension; and even if they’d once been human, they hadn’t exactly been set up to be able to handle something like that any better than most.

All the restlessness, stagnation, the signs that something is wrong with the world because why could this happen even when it obviously shouldn’t…

Shep knew he couldn’t truly understand (not yet, at least), but he wasn’t ignorant. 

Sometimes you just had to give into that desperation, if at least to get a little joy out of things that simply didn’t work for you anymore.

“...But really, I do get it,” he concluded, in a slightly softer voice. “Movies are better with friends most of the time.” 

Angel huffed, and though Shep had his back to him yet again, he could tell when that he was starting to relax. “...On top of that, I can actually focus up there. You never hold still during Close-Up. Seriously, all your pacing makes me dizzy sometimes.” 

In spite of himself, Shep raised an eyebrow. “You’re dead. How exactly can you get dizzy?”

“How the hell should I know?” Angel snickered. “I’m honestly surprised you don’t have a guess for that. But hey, one more thing to add to all those notes on the corkboa—” 

The pause was abrupt, and Shep didn’t think much of it at first, since Angel’s attention span could be a bit all over the place at times. 

But then he noticed how the air was getting even colder, causing shivers down his spine that gave off the same, sharp clarity that should have followed swallowing an ice cube by accident.

And when Angel spoke again, his voice was much smaller than before. Smaller, and shaking— “O-oh no…” —only to transition to piercing in less than a second. “Oh shIT, OH FUCK, NO!”

Shep flinched badly, both his tools falling to the floor. 

“Angel?” He blurted, spinning in place to find that the specter had disappeared. A strange glow lingered in the air, like the smoke that poured out of a car’s exhaust pipe, but it was fading fast. Shep craned his neck to follow it, and saw how it was drifting up into the ceiling. 

“Angel?!” He called again. No answer. 

Shep sprinted through the shop, grazing his shoulder against one of the larger display cases as he dove into the stairwell in the back. “Angel, what’s wrong? What happened?”

He’d just barely stepped onto the staircase before he got an answer.

It was neither from Angel, nor the one he wanted. 

Tap-tap-tap. 

A sharp, clear rhythm of both nails and knuckles against glass. 

There were only so many places in the shop it could’ve been coming from—the front windows, the main door, even the mirror in the restroom. 

But Shep had played this game enough times. It only ever happened in one place.  

And now that he was closer to it…

A sense of complete and utter dread was rolling through the air like fog, feeling both cold and hot in an awful way. So strong that even the dead could feel it. 

Shep sighed, then set his jaw as he marched back down the stairs. The last step was technically a false one: it could still support a person’s weight, but part of it was hollow, with its tread acting as a sort of lid. Shep knelt down and opened it up, revealing a box that he’d stashed away…well, not too long ago when he really thought about it. 

The half-mask he fished out was more ornate than a lot of the stuff he collected—carved into the shape of an oni’s jaws, complete with fangs that curved up and out of the mouth like tusks, painted with cream and pale red to create a pattern like veins or snakeskin. 

But that type of elaborate crafting was kinda necessary. For most of his life, he’d approached his skills somewhat casually. But when it came to more…surreal things, protection was needed. Real equipment was needed. 

Shep slipped the mask on, adjusting the straps against his curly black hair. Then, with another deep, careful breath, he approached the window that loomed at the staircase’s first landing. It looked out onto the alleyway right beside the shop, the only thing keeping it separate from the next business over. Like most alleys, it was dark, with just a smidgen of light creeping in from the streetlamps out on the sidewalk.

The way the window had been installed, it was a good few feet off the ground. 

But the figure looming just outside didn’t seem to care about that. 

It could tell that it’d been noticed, so it wasn’t knocking or tapping anymore. Instead, it was pressing its hands against the glass,  staining it with smears that were translucent in some parts…and red in others…

It waved as Shep drew closer, the movement shaky and loose, as though a joint somewhere had popped out of place. 

Shep chewed his lip as he halted a few inches from the glass. The figure was shaped like a person. In fact, it technically was a person. It had all the things a lot of people did: blue eyes, fair skin, dishwater-blonde hair, dressed in clothes that were now stained with grime from the ground. 

