#the incoding

"Fuckin' try me, leech!" Cody swore, before he hiccupped so bad he looked like he might be sick.

"Ru, are you not going to stop them?" Amadri asked anxiously from the next table, where the seadweller and limeblood were watching the contest.

Erimus shrugged, his cheek on his fist and a dreamy look in his eyes as he watched his wife wave down the bartender. "Cody's the one that challenged 'er. He's gonna learn one way or another that I wasn't kiddin' when I said she could drink the whole crew under th' table." He chuckled, before taking a swig of his whiskey.

"Erim! What's our fucking score?!" Lucina demanded as two more icy mugs of alcohol were set between her and Incoding.

"Yer tied at nine drinks, love." Erimus informed her, before he indicated his swaying, goldblooded morail, "Get his ass."

"Oi! No encouragement for me?" Cody spluttered.

"Why would I wish luck on a bastard that signed his own death warrant?" Erimus shrugged.

"'Cause-" Incoding began, hiccuped, and continued, "-this shit's straight weak sauce, bro."

"Shut your trap, and drink!" Lucina shoved a mug into Cody's hand. They toasted, before they began to drink.

Cody kept stopping, gasping for a breath, and going back to it, as Lucina just chugged, chugged, chugged-

"She married a seadweller, all right." Amadri mumbled. Erimus snorted beside him.

Finally, they slammed their drinks down, Cody's a second behind Lucina's. Cody groaned, and Lucina raised a sharp eyebrow at him.

"You giving in, boltbucket?"

"Yeah, okay, fuck-" Cody hiccuped, "Okay, you win, Lucy. I think I'm gonna be sick. I gotta-" He lurched to his feet, his face pinched in pain.

Amadri was immediately at his side, helping the goldblood towards the ablutionsblock at the back of the bar.

Lucina sat back and watched them go, smug, before she glanced at Erimus. "Ten. I ain't even buzzed."

"I know, love. Wanna have a round wit' me?"

"Aye." Lucina bared her teeth and went to fetch more drinks. She came back, pressing a heavy rum bottle into the seadweller's hand. "Cheers, love."

They clanked their bottles together, uncorked them with their teeth, and drank. Lucina slowly lowered her bottle after a few gulps, though.

"He isn't going to die, is he?" She asked.

"Nah. Ain't nothin' can kill Cody." Erimus waved her concerns away, "He does drugs an' goes breakin' inta highblood hives on the weekends, pretty sure he ain't ever gonna die again at this rate."

Lucina laughed, and Erimus glanced over in time to see his morails returning from the ablutionsblock. "There, see? The fucker lives." He added, waving at his morails.

Both waved back, Incoding looking a little better. He still leaned on Amadri, too full of booze to stand upright. Erimus was watching them approach, when a large blueblood stood up in time to be smacked by Incoding's huge horns.

"Hey!" The highblood yelled, shocked. The two midbloods paused.

"Oh, shit, sorry, man." Incoding said, slurring only a little, "I didn'-" He broke off with a yelp as the cobalt seized his vest.

"That hurt, you pissblooded fuck, I aughta-"

He got no further, as Lucina moved. Faster than the rest of the patrons could track, she was at the colbalt's throat, the knife from her boot pressed to his neck.

"Drop him. I'm the only one who gets to call him that." She snarled. Erimus rose to his feet at the same time the blueblood's party did.

"Lads, you don't want this fight." He called, ready to be the ashen mediator for both groups. "My woman can start and finish a bar fight, I promise ye."

The blueblood looked between him, Cody, Lucina, and his own crew of all highbloods.

"I think we do, act-"

Blood was spurting from his throat before he could finish that sentence, and Erimus just rolled his eyes as the bar descended into madness.

Not one to be left out, or leave his quads to defend themselves, though, he downed the rest of his drink, smashed it, and dove into the fray. His knuckles smashed through noses, his claws ripped through fins and flesh, and he reminded everyone why he was called Deepbite when he sank his massive shark teeth into a purpleblood's jugular.

Screaming, yelling, bottles and furniture breaking, and the stench of booze and blood quickly filled the small tavern. Glancing up from the carnage, Ruthless watched Lucina smash a full wine bottle over another violet's head.

She glanced up, then, and met his eyes, her own glittering like emeralds imbued with bloodlust.

"Ru, I think we should go!" Amadri shouted to be heard from his post by the door, "Drones!"

That word made the whole bar leap into action, scattering for the door and busted windows. Incoding cackled. "Oh, oh! My turn to ssshhow off! Time ta run!" He declared, before he took off, too.

