#mizuhirohimaa

It had been a few moons since Mizu had visited Kugane proper, with the lights, the fireworks, the bustling traders from all over congregating in one space in the large city.  There was something nostalgic about it every time he would walk through the markets, the smell of the food, especially the tiny dumpling cart he and his sister would visit when they were allowed free time out of the monastery.  He closed his eyes and glimpsed a wistful memory before he steeled himself back to the towering presence he portrayed as he made his way to the repurposed building that had housed him in his youth.

The monastery had been home to Dai-ji masters for so long, but when his master Mizuhiro the Elder had passed on, he didn't feel it was his place to take up that mantle, and Kugane reclaimed the space, turning it into a Sekisegumi training facility. At least there were still students and masters inhabiting the place, but it was not filled with his own students, and that made him heave a long sigh to try and push off the burdens he felt not making different choices.

He had only been inside a handful of times before now, and entered it maybe once or twice. This time was no different, he stood outside the gates and remembered times long gone and huffed a silent laugh to himself for his feelings and smiled. Dumplings, that was what would make him feel better. That little cart had to be around here somewhere.

***Warning for self harm, violence, blood.***

The plush chair seemed to hug his form, something he had not been very accustomed to lately, the emptiness that had been consuming him from the inside was trying to fill it's own void.  Try as he might, the every-present pounding of his heart could be felt in his head and he attempted to isolate the sound's vibration in his horns, but it was no use. He channeled all he could of himself, his feelings, his emotions, his very soul into that point, desperately needing to silence the yelling of ten thousand voidsent screaming in discordant operatic melodies, giving a feeling of flesh rent from bone and tendon, but instead, applied to the inside of his mind unraveling his brain.

His blood boiled and he could feel the emptiness of the void overtaking every aspect of his senses. Mizuhiro struck out with clawed hands, and slashed at his own flesh along his chest and arms, causing rivulets of blood to follow in their destructive wake.  He could feel each and every ilm as they ripped through, he dug deep enough down to part muscle from vein, expose arteries that were normally hidden.  Even with as much pain and horror as it manifested in his mind, he still felt more in that moment, more than in recent memory.  The blinding white hot pain that pulsed in his vision, momentarily caused the screaming of the void to get washed out, the tinnitus in his horns rang out with every sawing cut and tear.  The hot drip-drip of blood tapping on the stone floor sounded like the second hand of the clock as the time of his life continued to tick on by.

There was no music, only the screams, but even with so many of them calling him home, he felt the thumping of a drum beat, the raising of another scream began to resonate separately and purposefully.  The wailing began to overtake the chorus of the rest, and it's familiarity haunted him, stabbed at his heart.  It was as if his entirety was spinning, round and round and over and over, causing his dizziness to increase.  He needed to know where it was coming from, this low guttural growl, harmonizing on it's own with itself, with a scraping blood-curdling shriek that echoed like a bat locating it's prey in the darkest of caverns, he could feel the hard pangs of hunger welling, driving him to feed, nothing was clear, his vision all a blur... He took one step, then another, and another, and on and on...

It didn't matter where he looked, walking along the nearly empty streets of the Goblet, but there were beacons out here, signalling for him, coaxing and calling him home, like the sirens of old, demanding sacrifice of ship and sanity, to crush them both on their rocky shores.  Mizu could feel the smashing of his will and rationality against the sharpest of objects, a slivered, shattered anvil, wrapped in barbed wire, ripping apart his lucidity and all reason... The rise of the chorus had matched his screaming now, pulling the ten thousand cacophonous voices into one, coordinated, identical song... The burst of white light had sprung forth in front of him, the beacon lit and answered, he bolted quick and dexterously to capture it in his arms, claws digging deep into it's flesh, along with his horns and teeth goring the entity of light, cutting it open and allowing him to feed freely on the pure fount of aether he had seized for himself.  

But in few, short moments later, the song ceased, the beacon fell dim and dull, along with everything that he had been conducting, the orchestra stopped, instruments clanged to the ground.  He crouched over the poor man, body now shriveled and desiccated, his aether fully removed so much that only a blood covered shell of what he had been remained.  There was another scream, a mortal one this time, one that shredded vocal chords and throat-flesh in a horrific display of regret and sorrow.  The Himaa dropped the corpse and stood above, tears streaming down his face along with the blood that trailed down his extremities, "No... no.... no......... no............," he continued to repeat over and over, his black-lit eyes glowed as they sought a way to escape.  He was flooded with self doubt and mortification at his actions, he had been past all of this, hadn't he? He had fallen asleep, something he had been doing more and more lately, and woke up as if from a nightmare that just didn't stop when his eyes opened, and revealed the fact that he had done this, he had let himself go, allowed his weaker nature to prevail...