But Shep knew better. The fair complexion soon became pallid now that he was closer. The eyes were bloodshot, with one even starting to bulge a little if you squinted. 

He knew that, whoever this was, they weren’t the one driving anymore. That they’d never be driving again. 

Swallowing the bile in his throat, Shep crossed his arms. “What do you want?” 

The body’s head lolled to the side, as if it were thinking the question over. It then snapped back upright, blinking in a way that felt far too stiff, almost robotic. 

“...To come inside!” It finally answered, a smile forcefully tugging at its lips. “Could you open the window for me?” 

Shep was shaking his head before two words even made it out. “Nope, can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Well, for one thing, you should be asking for a door like a normal person. And for another thing, we’re CLOSED. FOR. THE NIGHT.”

The body hummed, its head tilting to the side opposite of before. “It’s closed for living people. Dead people, on the other hand…” 

Shep felt one of his eyes twitch, felt his knuckles turn pale as he subconsciously dug his nails into his palms. 

He’d seen plenty of undead folk—hell, he’d even seen dead bodies being used as temporary vessels once or twice.

But this was not one of them. Even if it was fresher than Angel seemed to be, there was no sign of a soul anywhere. It was completely hollow, not much aside from a shell that just so happened to be made out of meat (as if a shell’s entire purpose was not to be that).

“Well, to be dead, you’d need to count a living thing in the first place,” he snapped. “Would you just cut the crap and get this over with already?!”

The body stared at him for another few seconds, still holding that fake-in-more-ways-than-one smile. Then, that grin dropped away completely, in almost perfect unison with how the eyes rolled back up into the head, leaving only glistening white exposed. 

The body started convulsing, wracked with twitches and spasms that made it somewhat unclear if enough time had passed for Rigor Mortis to set in.

Outside, something else started rising up. The movement was subtle at first, just barely peeking over the bottom of the windowsill. But then it got faster, more aggressive. 

It almost could’ve been mistaken for a hand—or maybe the shadow of a hand. One that was simply being cast from a decent few feet away, since it was so easy for shadows to be distorted, for an outlined wrist and fingers to stretch far too long as they reached up to the body.  

But as the seconds kept ticking, as Shep kept watching, it became more and more obvious how that thing was solid. Even though it was so dark that it shouldn’t have had any real mass—so dark that it blotted out the light of the streetlamps and somehow still stood out against the gloom of the alley. 

And now that “hand” looked more like some psychotic combination of octopus tentacles and tree branches. They coiled around the body’s waist with a chorus of cRiCks and snAps that weren’t nearly as muffled by the window as they should’ve been. 

Something in the back of Shep’s mind wanted to sway and heave, but he focused on the weight of the mask resting against his skin. For good measure, he reached into one of his sleeves and began to slowly, carefully trace his fingernails along his dark skin. 

Not to draw anything in particular—just to stimulate. 

The body finally went still again…and then a horrific, slippery rustling sound oozed into the air, like overgrown worms squeezing their way through mud-caked grass.

Then, with a final, sickening POP, the body went completely limp. It doubled over, giving Shep a good, long look at torn fabric and flayed skin. 

Another set of dark tendrils were sliding out of the bloody chasm, like fishing wires being reeled in. (Soon enough, Shep caught pale, glistening shapes through all the red. His instincts—and experience as a frickin' human being—told him that they were vertebrae, but another part of him insisted that they were teeth.)

The appendage as a whole actually seemed to shrink down, but only a bit. Just enough for its owner to shake it, slinging off a thin coat of blood, which splattered against the window like it’d been fired from a paintball gun.

From the upper corner of the window, another shape started writhing into view. An eye the size of Shep’s fist seemed to bloom open, giving off such a sickly pale glow that it almost seemed to burn against the rest of the void. Its pupil rattled in place, shrinking down to a pinprick in less than a second as it glared through the glass. 

“§ð…” The voice seemed to pour out between long, razor-equse teeth like molten lead, buzzing and screeching around the edges as if the speaker’s gums were infested with cicadas. “Ðð ¥ðµ hå†ê åll £µñ, ðr ï§ ï† jµ§† whêñ Ì'm ïñ ðñ ï†?” 

“That one. Option B,” Shep replied with no hesitation. “Definitely Option B.”

