#stream writing

Ambassador his ass.

The self-proclaimed shaman the Flame legion had sent was gone for at least three hours by now. Their words still rang in everyone’s ears, especially in those of Sidonius.

Surrender and be a peaceful part of the joined legions under their reign or be crushed.

All backed up by a display of the magic their “Gods” had given them.

Imperator Sidonius Dustfang wasn’t convinced in the least. So were his Tribunes and warband. Whatever these fanatics had found and declared gods, it surely wasn’t on the same page as the gods of humans.

Still, the magic this shaman had displayed was a threat, no one was arguing with that.

Heavy silence hung over the chamber, all pondering over means to keep their legion safe. None had found a good solution yet. To make matters worse, time was running short.

They were only given half a day to give an answer.

Once again the imperator looked around the table, trying to determine who should stay and who should help the ones unable to fight flee. And once again his brother was the one his piercing glare lingered on longest.

After all, Bengar was a very powerful Mesmer and had learned every spell of every magic proficiency throughout Tyria. He was a good pick as protector. But he was also a formidable fighter, probably the best he had.

A heavy sigh on his lips, Sidonius got up from his throne and started pacing around the room.

“That nervous already?” A black furred female rolled her head back, Caledora, another member of his warband.

“Shut up … “ He stopped pacing next to his throne and turned his back to the table. “ … I guess it’s no use. We need to get the evacuation going as soon as possible.” He turned back and once again stared his own brother down. “Bengar you will lead the evac team. Make sure our people stay safe.”

“What?” Bengar’s claws flew to his forehead. “I’m your best guess at making them run back to their Fahrar with pinched tails!”

“You’re also my best guess in keeping our fleeing people safe.” Sidonius tapped his claws on the backrest of his throne. “Caledora, Kell and Krem will come with you.”

The three mentioned charr all grimaced but kept it shut. Caledora was a formidable healer, having saved a lot of warriors from biting the dust where other healers would have failed. Kell was their best scout, living the legion’s motto to be swift and silent. Krem was a bit of a brute, but one that could stop a Dolyak stampede with his bare claws if need be. Combined with Bengar’s magic prowess, they could effectively keep Flame at bay, or even repel them if needed.

They were nonetheless not the least bit thrilled about missing out on the big clash.

“We can’t possibly safe everyone. So how should we prioritize whom to take with us?” Scratching her nose, Kell looked around to find some backup, she found none.

“Take all children … all pregnant females … also skilled elders in each profession and at least a few educators.”

Caledora snatched writing materials and scribbled around, finally looking up and snapping the quill she had just used in half. “That’s still about 4000 people. You’re asking a lot of us.”

“Because I know you can do it. Now go. Leave as soon as possible. I don’t want Flame to catch on and be on your trail … everyone else is dismissed as well.”

Almost everyone followed the order to leave, albeit growling and grimacing. Except for Bengar.

“You know sending me away is signing your own death sentence.”

Yet another sigh on his lips, Sidonius shook his head. “I know. But if I don’t, Ash will be gone.” He looked his brother in the eyes and grimaced himself. “Mother wouldn’t have wanted for our legion to end like this.”

Much to his bewilderment, Bengar just stepped closer to hug him, a seldom gesture among their people.

“Tell mother we’ll fight ‘till our dying breath when you reach the mists.”

“I will.”

After letting go of his younger brother, Bengar banged his fist against his heart in a Charr Salute.

“For the Ash legion!”

“For the Ash legion.” A sad smile on his face, Sidonius returned the gesture.

~+~

Of course things had to backfire horribly.

Flame had been hot on their tails almost instantly. Sure, they knew well how to hide and swiftly vanish in the shadows, but not with this much people all at once.

After instructing the rest of his warband to get their people at least to the deldrimor dwarfs before even thinking about turning tail to come help him, and almost having to beat them stupid to get them to follow his order, Bengar remained alone in the narrow valley they had chosen as their path.

Getting up there was only possible by flying, so they were relatively safe, despite being out in the open.

It also created a narrow path where the chasing flame soldiers would neatly line up, making it easier to fight them.

Now he patiently waited.

All he could do was buy them time, and decimate the number of enemies while at it.

He mused about the goodbye he and his brother had exchanged. Mused about missed chances and things that he might have done differently, if given the chance.

Like siring cubs.

He always made sure to never ever sire any, just in case he could pass on his own curse.

That was a fate he wished upon none, especially not upon his own offspring.

Looking up at the night sky, he wondered what his mother would think of her sons. Would she be proud? Or would she be disappointed?