As he listlessly sat there, he took in his surroundings, the familiar office, the books stacked up on the floor, the sound of silence that echoed through the building.  There were only faint footsteps he heard from upstairs.  Melinoe was probably doing what she always did.  That ridiculous woman worked tirelessly for In-Ju.  Yash had hired her when she was on the streets of Ul'dah, gave her his apartment in the Sultana's and paid her way more than he ever should have, a waste.  Even then, it wasn't the money that kept her busting her ass, it was the kindness of a good leader. Someone who knew what they were doing... someone who cared about others.

There were mountains of paperwork strewn all over the desk, ashed out cigarettes, his large snifter full of Sharlayan brandy, maps, logs, ledgers, bills, mission reports.  This isn't how he had pictured this life, the one he dreamed of having when he could take it.  Sitting behind a desk, doing busywork for a company he had no business owning.  He wasn't stupid, but he wasn't cut out for this monotonous nonsense.  How he had ever thought that he should buy the place from the Iriq and the miqo... How he could use it to hide in plain sight...

He reached into his upper jacket pocket, pulled out  a half smashed pack of pre-rolled cigarettes, popped one out of the hole he had ripped in the side of the soft-pack, flipped it up and caught it between his lips.  He reached for the fueled lighter on his desk, clicked the top twice and watched the flame dance.  This little flame, did it live every time he lit it or was it a completely different life with each strike of the flint?  It danced for it's life on that worn, blackened wick, flickering as he breathed out and the air swelled around it like an invisible tide tossing a ship around at sea. Did it live?  It breathed air, just like he did, consumed fuel, just like he did, and was snuffed out, as one day this body would also be.  He heaved a long, heavy sigh, his shoulders dropping the feeling of despondence pooling just above the heart, threatening to choke him, deny him of oxygen.  Just like that flame he could fulfill his purpose and be snuffed out at any time.  Did he even have a purpose anymore?  He could be brought low by emotion and feeling that he was still trying to come to grips with.  He wasn't even sure why he had them, much less how to control them most of the time.  They weren't supposed to stay with him, they were supposed to be extracted, with everything else that was removed.

There was a crackle of burning parchment and tabac as he inhaled through the stuffed paper stick, the smoke flew like a heated dragon blowing fire all the way down his throat and into his lungs.  He gripped the stick between his first and middle fingers, guided it away from his lips and blew the smoke out through halfway-pursed lips, the smoke billowing across the dominion of bureaucracy on the desk.  He leaned back in the uncomfortable captain's chair.  Yash had specifically purchased this for a reason.  It was so fucking uncomfortable, he never wanted to feel like he could stay behind a desk like this.  The pains it would make in your back and legs were reminders to never rest, never be a desk jockey, never find comfort in busywork. It was a reminder to get up, go out and take action.  He shifted in his seat, crossed an ankle over his knee.  He bounced his foot almost nervously.  Is this what it was like being mortal?  Living on this plane of existence?  Having to waste your time, documenting the droll everyday bullshit that you didn't really have to do to begin with?  Living as one of them wasn't what he wanted.  The fire, the passion, the fucking, the reckless drunken nights, the fighting, the ruthlessness in a pit... Those were the things he longed for ever since he was released from his prison.  But he ended up here.  Exactly like the other one would have. The highlights not nearly as abundant as he wanted them to be.  Keeping up appearances meant living the same absurd existence.  

He lazily brought the smoke back up to his purple lips, inhaled another long drag, expelled the smoke with puffed cheeks in an almost comical way.  Its not like this damage was worse than what Mizu was doing to his body, at least this was damage you couldn't see, damage on the inside.  Damage that was recalcitrant against living on this star.  An act of rebellion to live that would ultimately see you die.  Vhozu wondered if now he could die? He shrugged, dragged even more smoke, but this time he got rid of his through his nose, blowing it across his dark blue uniform.  His contemplation of existence was bothersome in itself.  He didn't even need to be in this body, so why stay in it?  The prison he had been bound to when he was created, meant to give it abilities that he no longer had?  The void had been absent from him ever since the other was extracted.  He had a single, frame bouncing laugh as he leaned to his right, resting his chin on his upward facing palm, his elbow propping him up on the armrest.  The smoke swirled around his hand as his expelled breath made that dance too.  