"Can I talk to you? About something... Kinda important?"

She put her pen down. "I'm not your morail, Cody."

"I know, but this isn't... um, it's not something I can go to my 'rails for. Or Bri, even."

Her interest piqued, Lucina turned around in her chair. "Come in, then."

A look of relief flashed across Incoding's face and he stepped inside, shutting the door and taking a seat on Lucina's bed.

"Thanks. So... um..." He fiddled with the buttons on his vest as he tried to find the courage to speak. Lucina simply waited, and eventually, Incoding took a breath. "You're... You're trans, right?"

Instantly guarded, Lucina set her jaw. "Yes. Did Erimus tell you that?"

"A long time ago, yeah. He mentioned it." Incoding nodded. He looked up, noticing her expression, "I, hey, look, I don't care. You're Lucina, okay? I'm not here to ask about any of that. Both of our kids fall under that portable sky shield, you're not going to get any shit from me."

"Then why did you bring it up?"

"Because I..." Incoding hesitated, twisting his metallic fingers together.

Lucina had been around too long not to put the puzzle together. Guilt swelled in her chest at how defensive she'd become with her friend, and she sighed. "Oh, Cody..."

"I... Yeah." The cyborg laughed uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck, "I just... I was talking to Corden about everything the other night, and... a lot of what he said made sense, and something clicked, and I just-"

"Stop." Lucina raised a hand. "You don't have to explain, I get it." Incoding watched her as she turned to her journal and shut it quietly. "... Tell me what you're feeling."

"I don't... know. I'm just... a guy, I guess? I'm not a man, I'm not a woman, I'm not genderless or somewhere in between. I'm just..." The goldblood shrugged, "I'm just Incoding. I'm a guy, a dude, a bro, but not... quite."

Lucina waited, but Incoding just stared at her, having explained it the best he could. Finally, she nodded. "I think you came to the right person. Hang on."

She stood up, and walked over to her bookshelf, where rows upon rows of full journals sat, moved there from her cavern in the desert.

She rifled through them, before pulling out an ancient looking book, bound in black leather. She opened it, checking the contents, before she tossed it at him.

Incoding caught it easily, and looked down at it. "What's this?"

"My journal from when I was a wriggler. I was about Corden's age when I figured myself out." She looked at the bookshelf, running her claws over the spines. "Every one of these catalogues my life, my thoughts, my memories... I had to put them all down, or else I'd forget them. That one in particular is from when I started thinking I was... different. Read it if you want, it might help. I can make a stop by the bookhive with Amadri later and get you some other materials to help, too."

Incoding looked from her, to the journal, and back again. "Thanks, Lucina. I'm not... Too old to be doing this, am I?"

Lucina scoffed. "Of course not. There's no age limit on this kind of stuff, Cody." She pulled out a journal, only to reshelf it a few books over. "Erimus likes to wear skirts. He figured that out when he was already a captain, well after I married him." She said suddenly.

Incoding raised an eyebrow. "I didn't know that."

"That's because he doesn't talk about it. But he's tried mine on. Fought in one of them, even, and ripped it. I never forgave him for that." She sighed wistfully, "It was a gorgeous one, too. Black and violet. Really showed off his calves." She shook her head. "My point is, it's all a mess. It's complicated and confusing and stupid, so it's up to you to figure out what it all means.

Alaric doesn't use any term. Your kid thinks they're a robot. So don't... don't feel like you have to rush anything, alright? Take your time. I can help you experiment with whatever you felt like trying, and it'll just stay between us if you want."

Finally, Incoding smiled. "Thanks, Lucina. You're an incredible woman."

“Good morning, Almawt.” He said politely.

Musrio said nothing, rooted to the spot by his surprise. After a moment, he shook himself out of it, magic springing to his palms as he braced himself for the oliveblood to make a move. And since Oliver couldn’t see him, he flipped them the finger.

Oliver seemed unperturbed by his silence. “I was hoping to come across you soon, you know. I didn’t realize it would be now, but, ah well. Better now than never, darling. Come, order your drink, on me. We should talk.”

“What makes you think I want to talk to you?” Musrio scowled.

“Oh, I know you don’t want to, but I think you and I need to. Just give me ten minutes, darling.”

“I’d rather eat glass. Ribbit.” Musrio spat.

Oliver tittered, taking her drink from the barista. “With the amount of venom you ingest, would that even do anything?” She inquired, turning to fully face him. “Five minutes, then? That’s all I’m asking for. Perhaps we can set some of our grievances aside.”