“¥êðw¢h, †hå† §†ïñg§,” the monster pouted, dramatically turning his gaze away, which led to his neck hanging at an extremely uncomfortable angle. “Ć †hï§ rå†ê, Ì mïgh† §†år† †ð †hïñk †hå† ¥ðµ Ððñ'† wåñ† mê §†ðþþïñg ߥ å† åll.” 

Shep rolled his eyes. Part of him wanted to step back, but he held firm. “You say that like there’s anyone else who would.”

“...Wêll, Ì mêåñ, †hêrê'§ Ðê£ïñï†êl¥ å† lê姆 ðñê,” Pat mused as he idly turned the body over in his clutches. “Må¥ßê †wð ðr †hrêê, ï£ ¥ðµ rêåll¥ §qµïñ† å† ï†.” 

“Oh, that’s nice!” Shep snarked. “Did you find a friendly sewer-clown? Something like that? That wouldn’t be too different from whatever company you usually keep.”

Pat’s face twisted, a handful of smaller eyes sprouting around his primaries. A long, ropey tongue flicked in and out of his mouth like a party favor as he hissed at the comment. “¥ðµ †hïñk ¥ðµ håvê rððm †ð †ålk whêñ ¥ðµ’rê ålw奧 Ðêålïñg wï†h ÐêåÐ †hïñg§?” 

The snarl warped back into a grin like a blur, more and more teeth squeezing their way into the rows lining his maw. “Må¥ßê åll †hð§ê vðï¢ê§ årê £ïñåll¥ §†år†ïñg †ð gê† †ð ¥ðµ…”

Shep felt his eyes widen, felt his temper boil. But by the time he realized that he had to hide that, it was already too late. 

Pat’s smile stretched even further along his face, not caring one iota how his lips tore. He wasn’t mincing his words; he knew exactly what a statement like that really meant to Shep, and now he was getting to savor it.

“Ì£ ¥ðµ'Ð jµ§† lê† mê ïñ,” he continued, “Ì'Ð ßê mðrê †håñ håþþ¥ †ð †åkê ¢årê ð£ þrðßlêm§ lïkê †hå†.” 

His teeth all clattered and sheared together like knives against sharpening rods as he chuckled. 

As Shep fought to not glance away, he caught sight of something behind all those teeth. A faint, weak, struggling glow that was nothing like Pat’s eyes. It was getting dimmer and dimmer by the minute, clearly in the process being buried somewhere deep, although little bits were caught in the monster’s mouth.

The body…that hollow, vacant body that was just being used in a ventriloquist act that was even more screwed-up than usual…

Even through all the fear, Part of Shep had naturally wondered at where its soul could’ve gone. Well, he had a pretty good hint now.

Shep’s stomach churned, and his eyes began to sting as he thought back to Angel’s panic. 

He’s safe, he had to remind himself. This building is the barrier he needs. 

“Not. A chance. In hell,” Shep declared through gritted teeth, glaring up at the monster with every bit of anger he had right now. “I’m not having any problems.” 

Pat hummed and leaned back, his eyes still glinting with smug, sadistic humor. “Whå†êvêr ¥ðµ §å¥.”

“Yeah, it is whatever I say,” Shep shot back. “And I say you should go ahead and hit the road.” He fidgeted in place, about to finally resume his march up to the apartment. Sure, Pat would likely still hang around, but that didn’t mean he had to give him any more entertainment. 

“HðlÐ ðñ, Ì †hðµgh† wê wêrê håvïñg å ¢ðñvêr§å†ïðñ,” Pat protsested.

“No, we weren’t!” Shep argued. “You killed someone out of nowhere just to try and scare me into a deal! That’s what’s been going on!” 

Pat shook his head at the charge, his eyes rolling like bubbles in oil. “Whð §åïÐ †hå† Ì kïllêÐ †hï§ mêå†ßåg hêrê?” He raised the corpse for emphasis, shaking it like it was a chicken with some stubborn fluff on it. 

A good portion of fear up and vanished as Shep blinked, putting a hand on his hip. “Oh, so you just so happened to find a dead body in the alley? Is that what you’re saying?

“†hå†'§ êx墆l¥ whå† Ì'm §å¥ïñg.” Pat nodded. 