There was something he was missing in this life.  Even all the fire, passion, fucking, debauchery, and combat couldn't make him feel whole again.  He was barely different than Mizuhiro was.  He did the same fucking things, cared about the same fucking people, worried that the same shit was going to go wrong.  How much of this was him, and how much of Mizu was he now?  His other hand slowly floated to his brandy snifter, fingers split at the stem as they cradled it in his hand.  He swirled it around absentmindedly and watched the light bend as it touched the glass and then reflected off the top of the liquid.  He drank down the rest of the booze, a slight twinge of burn, the scent of flowers tickled his nose, the sweet taste of dried fruit danced across his tongue, and that almost clean aftertaste flooded his breathing.  He set the glass down and sat up, leaning forward with his elbows on the desk now.  He dragged the last puff of smoke before smashing the butt into the ashtray with the others.  He was going to have to do something, even if it meant he was going to be shoved back into his prison.  The dark, dismal abyss that felt like eternity when he was packed in there.  Maybe this time HE could make the deal, maybe this time they could both be at the helm?  Maybe they could be bound as they should have been in the beginning?  

The split of his energy between the two of them left him somewhat weak, Voresh had probably seen to that, let him lay dormant in both of the twins as long as he wanted, then triggered his essence when HE felt like it.  He had been used, given an unspoken promise when he was created and then divided between the twins, in fact making two exact copies of himself, just half as strong as one would expect.  But he felt incomplete now, even with all the freedoms he had, the experiences he collected for himself now.  The dull thuds of fists to his face and body, the sheer thrill of feeling how he did in those to-the-death fighting pits.  That exhilaration of mortality trying to snuff out mortality.... The softness of arms wrapped around him, the feeling of the little deaths that accompanied such intimate times.  The act that would be used to create life, feeling much like it did to end life it at it's climax. The endorphins that flowed in those moments almost exactly the same in someone's final ones.  Was he willing to chance giving up his newfound ability to chart his own course?  To call his own shots and keep the electrifying experience of existence burning brightly within the furnace of his... was it a soul?  

Vhozu bounced Mizuhiro's head left and right to consider what it might be like to have that other fire burn along with his.  The one that cared more about the small things, the people in their life... Vhozu felt like he'd miss some of them if they expired, he'd gotten used to them.  That was it, mere familiarity, right?  The gifts given, the favors done with a small sense of accomplishment. Familiarity.. was almost like -family-. Drumming his fingers along the jawline of this body, he contemplated having his conscience back.  He wrinkled up his nose and sneered with a scratchy, disgusted groan.  In order to feel full again, he was going to have to retrieve the box.  But she surely would not just let him, the other fell-entity that had secreted the small auracite prison away, binding it in so many wards that even he wasn't able to pierce through the Mhachi magic.  It was decided then...  He was going to need to get Mizu back, but how was an entirely different matter.

There was no time. No gravity. No light where he was, only permanent night. There were bursts and flashes, hints and tiny revelations as to what went on, but there was never a lot of input, unless *he* wanted Mizuhiro to see it. Mizu was spinning in the blackness. The space with no stars. They were cruelly taken from him, the constellations, the celestial beauty he used to look up and lose himself gazing, thinking about the future he planned. All the mortal things he wanted to do in this life before he was pushed off to the next….

But even that was no longer possible. As long as he was tethered here against his will, stuck in an Aetherial box with a lock and no key. The nothing was stifling. Like an intense burning heat, but nonexistent, the desire to feel, even tortured, but nothing was felt here. Even with all the spinning he didn’t feel dizzy, the only thing he was left with was his memories and his despair. The sadness was all he was allowed to feel, at least that could keep him imaginatively warm, but was it?

It was then that *he* turned it on, the deluge of sensory overload, this was one of those moments he dreaded and would have instantly, happily returned back to that bland, in between life fueled only by his regret and heart ache, but Vozhu used this to add more to the bloody pig pile that Mizu had festering inside him. Like rotten fat and sinew, bloated from spending the day in a blistering summer sun, the wretched and foul miasma that would assault and attack any olfactory system which encountered it.

His eyes were fully plugged in now, he could see it, hear it, taste it, feel it. Unable to blink, even once to keep a second from his mind. He experienced the guilt of being able to feel now, even if it was at the other end of someone else’s suffering. The sensation of his limbs was invigorating, but he could see it, what it was intended for him to feel.

His claw was at her throat now, he could see the glistening tears running down her face, the poor girl had no idea what was happening. Her face a deep red, darker than it looked to normally be. He constricted her airway yet at the same time he siphoned her Aether out of her, Vozhu could have just taken it, killed her and be done with it, but he did this on purpose. He chose them with a particular function in mind. They always looked like those he loved, the ones he called family, the ones he fought alongside, to frightening detail, skin tones, horns, eyes. Even down to their imperfections and disabilities. He had killed hundreds by now. How long had it been? How many years, decades, had gone by as Vozhu punished Mizuhiro for trapping him inside his body and depriving him of sustenance for twelve years? How much longer would he be made to feel this over and over?