Musrio narrowed his eyes, understandably suspicious. Oliver tisked, shaking his head.

“Well, I’ll be over here if you change your mind. Darling, put this man’s drink on my tab.” They said, talking to the barista over their shoulder, before they turned and headed for a booth far away from the other patrons, their cane clicking against the floor.

Musrio strongly considered turning around and walking back out. His feet were burning with the urge. At the very least, he was going to get what he came for, though. He approached the counter and gave them his order; a black coffee with as much espresso they were legally allowed to give him, and whipped cream.

It came out rather quickly, and he took it to the personalization station, watching Oliver out of the corner of his eye the entire time.

The oliveblood had taken a seat, and was tapping on his palmhusk, an earpiece reading out his claw’s placement on the screen as his purse and cane laid on the bench beside him.

Musrio reached into his robe, to his satchel, and removed a vial of a viscous, clear fluid. He splashed a healthy amount into the coffee and stirred it, before pouring in a few packs of sugar. He turned towards the oliveblood again, debating himself silently for several seconds.

Finally, he approached the booth, and wordlessly slid into the opposing bench.

Oliver didn’t look up from her palmhusk, but she smiled. “So glad you decided to join me, darling.”

“Five minutes starts now.” Musrio said pointedly.

Oliver hummed, flicking tabs away on their palmhusk before closing it down and setting it aside. “Indeed.” They knitted their fingers together, resting their chin on them. Even with their eyes covered, Musrio got the impression Oliver was staring him down. “We have quite the history together, don’t we, Almawt?”

“No, we don’t.”

“Oh, but we do. Perhaps not directly, but we shared one very important troll.”

“We didn’t share them; you took them away and gave me back the broken pieces. Ribbit.” Musrio snapped.

“If that is how you remember it, darling, sure.” She hurried on as Musrio opened his mouth to speak, “You know, it’s quite funny. I don’t even know what you look like, darling, yet this… animosity has grown so dark between us, that even I am blinded by it. I am thankful that I am a phoenix, so that I might have a chance to cut through the murk with a gracing light.”

Musrio scoffed. “What are you getting at, Oliver?”

“I am getting at your surrender, Musrio.” Oliver said bluntly, his smile suddenly dropped.

“My what?”

“I am asking you politely, and once: I ask that you surrender your side now, before this gets messy and trolls get hurt. I don’t care if you join me or not, but simply… stop fighting. There’s no way you can win- you see that, don’t you?”

Musrio’s claws dug into his palms as he curled his hands into fists. “Trolls are going to get hurt regardless, Oliver- you’re planning a fucking genocide! Ribbit!”

Oliver sighed, shaking his head. “Sacrifices must be made, for the good of-”

“The only troll this would be good for is you.” Musrio cut them off.

“Darling, please. Surely someone as logical as you can see how the odds are stacked? On my side, I have the entirety of the Black Hand- nearly three hundred strong- BB, the Enforcer, and the Bladepen.

You have a drunk, a chef, a pair of broken batteries, a pair of mangy mutts, a gardener, a rancher, a madman, a chronically sick child, a philosopher, a retired soldier, and a failure.” She listed them off like she’d practiced this. “That’s not even to mention those of us who are undecided, such as the Hounding, the mutant reds, and the dear prince. Your side is mere has-beens and broken trolls, darling. I am offering you a chance to surrender with grace, rather than see them all culled.”

Musrio took a deep gulp of coffee in hostile silence, setting his cup down with force. “That’s where you’re wrong, Oliver.” He said, his voice dark. “I “have” nothing. I didn’t ask for any of this. I didn’t ask for demons and shifter-beasts and robots. I didn’t ask for soldiers and thieves. They took a good look at the fight you’re trying to start, and chose to back up the one troll you seem afraid of. Ribbit.”

Oliver scoffed. “I’m not afraid of you, Musrio.”

“Then why are we having this discussion?” The rustblood demanded, “If you aren’t afraid, why meet me like this?”

“Because I, platonically, pity you, darling. Watching this all go down is like watching a warren of hop-beast grubs try to fight a howl-beast. Frankly, it’s depressing that the Infinite Scapegrace thought you were a suitable rival to strengthen me.”

Musrio’s mouth opened in shock. “You think that’s what this is? Ribbit?” He hissed, “That I’m some big obstacle your god put in your way to test your mettle?”

Oliver tipped his head. “Of course, darling. Why else would you be so inferior, yet so maddeningly annoying?” Musrio growled, low in his chest, and Oliver raised her hands in surrender. “No offense.”

