Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Her eyes rip open like a bullet slicing through a paper bullseye. Her breath stutters out a second later, fractured by the transition from darkness to the blinding light of her surroundings. Her hand flies up to her forehead, searching for the bullet hole that should be leaking blood. Instead, her fingers slide across smooth skin. There isn’t even a scar to imply that a wound was once there. It was as if she were healed by some mystical force.

Or, she suspects as she looks around, she’s dead. She pushes her hands against the ground, helping put her onto her feet. She turns in slow circles, taking in her surroundings. A huge hall made from white stone and roman pillars. The roof directly over her head curves and stretches out like a rectangle with rounded sides made up from colored pieces of glasses creating a picturesque mosaic. The glass continues down the far wall, showing an image her mind cannot comprehend. On the other side of the hall, a pair of doors stand open, showing a courtyard dominated by a single, large tree with leaves of every color and all their shades that exist in the world, even some from beyond the world. The walls hidden in the shadows of the roman pillars and the overhang are decorated with portraits of people and places she doesn’t know.

She is not alone in the waiting hall. A figure stands several feet away from her. Its skin has been painted with the black of the night sky, and its gray eyes stare out like two waxing moons. It wears robes of light blue with darker accents and a stylized red heart on its upper chest. Its hands are crossed over its stomach, fingers interwoven like a tapestry. It bears no expression, nor does it seem to carry any weight upon its shoulders. It stands so still that one could mistake it for a statue. It is only the subtle shifting of its eyes that would give away the autonomous quality of the Entity. However, even though it is not a ‘statue,’ it is not alive, either. Not in the way most would agree with, not in alignment with the proper definition.

“Is this finally my end?” She asks solemnly, shifting her weight from foot to foot. She’s barefoot in this world, wearing a plain white smock. She feels like an angel or otherwise some being of purity. She flexes her fingers, closing them into fists. She’s no angel, and this place isn’t heaven. If anything, it’s purgatory. It is the realm between the living and dying worlds. It is a place she has been once before. That time, it was by her own hand. This time, she thinks as she puts her hand back on her forehead, it decidedly wasn’t her fault.

“It is. You have died this time. There is no way to send you back,” The Entity explains with a voice like the unforgiving wind, moving and emotionless. The Entity has always answered all of her questions when she asked them truthfully, not entirely like an angel or a demon. If anything, the Entity might be a classical fairy, but it hasn’t asked for her ‘name’ yet or whatever fairies do. Whatever it is, the Entity will either answer her question or tell her pointedly that it cannot answer.

Because she knows the Entity is telling the truth, her anger flares inside her body immediately. She starts marching towards the Entity, her footsteps echoing in the hall as she passes from one pool of colored light to the next. The Entity does not move an inch as she grabs onto the edges of its robes, pulling at the material with a righteous anger resounding through her very bones. “You promised! You said that if I wrote your stupid stories, you would give me what I wanted most!”

“I will fulfill my end of the bargain,” The Entity says, moving its hands to behind its back as she pulls at its clothes. Its apathy towards her anger only makes everything sting worse. She releases her hands, feeling tension pull her muscles taut. She stares at her shaking hands as they remain close to the Entity’s chest without touching it or its clothes.

“How? I don’t suppose I’m going to find a family in this desolate place!” She snaps, gesturing her hands around. Unless the portraits and the mosaic above her that she can’t even comprehend without feeling her sanity slip away are going to become her family, the Entity has not even gotten close to giving her what she wanted, what she was promised.

“You are correct. While not entirely impossible, a family would be hard to come by here,” The Entity agrees, looking around without actually seeing what its eyes pass by. It stops looking around to stare at her. “For that reason, I will be taking you somewhere else.”

“I don’t want to go anywhere else! I want what you promised me,” She complains childishly. Then again, isn’t she a child? She was certainly close. She was a few years off from getting away from her foster home, from all the foster homes. She was only a few months from leaving behind every broken home she had been thrust into by a government that didn’t care about her. She would never be yelled at or hit by or ignored by the people who were supposed to be taking care of her again. She would never feel the urge to end it all ever again. She was so close, and yet, here she is, standing in the waiting place between life and death, arguing with a strange creature that might as well be the devil for all she knows. 

“I have never once lied to you. I am going to give you a family as I promised. You are going to be loved and have someone to love,” The Entity declares steadily, reminding her so much of a night a few years from this one when she was first met the Entity, when she first swore to write her dreams as a published book in order to get the family she’s desperately wanted since she was a baby. Warm tears fill her eyes, and she swears the Entity’s expression grows a little softer, a little kinder, at least around the edges.

That warmth dissipates as it places a hand on her forehead. A dark liquid– purple, she thinks— spills across her face. She can see through the liquid, though her vision isn’t exactly clear. The Entity blurs, but she swears she can see a pair of wings on its back. Something shifts in the wings, and suddenly, she is looking at a strange, white eye. “But I have use for you yet.”

Suddenly, the purple gets too thick, and she cannot see anything other than it. The sensation of her body fades away from her mind, and she’s suddenly a floating spark in a vast snowstorm, clinging to life and luminance.

And then-

And then she smells sea salt in the air.

Chapter Text

Darkness blankets her sight, but a faint light gently ebbs through her thin eyelid. Her ears ring faintly, masked by the wailing of a baby. Her lungs are burning, exerting a force she can’t pinpoint and not taking in enough air even when she is commanding her body to do so. There is something sticky and wet dripping across her body, and while she was warm a second ago, she is suddenly very cold. She feels like someone has stuck her in a freezer, but instead of regular ice, they must be freezing salt water. The smell of it is so thick in her nose that she’s certain that is why she isn’t breathing properly.

She notices a moment later that there is pressure against her bare skin. She vaguely recognizes the shape to be like hands, but they are way bigger than hands reasonably should be. She wants to start asking questions, but those hand-like spots of pressure place her against a firm but incredibly warm cushion. Her face is moved to rest directly on this new cushion, and she realizes as soon as the thudding of a heartbeat overtakes the wailing of that nearby baby that she’s against someone’s chest.

There have been several mornings when getting up was difficult, but it feels particularly troublesome to open her eyes this morning. Through sheer force of will, however, she manages to peel them open. The light stings immediately. She turns her head further into the chest, hiding in what little darkness it provides her. She keeps her eyes open even if she has to squint, allowing them to adjust second by second. As she forces her eyes into complete openness, she finds it in herself to stop the wailing noise. Apparently, it was her all along. A disturbing thought considering she hasn’t cried since she was a child. That sort of reaction had been forced out of her by cruel hands she really doesn’t want to think about right now.

She turns her head slowly, the movement just as laborious as opening her eyes, if not more so. Despite the amount of effort used to perform both of these simple motions, she is rewarded. She is finally able to look at the face attached to the chest she is currently siphoning warmth from since her own body seems unable to do that on its own.

The face belongs to a woman. She seems relatively young, but her sun-kissed complexion and soft wrinkles paint the image of someone who has worked hard outside. She has deep and warm brown eyes like the very soil that beautiful plants find their salvation in. Those eyes were carrying a hefty amount of affection in the space between the pupil and the edge of the iris. Her hair is a dark brown shade, but the very tips are a snowy white, and she recognizes that the woman has some sort of dye job. It doesn’t ruin her hair, of course, as the waves slicked down with sweat seem pleasant to touch. There is a sort of aura around the woman, something that she vaguely recognizes without being able to put a name to it.

“Oh,” The woman whispers, her voice caught in the small space between the two of them. The woman lifts her hand up, her fingers gently running against her cheek. Even though the hand near her is far more gentle than anything she’s ever experienced in her life, she can’t help but realize that it is almost as big as her head. She can only stare at the hand warily as it probes at her cheek, never once turning harsh like it should.

Her attention is taken away from the weirdly large woman as more voices filter into her head. She uses her eyes to look over since moving her head is too difficult. She didn’t notice before, but she’s in a room made completely from wood with a circular window near the ceiling, allowing a light so bright into the room that she can’t see what’s beyond it. What she can see through is the open doorway. A man is standing at the threshold, trying to keep two little boys from entering the room. He is struggling with them, but he doesn’t seem keen on giving up.

“Callum,” The woman holding her says, looking up to peer at the door. She smiles gently, her affectionate expression never waning. “It’s okay. Let them in.”

“I don’t think this is healthy, captain,” The man– Callum– declares as he steps back into the room. The boys need no encouragement as they slide through the space between Callum and the door’s threshold. They dart across the room using up a kind of energy that could only ever belong to children. They both bound up close to the woman, and subsequently, her.

The older of the two boys has dirty gold hair, something approaching a bronze kind of tan. While it could be said that his eyes were as green as emeralds, it would be more accurate to say his eyes were emeralds. The way the green was cut into irises was unmistakably like the gemstone that often gives its name when describing the color green. They even reflect back the limited light in the room in a way that only jewels or prisms can.

Even though her attention is held by those eyes, she does look at the other boy. His hair is a sturdy blonde shade, only a little bit of a coppery color when the light darts between the individual strands. Like the other boy, he has green eyes. While they are not made from gemstones, the shade of green is entirely too inhuman. They are so freshly green. A luminescent neon green ring spins endlessly around the pupil like a moon stuck in orbit around a planet.

Both of the boys stare at her excitedly, their expressions a mixture of awe and curiosity. Funnily, she doesn’t see any hate in their eyes nor indifference. She is good at recognizing both as most survivors are wont to do. They are, in a simple word, as affectionate as the woman holding her. She can forgive the supernatural quality of their eyes, but she cannot comprehend the adoration for a stranger, or for her, specifically.

“Boys, meet your new baby sister, Drista!” The woman proclaims with a merry quality to her voice. The boys take her words in stride, but Drista finds herself staring in disbelief at the woman. When her disbelief fades, she feels the urge to laugh miserably. This is what the Entity meant. Instead of having a regular family to adopt her or giving her a single person that she could trust to love her, the Entity made her reincarnate as a newborn. This family– this woman and the two boys– are Drista’s new family, the one she was promised. Part of her wants to rage against this outcome, fall into the absurdity of it all, but she can’t. The Entity prepared her for much stranger circumstances than this one even if all of the other ones felt more likely than being reborn as a baby.

“I’m Foolish,” The older boy murmurs, most likely ten years old or maybe a little less. He is pressing far more closely into the woman, peeking around her side to look at Drista. He doesn’t seem scared of her or distrustful. He could be worried that he’s going to hurt Drista. While she’s never personally been around a baby, she understands that they are fragile. Drista sighs internally. She was so close to being a proper adult. Now, she’s back to square one with awareness but no strength. She’s going to have words with the Entity.

“Dream!” The younger boy (seven, maybe?) excitedly claims, crawling onto the bed on his hands and knees. He is staring intently at Drista. His voice continues to rattle around her head, but she refuses to cry as her instincts declare she should. She isn’t in any actual danger. She doesn’t feel particularly hungry, and she doesn’t think she’s been alive long enough to poop. Her capacity for pain is way higher than it should be for a baby, so she’s able to press down the sensation of whimpering. She doesn’t know for how long, but she’s going to make a good impression. People don’t like it when babies cry, and Drista refuses to give an inch to these people.

“And I’m your mama… or papa. I don’t mind, either,” The woman says, looking at Drista. Her eyes cut over to Foolish at the word ‘papa.’ He doesn’t glance at her, his attention focused on Drista.

“Yeah, and I’m your unprepared midwife,” The man says. He seems to have left the room for a moment because he’s standing at the doorway with something tucked under his arm. She gives him her full attention. He is wearing an white fox mask with orange markings over his face, shadowing his dark gray-black eyes. His orange hair shoots out in weighted curls every which direction. He shifts his weight from side-to-side, and as he approaches the bed from the other side as the two boys, Drista finally realizes that she’s rocking back and forth. It wasn’t apparent before as the shock was distracting her, but now she understands the situation she’s in. Or, she thinks she does.

“Thank you for helping me,” The woman calls out, staring up at Callum’s face with a grateful and open expression.

Callum huffs. His eyes dart around the room from underneath his mask, and he gestures vaguely to the curved wooden walls. “You can thank me when that baby survives. I mean, by the sun god, captain, we’re in the hull of a ship!”

Callum’s irritation is downplayed by the fact that he set the basin he was holding underneath his arm onto the ground. He pulls out a damp rag from it, handing it over to the woman– his captain and Drista’s mother. He gets another rag for himself. Together, they start wiping Drista off. They are gentle, of course, and the rags are warm. Drista tries hard not to fidget or start crying as they get whatever birthing gunk is on her off of her. Drista is extremely grateful, even when Callum’s words linger in her head for a moment longer than she thinks they should have. Is Drista going to die so soon?

“I was trying to make it to port,” The woman sheepishly responds, shrugging one of her shoulders, the one that doesn’t directly move Drista.

Callum laughs bitterly, his eyes remaining on Drista’s hand as he wipes it off. “‘Tried’ is a more apt term. Better yet, ‘failed’.”

When the woman laughs, it is far more positive. She tries keeping her laughter to a minimum, however, as the vibrations directly impact Drista. Even if she were blessed with a voice, Drista wouldn’t have told the woman that she didn’t mind, but in all honesty, she didn’t. The laughter was nice. The warmth was nice. The attention was nice. And Drista never felt like more of a fool. She can’t cave this easily.

“You never know with these Fae halflings. You think they’ll come after so many moon cycles, but they always come earlier than you think,” The woman lightly references. Drista feels surprise shock her system like a bucket of cold water. Despite seeing the two boys’ eyes, despite being in the hull of a wooden ship, despite the fact that the Entity was the one to grant this gift, Drista still somehow believed she was in her original world. If the woman isn’t bluffing, if Drista truly is a Fae halfing, she isn’t in her original world. She’s somewhere else… somewhere unfamiliar.

“Oh, I’m sorry for assuming the great Captain Puffy was an expert after having a siren’s kid and two other kids with two different Fae,” Callum retorts grimly, glaring weakly at his captain. He drops the rag he was using back into his basin without looking, instead glancing warily at Foolish, Dream, and finally, Drista. She really should have known better than to think the two boys could be completely human after learning she herself was half-Fae.

“It could have been the same Fae,” Puffy points out, a serious expression crossing her face. This expression has its impact lessened by the faint smile twitching on her lips.

“You need to leave Mama alone!” Dream pipes up, looking up from Drista to stare at Callum. Dream rises up on his knees, trying to tuck Puffy behind his stretched out arms. He only ends up wacking her. Puffy winces slightly as she gets out of her son’s way, but the anger Drista expects to be there never appears. Instead, Puffy reaches one of her hands out to run it through Dream’s hair. She tugs gently at the strands, and Dream leans toward her, giggling like a playful child. Like a loved one, Drista enviously thinks, forcing her attention away.

“Are we going to the port?” Foolish asks, kicking his legs out from under him to sit properly next to his mother. He leans onto her shoulder, looking at Callum from his new post.

“We should. Captain, you and your baby need to be checked out by a proper doctor. I’m not a learned man. I have no clue if I just completely ruined you and your baby. The others are going to murder me if I did,” Callum explains, looking away from the group as he recalls the memories of what Drista assumes is her own birth. She feels for the masked man.

“Do you really think that’s necessary?” Puffy asks, raising an eyebrow.

Even without facial cues to look at, Drista can tell by Callum’s body language that he really doesn’t understand what Puffy just said. He paces a few times, a soft muttering coming from underneath the mask. When he stops moving like an unwinding clockwork toy, he whirls around to look into Puffy’s eyes. “Captain, allow me to remind you what just happened: you prematurely gave birth to a half-Fae baby in the hull of an unclean ship. You and your baby definitely need a professional to look after you.”

“I think you’re a good doctor,” Foolish pipes up, smiling cheekily at the masked man.

“Thank you, Foolish,” Callum sighs, his eyes lightening up from all the emotions he’s been harboring. When he glances back at Puffy, all of his indignation has given way to his desperation. Despite everything he’s said, all he truly wants is for Puffy and Drista to live. That sentiment, Drista decides, they can agree on. She also wants to live.

Puffy sighs. She looks out of the window as she says, “Fine. We can head to the port.” Her glare cuts over to Callum. “But I don’t want anyone treating me like I’m fragile.”

Callum laughs airily. He crosses his arms over his chest. “Surely, no one is going to make the mistake of treating the woman who just gave birth like she’s fragile.”

“I’m still the captain,” Puffy firmly declares, and the expression on her face reminds Drista of a leader. There is a reason why people like Callum made her into the person that would make the tough decisions for them. Drista tries to reconcile the image of Puffy with what Drista thought pirate captains were like formerly– because that is what they are, isn’t it?

“Papa’s right!” Foolish declares, moving his legs to be underneath him to give himself a little bit more height next to his mother. He stares right into Callum’s eyes, veracity gleaming like gold across his skin. “And I’m the first mate!”

“No, you aren’t!” Dream cries out swiftly, turning to glare at his brother. Drista’s baby instincts want her to start crying as the two of them grow louder, their argument bouncing around the room. Puffy stares at them, trying to placate their arguing while constantly glancing at Drista, trying to sense when the baby is going to start crying. Her expression twists with confusion when Drista only stares back at her with nothing on her face, but Puffy doesn’t have time to worry about it.

Callum rolls his eyes, leaning closer to the two arguing brothers. “I’m first mate after helping the captain deliver a baby with only a couple of books as a guide.”

“I could have done it! I know how to read!” Foolish declares, pointing right at Callum’s face, so close that his index finger practically goes into the eyehole. Callum leans back, shuffling around the bed to stand at the footboard. Foolish crawls out of the bed to get closer to Callum, grabbing onto the edge of his jacket’s fabric.

“I don’t, but I could’ve done it, too!” Dream adds, his voice merging with Foolish’s arguments. Dream grabs onto Callum’s hand, pulling at his fingers to get Callum to pay attention to him instead of Foolish. Together, the two brothers are fighting over which one of them gets to argue with Callum over who the first mate actually is. Subtly, however, Callum is ushering the two boys out of the room. In their childish emotions, neither of them notice that they are now in the hallway. As Callum turns around to close the door behind him, Puffy mouths a ‘thank you’. Drista cannot see his mouth, but the edges of his eyes crinkle with a smile.

With the door completely shut, Puffy leans back against the headboard. She looks down at Drista, giving the baby all of her attention. “That must have been a lot of excitement for a little baby.”

Puffy breathes out of her nose, her entire body and face softening. She moves Drista to get closer to her, leaning down to look into her eyes. Drista wonders if she will look like Puffy, or if she will look more like her Fae parent, whoever they are. Puffy doesn’t seem concerned by what she sees either way, and she continues to stare at Drista lovingly. “It will only get more exciting from here, but I promise to be with you every step of the way. We’re family now, and family sticks together through calm and stormy seas.”

Puffy pulls back, but she keeps Drista close. She starts swaying slightly, rocking Drista in a way that feels more intimate than the ship rocking around them. Puffy closes her eyes. She opens her mouth. The first notes of a song fill into the room, and Drista realizes she’s never heard a lullaby before. She doesn’t understand any of the words, but they sweep into Drista’s mind, clearing away all her negativity and hopelessness. For a moment, Drista is part of all of this— part of Puffy, part of the ship, part of the sea, and part of the song.

Drista stands in the grand hall where she frequently met the Entity. Instead of a baby, Drista is staring down at the hands of a teenage girl— the person she was before she died. Drista grits her teeth, standing up abruptly. As expected, the Entity is already waiting for her, standing evenly between two distant pillars. Its arms are crossed behind its back, and those dark eyes are boring into her. Drista snarls, marching over to the Entity. Even before she reaches it, she is yelling across the hall. “What was that, huh? I only wanted a family! I would have settled for a good friend that felt like family! I didn’t ask to be reborn.”

Drista stands right in front of the Entity, staring up at its solemn face. It raises its hands out, showing her that it means no harm. “I respect your opinion, but this was the easiest way for me to fulfill your desires. There is also much you need to do in this new world.”

Drista laughs, but it sounds more like she’s tearing the sound from her lungs with how bitter it sounds. “So, you’re giving me another job, huh? I knew writing a book in exchange for a family was too easy. Of course I would never get what I want.”

“That book was not for you. It was to help someone else on their journey. I brought you to this world to help you on your journey,” The Entity answers firmly, its attention crossing over a distant image that Drista’s feeble mind cannot comprehend.

“What’s my destiny, then?” She asks ruefully, crossing her arms over her chest. That’s what it always comes down to, doesn’t it? Destiny . There were so many people in her old world that believed in destiny, that saw some glorious purpose in their existence. Drista did not see that, but she did believe in destiny. She believed that some force out there didn’t want her to be happy. It didn’t even give her a little bit of happiness and tear it away. Drista never got a chance. The most happiness she ever got was a couple of commenters on the book she wrote. The only thing that kept her going was the belief that the Entity would follow through with their deal. Now, neither seemed possible, and she was in a whole new world.

“No.”

Drista looks up suddenly. The Entity wears an expression, something it has rarely done. The expression is part remorse, part agitation, part determination, but altogether strong and firm. It stares right into her eyes, and sincerely declares, “I need you to destroy destiny, not follow it.”

“How am I supposed to do that?” Drista asks, lacking the same confidence that the Entity is showing.

“Use The Ender Prince as a map. You need to go off-course,” The Entity says.

Drista opens her mouth, about to ask what that is supposed to mean, but a memory slams right into her with enough force that she stumbles backward, barely noticing the Entity’s partially regretful expression. Drista throws her hands over her face as she pulls through the threads of the new memories.

The Ender Prince was a book Drista wrote. Each chapter came from these dreams she would have. These dreams came from the Entity after they made a deal; she would write the book if it gave her what she wanted most, a family. The Ender Prince was commonly divided among the fans of the book into arcs based on where the main character was. The second arc took place in Essempei, a nation of nature, pirates, and Fae. The villain was the second prince, the manipulative Dream. King Foolish was a terrifying force, who brought down the force of a storm when angered. The dowager queen, Puffy, was a distant existence, not quite present but alluded to in legendary stories. This family proved to be a dangerous obstacle to the main character. 

This family is also the one she has in this life.

And ‘Drista’ isn’t a character in The Ender Prince.

Chapter Text

The salty air blows around them with the energy of a mischievous fiend, the scent lingering in Drista’s tiny nose and poking at her cheeks. The sunlight roams across the ground, dancing endlessly between the slow-moving clouds. At the edges of Drista’s vision, she can see green leaves stretching out to grab onto as much light as they can, blocking out the bluest sky Drista has ever seen. The ocean laughs boisterously, slamming against the shore like two hands coming together to clap. In the distance, she can hear people yelling out to each other, merchants marketing their goods and dock workers giving out orders to the incoming ships to ensure proper anchoring. Even with a little scope of what is going on because of the blanket swaddling her and Puffy’s arms constricting her further, Drista understands instinctively just what kind of place her mother has brought her to.

Drista is given another piece to the puzzle of where they are by Puffy’s face, another item in Drista’s current field of vision. Puffy looks more than happy; she looks serene. She looks like someone who has finally come home. She takes a big, gulping breath of the air. She raises her face and one of her hands toward the sunlight. She smiles minutely and closes her eyes. The quietness of her expression conveys a sense of security. Drista knows for certain where they are, and she now knows how Puffy feels about this place. Drista supposes that she, too, should feel a similar way, but it is too early for Drista to make that judgment.

Puffy’s eyes snap open. Drista hears her brothers laughing, and Puffy’s face looks down to the dock. Her head moves around, and she starts taking a step in a different direction. Puffy’s smile widens and she looks close to laughing like her sons. Drista sees Foolish’s darting reflection in the brown of Puffy’s eyes, almost like a minnow in a muddy pool. Foolish and Dream’s laughter grows fainter, so Drista assumes they have both run headfirst onto the island.

Puffy turns her body as the boys’ laughter is replaced with a sea shanty. Members of Puffy’s crew start to vacate the ship, carrying barrels over their shoulders or crates in their arms. They are all screaming a sea shanty instead of properly singing it, but there is a happiness evident in their voices as they bumble along in two unorderly lines around Puffy’s figure. Again, Drista watches her mother’s expression change, and she realizes with a little scrutiny that people change their expressions a lot. At least, Puffy does, and this woman has kind of become Drista’s entire world, at least until Drista can figure out how to move all on her own.

The last person to make a noise is the same person that sidles up right beside Puffy instead of heading deeper on the island. Drista catches the nose of Callum’s mask as Puffy turns away from him, her expression transforming once more to show her annoyance. Callum leans closer, and Drista stares at him with wide eyes. Puffy sighs exaggeratedly. “I was only taking a moment to get some fresh air.”

Callum’s eyes, hidden in the holes of the mask, narrow, and he makes an unconvinced noise. Puffy rolls her eyes. She moves Drista to a different position as she starts walking down the wooden deck onto the harbor of the island. Drista’s eyes roam across the island now that she has a better view of it. This, she assumes, is the Faction Isles, or at least, the island that will become the Faction Isles after Puffy becomes the Pirate Queen and organizes all the pirates into four guilds. For now, it is one of the few places where pirates and merchants can interact with each other on neutral ground. They are able to sell and buy wares, no matter how illegal those wares might be. They are able to issue and accept bounties in order for some extra money. This is also the place to go if someone wants passage to a different island, or if they want to join a pirate crew. Supposedly, after exploring the Fae Wilds, Puffy came to the faction isles to start her own crew of misfits and outcasts. It worked, and now she is the captain of her own ship, though she isn’t the most powerful or respected captain there is, and no one knows her true identity as the princess of Essempei and heir to the Daystar Throne.

Ranboo, the main character of The Ender Prince, never went to the Faction Isles. Beau, one of his traveling companions from Essempei, told him a couple of details about it, but her words fall short to the experience Drista is having right now. The island is built primarily as a large settlement made from stone and wood. There are shops lining nearly every street, including overflowing taverns and merchants at stalls. The most fascinating part, however, is the sheer diversity of the people. There are members of nearly every species and nation. Drista can identify a few of them based on key features, and her eyes linger on a couple of hybrids hanging out in the corner. She moves her attention, and she thinks she sees an elf. She has to double-check since elves very rarely leave Alfheim, their own enclave in the Antarctic Empire to Essempei’s north.

“Come on,” Callum says, opening the door to a building that Drista cannot properly see but is able to see the long shadow of. Drista isn’t able to see the edifice as Puffy steps into the room. Drista wiggles as best she can, and Puffy must understand as she moves Drista to lie low in both of her arms again. Drista looks around the building they have stepped into. They are in a large room made from wood. There is a bar in the corner and some tables behind the distant railings. There is a giant fireplace, and a man with fox ears is standing in front of the table, yelling commands at the pirates and merchants vying for his attention.

“No need to linger here,” Callum hisses, his attention drawn to the fox hybrid. Unlike the others, Callum seems repelled by the man instead of attracted to him, like magnets of the same polarity. Drista eyes him, but Callum doesn’t look away from the man until Puffy, Drista, and Callum are hidden by the walls of a stairwell leading them upwards. Callum makes an odd face, torn between relief and regret, but it fades when he turns his attention back to his captain. When Callum meets Drista’s eyes, he gives her a reassuring smile.

Callum, strangely enough, doesn’t really treat Drista like she’s a baby. Or, rather, he doesn’t treat her like she’s stupid. He acts like she’s fragile, and he frequently reminds other people that she’s a baby, but he doesn’t ever talk down to her or make those odd noises that most people make towards babies, that the other crewmates and even Drista’s new family does. Callum talks to Drista like she is listening to him, like she can respond, though he never truly forgets that Drista doesn’t have any life experiences and therefore cannot give sage advice. Or so everyone thinks, because Drista knows she can give advice. Maybe not wise advice, but it is what it is.

When they move out of the stairwell and into a hallway, Callum moves out from behind Puffy. He leads Puffy deeper into a hallway, eventually opening a door for her. Puffy nods her gratitude at him, and she steps into the room. Callum follows behind them, closing the door. He stands next to Puffy, both of them waiting for something to happen. Drista strains her head to look in the direction the adults are looking in, and she sees someone already in the room.

He is a strangely ageless man, bearing silver hair and aged maroon eyes without any wrinkles across his complexion. He wears a striped shirt colored in varying shades of sand-brown. Over this, he wears purple overalls and a thick maroon red ribbon around his waist to match his eyes. He is standing at a desk, the sunlight streaming through the many windows both illuminating his figure and casting unusual shadows across it. He is holding a potion bottle in one of his hands, frowning as he stares at the fragmented light shining through the dark green liquid inside. He sets the glass bottle down, his attention rolling further back to land on Puffy and Callum. He raises an eyebrow, his maroon eyes finding Drista without a wasted second. All he says is, “I see.”

“Verity!” Puffy greets cheerfully. The building they are in right now, if Drista isn’t mistaken, is the town hall. Downstairs is where most of the island’s disputes and problems are solved. The upstairs, however, has rooms that can be rented out by individuals for varying purposes. Drista knows one of the other rooms is held by a private investigator, but this room is rented out by Verity. It has been for a long time, and most people don’t give him trouble about it because he’s the island’s physician. He was there for Foolish and Dream’s births, helping deliver both of the babies. He was brought back for a cameo in The Ender Prince. He was killed by Dream, though, right in front of Ranboo, Tubbo, and Beau.

“Was this one made from love?” Verity asks, turning his entire body around to gesture towards Drista. He keeps moving even after his question is finished, preparing his room for what he knows Callum brought Puffy here for: to give both the mother and daughter a check-up.

Puffy’s face contorts, something difficult passing her face. She shakes her head. Verity makes a humming noise. Puffy’s face lights up with indignation. “I love Drista, though. She is my child no matter where she came from.”

Verity nods his head, but he doesn’t say anything more on the matter as he pats down the table he unfolded from the wall. Puffy steps over. She sets Drista down, kissing the baby’s forehead. Puffy smiles warmly at Drista. As Puffy undos the swaddle, she whispers to Drista. “Mama is going to be over there, okay? I’m not leaving you here with the grumpy physician. He just has to make sure everything is working the way it’s supposed to, and if it isn’t, he’s going to fix it. Now, be brave, little one. You know your mama would never let harm befall you.”

Puffy finishes unswaddling Drista. The cold air hits Drista, making her shiver. Puffy takes slow steps away. Drista watches her, wondering if she should start screaming her head off. Babies are supposed to hate when their parents are away from them, right? Drista isn’t able to make a decision as the physician stands in the place of Puffy. As Drista stares into his eyes, she doesn’t want to make trouble for him.

Verity starts out by putting his ear to Drista’s chest, listening for her heartbeat. He hums as he lifts his head up. He grabs onto Drista’s arms, moving them around. He is gentle with his movements, eyeing Drista like he suspects her to start screaming any moment. When she doesn’t make a peep after he finishes with her arms, he moves onto her legs. He tests their range of movement, focusing a little more on them now that he has the impression that Drista won’t start crying. Verity puts his finger right in front of Drista’s face. She stares at his finger as it moves in all different directions. She glances at him every so often, but she always goes back to looking at his finger.

That is the end of Drista’s understanding of what is happening to her. Despite getting injured a lot in her previous life, she has never gone to the doctors other than her initial birth. A doctor came by to check the students’ hearing and sight when she was in elementary school. In both cases, Drista was confirmed to be healthy, and in other circumstances, no one cared enough about her to double-check with a doctor if she was alright. Drista knew she wasn’t for a variety of reasons, but in the end, it didn’t matter. Her various health problems didn’t kill her; a bullet to the head did.

As Drista comes back into the moment, no longer thinking about her previous life, she hears Verity calling to Puffy and Callum over his shoulder. “Thankfully, she didn’t inherit your temper, Puffy.”

“I don’t have a temper!” Puffy snaps. Verity’s hands stop moving as he fully looks over his shoulder to glance skeptically at Puffy. With Verity’s body slanted the way it is, Puffy can see Callum leveling Puffy with a similar expression. Puffy looks offended, but all attempts to clear her name are silenced without the other two having to do anything.

Drista ends up giggling at this. Verity’s attention slowly moves away from Puffy to land on Drista as the baby tries to control the noises bubbling up her throat and out of her mouth. Verity raises an eyebrow, but he doesn’t seem displeased by her reaction. He even cracks a half-smile at Drista, making her feel a lot better about this situation than she did previously.

Verity leans closer, his smile widening. He whispers to Drista like he’s sharing a secret. “You have inherited your mother’s bravery, but I pray to the sun god that you have not inherited her foolishness.”

“I can hear you,” Puffy reminds the physician.

Verity stands up straighter, giving Puffy an unimpressed expression. He scolds Puffy, “It is quite rude to eavesdrop.” He glances back at Drista, meeting her eyes. “See how your mother is proving my point?”

“Is my baby healthy or not?” Puffy demands rudely, narrowing her eyes at Verity.

“The initial tests indicate that she is fine. The only problem I can see is how unusually calm your baby is,” Verity admits. He keeps his body turned halfways, giving part of his attention to both the mother and the daughter. Drista frowns at his word choice. She really should have screamed her head off when she had the chance. “Is she drinking enough milk?”

“Almost as much as Dream did,” Puffy huffs. By Verity’s slow nod, Drista imagines that answer means something to the physician even if it doesn’t mean anything to Drista. She really only drinks when she’s hungry, which is a lot more frequently than she thought it would be. Drista didn’t think she was being burdensome on Puffy, but then again, she doesn’t know how much milk Dream drank when he was a baby.

“How is her sleep schedule?” Verity asks.

“As far as I can tell, she sleeps through the entire night. She goes to sleep when I put her down, and she doesn’t wake up until dawn. When that happens, I take her to watch the sunrise with me. She is calm, then, too. She takes plenty of naps, too, but she never seems agitated when she misses one,” Puffy notes, tapping her finger against her chin as she thinks. Drista has only gotten into the habit of waking up at dawn because she did that in her old life. Plus, Puffy and the boys also get up at dawn to watch the sunrise together. Drista enjoys spending time with them, so she doesn’t mind the cold, salty air or the early hour. Her nap times, too, are negligible. They help Drista, but she’s in enough control of her body that she doesn’t get cranky when she’s tired.

“She really only cries when she needs something,” Callum adds, anticipating Verity’s next question.

The physician frowns, glancing back at Drista with confusion fluttering in his eyes like butterflies landing on a maroon flower. “That is unusual. Babies are supposed to cry much more frequently than that.”

“Is it a problem if she doesn’t cry so much?” Puffy asks, and Drista is grateful for her mother since she wants to know the answer to that question, too.

“I’m not certain. It doesn’t seem like it should be if she’s still crying when she needs something. The other tests show that she’s healthy. She seems aware of her surroundings, even if she isn’t reacting to them in a way we would consider natural.  I would keep an eye on her. You should come see me if you notice any other peculiarities,” Verity explains, clapping his hands together. He reaches his hands down, picking Drista up off the table and the blanket used to swaddle her. Verity holds her gently, rubbing a soothing hand against her back. He stares up at Puffy, approaching her with Drista in his arms still. Puffy opens her arms to accept her baby, but Verity pulls back. “Additionally, you should not be heading out to sea again with a baby.”

“What?” Puffy snaps, her face hardening in a way that Drista isn’t familiar with. Puffy’s eyes narrow at Verity. “How can a captain abandon their crew?”

“It isn’t abandonment. It is taking care of what needs to be taken care of. Babies are fragile, need I remind you. It would be better for Drista to stay on land instead of the sea, at least for a few months,” Verity reprimands, his eyes flashing with something Drista doesn’t recognize. It’s care, she knows that. Verity is speaking on Puffy’s behalf. He doesn’t wish to upset her, but he refuses to give her cheap lies. Drista stares deeply into Verity’s eyes, and she thinks it is a little familiar. It has never been directed towards her, but she has seen it once or twice in her past life. It is fatherly love, or some flavor of it. Verity was, after all, the man who helped Puffy give birth to both of her first sons. Drista imagines neither were happy experiences, especially considering the simple fact that Foolish is half-siren and Dream is half-Fae. Puffy was also fairly young for both births. Verity must have learned to care for Puffy in a deeper way than simply as her physician. He cares about her as a father might his child.

Drista doesn’t know how she feels about that. Jealous, maybe, that she doesn’t get a similar experience. Her heart also beats in a strange combination of sympathy and despair as she thinks about Puffy’s life experiences. Drista never felt much compassion for the dowager queen in The Ender Prince, but now… now Drista wishes she could erase every hard fact from Puffy’s past. She wants to ease her mother’s troubled heart, even though she knows that would be like calming a stormy sea.

“The crew is going to be fine, captain. We’ll stay in the general area. We’ll do bounties instead of plundering or adventuring. We’ll all be waiting for you,” Callum assures Puffy, putting one hand on her shoulder to squeeze reassuringly. Callum’s eyes cut towards Drista, and he nods at her solemnly. “We’ll be waiting for you, too, little one.”

“I don’t want you guys to do that,” Puffy says despondently, glancing over at Callum.

“What are you talking about, captain? We’re your loyal crew! We will do as you please, and we’ll be happy about it. If any of the crew aren’t, by the sun god, I will make them happy about it or they will find themselves in Davy Jones’s locker,” Callum declares with a half-laugh pairing nicely with his serious threat.

Puffy sighs. She takes Drista into her arms, staring down at the baby’s face. Drista makes a noise, hoping it explains everything Drista would like to say to her mother. Puffy smiles kindly at Drista, and perhaps, for a moment, Puffy does understand. The moment passes as Puffy looks up at Verity and Callum. “Fine, fine. We’ll stay on the island… for a few months.”

“Good,” Verity nods, taking a step backwards. He smiles at Puffy, and Drista has definitely seen that sort of smile before on Puffy’s face. Verity shakes his head, turning towards a cabinet in the corner of the room. He opens the latches, pulling a jar off the shelf. The jar is filled with a murky pink-red liquid like fruit juice. Verity places it in Callum’s hands. “Give your little one a spoonful of this every night. It should keep her healthy. The scholars on the mainland made it a few years back for the pirates.”

“Thank you,” Puffy says. Verity nods, gesturing towards the door. Callum opens it for Puffy once more, balancing the jar underneath his arm. Puffy jostles Drista lightly in an attempt to liven up the baby’s spirits as they head downstairs. The fox hybrid is still there. As Callum steps off the last step, looking at Puffy to say something, the fox hybrid looks at Callum with a strange expression passing across his face. It is distinctly different from the one Callum wore earlier, but there are similar elements. Furthermore, there is a familiarity in both of their faces that makes Drista frown. Fortunately, Callum never looks away from Puffy, so the fox hybrid and Callum never have to make eye contact and make the situation awkward.

Outside, Puffy looks around at the pulsating crowds, observing it like a scholar staring at a living organism. “I wonder where Foolish and Dream are.”

“I’ll go look for them,” Callum says, stepping away from the two of them. He doesn’t get further than that as Puffy shakes her head. He steps back to her, a question lingering in his eyes.

“I need you to set up my living arrangements. I will go look for my boys,” Puffy tells him. Callum nods firmly. He splits away from Puffy and Drista, heading in the opposite direction. Even though Puffy asked earlier where her boys were, the way she single mindedly walks down the path makes Drista believe that Puffy knew where they were the entire time. Or maybe she just knows where they most likely will be.

Puffy marches them out of town. Drista stares up at the passing canopy of trees, searching for the small pockets of richly blue sky. The scent of the air shifts from salt to something softer, floral, even, but it does eventually return to salt as Puffy steps into the sunlight outside of the forested area. She moves between a crack in a large rock wall that most people would miss because of the bushes. Drista is mesmerized as they step into a small beach, hidden on all sides by giant rock walls and the sea in the distance. Puffy sits down on a rock, putting Drista in her lap. She turns her attention toward the ocean, and she sees her brothers playing in the water. Or, well, Dream looks like he’s playing. Foolish honestly looks like he has finally come home.

Despite how much Dream is enjoying himself and how peaceful Foolish looks, the two of them immediately start racing for the shore when they notice Puffy and Drista. They are dripping wet, but Puffy doesn’t shove them away as they tuck themselves into her side. Puffy moves her arms, wrapping them around her sons’ shoulders, drawing them closer as she looks down at Drista to make sure the baby isn’t uncomfortable or at risk.

“Okay, kiddos, time to put our listening ears on. Mama-” She glances at Foolish, “Papa has something to tell you. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes, captain,” Dream says while Foolish nods his head rapidly. Puffy snorts at their antics, running her fingers through their wet hair. She leans down close to Puffy, nudging the baby’s chest with her nose. Drista grabs her mother’s face. Puffy smiles at Drista, and the baby releases her mother. 

Puffy leans all the way back up, looking at all three of her children as equally as she can. “We’re going to be staying on the island for maybe a year while Drista is growing up.”

“Why?” Dream asks, grabbing onto his mother’s arm with both of his arms. He hugs it close to his chest, looking up at her with wide eyes.

“Physician Verity said so, that’s why,” Puffy tells him, leaning close to bump her forehead with his. This makes Dream giggle, and he squeezes her arm tighter in some form of revenge.

“Did we do this when Dream and I were babies?” Foolish asks, sliding off the rock to stand in front of Puffy. His shadow falls over Drista, and she feels much better in the shade than when the sun was on her.

“Well… I had to stay in the water a lot when I had you, Foolish. Shortly after having your brother, I got stranded on a different island with you two,” Puffy explains, her eyes cutting away from all of her kids as if she were embarrassed, either about those times or about the fact that this time couldn’t be like those times.

“Can we do that now, Mama?” Dream asks, tugging on her arm to get her attention.

Puffy gives them a wry smile. “You know we can’t do that, buddy. There are a lot of people who care about us. They wouldn’t be happy if we disappeared for a little while.”

Foolish and Dream both give Puffy looks. She moves her hands to pinch their cheeks, increasing their ire but also drawing their laughter. Puffy smiles at them. “Look, kiddos, Drista might grow stronger like you two did.”

Dream’s face contorts into a pout. He moves his arms over his chest. “Hey, I should be bigger now!”

“We’ve been over this, buddy,” Puffy notes, giving him a specific look.

Dream huffs, looking away from his mother and towards the sea. Foolish leans closer still, a frown on his face. “I want to be big, too.”

“What nonsense!” Puffy gasps in mock offense. She grabs her sons, pulling them close to her. They are so close that their faces are all scrunched up, and even when they try to pull away, Puffy keeps them close. “I want my ducking and my shark to stay little forever!”

The two brothers finally pull away, and they start arguing with their mother. Drista barely hears a word of their arguments, but she does understand that the general message is that they wish to be bigger– older and stronger and smarter and everything they currently are not. Drista, too, shares this desire with them, but she doesn’t get to express her arguments as Puffy picks Drista up, holding her aloft so they can make eye contact. “What about you, huh? Will my daughter stay little forever?”

Drista babbles, reaching a hand out to Puffy’s face. Even though Drista wasn’t able to answer the way she wanted to, Puffy’s smile makes it all worth it.

Drista leans up against one of the pillars, staring across at the other pillar. The Entity idles nearby, hovering slightly off the ground. Drista glances over at it, frowning all the while. “Hey… what were they talking about earlier? The whole thing about getting bigger? It felt like they were talking about… something that I wasn’t quite getting.”

“Ah,” The Entity remarks, growing closer to Drista. It leans down on its knees right beside her, looking down at her. “Sirens and Fae creatures are near opposites of each other. The former are born from the sea with the power to reveal the heart’s greatest desire, its one truth. The Fae are born from the earth, and they are able to give form to lies. Despite their differences, however, they share one key quality: their young develop faster than humans do, including having a higher capacity for intelligence and greater control over motor skills at younger ages. This is because sirens and Fae live in dangerous environments, and youth does not guarantee survivability. Since you are part human, this development is somewhat limited, but you, like your brothers did when they were around your age, will have the power of speech and the ability to walk very soon.”

“Will that little body you put in be able to handle all of that?” Drista asks, shuddering as she thinks about how tiny she is as a baby. She, at least, understands why babies cry so often. They are completely powerless– tiny, fragile, temperamental. They have no control, not over themselves or their situation. Drista is constantly frustrated with how little she’s able to get done despite the effort she puts into it.

“You forget that you are part Fae in this life. The natural laws of humanity do not apply to you, not strictly, anyway. Your body will be strong enough to accommodate these new changes. It is up to your mind to use your newfound strength towards survival. Of course, you have an advantage that sirens and Fae do not… you have your family. Sirens and Fae abandon their young. Perhaps due to her human upbringing, Puffy has decided to raise you and your brothers,” the Entity remarks, nodding its head.

Drista nods back, drawing her legs up to her chest. For some odd reason, a strange hope blossoms in Drista’s chest. She wants Puffy to continue to hold her even when she’s able to move on her own. It’s such a silly thought that Drista doesn’t dismiss it. The hope makes her laugh, albeit bitterly. 

Chapter Text

Drista hardly understands her own body. Gravity works differently on the limbs of a waddling toddler, it seems. It tries to drag her down at every step, and at this rate, gravity is winning more times than her sense of balance is. Despite the many setbacks that falling on her face gives her, Drista refuses to give up. She is pushing her body to its limits, and the thrumming glamour imbued in her from her Fae heritage is rushing through her, filling up her veins and strengthening her bones. The survivability of the Fae is certainly nothing to scoff at, and Drista is proving with every successful step that if she were a pure-bred, she would have been one of the few Fae younglings to make it to adulthood without being enslaved or subsumed.

Dream is a few years older than Drista, so he’s already figured out the oddities of his body. He runs around the living room without ever looking down at the ground to beg gravity to lay off him for a few seconds. Drista’s jealousy is palpable, especially when she realizes that there is something extra about Dream’s running. There is something special in the way he moves, fluid like water and as quick as a breeze. After giving him the ability to walk and speak, his glamour decided to wholeheartedly focus on the former, making Dream a supernatural speedster. He still has a way to go before he crosses the threshold of his abilities. Drista is, at least, in a similar boat, as her glamour has not found its upper range yet, either.

Despite the clear difference in their physical capabilities, Drista is still doing her best to run after her speeding brother. This has simplified into Drista waddling around, throwing her body weight around to keep upright, and Dream dancing away from her grasping hands, a little sprite playing in the folds of the wind. Dream giggles in the meanwhile, waiting for the moment that Drista will finally catch him. Drista, for her part, is starting to enjoy the game beyond using it as practice for her motor skills. There is something tantalizing about finally catching Dream, putting his childish antics to rest, if temporarily. She wants to win this competition, a strange feeling since Drista is too used to giving up before she’s even started to avoid being hurt. She knows, and more importantly, she trusts that Dream won’t do anything if he loses. In fact, he might be proud of her, and Drista tries to deny that his pride is her real prize she’s seeking.

Dream leaps over the back of the couch, a throw pillow accidentally coming with him. It lands on the ground, and Dream makes a half-turn in his motions to avoid stepping on it. Drista has learned the hard way that climbing is not one of her better abilities, so she waits on the other side of the cushions, preparing for which direction Dream will come from. Like a flighty hummingbird, Dream jerks his body left and right, not committing to either direction. His head is barely above the back of the couch, letting Drista stare right into his neon green eyes, tracing the never-ending circle of light. Finally, Dream turns toward Drista’s right completely, darting in that direction.

While Dream might have the upper hand in physical abilities, Drista is smarter than her brother. She pays attention, and she learns patterns. Drista never thought she would use these survival tactics to win a game, but Drista also never thought she would ever have a family, least of all in another world, one she wrote about.

Drista turns left, rushing with all her might to swing around the couch. She tucks her body behind the arm of the couch, hiding in the shadow it provides. In a second, Dream is right in front of her. Dream always does this trick where he fully commits to one side, runs to the corner of the couch’s back and its arm, and then he will turn to the other direction promptly. He has done this every time he and Drista have been in this situation, and Drista is finally abusing this pattern she realized was there all along.

Drista pops up. Dream crashes right into her. Their legs tangle together. Gravity claims Drista for the hundredth time that day alone, and even Dream’s glamour is helpless to stop him from landing heavily on the ground. Thankfully, Dream has enough sense to move his body over, guaranteeing that he lands beside Drista and not on top of her. 

Nevertheless, they are both lying on the ground. Pain shoots through Drista’s body, but it’s a familiar ache. It is one she suspects every baby learning to walk has. It is negligible, in that sense. Dream, while not a baby who remembers learning to walk, is a young child. His pain sensitivity is extremely low. 

Or, more accurately, his pain reactivity is extremely low. He must feel the same ache in his limbs as she does, but he doesn’t wince or flush with any sort of pain. He merely rolls over, throwing an arm around Drista’s stomach. He pulls her close, burying his face into the side of her hair. Drista has a moment to realize that his breathing is far too slow for a little boy that had been running around for the better part of an hour, but then Dream starts yelling in her ear, and Drista is shoving his face away from her as best as she can. Dream’s solution is to scream louder, tightening his grip on her waist. Drista eventually resorts to illegal moves, and she slams the heel of her foot into his knee. It hurts him superficially, but it’s enough that he slackens his grip and Drista rolls away from him.

Drista gets a head start, but her waddling is clearly inferior to her brother’s running. He grabs onto her easily. They don’t go down this time, but Drista’s feet do end up being lifted up off the floor. It’s only for a moment, as Dream’s glamour has made him faster, not stronger. Drista glares at Dream over her shoulder, pulling at his arms as he tries lifting her up again. It seems that her brother is no longer trying to annoy her and is instead trying to prove to himself that he can lift her. Drista rolls her eyes, pulling at his arms with more ferocity to release herself from his endless games.

The two of them stop moving when they hear a noise deeper in the house, from the hallway that leads to the bedrooms and the upstairs. From the darkness, Puffy comes out running. She is leaning forward as she runs, revealing Foolish on her back, his legs around her waist and arms around her throat. Foolish is giggling, irises shining through the slits of his smiling eyes. Puffy is wearing a huge smile, and her brown eyes lock onto Dream and Drista the moment she notices them. She makes a beeline for them. Dream finally lets go of Drista, probably to reach for his mother, but neither fact matters. Puffy grabs onto them both, tucking each Dream under one arm and Drista under the other. Unlike Dream, who could barely lift Drista, Puffy is effortlessly carrying all three of her children.

Puffy spins around, and Drista finds herself laughing alongside her other siblings. She grabs onto Puffy’s arms, tightening her little grip on the woman’s sleeve. Puffy tilts left and right, and Drista starts kicking her feet, unable to get them onto the ground but somehow still feeling better by trying.

Puffy ends their little game at the living room table. She plops Dream and Drista down. She lifts her hands up, grabbing Foolish’s shoulders. She lifts him up, moving him over her head and setting him down between his siblings. Puffy stands up straight without anyone to weigh her down. Her brown hair is frizzy. Her clothes are disheveled. Sweat soaks across her bow, making it glitter in the soft morning light shining in from the nearby window. Despite all of this, there is a wide smile across her face and potent happiness in her eyes. She puts her hands on her hips, and Drista continues to add reasons to an ever-growing list in her head why Puffy was such a natural ruler, both over Essempei and over the pirates.

“Alright, kiddos, what are we going to do today?” Puffy asks, squatting down to look them all in the eye. She seems as excited as a child, bursting with untapped energy ready to be expressed.

“Swimming!” Foolish declares. If they are ever given a choice, Foolish would say swimming. He loves the ocean more than he loves dry land, most likely a byproduct of his siren heritage. Drista suspects that the only reason Foolish puts up with the cabin is because his family is here.

“I want to play outside,” Dream says, pressing into Foolish’s side to merge their idea of what to do for the day. Dream prefers the outdoors, but he doesn’t mind if it’s the forest or the ocean. He just likes the fresh air and the wide, open spaces for him to run around in.

Puffy nods at them both, then she turns her attention to Drista. While Drista is fine with doing whatever her family wants to do, she must admit that like them, part of her soul belongs in the great wilderness. While she isn’t good at exploring, there is a heavy wanderlust pawing at her heart like a declawed beast. Drista wants to give into it, but she does not say anything. She keeps her voice firmly locked in her chest like a bird in a gilded cage. It yearns for freedom, but the lock remains firmly in place.

Puffy smiles gently at Drista, lifting a hand up to rub Drista’s cheek. Puffy stands up, her arm falling to her side. She pats them all on the head. Her children look up at her, acting like the nickname Puffy uses for Dream. Puffy giggles softly, shaking her head. “Fine, we’ll go to the beach again today. I’ll bring some snacks for us to bring down there.”

Puffy turns toward the kitchen right as Foolish and Dream cheer. Drista follows her mother, stopping only when she does, and Puffy stops when a strange noise echoes in the house. Puffy frowns to herself, turning to look at the front door. They don’t get many visitors. The only people who visit them are the crew of Puffy’s ship, and they never knock, instead barging in to greet their captain and the captain’s little ones. Drista knows that the knocking is strange, and from Puffy’s slight frown and pinched eyes, she knows that something is off, too.

Puffy steps around Drista to reach the door. She reaches a hand for the saber always attached to her side, her fingers trailing along the hilt to shake the entire blade. Puffy uses her other hand to pull open the door. Puffy stands up straighter when she meets the eyes of a young boy wearing brown clothes with a green embroidered satchel. The boy smiles up at Puffy, reaching into his satchel to pull out an envelope. He’s a mere courier so he isn’t dangerous, but his presence is definitely strange. They rarely get visitors, and they never get mail.

Once the letter has been handed off, the courier runs to his donkey. He hops on the creature’s back, riding back into town. Puffy pushes the door shut with her hip, flipping the envelope over in her hands. Her confusion gives way to dread as she stares at the back of the letter where the seal would be. Puffy pulls the seal, unlocking the contents of the envelope. Puffy walks absently to the dining room, flopping down in one of the chairs. Noticing her negative reaction, her children rush around her. Drista, both the closest and the smallest, crawls into Puffy’s lap to hug her mother. Foolish leans against her legs, and Dream crawls onto the thin space between Puffy’s thigh and the edge of the chair, standing there with one hand around Puffy’s shoulders to keep him upright. Puffy hardly seems to notice them as she reads the contents of the letter.

Dream doesn’t know how to read. Foolish does know how to read, but the contents of the letter are much more difficult words than Foolish knows. Drista, technically, shouldn’t be able to read, but while her past life didn’t give her much, she did have an education. A terrible one, all things considered, but Drista honed her reading skills, allowing her to read the letter that Puffy believes none of her children can read.

The letter is from the royal family of Essempei. Another name for them, of course, is Puffy’s family, and distantly the children’s family. The letter is telling Puffy that she has spent enough time away from the palace. Her royal expedition, a tradition where heirs to the Daystar Throne travel around their nation to gain wisdom and experience, is completed. Puffy should return to the palace immediately, leaving behind any attachments she made outside of the capital’s borders. The letter is signed specifically by Puffy’s mother, the current leader of Essempei, Queen Thetis.

As soon as Drista is finished reading, Puffy’s fist closes around the paper, turning it into a rumpled ball. There is a strange expression on Puffy’s face, somewhere between anger and sadness and longing and desperation. She closes her eyes suddenly. She puts the paper ball down on the table beside her. Puffy releases all of these emotions in one heavy breath, letting a neutrality rearrange her facial features as it pleases. Puffy’s eyes slowly lift back open, and everything she tries so hard to contain linger indefinitely in the space between her iris and her pupils. Puffy smiles at her kids, the forcefulness of the expression almost entirely obscured but not enough for Drista to dismiss it. Puffy’s voice is slow— methodical, even— when she asks, “What are we going to do at the beach?”

Foolish and Dream must have noted their mother’s strange reactions, but they aren’t quite old enough to really process it. Plus, they weren’t able to read the contents of the letter, and therefore have no reason to assume any of Puffy’s feelings. For these reasons, once the question is posed to them by Puffy, they immediately start answering it. Their answers clash, and their ensuing argument takes their eyes off of Puffy, allowing the woman to relax a little bit, her muscles noticeably untensing underneath Drista and her neutral mask coming loose around the edges. She isn’t completely letting go, but she is easing up, and Drista wonders what Puffy’s relationship with the royal family– nay, what her relationship with her mother specifically is like.

Puffy’s attention falls back to Drista. She lifts both of her hands up, cupping Drista’s cheeks between her palms. Drista leans forward, pressing a kiss to Drista’s forehead. When she pulls back, she genuinely does look comfortable again. Puffy wraps her arms around Drista, putting the growing baby on her hip. Puffy reaches a hand down. Dream snags it immediately, and Foolish leads the charge towards the front door. The moment with the letter has been forgotten by everyone except Drista. She continues to stare at it even as Puffy steps out of the house, hoping that it isn’t an ill-omen of what is to come.

Dream and Foolish start rushing towards the cove at the end of the tree-lined path. Puffy, on the other hand, stops moving once her foot transitions from the porch steps to the path. Her head picks up like a deer hearing a stick break despite no odd noise being made. Puffy looks into the distance, staring at something far in the distance across the waves. Drista tries looking in that direction, but she doesn’t find anything other than a gray-dark horizon.

Puffy shakes her head, snapping herself out of it. She glances at Drista, giving her daughter a sheepish smile as if she doesn’t fully understand what attracted her attention, either.

Puffy follows the path down to the cove. Foolish is already splashing in the water, lingering below the waves for longer than any child should but coming up without even a splotch of oxygen deprivation red on his cheeks. Dream is closer to the shore, running away from the waves as they come to crash against the sand. Sometimes, the waves catch him and other times, he escapes them. No matter what happens, Dream giggles’ bounce around the stone walls keeping the cove away from prying eyes. Puffy sets Drista down on the sand. They continue to hold hands as they step into the shallows. They stay hand-in-hand for a long moment, basking in each other’s company as much as they are inhaling the salty breeze that keeps the day pleasantly cool despite the sun pouring its lifeblood across the Ecclesia Sea.

Drista is the one to pull away first. She joins Dream in his adventures running away from the waves. After a little while of this, Foolish pops out of the water like a shark suddenly gaining legs to tackle them into the whitewater. Drista dodges the initial tackle, but Dream is the type to take other people down with him. He grabs Drista’s wrist, and she suddenly splashes in the water. The taste of salt is strong on her tongue. She is not in enough control of her body to be able to swim (she wouldn’t know how to, anyway, since she never swam in her previous life), but she does have enough self-preservation to pick herself up.

Foolish and Dream continue tackling each other, fighting both above and below the waves. Even though he isn’t a siren, Dream doesn’t seem too troubled by extended amounts of time underwater. He can’t breathe water like Foolish can, but something about his glamour must enable him to have extreme control over his breath. Drista draws this conclusion when she remembers how he didn’t breathe raggedly earlier even after running around for a long time. The Fae are strange, Drista decides.

With her brother’s lost in their antics, Drista hurries back over to her mother. Puffy is looking in a bunch of multisized pools that reveal themselves at low tide, filled with tiny animals and freshly growing plants. When she feels Drista’s hand on her calf, Puffy picks Drista up to show her the inside of the tide pool. Drista leans in close, staring at the starfish clinging to the rocky walls. A crab darts out of a hiding spot made from multi-colored flora. A fish’s silvery body reflects sunlight but disappears completely when it swims through shadows. Puffy pulls away after a few moments, taking Drista to look at a different tide pool. There seem to be dozens of them, each one unique yet similar. Drista doesn’t mind if that is the case. Her eyes widen with curiosity as each new discovery she and Puffy make together.

Their exploration is concluded when they find Foolish in one of the pools. Puffy laughs openly, and Foolish shows them a small crack between the pool and the ocean. Foolish swims through with the ease of a lithe fish. He pops out the other side, and Dream swims through the crack next to prove that he can do it. He does not take the trip back, however, as he swims through the pool to meet Puffy and Drista. He climbs out of the pool, splashing them with water. Puffy laughs, and Drista can’t help a shallow giggle from blossoming in her chest. Foolish joins them a second later, and the four of them play games with each other away from the tide pools.

Unfortunately, Drista’s body tires out far more quickly than her brother’s bodies do. They get to continue playing in the ocean until the daylight gives out while Drista’s body limits her. Drista would consider this unfair, but she gets to sit in Puffy’s lap as the mother lounges on a hammock in the shade between two trees. Puffy has this habit of rocking Drista when they’re like this, and Drista always derives comfort in the back and forth motion. She would do anything to keep this, but it doesn’t seem like Puffy is going to be taking it away from her anytime soon.

Before Drista can fall asleep, she hears someone approaching them from behind. Puffy does not lift her head, so Drista keeps her ear against Puffy’s chest. Drista feels her mother’s chest rumble as she asks, “How was your bounty?”

The approaching person says nothing for a long moment, so long that the sun is covered in shadows momentarily. In the splotchy darkness, the person answers, revealing who they are since Drista doesn’t have a visual representation. “There is this rumor about an island.”

Puffy sighs, the noise as tired and relaxed as her body seems to be. She lifts a hand to rub the space between Drista’s shoulder blades, still using one foot hanging off the side of the hammock to rock them. “The office has been filled with people talking about it. They certainly want something done about it, but no one is offering any solutions or volunteering to investigate themselves.”

Puffy, ever the restless spirit, has not allowed herself to use this time as a vacation. Puffy took a job working at the main office on the island, working with all sorts of people. This position is going to help her form the guilds later on, Drista supposes, so she doesn’t put up a fuss when Puffy leaves during the day to deal with the problems of the pirates.

“I saw that island from a distance. Something is definitely wrong about it,” Callum responds, his voice growing closer and the sand underneath his feet shifting as he moves to a position where Drista can see his side-profile. He’s wearing his fox mask with gloves over his hands, both of which seem troublesome given the temperamental weather above their heads.

“And what am I to do about it? I believe someone has already reminded me several times that I have children to worry about now,” Puffy asks him, raising an eyebrow as she gestures towards her sons in the distance with one hand. Her other hand, the one rubbing Drista’s back, presses down a little more firmly, though Drista doesn’t think Callum notices that part.

“I don’t know, either. We don’t even know what the true nature of that… stuff is,” Callum shakes his head, wrapping his arms around his upper chest. “But I refuse to believe we can’t do anything. Something has to be done, even if it’s only an expedition to see what we’re dealing with.”

“I’ll do my best to get a group together to investigate. The results of the investigation will determine what our next course of action is,” Puffy assures Callum, a sternness in her voice that more accurately relays the severity of the situation to Drista than their words alone could.

“Thank you, captain.”

“It’s nothing worth your gratitude. I’m doing this to repay you for taking care of my ship,” Puffy says, her tone lightening up to dispel the dismal quality of their previous words.

“Hey, the maintenance isn’t difficult, and the crew sticks with me even through stormy days,” Callum replies, a touch of laughter edging at the confines of his voice as if he is thinking of a specific memory or story that he wishes to convey with his tone rather than his words.

“Praise the sun god for that,” Puffy murmurs. She shifts, her attention focusing on Callum more acutely. “I am hoping to get back out there soon. I’m just waiting for this little one to grow up a little more, per Verity’s instructions.”

Drista frowns, her grip on her mother’s shirt tightening. She doesn’t like the implication that Puffy might resent her. Drista doesn’t think she would be able to handle that, not after the few months of kindness that has been granted to her by the devoted mother.

“You should enjoy your rest, captain. You have a whole lifetime to get back out to sea,” Callum actually does laugh now, gesturing towards the ocean with bright eyes shining through the shadows of his mask. Puffy does not seem as agreeable with that statement. Drista notices the shift in her body language, and Drista assumes Puffy is thinking about the letter left on their dining table. How much longer does Puffy truly have? What brought her back to the palace in the first place?

“I have to go take care of a few matters in town. I’ll see you again soon, captain,” Callum says, and Drista hears him walk away. Puffy moves her hand to wave, but as soon as he’s gone, she sighs heavily, thoughts winding back to the reminder Callum unintentionally gave her. Puffy’s grip around Drista tightens minutely, and the hammock’s back-and-forth motion finally lulls Drista to sleep.

“What were they talking about? What’s going on with the rumored island?” Drista asks, jumping from one patch of light to the next coming through the stained glass window– the one she can’t properly look at without feeling her sanity spill out of her hand like water through a strainer. She naturally doesn’t focus on the window, but the games she can play in its light are innumerable.

“The island and all the mysteries surrounding it are something you should learn for yourself. It would help no one if I told you,” The Entity tells her, standing at the edge of the light, not stepping into it like Drista does consistently.

Drista isn’t happy that the Entity won’t tell her what she wants to know, but she decides that an argument isn’t going to be beneficial. If the Entity doesn’t want to say anything, it simply won’t, no matter what kind of counterarguments Drista offers. The only upside is that the Entity won’t lie to her.

“You know, when you said that Fae younglings grow faster than humans, I thought you meant that,” Drista changes the topic of the conversation. She spins around in a trapezoid of light, her shadow further dividing the light.

“Most babies are unable to walk as freely as you do at eight-months-old, Drista,” The Entity reminds her, raising an eyebrow in confusion at her complaints.

“I’m barely able to walk. I want to start doing stuff. I’m tired of waiting at home and getting tired so quickly,” Drista says, putting a hand on her hip as she explains. Honestly, she thinks that entering the white hall every time she sleeps is messing with her since she’s a teenager here, exactly like she was when she died in her previous world save the bullet wound, but she’s a baby in the waking world, her new reality. Despite this, Drista isn’t going to change her appearance here. It would certainly drive her insane if she didn’t have a moment to move around freely with complete control of her limbs.

“Enjoy your youth in this life, Drista. You did not have a good one previously,” The Entity asks Drista, something sorrowful in its expression. Although the Entity wasn’t there for Drista’s previous childhood, there aren’t many secrets between them. Over time, the Entity was able to piece together her past simply by her words and actions, and Drista added personal anecdotes to make a clearer image. The only one of them not to reveal their past is the Entity, but Drista doesn’t even know if the Entity has a past.

“You sound like Callum,” Drista remarks, snorting as she thinks about the masked first mate in her mother’s crew.

“There are worse comparisons,” The Entity decides, shrugging noncommittally. The Entity shakes its head. “However, if you are so determined to start exerting your will over the world, you could start learning magic.”

Drista startles, her movements stopping. Magic does exist in Ranboo’s world. Drista herself is flowing with magic because of her Fae father. Drista just didn’t think she could harness that power. “Am I not too young?”

“It is never too early to start learning magic, no matter what form you exist in. As I am sure you know, you have the ability to wield glamour. It is the magic of the earth itself, given shape and form by the Fae, who are also children of nature. Glamour manifests itself in a few ways, but it cannot create anything of substance. It can make illusions or enchant the mind. It can overpower the wills of animals or increase the growth of plants. It cannot create anything physical. Such is the limitation of the Fae,” The Entity explains. “In contrast, humans are able to learn either Magecraft or Mystery. The former has a firm set of rules. Each person is born with a proficiency, which is a type of magecraft they can use naturally. They can perform other spells, but those require a verbal component, hand motions, a drawn glyph, or even additional materials. Mystery, in contrast, is the great cosmic unknown. The most powerful kind of magic but also the hardest to control and the most volatile.”

Drista rushes over to the Entity, absorbing the information that falls from its mouth like a flower soaking up sunlight and water. Drista stares up into the Entity’s gray eyes, hope laced in her words. “Will you teach me?”

“I could teach you a few tricks, but I do not have access to the kinds of magic you could learn, nor are you capable of learning what I can do,” The Entity explains, trying to dissuade Drista from getting too excited.

“I don’t mind! I can figure out some stuff for myself. I’ll just take the hints.”

Chapter Text

The large vessel rocks unsteadily on the choppy waves. The ocean is clear for miles around the ship, only the large full moon bearing witness to the celebration on the main deck. The crew raise their wooden mugs towards the sky, praising their lunar goddess for pleasant weather. They are probably assuming that the rocking is from their drunken stupor and not the waves rolling underneath them, but it is hard to understand the machinations of someone so lost in their drink. Regardless of their intoxication, they at least remember that the real reason for their celebration is the return of their captain, not the precarious weather or a goddess overlooked in favor of her daytime counterpart. They swing each other around by the elbows, sloshing their ale across the wooden deck alongside the salt water puddles they continually stomp in as they dance. Their singing is severely off-tune with barely intelligible lyrics, but they are far louder and more energetic than any trained troubadour which must make up for the missing talent in some ways.

Foolish and Dream are part of the celebrators, though they do not carry any drinks in their childish hands. They instead grapple with each other, somewhere between wrestling and dancing. There are bright smiles on both of their faces even if there is sometimes a competitive spark accompanying the smile in their eyes. The happiness is overflowing so much that Drista does wonder absently if one of the pirates either forgot the ages of the boys or supposed that they were man enough for their first drink.

Drista watches her brothers for a long while from the safety of the shadows, tucking herself right next to the stairs that lead up to the upper deck. No one interacts with her. Those who are sober enough to realize she’s there are still drunk enough to think she’s a wandering spirit drawn to the fires of civilization (if this could be called civilized). They ignore her, which is all for the better. Drista is not there to participate, only there to observe, to bear witness to their jubilation in a way that does make her feel like the spector the pirates must mistake her for.

Drista’s observations take her eyes off of her brothers to look for the woman of the hour. This entire celebration began because the pirates wanted to celebrate their captain boarding the ship again, setting off again on their usual adventuring and pillaging. A part of the party was meant to be a welcome event for the captain’s newest daughter, but no one really paid much attention to the one-and-a-half year old who didn’t really look like a one-and-a-half year old. Drista acknowledges that she doesn’t look the part either, but the Entity assured Drista this was natural— healthy, even.

Drista’s stop roaming when she realizes she cannot find her mother in the moving crowd. She frowns to herself, eyebrows knitting together. She does another glance-through, and she finally notices someone approaching her from the side. Drista shifts her entire body, looking up abruptly to see who has decided to ruin her quiet people-watching. Drista’s annoyance melts away smoothly as Puffy drops down to sit beside her daughter, forgoing the excitement of the party to spend time with the wallflower clinging to the darkness graciously provided by that goddess the pirates sometimes mutter about in their drunken ramblings.

Puffy smiles directly at Drista, bringing a ray of sunlight onto the deck otherwise lit by torches. Puffy reaches her hands out, and Drista allows her body to fall limp as Puffy pulls her into her lap. Puffy wraps her arms around Drista’s waist, holding her firmly against the warm chest. Puffy leans forward, tucking her chin on top of Drista’s steadily darkening hair. Puffy squeezes Drista a little tighter as she speaks, “Are you enjoying the party?”

Drista shrugs, falling back to hide in the shadows of her mother’s jaw. In her previous life, Drista had never been to a proper party. Not a birthday, not a school-sanctioned event, not a wild Friday night. Drista was never invited. She never had a ride. She never had anyone she wanted to see or who wanted to see her. There was no point walking halfway across town to a place where she wouldn’t be welcomed for a couple of hours of boredom, potential embarrassment, or a reminder of how lonely she was.

Despite this, Drista does have experiences with drunkards, and none of them are good. Drista hasn’t entirely fled the celebration here yet, but every time the wind carries the sour scent of alcohol, Drista’s entire body aches with bruises that healed a literal lifetime ago. Drista can taste it in her mouth, and she wants to puke everything that has ever been in her body. She understands vaguely how unhealthy her reactions are, so she decided to stay far away from everyone. She would have properly left, but she’s young enough that people might worry. A strange occurrence for Drista, but she’s getting used to it, slowly but surely.

“Hmmm… Well, parties aren’t for everyone. That’s okay, you know?” Puffy leans down, whispering right into Drista’s ear. Her hand comes up, smoothing out Drista’s hair. Puffy shifts, turning her body around Drista’s to make them look at each other. Puffy’s smile is gentle as her hand falls to cover Drista’s cheek. “We can leave.”

Drista shakes her head, diving towards her mother. She wraps her arms around Puffy’s chest, burying her face in her mother’s bosom. Drista closes her eyes, listening to her mother’s heartbeat. If they leave, someone is bound to come looking for Puffy, and then Puffy will have to leave Drista. No matter how much this party is affecting Drista, she cannot bear to be on her own right now. She needs someone there, and she doesn’t want to bother her brothers when they seem to be having so much fun. Instead, Puffy is going to bother her mother and hope that this isn’t the event that will set Puffy off.

Puffy chuckles quietly, tightening her grip on Drista. She leans down to press a kiss on top of Drista’s head, her breath warm against Drista’s scalp as she whispers, “We can stay up on the deck, too. As long as we stick together, right?”

Drista nods, immensely grateful for this simple act of staying near one another. Puffy leans back against the side of the wooden staircase, and Drista knows she’s going to fall asleep like this, especially with the waves as choppy as they are. Puffy even hums a little, and her song is sweeter than whatever shanty the others are belting out some feet away from the pairing. Puffy’s hands come up, pulling gently at the knots in Drista’s hair. At this point, Puffy is obviously trying to get Drista to fall asleep, going through all of the tried-and-true methods of knocking Drista out.

All of this progress to ease Drista into sleepiness is thrown out the window as Puffy sighs. Her chest starts rumbling with her words. “I wish we could see the stars. I am almost certain they would make you feel better.”

Drista startles completely, sitting up. She throws her head back to stare upwards. A frown falls across her face as her eyes register the sky above them. Drista can see millions of stars thrown across the black velvet of the night. The moon punctures the darkness as the largest light source of them all, shining silver light across everything as a complete circle. A voyage is considered lucky if it launches on the night of a full moon, after all. Drista thought this superstition extended to skies without a single cloud, revealing the majesty of the cosmos on a silver platter to any willing to look up.

“Don’t feel too upset. No one can see the sky; it’s not just the people from Essempei that deal with the blurriness. No one knows why this happens. It is my personal theory that we have upset the moon goddess, and she has revoked our ability. It would explain why there’s so many zealous clerics these days, but they don’t seem to be making much progress,” Puffy explains reassuringly, putting her hands on Drista’s cheeks and looking over the girl to block out the sky that is most certainly not blurry to her.

Puffy leans back, shaking her head. Drista follows her mother’s movements even as Puffy continues to stare at the sky. “It seems we have gone from one sour topic to the next. I’m sorry, dragonfly. I’m sure this isn’t very interesting.”

Puffy looks down to meet Drista’s eyes again. Her expression stretches, surprise etched across her features. Puffy releases a single chuckle, her shoulders moving forward for a heartbeat before returning to their original relaxed position. Puffy lifts her hand up, tapping her finger against Drista’s nose. “At least, one of my kids is interested in what I have to say.”

While Drista loves listening to her mother, she is more interested in Puffy’s words: the blurry sky, the moon goddess, and the clerics. In The Ender Prince, Ranboo learns in the second arc that he is the only person who is actually able to see the sky. Everyone else has a blurry film over the night, blocking them from truly seeing the stars or the designs on the moon’s surface. Ranboo is given a few explanations for why the sky is blurry, but everyone seems to agree that his nature as an Enderian is the reason he can see the sky clearly. Drista was certain that would also be the case, but she’s an Enderian. She is, however, from another place, similarly to Ranboo, though she’s probably from another dimension rather than another realm.

The other two matters, however, were never mentioned in The Ender Prince. Drista is certain a character or two used the name of the moon goddess as a curse or in gratitude or to swear by, but it must have been in passing. Ranboo didn’t dwell on it because for some reason, Ranboo was staunchly against learning about gods. Drista didn’t think anything of as an author, but as someone part of the book, she has to wonder what drove Ranboo away from learning about this particular facet of civilization when he seemed interested in nearly everything else.

Because of Ranboo’s disinterest, Drista doesn’t know anything about the gods. If she were given a test, she thinks she could name the domains of the gods each nation worships, but not the gods themselves or the nation would worship them. Essempai, for example, worships the sun god and moon goddess. Drista doesn’t know what their connection to each other is— siblings, lovers, reflections, etc.— nor does she really understand why they are the ones being worshiped rather than a sea deity or a storm one.

She also doesn’t know anything about their clerics, or really what that means. She has heard about clerics in her previous world, but she assumes a world with magic where the gods very much could be real would have a different definition of the similar word. If Puffy’s claims are true, and there are a lot of lunar clerics, why aren’t they able to do anything about the night sky, which would presumably be in their goddess’ domain?

Questions, more than she anticipated. The Ender Prine wasn’t a simple book by any means, but Drista has never reconciled with the fact that the book’s internal world might be far more complex than any main character could ever witness. If something as universal as religion eluded Ranboo, what else escaped his notice that Drista will need to come to understand for the sake of her survival and destroying destiny?

“What is he doing?” Puffy murmurs, attracting Drista’s attention. Puffy begins shifting. As Puffy stands up, she effortlessly takes Drista with her. Drista grabs onto her mother’s neck, tightening her legs around Puffy’s waist. Puffy carries Drista away from the dark corner to the edge of the railing. Although Drista doesn’t want to be any closer to the party, Puffy is maintaining an appropriate distance. Plus, the scent of the salt is stronger than that of the alcohol over here.

The person in question was Callum. The masked man was standing at the ship’s railing, leaning against it with his arms folded. His attention is sent across the boundless waves, peering at something in the distant darkness. When Puffy sets Drista down on the ground between her and Callum, the pirate finally notices the company. He smiles at them both, but Drista can tell that the expression is forced. His eyes continue to speak of grimness, and that doesn’t go away even as his fragile smile finally breaks under the weight of whatever is causing the foul mood.

Puffy puts one hand on the railing, peering out with narrowed eyes. Her grip tightens, knuckles whitening, as she asks slowly, “Is that the island?”

Callum nods. Drista grabs onto the railing, lifting onto her tiptoes to look over the wood to look at the shadow-covered island in the distance, the one drawing the discomfort of the adults around her. Callum continues talking, not glancing once at Drista’s struggle. “It looks normal surrounded by the night.”

Puffy laughs bitterly, such a harsh noise to come from a woman Drista has only ever seen as benign. “That island is anything but normal.”

Drista finally pulls herself onto the railing, her feet pressed against the pillars and her arms straining against the top of the railing. She looks across the silver-lit waters until she finds an unmoving mass in the distance. As Callum suggested, the island doesn’t look peculiar. It is a bunch of rocks stacked on top of each other by nature’s playful hand. Drista thinks she can see a few human-built structures along with some general shrubbery, but it is too far away and too indistinct to really confirm either of those assumptions. Despite her agreement, Drista feels a terrible shiver run down her spine. She tries blaming it on the cold wind, but she knows deep inside that her trembling is from something being very wrong with that island, though she can’t put a name to it.

Finally noticing her daughter, Puffy picks Drista up. It is warmer in her mother’s arms, especially when Puffy flips Drista around so that she does not have to look at the island in the distance. Puffy leans forward, pressing their foreheads together. Puffy promises, “We don’t have to worry about that.”

Drista disagrees. There is a lot to worry about regarding that island. Drista knows that, and she sees the strange look that flashes in Callum’s eyes before he is able to look away, hiding his own disagreement. Drista is even certain she can see flecks of distress continuing to linger in Puffy’s brown eyes. They are all concerned about it, but Puffy doesn’t want Drista to be concerned about it because there is little doubt in Drista’s mind that Puffy, and probably Callum, are going to take care of the issue.

Drista leans her head down on her mother’s shoulder, deciding not to voice her disagreements. Puffy goes back to the methods to get Drista to sleep, and this time, Drista completely surrenders.

“What is wrong with that island?” Drista asks, staring up at one of the portraits that hide behind the pillars in the shadow of the overhang. The portrait is blurry, and Drista imagines this is what the sky looks like for everyone else in the world she just came from.

“I cannot answer,” The Entity plainly states, shaking its head. It stands beside Drista, but it chooses to face away from the portraits as if it cannot bear to see the blurry faces. Or, perhaps, it can see the faces like Drista can see the sky, and whoever Drista is staring at, the Entity is unable to look at them. “A vast amount of knowledge exists but not all of it is good and not all of it is knowable by just anyone. You are a special type of person that can access this knowledge, but it will drive you insane if you prematurely or unfairly acquire it.”

“That seems pretty convoluted to me,” Drista huffs, crossing her arms over her chest. She’s never really thought about knowledge, not its morality or its effects on the human mind. Drista supposes she’ll have to look into it more now, another addition to an ever-growing list of research topics.

“It can be,” The Entity smiles wryly, dark gray eyes shimmering with a level of understanding that Drista appreciates but questions. “Acquiring knowledge should be simple, yet it is not. It is painstaking and often madness-inducing.”

The Entity’s expression darkens, and for a moment, Drista feels some sort of force pull her head towards a particular portrait hanging near the edge where the wall meets the ceiling of the overhang. Drista can’t see this person’s face any more than she can see the person in front of her, but there is something more to the portrait up there than all the others.

“I believe in you, Drista. You will one day grapple with the truth and come out better for it,” The Entity continues, seemingly oblivious to whatever nudged Drista towards the new portrait that just as suddenly disappeared.

“I’m assuming the truth about the sky and this supposed moon goddess is also unattainable knowledge,” Drista says distractedly, tearing her eyes away from the portrait to look at the Entity.

“Not unattainable, per se, but not meant to be shared at this moment.”

Drista shakes her head, sighing. “Fine. We might as well get onto my Mystery lessons instead of discussing what I can’t possibly know right now.”

“Agreed,” The Entity obliges, walking away from the wall of portraits to the center part of the hall underneath the light. Drista joins him a second later, eyes lingering on the portraits, especially the one supposedly associated with this not-unattainable knowledge.

Drista’s eyes open slowly, revealing an entire room of darkness completely different from the niveous halls. Drista can still hear the Entity’s voice in her ears, telling her about some famous magicians, or magic-users who use Mystery exclusively, from The Ender Prince’s world’s history. They had not finished the lesson, so Drista doesn’t understand why she’s woken up. Something must have woken her up suddenly.

Drista looks around for what the source could have been. Her eyes slowly adjust, and she finds herself staring directly into Dream’s slumbering face. He lies on his stomach, slobbering on the pillow his cheek is squished against. On Drista’s other side, Puffy lies on her back, arms spread out to allow her children to lie on them. Foolish is taking advantage of this on Puffy’s other side, his sleeping face lying across her elbow. Drista supposes that one of them could have woken her up, but she doubts anything they could have done would be enough to push her out of the halls the Entity drags her to every time she sleeps. She and the Entity are the only ones who can release herself from those halls as far as she is aware.

Drista sits up in the bed. She frowns down at her tiny hands, wishing once more for the body of someone far older. She looks around the dark cabin, searching for something that could have woken her up. There is nothing but wood shrouded in darkness.

Drista stands up in the bed. She steps over Dream’s legs carefully. She squats on the other side, sliding her legs off the side of the bed. They brush against the wooden floor, and a cold chill shoots up her spine. Drista takes a couple of steps back, away from the bed. She shivers again without the warmth of the blanket, but she doesn’t linger any longer lest she give into her desire for material comforts.

Drista leaves the rooms as quietly as she can, leaving the door cracked open to avoid making the sound of the door closing. Drista climbs the stairs and a few ladders until she’s gotten onto the top deck. Drista pushes the door open, stepping into the silver moonlight that continues to hang overhead. The remnants of the celebration linger on the deck of the ship, but it is entirely barren of people.

All except a person standing on the railing of the deck. The wind, violent and cold, blows through their shoulder-length dark purple-black hair. Their indigo eyes glow faintly, and the silver moonlight accents the red-violet scars tearing up sections of their face. They were a violet purple midriff top with a matching skirt and hand gloves. They smile, tucking their scarred arms behind their back. They speak with a voice that sounds like multiple layered on top of each other, but there is a distinctly feminine one at the core. “I will admit, I am being a little impatient. I know I will eventually cross paths with you, but I wanted to meet you now, while I had the chance.”

They turn on their heels, looking halfway between Drista and the island in the distance— the disturbing island. “Yes, very soon, I will meet you officially. We will have a wonderful dance, then. The whole world will be watching us. Or, rather, the whole world will be watching you two, not me. Even she will be watching you.”

The creature looks back at Drista with a pleasant smile. “Until then, please save me the dance. It will be good practice for you when they ask you a similar question.”

The humanoid’s smile grows even wider, and it turns to face Drista completely. Without another word or a response, the creature takes a step back, falling into the water. Drista’s eyes widen, surprised by the entire situation. She is driven into action by the occurrence, and she bolts across the deck. She slams against the railing, dragging her body upward to look over the side. She isn’t able to see anyone, and Drista wonders if it would be worth jumping into the water to find the person.

Drista’s decision is made for her when she hears a noise. Drista startles back, sliding into the deck. She looks at the door in the distance to find Foolish standing there, peering out like he’s trying not to be caught. When the emeralds in his irises find Drista, he shoves the door open without a second thought. He runs toward Drista, not stopping until his hands are on her shoulders. He looks down at her with wide eyes. “I’ll go look for whatever you dropped overboard, so stay here, okay?”

Drista grabs Foolish’s wrist, keeping him from jumping over. When he looks at her, she shakes her head. Foolish frowns in confusion. “Did you lose anything?”

She shakes her head again.

“Did you want to go into the water?”

After a moment of hesitation, she shakes her head. No point now. That person is probably gone, if they ever really did hit the water.

“Do you want to go back to sleep?”

This time, Drista nods her head. Foolish nods slowly, shrugging his shoulders. He reaches down, grabbing her hand. Together, they head back downstairs.

Chapter Text

Time passes quickly for Drista. Five years of growth make her capable of both movement and speech, though the latter still requires some touching up for certain syllables. Her growth has been expedited as the Entity said it would, but she is about the size of a six-year-old when she actually is six, meaning that the growth is about to slow down to the rate of pure-blooded humans. Drista isn’t happy about this, but she is grateful that it happened even if it didn’t last forever as she originally hoped it would.

The past five years have seen Drista living out her days on her mother’s vessel, the Argo. It wasn’t as difficult as she thought it would be, certainly due to the availability of the islands and magical tools that most pirates take for granted since they know no other way. Drista has gotten used to the way the boat rocks nearly every minute. She’s gotten used to being in close proximity to pirates, even if her mother’s crew switches out as frequently as the tides.

Additionally, Puffy has begun putting in the effort to make the guilds that would later define her reign as a queen. Drista doesn’t know what set Puffy down on this path, but once she got it into her head, she began preparations immediately. Through negotiation and rites of combat, Puffy has proven to everyone how capable she is. After establishing the four guilds, they have proven their own necessity. People newly transitioning into piracy or even seafaring have found the guilds to be most helpful. Pirates without natural talents were the next to join, looking to gain connections, learn combat skills, or earn money through the guilds. The talented pirates or the ones who have been at this game long enough to survive were the last to join, and even now, most of those crews rebuke the idea of a governing body. Puffy hasn’t given up on reaching out to them, drawing even more people to the newly established Faction Isles.

It has been interesting for Drista to watch. She is frequently forgotten due to her size and quietness, and pirates don’t seem particularly eager to hide their secrets from what they assume is a small child incapable of complex thought. Drista has borne witness to many pirates planning to sabotage the guilds or finding a reason to join themselves. Thankfully, Puffy and Callum never question Drista when she tells them what she overheard, and Drista is usually rewarded for her honesty with a hug or a smile that warms her heart.

Other than ratting out traitors, Drista has spent time with her brothers. It is quite difficult to get away from them, and they are both perfectly capable of persuading Drista to join whatever prank they are planning to pull. Despite her initial resistance, Drista has fallen for whatever scheme they have been concocting since her birth. She loves them dearly, and she has fun when she’s around them. For these reasons, Drista has found herself forming valuable relationships with her brothers, setting them in the space next to heart as if she could protect them from the dangers of the world, or more accurately, the dangers of her own paranoid character.

By far, however, Drista has been working the hardest on mastering magic. She has learned to tap into her inheritance of glamour, but the magic the Entity taught her about— Mystery— remains as elusive as the names implies to Drista. She has done her utmost to establish a connection like the Entity told her, but nothing is coming from her attempts. Drista has not given up, however, knowing that when her labor finally produces fruit, they will be as sweet as victory.

Drista thinks about all these memories now, as she sits on the carpeted floor of the hallway surrounded by flickering candlelight, in an attempt to ease away the heavy weight settled in her stomach. All of these memories are happy, joyous in a way that Drista didn’t appreciate at the time they were happening. She forgot somewhere along the way just what kind of world she was living in and what kind of person Captain Puffy of the Argo was, how important she was and the trials she must have gone through prior to passing the Daystar Throne down to her firstborn son.

On the other side of the wall Drista is leaning against, the inside of the room guarded by a heavy wooden door, Puffy is yelling at people. They respond in turn with their own shouts, sharp and loud. It sounds like someone locked a storm inside the office building on the main island. There is no else in the hallway save for the children of Puffy, but ever so often, someone will dart through with pale cheeks and wide eyes, clearly hearing the yelling yet being unable to acknowledge it properly. They leave, not a second glance at the children whose legs they have to stumble over.

Foolish sits down beside Drista. His legs are spread out, nearly touching the opposite wall but not quite there yet. One of his hands taps anxiously at something in the pocket of the jacket Puffy got him last year, and his other hand is intertwined with Drista’s hand. It is meant to be reassuring, and while it does serve that purpose, Drista’s stomach continues to roll with uncertainty. The yelling, even behind a closed door, reminds her of her past life. Every time she closes her eyes, in the split second of darkness, Drista sees hands hurtling towards her. She can’t shield herself from illusions, even when they start to cause some sort of abstract pain all across her form.

Dream stands across the hallway, leaning against the wall. His arms are wrapped around his chest, and Drista knows he’s protecting his heart from the onslaught in the other room. He taps his foot impatiently, face screwed up with dozens of emotions that he tries to suppress. These attempts only obscure those emotions, not getting rid of them. Dream finally sighs outwardly, an anxious energy pulsating all around him that makes the air in the hallway smell sour. “When are we going to be done?”

Foolish shakes his head unknowingly. He squeezes Drista’s hand a little tighter, and his tapping slows down, softening like a pocket watch inside a velvet pouch. For a moment, displeasure and a flavor of fear presents itself on Dream’s face, but they quickly dive back into the depths of the ocean’s worth of complex emotions on his face. His arms wrap tighter around himself, and he starts shifting from foot to foot instead of tapping one of them. He has gone from one nervous habit to another, and nothing about his mood appears to have been lightened by either application of energy. Despite this, Foolish continues to tap and Dream continues to move.

For as long as the children have known their mother, she has never once raised her voice for anything other than getting information across a long distance. Her laughter or snoring are the loudest things about her. Likewise, they have never seen her grow angrier than mild annoyance. She has always been upbeat and bright, like a jovial song that has never known a decrescendo.

Today was different. It began with an unnatural energy that hovered around their mother like a foul smell. Dream couldn’t stand to be around her, growing physically sick when she was around. When water splashed on Puffy’s wrist, Foolish experienced a similarly sickly reaction. Drista was the only one that showed no signs of nausea, but there was a look in Puffy’s eyes that reminded Drista too much of her past life. It made the girl turn away from her mother, hiding behind Foolish. The siblings reassured themselves that they still loved their mother, but no one else would have known that fact if they had witnessed the three ducklings following Puffy through the streets of the main island after an uneasy docking. There was such a distance between them, a soft hesitance that anyone would notice if they simply looked with their eyes.

Puffy was upset about this reaction, but she hardly did anything to change it. In fact, this reaction seemed to cement her unusual behavior as if it were proof of something. She told her children to stay in the hallway as she dealt with some important people, and they followed her orders strictly even if they grew frightened by her yelling. Drista has always been the worried sort around people, but Foolish and Dream are usually too jovial or too dumb to experience fear or anxiety. Now, however, they were as antsy as Drista usually felt in large crowds, and this did very little to reassure Drista that everything was going to be alright even when Foolish silently assured them that it would be.

Those happy memories trickle back into Drista’s mind like a safety measure. She remembers the time Foolish taught her how to swim, holding both of her arms and promising that he would never let go. She remembers the time she and Dream caught a sickly bird, coaxing it back to full health and watching it rejoin the sky. She remembers dancing with her mother on the deck of the ship, Puffy’s laughter sweeter than any music the fiddler could conjure to fill the night. She remembers every sunrise where the family of four would sit together, watching the sun ascend, even though Drista was probably the only one that could see the sky. Drista wraps these memories around herself like a warm blanket during a cold night, like sturdy armor during a long battle.

As Drista lulls herself into a false sense of security, the door slams open to remind her why that isn’t possible. Drista flinches, pressing into Foolish’s shoulder. Dream startles to attention, nearly bolting like a frenzied animal. Foolish’s reaction is subdued from sheer force of will, but anyone can see how tightly he’s clenched his jaw. 

Uncaring of the reaction she’s elicited, a woman comes out of the room. Her strides are long and footsteps heavy. She does not bother to look at the children in the hallway, brushing past them like a leaf taken by the storming winds. Other people trickle out of the room with less ferocity, but they are no more concerned about the people who witnessed their loud debate than the first woman was with her fiery expression. They scatter in both questions. A few were contemplative expressions, and others are still in the throes of vividly discussing something with a conversational partner that walks alongside them. Their words are hushed all of a sudden, either due to secrecy, the sanctity of the hallway, or because they have hurt their voices over the past hour or so.

When there is a lapse of people coming out, Dream darts into the room like a bird going through an open window. Foolish rises to his feet, unintentionally dragging Drista up with him. She is barely balanced when Foolish begins tugging her into the room to follow after their reckless brother. Drista voices not a word of complaint, actually thankful for Foolish’s tenacity and quickness, both of which she lacks currently due to her mental state and body’s age.

The room is made from the same wooden planks that made up the hallway, but these seem darker as if they have soaked up the negative energy. This is strange considering the large torches hanging from the walls, burning brightly across the long table set up in the center of the room. The chairs that are meant to surround the table are scattered around the room. Puffy sits at the one chair still at the table, but it is facing sideways instead of towards the center of the rectangular surface. She is staring at the largest torch on the far wall, the light shimmering off her long brown hair in a way that makes it look like bronze.

Just as the children have never heard their mother yell angrily, they have never seen her look defeated. Drista half-expected her mother to be incapable of such an expression considering how tenacious and competitive Puffy is. Unfortunately, Drista is bearing witness to the expression, and it continues to linger in Puffy’s eyes even when she forces her eyes to lighten with positivity at seeing her children. There is, at least, a residual of affection in those eyes that makes Drista feel a little better about the whole situation.

Puffy opens her arms. Her children draw close, and Puffy pulls them all in, letting them find their usual positions against her chest. A moment passes, and when they take a half-step away, Puffy brings down each of their heads to kiss their foreheads tenderly. Even though the gesture is kind, Drista is off-put by the affection. It burns inside of her, a reminder of both her former life and the strangeness of the morning.

“I love you,” Puffy whispers, but it doesn’t sound like she’s actually talking to them. It sounds like she’s talking to herself. Puffy shakes her head, looking directly into their eyes. She lifts her hands up, touching the side of Dream’s cheek and Drista’s cheek. Foolish is tucked between the two youngest, and he reaches for his siblings’ hands instinctively, completing the chain that unites all four of them. Puffy nods firmly, “I adore you. My duckling, my shark, my dragonfly.”

Puffy says their nicknames with so much fondness that Drista almost tears up. She has never been given an affectionate nickname, but it was one of the first gifts Puffy ever gave Drista. One day, all of a sudden, Drista as Puffy’s dragonfly, a nickname Drista doesn’t fully understand yet holds to the same importance as her actual name. 

But right now, it feels more like the name an executioner might call before the guillotine comes hurtling down.

“I am going to continue to love you three with all my heart even if I have to go away for a bit,” Puffy finishes, her voice trailing off as if part of her hopes her children won’t hear her.

But they’re her kids. They might not do everything she tells them to, but they will always listen when she speaks. They will always pay attention to their mother. They will always be reflections of what lies inside her heart, drawing out her most positive traits and most natural instincts. Even Dream, who’s as restless as the wind, even Foolish, who’s as capricious as the ocean, even Drista, who’s as distrustful as a wild animal, will listen to their mother when she speaks so softly and wears an expression so dismal.

“What do you mean, Mama?” Dream asks, tilting his head to the side in confusion, though the way he starts rocking on his heels implies that he has some idea what is happening. 

“Some bad things are happening in the sea right now. The guilds I have been working to form have been assigned the responsibility of handling these bad things. It is a means to prove ourselves as a credible institution worth investing in. And those guilds need my help because of my battle prowess and…” But Puffy doesn’t finish that thought. She leaves it hanging like her children know the answer already, and Drista desperately hopes the secondary reason isn’t because of what was making Dream and Foolish sick earlier. “I can’t take you three with me. Rather, I won’t.”

“Why not?” Drista demands immediately, taking a step back to remove Puffy’s hand from her cheek. She breaks the chain, and something in the air snaps at the same moment. Foolish keeps a firm grip on Drista’s hand, not letting her pull away completely, and his face bears an anxious expression as he glances between Puffy and Drista. Dream, on the other hand, isn’t paying either of his siblings attention as he takes a step forward, the same question Drista asked shining in his eyes with as much ferocity. “We’ve always gone on adventures together.”

“Not one this dangerous,” Puffy corrects Drista, shaking her head slightly. Her hand slides down from Dream’s cheek to his shoulder, but she doesn’t reach out for Drista, letting the girl have her space. “The guilds are being sent to a place I don’t trust, not with your lives.”

“You can’t—”

“You three will stay at the cabin… the same one we stayed in when Drista was younger. The cabin will be fully stocked with food and water, enough to last my absence. I’ve arranged for a few of my associates to come check on you frequently,” Puffy explains, nodding assuredly to herself. She gives them a wry smile. “It’s only going to be for a week. Everything is going to be fine.”

“No, it isn’t. You’re leaving us for a week! We’ve always been together,” Foolish immediately argues, taking a step forward. Dream slides beside Foolish, and Drista takes a diagonal step to stand slightly behind Foolish. Like younger siblings, they let the eldest argue against the parent for them, providing silent support.

Puffy sighs, a touch of her defeated expression creeping back onto her face. She gives them a half-smile that does not bear even an inch of happiness within its pink borders. “I wish you guys would make this easier on me. I don’t want to leave you any more than you want to be left, but I want to protect you even more than that. This is the only way I can. Please, understand that and remember that I love you more than anything else in the world. It is precisely because I love you that I’m doing this.”

Puffy reaches her hands up, cupping Foolish’s cheek. She pulls him down, making the two of them eye level. She whispers directly to him, “Take care of your siblings, my shark.”

There is a moment of silence, a war waged within Foolish’s mind, but eventually, he closes his eyes and whispers, “I promise.”

Dream opens his mouth, eyes flashing the color of healthy algae, but Puffy cuts him off when she pulls away from Foolish, looking between him and Drista with a newfound sternness in her eyes. “Be good, you two. I’m only going to be gone for a week. I know people are coming to check on you guys, but I’m counting on you to look out for each and try not to make too much trouble for Foolish.

Tears seem to appear in Puffy’s eyes, but they do not fall as she whispers to all of them, “I love you more than you will ever know, ever comprehend. There is nothing that would stop me from coming back to you— not storms, not the sun god, not even death itself.”

“You have to keep your promise,” Dream says petulantly, crossing his arms over his chest. He leans forward, putting his forehead against Puffy’s shoulder.

“We love you, too,” Foolish declares for them all, joining in on the hug.

Drista, however, takes another step away, and this opposing reaction causes the others to look over at her. Drista stares at them, a strange mix of sadness and anger building in her stomach in a way that makes her want to vomit. She’s been good. For the past six years, she’s been putting in the effort to be a good sister and a good daughter even when it terrifies her, even when she has no idea what she’s doing. She’s been trying so hard, but it feels like none of it mattered. It feels like Puffy is going to walk away and never come back, and Drista doesn’t want to lose the only parent that has ever truly felt like one to her. She would rather cleave Puffy away from her heart herself than have the woman tear all of their bonds.

Puffy reaches a hand toward Drista, but the girl makes no moves, not to it or away from it. She watches with a heavy heart as sadness seeps across Puffy’s face like dye in water. Puffy smiles gently at Drista, letting her arm fall away without ever losing a touch of the intensity in her gaze. “I promise that I’m coming back, Drista. When I do, we can all go back to sailing the seas together. I’ll take you on as many adventures as you want.”

Drista nods slowly, the promise tethering itself to her soul, but she doesn’t approach the woman she still wants to call her mother.

The family affair is interrupted by a head peeking around the door frame, looking across the room. When Callum notices Puffy, he steps across the threshold. He keeps his distance, perhaps sensing the tension in the room, but he doesn’t hold his tongue or walk away like a weak-hearted person might have. “Mara is looking for you.”

Puffy sighs, a flash of annoyance mixed in with the rest of her emotions. Callum rolls his shoulders. “We can come up with an excuse to get you out of this.”

“No,” Puffy says firmly, standing up but keeping Dream and Foolish pressed against her. There is space for Drista should she want it, but the girl remains halfway between Puffy and Callum. “If I don’t go, people will get hurt. If I don’t go, the Corruption will spread even farther. If I don’t go, everything we’ve been working hard to do with the guilds will be all for naught. Most of all, if I don’t go, the Corruption has an opportunity to hurt my kids. I have to protect them, and I want to save as many lives as possible.”

“I knew you were going to say that, but I wanted to ask anyway,” Callum mutters, rolling the eyes he hides behind his fox mask. He leans down onto one of his knees, looking at the children. He puts one fist on his chest, the other one on the carpet for balance. “I swear on my honor that I will bring your mother back home to you.”

“I would prefer being brought home alive,” Puffy asserts, a laugh in her voice as if she had never been in the throes of defeat or sadness.

Callum looks up to glare at her. “No one is going to die. We’re going to destroy the Corruption.” Callum stands up, crossing his arms over his chest. “Next, we’re targeting the Iris Church.”

“You’re still hung up on that?” Puffy questions airily.

“They kidnapped me,” Callum deadpans earnestly. Puffy, in turn, rolls her eyes, reaching her hands down. Dream and Foolish take her hands. Puffy starts to lead them into the hallway. Drista allows them to pass, ignoring the way Puffy’s expression turns from pleading to mournful. Drista follows behind her family, and Callum brings up the rear, giving the excuse that this ‘Mara’ person will have his head if he doesn’t bring Puffy to her.

Drista remembers walking through the main island back when she was developing into a one-year-old. She remembers the streets and the types of people that would frequent the streets. Back then, everything had seemed so wondrous. Now, Drista fades directly into the crowd, no longer noticing what would have once made her happy. Not even the forest path brings a smile to Drista’s face even though she feels a lot better surrounded by the greenery.

The cabin is just as Drista remembers it, but everything feels different now that Puffy is telling her sons goodbye on the porch. Drista remains a few feet away, watching Puffy lean down to whisper something personal to both Foolish and Dream. They depart into the house, and Puffy looks over at Drista. The little girl walks up to her mother. Puffy makes no attempts to hold Drista even though she looks like she wants to. All Puffy does is promise Drista that she will be back and all will be well. Drista doesn’t believe a word of it, and she implies as much when she says nothing. Puffy seems willing to continue speaking with Drista for a few hours, but Callum’s presence pressures Puffy into kissing Drista’s forehead and parting ways with her children. Puffy throws weary looks over her shoulder as she walks away, but nothing stops her movements. 

Drista steps into the cabin, closing the door behind her. She keeps her forehead pressed against the wood, feeling the coolness trading places with the warm flush all across her body. Behind her, Foolish asks, “Anyone feel like crying?”

Neither Dream nor Drista respond to Foolish, so he sniffles, and with a wet laugh, he says, “Yeah, me neither.”

“Where did I go wrong?” Drista asks, her voice echoing in the long hall. She reaches out, placing her hands on the Entity’s upper arms to keep it from fleeing away from her questions. “I thought I was doing a great job at repressing my trauma. I thought I was doing well being a daughter and sister.”

“You have done nothing wrong,” the Entity assures her. The words should be comforting since the Entity has never once lied to Drista, but they do not bring any more comfort than the stainless walls around her do.

“Then, tell me why Puffy left,” Drista says, squeezing her hands with all her might as if she could inflict damage on the Entity. There had been a few trials in her yesteryears where she would attempt to draw a pained reaction from the Entity, if only to prove that it was a creature of such facilities. This was before she developed a bond with the Entity and realized that it was not a demon sent to steal her soul but rather an individual requiring her assistance as much as she required its help.

“It is because Puffy loves you, Dream, and Foolish. She wants to protect you three. She understands more than most how dangerous the Corruption is. She won’t let her children become victims, even if she has to push you away and put herself in danger,” The Entity describes what Drista already knew yet refuses to process for fear that she might be wrong and fear that she might be right.

“That’s stupid,” Drista utters childishly, drawing her hands away from the Entity’s body. She wraps her arms around her chest, protecting herself from the pain.

“You are weak,” The Entity declares. Drista startles abruptly, stumbling away from the Entity. She is half-surprised, half-angry by the statement. As these feelings twist inside of her, she takes a step forward to revisit her conclusion that the Entity cannot feel pain inflicted by her own hands. The Entity, in turn, raises its hands, trying to pacify Drista. “Allow me to amend my statement. You and your brothers are young and inexperienced. You have knowledge but not nearly enough, and you do not know how to properly apply what knowledge you do have. At the moment, you are, as I said, weak.”

Drista, unfortunately, knows exactly what the Entity means. She has been lamenting over her own childish body for as long as she’s been in this new world. She hasn’t considered herself to be ignorant, however, so that fact is like a shock of cold water. Drista thought her knowledge of The Ender Prince made her powerful, but she has been a fool. Questions pertaining to the likes of the sun god and moon goddess, along with the very existence of the Corruption, prove that Drista does not know everything she needs to in order to properly survive.

“But,” The Entity’s voice cuts through Drista’s personal musings on her own inferiority. “This will change. Use this moment— your pain, longing, determination— to fuel further exploits, to derive wisdom, and to find a solution. Let Puffy hold the line and buy you more time to acquire what is necessary.”

“I thought you wanted me to enjoy my childhood,” Drista snorts wryly.

“I wish you could enjoy your childhood. I was hoping that you would have a chance to experience what you could not in your previous life,” The Entity jeremiads quietly. It shakes its head. “But it seems more powerful forces are at play than even I anticipated. I advise you to find joy where you can but to set your sights on fulfilling your purpose.”

Chapter Text

At the edges of the marketplace on the Faction Isle, a wooden shack stands precariously in the dried mud. It is built on slits in case of troubling storms, but the wood is half-rotted at this point. The shack, therefore, is little more than a larger than life house of cards, ready for a troubling wind to blow it down to the ground. Despite this, the shack remains firmly rooted in the ground it was built upon, as if trying to prove a point. In its effort to remain standing, the shack does a half-decent job at protecting the shelves and books filling it up from wall to wall. The shelves are made from healthier dead wood, but it isn’t by a noticeable margin. The books are the cleanest parts of the entire shack, and even they show wear and tear across every yellowed page. In a sense, this is little more than a graveyard for books rather than a proper library. When a pirate leaves behind books after dying or abandoning their lifestyle, the books, unless otherwise valuable, will find their way to this tomb.

Unfortunately, this makeshift library is all Drista has in terms of accessible knowledge. Any books worth her time are locked away in vaults or in the captain’s room of a ship. Drista has done her fair share of manual labor and using her childish cuteness to trick people, but this library is her most reliable source, even if she isn’t getting very far within this rotting wood.

On top of being a poor place to keep books, there also isn’t a proper librarian. This place barely gets any visitors as it is, so the thought of someone coming in to take care of the books, or even just give some level of organization, is more than wishful thinking. It’s downright delusional. Drista is learning the hard way how unorganized this place is as she has to drag unopened crates into the sunlight poured through cracks in the roof and walls to dig through them.

Most of the books are, unsurprisingly, about ship maintenance, recipes for a seafaring lifestyle, and monsters to be wary of out on the open seas. All definitely serve their purposes, and Drista has learned a thing or two from these books, especially any notes left in the margins, but they aren’t what she’s looking for.

Thankfully, there are a handful of books worth Drista’s attention during the days steadily rising in temperature. Drista cracks them open, careful of the crusty pages that feel more like thin stone slabs than processed paper. She sits down between the crates, breathing in the dusty air with a constantly muffled nose. She holds her coughing at bay as she pours over each book for knowledge about the past, magecraft, and even a passage or two about Mystery, though those are few and far between.

The Entity has been an excellent teacher for the most part, but these books are extremely diligent in filling in some of the gaps Drista assumes the Entity accidentally left vague. For instance, the Entity told Drista about EXP. It is the overabundance of the soul, and all living creatures are capable of producing it, even soulless monsters through their cores. This is why monster hunters are frequently mages to some effect since they have an easy supply to EXP and do not have to waste their own reserves.

What the Entity failed to mention was levels and proficiency magic, which go hand-in-hand. Proficiency magic are spells that a mage can cast without exerting much EXP. Additionally, proficiency magic doesn’t require specific words, hand motions, or ingredients to be cast. As an example, Drista thinks about Shelby. She was a character in The Ender Prince that first debuted in the first arc but really only became a major player in the fifth arc. Shelby’s proficiency magic was weather magic. The versatility of her proficiency magic is probably one of the key reasons she became one of the strongest mages in history.

Levels, on the other hand, are for any magic that a mage is not proficient at. In order to cast a spell, the minimum requirement is a specific word or a hand motion. For more powerful spells, ingredients might be necessary. In order to determine what is needed, a mage need only look at a spell’s level. Starting from one, the higher the number, the more powerful the spell and the more costly the EXP exchange. A sixth level spell, for instance, requires six levels of EXP, which are kept track by rings around the heart. As a person produces or absorbs EXP, rings are constructed around their hearts. Most mages always keep upwards of a hundred rings around their heart at any given time.

Despite this information proving exciting, Drista is terrible at human magecraft. She suspects it is due to her Fae lineage, though it might also be in part because of her insistence on learning Mystery. Drista doesn’t know if these forms of magic clash together, mainly because halflings are almost as rare as magicians. And as with all rare things, the books about it are scarce, especially in a graveyard such as the shack she’s currently sitting in.

The only reason Drista keeps coming back despite learning nothing useful from the magecraft book is because there are books on glamour. The books are mostly warning readers not to interfere with the Fae and to be wary of these kinds of glamour, but Drista is able to garner some useful knowledge in between all the superstition and fear.

One fact Drista learned early on is that glamour is incapable of creation. They can make illusions, enchant the mind, or expedite plant growth. They cannot, however, create anything physical. This is said mostly as a warning to readers, letting them know that nothing a Fae shows them is true, but their warnings only prove to teach Drista what halflings are capable of. Dream has bird-like swiftness, and Drista has illusions. With a little bit of effort and a lot of imagination, Drista can manifest what’s in her mind. At least, visually manifest it. Her illusions lack  the ability to trick the other senses. Alse, her illusions are often incomplete. She usually forgets an important detail or straight-up doesn’t put the back of the illusion. Drista has been working at it, nonetheless. She wants to become powerful enough that Puffy is forced to take her on more dangerous missions.

Drista looks up from the current book she’s reading about using iron against the Fae. Drista stretches her hand out, concentrating. She focuses on the air in front of her. She feels the ichor of life still flooding through these wooden beams, as dead as they look, and she pulls at them, condensing them right in front of her. An illusion takes shape underneath Drista’s glowing green eyes. She bites the inside of her cheek, and a dog sits in the shack with her. The furry dog perks up, looking at her with dark, merry eyes. Its tongue lolls out of its mouth, but it makes no noise. Drista tries forcing the illusion of sound, trying to remember the panting of a dog. She is able to produce it, but the sound and the image are out of sync from one another. Drista narrows her eyes, ignoring the headache thundering in her body, as she tries to align the sounds of the dog with the image of it breathing harshly on the wooden floor.

“Drista!” A voice cuts through her concentration. The illusion in front of her disappears in an instant, not that it matters much. No matter how strong Drista is getting, she is incapable of tricking Dream with her illusions. Even if she makes a small one with minimal details and no other sensory outputs, Dream sees right through it. She’s able to trick other people, even Foolish, but never her halfling brother. It frustrates Drista, especially since Dream isn’t old enough to realize that Drista is purposefully casting an illusion over her own appearance to hide her identity. She will be very precise with the changed details, and he’ll go and yell her name, shattering the illusion.

Dream wears a smile on his youthful face. He leaps between each of the books, making a game out of being careful with all the books Drista has spread out around her. When he lands right next to her, he squats down. He falls back, leaning against Drista’s shoulder as he spreads his legs out underneath him. He picks up one of the nearest books to him. He runs his fingers along the picture of a siren woman sitting on a rock, her beauty nor her terrifying nature capable of being captured with mere ink. Dream gets bored of the book after a few seconds, dropping it back where he found it. He leans against Drista’s shoulder once more, slouching down so far that he must look up at her. “Let’s go play outside.”

“Go bother Foolish,” Drista tells him, elbowing him in the back to get him off of her. Dream doesn’t show any signs of feeling it, and Drista’s glare only gets more intense.

“I can’t. Foolish is at work,” Dream complains, reaching both of his arms high into the air. He arches his back. He eventually plops back down, letting his arms drop heavily on either side of him.

“When has that ever stopped you?” Drista asks, wrapping an arm around Dream’s shoulder to tap his nose with her finger. Dream lifts a hand up to swat at her finger, but Drista dodges every time, getting in a few more pokes. Although she isn’t strong enough to do damage to her brother, she is small enough to annoy him. Honestly, Drista prefers this option.