Time seemed to move at snail’s pace until the chasing army finally caught up to him.

Bengar swallowed hard when he saw the monsters they had brought along.

Massive creatures of molten lava with spidery legs and torsos set on top akin to centaurs. No features on their faces, just flowing lava held together by magic. Arms just spears of the same lazy flowing lava without hands.

Were those the Titans the shaman had spoken off?

His eye and muzzle twitched.

He was lucky if he managed to hold of one of those things, not to speak of all six they had brought.

“A dead charr walking.” A charr clad in robes and totems peeled out of the ranks. “And another sacrifice for our gods.” They raised their arms high above their head and Bengar took his chance to strike.

A bolt of magic energy shot straight through the shaman in front and hit the first titan. The shaman just sacked to the ground, but the titan roared and swung its arms in a wide ark, hitting some soldiers, instantly burning them to cinders.

Crap … now it’s mad.

The creature charged and Bengar barely managed to cast a defensive wall in front of himself. Not that it stopped the beast’s assault; it easily pushed him back, the barrier barely holding.

Under the pressure of both being pushed back, his feet scratching over the grounds, and holding up the magic barrier, Bengar hissed, grinding his fangs due to the effort.

A useless one.

The barrier broke and the titan’s spearlike arm hit his body on his right side, setting his fur and skin on fire and melting his cheek horn completely. Hot pain struck him down, screaming into the night, he rolled away and barely managed to keep himself on his feet.

He felt the heat of his own blood, its coppery taste in his mouth and knew then and there, that he was a dead man.

So why not make it a spectacle?

Closing his eyes, he mentally thanked his remaining warband for the time they had, then he unleashed the magic residing deep within him.

Black smoke wavered out of his wounds, covering him, changing his form. He grew to the massive size of the titan in front of him, his claws extended, his back cracked open to unleash spikes and webbed wings. His face twisted, two more eyes appeared while his muzzle shortened, despite his fangs growing even bigger.

Tilting his head from side to side in jerky motions, he stared down his opponents.

The charr soldiers were mostly frozen in fear, but the titans all roared at once and charged.

Roaring himself, he charged as well, clashing with the one that had wounded him, and ripped the creature’s arms out, despite his arms catching fire. Clenching his hand to a fist, he bashed the creature’s head down into its torso, resulting in the lava instantly going cold, the structure crumbling down under its own weight.

The second titan reached him, and he jumped out of its spear attack, grabbing its head in the process to simply rip it off.

Tossing the head aside, he already charged for the third one, throwing his already burned side against the creature to topple it, then crushed in the torso to rip it in half.

The forth titan swung, setting him on fire once again, but suddenly burst out screaming in what sounded like pain. With his twisted features resembling a malicious grin, Bengar ripped its head off in fluid swipe of his claws.

He had always liked the curse “Empathy”.

The remaining two titans roared and braced themselves for his attack, but Bengar just reached out his claw, his twisted voice roaring as he unleashed his spell.

Spiteful Spirit

One of the titans threw a fireball in Bengar’s direction, yet both creatures started screaming in pain.

Not even thinking of dodging the attack, Bengar just took the hit head on, dark lightning buzzing in between his hands. He charged forward, grabbing both creatures’ heads in the process, and while one still tried to stab his hand, the other one tried to escape his grasp. A futile attempt, as his touch released the magic he had channeled, both creatures hardening and collapsing to boulders.

Breathing heavily, he directed his attention to the charr army.

Few had been wise enough to pinch tail and just flee. Using his magic to appear behind their closing lines, he stared the scared soldiers down.

“For the Ash Legion.”

Black smoke escaped his mouth as he spoke his words before he started to tear the soldiers into pieces like they were made of paper.

Screams, the stench of blood, burned flesh and burned fur mixed into a numbing white noise as he went on. He found them all, those who hadn’t fled early enough were now left at his mercy. He sniffed them out like hound, tore their bodies apart with all kinds of spells, resurrected some as minions to kill even faster.

Once the deed was done, he sacked down to the ground, the smoke flowing back into him, his body once again shifting to return to his original form.

Looking around the carnage he had created with his own two hands, he grinned before he screamed out in pain.

At least he had taken them all with him …

 ~+~

Buzzing sounds and pain beyond his wildest dreams woke Bengar up. He was hardly able to get a visual focus, let alone focus his hearing enough to make out what people around him were saying.

He saw a black blob with an arm, pointing around and according to this buzzing sound being the loudest, it was them speaking. Whatever it was.