Shockingly enough, his tone…didn’t sound all that dishonest. The rules he was bound to didn’t keep him from lying through is malformed jaws, but…Shep had plenty of practice when it came to reading people (as well as things that vaguely felt like people but weren’t trying nearly hard enough). 

Still, Shep wasn’t about to give something like this total benefit of the doubt. “Well, if that’s the case, did you at least see who actually did it?” 

“Må¥ßê, må¥ßê ñð†,” Pat replied with a coy smirk. “Ç'mðñ, †hêrê'§ µ§µåll¥ ñð†hïñg ïñ †hê§ê ållꥧ êx¢êþ† llê k¥-¢å†§.”

“Right. Sure.” Something in Shep’s brain perked up at that, but he shoved it aside. He’d already wasted enough time. “Y’know, for all the attention you’ve got on your nest, you sure don’t seem to have much going on with it lately. Since you came all this way to bother me.” 

He thought about the huge macabre museum at the very edge of downtown. He hadn’t paid it a visit just yet, but he’d heard plenty of his own customers talking about it. 

But then there were the rumors that didn’t come from more typical sources. The ones that slipped through the cracks in the sidewalks, or clung to the lights in his shop for a little while before they had to keep moving. 

To be fair, a ton of people entered that museum on a somewhat regular basis. That meant it’d be hard to pick out those who never left.

“Öh, ßµÐÐ¥…”  

The words hit Shep’s ears like frostbite, and he felt his heart legitimately skip a beat. The air felt so much heavier than it already had. 

He had to swallow a lump in his throat, had to fight the oily chill that was now clutching at his lungs. 

Pat drew closer to the window, letting the body of his latest plaything slip out of sight. His form seemed to drain as he reached a height not all that different from the average human. He suddenly only had two eyes, had only one mouth, had teeth that were actually being hidden by his lips. 

Somehow, that was even worse than all the times he went ham on his shapeshifting. 

He looked Shep up and down, with a smile so calm and so knowing that it could’ve turned anyone else’s hair white. “…¥ðµ'vê gð† ñÖ ÌÐÈÄ hðw wrðñg ¥ðµ årê.”

Shep couldn’t help it—he blinked. He knew he shouldn’t have, but he had to. 

His eyes were only closed for half a second.

But once he was looking though the window again, Pat was gone. 

Against his better judgement, he stepped closer, peered out a bit further.

The alley was empty. Even the body had disappeared. 

Shep pursed his lips, tugged at his jacket to try and make the shivers stop. 

With another deep breath, he ascended the next flight of stairs. Angel always hid in the apartment when things got serious; Shep knew he was up there somewhere, and he had to check on him. To make sure he was alright. 

…Shep didn’t take his mask off, though. He’d leave it on for a little while longer. 

Just in case.

Reblogs are Appreciated!

Sol’s heart slammed to a painful stop.

For a second they thought they had spoken without thinking, until they caught the somewhat triumphant sparkle in Sam’s too-green eyes and the smirk curling their lip.

“Hey, no need to worry,” they said, “I won’t hurt him, I promise. I just wanna make sure he won’t hurt anyone else.”

“He won’t,” Sol said immediately, “I know him. He’s a… friend, I suppose.”

“If you could call an eldrich abomination that, sure.” Sam mused, already headed for the spiraling ramp that lead to the museum’s top floor. “Sorry, as much as I’m willing to take your word for it, unfortunately I do have to see for myself. Can’t slack off on the job, y’know.”

“How do you even know about him?” Sol demanded, now furious as they began ascending the stairs behind Sam, “no one knows about him!”

“Let’s just say I was passing through here several years ago because of a strange signal coming from out in the desert. At first we thought it was probably nothing, until it kept growing stronger and stronger, until we could finally place its exact location to right here!”

They turned around with a grin and pointed downwards at the floor as they said it.

“Pretty fascinating, if you ask me,” they added, “we’ve certainly never seen anything like it before. How’d you meet him?”

“By accident…” Sol admitted, deciding they might as well just tell the truth, “I opened a window and he got in.”

“‘HÈ’ hå§ å ñÄMÈ, ¥ðµ kñðw!” A familiar voice shouted from everywhere and nowhere all at once.