“Since Foolish set up the new rules, duh,” Dream mutters obviously, reaching up to strike Drista’s wrist like an angered feline. Drista moves her hand out of the way, absentmindedly playing with Dream as her thoughts slide over to the truth. Puffy was supposed to be gone for a week, but she’s been gone for a full moon cycle instead. The children would have been kicked out of that cabin if they didn’t remind the people why sirens and Fae were considered dangerous creatures by putting their traits on full display. Foolish got a job afterwards to ease tensions, but the truth of the matter remained, Puffy was still gone. Foolish pushed up his sleeves, stepping into the response role which included setting new guidelines for Dream and Drista to follow. Dream follows these rules without fully understanding, but Drista is very aware.

“Let’s play outside,” Drista murmurs, starting to close the books. She puts the books up how she found them. That is to say, haphazardly without any rhyme or reason other than convenience. Drista is quick about her work, knowing Dream’s attention span is typical of his age even when Drista’s attention span is so much longer despite physically being younger.

“Yay!” Dream cheers, leaping onto his feet. He rushes across the room, opening the door as Drista hurriedly shoves a pile of books out of her way. She stands up, following after Dream at a slower rate.

The air is warm when they step outside, a cool breeze accompanying it as if the night wind has come early. A dirt-lined path stretches out before them at the bottom of the half-collapsed wooden steps, leading into the rest of the marketplace. They are so close that Drista can hear the bartering of the merchants and the laughter of the drunkards, and she sees colors cross from one side of the marketplace to the other, filling out every street from building to building. Farther out, the Ecclesia Sea shimmers underneath the encroaching evening sun like a field of jade and lapis lazuli.

“Let’s have a race!” Dream exclaims, referencing his favorite pastime. Dream jumps from the porch of the shack to the ground, rolling across the grass without a concern for injuries or pain. When Dream gets back onto his feet, he throws a single glance over his shoulder at his sister, revealing his neon eyes and large smile. He returns his attention to the world in front of him, and he suddenly bolts down the path like a bird in flight or a horse without a rider. He joins the crowds of the marketplace in a matter of seconds, the green and brown of his outfit melding seamlessly with everyone else.

Drista lightly steps across the sturdiest parts of the steps like a fairy leaping across lily pads. When she lands on the ground, she races after her brother. While speedy in her own right, a byproduct of her childish body, Drista is nowhere near the speed of Dream. It often feels like he becomes one with the wind instead of racing alongside it, and Drista knows not to bet on the clearly inferior horse at the races. What she does know to bet on, however, is the hawk with the keenest eyes. Instead of a race, Drista and Dream frequently play an elaborate game of hide and seek where Drista seeks to find Dream rather than beat him to any given location.

Unlike every other day, Dream isn’t hiding. He isn’t giving Drista a poor attempt. He is properly standing in the space between the marketplace and the harbor, staring out across the Ecclesia Sea and the many ships docked, including a noticeably new one. Drista stops right next to Dream. She leans down to catch her breath, resenting her brother for not showing even a trace of just running across the entire marketplace.

“What is that ship called?” Dream asks, pointing at the new ship. While capable of reading, Dream still has trouble with some of the bigger words. He would be better at it if he sat down and practiced his letters like Foolish and Drista told him to, but he was more likely to be found roaming the outdoors. 

“It’s the Luscinia,” Drista reads, pointing at the name etched into the hull. She is about to start explaining each letter and why they make the sounds they do, but Dream’s expression cuts her words off immediately. Drista stands up, putting a hand on Dream’s forearm to gather his attention onto herself rather than the ship in the distance.

“The wind blows away from the sails,” Dream cryptically states. Drista blinks, leaning back as she processes what that is supposed to mean. When she doesn’t come up with anything, she opens her mouth to ask Dream. The first word of her question is lost as Dream runs toward the ship and away from her. Like every other time, Drista is unable to stop Dream when he sets himself in motion. All she can do is watch Dream shoot away like an arrow from a bow.

Drista runs after her brother, her footsteps growing harsher in sound as she transitions from the rocky path to the wooden dock. Drista isn’t able to catch up with Dream until he chooses to stop, and he doesn’t until he’s standing right beside the tall ship. Drista comes up beside him once more, fully grabbing onto his arm to keep him from leaving her again. She stares up at the vessel, not seeing anything out of the ordinary with the wooden material of the hull and the off-white sails laying against their pillars.

“A wicked wind approaches,” Dream murmurs again, snarling at the vessel.

The wind does not pick up when Dream says that. Rather, a woman steps off the deck of the ship. She looks around, using a hand made from iron to push back her hair. As she does, she notices the two children standing on the dock alongside her. Dream continues staring at the ship, but Drista keeps her eyes on the woman as she approaches them, reaching a fleshy hand into her coat for where her gun most likely is. “And who has the gall to stand on the deck with Captain Elyas Merton without paying proper respect?”

“We’re no one you need to concern yourself with,”Drista answers, feeling something swirl in her stomach as she tells the honest truth. She would much rather lie, give this captain a false name, but she isn’t able to due to her Fae nature. For now, she just has to convince Elyas to leave them alone and get Dream to leave with her.

As Drista tries dragging Dream away, he stands resolutely in front of Elyas. “We are the children of Captain Puffy of the Argo.”

Dream’s courageous, loyal behavior is rewarded with Elyas’ face breaking out into a malicious smile. She laughs dementedly, shaking her head slowly in disbelief. She looks at Dream and Drista with unhumorous amusement in her eyes. “So, these are the scrapes that sea-goat left behind!”

“What?” Dream asks. Drista doesn’t know if he is questioning the words themselves or the nickname ‘sea-goat’ since Puffy seems eager to hide her hybrid traits, even from her own children, but Drista promises to answer both questions when they get away from Elyas if Dream would simply come with her.

Elyas leans forward, getting close to Dream’s face. Although Drista didn’t understand what Dream meant earlier, she does now. There is a wicked air around Elyas that threatens to choke Drista where she stands, especially when Elyas puts that smile back on her ugly face. “You know, I let orphans like you join my crew for cheap. A few years of hard labor is good for you brats.”

“I’m not an orphan,” Dream declares, puffing his chest up in defiance to Elyas’ words.

She leans back, staring down at Dream and Drista like they are an amusing doll meant to be crushed in the hands of children much larger than them. Her smile grows wry as she shrugs one of her shoulders, “That may be true. Your Fae father could still be leaving halfling bastards up and down the coast.”

The tension in the air grows thicker, and Drista takes a step forward. She prepares an illusion in her mind, pouring all of her glamour and imagination into creating a realistic threat that would grant her and Dream an opportunity to run off. Fortunately, this proves unnecessary as someone calls out behind Elyas, stepping off the deck of the Luscinia. “What are you doing, Captain Merton?”

Elyas turns slightly. Drista sees Foolish standing there. His eyebrows furrow when they lock eyes. In a matter of seconds, Foolish is rushing down the dock. He slides into the space between his siblings and Elyas. Foolish’s expression darkens, putting a hand up to protect his siblings. Elyas only hums, pointing her chin at Dream. “I was only trying to recruit a few new crew members.”

“All recruitments are to be handled at the office,” Foolish commands her, but there is an undertone in his voice that Drista recognizes for all the wrong reasons. Foolish is about to hurt someone. Even though he isn’t looking at her, even though he’s never given her a reason to think he would hurt her, Drista finds herself taking a half-step back. Her grip tightens on Dream’s arm, searching for comfort instead of acting as his anchor. Dream notices, looking over his shoulder at her. Dream frowns, and Drista has trouble meeting his eyes.

Elyas snorts. “Ah, yes, the Faction Isles have the guilds now. You know, I remember a time when pirates were free.”

“Pirates are still free. We are only trying to—”

“Spare me the details. I’m a Nightingale, aren’t I? I already heard the recruitment officer dump the same bullshit down my gullet like cheap liquor,” Elyas says, rolling her eyes. She waves her iron hand around, stepping around the group of children to head down the dock. She stops about halfway, looking over her shoulder. “Hey, are you all the brats of Puffy?”

“What of it?” Foolish hisses.

Elyas shrugs, a neutral expression overtaking her face. “I just want an invitation to the funeral.”

Elyas stalks off completely. Drista’s eyes widen. She hears Dream’s breath hitch beside her, the only time he’s ever not been in control of his breathing. Drista feels a hand on her shoulder, and she’s forced to turn around by Foolish. He has his hands on Drista and Dream’s shoulders still, leaning down to look up at them instead of making them look up at him. Foolish wears a stern expression as he meets both of their eyes. “Papa isn’t dead. Elyas is only trying to mess with you. She’s here on behalf of the Essempei aristocracy, the Ten Commanders, looking for someone. She will only be here for as long as it takes for her to realize the person she’s looking for isn’t here.”

Foolish waits until they nod at him. However reluctantly, they both end up doing just that, if only to give Foolish some peace of mind. He smiles at them, looking down for a moment. He remains kneeled on the dock, a hand on each of their shoulders. “What are you two doing here?”

“Dream fetched me from the library to play with him, but he was the one to run all the way here,” Drista explains, putting all the blame on her elder brother.

She expects some half-witty retort, but Dream is back to staring at the ship. “The wind brought me here. It filled my lungs, and I followed it.”

“Why would the wind bring you here?” Foolish murmurs, understanding Dream’s odd phrasing even when Drista is still only half-certain what it could all mean.

“A warning. The ship is covered in darkness, but not as much as that woman,” Dream answers.

Foolish hums a response, eyes shifting with more thoughts than the rest of his face makes visible. Foolish rises to his feet. His hands slide down his siblings’ arm until he is holding their hands. He spins them around, leading them back down the path towards the marketplace. He squeezes their hands gently, whispering to them and no one else. “Papa isn’t dead. She hasn’t abandoned us, either.” He glances at Drista from the corner of his eye before looking straight again. “Her mission is just taking a little longer than usual.”

Drista doesn’t believe him, but she doesn’t know what to believe. She remains silent as they continue walking home. She lets Foolish hold her hand, listening to Dream and Foolish chat about the going-ons of the island. They seem in a brighter mood, one that Drista cannot match even as they enter into the cabin. Foolish releases Dream’s hand, letting the boy run around their house like an unleashed puppy. He keeps Drista with him for a moment longer, however, looking down at her with a half-smile. “How’s your research coming along?”

Drista stares up at him. Foolish smiles encouragingly, and Drista gets the confidence to show Foolish the dog illusion she’s been working on for the past few days. Foolish leans down to really look at the dog. When it steps up to Foolish, he tries petting it, only to find his hand falling through. Drista gives him a sheepish smile. “I’m still working on that part. But I have been working on the other magic.”

Drista erases the illusory dog, leaving an empty space for her to show off the barrier she’s been working on made from a translucent green glass-like material. It is one of the few things she can actually do with Mystery, and even then, the barrier doesn’t last long. It lasts for an even smaller amount of time when inflicted with any sort of damage, but Drista is getting better. The Entity tells her as much, even if she feels her cheeks flush with embarrassment at the lackluster display when the barrier inevitably disperses.

“That’s amazing, Drista! I’m so proud of you!” Foolish gushes. He reaches his arms out. Drista feels her heart drop, but all Foolish does is pull her into a hug, shoving his cheek into her hair. He squeezes her with affection, not hate, and Drista is reminded why her lifelong wish was to have a family. The warmth that floods her chest as someone being proud of her makes all of her seemingly Sisyphean efforts feel worth it.

“I’m proud, too! That green thing was neat!” Dream exclaims, leaning over the back of the couch in an unsafe way.

Dream’s words remind Drista that he cannot see the illusions. She stares at him curiously from the warmth of Foolish’s arms. “I should probably start figuring out why you can’t see the illusions. Is it because of your specific glamour? Or can all Fae not see it? That would be good to know before we encounter any of them.”

“Ah! I know just where you can put all these new discoveries,” Foolish exclaims, stepping away from Drista. He reaches into a wooden cabinet beside the wall that heads into the hallway. He pulls out a leatherbound book engraved with the image of an intricate tree, the branches and roots acting almost like mirrors of one another. Foolish sets the journal down in Drista’s hands. “It’s a present for you.”

Drista’s lips part as she holds the book in both hands. She feels warm tears rise up in her eyes, her gratitude radiating off of her. She hugs the journal to her chest. She was never given any gifts in her past life, so any time she does get one in this life makes her so happy she feels as if she could cry, especially ones that come out of nowhere like this one.

“Hey, where’s my present?” Dream says, leaping over the back of the couch to rush towards Foolish. He grabs the fabric of Foolish’s pants around his thighs, pulling at it.

Foolish puts a hand in Dream’s hair, ruffling it. “Do you want to see my model temple?”

Dream is instantly distracted, following after Foolish. Drista, too, follows her brothers into the special room at the end of the hall. Foolish’s room is around the edges, but the center is dominated by a table. There is a model of a temple on the table, pyramids stacked on top of each other with additional features. Foolish pulls up a chair to the table, letting Dream and Drista sit in his lap as he explains all the features of the temple as if it were too-scale. His voice is animated, excitable, and yet it still lulls Dream to sleep. Drista desperately wants to listen, but Foolish starts rocking her knowingly, and she’s also sleeping to the sound of his voice.

Drista bows as she finishes her display of magic. The Entity claps politely, a fair smile on its face. “You are doing well, Drista. Magic will come to her as it has done for every magician before you. For now, you should maintain focus on glamour.”

“Of course. I was already planning on doing that,” Drista notes, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “I also haven’t been shirking on my research into the sun god and moon goddess. I haven’t found much in the way of folklore, but I’m starting to learn how the two deities are worshiped. I’m hoping to backtrack this through history to find something more concrete.” 

Drista sighs, crossing her arms over his chest. “I can’t wait for the guilds to come into their own. I need the Herons to open the Ardea Archives. But I guess I’ll make do for now.”

“You are quite resilient,” The Entity says.

“Thanks,” Drista says, but she knows that she still has a long way left to go.

Chapter Text

Drista grasps Foolish’s hand in both of hers, pressed tightly against his body to avoid walking into the paths of the other people in the crowd. Foolish’s other hand is preoccupied with holding on the back of Dream’s jacket, keeping the dirty blonde from bolting away like an energized puppy. Foolish doesn’t look at either of his siblings, instead peering across the top of the crowd, tilting left and right to see through the mass of bodies. Drista’s attention is primarily focused on the sky shining across the Faction Isle.

Drista has been told repeatedly that people see the vague outline of the blood moon, and the crimson light falling across everything is more than enough confirmation for them. Drista, in contrast, can see the moon as clearly as she can see the festival held in the moon’s honor all around her. Despite the jubilant atmosphere, Drista feels something chilling race down her spine as she stares up at the glowing disk in the sky. She has never seen a moon so bloody, after all, not in this world nor her previous one. Drista knew that sometimes the moon could turn the color of rust, maybe orange on a cloudy sky, but this sky looks as if there is a gaping wound in its side, pouring blood-colored light across the world beneath it.

Drista is alone in this opinion, obviously. The Faction Isle is lit up with thousands of lanterns, some tethered to the ground to illuminate the streets. Vendors have set up shop in every available space, calling out the names and attributes of the goods they’re selling. Others are offering grand prizes for victory over mundane games. There is a bar at every street corner, and the alcohol turns the converging streets into a dance floor. A band of musicians play a song that echoes across the entire island to accompany the impromptu dancers. As they move, they slosh their alcoholic beverages onto the street, making the streets shimmer orange-gold and bubble innocuously. The smell wafts upward, mixing with sweat and whatever scent the nearest lantern is releasing into the air around it.

This festival has been in the works for weeks, a holiday for the sun god and moon goddess that occurs every year without fail. The crimson moon is the only addition this year, besides the fact that the festival was organized by the main office of the Faction Isle. Foolish personally worked with the people at the main office to put something together, and now he observes it with the eyes of a peacekeeper rather than an enjoyer. His eyes soften, brightening with excitement as he revels in the reactions of his siblings, particularly Dream. The boy seems eager to participate in every activity, and Foolish is probably only keeping him in place because of his inhuman anatomy. If Foolish were to slip, even once, Dream would be gone from them for the entire night, becoming more sylph than boy. Drista would stay with her brothers even if she wasn’t being held by Foolish, but part of her enjoyment is being able to spend time with her family.

Foolish relents to Dream’s tugging. The three of them walk over to a booth where people use balls to knock distant bottles over. The woman running the booth gives the siblings a wide smile, the feathers around her ears perking up as she explains the rules of the game. Drista listens attentively, but Dream grabs the balls almost immediately. He is, for his lack of listening skills, decent at the game. He knocks over a few bottles, and the woman laughs whole-chestedly at him. She hands him a piece of paper decorated with rudimentary flowers. The woman directs the trio to the other side of the street where food is being sold. 

Foolish thanks the woman, but Dream has already grabbed Drista’s hand, dragging her to the booth next to it. This game involves throwing rings to land on the bottles’ necks. Dream shoves the rings into Drista’s hands, smiling as widely as a child in a candy store. Drista returns his smile, tossing the rings toward the bottles. When she has the last ring in her hand, Foolish suddenly appears behind her. Spooked, Drista’s ring overshoots, falling behind the booth. Foolish and Dream laugh at Drista, and she stomps her foot on top of Foolish’s foot. As he tries to apologize, Drista darts between the booths to retrieve the colored ring. When she returns it to the man running the booth, he trades a paper similar to Dream’s for the ring.

Foolish leans over the side of the booth. He picks Drista up from underneath her elbows, lifting her over the bar that people stand at when they want to throw the rings. Foolish sets her back on the ground. She glares up at him until he apologizes properly, barely able to keep the smile off his face. Drista rolls her eyes, shoving Foolish forward to bring him to the next booth. Dream joins her, and they finally put Foolish in front of the next booth where people pick a floating wooden chip that has a shape written on the bottom. People are meant to randomly pick a chip to determine how many papers for the food booths they get, and there is an option where they must give papers away. 

Drista gestures to the back of Foolish’s knees as the man talks to the person running the booth. Dream nods, and on the count of three, they kick in Foolish’s knees. He lands on the ground in front of the basin. Drista grabs his hair, pushing him into the water. Dream helps Drista, and they submerge Foolish’s head into the basin of water. The person running the booth rushes to help Foolish, probably unaware that Foolish can literally breathe underwater. When Foolish lifts his head out of the water, there isn’t a trace of redness on his cheeks from lack of oxygen. There is, however, a mischievous glint in his eye, and he grabs the back of his siblings’ head. He shoves them both into the water. It is a cold shock to Drista’s system, but Foolish doesn’t hold them long enough for Drista to feel any burning in her chest.

The person running the booth rushes around to find a towel. As they do that, Foolish picks Dream and Drista up in his arms. He shakes his head violently, flecking even more water onto them. They both giggle, and Drista tries pushing at Foolish’s chin to stop him. Foolish stops when he wants to, laughing as loudly as they do. Foolish snags a paper from where the person left them lying around. With the stolen goods and giggling siblings, Foolish darts through the crowd to the other side of the street where the food booths are.

Foolish slams the damp papers down on one of the bars. The supplier raises an eyebrow at the wet trio, but they only roll their eyes and prepare the warm sticks of cooked meat. He hands them over to Foolish. The brother passes them out. Between Foolish’s inability to be affected by water’s temperature, and therefore is still warm right now, and the meat kabab, Drista is suddenly feeling a lot warmer. A moment later, a heated wind weaves through the crowd to blow through their hair. Drista tucks her face into Foolish’s collarbone, feeling the wind tickle her neck from between the strands of her damp hair.

When the wind settles, Foolish sets Dream and Drista back on the ground. He leans down to wipe Dream’s face using the sleeve of his jacket. Drista, the less messy of the two eaters, continues forward when she notices a strange bump gathering in the crowd. She pushes through the legs of the people, eventually popping out in front of a makeshift stage about a foot tall. A man is standing on the stage wearing an elaborate costume of dark blue, purple, and black, resembling a jester more than anything else.

“In the ancient times,” The storyteller exclaims, voice swelling with emotion as he moves his body across the entire stage. His presence fills the space as he continues through his words, “the Sky Mother reigned over the world. She was made from darkness itself, twisting and melding and fading, to create the abstraction of womanhood. She spread her darkness over the world, coating it in the mists of night. The humans of yore did everything they could to appease their goddess. They gave her sacrifices, condemning strong and weak alike, letting their blood form the Ecclesia Sea. The humans grew entire fields for her, letting the plantlife soak in the darkness their goddess loved more than they, sprouting the Wild Lands the Fae roam nowadays. The humans builts massive temples that have long-since fallen into the sea, but were once the pinnacle of architecture and grandeur when they stood tall, reaching for their goddess’ wayward stare.

“Finally, two siblings who loved each other very much learned how to sing. They sang so beautifully, so harmoniously, that even the Sky Mother felt her heart grow to include humanity alongside the darkness she was born from. She reached her hands down, picking the siblings up from the ground. She blessed them with divinity, making them the sun and the moon. They shone their light over the ground, singing together to calm the storms that would cover them.

“Unfortunately, the siblings remained together. The days were far too bright and the nights far too dark for humanity to truly prosper. The humans were unable to see no matter the time. They were picked off by starvation, dehydration, and the monsters hunting them down. To protect humanity, the moon separated from her brother. She affixed herself to the darkness of the Sky Mother, following it with a light that was just barely strong enough to pierce the shadows.

“After many cycles of the newly established day and night, the moon grew lonely. The darkness did not welcome her, and humans were slumbering when she was high in the sky. She could only sing a lonely song that churned the hearts of the monsters, making them even more restless. The Sky Mother saw this, and she concocted a plan to remedy the situation. She made instruments to play music, and each of the songs she played became constellations. Her songs were so powerful, however, that the constellations came to life as celestials. With a song acting as their heart, they accompanied the moon across the night sky, joining in her eternal song.”

The storyteller bows. The entire crowd comes to life with clapping and cheers. Drista finds herself clapping, too, a wide smile spreading across her face. This is a new story for her to analyze to figure out the truth behind the night sky.

The crowd descends into uneasy silence. Drista’s clapping slows down until she’s holding her hands an inch apart. She looks around for the source of the crowd’s sudden atmosphere. She discovers why when she notes everyone looking at two robed figures standing at the edge of the crowd, silently watching over the story as well. The storyteller sighs under his breath, packing away his belongings as the crowd starts to open up to put a spotlight on the two robed figures. They are wearing predominately white robes with gold metal framing and cyan-blue thread around the opening of their robes. They wear their hoods, masking their faces in shadow.

“Look who showed up,” Someone mutters behind Drista.

“Get out of here!” Another person shouts near the back, throwing their wooden mug at the robed figures. One of the figures has to step back to avoid being hit. Instead of lashing out at the man who threw the mug, the crowd yells their agreement. Someone even kicks the mug at the figures, splashing the bottom of their cloak with the beer inside of the mug.

“What’s happening?” Drista whispers, looking around at the crowd.

“Those figures are part of the Iris Church,” The person standing beside Drista leans closer as she whispers. Drista looks at her, assessing her appearance. She is wearing a warm pink dress with brown leather attachments and a golden sash around her waist. She wears a circlet on her head with a stylized sun as the centerpiece. Orange, black, and white butterfly wings extend from her back like those  of the monarch butterfly. She moves her hand, mouth opening to explain further. She stops when someone in the crowd tries to fight the robed figure. The person darts forward, sliding between the crowd and the two hooded figures. “Please stop. Fighting is prohibited on festival grounds. As a cleric of the sun god, I have permission to throw you out of the festival. If you still wish to fight, I will escort you elsewhere and sanction the fight.”

A few people in the crowd push their sleeves up, readying to take the sun cleric up on her offer. Everyone stops when another presence is made known. A woman wearing a flowing, thin white robe over a pale gold dress. A long-pointed star made from metallic gold covers her entire chest, holding down the flap of her hood and keeping her white robe closed over the golden dress. White sashes cascade down from her back. Her blonde hair is pushed to one side, covering one of her cyan blue eyes. The crowd instantly gets more agitated as she bows respectfully to the sun cleric. “Allow me to intrude. My name is Iris. I must apologize on the behalf of my clerics. Your promise to sanction a fight is quite unnecessary. The members of my church truly only want to enjoy the festival. I will personally reprimand them.”

“Ah, I see. Well, I apologize on the behalf of the people for making your clerics feel uncomfortable,” The sun cleric says, bowing to Iris respectfully. The leader of the church smiles at the sun cleric, but there is something cold and alien in her eyes, completely detached from the situation. She turns around, ushering her clerics away. The only moment she isn’t looking at the world with a sense of otherness is when she meets Drista’s eyes. There is a split second of surprise, but it quickly melts away into interest and familiarity.

Thankfully, Iris leaves without saying a word to Drista. She looks away, breaking whatever kept Drista spellbound. As Drista returns her attention to the world around her, she notices the crowd turning their discomfort towards the sun cleric. She puts her hands up, trying to appease the crowd with her words. “This festival is about family and peace. Regardless of the rumors surrounding the Iris Church, they are still part of Essempei. They exist under the light of the sun god.”

“She’s batshit insane like the rest of those clerics,” Someone calls out from the back. The crowd murmurs their agreement, insulting the cleric as they disperse. They quickly find different forms of entertainment to keep them preoccupied.

“Thank you for de-escalating the situation,” Drista says sympathetically, taking a step forward to make the sun cleric feel better.

“Yeah!” A voice calls, coming to stand beside Drista. Dream is smiling widely at the sun cleric. “That was awesome the way you stood up to those people! Mama always tells us to do what is right even when it’s hard.”

“What was that all about?” Foolish asks, standing behind Dream and Drista. He puts a hand on both of their shoulders, his grip tightening on Drista’s specifically after she’s proven that she’s more likely to wander away than Dream is.

“The Iris Church is a religious organization that has been around for a few decades. They’ve never been popular since they’ve been contending against the worship of the sun god and moon goddess, but they’ve been gaining influence lately. Most suspect they’re using unsavory methods like capitalizing on the Corruption and kidnapping pirates for experimentation. There are only rumors, however, because no one will voice their experiences. Likewise, people assume the Ten Commanders and the queen are allowing this to happen,” The sun cleric explains. She sighs, reaching a hand up to run it through her flowing red hair. “I don’t personally know the truth. All I know is that this festival is meant to celebrate familial bonds, and therefore, any violence or prejudice should not be allowed. Even if we’re on the Faction Isle, there is a time and place for violence.”

The sun cleric wrings her hands. She wraps them around herself, looking across the crowd. She murmurs under her breath, “Captain Puffy knew that.”

Drista sucks in a tight breath, her chest feeling a shot of pain. Foolish’s grip tightens. Dream looks down at the ground. The sun cleric perks up, eyes flashing with worry. “Oh, Captain Puffy was the pirate who helped create the four guilds. She then joined the Kites. She’s done a lot for the isles, including going on an expedition to stop the Corruption. Unfortunately, no one has returned from that expedition.”

Foolish shakes his head. “We know. We’re her children.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry for bringing it up,” The sun cleric apologizes, moving her hands in front of her as if she could wave away her earlier words.

“Don’t be. I like hearing what other people think of Mama,” Drista says. She peeks up at Foolish, looking away when he seems to notice. “And getting updates.”

“I’m the priestess Dawn, a title, not a name, for I have given up my name. You kids enjoy the festival. If you ever need help, you can count on me,” The sun cleric says, bowing to them. When she perks back up, she starts walking away, her butterfly wings trailing behind her.

“When is Mama coming home?” Dream asks, staring intently at the ground as if he is reading an interesting book from the stones.

“I don’t know that… but I know that she will soon,” Foolish swears. He leans down onto his knee, looking between his brother and sister. “Is there anything else you want to do?”

“I want to go home,” Drista whispers, putting her head back on Foolish’s collarbone. He wraps an arm around her. Dream nods his head, joining Drista. Foolish picks both of his siblings up. He carries them in his arms on the way back home. The festival no longer feels lively. The only part reminiscent of earlier is the crimson wound dripping bloody light onto Drista’s sorrows.

On the path back to the cabin, Foolish suddenly stops. He looks up, prompting his siblings to do the same. Bright flashes of light explode in the sky. Dream’s face lightens at the fireworks. Drista thinks they’re wondrous, a slow smile creeping onto her face. She reaches her hand upwards. From the skin of her palm, a thread of green light shoots upward. The light explodes into a sound-less firework the same size as a Drista’s palm. Drista watches it with fascination, not even intending to do that.

“Wow,” Foolish breathes out, still staring at the fading green light.

“How did you do that!?” Dream asks, leaning forward to grab Drista’s hand. Drista blinks at him. She thought it was an illusion, but if Dream saw it, the firework couldn’t have been an illusion. Drista tries to replicate the trick, but she can’t get it to work.

“That was a wonderful trick,” Foolish whispers reassuringly. He continues toward home with everyone in much brighter spirits. When they get into the house, Foolish makes his siblings change clothes, but he agrees that they can all sleep in the same bed like they did when Drista was younger. Foolish even rocks Drista back and forth to help her fall asleep at the same time as Dream.

“I swear I did it,” Drista murmurs, attempting for the fifth time to make a firework appear. She sits across from the Entity, trying desperately to show that she performed a spell using Mystery.

“I believe—” The Entity begins. Suddenly, it leans forward, grabbing onto Drista’s shoulders. With desperation radiating in its voice, it yells, “Wake up!”

“Wha—”

Drista sits up in bed. She blinks the tiredness out of her eyes. She wonders why the Entity would force her to wake up until she hears the sound of crashing somewhere in the house. She glances around her, finding both Foolish and Dream. Someone is in their cabin, and they don’t sound like they’re happy. Drista immediately grabs her brother’s shoulders, shaking them with as much ferocity as she can muster. As Dream wakes up, Drista slams a hand over his mouth to keep from talking immediately. Foolish wears a half-asleep, half-confused expression, but he gets the message before Dream does, though both of them understand within a second of each other.

Foolish stands up on the bed, stepping off the footboard. He slides across the room, pressing his ear against the door. The crashing noise stops momentarily, but it comes back even louder as a sword strikes through the wood. Drista leaps off the bed in one direction, and Dream races in the other direction. As Drista pulls Foolish away from the door, Dream pushes the window open. The night wind slices through the room with as much ferocity as the sword hacking at the wooden door. A voice is heard from the other side of the door, “I know those brats are here. Don’t come back to me until you’ve found them.”

Foolish shoves the dresser in front of the door with his inhuman strength. He looks over at Drista and Dream. He grabs Drista’s shoulders, pushing her into Dream. He looks over his shoulder as he whispers, “Leave. Head for the cove.”

Drista opens her mouth to argue, but Dream grabs her hand. He pulls her out of the window with him as Foolish rushes back to the door. Drista feels tears arise in her eyes. She tries climbing back through the window. Unfortunately, Dream is a few years older and therefore stronger than Drista is. Even with the adrenaline flowing through her veins, she isn’t able to pull away, probably because Dream’s eyes are as wide with panic as her eyes are. Drista squeezes Dream’s hand, refusing to fight since it’s worrying her brother more than necessary.

A pirate wearing a purple and gray outfit comes around the corner of the cabin, holding a sword in one hand and a pistol in the other. He raises the pistol at the children. Drista throws her hand up, forming a translucent green barrier between her and the pistol. Before the bullet can be fired, a trident made from an iridescently shining cyan material lands in the body of the pirate. He falls to the ground, dead eyes staring at the siblings as the pistol slides out of his hand. Foolish jumps out of the window. He grabs onto the trident, putting a foot on the dead pirate’s stomach to help him pull the trident out of the pirate.

“Cove, now,” Foolish commands. Dream starts running, his fingers still intertwined with Drista’s. He’s always been faster than her, so he’s practically dragging her forward. Foolish remains behind them, carrying his trident in preparation for an attack. Dream releases Drista’s hand suddenly. She stumbles forward. Foolish darts forward to catch before she can hit the dirt path. Drista looks up, watching Dream use his increased speed to leap into a pirate waiting to ambush the siblings. The man and Dream fall to the ground, rolling across the ground. Foolish sets Drista’s on her feet before racing over to grab the pirate off of Dream, striking him in the back with his trident.

Drista grabs Dream, pulling him away from another pirate as they stalk out of the darkness. The beach of the cove is a few feet away, but their one entrance is blocked by the new pirate. Foolish twists his trident, blood flying off the three points. He leaps at the new pirates, getting locked into an intense fight. Drista tries conjuring a barrier to help her brother, but her attempts are ineffective.

Even without her help, Foolish ends the fight successfully. As Foolish looks up at his siblings, his expression changes from exhaustion to panic. He lifts a hand up, crying out. Drista looks behind her and Dream. She sees Captain Elyas there with a blade extended from her iron arm coming to attack the siblings. Drista throws her hand up, forming a barrier. Elyas’ sword shatters the barrier, the translucent green glass-like material falling to the ground in shards like real glass. At the same time, Foolish grabs Drista’s shoulder. He pulls her back, trading places with her. Elyas’ sword instantly goes in Foolish’s stomach, coming out the other side bloodied. Elyas takes a step back, pulling her blade out with her. Foolish stumbles back, dropping his trident and collapsing beside Dream.

Elyas laughs, throwing her iron hand down to flick the blood off. Drista stands unsteadily, watching Dream frantically press his small hands against the wound. Foolish’s face is twisted with pain. Blood soaks into the dirt path around him, seeping into the earth itself and Drista can physically feel that as if she’s one of the nearby plants getting their nutrients from the blood. The cold hand of anger squeezes around her heart, sending a bitter chill all the way to her mind. The grief resounds like the beginning of a symphony, and Drista hears the echoes of her former self wishing for a family to love her. She didn’t want this, though. She didn’t want her family to die for her.

Drista turns her attention to Elyas. The pirate is still laughing, their movements uncharacteristically slow. In fact, everything is slow as Drista stares intently at Elyas. The shards on the ground from Drista’s broken barrier start floating in the air telekinetically. Drista narrows her eyes, and the shards hone onto Elyas like missiles. They each strike her flesh, driving so deeply that her laughter turns into screams. Elyas’ fearful eyes stare at Drista as they lose all warmth, and her body slumps against the ground. The barrier pieces dissipate into the stagnant air.

“Drista…” Foolish calls out. Drista’s anger snaps like a rubber band. She ignores Elyas’ crumpled form as she rushes to Foolish’s other side. She helps Dream put pressure on the wound. She shakes her head, feeling tears fall from her eyes. She doesn’t know how to heal. Neither Fae glamour nor Mystery have any connection with miraculous healing. Drista can do so much, know so much, but she can’t do this. She can’t save Foolish, her brother. “Hey, you two, stop crying. Drag me to the ocean.”

Drista and Dream share a look. They try picking up Foolish as best they can given how much smaller they are than him. Drista keeps herself firmly standing as they finally get into the shallows. The skirt of her nightgown grows damp and heavy with seawater, but the wind remains warm around them like a comforting presence. Drista and Dream submerge Foolish in the water. Dream grabs Drista’s hands, pulling her away from the reddening water. Dream wraps his arms around Drista as Foolish turns himself in the water, placing one hand on the stab wound. He takes a deep breath, then he starts humming. It is a song Drista has never heard, but as the water begins to bubble around Foolish’s body, she knows what it is. Songcasting, the magic of sirens, and this is a song of healing.

Foolish stands up after the last note. He is still covered in blood, but his wound is sealed tightly. He marches through the shallows, picking Dream and Drista up. He throws them over his shoulder. He goes back for his trident before he starts heading towards the side of the cove. He moves through the rocks and plants to reveal a sailboat. Foolish puts Dream and Drista in the sailboat. He pushes them off into the water, climbing inside.

“Where are we going?” Dream asks, looking around the sailboat with a mix of exhaustion, curiosity, and fading adrenaline. 

Drista keeps her eyes on Foolish as he starts pulling at the pulleys. Rust-colored water continues to drip off of him. He looks toward the horizon, eyes dark with determination. “We’re finding Papa.”

Chapter Text

Dawn creeps across the sky in the distance like a wound being cut from the horizon. The blood is masked somewhat by the gray-black clouds descending across the sea like smoke from an everlasting flame. The clouds cover up much of the sky, casting dark shadows against the agitated waves. The air follows loudly into the dismal atmosphere, screaming as it whips the water into a chaotic soup and plunges the temperature into the depths of freezing. A few icy chunks bob in the water, being swallowed before they melt into the rest of the soot-colored water tinged with a blue undertone that seems to shimmer when the dawn’s red light flits across the crests.

“Where are we going?” Dream asks, standing with one hand on the mast. The wind swirls around him earnestly, growing warmer as if Dream is made from fire. The spray of the water stays off of him, and the sails remain fully arching with the wind’s guidance. Dream looks over his shoulder at Foolish as he asks his questions, the words echoing dully in the grimness of the departing night.

“There is an island northeast from the Faction Isle. I’ve been tracking it for some time now. That was the expedition’s last visit according to the documentation,” Foolish explains, keeping his eyes on the task at hand. He has been rushing around the boat for most of the night, making sure that the sailboat continues traveling in the direction he needs it to without capsizing. Foolish occasionally has to put his hand in the water, songcasting the water into obedience. It is remarkable to witness, especially since Foolish has never revealed his talent with songcasting. Or even his ability to use it at all.

“Were you planning to leave us?” Drista asks, leaning over the side of the sailboat. Unlike her brothers, Drista doesn’t have a conventionally useful skill to keep them safe. All she can do is keep an illusion cast around them in case something happens and use her barriers to protect them from particularly large waves. Drista feels a sense of accomplishment from these simple actions, but she knows that she isn’t offering much utility value.

“No,” Foolish answers immediately, quietly. Drista stares at him. Foolish doesn’t look up, hands busy with some knots. There is no moment of hesitation that passes across his face. There isn’t even a flash of additional motion in his eyes. Drista looks back at the water. She thinks it is extremely unfair that sirens and their half-blood offspring can lie. Drista and Dream, along with anyone else with even a drop of Fae blood, cannot utter a lie so long as they live. Foolish could be lying about his intentions, and Drista wouldn’t know, not unless he suddenly develops a tell.

Drista’s attention is taken away from her fragmented appearance looking back at her on the waves. There is a long shadow that seems to stretch all the way from the horizon to where the sailboat is. Drista looks up, and her eyes widen with a sick brand of fascination gnawing at her stomach. There is an island in the distance, most likely their destination. It might have once been a beautiful island, but now it is contaminated by large chunks of gray stone, like the clouds surrounding them solidified into a landmass. The shapes the rocks have taken invoke a visceral disgust in Drista’s body even though they don’t specifically look like anything. It almost reminds Drista of the glass mosaic she cannot properly look at in the Entity’s halls.

“Is there where Mama is?” Dream whispers, his voice stolen by the wind and carted around like a child showing off a favored toy. It spins around Drista’s form, his emotions seeping into her skin. She bites the inside of her cheek. She can only hope that Puffy hasn’t gone insane or lost her life on this island. She can only hope that Foolish isn’t leading them to the graveyard of hopes and ambitions.

“It is her last known location,” Foolish responds, his voice twisted with more emotion than Drista has ever heard in his tone. She tears her eyes away from the island to look at Foolish. He has finally taken his eyes off keeping the sailboat afloat, his hands idling at his sides. The emeralds inside his irises seem to fog, almost looking plain in the gray lighting. The warmness of his cheeks fade, growing pale like someone born between two humans rather than the Pirate Queen and a malicious siren. It is disturbing to see, so Drista tears her eyes away. She doesn’t look at Dream or her reflection in the water, a part of her knowing that they will look mundane.

Foolish stomps over to the front of the boat with a rope in his hands. He throws it out, catching on the end of the pier attached to the island. The rope catches. Foolish puts one foot on the side of the boat’s railing, pulling at the rope with all his strength. The sailboat coasts the rest of the way to the pier, and Foolish ties the rope properly to keep the sailboat in place.

Foolish reaches his arms out. Drista grabs his hand first, and he lifts her out of the sailboat. He sets her on the pier. Drista balances herself on the rotting wood, feeling the softness of the material underneath her bare feet. She stretches her hands out, trying not to step on any breaking points. Foolish puts Dream on the pier next, then climbs onto the wood himself. He takes both of their hands, leading them down the pier with the stubbornness of a man on a mission. Drista says nothing, keeping up with both of her brothers despite clear differences in their leg sizes and physical prowess.

When they get to the end of the pier, Foolish stops in his tracks. Drista takes a single step more, but she finds herself stopping alongside her brothers. She looks around at the stones forming the island. She recognizes some of their appearances. This is a petrified village, complete with buildings and preserved livestock. There are wagons left in the streets and large boxes in the harbor. The plants that chose to reclaim the manmade structure have also turned into stone, implying that the village was abandoned long before it was petrified.

“How long has it been like this?” She whispers, afraid to break the mournful silence that sinks its teeth into the husk of a once lively town.

“Before our birth, at least,” Foolish responds, his voice a little louder than Drista’s but with no less respect for this soulless graveyard.

“It couldn’t have been that long ago,” Dream says, pulling on Foolish’s hand as he points into the distance. Drista peeks around Foolish to see that Dream has found a campsite on the beach near the harbor. Although it does look as abandoned as the rest of the town, the firepit has been recently used and the tent still looks stable despite the poor weather threatening to knock everything save for the mountains over. Unfortunately, the tent does not bear the insignia of the expedition or any of the guilds, but it is a start.

Foolish leads the way to the campsite. At a closer distance, Drista is able to identify that the tent is big enough for two people, and accordingly, there are two sleeping bundles within the tent. The firepit has been recently used, and Drista assumes it was merely to warm someone up since dawn was with them a few moments prior and there aren’t any cooking appliances nearby, not even a kettle or a small pot. On the other side of the tent, a cargo box made from stone has been shoved against the natural cliffside made from desaturated orange-red rock. On top of the cargo ship, papers have been strewn about, held down by seashells and sticks. There is even a leatherbound journal sitting near a quill. Drista takes it immediately, flipping through the pages to search for some clue as to who it belongs to and if they have seen a woman with Puffy’s appearance recently.

Before Drista can read any of the inked lines, she hears someone walking across the sand. Foolish moves in her peripheral vision, the blue of his trident sparkling even in the unnatural seriousness of the air, the reality grounding effect. Drista drops the journal, twisting around to conjure an illusion that throws off one of the ambushers, letting Foolish get in a good hit. As the man crumples to the ground, Drista recognizes the familiarity of his outfit. He is a cleric of the Iris Church, and he isn’t alone.

The clerics have surrounded the three children. Despite the overwhelming odds against them, Foolish doesn’t hesitate to throw himself into battle. Dream follows in his brother’s footsteps, not as capable with fighting or his powers but still forcing the wind into some form of compliance. Drista knows that she cannot let them stand alone, so she uses her illusions to confuse opponents. She attempts to use barriers, but they always shatter upon impact. Drista tries to use the shards as weapons like she did back on the Faction Isle, but she finds herself unable to grasp them telekinetically.

One cleric tries to tackle Drista, but her form disappears from their eyesight. When she does come back into awareness, she’s already kicking a leg up to hit the cleric in the back of the head. As her leg is coming back around, another cleric grabs onto her ankle, tossing her over their shoulder. Drista lands disgracefully into the sand, feeling it slide into her clothes and burn down her throat. She turns around as quickly as she can, landing on her back. She throws a hand up, creating a makeshift barrier. It glows brightly for a moment. While it doesn’t protect her, it does shock the cleric holding onto her ankle. As their grip loosens, Drista kicks her other leg up, slamming it into their stomach. The cleric bends forward, completely releasing Drista’s ankle. She jumps onto her toes, keeping her knees bent to launch herself upward. She summons a barrier, hitting it herself. Although she cannot control the shards, they do appear when her fist hits the green surface, and she grabs one to stab the cleric in the face. They stumble away completely, and the shard in Drista’s hand disappears.

Drista’s confidence is shattered as easily as her barriers when she hears Dream’s scream. She turns around quickly. One of the clerics has grabbed hold of Dream’s forearm. The skin underneath the cleric’s fingers slowly morph from flesh into dark gray stone. Dream tries pulling away, but the cleric’s hold seems to be too strong. Foolish reaches for his brother, but the half-siren is brought down by a fire brand being pushed into his back. Drista tries to pick up where Foolish left off, but she’s tackled to the ground. Before Drista can do something to free herself, she feels something pressed against her neck that burns as violently as a flame. She knows that it’s a piece of iron instinctively, but the pain is almost too unbearable for her to truly think.

Through blurring vision, Drista looks out at her brothers. The stone is crawling up Dream’s shoulder and down his fingertips. Foolish’s face is twisted with physical pain and emotional unrest. Drista sees the water splash across the shore, and she’s reminded of her mother’s warm hands. The darkness encroaches across her vision, and she hopes that the Entity will still be with her no matter what life she has next.

“Enough,” A voice cuts through the raging wind, the raving waves, the silence of the petrified village, and the internal screaming of three children who only wanted to find their missing mother. With the voice’s command, the wind falls still and the sea’s disquietude fades into the background. The clerics keep their targets pinned down, but they remove the instruments of torture. The brand is thrown to the side, and the iron is discarded onto the ground. The cleric releases Dream’s arm, and the skin returns to halfling flesh.

Drista turns her attention to the source of the commanding tone. Iris is standing on the beach, looking put-together and half-annoyed at having to deal with this herself. She scans the three faces apathetically. A gleam of emotion appears on her face when she meets Drista’s eyes, the blue lighting up like a streak of lightning in the darkness. Iris turns on her heel. She waves her hand, issuing a command over her shoulder. “Lock the boys in the cages. Take the girl to my tent.”

Iris disappears into the distant darkness, into the village. Her clerics share looks with one another. The one holding Foolish eventually shrugs. He lifts the half-siren onto his feet, keeping the poker near his other shoulder to stop him from lashing out. The one holding Dream sighs, throwing the halfling over her shoulder to follow the first guy. Two people grab onto Drista’s arms, pulling her up to amble between the two of them. Any thoughts of rebellion are squashed by the realization that they have her brothers, that they could hurt or even kill them if Drista disobeys.

Foolish and Dream are brought down a side street, but Drista is dragged down the main street. At the very end, in what used to be a town square, an entire camp has been set up with multiple tents all lined up in neat rows. Clerics roam from one tent to the next, preparing their breakfast as the sun peeks through the overheard clouds. A few glances are thrown towards Drista and her captors. Drista snarls at them in retaliation. They look away from her, but they don’t look particularly afraid of her.

Beyond the camp, another tent has been set up, secluded from everyone else. The tent is set on the edge of a cliff, overlooking the sea. The tent looks bigger than everyone else’s, too, really making it something worth paying attention to compared to all the others. The two clerics holding onto Drista pass by another pair of clerics standing at the tents’ entrance, nodding as they throw Drista into the tent without preparing her at all. She trips upon entering, falling onto her knees in front of a heavy wooden desk set in front of some portable bookshelves that are completely filled. A bed is left in the corner, made from wood with a mattress on top of it. Drista would find all of this strange, except that she notices the walls aren’t made from the tent’s fabric. They are made from actual wood as is the floor beneath Drista’s knees. This, she realizes, is a pocket dimension, and one owned by the blonde woman standing beside the desk, one hand on a paperweight of a lion.

“The Fae are particularly good at hiding. They have cultivated this skill because they are incapable of lying. If they cannot lie nor hide, how are they meant to trick unknowing victims? It is truly a matter of evolution, and even their unwanted half-breeds have this natural affinity for hiding what is vicious about them,” Iris explains, gesturing to Drista. The girl snarls at Iris, but she says nothing. Not only because she fears for both her life and the life of her brothers, but because Drista cannot argue with those words. They are technically true, and that is the only kind of truth that matters to the Fae. “You are no exception, halfling. I have to commend your abilities, but it probably has not been difficult. It is easy to hide the truth from people who don’t even know they are meant to be looking for something.”

Iris narrows her eyes at Drista, a bright flare of interest appearing in her eyes. Drista swallows thickly. Does Iris know that Drista is a transmigrator? Is there a reason Iris would know that? Is there something about Drista that sets her apart from others? She needs to figure out what it is and get better at hiding it. The Entity gave her one mission: destroy destiny. It will be harder for Drista to do that if her opponents know that she’s trying to do that. If destiny is something that can be destroyed, it must have been created, right? Drista needs that creator to stay off her track.

“You are an aspiring magician, no?” Iris continues. Drista hides her relief as best she can. Iris doesn’t know about her otherworldly status. “I say ‘aspiring’ mainly because you do not yet have a gateway to Mystery.”

“What is that?” Drista asks, tilting her head to the side. She has to get as much information out of this as she can, after all. 

Iris smirks, walking around her desk. She halfway sits on the front of it, leaning forward as she meets Drista’s eyes. “Do you even know what Mystery is?”

“It’s the cosmic force of chaos and the unknown,” Drista answers, more or less quoting the Entity. It was the one to teach her everything she knows about Mystery, after all, considering how few books there are that even mention the subject in a footnote, let alone the actual text.

“Your definition is fair, if incomplete. There is far more to it than that, but I suppose I cannot blame someone as amateur as you for failing to understand what you do not know exists,” Iris notes, leaning back. She looks up at the chandelier hanging from the ceiling in the pocket dimension. Her eyes slide down, and she stares down at Drista. “But if you are this ignorant while being this powerful, you have immense potential.”

Drista feels her heart twist at the news. She doesn’t like the idea of being unknowledgeable, but she is greatly relieved at the thought that she has a lot of potential. Drista’s hope of becoming powerful enough to protect her family no longer feels like a pipe dream; it feels attainable. It might even come sooner than Drista thinks.

“My church is the only reason the corruption has not spread to Essempei. My church is the only reason pirates have not found the ultimate source of cognitive dissonance at the world’s edge. My church has preserved the remnants of this tone for future historians so that they might not lose precious knowledge. My church has done so much good, and now, I am going to practice one more good deed,” Iris pushes off her desk. She walks over to Drista, grabbing onto the girl’s chin. Iris’ touch is cold and firm, but it doesn’t hurt and Drista could easily pull away if she wanted. “I am going to cultivate your potential.”

Drista opens her mouth to refuse, but the look in Iris’ eyes tells Drista that she isn’t getting out of this one. Even without Iris’ sudden interest in teaching Drista, there is a matter of the church currently holding her brothers, and possibly her mother, captive. There is a matter of Drista actually needing this information Iris is offering. There is a matter of Drista needing to learn more about the corruption. “Only if you keep my brothers alive.”

Iris smiles serenely at Drista, moving both of her hands up to hold Drista’s cheeks. Iris looks at Drista as if she were a naive child, and Drista really feels that way from Iris’ patronizing tone. “Why would I kill my bargaining chips?”

“Proper treatment or no classes,” Drista amends her previous statement, taking a different track since their lives are guaranteed at the moment.

“You are not in a position to be bargaining. I am doing you a service, after all,” Iris notes, tilting her head to the side in a way that makes the shadows stretch inhumanely across her face. Her eyes, however, remain as crystalline as water in a geode. Drista does not relent, staring directly into those eyes. Iris laughs. She releases Drista’s face, leaning back. “Fine, I accept your terms. But the better your brothers are treated, the worse you will be.”

“I can live with that,” Drista murmurs, lifting a hand up to shake Iris’ hand. The deal is struck.

Drista has only ever been in the hall of portraits and mosaics when she enters into her dreams. This time, however, she is standing in a large ballroom made from the same white stones. There is a dome made from colorful glass over her head. The floor is inlaid with orange and brown stones separated from each other with slow-moving mercury underneath a layer of glass. Even stranger, the ballroom is packed with shadowy figures standing at the edges, staring at Drista like predators.

Drista looks down at herself. She is back in her teenager form like she was when she died in the old world, but she is wearing a strange set of armor that she’s never seen before, though she finds familiarity in the curves of the stone-like metal and the strange channels of blue-purple liquid in tubes underneath the armor pieces. As she looks back at the cape tied around her shoulder, someone steps out of the shadowy figures. The woman Drista saw on her mother’s ship a few years ago raises a hand toward Drista with a smile on her face, still scarred by the black-purple corruption. Drista reluctantly sets her gloved hand into the woman’s bare palm.

Hauntingly beautiful music fills the ballroom as the woman begins to lead Drista through the steps of a waltz. Drista has no idea what she’s doing, but she gets a sense for where her feet are supposed to go from the song alone. The woman smiles proudly at Drista, and she leans in close to whisper toward the girl. “I will admit that I am only doing this to teach you the move for the real dance you will have in the future with them .”

“Them? Who is that supposed to be?” Drista asks, staring into the woman’s face to search for an answer. Despite the smile on the woman’s face, she almost seems displeased with Drista. Angry, Drista wanted to say at first, but it isn’t quite as vicious as that emotion’s name implies. It isn’t annoyed, though, or even mildly irritated. It is well and truly upset, at least.

“What fun is a preemptive reveal?” The woman responds, a slow laugh encroaching on her words as she swings Drista around with almost graceless abandon.

“Can we stop playing games?” Drista glares at the woman. Between the strange dance and the talk of a future yet to come, Drista is getting the feeling that she’s being played for a fool. To make matters worse, there are spectators here to witness her failure to comprehend the situation.

“Games are the best part of life. It is usually when someone is having fun that they understand the most. You need only ask our audience,” The woman says, spinning Drista around. Their bodies pull away from each other until they are only holding on by the tips of their fingertips. In the wild spin, Drista sees the woman flash a brilliant smile, packed tight with hysterical amusement and crazed attention. The woman pulls her arm’s back, dragging Drista back to her. Her eyes are even wilder as she looks directly into Drista’s eyes. “They simply adore games, and they are quite knowledgeable.”

Drista turns to look at the audience, but the woman quickly releases one of Drista’s hands. She places the tips of her fingers against Drista’s cheek, pushing Drista’s head until they are meeting each other’s eyes once again. “For propriety’s sake, you should keep your eyes on your partner, and for your health’s sake, you shouldn’t try looking at our audience.”

“What do you want?” Drista asks slowly. The woman doesn’t seem to like Drista, but she’s helping teach Drista a dance that might be important one day and warning her against looking at the creatures around them.

“I have seen what Iris has seen in you, though it’s in my personal opinion that your potential remains buried,” The woman notes, her voice filling with disgust at the mention of Iris’ name. But it isn’t ordinary disgust. It is an emotion that implies history, and for a moment, Drista thinks the woman in front of her looks like Iris. At least, to the extent that they share similar expressions.

“I don’t understand why,” Drista responds, unsure if she doesn’t understand why Iris wants to unlock her potential or why this woman doesn’t want that to happen. What is the depth of Drista’s potential? What does it mean exactly?

“I have said all that I am allowed to say,” The woman says solemnly. She releases one of Drista’s hands, moving it back her back. She squeezes Drista’s remaining hand, pulling it with her when she takes a step away from Drista. She leans down, her dress fanning out like purple flower petals around her. She puts Drista’s hand to her forehead, closing her eyes. She releases Drista’s hand before she stands up. She turns around, disappearing into the crowd as the music reaches a crescendo.

Drista takes a step to follow the woman, but someone grabs her hand. She is dragged backward, forced to turn around as someone reaches for her other hand. She is thrown into another dance, but this time, she recognizes her partner. The Entity. It is wearing a grim expression, looking around at the audience without fearing for its sanity. When it looks back at Drista, she can see the genuine worry in its eyes. It leans down, hissing at her in a state between anger and concern. “Do not stop moving. They will devour you otherwise.”

“I don’t get it. Why would they care about that?”

“They feed off of entertainment… and they destroy whatever displeases them,” The Entity explains, standing up straighter as it leads Drista through a similar dance as the one she was performing earlier with the woman. Drista looks down, and she’s suddenly wearing a hoodie and jeans instead of the weird armor she was earlier. Drista frowns, looking back up at the Entity.

“How do you know that? What are they?” Drista asks.

“I was like them a long time ago… though I am still technically one of them, I no longer participate in their customs, if it could be called that,” The Entity murmurs softly, looking around at the ballroom wistfully.

“By the sun god,” Drista says, looking down at the space between her and the Entity as if answers exist there. Answers do not, but a realization does, and Drista looks into the Entity’s eyes, realizing perhaps for the first time that this creature has a past, has a sense of self, has feelings and ambitions. Drista’s grip on the Entity’s hand tightens as she asks, “I want you to tell me your name. You know, so I can call all these guys the entities but call you by your real name. Will you finally tell me?”

They are silent for a long moment as the two of them finish the dance. The music begins to end. The shadowy entities all around the ballroom start to clap. Drista takes a step away from her dancing partner, bowing at the same time as they do. As Drista’s consciousness begins to wane, a sign of her waking up, she hears her companion whisper as silently as a breath, “Chat. My name is Chat.”

Chapter Text

Drista has been in this tent several times over the past year. She would wager that a fair amount of the passing seasons have been within the confines of this pocket realm. She can say with certainty that the pocket realm has not changed much. Iris has added a few more knick-knacks that carry very little value other than looking appealing to her icy blue eyes. Drista has no opinions on the objects scattered on the shelves or nightstand other than a cursory glance, and they are not the source of her fascination right now. She was far more worried about the tomes lining the far wall, filling up the entire shelving unit with so much weight that Drista is surprised the wooden boards had not snapped yet.

Drista has read every single one of these books. She has, with little exaggeration, memorized most of them. Iris would give her one and a cruelly short timeframe to read it, and the quizzes Iris would issue after the timeframe was outrageously difficult. If Drista didn’t pass the tests, the consequences were enough to convince Drista to try even harder with the next book that Iris would drop into her lap with enough force that Drista’s thighs would bruise.

This training hasn’t been for nothing, thankfully. Drista’s illusions have significantly improved. Visual illusions are incredibly easy to perform now, and Drista doesn’t have to pay attention to them to make them stay visible for hours on end. Auditory illusions are not quite as advanced, but Drista doesn’t have any trouble manifesting the noises recorded in her mind into the mental worlds of others. Drista has even gotten closer to fooling the other senses, though touch remains elusive. She can fool the mind, but she cannot create anything tangible, not even momentarily. A setback Iris was completely prepared for even if she continued to pressure Drista into achieving the impossible.

Drista’s command over Mystery has been established, though her control over it is lackluster even now. Iris thinks the fact that Drista has opened a gateway is progress enough for her age and training, but Drista wants to do more. None of the books Iris has Drista read gives her much to go on regarding Mystery, and for some reason, Drista can no longer access the white halls she always met Chat in. Drista has been on her own with Iris, and that woman won’t tell Drista anything more about Mystery unless she’s in a particularly good mood, which isn’t often, Drista learned.

Despite Drista’s insistence on pushing the boundaries of her capabilities, she believes that Iris has taught her enough. Drista will gain strength on her own from here on out. She just has to find a way to free her brothers and get all three of them off this island without any of the clerics or Iris finding out. Drista’s illusions should help them with the former. She has proof of it working since Drista had to use an illusion to sneak into Iris’ tent. The leader of the clerics, however, is going to be much harder to fool, so Drista needs to find a way to counteract Iris within this pocket realm. Unfortunately, none of these tomes are beneficial.

As if to prove her point, Drista’s illusion shatters around her as an icicle strikes the wall right beside Drista’s head like an arrow shot from a bow. She turns to face the icicle, seeing her warped reflection in the white-blue surface. Drista continues turning, looking over her shoulder to find Iris standing at the tent flap. Her hand is outstretched as if Drista wouldn’t be able to recognize her master’s signature spell. Iris lowers her arm to her side, looking over at the clerics who are meant to guard her tent. She narrows her eyes at them, and the air suddenly grows colder. “Are you so inept that you will allow any intruder into my quarters?”

The clerics open their mouths to answer. Iris shakes her head, and ice spreads over their chins to seal their mouths shut. The clerics pat their faces as Iris steps into the tent, letting the door of her pocket dimension close behind her. She comes to stand beside Drista, waving her hand to make the icicle disappear into flakes that fall to the ground in an invisible pile. “Though, that was an impressive illusion, Drista. Your father would be proud, but since he isn’t here to witness your talent with glamour, I will be proud in his place.”

“I don’t want your pride,” Drista says, crossing her arms behind her back as she stares up at her master. She waits for punishment, wondering what it will be this time. Iris could go for a physical punishment (like freezing Drista for an entire day) or a mental one (like continuing to talk about Drista’s absent father or missing mother). Iris could even punish Foolish or Dream if she felt like the injustice done was greater than Drista’s suffering could equal. Drista has never so blatantly disobeyed her master. Though she would argue, Iris never forbade Drista from entering her tent, even if Iris wasn’t there. Drista hopes this technicality will lessen whatever she’s sentenced with.

“It is better than my contempt, no?” Iris muses. She reaches a hand out, grabbing onto Drista’s chin. She lifts Drista’s head at the same time she leans down, guaranteeing the two of them make eye contact. Iris raises an eyebrow at Drista, sporting an amused light in her eyes. Drista is only able to glare at her master because of course anything is better than Iris’ contempt. No matter what Drista does, Iris has never shown signs of hating her or resenting becoming her teacher. She is often annoyed at Drista’s disobedience, but Iris has only ever hated the cowards of her church and individuals from her memories that she infrequently mentions. The way Iris deals with both is enough to terrify anyone and for all her bravado, Drista is among the fearful.

Surprisingly, Iris issues no immediate punishment. Instead, she releases Drista’s chin— not even leaving a trail of ice— and walks away. Iris tilts her chin as she walks, telling Drista to follow her without any verbal commands. No matter how insubordinate Drista gets, she is smart enough not to get herself into more trouble just for the sake of it. Drista follows her master’s footsteps, keeping as quiet as a churchmouse as they step into the world outside the pocket realm. Drista glances over at the clerics. Iris has lifted the ice on their mouths, but they keep their lips sealed with avoidant eyes. Drista scoffs. They should have known how terrifying their leader was long before this moment. What did they think they were signing up for?

No one dares get in Iris’ way as she walks through the settlement. Likewise, no one interacts with Drista if they can help it. Both of these facts are born from the same reason: their natural fear and awe of Iris. Drista is considered Iris’ by everyone, including the woman herself, so doing anything to Drista is tantamount to doing something to Iris. No one wants to do that, either because they know Iris will kill them or they would rather kill themselves than disrespect her.

Drista stares bold-facedly at all the people, knowing none of them will meet her eyes no matter how long she looks at them. Everyone is going about their usual morning. Some are finishing up their breakfast, and others are already starting their chores or jobs. Everyone has a place in the settlement, a task specific to them. If someone starts slacking off, the entire settlement will collapse. Most of these jobs are ordinary, like cultivating the fields near the shoreline or wrangling the animals. There are a handful of other jobs that are necessary to the island Iris has chosen as her base of operations like making sure the petrification doesn’t spread to the people or whatever the stone was sealing doesn’t escape.

Iris does not stop to interact with any of her followers. She keeps walking without hesitation, even as she leaves the outskirts of the settlement. Drista doesn’t understand where they are going until they get to the shore. Unlike most people, Iris doesn’t stop at the beach. She steps into the water… except, it’s more like she steps on top of it. The ocean freezes underneath her feet. Drista has to stand almost directly behind Iris to keep following without falling into the water. Iris steps over the waves like they are rambunctious pets. Drista doesn’t have much luck since her body is far smaller than Iris’, a fact that the woman seems to constantly forget because of how intelligent and competent Drista is.

Iris stops when they get to a relatively calm part of the ocean. Drista stands next to Iris, and the woman lifts her hand gradually. The platform the two of them are standing on rises upward, becoming a pillar in the water. For how steady the platform is, Drista assumes the ice also grew downward to create a tower that can withstand the temperamental waters of the sea. Iris lowers her hand back down, staring out at the horizon. The wind blows, pulling at her robes and the strands of her pale blonde hair. Drista reaches her hands up, trying to keep her dirty blonde hair from poking her eyes and entering her mouth.

“How are my brothers?” Drista asks over the wind, looking over at her master’s solemn expression. Iris is searching for something on the horizon, but this isn’t anything new. Whatever is out there, Iris says it causes ‘cognitive dissonance’ in those unprepared for it. Drista does not know what that means, but she assumes that she’s part of the people that are unable to comprehend it considering Iris won’t ever take Drista to see it. Iris has been there a few times over the past year Drista has been staying on this island, but she’s always back within the day and she never talks about it, not even when Drista asks about it.

“The new moon was less than a fortnight ago. Nothing has changed with them,” Iris answers absentmindedly, hardly thinking about the halfling and the half-siren that are currently within her control. Other than using them as a way of keeping Drista in line, Iris cares very little for Foolish and Dream. They are nothing to her, and Iris will always imply that they should be nothing to Drista, too. Iris is not favorable to sibling relationships, and she doesn’t want Drista to have any weaknesses, even though Drista would need a weakness for Iris to exploit if Drista is going to stay on this forsaken island.

“Forgive me for finding that hard to believe,” Drista says sourly. Even if Iris doesn’t care about those two, the same can’t be said for her clerics. Those fanatics despise anyone Iris has taken captive on principle because they assume Iris would only waste resources on prisoners if she hates them enough. Drista wants to laugh at the thought. If Iris hates someone, she will simply annihilate them. It is her indifference that makes prisoners out of the people who get in her way.

Iris smiles, glancing over at Drista with her full attention. “I told you they will be well taken care of, and they have been. My clerics would not dare defy my orders. You should know by now that I am a woman of my word.”

“Only because someone didn’t keep theirs,” Drista finishes. Because she is an immortal out of touch with the world, Iris will frequently talk about the past, but it isn’t often that she talks about her past specifically. When she does, she never has any happy memories to share. She only has parables that are meant to impart wisdom and common sense to Drista.

Iris laughs, the sound as melodious as the high notes of a piano. She pushes a lock of hair behind her ear as she gazes out across the horizon again, but this time, she seems to be looking past it, farther than the edges of the world. “Perhaps one day you will meet the only creation of Mystery that failed me and lived.”

“And won,” Drista suspects. While practitioners of magecraft can create familiars using their EXP, Mystery creates creatures that magicians can tame for their purposes. Iris implies that these creatures have some level of sentience, but she never truly delves into what they are or how they work. All Drista knows is that one of these creatures betrayed Iris. Although she has been betrayed before, this must have been the first betrayal because even now, it makes something angry and sad illuminate in Iris’ eyes when she talks about it. Even if it wasn’t the first, it is the only one to have survived the betrayal, so maybe that is what makes it special.

“Do not be clever. It will only lead to hardship,” Iris warns. Usually, Iris would reprimand Drista for being a smart-ass, but this time, it legitimately sounds like a warning Iris first learned from her own experiences and is now sharing with her students.

“I thought you were my teacher,” Drista says, giving up on taming her hair. The wind will always beat Drista, so she doesn’t understand why she bothers anymore. “Shouldn’t you be telling me to be more clever?”

“I will teach you to control your magic, but the rest of the world’s knowledge should fade away. It is too broken for comprehension, too misconstrued for usage,” Iris explains, lifting a hand to accentuate her point. “There was a time when scholars would peer into the Abyss to see what looked back, but insanity is no longer as controllable as it once was.”

“Are you done?” Drista asks, glaring at her master. Iris will often do this thing where she will try to teach Drista, but her words are too vague for the halfling to understand. Drista doesn’t know how knowledge can be broken, though she does understand the misconstrued part. She doesn’t know what the ‘abyss’ is, and she doesn’t know how someone is meant to control their insanity. Unfortunately, Iris won’t explain any of this. She will leave it as empty words in the air, assuming that one day, Drista will understand. Even after a year with a lot of this information, Drista is nowhere closer to understanding.

Iris smiles wryly, looking away from Drista. “How are you meant to be the one when your patience is nonexistent?”

Drista is about to ask if she’s part of some ‘chosen one’ plot when Iris visibly startles. It isn’t as dramatic as it would be for other people, but Drista has learned how to read Iris. When the woman’s eyes widen slightly and her shoulders come down, she is surprised by something. More than that, she is worried about the surprising occurrence. Drista turns to look where Iris is looking, but the woman grabs Drista’s hand. The touch isn’t delicate like when Iris is teasing Drista nor is it as harsh as it is when she’s punishing Drista. It’s desperate, and that confuses Drista because she’s never seen Iris desperate. She has only ever seen Iris in complete control of the situation.

Because of the rarity of the situation, Drista fights against the restraint as Iris starts dragging Drista across the water, the ice underneath them spreading out far enough that Drista doesn’t need to worry about the waves anymore. When they get to the shore, a handful of clerics are already awaiting their mistress. Iris pushes Drista into two clerics, and they immediately rope their arms around Drista to keep her in place. Ironically, this new position allows Drista to see what Iris was terrified of. It’s a ship on the horizon. Drista scrutinizes the ship a little more, and then she recognizes the ship’s flags. They’re Puffy’s flags; that ship is the Argo.

Knowing that her mother is so close, Drista starts fighting against the clerics. Her attempts at glamour are thwarted by how much iron the clerics are wearing, and Drista’s attempts at using Mystery flicker in and out of existence in tune with her unruly emotions. Drista isn’t able to catch a breath to control herself, control her powers, and Iris takes the opportunity to order the two clerics holding onto Drista. “Put her in one of the cages. An iron one. If it isn’t an iron one, consider yourselves dead.”

Iris marches away, issuing orders to the other clerics. The two that are holding onto Drista need no further instruction as they cart her squirming body through the settlement. Drista yells out for help, but no one so much as glances at her, far too used to Drista getting punished similarly. It’s different this time, but none of them are going to care about that. None of them care about Drista, not as a person, only as one of Iris’ things. If Iris wants to dispose of Drista, no one will bat an eye because they get rid of objects that are no longer usable.

The cages are in a large, natural hole in the ground that eventually leads into a tunnel system. The very bottom of the valley was a shallow pond that traveled downstream into the tunnel system. The valley’s walls are rough with each shelf being filled with cages. Drista is put in an iron cage near the top of the valley. The ground is covered in hay, and the scent of manure in the air makes it abundantly clear the original purpose of the cage. The clerics shut the cage, locking it to make sure that Drista doesn’t power through the burning sensation on her skin or the nausea that settles deep within her bones. Drista wraps her arms around her stomach, doing her best to sit only on her clothes and shoes without touching anything. The clerics walk away, and Drista barely notices because of how blurry her vision has become.

While half of Drista’s energy is used to keep herself from vomiting, the other half is attempting to formulate a plan despite the ferrous poison all around her. Since she’s in the valley, Dream and Foolish are nearby. If Drista can get to them, the three of them can get to the Argo, preferably before Iris kills Puffy. If Drista can get out of this cage, she can get to her brothers and save her mother. She doesn’t even have to fool Iris with this escape plan.

Drista shuts her eyes tightly. She can’t use glamour with this much iron around her. She has to rely on Mystery, even if she isn’t that good with it. If her barriers were stronger, she might have been able to spread the bars of the cage apart. As it stands, however, they cannot withstand much pressure. She hasn’t been able to do anything else with Mystery.

But it doesn’t matter. If Drista isn’t good at Mystery, she will just have to make herself good at it. If she fails now, her brothers are gone and her mother is dead. If that isn’t motivation enough, Drista doesn’t think she will ever master this ancient art.

Drista turns to look inward. She finds the gateway Iris helped her establish nearly half a year ago. Drista claws at the gateway with all her mental fortitude, and speck by speck, the gateway opens. A thrum of power floods into her body, as unfamiliar to Drista as the sensation of thousands of worms crawling under her skin. It only serves to make Drista’s nausea worse, but she perseveres through the sickening pain. She feels tears rise in her eyes, and she’s nearly choking on the vomit caught in her mouth. She leans forward, careful not to touch the iron or puke on herself as she lets it all out. The taste now in her mouth is the lesser of two evils compared to the nausea in her head, so Drista is able to shove the gateway open completely.

The pain is blinding. Drista collapses onto the ground, and the burn of the iron almost forces her back into awareness of the real world. Drista grits her teeth, plunging deeper into one pain to forget the other. All of a sudden, Drista can see a vast ocean underneath her feet. It isn’t made from water, though. It is made from something else entirely— a force so powerful and incomprehensible that Drista feels her mind spiraling away from her as she reaches her hand to touch the surface of the fathomless sea.

Drista is drawn out of this delusion as she notices that there is no longer any pain in her system. Drista shoves her eyes open, staring at the rocky shelf of the valley’s wall. There is blood underneath her palms from where she had been touching the iron. As Drista turns around, she finds the iron cage sitting peacefully against the back wall. She’s teleported outside of it using Mystery, though her hands and knees are almost completely burnt from touching the iron for an extended amount of time. Drista heaves herself onto her feet, promising to wrap her wounds properly once she finishes her quest. She will also congratulate herself for unlocking teleportation, even if she’s never able to replicate what just happened.

Drista starts running down the valley’s shelves, deeper down. Without the iron, Drista can conjure an illusion around herself to keep out of sight of the clerics who are guarding the area. They are hardly paying attention, too busy day-drinking and playing cards with each other. Drista steps up to one of the clerics. Even though it burns her hands, Drista takes the iron keys from around his waist. He doesn’t seem to notice the missing keys, nor does he hear the quiet sizzling of Fae flesh touching the earth’s metal.

Drista ignores the pain and the blood as she races over to a set of cages. Dream’s eyes perk up when he sees her. She shoves a finger over her lips to keep him from talking. He might be able to see her, but no one else can, and she doesn’t want other people to know that she’s freeing her brothers. The less obstacles she faces, the better.

Thankfully, Dream gets the message. He scoots forward in the iron cage. Drista unlocks it. Dream shoves the door open with his shoulder, careful not to touch the iron. Dream grabs onto Drista’s hand, staring mournfully at her bright red palm and blistering fingers. Drista decides that they do not have enough time for this. She grabs Dream’s hand, smearing her blood onto his skin. She drags Dream forward under the protection of her illusion. As they go further down, Dream switches places with her. He leads Drista into the depths of the valley where Foolish is tied to a wooden post with a ring of fire around him. He is as far from a water source as a prisoner can be on the bottom level of the valley, and he looks worse for wear because of it.

Dream releases Drista’s hand. He gets a running start, and he leaps through the ring of fire. He lands unsteadily on the sand underneath Foolish’s body. Drista attempts to keep an illusion around him, but Foolish notices the indention in the sand before Drista can cover it up. Foolish’s eyes widen as he feels the binds keeping him tied to the wooden post unwind. They drop to the ground. Foolish slowly brings his hands to his chest, rubbing his raw wrist with his thumb. Drista watches as Dream grabs onto Foolish’s hand. Foolish throws a hand over his mouth to keep himself from making a surprised noise as he is dragged through the flames. Drista grabs Foolish’s other hand. Since it’s her illusion, Drista can see them all, and Dream has never been fooled by her illusions, but Foolish is different. He can’t see either of them and if he looks down, he shouldn’t even be able to see himself. Drista can only hope that Foolish doesn’t freak out if she and Dream keep holding his hands and dragging him back up the valley.

The guards have noticed that Dream is missing. Drista curses to herself, but Iris hasn’t taught any of these guards how to identify Drista’s illusions. With careful steps and dodging, the three siblings can bypass the clerics as they start heading down the valley to see if Foolish has escaped.

Once they are in the clear, Drista drops the illusion. Foolish stares at them both with something profound in his eyes, but Drista doesn’t have time to have a proper reconciliation as she starts explaining through heaving breaths, “Puffy is here. Iris is going to kill her. Beach, now. Hurry.”

The wind starts to follow the three as they race through the evacuated settlement to the beach. Dream is in perfect condition when they reach the shore, but Drista and Foolish are panting for breath. Drista stumbles forward, at least used to powering through unfavorable conditions thanks to Iris’ punishments. Drista sets one hand on Dream’s shoulder as they stare across the beach at the ensuing battle. For every pirate dropped off by the Argo, there are two clerics ready to hold the pirate at bay. Puffy is the only person fighting only one opponent, but she’s fighting Iris who counts for at least a dozen.

Iris picks Puffy up from her neck and tosses the brunette across the beach. Puffy rolls across the sand. Iris lifts a hand, conjuring an icicle in the air. Drista throws her hand up. A translucent green barrier shoots up from the ground. Instead of shattering, the barrier is able to hold off the icicles. They fall to the ground as Drista releases the barrier. Iris looks over at Drista with a half-smile on her face. “I was hoping that cell would hold for a little longer.”

“Take care of Papa,” Foolish tells them. He runs across the beach, grabbing a trident left on the ground by a fallen warrior. Foolish slides in front of Iris, looking like a real fighter as he faces her relentless attacks.

Drista wants to argue, but she is drawn to Puffy’s side without thinking about it. She lands on her knees beside the woman, looking across the various wounds Iris has cut into Puffy’s body. Dream holds her head in his lap, trying to wake Puffy up. Drista searches within herself for some kind of magic that can help her. She doesn’t know how to heal. Glamour can’t do it, and she doesn’t know if Mystery can. Since Drista can’t heal her mother, she sets her hand on her mother’s forehead, trying to wake her up.

Drista’s intentions mix with her actions, and her magic manifests. Drista blinks as an illusion swallows the three of them up. Drista and Dream are sitting on top of a listless black ocean, an empty void stretching out above them. The horizon provides minimal lighting, but the two figures standing in the distance stand in the light of a sword that is struck into the sea between them. Puffy stands on one side, her Origin magic creating the vision of humanity around her. The other woman is someone Drista doesn’t recognize by her face, but Drista does know those clothes. They resemble a sci-fi battle suit with an ocean theme to them.

“I wasn’t able to save my dimension. What makes you believe I can save yours?” The other woman says, her voice echoing in the hollow space all around them. Dream reaches for Drista’s hand, squeezing it tightly. He continues to stare downwards, and Drista realizes that Dream cannot see this illusion. Drista is bearing witness to the events happening inside Puffy’s mind, and Dream doesn’t even know it.

“I’ll be the reason my dimension is saved,” Puffy declares, eyes narrowed with determination. The air begins to flicker around her, a golden aura enveloping her body with flickers of flame-red. She reaches a hand out, setting it on top of the hilt of the strange sword. “Will you lend me your strength, Amalthea?”

The spirit steps forward. She puts both of her hands on the hilt of the sword, lifting it out of the sea. It is a longsword, designed like a cutlass with a cross guard that swirls upward like a watery vortex around the bottom of the blade before merging into the blade. The metal glistens a deep blue color like the surface of a stormy sea and white particles float away from it like the bubbles of fast-moving water. The spirit, Amaltha, sets the sword in Puffy’s hand. She leans in close, whispering something in Puffy’s ears. She then pushes Puffy into the water below them.

Amalthea glances over at Drista, suddenly aware of her presence. Amalthea nods respectfully at Drista, an understanding passing between them. Amalthea disappears, and the illusion fades with her.

Puffy is standing up. Her Origin magic has faded, revealing her wiry white hair and curling sheep horns. She holds the sword with one hand. Her outfit has changed a mixture between sci-fi and fantasy, complete with armor and a flowing red cape. Puffy raises the sword toward Iris, staring down at her opponent with a single-minded determination to win. Puffy bends down on her toes, shooting herself forward to intercept an attack meant for Foolish. The cutlass responds to Puffy’s determination, and the image of a wave spawns off the blade as Puffy attacks Iris.

Puffy keeps attacking. It looks like, for a moment, Puffy will win the fight. Iris narrows her eyes. She lifts her hand, and all of her clerics immediately stop fighting. They begin retreating. Iris shakes her head to herself. She looks past Puffy to meet Drista’s eyes. “This fight simply isn’t worth it. You will be back one day to finish your lessons.”

Iris snaps her fingers. The forms of her and her clerics turn into the strange water Drista saw when she ventured through the gateway. Iris is the last to disperse into this strange liquid, but she, like the others, completely disappears, teleporting away. The pirates yell insults at the clerics for retreating. Puffy only heaves out a breath, turning on her heel to face her eldest son. She sets a hand on Foolish’s cheek, smiling at him with tears in her eyes. “I promised I would come back.”

Dream is on his feet before Puffy is done talking. He drags Drista with him, perhaps unaware that he is still holding her hand. Dream crashes into Puffy’s legs. Drista tumbles right beside him, wrapping her arms around Puffy’s legs. Between the two of them, they knock Puffy off her feet. She lands in the sand, stretching her arms out to keep her children from falling into the sound as they settle into her lap. Drista sobs into Puffy’s chest as Foolish joins them, never too old to reconnect with his mother. Their family is finally reunited.

“Chat!” Drista yells, racing across the hall to slam into Chat’s body. She hugs him, shoving her face into his chest. She refuses to cry like she did when she first saw her mother again, but she does feel a prickling sensation in her cheeks as she clings to them.

“Drista,” Chat responds, setting a hand on her head and patting down her hair. Drista chuckles wetly, pulling back enough to look into Chat’s dark gray eyes. She smiles up into them, and Chat looks calmer than she’s ever seen him. “What happened, Drista?”

“A lot… It all happened a little over a year ago when Mama said she was going to visit a mysterious island…”

Chapter Text

The carriage is made from white and gold materials, studded with emeralds along the sides. Four brilliantly white horses deliberately bred for their beauty and strength pull the carriage along the dirt-worn paths. A footman holds the leather reins, careful to avoid any potholes or other obstacles in the road that might jostle the weary travelers sitting on the plush green velvet benches. Other servants, including soldiers in their pristine bronze-colored armor, surround the carriage, some of them on horseback and others on foot.

Drista doesn’t recognize anyone surrounding the carriage except for Callum. The pirate is hanging off the side of the carriage, wearing a borrowed soldier’s uniform combined with his signature fox mask. His eyes dart across the landscape around them as if dangers were lurking in every berry bush and wildflower patch growing alongside the road. Unfortunately for his attentiveness, the sky overhead is pristinely blue without a single cloud to disrupt the daylight spreading across the verdant hills of Essempei in the countryside. Everything was beautiful, and nothing could be hidden from the all-seeing eye, even if Drista was certain she was the only one that could see such an amazing sky.

Puffy sits in the middle of one of the benches. There is enough space for her children to squeeze in beside her, especially if one of them chooses to sit in her lap, but Dream is the only one to have taken the opportunity. Foolish and Drista remain on the opposite bench, back to the direction they are heading towards. There is a brief amount of space between the siblings, unlike how Dream has shoved himself into Puffy’s side. The mother stares at her children across from her, absently sliding a hand up and down Dream’s upper arm. Drista avoids eye contact with her mother, and Foolish is staring down at his hands as if an interesting book had been placed there.

The atmosphere of the carriage only changes when they get deeper inland. Dream subtly pulls away from Puffy, getting closer to the window. Drista watches this happen slowly, but she soon learns what is happening when she feels the fluttering inside her own chest. She looks out the window, placing a hand against the cool glass. In the far distance, she can just barely see the outline of the Wild Lands, or as the Fae call it, Elfame. It is a large forest taking up a significant portion of Essempei’s allotted land, but any attempts to tear it down are brought down by the forest’s enchanted nature. Although the Fae are almost incapable of leaving the shadow of the trees, they are more than capable of defending it against conquerors and misguided travelers.

Halflings are not bound by the same limitations as their full-blooded parentage, but they feel those limitations thrum in their bones alongside their glamour. Drista feels like a compass swinging towards a lodestone, not realizing that she’s no longer pointing north as she’s meant to. It would take weeks to walk to Elfame, but Drista feels a light compulsion in her chest to make that journey. She has no reason to visit Elfame, and she knows more than most the dangers it presents, but glamour is mystifying and nonsensical. Reason means nothing to Elfame, and it means even less to Drista’s underdeveloped instincts.

Dream must be compelled by the same force, but he seems stronger at resisting it than Drista initially thought he would be. Even as he’s drifting closer to the window, he hasn’t made any attempts to touch the glass or open the door. He only looks with his eyes. It does look like he’s straining to hear, but Drista sees the banners the guards are carrying flit about even more harshly than before even though it’s a pleasant afternoon. The wind is protecting Dream from the whispers of Elfame. Drista exhales out her nose, wondering if the wind would make the same precautions for her, if only because she’s an integral part of Dream’s happiness.

“You did well on establishing the guilds,” Puffy’s voice cuts through the awkwardness that has made itself familiar with the familial unit. Drista tears her eyes away from the window, noticing the way Dream flinches at the sudden noise inside the carriage. Puffy is staring at Foolish, something similar to hope appearing in her brown eyes. Foolish looks up from his hands, but the shadows sliding over his face make it nearly impossible to tell what he’s actually feeling. Puffy’s eyes dart over to Dream and Drista. She reaches a hand out, taking Dream’s hand as she continues, finding strength in the fractured silence around them. “When I was searching for you, I had some people finish what we started. The guilds are officially recognized by the kingdom of Essempei, and we’ve accepted almost all the known pirates.”

“Where were you?” Foolish asks, a layer of bitterness in his voice that doesn’t fade even with the pain flashing in his bejeweled eyes. When they first saw Puffy, the only emotions the children felt were relief and overwhelming love. Now that they were heading to a place that wasn’t their home, other emotions were able to make themselves known. Dream’s face lingers with fear, remaining near to Puffy as if they’re going to separate again. Drista feels a bone-deep exhaustion, numb to her own feelings and the familiar loneliness that followed her from one world to this one. Foolish, however, is the one that burns with resentment.

Puffy frowns, breathing out slowly. She compresses as she does, putting her hands on her knees to keep herself from sliding onto the floor. Dream’s eyes widen in surprise. Drista presses her lips together in contemplation. Foolish waits patiently for Puffy’s words. “Don’t tell him I said this, but Callum was right to be worried about the Iris Church. They aren’t human— I mean, they aren’t sapients. There is something archaic yet cruel about them, especially their leader.”

Drista looks away from her mother. She listens to the words even as her head grows fuzzy. She knew from the beginning that Iris and her church were bad people, but Drista had spent a year with the woman, studying underneath her and learning about her. Even if it was born from polluted soil, there was a relationship between Iris and Drista. She would like to say it was only a survival tactic, acting nice to keep herself and her brothers alive, but some lies bleed too far across the line that separates humans and Fae.

“The church captured the group that was sent to investigate for experimentation. I don’t know what they were trying to achieve, but it didn’t seem like they were aiming for success. They gave us these strange objects, completely different in appearance and purpose to one another except for the fact that the objects made people go insane or outright killed them. The clerics seemed to be surprised when Callum and I survived. We capitalized on their surprise to escape, but when I went back to the cabin, you kids weren’t there. All I found was a scene of utter destruction and—” Puffy cuts herself off, but Drista knows what she was going to say. Puffy probably found the corpses. The ones around the cabin could have been picked up by the townspeople, but the ones in the secret cove were probably rotting by the time Puffy arrived. Foolish killed most of them, but Drista knows she also took a life.

“I began my search for you three. I followed every lead, but desperation would turn anyone into a fool. I went back to my childhood home to get some help…” Puffy trails off, a hard expression crossing her face as she looks out the window. Drista’s rushes to stare at her mother’s side-profile. Drista doesn’t know if Foolish and Dream know, but Puffy’s childhood home would have been the royal palace.

“Are we going to your home?” Dream asks, his eyes looking out of the window. The children have never been this far inland. They have always lived on the islands that make up a fair bit of Essempei’s governable land. Drista only knew about Essempei from the excerpts of The Ender Prince she remembers and whatever Chat would off-handedly mention.

“Hey, home is wherever I am with you three,” Puffy decisively declares, eyes burning with determination and a ferocious love. She squeezes Dream’s hand, reaching her other one hand. Foolish stares at it for a long moment. He slips his hand into Drista’s hand before he gets over his hesitation, but Puffy waits for him just as she waits for Dream and Drista to link hands, completely the square. “But I had to make a deal with my mother to get some help, so we’re going to be staying with her for… a while.”

“We have a grandma?!” Dream jerks, pulling at Drista’s hand as he gets closer to Puffy. Foolish counterbalances, pulling at Drista’s other arm to keep her on the bench.

“Thetis would hate being called that,” Puffy murmurs, looking at the roof of the carriage. She sighs, looking back down at her children with a sheepish expression. “There is something I have never told you three. I am actually Princess Cara Puffy of Essempei. I left for an expedition that all heirs to the Daystar Throne must go on, but I never planned on returning to sit on that throne. But I made a deal to find you three and get the resources necessary for a rescue mission, on top of getting the guilds legally recognized.”

“Do you regret your choice?” Drista asks softly, her voice scratchy and distant even to her own ears. It is quiet, but it draws the attention of everyone in the carriage with varying levels of concern on their faces. None look worse than Puffy as she pulls her hands out of Foolish and Dream’s hold to reach out, grabbing onto Drista’s cheeks with more tenderness than Drista has experienced in her entire former life combined. It isn’t more than this life, though, because Puffy is always doing this— always comforting her with compassion in her eyes and gentleness in her hands.

“I would have made a deal with anything— humans, devils, Fae, sirens, whatever— to get you three back. I would have given anything. There are worse things to be indebted to and worse deals to make, and yet I would not regret making those deals just as I do not regret this one,” Puffy promises, her voice as fervent as flame. She pulls back enough to look at Dream and Foolish to make sure they understand her words, too.

Drista says nothing in response, unable to think of anything. The Ender Prince never delved into the relations between the royal family, especially not Puffy’s relationships since she was so far removed from the main plot of the book. Drista doesn’t even know if Ranboo ever met Puffy, but his interactions with both Foolish and Dream don’t give the impression that Puffy was a loving mother. How would Foolish turn out so cold and Dream so cruel if Puffy treated them like this? It genuinely pisses Drista off to know that people could have such a wonderful mother and still choose unhappiness for themselves.

“I guess this is the moment where I ask you guys an important question. Do you want to come with me to Greater, the capital of Essempei? You’ll have to live in a palace. You might even have responsibilities now, and there will be people watching you. They might even be mean to you because of who you are. If you don’t want to stay with me, I can arrange for Callum to take you back to the Faction Isles. I know all three of you would make fantastic pirates,” Puffy asks, forcing her tone to remain light even when tears appear in her eyes. She smiles at them, trying to remain composed. “I’ll do whatever makes you three happy.”

Without a word, barely a sob, Drista launches herself across the carriage to land in Puffy’s lap. Puffy’s arms immediately wrap around her daughter, pulling Drista up against her chest. Drista feels the full weight of her misery on her chest, squeezing her breath out of her chest as she holds onto Puffy. She can’t stand the thought of Puffy disappearing again. Drista is disgusted with herself for only realizing right now just how much Puffy loved her children, including Drista.

“I’m not leaving,” Puffy promises, running a hand along Drista’s hair. She tucks Drista’s face into her neck, letting Drista work through her tears. “If you want to come with me, you can. I promise that I will protect you. I promise that I will do everything in my power to keep you safe and happy.”

Drista nods, her tongue tied up by her sorrow. Puffy holds Drista close. Foolish transitions to sit on Puffy’s either side, leaning into her side. Dream places his forehead against Drista’s arm, comforting his sister at the same time he derives comfort from a close proximity with Puffy.

“If you’re comfortable with telling me, I want to hear about your experiences with the Iris Church,” Puffy whispers, her words careful like she’s coaxing a frightened animal. Drista tenses in Puffy’s arms. The woman goes to soothe Drista as Foolish and Dream talk about their stories.

“I was mostly kept in a tent surrounded by this weird fence made from both wood and iron. A guard would come by for every meal to feed me. Sometimes he would bring toys for me to play with, or even have a conversation with me! He helped teach me some of my letters,” Dream explains.

“We were both kept at the bottom of an unscalable gorge. I was kept far from any water source, but they didn’t start putting fire around me until the latter months. They at least kept my tent near Dream’s so we could talk late into the night,” Foolish adds, putting their situation into a little more perspective. “On the night of the new moon, the guards would escort Drista to our tents. She would get to spend the entire night with us, and then the guard would take her back once dawn arrived.”

With how forthright Dream and Foolish were, Drista feels terrible about her hesitance. The words burn inside her throat, prickling like thorny vines as they climb up into her mouth. It is a similar experience to when Drista wants to lie, her Fae nature making her incapable of telling anything but the truth. “Iris was my teacher.”

The words feel like they are dragged out of Drista’s chest by a malicious hand, clawing at her heart as it passes. Iris was Drista’s teacher, but there was far more depth to their relationship than those simple words could ever convey. Drista feels an obligation to explain it, but Drista can barely understand it herself. She doesn’t think she would be able to put it in words, let alone moderate her words so as to not upset her family or give them a reason to despise her.

Drista’s doubts are put to rest as Puffy kisses Drista’s forehead. “You don’t need to talk about it, dragonfly. Just know that I’m always here if you ever need to.”

Drista nods, burying her face back into Puffy’s neck. The woman continues reassuring Drista as she speaks to her children. “Life is going to change for you three at the royal palace. As my eldest, Foolish will be my heir when I become queen. This means you’ll have certain obligations to fulfill. Likewise, Dream and Drista will have their own responsibilities. I’m not going to force you to do anything you don’t want to do, though. If you ever want to refuse this life, you have my full support. I just—”

Puffy’s words are cut off as the carriage jolts to a stop. Puffy keeps Drista from falling back, but the girl moves so far back that she sees people on a street, waving their hands and handkerchiefs at the carriage as it passes. They are cheering with large smiles on their faces, from peasants with dirt smeared on their cheeks to merchants in finer clothing. There are even people in the balconies of the buildings that line the large street. Drista has been in the crowds of a parade before, but she’s never been on one of the floats. This is a new side of an old memory she’s kept from her time in her original world.

Dream and Foolish are shoving their faces against the windows to look at the people who delight in their appearances despite not knowing who either boy is. Drista wears a smile on her face, but she glances at her mother’s expression. Puffy looks pained, and Drista recognizes the expression. Puffy feels like she’s let these people down. It isn’t difficult for Drista to figure out why that is. Puffy was going to abandon these people for the high seas, so why are they so energetically and happily celebrating her return? Drista puts a hand on her mother’s cheek. When Puffy looks at Drista, the girl gives her mother the widest smile she can. When she opens her eyes, Puffy is smiling back at Drista.

The carriage passes through a pair of gates. They pass through a grandiose garden, and at the very end, they pull around a fountain to park in front of a large staircase leading up to a large palace. Puffy grits her teeth, annoyance coloring her face even as her children are swept up in the impressiveness of the architecture. Puffy opens the carriage door, transitioning Drista onto her hip as she steps down without the assistance of the awaiting footman. The servant stares at her nervously, but he is given an opportunity to do his job when Dream grabs onto his forearm, swinging down on the ground. The servant stares at Dream like the boy is a real Fae coming to greet the queen. Foolish, at least, follows his mother’s lead and ignores the footman entirely. Before the footman can cry out at the absurdity, Callum ushers him to the side with the other servants unmounting their horses and preparing everything for the arrival of the crown princess and her children.

There are more servants outside the palace. They are lined up, maids on one side and valets on the other, curtseying and bowing, respectively, to their ruler’s sole heir. The servants are headed by a man wearing a specially designed green and black outfit. He rises up from his bowing position to look Puffy in her eyes. His eyes constantly shift from one color to another, but the rest of his appearance is remarkably bland and old. There is a hint of a smile that seems to curl on his thinning lips when Puffy stares right back at him. “Glory to the Everlasting Sun. Allow this servant to greet Her Royal Highness, Princess Cara Puffy the Fierce.”

“It’s good to see you, too, Jeb. Please escort us to Her Majesty,” Puffy says, setting Drista down beside her. Puffy does forcibly take Drista and Dream’s hand as they are her youngest. Callum follows behind them as Jeb starts to lead the royals up the long staircase. Even as they move past, none of the servants make a move. They remain as still and unresponsive as statues.

The long halls of the palace remind Drista of their cabin on the Faction Isles, if only because of how sunny it is. Most of the walls seem to have been replaced with windows reinforced with magic, allowing the golden sun to sink into the room like large curtains. The part of the walls that do remain are more akin to Corinthian columns holding up arched ceilings. The ground is made from a jade green gemstone cut with distinct patterns like a mosaic underneath a thick layer of glass. The staircase leading higher up into the palace is made from a similar gemstone made darker from years underneath the colored glass window depicting two regal figures, the god of the sun and the goddess of the moon, traveling across the sky in their chariots. The sun god is pulled by a golden ram, and the goddess is pulled by a silver horse.

Jeb escorts the royals into a large throne room. It is long and narrow, but the tall windows lining one of the walls that show the ocean and distant wilderness make the room feel so much larger. The ground is now made from an amber stone, but there are green fabrics draped along the ceiling. The focal point of the room is a circular stage showcasing a throne made from golden metal and gemstones that appear to be crystallized sunlight. It radiates light even more powerful than that of the sunlight coming in from the windows.

But nothing is more powerful than the black-haired woman sitting on the throne, wearing a long blue dress and a crown made from similar materials to her throne. Her face is covered by a dark blue mask lined with black gemstones as if she put the depths of the ocean onto her face. She was speaking with nobles in the throne room, answering their questions and granting them an audience, but she raises a gloved hand to stop the person currently speaking. She looks over at the intruders. She waves her hands, and the nobles exit in the room in an orderly fashion, passing glances at the people their queen ended the meeting for.

“I am quite surprised that you returned,” The queen says with a voice that commands all the attention in the room. Her brown eyes are as dark as muddy water, but there is something profound in their depths that make them worth staring into.

“Pirates are true to their word,” Puffy notes, curtseying to the queen as if there were no familial connection between them.

“Pirates, hmm?” Thetis repeats under her breath, but her voice doesn’t allow her distaste to go unnoticed. Puffy seizes up, squeezing Drista and Dream’s hand, perhaps unknowingly. Thetis heaves a breath, rising up from her throne. Her dress ripples around her as if she were carrying the night sky around her. Even the twinkling diamonds intermittently hidden in the fabric give the impression of stars.

Thetis does not stop walking until she is standing in front of Puffy and her children. Drista looks around for Callum, but he and Jeb must have peeled off when the nobles left. Thetis steps to Foolish, lifting his chin with her gloved hand. “You must be the eldest. Hmm… you have beautiful eyes. You seem to have a good physique. And the fact that you have not been slain and eaten by your siren father is a good sign.”

Thetis steps away from Foolish. She looks down between Dream and Drista. Her eyes narrow slightly, a hint of disdain in her alarmingly familiar eyes. Save for the black hair and a few other minor details, Thetis looks just like her daughter, so much that it makes Drista feel sick seeing a less than favorable expression in those eyes. “There is strength in both of your eyes, and I have come to understand that glamour is a favorable talent to have access to.”

Thetis takes a step back, looking at Puffy as if she had not spent the last minute appraising the woman’s children in front of her. “You have done a fine job at raising your bastards, but it is time for a real caretaker to step in and correct the mistakes of the past.”

“Be silent,” Puffy hisses, a genuine anger growing on her face that turns her cheeks as red as her coat. Puffy steps to her mother, getting right in the queen’s face. The queen moves a hand, commanding her guards to stay in the shadows. “The only reason I am here is because of a deal. Because you were incapable of conceiving another heir. My children, however, are here because of me, and they will not be subject to your whims.”

“It seems all those years apart have given you the courage to stand up to your mother,” Thetis says, lifting a hand up to touch Puffy’s cheeks. She almost seems impressed with her daughter’s words even as Puffy turns her head to the side to avoid the touch. Thetis lowers her hand, face growing cold. “Even so, if you want your children to survive the court, they will need to learn a few tricks you have either forgotten or never understood. Do you want your children’s experiences to be the same as yours?”

Puffy releases her children’s hands. Drista lowers her hand, watching Puffy close her fingers into a fist. Her face burns even brighter, genuine rage boiling in her eyes. Puffy forces herself to sigh, however, looking away from her mother’s face. “I am vetoing anyone I disapprove of.”

“I would be a fool to expect anything else,” Thetis notes, taking a step back with a half-laugh and a cruel smile on her face. She walks back to her throne, looking over her shoulder to address Puffy. “You will be attending court tomorrow. I want to announce the coronation date.”

Thetis lowers herself back into her throne. She looks comfortable as she puts her chin into the palm of her hand. “You are dismissed.”

Puffy heaves an aggravated breath. She reaches for her children’s hands again, half-dragging them out of the throne room. When they reach the hallway, they trade places with the impatient nobles who now openly stare at Puffy. The princess glares at them all from the corner of her eyes, and they hurriedly look away. Drista tugs on her mother’s arm, and this pulls Puffy out of her agitation. She looks down at Drista with a growing smile. She leans down, pulling the three of them into her arms. “Don’t worry, kids. I love you, and I will do everything in my power to make you happy here. Now, let me show you my childhood bedroom. We can all sleep together tonight.”

“You know, why weren’t you properly teaching me Mystery? I learned more from a crazy lady than I did from you!” Drista complains. When she first got back to Chat, she had just been so happy to be there again after a year of dreamless nights, but now she has to get back to serious matters.

“I will admit that I was hoping you would grow disinterested with it,” Chat sighs.

“Why?” Drista asks, raising an eyebrow. Drista grew up in a world without magic, and now she’s in a world where she can literally teleport with enough effort and more pain than she cares to admit. Drista wouldn’t give any of that up, so why would she get disinterested in it?

“Mystery is powerful, yes, but it is also dangerous. It is so volatile that most magicians do not live long, and the longer they do live, the more their sanity deserts them. I did not wish to watch you wither away,” Chat explains, lifting a hand up to move some hair out of her face in a way that reminds Drista of Puffy… It also reminds her of Iris, in a way.

“I understand what you mean, but that isn’t going to happen,” Drista says, ignoring that weird comparison between Chat, Puffy, and Iris.

“How are you so certain?”

“I’m only certain because Iris was. She told me that all magicians have a gateway, but I’m the only one to have a key. I can keep the Mystery at bay, only using it when I need to,” Drista explains. That was one of the first lessons Iris gave Drista.

“Key is one word for it,” Chat murmurs, looking into the distance wistfully.

“What is another word for it?”

“You will know in due time, when you’re ready,” Chat tells her solemnly. Drista nods slowly, but she is only agreeing because she doesn’t have any proof to the contrary.

Chapter Text

Drista slowly opens her eyes. The light of dawn crashes against her pupils, chasing away the lingering dreams that permeate in her headspace. She blinks, sitting up. She looks around her on the bed. Foolish is half-awake right now, staring at the rooftop with the eyes of a daydreamer. Dream is completely unconscious, curled up into his brother’s side with a hand stretched across the boy’s stomach. Drista stares at Foolish for long enough that her gaze pierces through the veil of his delusions. He comes into full awareness as he glances over at her. His neutral expression splits into a smile. He lifts the arm that was wrapped around Dream’s shoulder toward Drista. She takes it mostly out of habit, recalling all the nights she had to put her hand through fire just to feel the comfort of physical affection. There is no physical pain as Drista keeps a firm grip on Foolish’s hand, but her heart aches with a million emotions she has no name for.

Foolish’s eyebrows knit together in concern. He squeezes her hand comfortingly. He opens his mouth to say something, but his words are stolen by the sound of the doors opening in the distance. Drista’s head lifts up, and Foolish turns his body. A dozen maids enter the room in a single file line. They curtsy to the royal children. When they stand back on their feet, the one that seems to be in charge claps her hands together. The maids surround the bed. Drista makes an odd noise as one of the maids grabs onto her, grip firm but not painful. The other maids take Foolish and Dream, waking the latter in an unconventional manner.

The maid in charge claps her hands again, issuing another silent order. The maid holding Drista takes her out of the room, an entourage following behind her. The maid holds Drista away from her like the princess is a wild animal. Drista levels an unimpressed look at the maid, but the woman must have been exceptionally trained as she does not wear any expression on her face as she takes Drista into a brand new room. The room resembles a bathroom with the tile floor, the porcelain tub in the center of the room, and the mosaic pictures of mermaids and water Fae lining the walls. There are no windows in the room, but the candles do fill the air with a golden glow.

The maid sets Drista down on the tiled floor. She takes the mantle of being in charge as she claps her hands, gesturing to the other maids. Two of them grab onto Drista, stripping her of her clothes. When she’s ready, they place her into a tub of warm water. Drista’s head is tilted back, and one of the maids bathing her uses a saucer to pour water over her hair. Drista closes her eyes tightly as the maids whisper to each other, determining which of the many oils they should use for Drista. They come to a decision fairly quickly despite how fierce the argument was, and Drista’s limbs are pulled out of the water to be lathered with a colored rag. Another maid starts washing Drista’s hair, her fingers scratching Drista’s scalp in a way that borders on painful but doesn’t quite make the leap. It’s only uncomfortable, and Drista isn’t able to make her discomfort known as they take her out of the tub.

They set her back down on the cold tiles. Drista feels a shiver run up her entire body. Her only consolation is that this isn’t as cold as the night air was whenever she would climb out of the river Iris let her use for washing purposes. Drista grits her teeth, standing firmly against the stagnant air all around made a little warmer by the candles glowing across the walls. Drista could probably stand here for a few hours, drying on her own, but the maids rush around her with clothes in their hand to pat her dry. One of them grips Drista’s hair, tugging it as they put in a lot of elbow grease to make it as dry as possible. When the others are done with Drista’s body, one of them hurries over to grab an object left near the door. They come back with it, exposing a ring the size of a bracelet made from black metal with a red gemstone on one side and an orange one on the other. Drista stares at the device until it disappears behind her head. She doesn’t hear anything, but she feels warm air blowing against the back of her neck. Drista’s eyes widen, realizing that the bracelet must have magical stones on them.

Magic stones come from Las Nevadas. They are fashioned out of Mob cores, and they can provide a variety of effects. If put together in the correct arrangement, these stones can even mimic the technology of the world Drista came from. For instance, these two stones are being used like a blow dryer. Drista wishes she could study the stones, but she knows that the maids will keep it out of her hands. She already knows they are terrified of her because of the iron they are hiding in their pockets, the ferrous stench making Drista a little dizzy. Drista holds herself together, and she doesn’t reprimand the maids for possessing the metal nor keeping the stones from her hands. Drista knows exactly what they see when they look at her: a halfling bastard brought back by their renegade princess.

Drista is brought to the neighboring room when the maids are done drying her off, including her now frizzy hair. The maid who put herself in charge is standing in front of three mirrors folded inwards to provide three different views of Drista. The maid in charge helps Drista onto the stand as one of the other maids brings over a light green dress that matches Drista’s eyes. They hold Drista still as they pull the dress over her head, tugging it down to hang around her ankles. The maids kneel and stand all around Drista, making sure the dress is worn properly. The maid in charge personally retrieves a comb to brush Drista’s hair, careful of the knots but firm in her removal of them. Drista stares back at her appearance as she watches all of this happen.

Drista is still young. The body she’s in is only seven-years-old, even if the mind inside is so much older. Despite this, Drsita is starting to see remnants of her older self in her appearance. Her eyes are far greener than they were when she was in the other world, but everything else is more or less the same, not counting the chubbiness of her childish cheeks. When Chat made a place for her in this world, they must have used her old life as a blueprint for this life. Luckily, Drista doesn’t look too different from her siblings, and they all look equally different from Puffy.

Drista gives herself a half-smile, wondering what the people around her see when they look at her. These maids, obviously, see something to fear. Others, too, would probably, if they knew of her Fae nature. The pirates see her as Puffy’s daughter, and that carries a certain weight behind it. Iris sees her protegee, and Chat sees… Drista doesn’t know what Chat sees, and she doesn’t know what her family sees, either. Drista can hardly be expected to see herself with an objective eye.

“Princess,” The maid in charge calls, tone void of emotion even when there is a flicker of doubt across her face. Drista forgives the doubt as easily as she forgives the iron. Even though Thetis said she was going to make Puffy her heir, the positions of the children are still up in the air until an official announcement is made. Drista doesn’t know if she’s going to be a princess, either, so it would be best to tread with caution.

The maid who called for Drista’s attention kneels down in front of her. She lifts up her hands, presenting a jeweled box to the girl. Drista blinks at the gift. She reaches her hands out hesitantly, lifting the lid up. A white mask with gilded edges rests in a bed of maroon-colored velvet. Drista carefully picks the mask up, feeling the gold ribbons rub against the inside of her fingers. Drista raises the mask upward, looking at the light through the eyeholes of the pristine material.

“Her Royal Majesty, the queen, personally prepared this as a gift for her granddaughter,” The maid explains, closing the box as she stands up. She turns slightly, and another maid comes to take the box from her. The maid reaches her hands out, taking the mask from Drista’s hands. She walks around Drista, pulling at the girl’s hair in order to fasten the mask onto Drista’s face. “Members of the royal family are expected to wear masks, a tradition given to those of the bloodline by the sun god.”

Drista takes a step forward. She places her hand against the glass, staring at herself now that the mask ties her entire ensemble together. Even though she can see the remnants of her former life, she can also see components of this life merging together. Her hands, for instance, are still calloused and rough from years on a pirate’s ship and a year with Iris, no matter how the maids have filed down her nails. Her skin might be soft from the oils, but it is also as warm as the sunlight that once fell upon it uninhibited. Her hair might be put up by a ribbon, but the maids didn’t have time to make the tips presentable. Drista’s eyes, however, tell neither the story of her life with Puffy or her life here in the palace. They are products of her father, pure and simple. A manifestation of her Fae nature.

“Princess, Her Royal Majesty has requested an audience,” The head maid tells Drista rather than asks her. Drista turns around to look at the mistress as she lifts a hand up, directing Drista on where to go. As Drista pulls her hands away from the mirror, she supposes that she cannot refuse the queen. As Drista starts to leave the room, stepping into an unfamiliar hallway, she wonders what her grandmother is going to be like. From what Drista has seen so far, she knows that it isn’t going to be a good time.

The head maid leads Drista through the halls of the palace. Drista takes an opportunity to look around, noting that The Ender Prince’s descriptions were lackluster compared to the genuine artifact. If Drista were thrown into this palace without any explanation or prior knowledge, she would have assumed that it was the divine home of a sun deity. The gold and white, occasionally broken up by a natural green, radiates the power of light, and the painted surfaces or memorabilia hung on the walls provide the image of daytime and the sun. Drista is impressed with the blatant display of wealth, but part of her knows that this is all gilded. Underneath the surface, there is a long history of bloodshed and tyranny. Even right now, Drista knows that people in Essempei are suffering unjustly underneath the aloofness of the queen and the cruelty of the Ten Commanders.

The head maid leads Drista outside of the palace. They step into a manicured garden filled to the brim with blooming flowers that fill the air with floral scents and colored petals. Drista breathes in deeply, something born from nature settling in her chest. The human part of her belongs to the sea and to her family, but there will always be a part of Drista that blossomed from the ground and wishes to return to it. The tugging in her gut that wants her to find Elfame is temporarily satiated by the imitation Drista is currently walking through, but she knows that it will never be able to get rid of the silver blood running through her veins.

Because she’s surrounded by so much nature, Drista does not tire easily. She is able to follow the maid even as they get fairly far from the palace grounds, entering into a place that is certainly taken care of but not made to look beautiful. The maid has no trouble setting a pace that would make other kids Drista’s physical age complain or even cry. Drista wonders if this is a test as the maid stops, falling into a deep curtsy. Drista stops beside her, looking ahead at the source of the maid’s reverence.

Queen Thetis is standing on a wooden dock. She wears a dress as blue as the shallows of the pond. Although her dress does not have a subtle hint of green like the waters do, her parasol does. She holds it over her shoulder, letting the shadows fall across her masked face. She gestures for Drista to come to her side. She uses that same hand to grab the offered hand of the servant holding a long paddle against his shoulder. She steps onto a long boat with cushioned seats. Queen Thetis sits down, facing Drista with an absent look in her eyes.

Drista steps onto the dock. She walks down the dock, feeling a strange sensation pulling her downward toward the water. Drista ignores the feeling as she steps onto the boat without anyone’s assistance. Drista presses her lips together as she feels the familiarity of the rocking boat to avoid sighing in relief. Drista sits down on the cushion across from the queen. Drista tries to sit in a lady-like fashion, but the queen’s narrowed gaze makes Drista self-conscious about all of her actions.

With both the queen and princess seated, the servant begins rowing the boat across the pond’s surface. He works silently, keeping his eyes on the water below them. Thetis stares unflinchingly at Drista, the parasol’s shadow makes her expression much darker than Drista thinks it would be in the light. Drista ignores them both to stare at the water. From this close, Drista notices how genuinely clear the water is. Drista can even see the bottom of the pond, filled to the brim with flourishing plant-life and a few darting fishes too small and quick for Drista to truly look at.

“I have been meeting with every one of my daughter’s offsprings individually to get an idea of who the three of you are. I will have to plan your schedule, after all, and I would rather not deal with the headache of putting you in classes you will despise,” Thetis mentions, her tone languid and unbothered as if she were discussing the weather. “I know what positions Foolish and Dream will grow into, but I do not know what to expect from you.”

Drista keeps her mouth shut, unsure how to respond. She doesn’t know what Thetis wants from her, or what position Drista could fill. Foolish is the heir, and Dream is the spare. In The Ender Prince, Foolish becomes a strong-willed king as aloof as Thetis and Dream becomes the head of the Hunters, an elite military group loyal to the Daystar Throne. There was never a third child. Drista doesn’t know what position she could fill when her brothers seem to have everything covered.

With nothing to say, Drista can only stare at her grandmother. Even with the mask, Drista believes Thetis is a beautiful woman. She is cold and disinterested, but her untouchable nature is probably what made someone like Drista’s grandfather fall in love with Thetis in the first place. There was even less about that man than there was about Thetis or Puffy, but even an off-handed comment can build an entire character in one’s mind. From what Drista knows, her grandfather, rest his soul, was someone with too much love in his heart. He loved his wife and he loved his daughter, and that love killed him.

“You have beautiful eyes,” Thetis comments lightly, perhaps weary of the silence.