“Oh, all offenses taken.” Musrio snapped. He slid out of the booth, standing up. “I think I’m done here. I’m not surrendering, Oliver. That’s not a fucking option anymore. I don’t give a damn about you, your god, or even this piece of shit world, but I do give a rat’s ass about the fact that you collectively ruined my fucking life. Ribbit. Fuck you, fuck the Black Hand, and fuck Neviserrath.” Oliver tensed in his seat, “I didn’t ask for this. All I fucking wanted was to be a professor and marry my partner. But since you ruined that, since you started this bullshit and I got no say in my participation, I’m going to put an end to it. Ribbit!”

He spat out the final croak, snatched up his coffee, and stormed out.

It took the entirety of the twenty minute walk down to the docks for him to calm down. He called Drayco as soon as he was a few blocks away from the coffeehive and told them everything that had happened.

“Holy shit, babe.” Was Drayco’s response, “Are you okay?”

“No.”

“I’m sorry, Mush.” The bronzeblood sighed, “I… I don’t know what to do or say. This all started because of m-”

“Don’t, Dee.” Musrio said forcefully, before his dropped into an almost uncharacteristic softness, “This isn’t your fault. It’s Oliver’s. You know that. Ribbit.”

“… Yeah, I know.”

“This will be over soon, Dee, and we can put this all behind us. We just need to find Lucina.”

“Are you headed to them now?”

“Yeah. I’d just stopped off to get a drink.”

He heard Drayco suck in a sharp, gurgling breath. “Well, good luck, then. Call me after and tell me how it goes.”

“I will.”

“Okay. I love you, Mushy.”

“I love you, too. Ribbit.”

Musrio hung up as he approached the docks, and ascended the ramp of the Warshark. Standing on the deck, smoking a cigarette, was the Ruthless Deepbite.

He let out his breath, smoke streaming from his mouth and gills.

“They’re all waitin’ in the dinin’ block fer ya, lad.”

Musrio paused, looking up at the violetblood. “You know what this is about, don’t you?”

Ruthless nodded, the haunted and exhausted look in his eyes, for once, slightly alleviated by the faintest spark of hope. “Aye. There’s only one color left.” He looked out towards the water, his tattered fins flickering. “Krakyn wanted ta be here fer this, but he can’t come this close ta shore.” He said.

“You can tell him about this afterwards. Ribbit.”

“Aye.” Ruthless dropped the butt and crushed it under his boot, before he turned and headed for the hatch. “Come on, then.”

He hauled open the hatch, and let Musrio into the bowls of the ancient ship.

Down the corridor, Ruthless let him into a large room that once crammed a crew of four dozen trolls into tables to eat.

Now, only the Incoding, the Innocent, the Decaying, the Deadscar Wanderer, and, inexplicably, the Hounding and Ashhur, sat around a table, the former sat on the opposite end of the two latter. They all looked up as Musrio and Ruthless Deepbite entered.

“Welcome, young Almawt.” Innocent signed politely.

“Hi. Thank you all for coming.” Musrio nodded. Awkwardly, he took a seat at the head of the table, while Ruthless took a seat between his morails. Taking a sip of his coffee, he cleared his throat. “I… suppose you’re all wondering why I called you here.” He internally cringed at saying such a cliché line. “Well…” He took a deep breath, trying to settle his sudden onset of nerves; he’d never been in a room with so many adults before. “I’ve got a lot to explain.”

Knocking back another gulp of poisoned coffee, the adults were silent as Musrio launched into the story; his death, his revival, his title as the second harbinger, the Black Hand, Neviserrath Apocriyna, the chosen child, the ritual, Oliver’s goal, and his mission. He spoke for over an hour without pause, leaving nothing out as he explained the reasons for their revivals, and why he’d needed them in the first place.

“… and now,” He said, his throat beginning to ache from talking for so long, “we’ve come down to the final color: Jade. Ribbit.”

Musrio watched Innocent and Incoding’s eyes slide directly to Ruthless.

The large seadweller swallowed. “But ya’ve tried a hundred times ta bring her back, lad. Nothin’s worked.”

“That’s the thing.” Musrio shifted in his seat, “The Hierophant came to me, and told me why we’d been failing.” He leaned forward, “Ruthless, your wife isn’t dead.”

A very loud silence fell as the violetblood’s face went slack with disbelief. “… She…?” He tried to speak, his voice faint. Slowly, he began to shake his head. “No, no, that can’t be right! She died in my arms! I watched-”

Musrio held up a hand to stop him. “I’m not denying that she died. She did. Ribbit. But she came back, long before I ever even hatched. She’s a rainbow drinker, Ruthless, and she’s waiting for us, somewhere.”