His entire body hurt like shit, his right side feeling like being on fire, as were his hands. He tried to freely move his claws, but was unable to and not only due to pain.

Pleasant warmth seeped into his very core and he slowly managed to at least focus his hearing to make out the loudest of the bunch.

It was Caledora, screaming at people to get her supplies, ordering them around to assist her.

“You couldn’t just let me die, could you?” His weak remark stopped the chatter around for a moment, then he heard laughter.

With me practically going to focus a lot on my studies, I figured that sometimes, writing alone might make me detach to the fandom (and it's kind of lonely too lol)

So I was wondering if people would be interested if I do those writing streams in the future? :)

You get to see me write.

I get to write.

Maybe I can do some request there too or answer questions (live)

If enough people are interested, I can get myself a ... Picarto was it? Been suggested to me to use. X3

And I think it'd be really fun and nice to do. :)

But this is just an idea for the future so nothing set in stone. Most likely to not have a schedule too, just going to be like, about to stream in 10 mins! Welcome to come in! At irregular times. X'D

Everything about this whole thing was a bad idea, at least from Bengar’s point of view. Still, he kept being the ever obedient soldier and followed his orders.

That’s how he had ended up alone close to enemy territory.

Remind them why Flame still fears the Titan Slayer …

He grimaced at the mere thought of this order. Malice was crazy for wanting him to do that. But then again, Malice being somewhat crazy was the reason she was already feared despite being the youngest of the Imperators.

Bengar sighed, rolled around his head and shoulders and forced a few cracks out of his neck, then he stepped out of the shadows and unto the open field right in front of that damn, oh so important bridge Dominion was holding at the moment.

Scouts spotted him instantly, as they should. The few additional sniper shots were no match for his magical barrier. He just kept on strolling out into the fields, still keeping his disguise up. Of course they recognized who he was, or who they believed him to be.

“If that ain’t Tribune Dustclaw. What brings you here?” A young female charr with white fur and brown hair hopped down from a previously very well hidden sniper nest. If his information were correct, this had to be Vishen Steelshot.

“Orders … you know? The usual stuff we all have to deal with.” Bengar grinned, pointing at the young scout. “I bet you’ve already called in backup, am I  right?”

Vishen snorted, then shouldered her sniper rifle. “As I should. What the hell does Imperator Swordshadow want? Not her style to send the big guns out, especially not out in the open.”

“Aw you got me.” Shrugging, Bengar did his best to remain his nonchalant façade.

To his surprise, Vishen had called in more backup than he would have thought. A small army marched across the bridge and towards him. So they were at least very aware of how much of a threat he was. More foresight than he would have expected. But then again, it was most likely the result of Ruinbringer knowing him a little too long.

His present disguise was pretty long lived, so that one was on him.

Another charr peeled out of the masses, staff in hand and already eyeing Bengar over in wait of an attack. If people hadn’t been talking shit, this poor broad faced guy with ginger fur was Nicabar Steelweaver.

So he had to deal with two members of the Steel warband?

At least he could seemingly keep his promise to Brimmstone and spare his cub.

But these two were the unlucky ones to deliver the message Malice wanted him to deliver. Though maybe not without getting their asses beaten first. That one was a given.

“Pyre Dustclaw … was not expecting to see you anytime soon. Your imperator must already be desperate.” Nicabar weighed his staff and threw it up to catch it again. “Or she wants to get rid of you … either way. You’re either coming with us as our prisoner or we send Malice your corpse.”

“That’s Imperator Swordshadow for you, Cub.” Bengar growled.

They wanted to play cocky? Fine with him. Made it easier for him to hand them their asses.

“Whatever.” Vishen turned to the small army Nicabar had brought along. “Take Tribune Dustclaw prisoner by any means necessary!”

Roars and rattling weaponry had Bengar sigh.

These fools weren’t expecting anything, and he pitied them for it.

“Actually, …” Forming a cloud of magic energy between his hands, Bengar started to grin. “… I have to thank you for bringing so many people. That’ll make executing my orders easier.”

Cloud still between his hands, he shattered the illusion containing his looks.

The few Flame soldiers in their ranks shrieked like cubs, some dropped their weapons, and few intelligent ones started running already.

Instead of a healthy looking charr with all ginger fur they now saw the true looks. He was still broad of build and his height hadn’t changed either. But his fur was now snow white, his tiger stripes grey, his hair shorter and just as grey as his markings. The horn on his right cheek was but a stump, visibly the result of being molten, his upper left horn was broken off. He missed his ring claw on his left hand and the thumb on his right was visibly crippled.

The screams from the fleeing ones were utterly priceless.