“Thank you, Your Royal Majesty,” Drista accepts the compliment using the title the maid used when she was talking about the queen. Drista doesn’t know what else she’s supposed to call Thetis. The queen doesn’t seem like someone that wants to be called ‘grandmother’ or any variation thereof. It also doesn’t feel right to call someone with so much political power by their first name. Drista settles for the official address since she doesn’t know what else is allowed.

“Oh? You can speak,” The queen notes curiously as if this was genuinely a new development for her. Drista feels a blush spread across her cheeks. While it is true Drista has not spoken in front of Thetis yet, Drista has only met her yesterday and that was for a couple of minutes, at most.

“I was waiting for your majesty to come to a conclusion about me,” Drista explains. Thetis hums in agreement. Drista’s embarrassment grows hotter on her face. She looks away from Thetis, back to the water to stare at the little fishes. Drista’s eyes grow wide when she looks at creatures that are not fishes. Drista barely has time to register the animalistic humanoid appearances before the water begins turning silver with Fae blood. Drista’s expression dissolves into horror as she watches the Fae creatures attack each other, viciously killing one another between clouds of silver blood.

“Ah, my Hunters have recently caught some water-type Fae to put in my pond. I have graciously allowed them to take bets on who will win. I will admit that I am quite curious myself who will become the victor,” Thetis says, her voice drifting away as if carried by the wind. Thetis seems barely interested in the fighting, though her gaze does grow a little intense as she watches Drista peer over the water in abject horror.

One of the Fae creatures— a kelpie, Drista doesn’t know how she knows that— looks up at Drista as it finishes off its latest opponent. Those muddy eyes pierce through Drista’s soul. The kelpie swims up the water, clomping its hooves as if it were running upward to meet Drista. Before the halfling can pull away, the kelpie leaps from the water. It grabs onto Drista’s collar with its barnacle-covered teeth. The kelpie sinks back into the water. Drista is barely able to get a scream out as she dunked into the water. As Drista scrambles to free herself, she can see Thetis’ impassive eyes, as cold as the empire’s frigid winds, staring at Drista through the surface of the water. Drista reaches a hand out, but neither her grandmother nor the servant behind the queen make a move to help Drista as the kelpie drags her further down into the depths.

Even without anyone’s help, Drista continues to struggle for freedom. She kicks and waves her arms. As her vision starts to darken and her lungs burn, Drista is able to press her palm against the slimy snout of the horse. Drista closes her eyes tightly. She envisions the gateway in her mind, using the key to open it up. She feels the trickle of power throughout her body as if she had been struck with lightning. Drista searches her mind for a spell to perform. All her mind provides her with is memories of Iris. Luckily, those are enough for Drista to remember Iris' spell of choice (other than ice, of course): petrifaction.

The kelpie turns into stone underneath Drista’s palm. She tears her collar out of its mouth. As she swims upward, reaching a hand out for the light, Drista remembers her lessons with Foolish. He was the one who taught her how to swim. He was the one that held her and promised he would never let her drown. He was the one that taught her to love the ocean as much as the deck of the Argo. Drista holds tightly onto those memories, of his happy smile and proud eyes, as she finally breaks the surface of the pond.

The servant that was rowing the boat grabs onto Drista’s shoulder. He heaves her into the boat, dropping her onto the same cushion seat she sat on before the kelpie had grabbed her. Drista coughs, puking up water onto the seat. She feels light-headed, and the air is cold enough to make her start shivering immediately. As Drista feels her body squeeze into itself to get out all of the water, she can hear Thetis’ voice. “I understand you now. You are capable of magic with a strong will to survive. This audience has proven successful. Bring us back to the shore.”

Drista puts a pin in processing Thetis’ words as she heaves one last time, feeling absolutely sick to her stomach as she lies herself across the seat. She has never been scared of drowning. She wasn’t even scared of it when Iris would walk her across ice platforms. Drista, for better or for worse, has always trusted the people in her life to not blatantly kill her. It never crossed Drista’s mind that Thetis would so carelessly throw her life away, but Drista should have expected this. She said so herself earlier: Foolish is the heir, and Dream is the spare. Drista is nothing. She is disposable.

Drista is taken out of the boat by the maid who seems to be in charge of her. Drista is set on her feet on the dock. The rowing servant steps onto the dock to help the queen get onto the wooden surface. When everyone is standing on the dock, the queen looks over at the maid. “Return to my study later so that I might give you the princess’ schedule. Additionally, fetch someone to retrieve that kelpie corpse.”

The maid leads Drista back to the palace. Drista is dripping wet the entire time, and she shivers with so much ferocity that she can barely keep herself upright and her vision clear. The maid, thankfully, doesn’t let Drista stumble into the wall or random vases. When they get back to Drista’s new chambers, the maid snaps her fingers to summon the ones who were helping Drista earlier. They don’t even flinch at Drista’s appearance. They only wipe her down with towels and reuse the magic stone device from earlier to dry Drista off. They change both her dress and her mask.

When they are finished, the head maid dismisses them. She escorts Drista to a new location. They stay in the palace this time, and Drista knows where they are at when she sees the long table stretching across the room. The maid curties to Drista, saying softly, “Her Royal Majesty, the queen, has given the princess permission to eat as she likes for today.”

The maid walks away, and Drista wears a disgusted expression as she realizes that she’ll have to take etiquette lessons.

Drista walks toward the table. Immediately, someone rushes across the room. Drista stares at them, only recognizing Dream because of his hair and movements. He is wearing a porcelain mask on his face bearing the visage of a simplistic smiling face, similar to an emoticon save for the fact that they don’t have phones in this world. The formal clothing doesn’t really suit him, especially when he wraps his arms around her shoulders, pulling her into a tight hug.

As he pulls back, another figure comes toward them. Foolish is wearing a mask bearing the likeness of a Totem of Undying, complete with emeralds for eyes that don’t even compare to his eyes. Foolish is also wearing formal clothing, but he moves in them as smoothly as a shark through water. He hugs Drista, his scent making Drista sick with how much it reminds her of the pond.

Puffy arrives a moment later, wearing a mask of a noble ram, like the one that pulls the sun chariot. Puffy pulls off the mask, revealing an annoyed expression on her face. It morphs into one of tender love when she notices her children. She leans down, reaching out for them with a smile on her face. She asks them about their days, and Foolish and Dream rush to tell their mother their stories, pulling their masks off their faces. Drista lingers behind. She keeps the mask on her face even as she tells her family the story, leaving out the part about almost drowning in the pond because that is the only way a Fae creature like Drista can lie… by omission. Puffy’s expression never changes into one of anger or annoyance again, completely unaware that her mother would have left Drista to die.

The four of them sit at the dining room table. They continue their conversation, but Drista can feel the undercurrent of awkwardness that comes from an entire year apart and the way Essempei’s atmosphere oppresses all of them. Drista powers through it, joining in the conversation where she can because she cannot bear to leave her family.

“What was that creature that tried to kill me?” Drista asks, leaning her head against Chat’s shoulders as she recalls how horrible it was to sink in that pond, the water cold around her and the grip of the kelpie unrelenting. Drista shivers at the thought even though she cannot feel temperature in this realm.

“It was a kelpie. They are a water-type Fae that has the likeness of a horse. They are often covered in seaweed and mud to mask their appearance from unsuspecting targets. They will drag their victim into the depths in order to devour them,” Chat explains, lifting an arm up around Drista’s shoulders as if to protect her from their words.

“What about the other Fae? The ones the kelpie killed?” Drista continues. Her entire life in this world, she has known was part Fae, but she’s never made an effort to learn more about her heritage because it didn’t matter. Drista has the suspicion that it matters now.

“It killed a merrow. They are usually docile creatures, but if one were to steal their magical cap, they grow violent and impulsive as if the cap were their sense of control. Another creature it killed was a selkie. They are beings that can transform between seals and humans using a special skin. They are viciously protective of their skin, which might explain why the selkie participated in the fight for their life. I did not see any other creatures. Did you?” Chat answers her question because that’s what they always do. Drista asks a question, and they always answer, even if that answer is that they do not have the information or they do not wish to share it.

“Thank you,” Drista murmurs, tucking her head into their shoulder to hide her tears. Chat does respond, only sits there compliantly as Drista releases her pent-up emotions that have been hiding away inside her since the moment of her first birth in the world before this one.

Chapter Text

The air is naturally warm in Essempei, a consequence of being both near the sea and relatively close to the equator of this world. Additionally, the nation chose the sun god as their patron deity because the celestial body is almost always sitting pretty in a cloudless sky. Of course, this latter fact is due to ley lines rather than any natural phenomena. These ley lines can be tapped into by mages who use EXP to perform their spells, but there are certain objects like crystals that can tap into the ley lines to produce a variety of effects. The obelisks sitting at the edges of the royal property with a solar crystal resting on the top are such creations that keep everything within their bounded field, otherwise known as the royal palace, in a temperate climate. It was made a long time ago, according to the butler who showed Drista and her siblings around one of their first days at the palace.

Drista cannot see any of these obelisks, but she does feel the pull of them all around her. If she were a mage, she would probably sense the obelisks as more oppressive, but her style of spellcasting keeps her safe from competing with the stones harboring the power of the ley lines, even if everyone assures Drista that are powered by the divine abilities of sun clerics. Drista doesn’t argue since she knows she is one of the only people to feel the pull of the obelisks and the ley lines in the royal palace. Perhaps one of the few in the entirety of Essempei, ignoring the Fae in Elfame for a moment.

As the book in Drista’s lap would suggest, magic was against the royal laws for a long time. This prejudice against magic is one of the main reasons Kinoko even exists. The laws against magic have gradually been removed over the years, but that only means the royal courts will no longer punish spellcasters. The practice of magic is heavily frowned upon, and it could cost people business and marriage prospects for having even a little talent in any of the many mystical arts, save for clerics borrowing the power of the gods. If she wasn’t a princess, Drista knows she would be ridiculed for her use of magic, even if she’s using a form that has all but disappeared in the modern era.

Drista blows a breath out of her nose. She looks up from the book she has been lightly reading only because her tutor gave it to her as homework. The contents are beginning to bore Drista, and the day is too pleasant to be learning the laws of her homeland from a dusty tome. Drista doesn’t carry too many of the same beliefs from her last to this one, but she knows for a fact that she’ll hate homework no matter if it’s in a world with technology or a world with magic.

There is also a matter of this book reminding Drista too much of her former teacher. Drista can hardly keep her eyes glued to the page. The irrational fear that Iris is looking over her shoulder consumes her. Drista has looked over her shoulder several times, but all she finds is the royal palace rising over the flowered hedges Drista is leaning against. Drista can’t see or hear anyone. This wouldn’t mean much since Iris can hide her presence with the same effectiveness as an assassin, but Drista knows that Iris cannot hide that the air gradually turns colder when she’s around. Drista hasn’t felt any shiver down her spine, only the heat of the sun caressing her back instead of beating down on it as it would if Drista were outside the bounded field.

Drista turns her attention back to the area in front of her. In a patch of grass that surrounds a massive, beautiful tree, Dream has taken to carrying out his own homework. Unlike Drista, who has to learn from books half her body weight, Dream is practicing swordplay. He has not graduated above a wooden imitation, but he is picking up the movements of his teacher exceptionally well. He moves as fluidly as the wind, so while he doesn’t strike particularly hard, he gets so many hits that it all amounts to the same damage.

Despite his grace, however, Dream falls several times during his training regime. He gets back up from his knees every time with more spirit than before, but Drista knows that he is going to have bruises by the end of the day. Dream falls again this time, landing roughly against the manicured grass. His wooden sword falls from his grip, flipping over a few times before friction brings it to a standstill. Dream rises to his feet, picking up the sword as he balances himself.

Instead of continuing with his training, Dream walks over to Drista by the hedges. Without a word, he flops down onto the ground. He lets go of his wooden sword, letting it fall onto the ground beside him. He closes his eyes. While he is covered in sweat, his breathing is infuriating even. Drista sometimes wishes that she and Dream could change glamour, but that is only a hollow wish. Drista sees too much value in crafting illusions than she does in speaking with the wind and being immune to her lungs feeling like they’ll explode. Still, it would be nice if the wind was kind to her, too.

“This is so terrible! My instructor is working me too hard! It’s not my fault I’ve started later than my peers,” Dream complains. He throws his arm upward over his back to gain enough momentum to flip him over. He lands even closer to Drista, staring right up at her. He wears his mask, hiding his facial expression from her. Despite this, Drista is certain that she knows exactly what kind of face her brother is sporting underneath the porcelain protection.

“Quit whining like a baby,” Drista laughs at him, pressing a finger against his chest to punctuate her words.

“I’m not a baby!” Dream declares, grabbing onto her wrist to keep her from poking him. Drista yanks her arm out of Dream’s grip. She glares down at him, continuing to smile as she calls him a baby once more. Dream pokes Drista’s forehead, continuing their squabbling and poking for several moments longer. Their words devolve from factual arguments to insults without any weight, and while Drista wants to retain a glaring expression, she can’t bring down the corners of her lips.

When they take a break from their fighting (a draw, unfortunately), Drista is forced to look back at her book since she no longer has Dream’s practice as a distraction. The page Drista finds herself on is one about the Fair Laws, the collective name of any law about the Fae. Drista understands the laws about not interfering or trespassing in Elfame. She is less inclined to understand the law that gives anyone the right to kill a Fae should they see one outside of Elfame, or even the light punishment given to those who kill any Fae on the border between Elfame and the few territories that touch it.

There is a picture on this page. There are sometimes drawings in these books, documenting the images that the royal family showed the commoners that couldn’t read to explain the laws. This picture shows an everyman, a simple farmer, killing a Fae with a pitchfork. It is more propaganda than informative, but Drista’s eyes linger on the image. No one likes seeing their race being slaughtered so mercilessly, even if Drista is only a halfling. Drista traces the face of the Fae in the image. They wear a devilish look, like a ghoul being exorcized. There is anger in the expression, but no fear, because Fae are incapable of fear. Drista doesn’t know if that fact is true. She doesn’t know many facts about the Fae even if she can recall Ranboo’s experiences in Elfame.

All Drista knows about the Fae is what other people have told her. Even in the cases of Ranboo and Chat, they only knew what they could observe or what questions they were willing to ask. Despite having silver and red blood inside of her, Drista doesn’t know that much more about the Fae than anyone else. Drista knows that she should be learning about this part of herself from someone else.

“Do you want to meet our father?” Drista whispers to Dream. She should look around to see if anyone overheard her, but her eyes are glued on the angered expression of the Fae in her book. She can only whisper to mask her line of questioning, but it isn’t nearly enough. Her tutors warned Drista that even the stones of the palace have ears. Drista should take more measures, but she doesn’t care if anyone else hears. She only cares enough to whisper, but then again, she could be whispering because of the sanctity of the question.

Dream hums thoughtfully instead of answering right away. Drista’s heart swelled with happiness at the thought that someone would listen and think about what she had to say. Iris did that, too, but Drista tries not to associate positive emotions with that woman. She sticks with being happy that the brother she was arguing with a couple of minutes ago thinks about what she asks instead of brushing her off or giving a simple answer.

“Not often… but sometimes… sometimes, I wonder about him. I try to imagine what he looked like… what parts of him are in me, and what parts of him are in you, or if we got something from further up this weird family tree,” Dream admits, and he pulls at his mask to reveal his eyes. He stares directly into Drista’s eyes, showing off the conflicting emotions in his neon green irises. “But if meeting our father would make Mama unhappy, I would rather our father drop dead.”

“You’re right,” Drista snorts as she agrees with him for the first time today. Drista looks down at her hand, imagining the silver blood that runs through her veins. Dream’s thoughts filter into her mind. What traits of her came from her father? “I wonder what kind of Fae he was.”

“A water-type, no doubt. Mama wouldn’t have been interested in anything else,” Dream chuckles, fixing the mask on his face to cover his expression. Drista stares side-long at him, trying to decide if he’s joking or if he legitimately believes that. For one thing, neither Dream nor Drista have an affinity for water. Dream’s affinity is for wind, and if they were to think about this like the elemental courts, Drista technically has an affinity for wind, too, just in the sense that wind relates to the mind and stealth, her illusions. If their father was anything, he would have been an air-type, perhaps a creature that could fly. For another thing… Drista winces as she thinks about it.

“I don’t think Mama knew who our father was… Nether, there’s a chance we had different fathers,” Drista notes out loud. Drista has been curious about that for a long time. Everyone tells her that she’s a halfling, and certainly, she has the glamour to back it up, but that doesn’t mean she’s Dream’s full-blooded sister. There is a chance that people mistook Chat for a Fae, but she doesn’t think that they would have done something so awful to Puffy just to grant Drista’s wish. But did Chat manipulate Dream’s father to go back for Puffy a second time? Drista winces, deciding not to go down this rabbit hole. She’ll wait for the day Puffy is ready to tell them if that day ever comes. Drista doesn’t mind if it never does. Regardless of blood, she is Puffy’s daughter. She is Dream and Foolish’s little sister.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” Dream verbally says, something soft and sad in his voice that makes Drista feel horrible for even mentioning that they could have separate fathers. Drista reaches her hand out. It takes a moment for Dream to notice it, and he takes it immediately. He squeezes as they interlock their fingers. Drista stares at her brother, comparing her dirty blonde hair to his. Neither of them looks particularly like Puffy, but they do look like each other, so Drista is going to continue to believe that they share a father. Even if they don’t, it doesn’t matter to Drista. Dream is her brother, plain and simple. There isn’t anything more to it, nothing worth thinking about after all is said and done.

They quietly sit together. Dream continues squeezing Drista’s hand, but it is starting to feel more like a pattern. Drista doesn’t understand it. She doesn’t think it’s Morse code, and she and Dream have never made a secret language. Drista discusses the merits of doing so in her head.

Drista hears someone approaching them. She looks over her shoulder. She watches Foolish put his hands on the fence in the middle of the hedges even though the entrance is a few feet away from them. Foolish vaults over the fence. He lands in the grass on the other side of Drista from Dream. Foolish balances easily, kneeling on the grass. He fixes the totem-like mask on his face as he plops down. “What are we talking about?”

Foolish’s voice is so filled with happiness that Drista can only look away. The words she just spoke taste like acid on her tongue, and the urge to lie is prevalent despite her inability to do so. Dream must be facing the same dilemma because he is squeezing Drista’s hand with more intensity, using his other hand to dig into the grass and soil. Foolish leans in close, settling his chin on Drista’s shoulder. Foolish’s hand comes up to touch the image of the Fae and the farmer. Drista wants to slam the book closed, but Foolish doesn’t lift his hand as he answers his own question, “Ah, I have a sinking suspicion I already know.”

“We aren’t really that interested. We were just thinking out loud,” Drista quickly inputs before Foolish draws any conclusions.

Foolish sits up. He wraps an arm around Drista, pulling her into his chest. His hand slides down to set it on top of Drista and Dream’s intertwined fingers. Foolish’s voice isn’t as happy as it was a few moments ago, but there is a quality of contentment there. “No, it’s alright. Sometimes I think about my parentage, too. I mean, objectively, I know my father would try to kill and eat me if we were to meet, but I would at least like to know the face of the man I hate.”

“Exactly! Our father was a monster who tricked Mama!” Dream’s words imply that he’s talking to Drista, but his attention seems to be captivated by Foolish. Drista remains silent between them. She doesn’t deny their words because she knows that both of their fathers are horrible individuals who hurt Puffy, but Drista has a hard time reconciling her hatred for the idea of her father with the little girl who longs for one inside of her. It’s hard to hate the reason she and her brothers exist, after all, even the circumstances were disgusting.

Their interaction is interrupted by an approaching commotion. Drista can barely see it over the arm Foolish has wrapped around her, but she sees the heads of a few men walking on the stone path on the other side of the hedge. Most of the individuals are dressed in white guard uniforms with silver accents, different from the green and gold royal guards wear. The man at the center of the group still wears white and silver, but it is designed like the formal wear of a noble. His black hair is pulled back into a low ponytail with a silver ribbon, and his gray irises are sharp despite the wrinkles starting to form around his eyes. The man is talking dramatically with his guards, but his words fall silent when he realizes that there are three pairs of additional eyes on him.

Caught, Foolish helps his siblings onto their feet. He carefully pats their garments to get rid of the grass stains, but he does this carefully. The noble doesn’t seem to realize as he puts one hand on his chest, dipping forward into a bow. “Salutations, I am Ernesto, Commander of the Tapio Province. I assume that you are the children of Her Royal Highness, the Crown Princess Puffy.”

“We are,” Foolish answers. He stands between Drista and Dream, one hand on each of their backs to lightly grip their upper arms. Although he is a half-step behind both of them, Drista has little doubt that he would get right in front of them to protect them.

Ernesto, one of the Ten Commanders that Drista knows are politically corrupt, smiles. He leans back upward to talk down to the children. “It is a pleasure to meet the grandchildren of Her Majesty, Queen Thetis. If I had known we would be meeting like this, I would have prepared a gift of some quality and entertainment value.”

“We are fine without receiving a gift,” Foolish assures the commander.

Ernesto laughs, letting his entire body shake with his amusement. His eyes fall shut, but when they open, there is a new light in them that makes Drista shiver. Ernesto’s smile widens but also sharpens. “The future successor of the Daystar Throne should be a little more greedy. If not for yourself, then for your adorable siblings. Do not worry, children, I will still bring you a grand gift the next time we meet, if only to set the standard for the other commanders. I hope you will forgive me for dismissing myself, but there are some matters I must attend to under the queen’s orders.”

Ernesto walks away, taking his guards with him. Once he is out of earshot, Dream murmurs, “That man is weird.”

Foolish snorts. Drista rolls her eyes, responding with, “I suppose even a broken clock is right twice a day.”

With Foolish pushing them forward, Drista and Dream start walking out of the corner they reserved for themselves with their book and wooden sword in tow. When they are on the stone path that will lead them back to the palace, Drista hears the exact moment Dream understands what she said. She also sees him lift his wooden sword from the corner of her eyes. She raises the book to defend herself from his deliberately slow and weak strikes. She giggles as they play-fight, and Dream eventually stops thinking about this activity as revenge and now as a game. Foolish laughs, alternating his cheers for the both of them.

They only stop when they get to the entrance of the palace. One of Thetis’ advisors stands there with an unimpressed look on his face. He bows to them since his status is lower than theirs, but he doesn’t wait for them to permit him to speak. “Her royal majesty, the queen, requests an audience with her three grandchildren. I will escort Your Highnesses to her royal majesty. Please, follow me.”

The advisor takes Drista’s book and Dream’s wooden sword. He holds them in his arms as if he doesn’t know what either of them is. He turns, stepping across the threshold. With little choice, the three children follow him through the winding halls of their relatively new home. The advisor stops in front of a large pair of doors that lead into a dining hall used exclusively by the royal family. Thetis is seated at the head of the table. She inclines her head towards them, permitting them to sit beside her.

Drista recalls everything she learned from her etiquette lessons as she waits for a servant to pull her chair out for her. Drista arranges her dress as she sits in the chair. The servant pushes her in. With everyone seated, the servants hurry out with the first course of the night. Thetis eats with perfect etiquette, but Drista can’t help but count all the mistakes she’s making in her head as they pass from one course to the next.

Throughout the dinner, Thetis probes each of them about their education. While her first questions do involve their well-being and enjoyment of the classes, she eventually begins quizzing them about information she believes they should already know. Drista doesn’t think they do too terribly overall, but she can’t tell because Thetis does not wear a single emotion in her eyes. While she wears a physical mask, Drista believes the best one the queen has is the one she cultivated for herself.

At the end of the dinner, Thetis gives her verdict. “Your etiquette needs significant work, but as it stands, all three of you are passable. It will have to do. The coronation of my daughter will occur very soon. You three must be prepared for the occasion, so I suggest that you put in even more effort in your classes. As that is all, I will dismiss you. Remember my words, and do not believe that I am above punishing laziness.”

Outside the dining hall, Dream mentions solemnly. “I hate formal dinners.”

“Agreed,” Drista nods.

“I have to do this for the rest of my life,” Foolish complains, remembering that he’s Puffy’s heir.

Dream and Drista hug Foolish as if that will make it better.

“What was up with that commander guy?” Drista asks.

“As you know, Essempei is split into ten provinces. Each province is ruled by a commander. Ernesto is the commander of the Tapio Province. While most provinces deal in agriculture to some extent, this province also handles livestock,” Chat answers. “I would imagine you will have to learn all of this in your classes.”

“Is it really that important?” Drista continues, flopping down on the ground like a child throwing a tantrum. Unlike what that analogy implies, Drista is lying completely still on the ground. She soaks up the coolness of the floor, letting it resonate in the skin she wore in her past life.

“As this is the land that you are the princess over, I would imagine so. There is also a matter of the queen wishing for you to learn all of this. I do not wish to know what her punishments entail considering how removed she seems from humanity,” Chat explains, leaning down onto their knees beside Drista. They always do this when Drista lies on the floor. “While I do not wish to divulge more of my past than necessary for the conversation at hand, I can assure you that I know what it is like to be removed from mortal emotion. While there was someone who taught me emotions, I fear it might be too late for Thetis.”

“There is so much to unpack in that,” Drista notes, realizing that this might be the most Chat has ever revealed about their past other than their name and the fact that they came from an odd species that feeds off of entertainment. “But I’m assuming you would rather teach me more about the commanders rather than your past?”

“There is a reason the past is left behind as we march towards the future,” Chat smiles, but it is a heavy one that makes Drista feel horrible for even bringing it up. “Then, allow me to teach you a little bit about your homeland…”

Chapter Text

The royal gardens are managed by their own government institution composed of botanists, landscapers, and mages. Each plant is carefully taken care of without a single blade of grass or fallen leaf out of place. Additionally, the statues and other decorations included in the garden’s design are also monitored by this department. If something is to the queen’s disliking, it is removed as promptly as it was implemented, usually with a staff member suffering the consequences for not remembering the queen’s preferences. Inversely, if the queen personally requests for something to be added, whether it is a plant or a design element, it is incorporated into the design immediately. It will even influence the preexisting design in order to appease Her Royal Highness.

Drista has come to this garden many times since she came to the palace with her mother and brothers. Although she dares not assume she knows every detail, she is familiar enough with the parts of the garden closest to the palace to know when something has changed. The statue she is standing in front of is also fairly eye-catching, so Drista knows she is not mistaken in assuming that it is new.

In the garden, someone has dug a deep hole. They filled it with clear water and numerous aquatic plant-life. The edges of the hole have been covered in sand and given their own plants. From the center of the puddle, a rocky platform rises above the water-line. Although the platform is given no further design than that of a rough cliff-face, a pristine statue rests on top of the smoothed surface. A creature somewhere between a horse and a sea serpent rears its ugly head, each gossamer of seaweed hair caught in motion. The roving eyes were captured almost perfectly, revealing the insanity that dwells inside a Fae’s eyes.

Drista knows within a second that she’s staring at the kelpie she petrified when Thetis allowed Drista to sink underneath the waves of the royal pond. Drista raises a hand up to her chest. The fabric of her dress is thick, but she can still feel the thundering of her heart. With a single look, Drista feels the smooth hands of the water gripping onto her. She slaps one of her hands against her neck and shoulder, almost certain that something was grabbing her there. Drista feels nothing, but it doesn’t completely remove the fear that swirls inside her stomach alongside the illusory pond water. If not for the sun falling across her dirty blonde hair, Drista would have been certain that she was still moving towards the depths against her will.

Drista takes a deep breath, almost surprised that her lungs accept the warm air so well. She can smell the flora all around her on the wind, and it washes away the panic that threatens her as fatally as the memories did. Drista finds herself wearing a half-smile, but there is absolutely no touch of amusement on her youthful face. If the mask were to be removed, one would notice how she looks down upon the newest statue in the gardens.

Drista remembers the moments after she was saved. On the dock, the queen told her servants to retrieve the statue. Drista didn’t think much of the words when they were spoken. She was too scared and too cold to ask why a queen would want the statue. Even if Drista spent her time mulling it over, she would never have suspected Thetis would be so cruel as to put the statue up in her personal gardens, in a place she must know Drista frequents. Thetis wanted Drista to see this, and Drista has more than a few ideas why that would be.

“Drista!” A voice calls. Drista tears away from the statue. She looks over to find her mother walking towards her. Although Puffy will always look the best in a deep red captain’s coat, Drista can’t find any fault in the way her mother moves in a flowing gown. Puffy walks with a determined stride, unbothered by the heels that give her a few more inches of height. Even without them, Puffy has this way of standing tall that makes people believe she really is larger than life. There is a quality about confidence that seems to enhance a person’s physicality in pleasing ways to other eyes.

With the ram mask on her face, Drista cannot see her mother’s face. She can, however, see Puffy’s eyes, and that is all Drista needs. She has spent long enough pondering Puffy’s expressions to come to a few conclusions about what each one means. The one she wears now is full of positivity. There is such a profound adoration perpetually living in the brown irises that it never fails to take Drista’s breath away. Compared to how the pond took her breath away, this is a good thing. Drista needs the disbelief of someone loving her so much to throttle her like an angry traitor.

Puffy reaches Drista. She leans down, her skirt spilling out around her like the petals of a blooming flower. Drista reaches a gloved hand up to touch the strip of skin on Drista’s cheek underneath her mask. It is a gentle touch, and it continues to be that way as it slides up to push a lock of Drista’s hair behind her ear. Puffy’s hand drops downward, landing lightly on Drista’s shoulder like a leaf descending on a lake’s calm surface. Puffy’s attention slides away from Drista like the lazy, lapping waves of that lake, and Drista sees a cresting wave the moment Puffy’s eyes land on the statue.

Puffy does not know where the statue came from because Drista elected to omit the part of her almost drowning. Although it was a lie (as omission is the only lies halflings like Drista can tell), it was one Drista is thankful for as she watches Puffy’s eyes seize with trembling anger. While the origins are obscure, Puffy can see the statue for what it is: a thrashing, wild Fae creature presented like a trophy of war and conquest. It is a blight against Drista and Dream’s heritage because no matter how much royal blood flows through them, there is just as much silver blood.

“I will tear it down immediately,” Puffy tells Drista with such ferocity in her voice that Drista understands where Puffy’s title, the Fierce, came from. Puffy rises to her feet. She pats her side for her sword. Finding nothing but lace, Puffy raises a hand toward a nearby chevalier. The man looks around questioningly, unsure what to do even when Puffy begins glaring at him.

Partially to save the poor chevalier, Drista grabs her mother’s skirt to direct Puffy’s attention onto her. Immediately, Puffy’s eyes soften when looking at Drista. Slowly, her hand drops down so that she might use both of them to hold onto Drista. Puffy secures Drista close to her as if the statue were a real kelpie thirsting for blood. Drista is once again thankful that she did not tell Puffy the truth.

“I would prefer if you left it as it is, Mama,” Drista responds. She turns her attention back to the statue. Puffy’s arms around Drista keep her warm, enough that she no longer descends into memories. She instead recognizes the statue for what it is. Thetis put this statue here as a message to her royal court. It is by Thetis’ will that they die. It is by her mercy that they live. It is by her grace that Fae creatures, even halflings like Drista, are allowed anywhere near the palace.

More than that, however, this statue carries a weight Thetis will never know about. It reminds Drista that her life is at risk no matter where she is or who she is with. It reminds Drista that she faces both human and Fae enemies that will not hesitate to sacrifice her to satisfy their curiosity or sate their hunger. But it also reminds Drista of how powerful she is. She survived. More than that, she used the power of Mystery to survive. While it might have been Iris’ favored execution method, Drista cannot let her emotions stop her from doing what needs to be done to preserve her life. If Drista wants to be strong enough to protect the life Chat has given her, and to destroy destiny, whatever that means, Drista will have to keep heading down this path. She will have to keep Thetis entertained. She will have to cut down anyone that gets in her way, human or Fae or any other species.

“If you want it to keep standing, I won’t touch it,” Puffy promises without sounding the least bit happy about it. Puffy inhales deeply. She casts a final glare upon the statue, no doubt placing a curse upon it with her stare alone. Puffy stands on her feet, taking one of Drista’s hands. Puffy leans down to keep Drista’s arm from straining as they head back into the palace. The chevalier that unintentionally refused Puffy’s unspoken orders hurriedly steps out of their way, not escaping Puffy’s wrath but escaping her punishment. Once they pass the terrified chevalier, Puffy looks down at Drista and asks, “How was your day, my dragonfly?”

“It was a good day, Mama. My tutors are telling me that I’m impressive,” Drista explains, not saying that they usually add that she’s impressive for a halfling. Drista doesn’t care how lowly they think of her birth. Drista can bear their disgust if it means she can continue learning. There is so much about this world that her teachers are willing to explain at length, not understanding or refusing to understand that Drista’s mind is far greater than any child they have taught before. If not for the fact that a teenager exists within Drista’s body (or it would have been a young adult at this point), she would have been a child genius. “I am learning about Essempei’s legal system.”

“You have to tell me if it becomes too overbearing,” Puffy squeezes Drista’s hand reassuringly. For a normal child, the amount of work Drista has to do would be overbearing. Her instructors are trying to squeeze a couple of years worth of lessons and training within a short time period for the sake of appeasing their queen. Luckily, Drista sees more benefit than detriment in the way her schedule is being organized. Drista is going to prove to Thetis that it is better for Drista to remain alive, if only to buy Drista enough time to acquire enough power to displace the current queen.

“I promise,” Drista swears. If it does actually get overbearing for her, Puffy will be the first person Drista complains to. As the crown princess, Puffy has a considerable amount of power, enough to oppose the queen. Additionally, Puffy bargained for the rights to change her children’s schedules as she saw fit, though Drista doesn’t want to know what Puffy traded for that right. Unsurprisingly, a nation partially populated by Fae is very serious about their deal-making. “How was your day, Mama?”

“I suppose it was also good. A bit long, though. I have been practicing for the coronation. There is a long speech Mama must memorize,” Puffy laughs tiredly. She reaches her other hand up to scratch her chin underneath her ram mask. As they step into the palace’s hallway, the candlelight flickers across the golden accents of the mask, attracting Drista’s attention to it. 

As part of her lessons, Drista has learned more about the sun god and moon goddess, if only because the religion is intimately connected with society. In most records, the sun god and moon goddess are related to some capacity, though it is usually siblings and the royal court proclaims they are siblings. The royal doctrine also dictates that the celestial siblings came from deep space in chariots pulled by golden rams and silver steeds, respectively. They chose to protect the continent, but only the ancestors of Essempei chose to worship the gods. Because of their devotion, the siblings blessed Essempei. Drista hasn’t gotten far enough in her lessons to know why the sun god is worshiped far more and in a greater capacity than his divine sister.

“Are you ready?” Drista asks softly. Puffy came back to the palace to acquire resources to save her children. Although Puffy assured her kids that she would have made a deal with anything to save them, Drista continues to feel guilt for dragging Puffy back to this gilded cage.

“I will be,” Puffy swears, squeezing Drista’s hand once more. She sighs briefly, looking forward with an intense light rising in her eyes. “I have realized in my time that despite running away from the crowd, I need to be the one to take it for the good of Essempei. There is much I want to change and implement that my mother would deem heresy.”

Puffy leans down. She picks Drista up, swinging the girl around before nestling her against Puffy’s chest. Puffy puts a hand on Drista’s cheeks, cupping both the skin and the mask as she says, “For now, I want you and your brothers to grow up happy and healthy.”

“I’ll try my best,” Drista responds, closing her eyes as she smiles.

Puffy smiles. She starts to lift the mask off of Drista’s mask. Drista allows this to happen, realizing only when she notices her mother’s widening eyes and downward lips why she should have kept the mask on. Puffy rubs her thumb underneath Drista’s eyes with a steady frown. “Have you been sleeping alright?”

Drista refrains from answering. Drista hasn’t been sleeping at all. Nothing more than a few restless hours every night. Drista could blame the enormous amount of homework she has, but that would only be an excuse. The homework isn’t the reason Drista isn’t sleeping. Drista is just getting her homework done because she can’t sleep. There is something else that keeps Drista awake long into the night with only the moon goddess to keep her company, but Drista doesn’t know what it could be. Fear? Paranoia? Guilt? Grief? Whatever it is, Drista can feel the weight of it in her chest, even if she’s growing convinced it isn’t an emotion but rather a thought pattern.

“Come on,” Puffy murmurs as if Drista wasn’t currently in her arms and subject to her whims. Puffy leans forward, putting her chin on Drista’s head. In the pocket of warmth, Drista finds comfort. She closes her eyes, letting her mother carry her anywhere she wants to. Drista smiles slightly at the thought. If only her past life could see her now. What would that former Drista think of all of this?

Puffy brings Drista to her chambers. Drista doesn’t get a second to examine her mother’s room when she’s deposited onto a giant bed with a soft comforter. Puffy pulls off Drista’s shoes, gloves, and mask, setting them aside somewhere. Puffy swiftly does the same for herself in order to get more comfortable, letting Drista see her mother’s complete face. Puffy brings a small blanket up to wrap around Drista and closes the curtain around the bed to prevent light from infiltrating the small area. Puffy flops down on the bed beside Drista. She pulls her daughter closer to her. Drista bundles closer into the blanket, tucking herself close to Puffy’s chest. Between the warmth and the darkness, anyone else would fall asleep.

And sure, Puffy falls asleep, her soft snores filling the room. Drista can’t even get her eyes to close. She waits in the darkness for her exhaustion to turn into sleepiness, but it remains as stagnant as an unmoving puddle of dirt and grime. Drista tries moving around, getting into new positions to find the perfect place. All this serves to do is bring Drista further away from her mother and no closer to sleep.

In her frustration, Drista sits up. She sighs, letting the noise spread out across the room like a mist. Drista feels the tug of her glamour. She glances over at Puffy. With only a little bit of hesitation, Drista reaches a hand out. Her fingers brush against Puffy’s forehead. The glamour connects, and an illusion inks to life all around Drista, brought to life by her powers and whatever dream is playing behind Puffy’s eyelids.

A festival is held in a forest. There are will-o’-the-wisps hanging in the air and illuminating the space in pale blue and white. Creatures of all shapes and sizes move around the space, most of them dancing. This includes a young woman with pale white hair and curling horns in her head. She dances among the satyrs, hooting and hollering alongside them as she spins as endlessly as the wind. Although she wears a simple cotton dress made for commoners, the smile on her face is more beautiful than all the gems in the world. After a moment, the woman trips over her feet. Before she can hit the ground, someone reaches out for her. The man wears a cloak of leaves with a velvet hat over his dirty blonde hair and a bird-like green mask over his face. His outfit is layered with shades of green and white, a few touches of black, but it melds exceptionally well with the faded red the woman he is holding wears. He looks surprised as he continues to keep her suspended above the ground. All she does is giggle and thank him. As he lifts her back to her feet, she grabs his other hand. She forces him to dance alongside her, and through no intention of their own, they become the centerpiece of the festival dancing grounds.

The illusion shatters as Puffy makes a wakeful noise. Her eyes blink open slowly. When she notices Drista’s wide eyes, Puffy moves to sit up on her elbows. She reaches one hand to touch Drista’s cheek, though her touch is only for comfort and does not bring Drista’s thoughts to life as illusions. Puffy frowns with concern. “Why aren’t you sleeping?”

“I have trouble sleeping,” Drista admits plainly, but there is something weighted in her voice that almost sounds like tears. Puffy’s eyes widen and her lips part, but she says nothing as she reaches for Drista. Puffy pulls the girl into her lap, smoothing out the hair on top of her head. Puffy brings Drista to her chest, and she starts rocking Drista like she did several times at the cabin on the Faction Isle or in the cabins of the Argo.

Someone knocks on the door and lets themself in. Puffy frowns until she notices the masked face of Callum. The pirate stands near the center of the room. He puts a hand over his chest. He bows to Puffy and says, “Glory to her highness, Princess Puffy the Fierce. May the daystar shine on the verdant motherland.”

“Did you just call me ‘her highness’? Oh, dear, they’ve corrupted you, my friend,” Puffy chuckles, the sound rumbling in her chest. It comforts Drista as she starts to feel the tug of sleep wrap around her like a blanket.

“Some pirates were caught while traveling inland. I am doing my best to smooth things over, your highness. Additionally, another one of the experimented individuals had died as they were unable to complete the bond with their object,” Callum’s somber news dismantles Puffy’s levity in one fell swoop.

“Do you have any good news for me?” Puffy quietly asks.

Callum hesitates for a moment. He reaches up to touch the corners of his mask, and Drista only realizes in her half-muddled state that the mask is new. While still fox-like in appearance, the finer details have been changed. This mask conforms to Callum’s face better, too. “I have completed the bond with my mask.”

“Congratulations!” Puffy cheers, genuine happiness in her voice.

Callum laughs, the noise torn between light and heavy emotions. “I never imagined the mask I wore in remembrance would one day become musical.”

“I believe memories are what makes magic possible,” Puffy notes forlornly. She shakes her head. “Might I have the same as the deceased?”

“Yes, your highness. It was A–”

Drista is walking through the halls with Chat. They are worried Drista will wander off, but Drista understands how dangerous this place is. She doesn’t want to peek into any of these rooms unless Chat gives her the clear, if only for her own sanity. She’s just happy to be exploring the halls of this elaborate complex.

“What were those objects Callum was referring to?” Drista asks, deciding to change the subject.

“Iris brought in objects from beyond the threshold of this world. These objects will drive most people insane, but those that do survive often get fantastical powers in return. The sword your mother carries and the mask Callum wears are both objects such as these,” Chat explains slowly. “Iris must be building an army.”

“Why?”

“I am not certain, but I believe it is because Iris has grown disillusioned with this world,” Chat seems sad as they softly speak. “Insanity is only one path that comes from otherworldly knowledge. The other is nihilism. Some people are willing to end everything instead of waiting impatiently for that inevitable conclusion.”

Drista’s entire body fills with sympathy for Iris, and she hates herself for it.

Chapter Text

The auditorium is one of the largest rooms in the palace, if not the largest of them all. The floor is made with deep red and emerald green marble decorated like a flower or a sun shining across the dull blue marble around the corners. Several rows of pews stand on the floor. The walls are replaced with terraces that rise upward to the glass dome roof that resembles the pattern on the floor except that it is made with yellows, oranges, and peridot green. The terraces each have several balconies made from different colors of velvet and precious metals that denote the status of the individual seated in the balconies. The one right above the grand hallway that forms the one entrance and exit of the room is reserved especially for the royal family as it has the best view of the throne on the other side of the room. Unlike regular thrones, this one is made from a metal that resembles pure light and adorned with red and orange precious stones that pulsate faintly with power, none more powerful than the golden emblem of the sun god balanced on the back of the throne. It is more commonly known as the Daystar Throne, the physical embodiment of the legacy of the royal family. The window behind the Daystar Throne shows the sun god and the moon goddess blessing a humanoid figure praying before a large tree— the Viridian Sylva, the tree that allows Essempei to remain an independent nation.

Drista wears a dress as green as the leaves of the Viridian Sylva. The dress’s skirt flows down to her ankles, and there are many ribbons tied around her waist to create a vine-like pattern. It is made from the finest material, soft and sparkling like the sunlight reflecting off the dew on the blades of healthy grass. It matches well with her white and green mask, highlighting her Fae eyes. Her maids put Drista’s hair into an elaborate updo, trying to hide the years that Drista was unable to properly take care of her hair. After a few weeks, it has grown silkier, but it will take a lot of time and effort to wash Drista’s past off her body. Because those remnants are still on Drista, she has to wear a pair of pure white gloves. On top of her head, however, is a golden circlet that proves she is a part of the royal family. No one would be able to disrespect her when she’s wearing this, not even for the unsightly components of her appearance.

Drista fidgets with her fingers self-consciously as she sits on the smallest throne on the balcony reserved for the royal family. Although the other balconies and the ground floor are swarming with guests, filled with nobles and merchants and even pirates from the guilds, Drista is currently alone on the balcony. The guards told her that her brothers would join her soon, but time was stretching on underneath Drista’s careful gaze. Her nervousness keeps building, and she’s terrified that she’s going to vomit all over herself. She needs to remain calm if she wants to prove that she should be respected, but she would rather face the gazes that are thrown up on the balcony with her elder brothers at her side.

Drista hears the door open behind her, not from the creaking of the hinges but from the swishing of air. She turns her head over her shoulder, a smile pulling on her lips as she looks at her brothers…

… Except, that isn’t either of her brothers. The person who walks into the balcony is a man. His cheeks linger with youth, but his ruby-red eyes are dulled with countless years of study. He has long, raven-black hair, glossy but knotted. He wears a black robe with red accents. The material is luxurious, but the design is simple. It is meant for a noble to wear in their own home, not for someone to wear when they are greeting the princess, even if Drista’s position is unstable at the moment. The robe is also undone in some places, which isn’t exactly appropriate for a child to look at even if nothing explicit is being shown. Rather, Drista supposes that a stranger shouldn’t be looking at this, either.

The man rubs the back of his throat, sighing as he looks around. He stops suddenly when he meets Drista’s eyes. His exhausted, bored expression morphs gradually into very slight confusion. He lowers his hand from his neck slowly, bringing it across his chest to cross both of his arms. He is wearing a pair of black gloves, Drista notices, but there is a red thread creating an odd symbol on the back, similar to a magical glyph. The man tilts his head to the side, “You aren’t Thetis.”

Drista startles. This man didn’t use any honorifics when talking about the current queen. Even if she’s giving her crown to her daughter today, Thetis still holds one of the highest ranks in the entire kingdom. Drista doubts that this man could outrank the queen enough to forgo her proper titles. She knows that he isn’t one of the Ten Commanders since she studied them in her class and with Chat, and those nobles are the only ones Drista would ever consider able to speak lightly about the queen. This man is a stranger with little respect for the royal family, and that makes him dangerous even if the guards let him through the front door. Drista grabs onto the edge of her glove, ready to pull it off at a moment’s notice as she says, “I can assure you that I am not Her Majesty.”

The man hums noncommittally. He closes the door behind him. Drista hurries to pull her glove off as the man sits precariously on the arm of the Foolish’s chair right beside Drista. The man leans forward, staring intently at Drista. Her glove is half-off when her body goes completely still against her will. Drista bites the inside of her cheek, focusing on the pain rather than the fear. She tries pulling and pushing at her limbs. The man seems unconcerned. Even though his stare is the one that keeps Drista from moving, his eyes don’t sine with hostility. Only interest and that same emotion appears in his voice as he speaks, “You have Fae eyes which means you’re Drista, the granddaughter Thetis mentioned.”

“Since you know my name, it is only right that you tell me yours,” Drista murmurs, forcing the words out even though a pain spreads from her voice box to her lungs. Drista fears that she might lose consciousness from lack of oxygen. 

Thankfully, the man throws his head back to laugh. Drista takes in a deep breath when those red eyes are no longer pressuring her. The man looks back at her when he stops laughing, but his stare is too light to do anything to Drista. He just leans his entire body to the side as he leans back slightly, barely remaining upright on the chair’s arm. “I will admit that I thought Fae creatures were a bit more bashful when they’re outed. They, at least, stop asking for someone’s True Name.”

Drista glares at him. Drista inherited illusory glamour and the inability to blatantly lie, but she isn’t able to take anyone’s True Name like a purebred Fae. She hears everyone’s names like a regular human would. She doesn’t have the power to control anyone she knows the True Name of. Dream doesn’t seem to have inherited this ability, either. Disregarding the fact that they have human blood inside of them, the Fae would reject them for this one impurity alone. Drista blows a breath out of her nose, “Fine. If you do not trust me, give me any name you desire to be called.”

“Waglington,” The man says, pointing at himself with a slow smile spreading across his face.

“That is a terrible name,” Drista notes to herself.

Waglington laughs as he nods. “The nicknames were even more atrocious.” As his laughter pittars out, he huffs. “But hey, we all have at least one bad nickname. You, for instance, have the nickname of Iris’s apprentice.”

“How do you know about that?” Drista demands, shuddering at the name of the woman who kept her hidden away on an island for an entire year. What little sleep Drista manages to get is plagued by nightmares about Iris no matter how hard she tries to push the memories of that year away.

“There are very few people who can use petrification, and none generate a stone of the same cut as Iris and her mystics. Thetis showed me the statue in the garden, and I knew immediately what backing you had,” Waglington explains, looking away from Drista into the distance where the gardens supposedly are. Drista glances that way, but all she can see is the radiant smiles of the sun god and moon goddess in the stained glass window. When Drista looks back, Waglington is staring at her harshly again. Drista gulps, but she continues to have autonomy over her body. “I was able to narrow down that you were her apprentice, however, because you have something special about you that Iris would have been interested in. It’s something all scholars want and all magicians need. It is an attribute that very few people have, not just in this world but in others, too.”

“What do you want?” Drista whispers, narrowing her eyes at Waglington’s neutral expression. He is hiding something in the depths of his eyes. Drista doesn’t know what it is, but she feels like she’s seen it before.

“It isn’t about what I want. Thetis wants me to teach you magic. I wasn’t going to no matter what my owner said, but I see the same potential in you that Iris must have seen. Of course, I would prefer you to use your abilities for good and not total annihilation. Honestly, though, I don’t care what you do with your talents. I just want you to be strong enough to be free. A tough thing to be, but I’ll do my best to turn you into a proper magician,” Waglington says. He snaps his fingers. In a flurry of darkness, he disappears. In his place, Foolish and Dream stand with a confused and dizzy expression on their faces.

“Where—”

“Shhh… The coronation is starting,” Drista tells them, putting a finger over her lips. She doesn’t want to tell them about Waglington because that would involve a lot of subjects that her brothers are not prepared to understand yet. Thankfully, they have learned in their classes not to go against tradition, so they hurry to their seats as the coronation of Crown Princess Puffy the Fierce, their mother starts. Drista only knows that it does because the music starts to echo across the entire hall. The nobles on the lower levels and the balconies stand up. The children are allowed to keep their seats because of their position, and Drista is glad because she would have fallen to her knees with awe.

Puffy enters from the hallway underneath them. She is wearing a long green dress with a white cloak over her shoulders. She is adored with silver bracelets and a golden necklace, all of them pale in comparison to the heavy green stone settled between her collarbones over her heart. Her white hair has been laid across her back, flowing and curling like snow spinning in the wind, with gossamer silver strands interwoven through to make her hair shine in the candlelight. She wears a golden ram mask on her face, presenting her warm but determined brown eyes that stare unflinchingly at the light of the Daystar Throne.

When Puffy gets to the foot of the Daystar Throne, she leans down in front of it. Wearing a black dress and dark blue gemstones, Thetis stands right in front of Puffy. She carefully sets a scepter in one of Puffy’s hands and Amalthea, Puffy’s sword, in the other hand. Puffy keeps her head bowed as Thetis addresses the crowd. “People of Essempei, we gather together underneath the holy light of the Daystar Throne to witness the passing of the crown from one generation to the next, from Thetis the Ruthless to Puffy the Fierce.”

Thetis looks down at her daughter. Puffy is finally able to look up. Thetis’s face remains impassive as she goes through the long oath that Puffy must make her own. The entirety of the kingdom will be placed in Puffy’s hands. Her ambition will become Essempei’s destiny. Her strength will become Essempei’s sword. Her resolve will become Essempei’s shield. In exchange for prestige and riches beyond compare, she will be responsible for every life that dwells within the borders of the verdant lands and the Ecclesia Sea. This is the fate of every ruler who sits on the Daystar Throne, one that will be passed down to Foolish one day.

As soon as Puffy makes the complete oath, Thetis places a crown that matches the materials of the Daystar Throne onto Puffy’s head. As Puffy stands, turning to face the crowd, she raises her scepter and sword high into the air. The auditorium erupts into applause and a new hope for the future resonates in the room, sweeping through everyone’s hearts like a lingering ghost.

Once the ceremony is completed, the entire auditorium empties. The most prestigious families or the ones who have done the most for the kingdom enter a large dining room, almost as big as the auditorium. Everyone is seated based on rank. As the newly crowned queen, Puffy sits at the far end of the room on a raised platform. Thetis sits on her right, still basking in the power that continues to reside with her in the eyes of the nobility. The children were allowed to sit at the royal table on their mother’s left. Although everyone in the room is looking at them, none of the stares are as harsh as Thetis’s as she makes sure they don’t make a single mistake in their etiquette. The royal chevaliers stand behind each member, half-hidden in the shadows, but Waglington stands directly behind Thetis in the light wearing a more put-together outfit. He even dares to wink at Drista, but he remains a vigilant guard for the dowager queen.

Throughout the dinner, the royal family is expected to greet the new queen. They pay their respects to both Puffy and her children. Drista recognizes the Ten Commanders, but all the vassal families are more faceless than Drista would ever admit to her tutors or Thetis. She knows, logically, that she should know all of them. She should know their lineages, where they are in Essempei, their main exports, and what faction they belong to. Drista, however, has not gotten far enough in her studies or memorization. All she knows is which of the Ten Commanders these nobles belong to because of the colors they wear. Each of the Ten Commanders has their own color, after all, and Drista has that memorized.

Drista supposes she would do better at recognizing people if her stomach wasn’t killing her. She eyes the food warily, but she knows that only the finest dishes have been served for such an elaborate party. Drista eats what she has to as the servants switch from one course to the next. The sounds of the party— the music and the chatter and the laughter— are starting to make her head hurt.

Drista looks away from the current noble greeting Puffy with a disingenuous smile. Her eyes scan over all of the tables. She is only giving a cursory glance, but she freezes when she spots someone distinct in the crowd. It is a young boy, perhaps only a year older than her, sitting with his family near the back corner. His appearance is rather plain with brown hair and dark eyes, so Drista cannot be certain that this boy is Freddie, one of Ranboo’s allies in The Ender Prince. It would be easier to tell if the boy was flanked by Beau or if he had his avian traits out, but unfortunately, both are impossible at the moment. Beau should still be in Elfame at the moment, and Freddie hasn’t manifested yet.

Drista looks away from the boy as another pang of pain flashes through her head. She stares at the other nobles as they politely dine and chat with one another. The atmosphere is light, more akin to a festival than a banquet to celebrate the new queen. Despite the subtle pain in her body, Drista finds herself smiling as she notices how a group of noble children are giggling among each other. Although noble children were rarely allowed out before their debutante balls, everyone was assembled for the connotation regardless of age or status. Everyone should know the name and face of their new leader, after all, to avoid discourtesy and confusion.

More than a few hours later, when the night is beginning to bleed into the day, the banquet officially ends. Even the most party-loving of nobles are beginning to head home. Thetis has personally excused herself and her attendant, Waglington, and once she’s gone, Puffy declares that it’s the bedtime of her children. The four of them deliver their proper farewells. Drista watches all of the remaining nobles bow or courtesy as the family leaves. Instead of leaving it to the chevaliers, Puffy escorts her children to their rooms. In the space between Foolish and Dream’s rooms, Puffy has to pick Drista up. The pain inside of her body has gotten to a point that Drista’s movements are turning sluggish and her eyes unfocused. Drista sets her head on Puffy’s shoulder for comfort. Puffy’s goodnight to Dream causes her chest to rumble, and Drista closes her eyes in relief.

As Puffy walks, Drista realizes that her stomach hurts. She winces to herself, setting her hands against her stomach. With the adrenaline waning, Drista is starting to feel all sorts of aches in her body that she cannot ignore anymore. Drista isn’t able to keep a groan from leaving her lips as she tenses up. Puffy sets a comforting hand on the back of Drista’s head, pushing her fingers between the strands of Drista’s hair. Puffy helps undo Drista’s hair, but it doesn’t help her headache nearly as much as Drista hoped it would. All she can do is seek comfort in the touch of her mother.

“I promise I’ll find out why you aren’t sleeping well,” Puffy whispers as if that is the problem. Drista leans back to answer her mother, but a cough shoots up her throat. Drista opens her mouth to let the cough out, but instead of a rumbling noise, blood falls across Drista’s hand. She stares at the red liquid tinged with silver streaks as Puffy screams her name. Drista blinks up at her mother’s blurring face, and suddenly, everything is washed away in an inky darkness.

Drista stands alone in a long hallway made from pristine white stone. She knows she’s standing in the niveous halls, the same ones she’s been exploring for a long time now. But she’s never been in this hallway before. It’s too dark. Despite the walls being as white as freshly fallen snow, the shadows are thick like veils obscuring the truth of this place. Additionally, Drista is completely alone. She’s never been alone. She’s always woken up in this place with Chat at her side. They were always there to guide Drista, to entertain her, or to answer her questions. They never left Drista alone because they knew it would make her feel alone in this place, and they knew that Drista didn’t like feeling alone. The whole reason she made a deal with Chat was to escape feeling that way. So, why was she somewhere completely new without them at her side?

“Chat! Chat!” Drista yells, cupping her hands around her mouth. She walks down the hallway. A strange feeling creeps across her shoulders, settling deep into her marrow to freak her out. Drista starts running, barely able to keep yelling Chat’s name as she regulates her hitching breath. She feels a sob building up in her body from both fear and loneliness. Phantom pain spreads across her skin, a patchwork of bruises and scars given to her by the people that should have loved her unconditionally, or if nothing else, left her alone to grow up on her own.

“Chat!” Drista yells again as she crashes into a solid surface. The solid surface swings open, revealing its true nature as a door. Drista collapses onto her knees in the room that she stumbles into. Unlike the starkly white halls, this new room is consumed by so many shadows that the edges of what Drista can see are completely black. Drista is unable to determine how big the room is, but she knows that it is big enough to accommodate a figure sitting in front of a desk. Drista stares at the figure’s back, watching it bind books methodically.

The figure had been working in complete darkness, so it notices when light spills into the room. Drista’s breath is stolen away from her as the figure turns around. They are wearing a cloak made from moss over their stone-gray skin. They do not have a face, instead possessing a rectangle with displaced corners carved into the surface of their face. It is holding onto the beginning of a book, still working on it as its attention slides over to Drista. It speaks with a rough, grave voice that makes Drista feel like she’s reading the words instead of hearing them. “Who are you?”

“Who are you?” Drista demands to know instead. These halls were reserved for Drista and Chat. The only other creatures she’d seen in this place were the weird creatures that fed off of entertainment and the woman who danced with Drista. This figure feels like it falls into the former category, but it still seems a little different than everyone else who was standing around the edges of that ballroom.

“I have no formal name. You may call me as you wish as many others have done before you,” It responds, each word like the looping of ink across parchment. Drista can even tell the emotions the creature is feeling based on the font of the words she sees in her head. There are subtle traces of resentment in those words like it wants a proper name or maybe it doesn’t like most of what the others have called it.

Drista keeps her mouth sealed, incapable of lying and unable to come up with a suitable omission right now. The creature’s laugh is visually represented by a picture of a choir of laughing individuals in Drista’s hand. The crude drawing transforms back into proper words as it speaks again, “I already know all your secrets, Drista, so you do not need to lie or be afraid.”

“I-I don’t understand,” Drista murmurs slowly.

“Hmm… Then consider it unimportant,” It shrugs its shoulders, one of the most human actions it has taken so far. It looks back down at its book, seemingly finishing it. It places both of its hands on the leather cover as it looks back at Drista, the carving on its face glowing a dim shade of purple. “Although you interrupted me, I will be generous and share a secret with you. The reason you fell unconscious in Fatum was because your magic is growing unstable. You must find a way to fix this, or you will suffer dangerous consequences. That would disappoint the others, yes, but it would also make me sad to see you leave the story too soon.”

It turns away from Drista, going right back to work on binding another book. Drista wants to ask several more questions, but any word she might have thought about saying is swept away by the darkness of the room consuming her consciousness. 

Chapter Text

When Drista opens her eyes, she notices immediately that she isn’t in pain. Rather, she feels a heavy ache that pulls all of her limbs onto the mattress she has been tucked onto. She feels like she’s been run ragged, and a little like someone has sucked all the energy out of her. Despite the feeling, she doesn’t feel the urge to fall back asleep. Drista fears that she’ll end up back in that strange room with the creature that might be the same species as Chat but has a very different temperament, one that terrifies Drista. The fear is, thankfully, distant from her as she stares up at the ceiling, searching for a meaning behind the strange disconnect between her sense of self and her body along with the remaining tendrils of darkness that wrap around Drista’s memories of her dreams and the place she was before she fell unconscious.

Drista slowly moves her head, not fully controlling the slow tilt of it. Her head falls to the side, and she accidentally makes eye contact with the person sitting at her bedside. Waglington is leaning back in a cushioned chair with a thick robe over his shoulders. He’s wearing a faded red tunic underneath his robe, and his black pants look like they’re meant for extended rest. Waglington leans on the arm of his chair, his chin resting on his palm with his fingers closing around his cheek. His ruby eyes have been looking in Drista’s direction, but the fogginess fades away when he notices she’s looking at him. Waglington yawns with his entire body, sitting up in the chair. He pushes his ebony hair off his shoulder as he begins addressing Drista. “You gave your mother quite a fright. She thought you were dying, and since she’s currently in possession of my contract, I almost died, too. Don’t make a habit of this in the future.”

Drista opens her mouth. She tries to speak, but all she does is croak like a frog in a bog. Waglington raises an eyebrow. He thrums his fingers along the arm of his chair. Red sparks jump off his fingertips, and they form a cloud that a floating glass sits in. The glass comes to Drista’s body. She forces herself onto her elbows. She almost wants to collapse back on the bed, but she refuses to go back down without a little bit of water. With a trembling hand, Drista picks the glass up from the red cloud. She wants to chug the glass, but she forces herself to take slow sips. The water is refreshingly cool, and she thinks there might be some herbs layered into the water. Nothing strong enough to make Drista choke on the water. Her hand, however, does grow so weak that she nearly drops the glass. The only reason she doesn’t spill water on herself is because Waglington uses his magic to bring the glass back to his nightstand.

The water settles in Drista’s stomach. It makes her a little nauseous, but she’s grateful for the feeling. As uncomfortable as it makes her, it tethers her mind to her body. She starts to feel more like herself. Her body seems entirely in her control. She uses this newfound strength to lean back on the pillow, asking Waglington, “What happened?”

“Ah, how do I explain this… You’ve studied magic, yes? I’m sure Iris told you about how humans use EXP to perform their magecraft. If she did, she told you about how if there’s too much EXP build-up in the body, it will overflow. This highly destructive phenomenon is called fulmination. Mystery has a similar but different property about it. When it grows unstable, it sucks in unrefined mana from the air. You’ve been doing this for a little while, but on the day of the coronation, you met me. You also met some other people at the banquet. I mean, the Ten Commanders alone wore more magical regalia than all of their militias own combined,” Waglington explains. Although it feels wrong to think about Iris, Drista does recall this lesson. Drista isn’t able to use any other form of magic other than glamour and Mystery, but Iris thought it would be beneficial to know what everyone in the world could do. There are strengths and limitations to each type, after all. Drista could learn the weaknesses of her opponents and adapt their strengths as her own.

“Am I okay now?” Drista asks. Drista doesn’t remember the fatality rate of fulminations, and even if she did, she doesn’t know if whatever Waglington is talking about would have the same rate. While not remembering Iris’s teachings, Drista remembers The Ender Prince. It wasn’t shown, but Tubbo tells Ranboo that Theseus had a fulmination once that resulted in Tubbo’s scars and limp. Beau’s fulmination was shown, but Foolish stopped it before it could hurt anyone.

“I was able to stabilize some of it, but eh… I have been working on a device that will absorb the mana before your body does,” Waglington explains, shaking his head minutely. He looks away from Drista, staring into the wall behind her nightstand. “The best solution would be for you to learn how to stabilize it yourself. You’re going to have to if you want to live.”

“How do I do it, then?” Drista demands. She struggles to sit up on the bed to show that she sincerely wants to solve this issue. Unfortunately, Drista collapses back against the back of her bed. She grits her teeth, feeling her arms grow weak enough that they give up on her.

“What did Iris call that special component inside of you?” Waglington asks, glancing at Drista from the corner of his eye.

“A key,” Drista answers. Iris had told Drista again and again that this key inside of her made her special. Whatever it was, it made Iris give up her pursuit of destroying the world for long enough to teach Drista. She was a strict teacher, but she never once discouraged Drista from pursuing knowledge. The other detail Iris mentioned about this key was that it would ensure Drista’s safety, but she never explained what against.

“What a lackluster name,” Waglington snorts before he sighs, “But it’s my own fault for letting Iris get to you first.”

“What are you talking about?” Drista raises an eyebrow. She wonders what it would have been like if Waglington had found her instead of Iris. He’s eccentric, but he doesn’t seem half as brutal as Iris does. He probably would have taught her without so many cruel and unusual punishments.

“You’re going to have to use that key inside of you. Lock the gateway when you aren’t using it,” Waglington continues, using the terminology Iris instilled into Drista during their lessons. A gateway is the entry point for Mystery from whatever extra-dimensional realm it originates from. Drista uses the gateway to manifest Mystery in the physical world. Her will is what shapes the Mystery into what she needs it to do. For the most part, Drista uses it to form barriers. She knows that she used it to teleport a short distance once, but Drista has been unable to replicate that particular outcome.

“I thought I had been doing that,” Drista says, frowning. It used to be so difficult to open the gateway and keep it open, so Drista never thought she would ever be in a position where she would need to consciously make sure the gateway was closed. 

Waglington gives Drista a hard expression, and Drista shifts uncomfortably on the bed. “Before, maybe, but I suppose that your hectic life is getting to you. The lack of sleep most certainly is making it difficult for you to focus. I’ve got a machine for that, too.”

Waglington’s mouth remains open, but his voice stops coming out. His lips snap shut. He gestures to the door. He puts his hands on the arms of the chair. He pushes off of them. He stands up, moving out of the way as the door slams open like Waglington is some sort of diviner. He might be, but Drista doesn’t get to dwell on that as Puffy races across the room to the bedside. Presumably, Waglington stood up to give her the chair, but Puffy landed on her knees beside the bed. She grabs Drista’s hand, squeezing it tightly. She looks at Waglington, “Is she okay?” Then immediately looks at Drista, “Are you okay?”

“I am,” Drista assures her mother, squeezing her hand back with as much strength as she possesses to reassure the queen.

“She will be, in any case. In the meantime, she should get some rest. When the princess continues taking her other classes again, she’ll come to my tower afterward. We’ll start working on some permanent salutations, then,” Waglington says with a shrug. Drista frowns, remembering belatedly that Waglington is going to be her teacher from now on. She will get to see firsthand how different of an instructor he will be compared to Iris. She also wouldn’t mind learning more about the world of magic and her abilities.

Waglington snaps his fingers, teleporting away. Drista stares at the display of power with wide eyes. Puffy doesn’t notice in the slightest. She crawls into the bed with Drista. She wraps her arms around Drista. She leans to leave kisses across her entire face, nearly smothering the girl. Drista giggles, pulling away from her mother. When Puffy finishes showing her love, she buries her face into Drista’s shoulder. Puffy changes their position, cradling Drista against her and rocking her back and forth. “You worried me so much.”

Drista wants to reassure Puffy that she’s fine, but the words don’t come in time. Sleep descends upon Drista, a coupling of the way Puffy is holding her and the lingering exhaustion sending her back into the space between realms.

Chat immediately grabs Drista’s shoulders when she appears in the chamber that she has grown accustomed to gaining awareness. Drista stares into their dark gray eyes. She opens her mouth to explain that she’s fine, but Chat shakes their head. “Don’t try that. I know what happened. You almost had a fulmination. You met the Secret Keeper.”

“I didn’t know that’s what its name was,” Drista responds, as if that’s the part to cling onto. The creature told Drista it no longer had a proper name, but it seems like they have a title that people know them by. Or maybe this is the name that the Secret Keeper could barely hold back disdain for.

“Keeper forsake their name a long time ago,” Chat sighs, a splash of reminisce on their face. Drista wants to ask about Chat’s relationship with the Secret Keeper (could they have been friends?), but Chat shakes their head without going into further detail. “That doesn’t matter. What matters is that I warned you.”

“It wasn’t my fault! I can barely sleep these days, and I didn’t know not closing the gateway completely would nearly kill me!” Drista argues, putting her hands on Chat’s hands to keep them from shaking her.

“I assure you that it will. Or worse, it will permanently corrupt you, turning you into a—” Chat suddenly stops. They sigh, hanging their head low. They squeeze Drista’s shoulders, suddenly looking up. “I’m sorry. I just need you to be more careful, okay?”

“I promise,” Drista whispers, feeling something painful strike her chest as she recognizes the genuine worry in Chat’s eyes.

Drista walks to her room with a couple of maids following behind her at some distance. She holds a device made by Waglington in her hands. It resembles a lotus flower made from metal and magic crystals. Drista can feel the magical aura hovering around the metallic lotus, but she doubts it will work. She’s giving it a shot because Waglington seems capable despite his laziness.

A maid opens the door for Drista. She steps into her chambers. The maid closes the door behind her, letting the sound echo in the room. The maids do not step inside with Drista, but she can hear people talking. Drista looks up from the lotus she had been staring at to find Puffy and Callum working together to hang up a large hammock in Drista’s room. Her usual bed is completely missing, and the hammock carries all the traits of a bed with a thick blanket and a multitude of pillows. Drista raises an eyebrow in confusion, “What are you doing?”

Puffy turns around immediately. A wide smile spreads across her face as she trots over to her daughter. She leans down in front of Drista, wrapping her arms around her knees. “I figured out why you can’t sleep! At least, I hope I did. You need to be rocked to sleep.”

“How did you come to that conclusion?” Drista asks, tilting her head to the side at her mother’s self-assurance.

Callum steps behind Puffy, but he doesn’t lean down onto his knees as he talks to Drista directly, his eyes sharp behind his fox mask (which is supposedly an artifact from another dimension). “Puffy asked me if I could figure out why you can’t sleep. I asked her and your brothers about the times you’ve fallen asleep the quickest or for the longest duration. The common trait between their answers was that you were either being rocked by a boat or in someone’s arms.”

“I’ve decided to put this hammock in your room because of those reasons. But don’t worry. If this doesn’t work, we’ll try something else,” Puffy explains, glancing away from Callum to Drista. She leans closer to her daughter, pressing their foreheads together with Puffy tilting her head upward. They make eye contact. Drista’s arms tighten around the lotus as tears fill her eyes. She wants to stop them from falling, but they slide down her cheeks despite her best efforts.

“Oh? What’s wrong, dragonfly?” Puffy’s face shows her worry. She lifts her arms and lets her knees hit the ground. She pulls Drista closer, pressing the girl’s face into Puffy’s shoulder. Puffy runs her fingers through Drista’s hair comfortingly.

Drista doesn’t really know how to explain it. She’s happy right now. She’s happier than she’s probably ever been, yet she’s crying like a mourner. Drista’s chest flares with a pain so powerful that she can hardly breathe, but it’s the realization of love that consumes her, that burns her as terribly as an inferno would. Someone noticed her sleeping problem. They did something about it. Even if this attempt fails--- even if Callum and Puffy are wrong--- this is more than Drista feels she deserves. The fact that Puffy, Foolish, and Dream could remember Drista’s sleeping patterns is more than she deserves. But they did, and they articulated it, and they made a plan to help Drista. She didn’t even ask them to do that. They just love her that much, and as someone who was so starved for love that she made a deal with what could have been a devil to get someone— anyone— to care about her? It’s too much for Drista. It’s so overwhelming. It hurts so badly, yet Drista refuses to let go of this pain. Even if it utterly destroys Drista, she will never willingly let go of this wonderfully terrible feeling.

Puffy picks Drista up, letting the girl continue crying into her shoulder. She moves them over to the hammock. She sets the lotus from Waglington onto the nightstand. She removes Drista’s mask and shoes. She pulls the comforter up to Drista’s chest. She tucks the girl in. Drista stares up at her mother with teary eyes. Puffy dismisses Callum over her shoulder, but she tries to make as much eye contact as Drista needs. When Callum is gone, Puffy leans down beside the hammock, helping it rock back and forth. Puffy even starts quietly singing a lullaby, and it’s too much for Drista. She’s asleep in no time at all.

Chapter Text

Drista steps to the side gracefully. She moves her arms upward in a smooth arc, letting her fingers spread out gently while her palm faces the roof. Drista lowers her body, squatting similarly to a curtsy, though she must be careful to keep her dress off the floor since she isn’t lifting her skirt with her other hand. Drista holds this position as the last note of the song lingers in the air. When the note finally ceases, Drista uses both of her hands to lift her skirt and curtsies even deeper respectfully. As she rises, she hears someone furiously clapping.

Drista’s dancing instructor is from the Ostara family, one of the Ten Commanders, a fact made clear by the purple gemstone she wears as a brooch on her dark gray dress. She carries the beauty and proportions of a ballerina, and she is clapping her hands softly in a dignified manner. She smiles at Drista, not an ounce of genuine emotion in her purple eyes. “I am in awe of the grace exuded from Your Highness. This servant has seen how beautiful Your Highness is even in the short time we have been together as teacher and student.”

The compliments are nice to hear, but Drista knows they never last. Lady Ostara, a title given lightly as she’s the fourth daughter of the commander, narrows her expression very slightly when Drista stares into her eyes unflinchingly. While the mask Drista wears hides much about her appearance, her eyes are plainly visible, and no amount of shadow can dampen the rich green hue. “This servant should not be surprised. Your Highness’s Fae heritage must give you an advantage.”

There is a commonly held belief that the Fae are naturally good dancers. They are so good that they coax humans to dance with them. The Fae, with no concept of exhaustion, forces the humans to keep dancing until the human drops. It is a nasty trick that hasn’t become an incident in hundreds of years. Unfortunately, prejudice is still widely spread by humans. Even being a princess doesn’t save Drista from being a halfling. Drista could apply pressure right now and use her status or her connections to make Lady Ostara suffer. Drista decidedly doesn’t do that. She smiles simply, squinting her eyes to make the green glow even brighter. “I suppose my father could have been an exceptional dancer.”

Drista knows that her father is a good dancer. Although it has been three years, Drista remembers the memory she unintentionally turned into an illusion all around her. Drista has no proof that the man in green is her father, but something in her knows that she’s right about the assumption. Although his appearance was similar to Drista and Dream, she felt this connection between her and the mysterious figure more intimately than a simple shared hair and eye color could ever amount to. Drista has attributed the assurance to her glamour recognizing his, but she hasn’t fully delved into the connection on her own time.

“Your Highness will be ready in time for your birthday celebration if you continue to dedicate yourself as much as you have these past few weeks,” Lady Ostara says. She refrains from talking about Drista’s father as much as Drista refrains from insulting her instructor, though Drista is certain they both have a lot they wish to say to each other. If only they weren’t a noble and a princess, Drista wouldn’t mind turning this into an actual fight.

Drista chuckles lightly, trying to liven her mood from where this conversation has dampened it. Drista looks down at her hands. She closes her fingers into fists, watching the motion happen. Drista has been in this world for ten years already. Well, technically nine, but she’s turning ten in a short while. This is an important birthday in Essempei. While not quite as important as the fifteenth birthday, as that is a child’s debutante and ascension into adulthood, the tenth birthday is extremely important for royalty specifically. It is the naming ceremony where the royal children will learn what their second names are. Foolish had been given the epithet ‘the Undying,’ and Dream had been given the epithet ‘the Swift.’ Drista has yet to receive hers, but she will on her tenth birthday.

Drista has known this would happen since she began taking her etiquette lessons. The naming ceremony is her first big test, and Drista must be successful at any cost. She cannot allow any failures which is probably why her lessons have gotten a lot more difficult in recent weeks. As the day approaches, Drista’s teachers are guaranteeing that their tutelage and her hard work don’t amount to nothing.

Drista is pulled from her thoughts when she hears a knocking sound. She looks over her shoulder. Drista’s chevalier, Purpled, stands at the threshold with one hand behind his back and the other one still raised near the door. Purpled has sandy blonde hair, short enough to show off his pointed ears. His irises are even more purple than Lady Ostara’s eyes, but his sclera is as black as his pupil. He gives Drista a half-smile, inclining his head backward in a silent attempt to inform her that she can use this as an excuse to leave the meanderings of her xenophobic teacher.

Two years ago, the leader of the Assassin’s Guild, Punz, saved Dream’s life. He retired from his position and became Dream’s chevalier. His younger brother followed the elder to become Drista’s guard. While the former was an event from The Ender Prince, the latter definitely wasn’t because Drista wasn’t a character in The Ender Prince. When Punz became a chevalier, Purpled became a wandering mercenary. He even spent some time in the Antarctic Empire’s Pit. His status as a half-elf and a star-stained made him desirable to purchase, if only to look at him, and his skills with a sword were nothing to scoff at. Drista wonders if Purpled wishes for that life instead of this one, but she doesn’t know how to broach that topic with him especially since it involves breaking the news that he’s a fictional character to him.

Drista turns to her instructor. She respectfully nods her head. Lady Ostara curtsies deeply, waiting in that position as Drista says, “My chevalier is correct. I must attend my next lesson. Thank you for teaching me again, Lady Ostara. I will be on my way now.”

Lady Ostara’s cheeks flush at the title, but she doesn’t rise until the door is closing behind Purpled and Drista. The halfling stares forward. She is willing to spend the entire walk in silence but Purpled glances at Drista from the corner of his eyes. “Is Your Highness enjoying dance lessons?”

Drista snorts. “Lady Ostara has stopped fiddling with her iron ring, so I suppose everything is going well.”

“Your Highness could report this matter to Her Majesty or the other officials. There is also the option of sending this chevalier to take care of it,” Purpled reminds Drista. He grabs onto the hilt of his sword. He pulls the sword out just enough for the sunlight from the nearby windows to reflect off the blade, but he doesn’t fully unsheathe it. Purpled lets the sword slide back into the scabbard as if he wasn’t about to kill someone on Drista’s orders, though she has little doubt that he most certainly would. Drista doesn’t know if he’s that loyal or if he’s itching to kill someone. Knowing Purpled from The Ender Prince, it very well could be both.

Drista sighs, shaking her head as the two of them pass through a side entrance. The fresh air instantly makes Drista feel better, and she breathes in deeply. Although Drista is not as connected with the wind as Dream is, Drista can taste the different flowers blooming in the nearby garden in the air. “It is too much work. While Lady Ostara is certainly biased against silver blood, she is the indisputable best dance instructor in the kingdom. She was recommended by every noble for a reason, after all. If I wish to impress everyone at my naming ceremony, I will need someone like her.”

“I already know Your Highness is going to impress everyone,” Purpled offers, glancing up at the sky. Even during the day, the sky has a cloudy film over it that no one else except for Drista can see through. While most people mourn the loss of a clear sky, Purpled is hit particularly hard by it, even if he doesn’t show it. If Drista didn’t have The Ender Prince, she would have never known that Purpled has a talent for astromancy. There is also a matter of him being star-stained, but the night sky being unclear might be beneficial rather than a hindrance in that regard.

“I do not want to impress them with my existence. I want to impress them with my skills,” Drista corrects, glaring at Purpled. Most people Drista encounters are astounded by what she is rather than who she is. Halflings are rare. The Fae generally do not leave Elfame, if they even can, so it would take a human venturing into the forest and coming back out alive for a halfling to even be possible. And Drista is the second child of Puffy, which makes her existence all the more rare. Even those against the Fair Folk must admit that Drista’s existence carries a certain weight behind it.

Purpled chuckles, his laughter as light and airy as the breeze around them. “I knew what Your Highness meant, and I believe Your Highness knew what I meant.”

Drista is grateful that they’ve arrived at their destination because she doesn’t have anything to say to Purpled about that. Drista stares up at the tower. It is a short walk from the palace, but it isn’t connected by anything more than a dirt path nearly overgrown with wildflowers. The servants are terrified to tread this close to the tower of the Royal Wizard because magic is so taboo in Essempei despite the laws prohibiting the practice of it being repealed some time ago. While Drista wouldn’t encourage the fear of magic, she would be the first to admit that they might be right in staying far away from the tower. Waglington is not the most stable individual, and his immortality has disconnected him from human affairs. He’s much like his tower in that aspect: close to humanity but barely connected to them. In this metaphor, Drista supposes that she’s the overgrown path. That, or the contract that is passed down from one ruler to the next, but Drista likes to think of herself as a patch of wildflowers more than she likes thinking of what she thinks is a slave contract as one.

Drista waves at Purpled from over her shoulder as she pushes open the heavy wooden door. It swings open completely, letting Drista into the first room with muddy puddles on the ground and damp stones building up the walls. This room presents the base of the winding staircase, made from sturdier stone but no more dry than anything around it. Drista climbs up the step, refraining from putting her hand against the wall because she despises damp gloves. After a couple of stories, Drista gets to the top of the tower. She pushes open another door.

Waglington’s workshop is completely different from the rest of the tower. The floor is covered in over a dozen rugs of varying textures, designs, and materials. A large wooden desk stands in the very center of the room with a chair on each side of it, though none of the chairs match each other or the desk. The top of the desk is littered with spread papers, opened books, and half-finished machines. There are more of these papers, books, and machines littering the floor, thrown haphazardly against the cushioning of stacked carpets. The shelves pressed against the walls are half-empty, showing the place where the books belong. One wall has another, smaller desk with a chair that matches it and a clean working space complete with a quill, an inkpot, and some stationary. Obviously, that is Drista’s desk, while the rest of the room is entirely Waglington’s area.

The culprit of the mess himself is sitting at the one window in the tower. He leans against the glass with one leg on the cushion and the other one hanging off the side. His robes are in disarray. His eyes are closed. He is breathing in slowly and softly, revealing that he’s asleep right now. Drista puts a hand on her hip, raising an eyebrow at her teacher. She lifts her other hand, summoning a construct made out of Mystery. A disembodied hand made from green translucent glass, similar to her barriers, appears in front of her. Drista flicks her real fingers forward to send the hand towards her teacher. Drista manipulates the hand to shake her master’s shoulder in an attempt to wake him up.

As Waglington releases a waking groan, the construct shatters. Drista hisses, feeling the backlash reverberate through her chest. As the backlash fades, Drista grabs one hand with the other one. She gently massages her palm as she glares at Waglington, “What would you have done if that was my real hand?”

“I would have healed you,” Waglington promises. Unlike Iris, Waglington never intentionally hurts Drista, and even when he accidentally does, it’s never anything more than Drista can handle. She has come to learn just how careless Waglington can be. He hurts himself way more frequently than he hurts Drista which is probably why she can forgive him so easily.

Despite not caring too much if Waglington hurt her or not, Drista scowls at his words. Out of all the spells she’s come to learn and even master, healing is not one of them. Not for a lack of trying, of course. Drista has done everything she could to learn any type of healing spell, even the inefficient ones that cost too much power for too little of an effect. She has spent hours pouring over different tomes and bombarding Waglington with questions. Drista’s efforts have all been for naught. It frustrates Drista that this is the spell she can’t learn because she knows how vital a healing spell would be.

“You don’t seem to be in too much pain from the shattering,” Waglington’s lazy voice draws Drista out of her thoughts. She hurriedly fixes her expression as Waglington leans his back against the window and rubs one of his eyes with the heel of his hand.

“I’ve been regulating how connected I am with the floating hands,” Drista explains dully. In the beginning, she made the hands as exact replicas of the ones attached to her body. This allowed her to experience the sense of touch through the hands, but this also meant that pain would be transferred. Drista has been working on a way to make hands that were disconnected from her. She wants to be able to make both types to ensure maximum efficiency.

“Regulation is key,” Waglington nods sagely, sliding the hand down from rubbing his tired eyes to rubbing his chin thoughtfully. The expression of a wise old man is thoroughly destroyed by his disheveled robes and unkempt, glossy black hair, but Waglington continues to pretend to be a stereotypical wizard as his official title implies. “What do you want to do today?”

“You’re the teacher,” Drista reminds Waglington, thrusting the responsibility of their schedule back onto him. Although his offer to do whatever she wants may seem nice from an outsider’s perspective, Drista knows that he’s just being indecisive.

“Ugh… I want to finish working on my building project,” Waglington grumbles, tilting his head to look out the window. His ruby eyes appear starkly in his reflection. Drista knows the eyes in the reflection are watching her intensely even if Waglington is not.

“You just want to take another nap,” Drista argues, her glare sharpening.

“I can work on my project in my dreams,” Waglington says, glancing back at Drista. Although he wields considerable power, Waglington’s favorite pastime is construction. He loves making fantastical builds even if most of them serve no function. As part of his contract with the royal family, they give him plenty of land to put his construction projects on, and this deal has made more than a few of Essempei’s most advanced cities. People swarm to the buildings, and they make a civilization around them. Waglington will only complain that he has to go elsewhere to make something new, but his complaints mean nothing since he does most of his building as an astral projection that can literally fly.

“Will you please start class?” Drista asks with faux politeness coating her tone. Although she trusts Waglington a lot, she has yet to mention her previous world or the space she goes to in her dreams. Chat never told Drista that she needed to keep the halls a secret, but Drista has a feeling they need to be one.

“I think we should do a survival lesson,” Waglington’s voice floods with realization. Drista raises an eyebrow at him. She opens her mouth to ask him what he means as she hears his fingers snap. Drista’s words are quickly transformed into a scream as the air suddenly turns cold all around her. Instead of Waglington sitting at the windowsill, Drista’s vision fills with a bright blue sky alternating with a faraway green ground. The colors keep swirling as Drista spins, cutting her scream off and trying to think clearly about how much the wind stings her cheeks. Drista readies her fingers to snap, preparing a quick spell of teleportation on herself, but this proves unnecessary as she feels a pair of arms wrap around her. Drista’s body straightens, and she’s gently lowered onto the ground.

Drista stares at the person who caught her. They possess the same sandy blonde hair as Purpled, but Punz’s eyes are a sterling blue, a few shades away from being silver, with white sclera. He is currently wearing simple training clothes, and his body is soaked with sweat as if he had been training. He gives Drista a half-smile, “What did you do to piss off the wizard this time?”

“Ask him to start class, if you can believe it,” Drista answers. Although Drista knows that Waglington has an aversion to work and a general sense of carelessness with himself and others, his habit of teleporting Drista to random locations is something she has never understood. He usually calls them some variation of a survival lesson, but they’re more annoying than educational.

Punz laughs brilliantly, like someone with nothing to lose. He carefully sets Drista on the ground. Drista leans down to fix her skirt and wipe some dust off, but her hands are quickly stolen by her older brother. Dream is as sweaty as Punz, wearing the same workout clothing. His mask is hanging off the side of his face, revealing one of his worried eyes as he examines Drista’s body. He twists her all around, double-checking that every limb is moving correctly without Drista wincing. When her health has been assured, Dream releases her hands and takes a step back. His glare sharpens as he looks at the tower. “I should kill that wizard.”

“If anyone is going to kill my master, it’s going to be me,” Drista warns Dream, flipping some of her hair off her shoulder.

“We should make it a hunt,” Dream remarks, his tone far too serious for what he’s saying they should do. In Essempei, there are a couple of ways to deal with a criminal. The most common is obviously a trial, but criminals can choose to take their fates into their own hands by requesting a hunt. Criminals who have done something particularly heinous will be forced into this option. A hunt consists of the criminal being let loose in a magically enclosed space. If they can survive the night, they get to go free. Along with wild animals and captured Fae, the Hunters will also be released. Although the Hunters are usually used to hunt Mobs, they have this secondary responsibility. As part of his training to become a Hunter, Dream has participated in a few of these hunts. No one had high hopes for a recruit or a prince, but Dream proved them all wrong when he earned himself a winning streak.

“That could be fun, especially since you think your speed can match my abilities,” Drista giggles as she imagines hunting Waglington. She knows that he wouldn’t run from her or Dream. He would find a decent hiding place to nap in. When they inevitably find him, he’ll perform a few cursory spells. If they prove themselves, he might put in some actual effort to defeat them. Drista and Dream have low odds of beating Waglington, but she doesn’t think it’s as one-sided as it might seem.

“We should start the hunt right now,” Dream says. He picks his sword up from the ground, brandishing it like Waglington is standing right in front of them. If his opponent was hiding in a tower, Drista has little doubt that Dream would tear the tower apart stone by stone to keep his winning streak.

“As much as hunting a wizard would be fun to watch, there are several reasons the two of you cannot do that just yet,” Punz notes, putting both of his hands in front of him like he’s dealing with wild animals instead of a fifteen-year-old and a nine-year-old (who is almost ten and also technically twenty-six if they count her previous life). “However, I will prepare the hunting ground as soon as either of you give the word.”

“Thank you,” Dream says with only a vague sense of disappointment clinging to the edges of his words.

“Your Highness should probably get back to Purpled,” Punz says to Drista. He hooks a thumb over his shoulder to the tower. Since Waglington teleported Drista out of the tower, Purpled is still dutifully standing at the base with his charge no longer inside.

“You’re right! Thank you! Goodbye, Your Highness, Prince Dream! I’ll see you later! Bye, Sir Punz!” Drista calls over her shoulder as she starts running toward the tower. She hears Dream yell something about titles behind her, but Drista made the conscious decision to call her family by their official titles some time ago. None of them liked it, of course, but Drista did what she thought was best given the circumstances.

As Drista runs toward the tower, Purpled instantly draws his sword. He blinks in surprise when he recognizes Drista. She gives him a cheeky smile as she slows down. She breathes heavily as she pushes the door to the tower open. Purpled raises an eyebrow at her as the door slams shut. Drista takes a deep breath, regretting it instantly when mold fills her senses. She climbs up the stairs, ignoring the burning sensation in her legs. When she makes it to the top, she slams open the door to Waglington’s workshop.

Unsurprisingly, the wizard is asleep at the window again. It’s one of his favorite places to sleep, along with on top of his desk, under his desk, or in the bed that he sometimes teleports into the room if Drista leaves him alone for too long. Waglington doesn’t stir from his sleep, not even from the door slamming against the back wall. Angered by his sleeping habits and his endangerment of her life, Drista grabs a book from his desk. She heaves the heavy tome over her head and sends it flying towards Waglington. The book hurtles through the air, but it is caught telekinetically by red mist before it can hit Waglington. He doesn’t open his eyes as he says, “I was hoping you would be gone longer.”

“Is attempted murder your solution to all of your problems?” Drista asks him, putting a hand on her hip and cocking her head to the side as she stares at his prone form.

“Eliminating the problem is usually the easiest way to deal with it, so yes,” Waglington answers earnestly, even though Drista knows for a fact that Waglington avoids his problems instead of dealing with them, even if ‘dealing’ means killing. “In any case, I need you to leave. I have work to do.”

“What’s so important?” Drista asks, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I have no reason to explain it to you,” Waglington answers. He closes his eyes, curling deeper into himself as he goes back to sleep. Or tries to, anyway, because Drista sighs heavily, causing his nose to twitch with recognition of the sound. Drista continues sighing, making each one more unbearably loud than the last. Waglington eventually flicks his fingers, sending the book Drista threw at him flying towards her. Only one thought can cross Drista’s mind in the time it takes for a hand to appear in front of her, catching the book. Drista opens her arms, letting the book fall into them. She flips it open with a frown, glancing at the pages. Waglington peeks an eye open to look at her. “If you’re so bored, summon a familiar.”

“A familiar? I thought only mages could do that,” Drista asks, looking at what the pages are actually saying. Drista has opened the book to a section about how familiars interact with the world around them. The illustrations are of random creatures, most of them fantastical or supernatural, doing something in the world, and it makes Drista think of pets.

“Anyone who can use mana can make a familiar, which in case you haven’t been paying attention to my lessons, is nearly every magic type. Even magicians like you and wizards like me can make familiars. I just don’t have one because they’re a hassle, but you have a lot of free time, Might as well, yeah?” Waglington shrugs. He closes his eyes again, his breath evening out because Drista has been thoroughly enraptured by the book.

Drista plops down at her desk. She sets the open book in front of her. She flips the pages until she’s back at the beginning. There is a huge section about safety and responsibility that Drista lightly skims until she finds the instructions manual. There are several ways to go about making a familiar, and none of the methods seem exclusive to magicians. Since she’s part human, Drista picks the mage’s way of creating a familiar. If it doesn’t work, she’ll see how the Fae use glamour to make one. If that still doesn’t work, Drista supposes she can just try every method. It might be nice to know which magic type Mystery is closest to.

The steps are fairly simple. A familiar is, after all, just an extension of one’s magical abilities. It is a condensed version of whatever they draw upon. In a human’s case, they will use EXP, the foundational element of a soul. Drista follows the steps, but instead of drawing upon her own soul, she tries to coax out some Mystery from the gateway inside of her. When Drista has a sufficient amount of Mystery prepared, she decides to use her blood in place of EXP. Demons are the ones to use blood magic, but it isn’t too different from magecraft all things considered. Drista isn’t using magecraft or blood magic right now, but she can use a drop of her blood to substitute for EXP. At least, Drista hopes that’s the case. She really hopes she isn’t summoning an eldritch monster as she removes her gloves and pricks her index finger with a letter opener.

The Mystery and blood combine under Drista’s willpower and the spell the book told her to chant. As they morph together, they begin to take on a new shape. Drista waits with bated breath to see what kind of familiar she summons. She clasps her hands together as the familiar finally stands in front of her. Drista sinks onto her knees, getting on eye level with her familiar and trying to figure out what it is.

The familiar is definitely an animal. It has four legs and shiny white fur. That is as far as Drista can get with what kind of animal it is. The animal is about as small as a puppy or a kitten. Its eyes are a sable black color more in the shape of a chipmunk, but its ears are more fox-like. The creature has a short tail. It is wagging like a puppy’s tail while being in the shape of a fox kit’s tail, but it seems to have as much control over the tail as a feline. Despite being an amalgamation of traits, Drista knows her familiar is adorable, though that could be because this little creature is hers.

The familiar leaps onto Drista’s body. It crawls all over her with curious eyes. It eventually tumbles off her shoulder to land in her hands. Drista hugs the creature close to her body, feeling its tiny heartbeat in tandem with her own. Drista looks down at the creature, noticing something peculiar. Underneath the fur, the creature’s skin is a blue-purple color, similar to the ocean Drista sees when she peers into the gateway that allows her to access Mystery.

Drista shakes her head, deciding not to dwell on that as she names her familiar. In the previous world, Drista had fantasized about having a pet. No human would love her, but she knew that a dog unconditionally would. If Drista had the means to take care of a pet, she definitely would have gotten one. She even had a name picked out for them. “Bruno.”

The familiar makes an odd yipping noise, definitely not like any animal Drista thought it resembled. The familiar spins around in her palm, transforming into a tiny trident. The book told Drista that all familiars had an inanimate form that could be used to summon them. Drista uses the trident to summon Bruno back to her. Her familiar leaps across Drista’s forearm, completely excited about all of this.

“If you and the fur-ball are done, you two can leave,” Waglington calls out. Drista glares up at her teacher. Bruno growls at Waglington. Drista looks down in surprise, and Bruno looks over his shoulder at her. They make eye contact for a long moment. Drista breaks out into a smile that spreads across her face. She sets Bruno on her shoulder as she does as her master asks. While he doesn’t particularly look like it, Drista believes him when he says he is doing something important. She has been his student for three years, so she’s learned how to read him.

Outside of the tower, Purpled glances at Drista. His eyes widen when he notices Bruno. He puts his hands on his knees to get a better look at the creature. “I didn’t think Your Highness would get a pet.”

“Sir Purpled, this is Bruno. He’s my familiar,” Drista explains, wondering for a moment if she needs to add what a familiar is. She thinks most people have a passing awareness of what they are, but Drista knows that the perception of familiars must be as bad as it is for other types of magic and the Fae.

“I’ve never seen a familiar that wasn’t a golem,” Purpled shakes his head slowly, standing back up.

“Is that what runecasters have?” Drista asks as they begin walking.

“It is. By carving the right runes into the right wood at the right places, a golem will come to life and do its master’s bidding. Efficient, but not as adorable as Bruno,” Purpled says slowly, each word encompassed by a soft kind of strain.

Drista chuckles. She lifts a hand to pet Bruno’s head between his ears, absentmindedly saying, “I wish I could see a golem someday.”

Purpled doesn’t reply. Drista swallows quickly, looking away. Realizing her foolishness, Drista allows them to descend into silence. As calm as Purpled is most of the time, there is no mistaking the somberness that comes over him when he thinks about his past. She sometimes forgets that Punz and Purpled didn’t grow up in Essempei. They were both born in Alfheim, and they grew up there for a time before Purpled’s status as a half-elf was exposed. Purpled was banished, but Punz refused to let his younger brother go into the world alone and unprepared. Drista doesn’t know how either of them feels about their heritage, their former homeland, or Punz’s choice to leave with Purpled even though he didn’t have to, but Drista knows that it all must be complex.

As they are walking, Drista catches a glimpse of her oldest brother. Ignoring the awkwardness between her and Purpled, Drista runs after her brother. “Your Royal Highness! Prince Foolish, please wait up!”

Foolish stops. When he turns around, Drista is unable to see his expression. She only knows he’s happy to see her because of his body language. He squats down to face her head-on. He glances around before slowly pushing his mask to the side to let Drista have a glimpse at the face underneath. Drista rocks on her heels nervously, double-checking that no one is around to scold Foolish for his decision. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

“Of course, you aren’t,” Foolish reassures Drista in a way that implies even if she was interrupting him, he wouldn’t care. He would put the whole world on hold for her, and those kinds of thoughts make Drista’s entire body burn.

“I have something I wanted to ask you,” Drista continues. Bruno begins pacing across her shoulders as a visible sign of her nervousness.

“You can ask me anything,” Foolish prompts Drista to continue.

With all the confidence she can muster, Drista takes a deep breath and says, “For princesses, their father would be the one they danced their first dance with at their naming ceremony.” Foolish nods slowly, eyes coming together. Drista continues after another breath. “I was wondering if you would do the honors.”

Foolish’s eyes widen. For a moment, the two of them are still and quiet. Drista is about to start crying when Foolish wraps his arms around her shoulders. He pulls her close, lifting her off the ground as he rocks backward, nearly falling onto the ground. He squeezes tightly as he promises to do his best. Drista hugs him back just as hard. Even after ten years, Drista is still caught up in the unfamiliarity of it all. No one in her old life would ever hug her this closely.

When Foolish pulls away, he starts talking about what to wear and say. Drista fears he will never stop, but she notices a vassal approaching them. Drista hurriedly fixes Foolish’s mask. The crown prince looks over his shoulder at the vassal as the woman bows. “Greetings to Her Highness, Princess Drista. Your Royal Highness, Prince Foolish, you still have some work that must be attended to promptly.”

“You can go, Prince Foolish,” Drista tells Foolish before he can make an excuse to spend more time with Drista.

“Thank you for asking me. It would be my honor. I love you,” Foolish says calmly. He pushes his mask up. He kisses Drista’s cheek, right underneath her mask. Foolish fixes his mask as he stands up, following the vassal.

“Why are you wearing that expression, Your Highness?” Purpled asks as Drista watches her brother and the vassal disappear around a corner. Drista grabs Bruno, holding him tightly against her chest. She savors each moment of love as if they’re fleeting, and maybe they are. Maybe this is. Maybe…

Drista blinks in surprise as Bruno jumps from her shoulder onto her forearm. She looks around to double-check that she’s in the white halls. When she sees Chat, she knows that she is in her dreams. Chat smiles as they watch Bruno jump around. “Familiars are extensions of the caster. If you can come here, Drista, so can your precious Bruno.”

“I have to show him around!” Drista cheers. She wraps both of her arms around Bruno to keep him from running off as she starts walking out of the entrance hall to the other parts of the realm of Drista’s dreams. When she’s at the doors that lead outside, Drista stops. She looks over her shoulder. Chat is staring at her with a fond expression, and something feels right as Drista reassures them, “If it were possible, I would have asked you to be my first dance at the naming ceremony.”

Drista knows what her words mean, and by the look of Chat’s smile, as the words register in their mind, they must know, too. Drista doesn’t stick around to find out as she leaves to show Bruno around like she said she would.

Chapter Text

Drista stands in the dim hallway. She reaches her hands up, pressing her fingers against the mask on her face. The material contorts around her face, and she feels the small gemstones laid along the edges. Drista’s hands slide down her cheeks. There is a little bit of blush there to guarantee that she isn’t washed out by the lights, so Drista quickly removes her hands before she can smudge the blush beyond its parameters. With her hands falling to her sides, Drista hurriedly pulls up her gloves. She feels the edges come up to her wrists, the fluttery lace tickling her skin. Drista smooths out the folds of her white skirt, the golden thread shimmering in the low lighting with each of Drista’s movements. Drista takes a deep breath as she realizes that she’s completely prepared. There are no more fashion mistakes to remedy or excuses to get away from this. Even with the tight ball of nerves in her stomach, Drista takes a single step forward to let the guards know she’s ready, the clicking of her heel on the ground giving away the motion before Drista can put her full weight on the outreaching leg.

The guards grab onto the large handles of the door, pushing both up with a quiet sound of effort. As soon as the doors are halfway, Drista begins her walk toward them. When she passes the threshold, the doors are fully open to reveal a smaller hallway than the one Drista has been preparing herself in. By the time Drista has come out from underneath the royal balcony, everyone in the room has risen to their feet. Every pair of eyes descends on Drista. She carries herself forward, feeling more like a piece of meat on a conveyor belt than a conscious being exerting their autonomy in the form of motion. Drista takes a deep breath through her nose. She keeps her head held high. No matter what anyone’s opinion of her is, Drista is the one performing this ceremony. After today, she will be officially recognized as a child of the sun god, and that means so much more to some people than the status of princess does.

Unlike the hallway she came from, the lights of the auditorium are bright and golden. They stream continuously, each flicker caught up by a neighboring light source. They fall across the entire room, but a beam is following Drista closely. She refuses to glance around in curiosity over the spotlight’s source, especially because her confusion swiftly melts away. The warm light covering Drista in a golden shroud is coming from none other than the Daystar Throne itself. The divine piece of furniture is gleaming with radiant power, and it uses a fraction of that power to christen Drista.

Drista kneels in front of the Daystar Throne. Queen Puffy of Essempei stands up from her royal throne with her sword at her waist and her scepter in her hands. She takes one step forward to get closer to Drista but otherwise remains distant from her daughter. Drista looks up from her respectful bow to meet her mother’s dark brown eyes from the eyeholes of her ram’s mask. They look more amber in light of the divine power radiating all around them, but this shift in color causes Drista to be unable to read the expression in her mother’s eyes. Drista swallows thickly, reminding herself repeatedly that her mother loves her. In a regal tone, Puffy asks, “Are you, Drista of Essempei, ready to accept the privilege and responsibility of being a child of the sun?”

“It would be my honor,” Drista responds, going through the words Thetis forced Drista to learn. Drista will never tell her grandmother, but she’s grateful for all this training. It steadies Drista’s nerves as she waits for the verdict about her allowance into the special circle of people who are granted the sun god’s blessing. Drista doesn’t know what this blessing will do other than cement her position as a princess. Drista is almost hoping that the blessing might grant her some divine wisdom or even power. She wishes she could communicate with the sun god to learn more about his absence and the destiny Chat wants Drista to destroy.

Puffy uses the scepter to tap Drista’s shoulder. Puffy lifts the scepter, letting it move over Drista’s head. This simple motion causes Drista to hear a strange sparkling noise. When the scepter taps her other shoulder, the noise lowers in pitch. Drista realizes that it’s words, but it’s too garbled for her to make out what they mean. The ramblings are gone by the time Puffy brings the scepter back to her chest. Drista tucks away this information for several conversations she’s going to have later. There are a few people who will want to know all these peculiar details of the ceremony, two of whom might have more than a few answers for her.

Puffy turns, moving away from Drista. As she stands to the side, someone takes her place. Drista meets the natural green eyes of a sun cleric she met on the Faction Isle a few years prior. A pair of orange, black, and white monarch butterfly wings spread out from the back of Dawn’s golden dress. The color of the dress matches well with her warm skin and curly red hair. Dawn holds a crystal ball tinted sunset orange. She smiles kindly at Drista, but her expression loses familiarity as she addresses the crowd in front of her. “Today, before the nobility of Essempei, I will be determining Princess Drista’s solar epithet, a favor given to the royal children of the Daystar Throne from the sun god himself. May whatever gift he bestows on Drista be recognized by the Sun Church and the Daystar Throne.”

Dawn lifts her hands upward as if she’s praying. The crystal ball in her hands lifts out of her hands. It rises a foot above her palms. The crystal ball begins glowing a heavy orange color, filling the entire room with a brilliance so bright it is hard to see anything else. The light gradually fades as the crystal ball lowers back into Dawn’s awaiting palms. She closes her fingers around the surface, pulling it down to her chest. When her eyes open, they are glowing the same orange color the crystal ball was, though with less intensity. Dawn stretches the arm holding the crystal ball out in front of her, and she uses the other arm to gently bring Drista to her feet. Dawn turns Drista around, presenting both the princess and the crystal ball to the crowd. “I, Head Priestess of the Sun Church, declare the princess as a child of the sun. The sun god has looked upon her favorably. Henceforth, her name shall be Drista the Sibylline.”

The name causes the blood to drain from Drista’s cheeks. She feels a sudden chill run through her entire body. Drista knows what that word means: prophetic and mysterious. Drista hopes everyone assumes the latter definition is the one the sun god meant because Drista doesn’t want anyone to know that she has anything to do with the future. Diviners of any subtype are killed in nearly every nation. Even if they aren’t executed, they are a pariah until the day they do die. Kinoko is one of the few nations where the practice is acceptable, but there is still a limit to what the sages are willing to put up with. Drista doesn’t want to move to Kinoko, and she especially doesn’t want to leave Essempei.

Drista’s eyes move through the crowd to gauge their reactions. Everyone is clapping because it’s the natural order of these ceremonies, but she searches their dark eyes for an emotional response. She doesn’t see anything particularly noteworthy until she meets a pair of ruby eyes. Drista stills in the eyes of her master. Waglington stands among the crowd without anyone glancing at him. He is probably invisible to them. He was probably invisible to Drista before this moment, but he’s revealed himself now to smile at her. He winks for reasons Drista doesn’t understand. She would question him about it if he were by her side and not several pews away from her. Additionally, Waglington disappears in the next moment, and Drista isn’t sure if he’s invisible or if he is teleported elsewhere.

In case he is invisible, Drista gives him a half-smile. It is imperceptibly small, but she knows that if he is there, he will know what it means. Drista continues her observation to the other members of the crowd, and her eyes eventually climb upward to the royal balcony. Thetis is sitting there with Foolish and Dream on either side of her. All three of them are wearing masks, so Drista cannot see their faces very clearly. Still, Dream is leaning forward in his seat, and Foolish lifts a hand for a small wave that Thetis doesn’t seem to notice. Thetis is entirely focused on Drista, and her eyes are visible. Drista knows that look of interest. Thetis cares about Drista a marginal amount more than she did a moment ago.

Drista looks back at the cheering crowd. She squares her shoulders, standing firmly in front of them all as a proud princess of this kingdom. Drista knows that some horrible events happen in The Ender Prince, but Drista can stop them from happening. She can bring a happy ending to everyone in this nation. Drista refuses to give up until she does, and becoming a child of the sun is only a stepping stone towards her ultimate goal.

“Everyone here today is invited to the ballroom for a glorious celebration of another child of the sun being born,” Puffy declares, lifting her scepter into the air. The Daystar Throne grants Puffy a favor by making the scepter’s point glow brighter than anything else in the room. In fact, Drista believes most of the other light sources grow dimmer because of the throne. If anyone was doubting Puffy’s authority before, this one fairly simple act has made her into a more acceptable queen than anyone before her.

The audience leaves the chamber according to rank from lowest to highest. Drista remains stationary on the stage where the Daystar Throne resides until the very end. In due time, the chamber is almost entirely blank save for the royal family. Drista breathes a sigh of relief when the last of the Ten Commanders departs from the room. Her internal relief is immediately cut off by a hand on her shoulder. Drista looks up at the same moment she is twirled around. Puffy lifts the ram’s mask off her face, and she tugs Drista’s mask upward, too. With both obstacles out of the way, Puffy peppers Drista’s cheeks with kisses. The action reminds Drista of her childhood, and she giggles to herself. Puffy pulls back to press her forehead against Drista’s. “I’m so proud of you, dragonfly.”

Drista seizes with happiness, feeling a tremor of love shake throughout her entire body. She wants to fall into her mother’s arms, listening to such beautiful words for the entire evening. Unfortunately, Thetis calls out from the ground floor. “Queen Puffy, our presence is required in the ballroom.”

As Puffy pulls away, Drista turns back around. Thetis is standing at the foot of the stage, staring up at Drista and Puffy with emotionless eyes. Thetis beckons a gloved hand toward Puffy, an action only a former queen or a mother would do. Puffy closes her eyes to hide her annoyance as she presses one last kiss on Drista’s cheek. When she pulls away, she hurriedly fixes her mask. Puffy extends her elbow to her mother, and Thetis graciously takes it. For as much as they dislike each other, they are quite graceful as they move in sync together down the aisle to the distant doors.

Dream should be in front of them, but he lingers behind to pull Drista into a side hug. He looks down at her, his green eyes glowing like the neon signs in Drista’s old world from behind his mask. Dream whispers to her, “Congratulations on such a unique name. See you at the celebration, yeah?”

Dream pulls away before Thetis can scold him. He waves widely over his shoulder as he runs to meet up with Thetis and Puffy. Although Thetis does look like she’s scolding him, she allows Dream to link with her other elbow. She walks between her daughter and grandson. If Drista were to ignore the true relationship between those three, she would assume they were close. She would assume they loved each other.

Drista shakes her head, dispersing such silly thoughts. She turns around to face her remaining brother, the one who agreed to escort Drista. Instead of waiting for her, Foolish is standing in front of the Daystar Throne. It still exudes divine power, but it only glows faintly. Foolish has pushed his mask to the side, allowing his emerald eyes to gaze directly at the royal seat. Although his irises have always looked like literal gemstones, they look more brilliant in the paleness of the throne room. Or maybe it is a consequence of his recently awakened hybrid trait. Foolish usually suppresses his traits with Origin magic, but it seems his nature as a totem is boiling just underneath the surface to completely turn his eyes into the jewels that adorn his irises and his mask.

“Are you ready to sit on the throne?” Drista asks softly. She stands beside her brother. Together, they stare at the Daystar Throne. It is one of the symbols of this nation, almost as important as the Sylva. Both mark this land as a governable domain and for some reason, the sun god chose their ancestors to govern this land. Drista has taken many lessons over the past few years, but she has yet to learn where this throne came from or why her forefathers were allowed to sit on it.

“No,” Foolish chuckles. The sound grows into laughter. For a moment, he doesn’t look anything like a crown prince. He looks like a child enjoying himself. His eyes sparkle with amusement as he glances over at Drista. There is love in that smile as he offers an elbow to Drista. “Are you ready to attend the party?”

Drista accepts his gesture. Together, they turn around. Drista notes wryly, “I’m a little nervous.”

The statement is so honest that it hurts Drista. She’s grown used to her forced truthfulness, but she could have stayed silent. She could have told Foolish that she was well-trained for this. There were so many other responses that didn’t need to include the fact that she continued to be nervous about all of these important events. It would be normal if Drista really were a ten-year-old, but she isn’t. She has more than enough experiences for this not to phase her anymore, but even as she approaches the party, part of her remembers their cold stares. Part of her remembers the pain that sent her into a death-like state. Part of her remembers the hatred in her former family’s eyes, the one that came from the world before this one.

“There is no reason to be nervous. No one would say a word against the Pirate Queen’s daughter with so many pirates in attendance,” Foolish reassures Drista, squeezing her arm gently.

“Being the sister of the Undying Prince might also help me,” Drista adds as they come to the doors leading to the ballroom. Foolish has made quite a name for himself ever since he got his epithet, ‘the Undying.’ His powers as a totem hybrid allow him to bounce back from even the most fatal wounds, but his siren heritage gives him control over water that allows him to defeat any opponent before they can even inflict the fatal wound. The pirates are in so awe of Foolish that they almost consider him a god. The nobility are not as happy about it, but they can’t do anything when the common people are eager to have such a competent individual ready to ascend the throne, especially since Puffy has done so much good for Essempei in her short tenure.

Foolish snorts as the doors open. Again, all the attention in the room is drawn to her and her brother. Foolish squeezes Drista’s hand again, looking down at her with a fond smile as he fixes his mask over his face. Together, they walk down the stairs. The herald announces the two of them using Drista’s new solar name. The audience parts for them as they come to the ballroom. Drista’s first dance should be shared with her father, but the Fae is probably still in Elfame and Chat is stuck in the niveous halls. Drista doesn’t mind Foolish, though, since he’s taken care of her in the stead of a paternal force in her life.

Drista and Foolish get into position for the first dance. It’s a little awkward since Foolish is so much taller than her, but all Drista can do is laugh merrily as they go through the first steps together. They have trouble growing accustomed to each other’s size, but it only makes it all the more difficult for Drista to stop laughing. She worked hard in her dancing classes and wanted to learn these steps to impress everyone, but as she moves with Foolish, she realizes that she never noticed how much fun dancing is, especially with someone who cares about her and not her title or parentage. If the atmosphere wasn’t so lively, Drista surely would have broken into sobs already because of how much she desperately wanted this in her previous life and how much of it she was getting in this life.