Instead of being terrified, Sam just raised their eyebrows, mildly impressed.

“I call him ‘Pat’,” Sol offered, “I think our eyes would fall out if we tried to say the first part of his name out loud.”

“Good to know,” Sam said simply, “hello, Pat! I knew somebody with that name once, he was great man.”

They paused, as if reminiscing for a moment.

“̆’§ å £åïrl¥ ¢ðmmðñ ñåmê.” Pat responded dryly.

“Is that why you chose it?” Sam asked, continuing their ascent to the fifth floor.

No reply.

Sam wasn’t deterred, just kept climbing.

“You shouldn’t face him without protection.” Sol murmured when they’d reached the landing at the top of the ramp and were walking in single file along the hallways filled with unnatural, uncanny paintings.

Despite the fact that Sol wasn’t leading them, Sam seemed to know their way around the museum fairly easily without direction. They also didn’t seem to be affected at all by the art pieces on the walls - except for one particular painting of a bright yellow triangle with stick-limbs and a single eye that seemed to follow the viewer wherever they went, that one made them pause and give a slight grimace, but that painting seemed to affect almost everyone who looked at it for too long.

“Good one, that’s funny,” Sam chuckled in response to Sol’s warning, which had definitely not been an innuendo, “don’t worry, I’ve got plenty of protection.”

Before Sol could speak again, Sam raised their hand in front of their face. Sol watched, transfixed, as their palm and the white metal bracelet on their wrist started to glow, and trails of gold mist emerged from their fingertips to swirl through the air, arching towards their head. Sam closed their eyes, and their face was momentarily engulfed in an ethereal glow that took the form of a mask.

Sol realized that the bracelet on Sam’s wrist had disappeared and had taken the form of the metallic mask now fitted over their face, which was embedded with rainbow colored crystals and engraved to look like a roaring tiger’s face with feathered wings sprouting from the sides. In the centre of the forehead was a particularly large, blue-green gemstone in the shape of a four-pointed star, which matched the color of the faintly shimmering, translucent material covering the mask’s eye-holes.

“Is this protection enough?” Sam asked, sounding a just little bit smug as the edges of their eyes crinkled, making in clear that they were grinning at Sol through the mask.

Sol rolled her eyes, pushing the sense of awe aside for a moment.

“I knew you weren’t human.” They murmured instead.

“Oh, I’m just as human as you, sweetheart,” Sam replied, “but, also like you, I just happen to have connections with things beyond human comprehension. But if the one I’m connected to met Pat here, they’d probably both explode into flames at the sight of each other, so sending me was our compromise.”

“§ðmê ‘¢ðmþrðmï§ê’,” Pat grumbled, “¥ðµr þrê§êñ¢ê ïñ †hï§ ßµïlÐïñg ï§ ïñ¢rêÐïßl¥ þåïñ£µl.”

Sam shrugged apologetically.

“So you lied about Torchwood?” Sol asked accusingly.

“I wouldn’t say ‘lied’,” Sam objected, “it’s a real organization, and I do work for it - and there is a weird energy in this place related to a rift in space and time that we detected a long time ago, but I’m not really here for that. I’m here for your friendo in the attic here.”

They pointed upwards towards the hatch on the ceiling, which led up to the museum’s attic.

“But why?” Sol asked, now more curious and perplexed than angry.

“Just to ensure that a supernatural war between dimensions isn’t about to start,” Sam explained, “which I’m sure it’s not, but Harmonia was pretty insistent.”

“Hårmðñïå…” Pat echoed, and Sol wasn’t sure what emotion was in his voice.

Sam looked up.

“You recognize her name, buddy?”

“ñêvêr ¢åll mê ‘ßµÐÐ¥’ êvêr ågåïñ, mðr†ål,” Pat snarled, the sound similar to that of a wasp’s next you just hit with a baseball bat, “†hê ñåmê Ððê§ñ’† rïñg å ßêll.”

“She told me she would have been a baby at the time you were imprisoned.” Sam supplied helpfully.

“§hê’§ å ¢hïlÐ, †hêñ. M¥ êx阮êñ¢ê ï§ ñðñê ð£ hêr ¢ðñ¢êrñ.”