“IT’S THE FUCKING TITAN SLAYER!!!”

“RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!”

“THE TITAN SLAYER … RUN!!!!”

Bengar had to restrain a chuckle. He had thought watching Efram freak out was priceless, but these soldiers were even better. They scattered the ranks and created utter chaos in their futile attempt to get away.

Unleashing the cloud between his hands sealed their fate. It grew fast and swallowed the area up, soldiers banging against the barrier he had just forged. He saw some of them scrambling back to their feet to scratch on the barrier, as if it would go away this way.

Nicabar and Vishen were visibly confused, not only by the change of his looks, but also by the ex Flame soldiers running for their lives.

“Steelshot, Steelweaver.”

They looked at Bengar, utterly puzzled.

“Allow me to reintroduce myself. I am the myth your dipshit of an Imperator was named after. Bengar Dustclaw, pleased to meet you.” He couldn’t help but end his introduction with a little bow. “And as per orders of Imperator Malice Swordshadow, you and your soldiers will now learn why those Flame cubs are already running.”

Black smoke shot out of Bengar’s two broken Horns and his missing finger, winding around him to cover him up. They changed his form, cracking his back open for spikes and webbed wings to burst out of it, he grew massively in size, his claws extended far beyond their regular reach, two more eyes formed and the soldiers in front of him collectively shrank down, cowering in fear.

Exactly what Malice had intended.

Bengar snorted when the first ones snapped out of their shock. Of course it had to be Vishen and Nicabar.

They yelled at their soldiers, commanded for them to stay strong and much to Bengar’s amusement ordered them to still take him prisoner.

That was comedy gold.

Or so he thought when he felt the shot of a canon hitting his back, throwing him down on one knee.

Oh you filthy little suckers …

With a roar he channeled chaos magic roughly around the area where the shot had to come from and turned it into a storm. The magic ripped trees out, reduced boulders to mere pebbles, and trapped a destroyed canon, as well as some now dead soldiers in its cold, merciless embrace.

Them shooting him in his back seemingly returned their soldiers spark, roaring, they charged and attacked. Bengar repelled them with a shockwave of pure magic. Few managed to land on their feet and charge again.

He easily ripped them in half with his claws.

Blinking steel warned him just in time to get out of the way. Vishen managed to actually graze him with her shot. Blood ran down his cheek and Bengar glared the sniper down.

She was good, he gave her that. Better even than some archers in his times.

But he was no regular enemy.

Within the blink of an eye, the monstrous charr stood behind her, ripping the rifle out of her grasp and throwing her unto the bridge and into her own troops.

Firebolts hit him from the side, Bengar screaming out and swatting after the fire. It only managed to burn off some of his fur, but enough to lay the scars hidden beneath open.

He hopped down from the position he had fished Vishen out of and unleashed some of his magic, covering himself in ghostly blue flames. Once again it struck fear into his enemies, but then another canon shot hit him and he flew and had to roll over the grounds to catch balance again.

Bloody canons …

How many had they hidden around the area?

And once again the canon hit returned the soldiers’ will to fight. Bengar roared, sending the flames covering his body out to burn down the first few charging.

Despite their comrades being burned to cinders, they kept charging.

They really want to fell me … as you wish …

Bengar ripped soldier after soldier to shreds, yet their numbers gave them the obvious advantage. A lot of soldiers managed to reach him, slashing at him with their swords, axes and whatnot.

A damn firing squad unleashed a barrage he could hardly repent. Though he managed to keep vital parts safe, his arms and legs took a severe beating, blood streaming out and fast.

Let them find confidence before you start slaughtering … thanks for nothing Malice!

They were surprisingly effective in wounding him, but then again he hadn’t fought in this form for over 400 years. And never alone against modern war machinery either.

Sneering, he unleashed another shockwave, before he stood tall again.

Energy Surge!

His first spell formed a magical bolt, flying through the ranks, hitting enough soldiers fatally to slow their attacks down.

Spiritual Pain!

Even more fell victim to his second spell. Enough had fallen for him to pull some surprises out of his sleeve. He crossed his claws in front of his forehead, focusing on his next spell.

Clamor of Souls!

Soldiers started screaming out before they were hit by ghostly lighting.

That’s when another canon shot hit him.

“Alright, you don’t want to wait your turn? Then die now!”

Feast of Corruption!

He heard screams throughout the woods, then nothing but silence from there. All the while the magic that had just killed everyone in the forest flowed back, healing some of his wounds in turn.