At the end of the dance, the two bow towards each other. The crowds clap for them. As their applause dwindles, the proper couples come together to fill the dance floor. Drista shrugs her shoulders as she pulls away from the group. Drista stands at the side until the dowager queen finds her. Under the queen’s guidance, Drista meets the Ten Commanders: Francesco Cernunnos, Miria Sucellus, Charrio Selvans, Ernesto Tapio, Miguel Ostara, Rosaria Hegemone, Tapia Pomona, Travis Jarilo, Javi Miande, and Rodrigo Freyr. These ten individuals hold an inordinate amount of power within the boundaries of Essempei. They are the high-rankest members of the nobility, a step below the royal family.

After these introductions, Drista meets some of the branch families that make up the rest of the nobility. Drista even meets the families that Beau and Freddie belong to. While the latter is at the party, Drista suspects that Beau is still in Elfame right now.

This activity is interrupted by Puffy. The queen offers her hand to Drista, asking, “Will the princess please dance with me?”

Drista hesitates for long enough that Thetis says from behind her fan, “It is rude not to answer an offer.”

“Ah– yes, please, it would be my honor,” Drista hurriedly says, taking her mother’s hand. As soon as they get to the dance floor, Puffy picks Drista up. She wraps her arms around Drista and begins swaying to the song like the other dancers. Drista frowns at her mother, not wanting to be treated like a child. Drista hears her mother’s laughter. Puffy’s solution to brightening her daughter’s spirits is to compliment her. Drista does recall wanting that to happen earlier, but she realizes how terrible it is as her cheeks flush with embarrassment.

At the end of the dance, Puffy passes Drista along to Purpled. The chevalier bows to the queen, promising to escort Drista to her chambers. Puffy kisses Drista’s forehead, running a hand through her daughter’s hair to pull out some of the jewels the maids put in there. Puffy tucks the jewels away, putting a finger on her lips. She goes back into the party like a gracious host.

As they walk, Purpled glances down at Drista. “How was your tenth birthday, Your Highness?”

“It was a good one. I hope I will continue to have good birthdays like this one,” Drista answers. In her old world, she never celebrated her birthday. Some years, she could hardly remember what day it was. No one cared enough about Drista to spend a whole day celebrating her. Drista would wish for parties when she was younger, but as the years went by, the loneliness made Drista incapable of even that. The tears would flow, and no one would care to know. Drista prays she never returns to that.

“I am certain you will, Your Highness,” Purpled says. He suddenly looks around the dim hallway, the moonlight giving away his expression. He leans down on his knee with a smile stretching across his face. “I have a present for Your Highness.”

“What is it?” Drista excitedly says.

Purpled pulls out something from his inner coat pocket. He sets it on the windowsill. Drista recognizes it as a blank doll made from wood. Purpled removes the glove. Instead of pale skin like the rest of him, his hands up to his mid-forearm are shrouded with the mists of night, entirely dark with pinpricks of stars and other celestial bodies. Purpled taps his finger against the doll. Suddenly, a face made from shadows appears. The doll stands up, moving around the windowsill like a child bursting with energy.

“It isn’t a golem, but it is another type of familiar,” Purpled remarks, hurriedly putting his gloves back on to hide the fact that he’s star-stained. Drista hardly notices as she leans closer to the wooden doll. It twirls in front of her, nearly falling if she hadn’t caught it in time. The doll bows to her in gratitude.

Drista turns to throw her arms around Purpled’s shoulders. She hugs him, and after a few moments of hesitation, Purpled hugs back.

“Congratulations on surviving ten years in this world,” Chat tells Drista. There is no party or presents or anything of that nature, but they do smile at Drista kindly. It reminds her of the last birthday she had in the other world. When Chat learned what it was, they endeavored to celebrate with Drista. As far as birthdays go, that one was among the best. 

“Thank you,” Drista chuckles, realizing that surviving in this world is harder than she thought it would be. Or maybe it’s easier, Drista doesn’t remember what thoughts went through the head of the baby body she was trapped in. She’s still stuck in a ten-year-old’s body, but at least she can control her movements now. “Hey, what happened back there? Where did my second name come from?”

“Clerics of the sun god can perceive the truth just as clerics of the moon goddess can hide it,” Chat explains.

“I guess I’ll have to be careful around Dawn, then,” Drista says under her breath. The butterfly hybrid seems nice, but Drista really can’t have anyone knowing the truth about her.

“You should be more careful around your chevalier, too. The power he wields…” Chat trails off.

“You’re going to have to start telling me the whole truth one of these days,” Drista crosses her arms over her chest.

Chat laughs, “One day, maybe, but not today. No, today, we celebrate your birthday.”

Chat offers their hand to Drista. She smiles slightly as she takes it, and the two begin to dance.

Chapter Text

Drista wears a thick, loose white shirt tucked into a pair of black pants with a brown leather belt. She wears a black cloak over her clothes with the hood pulled down to let her dirty blonde hair spool out across her shoulders. Her shoes are made from a similar material as her shoes as are the gloves pulled up to her wrists. She fiddles with the straps of her gloves as she maneuvers through the crowd. While the materials of their clothes aren’t different, everyone else in the crowd is wearing brighter colors. Additionally, they are adorned with all manner of ribbons that spin away from them with the wind but remain tethered by a firmly tied knot. Drista glances at them, deducing that their purpose must have something to do with the circus.

While the Faction Isle celebrates with a festival, Essempei recreates circuses with large flowing tents and wondrous attractions. Drista overheard some maids talking about the circus, proclaiming that a famous magician would be among the performers. Drista didn’t tell anyone about what she heard since she was planning to sneak away to watch the show, but Puffy came into her room earlier with some stolen commoner clothing and a plan to get into the circus with her brothers. Drista hurriedly got dressed, and she met her family in secrecy so none of the guards could stop them or report them to Thetis.

Drista reaches out to grab her mother’s hand. Puffy glances down to smile at Drista. She squeezes Drista’s hand, tugging Drista closer to her side. Drista sidles up to her mother’s side, looking over at her brothers. Puffy has latched onto Dream’s cloak to keep him from running away. Foolish is walking in slow circles, trying to look at everything all at once. Tents are lining the pathway the family is walking down, illuminated by lanterns powered by magic stones and orbs that float in the air that resemble stars brought down to the earth. In the distance, Drista can see contraptions that she assumes were built by Waglington considering their complexity and popularity.

“We should buy some ribbons to decorate ourselves with,” Puffy murmurs. She gently tugs Drista and less-gently drags Dream over to a booth selling the ribbons that everyone seems to be wearing. Foolish is almost left behind, but Puffy’s whistle is as clear as a male nightingale’s song. Foolish hurries over to the family as they step underneath the flaps of the tent. The interior glows a pale blue color as an attendant helps another couple pick out ribbons for each other. “We need to pick out three ribbons for each other. It’s a tradition during this celebration to get ribbons for your family.”

Puffy releases Drista and Dream’s hands as she hurries over to a table. The three siblings glance at each other. Foolish shrugs as he drifts away, and Dream bounds into the tent like a whirlwind. Drista glances over at the nearest table. She needs to get a ribbon for each member of her family. Drista has gotten her family gifts before, but this time feels far more special. Once she gives these ribbons, it will be proven that the four of them are a family. Drista will have to admit to herself that she loves them like one and accept that they love her like one. It is a terrifying thought for someone who spent an entire lifetime alone, but Drista feels equally exhilarated by such an experience.

Drista looks through the ribbons keenly, searching for one that calls out to her. There are many different colors, designs, and lengths, but none of them seem to scream her family’s aura. The first one Drista finds is one for Dream. The ribbon is sectioned off into horizontal thin strips that are rejoined at the end with a bird’s feather. For a brother who moves as boundless as the wind, it seems like the perfect ribbon for him. The next ribbon Drista finds is one for Foolish. While the main part of the ribbon is the same color as off-white sand, both tips resemble the ocean with layers of blue and a short film of white. The last ribbon Drista finds is a red one for Puffy. There is a grid of maroon squares over the surface, with the largest square in the middle the same shade of red as Puffy’s captain’s coat.

When she finishes, Drista pays for the ribbons with some bronze coins. The attendant is happy at her selection, ready to tell Drista all about the history of each ribbon and ribbon-making itself. Drista laughs politely, excusing herself. She steps outside of the tent, trading the packed warmth for the open wind that blows through the mob of people running around as if they were children again.

“Drista!” Dream calls as he pops out of the tent. He is grinning widely as he stands right beside Drista. He picks up her arm, swiftly tying the ribbon he purchased for her there. Drista glances down at the ribbon. It is mainly white with gossamer thin streaks of green splicing the ribbon at irregular intervals. Drista plays with the tips before she remembers that she has to tie Dream’s ribbon over his arm. She smiles shyly as she does the given task, hoping that he doesn’t absolutely hate what she picked out for him. “I didn’t know they had some with feathers! I guess I should have known since the one I got for Foolish has a scale on it.”

“Are we already sharing?” Foolish asks as he steps out of the tent. He looks between the ribbons now on his siblings’ arms. He wears a half-smirk as he ties their ribbons. While he’s tying Dream’s ribbon, Drista hurries to tie the ribbon onto his arm. Dream follows her lead when they switch. Drista stares down at the new ribbon on her arm. There is a flannel pattern of green, black, and gray that makes Drista think about the forest the longer she stares at it.

“Oh, don’t tell me you three have already started,” Puffy sighs as she steps out from under the flap of the tent. She smiles tiredly at the three of them as she hurries to tie their ribbons onto their arm, going so quickly that they aren’t able to tie her ribbons onto her until after she’s settled down. As soon as Drista is finished, she looks down at the ribbon her mother gave her. It is a blue ribbon with dozens of green butterflies flying around. When Drista touches it, she thinks about the man from the illusion she accidentally conjured from Puffy’s thoughts.

“Let’s keep going!” Puffy chirps, grabbing Drista’s hand and Dream’s cloak again. She pulls them forward, rejoining the crowd without another thought. She laughs merrily, and Drista is unable to stop herself from laughing alongside her mother as they rush into the fray.

One of the tents they enter is filled with tightly sealed jars with a woman standing in charge in the back. The family disperses around the tent. Drista picks up one of the jars, weighing it in her hands. There is magic imbued into the glass, but Drista cannot tell what type it is. She can sense the mana, but she isn’t skilled enough to further determine what kind it is. She looks around to see her family opening the jars. Dream nearly drops him when he decides to take a whiff. He is wearing an expression that is half-happy and half-disgusted. “This one smells like dog poop!”

“Mine smells like fruit,” Foolish brags, trying to shove Dream’s nose back into the jar that smells like dog poop. Puffy giggles at them, her warning about not dropping the jars coming after she regains her breath.

Drista looks down at her jar. She slowly untwists the lid. She pushes her nose near the brim, inhaling quickly. She wishes she hadn’t immediately. A familiar scent fills her nose. There is alcohol, thick and pungent and as heavy as humidity. There is blood, ferrous and sickly and as sharp as a blade. There is gunpowder, stifling and deathly and as quick as a bullet through the heart. The cornerstones of her past. The scent of her birth, her life, and her death all mixed in a single jar so evenly that she could smell them all at the same time without any of them losing their intensity.

A hand is suddenly pressed against Drista’s cheek. She looks up quickly to find Puffy standing right in front of her with a frown on her face. Puffy’s thumb moves across Drista’s cheek. Drista realizes after a moment that Puffy has taken some of her tears with her. Drista didn’t even realize she was crying, but it shouldn’t surprise her considering the scents from the jar. Drista turns her face away to quickly wipe her tears away. She feels the jar being lifted out of her hand. Another one is put in its place. When Drista glances over, Puffy is smiling kindly at Drista, nodding down at the jar. Drista leans in to smell the rim, and she’s taken to her second birth and life instead of her first. Flowers are releasing their floral perfumes with the tangy scent of salty air creating an undercurrent. Drista can almost hear the waves hugging the shore in her head.

After noticing that Drista feels better, Puffy pulls the jar away to purchase it from the lady in the back. Puffy walks back to her children with a small smile on her face, hugging the jar against her chest. “The scent reminds me of you three.”

Drista hurriedly looks away from Puffy to keep herself from crying again. Foolish grabs her hand as they walk out of the tent. Dream darts ahead of them, disappearing into a nearby tent. Drista glances up at Foolish. He shrugs as they follow Dream into the new tent.

Unlike the other tents, this one is lit by candles scattered around the place, creating a spooky ambiance and just begging for a fire to start. A veiled woman with long teal blue hair sits on one side of a table. Dark purple butterflies fly in the air aimlessly all around her, searching for flowers in a place where they will never be. She glances up at the people who have come to her. She gestures to the seats in front of her table with her gloved hand. Dream plops down in one of the chairs. Drista pushes Foolish into the other so she can lean against his shoulder. Puffy comes to stand behind Dream, putting one hand on his shoulder while the other one holds her jar. The veiled woman pulls out a deck of cards. She starts shuffling them, her voice as low and dark as the dim tent around them. “I am a scryer of cards. I will be able to read your fortunes if you trust the cards to reveal the truth.”

“Scyers are diviners, or people who can see into the truth of the world. Usually, they just look into the future,” Puffy whispers an explanation to her children. Drista already knew from Chat and her lessons, but she supposes that Foolish and Dream would have never needed to know this information so they didn’t.

The woman chuckles. She lifts her hand, pressing a finger to her veil in the vague place where her lips must be. “Please do not be too loud lest I get executed by the Ten Commanders.”

Nearly every nation despises diviners. They are thought to be the root of evil rather than the observers of it. Essempei isn’t too different. Just like magic is often taboo because of its similarity to Fae glamour, diviners are seen as inhuman creatures that should be discarded. Still, Drista is almost certain that the Ten Commanders would capture the diviners for personal use instead of immediately killing them.

The fortune teller runs through the futures of every member of the family. Dream is told that he is as swift as the wind and that he will one day gain a companion as quick-footed as he is. Foolish is told that he is a prisoner of the sea and that he will one day become the warden of the sea. Puffy is told that she is part of the cycle and that she will one day ascend above the cycle. Drista is the one that does not get any word about her present. The veiled woman hums sorrowfully as she warns Drista that death will not be her undoing but oblivion. Although the others laugh off the words, Drista sees them as the prophecy they are meant to be and it unnerves her.

“How about we go to that magic show?” Puffy asks, placing a hand on Drista’s shoulder to pull the girl’s gaze away from the veiled woman. Drista nods slowly. As unnerving as the prophecy was, Drista could not rid herself of her excitement over attending a show performed by a genuine magician. Although Chat, Iris, and Waglington told Drista there were a handful more magicians in the world, Drista was having trouble believing them since she only knew about herself and Iris. She is ready to meet her second magician, other than herself.

The group finds the magic show in the largest tent of the entire circus. Puffy makes her children form a chain with their hands with Drista and Dream in the middle. Puffy guides them through the standing crowd until they are in the front. Puffy pushes Drista in front of her, settling her hands on Drista’s shoulders. She squeezes them gently as they wait for the show to start.

“Presenting the star of the show, Solomon, and his fabulous assistant, Bekyamon!” An announcer calls out through a speaker. Drista tenses with excitement as a silver-haired man suddenly appears on the stage. White doves flutter away from his body as he takes his hat off to dip into a bow. The crowd begins to cheer. Solomon straightens up, putting his hat back onto his head. He reaches a hand out as if he’s escorting someone. From the empty air, a gloved hand reaches out to take his hand. A young woman steps out from the invisible curtain. She wears a white shirt underneath a pale blue vest and pants. Her orange tie creates contrast with her dim blue eyes and dark brown hair tied up into a ponytail. Bekyamon has some animal characteristics that shimmer in and out of existence that Drista realizes is like a chameleon’s. She wonders if Solomon teleported them in or if Bekyamon hid them using her Origin magic.

Although he’s called a magician, Solomon is more like an escape artist. He puts himself in increasingly dangerous situations that he’s effortlessly able to get himself out of with faux worry on his face. Bekyamon’s face is emotionless as she helps him through his various activities, but she’s eventually called to be the star of the show. Solomon places her up against a wooden board. He sets a crisp red apple on top of her head. He takes a step back with a crossbow appearing in his hands. He shows the crowd that it actually shoots before he aims it at Bekyamon. He levels the arrow at her, but he pulls away at the last moment. He claims this is too easy. He calls someone up from the audience to spin him around and tie a blindfold over his eyes. When the helper from the audience positions Solomon, the magician raises his crossbow. He shoots the arrow. The apple topples off of Bekyamon’s head, and Solomon teleports across the stage to catch the apple. He holds it up with an arrow in it, taking so big of a bite that juice spills across his chin. The audience cheers for him.

Drista’s eyes remain on Bekyamon. The assistant’s face is almost entirely empty as she stares straight ahead, but Drista notices that flicker of pain. Drista glances down at the ground. A few crimson drops are soaking into the wooden stage. Drista’s eyes widen, searching for where the wound could be. Bekyamon turns toward the audience as Solomon grabs her hand, forcing the two of them into a bow. When they stand upright, Bekyamon and Solomon both move their hands to disappear completely.

The crowd moves as soon as the show is over. Drista is separated from her family, but she did that on purpose to give herself the opportunity to slip away. She heads behind the tent. She looks around the grassy, damp area for Solomon or Bekyamon. She instead finds an open flap to a smaller tent right behind the big one that might act as a backstage area. Drista uses glamour to turn herself invisible as she slips inside the tent. She looks around the space, feeling the heat of the candles against her skin. As she assumed, the tent is filled with props. Drista looks around each of them. She eventually hears noises. Drista follows the noises to the back of the tent. The space is cleared away to show a vanity where people can get ready. Solomon is sitting in front of the vanity. He has put his hat on a mannequin, retying the ribbon on the black fabric. Bekyamon is standing a few feet away from him. She holds the crossbow that had been used on her, aiming it at Solomon’s back.

Drista stands a few feet away with wide eyes. She tries to assess the situation, and she ends up soaking up the mana in the room. While Solomon is a magician with a thin aura of Mystery around him, Bekyamon is not a normal human being. Drista can feel elemental energy all around her, and the arrow in the crossbow is made from crystals. Bekyamon is an earth elemental, a fact that shocks Drista because elementals are not common in Essempei. Earth and fire elementals are especially rare because they mainly live in the Badlands.

If Bekyamon is an earth elemental, Solomon must be her contractor. In that case, Bekyamon should definitely not be trying to kill Solomon. Even if it isn’t explicitly said in the summoning, elementals and contractors are now allowed to kill each other because of the Ancient Laws. Bekyamon could get into a lot of trouble if she kills Solomon, so Drista drops her glamour immediately. Bekyamon’s eyes flicker over to Drista, taking in her presence and the warning on Drista’s lips. Before the warning can be made into audible noise, Bekyamon pulls the trigger of the crossbow. Drista can see shock in the eyes of Solomon’s reflection. Blood slips from his lips as he falls off the chair, landing heavily against the ground.

Bekyamon is wearing a vindictive smile even as she collapses to the ground from her shattered contract. Drista rushes over to Bekyamon’s side. She wraps her arms around the elemental, trying to comfort the creature as she starts to disperse into elemental energy. That energy clashes with Drista’s aura. Drista feels the Mystery inside of her body rise to the surface in response to the loose elemental energy. It suddenly envelops her and Bekyamon. Although Drista cannot heal with Mystery, she finds herself able to stabilize the elemental’s presence in this world. Drista isn’t entirely sure why she does it. Perhaps she pities Bekyamon, or maybe she’s interested in what could have made an elemental kill their contractor. 

“Thank you,” Bekyamon whispers, pulling away to look at her hands.

“Don’t let anyone know you’re an elemental, especially not your king,” Drista pushes the elemental away from her to prompt Bekyamon into motion. The rogue nods firmly at Drista. Bekyamon stands up, turning invisible with a burst of elemental energy. Drista takes a step back, teleporting away from the crime scene.

Drista looks around for her family. They are no longer in the big tent. They aren’t in the immediate crowd around the tent, either. Drista frowns to herself as she estimates that her family probably left already. She reaches for the ribbons around her arm as she searches for them by joining the crowd. She moves around the people, eyes darting around at every face for someone she knows. Eventually, Drista catches sight of Puffy’s brown hair since she activated her Origin magic when she left the palace. Drista sighs a breath of relief, running over to the woman. Drista grabs onto Puffy’s hand, drawing the woman’s attention to her. Puffy raises an eyebrow at Drista with a confused smile. Drista only realizes after Puffy starts chuckling that her mother’s eyes start shining with recognition after a moment. “I didn’t recognize you at first.”

Puffy leans down to hug Drista. Foolish and Dream glance over, and the same thing happens. They don’t know who Drista is when they first look at her. They only know after a few seconds of intense staring as if they were trying to understand where they knew Drista from. Drista suddenly feels extremely cold and alone even with a bustling crowd all around her and her mother’s arms holding her tight. Drista realizes with a sickening feeling what the scryer meant by oblivion.

“What was that?!” Drista demands, grabbing onto Chat’s shirt to pull the entity closer to her. She screams directly into their face, trying to ignore the tears that fall from her cheeks. She keeps yelling at Chat. When she’s unable to bear looking into their eyes, she glares at their chest. After a while, she grows weary and her sobs overtake her voice. She continues holding onto Chat’s clothes to keep herself upright as her knees buckle together with sorrow.

“I knew it was a possibility, but I didn’t think it was likely,” Chat murmurs, lifting their hands up to wrap around Drista’s shoulders. They hold Drista up so she can let go of their clothes. Drista’s arms dangle at her sides, and she continues soaking her tears and snot into Chat’s clothing. “I used a force of nature known as quintessence to create your body and give you a place in this world. Unfortunately, this means the world itself will reject you. The more it rejects you, the more it will erase you. The memories of people are the easiest to erase and rewrite.”

“Is there a way to be remembered?” Drista whispers, terrified that when she wakes up, no one will know who she is. The family she has spent so long opening up to is suddenly as fallible as the foster families in the previous world that could give her away at a moment’s notice. Every memory, good and bad and painful and happy, is no more than sand in the wind to other people when they are the bedrock Drista has built her life upon.

“Today was a fluke because you exerted so much Mystery to stabilize that elemental. As long as you continue to show yourself to your family, they will remember you because no matter what the world decides, you have a place where you belong,” Chat promises, but the words ring hollow in Drista’s mind.

Chapter Text

Roughly a year after the truth of her existence had been revealed, Drista sat in a wide, long boat. A parasol sits on her shoulder, the fabric covering her fair hair with its shadow. The warm wind tugs at the braided ribbons tied around Drista’s wrist. The princess pulls her glove over the ribbons to protect them from the wind and hide them from view. Her hand slides away from her wrist, falling limply into her lap. Her fingers stretch out to touch the curve of the parasol’s handle. Drista tightens her grip, and she feels the parasol move using her shoulder as a fulcrum. Drista glances upward to see the edge of the parasol in her field of vision. The sunlight nearly streams through the white fabric.

“What is your opinion on the matter?” The dowager queen asks from the other side of the boat. She sits with her back to the rower and her front facing Drista. Her hands are folded into her lap. She tilts her head to look at Drista from underneath the wide brim of her black hat with a blue trim decorated with gold accessories. It matches her ocean blue dress with a metallic gold bodice framing Thetis’ chest. The dark colors contrast pleasantly with Drista’s lighter green dress whose only additional detail is a white sash around Drista’s waist.

“The Pomona family has provided for the royal family for many generations, so they have naturally grown complacent with their position. The palace should buy from various other orchards for a time to remind the family who allows them to hold their monopoly,” Drista answers lightly, meeting her grandmother’s eyes. Drista has grown weary of this conversation, but she knows Thetis is quizzing her rather than spending quality time with her. Drista knows that her grandmother would have already done something about the Pomona family if she had a plan or the power to enact it. Whatever she’s talking about right now is nothing more than a test that Drista believes she is passing.

“True. Essempei is a beautiful garden. If left unchecked, the nobility will outgrow their designated plot. They will begin stealing resources from one another, choking out the weaker plants. It is better that a skilled gardener prunes the weeds and guarantees everyone has what they require for survival,” Thetis nods sagely. Her face does not change underneath her half-mask. Her dusky eyes glance away from Drista to the distant shore. Her attention remains on Drista, however, a heavy weight the princess cannot easily displace from her shoulders even as she stops the shudder that tried sliding down her spine.

“An apt analogy,” Drista compliments her grandmother, remembering many evenings spent in her literary class. Drista did not get many chances to attend formal school when she was in the other world. When she was younger, it was simply a matter of people not wanting to enroll her or escort her to the campus after the government forcibly enrolled her in the nearest school. As Drista grew old enough to make the trek by herself without getting lost, there were simply some days when she was too injured to show up. But Drista saw school as a safe place away from the adults who would hurt her. While the teachers could be accused of negligence, their little forms of kindness were good enough for Drista. She held no resentment, only an unusual wish to experience school earnestly. She wanted to be more like her classmates for several reasons. This jealousy has presented itself in this world as an overwhelming desire to excel. Drista might not enjoy all of her classes, but she would not get out of them even if she were given the opportunity.

Drista hears a strange gurgling noise. Her unnatural green irises move to the corner of her eye. She stares into the lake’s green-blue surface. Dozens of creatures dart around in the depths, too deep and too fast to be seen properly. One of these creatures, however, has grown close to the surface. The Fae animal is trying to hide itself, but Drista’s eyes have grown accustomed to sensing magic, including glamour. Drista narrows her eyes. The Fae charges toward the surface at full speed. It slams directly into the translucent green barrier Drista created just above the water’s surface. The animal sinks, silver blood unspooling from a head wound. Like sharks, some of the other Fae swim to their fallen companion. Claws and scales grab the Fae’s limbs, dragging it down into the depths for consumption. Drista’s mask hides her disgust for this lake and everything it stands for.

“You are more equipped at staying safe than you used to be,” Thetis states. She reaches a hand into the water. Her fingers easily skim through the cold, clear liquid. Soon, her skin brushes against the cloud of silver blood in the water. Thetis lifts her hand out of the water. She observes her fingers critically. The diluted blood slides down her fingers into her palm and down her wrist. The part of Thetis’ lips Drista can see frowns minutely. Thetis glances over her shoulder at the rower. The servant hurriedly uses a handkerchief to wipe away the diluted Fae blood as efficiently as possible. Thetis allows them. She looks back at Drista to observe the halfling’s reaction.

Drista does not deign the dowager queen with a response to that particular sentiment. This is Thetis’ preferred location for meetings with her granddaughter. The Fae do not attack most of the time, but they have done it enough that most people would consider this an unreasonable location to bring anyone, let alone a child as young as Drista. Thetis proposed the possibility of going somewhere else once, but Drista did not answer her grandmother. This was only Thetis’ power move if Drista let her grandmother know that it affected her. Drista was not going to lose this particular battle with her foremother.

“Your ladyship, I have a class to attend to,” Drista says as she stands. Drista pulls down the latch for her parasol, letting the fabric fold into the metal base. Drista presses the point against one of the benches between her and Thetis. Drista leans partially against her parasol as she stares at Thetis from the bottom of her eyes. Drista keeps a neutral expression, taking a deep breath through her nose. Her grip tightens on the curved handle of her parasol, awaiting her grandmother’s answer.

“I see. I will permit your departure. It will do you much good to pay more attention in your classes. Your answers today were lackluster at best and incorrect at worst. I will speak with your instructors about reviewing your knowledge regarding the arts. While paintings and plays might not seem important, they are powerful tools in politics as they allow hidden messages to manifest in subjects or themes,” Thetis tells Drista. The princess bites the inside of her cheek to keep herself from rising to the bait. As annoying as the words are, Thetis isn’t technically wrong. Drista isn’t the best at the arts even when she knows from her history books that disciplines like these are important. Drista will figure it out, she supposes, and prove Thetis wrong during their next encounter.

Drista curtsies respectfully. When she straightens her back, she snaps her fingers. She teleports from the boat to the dock several yards away. Drista lands a little unsteadily, used to the rocking of the boat more than the stability of the wooden planks. Drista takes a deep breath, shifting her weight. She is consciously aware of Thetis’ stare against her back. Drista squeezes the handle of her parasol as tightly as her fingers will allow as she walks from the edge of the dock to the shore. Thetis might be observant, but she doesn’t have eyesight any better than humans. She would have noticed Drista’s imbalance but not her unladylike grip.

“Your Highness,” Drista’s chevalier calls out as he stands at her side. Drista turns her expression into neutrality as she glances at Purpled. The half-elf is doing a poor job of keeping his own expression unaffected, but thankfully, Purpled’s face doesn’t present his emotions as passionately as it would other people. His eyes are slightly narrow and his frown is a smidge too deep to be neutral, but other people would not notice this. Drista only knows because she’s spent so much time around Purpled, learning his habits as intimately as he knows hers, which explains the sternness in his voice.

Drista relaxes her grip on the parasol. She reluctantly places it in Purpled’s awaiting hand. He pushes the latch to extend the fabric. Despite his duty only being protecting Drista, not attending to her, he holds the parasol over her head. Drista raises an eyebrow at him, but he’s glancing back at Thetis in her boat with the rower. Drista’s attention slides to her grandmother, too. While Thetis is human, Drista is decidedly not. Drista knows the moment the dowager queen’s attention breaks away from the duo. Quick as a viper, Drista grabs Purpled’s wrist. She keeps her eyes on the boat as she teleports them away.

Drista’s vision suddenly fills with a tall bookshelf holding hundreds of books with spines of all colors and sizes. Drista sighs in relief. Her shoulders slump inward as her entire body deflates from exhaustion. Drista lifts her hand to push back the hair around the side of her head, holding the hair between her fingers as she stares at the shelf before her. Her fingers slide through her hair, pulling at knots she can barely feel through her gloves. When her hair falls out of her grasp, Drista claps her hands together. She looks over at Purpled. He leans back slightly, staring out the window at the end of the shelf passageway. He lowers the parasol to the ground, holding it like a sword.

“Home, sweet home,” Drista notes sarcastically. As the daughter of the Pirate Queen (and the chevalier protecting her in Purpled’s case), Drista has access to nearly every building associated with the four guilds. This includes the Heron’s Archive, an extensive library filled with books collected from expeditions or bought from the other guilds. While there is a large variety of books here, the Herons are diligent in their organization. Drista knows what sort of books she will find in every section of the library, including the restricted ones. Drista has been there a few times. She snuck in at first, but she was later granted permission after passing an exam proctored by the Herons.

“Why do you put up with that bitch?” Purpled asks. He leans against the bookshelf with the parasol hanging off the clip of the scabbard on his belt.

“There are several laws against what you just said,” Drista reminds him without answering. She pushes around some of the books on the shelf to look for a specific one.

“Who is going to report me here?” Purpled asks, gesturing around. Although libraries are known for being quiet, the archive is particularly silent right now. Drista doesn’t feel anyone’s presence with her Mystery, and Purpled’s senses are far sharper than hers are. Even if someone was around, it would most likely be a Heron. The pirates pay due respect to Puffy and her children, but it is no secret that they despise Thetis and her Ten Commanders.

Drista hums her agreement, deciding not to tell Purpled he’s right in case he gets egotistical about it. She would rather that case than him repeating his question verbatim with more force behind each word. Drista glances over her shoulder at him. He is scrutinizing her with his arms crossed over his chest. Drista shrugs, watching his eyebrows furrow further at the reaction. Drista looks away as Purpled laughs in disbelief. “I think you spend more time with Thetis than you do your real family.”

“The dowager queen is part of my real family,” Drista remarks. For better or for worse, Thetis is the woman who gave birth to Drista’s mother. As thin as it is, Thetis’ blood flows through Drista’s blood as assuredly as silver blood.

“You know what I meant,” Purpled sighs, rolling his eyes.

Drista grabs a book about an acclaimed theater troupe popular in Essempei a few years back. She settles the book in her lap as she sits on the ground. She adjusts her skirt around her, but she can still feel the rough texture of the carpet on the back of her thighs. Drista crosses one leg over the other as she pulls the book open to the table of contents, assessing what information she will garner from this fairly new book. The Herons must have bought it from the Kestrels.

“How is your progress coming along?” Purpled asks, dividing her attention between him and the book in her lap. Drista flips to the preface, skimming the author’s intentions.

“I’m going at a snail’s pace. Most of the books I have found are simply rehashing the main religious documents. There are very few attempts to apply nuance to the sun god. Thankfully, people seem a little more keen on sharing regional variations of the moon goddess even if there isn’t much academic precedent for these claims,” Drista answers with a half-shrug. She has put her research on the sun and moon deities on the back burner, but when she finds an opportunity to learn more, she takes it without question.

“You know that isn’t the progress I meant,” Purpled changes the subject, glaring down at Drista. His hand wraps around the opposite wrist. He squeezes gently. Drista does not stare at the gloves covering the star-stained skin. Because of their proximity, Purpled knows all about Drista’s attempts to study theology. He does not necessarily disapprove of her actions, but she knows that he doesn’t like anything to do with the night sky.

“I have made no progress on that front,” Drista glances back down at her book. She trails her fingers over the first page’s title. She starts reading the introductory chapter about the purpose behind the theater in Essempei. Annoyingly, the book touches on the ideas Thetis mentioned about the theater’s influences on politics.

“Have you even tried?” Purpled raises an eyebrow. He pushes off the shelf he is leaning against. He takes a step forward before putting his heels together. Drista glances up at him to see his analytical gaze. She looks back at her book, flipping the page with a frown.

“Why do you even care?” Drista poses a different question, an arguably more important one.

“I don’t want to see a family torn apart,” Purpled retorts, something bitter in his tone as he looks away from Drista. The princess sighs as she sets her book down beside her. She puts her hands on her lap. She leans her head back against the shelf, eyes fluttering shut. In the darkness of her closed eyelids, Drista is reminded of The Ender Prince. It will begin in a few years. Drista knows the fates of her family, so she’s been trying to detangle herself from them. It isn’t as difficult as Drista thought it would be considering they are all busy people. Puffy is the queen, Foolish is the crown prince, and Dream is training to be a Hunter.

“You can’t let Thetis do this to you,” Purpled continues. Drista shushes him, peeking one of her eyes open to level a glare at him. Purpled isn’t paying attention to her. He is staring into the distance with his arms crossed over his chest. “I know manipulation when I see it, Your Highness. Thetis is getting inside your head.”

“You will hold your tongue,” Drista snaps, frustration thick on her lips. She lets both of her eyes open to glare at her chevalier (her friend, perhaps, if she was willing to admit such a truth).

Purpled looks at her with disbelief in his eyes. “Don’t tell me you believe for a second anything Thetis tells you.”

Drista ignores him. She closes her eyes again to hide from his admonishments. She has been spending more time with Thetis over the past year since Thetis has more time on her hands and she’s a well of information for Drista. It would be a blatant lie to consider these interactions pleasant by any stretch of the definition, but it is useful. Drista considers it to be time well spent.

Even if Drista didn’t accept her grandmother’s invitations, there is no guarantee she would spend that time with her family. Dream is gone most of the time on missions with the Hunters. Foolish has been excelling at his royal training. Puffy is left managing the internal and external affairs of the kingdom including the common people, the nobility, and the pirates. Everyone in Drista’s family is focusing on their duties. Drista does not currently have any duties even when Thetis has asked her several times where her ambitions lie. Drista instead dives into her research, practicing her magic and studying theology. She knows enough about politics to get by with the other children her age at tea parties and playdates. They have all chosen to spend their time the way they want, and if that includes each other only in passing, then that’s just the way it is.

Drista ignores the most important reason for their separation as she stands. She shoves the book into Purpled’s arms. He fumbles with it, glancing up at Drista. She looks away from him. “You should read instead of running your mouth about matters that do not concern you. I am going to see if there are any Herons on duty.”

Drista steps away from him. As soon as she turns the corner, she begins running away. Purpled must know she’s running with his enhanced senses, but Drista feels like she’s retained some dignity by at least waiting to see out of his line of sight. The tightening in her chest is from the exertion, not her emotions, obviously. Drista presses a hand against her lungs, not her heart, to feel the flesh moves beneath her gloves. Drista blinks rapidly to protect her eyes from the wind, not will away her tears.

Drista stops running when she reaches the main doors of the archive. She pushes one of the doors open with a crack big enough to slip through. Drista takes a deep breath of salty air, feeling the sting across her taste buds. She closes her mouth as she exhales out of her nose. Drista’s eyes adjust to the glare of the sun on the distant ocean. As colors and shapes begin snapping into place, Drista notices two Herons near the entrance of the archive. A ginger-haired man and a red-haired zombie hybrid are talking to each other, gesturing between the ocean and the journal they hold together. Drista bounds over to them with a soft smile on her face.

S. Denholm startles when he notices Drista standing next to him. He looks around with a frown stretching across his face. “Where did you come from, princess?”

“I teleported,” Drista reminds Denholm. Drista has explained to them before that by using Mystery, Drista can teleport to locations she’s been to before relatively recently. Waglington explained this by noting that magicians leave traces of Mystery wherever they go. A magician can then use more Mystery to reunite with the trace. It isn’t nearly as powerful as the portal creation Ranboo and Enderpearl can use, but it’s plenty useful to Drista.

“Still a nifty trick to have,” Cleo adds, leaning forward to look at Drista from around Denholm’s body. Cleo smiles affectionately at Drista. “What’re you here for, princess?”

“I came to check out some books. Have there been any new ones?” Drista asks, gesturing towards the archive over her shoulder.

Denholm shakes his head apologetically. “Trust me, princess, if anything new came in, you would be the first to know. In fact, you would probably know without anyone telling you.”

Drista sighs, hesitantly agreeing. She has been to the archive enough to notice if there were new books since the Herons always buy in bulk.

Cleo tilts her head to the side. “You know, some ships brought some cargo the other day. It should be all at the dock still. If you want to, you could go look for any new books in the crates. I can’t guarantee there will be any, but it couldn’t hurt to try.”

“Thank you!” Drista calls as her face lights up. She waves at the two Herons as she moves down the path that leads to the city on the Herons’ island. Denholm smiles kindly at Drista, and Cleo returns her wave. Once Drista has passed some trees, the two return to discussing their travel plans.

On the path to the docks, Drista goes through the village on the Herons’ private island. Each of the guilds has an island acting as their base of operations, part of the Faction Isle’s chain of islands. While the islands were originally used for a single building and some docks, villages began to spread as pirates felt safe enough to have families or want homes. Additionally, anyone exiled from Essempei for various crimes was allowed to live on the islands. The laws were looser on the island with an internal system of rights and wrongs. Drista has become acquainted with the pirates and exiles. At least, she has Herons’ island since she frequents the archive more than most Herons do. This fact is proven as people wave or smile at Drista as she passes. She makes polite comments as she continues, not stopping for conversation since she should be getting back to the palace sooner rather than later.

Many ships are docked in the wharf. Some people are exiting the passenger vessels while others are unloading crates of various sizes onto the wooden boards. Drista waves at a few people as she moves toward the less populated area of the wharf where a lot of crates are waiting to be processed. Drista uses disembodied hands made from Mystery to pull the lids off the crates she sees potential in. Drista peers into the crates, nearly falling into several of them. She sees all manner of goods from spices to jewelry, but she doesn’t see any books worth her time. Drista frowns, glancing around for the next box she’s going to try as if she were a gambler deciding where to test her luck.

The afternoon air is salty and hot, but Drista feels a cold shiver run down her spine. The hairs all over her body stand on end as her paling face looks around the secluded area she accidentally found herself in. Behind her, standing at the edge of the dock with a heavy leather-bound book in her hand, Iris stands staring at the water. The beautiful woman slowly shifts her attention from the water to Drista. Her expression is completely neutral as she notices Drista. Despite the princess’ fine dress and mask, Iris’ eyes shimmer with recognition. Iris lifts the book with one hand, nodding at it with her chin. “Are you looking for this?”

“What are you doing here?” Drista hisses. She shifts her body weight until she’s standing in a defensive position. Drista opens the gateway inside her, allowing Mystery to flow around her body.

Iris rolls her eyes. “Do not be so arrogant. I came to pick up some artifacts I bought from the Herons. I did not expect you to be here… or for you to smell so much like Waglington.”

“How do you know Waglington?” Drista asks, narrowing her eyes. She’s known for a little while that Waglington knew Iris, but he has never said her name as personally as Iris says his name. There is a history between them. He’s neutral about it, and Iris is mildly irritated.

“Those forgotten by death tend to gravitate towards each other. While Waglington and I agree the world is meaningless, we are going about this information in different ways,” Iris answers. While the response is vague, it’s so much more than Waglington has ever said on the subject.

“What did you see that made you think life was so meaningless?” Drista continues prompting. Chat mentioned something similar. He told Drista that Iris was so nihilistic that she thought to make the inevitable ending of the world come quicker rather than postponing it as most people would do.

“You might see it one day. Knowing your personality and what’s inside of you, I know that you will eventually see beyond the veil of this world. But,” Iris concedes. She tucks the book underneath her shoulder as she moves closer to Drista. The princess is frozen in her tracks, unable to move away as Iris stands in front of her. The woman is tall enough to look down on Drista, and the girl feels so small in Iris’ eyes. “You do not need to see what Waglington and I have seen to share our philosophy. I assume that by now people have begun forgetting about you.”

Drista flinches. “How do you—”

Iris smiles tenderly. She lifts her hands, placing them on Drista’s cheeks. Drista assumes this is to make sure Drista doesn’t look away, but the touch feels far too kind for Iris’ usual manipulative tactics. “I will always remember you, but the same cannot be said for your loved ones. A vague impression is all that can echo in their minds. If they are going to forget you, you might as well come with me to complete your education and develop your skills.”

Drista glares silently. Iris leaves Drista to her contemplation, absentmindedly rubbing a thumb against Drista’s cheeks. Drista has no answer for Iris as the woman glances up sharply. She frowns as she looks back at Drista. Her hands leave Drista’s cheeks to place the book in Drista’s hands. Iris takes a step back. “I have run out of time. You will, too, eventually.”

Iris disappears, teleporting away. Drista hugs the book against her chest. She stares at the place Iris just was at. She hears Purpled’s voice cutting through her thoughts. “Your Highness needs to stop straying too far.”

Drista reaches a hand out. Purpled reluctantly sets his wrist against her fingers, perhaps sensing something is wrong. Drista lightly grips Purpled’s clothing as she murmurs, “We should return to the palace.”

Bruno climbs over Drista’s legs. She moves her hands out to catch him when he wants to jump off her. Her mind, however, is elsewhere even as she stares at Bruno’s quick-footed actions. Drista thinks about Iris’ offer. Chat warns Drista, “Do not listen to the rambling of a madwoman.”

Drista knows Iris is insane. She knows Iris is terrible to her. But Iris can remember Drista, and that has to count for something.

Chapter Text

As the sole princess of Essempei, Drista’s chambers were filled with gifts around her birthday. They started coming two weeks before the official date, and a few stranglers were coming even after her birthday. Most of the gifts come with letters. This is the nobility’s way of introducing themselves since she is not yet fifteen and therefore cannot join social functions. The introductions are presented for various reasons including subtly hinting at future betrothals or planting the seeds of future ventures into her mind so that she might pass it along to her family. Drista ignores most of the gifts, deciding they are far too bothersome with how much space they take up in her room. She cannot get rid of any of them or else she risks upsetting the noble who gave it to her. She can only imagine the fit the Ten Commanders might throw if she gets rid of their gift, or how they will hound whichever noble family is underneath him should she get rid of that gift.

Among the gifts for her twelfth birthday, there is one that Drista is particularly fond of. Compared to the other gifts, it is extremely unique, mainly because of how difficult it would be to acquire the gift. A Rhiannon is a type of fairy-bird native to Elfame. Like most birds, it sings, but the glamour infused into the Rhiannon’s body makes each song unnaturally complex and breathtakingly beautiful. Few people would be able to obtain this golden bird. A member of the Hunters possibly could, but the letter tied to the gilded birdcage was from Lady Beautie.

Drista has been anticipating Beau for a long time. She wanted to make contact as soon as she realized she was in Essempei, but Beau had been spending her childhood in Elfame. Drista does not have any informants, so she would have to wait naturally for someone to mention a noble has been found wandering near the borders of the Fae Wilds. Drista would have preferred if the news came sooner, but she doesn’t mind so much now that Beau has sent a letter to Drista first. The transmigrator hopes she can establish a mutually beneficial relationship with Beau.

Drista sits down at the desk in her private chambers. She places the Rhiannon’s cage on the edge, waiting for the bird to begin singing a merry tune. Drista pulls a strip of parchment out of a stack. She readies her quill, inking the tip. She thinks carefully about how she wants to start the letter. Her hands hesitate, one holding down the page and the other gripping the quill, as she continues pondering what an acceptable greeting would be. Drista needs to make a good impression. More than that, she needs to make a connection that will last longer than a simple exchange.

When several bad ideas cross her mind, Drista sighs. She leaves the quill in the pot. Instead of worrying over what she doesn’t know, Drista decides to look for inspiration. Thankfully, her maids have sorted many of the letters attached to her gifts on the desk near the parchments. They are probably hoping Drista responds to those letters, and Drista supposes she will eventually with grateful brevity, but for now, she examines how the nobility start their letters to one another. Surely, the respect they hold for the princess of their nation will match the respect Drista wants to show Beau.

The letters are as annoying as the gifts that came with them. Each parchment is inked with saccharine flattery and half-concealed motives. Instead of growing upset, Drista only gets bogged down with boredom. Drista dozes as she slides through wax seals with her letter opener. The blade shimmers gently in the light leaking through her windows. Drista almost cuts her fingertip, but she manages to regain control over the envelope cutter. Drista sets the unruly device down along with the latest letter from the Jarilo family.

Drista taps her finger against the desk, no closer to figuring out what she wants to write. Her incessant tapping causes the piles of letters to tip over. They slide across her desk like a full hand of cards. Drista glares at them. She moves to restack them when she feels a particular texture underneath her fingertips. Drista frowns as she plucks the offender out. Unlike the other envelopes, this one is not made from rich and soft paper. It is rougher with yellow edges and a permeating salty scent. Drista lifts the envelope to examine it thoroughly. The address on the front depicts the sender as a Kestrel calling himself Martyn.

Drista picks her small knife up again. She spins it in her hand until the blade is primed to slide across the seaweed-like material keeping the envelope closed. Drista pulls out a piece of paper with the same consistency as the envelope it was encased in. Drista leans back in her chair as she unfolds. She scans the letter once for a trick or joke. When her eyes only find interesting words, Drista goes over the letter again in earnest.

According to the letter, Martyn is looking for an odd jewel. He describes the physical appearance of the uncut gemstone as being made from red, orange, and yellow translucent glass. The last known whereabouts are within Essempei’s borders. Martyn has a few leads about possible locations, but he would like a second opinion. He chose Drista for a few reasons, and he listed three of them. Firstly, she was a princess with access to more information than he was. Secondly, she was affiliated with the Herons without being one. Thirdly, he knows that she’s been researching the sun god so she might already know about the gemstone. Martyn wants to hear back from her soon. He admits at the end of the letter that he’s aware of how unlikely a response will be, so he tells her that he will wait a few weeks until he searches for the gemstone with or without her opinion.

Drista admires the straightforward nature of the letter. Although she would have humored Martyn anyway, she is interested in one of his reasons. Does this gemstone have something to do with the sun god?

Martyn isn’t incorrect in saying she’s been researching the topic. Drista walks over to the bookshelf in the corner of her room. She keeps all of her important books on these shelves. Magical tomes from Waglington, academic papers from her teachers, and everything to do with the sun god and moon goddess. Only Chat and Bruno know about the book Drista keeps hidden in the back of the bookshelf. It is a book written by one of Iris’ closest followers, the Iris church’s version of a holy text.

Drista ignores that book as she grabs onto her journal filled with the most pertinent information about Essempei’s deities. Drista flips through the pages, trying to recall the order she’s written in. Eventually, Drista’s eyes snag on a rough sketch she drew. Drista opens her journal completely. She traces the words with her finger as she whispers them aloud. If Martyn’s descriptions are accurate, he must be looking for the Sunset Stone. It was said to be a piece of crystallized divinity from the sun god. While most consider it a myth, the stone technically belongs to the royal family. This fact has dissuaded others from looking for the stone because they don’t want it to be taken by the royal family if they discover it. Martyn must have found a good reason to believe it exists if he’s not only looking for it but telling the princess who owns it he’s searching for it.

Drista snorts. Martyn seems like an interesting individual. Drista decides that she wants to help him look for the Sunset Stone. She’s practically become a historian for divine knowledge, so of course she wants to see the Sunset Stone in person. Even if she doesn’t get to see it, she’s certain that whatever is compelling Martyn to go on this journey will be valuable to her overall research. As far as Drista is aware, that isn’t any way for this mission to be unbeneficial regardless if they find the stone or not.

Drista brings the journal back to her desk. She plops it down next to the cage of the Rhiannon. The bird’s wings ruffle at the loud noise. Drista whispers a sheepish apology. The Rhiannon turns to look away from Drista haughtily, but it opens its bronze beak to sing a haunting melody. A shiver runs down Drista’s spine, supposing that the Rhiannon wants her to feel what it felt when she slams the journal down. Drista takes a deep breath to keep from getting distracted as she finishes the letters for both Beau and Martyn.

She thanks Beau for the gift. She expresses her delight in the bird’s songs and a few concerns over the proper maintenance of a supernatural pet. She asks for advice on that front. She goes on to mention that she is eager to grow acquainted with someone who can procure a fairy-bird. Drista hopes she doesn’t sound awkward or demanding in the letter. She seals the envelope with her signet in the maroon wax.

Drista’s letter to Martyn is far less formal. She shares her respect for his boldness in approaching her about the matter. She tells him that this is possibly the best path he could have taken. Drista is more than knowledgeable about the sun god. She knows everything that can be learned from books about the Sunset Stone. Unfortunately, she notes that books do not complete knowledge. She would like to assist Martyn in finding the Sunset Stone. She would even like to join him on whatever journey he is taking to the potential locations. She assures him that she’s strong enough to take care of herself using magic. If he does not wish for her to accompany him, she will be forced to tell other members of the royal family that someone is looking for the Sunset Stone. Her silence can only be bought one way, she assures him. Drista seals the envelope, unbothered by the tone she chose to take for this letter.

Drista waits for the Rhiannon to stop singing. When the bird finally does, Drista rings a golden bell on the corner of her desk. In a few minutes, the door opens. A maid approaches Drista. They curtsy in front of her. Drista hands the two envelopes to the maid. Even without a verbal command, the maid knows to take the envelopes to the mail carriers. She hesitates a moment to glance at the other letters. Drista shakes her head. She will reply to them all later. For now, she has business to attend to.

Drista leaves the room shortly after the maid does. Drista goes in the opposite direction as her. The chevalier outside her door nods at Drista, acknowledging that she’s left the room. Drista nods back, more out of habit than a conscious decision.

To prepare her for social gatherings, Thetis has begun inviting Drista to join her for tea. Since she has nothing better to do, Drista agrees to the meetings. It isn’t as if the tea parties aren’t beneficial to Drista. She learns a lot about the political climate of Essempei and even the world. Drista used to be unconcerned with the other nations, but she has heard a few strange rumors about Prince Theseus from her grandmother. He should have been the villain of the first arc, Shackles For Frozen Tears, but the rumors surrounding him don’t paint the image of a psychopath. Drista would investigate further, but she doesn’t have the means. She really should hire someone unaffiliated with the palace to do that for her.

Drista’s thoughts are stalled when she hears laughter. She glances up from the ground. Foolish and Dream are walking side-by-side in the hallway. Foolish is telling a story with his hands. Dream is trying his best not to keep his laughter under control. Dream notices Drista first. His laughter peters out into a friendly smile visible underneath the shadow of his porcelain mask. Foolish’s mask covers his entire face, so Drista only knows he registers her presence when his hands stop moving. Dream’s head tilts to the side. They are silent for a long moment. Drista’s heart seizes because she knows they don’t recognize her. They just celebrated her birthday together a few days ago, and yet…

Dream’s smile grows even wider. He rushes forward, getting closer to Drista. This marks the moment he recognizes her. Foolish is slower to follow, but he does, and Drista assumes he knows who she is now when he asks, “Where are you heading?”

“Are you feeling alright?” Dream adds, putting his hands on her cheeks. He pulls at the edges of her mask. Drista partially agrees with him. She hates that their masks hide their emotions from her, but she pulls away from Dream’s grip because she doesn’t want them to notice her momentary heartbreak at being forgotten.

Drista pulls at the skirt of her dress. She curtsies the appropriate distance for her position compared to theirs. “Greetings, Your Highness, Prince Dream the Swift, and Your Royal Highness, Prince Foolish the Undying. To answer the questions proposed, I am heading to meet Her Eminence, the queen mother for tea. I am in perfect health.”

“You do not need to be so formal with us,” Foolish says with a noticeable pout in his tone.

“On the contrary, Your Royal Highness, it would be more suitable for the three of us to get used to such titles since we are growing older,” Drista explains. They are going to need to use proper titles when they are attending social events together or referring to an absent sibling. Drista is making the words into a habit, and she trusts her brothers to do the same.

“Nope. Only strangers need to use those titles. You’re always going to be my little sister, and I’ll always be your big brother,” Dream shakes his head firmly. The light slides across his smile as he moves, pronouncing the emotions he feels.

Drista swallows thickly. She will only be his sister when he remembers her, and that is becoming incredibly difficult to gauge. Drista forces her emotions down as she dismisses herself on the grounds of not keeping Thetis waiting. Drista knows that her brothers want to talk longer, but she’s rounding the corner before they can get a word out. Drista wraps her arms around her stomach as she walks. She’s grateful for the mask as it soaks up her tears.

She has ceased crying by the time she steps into the sunlight. The warm breeze caresses her cheek playfully, urging her to calm her unsteady heart. Drista takes a deep lungful of the wind, and she deposits its happiness inside of her.

Thetis is sitting at a table the servant set up. The table is decorated with delectable sweets and roses as red as Thetis’ dress. The woman is playing with one of the buds, waiting for Drista before she begins sipping her tea. Drista smooths out the contours of her light blue dress as she joins her grandmother. Thetis glances over at Drista as the princess curtsies in front of the dowager queen. “Greetings, Grandmother.”

“Sit,” Thetis orders, gesturing to the seat across from her. A servant steps forward to pull the chair out for Drista and push her back underneath the table. A different servant carries a teapot to the table, pouring a warm brown liquid into the teacups. The servants step away silently. Drista nods at them gratefully. Thetis hardly pays attention to them as she lifts her teacup to her lips. When she lowers the teacup back onto its saucer, she meets Drista’s eyes. “I have been told you received an adequate amount of gifts. Are there any particular standouts?”

“All of the gifts have been chosen with great care for the sole purpose of influencing my mind. Thankfully, Grandmother’s warnings kept me from being fooled. I was able to accept the gifts without any of the attached strings,” Drista explains, knowing what answer Thetis is looking for. Depending on Drista’s answer, one of the Ten Commanders will be dealing with a lecture for their disrespect. “If I were to pick a favorite, it would be a Rhiannon bird. The rumors about its singing voice are true. I was thoroughly awed.”

“Hmm… Quite the prize, though I would expect nothing less for a princess,” Thetis hums as she takes another sip. It isn’t easy to tell with her mask, but Drista has sat before her grandmother enough time to know when Thetis is mildly impressed. It is an incredible feat since Thetis is usually aloof about everything, but Drista supposes this is the power of a main character.

The conversation flows from there. Drista doesn’t learn anything noteworthy, but she mentally jots down anything that might be important later. When Thetis starts gathering herself, Drista ventures to ask a question. “Grandmother, what do you know about the Sunset Stone?”

Thetis’ fingers hesitate. She leans back in her chair. She assesses Drista carefully, and a thoughtful frown tugs her face into an expression Drista is familiar with. “I remember it as a story my governess told me when I was a child younger than you are now. It is said to be the sun god’s gift to the royal family, but it was lost during an attempted rebellion hundreds of years ago.”

“What was it a gift for? Did the royal family do something special to earn it?” Drista continues prodding.

“I would not know. I only know that most records of the stone are translated with that word. It could have been given as a blessing in physical form,” Thetis answers. “Where has this curiosity come from?”

“I will admit that I’m interested in the gods of Essempei,” Drista says sheepishly. She doesn’t really talk to anyone about her interests. The Herons know that theology books are the ones she looks for the most, and Purpled has listened to her complaints about translation errors enough times to know where her interests lie. Her family is the one force she hasn’t spoken with about it. Drista feels a little embarrassed admitting it now.

“I should have known this information with how many questions you ask your tutors,” Thetis looks away from Drista as she thinks about the reports she receives once a week. Thetis glances back at Drista. “I will acquire a theologist for you to learn from.”

“Thank you!” Drista says, her voice bursting with gratitude. Drista’s self-study has produced very little fruit. If she has someone to talk to about all of this, she might be able to reach a new conclusion about the blurry sky. She might figure out why the gods have seemingly abandoned these lands.

Thetis nods. She continues gathering her belongings. When she stands, she stares right into Drista’s eyes. “I was fond of this conversation, yet I have other responsibilities to attend to now. Continue advancing in your studies.” Thetis steps away from the table. Her servants flock to her, but they all freeze when Thetis stops. The woman shifts her body, glancing over her shoulder. Drista frowns, straightening her body. “You should begin considering what role you want to play in this kingdom. Your eldest brother will be king, and your second brother will lead the Hunters. What will you do?”

Thetis turns back around. She leaves this time with all of her servants. Drista remains at the table, torn by all of her thoughts.

“I’m going to look for the Sunset Stone,” Drista tells Chat firmly. Bruno buries his snout into her neck, seeking comfort in her body heat. Drista ignores him and what his actions imply about her current mental state.

“Why?” Chat asks, staring at Bruno as if they know what Drista is pointedly avoiding. Their tone implies the same thing. Drista doesn’t want to talk about how well Chat knows her, either. She keeps adding to this list of facts she doesn’t want to mess with. If she starts thinking about it too long and hard, she will find herself in an even worse place than she’s currently in.

“I want to know more about the gods. I want to know why the sky isn’t as clear for others as it is for me. More than that, I want to learn what made Iris disillusioned with this world and where Waglington came from. I have a strong feeling I’m going to need divine assistance to figure those two out since they aren’t keen on telling me themselves. I mean, you did say that clerics of the sun god can see the truth. Imagine what the sun god himself can see?” Drista lists, carefully wording her last point since she knows Chat will disapprove. They have warned her countless times about recklessly charging into learning the truth of the world. Unfortunately, that’s exactly what Drista wants to do. She’s tired of waiting to grow up. She wants to know so much about this world, and she needs to start somewhere. She needs to take action.

“I can’t disagree…” Chat sighs, eyes flickering away from her. They take a deep breath. They reach out to set both of their hands on her shoulders. They squeeze comfortingly as they look into her eyes. Bruno rolls around, tucking his head underneath Chat’s fingers. “But I need you to be careful, Drista. There is no guarantee that whatever turned them to nihilism will not affect you. I do not wish for you to grow disillusioned with this world.”

“I’ll be careful,” Drista swears to them. She wants to add a promise about not getting disillusioned, but her inability to lie keeps her mouth shut.

Chapter Text

Drista stands at the threshold at the top of the tower. Her hand lingers on the door handle. The metal warms underneath her firm grip. Bruno crawls down from her shoulder to her wrist. His tail tenses behind him as his sagacious eyes peer into the workshop beyond the door frame. Bruno makes an animalistic yipping noise as he notices what Drista’s eyes gravitated towards when she stepped into the room. Waglington is draped across a couch he put in the room in recent years. A pillow embroidered with a kind message covers his face, but his snoring can be heard when Drista enters the room. Bruno races back up her arm to tuck his snout into her neck. She releases her grip on the door handle. She closes the heavy wooden door with the heel of her boot as she crosses her arms over her chest.

“I came to say goodbye,” Drista says, loud enough to wake Waglington from his slumber. While the workshop has always been messy, Waglington has outdone himself this time. Several boxes and containers Drista thought would always remain tucked away have been dragged out, left half-open and overflowing with random trinkets she doesn’t recognize. A few of them are pulsating with light or darkness, and others have a dizzying overlay effect that makes Drista nauseous the longer she looks in their general direction. A scholar’s bag sits by the couch with most extra pockets and open pouches. Waglington’s arm disappears into the main part of the bag, dipping down further than humanly possible. Either Waglington has cast an odd spell on his limb or the bag has access to a pocket space. Drista wouldn’t be surprised either way.

Waglington groans like a creaking door hinge in a haunted house. He lifts his arm out of the scholar’s bag, revealing that the bag has a pocket dimension between the folds of fabric. Waglington plucks the pillow off his face. His nose scrunches together, and he throws the pillow toward his feet. The pillow falls between his ankles. Waglington peeks one eye open, his carmine iris finding Drista and Bruno. Waglington closes his eyes again, shifting on the couch to get into a more comfortable position. Sensing her distress, Bruno leaps from Drista’s body onto Waglington. The magical beast’s white fur contrasts with Waglington’s sable black locks, and the wizard sneezes as Bruno’s tail swishes underneath his nose.

“Will you be sad when I leave?” Waglington asks. He picks Bruno up from the familiar’s scruff. Bruno’s legs move toward his underbelly. He makes a quiet noise as his ears flop across the sides of his face. Waglington moves Bruno from side to side, observing the familiar curiously.

“I thought I was going to shed a tear, but I’m too annoyed to do that anymore,” Drista remarks. Her own neck burns as if receiving the same attention Bruno is. To distract herself, Drista starts picking up some of the random objects on the ground. She tucks them away into the containers she assumes they came from. She isn’t properly cleaning since she shoves everything to the side, but it allows for more floor space. Drista presses her hand against the ground. She chuckles under her breath, wondering when the last time she saw it was. Waglington always leaves his papers on the ground, after all. She doesn’t notice any papers that aren’t part of books right now, but she knows she will find them soon enough if she continues cleaning the workshop.

Waglington kicks his legs into the air. They sail around. As his heels hit the ground, his upper body is compelled to sit up. He sets Bruno down in his lap. He absentmindedly pets the familiar’s back. Bruno’s legs spread out in every direction. His fluffy tail manages to wrap around Waglington’s wrist. Neither Drista nor Waglington makes a special note of it as Waglington tries explaining himself. “I was only taking a quick nap before my journey began.”

“How long is this journey going to be?” Drista asks, stepping toward the couch. She lifts the scholar’s bag onto the couch cushion where Waglington was once lying. She folds down the flaps to cover the pockets, and she clicks shut the main flap to ensure that nothing spills out of the pocket dimension. The bag is a little heavier than Drista thought it would be, but it isn’t anything her strength cannot handle.

Waglington shakes his head decisively. He looks at Drista from the corner of his eyes with an almost mischievous smile. He leans his back against the couch. Bruno shakes and stretches in Waglington’s lap. Waglington lets the animal go as Bruno pounces on Drista’s wrist. Waglington answers, “Absolutely not. I do not doubt that you could calculate where I’m going if I tell you that.”

“I still don’t understand why I can’t know,” Drista glares at her teacher. She picks the scholar’s bag up. She wraps her arms around it, keeping the material beside her chest. She doesn’t put the strap around her shoulder, however, letting it hang limp on the other side of the bag. “You have been my instructor for five years. After all that time, you should know that even if I suspect what you’re doing, I wouldn’t intrude on your business. Also, I would make a pretty good asset no matter what you are doing.”

Waglington shrugs nonchalantly. He sighs heavily as he puts a hand on the armrest beside him. He pushes down on it to prop himself up. As he balances on his feet, he grabs the strap from his bag. He pulls it from Drista’s hands. He swings it over his shoulder. He pats the material as he adjusts the strap’s distance from his neck. Waglington stares at his bag as he says, “Doesn’t matter. You’re staying here, and I’m going without you. You should be heading out to see your new teacher, yeah?”

Waglington finally looks at Drista. He meets her eyes unflinchingly. He lifts his hand up. He sets it on top of her head. The gesture is rough but kind, and Drista leans into it with a quiet exhale. Before she can let the comfort wash over her, she hears Waglington whispering his farewell. Drista blinks, and she’s suddenly somewhere else without a hand on her head. The new location is far brighter than Waglington’s workshop. The difference in light causes her to squint and paired with the sudden teleportation, she stumbles unevenly. Before she can hit the ground, she feels a pair of hands grab onto her forearms. Drista blinks rapidly as the hands keep her steady on her feet. When her eyes adjust, Drista looks at her helper.

Drista meets a vibrant set of green eyes and locks of wavy daybreak red hair. Butterfly wings spread out from the woman’s back, the orange and black coloring complimenting her yellow and white ceremonial robes. Dawn, the priestess of the sun god, smiles genially at Drista as she pulls her hands away from Drista’s forearms. Dawn opens her mouth to express respect, but her words are caught off by an animal’s howl of displeasure. Drista suddenly feels a weight plummet onto her head. She glances up to see Bruno’s white tail falling across her forehead. Drista picks Bruno off her head to set him onto her shoulder. Dawn tilts her head to the side as her wings fall to her sides. She says nothing other than a quiet “Oh!” of surprise.

“Greetings,” Drista says. She smiles at Dawn, gathering the woman’s attention away from Bruno and back onto the princess.

“Ah, apologies. Greetings, Your Highness, Princess Drista the Sibylline. At the behest of the queen mother, I have become your new religious studies teacher,” Dawn explains. She places one fist across her chest and tucks the other behind her back. She leans forward in a cordial bow. When she rises, a smile spans across her face as bright as the deity she worships.

“It would be my pleasure to be your student,” Drista admits. She glances around at the room Waglington teleported her to. She is standing in the palace foyer. She can hear the scuttling of servants in their passageways within the walls. Drista continues looking around until her eyes land on the memorabilia of the deity they are meant to discuss. Drista’s brows furrow together as she stands underneath the divine eyes of the sun god.

“I confess that I am an inexperienced teacher. However, no one knows more about the sun god than I do. Additionally, I know more about the moon goddess than my fellow sun clerics. The queen mother chose the perfect person for the job,” Dawn self-consciously discloses to Drista, sounding more like a girl whispering a secret to her friend at a sleepover than the head priestess of the Sun Church revealing her inadequacies and strengths to the princess of her nation. 

Drista chuckles, appreciating the earnestness. “I am left hoping that is true. I have many questions about the gods governing Essempei.”

“I promise to answer to the best of my ability. We will start classes tomorrow, so I better start preparing the curriculum. I will return soon,” Dawn nods determinedly. She bows to Drista as she steps away from the princess. After a certain distance is established between them, Dawn rises to her feet. She confidently strides out of the palace, returning to the carriage that brought her here from the church that she will soon return to.

Drista watches for a long time. Bruno sinks low like a predator ready to pounce on its dinner, and Drista feels his tail tickle the back of her neck. Drista lifts her hand to pet Bruno’s head. The familiar quickly relaxes, enjoying the physical affection. With her other hand, Drista pulls a folded piece of paper from her pocket. She has kept it on her at all times to guarantee that none of her servants— and Thetis’ spies— doesn’t find it. Drista uses one hand to open the letter. She reads the contents one more time as Bruno turns over on her shoulder, forcing her to rub his stomach.

Martyn recently sent her another letter. He agreed to wait for Drista to allot enough time in her schedule to go with him on his journey to find the Sunset Stone. Drista has a few loose ends she wants to tie up and resources she wants to gather which is why she’s asked for a few weeks to prepare. Drista runs her thumb over his specific word choice. Drista looks up from the paper. Her eyes travel toward the closed door across the foyer from her. Martyn never said she couldn’t bring anyone else with her. While he might be peeved if she brings someone, he might see as much value in someone who knows more about the sun god than either of them coming with them since they are looking for the sun god’s crystallized divinity, his last gift to the Daystar Throne.

Bruno shakes off her hand. He leaps down onto her forearm. He places his front paws on her thumb as he looks up at her with his abyssal eyes. Drista nods at him. She folds the paper, tucking it back into her pocket. She rubs her cheek against his snout as she whispers, “You’re right.”

Drista snaps her fingers. She teleports herself and Bruno back to Waglington’s workshop. Since she’s using her own Mystery to do it, she doesn’t feel nearly as uncoordinated as she did when Waglington surprised her earlier. Drista remains balanced as she grows acquainted with her new surroundings.

Drista has never been to Waglington’s office when he wasn’t there. She didn’t think it would be that different, but the room felt colder without his presence. The shadows are more ominous as they spread across the many contraptions and tomes he keeps locked within these four walls. Drista frowns as she shivers. She pulls Bruno to her chest, holding him like a child might cling to their doll after a nightmare. Bruno squirms in Drista’s hold, hating the constricting feeling as much as she does. When Bruno slips from her grasp, he lands lightly on his feet like a cat. He looks over his shoulder at her, daring her to pick him back up. Drista’s fear is momentarily pushed down as she glares at the amalgam.

Drista steps away from Bruno to start picking up the floor once more. Bruno goes the opposite way, but the room isn’t infinite. As they follow similar paths, they eventually meet in the middle of the back wall behind Waglington’s desk and near his favorite napping window. Drista leans down to interact with Bruno when she notices something peculiar behind Waglington’s desk. Instead of a thick blanket and pillows, there is a thin sheet over a large rectangular object. As Drista lifts the sheet, she realizes that it’s a painting. A woman sits within the confines of a golden frame. Her long purple hair spills across her back, and her darker purple eyes stare out curiously at the audience. She wears a small smile on her face, reminding Drista of the Mona Lisa from her old world. Drista lifts her hand to touch the painting. She is rebounded by a potent protection spell. Drista frowns at the realization, bringing her stinging hand back to her chest. His workshop is full of dangerous or rare items, so what is so important about this painting that it would be the only thing with protective magic cast over it?

“Who is this woman?” Drista asks aloud. Bruno doesn’t respond as Drista leans closer to the picture. The purple-haired woman has rosy cheeks and pale lips. Drista thinks her ears are pointed which would make this woman either a Fae or an elf. She tries to determine the regional style and fabric of the dress. It is a dark maroon color, a nice contrast to the hair laid upon it. The bodice seems to be elven. Drista wishes she could see the skirt to know for certain. Regardless of this woman’s species, she must be important to Waglington. He has protective magic on it, he keeps it safe from light with a sheet, and he keeps it behind his desk near a place he frequents. Drista doesn’t doubt Waglington has sat by this painting several times. She must have been a family member or perhaps an old lover.

Drista looks at Bruno for assistance. The familiar lies across the ground, folding his legs underneath him. His tail rests on the ground motionlessly. Drista frowns, reaching a hand out to coax Bruno back into motion. As her hand reaches his white fur, her chest tightens painfully. A cough is forced from her lungs, and blood comes out of it. The crimson liquid drips down Drista’s chin, falling into her lap. Drista reaches a hand to her mouth to wipe the blood, but suddenly, her entire mouth is full of it. Drista heaves to keep from suffocating, letting it all wash on the floor of Waglington’s workshop. As the blood slides into the chinks of the stone, Drista’s arms give out. Her upper body plummets to the ground. The crash hurts, but it pales in comparison to the widening rift in her chest. A scream rips from Drista’s mouth, and it softens as she loses energy. Her mind feels bitterly cold as she sinks into unconsciousness, ignoring the way her entire body rips itself apart.

Drista curls inward, trying to make herself as small as possible. She listens to Bruno’s whimpers quiet and disappear. Half-consciously, she laments how unlucky she is to have a fulmination the day Waglington leaves.

Bruno’s body is wired with anxious energy as he looks all around him. Drista remains deathly still as she stares ahead of her. They are standing in an octagonal room. The walls stretch infinitely upward, and each wooden shelf is full of different colored yarn. There are some shades Drista has never seen before in her life, and they make her dizzy to look at. To remedy that problem, she doesn’t look at them. She looks at the creature in the center of the room underneath the spotlight. It wears flowing blue robes, each layer seamlessly fading into the next like the sparkling of a cerulean ocean. Bright red threads decorate its robes, looping and hanging like loose accessories. It wears a mask on its face with a malformed heart carved into the white porcelain. Navy blue coral-like antlers climb out from under its hood with long blue scarves and tightly bound red threads decorating each horn. It huddles over a spinning wheel, pulling a light green thread through the process.

The creature stops spinning. It looks up from the thread in its clawed hands to look at Drista and Bruno. The familiar hisses silently, and Drista stretches her arms out to defend herself from any attacks that might come her way. The creature tilts its head to the side, “I wasn’t expecting visitors today.”

The words sound mechanical as they come out, far too rhythmic to be a human being. Drista inhales sharply through her nose. “We were just leaving.”

“Hmm… No, I think you should stay,” The creature says as it shakes its head. It gestures into the air. A wooden chair appears in front of it as the creature transitions away from facing the spinning wheel. “Believe it or not, I know who you are.”

“How?” Drista asks cautiously. She reluctantly settles into the chair in front of the creature. It reminds her of Chat, which she supposes isn’t inaccurate. Chat told her after the Secretkeeper that they are the same species as the rest of these creatures.

“My name— rather, my title— is Weaver. I am one of your biggest fans. I paid some quintessence a long time ago to bind your soul to someone else, but—” The creature gestures to Drista’s hand. The girl looks down to find that a gray thread is wrapped around each of her fingers. It is cut off on both ends, eliciting a frown from Drista. “—it clearly didn’t work.”

“I don’t understand,” Drista whispers as she lifts her hand. The thread behaves normally, letting gravity tug it down, but it doesn’t fall away from her fingers no matter what position she puts her hand in.

“How much has Chat taught you?” Weaver asks with a half-laugh in its words. Drista glares at Weaver. The creature legitimately chuckles. “Well, allow me to explain it simply. Chat and I are inhabitants of the Inbetween… the Niveous Halls of the Rift. Other inhabitants and I peer into the world you exist in to watch your stories. We make bets using quintessence. When someone accumulates enough quintessence, they can buy the right to interfere in your world. I use my quintessence to bind two people’s souls together. The different colored thread means different relationships. Unfortunately, no matter what thread I used or who I bound you to, your string would die every time. It seems your destiny is one you must walk alone.”

Bruno makes a wounded noise, mirroring Drista’s disappointment. Weaver shrugs. “Do not be too upset. You are not the only one who is exempt. In any case, I believe we will talk again soon.”

“Soon?” Drista asks as the chair underneath her collapses. Instead of hitting the ground, she sinks into darkness. She closes her eyes tightly, feeling her consciousness return to her body.

Chapter Text

Puffy is known as someone confident and daring. She possesses a mild temperament and warm personality. While her wrath is regarded as passionate, she was recognized as someone with an undeniable spark residing between her heart and soul. Her brilliance could not be overstated, though there were moments when it fell short from living up to her grand reputation. Drista adores her mother, so she would never willingly admit this, but she doesn’t think the best way of spending more time with the family would be to invite the children to a banquet the royal palace was hosting. An upside was that it probably took a lot of work to make it happen since Drista is not old enough to attend celebrations on her own merit. She requires her mother’s permission to attend these functions, and that fact is probably the only reason Drista is still here.

Foolish fits right into these celebrations. He has been going to them for years now, so his victories in social situations could be attributed to experience. It also could be that he’s naturally gifted at communicating with others. He is friendly on the surface. Most would consider him a jokester or naive, but they would be ignoring the clever undertones in his coaxing words. If he were not wearing his mask, that might have noticed the gleam in his emerald eyes. As it stands, they are only able to see his genial smile peeking out from underneath the texture of the golden totem mask.

Dream is less respected by the nobility, but he already has a hefty reputation as a Hunter carrying him through most social interactions. His words are as smooth as honey as he guides the conversation like a parent leading a child down a street. His exploits as a Hunter do not equate to a brutish personality as many would suspect, and Dream utilizes the rumors against him well to gain the upperhand in any proposal presented to him. When he grows weary of them, Dream has many friends to goof around with including another antagonist from the Ender Prince, George.

Drista, on the other hand, drifts away from the banquet. She recognizes everyone’s family name based on the accent colors they wear on their gowns and suits, but she doesn’t know any of them personally. While she could try to interact with them, they would only see a child. She would get nothing from these conversations. Worse, she might draw their ire for interrupting their ‘adult time.’ Drista doesn’t want to deal with any scandals. She could potentially regroup with her family, but she doesn’t want to ruin the fun they are having any more than she wants to spend time with the adults.

Drista sits on one of the sofas placed on the edges of the room for anyone who has tired themselves out from dancing. While most of the other sofas are occupied by gossiping noblewomen, Drista finds one that is strangely absent. She sinks into the red plush. She folds her hands over her lap and crosses her ankles. She takes in a deep breath as she looks out across the room. While part of her feels like an outsider, she doesn’t feel particularly lonely. She is alone, sure, but the creeping feelings do not wrap around her heart as they normally would. 

Drista raises a hand up to push a lock of her blonde hair back. The room is warm from the many candles and dancing bodies that do not wish to admit they are sweaty. Drista places her palm on top of the back of her other hand, sliding her fingers between the spaces. She squeezes gently to gather herself. She doesn’t mind being in the corner, half-abandoned in the darkness. She doubts she would have much fun on the dance floor. Her previous experiences at parties were not amusing, and she recalls that both ended in a disaster of some magnitude. Drista rolls her eyes with a snort.

She never went to parties in her previous life, either, so she wouldn’t know what to do. She wouldn’t know what to talk about. Though, Drista muses, even if she was highly skilled in her previous world, it wouldn’t do her any good in this world. The conversational topics must be vastly different. Politics would be far more prominent between nobility, and the rumors would be centered around a disparate moral system. Drista could dance fairly well, but no one here is close enough to her height to allow for an enjoyable time for either partner.

“Your Highness,” A voice brings Drista out of her rambling thoughts. She jerks her head to the side. A figure is standing near the sofa she is sitting on. Drista’s lips part slightly as she recognizes the person. She is a teenage girl only a few years older than Drista with long, wavy hair. The majority of the hair is a smoky charcoal color, but the bangs and a few strands in the black are blonde. While her eyes are not as mystical as the royal children, the shade of green is naturally pleasant to look at with its deep and warm hue. She is wearing an olive green dress with darker green thread creating floral patterns at the skirt’s hem and around the bosom. She lifts the skirt as she curtsies. She introduces herself despite Drista already knowing who she is. “My name is Beautie of the Cernunnos bloodline. I am the person Your Highness have been exchanging letters with. I must admit that Your Highness is even more lovely in person.”

Drista closes her mouth immediately. Like food presented at a feast, Drista’s mind fills with memories about her former life. Beau was one of the main characters in The Ender Prince. She was introduced in the second arc when Ranboo and Tubbo went to Essempei. She was their guide throughout the countryside. After they reached the palace, Beau experienced a fulmination— one more normal than Drista’s exceptional type. Beau became Ranboo’s guide through Elfame, too. The group met some other characters in Essempei, too, like Freddie and Purpled. Beau, however, always stuck out to Drista. She never thought about who her favorite character was, but if her life was on the line, Beau would have been her first option.

“It is a pleasure to meet you like this, Lady Beautie. I am thankful for the compliment afforded to me, just as I am grateful for all the letters you have sent me and the Rhiannon bird itself,” Drista answers, keeping her voice steady as she stares at Beau’s head. Drista tries not to look foolish as she pulls herself onto her feet. Beau takes the cue accordingly. She lifts from her curtsy to look into Drista’s eyes. It is a strange feeling to meet one of the most important characters of the Ender Prince. It’s as weird as it was to meet Dream for the first time, but at least he was drastically different from his counterpart.

“Please, Your Highness, think nothing of it. I enjoyed catching the elusive bird, and I can think of no better owner than Your Highness,” Beau answers with a firm smile appearing on her face. She looks prideful, but Drista can tell that Beau is internalizing her pride rather than feeling superior to Drista. While most people look down on Drista for her silver blood, Beau is in no place to do that. There might be jealousy, but Beau has never been the type to envy others. Her sense of self is so firmly rooted in place that it is the other way around. Drista was jealous of Beau in her previous life, and she feels those dormant feelings rousing from their slumber. “Has the bird been behaving well for Your Highness?”

“She does not misbehave. It took some time for her to warm up to me, but once she did, she can sing music more beautifully than words can describe. She has grown quite familiar with my tastes,” Drista nods. The Rhiannon bird is one of the few gifts Drista received for her last birthday that she continues to use. There are many ways to get rid of the bird, but Drista has no interest in such methods when all the bird does is sing music that helps Drista sleep and work better than she did previously. Drista supposes scholars weren’t wrong when they said music raises productivity.

“That is all I could ask for,” Beau places a hand on her chest. She gives Drista a brighter smile as she glances over her shoulder. “I have enjoyed our time together, Your Highness, but I must be returning to Commander Cernunnos. It was a great honor to have finally met Your Highness in person. I would very much like to do this again if Your Highness permits.”

“I will arrange for a meeting soon,” Drista promises. It would be nice to spend more time with Beau. It feels like Drista finally has a friend. While she considers Purpled her friend, it would be great to have someone who also considers her in the same light. Beau would be a more appropriate choice since she’s a noble, so Drista wouldn’t need to argue with anyone about having Beau at her side. The thought alone fills Drista with a giddy rush of happiness. She smiles back at Beau as the young noblewoman returns to the side of her bloodline.

While Drista was not aware of it before Beau arrived, her insistence on speaking with Drista paved the way for others like her. As soon as Beau was gone, people quickly spilled into the vacant space she left behind by the lady of Cernunnos. They all present a kind facade. Some are faster than others to suck up to her good graces, but Drista navigates the interaction with the wisdom of an adult stuck in a child’s body rather than an actual child. She swiftly bypasses any social faux pas. Since she isn’t upsetting anyone, she feels herself starting to have a fairly decent time. She notices Foolish smiling at her once, and that simple interaction across the ballroom fills Drista with enough strength to keep up the conversations.

But she isn’t equipped with a high social battery. When it runs low, Drista excuses herself from the group gathered around the sofa she took up. Some try to come with her, but Drista dismisses them all with a wave of her hand. With no one following her, Drista escapes to a nearby balcony. She closes the glass doors behind her. She sucks in a tight breath, letting the chilly night unwind the horrible feeling constricting her heart. She lifts a hand up to wipe the sweat beading on her forehead off. She thinks that the ballroom was way warmer than Drista originally thought it would be as she turns around to face the railing.

Someone is already on the balcony. The cleric of the sun god and Drista’s theology teacher, Dawn, is standing at the railing. She looks over her shoulder with a half-annoyed expression, but she quickly schools her features when she notices Drista. Dawn curtsies to the princess, muttering, “Forgive me, princess. I will take my leave now.”

“No, no, you were here first. Stand with me,” Drista waves a hand. She walks up to the railing. She puts both of her hands on the material, unable to feel their temperature through her gloves. Drista is tempted to take them off, but Dawn’s earnest sigh makes Drista freeze up. She looks over at her teacher. Dawn places her chin in her palm as she stares up at the sky. Drista is unable to see any starlight in Dawn’s eyes despite the Stygian void being filled with them tonight. Each one glitters lifelessly, old stories preserved through stubbornness rather than scholarly integrity.

“I wish we could see the real sky,” Dawn quietly admits. She reaches her hand into the night air as if she could grasp the blur and rip it away. It must be difficult to follow the religion of a celestial deity without ever being to truly gaze at their domain. The only consolation might be that a person can’t look directly into the sun, anyway. Drista doubts that it makes Dawn feel much better, however.

Drista hums in response. She can see the sky, so it would be a lie to wish that she could see it. She could say that she wants Dawn to see it, but she doesn’t want to talk about why she wouldn’t wish that for herself. Even if Dawn lets the matter go relatively easily, Drista knows it will cause a rift between them since Dawn has so many pent-up feelings about the sky. Most people do, Drista thinks, though they will never admit it. Even average people might have a passing fancy about what the sky would look like if they could view it properly. Instead, Drista asks a more important question, “Why do you believe we cannot see it?”

“I have no church-approved answers for Your Highness,” Dawn admits with another sigh. She shakes her head, lowering her forehead into the palm of her hand. She squeezes at the skin.

The response is so genuine that Drista finds herself chuckling in disbelief. Dawn lifts her head from her hands enough to look at Drista. She wears a half-smile on her face as she watches the princess laugh. Drista doesn’t understand the look of resignation in Dawn’s eyes, but she finds herself wanting to correct it somehow. Drista tucks her hands behind her back as she turns to Dawn. “In a few days time, I will be investigating some ancient ruins with a pirate to find the Sunset Stone. No one knows about this, so I’m entrusting you with this secret. But I wanted to tell you specifically because I want you to come with us. We could use your help.”

“I do not believe a princess should be doing this, Your Highness,” Dawn argues. She pushes off the railing to stand tall over Drista. She looks down at the girl with a complicated emotion crossing her face.

“The Sunset Stone belongs to the royal family, so it makes sense that one of their members would look for it,” Drista argues. She takes a deep breath as she admits another fact. “I can see the sky properly. I think this might make me one of the few people capable of finding the Sunset Stone.”

Dawn startles. She moves a little closer to Drista, staring directly into her eyes. She murmurs to herself, “The night sky is clear in your eyes… the day sky might be, too…” Dawn hesitates, but she shakes her head firmly. “As the high priestess of the sun god, I should be looking for the Sunset Stone, too. I agree to help Your Highness look for it.”

“We will leave around the time Foolish begins his expedition. While the palace is adjusting, we will slip away,” Drista explains with a victorious smile on her face. She gestures into the distance where she assumes Martyn must be planning his portion of the journey. “Thank you for coming with me.”

“No, thank you for giving me this opportunity.”

Chapter Text

Drista becomes conscious as slowly as rain fills a bucket. When the water overflows, she starts to recognize different attributes of the world surrounding her body. She is lying on a soft material that she assumes is her hammock. This conjecture is further proven by a blanket pulled up to her shoulders, tucked around her body like a corpse in a coffin. Her face twitches from a gentle chill that permeates throughout the room. She forces her eyes open slowly, getting through the laborious process one millimeter at a time. As soon as light strikes her pupils, she closes her eyes firmly. She starts the process anew, squinting as she tries to get used to the light before it can cause her to restart.

As her eyes continue growing accustomed to the white light, her other senses start perceiving. There is a hint of iron on her tongue, but mainly she tastes a heaviness from her saliva collecting into one spot. She parts her lips. The air tastes vaguely like flowers as she breathes in deeply. The flavor is paired nicely with a similar floral scent in the air. Drista’s nose twitches as she registers the oddness of the situation in her mind.

The last sense to start examining the world is her ears. She hears another breathing pattern out of sync with hers, and she assumes the random additional noises are from that individual moving around. She hears the clanking of ceramic near her head. She tries glancing towards the sound, but motion appears right in front of her. A familiar texture settles next to Drista’s lips. She parts them in time for the person to tip the cup back. Refreshingly cold water spills into Drista’s mouth, taking the ferric taste with it as the water travels down her throat. Her stomach rumbles disapprovingly, but she doesn’t stop drinking until the cup is pulled away from her.

“Forgive me, my princess,” A voice murmurs. Drista glances away from the cup. Purpled is standing at her bedside. He is wearing his royal uniform, but the scabbard with his sword has been discarded to a nearby chair. He sets the cup down on the nightstand. He lifts the back of his fingers to her forehead. He touches the skin without hesitation. His eyebrows draw together as he assesses what this new information tells him about the situation. “Your fever has gone down.”

“What happened?” Drista asks. She tries sitting up in her hammock. Purpled’s hand darts away from her before he realizes that he should be keeping her down. His hands hesitate around his shoulders. Drista pushes his wrists away as she swings her legs over the side of the hammock. She wraps one arm around her stomach. She surmises that she needs a snack, but other than that, she doesn’t feel any pain. There is some lingering grogginess from her impromptu nap, but it wasn’t anything that Drista could not get rid of with a few light slaps to her cheeks. Purpled doesn’t look happy with her actions, but he has no right to tell her to stop.

“I heard a noise inside the wizard’s office. When I went to investigate, I found you passed out on the ground with blood all around you. After assessing the extent of your injuries, I decided to bring you back to your chambers. I have taken the responsibility of your care,” Purpled explains. He gestures to the ceramic pitcher and cup on the nightstand. Based on the design, Purpled got this from a servant under the jurisdiction of the chevalier order. 

Drista frowns as she looks around the room. It is surprisingly empty. She knows Waglington won’t be here since he went on his trip barely an hour before her fulmination, but she doesn’t understand where her family is. Even if they forgot about her, Purpled wouldn’t have let them ignore her. They would have remembered after some time unless it had gotten worse than Drista initially suspected.

“I haven’t told anyone about the state I found you in. I understand that you have a… strained relationship with your family. I didn’t know what you would have wanted me to do, so I chose to take care of you as best I could. Thankfully, it looks like you only passed out. Once I got you close to this lotus, your condition stabilized,” Purpled answers her unasked question, hooking his thumb toward the lotus as it pulsates with Mystery. Drista’s lips twitch as she stares at the blooming petals. She needs to remind Waglington how grateful she is for him next time.

“You made the right decision,” Drista says, nodding firmly. She glances over at her pillows. Bruno lies across one of them. He seems to be waking up slowly, and Drista reaches a hand out to brush her fingers over his ears. They twitch underneath her skin, but he remains half-asleep as he turns over. Drista smiles at him. She looks back at Purpled to ask more questions. Her words are stopped when she notices how tightly Purpled is gripping onto his wrist. Her smile twitches into a frown. Purpled looks at her unflinchingly, but he subtly tries to relax his grip. Drista stares into his eyes. He tries shaking his head, but Drista darts forward to push the sleeve of his jacket to his elbow. The star-stains have climbed up his arm. Drista squeezes the skin in shock. “What have you done?”

Purpled sighs inaudibly as he pulls his sleeve down. He flexes the fingers hidden underneath his glove. He looks right into Drista’s eyes with a gleam in those elven purple irises. “I did my duty as your chevalier. I am only sorry that I could not do more.”

“You have done enough,” Drista crosses her arms over her chest. He absorbed some of her fulmination, probably doing his best to keep her alive until he could get her to the lotus. While she’s grateful, she knows that the star-stains are not good for his health. The overuse of his powers is what caused him to die in The Ender Prince—

Drista grits her teeth. Her eyes narrow as pain suddenly flares in her mind. Purpled didn’t die in The Ender Prince… did he? No, Eryn and Freddie were the only ones to die from Ranboo’s group. Tubbo, Olive, Beau, and Purpled all survived the conflict from the fifth arc. But why does she clearly remember Purpled dying from cael overexposure? Wait… wait… what is cael?

Drista feels pressure against her forehead. She looks up quickly to see Purpled’s ungloved fingers pressing into her skin. The galaxies ensnared across his skin shimmer dangerously. Drista pulls away quickly, but she cannot deny that her headache has drastically lessened. She almost can’t remember what she was thinking about. It remains at the edges of her thoughts, ready for her to unpack them when she has the time. Unfortunately, she doesn’t have time for that when she’s dealing with Purpled’s self-sacrificial attitude. “Never do that again. You could get seriously hurt.”

“I will have to respectfully disregard those orders, Your Highness. Your royal orders are law to me, but I will go against any one of them to save your life,” Purpled’s hand trembles as he forces his glove back over his skin. He takes a deep breath that unsettles Drista with how pained it is.

“I don’t want to cost you your life,” Drista argues. Purpled is the closest thing to a friend Drista has, and she refuses to lose that because of something she should be able to control. She needs to be more diligent about keeping her gateway closed, but on the off-chance that she isn’t able to, she doesn’t want Purpled sacrificing himself for her. Drista knows she will suffer from survivor’s guilt. If she zooms out from herself, Purpled’s death will cause ripples that will permanently affect Ranboo’s journey across the continent.

“I will be alright, Your Highness,” Purpled assures her. He flexes his fingers. When they respond to his motions, he moves his hands behind his back. He stands firmly like an imposing guard. The only difference between him and a sentinel is the half-smile creeping onto his lips.

Drista rolls her eyes. She glances out the window to keep herself from arguing any further. Instead, she notices what time it is. Drista’s eyes widen in shock. She rushes onto her feet. The hammock swings underneath her as she balances. Bruno jumps in surprise, landing on the nightstand between the pitcher and the cups. Purpled throws his hands forward again, “Whoa, my princess, I don’t think this is the best idea—”

“I need to prepare for my lessons today. We cannot let anyone know that I’m in a weakened state,” Drista reminds him. She especially cannot let Thetis learn the truth, so Drista pushes Purpled toward the door. As he is ushered through the threshold, she orders him to summon her maids to prepare her for her afternoon lessons. He sighs, shaking his head, but he follows her orders.

Drista spends the next few weeks dealing with the aftereffects of her fulmination and preventing any more from occurring. In this regard, Drista finds the lotus Waglington made her and some of the crystals left behind in his office to be invaluable. They are able to draw a significant portion of her Mystery out of her body when she feels a backlog forming in her meridians. In addition, Bruno’s support has no comparisons. His presence in her life provides her with a sense of security that makes it easier to control her supernatural impulses. Bruno also has an appetite for the Mystery-rich crystals. Drista thought this would backfire on her, but whatever Bruno does with the crystals, it doesn’t affect Drista.

There is another place where Drista finds assistance. Dawn naturally possesses an ethereal aura brimming with divine energy from the sun god. As long as Drista is near the priestess, the Mystery seems to recede back through the gateway to the realm Drista summons it from. After discovering this, Drista tries to spend as much time with Dawn as possible. Thankfully, the woman doesn’t get suspicious since she writes it off on Drista asking so many questions. With Dawn’s guidance, Drista is learning a lot more about her nation’s main religion and even a lot about the moon goddess. It isn’t all information she wasn’t aware of before, but Dawn has perspectives Drista never thought about that make these lessons beneficial. Drista writes down all of these questions and answers in a journal that she claims is for studying purposes but is actually for Martyn when they start searching for the Sunset Stone. Until they begin their journey, Drista searches for an opportunity to ask Dawn to join them.

Her life isn’t all about studying and worrying, however. She has taken up a new pastime in the form of writing letters. With the distance between Drista and her family, the palace often gets lonely. It was made more lively by the Rhiannon as the bird warms up to Drista and learns her musical preferences. By capitalizing on her gratitude for the bird, Drista continues exchanging letters with Beau. It’s strange to be interacting with one of the main characters of The Ender Prince, but the novelty has turned into enjoyment over time. Drista genuinely feels like she’s forming a bond with Beau. The lady herself is quite refreshing to speak with even if her vibrant personality has been toned down to be more respectful to the princess of her land. Drista hopes she will make Beau comfortable enough to share her true thoughts one day.

The monotony of Drista’s life is broken up by a scheduled affair for the royal family. Drista is unable to get out of it, so she wears the dress set out for her by Thetis. She smooths out any lingering anxiety as she steps into a room full of colorful flowers and bright windows. The royal painter is sitting at an easel with a large canvas in front of him. He is already mixing shades of green to get the eye color of the princes and princess correct. Puffy is sitting on the chair, chin in the palm of her hand as she watches Foolish and Dream shove each other around jokingly. Drista watches for a long moment. The painter notices her first. He frowns and narrows his eyes, but he snaps with recognition a second later. As he startles into a respectful bow, the other three look at her. She expects it, but they know her immediately.

Puffy is as kind as Drista remembers as she draws the girl into her arms, placing Drista’s head against her chest. She drags Drista over to the chair in front of the windows. Dream tries messing with Drista’s hair, and she nearly bites him in retaliation. Foolish laughs at them both, drawing their childish ire. It is so easy to fall back into a rhythm with her family. She misses them every single day, and she loves them with her entire heart. With that in mind, Drista falls into this trap of their affection. She pretends that they are one happy, loving family without any problems that simply cannot be solved.

“Is something wrong, dragonfly?” Puffy asks, tucking strands of Drista’s hair behind her ear. Drista stares into her mother’s worried eyes. Even if Drista was not compelled to be honest, she knows she wouldn’t be able to utter a lie when Puffy looks at her like that. Refusing to answer, Drista shoves her face into Puffy’s chest. She winds her arms around her mother’s torso. She listens to Puffy’s heartbeat in one ear and her brothers arguing in the other ear. Puffy reaches her hands up to run through Drista’s hair, comforting her daughter without truly understanding what the problem is.

To give her something to latch onto, Drista says a different truth, “I miss you.”

“Oh, dragonfly, I miss you, too. I promise to start making more time for you,” Puffy swears. One of Puffy’s hands moves away from Drista’s hair, perhaps reaching out for Dream or Foolish. “For all three of you.”

But what if Puffy forgets Drista again? Is Drista’s heart strong enough for that?

Chapter Text

Drista presses her shoulder into the tiled outline of the door’s threshold. The hinges dig into the fabric of her sleeve, hooking her in place. She tilts her body forward, craning her neck when her sleeve gives her resistance. Drista moves her head to the side until she’s peering into the bedroom. Near the large bed frame, Foolish judges his clothing for which ones would be acceptable to bring with them. After passing whatever internal standard he holds his clothes to, he throws them back into the wardrobe or folds them neatly for stacking in the travel chests. Drista stares at him for a long moment. Each movement captures her attention, adding to the stones that pile onto her chest. It becomes difficult to breathe, so she skips every other heartbeat. It brings dizziness to her doorstep, but Drista doesn’t mind the half-conscious daze she unintentionally puts herself in.

“Who would dare to spy on me?” Foolish asks into the open air. He turns slowly. His mask has been removed, so Drista watches his emerald eyes harden while they search each dark corner and crevice in his chambers for the individual who would, as he puts it, dare spy on him. Drista could envelop her person in a glamour thick enough that he wouldn’t notice her anymore, but she doesn’t for reasons she doesn’t quite understand. These same reasons might be why she stumbles forward into the door’s threshold, but it also could be the fact that she feels unbalanced on her feet from oxygen deprivation. The outcome is the same regardless of why it happens, and Drista feels like prey in the sight of a predator as she waits for Foolish’s judgment.

Foolish freezes when he notices her. His movements are quick and fluid as he gets into a defensive position. His fingers twitch in search of his trident, but the weapon does not magically appear in his hands. Despite the cloudiness in his eyes, Foolish hesitates to strike Drista down. He recognizes her clothes— the style, material, design— seconds before the realization of her appearance clicks into place. Like the morning sun piercing through the mist, Foolish’s irises appear clearer the longer he stares into Drista’s eyes. She gives him a half-smile and an uncanny feeling settles alongside the loneliness in her weighted chest. “I just wanted to say goodbye, but you looked busy.”

Foolish steps around the chest on the floor beside his bed. Drista matches each of his long strides with a half-step of her own. Through their shared efforts, they stand in front of each other. Foolish’s lips part as he examines Drista’s face. There is something unsure in his movements as he pushes his fingers against her cheek. Drista should be stronger than this, but she leans into his hesitant care. Foolish’s sincere surprise drifts away from him as he gives her a full smile that most nobles would kill to see aimed at them even once in their political careers. 

But they wouldn’t understand the smile the way Drista understands it, the way anyone part of Foolish’s family would. Where nobles would see favor, Drista is brought back to the past when Foolish’s love for her was unconditional. The awe in his eyes when he discovered he had a baby sister, the softness of his hand when he would take hers during walks, the brightness in his expression when he was teaching her how to swim. All of these moments are warm as they fly across Drista’s mind like shooting stars in the ebony sky, but Drista knows that they can never happen again. They will never be as smooth or genuine when it takes Foolish a moment to remember who she is.

“I’m never too busy for you,” Foolish reminds Drista. Unlike her and Dream, Foolish is capable of lying. Foolish might not know he’s lying, but Drista does. She wonders how Foolish would feel if he was hindered by Fae biological laws and failed to say the words he just uttered so confidently that Drista is tempted to believe him unabashedly.

“Where are you going?” Drista asks, changing the subject. She toes the lid of his chest with her slippers. The box’s metal skeleton feels rough through the thin material of her shoes. Drista pulls her foot away to avoid hurting herself. She turns her attention to the clothes left to be judged on Foolish’s bed. She picks up the fur-lining of a thick cloak. There is only one acceptable nation to wear a coat this heavy to, and that is the northern lands of the Antarctic Empire.

It is the first location Ranboo explores since the imperial palace was built over the ruins of the Ancient Builders. No one but the imperial family and Drista know that one of the machines left behind by those Ancient Builders was a portal to the End, the Lost Realm Ranboo originally came from and wants to return to. Ranboo doesn’t have any national loyalty in The Ender Prince, but if he did, Drista would immediately mark it as the Antarctic Empire. He spent over a year there since Drista thinks it was the longest arc. Ranboo was terrible at asking questions about the world’s rich history, but he learned a lot about how the empire worked while growing close to the imperial family.

It is also the nation that has the most trouble with Essempei. The shared history between the neighboring countries is one filled with bloodshed and pseudo-wars. Queen Thetis and Tsar Voronin nearly started an official war with how greedy Voronin became. Drista doesn’t know why the war never started, but she assumes it has something to do with the unexpected death of the tsar. Philza took over immediately after his father. He spent the first years of his life as a tsar undoing what Voronin did. Drista knows that Thetis also chose not to punish Philza for Voronin’s crimes, but the princess doesn’t understand why. Thetis is not close to being that forgiving, and she could have at least gotten some territory from the empire for her troubles. She doesn’t seem like the type to be concerned for the lives lost during a war, in any case. Drista hasn’t thought to ask Thetis about it, but she supposes she should at some point or another.

“I’m not sure yet. I don’t have any concrete plans. I want to go to the deep undersea. It would be fun, but I don’t want to interact with sirens. Las Nevadas might be another interesting place to visit. Everyone should visit their capital at least once, right? And I heard there are a lot of water elementals. I’ve always wanted to meet one,” Foolish describes, shrugging his shoulders as he plops down on the free space on the bed. He reaches his hand out to grab onto her wrist. The physical tether draws Drista out of her history lessons. She glances down for a second, but she eventually meets Foolish’s eyes. He’s staring at her intently. There is a strange form of understanding in his eyes that makes Drista want to sob. She looks away from his eyes to fiddle with the cloak as if she is as interested in it as Foolish is in her.

“Hey,” Foolish’s voice is uncharacteristically soft. It isn’t kind, not exactly, and the firm undertones make Drista flinch as she looks at him once more. He frowns as he studies her reaction. The gears move behind his eyes, and Drista knows when he jumps from one train of thought to a neighboring one going in the opposite direction. He does his best to smile at her, and his attempt is more than enough for Drista to understand his sincerity. “I promise to come back soon. I’ll have many gifts to give and stories to share.”

“I don’t mind so much if you don’t get me anything as long as you come home,” Drista remarks. She still has the ribbons they gave each other during the festival. Drista keeps them secure, usually keeping them with her as a talisman to protect her. That is all Drista will ever need from her family in the form of gifts.

“How could I stay away for long?” Foolish chuckles. He unwraps his fingers from her wrist to tap his index finger against her nose. Drista slaps his hand away as her cheeks flush red with embarrassment. Foolish’s laughter grows louder as he reaches both hands to pinch her cheeks. Drista struggles to pull away from him. It doesn’t take long for her to start laughing, too, even as she continues to fight against his unorthodox hold.

“You would be surprised. It’s easy to get distracted by the world’s wonders,” A voice interrupts their squabbling. Foolish releases Drista, and she stumbles away from him. She begins planning revenge against her eldest brother as Puffy steps into the room. Drista rubs her cheek sorely as Puffy’s eyes sweep the room. They linger on Drista for a second. A slow smile splits across Puffy’s face as she wanders closer to her daughter. “I didn’t see you there, dragonfly.”

“Where?” Dream asks, leaning out from behind Puffy. His frown is deep as he searches the room. He finally recognizes the fourth presence in the room as his younger sister. He smiles brightly at her. Drista mirrors his expression despite her stomach twisting as her own deception. Even if the smile is fake, it isn’t considered a lie by Fae standards. Drista doesn’t know what position she would be in if she couldn’t manipulate her expressions as she pleases. The truth about her disconnect with memories might come to light, and she doesn’t want to know how her family would react to that startling truth.

Drista is silent as Puffy and Dream look at her. Dream’s attention slides away from Drista first. He glances at their older brother, bouncing over to his side. Foolish has to physically keep Dream from jumping onto his clothes on the bed. The motion distracts Puffy. She looks over at her sons to pull them apart before their roughhousing hurts one of them. Drista remains where she stands. Her smile turns genuine in the same beat it softens and saddens. There is no doubt that she will slip away from their minds once more if she is quiet and still. She even holds her breath as if testing the limits of oblivion.

“Drista has been here the whole time,” Foolish answers for her. The words startle her so badly that she gasps. The breath hurts as it slides down her throat, expanding her chest like knives filling up a bag. Drista coughs lightly into her fist, ignoring the way Foolish looks directly at her knowingly.

“Great minds think alike,” Puffy snaps her fingers. She pushes Dream off of Foolish entirely. When she takes his place, she grabs Foolish’s cheeks like his treatment of Drista earlier. Foolish winces with a half-laugh spilling from his lips. Puffy’s face scrunches up as she manually shakes his head. “Good luck wherever you go, my little shark. Make sure to experience all that life offers you but stay safe. Return to us soon, alright?”

“The wind will always guide you,” Dream reminds Foolish, setting his chin on Puffy’s shoulder as she pulls back from Foolish. The older prince rubs his cheeks, and Drista stifles her giggling as he experiences the same pain she went through. Foolish glares at her from the corner of his eye, and Drista puts her hands up innocently like she wasn’t just giggling at his misfortune.

“I’ll fare better following the sea than the wind,” Foolish argues, turning his glare to Dream. Puffy makes no attempts to stop Dream from jumping towards his brother in a tackle. Foolish grumbles audibly about his clothes as he tries shoving Dream onto the floor. Puffy shakes her head as the two wrestle. She moves over to Drista. She loops her arm around Drista’s shoulder, pulling the princess toward her. Out of habit, Drista lifts her hand to intertwine her fingers with Puffy's hand. Puffy interacts with the princes over Drista’s head, but she leans her cheek against Drista’s hair. The gesture is warm and smells vaguely of a salty breeze. Drista could doze off in her mother’s pearl-white curls.

Unfortunately, she is not given the chance. When Dream and Foolish stop trying to kill one another, Foolish swiftly finishes packing. He picks the trunk up, tucking the huge luggage underneath his arm like a normal person carrying a suitcase. Drista raises an eyebrow at the display of superhuman strength. Foolish slots his mask on his face after he winks at Drista’s befuddled expression. Drista rolls her eyes. Foolish leaves the family out of the room. They all wear the appropriate masks on their face, but Drista has never felt closer to them.

Outside, Foolish has two horses prepared. One of them carries his belongings while the other one wears a saddle for riding. Foolish pets his horses affectionately. Then, he turns that affectionate behavior towards his family. He hugs each of them for a minute or so. While he might exchange conversations with Puffy and Dream, Foolish is silent as he buries his face into Drista’s shoulder. When he pulls away, he presses their foreheads together. Drista blinks at him as she waits for him to end this tender display. He does only after he murmurs, “I promise.”

Drista won’t even pretend to know what he’s promising, but there is so much conviction in his voice that Drista believes him instinctively. Foolish’s happy smile rises onto his face as he drops the mask into Puffy’s awaiting hands. He waves at his family when he sits in the saddle of his noble steed. His grin is undeniably large as he starts to ride away, the companion horse following behind him. Puffy continues to wave even after he disappears across the other side of the gates. Dream bumps shoulders with Drista, an understanding passing between them even when their gazes remain fixed on Puffy’s back as her movements gradually slow.

Puffy turns around on her heel. She claps her hands together. Her voice comes out from underneath her mask as she holds Foolish’s mask against her chest. “What is the plan for today?”

“I’m up for anything,” Dream says. The information is redundant since Dream is always up for anything. It would be more appropriate for Dream to announce when he is not up for something, and it would happen way less frequently since Dream lives by an unusual code involving trying everything that won’t outright kill him at least once. It has given him plenty of scars and stories to tell, but Dream seems more content with life than many others, so Drista doesn’t begrudge his carefree approach to gaining experiences.

“I would love to join you two, but I have an important meeting with Dawn today. We shouldn’t waste the time of our nation’s high priestess, should we?” Drista crafts her words carefully to bypass her genetic curse of truthfulness. She hugs Dream and Puffy in quick succession, pretending that she will see them again soon. At least they are wearing their masks right now; otherwise, they might have shared looks with each other that would encourage one of them to dissuade Drista from leaving.

“Next time, then,” Puffy’s voice carries disappointment as she kisses Drista’s forehead. Drista nods instead of speaking, swallowing thickly as she waves goodbye to them. Puffy throws her arm over Dream’s shoulder as she offers to spar against him using her sword from beyond the veil of the world. Drista actually wants to see that, so she immediately teleports away to keep herself from getting distracted.

In the far reaches of the royal grounds, Dawn and Martyn are wearing comfortable traveling clothing. Drista wears a similar ensemble when she teleports near them. She has to be far enough away not to spook the horses tied to the low branches of a nearby tree, but she wants to be close enough that neither Dawn nor Martyn are surprised when Drista’s steps crunch the underbrush.

Martyn glances up from fixing a saddlebag on the horse when he hears Drista approaching. A smile splits across his face as he recognizes her appearance. He steps away from the horse to offer a hand toward her. He has short blonde hair hanging over a black headband he wears, and his pale blue eyes shimmer with interest as he smiles at Drista. There is a distinctly four-pronged star-shaped scar under his right eye, and the shape appears again near his collarbone from his green shirt’s low neckline. His sleeves are pushed up to reveal more scars across his arm that are decidedly not star-shaped. Drista wonders where those scars came from as she slots her hand into his to shake firmly. His smile widens at her responsive attitude. “It’s great to meet you in person, princess.”

“The feeling is mutual, but I don’t think we have time for this,” Drista notes, glancing over her shoulder. They are far enough away that the barriers should register their presence, but Drista cannot be too sure about it. Additionally, she knows there is only so long before someone who does seem capable of remembering her despite long stretches of absence realizes that she’s missing. Thetis might dismiss Drista’s behavior, but Drista knows there isn’t fooling Purpled or even Beau if she decides to show. Drista might be in trouble if Waglington returns, but he might realize that this is a necessary step in Drista’s journey to actualization, as he frequently calls it.

“I agree. Since we’re sneaking the princess out, we should get a move on as quickly as possible,” Dawn intervenes. She hides her butterfly wings. Her entire outfit is in muted greens, browns, and grays, implying that she really doesn’t want to be discovered. Her red hair differentiates her from the surrounding area which makes the clothing and use of Origin magic almost unnecessary. Drista and Martyn are in the same dilemma with their blonde hair, but at least Martyn’s eyes don’t glow unnaturally as Drista’s irises do.

Drista gets into the saddle of one of the horses. Dawn follows behind her, riding the same horse as the princess. Although it would be better if all three of them could ride the same horse, there is no feasible way. Martyn rides a different horse, carrying a few more of the supplies with him. He stretches his hands out to his sides. His eyes are blown wide as he stares at the neighing animal underneath him. His voice is airy as he speaks, “This isn’t so different from a ship.”

Dawn snorts as she gathers the reins into her hands. Drista sighs. She reminds herself that she cannot leave Martyn behind since he knows where the Sunset Stone is… or where it could be, anyway. Martyn tells them as much when he reaches behind him to pull out a leather journal. He opens it while keeping one hand on the reins, trying to multitask. Drista is more concerned for the horse than Martyn, but she does hope that neither of them gets hurt by his reckless riding. Martyn turns the journal to show Dawn and Drista a map he’s roughly sketched out on the paper with charcoal. Martyn points at a shaded dot in his map. “On an island relatively close to the coast, the sun god had a temple that has since been abandoned because the ground swallowed it whole.”

“I know about that temple,” Dawn adds, gesturing for Martyn to refocus on the moving animal underneath him. As he steadies himself, Dawn speaks more to Drista than the pirate. “It was the heart of worship in the ancient world. After the first kingdoms were conquered by the Subbin Empire, other religions spread throughout the land. This displeased the sun god. He sent natural disasters throughout the land, including many that isolated the area that would later become Essempei. The sun god also sunk his original temple to force people to make him a new one.”

“Thank you for the history lesson, priestess, but that was entirely unnecessary. We don’t need to know any of that. All we need to remember is that the temple is underground on this island,” Martyn says as he rolls his eyes. Dawn glares at him, but Martyn remains unperturbed.

“It’s good to know that the sun god submerged his own temple. We might have to deal with the deity himself if he discovers we’re meddling in what should remain buried,” Drista assures Dawn to avoid a fight breaking out between the cleric and pirate. Drista didn’t think there would be any problems between them, but that was naivety on Drista’s part. There are a million different reasons why people might clash with one another. While Martyn and Dawn are both part of state-owned organizations, they don’t share much in common. Dawn prays to the sun god and executes his will across the land. Martyn, as a Kestrel, is a merchant as well as a pirate. He might not have any reverence towards the god she dedicated her life to, and she might not see the value in his lifestyle.

“Do you truly believe in the gods?” Martyn asks Drista, looking directly into her eyes. She maintains eye contact for a long moment. She hadn’t known Martyn very long, but through his letters and earlier attitude, she assumed he was a carefree person. Right now, however, he seems deadly serious. Drista wants to come up with a clever answer to satiate whatever darkness lingers in the corners of his eyes, but she doesn’t know for certain what she believes. Someone must have blurred the sky, and what other force could do that other than a god? But does she think there is more than one god? Does she worship them in the same capacity as everyone else? Does she even fear them? If she had solid proof that the sun god was a force of nature somewhere in the world, would she let that change how she plans to live her life?