*”As long as I desire.”*

As the life slowly left her eyes, Mizu could hear in his head one of the constant questions.

*”Which sister was that?”* followed by the low crackle of his void-blighted laugh. *”Should we go pale this next time? I’m thinking blue? Which one should we enjoy together next?”*

Mizuhiro didn’t answer, there was no reason, the raw screams and internal suffering was already known. It was savored, tasted, consumed like a fine wine. There was absolutely nothing he could hide from Vozhu. And as he left the sight and sound on for a few more brief moments to burn yet another image into his memory, Mizu tried to hold on, that one day he would have his chance to get out, escape and end this.

It was mid-evening when it happened, during a deal he was making for an artifact that could track down voidsent, some rigged up mix of Allagan *magic* and Garlean Magitek.  He wasn't quite sure it would work, but he wanted to get it anyway, just in case it might help him find her, but it was she who found him this time. He had a feeling she always knew where he was, probably even watched him from the void.

The case was handed to Mizu and the gil had been moved between tomestones, and just when the deal was about to be fully completed, the device started screaming and buzzing from inside the briefcase, Mizuhiro could feel it jumping and dancing around in there. There was a whoosh of air as a long, wicked bladed spear grazed his horn and embedded itself into the chest of the hyur man in front of him, just like Mizu, he never saw it coming, it was like a bolt of shadow whirring through the wind with a resounding THUD. The blood ran down from the man's wounds, also some spewed out, exiting his mouth from the pooling where it had probably severed his esophagus.  His eyes went wide and he grasped onto the shaft trying desperately to pull it out, but he had no idea that it had fully gone through him, the elongated, black blade protruding from between his shoulder blades.  He was dead, he just needed to admit it.  He slumped down to his knees and then he fell the rest of the way, the light had left his eyes long before his head hit the floor.  There was an odd hissing sound as Mizu watched the man fade away, his aether being sucked into the weapon of the assailant.    

Wheeling around he spun to catch a glimpse at the assassin, but just as he did, he was taken down by something that clawed into his flesh through his clothes.  He could feel it digging into his chest and arm as he was tackled and rolled back with the momentum.  There were strikes and blows exchanged on the ground, pain welled up in his body from each damaging hit. He realized they were trying to hurt, but not kill and Mizu was trying to figure out why.  

They fought and warred and battled, after only a few seconds, he knew the red and black monstrosity was Akaisorah.  He could tell by the holds she tried to keep on him and the points at which she poked, punched and kneed at him.  There was a rasping voice that spoke to him after they separated, his foot launching her by the stomach up and over him, but with wings unfurled she was able to catch herself mid air and slowly set down on tip toes before resting the remainder of her weight on both feet. The laugh that came from her sounded like wood moving in a crackling bonfire.  The small ring of red was illuminated in her eyes.  "So... brother.  You've been looking for me?" She motioned to herself and her surroundings, "Well, here we are," she said with a mocking tone that quickly turned to impatient anger. "*What is it you want from me?*" The shrill shriek pierced through his black boned horn, but he barely winced.  This was a sound he heard every night, and in multiples, in droves, in armies of the void.  In his voidsickness dreams, the abyssal cacophony of a discordant chorus always with him, she was but one voice, even if she was the loudest.  

The vile hatred spewed forth from her lips like a cobra spitting venom across the small warehouse aimed directly to where he was laying.  He looked up and over himself, she was upside down to him, after having his attempt at tossing her away from him.  He rolled over slowly, then pressed himself upward and to his feet, dusting off his dark, midnight blue uniform, his eyes never left hers. Any other woman or man may have shit themselves being this close to a voidsent, especially one so imposing and so deadly.  The black flames danced around her eyes, and a pall of shadowy smoke slowly lifted up from her.  He was unsure of if she were truly here or merely an apparition taunting him and trying to make his mind break.

"I just want you to come home.  You don't have to do this, just come home... We can fix whatever this is. Aavaan is dying", he pleaded desperately, trying anything to get her to come back on her own. As he saw her like this, he was concerned that his statement may not hold true.  She had been taken by the void, she was more scale than skin, her legs and feet had changed to that of some kind of monstrous lizard or bird, clawed feet with sharp talons tip-tapped on the stone floor.  Her arms had been elongated, ending in claws similar to her feet.  He watched as she pulled the spear from the dead man's body, and she slung it over her shoulder as she stared at him with those dead void-burnt eyes.  Her hair was a mane of black, framing the scaled and almost beaked face.  He had to be able to bring her back... he just had to.  