Channeling shadow magic into his hands, he jumped into the mass of remaining soldiers. Every time his hands so much as grazed one of them, they started to scream out before collapsing. Very few had the doubtful luck of surviving his touch based magic, most just died.

Yet even fewer did not die or fall unconscious due to his attack.

Magic of all sorts kept crushing into him, just like bullets, swords, axes and hammers.

Spiteful Spirit!

Empathy!

Spirit Shackles!

Unleashing three spells, curses to be precise, Bengar made his enemies feel every bit of pain they inflicted on him, as if they were the ones being attacked.

Snipers dropped their weapons, coughing up blood from the curses mimicking them being shot, Warriors fell to the ground screaming, as if they had been the one’s being cut, Mages experienced what it was like to be on the receiving end of their own magic.

The battlefield finally fell silent.

With the deed seemingly done, Bengar dragged himself out of their ranks before he recalled the smoke to return to his regular form.

Just as the last bit of smoke returned to him, he heard the rattling of someone trying to get up, using their weapon as support.

Turning around, he saw Nicabar scrambling to his feet, holding a large cut on his chest shut and heavily bleeding from his nose.

“We’re not done … done yet, Dustclaw.” The younger charr dragged himself over, Bengar watching him while breathing heavily himself.

Summoning his last strength, he managed to walk over to Nicabar like he wasn’t wounded at all and simply punched him in the guts.

Nicabar grunted, then sacked to the ground, getting a last glimpse of Bengar before falling unconscious.

“We’re more than done, Cub.” Panting and staggering, Bengar took a few steps back in an attempt to recatch balance. Without success.

He fell down, landing flat on his back. If it wasn’t for the blood loss, this would’ve been easier. Evidently Malice was trying to kill him.

It takes a long time for Spring to blossom in the valley.

And after the most recent downpour, Asteria was sure that tonight might be a continuation of the day; thunder, lighting, and howling gales. Imagine her surprise when the night became clear, the clouds parting to allow an unobstructed view of a few twinkling stars above the canopy of the forest behind her house.

She sits on her back deck in the wooden porch swing, a cup of hot chocolate in hand, and her head tilted back, her face pivoted to the sky. A soft smile plays about her mouth and her eyes are closed in what appears to be...contentment. The sigh she allows herself is filled with longing, but there are notes of bliss tangled within as well.

However, she is yanked from that feeling of euphoria by a sudden strong gust of wind, one that rattles across her roof and makes one of the windows in her home slam closed. She winces, her eyelashes fluttering as she returns to herself and sighs while glancing over her shoulder at her back door.

“Hope that didn't break anything,” she whispers to herself before taking a demure sip of her drink.

And then...she feels it—or rather, him, and when her attention is dragged toward the tree line, she can plainly see him standing there there, gazing at her, a smile on his lips.

“Reiki?” she whispers, her tone comprised of equal parts fear and awe.

The door to Blue Moon Books and Metaphysical Sundries opens with a bang. Partly from the rain that comes down in sheets of freezing water outside, partly from the wind that screams along with the storm. And partly from the massive individual stepping over the threshold and shaking himself free of the cold droplets that cling to his hoodie.

“Welcome to Blue Moon Books...” comes Asteria's welcoming chirp as she rounds the corner from one of the massive bookcases. “Oh.”

“Are you Asteria?” he asks, his deep baritone skittering across the floor to bury itself in her ears.

Asteria blinks up at him before a frown tugs at the corners of her mouth, her arms crossing over her chest, obscuring the logo of her bookstore scrawled across the navy shirt. “Depends on who's asking,” she tells him. “And what they want with her.”

The man steps forward, further into the warm interior of the store, the door finally closing behind him with a click. Asteria holds her ground even as she tips her head back to look up at him. His massive stature dwarfs her by comparison and if he were to become violent with her, there'd be little she could do to stop him. Especially not this far away from the full moon.

“Heard there was a werewolf in the area,” he grunts and goosebumps flicker across Asteria's exposed arms. “Some of the town's folk seem to think she might be it.”

“Yeah, well, they don't know what they're talking about,” she snaps, her tone too defensive for the conversation they were having.

He notices it, one eyebrow arching up in question. His massive hands go to the zipper of his hoodie and he begins to slowly tug it down. “That so?”

"Goddess Namielle?"

The figure in question looks up at the sound of her name, soulful brown eyes landing on the owner of Blue Moon Books and Metaphysical Sundries. The corners of her full lips immediately pull up in a small smile. 

"Oh. Asteria. Good afternoon."

Her voice is quiet, cultured, and there is a playful warmth that seems to both tickle and delight the senses. 