Ruthless sat back in his seat, before he leaned forward and buried his face in his hands as he digested this. His fins began to flare, before they drooped, only to hesitantly flutter upwards again. Incoding and Innocent each put a comforting hand on his shoulders as he digested this.

For a minute, Musrio honestly thought the seadweller was going to cry. At last, though, he took a deep breath and sat up again, running a hand over his face. “I…” he shook his head. “Okay. Sorry. Okay. My wife’s alive.” His voice cracked, “Where is she?”

At that, Musrio could only shake his head. “I don’t know. She could be anywhere on Alternia- for all I know, she could be off-world. We need to plan, to-”

“To what? We can’t possibly sweep the entire planet for her.” Incoding interjected.

“I know that.” Musrio huffed, “But we need some place to start.” He turned to Ruthless, “Think, Deepbite. There must be a place the two of you went to that she’d know you’d think of, or something. Ribbit.”

Ruthless frowned, brows furrowing in thought. “… No. The only places I could think of would be ‘er grave, or here. Most everythin’ ‘tween us happened on this tub.” He stamped his foot, and the ship responded with a creak. “An’ trust me, I’d know if she were here.”

Musrio swallowed the growl in his throat. “Well, then…” His gaze wandered the room, as if the answer would be scrawled on the walls. He turned to Deadscar, next. “What about you? You’ve been all over Alternia, have you seen anywhere that could be a rainbow drinker’s hideout? Ribbit?”

The Wanderer considered it for a moment, before he shook his head. “That is too vague a question. I have seen hundreds of places where it would be easy for a rainbow drinker to dwell.” He rumbled.

Musrio reached up and fiddled with his necklace, thinking. Looking over the gathered trolls again, his gaze landed on his own ancestor, the Decaying Mind. Brigan was staring fixatedly at him.

“… You know, don’t you?” Musrio asked him.

He nodded.

“What?” Ruthless rounded on the older rustblood, “How?”

Musrio sighed. “Brigan saw all of this happen before it even occurred, when he was caught between life and death. Ribbit. It destroyed most of his mind, which is why I gave him his title.” He explained.

“Rotted, totted, off to the maggots.” Brigan hummed, drumming his fingers on the table.

“Then tell us, Bri.” Incoding took his matesprit’s hand, squeezing it gently, “Where is Lucina?”

Brigan looked up at him, squinting at the goldblood’s face. “Oh, Cody…” he sighed, making Incoding start in surprise.

“Where is she, Almawt?” Ruthless repeated, more forcefully.

Brigan began to sway, his lips pursed. Slowly, he scowled. “Words, words, words. Rotten like my pan, spilling black ink on black paper. Leviathan drowned by wolf, heralded by scorpion, stealing my lexicon. Incomprehensible, even to the Ebonblack.” He said, sounding frustrated.

“… What?” Innocent asked.

That was when Ashhur suddenly stood up. He walked around the table to face Decaying, leaning towards him. “Incomprehensible, against the Ebonblack.” He chirred, “Scrambled eggs in fried pan. Indigestible for gods. Poison. Use it.”

“Brat, what’re you doin’?” Hounding growled. Ruthless shushed him, as Decaying fixed his gaze on the young mutant.

Ashhur made several clicks and hums, all four eyes blinking out of sync. “The raining bows sipper is…” more clicks, “hiding. You know?” He asked.

Decaying nodded, enthralled. “I know.” He agreed, a look of hopeful wonder on his face as he stared at Ashhur.

“Where do you know?”

“Where do I know…” Decaying repeated, scratching his stubbly cheek. He opened his mouth and shut it several times. “The monster.” He said at last, seeming pleased with himself. He pointed at Ashhur, “Monster to monster, water to sand. No- no water, but the sapphire eye, guarding to the metal serpent. Beast of thirst, watching beast of slake, guarded by beast of bone. You know?”

All of Ashhur’s fins waved, almost hypnotically, as he thought this over, Decaying leaning forward with anticipation. Finally, Ashhur turned to Hounding. “What call you, the place of sand with no water?”

“The desert?” Hounding raised an eyebrow.

Decaying slapped his free hand onto the table, shook it out, and pointed at Hounding, nodding emphatically. “Desert, dessert, sweetness in sugar sand and gritted gold.” He turned to Ruthless. “Therein lies the where I know, what I know, who is known. Follow the screaming serpent’s trail, into the red, and find the corpse of lifeless gods.” He said, as if that was both comprehensible and important.