The roaring hissing crack of her voice emanated from that malevolently corrupted body.  She was what Voresh made her to be, what he himself may turn out if he was not careful.  "Aavaan means nothing to me.  He may have made the deal, but he is not the one who sired us.  I could ask you, when *you* plan to come home... to *us*?" The question was thick with taunt, as if she knew he wasn't ready to come to the void.  

Mizuhiro was at his wits end.  Over a decade of searching for her and this was the one chance he had to talk, the one time he had her so close and able to do something about it.  He could feel the power inside him, rolling over between light and dark, the constant confluence of aether that raged within him, the thing he always held back.  He let them both flow freely then, he launched himself toward her, fists flying and connecting with her face and chest.  He felt his hands meet with hardened voidscale and he tried his hardest to knock her out.  But even before she had become voidbeast, this would not have been enough to take her down.  Even half his size then, she was a more formidable opponent than he could ever be. She was his superior in fighting skill, but he had tact and cunning she could never master, and he hoped his gambit would pay of in these quick moments.  

Flurries of blows came like storming hail from the dark blue sky, raining down on red clay.  She was knocked back as he pressed his offensive, dropping her vicious spear and bringing her arms up for defense.  Mizu's strikes were true, but her counterattack was brutal.  She spun around allowing his force to take him by her, which let her take those obsidian talons and rake them down his back, shredding his coat exposing sliced flesh.  He cried out in pain before he hit the wall with his hands, bounced off and tried to flip backward into her.  She was preternaturally fast and he knew he was outmatched.  She clutched him by the arm, swung him around and thumped him back into the wall.  He could feel tearing in his shoulder joint, the rip was a flash of white hot pain that seared up his arm, he used his aether to reduce as much of the pain and damage as he could.  

She hopped back and looked around for her spear but it was too far for her to try and go for without leaving herself open.  "I didn't come to kill you, Mizu... but if you don't stop, I will have no choice but to do so." The shrillness coupled with the crackling was enough to drive any normal person mad.  She moved up on him, gripping him by the throat, her raven dark talons threatening to pierce his scales and flesh.  She moved her face close to his, as a predatory animal toying with its prey, her hot breath steaming along his sweat slick features.  "I came to bring you to him... He wants you by his side.  You and I, left and right hands of the void. Captains of Voresh.  He's amassing a force, mounting an invasion, we could use you."

He wasn't afraid, even now he was sure she wouldn't kill him.  She had an opportunity to do so back in that frozen Coerthas cavern, but she just bashed his head against the ice, incapacitating him and made him watch her feed.  At her worst, he still held no fear of her.  But now he had her close and he had been preparing for this moment.  The guile and cunning outmatching the brute strength and force.  He clicked a button on his right glove, releasing a long needle like blade made from Auracite that clicked into place.  A wide, fang toothed grin slid across his lips as he turned his face, his eyes meeting hers.  "No.  Not today." He drove the fat needle into her belly, a deafening wail echoed through the warehouse and beyond.  He pierced her with a specially made blade he had crafted that could momentarily cut through pure voidsent, and he hoped that it would only incapacitate her. He wrapped his other arm around her waist and pulled her closer to him, keeping the contact between her flesh and the weapon.  

Threre was a change in her, the scales on her face seemed to pull back, what was a deep garnet flesh and skin combination gave way to her previous bright crimson, her eyes cleared and tears streamed down her face.  Her claws released from his throat, and she crumpled against him.  The softness of her voice sang of more peaceful and loving times. She wept with him.  "Mizu, I can't stop him. I'm losing my hold on myself.  Please... I can't... I need you to ki...", but that was when the music of her song stopped.  Another large tear in space-time was slashed through the air behind her and at least a dozen voidsent minions emerged from the rift, flying directly toward them.  A few of them ripped her from his grasp and pulled her off the white knife blade and her whole body went slack.  As they carried her off back to the void, a darkness enveloped Mizu and his fists were wrapped in dark and white energy.  His fists pounded through each enemy that threw itself at him, sending every one of them back to the oblivion of the abyss.  He tried to catch up but even more enemies were flung at him.  His own tears streamed down his face, his raging voice rang out in voidshriek.  He just needed to get to her... He was blanketed with them now, it took tens of them to hold him back, but he vanquished every single one.  

They were exhausted from the seemingly eternal battle they had just waged against the demonic void being that had attempted to take the relic they worked so hard to obtain. The job had gone easy, they made it in, were able to sneak around and bypass a few traps… Some monsters were a little more difficult than the others, but they had made it. They eventually reached the final chamber and as she took the idol in her hands, an energy crackled in the room, black lightning, wind blew from the tear in void space.