Blushing slightly, Asteria clears her throat and takes a tentative step forward, a…nervous smile on her lips from the greeting.  

"You're…a long way from home," she ventures while looking the other woman over from head to toe.

The goddess in question wore a long off-white dress that fluttered down to her ankles, emphasizing the curves and dips that made up her statuesque physique. Her feet were clad in dark brown, open-toe sandals, her toenails matching the aquamarine of her hair which sat piled into a stylishly messy bun. The sleeves of her dress were long but cut open from shoulder to wrist, and Asteria could spy glittering gold bangles around them.

"Kuro suggested we visit," Nami says by way of reply, her smile kind and patient, her eyes filled with more knowledge than all the books in Asteria's shop combined. "And please, you can call me Nami."

"Ah, right. Yes. Okay," Asteria replies with a nod while rubbing her suddenly clammy palms against the thighs of her dark blue jeans. "Well, uhm, is there…anything I can help you find Miss Nami?"

"Just Nami," the goddess clarifies before pursing her lips, her gaze wandering to the long rectangular table she had been looking over before she had been interrupted. "Do you have anything about dragons?"

Asteria blinks. "Uhm, in what capacity? I think I may have some books about working with some snapdragon plants…"

Nami clicks her tongue, her nose scrunching in mild distaste. Asteria shifts her weight from her right foot to her left.

"Right,” the goddess murmurs quietly, her words sticky with unshed thoughts. “There is no…fiction here, correct?"

"Not currently," Asteria says while advancing forward so that she was standing on the opposite side of the table of books. These were on the manager's special, a way to get them out of the door quickly to make room for other material. 

Sadly, no one had seemed quite interested in astral projection…

"Soon though. At least, that's the plan."

“And none of these books were penned by you?” Nami inquires while glancing down at the messy piles of books and then looking up at the bookstore owner.

“By me?” Asteria asks as if she might have heard the question incorrectly. “No, no. I didn't write anything here.”

“Well, why not?”

“...Why haven't I written anything? Uhm, well, I figure it takes a lot of experience and know how when it comes to writing...things...and I don't really...have that.”

“But you've seen so much the world, have you not?” Nami continues, her hands clasping in front of her, the fingers of her left hand circling her right wrist. “Kuro explained that you were once a star spirit.”

Asteria nods her head, her mouth opening to explain further, but the chime from the front door opening steals her attention. She glances over her shoulder, peeks through one tall row of books, and misses whoever just wandered into her business. With a slight frown tugging at her lips, she turns back to Nami.

“I was,” Asteria says slowly, “but, honestly, that feels like a lifetime ago. And my memories from that time are hazy at best, delusional at worst.” She chuckles at her rather paltry attempt at humor.

“You won't know unless you try,” Nami tells her with another soft smile, one that captures Asteria's attention and fills her chest with warmth. “Some delusions make for very entertaining stories. And if you would rather not write about delusions, write about experiences. Go out in the world and engage. Better than watching from up there, isn't it?” She jerks her head toward the ceiling and Asteria nods in reply.

“Watching the world turn is completely different than being here and...living among the humans,” she says in a whisper, her eyes widening. “I only ever heard one side of the story, the wishes and hopes and dreams of people—sometimes in their darkest hour. I had no power to change the outcome of their lives or even ease their suffering.” She scoffs gently with a shake of her head.

“And now?” Nami asks, her voice a matching whisper of words.

“And now, well, sometimes I can do...little things,” Asteria tells her. “Even if that little thing is offering a self-help book that is suddenly on manager's clearance.” She smirks. “It's not a lot, admittedly—”

“Even small gestures can add up over time,” the goddess says with an appreciative hum. “I...didn't intervene.”

“What do you mean?” Asteria asks with another light frown.

“I used to watch. That's what I was made to do; intervening was done as a necessity, not by...whim or inclination. But, such as there are consequences for every action, inaction also has its own burdens to bear.”

There is a sorrow that touches Namielle's words, one that Asteria can feel skitter across her exposed skin like a shiver. She wants to reach out and perhaps rest a hand on her shoulder or even tug her in for a quick hug, but she remains where she is. She doesn't know the full story about what happened nor does she know if Nami would appreciate the comfort.

The goddess clears her throat and gently shakes herself.

“Apologies,” she says with a quiet sigh, “I lost myself there for a moment.”

“No apology needed.”

“Do you think you will return to Bel Ombre one day?”