“Do not question my patron,” Dawn answers sharply. She narrows her eyes at Martyn, assessing him with eyes that can see the truth— as Chat told Drista when she asked where her additional title came from.

“Forgive me,” Martyn cheekily says. The strangeness of his appearance dissipates as he presents a playful smile. He nods at Drista, and his eyes remain on Dawn. “That information might be useful. We just don’t know yet.”

“We should focus on getting to the temple,” Drista says plainly. She doesn’t want Martyn to loop back to his question, not until she has time to think about what her answer is.

Dawn and Martyn concur with Drista. The pirate continues after his agreement. “It shouldn’t take too long. The coast is about a day’s ride away if we keep up this pace. My ship is fast, too, so it should only take a half day to get to the island if the weather permits.”

“I don’t have any spells to control the weather,” Drista admits. She has a lot of spells, but barely any that affect the natural elements despite her status as a Fae. She can cast illusions. She can teleport to places with her Mystery trail. She can create force fields, platforms, and disembodied hands to do her bidding. She could summon Bruno to do different things, but none of them involve weather manipulation.

“My divine aura should be enough to ensure sunny skies wherever I go,” Dawn assures the both of them with a prideful smile appearing on her face.

“That’s a nifty ability,” Martyn chuckles. He speaks as someone with memories of sailing through stormy weather, but the air of nonchalance around him almost makes it seem like he isn’t bothered by the harsh weather he’s encountered in his life. 

Dawn laughs sheepishly. “I can’t guarantee the wind, though.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem. While the princess can’t control the weather, she can definitely power the machine I have on my boat. It allows for travel even when the wind is blowing in the opposite direction as desired,” Martyn waves his hand to dismiss Dawn’s words.

“Will Mystery work for this machine of yours?” Drista asks, raising an eyebrow. A lot of people in Essempei don’t understand her powers. They often call her a mage when she’s a magician, and they don’t understand the difference between the two terms. Drista hasn’t corrected anyone other than her immediate family and Purpled. It’s never really been a problem to her, but it might be if this machine is powered by EXP instead of Mystery. While both produce effects called ‘magic,’ they are fundamentally different with varying behaviors and applications.

“I don’t have any idea what that means, but I assume it will. Some lady made it for me after we fought some sea beasts together. I remember exactly what she told me because she wasn’t human. She was a lich. Can you believe that? I didn’t think we still had those,” Martyn tells the story with an odd look of nostalgia appearing on his face as he recounts the story about the day he met this strange lich. Drista frowns as she listens to the story. There weren’t any undead characters in The Ender Prince as far as Drista remembers, but someone who could create a machine powered by various magic sources should be someone important enough to get a mention at some point, right?

“That’s interesting,” Dawn murmurs earnestly. Drista looks over her shoulder to see Dawn’s expression. There is a vague amount of intrigue in her eyes, but she doesn’t seem enthralled by Martyn’s words. She either doesn’t believe him, or liches aren’t as big of a problem to the sun god’s faith as Drista thought it would be. She thought all religions would despise inhuman creatures… Other than maybe the Fae since they count as the sun god’s children, too, but Drista doesn’t want to start poking her nose into those matters.

“I know, right? There are so many fascinating people in the world. More than I would have ever thought,” Martyn notes, nodding his head firmly.

“True. The world is far more complex than I gave it credit for,” Drista absentmindedly agrees.

“I don’t think we’re all talking about the same thing,” Dawn inputs, drawing Martyn and Drista’s attention to her. She is frowning at them both, noticing the strange qualities of their voices when they are speaking. Drista looks away from Dawn to meet Martyn’s eyes. They hold that position for a moment, trying to pry into the other’s head to figure out if they were talking about the same thing and Dawn is the one out of the loop. To that end, they both start laughing. Drista wraps an arm around her stomach, but she realizes that she doesn’t know what Martyn is talking about. If they get a moment alone, Drista might ask him if he’s a reincarnator like her. For now, however, Drista only laughs and enjoys the ride to the coast.

Chapter Text

Martyn leaps from the front of the ship to the rotting wooden dock. He balances on the boards, avoiding the holes that have formed between each material. Dawn tosses him a rope from the boat. He catches the rope and immediately starts pulling the boat as close to the dock as it will allow. He even puts his foot on a pillar that Dawn cleverly darts away from to avoid getting stuck with the material when it snaps. Martyn ties the rope around that pillar. The rope goes taut, keeping the boat from rocking away with the waves cresting the shoreline. Dawn steps out of the boat, putting her hand in Martyn’s to help her balance. When the two adults are situated, Dawn collects Drista from the back of the boat.

Dawn wraps an arm around Drista’s shoulders to keep the princess standing. The excessive use of her powers has left Drista feeling extremely disoriented and more than a little dizzy. She takes deep breaths through her nose to steady her internal equilibrium. Dawn’s grip tightens on Drista’s wrist as she lifts the girl out of the boat. Drista stands on the dock beside the priestess, leaning into her side. Martyn pulls out his journal and compass, glancing at his two companions to make sure they are following him as he moves to the sand beach wrapping around the overgrown island.

“The temple should be on the east side of the island since worshipers believe the east side is lucky. Conversely, the west is unlucky, so they definitely wouldn’t have put the temple that way,” Dawn explains. She leans over Martyn’s shoulder to look at his compass. The spinning needle finds north. Martyn starts moving eastward. Dawn follows behind him. Drista stumbles away from Dawn, feeling more in control of her body. Dawn hovers around her, almost scared that she will plummet to the ground. Drista knows that is a real possibility, so she says nothing about the matter as she tries to regain complete control of her footing.

Martyn pulls out a dagger from his waistband. He puts his journal away, but he keeps his compass in the other hand. He holds his dagger in a defensive position, prepared for a frontal assault. Drista coaxes enough glamour from her person to construct a rudimentary illusion around the three of them. Dawn frowns, touching the edges of the illusion as if she could physically feel it. She raises an eyebrow at Drista, and the princess says nothing as they press forward through the wooded area.

Despite being known as the verdant lands, Essempei has no jungles. It has many forests, and there might be jungle-like subareas in Elfame, but this is the first time Drista has ever been to a proper jungle. As she suspected, the humidity sits thickly against her skin. Each breath feels like she’s drowning in shallow water. The canopy is thick enough to protect Drista from the sun’s direct rays, but the heat isn’t going anywhere soon. It feels like she’s stepped into a bubble made from fire, and Drista hates the feeling of sweat mixing with the humidity. She would much rather submerge her body in the ocean than deal with the climate for one more minute. Her only motivation to keep going is the promise of answers.

Dawn seems just as displeased with the atmosphere as Drista. She uses her hand to fan her face, breathing heavily. Dawn has traveled to every corner of Essempei to deliver the word of the sun god, but she, like Drista, has never experienced a jungle like this. Dawn can at least distract herself by looking around at the various plants that grow on the island. She avoids touching any of them— a reasonable decision— but her eyes seem to do everything her hands cannot.

Martyn doesn’t show any signs of discomfort. His vision swings back and forth from his compass to the shadowy area in front of him. He lets the sweat slide down his face, only bothering to wipe the beads away when they get into his eyes. His breathing has not quickened or slowed down, and Drista doubts he’s even noticing the humidity right now.

Martyn stops suddenly. Drista bumps into his arm, but Dawn maneuvers to stop moving right beside him. Drista leans around Martyn to look at what they are viewing. The three of them are standing at a cliffside. At the bottom, there are many stone structures overgrown with vines and brought tumbling down by wind and rain. Drista can make out a few statues, but all of them are missing the necessary body parts to complete their image. As Drista’s search draws closer to her feet, she notices a large stone indention popping out of the cliff face. Drista assumes they would know what it is if they were on the ground, not the cliff top. To this end, Drista steps in front of Martyn and Dawn. She raises her hand to summon translucent green platforms. The platforms resemble a staircase as Drista walks down them, trusting her magic to support her weight.

Martyn and Dawn share a look. Martyn shrugs, following Drista down the stairs. Dawn brings up the rear, her eyes glowing green as she prepares for the staircase to fail beneath her. When they get to the bottom, Dawn moves immediately to the stone indentation. It is a giant door sealed with a large circular dial made from a gold-like material designed like a ten-pointed sun. More carvings across the door, but they are hardly visible because of weathering. Dawn touches the door with her bare hands, feeling the material underneath her skin. Drista and Martyn maintain some distance. Drista does so out of respect, but she doesn’t know why Martyn remains at her side instead of joining Dawn at what is probably the front door to the temple.

“It says something on the door. I can read it… but the carving feels too recent. Or, at least, it doesn’t feel like it’s been eroded in the slightest,” Dawn calls out. She turns around to face them, gesturing to some symbols that are surprisingly clear given the condition of the door. Drista doesn’t know what they mean, but Dawn points at each symbol as she talks. “It is a warning about seeking aurora in lightless hollows. This is the first time I’ve heard the phrase so it might pertain to this temple specifically. There is another possibility of someone carving this after they’ve tried exploring the temple.”

“We’ve come too far to stop now,” Martyn remarks. He nods at the dial glimmering in the early morning rays. “How do you get inside the temple? I don’t see any door handles.”

“It must be a mechanism,” Drista responds. She splits away from the group to look through the ruins. She finds the head of one of the statues made from white marble. She runs her fingers across the statue’s cheek, wondering if this is a representation of the sun god himself, a proxy, or another character from the sun god’s many myths. Drista lifts the statue’s head into her arms. She wonders if she’s meant to reassemble the statues to unlock the temple. Drista thinks that would be terrible, especially since she can’t tell which body this head belongs to. The two statues closest to it already have heads. It might be the one on the other side, but Drista isn’t tall enough to put the head on the body to check.

“Hey! I found something!” Dawn calls out. Drista sets the statue's head on the ground. She walks over to Dawn. The cleric is lifting a muddied cloth to reveal a golden mirror attached to a wooden scaffolding. Drista puts her fingers against the mirror, shocked by how clear her reflection is. She quickly looks away to find Martyn leaning against another scaffolding with a mirror attached. The mirror is higher up on that scaffolding than on this one, and it’s hidden inside the ruins of an open-aired building. Drista looks around more, and her eyes settle on a strange twinkling on the rooftop of another building close to her and Dawn. Drista uses her platforms to climb to the top quickly. She pushes aside a giant rock using her disembodied hands to reveal another mirror to her fellow adventurers.

Dawn gestures for Martyn and Drista to return to her side in the middle of the ruins. Drista hurries down her staircase. Martyn is already there by the time Drista comes to stand on Dawn’s other side. The cleric gestures to the three mirrors as she talks. “We need to coordinate the mirrors to unlock the door. We’ll probably have to use the sunlight to place a concentrated beam on the dial.”

“It’s the only shot we have,” Martyn agrees. He kneels on the ground. He brushes away some gravel on the stone ground. He places his journal on the ground. He opens to a blank page. He uses a charcoal stick to roughly sketch out the ruins. He circles the areas with the mirrors they have found already. Dawn taps her finger against her chin. Drista looks around the ruins for more mirrors, squatting beside Dawn’s feet.

“There must be ten mirrors since there are ten points on the sun,” Dawn notes absentmindedly. She jogs away from the group to start looking. Martyn uses his finger to mark the current line between the mirrors. He estimates something in his head because he points Drista in the direction of where he believes some mirrors will be. As the only one capable of making platforms, she’s in charge of the mirrors high off the ground.

Drista finds a few of the mirrors. She has to pull them into different positions, using her real hands and her disembodied ones. She takes a break sooner than the others do to recharge her abilities. Martyn hands her his journal as he moves about the lower floors of the ruins. Drista marks the new locations for the mirrors, and she is the one to figure out where the last one will be hidden from staring at the sketch for so long. Dawn and Martyn work together to move the last one. Drista cheers them on as an apology for not helping out more than she already has.

“That one should be the first mirror in the line-up,” Drista places her finger on the mirror farthest from the door. Martyn nods as he takes the journal from her hands. Dawn rushes over to the location as Martyn drags Drista to her feet. The two of them move to the door. Dawn gives them a thumbs-up across the ruins. Her butterfly wings spread out from her back as she uses her clerical powers to grab a beam of sunlight as the sun steadily approaches its zenith. Drista points the beam at the mirror. Drista watches with fascination as the beam hits every single mirror. As the light travels closer to the door, Drista hears an unusual song. It almost sounds like a man is singing, but it’s too muffled for individual words to be made out.

The light hits the dial in the door. Drista grabs Martyn’s forearm as a rumbling sound covers up the muted singing. The dial starts turning, slowly at first but it gradually gets faster. When the dial stops, the door begins to slide into the cliff. The light enters into the darkened cavern. Martyn slips inside immediately, and Drista is unintentionally dragged behind him. Once they are inside, the doors start to close slowly. Drista considers summoning her powers as she watches Dawn run across the ruins. She leaps over some rocks and throws her body through the narrowing crack of the doors. They slam shut a moment after she lands on her feet. Dawn rises to her feet, and she snaps her fingers to summon a ball of golden light.

The temple is severely damaged. The tapestries hanging on the walls are moth-eaten, and the statues here are as broken as the ones outside. There must have been mosaics at one point, but the glass shards are left to dust on the ground. Despite that, much of the temple has remained intact, or at least isn’t so damaged that it’s impossible to determine what it once was. Dawn is the most fascinated with everything, but Drista and Martyn have no trouble finding different objects to look at curiously.

Their curiosity can wait, however, as Martyn pushes aside an altar to reveal a descending staircase. He whistles lowly to attract their attention. Drista puts down a small wooden chest that she believes is a music box. Drista has to physically pull Dawn away from some old tapestries that she’s hurriedly examining, trying to find the pieces on the ground to assemble the pictures their ancestors threaded together. Dawn is upset as they move down each step, but she quietly informs them about where they are going. “The temples today are built similarly. The place we just were is something like an antechamber. Anyone can go there to profess their faith or confess their sins to a priest. There should have been a room on the other side that would lead to a room where sermons are preached. The antechamber and the main room will both have downward staircases like this one that leads to the lower sanctum. We use it for meetings about the church these days, but I heard that it used to be designed as a vault for precious holy items.”

“And what item is more precious and holy than the Sunset Stone?” Martyn asks, glancing over his shoulder. Drista thought she would see greed in his eyes, but she didn’t see anything like that. In fact, throughout their letters and interactions, Drista gets the distinct feeling that he’s not even looking for the Sunset Stone. He’s more like Dawn, who wants to collect her faith’s prized goods, or Drista, who is looking for answers.

The trio stops at the base of the stairs. Like the ruins outside the temple, the lower sanctum is covered in plants. This is strange because the room is large but completely dark. It’s even stranger when Drista realizes that the plants aren’t overgrown. It feels more like a manicured garden than nature reclaiming what once belonged to it. Drista isn’t comfortable with the aura surrounding the large room held up by spiraling pillars. On the other side of the room, ten short steps lead up to a stage that displays a chest made from gold with carvings of the sun god and his noble animals surrounding him. The chest practically glows under the light of Dawn’s floating sphere, but surely that isn’t the light that made all this plant life grow moderately.

Drista tenses suddenly. She stares into the darkness to the west. Dawn and Martyn notice her actions, and they grow as wary as she is. After a moment of silence, a voice speaks out from the darkness accompanied by a pair of blood-red eyes with maroon-slitted pupils. “Martyn, arrogance seeking absolution. Dawn, blind faith seeking assurance. Drista, ignorance seeking enlightenment. Like fools, you seek illumination in the pits of the earth.”

The eyes slither out of the darkness into the light. Drista sucks in a breath as her chest tightens. Her hands close into fists as she readies her magic. A large serpent made from dark gray flint curls upward to stare down at the mortals intruding on the lower sanctum. “I am Apep, the Devourer of Suns. I see the lies you tell yourselves, so I will ask only once why you have ventured into this forsaken temple.”

The group is silent. The serpent waits patiently, tongue flicking out of its mouth like fire. Drista dares a step forward. She stares directly into those bloody eyes, imagining that she’s staring at a sunset rather than a beast claiming to devour multiple suns. “I want to know the truth of this world and the meaning of my existence.”

“I want to know why my god has been absent,” Dawn truthfully admits, placing a hand on her chest. Her other hand settles onto Drista’s shoulder. As if to prove her honesty, Dawn’s Origin magic disappears to reveal her butterfly wings. She flaps them self-consciously, but she remains firm as she stares into Apep’s eyes.

“I believe the Sunset Stone is a shard of a relic I need to reassemble,” Martyn finishes. He shuffles closer to Drista and Dawn. He puts one hand on the holster of his pistol. The other hand has already drawn his dagger, and he keeps it near Drista’s body like he’s debating assassinating her or hurling the dagger at Apep. Drista isn’t anywhere close to being okay with that, but she refuses to utter another word in Apep’s presence until the serpent decides if they are worthy to bear witness to the Sunset Stone.

They are, apparently, deemed unworthy. Apep says nothing else as it flings its face toward the group at hurtling speed. Drista raises her hand to create a forcefield around them. Apep stops an inch before it hits the green material. Serpents shouldn’t have expressions, but Apep seems amused as it waits for the group to retaliate further. Drista wants to warn the others, but Dawn is pulling together another sphere of light that burns like golden fire. Drista lowers the barrier in time for Dawn to throw the fireball onto Apep’s nostrils. Drista leaps backward, and she uses a disembodied hand to pull Martyn with her as he brandishes his pistol. He shoots Apep’s dark gray scales, but the strangely elemental bullet does little against the serpent.

“I must applaud you for speaking the truth to me, but do you even understand what you are asking for? Should devotees search for answers regarding their god? It might seem strange for a sun god’s cleric to choose blindness, but that is what your deity asked of you when you swore to serve him. Yet, you’ve come to find his divinity to regain your sight. But what will you see when the truth your people hold in such high esteem is revealed? Will you lose your faith? Your mind? Or perhaps, the reason for your existence? Insanity, nihility, and death are the only destinations your path of veracity will end at,” Apep remarks coldly, circling Dawn. She uses her wings to fly out of its trap, sending more balls of light hurtling against its scales like meteors crashing to the ground. Apep doesn’t even flinch as it tries to bite Dawn out of the air. Dawn barely moves out of the way, and it’s only because Martyn quickly shoots two bullets aligned with different elemental energies that react against Apep’s face. Apep turns its attention to him, slithering across the ground to reach him quickly.

“Does the servant wish to assert his dominance against the unfathomable? You are a creature of vanity and self-importance, yet you relegate yourself to the position of a slave. Compared to the other two, your ambitions aren’t even your own to claim. Why do you risk your life for the master who has abandoned you to the annals of history? Or, even worse, has abandoned you to be no better than a nameless footnote in the textbooks that will be written about him?” Apep taunts as he indulges in Martyn’s attempts to fight against him. Martyn puts up an admirable effort for a mortal armed with a pistol and a dagger, but he will die on his own. Drista knows this, so she takes matters into her own hands. She flings her forward. Bruno crawls out of her shadow. As he leaps off her fingertips, he suddenly grows into a large version of himself. He isn’t as big as Apep, but he’s closer in size to a human adult as he launches onto Apep’s back.

The serpent has no trouble turning its attention to the last member of the intruders searching for the Sunset Stone. Despite this, it does not attack Drista. It only draws close enough to make it nearly impossible for Drista to look into booths of its eyes. Its voice is quiet as it speaks to her, “Ah, it has been such a long time since I have seen a creature of such duality. Libertas and Fatum. Loneliness and love. Princess and pirate. Human and Fae. Someone who is bound to the truth and seeks it out yet is unable to face reality. You wish to change it, do you not? There are many that you desire to save. Including yourself. Because what is the greater duality between existence and nothingness, the brothers that have not seen eye to eye since they reflected Mojang?”

Bruno growls to silence Apep, standing on the serpent’s head to protect Drista. She draws on the Mystery inside of her to teleport away from Apep. She lands on the creature’s back. She opens her palm to create a platform that she shatters with her fist. She grabs a shard to dig into Apep’s back. She tries to pry off a scale, and this finally gets a reaction from the serpent. Drista’s silver and red blood flows across the ashes that slide down Apep’s sides as the serpent bucks her off. She lands against Bruno’s soft fur instead of the ground, and she holds on tight as Bruno carries her away. Dawn and Martyn are quick to take her place, inflicting as much damage as they can. Drista’s fingers curl into Bruno’s fur as she tries to think of a solution to their current problem.

She stops thinking when orange-red sparks appear in front of her vision. Drista’s eyes widen as she watches them twirl around her, enveloping her in an aura of warmth and light. When Drista lifts a finger to touch a spark, they quickly move away from her. The sparks create a clear path to the altar across the room. Drista hesitates, but the sparks loop around her wrist to coax her forward. The Sunset Stone is their only option. They’re going to need the power of the sun god to defeat Apep, and for some reason, it seems the sun god has chosen her.

Drista jumps off of Bruno. She sends her familiar back into the fray to assist Dawn and Martyn. She runs in the opposite direction. She leaps over Apep’s tail, landing on the stairs leading up to the altar. She jumps from one step to the next, ignoring the pain shooting through her legs in the process. A book rests on the chest, and Drista wants to read the inscription. She runs her fingers along it, telling herself that she will when her life is not currently in danger. With that promise made, Drista pushes the lid off the chest with the help of the sparks. It makes a heavy noise as it hits the ground behind the chest. Drista winces, but she knows she’s gathered the other’s attention by the stares scalding against her back. The sparks wrap around the red, orange, and yellow gemstone, lifting the glowing material into the air. The gemstone fills the air with light and heat. Drista’s skin burns and boils as she wraps her fingers around the burning material. Drista hears Apep yell, but its words are silenced by the blinding white light that floods the entire room.

There are several moments when Drista is unconscious. When pain starts to coax her into awareness, she realizes that her entire body feels like it’s on fire. Her chest in particular is burning like an inferno. She can barely breathe, but she can hear the sparks laughing like a man… or a god. Drista forces her eyes open to see the sun god, but someone else is leaning over her face. Chat is looking down at her with a concerned frown. Drista coughs, forcing her voice to form words, “Am I dead?”

Chat smiles with a huff that is close to a laugh. They shake their head. “Your body absorbed the Sunset Stone, so you’re able to perceive the truth in the same way a sun cleric could.”

Drista doesn’t understand in the slightest. If she wasn’t in so much pain, she would have pondered it or asked more questions. As it stands, all she can do is seep back into unconsciousness.

Chapter Text

A gradual ache spreads throughout her limbs. They are as heavy as a ship’s anchor in the water, and her shallow breaths make her feel like she’s under the waves, too. Her hand fumbles across her body until she can press her fingers against her chest. The fabric is warm under her fingers, but Drista doesn’t trust it. Even as a harsher pain thunders through her body, Drista presses down to feel her heart beating at a slower rate than it should. But she’s alive, and this is all the proof she needs. Once the question about her supposed death is answered, she starts to process other sensations in her body and around it rather than this throbbing sliding down her arms like a suffocating slime.

The top floor of the temple is, thankfully, dim instead of bright. Her eyes adjust swiftly, and she blinks in confusion at the flat ceiling. Parts of it are missing, revealing the packed soil above the temple. Brown-white roots hang in the open space, searching for water in the open air. Drista turns her attention away from the once beautifully designed ceiling. She is lying a few feet from a red-orange fire, explaining the subtle warmth that seems to chase away the inconstant chill in her bones. Drista considers briefly if she should touch the fire, but she ignores those delusional thoughts as rationality shakes her shoulders. Or maybe she’s just trembling from the odd pain blossoming in her chest like a poisonous flower.

On the other side of the fire, Martyn and Dawn are huddled close together. Their expressions are difficult to make out with the heat distorting the air between Drista and them, but her ears pick up on their tones even if she can’t figure out their words. They are aggressively whispering at each other. Drista doesn’t know if they’re arguing or if they are both spooked about something. While she doesn’t doubt the latter, she didn’t take Martyn for the type to get worked up. If he did, something awful or difficult must have happened to invoke such an intense reaction from him.

Surprisingly, they are not alone. Chat is sitting beside Dawn. She has her back to him, and she doesn’t gesture to him once. Martyn doesn’t glance over, either. Drista assumes she’s the only one who can see Chat. He’s the first to notice that she’s woken up. He waves at her with one hand. His face is easier to see since Drista doesn’t have to look at him through the flame. She doesn’t like his expression. He seems as tense as Dawn and Martyn’s voices. While Chat has gotten worked up before, it was always on Drista’s behalf. She wonders if the pain in her body is the reason everyone is freaking out, or at least, a symptom of it.

Drista pushes herself up on her elbows. It makes the pain in her head flare up into a piercing sensation. Drista winces with a shallow exhale. She moves her hand against the floor, feeling the dirt and stones scrap against her skin. She opens her mouth. Although she forces noise out, it isn’t anything close to an intelligible word. In fact, the forcefulness Drista uses to speak backfires, and she aggravates the pain in her chest. The painful flower shoots up her gullet like a fast-growing tree, and Drista throws her body to lie on her side. She tries keeping herself up on her elbows despite the pain, and she coughs until she pukes. Drista stares at the liquid forming into a puddle on the cold stones. Confusion strikes her as she identifies red, silver, and gold blood in the mixture, each trying to overtake the other’s color.

Drista continues coughing, and she feels a warm hand against her back. Her arms give out as someone graciously holds her up. Drista feels her hair move away from her body, and not even the warmth of the fire can chase away the chill sweeping across her sweaty neck. Drista shivers once because it’s cold, but her shivering doesn’t desert her. She instead finds the shaking in her body to have grown significantly worse. She shuffles onto her knees, leaning against the person holding her up. Dawn— because Martyn and Chat are still on the other side of the fire— holds Drista against her chest, rubbing a comforting hand across Drista’s upper arm.

Drista wraps her arms around her stomach. She squeezes gently, testing the limits of her pain. Like a retreating tide, the pain is diluting into something more manageable. Drista focuses on her breathing as her body settles into wakefulness. Dawn wipes the sweat off Drista’s forehead with a handkerchief, and the princess forces her eyes open to stare at Dawn’s sleeve. When Dawn finishes, she tilts down to look into Drista’s eyes. Dawn scrutinizes Drista’s appearance. Her face lightens minutely, but she continues to carry a foreboding grimness in her bright eyes.

“What happened?” Drista croaks. She puts her fingers against her throat to gently rub the skin. The words, at least, no longer cause her any more pain than she’s already feeling. Drista doesn’t feel any less like crying, though. If she were to describe her condition, she wouldn’t mention the pain first. She would mention this overwhelming disconnect between everything. She feels out of place both in her own body and the world around her. The duality Apep said Drista was cursed with has grown tenfold, and Drista feels like she’s stretching between two cliffs, her body ready to plummet into the dark canyon below. She won’t survive the plummet or her body being torn apart, but she doesn’t know how to get to one side safely. Drista’s head starts to pound again as she thinks too much about it.

Dawn and Martyn share a look. Dawn quickly glances over to the puddle of red, silver, and gold blood. Drista refuses to look at it, somewhat knowing what it means but refusing to acknowledge it. Martyn doesn’t look at the puddle, but he does look down at his hands. Chat begins, a fleeting expression on his soot-colored face. “You—”

As kind as Chat is, Drista is the only one who can hear him. Martyn is completely unaware, so he barrels right through Chat’s words without even an apologetic glance. Chat, at least, is mature enough not to mind since he understands the situation. “During the fight against Apep, you headed to the chest holding the Sunset Stone. Moments later, the chamber filled with light and warmth. When it cleared, Apep was gone and you were passed out on the steps. We… don’t know what happened to the Sunset Stone.”

“If you are going to answer her, you should tell her everything,” Dawn scolds, narrowing her eyes at Martyn. That might be the root of their problem, whatever Dawn is talking about and Martyn is purposefully refusing to. Dawn looks at Drista, “While I was healing you, Martyn found another… thing in the chamber.”

“It isn’t anyone’s business. I thought I was after the Sunset Stone, but it was only protecting my real goal,” Martyn shrugs, waving his hand in the air to flippantly dismiss the whole situation.

“Do you need a demonstration about which one of us is more powerful?” Dawn threatens. Her eyes glow in the darkness, but that is only a consequence of her summoning many spheres made from golden light. Each sphere directs a beam onto the ground like spotlights, and the beams start to circle toward Martyn like snakes slithering in search of prey.

“Stop fighting,” Drista says. Her voice is shaky, and so is her arm, but she still lifts her fingers toward Martyn intending to wrap a force field around him. Martyn lifts his hands innocently. Dawn huffs her breath as she waves her hand. The spheres disperse like sparks disappearing in the air. Dawn glares into the fire, trying to regain control over her temper.

Martyn sighs, running a hand through his blonde hair. He reaches into his satchel to pull out a blue crystal shard. Despite being a single part of a greater whole, the shard glows in the firelight. Additionally, there is a strange quality to its aura. Drista realizes after a moment that the shard looks like it’s glitching. Drista sucks in a tight breath at the strange comparison. Martyn closes his fingers around the shard, but the blue light trickles through his fist. “This is a LOOT shard. They are foundational pieces to something my friend is working on that were scattered by an outside force. I’m trying to collect them all back. It really has nothing to do with you or the princess, so I didn’t feel the need to tell either of you.”

“The LOOT shards are a foundational piece to Kinoko’s simulation. There is a subspace used by the original creators that was sealed using the LOOT, the completed form. If all the shards are put together, it will unlock that subspace again. Unfortunately, I don’t know what’s in it. She would never tell me,” Chat continues where Martyn left off. Drista frowns to herself, avoiding looking at Chat so as not to arouse suspicion. The part about the LOOT shards being part of the simulation doesn’t surprise her so much as Chat knowing one of the creators does. Drista supposes Chat could have had interpersonal relationships a long time ago. She wonders why he doesn’t know.

Drista wants to comment about the LOOT shards— at least reassure Martyn that she won’t interfere— but she can’t get a word out. She puts her hand on her chest, steadying her breath. Her skin is impossibly hot. It doesn’t burn, but it is leagues above what a normal human should be. Drista’s frown deepens for other reasons as she presses her fingers into the skin. There is… something there, she thinks. Other than her heart, lungs, and ribs, she means. Something foreign. Dawn looks saddened as she puts her hand on top of Drista’s. “Do you feel that, too?”

Drista nods. Chat shrinks into himself. Martyn raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest. “What? What are we feeling… or what you two are?”

“It’s none of your business,” Dawn mimics him in a sing-song voice. If she wasn’t mocking Martyn, Drista would have considered it a lovely singing voice.

Unfortunately, she doesn’t want her companions to argue anymore. Drista shifts in her seat, letting her hand fall away from her chest. “You said earlier that we didn’t know where the Sunset Stone was… Well, we actually do know. My body absorbed it. It’s inside my chest.” Drista reaches down, putting her hand into the blood on the floor. She smears it, watching the colors thin. Red for human, silver for Fae, and gold for divine. “The acquisition of the stone is probably what banished Apep, whatever that creature was.”

“You just… I mean, your body just…” Martyn tries, but his words fall flat as he tries to accept the situation. He gestures to Drista’s body, and she thinks she understands what he’s trying to say even if his mouth won’t let him come out and say it. He doesn’t understand how a mortal body could willingly accept the Sunset Stone. He doesn’t get where it is inside of her now. He would like to know why she let it happen, or if she even had a hand in what happened.

“Trust me, the stone is inside of her. I can feel the divine power radiating out of her. It has the same signature as the Sunset Stone, only a little muffled from her halfling physiology. Additionally, the stone was a gift from the sun god to the royal family. It must have accepted her as a vessel until the sun god returns for it,” Dawn assures him, answering a few of his questions. Dawn’s expression darkens as she stares at Drista. “But there is a problem. Princess, do you know what the cardinal sins of erudition are?”

“I know Kinoko Scholar’s Academy follows them,” Drista answers. Olive taught Ranboo about them in the arc of Kinoko Kingdom. Drista remembers that they wrote a report about the sins after almost committing one, but Drista doesn’t remember each of the sins.

“Everyone should follow them since committing one of the sins leads to insanity or death. But regardless of that, one of the sins is manipulating evolution. That is one of the rights of the divine, not of sapients. This sin is the reason halflings are so frowned upon, but now you have three different species mixed up inside of you. It isn’t going to turn out well for your body, and even if it does, people will see you as something to be terminated for their own safety. The scholars of Kinoko will be huge proponents of it, and if Essempei doesn’t comply, this could cause a war. On top of everything else your new constitution might do to the world around you,” Dawn explains sharply with a brand of apathy in her human eyes.

“We’ll have to keep this a secret. I can take care of my own health, and I have enough social problems to deal with. I don’t want to risk a war even if I have to learn how to control this new divinity,” Drista states simply, narrowing her eyes at Dawn.

“Yeah, I don’t care enough to share the details with anyone. And I agree with you about not wanting to risk a war,” Martyn adds, though his input is negligible right now considering how intently Drista stares at Dawn. Drista, at least, knows that if the LOOT shards unlock something in Kinoko, Martyn’s friend must be there. On top of Martyn being a pirate for the Kestrels, he wouldn’t want this war. He might make a few bucks as a merchant, but he wouldn’t be able to travel freely. He and his friend might get drafted or killed in some attack. If Drista can’t count on Martyn’s character, she can count on his circumstances.

Dawn exhales, staring toward the ceiling as if she can see the sky beyond it. “The sun god chose you. I will follow the will of my god even if your existence breaks one of the fundamental laws of knowledge.”

“Thank you,” Drista whispers. While Dawn did seem adamant about not committing a sin, her faith in the sun god must be greater than that. At the very least, they could blame this series of events on the sun god rather than Drista. She didn’t choose to put the Sunset Stone inside of herself. She didn’t know what was going to happen when she followed the sparks. Maybe it was a divinity that changed her, not her mortal hands. “We should probably start preparing to return.”

“You should rest longer. Martyn and I will take care of it. We should get our supplies from the boat. It isn’t safe to move the princess until her body finishes changing. We’ll leave in the morning,” Dawn commands, pushing Drista’s shoulders to make the girl settle back on the ground. Dawn stands, dusting off her clothes. She grabs Martyn’s arm, dragging him out of the temple. He grumbles about her orders, but he doesn’t fight against her as he stumbles onto his feet.

Bruno leaps out from under Drista’s arm. As he turns around like a cat or dog finding a place to lay down, he grows in size. Drista reaches a hand out, brushing against his fur. He looks the same as before, but there is a slight gold tint to the underside of his white fur. Drista leans against him, finding comfort in the softness of his body. Bruno relaxes, but his sharp eyes search the darkness to protect Drista from any dangers that might appear suddenly. Drista doesn’t know if monsters can enter the temple of the sun god, but the divine protection of this place might be weak enough to let a few spawn.

A hand moves through Drista’s hair. She blinks her eyes open. Chat is kneeling beside her with a sorrowful expression descending across his face. His shadow falls against her as he gets between her and the fire, but she leans into his touch with tears lingering in her eyes. “Am I going to be okay?”

Chat looks away from her. His lips part, but she only hears the flickering of the flames. The silence wraps around Chat. His expression only darkens even when the firelight illuminates it from underneath. He looks like he’s about to cry, and Drista wishes she had enough strength in her arms to wipe his tears away. Chat sighs, settling his forehead into the one hand not carefully carding through Drista’s hair. “I don’t know. The Sunset Stone should tether you to the world, but I don’t know how it will interact with the rest of your physiology.”

Chat’s eyes slide back to her. They look like gemstones as the firelight refracts through the unshed teardrops. “Dawn is right. It is a sin to mess with evolution. I risked everything to make you part of this world. I’m starting to doubt if that was the right decision. Your soul is from Libertas, your body is human and Fae, and your conception was stabilized by quintessence. Now, you have divine energy inside you that might throw away the carefully maintained balance… like a balance was being maintained with your fulminations and everyone forgetting about you. I don’t know what fate you will have, Drista, but it can’t be good.”

“Hey,” Drista calls out, shushing Chat as he grows more frantic. This is the most emotion she’s ever seen him display, and her heart warms at someone loving her this much. She stretches her fingers, finally wiping away the tears in his eyes. It hurts her arm, but it’s worth it to see the surprise on Chat’s face like he didn’t notice he was tearing up. “You gave me a choice once. If I wrote a book, you would give me a family. You didn’t guarantee my safety or my fate.”

“That should have been a given,” Chat argues.

Drista drops her tired, heavy arm into Chat’s lap. She shakes her head. “You granted my wish. Even if it isn’t for long, I had a family. I had people who cared about me. I had people who never hurt me. I could die tomorrow, and I would be fine. I would be happy.”

Chat turns away from Drista. He breathes out shallowly. His voice is so unbelievably quiet as he whispers, “Aeolus was right.” Drista doesn’t know who that is, and Chat doesn’t tell her, either. Instead, he glances back at her. “Would you close your eyes?”

Drista doesn’t need to be asked. Her eyelids shut immediately, and she doubts she could open them again. Thankfully, she doesn’t need to. Chat puts his hand over her eyes, turning the firelight that bleeds into her retinas into complete darkness. Guided by his steady hand, Drista sinks into beautiful dreams for the first time since she’s come to this world.

When she wakes up later, she feels much better. There is a faint ache trapped in her bones, but Drista thinks she could minimize that with some stretching. Her senses have returned to their full capabilities, and she catches the scent of meat as the second she hears some sizzling. She opens her eyes, watching Martyn fiddle with a pan on top of a fire. Martyn glances at her. He gives her a half-smile. This alerts Dawn to Drista’s wakefulness. The priestess immediately helps Drista sit up, putting a cup to Drista’s lips. The princess drinks slowly, wondering how often someone has forced her to drink water after she had woken up from a pain-induced rest—too many times, which is probably why Chat is so worried about her.

Drista looks around. Chat isn’t here right now, but Drista notices they are outside the temple. The stars twinkle merrily at Drista, and for some reason, she thinks they look a little brighter than usual. She would dare say they look happier, but she pushes that thought away as Dawn’s voice trickles into her awareness. “... outside because of the smoke. We wouldn’t want to add another health problem on top of, well, you know.”

Martyn starts making himself a plate. The pork chops look juicy and steam rises above them. Martyn looks ready to eat, but Dawn takes the plate from his hands. He wears a half-surprised, half-disappointed expression as Dawn puts the plate in Drista's lap. Instead of Drista, Dawn is the one who starts cutting it up. Martyn looks at them incredulously. Dawn glares at him, “Do I have to remind you what the princess has been through? If anyone needs to eat, it’s her. Becoming a new creature requires a lot of energy.”

“Zealot,” Martyn rolls his eyes, making a new plate for himself. He quickly pulls it out of Dawn’s clutches, but she doesn’t glance at his food any longer as she tries feeding Drista a forkful of pork.

“I’m fine,” Drista assures Dawn, trying to take the fork. Instead, Dawn deposits the food into Drista’s mouth, effectively silencing the girl as she tries to taste the meat beneath the heat.

“You are not. The divine energy is intense around you right now. If I wasn’t here, Martyn would have already been poisoned. I’ll have to teach you how to control your powers once the stone fully settles into your constitution,” Dawn explains.

Martyn laughs to himself, gesturing to Drista with his new fork. “You are going to be super powerful when you learn clerical skills on top of Mystery and glamour.”

“Maybe, but I can’t underestimate the price I will have to pay for these powers,” Drista remarks, rubbing the back of her neck as she lets Dawn feed her a few more bites. She hadn’t noticed before, but Dawn wasn’t wrong in saying Drista needed the energy. She is starving right now, and she might mean that literally. Her stomach feels completely empty, and her limbs are cold with weakness.

“Using divine energy just might kill you,” Dawn solemnly agrees.

“Ah— er, well, sorry about saying that,” Martyn apologizes, looking at his plate pointedly.

“I don’t mind,” Drista forgives him easily, focusing on her food. By the time she’s done, she’s exhausted again. Drista yawns as Dawn wipes her face off. Drista would feel uncomfortable if she were any more awake, but for now, she lets Dawn help Drista into a sleeping bag. Drista is curious about Dawn’s motivations for doing all this, but she’s asleep before she can even form the question.

Chapter Text

Dawn helps Drista sit in a cushioned chair at the back of the vessel. When she’s steady, the priestess returns to Martyn’s side to untie the ropes keeping the ship connected to the dock. Chat appears on the deck without needing to step over anything. He squats down beside the magical engine attached to the back of the old sailing boat. He places his hands against the surface. Although Drista knows he cannot physically interact with the world around him, he might be touching the metal as a means of sensing the interior of the black box with a whirring propeller hidden underwater. In a few key ways, it is similar to the boats from Drista’s old world, but there are so many differences that she continues to be startled by its applications. She will have to ask Chat later about the internal structure, provided she remembers enough about her world’s motors and Chat can describe what he most likely doesn’t understand well enough for her.

“I’m certain divine power will work more efficiently than any medicare magic you might be capable of,” Dawn’s voice draws Drista’s attention away from Chat’s novel fascination. Dawn puts her hands on her hips, letting her wings hang from her back. Despite her constant arguments with Martyn, she is comfortable enough around him to release the hybrid traits she normally keeps hidden within the folds of magic. Martyn doesn’t seem to have any hybrid traits, but there are other subtler ways he shows his easiness around Drista and Dawn.

“We don’t know that for certain. It was a lich who made that engine, remember? I doubt she would create anything that could handle divine power,” Martyn reminds Dawn as he starts booting the engine up. There is still some juice left in the tank from the trip to the island. It won’t get them to the mainland, but it should start them on their journey. They’ve already spent much too long on this island, after all, having to waste time letting Drista rest. She was eager to leave every second, but Dawn— and surprisingly, Martyn— refused to go anywhere until she no longer looked like she would tip over with a strong breeze.

“There is no precedent that divine power poisons undead,” Dawn remarks, her wings twitching as she rolls her eyes. It is a rumor Drista heard in her research, but it sounded more like an old sailor’s superstition than a genuine phenomenon in the world. That being said, it wasn’t like anyone could prove it. Clerics rarely involve themselves in monster subjugations, and even those who do participate will rarely meet an undead. There aren’t many Mobs that fall under the classification. A scholar from Kinoko might purposefully summon a cleric and capture an undead, but Drista doesn’t know if those experiments are permitted by the cardinal sins of erudition.

“You don’t need to argue about it. I will be the one maintaining the engine’s energy, no?” Drista calls out to them from her seat. She doesn’t quite feel like herself, but she assumes this will become her new normal. She, at least, doesn’t feel like she’s going to puke tri-colored blood with every breath. The Sunset Stone, for better or for worse, has begun settling in her body and psyche like it was meant to be there all along. Drista knows the final stages of the integration process are going to be a matter of her mentality.

Dawn whirls around to stare at Drista, and Chat is drawn away from the object of his fascination. Martyn leans against the railing in front of the steering wheel. He shrugs one of his shoulders, looking in that direction with a touch of agreement. Dawn and Chat are decidedly less enthused about Drista’s words, and the priestess makes this very clear as she points her finger at Drista’s chest. “It is far too early to start using any of your powers. I don’t know how Mystery interacts with divine power, but I know that glamour doesn’t mix well with it. It will have an adverse effect on your body. It might even start affecting your mental and emotional health, though I can’t say for certain about that.”

“The sun cleric is correct,” Chat immediately concurs. He looks serious. Despite wanting to listen to both of them, Drista can’t stay on this island for longer than she already has. Drista shakes her head. She doesn’t have time to worry about this as she scoots closer to the engine. She puts her hand on the cool metal, letting her body heat warm the material underneath her fingertips. Drista closes her eyes. She connects to a chamber inside the machine, waiting for a substance to spill into it. Drista has to provide that substance, and she has three sources she can draw from glamour, Mystery, and divinity.

Drista, obviously, goes for the one she uses the most. As familiar as a well-loved blanket, Drista navigates the path to the large gateway held inside her body. She opens it slowly, tentatively, hearing the waves of the mighty, unknowable ocean. The strange liquid— unidentifiable despite all of Drista’s research— spills over the sides of the gateway. Drista pushes it toward the chamber inside the engine. She starts filling it up with even breaths expanding her physical chest. She feels… odd, she supposes. The liquid is warmer against Drista’s spiritual body, and it flows through her meridians like water boiling over the sides of a pot. Fortunately, it doesn’t hurt. As Drista starts rationalizing, she thinks the Mystery is going through the Sunset Stone instead of traveling around it, like the divine crystal has become Drista’s magical core, or the ‘heart’ of her meridians.

When Drista’s eyes flutter open, Dawn kneels before Drista with her hands on Drista’s knees. She squeezes them, searching Drista’s eyes. It takes longer than it should for Drista to focus on Dawn’s face, but the warmth seeping through the fabric of her pants helps bring her to the present moment. She places her palm against the back of Dawn’s hand, and she feels like a weary traveler stepping into a log cabin to escape the snow. The warmth is pleasant but stark, a clear difference being drawn between then and now.

Chat stands between the engine and Dawn, unnoticed by her but very noticeable to Drista. She glances at his dark gray eyes. They resemble storm clouds sweeping across a twilight sky, and Drista knows that his worry can spark like lightning within a second. He has one hand on the engine. Drista wonders if he can feel the Mystery turning the machinery inside the metal box. They can all hear it, at least.

Martyn remains at the steering wheel. He keeps his hands firmly on the rungs, leading them onward across the choppy waves. He glances back. He meets Drista’s eyes, and there is a strange emotion presented on his face. While Drista wouldn’t say Martyn doesn’t care about her, he isn’t as worried about her as Dawn and Chat are. For obvious reasons, Drista knows, so she doesn’t understand the way he scrutinizes her appearance with an uncharacteristic frown on his face. Or maybe, it isn’t uncharacteristic. Maybe Drista doesn’t know this man as well as she should.

Drista looks back at Dawn. The priestess lifts her hand to touch the back of her fingers to Drista’s forehead. The gesture reminds Drista of Puffy and Foolish, back when Drista was so much younger than she is now. Drista presses her lips together into a straight line. She’s struck with hiraeth so poignant that she fears she will start crying at the memories alone. Dawn’s well-meaning care does very little to chase away the stinging in Drista’s eyes, but the princess finds herself smiling nostalgically rather than sinking into despair. She will return to her family soon, and there’s no reason to say goodbye to these people who care about her.

“I’m fine,” Drista promises quietly. She means it. She has to since she cannot lie. But she cannot stop the strange squeezing in her heart at all the other truths she dares not mention. Drsita reaches up to interlock her fingers with Dawn’s hand. Drista pulls Dawn’s hand back into her lap. Drista uses her other hand to press against the engine once more.

Mystery flows through her for a second time. The motions are familiar even when the heat is not, but Drista considers this to be nothing more than a dip into a hot spring. It is painful for a second, but soon the healing qualities seem to expand from her meridians to her physical veins and arteries. The ocean beyond the veil of the world— because certainly, that is where this infinity exists— wades at her ankles. It acts like water even when it doesn’t feel that way. There isn’t a physical sensation to the water, only a mental one, and Drista doesn’t know what that means about this ocean.

Drista’s hand is forcibly removed from the metal plating. She snaps back to reality with a heavy breath. She places a hand on her forehead, massaging the skin as she processes the world around her. She identifies the smell of salt and flowers wafting through the languid winds. She can even taste it on her tongue. Drista licks her lips, deciding that this is the scent of her home. It has to be since Puffy purchased a jar that smelled just like this at the carnival that well and truly damned Drista.

Drista lifts her head. She meets Dawn’s sunny green eyes. The priestess reaches forward to place both hands on Drista’s cheeks. While it might be counterintuitive to maintain the balance inside Drista, Dawn doesn’t hesitate to push healing divine energy into Drista’s body. It tingles against her skin. An image of a bird returning to its nest appears in Drista’s mind. She doesn’t fully understand what that metaphor is implying, but she holds onto the image as she rises to her feet. Her movements are unsteady, but Dawn is quick to wrap Drista’s arm around her shoulder to help the princess navigate the boat to the shoreline.

When they get to the edge, Dawn lowers Drista down. The blonde opens her mouth to say something, but there is only a breath of airiness as she stares up at the late afternoon sky. They are not going to make it back to the palace before nightfall. The thought is somewhat diminished as Drista feels arms wrap around her, keeping her from dropping bonelessly against the sand. Martyn grins at Drista as he holds her close. Drista is ashamed to realize that she didn’t think Martyn was nearly this strong, but she refrains from mentioning such facts as Martyn pulls her away from the boat to give Dawn space to leap from the deck to the sand. She balances by stretching her arms out. Once she’s firmly on her feet, she helps Martyn put Drista on her feet. The princess thinks she can handle walking by herself, but she cannot speak for herself so neither Martyn nor Dawn agree with her.

The escort takes Drista to the treeline. Chat is already standing between the horses, staring at them with some mixed emotions on his face. Drista’s vision blurs around the edges, so she cannot tell what exactly her companion is feeling. Chat disappears into thin air as Martyn and Dawn work together with Drista’s weak grip to set the princess on the horse’s saddle. Dawn is quick to join Drista, balancing Drista with her arms to keep the girl from having to waste energy doing that. Martyn is better at getting on his horse this time compared to last time, but the success rate is only marginally better.

They are silent as they ride. It’s for a variety of reasons, Drista suspects. Martyn is still getting used to riding a horse while navigating for them. Drista is half-awake in the saddle. Dawn is busy ascertaining Drista’s physical state, and her hands pressed together paired with the low murmuring in Drista’s ear makes the princess think Dawn is praying. Drista feels the last rays of sunlight across her face, and she hopes the sun god can hear them— wherever he is. They are going to need as much divine intervention as they are allowed to have. Drista, at least, would like for the god to come pick his Sunset Stone up before it kills Drista (if it does, but Drista knows she isn’t lucky enough to get divine power without a lethal drawback).

While Drista would be fine pushing through the night, her companions are against that. Drista is forced to rest yet again, but she’s already half-asleep as Dawn helps Martyn start a fire. Bruno’s larger form arrives after the first spark catches, and Drista wraps her arms around his furry body. She buries her face in his neck, letting his form provide a comfortable pillow. It makes the ground that much harder to sleep on, but the roughness isn’t the worst part. It’s the stillness. There is no rocking motion to lull Drista to sleep or pain to knock her unconscious. She could ask Chat to do the trick again, but he’s absent right now. Additionally, Drista doesn’t know if she can use her voice yet, and even if she can, she doesn’t want to explain to Martyn and Dawn who she’s talking to. She could wait for them to sleep, but they are continuously chattering about matters Drista can’t quite make out.

Despite her predicament, Drista slips in and out of half-consciousness. In the moments of clarity, she can hear the flickering of the fire and the distant sounds of wildlife. At her least lucid moments, strange dreams prod against her mind, brought on by her proximity to Bruno. His sleep seems more restful than hers, but his eyes are always on her when she glances at him. Drista smiles sleepily at him. When the cicadas screech in her ears, her hands move slowly across his form like she’s petting a large dog. When drool starts to slip from her lips, her hands grow still across his warm body.

Some hours pass like this. While Drista expects daybreak to rouse her, human-like noises are what coaxes her into complete awareness. She blinks warily as she sits up. Bruno lifts his head, pressing his nose into Drista’s shoulder. She rubs her eyes, doing a sweep of the area to find the source of the noise. Martyn stands in the firelight, head tilted towards the sky. His arms wave around him like an excited kid. Drista glances at the sky with a yawn. It looks the same to her. With that sort of reaction, she thought aliens were going to descend from the cosmos.

Dawn remains lying down, staring at the sky with wide eyes. She is still for such a long time that she has to gasp for breath. Drista raises an eyebrow at her. The priestess meets Drista’s eyes. An open-mouthed smile appears on her face. Drista gives a half-smile back even though she doesn’t understand what they are happy about. Dawn starts tearing up as she murmurs, “The sky is clear.”

Drista’s eyes widen. She immediately whips around to look at Martyn. He has stopped viscerally freaking out, but he won’t tear his eyes away from the sky. Drista scrutinizes the stars glittering in the darkness. They are no clearer to her than they were before, but she feels equal parts surprised and happy that the others can finally see what she’s seen her entire life in this world. As an afterthought, Drista murmurs, “This wasn’t my doing.”

“Was it the sun god’s?” Martyn replies as breathlessly as Dawn is. Despite her religious connections to the sky, Drista suspects that everyone will be as awed by the sky as Dawn.

“If it was his doing, why would it become clear at night?” Dawn asks, but there isn’t any explicit emotion in her tone. There’s also a matter of the sky being blurry only the night prior when they were staying on the island for Drista’s safety.

“It must be the Sky Mother,” Chat whispers. Drista whirls around to stare at Chat. He stands in the darkness, merging with the shadows beneath the tree. His eyes seem to sparkle in the firelight, but the rest of the light doesn’t even touch him. He, like the others, is staring at the sky with a conflicted expression appearing and fading on his face. His hands ball into fists, held tightly at his sides.

Bruno keeps an eye on Chat, but Drista looks away from him. “That’s it. It was the Sky Mother’s doing.”

“The Sky Mother?”

“Most origin stories concerning the sun god and moon goddess— including the one the sun church believes is true— involve an entity referred to as the Sky Mother. Not much is known about her, unfortunately. The sun church believes she was the one to create the sun god and moon goddess,” Dawn explains to Martyn, side-eyeing Drista as the girl’s reaction grows more animated.

“This was her doing. I know it in my heart,” Drista says assuredly, putting a hand against her chest. She doesn’t feel any resistance from her Fae nature, not like Drista needed the reassurance. Dawn and Martyn share a look with one another. Drista clarifies, “Not my actual heart. It’s the Sunset Stone. It must register the Sky Mother’s presence.”

The others accept Drista’s words, but the girl leans back against Bruno’s side as she thinks about it. She needs to do a lot more research into the Sky Mother, especially since Chat confirmed the entity’s existence. Drista doesn’t know what she’s going to find— if anything— but the Sunset Stone might not be a hindrance in this insistence. She closes her eyes to ease back into restfulness, trying to keep her thoughts from spiraling beyond her control.

The night should have ended there, but Drista was drawn back from the brink yet another time. She hears sticks cracking. The noise becomes clearer as the individual steadily approaches. Martyn aims his gun into the burgeoning dawn. The priestess of the same time period kneels on the ground, gathering the early morning light into a ball above her hand. Drista knows it might be a dumb idea, but she hides behind the growling Bruno with a disembodied hand appearing near her. She ignores the golden sheen on the emerald-like material of the hand’s composition.

Drista expects assassins. She expects Mobs. She is even willing to think a wild animal is getting closer to them. Waglington is not the person she thought would emerge from the underbrush with an almost irritated expression on his face. He pats down his clothes, brushing away leaves and sticky seeds from the fine material. His long black hair is tied back into a low ponytail, several strands falling around his face to show his laziness. Drista frowns at him. She makes the disembodied hand disappear as she stands. She crosses her arms over her chest, raising an eyebrow. “What are you doing here?”

“I wasn’t planning on interfering with your rebellious stage, but certain truths have come to light in our separate absences. The tsaritsa and the third prince of the Antarctic Empire were attacked. They survived, but the organization sponsoring the attackers is still active,” Waglington says, crossing his arms over his chest. Drista takes a half-step back. She feels like she’s been punched in the stomach. She knew this attack was going to happen eventually, but Kristin wasn’t supposed to survive. Her death is a catalyst for the behaviors of the imperial family, providing the backdrop for the first arc.

Drista stumbles forward. She grabs Waglington’s deltoids. She squeezes as tightly as she can. She stares right into his eyes, narrowing her own until only slits of her Fae green can be seen. Waglington’s expression possesses a heavy sort of confusion as she demands more details in a hissing voice. Waglington answers her seriously, “A cult in the eastern Antarctic Empire staged an attack on the tsaritsa since they believed she was impersonating the goddess they worship. The tsaritsa was saved by the interference of the third prince. All members of the assault were captured, but the roots of the cult are still out there.”

Obviously, something is wrong. Drista looks down at Waglington’s chest. Chat made her to destroy destiny, but she knows for a fact that her influence doesn’t extend to the imperial family of a neighboring nation. Someone over there must be a reincarnator like she is. Drista can narrow it down to Kristin or Theseus, and she’s leaning towards the latter. He wasn’t able to save his mother in The Ender Prince, causing a lot of his internalized guilt. If he was able to this time around, it must be because he knows something more. While it isn’t right to automatically assume, Drista has this feeling in her chest that she’s right. Chat did say clerics of the sun god could perceive the truth.

Whatever the case, Drista has another matter she needs to research extensively. The Sky Mother, Theseus… She’s getting more leads, but even more mysteries are awakening to provoke her. Drista just wants answers, but she supposes it wouldn’t be fair if she just knew everything without putting in a little bit of effort.

“I need to escort you back to the palace before some very important people start throwing tantrums,” Waglington interrupts her thoughts, patting her head with his hand.

Drista gestures to Martyn and Dawn, realizing that she forgot all about them in her haste to discover if she was truly the only person in this world with knowledge about the book. Waglington raises an eyebrow at them. Martyn shrugs his shoulders, slapping his hands together. “Don’t worry about me. I need to head to Kinoko, anyway, so I don’t mind parting ways here.”

“I am okay with splitting up, too. There are many matters I need to make thorough documents about at the main temple,” Dawn smiles reassuringly at Drista.

Bruno shrinks as he leaps onto Drista’s shoulder. He burrows into her neck, curling up like a sweet child. Drista smiles at Martyn and Dawn. “We should meet up again someday.”

They nod as Waglington places his hand on Drista’s shoulder. In the next breath, she is teleported away. 

Chapter Text

Drista steps into the middle of Waglington’s tower as if a door’s threshold was suddenly placed there. A surge of his power lingers in her meridians, but the Sunset Stone purges the foreign entity as soon as it identifies it like flames turning paper into ash and smoke. Bruno leaps from her shoulder to her forearm. Drista extends her arm for him, and Bruno shoots across the room to land on Waglington’s messy desk. Bruno sinks down into the paper, bright eyes peering at the wizard and magician as they settle into reality. Drista gives the room a cursory look, seeing no differences. She frowns, looking at Waglington’s back. He is busy packing a few materials from a shelf into a doctor’s bag that probably carries the same spatial magic as the tower does. Drista crosses her arms over her chest, narrowing her eyes as she realizes that she’s being ignored. “So, where did you go? When did you come back?”

Waglington glances over his shoulder at her. He is frowning, but his expression doesn’t swing towards any specific emotion. He treats her attention with the same carelessness he treats everything in his life. 

Everything except for that painting behind his desk that Drista notices has been resituated into a marginally more hidden position. If Drista didn’t know that woman was important before, the knowledge has solidified in her mind by that one action. Drista doubts she’ll ever learn the woman’s importance, of course, but it’s somewhat nice to know that at some point or another, Waglington cared about someone. He still cares about them if the heavy protection magic around the portrait means anything. Waglington doesn’t treat anything with importance— not magical artifacts, ancient ruins, or powerful (in all senses of the word) people. That painting is something worth remembering even if all Drista will ever know about that woman is her elven ears, long purple hair, and brilliant eyes.

Waglington closes his bag with leather straps. The metal jingles as he slots a pin through the holes in the belt. He sets the bag on his couch. He leans on the couch’s arm, letting his fingers lightly grip the loose handles of the bag. He taps a finger rhythmically against his thigh with his other hand. “I can’t say anything about it yet. I have to leave again. I’m only here because Puffy summoned me.”

“What does that mean?” Puffy is many things, but she isn’t a summoner. Drista doesn’t think her mother even has a type of magic. Her sword, Amalthea, carries significant power, though Drista doesn’t know if Puffy knows how to access it. Puffy has never been put in a position where she needs to use it, not since the day she rescued her children from the Iris Church.

Drista takes one step forward, but she can’t force herself to intrude on his space any more than that. No matter how aloof he acts, his power is a palpable aura around him that even Drista knows to fear. His aura has only become sharper with the Sunset Stone’s clarity settling in her eyes. While her eyes retain their Fae-like characteristics, they are flowing with more divine energy than any other part of Drista (save for her core where the Sunset Stone directly is). She can sense more about the world— the truth— and she understands just how dangerous even a lax Waglington can be. She wonders if he knows yet.

Waglington shrugs carelessly. He lifts his hand from his thigh, swirling his hand like a spoon in a teacup. “Nothing to worry about. It’s part of the contract I signed with the royal family. The current holder of the contract— in this case, Puffy— can summon me whenever they want.”

Drista’s face twists with her confusion. While it’s true that Ranboo and his group weren’t particularly close to King Foolish, Drista thinks someone would have mentioned a wizard being on the royal family’s payroll. It could be that Waglington will still be on his mission when Ranboo arrives, or maybe Waglington never remained at the palace after Thetis without Drista’s interference. Still, if the contract was in place, why wouldn’t Foolish have summoned Waglington during the climax of the second arc? Surely, Ranboo, Tubbo, Beau, and Freddie wouldn’t have been a match for Waglington considering what their power levels would have been at the time.

Drista doesn’t get to ask any questions. The door slams open with much more ferocity than Drista thought it could since the door is so heavy. Drista startles back, taking a half-step away from the door while summoning a force field to protect her. Bruno jumps about a foot into the air, but as he lands, he grows in size to protect Drista. Her action and his transformation cause an odd tingling feeling to thunder through her body, but she ignores it in preparation for whoever Waglington has pissed off this time. The wizard himself doesn’t seem too concerned about the door or the person marching inside the tower’s office. He leans back, crossing his arms over his chest and folding one leg over the other.

Drista’s defenses are ripped asunder as she recognizes the white curls and sheep horns of her mother’s appearance. Her force field dissipates, and Bruno shrinks as he rolls over onto his back. A syllable comes out of Drista’s mouth, but her words are cut off as Puffy throws her arms around Drista’s shoulders. She shoves Drista’s face into her shoulder. She squeezes as tightly as she did the day she rescued her daughter after more than a year away from her children. It makes Drista cough with a sudden breath, but she can’t push away from her mother for multiple reasons. Drista, slow on the uptake, keeps her arms at her sides, gaping stupidly at the door Puffy came from without really seeing it. “Where were you?!”

Drista has no answer. She’s too shocked that Puffy remembered her to come up with a half-truth her nature will let her get away with, and she knows for certain that she cannot tell Puffy about her adventure to the original temple of the sun god. Puffy would not be happy to hear about Drista fighting Apep or how the Sunset Stone is now inside her body. Drista knows Puffy won’t kill her for being three different species, but she will do everything in her power to cleave the stone from Drista’s body when she learns what its very existence could do to Drista.

Drista’s silence is as loud in the equally quiet room. Puffy leans back. Her arms unwind from Drista’s neck, but her hands grip onto Drista’s shoulders. Puffy leans down to look directly into Drista’s eyes. In fact, she is leaning down far enough that she has to tilt her head up. The light from the tower’s window falls into Puffy’s eyes. The tears are as evident as the rather poignant worry within those dark irises. Drista swallows thickly, guilt simmering lowly in her stomach. She grabs onto her mother’s wrists, smiling tightly at the woman. “I’m fine, Mom.”

It is the only truth Drista can afford to say in this situation. She should have come up with an excuse, but she didn’t realize her family would remember her. She supposes this is what Chat meant when he said the Sunset Stone would tether her to the world. Part of her has become part of this world, and it gives her a certain degree of permanence. Drista doesn’t know the limits, but she should be prepared for anything moving forward. She can’t afford to be caught like this again if she wants to continue fighting against destiny, whatever that entails.

“You see? I told you she would be fine. Every magician does this. They get compelled to seek the origin of their powers, and they go searching for themselves,” Waglington agrees with Drista. His word is obviously more trustworthy than Drista’s despite the fact that he can lie (and clearly is right now since Drista knows his tells) and she cannot. “Can I go back to what I was doing before you summoned me?”

Puffy reluctantly releases her grip on Drista’s shoulder to show Waglington the back of her hand. Drista thought the motion was rude until she sees the faint glow of magic creating an aureole around Puffy’s hand. Puffy breathes in through her nose and speaks with her exhale, “You are free from my commands until I summon you again.”

The aureole sharpens with her last word, but it clears quickly. Waglington salutes the queen, and he waves goodbye with a cheeky smile aimed at Drista. He grabs his medical bag, swinging it in front of him as he takes a step forward. Instead of intruding on Puffy and Drista’s moment, he vanishes into thin air. Drista senses the trace of his power left behind, but it dissipates between her fingertips before she can recognize his unique signature.

Puffy wraps one arm around Drista’s shoulder, turning on her heel. Bruno makes a yipping noise. Instead of climbing onto his creator, Bruno hops onto Puffy’s shoulder, burying his face into Puffy’s neck. She pets Bruno affectionately. It warms Drista’s heart, and she doesn’t know if Puffy knew it would do that or not. Puffy, at least, is paying Drista a different sort of attention. While her hand rubs Drista’s deltoid, she is lecturing the princess thoroughly. She repeats several times that Drista is grounded. Drista supposes she should feel admonished, but she’s stuck marveling at the fact that she’s actually being grounded in a manner she considers kind since Puffy hasn’t started hitting her yet. Puffy never would, of course, but Drista finds herself stuck in the past no matter how kindly her family treats her.

At the bottom of the tower, Puffy stops speaking as she opens the door. She takes several deep breaths like she’s trying to cool her temper. Drista remains silent, waiting for her mother to continue or try again. Drista shuffles out of the tower, narrowing her eyes as light from hanging magical crystals like street lamps prickles against her eyes. She lifts a hand to shade her face, and she recognizes three people waiting for her and Puffy at the bottom of the tower. Dream stands in front with his arms held in front of him. Punz is close by, slightly behind. Dream and Punz both look marginally upset and confused. Their expressions are nothing next to the anger barely concealed on Purpled’s face. Drista swallows, glancing away. Absently, she knew Purpled would be upset, but this seems leagues above what she was anticipating. With how angry he is, she’s starting to doubt that he only cares about the fact that she left him without saying anything. Is there something else he might be angry about?

“Hey, what’s in your—” Dream starts, pointing at her chest. Drista puts her hand over her heart self-consciously. She knew Dream could see through her illusions, but she didn’t think his abilities were strong enough that he could sense the Sunset Stone. If that’s what he’s doing, anyway. He could notice something different about her aura that originates from her chest. The air around her must be warmer than usual, she supposes, though she doesn’t think Dream is referencing that.

Thankfully for Drista, Dream’s words are promptly cut off. Puffy grabs his and Drista’s shoulders to pull them back into her arms. Drista feels like a child again as she settles her head against Puffy’s chest. This time, she wraps an arm around Puffy’s waist. Dream does the same. Their other arm is kept boneless at their sides, but Dream grabs onto Drista’s hand to complete the circle like when they were children. Everything about this situation feels like when they were children, though. Drista closes her eyes, and she’s back on the coast with her entire family with her. Life was simpler, then, and Drista wasn’t nearly as scared of losing what she didn’t think she was allowed to have.

But it’s nice. This hug, this love, this family— all of it. Drista feels tears warm her eyes. She breathes in shakily. This moment could be a sinking ship in an infinite sea, but Drista wouldn’t mind making her home here until she’s lowered into a watery grave.

“Foolish is off on his journey, so I can’t check on him. Thetis is using her information network to look into more information about the attack, but I will admit that I doubt her dedication to seeing this through,” Puffy explains to them. She flips them around, tucking each one into her side. She pushes them forward until they start walking alongside her of their own volition. Puffy keeps her grip tight, never letting either of them wander away from her. She continues talking, but her words are so quiet and disorientated that Drista thinks she’s just trying to fill the silence. Drista doesn’t mind since she suspects Dream will start asking about whatever he notices if they give him a moment to. If Dream is going to ask, Drista needs him to do it when they’re alone. She could be persuaded to give Dream more of the truth than Puffy since she knows he (probably) won’t overreact.

Puffy steers them into the palace. It has only been a few days since Drista has been here, but she feels a little disconnected from the space. Drista doesn’t think she will ever consider this place home. When she thinks of home, her mind returns to the cabin on Faction Isle. Those halls were always warm and vaguely scented like the ocean. Her family was nearby, and the walls were so thin she could hear Dream’s snoring. It was comforting in those years. Drista doesn’t know if she wants to return to them knowing what she knows now, but she wouldn’t mind recreating it as best as they can. She knows they can’t since Puffy is the queen, Foolish will inherit the crown after her, and Dream will be the captain of the Hunters one day. But still, she would like them to be a little more united in a more comfortable environment.

Puffy delivers them to a fairly spacious drawing room. Puffy nudges them directly onto the couch. She hovers above them, hands near them but not daring to touch them. Dream and Drista stare at her, occasionally sparing a glance at each other. Bruno jumps from Puffy’s shoulder to Drista’s lap, lying down to comfort his creator. Puffy closes her eyes as she breathes. Drista’s stomach twists with guilt. She can only take solace in the fact that she isn’t solely responsible for Puffy’s panicked state. She’s partially responsible, of course, so she can’t quite stop the jack-rabbiting of her heart.

Puffy’s eyes flutter open slowly with a long, drawn-out sigh. She stands upright, moving her hands across her clothing to smooth any wrinkles. She looks at them pleadingly, but the sternness in her eyes reminds Drista that their mother is a queen who commands an entire nation. “I want your guards with you all the time . I am not going to lock either of you up, but for today, I would like for you to stay in this room until I get back. I have to speak with Thetis, and I need to prepare Callum for his mission. Am I understood?”

Drista and Dream nod fervently. A small smile creeps onto Puffy’s face, and she seems pleased with herself. She kisses their foreheads in rapid succession. She marches out of the room in the next moment. She leaves the door ajar. Drista leans forward, peeking outside. Purpled and Punz are discussing the security of the room, but it also looks like Purpled has gained control over his composure. Drista bites the inside of her cheek. She doubts he’s let go of his anger; he’s only pushed it aside to handle the important matter at hand. Drista knows she’ll be in for an earful later.

Drista is pulled back by an arm around her shoulders. She settles against Dream’s chest. He hugs her tightly, tucking her head beneath his chin. It is the closest they have been to each other in a long time, but it doesn’t feel unfamiliar. Drista relaxes immediately, settling her full weight on top of her brother. She exhales a heavy breath, letting all of her tension release with the breath. Dream squeezes her shoulders once, but his grip on her laxes until it feels like he’s only resting his arms against her instead of keeping her close. Drista doesn’t mind. The wiggly room is nice, and she appreciates not being restrained in case she needs to dart away. Even with their time apart, it seems her brother knows her too well.

“So, what’s in your chest? You feel different,” Dream whispers. His voice is as airy as the wind, and his chin tilts on top of her head to imply he’s looking over at the doorway. Drista appreciates his discretion.

“In what way do you mean?” Drista asks, avoiding answering his question until she learns how honest she needs to be.

“I’m not sure. There’s a difference in your True Name,” Dream replies, shrugging his shoulders as best as he can.

Drista startles. “I didn’t know you could sense that.”

True Names are technically important to everyone in the world, but the Fae are often paired with the concept since glamour comes from an entity’s True Name. It boils down to an individual’s essence that can be verbalized into sound. It’s rarely an actual word since it supposedly comes from the divine language— the same one the elves of Alfheim use to make their runes. Additionally, Fae used True Names to create slave contracts to be used against lesser Fae. Once a name is signed away, it belongs to the new Fae. It is one of the many reasons humans reject Fae.

“I’m only vaguely aware of it… It’s like a cloud around people. I know my family better than most, so I can sense the subtler changes in your auras,” Dream elaborates. Drista frowns. She didn’t know True Names could be seen like auras, but she supposes it isn’t out of the realm of possibility. True Names are innately powerful. Dream could be seeing the signature of the True Name around a person in the same way Drista feels wisps of a person’s magical powers.

“The difference probably came from that,” Drista murmurs, pushing off Dream’s chest. Bruno leaps from her lap to the coffee table in front of the couch. He remains there, staring at his master with wide eyes. She moves away from the couch to the window in the distance. Her fingers slide onto the glass. The coolness of the night seeps into her skin. She spreads her fingers wide, staring at the night sky. It has always been clear to Drista, so she doesn’t feel as shocked as everyone else. Still, she’s surprised the Sky Mother chose tonight of all nights to make an appearance.

Dream stands beside Drista. He is closer to the glass than she is, and his eyes are wide with fascination. His breath fogs the glass as he murmurs, “The sky became clear mere hours before the message about the imperial family came in. Do you think this is the reason your True Name has changed?”

Drista pushes the window open. The cool air creeps into the room. Drista shivers, but she’s still dressed for this weather. Dream has never been affected adversely by the wind, so he doesn’t seem to notice the temperature drop. Drista mourns how unfair life is, but she doesn’t linger long on that thought as she notices something peculiar about the sky. She frowns, squinting her eyes to see it more clearly in the darkness. “Is something hurtling towards her?”

Dream’s eyes widen as he notices what she’s noticing. He pushes her out of the way. Drista collides with the floor. The pain is negligible as she focuses on whatever is hurtling toward them lands in the room. Dream falls to the ground, staring up at the creature. It looks alarmingly like a normal horse, but it is made from black material with thousands of stars and swirling galaxies moving throughout the horse’s corporeal form. The horse’s hair is made from thousands of falling stars interlocked by crystals in the moonlight. The horse’s eyes are bright suns, casting warm golden light across Dream’s body.

The Sunset Stone pulsates inside Drista’s body. She puts a hand against her chest to steady the nausea that unspools inside her throat. She wants to vomit, but she focuses on the horse and Dream to determine what they are talking about. She senses vaguely that they are having a conversation, but it’s a telepathic one she isn’t privy to. Drista crawls forward, trying to get between her brother and the horse. While she doesn’t make it that far, the horse eventually looks at her. Drista seizes up, recognition slamming into her head like a sledgehammer. Drista winces with pain, and the horse tilts its head at her. “Hello, brother. How did you escape before the rest of us?”

Drista puts both of her hands on her chest. That’s why this creature is familiar. It is a sibling of the sun god. Drista doesn’t know if that means they were birthed from the same womb or if they were created as familiars from the same source. Drista just knows that this creature— whatever it is— has a prominent connection with the sun god.

The door opens. Puffy steps inside, and another creature resides on her shoulder. The bird is made from the same materials as the horse, and Drista’s lips part with an apology. She wants to reassure the bird (Tiberius, her his brother, her his baby brother) that everything worked out. But Drista closes her mouth immediately, unsure where those words came from. She slaps her hands over her mouth, avoiding saying anything. The bird glances at her once. It looks back at the horse with a stern expression. “Do be careful not to make any mistakes, sister.”

The bird lifts his wings. He flies out of the room from the open window. The horse watches him go, but she doesn’t leave with him. She remains with Dream as his fascinated hands move across her hair. Puffy moves closer to shut the window. Drista sits on the ground with a blank expression. Between the clear sky, Kristin’s survival, and these strange creatures, Drista realizes a fact she’s known all along: this story is turning out a lot differently than she remembers. 

Chapter Text

There are no windows in the room, but there are plenty of magic stones casting purified yellow-orange light across the many bookshelves and pedestals showing off expensive statues. A handful of paintings hang on the walls, protected by thick glass in case of a fire despite there not being a single candle in the room. The glass, however, is easily breakable considering it isn’t reinforced through natural means or magical ones. The desk, on the other hand, is covered in a potent magic, though it is glamour that must have been cast on the tree the desk used to be rather than the finished product. Drista could determine when the magic was cast and the extent of the spell if she wanted to— she could probably identify who cast the magic using the signature left behind— but she doesn’t. Nothing in this room is a priority. She would leave the desk, the paintings, and the magic stones to a fire if one should miraculously start.

Instead, Drista is focusing on the papers left behind on the many bookshelves. They were filled with expensive jewels, gilded chests, and other relics worth a few gold coins when Drista first found this room. She removed them all, putting them in one of the palace’s treasury rooms meant to show off the riches to the nobility when they came to visit. Drista personally filled the bookshelves with all the papers, books, and magic artifacts she wanted to keep secure. None of these items are significant on their own, but Drista likes to have precious items in every corner in case she needs to escape swiftly and leave behind these goldmines for intelligence. Drista uses this study attached to the library, her own chambers, Waglington’s tower, Heron’s Archive, and many other rooms to store her material wisdom.

Drista scatters these papers across the desk, filling up every inch of the wooden surface. When she began earlier this morning, everything was blank. The clock proves Drista has skipped her breakfast, lunch, and tea time in the afternoon. Her stomach rumbles at the thought, but she pushes away bodily urges with the same resilience she developed in her former life. Her hands are stained with ink, and she has used up almost an entire pot in her pursuit to write down everything she currently knows and everything she will need to learn moving forward.

The entire plot of The Ender Prince stretches out in front of her. Ranboo emerges in the Antarctic Empire where Prince Theseus takes him in as a servant. Ranboo grows close with the imperial family. He forms a friendship with Tubbo, and he becomes allies— if temporarily— with Niki and Jack, two of Theseus’ other servants. He solved a few cases with Techno and mediated between Theseus and Wilbur. In the end, he helped everyone imprison Theseus and charged him with execution. To escape the bloodstained empire, Ranboo and Tubbo went to Tubbo’s ducal father, and then they headed for Essempei.

Drista thinks, anyway. Although she knows Essempei’s story with Ranboo more intimately than any other arc, she has a funny feeling that she’s missing something important. The fact is confirmed when she can’t quite recall how Ranboo and Tubbo ended up in Essempei. Her memories pick up and grow clearer when they are already with Beau, but how did they meet her? Drista has searched her memories rigorously, but she simply cannot remember. Only darkness greets her like a gaping hole in her recollections.

Drista gives up on such thoughts when she cannot get anything out of them. She, instead, focuses her attention on Essempei. Viridian Light Among the Trickery . It was the name Drista gave the arc. Ranboo and his companions get themselves in trouble with the royal family— Foolish and Dream. The latter handles their punishment, forcing them to enter Elfame. By the end of the arc, Dream— like Theseus before him— ends up dying. At least it isn’t by his brother’s hand like it is for Theseus.

Drista is trying to avoid that ending for her brother. She doesn’t understand why Dream acted the way he did in the book when his personality is vastly different right now, but she assumes it is a similar case with the imperial family. Something happened to him that made Foolish cold and Dream cruel. Drista has a feeling it has something to do with Puffy since the queen is barely mentioned in the book and is never seen. It would make sense since Foolish is king in the novel when he is remarkably young, especially compared to the age most heirs sit on the Daystar Throne in place of their forebears.

Whatever the case, with Dream dead, the prince’s childhood best friend is greatly upset. George blames Ranboo’s crew for Dream’s death, and he— rather rationally— realizes Ranboo and his fellows are indirectly responsible for the deaths of many leaders. George wants to take revenge and protect Kinoko, so he frames Ranboo and the others for murder. They are trapped in Kinoko’s simulated prison. With the help of Sage Olive, they are able to escape and convict George for the murder. He doesn’t die, but he is forced into a special corner of the Mind Prison reserved specifically for him. It is a fate eerily similar to death, but in a lot of ways, it is worse.

The next two arcs become a little hazier in Drista’s mind after that, but she still remembers them well enough. Ranboo’s crew goes to Las Nevadas. They join one side of the civil war, using their strange abilities to change the tides of the war. They struggle in many ways, but they eventually move the war along far enough that they are able to escape to the Badlands. It is there that they are thrown into yet another civil war, but instead of the people growing upset with the government for neglecting them, a purple-black miasma pollutes much of the land and corrupts prominent figures. While they struggle against the supernaturally transformed side, it takes the King of the Jinn, Reaper, making the ultimate sacrifice to save everyone. This, unfortunately, results in some deaths.

And then… Then, Drista doesn’t know. She’s left with the firm sensation that something more happens. From a narrative perspective, the story cannot end until Ranboo finds his way back to the End or learns to claim the Overworld as his new home. Additionally, Drista remembers getting another email from the mysterious [email protected]. Drista doesn’t remember what the last cover art looked like, but she does remember the subject line: Why should the creator care for the plight of his creations? As the last piece of evidence, Drista simply knows there is another arc. She doesn’t remember what she wrote, but she remembers writing it. She remembers sitting at her desk, wondering if Inniter— her most frequent commenter— was going to like this new arc.

Drista has more information scattered on the desk, though. She has a list of every deity she remembers being referenced in The Ender Prince, and another list right next to it about how many deities she’s heard about in this world while researching the sun god. She has cross-referenced the list a few times. There is obviously more in this world than Ranboo ever learned about. This is if Drista isn’t confusing one god’s epithet for an additional deity. Drista doesn’t think she’s been so foolish, but she can’t discount the prospect that some gods have widely diverse domains.

There is another list Drista has begun. She has written down every potential change that will occur in this reality compared to The Ender Prince. Her existence is the first on the list. The second article on the list— the only other one— is Kristin surviving. The tsaritsa’s prolonged life has irrevocably changed the novel. Drista doesn’t entirely know how this will change the plot, but the characters in the empire are going to act differently. If they aren’t depressed, Ranboo will have no reason to pull them out of their sorrow. He might not linger in the empire if that’s the case. He might not start his character arc. There’s even a chance he won’t make any friends. Conversely, he might make better friends since everyone isn’t living beneath gray, dreary clouds— figuratively, of course, since Drista doubts the empire’s weather will be changing any time soon.

There is, obviously, another matter that Drista is hesitant to put on the list. Kristin survived because someone helped her. There are technically a few options. The light mage could have remembered a previous life or had some divine revelation. Maybe the sun god spoke to her since Drista somewhat awakened him. If not for her, any member of her team that outranks her could have given her new orders. One of the imperial guards could have realized that his tsaritsa was in danger for any number of reasons. There could be another transmigrator like Drista. There might not be. It is too soon to tell, and Drista has no proof for either case.

What she does have is this overwhelmingly strong conviction that Theseus is a reborn soul much like herself. Thetis’ information alone makes Drista realize that he is acting differently than he should. His mother’s death could have turned him into the sinister villain he later became, but there should have been signs during his childhood that are not mentioned by Thetis’ spies. Drista has gathered her own information by way of rumors, and Theseus has never once displayed the characteristics he should have. This means he either has memories of his former life like Drista does or someone who does is pushing him onto a different course.

“Did you make any other deals?” Drista asks, plopping down exhaustedly into the chair she shoved away from the desk. The chair is leaning against the back wall, right underneath a portrait of Drista’s great-great-great grandfather (give or take a ‘great’). She is a few feet away from the desk. She can no longer read her barely legible writing. She wrote that way on purpose. She didn’t want other people to find these papers before she could get rid of them herself. If they did, they wouldn’t be able to read it given her terrible handwriting and the many smears Drista unintentionally created by speedily writing, unwilling to wait for the ink to dry.

Chat stands on the other side of the room, lingering near the door for no discernable reason other than to give Drista some space. He is often curious about the world now that he gets to interact with it. Well, he gets a 3-D look at everything, but he can’t touch anything. Still, Chat enjoys peering around objects. The more modern inventions are what fascinate him greatly. He refuses to let Drista explain anything to him. He only stares at the inventions for hours on end. It might take him days, but he eventually figures out the roughest approximation about how they work. It is an interesting quirk of his personality that Drista would have never learned had she not accepted the Sunset Stone into her body. Perhaps that is the one good consequence of her actions.

Chat shakes his head in regard to her question. His voice is clear, unaffected by any distortions the distance between them should cause. “You were the only one.”

Drista exhales out of her nose. She reaches a hand to rub her eye. She is tired, not sleepy, but there is much work left to be done. Since Chat didn’t make a deal with anyone else, the situation has become more difficult. Drista supposes there could be other means to unlock one’s former lives or access information from another world, but she doubts anyone would retain their sanity in such cases. Drista is doing well at keeping herself mentally sound, but even she knows there are major consequences to her displaced existence. How is the other person surviving? Are they unique in the same Drista is, or are their ways of survival merely similar? Is Drista’s way a mimicry of this other person’s? It could be a mimicry of hers, honestly, but what if this person has it better?

Drista hates all of these questions. She would much prefer answers be hand-delivered to her by whatever primordial entity is messing with her. Drista will have to go with the next best thing. If she cannot yell at a god, she might as well send a letter to Theseus. She needs to word it correctly in case he isn’t even remotely aware that he was once a character in a novel (if that is truly what this reality is. Drista honestly can’t tell. Maybe all of this is real. Maybe her former life was fiction. Maybe neither are fiction. Drista truly doesn’t know.) But if he does know about The Ender Prince, she needs him to know that she knows. Perhaps he has information that she doesn’t. Perhaps the information she has will be incredibly vital to him. Together, they might be able to solve the whole mystery of this world— the blurry sky, the Sunset Stone, the destiny Drista needs to break.

Drista picks up a fresh sheet of paper. She tries to find a reasonable place to put it since this letter needs to look like a princess wrote it. As Drista looks around, she notices Chat straighten to attention. His body turns to look halfway toward the door. He gestures to it, looking over his shoulder at Drista. “Someone is hurrying here.”

Drista frowns. She summons a disembodied hand with her Mystery. It floats across the room. Chat takes a step out of the way. The hand touches the door’s bronze handle. As soon as the door opens, Drista sees the librarian practically trying to break into the room. Purpled’s arms are stretched outward, trying to keep her from entering without Drista’s express permission. Purpled stops, looking over his shoulder at Drista. The librarian continues to struggle against his uncompromising arms, but she stares into Drista’s eyes. Her gaze is piercing, and Drista’s cheeks pale as she realizes she isn’t wearing her mask. It usually makes her feel safe in these situations, but no one is yelling about traditions. The librarian, instead, calls out to Drista in a desperate voice, “A royal informant told me to hide the princess.”

Drista and Purpled share a look. He will follow whatever order she gives. She’s reluctant to give one. She bites the inside of her cheek, but her decision is made for her when she glances at Chat. No one other than her can see him, but he is nodding solemnly. Drista doesn’t trust the librarian, but she trusts Chat with her life. She waves a hand, nonverbally conveying to Purpled what she wants. He nods, quickly lowering his arms. The librarian stumbles into the room without Purpled’s strength keeping her upright. In other circumstances, she might have scolded Purpled for his behavior, but she doesn’t make a word of protest as she rushes into the room.

The librarian grabs onto one of the metal sconces. She twists the magic stone until it stops producing light. When she’s finished, she pulls the sconce down. Immediately, one of the bookshelves filled with Drista’s personal belongings sinks into the wall. Drista’s eyes widen as she watches the purple paint start to envelop the bookshelf, cocooning it then absorbing the cocoon back into itself. When the process is finished, a hole remains in the wall. It reveals a hallway made from stones, one Drista didn’t know about even though she’s done several sweeps of the room. She isn’t upset that she didn’t know about it, but she thinks the Sunset Stone should have hinted at its existence even if her physical perception and magic didn’t.

The librarian puts a key into Purpled’s hand. She closes his fingers around it. She looks far older than usual as she ushers the princess and her personal guard into the darkness. The librarian’s graying eyes are filled with sincerity and worry as she makes a solemn promise. “Follow the path. You will reunite with Her Majesty, Queen Puffy the Fierce at the end. I will protect you from this end, so hurry along.”

The wall spits the bookshelf back out. Drista, Purpled, and Chat are left in complete darkness. Drista doesn’t know if Chat can see in the dark, but she and Purpled are unfortunately limited by the light. Drista doesn’t have any light spells. At least, none with glamour and Mystery. She could summon divine power, but she doubts that will go over well with her body. Drista thinks she could start a fire, but she is stopped by something cold gripping her wrist. Drista tenses. She keeps herself from shrieking, but she cannot pull her hand away. She understands why a moment later. Purpled grabbed her wrist, and he uses his other hand to create tiny white spheres of light shrouded in dark blue-purple mist. It lights their way, but it also resembles the stains on his hands and forearms. Drista hisses at him, “Stop it. We can navigate the dark—”

“We can’t, and we don’t have time to argue, either,” Purpled cuts her off. He takes the lead, letting the star-like creations spark in and out of existence. They remind Drista of will-o’-the-wisps in behavior. Not appearance, of course, but Drista doesn’t think that matters much. All that matters is that using this special power of his is going to hurt Purpled in the long run. It will cause the star-stains to crawl further up his arms. They will reach his heart soon enough. Once it does, it won’t be long until his entire body is consumed. Drista shudders to think what will happen then.

Like sailors on the sea, the stars guide the trio to the end of a long corridor. Drista thinks they are deeper into the earth, but the ramp is so subtle that she doubts anyone without some sort of inhuman perception would have noticed. Ironically, Drista, Purpled, and Chat all have that inhuman perception. Chat isn’t human at all. Drista is partially Fae (and god, apparently), and Purpled is half elf. Additionally, Drista has been scanning the area with her magic, and Purpled has been trained for situations such as these. They are both highly aware of what is happening to them.

At the end, a large door separates them from whatever comes next. The door is made from bronze metal with lighter copper features welded onto the door. The patterns vaguely resemble a fairytale story, but Drista has no time to read it as Purpled steps to the door. He makes his stars disappear. In response, the room steadily lights up with a red-gray light that makes Drista more nervous. Chat puts a hand on her shoulder, smiling reassuringly, but his eyes reflect Drista’s uneasiness.

“There are two locks, one mechanical and one magical,” Purpled whispers to her. He shifts away from the door, subconsciously scratching at his inner elbow. Drista stares at him as she walks toward the door. He refuses to meet her eyes. His hand shakes as he pulls it away from his skin. She isn’t able to do anything for him, so she turns her attention to the door. She has no talent for mechanics, but magic is her forte. She places her hands against the bronze. She closes her eyes, testing the area around the door. It is tricky to find, but she eventually finds the signature that every magic-user will leave behind no matter what kind of magic they use. While most other magic-users would probably give up trying to find this signature, Drista is intimately familiar with it. Waglington is the one who locked this door.

She says as much to her companions. Purpled nods. He squeezes the key the librarian gave him. He tries to find a keyhole in the door while Drista works on unweaving the spell. She cannot unmake it, but she needs to figure out what the magical key is supposed to be. It isn’t simply her glamour or Mystery, and she knows for certain Waglington wouldn’t have attuned it to divine power. She bites the inside of her cheek. There is a specific spell that must be cast to unlock the door. Waglington didn’t even leave a backdoor for himself that Drista knows she could have exploited. She keeps her sighs to herself, not wanting to discourage Purpled as he gives up on finding the keyhole.

Before they can make progress, they hear the whirring of machinery. Drista summons a force field first to intercept whatever spell will be thrown into the room. Fortunately, there aren’t any intruders. Instead, the librarian’s words ring true as Puffy and Callum step into the wide passageway from a subset of stones sliding out of their way. Puffy’s eyes land on them immediately. While her hand is on Amalthea’s hilt, she tears it away once she registers the presence of allies instead of enemies. She bolts across the room. Drista barely has time to lower her force field as her mother barrels into her. She hugs her tightly, pulling away long enough to assess Drista’s body. The princess laughs nervously, trying to reassure her mother. “I’m fine. I’m fine. I wasn’t hurt. Now, will you tell me what’s happening?”

Callum shifts on his heels. He reaches a hand out, and the eyes hidden behind his mask flash with wariness. He is too late, however. The queen has made up her mind to tell her daughter the truth, and so she does. “The crown prince and little duchess of the west from the Antarctic Empire have been killed on their commute from Kinoko Scholar’s Academy to the imperial palace. No one knows who attacked them. The information we have gathered so far is that bandits attacked first, and monsters came to feast on their remains. However, some of the guards from Kinoko meant to protect the two are missing. They could have been eaten by monsters, but they also could have been in on the attack.”

Shock floods Drista’s body so vehemently that she doesn’t feel anything else. Her vision blurs in front of her, and she can’t feel her chest moving. She is frozen with the knowledge that settles around her like a snake slowly squeezing the life from its prey. Wilbur and Shelby are not supposed to die. At least, Shelby shouldn’t die this early since she’s a major antagonist in the fifth arc. Something is extremely wrong. Fate might be trying to correct itself for failing to kill Kristin. Drista doesn’t want to think about the implications of that.

Drista heaves in a breath, coming back into herself the moment she realizes how lightheaded she is. Puffy is holding her against her chest again, and her hand is moving across the door to unlock different parts of it. In other circumstances, Drista would have been trying to figure out what trick her master put on the door. In these circumstances, Drista is barely aware of being ushered into the room by her mother’s warm hands.

“Keep watch,” Puffy commands Purpled and Callum. Her voice is fuzzy to Drista. She feels like she’s hearing it through a thin layer of water. “Dream is on a training mission with the Hunters. He should be back soon. Once he’s here, knock thrice on the door so I will know to let him in. We’ll wait inside for further developments.”

Puffy closes the door. Drista senses and hears it snap shut, all the locks realigning themselves. Drista glances around the room. It is fully furnished like a small house with a kitchenette and a bed in the corner. The difference between this room in a tiny house made from stone is the tree growing in the center of the room. A half-sphere is merged into the roof, letting gold-orange light flood into the room like the sun. The tree soaks up the artificial sunlight, stretching its many branches toward the stone roof. Thousands of green leaves hang on the twigs, almost healthier than the plants growing in the gardens aboveground.

“Let me show you how it works,” Puffy’s voice is somewhat clearer in the silence. Drista’s panic has largely subsided, though her anxiety isn’t going away any time soon. Puffy pulls Drista away from her statue-like position to stand in front of the tree, in a spot where the roots create an eye-shaped opening with dirt as the sclera, pupil, and iris. Puffy stands directly behind Drista, leaning close enough to put her chin on Drista’s head. She moves her arms underneath Drista’s armpits, but she doesn’t hold her daughter. She instead taps against the tree’s trunk. A sparkling of glamour fills the air, and suddenly, a large and green screen-like device. The translucence of the screen allows Drista to see the stem stretching between the screen and the tree as if it were a blooming flower.

“It uses Fae glamour to create an information network using the interconnecting roots of trees. It even connects to Sylva,” Puffy explains, her words hesitant as she tries to explain in a way Drista would understand. Fortunately, Drista doesn’t need an explanation at all. This screen is like a computer. The tree attached to it is the monitor. The roots form a server, and it is connected to the ‘internet’ by Viridian Sylva. Drista is genuinely curious to meet the Fae who created this system. She wonders why they gave it to the royal family since the history between humans and Fae is not a kind or bloodless one.

Puffy writes on the screen with her finger. Her clean handwriting turns into something more uniform— digital, even— and suddenly, more writing appears underneath it. There aren’t websites and links like a real search engine, but it is close enough that Drista thinks the metaphor is still appropriate. Puffy stops after a minute. She wraps her arms around Drista’s shoulder, keeping her close. “We should use it sparingly. The glamour is diminished quickly.”

“I could refill it,” Drista offers, reaching her hand to touch the tree.

Puffy stops her, holding Drista’s hand by intertwining their fingers. “No. It needs silver blood to work. I am not going to let you bleed for no reason.”

Drista could still fill it up, though she would need to extract the silver blood from the red and gold flowing in her body. Puffy won’t let her, and Drista wouldn’t want to show her the gold blood, anyway. Drista keeps silent in this case. She instead lets Puffy drag her over to the bed. Although Drista remains plagued by worry, she doesn’t let this moment go to waste. She likes cuddling with her family more than she would ever willingly admit out of sheer embarrassment. Puffy hopefully loves it as much as Drista because the princess isn’t going to let go for a long time.

Chat is staring at the tree, examining it with a curious frown on his face. Drista closes her eyes, letting him be. Puffy moves her hand through Drista’s hair. She is probably thinking about other things right now, but Drista doesn’t mind. She should be thinking about important matters as well, but she really doesn’t want to right now. She doesn’t want to acknowledge that Kristin is alive, Theseus is different, and Wilbur and Shelby are dead. She doesn’t want to think about what could happen to her family because of the butterfly effect reaching them.

Perhaps due to her refusal to think and Puffy rocking her subconsciously, Drista slips in and out of restless sleep. She startles away each time. Puffy shushes her comfortingly, patting her head with the affectionate grace of a mother. Drista will go back to sleep like this even though she knows the dreams in her head aren’t going to be anything worth experiencing.

After a while, someone knocks three times on the door. Puffy gently moves Drista onto a pillow. She hurries over to the door, and Drista sleepily blinks as she watches Puffy open the door. She grabs onto Dream, pulling him into the room and hiding him behind her. Drista stares at her brother. He doesn’t glance at her or the rest of the room. He isn’t wearing his mask, so she can see the apathetic glare he fixes on Callum. The masked man stands at the doorway. His body language is tight, and his voice is bitter as he declares, “Thetis is dead. They found her body in her boat over the lake. It is assumed that an aquatic Fae killed her, but we can’t rule out whoever killed the Antarcticans as the culprit. We will keep you posted with more information, Your Majesty.”

Drista knew Thetis was going to die because she wasn’t even mentioned once in The Ender Prince. She didn’t expect that the former queen would be murdered. Drista glances at Chat. He is staring intently at Dream, but his eyes move toward Drista the longer she stares. She nods at him. His face sets with grim determination as he disappears from her sight. Hopefully, he understood her intentions. She wants him to investigate. Was it an aquatic Fae, or was it someone else?

Puffy hisses as she breathes in. Her face is rife with conflict. Her lips part, twitching with unvoiced words. It takes a moment, but the queen eventually pulls herself together. She exhales unhurriedly, tapping her finger against Dream’s wrist. She stares into Callum’s eyes unflinchingly. “I will need to gather her informants and give them new missions. They need to confirm Foolish’s whereabouts for me. I also need to summon the wizard. I have to organize preventative measures against Kinoko. Luckily, they border the Wild Lands. The inhabitants there will handle any intruders. We are the least likely candidate for Kinoko’s war… if they choose to start one. There’s also the matter of the funeral.”

“Please do not greatly burden yourself, Your Majesty. Your loyal servants will follow your every command,” Callum reminds her, putting a hand on his chest as if he is her only loyal servant.

“We can help, too. We—” Drista coughs thunderously into the crook of her elbow. She was trying to say that she and Dream would help their mother, so why did her glamour register that as a lie? Drista is going to do everything she can to help her mother. That will always be the truth.

“Thank you, dragonfly, but Mom needs to do this herself. I want you to rest. Scary things are happening, and I want to protect you two,” Puffy says, putting a hand on Drista’s cheek. She reaches to touch Dream’s cheek, but Drista doesn’t miss the way Dream tilts his head away and Puffy’s eyes flash with confusion. Puffy pats his cheek instead, shaking her head to dismiss whatever thought shot through her head. She turns away from her children, pointing at Purpled and Punz. “Stay here. Guard this place with your life. I will return when I know more.”

Puffy steps outside, closing the door behind her. Drista doesn’t like being left here. She really does want to help her mother. Puffy has no intention of putting them in any perceived danger, however. It warms Drista’s heart, but that warmth does very little to chase away every other confusing and terrifying piece of information given to her today. Drista turns to her brother, seeking comfort in him.

Dream stares at the door. His face is eerily calm. Drista is confused. She reaches a hand towards him. His entire body jerks away from her. She frowns. She feels something terribly sad settle in her heart as Dream refuses to give her the physical affection he usually does. He actively walks away from her, sitting at the edge of the bed. He is momentarily displeased, but the emotion washes away in an instant. He smiles reassuringly at Drista. 

At least, he tries to. The smile doesn’t soothe Drista at all. Worse, it makes her feel antsier as she realizes that the smile doesn’t even reach Dream’s eyes. Those glowing neon-green irises do not carry the weight of any emotion. The smile, too, doesn’t sit quite right on his face, either.

Chapter Text

In the span of a few days, Essempei changes drastically. While the outskirts and distant islands might not feel many of the ripples, the royal palace undergoes such a significant transformation that Drista is both simultaneously accurately aware of each shift and forgetful of what came before. The past runs its cold fingers across her shoulders as it passes, but she can no longer feel the stagnant chill in her bones as she watches the servants burst to life with new fervor, the ministers accumulate to a new master, and the reigning monarch adjusts to a new authority.

The differences are marked by several key events. Most of which are privy to everyone’s ears. In hushed whispers or drunken musings, word spreads about the attack against the neighboring imperial family and the assassination of the young children who should have inherited great power when they reached a maturity that was never achieved. The common folk wonder if Essempei will stage an attack on the supposedly weakened Antarctic Empire. No one wishes for war, necessarily, but the thick, bad blood exists like blackened pools where the snowy plains meet the verdure fields. Life must go on, and opportunities must be taken advantage of, but no one is taking action besides whispering temptation in the ears of men and women who can strike a decisive blow against the land imprisoned by ice.

One difference not told to the wider kingdom that vastly impacts Drista directly is the second heartbeat burning fervently in her chest. With every breath, she tasted the summer wind on her tongue even when she buried herself in thick tombs smelling of dust and faded parchment. Heat caresses her skin like a close friend even when the moon casts her judgmental gaze across the silver-soaked greenery. The sun, once a beacon of blinding light as far from Drista’s body as her former world is to her mind, has become an extension of herself. Or, rather, she has become an extension of it, a mortal host wandering amid the underbrush without realizing how the more sensitive plants curl around her ankles in an attempt to soak up the fertility blessing the sun god must have given to his divine shard.

Another consequence of Drista’s newly acquired power— more like a ticking bomb in her chest— is the chains tethering her to this plane of existence. It is not a perfect solution, but she has been given more autonomy in the world than she previously possessed. The servants no longer forget about her in the mornings, realizing belatedly they did not dress and feed her accordingly. Her chevalier doesn’t stumble over her name when he is made to recall who his master is and why he chose to serve them. Her family takes no time to recognize her when she appears in front of them unprompted.

Drista takes advantage of this newly acquired remembrance. She spends more time with her mother, squeezing into any spare moment the woman can give. Albeit, it isn’t a lot of time. Without Thetis, Puffy has been given several more duties that she usually leaves to her experienced mother. As they are the responsibilities of the royal family, Puffy cannot give them to anyone else. If Foolish were here, perhaps he would be given some instructions, but as it stands, Puffy refuses to burden Dream and Drista with problems they will never inherit. Drista argued against such claims. Dream decidedly did not. Regardless of their stance on the matter, Puffy was stubborn and Drista was left with more free time than she wanted when she wasn’t spending more time with Puffy.

Her classes were practically canceled. Waglington and Dawn were both absent on account of personal business. Drista’s other teachers either quit because they felt they no longer owed Thetis a favor or because they were being vetted once more in the ensuing paranoia that flooded the castle when news spread of a betrayal against the empire’s ruling elite. Drista didn’t mind so much. There wasn’t much left her teachers could teach her when she didn’t know what occupation she would be taking in her near future. The teachers she wanted to interact with were inaccessible for one reason or another. Drista, then, was told to participate in self-study until her schedule could be recalculated by far more capable hands than her own.

Drista didn’t follow the commands left for her. She spent many hours of the day researching more and more. While her preferred topics were magic systems and the gods, Drista has taken a new subject to devote her time to. This subject was very different from her other ones. Instead of abstract fields of study, Drista has chosen to focus on her elder brother. While Drista has never been keen on researching regular people, she has the distinct feeling that something is invariably wrong with him. She has no proof, nothing concrete enough to bring to other people, but she knows it as surely as her eyes now see the truth that Dream has been molded by hands beyond the scope of her awareness.

Drista knows that she hasn’t been as close with her brother in recent years as she would have liked to for reasons that are partially her own fault, but she knows the few people who would see the subtle changes in Dream’s attitudes and actions more clearly than she can. There are, at least, two people that Drista willingly reaches out to. Thetis would fault Drista for relying on others without any assurances they will repay the trust Drista puts in them, but the ghost of her grandmother lingers without stopping her. Drista refuses to give up as she sends the letters to their respective mailboxes, letting the messenger carry what Drista hopes will be the promise of a mutually beneficial allyship in the face of the great unknown.

Drista sits in one of the many rooms filling out the west annex of the royal palace. The walls are painted a pale blue shade similar to a sunny sky over the Ecclesia Sea. The accents are instead painted a creamy white color as if they were the fluffy clouds moving across the peerless empyrean. There are a few windows to allow natural light into the room alongside some torches powered by magic stones in case nightfall descends on the room’s inhabitants. These inhabitants are given ample area to roam given how the room is large and the many furniture pieces do not take up too much space. They are also free to say as they please since the walls and glass are made of a thick material to ward off any eavesdroppers.

Drista sets the teacup on the saucer. She rests her elbows on the table. Her fingers interlock, and she puts her chin on her bent knuckles. She narrows her eyes at the young man sitting across from her. He is a few years older than her, but he wears a youthfulness that displaces him from time. His cheeks are rounded and his forehead lacks wrinkles born from stress. There is a faint stubble across his jawline and enlightened wisdom in his dark brown eyes. He wears a dark green-black ribbon of House Selvans, but the rest of his outfit resembles the sages of the academy’s student body. He wears a red and white hat with a long, thick brim, letting the shadows cover the glasses he wears on the bridge of his nose.

“It is a pleasure to spend time with Princess Drista the Sybilline,” George smiles politely at Drista. His eyes twinkle with intrigue when he realizes how intently she is staring at him. His lips even twitch with amusement. Drista gives him a half-smile, the only part of her face visible beneath her mask. She is well aware that her eyes are speaking for her in regard to how she’s feeling, but that is an active choice on her part. She could mask her feelings much better than this, but she wants George to recognize this as a place of earnestness. Drista doesn’t have the capacity for political games when greater troubles are plaguing the battlefield most of those fights take place upon.

“The pleasure is all mine. Your reputation precedes you. There are few as accomplished at Kinoko Scholar’s Academy as you are,” Drista continues, lifting her chin from her hands to show an even wider smile than the wry one she wore moments before.

George raises an eyebrow. His cheeks flush with a healthy amount of pride. “I did not know my deeds spread all the way to the ears of the royal family.”

“Do not be too surprised. You are a good friend of my dear brother. It would be a shame if he did not properly boast the accomplishments of those he holds close,” Drista waves her hand to dismiss any of George’s attempts at humility. It is true that Dream has spoken at length about his friend’s deeds at the academy in an effort to get Dream admitted to the Hunters on academic virtue alone rather than physical prowess. Drista is an attentive listener, so she knows about every story Dream is willing to share with her. She knows a fair few more because of Thetis’ tendency to pry into the lives of anyone she deems close enough to the royal family to be a threat.

But more than that, Drista knows George from The Ender Prince. He is the villain of the third arc, Illusory Garden of the Mind. As a means of establishing him as a credible threat, many facts were revealed about George’s past. In addition, he was given ample opportunity to show off his intellect before he began plotting the protagonist’s downfall. Olive told the others a few more stories while they were in the Mind Prison— the simulation specially designed for Kinoko’s lawbreakers— and George was both told and shown to be a genius among his peers.

He is also Dream’s best friend in the novel, which is partially why he possesses a vendetta against the protagonists. Drista could have broken apart Dream and George’s friendship early on to spare them both from their fates, but it was too late by the time she realized they were regularly spending time together as playmates. They were too close for Drista to stop them without hurting them, and she would never willingly hurt her brother. She would have to change their fates in other ways.

“Is that so? I find that he more commonly talks about himself,” George huffs with a mixture of annoyance and levity in his tone. It is a tone befitting someone who claims to be the best friend of the second prince.

Drista chuckles. “Oh, there is plenty of that, as well. My brother has much pride in his achievements. This is not necessarily a bad quality, but it can be difficult to converse with him when he goes on one of his self-important tangents.”

George is as still as a statue for a second, but he swiftly comes into himself with a barking laugh. It wheezes out of him playfully, consuming his entire attention. Drista giggles, finding his laughter infectious. When he finishes, arms around his stomach, he looks at Drista with a bright look in his perpetually dark eyes. George shakes his head, “I did not expect such truthfulness from the princess. The title of ‘sibylline’ must come from other qualities.”

“I am comfortable letting your esteemed mind determine the factuality of that hypothesis,” Drista answers. She lowers her hands onto the table, feeling the cloth brush against her bare palms.

“Let it be so. I will discover one day what the Solar Priestess saw,” George points his finger into the air. He is referencing how Dawn, a priestess for the Sun Church, performed Drista’s naming ceremony. Clerics of the sun god are capable of seeing the truth, and no one sees more clearly than Dawn. Drista is also part of this subset of people because of the Sunset Stone. Hence why she’s here, actually.

“Good,” Drista nods. The smile slowly slips from her face. George retains a mirthful expression, but he catches the seriousness in her demeanor immediately. He arches an eyebrow at her. Drista takes a deep breath through her nose, exhaling out of her mouth. “As enjoyable as teasing my brother without his constant rebutting would be, I summoned you for a related but ultimately different matter.”

“I was under the impression Your Highness did not merely desire a partner to sip tea with, but I dared not broach the true intentions underlying this meeting,” George admits. He continues to smile despite all the emotion draining away from his face. It is almost scary how empty those eyes can be when the smile stretches his cheeks, but Drista is no less unnerved by this than she is by riding Thetis’ boat with the former queen. Drista is only trading one apathetic conversational partner for another, though she supposes it won’t be like this for long. Thetis is dead, and it will be far and far between when George comes to the palace at her behest.

“Forgive me for getting straight into the matter, but I do not see any reason to delay further if you are already aware of my secretive intentions,” Drista admits. She sits up straighter in her chair. She stares right into his eyes. George leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. He waits patiently, expectantly, and Drista composes her expression into one of neutrality. “In recent days, I have noticed some strange abnormalities surrounding Dream. As someone familiar with him in a different way than I am, I would like to ask you to shed light on this topic. It would be in your best interest to explain to me to the best of your ability any… irregularities that have occurred, even the minor and negligible ones.”

George’s smile gradually disappears from his face. His eyes narrow, trying to hide the way they subtly twitch. George shifts in his chair. He adjusts his crossed arms, and his fingers squeeze the opposing elbow. His eyes are as impenetrable as a stone wall, but Drista gets the distinct feeling he is thinking very hard about her words and his answer. Her threat is mild, and there are plenty of reasons to refuse her questions. He could very easily tell her that there are no changes. It would be the end of the matter. A powerful sun cleric might be able to coax the truth out of their targets, but Drista can already feel the flames consuming her body at the thought of calling upon even a pathetic ounce of divine energy. Her other powers, too, are useless in this situation. She can only put her faith in Dream and George’s friendship.

“Normally, I would be very tight-lipped about Dream. He is a person with a rich inner life, and he is a friend I am quite loyal to. I am not so callous as to reveal his secrets or any peculiarities in his attitude even if they were to occur. That being said, I will answer your question for many of the same reasons you asked them. You are concerned about your brother, are you not? Rest assured, I am, too. I do not know how to help him, but there is a possibility that you will,” George replies. He glances around the room. Drista could summon a force field to further hide their speech even when the walls will do just fine, but she is not given an opportunity to make such an offer. George unfurls a paper with sigils— part of Kinoko’s magic system— to place on the middle of the table. The magic passes through Drista’s meridians, but it is unrecognizable. She has never experienced a power like this before. She tries committing it to memory as George continues. “Dream has a sudden awareness of certain subjects he has never known before. At the same time, he is inept at other subjects he should have been familiar with, if not completely mastered. He knows more about the Fae species but has forgotten other Mobs. He is faster with his blade but not quick enough to hide the differences in his style. He is much better at speaking to people but an emotional carelessness has seeped into every action he takes.”

Drista nods. Her lips pull into a tight line. She drums her fingers against her upper arm as she crosses her arms over her chest. She didn’t know about his knowledge— or lack of it— concerning Fae species and Mobs or his new sword style, but she knew about his sudden cruelty. He no longer cares about hurting people’s feelings, mainly because he hurts them without the other people truly realizing. They will find themselves angry or saddened, but they will never blame Dream. He has become better at speaking. Dream has always been a sweet talker, but this is something new. It is different in all the worst ways.

“I hope you will discover the hidden truth in this complicated matter,” George tells Drista after a moment when he has decided the silence has gone on for long enough. He allows it to permeate in the air for a little bit longer. When Drista doesn’t show any signs of responding, he adds an afterthought, “Though, you will need to be quick about it since it won’t be long until you can apply for the academy.”

“What?” Drista asks, eyes widening as she tumbles out of her thoughts back into the present teatime.

George lifts the teacup from its saucer. He takes a long sip. When he sets the teacup back on the table with a clicking sound, he raises an eyebrow at her. “Is it wrong for me to promote my school to a promising student?”

“Ah, I apologize, that isn’t what I meant. I simply have never thought about it,” Drista murmurs sheepishly. The academy wasn’t much of a setting in The Ender Prince. Drista doesn’t have a clear image of it in her head which is probably why she’s never thought about her place in it. She assumes it wouldn’t be much different from the school she attended in her previous life or the classes she takes in this world, but it would be completely surreal at Kinoko Scholar’s Academy. It is the most renowned school on the continent. Every genius in their craft and almost every high-ranking member of their country attends the academy at least for two years. Drista has the right to participate in, too. Frankly, as the third-born child, it might be better for her to go. She already spends much of her time researching. Why not get a degree out of it?

“What future did you have in mind for yourself, then?” George asks curiously, tilting his head to the side. He sounds as if it were obvious Drista would attend the academy. In some ways, it might be to him. Drista doesn’t know what Dream has told George about her. She thought it would be nothing since he couldn’t remember her for a few years of her life, but perhaps there were moments when his mind would stray to her, when his lips would form her name without hesitation, when he could tell his best friend about the little sister who shared his hair and eye colors.