The battle raged on for what felt like years, the voidsent obviously trying to toy with them, give some ground only to take it back again, pushing back and forth across that now blurred line the sand. Toward the end, Mizu felt the heat, a burning, like he was on fire, something about the proximity to this demon had sent him to a place he had never felt before in his mind. Memories of Akaisorah flashing in his vision, pummeling outward from his thoughts, as if a battering ram hammered at the inside walls of his skull. Then, he felt it. A cold, shadowy rending... A tearing, possibly a snap deep inside him. He had watched helplessly as his fists moved through the monster, as if there was some sort of connection between the two… Like a sentinel, he had held off the demon while the sorceress dealt the final blow, her aether raging inside, bristling to be released from her as she had sent a bolt of pure white light from her fingertips that sliced the entity to shreds, dissipating and being pulled back into the rift it had come from only moments before. The shrieks and abyssal screams of voidbeasts clamored throughout the halls of this long forgotten mausoleum.

Mizu was dizzy, heart racing, his head was pounding, and normally perfect clear vision was clouded, obscured. He could see white light all around him. But he also saw a crepuscular energy swirling around and compressing on his fists as he brought them up to his face. The blur was hard to shake, the blazing light coming from where he had last seen her. He blinked hard once, twice, rubbed his eyes hard and his vision cleared only a little. He could see her laying there, talisman in hand… was she burning? The flames appeared to jump from within her very soul, consuming every part of her essence. Her body was writhing as she shuddered on the floor. Mizu took a step toward his partner and fell to his knee. It was as if the weight of a thousand sandbags had been dumped on his shoulders, but he stayed firm and rose again, pushing the mountain upward and above him. He took one trudging step after the next, he felt as if he were taking steps in deep mud, slowing him down. But as he got closer to her, he could feel his strength returning. His eyes became less cloudy, he could see not just the individual flames, but each smoky tendril that emanated from her shaking body. He could see her glowing like a beacon through the murky fog, a beckoning to the airship, guiding him to land.

The aeon of him traversing the vast distance was finally at an end, the long drawn out epoch finding it’s apocalypse. He could feel a white hot glow, burning in front of him... but there was something else. An icy chill, intense and overpowering, and a shock of dark, black-lit electricity now swirling about his own body. The cloudiness returned, but he realized he was no longer in his own body. Was he in control? Could he stop what was happening, or was he merely an observer to what was unfolding in front of him. He witnessed himself kneeling and gently putting his arms under the shuddering raen, cradling her and trying to keep her from moving and thrashing about so wildly. There was a look of hunger on his face, a smile gleaming in the aetherlight, along with the glowing of his eyes that began to become more intense, his lips parted as he drew close to her. Now just a slight few centimeters away, he could see the wafting coils of aether blazing from her body, Mizu’s eyes were only half lidded now, but the glow from them was no less bright than it had been moments before, blazing within the little bit of exposed sclera.

There was a sharp tug, then a full reeling of himself being sent violently back into his body, as the fluttering tendrils began to be pulled into his being. He could feel an immense breath inward, pulling the aether directly from her, pulled up by a mystical force to his dark blue lips. There had always been a hunger, a craving never sated deep in his soul. He had always endured it, he had always assumed it was the loss of his sister and the demoniac ripping of her away from him. But no, this was different. He experienced all his sadness, fears, pain, everything that hurt him subside as he took her in. His body was invigorated by this new influx of energy he did not know he needed. He could feel her beneath him, in his arms, her body slowed it’s twitching almost immediately when he relieved her of the excess of the aether overload. He could sense her mind calming, the constant guarded feeling she held to keep it in check being soothed and relieved, he knew now what was happening. What he was, what he was becoming, he knew that it was not just any voidsent that took Akai from him, it had been their sire, their creator. He had seen this multiple times in his own hunts for voidsent, he knew what they did... what he was doing right now.

He was pulled from his thoughts, he felt something happening, a sudden shift. She started writhing again, shaking in his arms, as he held her close. He was taking too much, he experienced her emotions and she was stricken with panic, fear that instead of burning up, she would be consumed and left an empty husk. He needed to stop… He had to force himself to give up the intense feeling, the pure joy and bliss that was fueling him, the sweet taste of chilled wine and crisp apples on an early fall day. The gusts of cool wind whipping down the jagged, snow-covered mountains and tickling every single strand in the Sea of Blades.

No...

NO..!

NOOOO!!!