“It's...quite a distance away,” Asteria says with a chuckle. “I don't know if Lady Ahsanda is feeling generous enough to portal me back and forth—”

“Nonsense,” Nami says with a wave of her hand, cutting off Asteria's comment. “I am sure that one of my cultists has the power to do just that.”

“You...have a cult?”

Nami chuckles and a grin tugs at her lips. “It's a very long story...that I will tell you the next time you visit me.”

“Thanks for your patience. Eager to chat. All good on my end. What's your schedule this week?”

Maybe I should've expected it.

It wasn't unusual for Kenneth to disappear off the face of the earth for two or three weeks, complaining about work and deadlines and stress, before popping back into my life as if he had never left. These text messages between us were common place—more common that I would have liked to admit...or accept. And they always caught me off guard; just when I was at the point of leaving, of walking away and never looking back on our relationship for the past year, another one of these damned messages would ping my inbox and I would read it. All those traitorous butterflies would swoop and spin in my stomach and my brain would conveniently forget that he had been missing for two or three weeks—but almost a month this time.

I worry my bottom lip as I unlock my phone and set my thumbs to tapping out a quick reply.

“Hey. Glad to know you're okay—”

I groan, re-reading the words and knowing that if they sounded sarcastic in my head, there was no way they wouldn't sound the same in his. So, I delete the line.

“Hey,” I type for the second time. “I'm pretty free this week. I've got work coming up in two days—training a new girl—and then I'm off on vacation until next Friday. Are you in my neck of the woods?”

I read it over, read it a second time, read it a third time and contemplate adding an emoji or two, but, honestly, I can't be bothered. He leaves on these long trips to the West Coast and I don't hear hide nor hair of him. No snap-chat messages, no random emojis or pics sent via text message. There's nothing. He might as well be dead.

Hell, a few times I was convinced that I'd hear about his untimely demise from some friend that snoops through his messages and relays the ghastly news to all of his contacts.

I hesitate before pressing the send key and I'm thoroughly surprised when his response is quickly.

“Should be. I'm about five hours out right now. Hoping that the boss man sends me in your direction. Been missing you terribly.”

I snort. I know exactly what he's been missing. And...I don't blame him; I've missed him in the same manner, especially on nights when I got to go home early and the apartment was too quiet. Even when we did nothing but lay in the bed together and scroll on our phones, the company was always nice. It was appreciated. But how can he sit there and say he's missed me when he hasn't reached out once? Would it have been so hard to send a thumbs up to let me know everything was okay? That he was okay?

I crane my head to the left and then to the right, attempting to ease the strain that I can feel building at the base of my skull. It didn't used to be like this. There was a point in time when I looked forward to talking with him, to laughing with him and learning about him, but that was...quite some time ago. I doubt we'll ever return to those simple and easy mannerisms again.

And that's a shame.

“Well,” I find myself typing after nibbling on my bottom lip for much too long. “Let me know when you're here and I'll do what I can to make it work out.”

The smiley-face I send him is in good faith. There's no subtext, no hidden meaning to it. I will do what I can to make sure that we have at least one night together. Even if he annoys me, there is a craving that we share that must be sated and I'd be a fool to ignore it for any longer than I already have. Granted, it's his fault that it's been ignored, pushed to the wayside and forcibly forgotten. And now that he's return, it too has reared its ugly head. It feels hungry and vicious inside of me. I wonder if it tugs at him in the same manner that it does me...

The phone dings a third time and I stop gathering my things from the passenger seat to peek at it. Surely he's not still talking, right?

“I apologize again for being out of touch,” the messages states and I can feel my eyebrows lifting. He is not the type of person to apologize directly. There's always a reason behind the apology. He was running late, he forgot something at his hotel, he didn't know that we were meeting an hour before and not an hour later, etcetera. I accept these words, swallow them down and force them to fill this hole that he's made of me; a hole that can only be filled by him.

“I've had a crazy time out west, but not in a good way. It's been...pretty stressful. And I'm hoping that I can relax for a few days and we can get back into our regular routine before I'm gone again. Shouldn't be gone long this time, only a few days. And then I should be back more next month. A lot more than I have been.”

I exhale slowly. Because I've heard these words before—I've read these exact phrases before and I don't want to get my hopes up. I don't want to throw logs onto the budding embers of hope and have it all blow up in my face a third time. Honestly, it's probably been more times than that, but I don't want to think about all the times my heart has overruled my brain and left everyone confused when the outcome was the same.

“I completely understand that,” I type back while nodding to myself. “I've been working like a dog and there's all this shit happening at work—lots of turnover. I've been out of sorts too. So, if you're feeling low, don't worry about us linking up. It's no big deal.”