“Cody?” Ruthless turned to his morail, hoping for a translation.

“The hound of war lies in the desert.” Ashhur spoke instead, “Guarded by a beast, of one kind or many.”

“Okay… what’s a screaming serpent?” Incoding inquired.

Ashhur looked to Decaying.

“Metal, screaming, scuttling upon legs of centipede, but a serpent none the less.”

“Oh- a trackscuttler.” Incoding realized. He glanced at Ashhur, impressed. “How did you… manage to make him do that?”

Ashhur shrugged. “He cannot speak the way his pan speaks. I am,” he hesitated, clicking to himself, “broken worded, with your tongue. Broken tongue,” He pointed at himself, “broken thinkpan.” He pointed at Decaying, “Together, we make the words.”

“Well, then...” Innocent signed, “We head to the desert, and follow the trackscuttler trail.”

“All of us? That seems… like a bad idea.” Incoding frowned, “We don’t know where in the desert she is, or even which desert. The supplies alone would be a huge burden, and-”

“Then I’ll go.” Deadscar interrupted shortly. He rose to his feet, “I have crossed many deserts. I can search on my own.”

“Now, hang on.” Hounding squinted at Ishran, “Why the hell are ya goin’? I’m the tracker; my name is the Messiah’s damned Houndin’, after all.”

As one, the entire table turned to look at him. “... Why are you here, even?” Innocent inquired, “Last I checked, you weren’t on our side.”

Hounding nodded to Musrio. “The scumblood told me I aught’a come. Said I could get away from Godric.”

“I thought Godric was your boss.” Innocent pointed out, “He is the one that set you on us in the first place. Why would you want to get away from him?”

Hounding eyed the limeblood reproachfully. “Name one laborer that actually likes their foreman, sewerblood, an’ I’ll hang up my ax. Motherfucker pays me ta clean up his messes, but that doesn’t mean I want ta do it. The jobs the church gives me are more important than offin’ off some bitchblood with a big mouth.”

“...”

All the other adults gave each other a look.

Musrio shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. “Hounding is no longer the bigger threat here. We have Oliver, and the Enforcer to worry about. Ancient animosities have to be set aside. Ribbit.”

“It’s true…” Incoding said thoughtfully, before he snorted a laugh and turned to Hounding, “You’re basic, big guy. You’re season one’s villain.”

Hounding growled at him. “I could still rip ya in half right now, pissblood.”

“An’ ye’d get a bullet in the eye fer it.” Ruthless hissed.

“Stop.” Musrio said sharply, “Now isn’t the time.”

“Aye.” Ruthless agreed, looking around. “But it’s decided, then? Ishran’ll head fer the desert ta search fer Lucina. When ‘e finds her, we’ll come a’runnin’.”

The others nodded.

Ishran turned towards the door. “No point in wasting time. I will leave now.”

“Already?” Innocent asked, surprised.

Ishran looked towards his former charge, his expression momentarily softening. “Yes. I will be in touch.” He said, before striding out the door.

With that, Musrio rose to his feet, before he bowed to the gathered ancestors. “You have my thanks, all of you, for hearing me out. And… I’m sorry, for all of this. If it was my choice, I would have left your souls to rest. Ribbit.”

The gathering broke up, then, Hounding and Ashhur leaving promptly after. Musrio stood on the deck of the Warshark, texting Drayco as the three morails chatted nearby. The young rustblood looked up as a hand touched his shoulder.

“Puzzle to puzzle, pieces to rest.” Decaying murmured, coming to stand beside him. He looked up at the moons; they were full and fat that night, bathing everything in silvery purple and green. “Connected, all of them, until the picture is made blurry by the buried secrets. Clicked together, string to thumbtack, followed by the puppet wires, until they all tie behind the boy with demons in his blood and gods in his brain.”

He looked down at Musrio again, an unreadable expression in his eyes as he gazed intensely at his descendant. “The line will be blurred, paint will spill, but painters spared. Follow the lines, balance, tight-rope walking, but let ashen feathers run amok. Flames consume breath until redemption breaks the puzzle. The bane of worlds and innocent constellations will be the salvation of us all.”

Fayroe sat up in time to see two distant figures rapidly approaching.

Within minutes, Incoding, Ruthless, and Innocent arrived at the camp.

Ruthless was sat behind Innocent, on the back of Vornik’s lusus, Alphadad. The three-headed howl-beast dropped down, letting them slide off his back.

Incoding pulled Glitch Rider, his motorbike, to a stop, cutting the engine.

“Hello again, Deadscar.” The goldblood grinned, hopping off his vehicle.