Six year old Mizuiro had always loved a sweet treat, especially one that lasted like the hard chikher he had been hoarding on his own for weeks.  There was a whole bag of assorted fruit flavored little bits he obtained by trade in Reunion the last time his aavan had taken him and his twin sister Akaisorah with for supplies that they were not able to grow near their camp.  

It was his usual time to sneak away and get to the water treated wrapping of buffalo hides to keep his treasures safe from critters and creatures who would consume it while in the hiding spot.  He hadn't even told Akai that they were there, he lied to her and said he ate his.  But Mizu, even at an early age, was hiding and attempting to *smuggle* his candy with him in a rock outcropping makeshift stash just outside of camp.

He stood at the open spot in the defensive wall looking back and forth between the guards who would look in different ways eventually and give him his opening.  He pretended to play with a stick and a rock with a fake laugh and falling down and getting back up, making it look like he wasn't going anywhere.  

As he was rolling on the ground, he still kept a watchful eye on the two twin Himaa brothers who's turn it was to keep on guard... both of them had turned to walk opposite ways along the fence and now was his opportunity.  He dashed, as fast as his little six-year-old legs could get him to travel, his breath was panting hard from his mouth and he knew it wasn't far to go, he just needed to go at his--top--speed--- He looked over each of his shoulders before diving behind the rocks that were like his secret safe, hiding himself and his confectioneries.  

As he landed there was something odd that hadn't happened before.  It was a little softer of a landing and as he hit this odd object, there was an audible. *"OOOF!"* that accompanied it.  He felt pain in his back where he had landed and tried to rollover to find out what had just happened.  

And there it was.  His secret buffalo sack of candy, wide open, the leather tie pulled out, little paper wrappers littered the ground and next to it he saw a smaller, red skinned, black eyed Xaela.  Akaisorah.  Mizu's little eyes glowed their aetheric silvery glow around violet centers, and he lunged forward after her as she sat up, he could see she had one of the candies left in her hand.  

"GIVE IT TO ME, AKAI, THAT'S MINE.." he was shrill like a child, his voice like an angry sparrow being choked by a massive purbol.

"YOU LIED TO ME, YOU SAID THEY WERE ALL GONE!"  The even higher pitched sound of Akai's voice pierced his horns.  

They rolled around for a few moments, dust kicking up, rocks in the pile falling and crumbling as they kicked and punched at each other.  And then, in the last roll they did together, the back of Akai's hand hit a rock, causing her to open her fingers and send the last tiny sweet careening off into the air and landing on the dirt a few yalms away. They both stopped and looked on trying to instantly calculate how to get out of the grasp of the other and get to the candy.

As they fidgeted with each other's grips, a baby Aswang swooped down, landing for only half a beat, scooping up the candy and flying away.  

"I hate you, Akai." he said, defeated and now without his evening confection and a leather sack full of wrappers.

It felt like it had taken all day to prepare after he painstakingly gathered up all the ingredients.  He was careful and meticulous to obtain everything: the fresh stone ground flour, onions from his garden out back, the lamb that had been recently slaughtered and dressed, the pepper he purchased from Khulan at the reunion market.  It was a special red and spicy pepper he knew would set off the dish perfectly.  He had to get everything right, he just had to.

Mizuhiro sighed a heavy breath and paused momentarily, he looked down to the sharp, shining, steel knife held by his hand over the bulbous end of one of the freshly picked and washed onions, but he carried on.  The aroma of the pungent, grassy smelling root wafted up into his face and was the perfect disguise for the feelings and emotions that coursed through him.  He finely diced it before he used the knife to scrape it off the cutting board and into a porcelain bowl.

He set everything down, turned and rested his backside and hands on the counter of the kitchen.  He took in his environment, the new place he had recently built with his own hands, the kind of thing you do when you're trying to shut off your forever analyzing and calculating mind.  He shook his head and awoke himself from his daydreams and then turned back to work.  

He measured out the flour, and then poured in some water, not too much to make it sticky, and just enough to make it still slightly dry.  Using the hardwood countertop, dusted with a little bit of extra flour, he used his hands to knead and mix up the dough until it was warm and the consistency was just right.  The catharsis came when he realized that his hands could also be used for creativity.  For the last few weeks, all he could think about was using his fists to bash in a face, or steal the wind from an opponent's lungs.  But this, this was something he could actually be proud of.  He had been practicing with his mother as she provided him her grandmother's recipe, handed down verbally and taught in person, generation to generation, even if she had planned to teach it to someone else, she was still happy he had asked her and was able to pass it on to Mizu.  