The hole inside my stomach yawns and growls in disagreement. I can feel sweat begin to bead along my upper lip even though the dashboard reads that outside of my tiny Versa Note, it is a cool 53° Fahrenheit. I shouldn't feel warm, I shouldn't feel achy or even teary-eyed as I press the send button.

I reach toward the driver's side door handle and pull it open when the phone dings a fourth time.

At this point, I'm never getting out of the car.

...And it's that thought that forces me out of the car.

If he was so intent on speaking to me, then he could wait until I've gotten in and settled down from work. After all, this normally happened the other way around; me waiting on a response from him about...whatever. The time we were meeting up, the place where he wanted to hang out for the night; he'd tell me these things last minute and then expect me to just appear there as if I had some cosmic powers of teleportation.

It wouldn't kill him to wait on a reply from me. No more than it killed me the past three weeks waiting on him.

I'm thankful that I live on the first floor of the apartment building. I don't have the energy to climb up stairs tonight and I shoulder open my front door while attempting to stop myself from yawning. I can almost feel the soft cushions of the bed beneath me, but there's things I have to do before I can succumb to the blissful void of slumber.

Bags get thrown onto one end of my couch, I toe off my gym shoes and shrug out of my jacket before hanging it up. I make sure the front door is locked before I find myself slumping down on the couch as well, a groan of satisfaction tumbling from between my teeth. Oh, it felt amazing to be home.

“Thanks for that,” his message reads, “but I want to get back to our routine. As long as you do as well? Everything okay? You seem mopey.”

I squint at the phone between my palms and tip my head slightly to the side. Mopey? Did my words really convey the “mopey” feeling? I scroll quickly, reread a few lines, and snort to myself again. He was hearing what he wanted to hear. Definitely.

“Eh,” I type by way of response while shrugging my shoulders in the same moment. “I've just got a lot going on right now. Not really mopey. Just tired.”

“Are you sure? You didn't backslide while I was gone, did you? Or, maybe you got your feelings hurt because I was out of touch for so long?”

I clench my jaw and allow the phone to slip from my hands and land on the cushion next to me. He had some amount of nerve saying those words to me. Get my feelings hurt? Of course I got my feelings hurt! I didn't know if he was alive or wrapped around a tree! What if he fell between the cracks in an earthquake or a steel beam fell from one of the buildings he was working on and impaled him?! I wouldn't even know!!

Rubbing my hands up and down my face, I sigh and attempt to push past the violent emotion that swirls unbidden in my chest. I have half a mind to call him, to tell him how much his lack of communication really pissed me off, but it's late and I don't want to end the night on a sour note. So, instead, I close my eyes and count backward from ten.

...I'm feeling marginally better by the time I hit two.

“Just got a lot on my brain,” I type back to him, the words leaking from my fingers slowly. I wonder how much I should tell him. Does he really care about what's going on here, with me and my job, or is this just filler to take up the time between now and whenever he finally lays down to sleep? Maybe keeping it lighter is the better idea.

“No backsliding,” I type after a pause. “No one to backslide with.” And I end the sentence with an smiley face sticking their tongue out at the viewer.

And...he doesn't reply. Not immediately.

I've gone through my purse, taken out receipts and change and even put on pajamas before I find myself back at my couch, phone in hand, a new message waiting to be read.

“For future reference,” he says, “if you're trying to make yourself sound extra good to your Sir, saying a shortage of playmates is why you haven't been bad isn't the best angle to take...”

...I hate that he can read between the lines. I hate that he can pick up my subtext without even trying. I hate that sometimes it feels like he knows me better than I know myself. I hate playing catch-up with him and he's always

in the lead, never giving me an ounce of room to make a single mistake. And, most of all, I hate that I like it so...fucking...much.

I clear my throat, willing the cocktail of embarrassment and arousal to subside before I attempt to reply to him.

“That wasn't my intention,” I type, but I don't get far before I'm erasing the sentence. He would know if I'm lying.

There is no excuse that I can give him, no explanation that would sound good either from my tongue or my fingers. There's only the truth and I am laid bare because of it. He was right when he mentioned that I was in my feelings about him being gone. I was. I am.

I am not a creature that enjoys being alone.

I'm still floundering with what to type to him, how to salvage this situation, when the phone dings in my hands. My gaze is drawn to the screen and his words.

“I'll let you know when I pull in. Dunno if it'll be tonight or tomorrow. But I'll keep you informed.”

“Okay,” I quickly type back. “Thanks. I'll see you when you get here.”

“You will.”