“I will admit that I do not think too far ahead,” Drista hesitantly says, an embarrassed laugh punctuating each word. She avoids looking at George, eyes staring into the gardens visible outside the window. The flowers are starting to bloom, their new life contrasting with the life that recently passed. Would Thetis have wanted them to let the garden fall into ruin? Drista snorts when she hears her grandmother’s voice telling her very adamantly ‘no.’ Thetis might not have liked the gardens, but she was very aware of the royal image the Daystar family must present to the nobles and people. The garden is one facet of it, and one she would keep under her control.

“Forgive me for my rudeness, Your Highness, but I am of the opinion that you should start. The world is incredibly vast, so one will never find their place in it if they do not go searching,” George expresses quietly. Drista tears her eyes away from the window to gaze into George’s eyes. He does not smile at her, but his eyes finally look like they carry a warm emotion.

“I will keep that in mind,” Drista murmurs in response. The truth is light on her tongue but heavy on her heart. What does it mean to search for her place in the world? Does she have a place in it? If she did, does she have the strength to find it? To fight for it should she have to?

“If that is all, Your Highness, I will take my leave. This conversation has been insightful. I would not mind if we should have more. At least, after Prince Dream the Swift has found himself once more,” George notes as he takes the talisman from the middle of the table, canceling the magic surrounding the pairing. He rises from his chair with a soft exhale. He bows respectfully to Drista. Her eyes trail back to the window as she mulls over George’s words. She does not see him go, but she hears the door click behind him. It echoes in the quiet room, and it remains in her mind longer than it does in her ears. She is alone in the room with her thoughts. The tea is cold on her tongue, but she hardly tastes the unpleasantness.

The door clicks twice more, implying that someone has either checked the room or entered it. Drista slowly turns her attention away from the window. She smiles faintly as she recognizes the firm visage of her chevalier. Drista finds solace in those purple eyes, and with a shred of bravery, she asks, “What do you think I should do with my future, Sir Purpled?”

“This loyal servant has no opinions,” Purpled responds immediately with an irregular lilt in his voice. “It is not my place to assume my master’s future. I may only follow her down whichever path she chooses for herself.”

Drista laughs humorlessly, the noise bubbling out of her without her intention to let it slip. “If you do not have an opinion, surely the sky does. What do the stars say?”

Purpled’s eyes shift away from her to the window. The late morning light falls into the room, causing his eyes to look like the petals of a lilac. They are not as soft as lilac petals, however, as something foreign branches out in his irises like the sturdy roots of an ancient tree. “The stars can give a basic outline, but a person must fill out the details of their fate themselves.”

Drista wonders if that is true— if that’s how destiny works in this world. She wants to ask Chat, but she doesn’t want to look insane. She will file that question away for later when she gets a moment alone with the inhuman creature.

For now, she rises to her feet. She has one more person to speak with concerning the irregularities surrounding her brother. Fortunately, Drista can go directly to this person instead of waiting for them to come to her. It is less fortunate that the conversation she has with this person might be less enlightening than the one with George. Drista doesn’t know about this. How far does loyalty extend in situations as precarious as this one? She is willing to put it to the test, as malicious as that might sound without context.

Drista lifts her hand to Purpled. His eye twitches, but he otherwise does not change expression as he carefully takes her hands like a noble knight. She smiles insincerely at him as she peeks open the gateway. Heat bustles down her meridians as Drista follows the threads left in the air by her magical signature. Her Mystery lingers in the environment in any location she lingers. She uses the lingering aura like a recall button, allowing her to teleport to anywhere she has been recently. It isn’t as powerful as total, limitless teleportation, but it has its uses, especially when Drista can bring other people with her.

Punz is someone who has spent more time with Dream than probably anyone else on the continent. If anyone has noticed Dream’s changes, it is guaranteed to have been Punz. With the intention to pry just a sliver of information from him, Drista teleports Purpled and herself to the training grounds— the most probable location for a diligent chevalier such as Punz.

The sunlight immediately gathers onto Drista’s person like a spotlight. She shuffles beneath the shade of a nearby awning. Purpled eyes her warily, but Drista ignores him as she searches the training ground for the right person. There are dozens of men and women practicing with their swords, running through drills, or memorizing maneuvers. Among them, Punz stands above them all with a wooden sword in one hand. He uses it to point at different individuals, calling out additional orders to improve everyone’s already crazily impressive abilities. It takes some time considering how focused Punz is, but his eyes eventually find their way to Purpled and Drista. He glares at his brother, but he doesn’t show any emotion to the princess. Purpled rolls his eyes. Drista snorts under her breath. She puts one finger over her lips and uses the other to beckon Punz closer.

Punz leaps down from the box he is standing on. He throws the wooden sword at a sparring duo. The unforeseen obstacle hits one of them in the back of the head. He stumbles forward into his companion, knocking them both to the ground. Punz yells to the entire group that they must be prepared for anything even in the heat of battle. Everyone calls out an affirmative at varying volumes and energy levels, but Punz doesn’t scout out who isn’t giving him their all. He continues marching through the chevaliers to meet Purpled and Drista beneath the awning.

Drista pulls him even further away from his subordinates by stepping into the warehouse where the spare weapons are kept. She waves Punz into the room, but she leaves Purpled outside to guard the place. The warehouse is packed with heat. Drista hardly notices it since the Sunset Stone gives her some resistance to it. Punz wipes the sweat off his brow, but he doesn’t complain when he has been escorted here by his master’s sister— which gives her a fair bit of power over him despite not having much authority.

“I am worried about Dream,” Drista says without any preamble. Flowery language is good when speaking with nobles like George, but it will only annoy a former mercenary like Punz.

“...sure, Your Highness,” Punz agrees with a tiny nod.

Drista frowns at him. “Do not pretend that you are not also concerned about him.”

“I have to be concerned about him, Your Highness. I am the one in charge of protecting him.”

“That is not what I meant.”

“Forgive this servant for not understanding your esteemed words, Your Highness.”

“Stop playing the fool, Sir Punz. You spend a great deal of time with my brother. I am certain you have noticed the same peculiarities about his behavior that I have. In fact, I am under the assumption that you will have noticed even more. I want you to tell me about them because we are both concerned about him,” Drista crosses her arms over her chest. She glares at Punz, and she wonders if her stare is terrifying in any way. She understands that she is young in appearance, but magic-users are often regarded with some level of fear in her nation. Punz doesn’t seem like the type to believe in superstition, but Drista doesn’t know too much about him all things considered.

Punz sighs, running a hand across the side of his face. He shifts on his feet. He tilts his head back and forth with his eyes closing. When they open again, they stare right into Drista’s soul. “You’re right. I have noticed some strange things he’s said and done. His personality changed during a mission to the Fae Wilds with the Hunters. He was separated from the rest of the group. When I found him, something was… off. This warped personality is what everyone has been dealing with for the past few days. He seems as kind and carefree as before, but all of his actions are building up to something. He’s driving a wedge between the Hunters, and he’s quietly pulling strings behind the downfalls of minor noble houses. I swore an oath of fealty, so I will do my master’s bidding. If Dream wants this, I will follow him…”

Punz turns to pick up a practice sword. He weighs it in his hand, letting the few beams of light entering the warehouse reflect off the dull edge. “A person’s fighting skills cannot change in a day, especially not as drastically as they did in Dream’s case. Even if Thetis’ death knocked some screw loose, muscle memory is not so easily modified.”

“How could Thetis’ death have changed anything?” Drista asks, dropping the formalities in the same breath Punz does. Drista thinks about it. Out of all the grandchildren, she was the closest to Thetis. Part of her grieves her grandmother, of course, but Drista is relatively unscathed by this forced farewell. Dream should be even less affected than she is considering how little time he spent with Thetis. In fact, Dream probably spent the least amount of time with Thetis out of anyone in the royal family.

“When the Hunters got back to the palace, Dream disappeared again. When he came back, he had a blank expression on his face and the faint scent of lake water surrounding him. I believe he saw Thetis’ corpse,” Purpled informs her. Drista frowns. She supposes seeing someone’s corpse could change a person’s personality, but Dream doesn’t seem like he’s grieving. Well, what does she know? She’s never truly grieved before, only mourned for what she could not have rather than what she had lost.

“Thank you for your help, Sir Punz. Please do not tell my brother I asked you about this,” Drista says with a grateful smile on her face. “You are dismissed. Oh, but tell Purpled to stay out there a moment longer. I need to think in silence.”

“Always a pleasure, princess,” Punz remarks as he exits the warehouse. Drista watches him go for a long moment. When she looks away from the doorway, Chat is standing in the small space in front of her. He casts cursory glances at the weapons all around them, but his attention is primarily on Drista. It settles heavily on her shoulders, but his eyes always seem to do that. When he gives his attention, he gives every last drop of it.

“What do you think?”

“I am not certain. I know some ways for a mortal’s personality to rapidly change, but none of these methods seem to be the case in this instance,” Chat responds. He puts a hand on his chest as if to feel for his heartbeat. Drista raises an eyebrow at him, but he doesn’t explain himself or add anything to his previous thoughts.

Despite Chat not knowing, Drista only assumes they need to investigate further. Dream is acting far too similar to his counterpart in The Ender Prince for Drista to feel comfortable. She has to forcibly steer him back onto the right path. If she doesn’t, he is going to ruin many lives. He is going to die.

“What about the stars?”

“What about them?” 

“Purpled told me earlier that the star provides an outline of a person’s fate,” Drista explains. Since Chat doesn’t know anything about Dream’s sudden shift in personality, she decides to ask about a different matter that she told herself she would ask when given an opportunity.

“I see. If you were to phrase it that way, I am inclined to agree. Every living creature, no matter the species, even Mobs, is born under many different stars. Most people are born under similar stars as their peers: families, neighbors, species, nations. Only a select few are born under unique stars. This gives them the potential for grander but also more tragic destinies,” Chat says. “But the stars are not what gives people their destinies. It is only a means for a person to understand what is in store for them and where they come from. If fate is a book, the stars are the table of contents. Someone else is the author.”

“Am I the author?” Drista asks. She was the one who wrote The Ender Prince, after all. She just didn’t come up with it on her own. She had to translate scattered scenes in her mind into a coherent, linear story. It was difficult work, for sure, but it wasn’t entirely her own work.

“I do not know how to answer that. The short answer would be ‘no,’ but it would be fair to say you are the co-author of a specific individual’s fate,” Chat looks away from Drista as he says this, staring into the distance without anything reflecting in his dark eyes.

“Is it—”

“Who are you talking to?” Drista’s question about Theseus is immediately cut off as a figure stands in the doorway of the warehouse. Chat disappears from her peripheral vision despite Dream being just as incapable of seeing the creature as everyone else in the world is.

Dream is wearing light armor with a simpler mask than usual that just barely covers the upper half of his face. He reaches for a training sword, but his fingers linger around the hilt instead of firmly grabbing onto the blade. He raises an eyebrow at Drista, glancing around the warehouse behind her. She smiles politely, curtsying to him. “Greetings, Prince Dream the Swift.”

He nods at her. Drista blinks in surprise. Dream always scolds her playfully for calling him by his title. He doesn’t do that today. He instead immediately returns to his question, “Who are you talking to?”

“Speaking aloud helps me think,” Drista states calmly. Her stomach churns at the words, but she isn’t technically lying. She usually figures her thoughts out faster when she has spoken them into the empty air. Even when she truly is alone, she will sometimes murmur calculations or read passages aloud to help her process. She just doesn’t put that this time, Chat is there to listen to her audible musings.

Dream hums with a smirk that doesn’t fit his face. He picks his training sword up. He swings the blade around, and it points at Drista’s chest for a second longer than it should. She stills, searching for her magic despite knowing Dream would never hurt her. Dream brings the blade to his hand to test the dull edge. He glances at her through the sword’s reflection. “I prefer to keep all my thoughts in my head… lest they wander away from me into ignorant hearts.”

Drista doesn’t respond. She isn’t sure how to. She understands what Dream is saying, of course, but she doesn’t know why he’s saying it. Is he trying to warn her? Did he hear more of her conversation with Chat than she thought? Did George or Punz tell her something? What does he know, and why does he want her to know she knows it? What game is her brother playing?

“Good luck with your training—” Drista stumbles over the last word, coughing into her fist.

She opens her mouth to try again, but Dream gives her a mirthless smile. “Thank you.”

Dream walks away. Drista remains fixed. She stares at the ground with parted lips and narrowed eyes. Curiouser and curiouser. 

Chapter Text

The royal family is afforded certain privileges due to their status and contributions to the kingdom. One of these privileges are the newest models of carriages, the fastest and sturdiest horses, and access to the clearest roads in the kingdom. When a member of the royal family decides to go somewhere, the ride is comfortable and quick. The scenery is enough to distract anyone from the bumps that occasionally cause the wooden box on wheels to jerk in one direction or the other, and since it doesn’t happen too often, it isn’t anything worth complaining about. Technology will get to the point when no bumps will occur again, but until that day arrives, the royal family will enjoy what other people— even the Ten Commanders— cannot.

Despite the ride being relatively comfortable, the interior of the carriage is far from it. Drista sits on one of the benches next to her mother. She is wearing a long black dress with poofy, long sleeves that make her feel like her arms are covered in lightweight ribbons rather than dark green translucent film. The neckline is high, almost restricting her breath if not for the way she holds her head high. She doesn’t feel particularly prideful, but it does allow her to watch the hills roll by like the wheels carting the carriage down the dirt path. She crosses her ankles, putting her hands in her lap. She narrows her eyes at the glass window. She has to physically tilt her head to see the sky because of the overhanging material of her mask’s eyeholes, the final gift she received from her deceased grandmother.

Puffy sits next to Drista. She is wearing a loose dress that faintly moves with every strained breath in her chest. She keeps one hand on her heart, the other one loosely curled on top of her thigh. Her boots clack on the carriage’s floorboards. Her eyes are closed behind her ram’s mask. It is difficult to see any patches of her skin because of her high neckline, long sleeves, and heavy mask, but Drista remembers seeing her mother’s face as she was putting the mask on. Puffy looks pale as a ghost. Even if Drista didn’t see that, she could hear the stagnated breaths entering and leaving her chest. She could blame it on the carriage’s minute movements, but Puffy is trembling from an internal sickness.

Dream sits across from them. He wears a dark green coat over his black dress shirt and pants. He leans back, sitting in the middle of the bench. He crosses his arms over his chest, and at the same moment, he crosses one leg over the other. The mask covers the upper half of his face, including his eyes, but his lips are drawn into a thin line to show his boredom with the situation. Occasionally, he will exhale heavily and tilt his head to the side in contemplation. He does not explain what he is thinking about, but Drista highly doubts it is the matter at hand.

Puffy is sick, and Dream is unbothered. Drista is the only one with both the capacity and willingness to feel anything about the situation. Unfortunately, she feels strongly about it. Thetis was a cruel woman, but she was still Drista’s grandmother. Drista’s wish has always been to have a family, after all. In some ways, Drista cared about Thetis, and in other ways, Thetis cared about Drista. It wasn’t a perfect relationship. They were using each other, and Drista always wanted to overthrow her grandmother’s position. Drista is glad an antagonistic force in her life is gone, but at the same time, she regrets being unable to say goodbye. She is unable to hear what her grandmother genuinely thought about her all this time.

This strange cocktail of emotions in Drista’s body doesn’t make her feel any more comfortable in this carriage than anyone else. The awkwardness between the three family members, the palpable absence of Foolish, and the crushing weight of a funeral being their destination make Drista feel as queasy as she imagines Puffy must feel right now. Drista refrains from saying anything about her feelings because she knows Puffy will hurt herself trying to appease her children. And Dream… Well, Drista doesn’t know how he’s going to react, so she doesn’t bother trying to coax a proper emotional response from him. Maybe he’s dealing with his grief by pretending he doesn’t feel anything at all.

Every moment stretches into eternity, but it does eventually end. The carriage’s movements come to a complete standstill. Puffy’s eyes flutter open, glancing around the compartment. Drista takes her mother’s hand, squeezing it gently. Dream reaches for the door handle. He just barely misses it as the coachman from the outside. Dream stumbles a step, catching himself before he goes sprawling across the ground outside. Puffy mumbles something beneath her breath. Drista uses her other hand to grab onto her brother’s elbow. Dream tugs his arm away— not harshly, exactly, but not kindly, either— as he steps out of the carriage without anyone’s assistance. Dream steps forward, smoothing out the wrinkles in his suit. When he’s finished, he looks over his shoulder at the coachman. He stretches his hands. The coachman stumbles away from the door, tripping over what appears to be a rock covered in vines. He lands roughly on the ground. Dream’s mask stares at the coachman, nothing in those painted black eyes.

Drista releases her mother’s hand to leap out of the carriage. She lands lightly on her feet. She instantly turns around to pull at the coachman’s shoulders to bring him back to his feet. He thanks her politely, scrambling away from the royal family when given the opportunity. Drista glances down at her arms. Her sleeves protected her somewhat, but there was a faint red mark on her skin from where something iron grazed her. It isn’t enough to burn or bruise, but it continues to sting as she helps Puffy step out of the carriage. The queen wobbles on her first step. She quickly regains her composure, straightening her spine and showing a confident smile underneath the shadow of her mask.

Puffy lifts her bent arms to both her children. Drista is quick to link arms with Puffy. Dream is slower to it, but he eventually does. With her children as escorts, Puffy guides them to the building where the carriage dropped them off at. It is a large greenhouse designed like an unbloomed flower bud made from glass and white porcelain. While the main part of the building is made from gray glass, the ‘leaves’ are made from translucent green-stained glass. The very top of the greenhouse showcases a ten-pointed star hovering above the topmost panes. It spins in slow circles, giving the illusion of a sun shining down indiscriminately across the land.

The doors open automatically for the royal family. It registers their bloodline and magic signatures in the same beat. Drista frowns as she steps inside the warm building. She lifts the hand not looped with her mother’s arm. The sunlight falls across her skin. Floral scents seep between her fingers. She can feel the potent magic of her master. Her frowns deepen even further. This building should be extremely old. It should realistically be nearly as old as Essempei itself. Why would Waglington’s magic be so interwoven with every glass pane? Why has the magic ascended from a normal spell to ancient status? It unnerves Drista instantly, but she supposes that she should have known Waglington was older than she previously thought.

Could this be part of the contract with Waglington passed from one monarch to the next?

The interior of the greenhouse is appropriately filled with many plants, each one in full bloom. There is a wide variety from all over Essempei. There are even a few from Elfame. Those Fae plants guarantee that this place is somewhere important since the plants of the human and Fae worlds are incapable of growing alongside each other in normal circumstances. If that wasn’t enough, the healthiness of these plants is something unachievable by anyone other than a dedicated team of horticulturalists. They shimmer underneath the golden light of the ornament spinning above their heads.

The plants hide the magical devices and clockwork machinery keeping this entire location secure. A handful of the most powerful individuals in the kingdom stand along the perimeter, blending so deeply into the darkness that Drista only knows they are there due to a faint magic signature. A normal mage wouldn’t be able to sense them. Drista ignores the shiver down her spine. She wonders if she could take even one of them in a head-to-head fight. If she had complete access to divine power, maybe, but that would sooner kill her than her opponents.

In the center of the greenhouse, a bronze circle contrasts with the white stone and brown dirt. Puffy steps on the center of the bronze rings. Drista and Dream join her. Dream tugs on his collar as the edges of the bronze lift into the air to surround the trio. Magic stones pop out from the bronze walls to cast warm yellow light across the enclosed space. Puffy puts an arm around Drista’s shoulder. At first, Drista suspects it is for comfort, but her mother is putting a little too much weight on her daughter. Drista summons her disembodied hands to help support her mother. Puffy grimaces beneath her mask, taking steady breaths. Dream shifts where he stands, tilting his body away from his mother and sister. Drista glares at him, and she wonders if he can feel it.

When the elevator stops, Puffy hurriedly regains her footing. The bronze walls melt back into the ground. Drista’s breath is stolen from her chest. The air is fresh and clean. Floating balls of fuzzy white light hang in the air like scattered stars. The cavernous walls are completely shrouded in dark green vines, multi-colored flowers blooming with exactly ten petals each. The ground is covered in a thin layer of soil, tiny fungi popping out to sparse up the grass-framed path from the elevator to the focal point of the entire underground area.

In the center of the space, a large tree shoots straight up from the ground. It towers over everything. The branches resemble dark brown spears as they shoot away from the main trunk. Each spear is covered in green blood, the leaves as large as Drista’s face. The green of those leaves put the eyes of the royal children to shame. It puts every shade of green to shame, really, begging the question of what the color actually is. Drista puts a hand on her chest. She is right on the precipice of something primordial, omniscient, and brilliant. For the first time in her life, she understands what it must be like to stand before a benevolent deity.

Viridian Sylva is a small piece of the Terra Sylva, the world tree. Viridian Sylva is what allows Essempei to be recognized as a nation by the other members of the continent. Additionally, Viridian Sylva is the beating heart of Essempei’s vitality. Human beings have cores and meridians. Mobs have cores, too. By that same token, it wouldn’t be a stretch to say Viridian Sylva is the core of Essempei’s leylines. All magecraft, glamour, divine power, and Mystery (along with other forms of magic) will eventually flow into this mighty tree. Viridian Sylva will purify it, allowing it to spread into the soil of the aboveground to reinvigorate the earth.

There is only one type of Fae that exists outside Elfame. That species is the Seelie. They look more like the fairies Drista remembers from her other world with their tiny bodies and butterfly wings. They fly around the room, caring for Viridian Sylva. The tree produces the Seelie as a defense mechanism. As such, these Seelie are far more powerful than anything the humans could have come up with and created to protect their sacred tree. Still, the royal family puts up magical wards, station guards, and creates clockwork booby traps to protect the greenhouse aboveground and Viridian Sylva underground.

The Seelie mingles among the humans, not interacting but not avoiding them, either. Either sensing the silver blood in her or the golden blood, the Seelie closest to the elevator swarms around Drista. Their tiny hands feel like raindrops as they touch her skin. Drista giggles under her breath. She pushes away the bubbly feeling since she is attending a funeral right now. She waves the Seelie away gently. She composes herself as they grumble in foreign tongues amongst each other. They remain close to Drista as she follows her mother deeper into the chamber.

She notices, absentmindedly, that the Seelie seem particularly avoidant of Dream. He doesn’t pay them any attention as he moves to speak with the gathered nobility. Drista raises an eyebrow, but she says nothing. She is more concerned with her mother as Puffy stands in front of the great tree. Puffy kneels down between the roots. She clasps her hands together. She is the perfect image of a believer praying. Drista hesitates, but she kneels beside her mother. Drista puts her hands together. She stares at them for a long moment, but her eyes eventually flutter closed.

A rubber band suddenly snaps. Water drains away from her body. Her ears pop. A frigid cool creeps across her bones. Drista’s eyes shoot open as she registers that something has gone wrong. She is proven right in the next moment. She isn’t at the funeral anymore. She’s in a large room with white walls and many arches. The center of the room is populated by a magnificent tree with leaves in every color of the rainbow— even some colors Drista doesn’t recognize. It took her breath away, but she couldn’t breathe, anyway. She can no longer feel any magic around her. Not glamour, not EXP, not Mystery. A stagnant emptiness she hasn’t felt in years settles in her body. She deflates, putting her hands against the white ground to keep herself upright. She wants to scream, but she’s gasping for breath.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you panic,” A voice calls out. Drista’s head shoots upward. She stares into the uniquely designed eyes of a little girl. She sits on the branches of the tree, swinging her legs over the side. She pushes her hands against the branch. She lands softly on the ground, dress and hair flaring around her. She steps over to Drista with the gracefulness of a hesitant doe and the curiosity of a clever fox. The little girl tilts her head at Drista, crossing her arms behind her back. “What name do you prefer?”

“Drista.” Her chest eases as the little girl draws closer. It isn’t any magic she recognizes, but something moves through her meridians. It calms Drista down enough that she can start breathing and assessing the situation. The architecture and monochrome nature of the world around her makes Drista conclude she’s in the Inbetween. She has never been to this part of the Inbetween, but she recognizes the Terra Sylva without needing an explanation for it. She didn’t know it existed in the Inbetween. It doesn’t surprise her, though, just makes her reevaluate her opinions of this place.

“Despite not growing up among them, you are good at being a Fae. You should never give your True Name away,” The little girl acknowledges Drista with a hint of pride both in her voice and eyes. While Drista doesn’t need someone to be proud of her, a warm feeling brushes against her heart.

“Who are you?” Drista raises an eyebrow. If she truly was a good Fae, she would have long since tricked this girl into giving Drista her True Name. Drista has the feeling this being in front of her is more powerful than her childish form would imply.

“I am a machine created by Mojang. I absorb vast amounts of information from Terra Sylva and calculate the trajectory of fate. Since this is my only purpose, I am quite good at it,” The machine explains, placing a hand on her chest. She balls her fingers into a fist, momentarily mimicking a heartbeat. At least, Drista assumes that’s what the machine is doing. Who knows with these strangely powerful and quite inhuman beings?

“Mojang…” Drista repeats the name. It tastes like electricity and wind on her tongue, bursting with power and strength and energy. Even still, she doesn’t fully recognize it. She remembers Apep mentioning it, but Drista hasn’t taken the time to analyze everything Apep said. Drista might have heard it before while doing research or in conversations with Chat, but none of them come to mind. “Who is that?”

The machine shakes her head. “Everyone knows who Mojang is, even if they don’t know they know. He is part of everyone’s True Name because he created all of us and will one day destroy all of us.”

Drista shudders. She doesn’t quite understand, but she thinks Mojang might be the author Chat was talking about when they were discussing the stars and their connection to destiny.

The machine continues. “People like Iris and Waglington have told you that you’re special your entire life. There is something precious inside you. They’re right. You are a unique existence, Drista. You are a Transcendent, a variable that constantly changes fate.”

The words are simple enough, but they make Drista sick. She lowers her head. She puts her hands around her throat. She feels the burbling pressure of nausea, but she can’t puke in front of the fate machine no matter how much she wants to. Luckily, the machine is apologetic. They put a hand on Drista’s hair. Foreign, unrecognizable power unfurls in Drista’s body like an uncurling fern. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to hurt you, but I need to start your journey to self-actualization.”

Drista tilts her head up, opening her mouth. The machine shakes her head immediately. She looks directly into Drista’s eyes, temporarily amplifying the crippling sickness. Sweat runs down Drista’s face, and she feels like someone has set a fire inside her stomach. “I cannot answer any of your questions. What I will say, however, is that I know your goal. If you want to achieve this goal, you must find the nucleus in the verdure trap.”

Drista doesn’t know what that means at all. The machine glances over her shoulder with a frown. She pulls Drista onto her feet. The machine starts ushering Drista to a hallway. Drista looks over her shoulder to ask the machine more questions, but she catches sight of blonde hair for a moment on the other side of the tree. The distraction is enough for Drista to be pushed across the threshold. The machine steps away, and a pair of doors slam shut in Drista’s face.

She sighs, wiping the sweat off her brow. She glances around the dimly lit hallway. This is more in line with what she remembers the Inbetween to look like. Drista grumbles about finding her way. As soon as she’s halfway across the hall, a figure steps out from between two pillars. Drista takes a half-step back away from the figure as they register Drista’s presence. It is another one of those beings— the same species as Chat, Secret Keeper, and Weaver. This figure wears a mask like their kin, but they are covered in flowing bronze and brown robes like they are going to traverse the desert in Badlands. Dozens of clocks in different styles hang from their body, and they even wear a grandfather clock on their back like a backpack or weapon sheath. They stop in front of Drista, tilting their masked face to the side. Even as they are silent, the hallway fills with the discordant ticking of several out-of-sync clocks. “I was interested in meeting Trespasser. I did not know we would cross paths so coincidentally. It almost makes me believe there is a fate laid out for us, too.”

The figure reaches a hand to Drista. There are miniature watches decorating the figure’s humanoid fingers like rings, and there is a clock the size of a compact mirror fused into their leather glove. Drista hesitantly takes the hand. The figure shakes it a few times and pulls out before they breach the common rules of etiquette. The figure gestures between themselves and Drista. “I hope you do not mind the title. It is actually a great honor. Only the most powerful Watchers are given one by their peers. I, myself, have a title, too. I am certain you could have guessed it, but I am Clockmaker.”

“I got the title ‘Trespasser’ because I don’t belong here… and you got the name ‘Clockmaker’ because you make clocks?” Drista raises an eyebrow.

Clockmaker laughs like a metronome. “It’s a tad more complicated than that, dear. There is a book in the Underworld detailing the births and deaths of every living being in each Lost Realm. I have a special awareness of this book. This allows me to make countdowns for my fellow Watchers. It helps them place bets because who would want to bet a man a few seconds from death? My contributions allowed me to trade my name for my title. I could tell you how you got your title, but there wouldn’t be any fun in that.”

Clockmaker reaches into the pocket of their waistband. They pull out a silver and gold hourglass covered in red rubies and filled with green sand. The hourglass is surrounded by dark blue temporal magic. Clockmaker doesn’t let Drista touch the hourglass, but they move the hourglass close to Drista’s face to allow her unlimited access to it through sight. “Your countdown, however, is actually an hourglass. This means that instead of having a fixed death, you could die at any moment. Every profound decision you make flips the hourglass. This could prolong your life, but two quick decisions will send you back to losing sand at a steady rate. Even without a fixed date, your time will run out eventually.”

“I understand,” Drista nods. She genuinely does, even if it makes her feel a little queasy. It isn’t as terrible as it was before. It isn’t anywhere near her fulminations. Drista thinks her pain tolerance is getting quite high. She isn’t sure if this is a good or bad thing yet. She’ll make that decision when this tolerance proves more inhibiting than feeling every ounce of pain in its fullness.

“Weaver was right. You are quite smart,” Clockmaker remarks, voice shining with pride. Drista should start spending more time around her family if strangers being proud of her makes her feel this happy. “There are a few more Nameless, the collective name for the title-bearing Watchers, but there is only one more that really wants to meet you. Well, he wants to meet your… Huh, what is Chat to you? Doesn’t matter, I guess. That guy is Chat’s succ— Ah, I probably shouldn’t be the one telling you this. He would be upset with me. More so than he already is, anyway. Let’s get you back to Fatum before I dig myself a deeper grave, yeah?”

Clockmaker snaps their fingers around the hourglass. They push it back into their pocket as they cover Drista’s eyes with their hand. A rubber band suddenly snaps. Water drains away from her body. Her ears pop. A frigid cool creeps across her bones. When darkness disappears from her vision, Drista feels groggy. She’s kneeling in front of Viridian Sylva again, however. Whatever happened moments before in the Inbetween feels like a hazy dream, but she remembers the important parts.

Drista puts her hands down on her lap. She glances over at her mother. Puffy has only gotten worse in the time Drista has been dead to the world. Drista scrambles to place an arm around her mother’s shoulder. Puffy pushes Drista away, her hands lacking any strength. Drista grits her teeth at her mother’s stubbornness. Puffy huffs in an airy voice, “We cannot show weakness in front of the nobility.”

“I’ll cast an illusion,” Drista reassures her mother. The glamour envelops them within a moment. Puffy is whispering a silent ‘no,’ but Drista doesn’t listen to her mother. She keeps an illusion of Puffy standing tall surrounding them as she helps her mother to her feet. Despite her best efforts, Puffy leans most of her weight against Drista.

While casting two different types of magic is reckless, Drista pretends that she can’t hear Iris and Waglington’s warnings in her ears as she creates a disembodied hand. It travels a short distance to tug on Purpled’s coattails, but it burns Drista’s physical hand. She watches it spasm helplessly as Purpled turns around. He recognizes his master’s Mystery. He drifts closer, eyes widening when he crosses the threshold of Drista’s illusion. The Mystery hand disappears. Drista hides her shaking behind her back as she whispers to Purpled. “I have an illusion around us to keep anyone from figuring out the queen is sick. I will keep the illusion around you and the queen as you leave together. When you get out, wait with Mom in the carriage. If her illness gets too bad, leave. Dream and I will find another way home.”

“Your Highness—”

“I promise to stay with Callum,” Drista compromises. “Right next to him for the entire service.”

Purpled is reluctant, but he ultimately trades places with Drista. He proves immediately that he is both taller and physically stronger than her. Drista hides her jealousy as the pairing walks away from Viridian Sylva. The Seelie prod at the edges of the illusion curiously, but no one suspects what is lying underneath. Once Purpled and Puffy are halfway to the elevator, Drista quickly but quietly treads over to Callum. The fox-masked man is hurrying to chase after the queen. Drista stops him with a hand around his wrist. His sharp yellow eyes glance at her. She tugs him back into his position. She stands beside him, whispering beneath her breath. “The queen grew sicker. Sir Purpled is escorting her back. I cast an illusion around them to protect the queen’s status. We will wrap up the service. Oh, and I promised Sir Purpled I would stay with you. If the queen were more aware, she probably would have made me swear to her, too.”

“I understand, Your Highness. I will remain at your side,” Callum pledges, putting a fist over his chest. They stand together as other people step toward Viridian Sylva to pay their respects to Thetis. Drista is half-curious about what thoughts are running through their minds, but she can’t stop her hand from shaking. She wouldn't use illusions to visualize their thoughts, anyway.

When Drista looks out across the crowd, her eyes catch on someone near the back. Dream has partially removed his mask. His eyes are glowing in the darkness like bioluminescent lichen. He raises an eyebrow at her. She resists the urge to shiver. Something is wrong with him. It’s inherent even if she has no proof. She only has a feeling… A feeling, and the beginnings of a wretched plot to discover more.

Chapter Text

There are many activities a royal child might participate in for various reasons. The education of the nobles is quite thorough, after all, and it covers a wide variety to ensure that each member of the bloodline can use their skills and lives to serve Essempei. Although she did not spend her first few years at the royal palace, Drista’s education was no less assiduous than any of her ancestors. She sat through many lessons covering many topics. Her favorite classes were obviously history, magic, and religion, but those were her favorite among the indoor options. She never saw a reason to engage in any of the outdoor options, especially when she was already a stronger swimmer than most. She thought her physical trek up and down Waglington’s tower was enough exercise to satisfy her physician.

Drista was told she could learn how to ride a horse, but she has only recently taken up her tutors on that option. Well, not her tutors since they still aren’t allowed in the palace, but the stablemaster is more than willing to teach Drista the necessary skills and etiquette when trying to ride a horse. She was even given her own personal steed when her mother realized that Drista wanted to learn horseback riding without a proper tutor. The stablemaster is a better teacher than any noble could have been, in Drista’s opinion, but she doesn’t refuse her mother’s gift.

The royal stables is a large complex made from stone and wood. The horses are groomed every morning, and this process usually bleeds into the afternoon from the sheer amount of horses the royal family owns. Some are horses meant for riding, but there is at least one of every subtype including some workhorses and racehorses. Drista won’t pretend she knows all of their names and habits, but there are a few of them that she has gravitated towards. Even the unfriendliest of horses are at least neutral towards her, a byproduct of her silver blood (and possibly the Sunset Stone inside her chest. Other than rams and bulls, the sun god was known to own a few legendary horses. Drista doesn’t know for certain, however, as she didn’t start interacting with the horses until after the stone was in her chest). Since the horses enjoy her company as much as she enjoys theirs, the stablehands will sometimes let her help out. They were reluctant in the beginning, but propriety means nothing when Drista gives them royal permission to let her help.

Other than the horse she owns, Drista has another one she enjoys seeing every time she enters and exits the stable. She meets their eyes often, but she doesn’t get a chance to interact with the horse on a personal level. Dream has been very clear toward the stablehands about who is allowed into the stall of his horse-shaped celestial. Drista agreed at first since celestials are fundamentally different from genuine horses, but Spirit seems lonely and depressed in her stall. As far as Drista is aware, Dream doesn’t take his contracted celestial out near enough.

Drista would take Spirit out for a ride, but it isn’t her place. Spirit has as much sapience as Drista does. Drista shouldn’t treat her like a regular horse. Plus, Drista doesn’t want to unnecessarily upset Dream. Maybe Dream and Spirit have some special clause in their contract that Drista isn’t aware of. Drista doesn’t want to break the contract and risk Spirit leaving Dream’s side.

Drista climbs onto the gate keeping the stall closed. She swings both legs over the side, but she doesn’t drop down onto the hay-covered floor. Drista balances on the gate. Spirit looks up at Drista with a curious gaze from where she kneels on the ground. Drista smiles kindly at Spirit. The celestial makes a vaguely horse-like noise, but Drista doesn’t know if Spirit means it in the way other horses do or if she’s just copying the creatures around her. It wouldn’t surprise Drista either way.

“Don’t worry. I’m not here to ride you. Dream was very clear about his rules,” Drista promises. She puts one hand over her chest. Her heartbeat swims against her skin. The heat from the Sunset Stone bleeds through her fingertips like wasted energy. “I wanted to speak to you about what you told me that day you contracted with Dream. You called me your brother. I think you’ve confused me with—”

“Are you not worried you might fall?” A voice calls. Drista startles, nearly doing exactly what she was vaguely warned against. Drista’s fingers dig into the metal gate to keep her upright. She leans back slightly to look at whoever is walking through the stables. Drista’s eyes widen when she meets Dream’s glowing green eyes. She didn’t recognize his voice when he called out to her. She should since it is one of the most familiar sounds to her, but the surprise is as swift and chilling as the winds that cross from the empire to the Essempei. “What are you doing here?”

Dream stops a few feet away from the gate. He is unable to see Spirit from this angle, and the celestial is unable to him, too. Drista eyes Spirit warily. The horse shows no reaction to her contractor’s voice. Drista looks away to face the porcelain mask on Dream’s face. In the dull lighting, shadows flit across the smooth surface in a way that makes Drista feel like a character in a horror movie. Dream isn’t anywhere close to a movie monster, but it certainly feels that way as he crosses his arms behind his back. He stands eerily motionless. On its own, the action is creepy, but the effect is increased tenfold when Drista remembers how active Dream is. He has never been able to stay still for more than a few minutes, and even then, he has about a thousand habits that allow him to burn off excessive energy. The wind favors him for a reason, and Drista worries when that thought leads her to realize how the air around them has become as still as Dream currently is.

“I thought Spirit was pretty,” Drista tells her brother, putting her thigh and knee on the top of the gate as she turns to face him properly. Drista puts both of her hands on the thick material of her riding pants. Dream is wearing a similar outfit. The difference between their outfits— other than the obvious changes due to their physiques— is that there is a sprinkling of color across Drista’s outfit. Her shirt is a dark green, almost black but not quite as tenebrous. Her pants are as gray as an overcast sky, but her brown boots have bright green threads forming naturalistic patterns. Drista’s mask is the same bright green with golden details, and her hair is tied back with a green ribbon. Dream, on the other hand, is wearing a black shirt and white pants lightly dusted with dirt. His black boots seem to have a touch of brown-red stained deeply into the material, but the shade makes Drista queasy. His hair is the only part of him that shows some color, but it looks duller in the dim light of the stable.

“Childish answers are unbecoming of you,” Dream tilts his head to the side. It is a methodical motion, one purposefully taken to invoke an emotion or reaction from Drista. It serves its purpose of making Drista’s chest tighten, but she is not nearly as easy to tease as her brother assumes she is. She finds embarrassment in being shown excessive love, not well-concealed vitriol.

“You know as well as I do that I do not lie,” Drista reminds her brother, raising an eyebrow underneath her mask. She looks away from Dream to glance at Spirit’s prone body. She keeps him in her peripheral vision, but he doesn’t make any motions when she turns her attention back to him. Only the aura around him shifts. Drista wishes she could read them as well as Dream apparently can. This isn’t the first time she’s wished their Fae heritage had given them the other’s gifts and natural inclinations.

Dream chuckles for several silent moments after Drista’s words are finished ringing out into the confined space. The laugh seems as genuine as it does amused, but the undertones imply that Dream is not finding the right kind of amusement from this. Drista’s fingers tighten once more around the gate as if that could protect her from whatever metaphorical fall Dream is setting up for her to suffer from. “I suppose it is not a lie. Be that as it may, you and I both know your actions are rarely taken based on whims.”

Drista doesn’t respond. She keeps the frown off her face, but her displeasure is not so easily withheld from her eyes. Dream takes the necessary steps to get closer to Drista. He peers over the gate to witness Spirit’s subdued form. Spirit glances at her master. The stars burn with a brighter anger than a moment prior, but Spirit does not act on her emotions. Drista shivers. It feels as if an ice giant has suddenly wrapped their fingers around her body. It sinks into her bones as Dream bitterly continues. “Spirit is kinder to you than she is to me.”

Spirit noses the ground. She exhales sharply from her nostrils, dispersing the hay around her. Dream copies her second action, but the wind does not assist him in producing a similar effect to the celestial. Dream waves his hand dismissively. He turns to look at his sister. From this angle, she can see the grim smile showing on his lips. Drista finds her voice, moving her head from side to side as if debating something. “I do not believe Spirit likes me more than her contractor.”

Drista feels some urge to continue defending herself, but Dream’s grim smile twitches into something larger for long enough that Drista notices but not long enough for her to understand. “There is no need to argue with me. While I do not know what kind it is, I already know there is a thread connecting you and the celestial. You won’t tell me, and Spirit can’t tell me.”

Drista can’t stop her frown this time. Spirit knows how to transmit her thoughts to other people’s minds, so why does Dream say she can’t tell him whatever it is he wants to know? It should be stronger with her contractor, right? And what does he mean by a thread? Is he referring to the Weaver? She told Drista there were threads connecting people that tied their densities together. Is Dream aware that Drista’s destiny is now tied to Spirit’s? Is it because he doesn’t know about the Sunset Stone? But he knew about it before, didn’t he? Or, at least, he knew enough about it to ask Drista a little while before Spirit descended to form a contract with him. The questions make Drista’s head hurt, but they need to be asked because the answers aren’t clear to her.

“It does not matter. I came here to ride a horse, not to speak with you,” Dream says. He turns away from her to a nearby stall. Dream disappears inside, sliding through the ajar gate. After a moment, Drista hears Dream moving around inside the stall, and she knows even before she recognizes the sounds that he’s saddling another horse. Her frown deepens as Dream shoves the gate open. 

As he starts to lead the horse out of the stall, Drista calls out haphazardly, “Why aren’t you riding your contracted?”

Dream ignores her. He doesn’t look over his shoulder at her. He doesn’t hum in acknowledgment. He leaves her question in the empty air until he is standing at the entrance of the stable. The outdoor light forms a blinding ring around his silhouette, and the shadows are as thick as the night as he shifts his body minutely. He might be looking at her. He might not be. The blank eyes of his mask certainly are, boring into her soul inch by inch through eye contact alone. Dream’s voice is nearly empty save for the slightest hint of intrigue, a smidgen of interest. “Your curiosity will lead to your demise.”

His words are as ominous as a prophecy as he and the horse become nothing more than colored dots hidden behind a veil of sunshine. Drista’s stomach twists, and she struggles to force air into her lungs. It isn’t the first time Drista has heard someone tell her something similar to that. Knowledge will destroy her is the consensus that most people have acknowledged as true. Oblivion might be where she’s destined to go, but she realizes that the path might be paved in her studious pursuits. She wants to know more about the world. Some secrets should be left buried, however, and her refusal to let that remain as such is going to cause more trouble than it’s worth.

She moves her attention to Spirit. Chat is with her now, leaning down to move his fingers through her mane. Spirit can’t see him, but she registers his presence. Drista tries to speak, but her words fall flat in her own mouth. The silence suffocates her. It doesn’t affect Spirit and Chat nearly as much. Spirit is barely aware of the world. Chat is entirely focused on providing comfort. He doesn’t look away from Spirit as his serious tone reaches Drista’s ears. “Spirit is hurt.”

“How?” Drista’s voice is sudden and sharp like a dog barking at the spectral moon. She swings her legs back into the stall. She lands on the ground with a slight bounce. She balances quickly, but she can’t find the strength to force herself into the small bubble Chat has created for himself and Spirit. It feels wrong to intrude because there is some strange familiarity between Spirit and Chat that Drista doesn’t understand at a glance.

“Most sapient creatures have internal cores. Mobs, elementals, humans, halflings like you. Celestials are the same way. Their cores are called asterisms. This core processes the magical particles in the air and transmutes them into cael. Spirit’s asterism was damaged. She can produce enough cael to maintain her form, but there isn’t enough to use her abilities. This is why she is in a mortal stable instead of her corresponding star. It is also the reason why she is not speaking to either of us. Her telepathy requires more power than one might think,” Chat says. If not for the severity of the situation, Drista would have been amused that Chat still has many subjects to educate her on.

“How can we fix it?” Drista asks immediately, irked by the entire situation. This must be why Dream noted that Spirit can’t tell him anything. He knows that her telepathy is gone. He might not know her asterism is damaged, but he should at least know that something is wrong with his celestial.

“I will admit that I do not know. I have only ever personally known one other celestial in my lifetime. He never had a damaged asterism, and Spirit didn’t have a damaged one back then,” Chat sounds upset. Drista doesn’t blame him. It seems like she was right in noticing there was some familiarity between the two. At another date, Drista might ask Chat to tell her about this part of his past, but they have bigger issues to worry about at the moment. “I don’t even know how one can damage an asterism.”

“What about the bird Puffy interacted with? Do you think he might know how to solve this problem?” Drista asks, her fingers twitching as she searches for a course of action to take. She doesn’t like the helplessness that sweeps through her.

Chat finally looks away from Spirit to meet Drista’s eyes. There is a funny expression on his face. It makes Drista nervous as she doesn’t recognize the expression. It isn’t akin to anything Chat has shown her before, not like he shows her many expressions in their time together. Drista wishes she could take back what she just said, but the words are out there. They have stunned Chat into silence. Drista swallows thickly. She opens her mouth to apologize, but she is cut off by a voice coming from someone near the stable entrance. “Your Highness, Princess Drista the Sibylline, this servant would like to know if you are in there.”

“I’m here… I—” Drista cuts herself off. She leans against the gate, peeking her head over a little without tearing her eyes away from the haunted look in Chat’s eyes.

“Her Majesty, Queen Puffy the Fierce, has asked this servant to accompany you to her chambers for some private time together,” The servant continues, taking a step into the stable. Their nose scrunches at the scent. Even if the royal stables are kept as clean as possible, there is no way to completely remove the scent of the tenets. Drista and the other stablehands have gone nose-blind to it, but the servant looks seconds away from retching.

“Stay with Spirit. Monitor her condition for me. I promise we’ll find a way to help her,” Drista whispers to Chat. She puts her hands on the gate. She swings her body over the other side. She sees Chat nodding at her instructions from between the bars, but he doesn’t look into her eyes anymore. Drista feels terrible despite not knowing what she’s done, but she pushes the potential conflict and the emotions brewing unpleasantly between the two as she turns to face the servant. “Thank you for coming to greet me. I will find my way to my mother’s chambers on my own, though. You are free to return to whatever duties you are presently required to handle. If there is nothing, I will allow you some time off. Spend your afternoon well.”

Drista brushes past the servant without another glance. A princess shouldn’t run, but Drista doesn’t feel particularly royal despite her mask. Her clothes make it easier to run than a dress would, anyway, so Drista enjoys herself. She didn’t realize how much she missed the wind moving across her body until she was standing near the entrance of the palace. She could hardly breathe. Her lungs hurt badly, but it was better than listening to her heart aching for Dream’s kindness or Spirit’s healthiness. It was better to lament her lack of blessings from the wind than it was for her to think about that expression Chat showed her in their final moments together. Drista ran to be with her mother sooner, but she also ran from the stable that turned into the backdrop for many moments Drista will most likely recall as bitter, if not harmful, memories in the near future.

Drista steps into the palace. She imagines Purpled will lecture her later for running away from her escorts. She knows her maids will throw a fit if they learn Drista went to the queen’s chambers while smelling like a horse and sweat. Drista can’t scrounge up the will to care. Her mother wants to see her. Her mother remembers her. Even if Puffy didn’t remember her, Drista needs comfort right now. Something is boiling inside her body that she can’t put a lid over. It will explode if she smothers it, but it hurts to let the hot water gush over her interior like she means nothing.

Despite it being late afternoon, the servant told Drista that her mother was in her private chambers, not her office. The guards stationed at the doors tell a similar tale with her body language. One of them nods respectfully at Drista, acknowledging her presence. They are little more than acquaintances, but Drista appreciates the gestures as she wipes her forehead with the back of her sleeve. She tears the gloves off her hands as the guards open the door for her. Drista’s skin is pink with exertion. She wrings her hands as she steps into her mother’s bedroom.

Puffy sits on her bed with her blankets lingering around her waist. Her Origin magic is down, showing her curly white hair and sheep horns. She wears a pale shawl over her nightgown. Her mask is nowhere to be seen, revealing her pale skin with a light sheen of sickly sweat. There are bags under her eyes, dark as the backside of the moon. She looks out a distant window, the cheap light of the candles paling against the golden caress of the fading sunlight. Puffy glances over from the window to Drista. Her faint smile pulls Drista toward her like the iron that poisons Fae being drawn to a magnet. Drista kneels at her mother’s bedside, putting her hands on Puffy’s lap. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

Puffy laughs airily. She puts a hand in Drista’s hair, moving her fingers through the strands. “It is nothing to worry about. It is only a minor cold compounded with overworking. I will be better in a few days.”

Drista doubts it immediately. She doubts it so viscerally that she feels like she’s going to puke again. Without her consent, a thought shoots through her mind like the bullet that killed her in her previous life. Is this the reason Foolish was the king of Essempei in The Ender Prince? Puffy might not die here, but does she continue to get sicker until her heir must take over for her permanently?

“I only wanted to see your face, my dragonfly. Seeing my children’s faces always makes me feel better,” Puffy admits, sliding her hand down to cradle Drista’s cheek. She pulls hesitantly, and Drista rises from her knees. She sinks into the bed beside her mother, uncaring for her own health.

“I will call for Dream,” Drista murmurs suddenly, almost pulling away from her mother.

Puffy drags Drista back by moving her arms around Drista’s waist. She pulls the princess into her lap. She sets her chin on top of Drista’s head. It makes Drista feel like a child again— as if she isn’t the body of one even now— and that might be the intended effect. Drista relaxes against her mother, knowing that she wouldn’t mind becoming a stuffed animal for the rest of her life if it would bring Puffy some peace of mind. “There is no need to. Dream came before you did. I enjoyed tea with him. You know your brother, though. He could not sit still for long. He left with the excuse that he was in the mood to ride a horse. I suppose he met you there considering your outfit right now.”

“I saw him,” Drista murmurs quietly, agreeing with her mother. She should worry about why Dream didn’t mention their mother’s sickness when they saw each other, but her attention has been snagged nearly completely by the teacups Puffy was referring to. They sit across the room on a table. Drista can barely see the images painted on the porcelain. She doesn’t know what kind of tea it is since the scent doesn’t carry. But a certain… energy, perhaps, emanates from the teacups that make Drista frown at their silhouettes in the afternoon light. She’s as wary about them as she is about Dream, and she feels awful for doubting her brother so explicitly. He is acting weirder than usual, but he’s still her brother. She wishes he would talk to her instead of whatever he’s currently doing.

Puffy responds, taking Drista’s attention away. The mother-daughter pair continue talking for a little while longer, lounging in the bed as if they have nothing to do with their time. Eventually, Puffy tires herself out from talking too much. She slips into sleep while Drista is telling a story about something or another, useless words falling from her mouth in an attempt to fill the silence. When Drista realizes this, she smiles kindly. She tucks her mother into the bed, trying to make her as comfortable as possible.

Drista walks over to the table. She puts the teacups on the platter with the teapot. She doesn’t ask for permission as she greets the guards outside her mother’s room. She carries the platter with her, ignoring every servant’s attempt to take it from her. Warning bells ring in her head as prominent as the ones hanging from the Sun Church’s tower do. It gives her a headache, but she can’t bring herself to stop until she enters Waglington’s office.

Alchemy was not one of her lessons with Waglington, but it wasn’t as if they hadn’t brushed on it a few times. Still, the textbooks around the desk are vital for her work. Bruno appears, helping her pick out the ones she needs. She thanks Bruno with a bright smile and she curses Waglington’s organizational skills at each new development. She doesn’t realize that night has fallen by the time she draws a proper conclusion about the tea. Unfortunately, she isn’t an alchemist by any stretch of the imagination so she can only figure out that the tea isn’t just tea. There is something else inside of it. The additional substance could be a medicine, but it could also be a poison. Drista isn’t skilled enough to figure it out.

Drista taps her fingers against the desk. In either case, Dream is the root of it. Drista needs to learn why.

Chapter Text

Drista is not a good person. She doesn’t consider herself one, so she wouldn’t argue when someone calls her all manner of unsavory names with the full intent to describe her being. In her former life, her first priority was always herself. She saved her own skin. She stole from the other kids, and she fought them when she needed to. She was apathetic at best, and downright mean at worst to the other people around her. It wasn’t because she was naturally inclined towards causing harm. It was only because of her environment. If she didn’t steal, she wouldn’t have food to eat or a decent place to lay her head down. If she didn’t fight, she was asking to be bruised without retaliating against her oppressors. All attempts at friendship ended with misery, so she gave up trying in the long run.

Her behaviors continue into this world. She can afford to care about more people, but her selfishness hasn’t gone away. Her main objective in the world is to save her family from their fates. While she can truthfully say it is because she wants them to be happy, she can’t deny that part of her reason is simply that her family makes her happy and she wants to preserve that in this life. She knows the fates of other people in this world, but she hasn’t made any preemptive attempts to rescue them because, at the end of the day, it isn’t her business. Essempei is her kingdom. She will fight for it. The other nations can rise and fall as civilizations are wont to do. Drista isn’t going to spread her influence to places that might not need her assistance but certainly don’t want it.

All that being said, Drista isn’t comfortable with what she’s doing now. She feels terrible about it, and she might make herself sick with her anxiety. No matter how suspicious she is of Dream, invading his privacy should only be an option when she has more concrete reasons instead of piles of circumstantial evidence and testimonies from second parties. More than anything, she made this plan based purely on an uneasy feeling in her chest every time she met Dream’s eyes or heard that unfamiliar hollowness in his voice.

But Drista has made her bed, and she is going to lie in it. She will apologize to Dream and accept any punishment he has for her should her suspicions be unfounded. She is willing to bet his trust in her, and she will handle whatever outcome happens to befall her. If, however, her suspicions have merit, Drista will deal with that in due time. She will plan her next steps according to what information she finds now, or what information she doesn’t find.

Purpled was hesitant when Drista sought his help for her plan. He didn’t like sneaking into someone else’s room— or helping someone do it, technically— and he especially didn’t like committing what would be charged as treason against the royal family for espionage in the royal courts. Drista thinks there are only two reasons why he agreed with her haphazard proposal. The first is simply that he’s a loyal chevalier. Her orders supersede his morality and his fear. He will follow whatever she tells him to do, and he doesn’t need her to ask him so much as to tell him what he wants her to do. 

But, Drista thinks, her asking him for help is another reason why he agreed. Usually, Drista doesn’t tell him about her wild plans. This is her first time, really, and that has to mean something for their friendship, as Drista called it once and Purpled hasn’t denied it since. She let him know about what she wanted to do. Drista didn’t think it would have as big of an effect on him as it did, but she can’t exactly complain about it. She can only feel a little more guilty than she already does for excluding him from her plans to retrieve the Sunset Stone.

Purpled and Drista stand at the intersection between two hallways. They peek around the corner with a glamour around them to protect them from anyone glancing in their direction. Drista takes a deep breath as she counts the chevaliers stationed around Dream’s room and the few more lingering in the hallway while patrolling the palace. Purpled’s face bears no emotions as he waits for her signal. Drista has a few seconds to decide between following through or backing out, and she takes them despite the urgency of her plan. It won’t be long until Dream returns to his chambers. She needs to decide what to do, and once she does, she must not falter for a second.

Drista nudges Purpled’s shoulder. He doesn’t double-check— not even with a glance over his shoulder— as he steps out of the glamour into the hallway. Drista follows a few feet behind him, but she remains in the tight bubble of her glamour. As impressive as her illusions are, they are just that— illusions. If someone steps into her bubble, she is suddenly visible to them, so she has to keep the bubble tight. Additionally, she can’t hide her presence. Well-trained chevaliers will know that someone is approaching them, so Drista is trying to remain close enough to Purpled that his presence masks hers.

The chevaliers glance over at Purpled. He raises his hand to wave at them. He steps toward them with a friendly smile on his face. Drista listens to him start a conversation about the schedules for the following week. She sneaks around Purpled and between the chevaliers. She holds her breath, scared that anything will give her away. Her heart beats dangerously in her chest. She is terrified that the chevaliers can hear it. Waglington put rudimentary locks on the door, but they aren’t difficult for someone of Drista’s caliber and intimacy with Wagligton’s magic signatures to unlock. Her heartbeat slows down as she grows lightheaded, but Drista doesn’t let her chest move an inch as she creates the tiniest opening in the doorway. She would not dare give herself more space as she squeezes into the room. Despite her glamour moving across the door to obscure any movements or noises, she closes it as quickly and quietly as she can.

With the door closed, Drista silently heaves. She crosses her arms over the door and lowers her head between her forearms. She tries breathing deeply, but each scraping sound down her throat sets her nerves alight with fear. She pushes away from the door as soon as she isn’t as dazed anymore. She puts a hand over her chest, feeling the warmth of the Sunset Stone through her flesh and clothes. She turns to face the room at the same moment Bruno appears on her shoulder to assist her in exploring the room in the short time frame they are given by Dream’s schedule.

Dream’s chambers aren’t too different from her own other than a few stylistic choices. The layout is relatively the same with a sitting area and a desk near the tall windows, but Dream has a regular bed in the corner instead of a hammock. Drista doesn’t have time to be jealous of her brother’s ability to sleep in common conditions as she moves over to his desk. There is a small bookshelf level with a desk beside it, and Drista kneels in front of the shelves to examine the titles. Most of them are as she would expect: Fae and Mob bestiaries, a handbook for chevaliers and one for Hunters, swordsmanship techniques across the nations. A few of them are a little more unexpected, but Drista can’t say she’s surprised by a few adventure novels and a handful about the exploits of pirates.

When the bookshelf provides nothing, Drista moves over to the desk. She is very careful not to move more objects than necessary. If she has to, she will put it back in the exact place she got it from. There are a few papers that Drista skims over. There are half-finished reports about missions the Hunters have gone on that Dream is participating in. He has to tell his superiors about his actions, and one day, he will become those superiors and have much more paperwork than this to handle. Dream’s least favorite part, Drista presumes, considering how much work is left to be done. Drista’s lips quirk with a half-smile, but she doesn’t say anything about her brother as she starts rifling through his drawers.

Extra quills. A pot of ink. A few bookmarks. A handful of letters that Drista recognizes as being from George. There is a letter or two from Prince SapNap from Badlands. He is a minor antagonist in the second arc, but he becomes an ally who sacrifices himself in the fifth arc to save his homeland. He was a character that grew on Drista. She takes special note that SapNap’s arrival in Essempei isn’t too far away as she sets the letters back in the drawer, deciding they aren’t worth her time.

The bottom drawer is locked. It is a very simple lock, however. Drista’s Mystery handles it immediately, and the drawer rolls open. There isn’t any damning proof— only more books. These are from the section of the royal library reserved for members of the bloodline. Drista nudges each one with her fingers to look at their spines. These are books about the royal family. Most of them are about the family’s history, but a few are about laws pertaining to the royal family and there is a singular one about succession rights. Drista frowns. While a book about succession is surprising considering Dream has never shown interest in the Daystar Throne, it isn’t enough for her to be wary of him. It really could be Dream looking into the rights of their family. Or maybe Thetis’ death and Puffy’s sickness have made him worried about what could happen in the future.

But why was the drawer locked, Drista thinks as she slides it closed and uses her Mystery to snap the lock back into place. The desk didn’t provide her much. She glances over at Bruno. Half of his body is inside a drawer belonging to Dream’s nightstand. His hind legs and tiny tail stick out. Drista throws a hand over her mouth as she watches his rear wiggle in the air. She hurries over to him. She lifts Bruno out of the drawer. He stares at her as she glances into the drawer Bruno is peeking in. There isn’t anything there worth mentioning.

“There might be a secret entrance somewhere around here,” Drista whispers to herself. She places her fingers around her chin. She closes the drawer with her hip as she looks around the room. She could fill the space with her Mystery, searching for any openings or oddities. It would take a lot of energy. It would also make it tougher to teleport out of here. She supposes she could try, but what if Dream recognizes her signature? After spending so much time around Fae and beasts, he might have developed a sensitivity to it. He also told her that he could sense the auras of his family. While Mystery has a different source than her glamour, Drista’s True Name is part of everything she is.

Drista grumbles under her breath. Disappointment washes through her. She didn’t know what she was looking for by coming here, but she obviously didn’t find it. What she did find was broken trust on the ground. She hopes Dream will forgive her for doing this. She honestly doesn’t know if he will. In the past, she would have been certain he would laugh it off, but these days… These days, for better or for worse, Dream really does seem like another person, even if nothing about the room around him proves such an assumption true. If that is, of course, what Drista thinks is happening. She simply doesn’t know, and now, she’s done what cannot be undone.

“This chevalier greets His Highness, Prince Dream the Swift,” Purpled’s voice is louder than usual as he speaks. Drista recognizes his words immediately. She panics, activating her teleportation. Instead of disappearing, she has to stifle a pained cough as she feels the backlash of Waglington’s wards inhibiting her Mystery. It is enough that Bruno is de-summoned, and that is one of the worst feelings a summoner can experience. Drista curses her master as she whirls her head around for a hiding place. There aren’t many good places, so she settles for slipping into the wardrobe. She squishes between shoeboxes, stopping herself from giggling at the ticklish feeling of his clothes brushing against her face. Darkness swallows her, and she feels additional backlash from the Sunset Stone being cut off from its primary power source. Drista holds back any pained noises as she struggles to find the threads of Waglington’s wards to undo them just enough to let her teleport away.

Drista expects Dream to find her immediately, but the wardrobe is apparently not his first destination. Drista doesn’t know what since she can’t see him, but she can hear his footsteps on the ground. He’s far away from her. There’s someone else in the room, too, with purposefully heavy footsteps. Drista frowns, wondering why Dream invited Purpled into his room (because who else would try to make it obvious where in the room they were?).

“If you don’t mind me asking, how are your astrological studies coming along?” Dream asks. He isn’t exactly loud, but his voice does echo in his room. Drista holds her breath. It is a bad decision considering how weak she feels already. Drista knows it, but she can’t bring herself to open her mouth. She cannot afford to let Dream find her. She just needs to focus on these wards.

“Forgive me, Your Highness, but I have not been studying, not even with the clearing of the sky. I have been focusing on my mission to protect Her Highness, Drista the Sibylline,” Purpled responds. He is slightly louder than Dream for obvious reasons, but it isn’t so loud that Dream will get suspicious. If Drista were to say, she thinks the two of them are near Dream’s desk on the other side of the room. She takes this as a sign to allow a small breath to flutter inside her chest like a spooked butterfly fluttering away from a flower.

“You still have free time, do you not?” Dream asks. 

(Purpled’s only mission is to protect Drista, but even his status as a half-elf doesn’t stop him from getting treated as humanely as everyone else. He has plenty of hours allotted to whatever activities he wants to participate in. Drista has other chevaliers to look after her. It isn’t so many that anyone could say she has her own order, though she is technically entitled to one. Drista just doesn’t want to deal with so many people. It would restrict her freedom, and it would allow other people to consider her a viable successor for the throne. Drista doesn’t want to sit on the Daystar Throne for a plethora of reasons.)

“I spend those hours resting or training with my brother, Your Highness,” Purpled confirms.

(The clear sky is a golden opportunity for many scholars and magic-users. Purpled, especially, should have been ecstatic about it. He was an astrologist before his exile from Alfheim. The clear sky allows him to return to his studies with an actual sky to observe and base his calculations on instead of relying on ancient records. He doesn’t, however. Drista hasn’t caught him once studying or calculating. He hasn’t asked for books from the library or time away from the palace. She hasn’t asked mainly because she doesn’t think he would tell her.)

“How disappointing… Your capabilities are certainly worth cultivating. There is the problem of the star-stains on your body,” Dream admits. Drista freezes in the darkness of the wardrobe. She didn’t know Dream knew about the star-stains. She wasn’t so foolish as to think she was the only one who knew, but why would Dream? Did Punz tell him? “Ah, forgive me for mentioning them as bluntly as I did. I’m only curious about the nature of these stains.”

“I developed them in my youth, though I must have been born with the capacity for them. I do not know much more than that. I apologize, Your Highness,” Purpled answers, a slight tremble in his voice that Drista recognizes. She pulls herself away from their conversation. She needs to focus on teleporting out of here. She can call for Purpled from the outside and get him out of here. For Purpled, she thinks, as her senses prod around the edges of Waglington’s wards.

“How can such a mystifying and fatal illness be so unknown,” Dream marvels. “It grants you unfathomable power at the cost of your life. More than that, it will rend your soul until nothing can reach the Underworld. You are so young comparatively, yet it is already up to your elbows.”

“I assure Your Highness that I am fine. The stains will not spread as long as I do not use my powers,” Purpled says immediately. It does little to temper Drista’s guilt as she recalls the handful of times he used his powers for her benefit over the years. 

“A lovely thought, to be sure, but an inaccurate one. I know Drista better than most. By her very nature, she will get into many spots of trouble. You, as her noble chevalier, will try to help her. She will be the death of you,” Dream speaks so factually and carelessly that Drista hardly understands the words as they enter the crack of the wardrobe along with a sliver of light. Drista’s concentration drops away as she stares at the doors of the wardrobe. She can’t see Dream through them, but she can’t tear her eyes away as his words echo in her mind. Is that what he really thinks of her?

“It is a worthy way to die,” Purpled, too, speaks without a shred of hesitation. Drista feels like she’s going to be sick again for different reasons than her Mystery battle against Waglington’s wizardry. She doesn’t want Purpled to die because of her. She doesn’t want him to accept his death at her hands so willingly. She would rather him fight against her every step of the way, thrashing like a wild animal until she’s cut up so badly that she might just die in his place.

“I had no doubt someone of your bloodline would think that way,” Dream replies. Drista doesn’t know what that means. Is he referring to Punz, or does Purpled have a special family that he never told her about? “Still, it would hurt Drista very deeply if someone died because of her. She is more human than Fae, after all. While she might know how to, she is loath to weigh lives and let some go. You could just as easily be the death of her because of how unwilling she will be to let you throw your life away for her sake.”

Drista puts a hand over her chest. Dream knew exactly what Drista was thinking. Does he know she’s here? No, even if he did, he can’t read her thoughts. Telepathy is a very rare kind of magic, and Dream doesn’t have the capacity for it. It just might be true that he knows her better than most.

“Foolishly, though, I care about her despite her crimson blood. I want to help her reach her full potential. That starts with giving her a worthy safety net.” Each word gets louder. Each word is accompanied by a footstep bringing someone closer. Each word corresponds with one of Drista’s thunderous heartbeats that might just give her away.

Drista hears someone grab the handle of the wardrobe. More as a reflex than a viable option, Drista throws an illusion made from glamour all around her. She winces, wrapping her arms around herself as light shamelessly fills the wardrobe. Drista glances at her brother’s face, about to meet his eyes. He doesn’t meet her eyes. He looks at something on the other side of the wardrobe from her. She recognizes a sword in a sheath. Dream lifts it out of the wardrobe without sparing a glance at her. Drista frowns, shuddering at Dream’s cruelty. Is he going to ignore her as a punishment for being here? Does this mean he knew all along?

Dream leaves the wardrobe open as he brings the sword to Purpled. He sets the dark sheath in Purpled’s hands. He looks the chevalier right in the eyes. “This blade will serve you better than it will be due to the differences in our physiology. I might as well give it to someone who can properly wield it.”

Purpled and Dream start marveling at the sword together. Drista slowly extracts herself from the wardrobe. The glamour is still thick around her, but it shouldn’t matter. Drista draws closer to the pairing as Dream explains the properties of the sword to Purpled. Drista gets close enough to touch Dream’s cheek, featherlight but enough for him to notice it.

Dream silently whirls around. Without his mask, Drista notices the way his eyes narrow and his lips part slightly. His eyes dart across the room. They never once land on Drista. Even when he looks in her direction, he is looking through her. When he finds nothing, Dream slowly glances back at Purpled with a friendly smile on his face to ease the surprise and worry on Purpled’s face. Dream laughs lightly, waving his hand, “I apologize. Only a spot of paranoia. Being a prince is a heavy burden. I should have known even the flies were after me.”

Purpled doesn’t quite believe Dream as evidenced by the expression on his face, but Dream doesn’t put in any more effort to convince him. “You should start practicing with your new weapon, get acquainted with the feel and peculiarities. I have to go deal with something. You can stay in my room as long as you like. You can’t steal anything, after all.”

Dream turns away. He leaves the room. Once the door is shut behind him, Purpled starts looking around for Drista. She drops the glamour around her. Purpled startles as he whirls to face her. With one look at her face, he freezes. She stares ahead, horrified, and whispers like someone hiding from a bloodthirsty beast, “He didn’t see me.”

“Er— well, congratulations, Your Highness. Your illusions are getting stronger,” Purpled tries, a half-smile rising on his lips. It disappears the moment Drista’s eyes shift toward him. She can feel herself shaking from more than just pain. Purpled looks worried about her, and he should be. He should be terrified right now.

“His ability to see through glamour is part of his True Name, Purpled. It is who he fundamentally is. No matter how much he changes as a person, he can’t change that. But he didn’t see me. If he couldn’t see me, then that isn’t…” Drista wraps her arms around her stomach. She can’t bring herself to say the final word. It lingers in the air between her and Purpled, and she knows that he understands. His eyes widen. His face pales. His hands reach out to her without touching.

Drista changes tracks. She tries to say a word that she couldn’t last time. “That person who was just here is my—” She chokes on her words. She continues as soon as her coughing fit quiets down. “I have known that person for—” She starts coughing again. She doesn’t even wait for it to finish before she starts talking again. She tries anything to call that individual her brother, or the boy she’s known for years, or the person born from Puffy’s union with a Fae, or anything that should be true about the real Dream. All Drista serves to do is send herself onto her knees with a hacking fit that makes her puke and choke. She doesn’t stop until Purpled grabs her shoulders and begs her to.

In the end, all Drista can say is, “I have to find the real Dream.”

Chapter Text

Within the borders of Essempei, there is a large evergreen forest surrounding a snow-capped mountain with an undefined perimeter no map agrees on. This subregion is colloquially known as the Wildlands or the Fae Wild to dehumanize the Fae (that land is ‘wild.’ This land is civilized). The Fae within the forest call their home Elfame, and they further divide Elfame into sections depending on the ruling class. These further classifications are not known outside the area because the Fae do not— or can not— leave Elfame for various cultural and magical reasons. 

The species of Fae within the forest are not documented thoroughly, either. A few of them are listed in various bestiaries around the world with details that only point towards how the Fae can trick a human and how a human might kill the Fae in question. There is nothing about the culture, or how that Fae fits into the ecosystem. This could be because the more intelligent Fae stay far away from humans. The most intelligent know how to trap the humans without ever letting them leave. They aren’t necessarily good-natured creatures, but they are similar to humans in the sense that they have the capacity for good and evil. Their morality is skewed compared to a human’s, but long-lived creatures rarely have the same mentalities as the ones with shorter lifespans.

There is a city-state on the mountain inside Elfame. Drista doesn’t know how Cogsmeade exists since it is a city-state full of the one metal poisonous to Fae. The Fae should have taken Cogsmeade down centuries ago, but the city-state remains standing. It trades with Essempei in exchange for being admitted as another subregion within Essempei’s hold. They require the protection of the Sylva just as much as any other civilization does. Unfortunately, Cogsmeade doesn’t trade secrets about their immediate neighbors to their benefactors, which makes this situation even more difficult for Drista.

Drista might have silver blood in her veins and additional knowledge from The Ender Prince, but she doesn’t know much more than the villages surrounding Elfame despite studying it as fervently as she does anything else. She is fascinated with her culture scientifically. She wants to know more about how her species works— how there are so many varieties under the same umbrella because of their blood type. She wants to know how glamour works inside Elfame. She wants to know about the barrier that forces Fae homebound until they are back within the clutches of the evergreen trees.

Her curiosity right now is not based on curiosity. It is based purely on desperation. She rips through each of her books and journals, searching for what she needs within words turned meaningless because they aren’t what she needs. Drista finds it after what feels like an eternity despite it only being a few moments at most. She heaves a breath as she runs her fingers over the inked word caught between the blue lines of her notes: changeling.

Drista doesn’t know much about them from this world, but there is some information she can carry over from her previous world that might be relevant. Changelings are Fae who can change their form to match the person they are switching places with. They take that person’s identity, and the original person is lost forever within the otherworlds the Fae existed in her previous life. Drista doesn’t know how much of that applies to Fatum, but the name is the same. What else could a changeling be? The name seems pretty one-note to Drista, which terrifies her so viscerally that she has to put her hands on her desk to keep herself upright. She breathes heavily, and she has to keep herself from puking. She hadn’t panicked this hard until she learned that her family could forget her if she strayed away from their line of sight for too long.

“Chat!” Drista gasps as she speaks. The Watcher appears in the center of the study. He wears a grim expression. It is similar to the one he wore when she forced him to explain the nature of her existence. She doesn’t like that expression. She hates it even more since she’s always the one to cause it. But her dislike is pushed to the wayside as she scrambles over to Chat’s side. She grabs his robes, mustering up whatever emotion she needs to relay how badly she needs the truth right now. “Tell me, is that a changeling?”

Chat’s eyes narrow. His nose scrunches. His lips press together. He is silent, but his expression tells Drista everything she needs to know. It tells her that Chat doesn’t know, not for certain, but he suspects it. He says as much when Drista stumbles away from him as if he shot her in the stomach. She even wraps her arms around her torso, searching for a wound that only exists in her mind. “There is a chance that the person in the palace is a changeling. I was aware of the possibility, but I deemed it unlikely and did not share this information with you. I apologize, Drista.”

Drista isn’t upset. Well, she isn’t upset about Chat not telling her; she’s upset about a great deal more things than words that were never verbalized. Drista swallows thickly. She squeezes her eyes shut. There is nothing to it now. She just has to figure out what she’s doing from here. “How do we prove it?”

“Even if we prove the changeling’s existence, the real Dream will not come back. He is still in Elfame,” Chat says to her, his voice so emotionless that she forces her eyes to open just to remember that Chat feels as much as she does. He looks torn. He looks miserable. Drista knows she doesn’t look any better. She probably looks far worse. It doesn’t matter, though. They can be upset all they want; they have to take decisive action now.

“We’ll have to rescue him, then,” Drista says as if it were simple. It isn’t simple, but she says, anyhow. She could make it simple. Or she could power through the difficulty until it didn’t feel hard. Or it could be impossible every step of the way, but Drista will make it work in the end. She doesn’t know. She hardly cares.

“You can’t do that, Drista. There is a reason the Fae stay in Elfame. There is a spell keeping them there, one I know you’re aware of. It will be impossible for you and Dream to leave once you’ve entered the spell’s area of effect,” Chat warns her, outlining one of the many reasons this plan is going to fail as soon as she sets out to face off against the candid creatures who beguile even with the truth shackling their tongues.

“I have to try! I can’t leave my brother to the Fae. I can’t let that changeling ruin everything, either,” Drista hisses, trying to keep herself from yelling. Her study in the library is no place for this conversation, but there isn’t anywhere else Drista would prefer to have it. Every location in this palace will either remind her of Dream, or it will remind her of the villain from The Ender Prince who must have been the changeling this entire time. Or, maybe, Dream found a way out of Eflame and sent his changeling back, but the person who returned to his home was scarred by his experiences in the verdure prison. No matter the case— whether in Elfame or back in Essempei years later— Dream is going to suffer. He is going to die. Drista is the only person who can save him. She’s the only person who knows.

“I cannot enter Elfame. I cannot help you if you go.” Chat is quiet. Drista seizes, whirling around to look into his eyes. They are as dark as storm clouds. She remembers what he told her when she first dreamed of this strange new world. He told her that she would have to destroy destiny. She remembers Iris’ warnings about ending up alone. She remembers Waglington going on his mission by himself. She remembers the fortune teller, telling Drista that death would not be her end— but oblivion would be. Nothingness, as Apep called it. Drista knew somewhere along the line that she was going to find herself in this position. Since she knew, she felt numb about it. Resigned, so to speak.

“I have to go. If I need other help, I’ll find it. If I have to be alone, I will go. Someone has to find Dream and return him home. Someone has to try,” Drista feels determination drum through her body. She’s completely terrified of the prospect, but the love she feels for Dream is greater than any reservations she could have. She is going to find him. She is going to bring him home. She won’t let the Fae stop her. She won’t let death stop her. She won’t even let destiny stop her.

Any arguments Chat has— which there are plenty of considering the look on his face— are dismissed not by Drista’s hand but by the door to her study opening. Drista turns away from Chat, pretending he isn’t there as she faces the head butler. Jeb bows respectfully to her. “Forgive me for interrupting Your Highness, Princess Drista the Sibylline. I was instructed by Her Majesty, Queen Puffy the Fierce to bring you to her bedside.”

“I understand,” Drista nods. Chat disappears as Jeb and Drista leave the room. The final look he gives her informs her that their conversation isn’t over despite Drista’s unwillingness to hear out his arguments. She doesn’t want reason and logic. She just wants her brother back, and she’s going to put everything on the line— her life, her freedom, her place in this world— to get him back.

—

The queen is still confined to her bed. She is only getting sicker. Her skin is paler, and her cheeks are hollower, and her eyes are slow to track Drista’s movement across the room. The princess is already shaken by recent events, so she feels even worse seeing her mother’s fate. Puffy is quick to reassure Drista that she feels better than she looks, but that doesn’t mean much to Drista when her mother’s voice is as quiet as a mouse. Drista sinks into her mother’s embrace, searching for as much comfort as she gives. Dream is trapped in Elfame with a changeling taking his place. Foolish is missing in action. And Puffy is getting closer to death with each visit. Drista can’t handle it.

They talk about random subjects. Despite the variety of their conversation, it doesn’t flow. Puffy is forced into quietness because of a bad-tempered cough. Drista just doesn’t have the mental strength to fill the silences. She does, however, find some shred of courage to ask her mother, “What was Elfame like?”

“Why do you want to know more about it?” Puffy asks with a frown, moving a hand through Drista’s hair. Drista avoids looking into her mother’s eyes. If Puffy stares at her for too long, she’s going to know that something is wrong. Drista doesn’t know how to explain to her mother that Dream is actually changeling and that the real one is trapped in Elfame. Will it make her sickness worse? Will she send people into Elfame to find Dream, effectively sending them to their deaths? Will she go herself, yet another death sentence?

“I want to know more about it,” Drista answers, hiding the real reason behind a vague— but still truthful— answer. She shrugs one of her shoulders, pushing herself deeper into Puffy’s chest to feel her weakened heartbeat against her cheek.

Puffy pulls her closer. Her voice is softer with her reminiscing. “It was many years ago now, so a few details have been forgotten. I remember there was a town on the outskirts of the Fae Wilds. It was like a regular town. The buildings were made from stone and wood. There was a town square and a well. The main differences were the lack of iron and the varied appearances of the denizens. I was there for a few nights to celebrate a festival. I never learned what it was about. A tree’s growth, I believe. Their festivals aren’t different from ours, either. Fun games, food stalls, and music on every street corner. The people dressed up in festive costumes. I left after some time to reach Cogsmeade. It is built into the mountain above the Fae’s blessing which is why it is populated by humans.”

Puffy goes silent. She doesn’t explain more about her time there. She doesn’t mention the man she met in the forest that Drista saw when her glamour gave form to Puffy’s dreams. She doesn’t talk about Cogsmeade, or how she blended into the culture of the Fae. Despite the lack of information, Drista doesn’t mind. She received enough information. Her decision remains unchanged. Her will does not falter.

Drista stays with Puffy for a while longer. When Puffy grows too weak to stay awake, Drista tucks her mother in and kisses her forehead. When she leaves, she passes the changeling in the hallway. Drista avoids eye contact, trying to maintain her breathing. It stops as they pass shoulders, glancing over its shoulder to stare at the back of her head. Drista freezes, struggling to look at the changeling’s mask. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Maybe the queen’s illness is contagious. That might not be the case, though. What would I know?”

It continues to the room. It doesn’t even try to hide the vial in its hands. Drista’s eyes snag on the light reflecting off the rim. She remembers her alchemy experiment using the tea Puffy and Dream drank the other day. It could have been medicine… but it also could have been poison. 

Within a blink, Drista teleports back to her room. She starts packing for her trip to Elfame immediately. 

Chapter Text

Drista stands beside her hammock. A leather backpack filled to the brim rests at her feet. She shoved everything she thought was necessary for her mission into Elfame into the backpack. It looks terrible, and she knows she could have packed more optimally. She could have saved more space. She could remove several items or add even more important ones that she can’t think of at the moment. Her masters would be disappointed in her. She regrets never learning how to create a pocket dimension by Iris and Waglington. It is too late for it now. Iris is elsewhere in the world, doing as she pleases. Waglington, too, is participating in a mission by his lonesome. They are inaccessible from where she stands now. Even if she were to find them, she doubts the creation of a pocket dimension is something that can be taught in a lesson, and Drista doesn’t have time.

Drista ignores her thoughts. She wrings her hands to loosen all the anxiety overflowing inside her body. She has to push forward, no matter how half-baked her plan is. Dream is out there. She is here, and she needs to be wherever he is. Once she’s there, she’ll figure out how to rescue him. She assumes everything will work out through sheer determination alone. It isn’t, but she doesn’t have the time or patience to come up with a better plan. Even if she did, she doesn’t have any ideas. The resources around her don’t provide enough information about Elfame or changelings to give her a place to start. She only has one source of information, and even that isn’t a guarantee, only a hope that Drista is willing to trade everything she has for.

Drista reaches down to grab the straps of her backpack. It is extremely heavy as she puts it over her shoulders. She hopes it will get lighter the longer she travels with it. Drista wishes half-heartedly that she learned martial arts instead of magic. She can create imperceptible illusions, but she feels like an overworked kid in PE. Drista shakes her head. She slaps her cheeks. If her determination can carry her to Elfame, her body can carry a single backpack. If push comes to shove, she could use her Mystery hands to hold her backpack for her, but she’s trying not to exhaust herself at the moment.

Drista turns her attention to the mirror. She isn’t wearing a dress like she usually is. Instead, she wears some clothes she borrowed from the pirates. It was for her mission to retrieve the Sunset Stone, but Drista is reusing them. She wears a loose white shirt beneath a dark gray light jacket. Her pants are thicker to provide warmth, and they are an almost black but ultimately green color. Drista pairs these with flexible boots that should be able to withstand any terrain. The outfit is hopefully going to keep her warm during the long nights and beneath the shade of Elfame’s evergreen trees. Drista doesn’t know how long it will last, but it’s better than a long skirt catching on the underbrush or short sleeves that provide no protection against the slightest breeze.

Drista removes one of her gloves. She reaches down for the small knife in her boot. She reflexively rises when the door slams open, hitting the wall beside it. Drista startles. She whirls around, nearly knocking herself off balance from her backpack. She holds her breath. Silently, Drista meets Purpled’s eyes. Her room is dark, and the hallway behind him is bright. He looks like an animated shadow as he slowly steps into the room, stalking closer like a predator approaching its dinner. Drista prepares herself to teleport, but Purpled’s narrowed eyes stop all of her movements before they can transpire.

When Purpled steps into the moonlight streaming through one of the windows, he sighs. He looks human (or, well, half-human) again. Drista notices that he’s dressed in a similar outfit to her— one designed for warmth and travel. He carries a pack over his shoulder. He steps toward her deliberately, determination setting his features alight in the dimness. “I’m going with you.”

“Banish the thought,” Drista orders him, hissing as she speaks. Her ponytail hits the back of her neck, and she realizes how sweaty she is. She is extremely nervous. She is putting her life in danger to save Dream’s life. Anything could happen in her absence. Puffy could die without Drista here, but she’s choosing to trust that without her intervention, the book will happen as it should. Puffy will get sicker, but she won’t die. She doesn’t die in The Ender Prince as far as Drista remembers. If Puffy does, Drista will simply travel to the afterlife after saving her brother from Elfame. Since she’s already made a deal with a Watcher and is possibly falling into a Fae’s trap, she might as well add the devil to her clientele.

“I am your chevalier, Your Highness. It is my duty to protect you, even from yourself,” Purpled argues with her instead of accepting her orders. Drista was hoping they weren’t going to have this argument. She was hoping to leave before Purpled caught on. She knew he would be angry with her, but she would rather ask for forgiveness than permission. And even if Purpled never forgave her for abandoning him, he would at least be alive. She can’t ask him to die, not for her, and she doesn’t know how to explain that to someone who swore they would die for her.

“You can protect me by making sure no one knows I left,” Drista compromises. Frankly, she only has a rudimentary plan to hide her absence, and she still isn’t sure she will work. If she doesn’t, she hopes that returning with Dream and dispelling the changeling would prove to everyone where she had been and what she was doing. Drista won’t be bothered by whatever unsavory rumors spring up about her. The most she was concerned with would be Puffy sending men after Drista, but she was banking on Puffy’s doctors dissuading the servants from telling Puffy. Even if she was told, Drista doubts any of the kingsmen could find her after she was inside Elfame, especially if Purpled stalled them for long enough.

“I cannot do that. If I say, I could protect your honor. If I leave, I can protect your life. The choice is clear,” Purpled affirms, shaking his head.

“You don’t even know where I’m going!” Drista retorts. She takes a breath, shaking her head. She gestures vaguely into the distance. She looks out her window, seeing the vague impression of a mountain in the distance— too far for her to make out much more than that. “You have no place where I’m going. They will destroy you mercilessly for what you are and what you aren’t.”

“I would even march into Alfheim to help you, Your Highness,” Purpled says. His voice is emotionless. His eyes are resolved. Drista stares blankly at him. He’s telling her the truth. She knows that, sure, but it’s so unbelievable. Alfheim is the kingdom of the elves, a vassal state to the Antarctic Empire. They exiled Purpled both for his half-human status and the star-stains on his arms. They would ruthlessly torture Purpled. They would kill him only after marking him with a curse that would cause his soul to wander aimlessly between this life and the next, suffering a fate arguably worse than death. Drista would never ask Purpled to go there, obviously, and if she ever did, she would hope Purpled would reject her orders. She would even be okay with him slaughtering her where she stood for even suggesting going to a nation that would destroy both his body and mind.

“I’m going to Elfame,” Drista carefully whispers. Elfame, technically, isn’t as terrible as Alfheim is. The Fae won’t care about Purpled personally, but they dislike elves more than they dislike humans. A combination of a human and an elf would be fascinating to the Fae, at best. At worst, they will inflict Purpled with curses that his own kinsmen would never dare to place upon his brow.

“Your home is here,” Purpled speaks as cautiously as Drista does. He enunciates each word, giving them proper importance.

Drista snorts, watching Purpled frown at her reaction. She rolls her shoulders, and she nearly falls from her backpack again. She manages to stay upright as she lowers her backpack onto the ground at her feet. She glances into Purpled’s eyes as she moves. “I’m not going to learn more about my heritage. I’m going to retrieve something that was stolen from me.”

“I will go alone, then,” Purpled tells her. He grabs onto her backpack with one hand. She tries warning him, but her words prove unnecessary. Purpled doesn’t seem the least bit fazed as the backpack settles on his back. Drista’s lips part both in surprise, disappointment, and jealousy. She really should have learned some swordsmanship or something.

“No, Purpled, you can’t because—” Drista hesitates. She wraps her arms around her stomach. She breathes out sullenly. She closes her eyes. When she opens them, Purpled looks concerned for her. Drista hates that expression. She avoids eye contact as she explains, “Dream was stolen from me. He was kidnapped by the Fae and replaced with a changeling. I have to go to Elfame to retrieve my brother.”

“This is all the more reason for me to accompany you,” Purpled says, grip tightening on the straps of her backpack. Drista needs to find a way to get it off him.

“Are you listening to me? I’m going to Elfame, Purpled. I’m going to steal something back from the Fae, breaking nearly all their rules. I don’t even know where Dream is. This is practically a suicide mission for me, and I’m part Fae. You are human and elven. They are never going to let you leave, not even in a coffin,” Drista argues. She doesn’t know what else to say. She didn’t account for Purpled’s stubbornness. She didn’t account for him not looking at the situation rationally. She doesn’t understand what she’s done to inspire such loyalty, but she needs it to disappear before Purpled starts putting his life in danger for her sake.

That changeling was right. Purpled is going to die because of her.

“I will mind my manners and hide my ancestry. It is no trouble. I have to do it every day in the palace,” Purpled’s lips twitch, a smile gracing his face for a fraction of a second as he thinks about his treatment in the palace. He is joking with her. He is trying to lighten the mood. It works for him as fleeting as the smile was.

It doesn’t work for Drista. She doesn’t feel amusement— only frustration. She glares at Purpled, letting her anger fester inside her body. It boils over like water in a pot on top of a stove. “He could die, Purpled. It’s more likely that you will than you won’t. I don’t want to put you in that position. I can’t ask this of you.”

“This is my duty.”

“You shouldn’t have to die for it!” Drista’s voice rises in volume. She worries that someone will hear her, but another part of her doesn’t care. She feels like if she doesn’t yell, Purpled won’t understand. He doesn’t seem to be listening to anything else she says. (She ignores how she only yelled because if she doesn’t, she will cry. She ignores how yelling unsettles her and makes her feel just like her abusers in her past life. She tries to internally explain that she is doing this to protect Purpled, not harm him, unlike her abusers, but it’s cold comfort.)

“I will take that chance if it means protecting you,” Purpled declares, putting an arm over his chest in the salute of their land.

“I’m not bringing a sacrifice.”

“Then, bring a friend,” Purpled says, letting his arm drop to his side. He smiles at her. Drista’s stomach drops. Her lips part and her eyes widen. She flounders for a long moment. Purpled tilts his head to the side. He puts his hand on her head. He pats her head, a surprisingly affectionate gesture. “You called me that once, remember? A friend. If you can’t stand to see a chevalier’s loyalty, view me as someone who wants to help his friend.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Drista murmurs tiredly. She drops her head into her hands. She should keep arguing about this, but she can’t. The word echoes in her mind. A friend. Purpled is acknowledging their friendship. Drista herself only acknowledged it once or twice within her own internal monologuing. She never thought Purpled would see her as his friend. It’s nice and strange, and it knocks Drista so off her center that she doesn’t have the heart to argue with him anymore.

“How are we escaping unnoticed?” Purpled asks. His smile tightens, but it doesn’t drop.

Drista gestures to the wooden block on her hammock. It vaguely resembles a human being, but the outline is vague. It could pass for a dozen other animals. Drista doesn’t have anything better to work with, so she doesn’t complain. She avoids eye contact with Purpled as she puts her hand over the bump that should be the doll’s hand. “I will use glamour to place an illusion of life onto the doll. It is similar to how changelings are made. My glamour is too rudimentary for that, though. Even if I was an expert, I would need a Fae spirit to inhabit the doll to truly make it a changeling. We’re just going to have to work with what we have, I suppose.”

Drista ignores Purpled as she draws a small knife from her boot. She knicks her thumb with it. Red blood bubbles from the wound. As Drista begins smearing patterns on the doll, she tries to hide any golden ichor that mixes with the red and silver from Purpled. The darkness helps as does her body huddling over the wooden block. She doesn’t want to explain the Sunset Stone to Purpled. Not yet, anyway, since he’s already wired to be worried about her at the moment. He will refuse to let her go on this mission if he knows how close to death she is at any given second due to her impure physiology.

“I am able to help you in this matter,” Chat speaks, appearing on the other side of the hammock. He stares at the symbols Drista drew into the wooden block’s face. Drista tilts her head to look at his face. He doesn’t make eye contact with her, and she raises an eyebrow since she cannot speak with him properly in Purpled’s presence. “Since I am unable to follow you into Elfame, I can stay here and inhabit this body. I will pretend to be you for as long as you are away.”

“I thought you hated the plan.” The words are quiet, but the room is silent. Purpled hears the words meant for Chat. Luckily, both of them say the same thing about hating the plan. Purpled branches off with different reasons than Chat, though, so she focuses on him.

“We do not have any other options. I am going to help you the best I can within my means,” Chat sounds forlorn, and the words strike Drista as something he has said once before. Another lifetime, a failure in the end. She doesn’t know how she knows this, but it lingers in her mind as she smiles gratefully at Chat. He huffs, caving into her demands. He lies on the bed, sinking into the wooden body. As soon as the possession takes place, the wood buzzes with life beneath her hands as she finishes the last symbol. She casts the glamour, pouring her abilities into the wooden doll. Slowly, it begins to look like her, and once the spell is finished, the doll sits upright in the bed.

Purpled’s face shows awe. Drista’s expression is grim. Chat— inside the changeling body— nods at her. She tries her best to smile reassuringly. Drista offers her hand to Purpled. When he takes it, she teleports them to the stables. Purpled looks confused. Drista doesn’t offer an explanation as she rushes into the stables. Drista stops when she reaches Spirit’s cell. She climbs over the gate, hopping inside. Spirit glows faintly in the night. Her tired eyes peer at Drista. The princess whispers quietly, petting Spirit’s hair. “The person you contracted with isn’t here. He was kidnapped by the Fae. The Dream we’ve been interacting with recently is changeling. I want to bring my brother back home. I need your help, Spirit.”

The celestial is silent for a long moment. Drista holds her breath in anticipation. Spirit slowly rises onto her feet. She kneels for Drista and Purpled’s benefit, allowing them to climb onto her back. Drista smiles at Spirit, softly kissing her brow. The horse whinnies quietly at her. Drista climbed onto Spirit’s back, and she grabbed onto Purpled’s forearm to drag him onto the horse with her after he opened the gate. Drista puts her hands into Spirit’s mane as Purpled asks, “Are we going to Elfame now?”

“No. There is one more ally I need to recruit first.”

Chapter Text

The sky is dark with an approaching storm. Even without the rain-filled clouds, nightfall steadily approaches. Long shadows fall across the dirt-paved paths from the nearest settlements to the grandiose Cernunnos Estate. Acres upon acres of woodlands filled to the brim with game awaiting a hunter’s bow or rifle stretch between the main building and the walls dividing the land owned specifically by the Cernunnos family and the land entrusted to them by the Daystar Throne due to their position as one of the Ten Commanders. The main family and several branching ones dwell inside the main building and the many annexes were added after more than a few nieces and nephews decided they didn’t want to leave even after adding a new bough to the family tree. Due to the excessive number of residents, the main building is lit up with both mana stones and proper fire, creating a beacon to blindly search for in the dark.

Spirit travels across the verdant plains with the main building’s sickly yellow glow guiding her forward. Drista narrows her eyes as she recognizes a location shown a few times in The Ender Prince. Beau brought Ranboo and Tubbo to her home after she decided she would help them search for clues regarding Ranboo’s heritage and his purpose in this world. Freddie was also from here, and it was somewhere in the vast hunting grounds that he met Ranboo for the first time. After this encounter, a friendship was quickly forged between the quartet. This infantile relationship was put to the test by Dream’s scheming and Foolish’s indifference. They managed to survive Essempei, the trials, and the royalty— not without some help from the rogue-like Purpled who came and went like stars twinkling in the endless darkness.

Drista feels nothing towards such a momentous location in the book. She isn’t excited to see the locations she described sentence by sentence. She isn’t nervous about disrupting the flow of the book. Something heavy settles in her stomach, but it isn’t anything she can pinpoint with precise language. It is an emotion that stills her thoughts and centers her ambitions, cold and calculating in its spread throughout her form. It is neither as natural as her silver blood nor as creative as her red blood. It might be born from her golden ichor, but she doubts that. It doesn’t feel divine. In fact, it feels the farthest to that since this emotion— if that truly is what it is— belongs entirely to her. It has no connection to the sky or light, only to her love for her brother.

Spirit approaches the wall surrounding the estate without slowing down. Drista tightens her grip around Spirit’s hair (the star-like waterfall is surprisingly soft and cold against her skin). Purpled makes a warbling noise, unprepared for Spirit’s actions. He was fine beforehand, but he wraps his arms around Drista’s shoulders when he realizes what is going to happen (Drista will understand later that this is for her benefit so that if she falls, it will be on Purpled, not on the ground). Spirit starts climbing up the wall, defying gravity as she approaches the sky. Cael forms beneath her hooves to create adhesion between her and the wall. Drista feels the cael dart across her meridians, featherlight and slippery.

Spirit doesn’t climb down the wall. She leaps to the ground without any hesitation. The force pulling Drista backward now suddenly tugs her forward. Purpled leans back as far as he can, dragging Drista with him. Neither of them falls off Spirit as she lands on the grass. Not one to break her stride, Spirit goes between the trees until she finds a manmade clearing. Spirit’s hooves tap against the stones outlining the green field. She moves nervously around the edges while remaining within the stony boundaries. Drista doesn’t understand why Spirit is reacting this way, but she doesn’t need to understand once she comprehends that she won’t be getting Spirit to travel any further than she already has.

Drista lands on the grass beside Spirit. She runs her hands along Spirit’s face to comfort the celestial. Spirit calms down enough for Drista to whisper to Purpled without Spirit’s frantic noises overpowering her quiet voice. “Stay with Spirit. I’ll try to recruit the person we need. Regardless, I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Purpled looks like he’s going to argue, but Drista disappears from his field of vision. Purpled grumbles about illusions. Drista smiles as she turns away from him. She runs through the forest. At a certain point, she feels a magical alarm surrounding her. She recognizes Waglington’s hand in the casting, but there are a few other mages who were involved in the process. Waglington made the baseline for the alarm a long time ago, and all these mages have added their magic to the alarm to strengthen it or improve its many facets. Drista won’t be able to completely shatter the alarm, but she can fool it. The additions are easy enough to disrupt for a small space that allows Drista to crawl through. Waglington’s alarm is more difficult, but she can pull some strings for it. Instead of alerting the mages stationed inside the house, it will alert Waglington. A proper intruder wouldn’t want this. Drista prefers it since she knows her master recognizes her signature. He might wonder why she keeps sneaking into restricted areas (Dream’s room, Cernunnos Estate), but he told her once that he wasn’t against her rebellion. She hopes he decides this is part of it before he realizes what her ultimate goal is.

Drista pulls her hood over her face as she steps into the more civilized parts of the estate. The garden is devoid of people, but the walkways between it and the building are filled with servants rushing to finish their work. Drista stays out of their way as she moves to the building. She trudges through the bushes. Like a trial for Elfame, her pants and boots hold up remarkably well. Drista tightens the illusion around her as she starts climbing a tree. Once she reaches the highest branch she can safely stand on, she drops the illusion. Her meridians fill with Mystery as Drista steps off the tree branch. She lands firmly on a dark green platform glowing faintly in the darkness. She hopes no one will look her way as she continues making platforms, climbing upwards.

Once Drista goes high enough, she steps onto the windowsill. Once the platforms disappear, the illusion is back around her. Drista nudges the window open. She drops onto the ground. Her boots against the carpet don’t make too much noise, but Drista hesitates for a long moment. She looks around the hallway. There are a few guards at the end of the hall. A maid is dusting off a vase filled with flowers. The maid looks around curiously, but her eyes pass right over Drista without settling on her. She returns to her work, and Drista returns to her mission.

Drista navigates the hallways with only vague descriptions lingering in her mind to guide her. She listens for voices, using that to recalibrate her directions. It takes more time than she would care to admit, but Drista eventually finds the room she’s searching for. She looks around. She doesn’t see any people, only the painting of a meadow with purple flowers that allows Drista to know which room she is standing in front of. Drista grabs the door handle. She allows the glamour around her to drop as the door slides open. Drista darts into the thin sliver of light. She closes the door behind her. She whirls around to look into the room, her cloak moving in tandem with her movements.

The room is certainly spacious, but it pales in comparison to both the royal palace and other noble houses. The walls are a cream color with wooden beams providing structural support every few yards. The floor is made from a lighter shade of wood, which is more similar to the coloring of the bedframe and the dresser positioned on one side of the room. The desk is made from the lightest shade of brown of them all, sand-like rather than dirt-like. The person sitting behind the desk is notably not as drab in her color scheme. She wears a lovely yellow dress glittering in the candlelight of the lantern resting in the corner of her desk. Her green eyes stare at the paper in front of her behind a pair of metal-wired reading glasses.

Drista’s amazement with the room is brought down by a whirring noise in the air. Drista summons a force field around her. A sturdy dagger with minimal design to it crashes into the force field. Once it loses all momentum, it clatters against the ground. Drista waves her force field away at the same time she pulls her hood off her head. A Mystery hand picks the dagger from the ground. It sets the dagger’s hilt in Drista’s awaiting palm. She closes her fingers around it. She looks at her reflection in the blade. Her eyes are bright even when the rest of her looks sickly. Drista lowers her arm— and therefore the dagger— to her side.

“I was just writing a letter to the princess,” Beau humorously remarks. She sets her chin in the palm of her hand with her elbow on the desk’s surface. Beau smiles at Drista. Her eyes sparkle mischievously in the firelight. She taps her index finger against her cheek. Her eyes rake across Drista’s form as the princess steps deeper into the room. A vague shadow appears behind Drista, getting more defined the closer she gets to the candle. Beau’s smile never drops even when the emotions in her eyes change as dangerously as a rapid storm does. “Are you on the run, Your Highness?”

Drista hesitates. She ultimately rolls her shoulders and shakes her head. She feels confident in the truth even if she knows for a fact no one else will see it the way she does. Drista doesn’t care how anyone else sees it, but she wants to be entirely upfront with Beau. “I am here to enlist your services for a mission even my family doesn’t know about.”

“I would say I’m intrigued about the youngest child rebelling against her family, but I’m more curious why you would seek me out specifically. Comparatively, I’m not a strong political ally, and any skills I may have are easily dwarfed by the many professionals you could acquire,” Beau assesses. She leans back in her chair. She crosses her arms over her chest, the black of her gloves contrasting nicely with the pastel yellow of her dress. She moves one hand to touch her jaw with her fingers. Her eyes narrow, and she scrutinizes Drista one more time. “Did friendship drive you here, Your Highness?”

“I suppose friendship is why I’m asking for a favor from you, but I can assure you that I am not rebelling against the royal family. My eldest brother, Prince Foolish the Undying, will always be my mother’s, Queen Puffy the Fierce, successor,” Drista answers. She considers Beau to be a close friend. While it wasn’t her intention to befriend Beau for this purpose, she can’t help but leverage her friendship with the teen in order to get what she wants. Despite saying this, Drista knows their friendship won’t mean anything compared to what Drista is going to ask.

“What is the favor, Your Highness?” Beau asks. Her smile does not drop necessarily, but it diminishes. Regardless of what her expression does, her eyes signal her emotions as passionately as a child’s eyes would. It makes the situation easier for Drista, especially when her inability to hide her emotions allows Drista to prove to herself that Beau wasn’t raised and trained in a nobleman’s house.

“You may not be the best in any given field,” Drista acquiesces, “but you know Elfame better than anyone else available to me. I need a navigator. I want it to be you.”

“Absolutely not,” Beau says the very second Drista stops talking. The princess opens her mouth to argue with Beau, but the noblewoman continues, grip tightening around her upper arms. “I will not be returning to Elfame, not even for you, princess. Imprisonment would be preferable to going back on my word. Execution would be better than becoming enslaved by some Fae.”

Beau sighs. She puts her hands on the desk. She pushes down hard, putting her onto her feet. She tilts her head to meet Drista’s eyes. The candlelight casts long shadows across her face, but she seems sincere as she continues speaking crudely to a royal princess, “I understand that you might want to learn more about your roots, but Elfame isn’t some glorious land. It isn’t a welcoming home. It will drive you insane, destroy your very being, and maybe, just maybe, you will be allowed to die instead of experiencing an endless life of torture.”

Drista crosses the distance to the desk. She puts her hands in front of Beau’s hands. She looks directly into the teen’s eyes, not flinching away even when Beau glares at her. “This isn’t about learning more about my roots, and I am aware of the costs. If I weren’t, why would I come to you for help? No one knows Elfame the way you do. If anyone can get me to the nucleus, you have the highest likelihood.”

Drista doesn’t know what the nucleus is. She doesn’t know why she needs to get there. She just knows that the machine that calculates fate sent her that way. She has a feeling that the end of her journey will be at the nucleus even if Dream isn’t found there. Drista needs to reach the heart of Elfame for reasons beyond her understanding, but it feels right. It almost feels like destiny, but Drista hesitates to call it that. This feels more like a calling whereas destiny always felt like a shackle. This feels like an opportunity, not an inevitability. Drista is going to take the chance to see if Dream will either be there or on the way. If he isn’t, she will postpone her journey to the nucleus until she does find him.

“If not to find your roots, why are you so insistent on going to Elfame? What is there that a princess could not find here? What is there that you would go out of your way to learn about my past and still ask me to guide you despite knowing?” Beau asks, bending her elbows slightly to level their heads.

“Dream has been replaced by a changeling. I have to bring my real brother back,” Drista admits softly. She told herself she would be honest with Beau, so she was already prepared to share the truth with Beau. But it never gets any easier to say that her brother is missing. An imposter is running around inside the palace. He is ruining the relationships between the nobles and poisoning the queen. Chat is the only one that can inhibit him, and Drista doesn’t know how much he can do. If Drista fails here— she doesn’t want to think about it.

Beau’s eyes widen. Her lips part. She hesitates, and that is all Drista needs to know that she has a chance. Drista pushes off the desk, leaving the dagger behind. She walks around the side. Beau eyes her warily, but her shock overturns her expression as Drista, the first princess of Essempei and the third child of Queen Puffy, sinks onto her knees. Drista bows her head, pressing her forehead against the floor. She breathes out, letting all of her pride go and letting desperation take its place. Drista stops hiding her emotions as she well and truly begs Beau for her help. “Dream is my brother. I love him more than anything. I will do whatever it takes to free him, with or without your help. But I would like your help, and I am willing to offer an exchange for it. I would make a Fae pact with you to become your slave for the rest of our lives. I would give all my belongings and any scrap of power I possess.”

Beau is quiet. Drista doesn’t know what her expression looks like. She can only see the floor beneath her, and even that is blurring from her unshed tears. Drista folds her fingers together, praying to Beau instead of some foreign deity. Drista closes her eyes. She waits for anything to happen. She wasn’t lying when she said she would allow anything to happen to her (of course, that much is certain since Drista cannot lie, but the point remains).

Drista hears movement. She tilts her head up. She watches as Beau’s skirt spreads out around her like blossoming petals. She settles on her knees in front of Drista. The princess’ eyes widen. Beau reaches forward. She puts her hands on Drista’s shoulders. She pushes the princess to sit upright. Beau’s fingers trail down Drista’s arms until they wrap around Drista’s interlocked fingers. Beau gently pries them apart to put her hands where Drista’s hands once were. Beau squeezes with a resigned expression on her face. “Please do not beg. I will help you on the condition that I am put in charge of this expedition and formality is thrown out the window.”

“Of course,” Drista replies immediately. Her lips pull into a painfully wide smile. She leans forward, dragging Beau’s hands to her chest. Beau wears a half-smile, partially amused by Drista’s reaction. Despite being extremely happy, Drista asks, “What made you change your mind?”

Beau rises to her feet. She tugs Drista as she moves. When they are standing in front of each other, Beau looks down at their hands. She runs her thumb across the back of Drista’s knuckles. She sighs, shaking her head. She looks out the window instead of at Drista, presumably at Elfame in the distance. “I don’t know. Maybe we’re better friends than I thought. I’m going to change my clothes and gather the appropriate supplies. Stay here for now. You can sit at my desk if you need a rest. I’ll be back.”

Beau releases Drista’s hands. She starts to move across the room, gathering the different objects. Drista idles by the desk with a strangely giddy feeling in her chest. Beau considers them to be friends even after Drista asks Beau to return to Elfame. The only reason Beau went to the Fae Wilds in The Ender Prince is because she felt indebted to Ranboo and obligated to help him free Tubbo from incarceration. She didn’t do it because she was personally close with either Ranboo or Tubbo even if their friendship was growing. Drista feels strangely warm realizing that the two people going on this expedition with her are coming because they are her friends— because they are worried about her.

A normally mortifying thought is pleasant in the hours approaching the darkening night.

Beau returns wearing a traveler’s attire complete with a white shirt, black pants, and thin suspenders. A knapsack hangs across one shoulder. The other handle is halfway to being broken, explaining why Beau doesn’t wear it. Her hair has been pulled into a ponytail with a dark green ribbon. The teen smiles at Drista as she pushes open the window. She steps onto the windowsill. She offers her hand to the princess. Drista takes it. On the windowsill, Beau gestures toward a nearby tree. They could jump to it, but Drista flecks her hand. Platforms made from Mystery provide a staircase halfway down to some of the thicker branches of the tree. Beau makes a sound of acknowledgment. She bounds down the staircase with Drista quick on her heels.

Drista leads Beau to where Spirit and Purpled are waiting for her. Purpled is brushing through Spirit’s mane with his fingers, but both he and Spirit look up when they hear the motion and see colors flashing in the darkness. Drista smiles at Purpled. She gestures to Beau behind her. “This is Beautie Cernunnos. She will be our navigator. She’s also in charge as per our agreement. Beau, this is Purpled, my chevalier, and Spirit, a celestial contracted to Dream. She’s helping us out to find her true master.”

“Nice to meet you,” Beau says, offering her hand to Purpled. He seems skeptical of her, but he shakes her hand. Beau hesitates to offer her hand to Spirit. The celestial pushes her nose into Beau’s palm to shake it in an imitation of a human greeting. Beau snorts, dropping her hand to her side. She walks around Spirit with curious eyes. “How are all three of us supposed to ride her?”

Drista opens her mouth to answer when Purpled and Beau look at her for answers (despite Beau saying she was in charge). She didn’t actually think about this part. She should really start thinking her plans out better.

Before Drista can admit this fact, Spirit steps toward her. The celestial nudges her nose into Drista’s chest. Drista frowns without comprehending. She doesn’t even get a chance to think about why when fiery pain fills her entire body. She wraps her arms around her stomach, trying not to vomit uncontrollably. She feels like someone set her on fire. She almost thinks that’s true when she notices golden light all around, but that isn’t the case. Instead, there is now a white chariot with golden accents tied to Spirit’s body by a gossamer thin bridle. It looks exactly like the chariot in all the religious imagery of the sun god, down to the etching on the side and the daylight surrounding the structure even as the sun dips below the horizon.

Beau’s face brightens with awe. Purpled turns to Drista curiously. The princess pukes multi-colored blood. The noise attracts Beau and Purpled’s attention completely. Beau is horrified. Purpled is worried. He calls her name as she falls forward, but Drista can’t register anything but darkness.

Chapter Text

Drista has awoken to a body rife with pain several times. It’s a concerning amount, really, yet she still isn’t numb to the pain. It burns across her skin, searing into her flesh and leaving multi-colored blisters. The contents of her stomach boil, filling her with nausea that would burn her mouth if it should exit her lips. Her lungs aren’t faring much better as each breath radiates with heat and discomfort. Drista keeps her eyes firmly closed, trying to settle a sensation not dissimilar to a fire elemental clawing at her body like a dog digging into the ground. Drista is content to fall back in the cold embrace of darkness, but rational thought pierces through the heavy thickness to remind her that she might not awaken again if she chooses relief. She must bear the weight of the pain, licking at her body like a serpent’s flaming tongue.

At least, she thought that was what was licking her. She realizes after a moment that a different beast is running its tongue across her nose. Drista peeks one eye open. Bruno pulls back immediately to look at her. He is in his smallest form. His front paws balance on her chin while his back paws settle on her collarbone. His wet nose pushes into her cheek, nudging her other eye open. Drista slowly lets her eyes open. When it is no longer unbearable to look around, he runs his fingers through Bruno’s soft fur. Bruno preens under the attention, yipping quietly as he settles onto her neck. His body is surprisingly cool, but that could be because Drista feels like someone has set her on fire from the inside. Her meridians are quite literally filled with lava, and she estimates it is going to take a few hours before she’s able to use any sort of magic— glamour or Mystery.

Bruno barks in indignation as he is nudged off Drista’s throat onto her chest. He continues rolling down her stomach into his lap as Drista is gently lifted to sit upright. Drista groans at the sensation. She bites the inside of her cheek to keep the bile from spilling onto her clothes. Someone must have fed her coal straight from a furnace while she was asleep. It hurts so terribly bad, but Drista can’t let the tears run down her cheeks. Not because of her pride, but because they boil like water over a stove. It would hurt her further to cry even if it would make her feel mentally better about this situation.