“Greetings. Where is the fourth one?”

“Huh? Oh, you mean Bri? He didn’t want to come.” Incoding shrugged, “Something something, “this isn’t where he belongs.””

“Ishran, who- who is this?” Innocent was staring nervously at Fayroe.

The fuchsia slid off the buggy, pulling himself up proudly. “Fayroe Fallen. I’m Ishran’s apprentice.”

“No, you are not.” Ishran rebuked.

Fayroe opened their mouth to argue, but seeing all three of the morails bristling at their mere presence, they changed their mind and shut it again.

“Why is he here?” Innocent frowned.

“I do not know. He followed me from the city and I cannot make him leave.”

“Hm. Sounds familiar.” Innocent mused.

Incoding growled, and Fayroe’s fin-fronds flickered nervously at the sound. “I- hey, look- I’m not doing anything, see?” They raised their hands in surrender, an uncertain smile on their face. “I’m just hanging out with Deadscar.”

“You can ignore him, Incoding. He will do nothing.” Ishran sent a pointed look towards the young troll, who nodded, hopping back up onto Alaric’s buggy and taking a seat.

“Yup! Doing nothing, see?”

“He’s the Enforcer’s brat.” Incoding rumbled.

“Sure am, but you don’t see him risking life and limb for some strange lady in a hole.” Fayroe huffed.

Incoding narrowed his eye, but Innocent stepped forward before they could continue.

“Where is the other one?” He asked, looking around, “I saw three trolls here a moment ago.”

Ishran looked around, too, only to realize Alaric had disappeared. “I do not know.”

“I hath been to see the foremother. Thou doth wish to see her slumber? I think not. I assumed thou would prefer to meet her in her wake.” Alaric’s voice echoed up from the cavern as it emerged from the tunnel. It came to a stop, looking between the morails, before its gaze settled on Ruthless. “Hark, forefather of mine. I am thine descendant, Alaric Evrren.”

Ruthless’ face was completely unreadable as he stared at the young jadeblood. He’d been silent since they’d arrived, his hands trembling at his sides. “Yer…” He said faintly, “Yer my brat?”

“Aye, thine bastard by blood.” Alaric grinned, its tiny fins twitching.

“You’ve got three of them now.” Incoding pat Ruthless’ shoulder sympathetically. “Makeno, Krakyn, and now this one.”

Ruthless could only nod, unable to take his eyes off the jadeblood’s horns. “S… So, she’s in there?” He croaked.

“Aye.” Alaric stood aside and waved into the darkness. “She awaits you, forefather.”

Ruthless swallowed dryly, but didn’t move.

“Ru?” Innocent gently touched the seadweller’s arm. He looked down at the limeblood, then at the goldblood.

“I…”

Innocent smiled softly. “It is okay. We will wait here with the others.”

Ruthless could only nod.

On stiff legs, he moved towards the cavern entrance. He didn’t look back as he was swallowed by the dark, and the others sat down to wait.

Ruthless didn’t know where he was going. It was incredibly dark, even for his sharp eyes. The wind brushing past his fins was cold, and brought him the impression of branching stone halls by the way it moved.

The smell of bleach and incense, of sopor, and the tang of copper were perforated through the air. He was in a brooding cavern, he realized; long abandoned but still operational. He could hear the hum and beeping of vats and recuperacoons in the distance, down the side corridors.

His mind was clamoring and silent at the same time. He didn’t know where he was going; he just moved, without his thinkpan’s command. Trembling fingers reached up and grasped the wedding rings that hung around his throat.

Finally, there was change to the dark around him; the tunnel curved to his left, before it opened into a large chamber, which he stepped into and paused.

A desk, a recuperacoon, dozens of lit candles, scattered papers, weapons- that was all he was able to register, before the shadows moved.

In the quarter of a time it took to blink, there was something sharp pressing against the side of his neck, the cold metal burning against his gills; a spear, he recognized distantly, as he felt a presence practically materialize behind him.

“Who the hell are you?” A low voice snarled in his ear.

Ruthless’ heart wrenched.

He’d know that voice anywhere, even after four hundred sweeps of silence. He closed his eyes, a shuddering breath making its way out of his lungs.

“Lucina.”

The name fell from his lips like the rasp of dying man’s last words.

The silence that hung in the air was momentary, but it spoke of a lifetime. Only to explode like a supernova as the spear hit the floor.

“Erimus?”

A sob punched its way into the seadweller’s throat, and he held his breath as he turned his head to look.

It was her.