He was hit with a memory too strong for him to want to hold on to, he tried to force it down and focus on his mixing the bread.  There was shadow, and lightning, there was blood and pain... he felt as if his other half was close to him but ripped away again. His eyes fluttered, he began breathing exercises and he calmed down as much as he could.  "Not time for that", he said to comfort himself.  He had a task at hand and needed to focus all of his attention into it.

He was precise in his measurements, using a scale with a weight to fashion the hunks of dough into tiny little spheres he would eventually roll out and fill with the other ingredients.  He stacked them like cannon balls to the side, making about thirty of them before he took his small rolling pin and tried to even them out into discs with the perfect amount of thickness.  

As he filled the little dumplings, he folded them with little stars on the tops, his large fingers using their most delicate touch.  He traced lines and curves, angles and points, reminiscent of... his mind started to wander into another memory, tenderness, warmth, love.  He could hear the whisper, those words floating in the air and....

The pot hanging above the fire had started to boil over, the liquid causing the snake like flames to waver, hiss, and snap.  He set down the current dumpling and rushed over to the other side of the room with a thick towel he pulled up from his apron strings, removing the iron container from the heat.  Smoke and mist was visible, and he knew that it wouldn't fully clear before he sat down to eat, but he shrugged, then poured the water into the tea pot and allowed the Hingan Green to steep while he cooked.  

The pan was definitely not a traditional one, he had purchased it when he was living in Kugane, "Made of the finest metals and forged by the most revered blacksmiths in the east." he was told.  He just wanted a good pan so he could make himself some eggs for breakfast in the mornings.  He laughed at himself for spending so much on one small thing, but in the end, why not have the fanciest pan on the star?  He used some sesame oil and coated the bottom of the shining silver pan.  He then carefully put it over the heat of the stove while also setting down the small packages of dough and filling into the now sputtering and spattering oil.  The crackle was loud, like a sitting in a large pond with a thunderous, torrential downpour dumping all around, and some of the oil snapped up and got him on the hand and arm, but didn't wince.  He sat with the pain for a few beats before finishing the placement of the buuz in the pan, and placing the cover atop it, then wiping the still warm oil off with a towel. The pain didn't matter, he would make the best buuz he could even if it meant a few bubbles and blisters on his skin.

Another memory hit him hard. He could feel the stinging pain as the blade had gone into his arm, he had attempted to block a hit, but did not anticipate the second dagger that flashed upward and in between the two bones inside his flesh.  It was dead in the middle, a perfect shot from a worthy adversary.  Soon after, soft blue hands waved over the wound, and as the aether was poured into it, the crackling sound of skin melding and mending echoed in time with the dumplings in oil.  He fought back the feelings again, and set the pan down in the flames, putting the iron covering on top. He waited patiently for a few minutes for the bottoms to brown, and when the time was right...

He lifted the lid, only an ilm or so, then took the kettle and used the spout to pour water inside.  As a heated fog escaped, he knew it was time to be patient, drop the lid and allow it to steam the rest of the way.  Mizu turned to the teapot, now fully steeped, and removed the fine netting that held the tea leaves, set two cups on the tray and walked it over to the table and placed it carefully in the center.  

He stood there, listlessly for what felt like an eternity but he knew it had only bee a matter of minutes at most.  He could smell the hearty aroma from the buuz, probably nearing the end of it's preparation.  It only took him three full strides to make it back across his small little home, and as he did so, he thought that it might be a nice touch to add a little sake to go with the meal.  He crouched down to the bottom shelves and was able to find a deep green bottle with a worn silver label.  "This will do, just fine," he assured himself.  It had been a long time since he had shared sake with anyone that mattered to him, his sister had probably been the last person he drank with to celebrate, but ever since he just drank to forget.  This time was no different, but at least it was a good bottle and it would be enjoyed with a traditional, or as close as he could get to traditional, home cooked meal.

Which reminded him, time to get those dumplings off the cookfire.  He was artful in his plating of buuz.  He had gone out to the fields of the Steppe, pulled up some of leafy green lettuce to make a nice bed for the dumplings to rest, surrounded by fragrant blue and purple flowers.  There were candied carrots of differing colors and varieties that made an octagon and held the buzz in place on the plate and in the center a spicy chili, lemon dipping sauce to compliment the lamb, garlic and caraway that was now cooked inside.  

When Mizu was satisfied with how it looked, he brought the entirety of the meal, set it down next to the tea and took a seat for himself.  He stared off into the fire that was blazing only a few feet away from him.  and he waited.  He lingered there, hoping that any moment it would be time.  But he knew deep down that the moment would never arrive.  Mizu felt like a mountain that had lost half its rock face, as if it had just sloughed off dead weight and allowed it to crash into the ground below.