Drista feels something cooler than Bruno or the light breeze that passes across her body drip onto her lips. She realizes that it’s water at the same moment she vaguely tastes iron in the water. It isn’t enough to poison her since she’s a halfling instead of a purebred, but it upsets her stomach as much as it eases the dryness in her throat. Drista ignores how the water must be coming from a metal-lined container as she drinks as much as her benefactor will allow her to. Thankfully, her benefactor knows her limits better than she does. They restrict her water intake seconds before Drista would get sick from it— both the iron undertones and just the amount of water settling in her otherwise empty stomach. She can feel how empty it is just from how it instantly chills from the cold water. An unsavory sensation, she would admit.

Drista opens her mouth to ask a question. Instead of words, her vomit finally does rise from her stomach. The person holding her upright turns her over. One of their hands pats her back gently and the other one holds her hair back. Drista rids herself of the water she just drank, and she hears it strike against the walls of a bucket. Drista continues heaving for several moments. A dizzy spell nearly sends her careening into her own vomit, but the person helps her settle back against their shoulder. The person puts their hand on Drista’s forehead. They wipe away the sweat and push back her hair. Drista breathes heavily, putting her entire weight onto the person. She feels guilty for doing this, but that emotion is swiftly buried by how uncomfortably hot and painfully burnt she is.

The person helping her out starts speaking, probably trying to answer the question Drista was unable to ask due to her failing health. She recognizes the voice halfway through as being Purpled’s (she suddenly feels a little more bad about doing this. She knows friends are supposed to help each other, but she thinks the scales are uneven between how many times she’s helped Purpled and how many times he’s helped her). “Spirit used you as a catalyst to summon a chariot. You passed out after puking… blood. Beau and I held onto you as we rode to Elfame. We’re outside the barrier now. Beau thought it would be best for you to be conscious when we entered.”

Drista forces her eyes open wider. While not bound to truth like she is, Purpled didn’t lie to her. Spirit is lying on the ground on the other side of a burning campfire. The chariot glows in the approaching nightfall, unattached to Spirit. Beyond Spirit and the chariot, the dark evergreen trees form an expansive forest as dark as midnight with a new moon. Drista was apparently laid out on a bedroll. Bruno was probably protecting her, and when Bruno showed signs of Drista waking up, Purpled moved away from his bedroll to help Drista.

Drista nods as she turns her attention back to Bruno. He stares back at her. His head tilts to the side, entirely dog-like despite how noncomfortative his appearance is. Drista smiles lightly at him. She puts her hand on his head, pushing down his ears. Bruno leans into her palm, licking her wrist. Drista focuses on Bruno. If she focuses on anything else, she will drown in her helplessness and the guilt for making Purpled do all of this for her. She should think of a way to make it up to him when her ability to plan ahead isn’t severely weakened like it is at the moment.

Drista hears someone approaching. She tilts her head up, setting it on Purpled’s shoulder. Beau steps close enough for the firelight to spread across her face. She carries several logs in her hands. They are cut nearly perfectly, but Beau doesn’t carry an axe with her. She doesn’t have any sufficiently large blades, only a few throwing daggers hidden in secret compartments across her outfit. Drista wants to question where Beau got the firewood from, but her voice still hurts. She decides some answers are better left unspoken. If she’s really curious, she’ll remember to ask later.

Beau turns her attention first to Spirit. Then, she goes to glance at Purpled’s bedroll. Finding no one there, her eyes settle on Purpled, Drista, and Bruno. A smile breaks out across her face. Beau leans down beside the campfire to put a few logs into the heat. Drista shifts uncomfortably at the heat wafting across her face. She doesn’t say anything, however, assuming Purpled and Beau are cold. “I’m glad you're awake. You missed some excellent sights on the way here. You’ll probably never see them again.”

It isn’t a particularly funny statement nor is the sentiment behind it humorous. Despite this, Drista finds herself laughing airily at Beau’s conviction. She might just be right. Drista may never leave Elfame. Everything she didn’t get to see on the way here might be missed forever. The thought is terrifying, of course, but Drista finds herself giggling in a way that sounds similar to crying. Drista supposes this is her body’s way of sobbing over the pain since her tears will further hurt her.

“All three of us are going to leave Elfame. Prince Dream the Swift will be coming with us,” Purpled reminds Beau. He sounds certain of himself. Drista’s laughter pitters out. A rough smile remains on her face. Her lips crack with the motion, and she tastes a different kind of iron on her tongue. It is tempered by an oddly floral taste along with the sweet ambrosia of the divine. Drista never thought the blood of different creatures would taste differently.

“Where the fuck does your optimism come from? How uneducated are you two about Elfame?” Beau asks. The cuss words gracefully exist within her sentence as if she were not trained to be a noblewoman. Drista snorts. Something warm settles in her chest as she listens to Beau’s voice. It always sounded exactly as she imagined it would, but it is even more familiar now that Beau is comfortable cursing around Purpled and Drista as much as she did around Ranboo, Tubbo, and Freddie (along with everyone else who joined the traveling group after her).

Drista senses more than sees unease spread within the group. Spirit lifts her head, starry eyes moving between Purpled and Beau. The celestial rises to her feet as Drista tries moving her hand. She is able to lift it, but it drops almost immediately. Drista ignores how pathetic she is as she says, “Hey, don’t start fighting.”

Spirit moves around the fire. She settles next to Drista. She presses her nose into Drista's shoulder. Bruno crawls onto Drista’s other shoulder. Drista moves her hand across Spirit’s head. When she reaches the gossamer strands of hair made from silvery starlight, Drista pulls herself forward. Her muscles tense and shake with effort. Drista closes her eyes as tightly as she can. She shifts from leaning onto Purpled to leaning onto Spirit. The celestial pushes her nose against Drista’s chest. She doesn’t extract any divine constructs from the Sunset Stone, however. She only accepts Drista’s weight. Since Spirit is the one responsible for Drista feeling like this in the first place, she doesn’t feel any remorse for putting her weight onto Spirit’s body even if it makes her feel pathetic to rely on others as much as she is.

Drista turns her attention back to her companions. They are currently sharing a look with one another. Their conversation is completely silent— spoken through shifting eyes and tilting expressions. Drista frowns. She narrows her eyes, trying to identify what ideas are being transmitted in the smoky air between Beau and Purpled. Eventually, Beau releases a sigh louder than the cackling fire. She meets Drista’s eyes with irises sparkling like emeralds in the red-orange light of the flames. “What the purgatory happened back there?”

Drista presses her lips together. She looks away from Beau and Purpled. She turns her face towards the darkness, feeling the cold hands of the night wind caress her face. The stars wink at her from on high. Drista smiles faintly at them. The sky reminds her to look down. Spirit is staring at her. The stars in her eyes shine even brighter as Spirit nods. Drista exhales out one side of her mouth. Spirit lowers her head back down to continue supporting Drista’s weight. The blonde rolls her eyes, having her own silent conversation with the celestial. Bruno jumps from Drista’s shoulder to her lap in one graceful motion. The stare he gives her when he looks over his shoulder gives Drista the confidence to share her secret with the two people who called themselves her friends— who are willing to enter Elfame with her simply because they care if she returns or not.

“I went on an expedition a while back to retrieve the Sunset Stone. We found it in the underground sanctum of the first temple used by the sun god. Unfortunately, the Sunset Stone became embedded in my chest for reasons I still don’t understand. It transmuted my being. Now, I have golden ichor flowing alongside my silver and red blood. The stone allows me to use divine power, but I’m not supposed to. My existence is so fragile that tipping the scales towards divinity will certainly kill me. Spirit probably accepted some of the backlash, but I’m still… not okay,” Drista explains, looking down at her hands. Her skin has an unhealthy red tint to it. In some places, there are burn scars that Drista hopes will heal with time. She can feel the divine energy burning right through her mortal form. If she used any more power, she doubted she would be able to do anything right now.

“You should have brought me with you,” Purpled declares immediately with a tight jaw. He avoids looking at her. His purple eyes glow unnaturally as he stares into the campfire.

“I fucking knew the chariot looked familiar,” Beau remarks, gesturing towards the metal ride that continues to glow even as the sun dips below the horizon. Its light is even more prominent than even the campfire. Beau looks back at Drista, meeting her eyes. “It was either the Solar Chariot or some replica thereof.”

“I wouldn’t know. Spirit brought it out. It could be the real deal or a replica made from divine energy. It might be the former since that would technically take less divine energy to extract. My physiology doesn’t allow me to use much divine energy. Like I said earlier, Spirit probably absorbed some of it to save me, but her asterism is broken. Ah, that’s the equivalent of a Mob’s core,” Drista continues. She doesn’t feel any reason to keep anything secret now that she’s revealed the most dangerous truth of them all. Neither Beau nor Purpled seems concerned about Drista being a hybrid between three species other than how this will affect her personal health. Drista hopes it stays that way. She doesn’t want other countries to find out. She doesn’t want this to become a reason for a war to break out, or for scholars to find her and experiment on her.

Purpled frowns. His eyebrows come together as he stares at Spirit. Beau wears a similar expression, but she actively says what’s on her mind rather than letting her face subtly show it like Purpled. “I don’t think I understand what you’re talking about, but I don’t really give a shit. What I’m hearing is that we have to keep you from using divine power. I can manage that on my own, and Purpled seems like a reliable fellow.”

“We can talk about this later,” Purpled adds, meeting Drista’s eyes with a firm expression hinted with determination and curiosity. Drista smiles back at him. His face lightens with her smile. He nods at her. “For now, we should eat and get some rest. We’ll need to enter Elfame tomorrow, after all.”

“Like I’d ever say no to a meal,” Beau chuckles. She starts pulling different items from the various knapsacks. Purpled helps her out. Together, they start cooking over the campfire. Drista pulls her thighs to her chest. She wraps her arms around her knees. She settles her chin on her forearms. She wants to help out, but out of her many skills, cooking is not one of them. She never learned how to make anything that wasn’t microwaveable in her old world and no one taught her anything in this world. She always had people to do it for her. First, her family, then the servant at the royal palace.

Then again, even if Drista was an expert chef, she wouldn’t be able to do anything. Her body is in too much pain to be coordinated. She would sooner burn herself in the fire than cook the food, and even if she managed to keep herself safe, she would pass out from exhaustion. Drista is better off leaning her back against Spirit’s side and letting Bruno hide in the shadows between her stomach and thighs. She needs to regulate her breathing before she can do anything else.

She still watches Beau and Purpled work together. It’s a fascinating process, Drista thinks. Not only the cooking part, but how in sync Beau and Purpled are despite not having known each other for long.

“What are we going to eat when we’re in Elfame?” Purpled asks.

Beau hums, thinking over her answer. She gives him a half-shrug. “I’ll know what food is edible and what isn’t, so stick your uneducated asses with me. If you’re on your own, I’d say… unless they tell you what they want in exchange for you eating their food, politely decline anything given to you. The safest food is whatever grows in the wild since that is what nature gives. Nature will take at the end of one’s lifetime, so it doesn’t see a need to imprison anyone. Then again, poison still exists. You really shouldn’t eat any shit I don’t confirm for you.”

“What are some other rules we should be aware of?” Purpled asks instead of asking how Beau knows so much about Elfame or where her confidence comes from since his optimism is apparently out of place. Drista wonders if Purpled and Beau talked while she was unconscious. Maybe Beau told Purpled about her past. If she did, Drista wishes she knew to what extent.

“Fae are known as the children of the earth because they derive their power from nature. They worship it in the same way humans worship deities. They are unable to lie, but they use trickery and careful wording to circumvent this,” Beau answers. She wrings her hands. “You should probably know that ‘Fae’ is like the word ‘bird.’ There are all kinds of Fae species, and let me tell you, they do not fucking get along with each other. They have more or less settled themselves into courts corresponding to the four elements. They named their courts after the seasons, though, because how fucking confusing would it be if there were two water courts? Anyway, earth is spring, fire is summer, wind is autumn, and water is winter. They tend to share the same overarching characteristics as the elemental courts, embodying the same ideals as the elemental kings. At the head of each court is an Archfey. They’ll see you two as either a threat or an exploitable weapon in the endless war against the other courts. Every side is trying to gain the upper hand and subdue the others.”

The explanation is actually a lot more informative than anything Beau told Ranboo when he traveled into Elfame with her. She only told him what to watch out for, not the internal structure and political turmoil of the Fae Wilds. Drista leans forward slightly to listen more closely. Beau glances at Drista with a half-frown. “What glamour do you and your brother have?”

“Huh? Oh, I can create illusions. Dream is close to the wind. It lets him go faster. He doesn’t lose his breath as easily. He can see through my illusions,” Drista responds.

“Your father is probably from the autumn court, then. Air for wind, obviously, but air also encompasses the mind, memory, and most importantly for you, illusions,” Beau’s lips twitch with a smile as she meets Drista’s eyes. Beau doesn’t say it, but Drista gets the impression that Beau spent a lot of time in the autumn court, too. Drista knows Beau was sometimes left in the care of ornithic Fae who were probably also part of the autumn court.

“Is that where Dream is now?” Drista takes her turn to ask a question.

Beau looks away from Drista with a contemplative expression. Purpled hands Drista a plate of warm meat and only slightly hardened bread. She takes it with a thankful smile. Purpled nods, accepting her unsaid gratitude. Purpled hands a plate to Beau, too. Once Beau takes the plate, she glances at Drista to answer her question. “I don’t know. I would have thought so, but you mentioned a prophecy about going to the nucleus. Dream might be in no man’s land at the center of the forest. No one goes there, but something is there.”

“We should split up. I’ll go with Spirit to no man’s land. You two can go to the autumn court. We’ll pick somewhere to meet up if we can’t find Dream in either location… or if we do find Dream, we’ll meet there to regroup and figure out how to leave,” Drista responds.

“Fuck no,” Beau says at the same moment Purpled says, “Absolutely not.”

The two of them spare a glance at each other, but they return their attention to Drista. Her eyes widen as she feels their lukewarm glares on her shoulders. Beau crosses her arms over her chest. “You don’t know how to navigate Elfame on your own.”

Purpled gestures to Drista’s heart. “Did you already forget about your health problems? We told you that we would help you manage it.”

“I can handle myself,” Drista argues. Bruno leaps onto her knees, standing like a cat ready to pounce on a mouse for Drista’s sake. She gently rubs the scruff of his neck until he relaxes against her skin.

“Hate to break it to you, but we don’t believe you,” Beau remarks, rotating her thumb from herself to Purpled.

He winces slightly at Beau’s directness, but he doesn’t disprove her words. Instead, he adds, “Even if you could, you don’t have to. We’re all going to look out for each other.”

“Exactly. Now, it’s time for you to rest. We’re leaving at first light,” Beau continues. She rises onto her feet. She takes Drista’s empty plate from the blonde. She starts sacking them as she nods to the bedroll underneath Drista’s body. The thought of going back to sleep is enticing. She’s exhausted, and she isn’t in so much pain anymore that she’s worried about passing over to the Underworld before she’s finished her business in this world.

That being said, Drista meets Purpled’s eyes. “Will you tie me up so I don’t accidentally wander into the forest while I’m asleep?”

Purpled and Beau share another look. They have yet another conversation. In the end, Beau shakes her head and moves away from the campfire with the dishes in her hands and canteens hanging off her forearms. Purpled grabs a rope from one of the backpacks. He leans down beside Drista. He ties one end of the rope to her wrist. He ties the other end around Spirit’s neck. He runs his fingers through her mane, and Spirit accepts the burden of keeping the barrier from coaxing Drista’s silver blood to come closer. Purpled moves back to his bedroll. Drista lies down on hers, letting Bruno curl up on her stomach.

Normally, she wouldn’t be able to sleep without a steady rocking motion, but the pain is good for one thing: it knocks her right out when she stops stubbornly clinging to wakefulness.

Drista stands on the packed dirt of the training grounds in the Inbetween’s niveous halls. Several weapons lean against the white stone walls or inside racks. Other than Drista, one other person stands in the training ground. They are doing as the name implies: training. They use a heavy, double-edged sword to cut through dummies made from brown sacks and stuffed sand. The sand spills out like blood, and the figure laughs all the while, their red cloak flaring around them to mimic human suffering. As the figure slows down, their sword stops an inch from Drista’s neck. She doesn’t flinch, merely flecks her eyes over to watch the pale white light shine down the blade’s razor-thin edge. It wouldn’t take much pressure to behead her if the sword continued its momentum.

“Which Watcher are you?” Drista asks as she looks at the figure’s black mask. Like all the other Watchers Drista has met (other than Chat), there is a symbol carved into the mask. The outfit underneath the red cloak involves black armor that looks like it was made from solidified shadows.

The Watcher laughs in the same way a horn blows to declare an approaching army. They move their sword away from Drista’s throat. They turn the blade in the air. They point drops onto the sandy ground. They put both their hands on the sword’s hilt, standing tall like an undefeated warrior. “I was given the title Provoker. Some in your world call me the boogeyman.”

“What do you want?” Drista continues. She’s heard of the boogeyman before. It was from her previous world, though, and it wasn’t like the boogeyman was a real person. They were an abstract figure all fear was attributed to. Drista wonders if that’s the world Provoker is referring to. She wonders what their purpose is.

“I will admit that I’ve wanted to meet you since my predecessor took an interest in you. I would have waited a little longer for a natural meeting, but you’re about to enter Elfame. It is a bounded field not Seen by Watchers. A curse was buried in the land itself. The Fae suffer from it as much as Watchers do. I’m upset since I’ve heard how bloody Elfame is. I would love to See it for myself,” Provoker explains flippantly, unbothered by Drista’s nonchalance.

“Who is your predecessor?” Drista frowns.

Provoker laughs again, blaring like sirens approaching a crime scene. When Provoker stops, his voice fills with amusement. “You’ve made me laugh twice, so I’ll give you some advice. Just as Watchers can’t See into Elfame, you won’t be able to return to the Inbetween when you dream. Where will your dreams lead you if they can’t come here?”

Drista’s frown deepens. She thought she would go back to having regular dreams, but Provoker says it like Drista’s dreams might carry her to somewhere she’s never been before. Provoker places a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t forget to tell that exile to put on a good performance for me.”

Provoker pats her shoulder, and suddenly, Drista is falling back to the waking world.

Chapter Text

The cage around Elfame is not a physical one. It barely constitutes a magical one. While there is a force steadily compelling Drista to return to her roots like a wayward seed ready to blossom, Drista feels as if the barrier is of an entirely different nature than any magic she knows. It might be a form that Waglington and Iris are aware of yet never taught Drista about for any number of reasons. It could be even a force that neither of them understand, or that they choose to ignore because it doesn’t serve their purpose. What use would a beacon that keeps Fae from wandering out of the bounds of a forest?

Drista feels a sense of completion as she passes through what she assumes is the first gate. The only physical tell is a line of mushrooms that stretch forevermore in either direction. If Drista were to follow the mushrooms, she knows she would discover they were in the form of a ring around the entire forest. These mushrooms separate the land owned by ferrous humans and the domain of the earthen Fae.

“Are you alright?” Beau asks, looking over her shoulder from where she stands at the helm of the chariot. Spirit slows down into a trot as they start moving through a deceptively normal forest. Spirit steps over the roots without fear they will suddenly rise to ensnare her hooves and the chariot’s giant wheels. It will be further in their journey that they encounter such troubles.

“I’m fine,” Drista promises. She sets a hand over her heart. While there is a presence further inside the forest beckoning her to follow its chosen path, it is so faint that Drista can easily dismiss it. Her feet remain steady on the chariot’s metal ground. Her thoughts are clear as they move through her mind. She might suffer when they get further into Elfame, but for now, she is both aware of herself and her ultimate goal.

“What about you?” Beau glances over her other shoulder. Purpled looks away from the distant horizon to meet Beau’s eyes. They have gotten incredibly good at conversing with words. Drista is starting to suspect a spell might be involved, but she doesn’t want to call out what’s happening in case there is no spell and her voicing her observation might cause it to disappear. Conversely, her mention might make Beau and Purpled more aware of their silent conversations around her. They will either hide it better, stop altogether, or assume they can do this all the time and have it fail at an important juncture. Pessimistic thoughts, Drista supposes, but one can never be too sure about the situations that fall neither in the category of natural or supernatural.

“Tell me more about this place,” Purpled asks. His eyes quickly rise to look at the birds flitting between the treetops. A squirrel-like creature runs in front of their path, ignoring Spirit and being ignored in return. The creature’s tail is made from moss while the body is made from stone. This squirrel-like creature is immediately snagged by the clawed paws of a creature that must be a hybrid of several others with its brightly colored fur and transparent bubble eyes. Drista puts a hand on the edge of the chariot. Her lips part as she leans forward. One of the birds Purpled was looking at sweeps down to grab the bubble-eyed creature in its talon, eating both it and the squirrel-like creature. Silver blood splashes onto its crimson beak, and a pair of charcoal eyes stare right through Drista’s soul.

“We’re on the outskirts of Elfame. This is the most mundane part since the glamour is weakest. Fae plants and animals reside here. They have minimal intelligence. They really are the same as regular animals with only a few extra abilities enabling their continued survival. This is, of course, because their prey and predators have their own special abilities,” Beau explains, pointing at the display where the bird leaves the low branches of a tree whose bark looks more orange than traditional brown.

“I thought Fae were supposed to be clever,” Purpled adds, raising an eyebrow as he watches the animals squabble amongst each other to find the perfect food to devour in a single gulp. Drista follows the bird as it sits near a vine crawling all over a tree. A flower rapidly grows from the vine. The bird peers at the flower with charcoal eyes. It leans closer to the flower’s stamen. Similar to a Venus flytrap, the flower’s petals close around the bird’s head. The body slides off the branch, landing in the grass with a silver puddle forming around it. The flower retreats back into the vine. Drista can see something moving inside the vine. It is either the flower or the bird’s head— probably both.

“I told you last fucking night that there are different kinds of Fae. The ones you are told horror stories about are the more sentient ones. The smarter ones are known as the Elevated Races. There are a few of them, but your stories are probably about a few of these Elevated Races. Goblins, for instance, are well known for their mischief,” Beau continues. She taps her fingers against Spirit’s reins. “The Elevated Races live similarly to humans. They have villages, commerce, and families. They also have war and slaves. The Elevated Races enslave the lesser races. They’ll also enslave humans when given a chance, so you two should be extra careful of the Faes with the ability to speak and listen.”

A natural silence envelops the group. Drista focuses her eyes on the animals and plants she can see as they pass them by. Her mind, however, is preoccupied with Beau’s words. Drista and Dream’s father must have come from an Elevated Race. She has clues about what he looked like from Puffy’s memories, but she doesn’t know how to use those details to figure out which species he would have been. This is without mentioning that the person from Puffy’s dreams might not have been Dream and Drista’s father. Of course, they also might have different fathers altogether (though, what are the odds of Puffy getting with two different autumn court members?). But if they have the same father and he is the person from Puffy’s dream, who’s to say he didn’t change his form to interact with Puffy? If he is from the autumn court, he could have glamour revolving around illusions or memories. Drista might have inherited her talent from him, and if she did, it is easy to assume the person Drista saw might have been an illusion inside an illusion.

Drista doesn’t know if she wants to meet her father. She’s curious about the kind of individual he is, but she doesn’t necessarily want a conversation with him. She would be content to learn his name (or the name he shares with people, not his True Name). Anything more than that would be messing around with forces beyond Drista’s understanding. It would be more than her personal desires. She’s never wanted nor needed a father in her previous life. In this life, she has her brothers to fill a similar role, and even if she can’t bring herself to see them in a paternal light, part of her views Chat that way after everything he’s done to protect her. She doesn’t need her biological father, no matter who he is.

“Come look at this,” Beau whispers. She reaches a hand toward Drista. The blonde takes the hand as she slides into the space beside Beau. Purpled joins them a moment later at Beau’s other side. Beau points at a unique creature in the distance. It resembles a blue fire hovering in the air. The closer they get, the more the flames look oddly humanoid. After encroaching on the beast from a certain distance, it disappears with a hollow gasp. Drista’s eyes widen. She catches sight of it further ahead of them. Just like last time, when they get too close, the flame disappears and reappears several yards away from Spirit.

Beau tosses her head over her shoulder. Drista shifts to look behind her. A flame is following behind them. In contrast to its compatriot, this one gets closer when the chariot gets too far away from it. Neither of the flames is close enough for Drista to really identify them. 

Beau whispers the answer to the question neither Drista nor Purpled has dared to ask. “These are known as will-o’-the-wisps. Not even the Elevated Bastards understand them completely. All that can be confirmed about them is their appearance and behavior. They also don’t let anyone get close to them. Even Fae masked by illusions can’t get too close. Despite this, the Elevated Races have figured out the will-o’-the-wisps will lead travelers between the villages and other bastions of civilization. They are indiscriminate guides. The purpose behind their actions is unknown, but it's a superstition that one should always follow them when they appear. We’ll be following them to the nearest village. It should be safe enough there for us to stock up on necessary supplies.”

Realizing how genuinely interested Purpled and Drista are about everything, Beau starts pointing out random creatures and plants to explain to them. A few even involve funny anecdotes that make Beau curse as much as the sailors from Drista’s childhood did. Drista listens to each one with rapt attention. Purpled doesn’t make his attention as evident, but he focuses on every word from Beau. Drista suspects it’s because he’s trying to make sure he’s well-prepared to protect her from whatever threat they might come across on their journey (Drista knows this journey isn’t a vacation. She knows their lives are in danger every second. She still wishes Purpled would have a few fun moments. He’s going so far for her sake, so his happiness is the least she can wish for).

As Beau said they would, the will-o’-the-wisps eventually lead them to a proper village when the night is soon to descend over the forest. When she sees it, Drista steps off the back of the chariot. She moves around the side. Beau raises an eyebrow at her. Purpled startles. Spirit glances at her, and Drista moves her fingers through Spirit’s mane as she passes. Drista starts running as soon as she clears Spirit. It doesn’t take her long to reach the edge of the village where the buildings on the outskirts are built into the trunks of giant trees. Past those trees, the buildings are similar to the ones from Puffy’s dream or her recollections when they were sitting together on her sickbed. Everything is made from stone, wood, and thatch. Drista slows down into a jog before stopping near the town square. She spins around in a slow circle. She wants to look at everything. She wants to commit it all to memory. She wants to perfectly replicate this place with her illusions if and when she’s able to leave Elfame. This is the start of her grand journey, after all. It is the beginning village where all heroes acquire their starting equipment and first allies. Even if it isn’t anything as grandiose, it’s a monumental moment for Drista.

Beyond that, however, Drista’s heart beats easier in the village as she breathes in the air rich with glamour. She’s denied her silver blood its rights for a long time. She exploited the power given to her in her birthright. She avoids iron as best she can. Other than that, she doesn’t allow herself to fully experience the world as a Fae. She’s maintained her humanity so thoroughly that she’s neglected this other part of her. Her time in Elfame might destroy her. She might never get to be a human again. She might even die here. But as long as she stands on this soil, Drista is going to work towards accepting her position as an Elevated Race.

Someone chuckles at Drista. She startles, whirling around. Purpled is walking ahead of Beau and Spirit at the village’s edge. There is someone else standing on the other side of the town square. She tenses as she looks into a pair of warm brown eyes with square pupils instead of circular ones. The Fae holds a basket of flowers in the crook of their elbow. The flower petals match their pink shirt. Drista thinks the Fae is wearing white-fur pants, but she realizes upon seeing the hooves that she’s looking at a sheep satyr. Her hair is darker than Puffy’s, but the similarity between the satyr and a human with a sheep Origin is enough to fill Drista’s chest with homesickness.

Drista is silent as she stares into the satyr’s eyes. The satyr never drops her friendly smile. She closes her arms around each other in front of her, keeping the flowers from spilling over the side of the wicker basket. The satyr glances over at Beau and Purpled as they reach Drista’s side. Spirit stands behind them. The chariot is no longer behind her. Instead, she wears a gold band around her neck with a sun carved into the thickened front. The satyr shows each of them her smile as she starts talking, “Hello. You must be new in town. You can call me Kat.”

“You can call me Beau,” The dual-haired teenager steps forward as the spokesman for the group. She gestures to her companions one after another. “This is Gray and Sibyl.”

“Nice to meet you all. I’m so excited I got to meet the new visitors to the village. We don’t get too many on account of being close to the ring, but we like to cherish anyone who doesn’t get too sick,” Kat says, looking over her shoulder at the direction they came from. The frown on her face is there for a second, more thoughtful than emotional, and it disappears when she looks back at the group. He turns away from them, but she waves her hand to make them follow her. “We don’t have an inn in the village, but I have a guest bedroom you can use.”

Purpled and Drista (who were given the pseudonyms Gray and Sibyl apparently) look to Beau for guidance. She narrows her eyes at Kat’s back. With a sigh, she follows the satyr. Purpled glances at Drista. She shrugs at him. She decides to follow Beau’s lead. Purpled wouldn’t abandon her, so he remains right at her side. Spirit is left out of the decision-making process, but she doesn’t show any signs of aggravation as she follows the ones who are going to help her find her master. Drista hopes Spirit knows they are purposefully trying to pass her off as dumber than she actually is to avoid Spirit getting stolen or give Spirit the opportunity to rescue the others if they are captured and the kidnappers underestimate Spirit.

Kat lives on the opposite end of the village. Her home is short and long. The walls are made from stone while a dark green-brown grass grows over her roof, hanging off the side like vines. Wildflowers create a patchwork of color beside the exterior. Kat leaves the wooden door open for the group. There is a fenced area beside the stone wall with the chimney. Spirit leaps over the fence to stand inside the area. Beau hesitates long enough at the door for Drista and Purpled to catch up with her. She signs again as she passes through the threshold. Drista gets an uneasy feeling from Beau’s attitude, but she follows her friend into the home.

The walls are, obviously, made from stone. They are lighter inside the house than outside of it, though. They are also decorated with many tapestries possessing no more meaning than landscape paintings in other homes. A fire cackles in the fireplace, casting a warm yellow-orange light over the wooden furniture. There are a few thick pillows providing comfort the hard wooden bench and chairs wouldn’t be able to, and Drista believes they are stuffed with feathers rather than cotton. The ceiling is low-bearing, and paired with the cluttered appearance, it looks far smaller than it actually is from the inside.

Kat leaves the basket on the dining room table. She moves to her kitchen. Almost everything is made from wood, but a few of the appliances like the sink and a storage area are made from a strange glass-like material. It is completely opaque, but Drista isn’t certain about calling it stone. It might be made from a gemstone. It wouldn’t be an expensive one if Kat had so much of it. Drista doesn’t think it’s rare, either, since Kat is using a knife made from a similar material to finish making her dinner. She smiles at her guest. The firelight reflects in her eyes, but there’s something naturally warm in them. “I’ll give you a portion of my dinner if you tell me what brought you to Faun.”

Drista and Purpled are once again silent. Beau’s eyes dart across her peripheral vision. Her hands close into fists at her sides. Kat never looks away. She looks more like a porcelain doll than a living person as she waits for Beau’s verdict. In the end, Beau nods slowly. “We accept your deal on the grounds you’ve presented.”

“I’m glad. I don’t mean to brag, but I make the best soup in the village. Everyone, from locals to the occasional visitor, has complimented me on it, so you will not be disappointed,” Kat says cheerfully. She points at the dining table. Beau chooses a seat at random. Drista picks the one right next to her, and Purpled cushions Drista between two people. Kat gives them a strange look. She purses her lips together as she starts pouring soup into wooden bowls. She brings them to the table. She presents the food to the group with their spoons already sitting in the broth. Kat steps away for a moment to get her own bowl and prepare drinks.

“I was hired as a guide,” Beau says as she lifts a spoonful of the soup to her mouth. Her eyes widen immediately. She looks down at the meal with a bittersweet expression. A nostalgic smile crosses her face as she eats more and more, getting faster with each spoonful.

“I was hired as a guard,” Purpled answers. He puts the spoon on the table. He lifts the bowl from the body. It steams lightly across his face as he brings the rim to his lips. He takes two large gulps. When he sets the bowl back on the table, he gives a so-so expression. This confirms that Beau’s reaction was because of her past, not because of any unique properties of the soup.

“I want to learn more about Elfame.” Drista is the only one of the three bound to honesty, so she can’t say much more than that. She uses her spoon to sip the soup. There are flavors Drista has never tasted before. It warms her stomach, and this heat spreads to the rest of her body. It brings her as much comfort as spinning around in the town square did.

“Well, aren’t you three smart? It’s good that you are, but I must say, I’m a little upset you won’t tell me more. There must be a deeper story between you three and that strange horse you brought with you. My curiosity might just kill me,” Kat laughs openly. She sits at the table across from Drista. She sips her soup without a spoon like Purpled, but she’s a little more graceful about it. Kat places her bowl on the table. She sets her elbow on either side of the bowl. Her fingers lock together and she puts her chin over her fingers. “How about this: I answer your questions about Elfame, Sibyl, and you answer my questions.”

Drista doesn’t need to look at Beau to notice the subtle nod she gives Drista. The blonde places her spoon down in the bowl. She nods more firmly. Kat’s eyes close as she smiles. Drista goes first since Kat isn’t opening her lips. “Why do you allow strangers into your home so freely?”

Kat’s eyes open. She seems confused, but she starts giggling. When her merriment subsides, she answers Drista’s question in earnest. “I thought everyone in Elfame had the same legends. I allowed strangers in my house because it’s customary. One never knows when a stronger creature will appear under the veil of an illusion, and one must never disrespect what one cannot subdue. For all I know, you three could be the manifestations of the Great Mother and her attendants.”

Drista doesn’t know who or what the Great Mother is, but she has a feeling that is not the question she should be asking if she wants to blend in.

Kat poses her question. “Why do you need both a guide and guard?”

“I’m not that well-traveled around these parts. I don’t have many survival skills, so I need as many people to help me live long and see fascinating sights as possible,” Drista appears as sheepish as she feels. It isn’t lost on her that she wouldn’t have to put Beau and Purpled in danger if she knew more about how to survive a place like Elfame. This might be a part of her homeland and her heritage, but Drista isn’t familiar with it in the least bit.

“I understand where you’re coming from, especially with how dangerous Elfame has gotten as of late,” Kat nods sympathetically. She lifts her bowl to sip more soup. Her eyes seem distant as she stares into the broth’s rippling reflection.

“I don’t understand. How has Elfame gotten more dangerous?” Drista asks quizzically. Beau shifts in her seat, trying not to let on how intently she is listening. Purpled leans forward, suddenly more interested in the conversation than he was a moment prior.

Kat startles. She puts her bowl on the table with a loud sound. She scrutinizes them all for a moment. She shakes her head. “I’m sure you would have found out as you kept traveling, but I’ll tell you now to save you any trouble you might encounter. The Huntress is more upset these days, and her Wild Hunt is tearing up much of the land. Wherever she isn’t, a thick smoky mist is. Any Fae caught in the mist is trapped in a magical slumber. If they are not awoken by the third sunset since their inhalation, they won’t ever wake up again. No one is even trying to solve these issues. The seasonal courts are at each other’s throats. The Rovers are more concerned with studying the phenomena instead of stopping it.”

Drista has a dozen more questions about every word that comes from Kat’s mouth, but it isn’t her turn to ask a question. Drista frowns, waiting for Kat to ask what she wants to do. “Are you running away from home?”

The question startles Drista. She drops the spoon against the bowl’s rim. She stares at the table. Her lips part, but the answer she wants to give doesn’t flow from her lips. Her hereditary curse catches the words like a net. Drista’s hands fall to her lap. She fiddles with her fingers. For the sake of getting more answers from Kat, Drista chooses to tell the ugly truth instead of figuring out a clever way out of it. “I am. In every way that matters, I am.”

Kat’s face twists with genuine sympathy. Drista feels tears prick her eyes. Kat already reminds her of Puffy. The soup and fireplace conjure sensations of home. Her mission to find Dream reminds her of the happy memories she left to rot in her past. Dream is suffering. Puffy is sick. Chat is unavailable. Foolish is gone. Waglington is doing whatever the hell he does, and Drista hasn’t seen Iris in a long time. And Drista is running away from the home she would have traded her soul in exchange for. She’s going to save Dream, but she feels like she’s abandoning everyone else. It isn’t a pleasant sensation, and Kat’s empathy isn’t making it any easier for Drista.

“What are Rovers?” Drista asks, swallowing down all the painful emotions as they bubble in her stomach. Underneath the table, Beau reaches a hand out. Drista avoids looking at her, but she squeezes Beau’s hand to let her know that Drista feels better.

Kat points out the window above her sink. “Rovers are people from Cogsmeade. Humans,” she notes without disgust but certainly a specific emotion, “who come down from time to time.”

Kat claps her hands together. “Now, that’s enough information for the night. We should rest until the first light. You can continue your travels then. Sibyl, will you come with me to put your horse into a proper stable? There’s one nearby that all the satyrs use. Guests are permitted to use it, too.”

“I’ll come,” Drista nods. Kat leans over the table to grab all their bowls. She sets them in the sink.

“We’ll come,” Purpled amends immediately, rising to his feet beside Drista.

“That won’t do. It’s a short walk. You and Beau should unpack your bags and make yourself more comfortable. If you want to, I wouldn’t mind if you did the dishes. Oh, but you don’t have to,” Kat waves her hand. She holds the front door open for Drista.

“It’ll be fine,” Drista promises Purpled. She waves her fingers in the air, conjuring a small illusion of fire around her palm. Purpled doesn’t look happy with her in the least. Beau doesn’t, either, but she only sighs and lets Drista do as she pleases. Drista doesn’t necessarily trust Kat, but she wants to establish a connection to the satyr. Drista can protect herself if she needs to.

Drista follows Kat outside. Drista wants to lead Spirit out of the pen, but Kat doesn’t wait long enough. Drista sends a curious glance over at Spirit as she rushes after Kat without the celestial. When Drista catches up, they are passed the treeline into the main part of the forest. Drista opens her mouth to ask what Kat is doing when a bag is thrown at her chest. Drista catches the bag. She frowns at how heavy it is. Kat pats Drista’s head. “You came to the right place.”

Drista has no idea what that means. Kat doesn’t seem keen on expanding on her words as she grabs Drista’s hand. She pulls the blonde behind her into the forest. When Drista begins hearing crickets (or some similar sound), she pulls at Kat’s hand to stop the satyr. Kat looks at Drista with an impatient expression. She puts both her hands on Drista’s shoulders. “I promise to distract the other two long enough for you to escape.”

“Escape? What are you talking about?”

Kat’s impatience transitions into heartbreak, and the expression is so strange that Drista would prefer Kat go back to talking nonsense. “You’re a halfling.”

Drista’s mouth falls open. She doesn’t know how Kat knows that. She doesn’t know why Kat is saying it like Drista doesn’t know that about herself. “Yeah, I know what I am.”

Kat’s heartbreak morphs into confusion. Drista almost feels bad for making Kat feel so many emotions in the span of a few seconds. “If you know you’re a halfling, what’s there to be confused about?”

“What am I escaping from?” Drista starts with the first item on the list of what she could be confused about.

“Their official name is Kaleidoscope if that’s what you want to know. They’re the ones who have been kidnapping halflings,” Kat explains, looking over her shoulder like someone is chasing after them.

“Someone is kidnapping halflings?” Drista’s voice is breathless as she asks.

Kat tenses. “We aren’t on the same page, are we?”

When Drista shakes her head, Kat sighs. She lifts a hand from Drista’s shoulder to rub her brow. When she lifts her head, her voice is clear and true. “I’m part of an underground network that protects halflings. We started smuggling halflings out of Elfame when they started disappearing. I thought your two companions were members of Kaleidoscope and you needed help escaping them.”

“Why would you think that about them?”

“I sense that Gray uses a forbidden art. On the other hand, I couldn’t sense anything from Beau. There are only two entities that can completely obscure a True Name: the Huntress and the Green Lord. I assumed because of Gray that it was the latter,” Kat explains, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I assure you that isn’t the case.”

“If they aren’t working for the Green Lord, Beau must be blessed by the Huntress. Why?” Kat is talking more to herself than she is to Drista as she puts her chin in her hands. She rubs the skin with her fingers. Her eyes narrow slightly as she thinks about the situation presented to her objectively.

Drista wants to ask more questions, but their conversation is cut short by hoofbeats. Kat startles. She lifts a hand to protect Drista as a skeletal horse steps out of the shadows. A cloaked figure sits on the skeletal horse’s back. The cloak figure pulls on the chain acting as the horse’s rein to stop the beast. Its hooves slam onto the ground with restless energy burning alongside the hellfire inside its eyeholes. Kat glares at the cloaked figure. “Dullahan, servant of the Huntress.”

“I prefer the name Joel, but you aren’t wrong in your assessment,” The Dullahan says as it swings a leg around the skeletal horse’s back. Joel drops onto the ground, keeping a firm hand on the horse’s chain.

“What do you want?” Kat demands. Joel says nothing, but his attention shifts to Drista. As he moves, light rises across his jawline to reveal a smile on his face. Kat stomps the ground with her hooves. “You have some nerve to try attacking a halfling in the presence of an Erythrargyr Alliance member.”

Joel twists his body. A chain appears in his other hand. He slings it forward like a whip. Kat crosses her arm into an x-formation in front of her face and chest. Drista raises her hand. A translucent green force field appears. The chain slams harmlessly against the surface. Drista extends her other arm. Bruno leaps from her skin onto the ground. He grows in size until he is larger than the skeletal horse. Bruno growls at Joel, and he leaps over the force field to attack the Dullahan. Joel’s laughter sounds like mist spreading over a lake as he disappears from Bruno’s line of attack. Bruno whirls around. Joel and his horse stand a few feet away. Joel brings the chain back to himself with a clicking sound.

“You should be careful, little one. If you fear for your life, you will join the Wild Hunt,” Joel explains. He doesn’t attack again as he mounts his skeletal horse. Joel pulls at the chain. The horse turns away, heading back into the shadows.

Kat grits her teeth. She darts two steps forward to follow him, but she doesn’t go further than that. She sighs, taking in a deep breath to steady her turbulent emotions. Kat turns around to look into Drista’s eyes as Bruno leaps back onto his master’s shoulder in a petite form. “We should return to the cabin. I will explain everything to everyone.”

Drista nods in agreement.

Chapter Text

Kat drags a wooden chair from the dining table to the living room. She places it in front of the fireplace. She sits down, letting the firelight frame her silhouette. The shadows fall across her visage, but a few of her features are highlighted by the weaker lights spread throughout the room. Particularly, her yellow eyes shine with an internal light of their own. It allows Kat’s emotions to be projected throughout the heated space. Her body language implies that she’s weighed down by everything she’s thinking; she has her elbows on her knees, hands folded together, and back arching forward. Her face gives the impression of worry and contemplation. Her eyes, however, seem certain as they cast their soft glow across the ground immediately in front of Kat.

Drista sits on the couch with Beau. Since the couch is made for two people, there isn’t enough room to maintain any significant distance between them. Whatever distance could be put between them is canceled out by how Beau sits directly beside Drista. She’s leaning forward, legs tilted into Drista’s personal space. Drista is getting the impression that Beau is trying to protect her, and Beau’s hardened face provides additional evidence. Drista is more than a little confused about this development. It shouldn’t be a surprise. Beau has already gone to Elfame to help Drista. Anything else is comparatively less. Beau has proven her friendship. It’s time Drista proves hers by believing in Beau and her claims of amicable relations.

Purpled sits on the other chair in the living room, the one designed for this space. He leans back but keeps his head upright. His arms are folded over his chest, hiding his gloved hands. He narrows his eyebrows as his eyes periodically sweep across the room. He tries taking in everything all at once. Drista doesn’t know how much he’s picking up on. In his own way, he’s trying to protect her, too. He was, after all, the one to grab her shoulders and check for wounds when Kat led her back to the cabin after an extended period away.

Spirit is also permitted to listen to the discussion. While still outside, she places her head inside a window Kat opened for her. Spirit remains focused on Kat, paying attention to the satyr as she hurriedly sits up in her chair. Kat nods slowly to herself. She taps a finger against her thigh as she starts talking. “The Huntress created a subsection of her Wild Hunt many years ago to specifically protect halflings. This group included Fae and halflings, so it was named the Erythrargyr Alliance. Before my time, the alliance split off from the Wild Hunt as an independent organization. They recruited humans to help halflings outside the barrier. They also helped in smuggling halflings in or out of Elfame. It depends on how well the halfling can blend into either society since they aren’t exactly welcome in either.”

Beau tenses. Her jaw sets. Her eyes narrow, framing the emotions whirling around in her green eyes like a brewing storm stretching across the horizon. Drista moves her hand to Beau. She puts her palm against Beau’s palm. Beau glances down at their hands as she closes her fingers. Beau looks up to meet Drista’s eyes. The blonde gives Beau a half-smile, not quite understanding the depth of the emotions but knowing she wants them to disappear as soon as possible. Beau’s lips twitch with a smile of her own. It doesn’t sit on her face, but she seems calmer as she returns her attention to Kat.

“In recent years, halflings have been disappearing. While this isn’t an uncommon experience, this is the first time so many have disappeared in such a short window of time. The Erythrargyr Alliance was able to determine the culprits. The group calls themselves Kaleidoscope. We know they kidnap halflings, but we don’t know what they do after that. The most likely outcome for the halflings is death, but we don’t know if it’s murder, a ritual, or an experiment.”

Beau squeezes Drista’s hand. She looks down at the ground. Purpled’s eyes have slid to the flames, highlighting the unnatural purple of his irises. Spirit is listening intently, but she seems distant from Kat’s words. Drista, for her part, is left reeling. This was never mentioned in The Ender Prince. While Ranboo did come to Elfame, he never learned about halflings. To be fair, he didn’t learn much about Elfame’s structure, either, but Drista would have thought that he would get roped into helping the halflings, too. Around the beginning of his journey, Ranboo is a relatively passive protagonist who is roped into helping others. Why didn’t someone exploit his kindness this time? Did the character Beau know about this, or did no one inform her?

“I thought you were a halfling getting kidnapped by Kaleidoscope, Sibyl. Gray, for instance, uses a forbidden art. It is a cursed version of the aura surrounding the horse,” Kat continues, gesturing to Spirit. The celestial makes an offended noise at being known for her animal form. Kat raises an eyebrow at Spirit. She squints. She should have suspected there was something more to Spirit when Drista asked her to let Spirit listen to their conversation, but it might only be settling now as the celestial gives proper acknowledgment to the words being uttered in her presence.

Purpled also turns his attention to Spirit. His lips pull downward into a frown. His hands shift around his chest, squeezing his upper arms tighter. When she’s done showing her displeasure, Spirit returns Purpled’s stare as best she can. Despite her mystical appearance, genuine emotion ripples through her eyes like stardust collecting to form new life. Purpled looks away first, looking as if he’s come to a decision.

“Beau’s True Name is completely hidden. Only two entities can obscure a True Name so thoroughly. If it wasn’t the Green Lord, it must have been the Huntress,” Kat looks away when Spirit goes to stare at Purpled. Kat points at Beau with both of her index fingers side by side. Her other fingers are folded together. Kat places her intertwined hands in her lap. She waits expectantly, swinging her eyes from Purpled to Beau and back again. She is waiting for answers, but Purpled is distracted by his decision and Beau is looking into the fire like the Huntress is waiting for her there.

“Why did the Erythrargyr Alliance form in the first place? Why did they split off from the Wild Hunt? Why did you join?” Drista asks, filling the silence left in the wake of Purpled and Beau confronting their abnormalities and complicated pasts. While she does want more answers, she is mostly doing this to protect the secrets her friends (what a strange concept) are trying to keep. If she needs to distract Kat with questions, Drista has half a million of them waiting to be spoken into existence.

“Have you ever been out in the world?” Kat looks at Drista with complete disbelief on her face. Drista’s face flushes with embarrassment. She tries to make herself feel better by reminding herself that Kat thinks Drista is from Elfame. It makes sense why Kat is so confused by Drista’s apparent lack of knowledge.

“I’m running away from home, remember?” Drista says. She doesn’t know what the true answer to Kat’s question would be: yes, I have been , or no, I haven’t been . Drista’s formative years were on a pirate ship and the Faction Isles. She spent a year with Iris and her cultish church. After that, she stayed in the royal palace. She went once to a festival in town, and she went to the first temple of the sun god. Does that count as being out in the world? Drista didn’t learn much about how the adult world worked when she did, though, and she suspects that’s what Kat is trying to ask. For good measure, Drista adds, “I don’t know much.”

Kat’s expression contorts with sympathy. She wears her emotions right on her face. Drista didn’t think the Fae would behave this way. She was expecting solitary creatures hellbent on manipulating and enslaving anyone who came close to them. Drista isn’t foolish enough to start trusting the Fae, but she realizes how one-sided her opinions about the Fae are. These were the same perpetuated lies that led to the divide between the Fae and humans in the first place (she thinks, anyway, no one knows the story about why the two are separated. No one but the Huntress). 

“Now, all of this was before my time, so I might not be the best person to ask. Really, it was before most of the Fae’s time. While many of us are long-living, we are not immortal or eternal,” Kat prefaces her answer, willingly giving it after showing her sympathy for Drista’s plight. “In this immemorial time, Fae and humans coexisted without the barrier. Halflings were far more prevalent. The Huntress was given dominion over anything with even a drop of silver blood. Even halflings were hers to protect, a duty given by the Great Mother.”

Drista doesn’t know who the Great Mother is. Her first thought is that it might be a reference to the Sky Mother, but she doesn’t think so anymore. The Fae, and by extension, the Huntress, aren’t concerned about the sky. They have no connection to the stars or other celestial bodies. Drista is more inclined to believe that the Great Mother is an entity similar to Mother Nature character from her old world. But where is the Great Mother? Why is she only talked about within Elfame? Unless she has another name outside the barrier, Drista would have thought there would be a church in her name somewhere.

“After the barrier was erected to imprison Fae, the Huntress was as trapped as the rest of us were. She used halflings, who could pass through the barrier depending on the concentration of red blood in their veins, to create the Erythrargyr Alliance. It began as her way of communicating with the outside world. As time passed, the barrier weakened enough for humans to freely enter from their side. They would create more halflings with the border villages that were still friendly to humans. The interior cities, however, had resentment brewing. They attacked halflings and humans in a dark period of Elfame’s past. While the Huntress didn’t care what happened to humans, she cared a lot about the halflings. She gave the Erythrargyr Alliance a new purpose. After some time, the Erythrargyr Alliance broke free from her commands because they wanted to extend their service to good-natured humans. The Erythrargyr Alliance also wanted to research a way to break the barrier, or at least allow the border villages freedom, something the Huntress disapproved of.”

Drista wonders what Essempei would do if the barrier came down. Puffy and the border villages would try to establish peace and cohabitation. The Ten Commanders and interior villages will immediately break out into a war. The Hunters will be busy trying to stop the Fae creatures not part of the Elevated Races from hurting the citizens or razing the towns to the ground. The royal guards are meant to help, but they might be called to deal with civil affairs between humans and the Elevated Races. It wouldn’t do anyone any good to make the barrier come down all at once, but Drista doesn’t want the Fae to be trapped in Elfame forever. There must be more Fae like Kat, ones with kind hearts who deserve to see the world if they want to.

“I joined the Erythrargyr Alliance because I had a human friend once. My friend was tricked into taking the Silver Elixir. It’s an alchemical drug created using Fae blood as its prime ingredient. It can prolong someone’s life, but it also drains the will to live. This process creates a husk capable of breathing and moving, but not of thinking and feeling. I lost my friend, so I want to protect other people from taking the Silver Elixir. Although I do participate in raids against the alchemists creating the elixir, I also try to save halflings from getting kidnapped and drained of their blood.”

A strange memory rises to the forefront of Drista’s mind. It is hazy, but she thinks she recognizes the people in the memory. Rather, she remembers herself writing them. Someone in Ranboo’s group was injured. Beau offered her blood to Olive so that they might make the Silver Elixir for the injured person. Drista doesn’t remember when the scene takes place. She doesn’t remember any more of the context, not even who was injured. It’s so befuddling that Drista only stops thinking about it when Beau tugs on her hand. Drista turns her attention to Beau’s frown. She smiles at her friend, trying to reassure her that nothing is wrong.

“Now,” Kat declares loudly, clapping her hands together. She startles everyone in the room. All of their attention swings to her. She smiles at them. It’s so wide that her eyes close, hiding whatever emotion is hiding behind the smile. “I’ve talked about myself for long enough. It’s time for the escort and the guard to come clean.”

Purpled and Beau share a look. Another silent conversation, and Purpled sighs audibly at the end of it. He pushes his sleeves back to reveal the swirling tattoos made from magic on his forearms. Purpled runs his fingers along his wrist. “This is what you were sensing. I’m star-stained.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Kat remarks, proving to Drista once more that the Fae have nothing to do with the night sky.

Purpled shrugs as he pulls his sleeve down. He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest again. “It doesn’t matter. It won’t ever happen to you, and I won’t let what’s on me affect you. If you must know, your earlier statement was right. It’s a corrupted version of the celestial.”

Satisfied with his answer, Kat completely shifts in her chair to place all her attention onto Beau’s shoulders. Purpled’s eyes flick over to her, and Drista leans down to look into Beau’s eyes. Spirit— having lost interest in the conversation— moves away from the window to the actual area Kat set up for her to rest for the night. Beau huffs a breath. She leans against the back of the couch, raising an eyebrow at Kat. “I don’t know what I have to explain. It’s fucking obvious, isn’t it? The Huntress blocked my True Name.”

“Yes, yes, but why? The Huntress never does anything without a purpose, and really, her only purpose is to protect anyone with silver blood. What does obscuring your True Name have to do with that?” Kat prods further, curiosity shimmering in her eyes even as a slight tremble exists in her voice. The Huntress is a legendary figure. While she might be the Fae’s protector, she is also their greatest fear.

“I’m special. That’s all there is to it,” Beau deflects, shaking her head immediately. She shifts in her seat, hiding her discomfort admirably. “We should be talking about how we’re getting to no man’s land.”

Kat pouts in disappointment at not getting a real answer, but she doesn’t continue pressing when Beau’s made it obvious she won’t answer. Thankfully, she decides to continue helping them even with the lack of clarity. “The no man’s land you’re talking about is now the home base of Kaleidoscope.”

Drista launches onto her feet. She pulls her hand from Beau’s hand, startling the green-eyed teenager more than Drista’s sudden movement does. Drista rocks on her heels as she moves her hands around in front of her, trying to get the point across without having to verbalize it. She does, however, ultimately say what she’s thinking to her two friends. “If that’s where Kaleidoscope is bringing the halflings, that’s where Dream is!”

“Who’s Dream?” Kat asks, reminding Drista that she’s still in the room with them.

Drista looks sheepish as she turns around to face Kat. The satyr raises an eyebrow at Drista. The blonde fiddles with her fingers. Eventually, she decides to be completely honest. There’s no reason to lie (or whatever technicality Drista could come up with since she physically can’t lie). “Dream is my brother. He’s a halfling like me. He was kidnapped. We don’t know for certain if it was Kaleidoscope, but we do know that he’s in no man’s land. It would make sense if…”

Drista trails off. Kat rises to her feet even before Drista has finished talking. She moves across the room, her hooves clopping against the wooden floorboards. She reaches into a cabinet. She pulls out a large piece of paper. She reaches for a quill, writing something across the paper. When she places it in Drista’s hands, the princess realizes that it’s a map. More than that, it’s a map of Elfame with several routes highlighted in colored graphite. “The Erythrargyr Alliance has several maps like these to give to halflings. If you follow the routes in reserve, it will lead you to the center. There are several safe houses along the way, too, with supplies and members that could be persuaded to help you if they know who you’re going after.”

“Why hasn’t the Erythrargyr Alliance rooted out Kaleidoscope themselves?” Drista asks, turning to look at Kat. The satyr stares emotionlessly at the map, running her fingers along a particular route.

“We’ve tried. The older members like me have tattoos to mark us as part of the alliance. The Green Lord has discovered a way to enact a barrier within the barrier to keep those with the tattoo out. We’ve recruited new members without giving them the tattoo, but they’re all untrained and uncoordinated. Our attempts have already ended in failure,” Kat explains wistfully, mourning quietly for those the Erythrargyr Alliance couldn’t save. “But if you’re certain of this, you should follow through. Your success would be beneficial to us. Your failure doesn’t cost us any manpower. If you have the map, though, other alliance members will do their best to help you. There are fewer members the closer to the center you get, but there are a few informants that might be able to lend a hand.”

“Thank you,” Drista whispers gratefully, putting a hand on Kat’s wrist.

Kat smiles kindly at Drista, putting her hand over Drista’s hand. “It’s nothing. No matter what happens, I’m rooting for you.” Kat moves away from Drista. “Now, that’s enough for tonight. I’ve talked myself to exhaustion.” She stops at the threshold of the hallway. She gestures to one of the closed doors with one hand and uses the other one to beckon them closer. Drista is the first to move to her. Beau comes afterward, and Purpled transitions from the chair to the wooden couch Beau and Drista were on while listening to Kat explain everything. “That’s the guest bedroom. You can stay there for the night. I’ll see you off in the morning.”

Drista and Beau enter the guest room. It looks as one might expect with a bed, nightstand, and a closed door that probably goes into a closet or half-bath. Based on the dresser at the foot of the bed, Drista assumes it’s a half-bath, and she’s proven right when Beau opens the door. Beau lights a candle inside the bathroom. Drista moves over to their backpacks left on the ground. This explains Beau’s familiarity with the room. She and Purpled had brought their bags earlier while Kat was trying to help Drista escape.

Drista goes through the motions of changing her clothes. When she’s finished, she moves to the window instead of the bed. She puts her arms on the windowsill, leaning her weight against the wooden frame. She looks at the sky in the distance, between the claws of the tree’s upper branches. Drista remains there long after Beau crawls into the bed. Drista would have stayed there, but Beau calls out, “Why aren’t you going to sleep?”

Drista doesn’t answer. She thinks about a lie she could tell instead of the embarrassing truth. Drista is halfway to coming up with a plausible one when she feels a presence right beside her. Beau leans against the windowsill beside Drista. The moonlight makes her eyes look ghostly in the darkness. Drista bites the inside of her cheek, avoiding eye contact. Beau nudges her shoulder. “Why aren’t you going to sleep, Sibyl? Come on, you can tell me.”

“It’s embarrassing,” Drista admits quietly, scratching her chin. She hopes her excuse will make up for not providing an answer.

“Do you wet the bed?” Beau puts her cheek against her palm, propping her head up.

“No! Absolutely not! Why would you— Just— no.”

“What’s worse than that?” Beau shrugs.

Drista only explains herself because she doesn’t want Beau— one of her favorite characters from The Ender Prince and one of her first proper friends in this life— to think she wets the bed. “I was born and raised on a pirate ship. As such, I can’t exactly get quality sleep unless I’m being rocked… Or in serious pain, I guess. I could slam my head against the wall until I fell asleep.”

“That’s a shitty idea,” Beau mentions, moving her hand to put it between Drista’s forehead and the glass. As if Drista would hit her head against the glass. She doesn’t want to break the window, and she doesn’t want glass in her skin. The wooden wall surrounding the window is obviously the better option of the two.

“It’s my only option if I want to sleep tonight. Kat doesn’t have a rocking chair.”

“That’s not true. I can rock you to sleep,” Beau points at herself with the hand not keeping Drista from slamming her head against the wall.

“What are you talking about? I’m not asking you to do that.”

“Come on, I don’t mind. I’m already in Elfame for you. This is child’s play compared to that,” Beau chuckles. She grabs Drista’s wrist. She tugs the princess to the bed. She flops down, bouncing on the mattress. When she settles, Beau drags herself to lean against the headboard. She opens her arms to Drista. The princess raises an eyebrow. Beau huffs, moving her hands in a gesture of ‘hurry up.’ Drista sighs, but she follows Beau’s instructions. Beau moves the blanket around Drista before settling her arms around Drista’s shoulders. Beau’s heart beats in Drista’s ear as she tries relaxing her breathing. Beau immediately starts rocking. If only it smelled like sea salt or lotuses.

After a few minutes, Beau starts humming. Drista drifts into semi-consciousness as this humming turns into singing. Drista registers that it’s a folk song about the Huntress, though the finer details are lost on her. She should ask about it tomorrow when she wakes up.

—

Drista stands in a dark place. Black shadows form indistinct walls in the distance. The only light comes from a spotlight shining across a cage in the center of this nightmarish place. The cage is made from silvery gray iron. Its mere presence burns against Drista’s form as she approaches it, but she can’t bring herself to stop walking to it when she hears the prisoner inside sobbing desperately into her hands. When Drista reaches the cage’s side, the prisoner hurriedly looks above her hands. Her ebony hair frames the red splotches covering her unnaturally pale face. Her eyes are as dark as her hair as she reaches forward to grab the bars of her cage. Drista smells burning flesh in the air, and she sees smoke billowing from the woman’s skin. Drista wants to pry the Fae’s (because what human would get burned from iron?) fingers away from the bars, but her arms are weighed down at her sides. The woman looks directly into Drista’s eyes, tears and snot streaming down her face. “Please, help me. You have to free me.”

Chapter Text

Kat stands at the edge of her flower garden. She waves her arm above her head. Drista waves back at her as Spirit pulls the chariot further away from the cabin. After a while, Kat’s figure is obscured by the branches covered in leaves and bioluminescent Fae animals. Drista’s arm falls to her side. She continues staring backward until Spirit begins picking up speed. They are passing around the outskirts of the village. Drista glances at the back of the many houses as they leave. There are a few satyrs loitering around their homes, speaking quietly to each other as they prepare to carry out their daily schedule. A few people glance at Drista and the others as they leave, but no one seems to particularly care about them. Their attention flees as soon as it comes, and Drista is left feeling bittersweet about leaving this place as the village is too far away for Drista to see or hear anything.

“The map must have been recently made,” Beau comments. Drista turns around. Beau is standing at the front of the chariot, holding Spirit’s reins. Her grip is loose, however, since Spirit is smart enough to maintain a consistent course without directions from mortal hands. Beau prioritizes holding the map tightly. She has it unfolded around the area they currently are, glancing around to pinpoint where they are in relation to the landmarks inked onto the paper.

“Have many things changed since you were last here?” Drista asks, leaning her forearms against the walls of the chariot. The metal is warm against her skin, but it doesn’t burn her like iron would. Drista is certain there wouldn’t be even a nugget of iron in this entire forest. The only source of iron would probably be Cogsmeade in the distant mountains, but even then, it can’t have too much iron since that would cause a ferrous poison to spread into the mountain’s base and extend outward. An entire’s city worth of iron could completely destroy Elfame and all its people. Nature would obviously fight back, but at the end of the day, the iron would most likely win out against the Fae— if not the land itself.

“I don’t think so. The Erythrargyr Alliance was around during my time, but I never met any of the members. I’ve never heard of Kaleidoscope, but it doesn’t surprise me to hear about its existence,” Beau shrugs, looking away from the map to meet Drista’s eyes. There is a low frown on her face. She tilts her head away from Drista but not quite at the map. She absentmindedly taps her thumb against the compass rose. “As for the geography, Elfame struggles to change permanently. Nature will always revert shit back to the moment the bounded field was first enacted.”

“Does this include the Fae?” Purpled asks. He sits on the chariot’s floor. He is buried in their bags, but he seems content to make sure nothing falls off the back. He fiddles with his sleeve as his arms wrap around the lightest of the backpacks. In the space between his sleeve and glove, Drista can see the star-stains glittering across his skin like ethereal tattoos. They are a corrupted version of cael, apparently, if Purpled and Kat are to be believed. Drista should ask Chat more about it, but she wants Purpled to be the one to tell her whenever he’s ready. If he ever is. They might be friends, but she knows that this is something traumatic for Purpled. She would never force him to tell her anything he didn’t want to, especially not after everything he’s already done for her.

“It does. Not even fucking death can change Elfame,” Beau answers solemnly. She turns her attention toward the canopy. Winged creatures or ones with superior climbing abilities move from one branch to another in search of food or mates or something else entirely. They are a lively sort, covered in blinking lights and rich colors. In a vacuum, they are beautiful and transient. Surrounded by context, Drista shudders to think about the silver blood spilling across the evergreen leaves.

“What does that mean?” Drista prompts. She remembers a similar sentiment being mentioned in The Ender Prince, but no one bothered to explain it. Ranboo implied that he understood what Beau was referring to. Drista assumes whatever is happening in Elfame might be similar enough to what’s happening in the End that even Ranboo— with his faulty memory— could vaguely recall it. That, or his relationship with Beau was stronger than Drista gives it credit for being. Perhaps exploring Elfame together and getting back at Dream (the villain, not her brother) gave them the same camaraderie that allows Purpled and Beau to have silent conversations. Drista frowns, wishing she could be part of that group. Hopefully, she’ll meet someone to have those sorts of conversations with one day (maybe with her family… or maybe with whoever is changing the fates of the people in the Antarctic Empire…)

“In Elfame, for the Fae, there are two ways to die. The most common way is for the body to receive a fatal wound that allows the spirit to wander free. These ghosts will continue their regular routines, unaware that they are acting out the same day over and over again. From there, these ghosts can be permanently ended by Huntress destroying that Fae’s True Name. She can do this when the Fae is alive, too, completely skipping the middle man. She doesn’t do this often, however. She usually recruits ghosts into her Wild Hunt. This drives the ghosts insane, but they do her bidding, so she doesn’t…” Beau stops abruptly. She doesn’t finish her sentence, only moves on to another one. “There have been records of very ancient Fae regressing to the point of nonexistence, but I’ve never seen it.”

“What’s your relationship with Huntress?” Purpled asks, completely missing the part where Beau had trouble expressing her full opinions on Huntress and the Wild Hunt. He looks at Beau earnestly with only a hint of judgment in the way his lips thin as they are pressed together.

“Purpled,” Drista hisses, reaching her foot over to kick him. He doesn’t even flinch when the toe of her boot makes contact with the bottom of his shoe. She didn’t kick him hard necessarily, but her cheeks still flare with embarrassment at the lack of responsive action.

“No, it’s fine. I don’t give a fuck. It was going to come out eventually,” Beau raises a hand to Drista as she turns her attention to Purpled. She releases her hands on Spirit’s reins, letting them fall into chariot. She keeps one hand firmly on the map to make sure it doesn’t flutter away with the wind. Beau stares directly into Purpled’s eyes. Purpled doesn’t look away. Even though they could have a silent conversation because Drista thinks Beau knows Drista knows everything already, Beau chooses to say her answer aloud. “I spent a lot of time in Elfame as a child. Huntress took care of me.”

There are several more questions that should be asked. There are more than a few that probably shouldn’t be, but Purpled looks ready to delve into this subject until he is satisfied or Beau gives him a reason to keep his mouth shut. Drista, for her part, isn’t sure which way it will go, so she prepares to play mediator between the two people who have been getting along remarkably well. Too well, she guesses, considering how little time they’ve spent together. An argument is inevitable, and Drista hopes they will come out the other side stronger for all the harsh words they’re about to spit at each other. Hopefully, it won’t be a physical fight, but Drista knows Beau and she knows Purpled and she knows she’s asking too much if she doesn’t want at least one punch not to be thrown.

Fortunately, they are not given the opportunity to escalate the situation. Unfortunately, this takes the form of someone yelling in the distance for help. The entire group freezes where they are standing. Spirit, too, starts to slow down until she completely stops. Drista glances around for the source of the noise. Purpled starts pulling himself from the backpacks and other bags. Beau’s eyes lock onto a specific direction. She puts one hand on the edge of the chariot, leaping over the side. She hits the ground running, moving away from the chariot posthaste. Drista shares a look with Purpled. He subtly shakes his head, but Drista’s foot is already moving off the back of the chariot. Purpled grumbles a curse word as Drista starts hightailing it after Beau. He, obviously, follows close behind, not wanting either of his friends to get themselves into a dangerous situation.

They don’t run far. Beau stands in front of two giant trees. Silver-white strands create an intricate spider web between the tree trunks, completely blocking off the path. Several bugs and bug-like creatures are tangled in the web. Most are already dead or paralyzed. One of the captured creatures remains cognizant, however, as it is screaming at the top of its lungs for help. It is made from the pieces of a plant including a red flower head, leaves as its arms, and a body made from a dark green stem. When the creature stops screaming to catch its breath, its eyes open enough for it to see that it has company. The creature scowls at them until it sees Beau. It stops shimmying in its knot as it leans as close to her as it can get given its current predicament. “Gallus! You must help me.”

Beau sighs audibly. She steps toward the spiderweb. She is careful not to touch it herself as she pulls a throwing knife from her boot. She twists the blade between her fingers until she is close enough to the flower-like creature to cut it out of the spiderweb. Despite the gossamer quality of the threads, they are not easy to cut. Beau has to hack off bits and pieces at a time. She winces as the creature screams about Beau hurting it or ruining its beautiful appearance. She grits out for it to shut up a few times, but it never listens to her. It only falls silent when it is free enough to leap away from the spiderweb onto Beau’s shoulder. It starts picking sticky webs off its body with a disgusted expression. Beau moves her hand to show off the creature, “This is—”

“Alstroemeria!” Drista pipes up, unintentionally cutting Beau off. She leaps forward with a giddy smile on her face. Her hands close into fists, and she moves them in front of her chest. She leans down far enough to look into the flower-like creature’s face. 

The Fae’s eyes are like water droplets as he returns Drista’s stare. At first, he looks confused and skeptical. Only after a moment does he return her smile with radiance. “Yes, tis is I. It seems my dearest Gallus has spoken about me. Oh, how pleasing the thought is to my ears.”

“Right… I’ve mentioned you before…” Beau agrees cryptically. She eyes Drista. The princess finally pulls her eyes away from Alstroemeria. She meets Beau’s gaze for a second before her cheeks turn red with embarrassment. She’s certain at this point Purpled and Beau suspect Drista of knowing more than she lets on, but this is the first time Drista has been so blatant about it. Drista simply can’t help it. Alstroemeria was a character from The Ender Prince. Even though he tried getting Beau and Ranboo to leave Elfame when they first arrived, he eventually came around to helping them. Drista remembers a lot of her readers disliking him on the grounds of being annoyed by him, but Drista legitimately found him hilarious. She especially loved his interactions with Beau.

“Anyway, this is my childhood friend, Al,” Beau continues, looking at Purpled when she speaks.

“I already told you, you disgusting birdbrain, my name is not Al. I am Alstroemeria, the one and only,” The flower-like Fae retorts immediately, turning his attention to glare at the side of Beau’s face. She rolls her eyes, looking away from the group. Drista stiffens slightly. Alstroemeria doesn’t know that Beau hasn’t told Drista or Purpled that she’s an avian hybrid. Drista understands why Beau hasn’t yet, of course. This entire group is mired with secrets. Drista hates being the one who knows without the others knowing she knows.

“What are you doing with my meal?” Another voice demands. Drista looks over her shoulder. She doesn’t recognize this individual, but she knows the outline of a dark fairy. They have a thick aura of darkness surrounding their tiny, winged forms, and this Fae fits that description as she flies closer to them. She hovers a few feet away from them, hands on her hips. Her dark pink hair falls across her shoulders, and her eyes are an unusually pale blue as they narrow at the group. She wears a mostly black and white outfit with purple sleeves. Her wings, too, are designed like the legs of a spider folding together to form inaccurate diamond shapes.

“Oi, you fiend, I am no one’s meal!” Alstroemeria says immediately. He points at the dark fairy and raises one knee onto Beau’s neck to give him extra height. The dark fairy darts between Purpled and Drista to fly in front of Alstroemeria. He raises his chin at her with tight lips. He narrows his eyes slightly at her. The dark fairy chuckles grimly. While she is probably capable of glamour, she decides to argue with Alstroemeria. Eventually, they are talking at the same time. Drista can’t catch many of the words, but she thinks they are arguing about fairness and starvation and who deserves to die more. Heavy subject matter, it seems.

“Al, would you—” Beau tries shutting her childhood friend up. She moves her body to pull her shoulder— and therefore Alstroemeria— away from the dark fairy.

Drista decides to help even after Purpled shoots her a disapproving look. “Hey, what can we do to stop this argument?”

“I am the dark fairy, Meghan, and I caught that bud fair and square. If I decide to eat him, that’s my decision as the trapper and not the trapped,” She says, looking over her shoulder at Alstroemeria. They both look seconds away from wrestling with each other. While it would be hilarious to see, Drista doesn’t want that sort of atmosphere following them when they return to their journey, especially since she knows for certain Alstroemeria will be coming with him (she isn’t going to let him get away, and hopefully, Beau shares the same sentiment as her).

“Is there anything I can offer in exchange for Alstroemeria’s life?” Drista asks, raising her hand to the dark fairy. Meghan lowers down to stand in Drista’s palm with her neon teal ballet pointe shoes. It is interesting to see a fairy wearing them, but Drista doesn’t mention it. The Fae are imaginative creatures, and ballet might exist to some capacity in this world. The people of the empire have sword dances, after all. There’s probably one dedicated to ballet.

“Drista,” Purpled’s voice is full of warning. Drista can’t pretend she doesn’t know what he’s worried about. She can’t simply ask a Fae what can be offered in exchange. The Fae are crafty creatures, and they love nothing more than a deal that is entirely for themselves. Drista is practically asking to be ripped off, but that’s the only decision they can make at the moment. Alstroemeria needs to survive this. Not because Drista finds him funny (though that helps), but because he is Beau’s childhood friend, because he is someone who deserves to live.

“Dark fairies eat negativity. If I can’t feast on the bud, I want to eat the darkness surrounding you,” Meghan immediately responds, pretending like Purpled isn’t there and his words don’t mean anything. Her eyes trail Drista’s silhouette, seeing something Drista is not privy to witness even with the beacon of truth inside her chest.

“You shouldn’t—” Beau starts. Alstroemeria adds at the same time. “Don’t let that eight-legged wannabe—” 

All Purpled does is shake his head. Unfortunately, Drista pays about as much attention to them as Meghan does as she nods. The dark fairy smiles happily. She flies off Drista’s palm. She puts her hands on Drista’s wrist. She leans closer, opening her mouth wide. Drista sees tiny fangs in the dark fairy’s mouth. Meghan sinks her teeth into Drista’s flesh. Despite the smaller size, pain moves through Drista’s arm. Her fingers spasm as she bites the inside of her cheek. It really does hurt, but she’s experienced worse. She breathes in and out until Meghan pulls away with a satisfied expression. Purple-black liquid drips across Drista’s wrist instead of blood (of any color). It drops onto the ground. Meghan wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “I have never met anyone with as much negativity as you. Now, where’s this little group going?”

“We’re going to the center of Elfame,” Drista explains, gesturing vaguely into the distance as she puts her other hand over her wound. It’s too small to cause any damage, and it isn’t even like blood is pouring out. Still, the pain continues to linger, and applying pressure helps in all the little ways.

“I don’t wanna go… but I don’t want you to leave, either…” Meghan grumbles dejectedly. She glances side-long at Drista. “What would make you stay here?”

“Nothing, but you can eat all you want from me if you help us get to the center,” Drista grins, feeling a little more like a Fae herself as she sees the way her eyes glow in the reflection of Meghan’s eyes.

“I guess this is the best deal I’m getting,” Meghan concludes. She sits on Drista’s shoulder. She leans forward, putting her elbows on her knees. She lowers her neck between her wrists, staring ahead of her with a firm frown on her face.

“I will be coming with the group to protect them from you roguish asshole,” Alstroemeria declares, pointing at Meghan again. She pulls down the skin over her eyes and sticks her tongue out at him. He grumbles at her, and the two continue to bicker.

“We’ll be glad for the company!” Drista adds.

Purpled sighs. “Do you know what you’re doing?”

Drista doesn’t answer because she knows Purpled will hate her answer. Beau chuckles, shaking her head. She gestures to the chariot in the distance. They cannot see Spirit, but Drista assumes the celestial won’t be happy about being left behind. “We should hurry back. We don’t want to be here forever.”

The group moves back to the chariot. They all settle in together, mostly taking their same spots since Meghan and Alstroemeria aren’t big enough to really take up any space. This time, however, Drista sits down. Meghan goes back to eating Drista’s negativity. It hurts, and the chariot is rocking, and Drista finds herself dozing off as they move toward their destination.

—

Drista is back in the darkness. The light continues to form a circle of light around the iron cage. The woman sits inside, knees to her chest and tears streaming down her face. She glances up at Drista. She blubbers a plea for assistance. Drista stumbles over to the cage. It hurts her to be this close to it, and she makes this even worse when she reaches her hands toward the lock. She tries unlocking it, but she can’t do anything except burn her skin. The woman shakes her head. “I’m in the real world. When you see me, you have to free me.”

Chapter Text

Meghan and Alstroemeria obviously indulge in their baser instincts to argue with each other the entire ride. Drista doesn’t exactly know where the animosity comes from. She wanted to believe it was only because Alstroemeria was caught in Meghan’s web and almost devoured as a meal, but they don’t seem angry with each other so much as increasingly frustrated. Drista is starting to believe it is a conflict rooted in their genetics because of the differences in their subspecies. Drista knows Meghan is a dark fairy. While she knows light fairies are their natural enemy, Fae like Alstroemeria, who resembles flowers and require more light than darkness, are probably also the opponents of Megan’s species.

Unfortunately, the two of them are able to rope Beau into their arguments. She doesn’t take either side— helping and insulting both Meghan and Alstroemeria. Meghan frequently brings up that Beau is biased since she is Alstroemeria’s friend, and the flower-like Fae claims that Beau is treating him far too harshly for someone that stuck by her inside even when she lived in ‘the Old Country’ (this is the most ancient part of Elfame. It is inhibited by the oldest magic and the most powerful solitary Fae. Ranboo and Freddie visited it when they were trying to find Beau and Purpled during The Ender Prince, and the final battle took place there— well, not the one against Dream, but the one against…). Beau laughs, continuing to antagonize both sides of the argument. Unlike them, Beau is using it as entertainment rather than actively trying to prove that she’s better than them.

Drista and Purpled stay out of the arguments (and Spirit sometimes makes noises or precise movements to convey her opinion). Drista listens half-heartedly, but Purpled doesn’t give them an ounce of his attention. He sits on the ground beside Purpled. He holds her arm in his lap as he bandages his wrist. Meghan drank enough negativity to satiate her. This, unfortunately, made blood spill from Drista’s wound along with the purple-black liquid. Drista doesn’t feel any pain. Purpled insisted on bandaging it, anyway, and Drista didn’t fight him on it.

“What was your purpose?” Purpled asks under his breath. He tightens the bandage. This doesn’t hurt, necessarily, but Drista hisses anyway at the unexpected pressure lingering against her wrist. Purpled starts tying the bandage, securing it against her body.

“Alstroemeria is Beau’s friend,” Drista responds, answering the question she believes Purpled is asking. He doesn’t exactly make it clear. She can’t even gauge his emotions since he speaks so quietly and his eyes are hardened as they stare down at her bandaged wrist. He keeps it there longer than necessary. He runs his fingers over the surface. The touch is too light for her to feel it, but she watches without looking away (purposefully avoiding Purpled’s eyes).

“How does that answer my question?” Purpled pulls his hand away as he flexes his fingers. They close into a tight fist before opening back into a flat palm. He wiggles his fingers. He wipes his hand against his thigh. He keeps moving his hand around, a restless energy burning just below the surface like the stars hidden behind clouds.

“Since Beau is my friend, I had to help Alstroemeria. I knew what to offer Megan, so it wasn’t a difficult endeavor,” Drista adds.

“Why did you need to make a deal with a Fae in the first place?” Purpled is quieter as he speaks. He tilts his head back to stare at Alstroemeria and Meghan. The former is resting on Beau’s shoulder. Meghan is sitting on the rim of the chariot. They are arguing so intently at each other that they do not notice Purpled’s pointed glare. His fingers wrap around Drista’s bandaged wrist again. He turns to look at the bandages with as much ferocity as he does the Fae. “Why did you need to wound yourself for it?”

“Don’t forget what you and Beau are sacrificing by being here. You’re doing it just because we’re friends. The absolute least I can do is help a friend of a friend,” Drista reminds him with a stern expression on her face. There is a common adage that the enemy of one’s enemy is one’s friend. Drista follows a similar tenet. The friend of her friends is her friend. In other words, if one of Drista’s friends (of which there are two she is confident in calling her friend) needs her help to save one of their friends, Drista is going to give it automatically. It doesn’t help that Beau and Purpled are already doing so much for Drista. She needs to repay them tenfold to make sure they know how much she values their presence and appreciates them.

Purpled sighs. His shoulders deflate with the sound. He lowers his forehead into his outstretched fingers. Drista hesitantly puts her hand against his back. When he doesn’t react, she presses her entire palm against the material of his coat. She rubs it lightly, trying to be as comforting as possible (she doesn’t know what’s upset him, but she isn’t so foolish as to ignore that he is upset. She assumes it was something she said. What, though?). Purpled pulls his forehead from his hand. His heliotrope eyes are piercing as they meet Drista’s verdant green. “We aren’t giving you the best examples, are we?”

Purpled speaks with such finality and sadness. It makes a knot swell in Drista’s chest, nearly choking her. She feels terrible that she doesn’t understand what Purpled is trying to say. Who isn’t giving her the best example of what? Does he mean that he and Beau aren’t giving Drista the best example of friendship? It would make sense in context, but Drista still doesn’t understand what that means. Purpled and Beau have been nothing but kind and accommodating towards her. They have put up with so much for her sake. If they aren’t a good example of friendship, what is?

Drista opens her mouth to ask. Her words are silenced as she hears a buzzing in the air. Meghan lands directly on Drista’s shoulder. The dark fairy steps over Drista’s collar. She squats down, folding her wings against her chest. She pulls Drista’s collar to cover her body. Purpled glares at the dark fairy. Meghan, again, doesn’t give him the time of day. She, instead, turns her eyes upward to Drista’s jawline. She hisses in a dark, hateful tone, “Those freaks of the daytime are here!”

Drista knows what the ‘freaks of the daytime’ are; they are light fairies. She doesn’t understand what Meghan means by ‘here,’ however, so Drista slowly rises to her feet. She is careful not to push Meghan around too much as the dark fairy hides pitifully in Drista’s collar. The princess places a hand on Beau’s upper arm as she leans forward. Purpled follows her onto his feet. He crosses his arms over his chest while leaning against the side of the chariot. Beau gives them both a half-smile. Alstroemeria sticks his nose up, though Drista doesn’t think he’s doing that to her or Purpled (at least, not her, since she saved his life). Spirit stops, hitting her hooves against the ground to show her displeasure.

Two bright spheres of light suddenly approach the chariot. As soon as the lights are close enough, the bright aura dims to reveal two vaguely humanoid figures wearing leaves and flowers for clothing and carrying their small bodies on iridescent wings. There are the light fairies Meghan was complaining about.

“I am Fwhip,” The male light fairy says. His dull red locks match with the miniature roses forming a crop top over his body. He adds a skirt made from tall (well, tall for fairies) grass. It sways as he flies.

“And I am Shubble,” The female light fairy adds. Her spectral yellow eyes contrast with her sunflower yellow-orange skirt made from flower petals. Her bodice is made from intersecting leaves. They resemble the scales of lizards or dragons, and they shine like her wings since there are dewdrops caught between each layer.

“What are you two little shits doing?” Beau asks fearlessly with a touch of friendliness to her words. She leans forward on the tips of her toes. She puts an elbow on the chariot’s edge and leans her cheek against her fingers. She arches an eyebrow and wears a customer service smile.

“We are guarding what lies beyond,” Fwhip gestures into the distance. The light around his body moves toward this part of his body, and his pointer finger casts a spotlight from its tip. This light falls across the forest like a flashlight. It isn’t dark, but the light is bright enough to be noticeable.

“If you wish to pass, we must escort you,” Shubble adds. She points like her fellow light fairy does. Her light follows a similar pattern as his does. There aren’t many differences in their light. Fwhip’s is a little more white in color while Shubble’s is a more saturated yellow. Other than that, both beams point the chariot in the right direction.

“If that’s what we have to do,” Beau mutters. She leans forward to pet Spirit’s back near her rear. Spirit’s tail whips against Beau’s forearm. Beau chuckles, shaking her head. Despite the treatment, Spirit follows the light the two fairies have created. Alstroemeria quietly admits that light fairies are so much more bearable. Meghan stands on Drista’s clavicle. She almost starts yelling at Alstroemeria. She refrains, but she does shake her fist at his back with a look that implies she’s cursing him a thousand times over in her head.

Fwhip and Shubble lead the chariot to a clearing. Or, well, it is a clearing now. Drista can see dozens of tree stumps left behind. To match, there are fallen trees crisscrossing the uneven ground. Several chunks of rock have been ripped from the ground and displaced to other locations. The grass has been burned to a crisp with several blackened patches remaining where the ground hasn’t been completely cracked.

This is only the natural part of the abandoned space. Near the center of the area, there is a large ice structure holding strange creatures with long, matted fur and sharp, curling claws in suspended animation. Bright green flames float a foot above the air, flickering in slow motion. Wooden and crystalline weapons have been abandoned on the ground, striking the earth or shattered into a dozen pieces. There are a few spears in one corner that form an electric fence around a dozen rocks smashed together to create an odd polyhedron made from all three rock types.

Drista leaps off the back of the chariot as Spirit tries navigating the uneven ground. She hears someone call out to her, but Drista doesn’t stop as she walks around a formation of fungi on the ground. She twirls around to meet an obsidian pillar jutting from the ground. Seven symbols are carved into the reflective surface. Drista runs her fingers along the material. Obsidian is a natural magic repellent. The symbols wouldn’t have any effect on the obsidian unless it was enhancing its ability to stop the spread of magic. Drista will have to copy the symbols down. If they’re wards, Beau will know about them. If they are sigils, Drista could make contact with someone from Kinoko (perhaps even Olive, a character from The Ender Prince).

Drista moves away from the pillar. She steps around an arch made from intertwining tree branches. She puts her hands along the edges. Tiny flowers blossom from the spaces between the bark. Drista leaps away from them, throwing up a force field as the flowers release puffs of a dark pink gas. Drista waits for the gas to dissipate. She maintains a safe distance from the arch as she drops her force field. She wishes she brought some supplies with her. She isn’t an expert in alchemy, but she knows she would have a lot of fun trying to examine the effects of that smoke.

Speaking of alchemy, Drista’s shoes crunch on glass shards. As she pieces the glass together (careful not to cut herself), she comes to hold a shattered potion bottle. Drista wonders what kind of potion was inside this bottle. While potions require plants and Mob parts that the Fae would be able to easily get (except any Mobs from the other Lost Realms), potions require EXP to activate. It’s why alchemy is a predominately human activity. Witches can also make potions, and they are not confined to one species. There must be a Fae witch somewhere in Elfame. That, or potions were smuggled inside. Drista hopes it’s the first option because that is so much cooler. She hopes to meet a witch someday to ask them questions about their curses and mark.

“Are you always this excitable?” Meghan asks, leaning against Drista’s neck like a loner trying to be mysterious in a tavern.

“She is when it comes to magic,” Purpled answers for Drista. Her cheeks flush with embarrassment immediately. She sets the potion shards on the ground. She can’t help her tendencies. Magic is inherently amazing. It’s unique to this world, of course, which is one reason that Drista has thrown herself into learning it. It’s also genuinely interesting. There are so many systems, terms, and uses. Drista could devote her life to studying the differences or interactions between each one without feeling like she’s wasted her life at the very end. If she wasn’t so caught up in saving her family or completely terrified of others discovering her synthetic nature, she would have attended some school to further her studies. She would have started looking for jobs that would allow her to learn, experience, and make her mark on the magical world.

“I’ve noticed that, too,” Beau adds, tapping her finger against her chin. Drista’s face burns even hotter (she half wonders what color her blush is. Is it all three colors? Is it just one? Is it one color on one side and a different one on the other side?). Beau grins at Drista so widely that her eyes become half-crescents. It makes Drista feel marginally better. They all have their interests. Purpled like sword-fighting and the stars. Beau likes flying (though she hasn’t told anyone about her hybrid status yet) and spending time in nature. Drista will need to playfully make fun of her friends later.

“You two are bad friends. You should have warned her against poking her nose around a battlefield. There are so many inactivated spells around here,” Meghan wrinkles her nose at Purpled and Beau. He glares at her without any remorse in his gaze. Beau’s smile twitches, and her eyes narrow with more than a few cruel words.

Before they can defend themselves, Drista lightly taps Meghan on the head with her thumb. Meghan gasps, putting her tiny hands over her hair. She glares at Drista. The blonde gives Meghan a half-smile. “You don’t need to worry about me. I promise that I’m very aware of the inactivated spells. My former master instilled the necessary carefulness in me. I could probably deactivate the spells myself.”

“When did Waglington become your former master?” Purpled asks. There’s a hint of humor in his voice. He believes that Drista is joking, that she’s demoted Waglington at some point during their trip.

Drista’s face falls instead. Something somber settles in her eyes as she shakes her head minutely. “I wasn’t talking about Waglington. I was talking about Iris.”

Drista doesn’t explain herself further. Purpled knows not to ask. They haven’t discussed Iris, but he knows vaguely that she was part of the years Drista spent away from the world. The others don’t know anything about Waglington or Iris (unless Beau heard some rumors). They either don’t ask because they don’t care or they see how the mere mention of Iris’ name affects Drista. She tries to put a smile on her face as she turns to Fwhip and Shubble (who are firmly in the ‘don’t care’ section). “What happened here?”

“The summer and winter courts were fighting,” Fwhip points to the flames when he says ‘summer’ and the ice structure when he says ‘winter.’

“The battle went on for many months before both sides retreated,” Shubble continues. Like her companion, she points to objects around the battlefield. Unlike him, she points to these small stones floating a few inches off the ground. These stones form a perfect circle around the battlefield. Judging by the extent of the destruction, those stones are what kept the conflict confined to one specific area. Drista wonders who made them. They must be strong wards if they held out for months. The only person Drista knows who uses wards is Beau, and she doubts Beau was the one to make these wards (even if Beau is strong enough to make them, according to The Ender Prince).

“Each side is currently recuperating in their respective domains,” Fwhip points in two opposite directions, referring to the direction of each court.

“What about spring and autumn? What were they doing at this time?” Beau asks.

“We don’t know,” Shubble shakes her head.

“We only know this battlefield,” Fwhip nods his head. Drista wonders when they were born (or created). Since they are light fairies, they were naturally made. They were either found immediately after being formed to guard this battlefield, or they didn’t get out much before they were sentenced to this fate.

“Absolutely useless,” Meghan complains.

Fwhip and Shubble have been amicable the entire time, but the moment they hear Meghan, they turn to her with darkening eyes. Meghan jumps off Drista’s shoulder. Her spider-like wings keep her airborne as she argues with the light fairies. The two fairies demeanors completely change as they tag-team against Meghan’s assault.

Spirit starts pulling them across the battlefield. She effortlessly drags them over the broken landscape. Drista can still hear the two light fairies and dark fairy arguing with each other as they put some distance between them and the edge of the battlefield. Meghan will return eventually when she gets hungry. The light fairies will stay here. They won’t come for the group unless they are still inside the wards by the time the argument finishes (if it does).

“Hey,” Beau whispers, nudging Drista’s shoulder. The blonde startles, glancing at Beau. “Are you feeling alright?”

Drista is silent. She turns her gaze back to the battlefield. All this magic in one place invigorated her, but the thoughts of Iris brought her all the way back down to a low point. Drista supposes it’s because she doesn’t know how to feel about Iris. There is as much affection as there is resentment. There is as much anger as there is bereavement. How can she explain all that to Beau? How can she put it into proper words for anyone?

“I’m not worth worrying about,” Drista says, tasting the weight of that truth on her tongue. It wouldn’t be honest to say she’s feeling alright, but it wouldn’t be any more truthful to say she isn’t feeling alright. Her emotions are still shuffling around. She’ll get back to Beau with a better answer later.

“I think that’s what friends are: people who worry about each other,” Beau shrugs.

Drista snorts. “I must be the greatest friend, then.”

“In your own way, sure, but you need to accept worry from other people, too, if you really want that title,” Beau explains. It sounds like Beau has learned this lesson in her past. Maybe she’s still learning it. Drista doesn’t know what the case is for Beau, but for Drista? The answer sits in the forefront of her mind. It waits patiently for Drista to start piecing it apart, weighing it against the other lessons she’s learned in her previous life and all the ones she’s trying to learn in this lifetime.

—

Drista is back in the darkened abyss where a pale light shines upon an iron cage. She immediately starts wondering if maybe sleeping tangled together with Beau is what’s causing her weird dreams. Provoker did warn her that her dreams would take her to strange places, but Drista has been here with this dark-haired woman trapped with a ferrous trap for days now.

Unlike the other days, however, the woman isn’t screaming. She isn’t crying, either. She sits stoically. Her hands fold over one another in her lap. She glances at Drista. Her eyes are bright with desperation. “I’m nearby, I promise. It won’t even be out of your way to free me. Please, you have to help me. I’ve been broadcasting this message to any mind that gets close, but none of the other Fae want to help me since I can’t offer them anything. I’m just a broken remnant of a fallen clan… but you seem kind. I might not have much, but I really will bargain for my freedom with what little I do have.”

Drista hesitates. Obviously, she shouldn’t trust this woman. And Drista doesn’t. It’s just… She knows what it’s like to be caged. She was like this woman once. More than that, Dream was once exactly like her. Iris kept him in an iron cage to prevent him from escaping. Drista can’t forget the way he looked. She has trouble feeling comfortable looking at this woman without recalling the person she’s trying so desperately to save.

“You will be waking soon. I wish for you to have precious sleep so that you might see even more visions of the night. Please consider helping me.”

Chapter Text

Drista wakes up suddenly. Her eyes dart open. A gasp fills her mouth with chilly night air. She arches her back with the breath, letting it sink back to the ground as thoughts begin pouring into her mind. She grasps tightly at the edges of the traveling blanket she is sharing with Beau. Drista tugs on it, but she can’t pull the edge out from under Beau’s body. Drista relinquishes her grasp. Her fingers are on their way to becoming numb as she forcibly lifts them from the scratchy fabric meant to keep her warm but not exactly comfortable. She forces her chest into movement, keeping a steady breath entering and exiting her lungs. 

Drista turns her head to the side to look at Beau. The young woman is completely asleep. One arm is wrapped around a rolled up blanket she was using as a pillow (and also a stuffed animal, apparently). The other arm rests limply beside Drista’s body, probably having fallen there after she was done rocking Drista to sleep. There’s a little bit of drool coming from Beau’s mouth. She doesn’t snore loudly, but there’s a definitive noise coming from her nostrils.

Alstroemeria lies on the rolled up blanket, curled up in the petals of a lotus that matches his appearance. Meghan lies flat on her back beside his flower bed with her limbs stretched as far as they can in every direction. She also snores, but considering her small size, it isn’t so loud as to be distracting (though it’s almost as loud as Beau’s snoring, which is incredibly impressive. She must be an extremely loud snorer among fairy kind). The two Fae don’t look like the troublemakers they are when they’re awake. Drista can almost imagine them getting along like this. Almost, she thinks, because their arguing voices echo in her mind even when they aren’t conscious to make a retort.

Spirit lies on Beau’s other side, legs folded underneath her. A blanket was placed under her, but she didn’t let anyone put a blanket over her. While the chariot is disconnected from her, it remains close by. Bruno lies on Spirit’s head. He is sleeping soundly. Drista doesn’t know if Spirit is sleeping, too, or if is in some sort of resting mode that is similar to sleeping. Drista doesn’t know much about celestials, after all.

Drista moves her hands underneath her. She pushes until she’s sitting upright. The blanket restricts her. Drista shimmies backward to get some more space for herself. Beau shivers at the sudden cold air blowing into their little dogpile. Drista tries to give Beau as much of the blanket as possible. She doesn’t hand it all over, however, because while her clothes are thick, the night air is exceedingly frosty. Drista draws her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around her thighs. She doesn’t want to know what it’s like in the Antarctic Empire. She would rather remain on the coast where the days are warm and the nights are cool.

Purpled sits on the other side of the fire than the rest of the group. He watches the area around them with observant eyes, protecting them in his allotted hour. He also looks down at a journal in his lap. He holds a stick of charcoal in the hand not keeping his journal open to a specific page. His furious scribbling implies he is  drawing rather than writing. Since his eyes keep moving towards the sky visible through the canopy, Drista deduces he is drawing a map of the stars. At least, the ones he can see and identify from Elfame. Drista supposes the stars might be different here than they are in Essempei or Alfheim.

Drista crosses her arms over her knees. She drops her chin onto her forearm, tucking her sleeve beneath her jawline. Her thumb rubs the inside of her elbow as she watches Purpled. His sleeves are pulled up, and his gloves are removed. Drista can see the inky star-stains crawling from the tips of his fingers to his upper arm. It almost reaches past his elbow, but his skin is fighting back against the starry abyss. Drista’s grip tightens around her own skin. It would be so easy to dismiss Purpled’s curse if there wasn’t a clear depiction of it. There is proof that he’s slowly dying. Drista can’t do anything about it. Purpled hasn’t even tried (she doesn’t know if she wants him to. What if he makes it worse? But what if he makes it better? What if he has to give something vital to his being in exchange for freedom from this curse? Would it be worth it?).

Purpled doesn’t catch Drista’s eyes. When he looks around at the forest surrounding the group, he is searching the darkness barely kept at bay by the firelight. He is looking for threats from outside their small collective. After he assesses the situation, he turns his eyes to the heavens. He sketches the stars on his paper. There is not a single moment his eyes fall into Drista’s Fae-like gaze. Eventually, however, he does start speaking, voice barely louder than the fire’s cackling and their companion’s snoring. “What are you doing awake right now? It isn’t your turn to watch the group.”

The rest of the group (rather, Purpled, Beau, and Spirit. Alstroemeria and Meghan didn’t contribute to the meeting) gave Drista the last shift of the night. Drista told them they didn’t have to. They didn’t listen to her complaints. They didn’t say why they forced that time on Drista, but she knows. She wouldn’t be able to fall back to sleep after waking up, so it makes the most sense to give her the final spot. Drista wouldn’t be so stunned by their words if all three of them knew about her unfortunate sleeping habits. At this point, only Beau knows. Unless she told, Purpled and Spirit must have simply noticed. It reminded Drista of the time her mother recognized Drista’s problem. That thought made Drista tear up as she thought about Puffy. She didn’t contribute much to the rest of the meeting.

“A dream… It wasn’t a nightmare. It was just a strange dream,” Drista answers. The woman in the cage appears in Drista’s mind. She could conjure an illusion about it if she wanted to. She doesn’t, though. It would be a waste of energy, and it isn’t like Drista wants to see that again any time soon. It reminds her too much of seeing her brothers in cages on Iris’ cult’s island.

“Dreams are only the starlight that gets caught between our eyelids and eyeballs,” Purpled says smoothly. He pushes the charcoal stick to the binding of his journal. He closes the book, letting the stick hold his place. He puts the journal on his thigh. He places both of his hands over the leather front. He finally meets Drista’s eyes with a half-smile pulling on his lips.

Drista snorts at the idea. It reminds her of old folklore, like fairies that trade coins for teeth or a shadowy man beneath the bed that will capture a child if they tell a lie (both, Drista notes wryly, are ironically similar to the Fae in this world. Obviously, the tooth fairy maps onto it very well, but Drista thinks there is some strange beast that captures lying Fae). Drista picks her chin off her forearm as she asks, “Does that mean dreams tell the future?”

While Chat did tell Drista that the stars were like a table of contents for the book known as fate, Drista says that because she knows Purpled is an astrologer. He is able to divine the future using the stars. There is an elaborate process including several calculations. It isn’t as instantaneous or glamorous as other ways to divine the future (like the mercenary Deo’s visions or Lady Pearl of Kinoko’s prophecies), but it isn’t any less accurate. There are more astromancers than any other diviner, too, since it is so easy to hide. No one has to know Purpled intuitively knows to read the starlight for clues pertaining to the future. Drista only knows because Purpled eventually found his comrades trustworthy enough to reveal the truth.

“Some do. Others can reveal the past. Most are multiple snapshots of the different paths laid out for a person based on their birth. It might be shrouded in metaphors and illusions, but the truth is plain when all the excess is cut away,” Purpled answers earnestly. He sounds more honest when the snappy sounds of the campfire almost drown him out. The wind tries taking each word away alongside the smoke. Drista wonders if she’s meant to hear them. Maybe the world is warning her not to divulge any further than she already has. The deeper she goes, the more likely she is to drown, after all.

But Drista cannot help herself. Many people have said that knowledge is power. Drista doesn’t know for certain if that statement is true, but she can’t deny that knowledge doesn’t give her a feeling of security. “Is fate inescapable?”

Purpled’s lips smooth into a straight line. He looks away from her. He glances once more at the stars. His face contorts with contemplation. He taps his fingers against his journal. The steady thrumming quickly matches Drista’s beating heart. Purpled’s eyes languidly move back to Drista. He stops tapping his fingers. He examines her face with a critical eye. “I don’t know. All I know is that the stars aren’t malicious. There are some people born under stars that mark them as someone with potential, but those are few and far between. And anyway, potential doesn’t mean anything if you don’t live up to it.”

“Then, what do the stars foretell?” Drista asks. There is an air of desperation to her words. Chat told Drista he wanted her to destroy destiny. He didn’t give her more than that, and it seems like he’s not allowed to by something greater than himself. Drista can’t find much about fate anywhere else, either. Some people talk about it, but never in the sense she needs them to. Diviners are almost universally hated and rejected from society, so Drista can’t very well ask them. All Drista knows is that she wants to keep her family safe. She wants to protect the friends she’s made. She doesn’t want Ranboo to suffer, either, if she can help it. And, if it isn’t too arrogant to say, Drista wants to protect Essempei. The Ecclesia Sea, Elfame, Cogsmeade— every human and Fae and siren— even the sun god and the moon goddess— are all important to Drista. She wants to save them. She wants to destroy destiny, but she doesn’t know how. She doesn’t even know what destiny is. Not in any real way.

“I think you have the wrong idea. The stars don’t tell the future in the sense that they know the future. They tell it by providing enough past information that an accurate assumption can be made. There are stars people are born under that mark their homeland, their species, their family, and even their personality. Using all of this, astrologers can predict major events in a person’s life, but that isn’t set in stone. If a person can recognize that they are a character repeating history, they can change their predestined fate.” 

(Drista thinks it’s interesting that Purpled uses the word ‘character.’ He, of course, doesn’t know about The Ender Prince, but it unnerves Drista to hear.)

“How many people are actually able to do that?” Drista asks. If it were really as easy as recognizing the signs of one’s past, Drista thinks destiny wouldn’t be so much a problem. It would be easy for people to break it. Drista wouldn’t be forgotten because she doesn’t belong in the book. Puffy wouldn’t be so sick. Dream wouldn’t be so cruel. Foolish might come out of this okay, unless he discovers something on his journey that turns him cold and apathetic towards the suffering of others.

“You’re looking at someone who has. My existence as a half-elf means I was slated to die. My physiology would have killed me if my own people didn’t. But Punz recognized how terrible it is to kill someone simply for being a crossbreed. He took me away, and by doing this, he gave me the courage to accept the star-stains to prolong my life,” Purpled laughs airly, spreading his arms wide in an almost victorious pose. The effect is lost when the stars trapped in his skin glow a little brighter than usual, taunting Drista to consider Purpled as someone who is going to live.

Drista is quiet. She wants to tell Purpled that this is his destiny. This is the same thing that happened to him in The Ender Prince. He was born as a child between a human and an elf. He was going to be killed, but his elder brother took him away. Purpled accepted the star-stain curse. The only difference, really, is that Purpled stayed in Essempei to protect Drista rather than becoming a mercenary. Drista doesn’t know how much of a difference that really is. Will Purpled end up the same way no matter what he did with his life? Will the stains continue crawling up his arm before swallowing his heart and leaving him as husk without any chance at finding peace in the afterlife? Drista doesn’t remember the details, but she knows Purpled dies at the end of The Ender Prince, in some grand conclusion she doesn’t fully recall. If Purpled still ends up dying in the same way…

“... is that truly defying fate?” Drista murmurs aloud. She doesn’t trust it. Drista knows she has trust issues, but really, she doesn’t understand how Purpled can talk about destiny as if it were so easy. As if all it takes to change the world is to realize that maybe some things need changing. Chat wouldn’t have brought a soul from another dimension if it were that easy. There must be something more to it; something Purpled is missing.

Purpled snorts. “Did you want me to die instead?”

Drista’s eyes widen. She waves her hand to dispel that thought with her hands. “Absolutely not! I just… I’m just having trouble believing you. None of this sits right with me, you know?”

Purpled nods with a hum. He rolls his shoulders. He sets the journal right beside him. He twists where he sits to face Drista directly. The tips of the flames flicker eye level with his eyes, giving an eerie impression to the purple irises. “You would be surprised how ingrained certain qualities are in people. Most never leave their homelands. Most never forget the traditions and stereotypes they were taught. Most are content to live the life set out for them based on society’s or nature’s interests. But there is a possibility for change. It is through determination and conviction that fate can be molded into something more favorable.”

Purpled leans back with a heavy sigh. He tilts his head to the side, looking at Drista from the bottom of his eyeholes. “I will never be welcome in Alfheim. I will never live as long as a full-bred elf. I may even die a more gruesome death by using the corruption of the night. But I made this choice. I’ve chosen this destiny for myself. This is something the stars never could have foretold for me.”

Drista sighs, putting her head into her hands. She rubs her eyes tiredly. Not sleepily, tiredly. She’s so tired. Exhausted beyond belief. It rattles in her bones. It falls across her heart like a long shadow. She was born with this, she thinks, like some gaping hole that can be filled with love but never to the brim.

From Purpled’s point of view, he and Punz changed Purpled’s fate. From Drista’s point of view, this is how it always was. Up until a certain point, of course. Purpled did decide to stay in Essempei as a chevalier in this life, after all. But this is only Purpled’s backstory in The Ender Prince. He may yet decide to leave Drista to be the wandering mercenary Ranboo will eventually encounter. There’s a chance he will still be the half-elf who dies protecting the people he came to know as friends despite their odd relationship.

Drista ponders it all. She thinks, and thinks, and thinks. Eventually, she is rewarded with a single eureka moment. It springs on her like water bubbling in a boiling pot. Nothing at first, then a few bubbles, and then the water is spilling over. All of this talk about destiny has put something in perspective for Drista. Punz changed Purpled’s fate, and Purpled changed his own fate, too. Both were within the confines of The Ender Prince, but the point remains because Drista— her very existence, not even her intervention— changed Purpled’s fate. If people can modify their fates and those of the people closest to them, it stands to reason that if everyone did this, eventually they would circumvent the fate of the world itself.

Is that what Chat wants Drista to do? Is that the point of having a happy childhood? She would make connections. She would cause ripples throughout the fates of all people. A chain reaction or a domino effect, something so simple as making one person take a different path and causing hundreds of new routes to open up for the people around that person. 

Drista sighs. She flops back into her hands. She really is tired. She doesn’t know if she’s thinking about nonsense or not. Maybe she’s completely wrong. Maybe Purpled is wrong, too. Maybe destiny is hard facts rather than inferences based on the past. Maybe it isn’t as easy as choosing a different path— maybe there are forces at work that force fate to happen in accordance to some grand design none of them are aware of. There’s so many possibilities. All Drista has are conjectures and useless facts about how some people worshiped gods that might not even be alive anymore— or worse, might not care about the people praising their names.

Drista wonders how upset Beau would be if she woke the (secret) avian up to rock Drista back to sleep. She could ask Purpled, though. Normally, she would be too embarrassed to, but she doesn’t want to be awake anymore. The longer her eyes are open, the more she wants to bash her skull against a rock. The only problem is that she’ll probably have that stupid dream again. Drista feels sympathy for the woman, yes, but Drista really wants to have normal dreams. Well, she would rather no dreams, but—

A scream cuts through the forest. Drista’s on her feet in an instant. Beau grumbles in her sleep. Alstroemeria curls into a tighter ball and Meghan throws her arm to land on her side. Spirit does nothing, but Bruno stirs (either from the scream or his master’s agitated state). Purpled is staring at Drista with an arching eyebrow. Drista looks around. She doesn’t know where the scream came from. Purpled is steadily rising to his feet. He is reaching an arm out to her as if he wants her to calm down. Drista takes a step away from the blanket. Purpled’s movements quicken. Drista steps away from the length of his arms.

The person starts screaming again. No, not a person. A man. Maybe a boy? No, definitely someone older. Someone familiar. Drista doesn’t like that she knows that scream, but she does. Purpled calls her name, but she’s already running headfirst into the forest. Sticks cut at her arm. She nearly trips over the roots. She, however, doesn’t stop. She keeps pushing forward. The wind doesn’t help her— not encouraging to keep moving or keeping her lungs from growing too weary, not like it would for her brother, but Drista can’t stop. She refuses until she reaches where the source of the screaming is.

Drista puts her hand against a tree as she surveys the area. In the darkness, a pair of neon green eyes look at Drista. Panic squeezes her throat as she stumbles forward towards those eyes. The moonlight falls across the darkly colored bars of the iron cage. Dream sits inside. His clothes are torn and bloody. His hair is patchy, and his eyes are puffy. The smell of burning flesh fills the air. She can hear his skin sizzling from wherever it touches the bars. He throws himself forward. His palms are slicked with red and silver blood as he grabs the bars. Tears fall through the dirt staining his cheeks. He whimpers weakly, half-whispering and half-screaming for Drista to help him. Over and over again, he demands and begs and asks so pitifully for Drista— for his sister— to save him.

Drista’s mental fortitude crashes in an instant. She runs across the remaining distance between her and the cage. Dream tracks her movement. He grabs his iron bar before landing on the ones forming the cage’s door. Heat prickles Drista’s skin. It grows even more intense when she grabs the lock with her bare hands. It hurts so badly that tears start forming in her eyes. She wants to let go, but she can’t. Not until she breaks the lock. Of course, doing it with her bare hands isn’t the best decision. Even if the iron wasn’t sapping her strength, she wouldn’t be able to squeeze hard enough. But, Drista doesn’t need to be physically strong. She’s a magician. She conjures a force field to slam against the lock’s arch. Drista does this again and again, holding the lock with one hand. Blood drops onto the ground. Dream is still screaming at her. Finally, though, the lock breaks open. It falls into the puddle of Drista’s multicolored blood (red, silver, gold).

“Drista!” Purpled yells behind Drista. She stumbles away from the cage. She holds her burnt hands to her chest as the cage’s door swings open. Drista’s smile falls from her face as someone other than Dream steps out of the cage. The dark-haired woman from Drista’s dreams steps over the bloody puddles and fallen lock. Her clothes are torn. Silver blood covers her body. But she has dark hair and even darker eyes. Her skin is pale, and her expression is vindictive rather than grateful.

She puts her hands against Drista’s cheeks. She leans in close. Her eyes are like the night as she whispers, “Thank you.”

She smears her silver blood on Drista’s cheeks. She transforms into a black smoke. It surrounds Drista. It clouds her vision with darkness. It fills her mouth. Drista starts choking on the smoke. She wraps her arms around her waist. She squeezes as she struggles for a proper breath. Eventually, someone grabs her collar. They pull her out of the cloud. Drista blinks away tears. The cloud of smoke launches into the air, flying away into the darkness. Drista spits up as she tries regaining control over her body. Distantly, she hears Purpled yelling at her. He’s berating her for being foolish. Drista grabs onto his arms to silence him.

“I-I’m sorry. I thought it was Dream. It sounded… It looked like Dream. I didn’t think— that woman was from my dreams. She was… in a cage, then, too. I should have known. I’m sorry.”

Purpled’s face falls. His anger evaporates. He kneels on the ground in front of Drista. He gently tugs on her wrists. They are stained with blood. Purpled stares at them. “Okay, okay, it’s fine. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled. We’ll worry about that Fae later. I just… I’m not upset you freed her. Even if she didn’t look like… Drista, you know that you can’t touch iron. Why didn’t you wait for me? I would have opened the lock for you.”

“I didn’t think about it,” Drista admits quietly, voice scratchy from her terror and near death experience. She feels emotionally numb. Not physically, though. The wind is cold against her burns, hurting her further. They need to be cleaned and bandaged. As soon as Drista thinks that thought, Purpled is starting to lead her back to camp.

“You should start. I’m your friend and chevalier. I want to protect you, so you have got to stop hurting yourself.”

“Okay,” Drista murmurs.

Purpled sighs. “We’ll talk about this later. Let’s just get back to camp. We need to take care of these wounds. We’ll ask the others about the Fae. Who knows? Maybe it’s fine that we freed her.”

Drista doesn’t think that will happen, but she feels a little better when Purpled says ‘we.’ As if he had some part in this. Drista got tricked, plain and simple. She knew she couldn’t trust anything in Elfame. She should have known that Dream being in a random cage in the middle of nowhere wouldn’t have been real. She should have done better, but she didn’t. She didn’t, and now… Drista doesn’t know what that Fae stands for. What she’s going to do. Drista can only hope that can put her back in her cage before any real damage is done.