“If a few thousand years old is ‘a child’ to you guys, fine. Whatever. It might be her concern, though, if your plan is to kill her and all that’s left of the Ancient Ones.”

“̆’§ ñð†. Ì håvê ñð ïñ†êr꧆ ïñ †hê Äñ¢ïêñ† Öñê§ åñÐ †hêïr þ þår†¥.”

Sam looked mildly offended at this, from what Sol could see based on their eyes alone, but fortunately held their tongue against whatever insults they may have thought of spitting at Pat.

“Who are the Ancient Ones?” Sol asked, breaking the tense silence, “you never told me anything about them.”

“Wh¥ wðµlÐ Ì?” Pat responded.

“They’re unearthly beings, like you are,” Sam pointed out, almost sounding as if they wanted him to agree, “you were both here long before us humans even evolved, and we’ll never truly understand where you came from.”

“¥ê§. ÄñÐ ï£ wê §†å¥ ïñ ¢lð§ê êñðµgh þrðxïm £ðr †ðð lðñg, wê ßð†h Ðïê,” Pat added, “ï£ wê Ððñ’† †r¥ †ð kïll êå¢h ð†hêr £ïr§†. ̆’§ jµ§† †hê ñ况rê ð£ ðµr ßêïñg§. Wê wêrêñ’† måÐê †ð lïvê ðñ †hê §åmê þlåñê ð£ êx阮êñ¢ê.”

For a moment, the sound of agonized, almost heartbroken screaming mixed with his voice, and Sol suddenly sensed a deep feeling of gutwrenching betrayal and sadness from him, so strong and unfathomable it almost brought her to tears in that instant.

She almost asked him about it, but decided against it.

Pat might be her sort-of friend, but he was still an extradimensional monster, which wasn’t the kind of thing a mortal human should try to anger.

However, Sam seemed to have sensed it too, based on the way they tilted their head to the side, still looking up at the ceiling. Thankfully, the didn’t say anything about it either.

“Well,” they murmured, raising their hand to their face again as the mask disintegrated back into gold dust and reappeared as the simple metal bracelet again, “I guess my work here is done then. I’ll tell Harmonia she has nothing to worry about. Thanks for giving me your time, both of you.”

They smiled at Sol as they said it, and she found herself smiling back with a curt nod.

“ßê£ðrê ¥ðµ lêåvê…”

Sam stopped in their tracks as Pat’s voice wove back through the walls.

“Yes?” They asked quietly, seeming to sense the emotion still hanging in the air, which Sol undeniably felt too - and on a level they’d never experienced from Pat before.

“Ì£ § ñð† †ðð mµ¢h †ð å§k…” Pat mused, clearly trying to sound nonchalant and failing miserably, “¢åñ ¥ðµ å§k ¥ðµr Hårmðñïå ï£ §hê kñðw§ §ðmêðñê ñåmêÐ ⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️?”

The last word, as Sol would have expected, didn’t make sense at all to human ears - it sounded more like odd, slightly angelic screeching, but strangely enough, Sol still felt like they could faintly hear a name in there. Perhaps… ‘Sylph’?

Sam simply nodded.

“Of course,” they said, with a great amount of respect, “I can come back and tell you tomorrow, if you’d like?”

“ñð ñêêÐ,” Pat responded, “Ì’ll kñðw ߥ †hê wå¥ †hê µñïvêr§ê rê§þðñЧ †ð †hê Äñ¢ïêñ† Öñê§ hêårïñg hêr ñåmê.”

Sam simply nodded, and continued on towards the ramp.

Sol stayed where she was, knowing Sam could find their way out by themself, and not quite ready to leave Pat yet.

They thought about asking him who he was talking about, but once again, decided not to.

He was clearly nursing a centuries-old wound that wouldn’t be easy for her to comprehend, and even if it was, it would be better to not test the waters of the subject.

Pat would tell them what was bugging him in time, and even if he didn’t, she didn’t need to know. Whatever connection he had to the Ancient Ones was long over, if it had ever been anything to begin with, and he didn’t want to acknowledge it based on his reaction to Sam.

With a deep breath, Sol headed back towards the spiraling ramp, and descended back to the first floor.

By the time they reached the front desk, it was like Sam hadn’t been there at all.

~FIN~