She was here. She was real, and alive, and- and she said his name.

“Aye.” He croaked, his eyes brimming with tears. “Aye, Lucy, it’s- it’s me, I-” He went to reach for her, but she stepped back.

Erimus froze, his hand still extended, as he finally seemed to take in the jadeblood’s appearance.

Even in the dim light, he'd know here anywhere. She was his Lucina, but she was… hardened. Older, and greyed. She wore his old cape.

The cape he had buried her in.

“L… Lucina?” He repeated, confused now, as the jadeblood stared at him. “It’s me, it’s- it’s yer Erim.”

“Is it?” She asked; her voice was steady, void of emotion, but it cracked in the air like a whip.

Erimus swallowed the lump in his throat, and could only nod.

Lucina crossed her arms, looking the voiletblood up and down with her eyes. “You look like him.” Her eyes settled on the wedding rings hung around his neck. Her glare bore into them like she was attempting to melt them, scrutinizing the golden bands. Her gaze lifted back to his eyes.

“Where were you?” She demanded, her voice shaking now. “Where have you been, Erimus Faslet?” She stepped forward and seized his shirt, hauling the eight foot seadweller down to her height. “It’s been four hundred sweeps, you rat bastard. Explain yourself, now.”

Erimus reached up and grasped her hand in his own; her fingers were so cold. “I’m sorry.” He rasped, his throat strained and raw from holding in four hundred sweeps of grief. “I’m so sorry.” His legs buckled, and he fell to his knees before her, unable to tear his eyes away from her face. “Ye… Ye died, Lucina. And I- I couldn’t- I couldn’t do it on my own. I didn’t know ye were… like this. If I had known, Lucina, I would have clawed my way out o' hell ta come back- I’m so sorry.”

He bowed his head, his hand clinging to her fist like it was all that tethered him to the world. He was shaking, overwhelmed and painfully sober.

His breath hitched as he heard her fall to her knees, and felt arms wrap around his shoulders. Without hesitation, he embraced her, crushing her to him like he’d die if he ever let her go again.

Her face pressed to his neck, and he buried his in her shoulder. Violet tears slid down his face and sunk into the fabric of her cape. She was crying, too- he could feel her trembling against him.

“I’m so sorry, Lucina.” He whispered. “I’m so sorry I took so long. If I had known, I would’ve-”

“Silence, you fucking fool.” She muttered, hiccupped, before she laughed breathlessly. “You’re here now.”

Erimus could have cried anew. He nodded, his grip tightening around her. “Aye… I’m here now. I’m- I’m here, and I swear I will never leave ye again, Lucina Evrren.”

The rainbow drinker slowly pulled away, gazing up at her husband with tear-filmed eyes, yet not one had slid down her face. She reached up and cupped his stubbly, scarred cheek, and he melted into her touch, turning his head to brush his lips against her palm.

“What good is kissing my hand, Erim, when my lips are right here?” She whispered.

He opened his eyes and looked at her. “Do ye want me ta kiss you?” He breathed.

She said nothing.

And even after four hundred sweeps, after a thousand years, after they had both died and returned…

He kissed her.

He kissed her like he’d kissed her before, like he’d kissed her when they woke up in the morning together. He kissed her like how he'd done before, after they sparred. He kissed her like he’d he'd returned from a swim at sea and found her waiting. He kissed her like he was the one dying in her arms.

He kissed her like it would hurt to stop.

He felt her new fangs against his lips, and he only kissed her harder.

And she kissed him back, like four hundred sweeps had done nothing to erode their crimson quadrant. She kissed him like the ring around his neck was still on her finger. She kissed him like they’d just seen one another again at the end of a battle. She kissed him like they were in the crow’s nest, watching the stars. She kissed him like she had when she had to say goodbye.

She kissed him like it hurt, and she couldn’t stop.

She tasted booze on his tongue, tasted smoke and grief, and only kissed him all the more fiercely.

When they finally parted, if they ever did, they clung to one another, to the only other warm body in that cold cavern.

Outside, Erimus’ morails and companions waited for them. Outside, their middle child waited, too, adjusting the muzzle on its face. Far from them, deep in the sea, their eldest son waited to see them again. And their youngest waited to meet his foremother.

Outside, the world was waiting. But it hadn’t waited, it hadn’t grieved, for four hundred sweeps. So it could damn well wait, as the Deepbite and the Warhound parted only long enough to whisper to one another. Parted only long enough to remove the seadweller’s necklace. Parted only long enough to slide the rings back onto the fingers of their rightful owners.

Then they held one another, kissed one another, a little longer.