Chapter Text

Beau, Alstroemeria, and Meghan are unsure who the person in Drista’s dreams are. Purpled and Drista put off asking until everyone was awake and finished eating breakfast (Meghan commented on the bandages when she went to drink Drista’s negativity. She added that Drista was filled with more negativity than usual. Drista didn’t say anything in response. She thought she felt a little better when Meghan was full, but really, she couldn’t tell. Something hollow had been set in her chest, throbbing alongside her heartbeat like it possessed a life of its own, one that it wanted to protect and nurture).

Once they are on the road (not an actual road, just letting Spirit step over the underbrush), Purpled asks the question on Drista’s behalf. The three people who grew up in Elfame glance at each other as they think the answer over. While they all agree they aren’t sure, Beau adds, “She must be powerful if she was able to use both dream and illusion glamour while trapped in an iron cage.”

“I feel like a fool,” Drista mutters. She drops her head into her hands. While being powerful doesn’t equate to being malevolent, Drista has the distinct feeling that this isn’t going to go well for any of them. This is without mentioning the smoke the Fae tried to choke Drista with. If nothing else, she wants to kill Drista. She wants to harm the person who helped her, so what will she do against people who didn’t respond to her calls? Did Drista mess everything up for them?

“I can agree with that one,” Meghan responds immediately. She leans against Drista’s neck, legs saddling the blonde’s shoulder. Meghan leans down to pat Drita’s collarbone comfortingly. It does not, in fact, comfort Drista. It makes her groan, dropping even further into her arms.

Alstroemeria drops from Beau’s shoulder to stand on the edge of Drista’s shoulder. He puts his leafy hands on his stem-like hips. His expression resembles a heavy glare as he hisses, “Don’t be mean.”

Meghan puts her hands up innocently. She tries defending herself. This leads Alstroemeria and Meghan into one of their usual arguments. Drista normally doesn’t mind them so much. On occasion, she’ll find them funny. She finds this one in particular mortifying. They are arguing about Drista. They are discussing if she’s actually an idiot and if she’s doomed them. They are doing this right beside Drista’s ear, too, so it’s difficult to block them out. She would rather they call each other crude names. She doesn’t want their logic bouncing around her skull. It makes it so much harder to ignore the feeling rising in her chest like bile up her throat.

Beau drops Spirit’s reins. She leans down beside Drista. Without any mercy, she swats the two Faes to the ground. They catch themselves with their wings. They try arguing at Beau, but Purpled grabs them both to silence them. Beau gently lifts Drista’s head from her arms. Her fingers brush against Drista’s cheeks as she smiles at the blonde. “You aren’t an idiot for releasing the person you thought was your brother. You are, however, a complete fucking dumbass for not letting Purpled open the cage, so don’t forget I said that next time.”

Beau taps her fingers gently against Drista’s bandaged hands. It doesn’t hurt, only reminds Drista of the phantom burning sensation. Drista curls her hands into fists, pulling them to her chest. Beau raises an eyebrow at her. Drista’s lips twitch with a smile. She tries to look like she understands. Her heart isn’t in it, though. She feels even more like a fool after remembering how she hurt herself making this terrible mistake. On top of everything else she’s done, she disappointed Purpled and Beau.

As Beau rises to take the reins, Purpled releases the tiny fairies. They each give Purpled and Beau a vitriolic curse. Purpled rolls his eyes. Beau snorts, cursing them back in a language Drista doesn’t understand. Alstroemeria is appalled. Meghan doesn’t appear to care as she steps back onto Drista’s shoulder. She flops down onto her butt, spider-like wings fluttering behind her. She tilts her head to the side, thinking about something. “The Fae you encountered must have been from the autumn court. They are the ones who can travel through dreams and present illusions. But the description of her appearance makes me want to slot her into the winter court. She actually might be from the winter court, too, if she’s a nightwalker.”

“Oh, that actually makes sense,” Beau points out, looking at Meghan with an impressed expression in her eyes. Meghan folds her hands over her chest. She looks smug, and she makes certain Alstroemeria sees this expression on her face.

“Need I remind both of you that the clan of the nightwalkers ended a long time ago,” Alstroemeria refutes their claims in a haughty voice. He crosses one leafy leg over the other as he settles on Beau’s shoulder. He looks down on Meghan, both literally and metaphorically.

“One of them could have survived,” Meghan argues, extending a fist from her body. She opens her fingers to Alstroemeria, pretending to squeeze his head. He scowls at her, muttering beneath his breath in the same language Beau was talking in (and Drista thinks she understands one word of it, ‘childish’). Meghan continues, “It would make sense why one was in an iron cage. Humans used iron weapons to eradicate the clan.”

“Why did none of the other Fae help the clan? Why has no one helped this particular nightwalker?” Drista asks, interrupting their squabble. She knows that humans and Fae have a long and complicated history. There was never an official war between the two, but there were several conflicts near the founding of Essempei. Drista wonders how the empire that predated the kingdom survived with the Fae so freely intertwined in their culture. What happened to make this coexistence fall apart?

“Unfortunately, I do not know. It was so long ago. You would be hard pressed to find a Fae old enough to remember those tumultuous times,” Alstroemeria apologizes, putting a delicate leaf over the chest-like area on his stem. This gives the impression of Alstroemeria putting a hand over his heart.

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Meghan snorts. “The clan did something to make the Fae of the time believe they deserved their fate. Honestly, it probably had something to do with their dream abilities. Most Fae know about the nightwalkers because they survived as a horror story or a cautionary tale. Children of winter with the glamour of autumn, and this is without mentioning all the rumors surrounding their dream abilities. Some say they could travel into any dream, even the ones of gods and monsters. Others say the nightwalkers could weave complex dreams like nets to ensnare unsuspecting sleepers. Those trapped in the dream were unable to escape unless the nightwalker let them go.”

Drista shudders at the thought. Since her dreams weren’t being drawn to the inbetween anymore, did they get caught in the net the woman cast in order to find a savior for herself? Drista should have taken Provoker’s warning more seriously. She should have found something to keep her dreams inside her body. When she returns to the palace, she will beg Waglington to make such a device for her. She’ll even offer to help out (knowing Waglington, he will give her vague clues about how to make it and then force her to do it by herself).

“As for the Fae you met, it’s probably because freeing a random woman isn’t going to benefit anyone. In fact, it might sooner come back to bite them. Fae aren’t known for their kindness or trusting attitudes,” Meghan continues, shrugging plainly. She speaks in an obvious tone like this is the way of the world, like everyone should know this. Drista’s eyes slide away from Meghan. Yet another reason she should have learned more about her father’s homeland before coming here. Unfortunately, Drista doesn’t regret her decision all that much. Dream is still out there, and he’s the priority— not this nightwalker.

“I hope my decision isn’t going to cause trouble for us,” Drista mutters. She pulls her knees to her chest. She wraps her arms around her legs. She glares at the ground as if it personally offended her. It makes her feel marginally better.

“Even if it does, we’ll solve the crisis together,” Purpled says calmly and confidently. The toes of his boot nudges into Drista’s ankle. This action draws Drista’s attention away from the ground to stare at her friend. Purpled is smiling kindly at her. There is something warm in his purple eyes, existing in the depths of the shadows lingering around his irises. 

“Hell yeah!” Beau shouts, throwing her fist into the air. Her smile is so much larger than Purpled’s, and it stretches across her brightly lit face. She looks over her shoulder at Drista. Those green eyes cackle like a fire’s flames with passion and determination.

Spirit makes a noise loud enough for them all to understand her assent. She even throws her head to the side, letting her astral hair bounce in the light. Alstroemeria sighs. “If this is what must be done, so be it.”

“I guess I could help out. I can’t have someone killing my favorite meal, now can I?” Meghan agrees with a shrug. She wears a cheeky grin on her face as she pats Drista’s shoulder.

“While it’s a touching message, friendship isn’t so maintainable in Elfame,” A discordant voice adds, disrupting the group’s insistence on reassuring Drista. The princess leaps to her feet, looking ahead of Spirit. She already knew the woman from the iron cage would be there, but she needed to see the woman’s pale face. It fills Drista with anger and resentment. The woman smirks, waving her fingers at Drista specifically. Drista glowers at the woman, and Meghan hisses like the spider she partially looks like.

Purpled shifts beside Drista. She looks at him. Purpled is looking at the man standing behind the chariot. The man has pale hair and dark hair like the woman does. He wears no expression on his face, entirely apathetic to the events transpiring in front of him. Beau looks between the two of them. She releases a bark of hollow laughter. “Yeah, these two are fucking nightwalkers.”

“Well, isn’t that a pleasant surprise? The man of our clan continues to echo throughout time,” The woman says airily. She sounds genuinely delighted by the idea. She gives them a sycophantic smile. “Unfortunately, I doubt our names did. I am Eclipsa, and this is my brother, Nocturnus. We are the last nightwalkers of Elfame.”

“What do you want?” Drista asks, preparing for a fight. Bruno leaps from Drista’s shadow onto the shoulder that Meghan isn’t standing on. Bruno arches his back and growls at the nightwalker preventing Spirit from continuing forward. The celestial shoves her hooves against the ground, preparing to charge at Eclipsa.

The nightwalker shakes her head. “It isn’t about what we want. It’s more like what he wants, and I assure you, he will get it.”

Obviously, they are meant to ask who this mysterious person is. Drista doesn’t know if the others would have. She certainly was going to, but her words are caught off as her feet leave the ground. In an instant, she is tangled in white thread with a golden glow surrounding it. The threads tighten around Drista’s body, causing white and red (and silver and gold) patches to appear across her skin. Drista’s fight against the threads ends when one cuts into her skin. Blood slides down her arm to the ground, and her eyes fall closed against her commands.

Drista blinks her eyes open. She rubs the edges with the heels of her hands. She realizes belatedly that the world around her is simply dark. Blackness stretches out as far as Drista’s senses can go. There is no light in this space, but Drista can see herself clearly. She can also see a man standing in front of her. He has familiar dirty blonde hair. He wears a long white shirt with a golden braided pattern sliding down from his chest to the hem. It tucks into his dark brown-black pants. These pants tuck into leather boots covered in thin vines and large leaves. He wears a green tunic, matching with the dark-colored bycocket. Dozens of butterflies cling to his clothes, their wings moving lethargically. The red feather in the brim of his hat is the only splash of a warm-toned color on his body, especially when he lifts his face to show his startling green eyes (somehow way more strikingly green than her, Dream’s, Foolish’s, or Beau’s eyes).

He is the man from Puffy’s dream. The one Drista accidentally illusioned around them many years ago.

“Who are you?” Drista asks, returning to her defensive position. She knows, though, that this man is so much more powerful than she is.

He smiles at her. “You already know.”

“You’re the Green Lord,” Drista says immediately. She knows the other answer, the one he’s smiling about. She refuses to say it. She hopes he won’t acknowledge it, either.

He, of course, does. “I was hoping you would call me ‘father’ first, but that title is as much my name as any other.”

Drista rolls her eyes. The Green Lord is not her father, not in any meaningful way. There are people in Drista’s life who are so much better for the role. Chat is the first person Drista thinks of. Her brothers aren’t bad options either, and her mother has done everything both parental roles require. Even Waglington is a better father figure than the man standing in the darkness with Drista is.

“What are you doing? What do you want?”

“I want to talk,” the Green Lord says. He puts his gloved hands in front of him. He is trying to put on an image of innocence. His smile dims on his face, but there is something earnest in his eyes. “While you may not want to talk to me, it’s about your brother.”

“I’m listening,” Drista shifts her weight from foot to foot. She wants to flee. She doesn’t want to hear anything he has to say. But, she tells herself, the Green Lord is a powerful Fae. He is bound by honesty, and the look in his eyes makes Drista think he’s also speaking to her because he feels it’s his responsibility to his children (because, of course, Dream and Drista must both be his children. Drista can’t imagine this man, who looks so much like both of them, only being one of their parents. Drista can’t imagine he would be her father alone). He is going to know about Dream, and he’s going to tell Drista all about it.

The Green Lord’s smile brightens minutely. “I know you are aware of this world’s fate and reality’s repeated attempts at expelling you. I know that you are going to do everything in your power to circumvent fate by staying within the confines of the world. I don’t dare say her attempts are futile because I don’t know for certain, but I can guarantee they won’t turn out the way you want them to.”

The Green Lord turns around. He throws his hands out. From his feet, an illusion extends all around them. In a matter of seconds, the Green Lord and Drista are standing in a grand orchestra building. The ceiling is high for maximum acoustics with a few skylights allowing golden light to filter into the room. The far walls are covered in shelves made for instruments and their cases. There are a few racks for formal clothing to hang. The carpet is mostly brown with flecks of blue and red, reminding Drista of the music room at her old high school. In fact, this entire room reminds her of her old high school. The arrangement of the chairs in a half-circle does along with the boxy stage near the center. The people sitting in the chairs aren’t anyone Drista remembers, however, mainly because they have blurred faces. They are holding instruments in their hands, waiting patiently for someone to start them on their path to performing the music on the sheets sitting on the stands.

“I am going to use a metaphor to explain,” The Green Lord mentions as he stands on the stage. He coughs into his hand, gesturing for Drista to come closer. She stands among the chairs, not part of the orchestra or the audience. The Green Lord gestures to the faceless people. “Imagine, for a moment, that everyone in all of the Lost Realms are these performers. Every intelligent species can be represented as an instrument in this glorious symphony. Fate, on the other hand, is the sheet of music. My master is the composer of this music, and I am something of a conductor. There have been many times throughout the world and time that someone has tried changing the song, but it never lasts longer than a measure. Not only will I— and other conductors such as myself— correct any disharmony, but the other instruments know how to steer their fellows on the right course.”

The Green Lord begins moving his hand. The people ready their instruments. A moment later, a song extends into the room. Drista doesn’t hear it, exactly. Her mind doesn’t register music. But she is sensing something. It is more like these instruments are guiding her emotions. Drista wraps her arms around her stomach. She doesn’t like this. She wants it to stop. She is about to start confiscating instruments when the Green Lord silences the orchestra. In an instant, everyone falls ‘silent.’

“You— and a few others— are discordant musicians. You have been given the right to read the entire music sheet instead of one note at a time. This has given you the idea that you should change the song. And I must admit, Drista, you very well could change the entire song. But you will never be able to change the ending. The final note is one no one can stop. Fatum is destined for annihilation. Nothing will be left when the Abyss rises to swallow the world. By the end of your lifetime, nothing will be preserved, no matter how many happy endings you provide to the people around you.”

“Are you telling me to give up?” Drista demands. There is something quiet and fragile in her voice, but there is only resolution and festering anger in her eyes.

“I am not telling you to do anything. I am only informing you that there’s no reason to struggle when nothing will be sustained,” The Green Lord replies coldly. His smile and warm paternal air are gone in an instant. His words register slowly in Drista’s mind. She doesn’t know if this is why Iris chose nihility, but she can see how it probably was. Iris doesn’t believe in doing anything profound because the world is going to end. If everyone is doomed to die, there’s no reason for her not to do what she wants. At least, Iris thinks that way (or maybe she doesn’t. When has Drista ever known how that woman thinks?).

Drista refuses to accept the Green Lord’s words. She doesn’t know if he’s right or not. Frankly, she doesn’t care. Even if everything is going to fall apart, Drista doesn’t want to spend her last days being complacent. She would rather fight and die than do nothing and die. Even a slim chance can be grasped between her fingers, and she won’t let the Green Lord’s fatalistic mindset change anything. Drista is going to spend her last days fighting for every scrap of happiness she’s allowed to hoard in her chest.

“Where is Dream?”

The Green Lord sighs. He drops his hands to his sides. The orchestra remains as still as statues, poor imitations of beings capable of thought and motion. “Before your intervention, Dream and Foolish were meant to be kidnapped by Iris. She should have shown an interest in Dream, not you. Her presence in their childhood fundamentally changed them. Foolish would have become an aloof king unbothered by suffering, and Dream would have relished in the control he could exert over other people. You protected them from that, Drista. You changed them… or rather, you preserved the innate goodness they were born with.

“Unfortunately, the song requires Dream to be cruel and Foolish to sit on the Daystar Throne. As a conductor, I was forced to step in. I am dealing with Foolish elsewhere. I have captured Dream and replaced him with a changeling imbued with the correct characteristics. Fortunately, the real Dream is serving a greater purpose.”

“Does this have anything to do with the halflings?” Drista asks. Kat said the Green Lord was the leader of Kaleidoscope, the group kidnapping halflings. Dream is a halfling. The pieces fit together nicely. And, Drista thinks, a Kaleidoscope is another name for a swarm of butterflies. There are a dozen across the Green Lord’s body right now. But where else are butterflies important…

“Yes. Half-breeds are a transgression against natural law because humans and Fae are creating a new species, a right reserved for the divine. They have no patron to protect them. They are mostly hated by humans and Fae. Fate has already damned them, so they make for the perfect fuel source.”

“Fuel source?” Drista asks with growing horror.

“Yes,” The Green Lord nods, stepping off the stage. He moves through the chairs to reach Drista’s side. The illusion around them morphs into a large field. A large rock dominates the space. As Drista stares at it, she thinks it looks similar to a petrified magical core. The Green Lord gestures to the rock. “A long time ago, creatures known as giants broke through the welkin. They lived on the continent in the east until their king thought to challenge the divine. He brought his army over. He was stopped by Mother Nature. She fought against the king right here in Elfame. When she killed him, his body lay across the continent. She broke his being into several parts. His mind became the first Air Elemental King. His heart became the first Water Elemental King. His body became the first Earth Elemental King. His soul became the first Fire Elemental King. His eyes were popped out to become the sun and moon. Even his True Name was given a new identity. His core, however, remained in Elfame. It created a bounded field around itself to protect the last remnants of the giant king. Mother Nature used this bounded field to protect the Fae, and it was later used as a trap when the Fae disobeyed the heavens. The giant’s internal power was able to keep the bounded field standing for a long time, but he was not omnipotent. The bounded field will collapse sooner or later. I am using halflings to prolong its existence and fortify its strength.”

“How could you hurt your son like that?” Drista whirls around to look at her father. She begins shaking uncontrollably. She isn’t sure why. His words hurt her head, so she chooses not to think about them too long. She doesn’t want to think about the ancient world (is Mother Nature the same Great Mother the Fae praise? Did the sun and moon exist before the gods associated with them? What does it mean for the elemental kings to have been made from giant parts? What became of the giant’s True Name? So many questions, each one another stab into her flesh that make her gasp with pain).

“I can promise you that I am not hurting him. I am incapable of hurting those who share my blood. Your Watcher was clever like that when he was fashioning your new form. I cannot hurt my daughter,” The Green Lord declares, giving confirmation that he is both her and Dream’s father. She knew already, and she hates having to hear it aloud from his mouth.

“”I am under no such obligation,” Drista hisses, glaring at him.

The Green Lord gives her a plaintive smile. He reaches over to touch her cheek. His touch is soft as he rubs his thumb beneath her eye. “I know. You always end up hurting your family, don’t you?”

Drista tenses. She glares at him and forces the tears away from her eyes. He moves his hand to her chin, lifting her eyes to his unnatural irises. “I wish you would listen to me. Everything is for the best. If you let fate run its course, you don’t need to suffer unnecessarily.”

“I refuse to accept that. I’m not going to stop fighting, no matter how impossible the odds are.”

The Green Lord sighs. Before he can say anything else, Drista is instantly brought out of the hallucination. She drops onto the ground beside the chariot. Her butt hurts immediately. She winces as she rubs her lower back. Drista looks around immediately. Beau and Purpled are unconscious in the air, a dozen wires holding them up. Meghan is hovering in front of Drista with a frayed thread in her small hands. She smiles at Drista, happy and victorious and tired and so, so terrified.

The terror is right. Eclipsa leans down over Drista’s shoulder. She wraps her hand around Meghan’s body. Drista tries rising to her feet. She collapses onto her knees. Meghan struggles against Eclipsa’s hold. The nightwalker puts a boot against Drista’s shoulder to send the halfling sprawling out on the grassy floor. Eclipsa squeezes Meghan’s body. There is a sick crunching noise. Meghan stops struggling. Eclipsa mutters about unfair interference as she opens her fingers. Meghan’s body plummets to the ground. Her limbs fall brokenly around her. Her wings fall off beside her. Silver blood forms a puddle around her body. Drista watches with mounting horror.

Drista and Alstroemeria both lunge for Eclipsa at the same time. Nocturnus wraps his arms around Drista’s upper body. He pulls her back, tightening his arms to keep her from slipping free. Eclipsa grabs Alstroemeria’s body before he can do anything to her. Eclipsa scowls at him with disgust. With her other hand, she rips the flowerbud from the stem. She rips his head from his body. She drops both, stopping over the corpses like they aren’t worth anything.

Reinvigorated by a sense of revenge, Drista struggles against Nocturnus. He squeezes so tightly that Drista howls in pain. She thinks he broke something. Or maybe just bruised it. She hopes it’s the latter. Eclipsa whirls around to look at her brother. “Hey, you aren’t allowed to kill that one. The Green Lord was very clear about it. His daughter lives. The other two live. It’s part of fate, remember?”

Drista would rather Nocturnus kill her than keep her captive. Drista’s rises in her chest. She summons Bruno. He is as large as a wild beast. He sinks his teeth into Nocturnus’ shoulder. Drista tastes blood in her mouth as she runs forward. She grabs the corpses of her friends as she darts away from the two nightwalkers. Drista puts the fairies on Spirit’s back. Bruno rips through the threads surrounding the celestial. Drista grabs onto Purpled’s shoulders as Spirit rears. When Spirit’s hooves hit the ground, a blast of energy shoots through the clearing. It destroys the threads. Purpled’s body falls into Drista’s arms. Bruno catches Beau. Drista throws Purpled onto Bruno’s back as best she can. Drista summons an illusion around them. Spirit and Bruno run forward. Drista follows them after a minute.

“We will find you in your dreams!” Eclipsa yells into the forest. Drista doesn’t have a response, so she ignores it. She watches Spirit and Bruno jump off a cliffside. They probably have a way to protect themselves. Drista does not. She still leaps after them, however, entirely unbothered by how much this is going to hurt.

Chapter Text

Drista sits on fallen leaves and bent grass. The entrance to a shallow cave opens behind her like the gaping mouth of a monster. The night wind whistles whenever it blows through the area. When the wind isn’t as strong, a stream is heard trickling nearby (but not her breaths. They cannot be heard at all. Drista only knows she is still breathing because the cold turns her breaths into gray clouds). The waters spurt darkly in the waning moonlight. The temperature is dangerously cold. At least, there is chill burrowing into Drista’s body. It wraps around her bones like an old friend with more ill intentions than some of the people Drista once hoped would become her genuine family. It’s the wind that causes a faint tremble throughout her body.

Her body— much like the ground around her— is covered in blood. Red, silver, and gold, all streaming down as if they were not the precious liquids keeping her alive. Her human blood looks like rust as it dries. The silver and gold blood are given a better treatment as they dry, looking more like paint than dried blood. Drista watches with fascination as it stains the fire-colored leaves.

There is more blood surrounding her. Each of her companions have left a trail. Beau and Purpled are lying across Spirit’s body. All three of them are unconscious. Alstroemeria and Meghan are sectioned away, laid out properly but dead all the same. Bruno is gone. Drista is the only one awake and aware. She’s bruised, bloodied, and broken in more ways than one, but she’s the only one who can keep her remaining friends safe and keep scavengers from taking the ones she failed to. The pain she should be feeling is a distant memory (probably the shock, but Drista will lean into whatever keeps her from slipping below the depths beckoning her to join them in restless dreams).

This emptiness continues beyond her physical body. Her chest feels hollow, too. She knows, objectively, that she should be feeling a wide variety of emotions right now. Guilt, grief, anger, resentment, sorrow— anything. She doesn’t feel a single one. She doesn’t feel anything. She doesn’t think, either, only passively observes her surroundings. She is searching the shadowy forest for enemies. She is not reflecting on the decisions and mistakes she made today. She doesn’t even look in the direction of her companions, sitting vigil in front of their prone forms. To distract from the nothingness, Drista prioritizes her mission.

Something approaches. Her reaction time is not as quick as it should be, but Drista’s head finally swivels around to see a figure made from color stepping across the trickling stream. Drista narrows her eyes at the figure. She looks like a woman in a dark blue and gray bodysuit. She wears a wolf mask over her face, unable to hide her shining yellow eyes. Her brown hair is pulled high into a ponytail behind her back. She steps carefully into the clearing. One hand holds a well-designed bow, but she does not pull back the bowstring or summon an arrow. She keeps her weapon at her side as she stands at the very edge of the space Drista has designated for her and her companions. Her aura, however, extends well beyond her physical form. It envelops Drista with the smell of spilt blood from a fresh hunt and petrichor lingering above the ancient roots. There are very few people with that much power, so Drista feels no hesitation in murmuring a title under her breath, “Huntress.”

“Phaethon,” Huntress answers. As if these names hold power, Huntress approaches. Birds start filling the branches of the trees behind her. Drista can hear snakes slithering across the fallen leaves, their forked tongues drawing out their s’s. The yellow eyes of wolves form a pack that hides too far in the shadows for their distinct forms to be seen. Drista would even wager there are more dangerous animals lurking on the fringes, waiting for an assault on their master that will allow them to feast on Drista’s synthesized flesh.

When Huntress is standing a few feet away from Drista, a frown appears below the snout of her mask. Her gloved hands flex and close one at a time over her bow. She shakes her head, breathing out deeply from her nose. “You are not Phaethon. You are a halfling… but you carry a piece of him, do you not? You are partly him.”

“The Sunset Stone is inside me,” She confirms with a nod. Drista places her hand against her chest, unintentionally smearing blood across her torn clothes. Drista thinks one of her fingers is broken. She doesn’t focus on that when she feels the vague warmth spilling out across her skin from the object replacing her magical core. Divine power is flowing through Drista’s veins. It should burn, but she is too numb to focus on it. She is grateful, somewhat, that the stone is trying to heal her (well, she will be grateful later, when she can properly feel the emotion).

Huntress nods in understanding. She lingers a moment longer. Her eyes pin Drista to the ground where she sits. There are more animals rising from the earth or descending from the sky to wait for Huntress’ orders. Drista’s lips part wordlessly as she watches those eyes shift in the shadows. When she looks back at Huntress, the frown on the deity’s face should terrify. It doesn’t. Drista finds her voice to ask, “Why am I not scared of you?”

“The Green Lord gave you too much information in a short amount of time. While your mind can process it, it will take a while. As it does, your other faculties will be lessened,” Huntress answers. Drista exhales slowly. That… makes sense, she thinks (isn’t that why Iris didn’t tell Drista anything? Isn’t this why Waglington is being so secretive all the time?). Huntress kneels onto one knee. She sets her bow on the ground. All the animals behind her disperse like illusions as if they were never there in the first place. Huntress fixes Drista with a quiet stare. “That is one reason. However, I am certain you wouldn’t have been afraid of me even in other circumstances. I have not given you a reason to be scared of me.”

Drista’s mouth makes a sound somewhere between a shallow breath and a humorless chuckle. It hurts her throat to make this noise, but it is starting to hurt her throat to do anything. Drista doesn’t care about the pain as she drops her hands into her lap. Her finger is definitely broken. “That might be possible. I know you care about Beau. I know you won’t hurt anyone with silver blood. I know you only wanted to protect me by sending the Dullahan.”

“I was given a purpose by the Great Mother… I was one of the very few spared by his crusade, so I’m going to accomplish my mission until the very end. That includes halflings like you,” Huntress agrees. She looks over at Alstroemeria and Meghan on the ground. “I came because I sensed the Green Lord and his minions, but it appears they are gone. I will have to settle with doing my job. Another duty I was given was to bring death to those who have broken their physical shells beyond repair. I must apply a proper death to them.”

“It’s my fault they died,” Drista admits. She stares at Huntress’ bow. She doesn’t know what she wants. Drista doesn’t want to die, but she needs some sort of punishment. Maybe an arrow in her chest will make her feel something. She needs that guilt to consume her. She is so sick and tired of nothingness— of oblivion, filling her up and being her undoing, just as the fortune teller warned her.

“I can neither confirm nor deny that. I am not privy to how the universe decides to give karma or retribution. I am, however, aware that everyone makes their own choices. They are responsible for their own actions. You were tricked into freeing a nightwalker, but it was still a kindness. Eclipsa and her brother repaid that kindness with bloodshed. It is her sin to bear, not yours. All you wanted was to save your brother. You did not wish for anyone else to get hurt.” Huntress’ tone does not imply she is trying to comfort Drista. It is firm and unwavering, like a glacier cutting through stone. Despite this, something settles in Drista’s mind. She isn’t sure if it could be called emotions, but it is so undeniably close that tears well up in her eyes. She keeps them there, relishing in the warmth they bring her trembling form.

Huntress shifts where she kneels. She gestures into the forest with her outstretched hand. “You are close to the nucleus. I will be waiting for your group at the end of your journey to help you. You will only get there if you extend your determination to your entire team.”

Huntress looks back at Drista. She meets her eyes, two creatures bound by silver blood and possibly even golden blood. “All decisions made are the responsibility of the maker. If someone dies, do not think of it as a burden to be shouldered. Grieve, yes, and realize where your weaknesses lie to overcome them next time. Do not accept a weight not intended for you to bear.”

“You’re smart,” Drista murmurs. She brings her hands to her cheeks to wipe her tears away. Her hands sting from the rising heat, but her finger isn’t broken anymore. The Sunset Stone is going to burn through Drista’s wounds, she thinks, the same way a fever would. Drista is going to be in for a world of hurt later. She hopes she can keep it at bay until the others awaken.

“I’m only old. I speak from experience, not knowledge,” Huntress shakes her head. Drista likes her voice. It reminds her of rough stone being exposed to the elements, remaining sharp and coarse even when weathering and erosion try to change it.

“But is that not wisdom?” Drista asks, tilting her head to the side.

Huntress regards Drista carefully. She speaks to herself, not to Drista, but the princess hears the words, anyway. “Maybe Phaethon chose the right host.”

Drista’s cheeks warm for reasons unrelated to the Sunset Stone. Huntress picks her bow off the ground as she rises to her feet. Huntress slings the bow over her shoulder. She steps over to fairies on the ground. Huntress’ hands are gentle as she lifts them into her arms. Huntress presses their forms against her chest, cradling them like newborn babies. Drista watches as Huntress turns toward the darkness. In a single bound, Huntress is among the untamed lands, taking the corpses with her. The puddle of silver blood is the only thing Alstroemeria and Meghan leave behind. 

Drista listens to the babbling stream and the whistling wind. She pulls her legs to her chest. It is a terrible decision when her ribs protest, but Drista ignores the pain in her own body to sit comfortably on the ground. There are no ways to tell the time. It merely passes, leaving Drista adrift in her half-aware musings on everything told to her in recent hours and the hypervigilance fueling her overactive eyes as she tries desperately to protect her friends. Hours must pass, though, as the moon is in a completely different place in the sky. It is when Drista is on her last legs (when she feels like she could turn all the fallen leaves around her into kindling with a single touch from how hot the Sunset Stone in her chest feels) when she hears sounds from behind her rather than in front of her.

Drista turns around right as Beau groans loudly, mentioning a headache under her breath. Beau pushes off Spirit’s body, rising like a corpse from a grave. She reaches a hand to her eyes. She rubs them petulantly. A yawn sits right on her lips. She pushes it down when she looks around. Her expression is mildly confused when she glances at Spirit and Purpled. Her eyes widen significantly as it continues moving. Finally, her gaze latches onto Drista. Beau’s expression crumples completely. The words come so forcefully from Beau that she leans forward with them, “What happened?”

Drista opens her mouth to explain everything. She genuinely wants to. Instead, a sob falls from Drista’s lips. Drista slaps her hands over her mouth. More tears slide down her cheeks as she tries stifling the pathetic whimpers shakily pouring from her mouth. Drista hunches over across her knees. Every attempt to stop her sadness causes another sob to rise through her throat.

Beau rushes over to grab onto Drista. The blonde finds her face pressed tightly against Beau’s chest. Beau leans back, and Drista doesn’t have the strength to keep her body from falling forward. Beau holds Drista’s weight admirably. She keeps her attention focused on Drista. She holds Drista carefully, perhaps aware of the blood sliding across her skin now that she’s close to Drista. She doesn’t complain, however. She only whispers several times that everything is going to be alright. Her comfort is genuine, causing Drista to cry even harder. Eventually, crying hurts more than trying to suppress it, and Drista uses the last of her energy to unravel the sounds before they leave her. Thankfully, her body finally acknowledges her command. When she has stopped crying, Drista pushes against Beau’s chest to sit on her own. Beau hovers closely, moving her hands to wipe the remaining tears away. Before Beau can ask anything, Drista’s lips produce one final sound, “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, there isn’t anything to apologize for, yeah? Trust me, I’ve had worse. When Freddie cries on my shoulder, he always uses my dress as a tissue. It’s so fucking disgusting,” Beau’s comfort pitters off into a genuine grievance she has against her friend. In other circumstances, it would have made Drista laugh. She would have asked more about Freddie (yet another character Drista once knew given a life of his own in this world). This isn’t those times, though. Drista doubts she’ll be able to laugh again for a good long while. 

“But there is. Eclipsa and Nocturnus killed Alstroemeria and Meghan,” Drista admits. Beau’s hands stop moving against Drista’s cheeks. Her expression freezes rather than changes, but there is a shadow in her irises that compels Drista to surge forward. She grabs onto Beau’s hands, clasping them together like she’s praying. Drista’s tears refresh in her eyes (though, there are no sobs to be shamefully heard). “Beau, I am so sor—”

“Stop,” Beau says admittedly, so sharp and emotionless that Drista flinches away. Beau remains silent for a moment longer. She doesn’t jerk her hands away from Drista. She closes her eyes. She takes a few deep breaths that Drista subconsciously follows. When Beau’s eyes flutter open, she looks close to tears herself. “You didn’t kill Alstroemeria and Meghan. Those two fucking nightwalkers did.”

“I freed Eclipsa,” Drista reminds Beau (what does she gain by saying this? What does she want Beau to do? Didn’t Huntress tell Drista not to carry unnecessary burdens? But is Beau’s blame truly unnecessary? No, it isn’t. If Beau needs someone to blame— someone to lash out against— Drista will be that for her).

“Okay, yeah, maybe you aren’t blameless in all of this, but you were manipulated. That Eclipsa bastard killed in cold blood. There’s a difference, Drista,” Beau promises. Beau trades their hands, holding Drista’s fingers between her own. She narrows her eyebrows when she looks at the blood and the remaining bruises. More deep breaths, and Drista is silent in the face of Beau’s unfurling emotions. Beau looks around, “We can fix this. Where are the bodies?”

“Huntress took them,” Drista responds. Beau startles, rearing her head back and looking at Drista like the princess was insane (maybe she is). Drista continues, “She was here… maybe a few hours ago. She sensed the Green Lord and the nightwalkers. Since she came too late to fight them, she said she would do her job. She left with their bodies.”

“I don’t know how I feel about that… Huntress didn’t smite me. She didn’t wait for me to wake up, either,” Beau’s voice is quiet, right on the cusp of several emotions without committing to a single one.

“Huntress said she would be waiting for us at the nucleus,” Drista offers, as if that would make Beau feel better. It, predictably, doesn’t, and Beau gives Drista a blank stare. Drista forces a half-smile on her face. “But even before that, I know Huntress cares about you.”

Beau scoffs. She shakes her head, and the rest of her trembles along with it. “I’m not so sure about that.”

“I promise you that she does. I know indifference. I know hatred. I even know selfish people who love others. You should trust me when I say I know Huntress isn’t like that. She genuinely cares about you. She wouldn’t have let you break your promise without repercussions if she didn’t. She wouldn’t have protected you for years if she didn’t. And even though she let you go, it was because she thought it was for the best,” Drista explains. The least she can do after inadvertently getting one of Beau’s childhood friends dead is help Beau realize that she isn’t alone in the world (what a pathetic thing to think). “You know, I’ve had many difficult experiences with parental figures, so I’ve come to understand where love comes from… if it comes at all. Huntress’ love for you comes right from her heart. There is nothing to doubt about it.”

Beau moves her hands away from Drista. She grabs onto the side of Drista’s head. She pushes Drista down to her chest once more. Drista listens to her fluttering heartbeat. Beau sighs deeply. “I believe you, so please, stop looking like that.”

“What?” 

Beau doesn’t respond, only sighs again. She doesn’t get a chance to explain as Purpled starts rousing from his sleep. Drista wants to move away from Beau to explain everything, but Beau shields Drista’s body from Purpled’s eyes (probably for the best. He wouldn’t be happy if he saw her, and he definitely wouldn’t be happy to learn she let her wounds fester for an entire night). Beau’s voice is quiet as she promises, “I’ll tell Purpled everything. It’s your turn to sleep some.”

Drista doesn’t get a chance to argue. Beau starts rocking her right as she starts whispering to Purpled. Drista wants to join their conversation, but her body really does hurt. She doesn’t have any energy left. The rocking isn’t helping, and soon enough, Drista is gone. Thankfully, no dreams ambush her. 

Chapter Text

Drista slept for a whole 24 hours. She didn’t rise for anything— not when Purpled and Beau started arguing or when they were wrapping the remaining wounds on her body in bandages. The Sunset Stone’s divine power took care of the worst, but it was still so worrisome that the two felt as if they needed to do something about it. Drista was grateful when she finally rose from the ground. She didn’t get to say her gratitude immediately, however, as her throat desperately called for water and her stomach rumbled embarrassingly loud. Her friends were, thankfully, prepared, but Drista couldn’t stop the odd colors blossoming across her cheeks (her golden and silver blush wasn’t nearly as noticeable as the red one, so Drista hoped she would only blush those two colors from here on out). By the time Drista was completely awake and taken care of, the others were hurrying to leave. They wanted to make up for lost time (they both purposefully told Drista they were not blaming her for sleeping for so long). Drista didn’t have an urge to argue, so she didn’t.

Unlike Drista, Spirit wasn’t able to heal as quickly. She spent some of her power carefully bringing her passengers to the ground from the top of the cliff. Spirit didn’t sustain any physical injuries, but it was as if she had been poisoned by her own broken core. Drista didn’t want to leave Spirit behind, but the celestial insisted. Well, she made some horse-like noises and gave Drista a specific look that Drista (or perhaps Phaethon) understood immediately. Drista leaves Bruno with Spirit. She holds her familiar’s face between her palms. She presses her forehead against Bruno’s soft fur, so close that their eyes automatically meet. “Protect Spirit, okay?”

Bruno nods. He leans forward to lick her nose. Drista smiles at him. She ruffles the fur along his neck. He soaks in her comfort. When Drista pulls away, her tiny little boy transforms into a beast larger than Spirit. He doesn’t look terrifying to Drista, but he’s her familiar. He is her magic given a stable form through her willpower. He could never hurt her, even if he had the capacity to want to. As if to confirm this, Bruno licks her nose again. Or, he tries to, but he ends up licking her entire face. Drista giggles, swatting his head away gently with her hands. He turns away, circling around Spirit to protect the celestial from any perceived threats.

Drista waves at Bruno and Spirit as she walks away from them. Spirit seems to be telling her good luck, and Bruno wants to reassure her that no harm will befall them until Drista’s return. Drista’s expression softens. She turns around to follow Beau and Purpled. Without any of their mounts or the chariot, they are forced to walk on their feet. Beau holds the extended map in her hands. Purpled helps her navigate by pointing at different landmarks they could look for. Drista doesn’t know what they’re argument was about earlier, but parts of it linger as they speak harshly about whether or not they should seek out a safehouse of the Erythrargyr Alliance. Drista doesn’t participate in the argument even when she is occasionally given looks. Eventually, Beau sighs. She decides they could try, but she wants them all to be prepared for a fight.

Drista gauges her mental state as they walk through the mystical forest. Instead of paying attention to the faerie lights or the magical flora, Drista tries deciphering everything the Green Lord and the Huntress told her. Apparently, too much information flooded her mind, causing an adverse reaction to her faculties as she tried processing everything. But was the information all that important? Maybe it was, Drista notes, as she starts listing everything she learned.

She knows what ‘destiny’ is now. It is the accumulation of everyone following their paths. It can be changed, but there are forces at play including specialized people that force destiny to return to its natural state. No matter what is changed, the end is preordained and inevitable. Everything is going to be destroyed, no matter what Drista or the people ‘like her’ does. But, Drista remembers, while she might not be able to stop the end of the world, she can stop certain destinies from coming to fruition. And, using the analogy the Green Lord presented, Drista believes she understands more completely the realization she had a few days ago. If Drista changes one destiny, nothing will happen. The overall song will remain the same. But if she changes everyone’s destinies— or at least enough people— Drista could change the entire song.

She also learned a lot about some of the entities in the world. There were giants at one point. When the king of the giants was defeated, the parts that made ‘him’ who he was were separated and given a level of sentience and power. Drista wonders if the sun god and moon goddess can still be considered that— a god and goddess, she means. They were once the eyes of the giant king. It is fascinating to hear, really. Drista never suspected that at all during all of her research.

The barrier around Elfame is breaking down. If they are able to stop the Green Lord, no more sacrifices will be made to the nucleus. The barrier will eventually collapse. Drista doesn’t want to know what is going to happen, then. Glamour will enter the outside world, but Drista is hoping the leylines will keep it from spreading too far. Additionally, the Fae will be given freedom to mingle with humanity. Drista knows there are some Fae who would be willing to establish peace. She also knows there are many Fae who will do as they please. Unfortunately, the same can be said about the humans— some will accept the Fae, others will exploit them, and Drista doesn’t even want to think about the prejudice that would spread. As much as she wants to free the Fae, she also doesn’t want to deal with the chaotic consequences.

Drista snaps out of her thoughts when she notices that Beau and Purpled have stopped walking. Drista looks around. She peers over their shoulders to see a wooden building sitting squat between two trees much larger than the house itself. Beau reaches for a dagger. Purpled closes his fingers into fists. Drista feels her magic thrumming in her meridians as she waits for them to explain why they are preparing to attack. Drista doesn’t see anything weird about the surrounding area.

This is, of course, until Drista does see what has confused her friends. The house is completely still and silent. There is no noise coming from the open window despite there being candles flickering in the chilly draft. Drista wouldn’t consider this too much of a problem until she sees someone lying face down in the grass. There isn’t any blood around them, though. A few feet away from them someone else— another Fae— is lying on their back with a potted plant spilling soil from the rim beside their head. The two Fae are dressed in outside clothing, and there’s no indecision that they fell down because they had any desire to. In fact, as Drista’s eyes strain to see, she believes they are both still breathing. They have, oddly enough, fallen asleep.

Beau shoves her dagger into Purpled’s palm. He accepts that easily, but his eyes widen in surprise when Beau grabs his collar. She shoves it over his nose and mouth. Purpled raises a hand to keep his collar there as Beau tugs her own collar over her face. Drista scrambles to grab her collar to copy their actions. Instead, Beau squeezes Drista’s nose shut and puts a hand over her mouth. Drista’s eyes widen, too, and she tries talking. Beau shakes her head. Her dark green eyes move to the side. Drista moves her hands to cover her own mouth appropriately. Purpled copies their actions, still confused but compliant. Beau murmurs under her breath, “It’s the smoke Kat was talking about.”

Drista understands immediately. Kat told them about a mist that was spreading through Elfame. It would knock people unconscious. If they did not wake in three days, they would never wake again. Drista didn’t think too much of it at the time. She acknowledged it was a problem they could face, but her thoughts haven’t strayed in that direction in some time. She has been too focused on so many other things that whatever this mist is… it completely slipped her mind.

A voice laughs at them. The three travelers’ attention is immediately drawn to the moss-covered roof of the house. Eclipsa stands on the edge. She smiles wickedly at them. She pushes a lock of her dark hair behind her ear. Drista feels anger rise in her stomach. A desire for revenge burns as brightly as her grief for Alstroemeria and Meghan does. Eclipsa doesn’t give Drista the satisfaction of acknowledging her anger. Eclipsa takes a step off the roof, landing on her glamour instead of plummeting to the ground. “The Green Lord doesn’t want us to hurt you, Drista, but we were given permission to use other methods to stop the group. Why not this one?”

With Eclipsa’s declaration, her brother steps around the side of the house. His hand stretches behind him like he’s pulling something along. And he is, strangely enough. He pulls a blue-black mist behind him like an unruly dog. The mist avoids touching Nocturnus, but it snaps at his heels as if there was some force inside of it that desperately wanted to take the nightwalker. Nocturnus pays no heed to it. He throws his fingers forward. Like an unstoppable wave, the mist floods the area. It carefully avoids Nocturnus and Eclipsa, but it chases down Drista, Beau, and Purpled like a savage beast ready to devour. Each one of them breaks out into a run and tries holding their breath.

Drista must give in first. She tries to keep her breathing shallow and muffled. She presses against a tree. She wraps a force field around herself. The mist covers the entirety of the force field. Drista cannot see anything through it. Drista could play a waiting game. Her magic will last for hours. Drista doesn’t know how long it will take for the mist to dissipate or for the nightwalker siblings to give up. Drista can’t simply do that, however. Beau and Purpled are still out there. If they are awake, they need to regroup and plan. If they are asleep, they will need someone to protect them. Eclipsa specifically said the Green Lord didn’t want Drista dead; she didn’t mention the other two.

Drista’s musings are silenced by a cracking sound. Her force field is completely solid. It’s the tree behind her that falls to the ground from Nocturnus’ punch. Drista doesn’t have time to do anything— be impressed, be afraid, close her force field, call out for help. The mist rushes into the protected enclosure Drista made for herself. It moves into her nose right as her fingers grab onto her nostrils. She doesn’t need to breathe; the mist simply enters her. Either through chemical or magical means, it knocks Drista out. She would have fallen on the tree trunk if Nocturnus didn’t nudge her body to the side, letting her land against the roots. Drista isn’t going to thank him when she wakes up.

And she doesn’t. When Drista opens her eyes again, she curses Nocturnus audibly using words she learned from Beau and some of the pirates from her childhood. Despite how creative the curses are, Drista doesn’t feel any enchantment from them. Nocturnus is the world of the awakened, completely unharmed by her angry words. Drista decides she will study curses when she returns to Waglington’s workshop if only to make the perfect curse to use against Nocturnus and his sister.

Since she cannot presently do that, Drista rises to her feet in the new dream world. She looks around. Like all dreams, her surroundings are mystifying and surreal. An expansive sky filled to the brim with stars and planets close enough for Drista to see their surface hangs above her head. In the spaces between each celestial body, there is a faint blue-purple swirling like the Starry Night painting in her old world. A watery surface exists beneath Drista’s feet. It mirrors the sky with a faint blurriness, and while her steps cause ripples, she doesn’t sink below the water-like surface. In the far distance, Drista sees a tower breaking the horizon line. With nowhere else to go and no idea where her friends are, Drista starts moving toward the tower. Hopefully, Beau and Purpled will recognize the landmark if they end up in this dream.

Drista wouldn’t say she’s an expert at gauging distance, but even she knows that it didn’t take her as long as it should have to reach the tower. It was a mere blip on the horizon when she started walking, and barely a moment later, it stretches so high above her head that she has to crane her neck to see the top. The details become clear as Drista walks around the tower. It shoots straight up from the water. It doesn’t have a reflection, though. The walls are made from a white stone covered— or perhaps made from— glitter. The walls rise higher and higher until they eventually become three triangular slabs that hang over the tower’s sides. Drista cannot see over the stone slabs, but she doesn’t feel the urge to as she reaches a metal door against the tower’s ground level. Drista pushes against the door. It doesn’t budge. She figured it wouldn’t since there are shapes carved into the door’s surface, implying they need to find objects to press inside and unlock the door.

“Drista! Run!” Drista turns around immediately. Beau is running towards her. Her clothing contrasts nicely to the blues, blacks, and purples of the world around them. There is something else approaching Drista that blends in better, and it, unfortunately, is much closer to Drista than Beau is. A large beast made from the darkness and galaxies above Drista’s head is running towards her with two dark purple eyes glaring directly at her. The beast gnashes with teeth made from starlight, and the abstractness doesn’t distract from how sharp the teeth are.

Drista doesn’t need to think any longer. Her attempt to create an illusion or a force field fails immediately. Realizing her powers won’t work in this dreamscape, Drista decides to follow Beau’s commands. She turns away from the beast. She doesn’t know where she’s running to. She only knows that she is running away. She doesn’t know what the rules of this dreamscape are. She doesn’t know if she’s allowed to die (will it kill her in the real world? Will it send her deeper into the dream? Will it hurt?). She doesn’t know what she’s meant to do here, either. Obviously, there must be some way to wake up since Kat said that only after three days did it become permanent (implying it wasn’t permanent before the three days were up).

Drista doesn’t get to think much as she runs, but she does eventually get far enough away from the beast that it somehow forgets about her. The beast stops running. It looks around, tail thrashing against the water to create waves much larger than Drista’s ripples. Drista breathes in quietly. She observes the beast carefully. It, like the tower, doesn’t have a reflection in the water. Its celestial body changes and morphs even when the beast goes still, but the eyes remain the same. Drista wonders if that means anything.

Beau grabs onto Drista’s arm as she reaches her. The beast starts prowling around. Beau says absolutely nothing as she points at the tower. Drista looks at it. The stone slabs were open to reveal a golden sphere suspending Purpled’s body. He seems to be asleep or otherwise prone inside his cage. Drista places a hand against Beau’s wrist. They share a look with one another. Drista keeps the beast in her peripheral vision as she whispers. “The door needs some fragmental pieces. If we find them and open the door, we should be able to rescue Purpled. That must be what this dream is about.”

Beau nods. They remain close together as they walk across the starry plain. Distance tricks Drista once again. She noticed something strange far from them, and in the next second, she’s nearly tripping over it. Beau grabs her shoulders from behind to stabilize her. Drista nods gratefully at her. Drista and Beau look down at what is at their feet. A stone slab extends from the ground like a gravestone, but it doesn’t bear the weight of a name. Instead, there is a message etched into the stone. In the days of yore, the children of the sky came down to share their goblets with the children of the earth. While they drank the sweet wine produced by the Great Mother’s hands, the children of the sky and the children of the ground shared secrets with one another. This exchange was encouraged by the Sky Mother and the Great Mother. It was not blessed by the Archivist. He cursed the children instead. His curse manifested in two children from opposing worlds. Instead of singing songs of benevolence and friendship, they taught the other a way to become one with the other world. This knowledge was forbidden, and it manifested as a curse instead of a blessing.

Drista runs her fingers along the word ‘curse.’ She knows without it even being mentioned that this stone slab is talking about the star-stain curse. The children of the sky must be the celestials. Drista isn’t certain who the children of the earth are, though. Similar epithets are frequently used to describe the Fae, but they are more commonly known as the children of the dirt or of nature. Are the children of the earth the dwarves? Or is it simply anyone who comes from the Overworld?

“What are all of these?” Beau asks, nudging a cloak with her foot. There are several objects littering the ground around the stone slab. Drista nudges a few with her fingers. She recognizes a single one. A dagger falls against the water, causing ripples to spread out from around it. In those ripples, Drista sees Punz’s face. She didn’t expect that, but she knew that the dagger was a gift to Purpled from Punz. The other objects, too, are starting to become more familiar as Drista stares at them longer. She notices little details that run through each gift like a thread, connecting them all to a specific giver. Everything here must have been from Punz, then.

“These are gifts Purpled’s brother, Punz, gave him over the years,” Drista answers. The dream has its own ways of telling Drista she got the right answer. A portrait appears, leaning against the slab to partly cover some of the words. Drista might not recognize the objects, but she knows Punz’s face when she sees it. He is smiling in the portrait. In fact, it would be easier to say this was an artist’s recreation of a precious moment between Punz and Purpled taken from the latter’s perspective. Right beside the portrait, one of the objects needed to unlock the door. Drista picks the object up. It is extremely light as she pushes it against her chest.

“Over there,” Beau points into the distance. Another one of these stone slabs has appeared in the distance. Beau and Drista share a look. They don’t need to ask each other as they both start moving towards the slab at the same time. This time, unfortunately, the slab is actually further away than it looks. Drista keeps looking over her shoulder for the beast as she moves closer to the slab rising from the ethereal waters.

This slab reads: The child of the sky drank the fermented waters produced by the child of the earth. Once the child of the sky drank their fill, they laid down to rest. Restless sleep and troubling dreams followed them every time they would try to rest. Nightmares filled their mind, driving the child of the sky to madness. They could find nowhere to rest their weary soul. The moment they stilled, their body was consumed by the darkness of terror. In the end, the child of the sky cleaved their soul from their body. As a tormented spirit, the child of the sky haunted the heavens as a nightmare that would never fade even during the daybreak.

Drista doesn’t need any assistance with this stone slab. She knows what every single one of these objects are. They are gifts she has given Purpled over the years. Surprisingly, there are recreations of gifts he has given her, too, including the golem he used his powers to bring to life. Drista runs her fingers along the golem’s face with a guilty smile on her face. She doesn’t need to speak her own name. The dream knows that she knows, and soon, a portrait of her face and the object they need appears beside them. Beau coos at the portrait. Drista flushes with embarrassment and hurries onward without looking back.

The next slab is flecked with dried blood (blue, the blood of the elves), but the words are still legible. The child of the earth ate the cosmic soup the child of the sky prepared for them. After eating, the soup began pouring out of their pores. It covered their skin until the child of the earth could no longer recognize themselves. The child of the earth was treated like a monster for their unsightly appearance. Other children of the earth attempted to slay the beast. As the cursed child of the earth bled out, their soul became trapped within their body. It was still untethered, however, so the cursed child of the earth was stuck in their body while it continued to move around and destroy all that was around it.

Drista doesn’t recognize any of the objects. Beau does, however. She chuckles quietly as she taps against the dagger she gave Purpled before they were forced into this dream. Drista laughs with her as two portraits appear around the stone slab. One of the portraits is, obviously, of Beau, but the other has some of the chevaliers from the royal palace. Drista didn’t know Purpled was so close to them. She should give Purpled more free time when— or if— they get out of Elfame alive.

With the next two objects in their hands, Drista and Beau move over to the last stone slab. It is almost completely covered in blue and red blood— the blood of a half-elf, Drista remarks. There is no memorabilia surrounding the stone slab. The words, too, are barely legible like the carver was hurriedly pressing them into stone. The child of the sky and the child of the earth did not only curse themselves. They created the unceasing nightmare and the star-stain curses, ensuring that their siblings would forevermore be affected. The children of the sky would lose their bodies, becoming souls unable to find peace or rest. The children of the earth would lose their souls, becoming bodies that could only hunt and destroy. Mercifully, their mothers found a way to save their children by reducing the effects of the curses and saving those who were affected. But even their blessings cannot reverse the damage that was wrought on the world— or the damage that will befall you if you accept this curse.

Before Drista and Beau can figure out what the stone slab means or why there aren’t any objects around this one, the beast finally realizes where they are. It runs at them, using the tricks of this strange place to catch up to them within seconds. Beau leaps over the stone slab as she runs. Drista dodges it artfully, looking over her shoulder at the beast. She watches as the beast, strangely enough, stops in front of the stone tablet. The beast leans down to nose the stone. It doesn’t break it. It doesn’t even step over it. The beast carefully steps around it. Immediately, it starts chasing Drista and Beau again.

Drista’s thoughts linger with that weird behavior as she follows Beau. The dual-haired teenager darts around the space. She approaches the stone tablets. Drista looks over her shoulder, and the beast treats each one with extraordinary respect. More than that, the beast also treats the objects and especially the portraits like they are precious. Drista stops running the moment she sees how the beast treats the portrait of Purpled. She turns her eyes to the tower. The sleeping Endymion high above the world, she thinks, before turning back to the beast. Those purple eyes are back on her, dangerous in the low light.

It’s at this moment that something strikes Drista like an arrow to the heart. The stone slab kept mentioning it— nightmare. They aren’t in a dream right now. They are in a nightmare. This isn’t about saving Purpled; this is about conquering the nightmare. His nightmare, she corrects. The stone slabs also mentioned another word… beast.

Drista drops the pieces they need for the door. She hears Beau yell her name. Drista doesn’t stop as she runs straight at the beast. When she’s far too close for comfort, Drista stops. She spreads her arms and legs wide to cover more space. With all the strength in her voice, she yells out, “Stop, Purpled!”

Drista tenses, eyes screwed shut from fear. She feels warm air blow across her face. When Drista opens her eyes, the beast has stopped right in front of her. It snarls, revealing the sharp teeth. Its eyes are narrowed to glare at her. Drista breathes in heavily. She is absolutely terrified, but this beast isn’t any different from Bruno. They look scary, but they aren’t. Not to her, at least. While he may not be her familiar, Purpled is her friend, and she would never be scared of him.

Drista puts her hands on the beast’s snout. She leans forward to put her forehead against the beast’s nose. Her neck is bared and her eyes are closed. She is the weakest and more vulnerable she can be, but she refuses to tremble. “I won’t let you lose yourself, Purpled. You won’t succumb to your curse. The people who love and care about you won’t lose you.”

The promise reaches the real Purpled hidden inside the beast. Like ice on a hot day, the beast’s body melts away into the water beneath their feet. Purpled lands on the ground on his hands and knees. He breathes heavily with wide, panicked eyes. Drista stares down at him with a half-smile on her face. Some of the beast’s liquid form remains in her palms. It is bitterly cold, but Drista leaves it in the center of her palm as if to prove her point for a little longer. Even if Purpled does turn into a monster, Drista is never going to treat him like one.

“So, that’s what this is about, huh? We have to conquer our fears,” Beau says as she approaches them. Beau squats down beside Purpled. She pushes her fingers through his hair. He tilts his face to look at her. Beau gives him a large, crooked grin. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to let you lose yourself, either. Whatever it takes, we’ll find a solution to your curse.”

“You don’t have to,” Purpled whispers.

Beau snorts. She points into the distance where the stone tablet with her face is. “After your nightmare declared you were also scared of losing us?”

“What do you mean?” Drista asks.

Beau gestures to the other places. “I’m certain those weren’t just supposed to look extremely fcuking close to graves. They were meant to be graves. Our graves, to be exact. Purpled is either scared we’ll die by his hand or that his bestial form will outlive us.”

“Both are bad,” Purpled shakily declares. He stares down at his hands with disbelief. Drista doesn’t know if he can’t believe he’s a half-elf again or if he can’t believe he was once a beast.

“Because we’re friends. That means we’ll help each other out,” Beau declares with a firm nod. She glances at Drista with a contemplative frown. “Well, Drista doesn’t get to.”

Drista startles. She stares at both of them in confusion. She was the one to figure out the nightmare part, and she was the one to face down Purpled’s bestial form. Drista crosses her arms over her chest. “Why don’t I get to help? I’m Purpled’s friend, too.”

“I have to agree with Beau,” Purpled murmurs as he climbs onto his feet. He puts his arms on Drista’s shoulders. Mostly for support but also to draw her eyes to his eyes (just as purple as the beasts. Hmm, so it was important that they didn’t change). “I just got you to admit to being my friend. I don’t want to test how far you’re willing to go for me right out of the gate.”

“Far,” Drista admits immediately. 

She is about to explain just how far, of course, when Beau cuts her off with an arm thrown over the shoulder. “You see, that’s the fucking problem, Drista. We’ve got to stop teaching you that friendship is defined by big sacrifices.”

Drista is going to argue with them when something appears beside the group. Everyone glances over at a swirling vortex made from the blue-black mist that caused them to fall asleep in the first place. Beau presses more weight onto Drista as she asks, “Do you know what your greatest fear is?”

Drista shakes her head. Beau sighs, “Shit, neither do I. We’ll have to do this the hard way.”

The three of them enter the portal.

Chapter Text

Drista rubs her eyes as a fuzzy feeling disperses from behind her forehead. Drista pulls her fists away from her face. She blinks her eyes open rapidly. She surveys her immediate surroundings. She is standing in a forest. Thin trees with dark brown bark and green branches rise all around her like massive giants. The ground is covered in dead leaves and rusty bronze-colored needles. The roots are hidden by a squishy, packed-together soil that causes Drista to sink centimeter by centimeter every few seconds. Drista takes a step forward. Footprints are left on the ground behind her as she walks across the forest floor. 

The minute Drista thinks the silence is off-putting, she starts hearing the distant calling of wildlife. Unseen squirrels dart across the trees, scratching the bark with their claws. Birds sing bountiful songs, attracting attention from mates and prey alike. Something shuffles nearby, but Drista doesn’t get a good glimpse at it when she swivels her head around. She searches through the trees for what could have made that particular noise. When she doesn’t find anything, she realizes that she can’t see the horizon. It only appears when she squints really hard, but once she stops squinting, the horizon forms a demarcation between the sky and earth.

Drista frowns, tearing her eyes away. She randomly picked a direction to start walking in, and she’s going to keep going that way until she finds some reason to turn away. She wishes the forest had a few landmarks, though, so she would know if she’s going in circles. As a response to her desires, Drista finds rocks jutting from the soil or a few mushrooms clustering around one of the tree’s roots. Nothing repeats, but it continues to diversify the more Drista pushes onward.

Drista tries wishing for answers or for her friends to appear, but the forest does not respond to those wishes. Drista slows down to only taking half-steps. She puts her finger against her lips, tapping while she thinks. She can conclude that the forest isn’t simply giving her what she wants. So, what is it doing? Why is it changing? What connects the silence, lack of horizon, and missing landmarks? Drista thinks about it the other way, too. What connects animal sounds, a horizon, and landmarks on the ground?

Drista thinks she gets it after a moment. The forest changed when she consciously observed that something wasn’t natural. Forests aren’t meant to be silent. The sky shouldn’t lack a horizon. Tree after tree isn’t how it works in real life. The forest is trying to become more realistic, and it is using Drista’s thoughts to reform itself. Drista wonders if this is part of the nightmare’s magic or if this has anything to do with Beau’s fear. Drista supposes she won’t know until she finds Beau. She must be somewhere in the forest— along with Purpled.

The forest changes once more, but Drista thinks this is a natural progression because she isn’t thinking about anything other than her friends. The forest stops almost immediately. A few of the trees are even cut strangely to accommodate for some clear line dividing the forest from the verdant pastures. They spread out like softly rolling hills. Unlike the forest, the pastures are filled to the brim with grass and other small plants. There aren’t any animals until Drista thinks it would be nice for there to be some rabbits or butterflies. Both of the animals appear across the pastures, though they don’t act entirely naturally.

The pastures lead directly to a structure in the distance. Large walls made from bronze and other brownish metals rise from the ground to create a complete circle around a few buildings that rise higher than the edges of the wall. The tallest tower of them all is a clock tower ticking second by second. The buildings surrounding the clock tower— not quite as tall but certainly close— are covered in twisting gears and wind-up keys. Drista puts her hands over her chest. Despite not being on top of a mountain, the city reminds Drista of Cogsmeade. Drista has been eager to visit it, so she holds her breath while staring at the clockwork city in awe.

Drista snaps out of her reverie when she hears a noise behind her. Drista whirls around, preparing her fist for an attack since she doesn’t have her powers. Drista holds back when Purpled’s dark eyes meet her own. Drista’s hands fall to her side. She gives an apologetic smile. Purpled nods at her. He comes to stand right beside her on the cusp of the forest and the pastures. Purpled folds his arms over his chest. He squints at the city. It glows like fire in the fading light (Drista didn’t even realize there wasn’t a sun before. Purpled must have been the one to make this discovery). Purpled’s eyes trail across the city. They don’t remain there for long. Eventually, they land on Drista as he asks, “Have you found Beau?”

“I haven’t,” Drista shakes her head. Purpled shifts on his feet. He looks back at the city with a hardened look on his face. Drista keeps herself from sighing. She closes her eyes to avoid looking at anything (it is now that a breeze touches her cheeks as she wonders where the wind has been this entire time). “Do you think she’s in the clockwork city?”

“There’s only one way to find out,” Purpled responds. Drista opens her eyes when she hears his boots crunching on the grass. Drista crosses her arms behind her back as she swiftly follows him. Drista falls in line behind him. She matches his footsteps as best she can. She trusts where he’s going. He is, after all, a better hunter than she is. If something is hiding in the grass, she hopes he will be able to identify it before it’s too late. She knows for a fact that she won’t be able to do the same. She wouldn’t want either of them to get hurt in the dream since they don’t know what the consequences of that are.

Like the shrines in Purpled’s nightmare, the city appears in front of them far sooner than it logically should. Purpled and Drista loop around to find the entrance. The doors are made from a darker metal than the surrounding bronze. Drista hears the sound of whirring as the door slowly declines to the ground. When it settles against the grass, Drista and Purpled are given a complete view of the clockwork city’s main street. Drista grabs Purpled’s arm, peering around his side to get a better look while his fingers itch for a weapon he could use.

As expected from the exterior, the interior of the city is filled with even more clockwork inventions. Each building is made from different colored metal to give the impression of wood or stone. The streets are no different, but they have tracks built into them. Machines that vaguely resemble cartoonish people move along these tracks with wind-up keys spinning slowly against their backs to sustain motion. These machines interact with each other silently but with intense body language. They will wave their blocky hands. They will tilt on their axis as if they were leaning forward or away from their ‘conversational partners.’ Some will stop at hollowed-out chairs to fill in the space, giving the illusion of seated individuals. This allows Drista to notice the ones that are permanently stuck where they sit or stand. They are giving motion, of course, but they do not utilize the tracks. There is a machine standing on a balcony, looking like they are singing a song to the people down below. Another machine oscillates left and right in front of metal flowers like they’re the owner of a flower shop. None of the machines have faces or voices, but they seem to have purposes and routines.

The large clock tower strikes the top of the hour. Drista can’t tell what hour it is, though. Looking at the clock’s face too long makes her head hurt. A tolling bell echoes throughout the city like thunder from a cloud (which causes clouds to appear in the sky). The noise causes all of the machines to change their actions. The singer retires to the room behind them. The flower shop owner turns around to attend to their flowers instead of selling them. A few of the machines ‘sitting’ at the tables rise from their positions to start their journey across the tracks while others fill their space with only slightly different mannerisms and appearances.

Purpled shudders. Drista can’t stop smiling. Neither of them breathes a word as they step into the clockwork city. They are not immediately attacked. None of the machines acknowledge them, either. When Drista lingers on the tracks for too long, one of the machines almost runs her over. Purpled grabs her shoulders, yanking her back in time to avoid getting pummeled by the quick-moving machine. Drista thanks him, filling the city with a noise that isn’t methodical ticking or the one time the clocktower went off. He nods and pulls her along to finish their excursion.

Purpled and Drista walk side-by-side down the main street. Drista is about to split off from Purpled to look down a side street when the chevalier freezes. Drista bumps into his shoulder. She would apologize if she didn’t see what gave him pause. They finally found Beau. She is standing on a stage at the end of the main street, at the base of the clock tower. She is made from metal like the other machines are, but she— thankfully— has a porcelain mask that reveals the details of her real face. Her limbs, too, are more defined and detailed. The dress she wears is painted with a master’s hand, each brushstroke creating motion and substance where there is. 

Drista wonders if Purpled is more surprised about Beau’s clockwork appearance or the metal wings lying limply behind her. The wings, obviously, resemble her real wings. Drista knows about them from The Ender Prince, but not many others know that Beau is an avian. Even those who do know would not have seen the wings in real life. While they might be metal right now, this is a great honor to see them. It makes Drista a little disgusted that she and Purpled are seeing them without Beau’s permission, but they can’t do anything about it. They will have to profusely apologize when this is all over.

Purpled pulls himself onto the stage. He kneels on the side, offering a hand to help Drista follow him. She takes it. Their footsteps echo against the hollow metal painted to resemble wood. They stand on either side of Beau. Her face remains tilted down. When Drista squats down, she notices that Beau’s eyes are dull and lifeless. She frowns, setting her arms on top of her knees. Drista glances over at Purpled, “Do we need to fix her?”

“I’m not sure. The last dream wasn’t what it seemed, so maybe the obvious thing isn’t what we’re supposed to do,” Purpled answers, putting one fist against his palm. He moves his fingers along his knuckles. His face is torn with contemplation. If his gaze had a physical presence, he would have created a hole in the stage.

“You’re right. We don’t know. But we can’t figure out what Beau’s scared of if she isn’t awake,” Drista argues, drawing Purpled’s attention away from the stage to Drista.

“How do you know this isn’t your nightmare?” He asks curiously, raising an eyebrow.

Drista shrugs. “I don’t know. It just doesn’t feel like it. I mean, I’ve been impressed by everything. There isn’t any fear in my chest. And wouldn’t I be the one stuck to the stage and part of this clockwork city if it were my nightmare? Don’t answer that. I just know this isn’t mine.”

“No, no, I understand. I wasn’t in my right mind during my nightmare, but I think… I also felt like this was my nightmare. I didn’t realize what that meant at the time, though,” Purpled trails off, drifting off to his own memories. Drista tilts forward, one knee settling against the stage. She reaches a hand out as if to comfort her friend. She doesn’t get a chance to. He snaps out of it. He gives her a half-smile. “We should find a wind-up key for Beau. We won’t get very far in this nightmare if she can’t even talk to us.”

Drista nods. She rises to her feet. She pats her clothes off for any dust as she crosses the stage. She leaps from the side to the ground. She balances against the metal street. Purpled goes in the opposite direction as her. They look around every corner and box for an extra wind-up key that might be somewhere nearby. Unfortunately, they don’t find any lying around. Drista huffs in disappointment. She crosses her arms over her chest. 

As she tries thinking about what they could do, Purpled has an idea that he commits to without consulting her. Drista watches Purpled walk to a machine seated at a nearby outdoor cafe. Purpled pulls the wind-up key out from the machine’s back. Without the key, the machine slumps forward. Purpled brings the key to Beau. Drista hurries over to do something— stop or help, her only two options. Purpled must assume she’s doing the first because he gives her a hesitant smile. “It probably isn’t going to need this.”

Drista doesn’t know about that, but it does lead her to realize that Beau needs the key more. Beau needs it to regain her sentience. No matter how life-like the machine acts, it isn’t real in the way Beau is. Plus, and Drista hates to point this out, they only have three days to free themselves from these dreams or they are stuck inside. They don’t have time to find another key or find a way to forge one. Drista feels bad for the machine and for the person who built this entire clockwork city, but they have to do what they have to do.

Purpled and Drista work together to wind the key up. When it clicks, unable to continue, they take a step away from it. The key slowly starts unwinding. As it does, Beau gasps with wakefulness. She rises to an upright position. Her wings flutter around her, surprisingly flexible for being made from metal. Beau’s marble-like eyes blink as she looks around. She acknowledges Purpled and Drista. They move in front of her, not eager to test the range of her new body’s movements. Beau puts a hand against her forehead, glaring weakly at them both. “I fucking hate this shitty dream.”

“It’s creepy,” Purpled agrees, nodding. He crosses his arms over his chest. He shifts around, looking at the clockwork city behind him. The machines continue running around like— well, like clockwork. Purpled scowls at it all.

“I think it’s fascinating,” Drista admits sheepishly, scratching her jawline. She wants to tell them she agrees with them, but she’s stuck with her biological curse of truthfulness even when she doesn’t get the cool powers to go along with it. Drista can’t help it, though. An entire city run by clockwork machinery? A place with the impression of life but without any of it? It’s as unique a place as Purpled’s dream was, including the forest right outside that was trying to become more perfect through Purpled and Drista’s observations. While they might both be nightmares, neither of the dreams felt particularly scary.

She can only hope this trend continues for her nightmare.

“What do you think we need to do?” Purpled asks, very pointedly not asking her what she thinks she’s scared of.

“Well, you two need to fix me, right?” Beau raises an eyebrow. She glances over her shoulder at her wings. She runs her fingers along the edges. She stops when she only hears metal scratching against metal. Beau’s metallic lips twitch with a frown. Drista feels terrible for thinking the dreams weren’t that bad. It must have been horrible for Purpled and it is horrible for Beau to be in these unnatural bodies.

“That’s what I thought, but Purpled pointed out that the obvious answer might not be the right one,” Drista says. She hides her blushing cheeks, but her voice has a slight twinge of guilt that she can’t shake. Beau gives her a curious look. Purpled pats her shoulder. Drista smiles gratefully at them. Although neither of them understands why she feels guilty, they are both trying to comfort her. Drista wishes she could figure this dream out for Beau in the same way she figured out Purpled’s dream. She wants to help her friend get away from this nightmare as soon as she can (even if that means running directly into her own nightmare).

The group falls into silence as all three of them start thinking about what the answer to the dream could be. Drista plops down on her butt beside Beau’s skirt. Purpled moves around the edge of the stage. Beau and Purpled are looking out across the city for answers. Drista is turning inward to think about everything she knows about Beau— both from the girl beside her and the character from The Ender Prince. Nothing particularly stands out as a good fear. It could be abandonment, but Drista doesn’t know how this nightmare relates to that. Plus, she isn’t certain that’s really what Beau is afraid of. She never seemed upset when someone from Ranboo’s group left her. In fact, despite her boisterous personality, she was one of the few characters who could survive on her own. Ranboo, Tubbo, Olive, and Freddie were not as self-sufficient. Eryn was, though, along with Purpled and Deo.

Not the point, Drista sighs. She is probably coming at this from the wrong angle. Obviously, she wouldn’t know what Beau’s deepest, darkest fear is. Beau and Ranboo never had a heart-to-heart like that. Beau and Drista have never had a heart-to-heart like that. Since Drista isn’t going to have any luck there, she should come at this from another viewpoint. She decides she should use the same way she thought about the forest’s additions when she was trying to figure out why it was changing.

What do the forest, the pastures, and the clockwork city have in common? Why is the nightmare constructed like this? What is the nightmare trying to say about Beau? These are the questions Drista is left with. She taps her fingers against the stage. Slowly, without even thinking about it, she leans her head against Beau’s metal skirt. It is cool against her forehead. Beau’s metallic fingers reach down to touch Drista’s hair. When Drista tilts her head back to look, Beau is completely lost in her thoughts. Drista lets Beau do what she needs to do to think while Drista focuses on her own questions.

Drista is pulled from her thoughts when she hears a loud noise. Drista leaps to her feet. She looks around. Purpled is frozen at the edge of the stage. When Drista moves toward him, Beau grabs her wrist. Drista doesn’t look back at Beau, but she does remain frozen in the spot Beau needs her in. Drista frowns, looking out across the clockwork city. The cause of the noise was a crash— several of them, in fact. In a matter of seconds, Drista watches as the main street stops running as smoothly as it did when they arrived. The machines were running into each other and falling off the tracks. The ones on the edges were glitching out as they tried interacting with machines that weren’t there. A pang settles in Drista’s chest as she realizes the gravity of what she’s watching. The main street is being brought to ruin through the domino effect of a single crash. Drista knows from the noises that the entire city is suffering a similar fate to what happened on this street.

Beau’s voice is shaky and horrified as she asks, “Where did you get this wind-up from?”

“We got it from them,” Purpled points to the very first crash. One machine was trying to get to the seat that the other one was slumped lifelessly inside. This caused the machine to fall back, resulting in the first few crashes that completely destroyed the outdoor cafe.

“We have to return the wind-up!” Beau demands, scrambling to grab the wind-up key with her own hands. Metal slams against metal and her wings flare behind her angrily to give her some extra size.

Drista grabs onto Beau’s arms, stopping the teenager for a moment. Beau’s eyes whip around to look into Drista’s eyes. The blonde tries to sound reasonable as she says, “That would put you out of commission, though. We can’t give the key back.”

“Can I take that machine’s spot?” Beau asks, eyes moving away from Drista to Purpled.

Several creaking noises start accumulating into a larger one. Purpled starts to say something about it being too late, but his words are redundant as the city literally collapses around them. Purpled runs over to them. Beau yanks her elbows from Drista’s hands to grab the blonde’s shoulders. Drista is tucked underneath a metal chin as Beau tries to protect her body. Purpled moves his arms around them both. Drista screws her eyes shut as she listens to the metal slamming against metal. The noise is terribly painful, and the context terrifies Drista enough that her ears start ringing alongside the other noises. It gets infinitely worse when the stage they were standing on plummets to the ground. One of them squeals (it was probably her) as the three of them fall into a heap on the ground.

There is one last pitiful groan as the debris settles. Purpled moves away first. He kneels beside them. Beau’s arms are tight around Drista— either because she’s scared or because Drista is shaking. It might be for both reasons, but Beau’s emotions rapidly swing towards anger while Drista remains partially frozen against Beau’s chest. “Why the fuck did you do that?”

“We need to wake you up,” Purpled argues, voice firm and uncompromising. Drista doesn’t want them to argue, of course, but part of her is glad that Beau is yelling at Purpled instead of her. Drista thinks she will start crying immediately. This is karma for saying the dreams weren’t scary. Drista is absolutely panic-stricken right now.

“Look around you, damnit! The city is fucking gone!” Beau shouts at him. Drista’s fingers tremble as she pushes off Beau’s chest. Beau’s arms relinquish her easily. Beau doesn’t seem to notice Drista at all. Purpled doesn’t, either. They continue glaring at each other even when Drista stretches her hands out to put one on both of their chests. She nudges gently, trying to get them to put some distance between each other.

When Drista opens her mouth to give some reason for why they shouldn’t argue, Purpled grabs her wrist to stop her from pushing him away. He doesn’t throw her hand away, though, merely keeping it against his heartbeat as he meets Beau’s eyes. “They were clockwork puppets. They didn’t mean anything.”

“That’s not the point!” Beau throws her hands down. She shifts, rising onto her knees in front of Purpled. Drista sighs heavily. She pulls herself upward, waiting to match their height. Her legs are too weak for that, though. She crumples against the ground once more.

“What is the point?” Purpled retorts, voice growing inversely quieter as Beau’s voice gets louder. It seems they experience rage in opposite ways.

“The point is that you took from someone else for my sake, but I fucking didn’t contribute a damn thing! Because of us, the city is gone!” Beau informs him, shoving her index finger into his chest. She moves closer to him. Drista redoubles her efforts to push them away from each other. A new fear sinks into Drista’s body— one she didn’t know she had. Or rather, one she thought she lost. Maybe the horror of having a city collapse around her is transforming into something else, but Drista knows that she has always hated people arguing with each other. It started in her former life. She didn’t know it would plague her now, but Beau and Purpled remind her too much of her foster siblings or parents arguing with each other. Drista knows objectively that neither Beau nor Purpled is going to get violent, especially not towards her, but Drista feels vomit rise up her throat as she tries to stop their argument without incurring their wrath.

Since she’s dealing with trauma and terror, Purpled understands far sooner than Drista does. She can see it on his face, too. His anger turns into comprehension. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. This action startles Beau into silence. She leans back on her haunches with a twisted expression. Drista nearly collapses with relief. She puts her hands on her thighs, breathing heavily. She wonders briefly if she is supposed to understand what Purpled does, but she decides she doesn’t care. If Purpled knows, that’s good for the collective.

“Beau, look around,” Purpled commands her in a neutral voice. Beau looks at him like he’s grown a second head. Her mouth opens as she glares at him. Purpled beats her to it. “Please, look around. Just look at everything around us. Come on, Beau, look.”

Beau sighs out of her nose. She turns her head around to look at everything. Her metal joints make quiet noises as she swings her head in both directions as far as it humanely can go (it might be able to swing further, but Beau must prefer her human limitations). When Beau turns her eyes back to Purpled, she crosses her arms over her chest. “I don’t see anything but rubble.”

“Thank you. Now, will you walk around, too?” Purpled asks. He rises to his feet. He puts his hand out for her. Beau narrows her eyes at him with suspicion coating her features. She takes his hand. When they are standing side by side, he inclines his head forward. Beau huffs. She grumbles under her breath as she starts walking away from them. She continues cursing him out as she climbs a nearby rubble pile. Purpled shows his hands to Drista. She takes it, feeling unsteady on her feet. Purpled brushes imaginary dust off her shoulders as he asks, “Will you walk around, too?”

Drista has no idea what’s going on, but she doesn’t bother asking questions. She takes a few hesitant steps backward. She turns around to continue on her way. She moves through the rubble. She wraps her arms around her stomach. She pretends she is walking to cool her emotions down, not because Purpled has some plan, but because he isn’t telling them. This thought, surprisingly, does make Drista feel better. Her chest no longer hurts. Her head feels clearer than any panic. The memories of her past life fade back to a time before her birth in this world.

Drista pauses when she notices someone in front of her. Beau gives Drista a half-smile. Drista returns the expression as best she can. Beau places an arm around Drista’s shoulders. She draws the blonde close to her body as they continue exploring the rubble. Beau guides them to where Purpled is ambling without a care in the world. Beau and Drista stop right in front of him, blocking his path. Beau puts her other arm on her hip. “Alright, we’ve done your bidding. Now, tell us what the fuck that was for?”

Purpled smiles, open and honest. He looks right into Beau’s eyes. “Life is a series of choices. Some are profound; others are meaningless. Sometimes, people make the right choices and sometimes they don’t. But this time, you chose to listen to me when I told you to walk away. No one told you to, but you reunited with me and Drista.”

“I don’t get it,” Drista murmurs.

Beau exhales sharply. She squeezes Drista’s shoulder tighter. She looks away from both her and Purpled. “I do. It’s my fear. I never belonged in Elfame because I wasn’t a Fae. I didn’t belong to Huntress, and she sent me away. I want to belong to Essempei, but I don’t know if I ever will even after years of learning human culture and noble etiquette. My greatest fear is that I don’t belong anywhere… And, if I force myself to fit in somewhere, I’ll be taking someone else’s place and making everything worse.”

“You can’t take someone else’s place,” Purpled reminds her.

Beau glares at him with no heat. “How can you say that? Of course, I can take someone else’s place.”

Purpled sighs, rocking on his heels. “I’ll be honest, I’m not sure how to answer. I want to say something that you will believe. But I guess it doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. You found your way back to me and Drista. Isn’t it enough that you belong with us?”

Beau huffs and rolls her eyes, but a small smile creeps onto her face. “That’s so fucking cheesy.”

“It’s true, though. If you would rather, I could explain that fate is all-encompassing so there isn’t any possible way you could take someone’s place. Or, I could explain that fate doesn’t exist so no one has a place that can be taken,” Purpled shrugs, giving Beau options for how she wants to face her greatest fear head-on.

“Is it a binary: either fate is real or it isn’t?” Beau asks.

“Destiny is real,” Drista says firmly, joining the conversation. For the first time since the clockwork city collapsed, Drista feels entirely in her own body and completely confident in her words. She pulls away from Beau’s arm, proving more to herself than the others that she can stand on her own. “Destiny is real. We might be able to destroy it. Most likely, we won’t be able to. But there isn’t a reason to cling to what could happen. Right here, right now, you belong wherever you want to belong, and there isn’t anyone who can stop you.”

Drista turns back to look at her friends. Purpled’s eyes shine with pride. Beau waves a hand in front of her face. She grins widely at Purpled and Drista. She throws her arms and her wings open for them. Purpled raises an eyebrow. As Drista rushes into those arms, she pulls Purpled with her. Beau embraces them with her arms and wings. They are hidden in the darkness and surrounded by each other’s body heat. Beau whispers quietly, “Thank you.”

When Drista and Purpled pull away, they notice a portal open behind Beau. The avian turns around to look at what they’re looking at. The three of them stand in a line before the portal. Purpled doesn’t tear his eyes away from it as he asks, “Are you prepared to face your fears?” 

“I think I’m more scared of you two finding out what my greatest fear is,” Drista chuckles weakly.

“I want to know what the darkness in your eyes means,” Beau admits softly.

“We’ll go when you’re ready,” Purpled says, giving Beau an odd glance. She shrugs, unrepentant of her words. Drista doesn’t mind; she doesn’t care enough to pay attention more than she has to.

Drista hopes they won’t be stepping into oblivion. She hopes they won’t forget her or themselves. Drista hopes and hopes, but she doesn’t dare doubt as she takes the first step into the portal. 

Chapter Text

Drista opens her eyes. Her breath is immediately stolen right out of her chest— not because of fear, but rather because of awe. She is standing in a large theater. There are rows and rows of seats leading to a grand stage almost too large for her eyes to look at in its entirety. Instead of being made from wood or metal, everything seems to be made from glass. Beyond the transparent substance, the entire cosmos stretches out forever onward. She can see giant balls of fire, multi-colored clouds of stardust, and large planets circling around distant suns. The theater's individual parts were also made from these pieces. The seats are made of glass with iridescent mist trapped inside. The curtains are made from a translucent material resembling the tail of a comet. The stage in particular burns with a bright glow that passively shifts from one color to the next.

The beauty of the theater is added to by the inhabitants. Drista stands in the audience with other celestials. Each one resembles an animal she is familiar with, but they all look like constellations given substance. While Drista shouldn’t recognize a single one of them on a personal level, part of her feels like she would know their names if she were pushed to converse with any one of them. Drista puts a hand against her chest. She should feel out of place when her form is made from flesh and blood, but she feels at ease around these celestials.

There are three figures on the stage. One of them is sitting on a black bench made from an unknowable material. Her golden hair is pulled back into a low bun sitting on the back of her neck. Her eyes are as brilliantly red as a supernova exploding across the cosmos. She wears a simple white dress that moves gently like a pleasant breeze constantly surrounds her. Two other figures sit on the ground on either side of her legs. The one with their arms crossed in the first figure’s lap is a masculine form made from orange and gold flames. His eyes are almost the same shade of red as her own. The other feminine figure leans her head against the first figure’s knee, beside the second figure’s arms. She looks like she is made from dark blue and purple stone. Her eyes are closer to maroon. The first figure is moving her hands through their hair (or the equivalent of their hair) while singing gently to them.

Drista doesn’t need to think about it for even a moment. She knows who these three are. The first figure is the Sky Mother— the goddess of the sky and the mother of celestials. The two figures resting with her must be the sun god and the moon goddess. Drista has done much research about them. She has seen their visages recreated by over a thousand artist’s hands in dozens of different mediums. None of those creations come close to replicating the majesty of these ethereal figures.

Drista moves closer to the edge of the stage. She brushes her fingers against the glass material holding back the soothing colors. No matter how beautiful the theater is, Drista realizes almost immediately that the song the Sky Mother is singing is what she should be paying attention to. Drista doesn’t have any words to describe it. She can only say that it fills her with an unshakeable tranquility that both brings her immense comfort and fills her with excitable energy. Drista could curl up and fall asleep, or she could defeat one of the strongest beings in the entire universe. All she knows is that no matter what she chooses to do, she will be entirely herself while doing it. And that must be the true beauty of the melodious song restrained to a single voice echoing through the cosmos.

Drista’s mesmerization comes at a dire cost. She doesn’t notice the approaching warrior until it is too late. He climbs onto the stage beside Drista. She glances at him from the corner of her eye. His armor shines as brightly as the stars held prisoner within the stage’s structure. He wears a helmet to obscure his face, but Drista can tell his eyes never once land on her. Instead, his focus is entirely on the three gods residing on the stage. Drista reaches a hand to grab the warrior’s red cape. The material avoids her fingers by mere inches as the warrior races across the stage with enough speed to create cracks in the stage. The mist starts exiting from the crack, but Drista can still see the warrior throw his spear into the Sky Mother’s chest. Golden blood spills from her body to the stage. The warrior tears his spear out of her body, and as he turns, he grabs the ball of light that the goddess’ body becomes.

The entire theater erupts into chaos. The celestials roar with demonic voices, howling and screaming like wild animals undone by their mother’s death. The sun god and moon goddess shoot away from their mother’s body. Golden blood drips from their bodies as they watch the warrior warily. Drista is shoved against the stage by one of the celestials. They are trying to call onto the stage to save their mistress. None of them are able to due to a barrier, but Drista finds that such restrictions don’t apply to her. She puts her foot on one of the celestials to give her enough boost to jump onto the stage. She silently apologizes to the celestial for possibly hurting them, but she has to reach the sun god and moon goddess before the warrior can reach them.

Drista is, unfortunately, too late. The warrior kills the moon goddess without any fanfare. She doesn’t get a chance to scream or throw around some divine power as he transmutes her body into a shard of purple-tinted obsidian. The warrior wraps his hands around the shard, keeping it held tightly in his fist. His spear is dripping with golden blood. A pair of inhuman eyes gradually appear in the darkness of his helmet as he turns around to look at the sun god. Drista feels fear move through her chest. She has to make it to the sun god first, though, and that thought propels her feet into motion as she races across the fracturing stage.

The warrior throws his spear. It lands in the sun god’s chest. His body, like the others, transforms into something else. Drista recognizes the Sunset Stone as she cups both of her hands around it. She trips forward. She rolls across the stage with the Sunset Stone held against her chest. When she settles on the ground, she realizes that the Sunset Stone burns. Flames are licking her wrists, threatening to destroy her skin and muscles beyond repair. Drista’s eyes fill with tears. She curls her body around the Sunset Stone, refusing to give it to the warrior capable of killing gods.

Drista unscrews her eyes when the howling celestials become quieter. Each one is becoming bound to the sky as the constellations they were born as. Drista gets the feeling that this is not what they want to happen. They are trapped, enslaved to a night sky that is quickly swallowed by an obscuring mist.

The warrior turns to Drista. Finally, he is looking at her. Those blue eyes send a chill right down Drista’s spine. Despite holding the embodiment of the sun god’s power, she feels incredibly cold. She is so cold, in fact, that she is shivering from it (and also terror). Drista starts crying, but she refuses to close her eyes as the warrior throws his spear at her. Drista is ready for it to hit, but the Sunset Stone glows brightly between the cracks in her closed hands. It expands until a fiery aura flickering with orange and gold surrounds Drista. It warms her body, easing away her shivering. It doesn’t look nearly as stable as her force fields, but the warrior burns away when he tries to break through to reach Drista. 

It is such a relief that she collapses onto her butt, breathing heavily. She opens her hands. The Sunset Stone levitates above her palms, between her fingers. Although the sun god does not appear in physical form, she hears his voice ringing in her mind from somewhere inside the Sunset Stone. “This is my fear, not yours.”

“I didn’t know gods had fears,” She murmurs in response. She doesn’t know what the gods are anymore. She thought gods were infallible, all-powerful deities. It seems that she was wrong about that to some extent. She should have believed Iris and Waglington’s warnings, no matter how compelling Dawn’s stories were.

The divine voice chuckles in amusement. “We do not have as many fears as mortals do, but when we do feel afraid, it is so much worse for us.”

His physical form returns to him. The fiery aura around Drista condenses into a man made from a liquid fire, almost lava-like in behavior but not quite like it in appearance. Drista knows that if she were to touch him, he wouldn’t feel like a fire. He would feel like a warm liquid, comforting and pleasant. Drista doesn’t, however, touch him. She instead keeps her hands cupped around the Sunset Stone.

The sun god— No, his name is Phaethon. The moon goddess, too, has a name, and Drista somehow knows it to be Mene. She, unfortunately, doesn’t know the Sky Mother’s name. Drista is content with the names she has now, though. It’s better than having nothing. Drista will have to share the sun god’s name with Dawn at some point. Hopefully, she will spread this news to the church. Drista wants them to worship Phaethon properly from now on.

“I was never afraid of dying, you know? I was afraid of losing my sister and my mother. In the end, I lost them both. Then, I lost myself. All to that… We had faith he would save us. Maybe this was the only way he knew how. At the time, however, we all hated him for what had to be done,” Phaethon explains, voice distant as he looks at the golden ichor dripping into the crack of the stage. He turns back to look at Drista. He puts his hands around the Sunset Stone without touching it. Between Drista and Phaethon, the Sunset Stone is protected on all sides. “I am recuperating my strength inside of you. One day, I will have enough power to maintain my own form. I will seize my authority once again.”

Drista can imagine it. While the sun and moon continue to move across the sky in the endless cycle of day and night, there is something off about the celestial bodies. While the sky is filled with stars and celestials, it is missing the patrons of the sun and moon. When Phaethon regains his authority, he will return to his position of guiding the sun and enriching the earth with divine light. His presence will bring a new era of prosperity to wildlife and vegetation. It will be a glorious day for Essempei, at least, considering how much they worship Phaethon. He will have a lot of blessings to issue to his followers.

“For now, I must wait inside the Sunset Stone. I’m sorry for the pain I’ve caused you. I am aware that I can’t do anything more for you,” Phaethon admits, looking right into her eyes with a small smile pulling onto his solar face. “But I swear to you, Drista, as long as the Sunset Stone sits in your chest, my power will be yours to command. I will accept as much of the burden as I can for using divine power. I must, however, warn you against using too much power. I can only help so much in my weakened state.”

Phaethon leans closer. He puts his forehead against her in a surprisingly human gesture. Drista closes her eyes as she soaks in the warmth radiating from Phaethon’s person. She takes a deep breath. She listens to Phaethon whisper, “Thank you for everything.”

His voice fades as the stage beneath them finally cracks completely. Drista falls to the ground. Her scream is taken from her by the fast-moving winds. Her vision fills with darkness— though that could be because her eyes have yet to open as she spins through the darkness. Drista’s thoughts are shaken loose from her head to the point that she can’t feel a single drop of terror in her soul. It’s almost a refreshing feeling.

This comes to an end when Drista lands somewhere. She lands so gently and balance comes so quickly that she has trouble believing she was ever free-falling out of control. Drista opens her eyes. It takes her an embarrassingly long time to recognize where she is. No one should blame her, though, because it has been many years since she was last in this room.

She is sitting on a rolling chair in front of a desk taking up an entire wall. This isn’t because the desk is large but rather because the wall is small. This is a closet, not a bedroom, but her bed is shoved into one corner of the room. It is too small for her to lie flat on without her legs hanging off the side, but it’s comfortable to sleep on when she curls around her pillow. Rather, it was comfortable, back when this was her bedroom. Drista’s chest squeezes with emotions. Nostalgia, mostly, but there are also numerous painful memories that almost make her start bawling as she turns her attention away from the bed. They land on the open laptop sitting on her desk, surrounded by papers. All of the papers detail her predictions for what the next dream for The Ender Prince is going to be like. She supposes that doesn’t matter anymore because the chapter on The Ender Prince read ‘ The End .’ 

Strangely, the title of the arc is The Heavens Shake, The Abyss Rises . It isn’t Crimson Drops Across the Golden Sea . Are there six arcs in The Ender Prince instead of five? But if there is, why can’t she remember the last one? 

Drista hears the door creak as it is slowly opened. Drista takes a deep breath. She knows that she is in her nightmare right now. She keeps reminding herself of that fact as she turns around to face whatever is on the other side of the door. Her hands are shaking, and she shoves them in her lap as she meets the eyes of someone. She was half-expecting her last foster father— the one who killed her. It is so much worse, though. Purpled stands at the doorway. He is wearing a pair of black jeans and a purple hoodie. He even has a pair of purple converses. He looks incredibly modern (though, Drista is also wearing modern clothes. She probably looks older, too, closer to the age she died at in her previous life).

Purpled is also holding a gun in his hands. His eyes are unfocused for a second. When he lifts his eyes to look at Drista, they focus instantly. Purpled frowns. He looks around the room with blatant confusion in his eyes. The uncertainty looks a little closer to discomfort when Purpled glances at his clothes and the sleek gun in his hands (does he know what it is? Does it look close enough to the pistols the pirates have?). He turns to Drista after assessing what he can about the situation. “What is going on? Where are you right now? What the Nether are we wearing?”

Drista swallows thickly. She feels like she’s going to vomit. The shaking in her hands has spread to the rest of her body. Drista puts her palm against the desk’s surface. She pushes herself onto unsteady feet. She stumbles on the first step, but she finds the strength to move across the small room. She stands right in front of Purpled. She doesn’t have to look up at him. She would almost enjoy this fact if she didn’t feel the blood draining away from her head, leaving her entirely too cold. “It doesn’t matter, Purpled. This is all an illusion. We have to face our fears to escape, remember? This is my fear.”

Drista reaches down to grab Purpled’s wrist. She wraps both her fingers around it. She forces Purpled to put the barrel of the gun against her forehead. Drista takes a deep breath. She forces her eyes to remain open. She even has the audacity to give Purpled a comforting smile. “I’ll be fine, I promise. I am fine.”

“I don’t… I don’t understand,” Purpled admits, swallowing thickly. He tugs on his hand. Drista won’t let go of him, though. She forces his hand to remain steady. The longer they stay like this, the better she seems to feel. Her breathing no longer feels harsh even as a cold settles into her bones.

“This is a gun, just like the pistols the pirates have. There is a trigger— yes, that. Once you pull it, the gun will send a bullet out. It’s kind of like an arrow from a bow. Actually, think of it like that. You are shooting me with an arrow,” Drista explains as best she can. She doesn’t know enough about how guns work to go into more detail. Even what she does know might go over Purpled’s head. They don’t have time for this. They need to get out of this nightmare sooner rather than later. They have work to do. They have to stop the Green Lord and save Dream. Puffy and Foolish are waiting for her. Chat is waiting for her.

A strange calmness spreads across Drista’s body as she waits. She drops her hands away from Purpled’s wrist. They stay limply at her sides as she controls her breathing. She closes her eyes. She waits patiently. Drista understands that Purpled may be having an onerous time processing this. Everything looks and feels strange to him. He has sworn an oath to protect Drista, so killing a dream version of herself might be difficult for him, too. But she just knows he will come to understand the necessity of this. There are more important worries to be had. All he needs to do is kill her, and they will wake up in the real world. They will be able to save everyone precious to them. That alone makes Drista’s chest feel lighter.

“You aren’t scared I’m going to pull the trigger,” Purpled says breathlessly. He moves the gun away from her. Drista’s eyes snap open. She watches Purpled bring the gun to his stomach, cupping both of his hands around it. He aims it at the side wall beside Drista’s bed. A bullet might graze him if the gun is fired, but neither of them will die. Drista frowns to herself. Purpled’s eyes narrow as light passes across the gun’s metallic surface. “You’re scared that I won’t.”

“What are you talking about? Why wouldn’t I be scared of death?” Drista asks, reaching out to grab Purpled’s wrist again. He steps away from her. His grip tightens on the gun’s handle, but he purposefully keeps his fingers away from the trigger.

“I still think you’re scared of death, but there’s a greater fear. There has to be. The nightmares have never been simple before. Well, it actually might be simple this time, but not the way you think it will be. Because I’m right. You aren’t scared someone is going to kill you,” Purpled says. He pulls his eyes away from the gun to meet her eyes. He is confident in every word he’s saying. That unnerves Drista, but not more than his actual words do. “You are scared that someone would want you to live. You are scared that someone cares about you that much.”

Drista scowls. She refuses to listen to his nonsense. He should have told her that he didn’t want to pull the trigger. If that’s how it is, Drista will have to do it herself. That thought opens a pit in her stomach, but this isn’t the first time she’s made an attempt. Her attempted suicide in her previous life (the one this nightmare is mirroring) led to her meeting to Chat, after all. Drista can do it again if it will wake her and the others up. To this end, Drista reaches for the gun to take it from Purpled. He doesn’t let her take it. He moves his arm away, putting distance between her and the gun. He even presses his forearm against her chest to hold her back. 

(If the circumstances were different, Drista might have realized how similar they are to Dream and Foolish when her brothers are fighting.)

“Will you think about what you’re doing right now? You just accepted your death when I arrived. Now, you would rather shoot yourself than listen to me. Does that sound like someone whose greatest fear is death?” Purpled reasons with her, voice tight with emotions. Purpled continues pressing, and every single one of his words hurt worse than a bullet would. “You don’t want to listen to me because you know I’m right. Even worse, you are doing this because you know that I care about you.”

Purpled gently pushes her away. Drista takes a few steps back. Her hands close into fists. She glares at him. Purpled ignores her glower as he tries to find somewhere to store the gun where she can’t reach it. He opens his mouth to continue talking. Drista can’t stand to listen to him. She turns on her heel. As she starts running away from him, the closet disappears. The walls fall away, disappearing like smoke. Drista breaks through the illusion only to run through unobstructed darkness. Purpled calls out for her to stop, but she doesn’t. She keeps running even as she can no longer see her hands pumping beside her body.

Her heart thunders in her chest. Her lungs and muscles burn with exertion. Each step sends pain up her legs. The soles of her feet felt like they were bleeding, and blisters were rubbed raw on her heels and ankles. She couldn’t stop moving. If she did, she knew that she would have to face everything Purpled had to say. She almost wants to shove her hands over her ears, but she knows that it’s only his voice echoing in her skull— not his actual voice filling the unerring silence around her. 

The second Drista thinks sensory deprivation is going to drive her insane, she feels a hand grabs onto her ankle. The hand pulls back, and Drista’s entire body tenses with shock and fear. She trips forward, rolling around the ground. When she settles on the ground, she notices that a light is glowing far away from her. The black darkness meets the brilliance of white light. Drista reaches a hand to touch the light, but a hand made from shadows shoots out from the solid mass behind her to grab her wrist. It pulls her limb back, drawing Drista back into the darkness. More hands join the first one. Other limbs even come. They all have one thing in common, however: they are all holding her down and beating her up.

Tears fill Drista’s eyes. Blood forms puddles around her. She is sweating profusely, and her breathing has been irregular for a while now. The limbs do not care. They keep grabbing and tearing and kicking and scraping and demanding her full attention. The pain is overwhelming, and it is all made scary by the fact that Drista cannot fight back. The limbs feel solid when they cause bruises and cuts, but when she manages to swing her fist around widely or kick the air, she finds nothing there. Drista would grumble in frustration if she wasn’t completely embroiled in fear.

“Drista!” Someone calls. The blonde tilts her head back. Beau is standing firmly in the light. She throws her shoulder forward, but she slams against a force field that ripples with iridescent light when hit. Beau turns to slam her fists against it. Beau fights the force field while the shadowy limbs fight Drista. The blonde turns onto her stomach. She watches Beau with teary eyes rapidly closing from swelling skin.

Beau stops moving. She stares down at the ground. Drista follows her eyes. Drista’s blood is stretching far away from her. She wonders if she will be allowed to bleed enough to fill this entire nightmare in red, silver, and gold. Beau’s eyes widen. A half-smile appears on her face in an attempt to be reassuring. She presses her body against the force field, stepping into the bloody puddle. “Drista! I can’t get through the portal, but you can get over here. Please, you have to get as close as you can. I will pull you the rest of the way through, just please…”

Beau begs for a moment longer, but Drista drowns her words out. Drista looks down at her blood sliding across the black floor. Drista lies there helplessly as the shadows force whimpers and screams out of her lips. Drista is helpless to stop their barrage.

Drista is, plainly and simply, scared. No, she’s absolutely terrified. But not for the right reasons. Even Drista knows that. While she hates being hurt (like any normal person would), Drista admits that this is familiar. Ever since the moment she was born in her last life, people came to hate her. Or maybe they didn’t hate her, but they knew she was weak and defenseless. She, at least, wasn’t worth looking after, so Drista got hurt all the time. Other people would drag her down, breaking her apart over and over again until it became her new normal. Her only normal. This is expected, Drista thinks. This is how people are supposed to treat her. She doesn’t want people to like her. She doesn’t want to be betrayed by people. She doesn’t want to let them down. Neither of those things can happen if people hate her. If they don’t look at her. If they vent their anger out on her. At least, Drista can be useful that way, and even if that isn’t why she’s doing this, Drista would rather experience the pain firsthand than have someone who was once kind to her turn against her. Worse, she doesn’t want to ruin someone who was kind to her.

“Drista, please.” Beau is so much quieter now. Her words are barely above a whisper. But somehow, they shatter Drista’s thoughts. She turns her attention back to Beau. The avian is on her knees, fists pressed against the force field. She is crying, Drista realizes, like two waterfalls sliding down her pale cheeks. Beau looks at Drista like she understands.

Drista’s mind drifts through her memories. She remembers all their letters. She remembers her first meeting with Beau. She remembers the singing Rhiannon bird and begging Beau to come with her to Elfame. Their time in Elfame flashes through Drista’s mind. The laughter Beau caused and the way she comforted Drista. The memories are warm inside Drista’s chest as she recalls how nice it was to have a connection with someone who didn’t hate her, didn’t abuse her, didn’t hurt her in any way.

Her memories don’t stop with Beau. She thinks about the other people in her life, too. Purpled had refused to kill her because he cared about her, and it wasn’t like Drista needed to think long and hard to find proof. He has always been there for her. She’s been a steady presence in her life. Nether, he was her first friend. He taught her about friendship, and she will be forever grateful to him for that. For everything he’s done for her.

There’s also her family. Her kind-hearted mother, Puffy, with her bright smile and comforting hands. Her cheerful older brother, Foolish, with his mischievous smirks and encouraging words. Her excitable brother, Dream, with his playful grins and amusing antics. She would even say that she’s close to Callum, the masked man who always looked after her and her brothers. There was Thetis, who wanted what was best for them even if she went about it in the wrong. Chat, someone that Drista knows has been a father to her for many years now. The other pirates who were stuck with Puffy’s children. Dawn and Martyn took care of her.

And as stupid as it may be, Drista even feels like her relationships with Iris and Waglington were worth something (still is in Waglington’s case).

All of these people. All of these connections and relationships and moments are filled to the brim with love and care that never fades, even if it is forgotten from time to time.

One of the hands grabs her hair to pull Drista onto her knees. She continues by planting her feet on the ground. It hurts so much to break free from the limbs, to walk away from them. They get impossibly more violent. Drista thinks it would be easier to collapse on the ground and let them have their way. And the unknown is terrifying. Drista doesn’t know what’s going to happen to her if she keeps going. 

But Drista can’t do that when Beau is looking at her with eyes shimmering with hope. Beau reaches her hands, still trying to reach Drista as the blonde stumbles through the blood puddles. Drista trips when she reaches the force field, but it doesn’t matter. She has fallen onto the other side. Beau is there to catch Drista. The darkness cannot reach Drista as she stands in the light. Nothing can hurt her as she buries her face in Beau’s shoulder to sob pitifully. She feels pathetic, but Beau tells her to let it all out— so reminiscent of the night Alstroemeria and Meghan died.

Beau lowers them onto the ground for the sake of Drista’s broken body. She doesn’t have any strength in her limbs, so she finds this arrangement more pleasant. As Drista slides into the crook of Beau’s elbow, she notices Purpled running towards them. He shatters the darkness as he stops at Beau’s feet. Purpled looks down at them with a worried furrow on his brows, but he smiles at them. Purpled squats down to wipe some blood off Drista’s cheek. Beau grabs his shoulder, forcing him to join their hug. Drista chuckles wetly under her breath. Purpled huffs begrudgingly.

They don’t need to say anything this time. No promises need to be made aloud because they are implicitly understood.

Drista rises to her feet when the portal appears one final time. Drista reaches out to grab their hands. She pulls them onto their feet, but she doesn’t let go even when they are standing. Drista squeezes their hands. It’s time to save Dream. And she will be able to do it this time. She understands the weight of reducing him— the weight of having him in her life. 

Together, the three of them enter the portal.

Chapter Text

Drista wretches her eyes open. She feels blades of grass digging into her arm. Her shoulder aches faintly. Slobber falls from one side of her lips, falling onto the dirt. A funny warmth spreads throughout her body, a byproduct of taking an inopportune nap. She reaches a hand to wipe the spit off her face with her knuckles. Her other hand shuffles behind her to help her sit up. Drista’s eyes squint as she looks around the area. She notices immediately that she isn’t in a dream, and a second after that, she knows that she isn’t sitting in the ruins of the broken tree that allowed the sleeping gas to infiltrate her force field.

There are several noteworthy details about the area she’s in now. Her eyes are immediately drawn to a smooth obelisk jutting from the ground made from a shimmering metal. It might not be iron, but it is definitely still poisonous to the Fae. It would explain the barren ground ringing around the obelisk in a perfect circle, separated from the green grass by a ring of mushrooms. Symbols are carved into the obelisk, and they glow faintly in shades of red, yellow, green, and blue. It pulsates with power. Even Drista can recognize it as the nucleus sustaining the barrier around Elfame.

Drista pulls her attention away from the obelisk when she hears heavy breathing. Beau and Purpled are groaning and shuffling as they wake up on the ground around Drista. Huntress is standing in front of the group surrounded by woodland animals ravaged by bloodlust. Her bow is knocked with a pale blue spectral arrow. She aims the arrow at the Green Lord. He stands in front of the obelisk, toeing the mushroom ring. Eclipsa and Nocturne stand on either side of the Green Lord. Butterflies land on the Green Lord’s clothes and the obelisk. Although they look innocuous, Drista knows they serve a higher purpose— perhaps one even greater than the obelisk itself.

“You three actually woke up,” Eclipsa breathlessly says, swinging her arm wide to gesture to them. Drista leaps onto her feet. She remains in a squat for a long moment. Her observant eyes sweep across the heart of Elfame. She searches for anything to be wary of. She is even looking for the gas that Nocturne controls to some extent. She doesn’t find anything but dark forests filled with the glowing eyes of curious Fae and Huntress’ Wild Hunt preparing to strike. Drista pushes off the ground. She balances on the balls of her feet, and she tenses her body to keep from getting caught off-guard.

“I knew they would.” The Green Lord has the audacity to wear a smile filled with pride. He moves his hands from behind his back to the space in front of him, actively presenting a harmless facade. “Since you are awake, I plead with you to listen to reason.”

“Do not believe his lies,” Huntress warns them. She glances over her shoulder to assess their condition. Beau is holding her dagger. Her wings are spread wide, unabashedly showing her hybrid traits. Purpled closes his hands into fists. He puts them in front of him, ready to punch his way through this situation. Drista doesn’t doubt he could if push came to shove.

“We are all Fae here… Or, most of us, anyway. But I am a Fae. I’m as bound by truth as anyone else possessing silver blood,” The Green Lord reminds Huntress. She snarls at the mention of silver blood. Drista wonders how difficult it must be for Huntress to stand against a Fae when she was created to be their protector and psychopomp. “I am only asking you to give up because there isn’t a point. You cannot guarantee a better future by fighting. It is only going to be time-consuming and possibly result in more injuries than you can heal.”

Drista feels her powers thunder through her meridians. She snarls. Purpled’s eyes widen, and he reaches for her. Drista is almost immediately outside his immediate vicinity. She pushes past Huntress and the other woodland animals to glare at the Green Lord. She glares at him with all the ferocity she has. It might not be much, but Drista refuses to drop the expression even if it won’t help her do anything. It makes her feel better, at least, as she yells at the Green Lord. “Shut up. Fighting for any sort of future is better than lying down, awaiting defeat. Even if the world falls to devastation, it is better than annihilation.”

“I thought you would understand where I am coming from out of everyone here,” The Green Lord mentions with a sigh, genuinely disappointed in the state of affairs. He steps away from the mushroom ring. He gets closer to Drista. He almost meets her halfway between their groups in the real no man’s land, but he keeps some space between them.

“Why?” Drista barks. Laughter comes out with it, so sharp that she suspects her throat is bloodied from this interaction. “Because I’m your daughter?”

“No. I thought you would understand because you are like me in a different way. We are both burdened by knowledge. It was your birth by the Watcher’s machinations that enabled me to learn more about the world,” The Green Lord argues. He tilts his head to the side. His eyes flash with color, bright and alarming. Drista hisses, moving her pupils away for a second. When she returns her attention to him, the Green Lord is lifting his hands into the air. “If my words will not convince you, perhaps this will.”

Drista hears people call out for her, but their voices are swiftly silenced by an illusion warping around Drista. She looks around the darkness. She is able to see herself, but other than that, she can’t see anything beyond the black walls closing in around her. Drista snaps her fingers. She attempts to use her glamour to break through the illusion. It bounces uselessly off her new confines. Drista grits her teeth. She uses both her hands to direct the glamour. Unfortunately, her power is nothing compared to an archfey’s. Drista grumbles, using her glamour to modify the illusion since she cannot change it herself. Drista makes tiny spheres of light spread through the darkness like stars in the night sky. The extra light eases some of Drista’s uneasiness.

“I was born a few centuries ago,” The Green Lord’s voice fills Drista’s head. She spins around to find him. She doesn’t see even a trace of the butterfly wings, but she sees a brightly illuminated scene constructed from the Green Lord’s glamour a few feet away from her. Supposedly, the young child in the naturalistic scene is the Green Lord. Drista stares at the tiny creature with disgust and discomfort. She didn’t want to see her father or her current enemy when he was a child. Both are profoundly disturbing, and the combination of the two makes Drista’s skin crawl.

Drista marches over to the scene positioned beneath a spotlight. She moves her hand to dismiss the entire illusion. While she cannot break the darkness, this scene is made into a fine mist that dissipates within seconds. Unfortunately, another one appears behind her like the Green Lord is trying to lead her onward. “I was a courier when I was younger. I delivered messages between the four courts. By immersing myself in the cultures without being biased towards the one I was born in, I was able to pick up on different skills. All the while, I strengthened my True Name. I was eventually able to ascend to archfey status after a few centuries.”

Drista does not wish to watch this process. When the illusion of the younger Green Lord runs through the set constructed around him, Drista snaps her hands around his neck. The illusion is given a moment to register her inclusion before she snaps her fingers shut. The illusion becomes nothingness in the palm of her hand. She keeps her hand in a fist as she shifts back on her feet. She is ready to dismantle the next illusion. She doesn’t understand why the Green Lord thinks regaling her with his life story will convince her to believe in him or his claims that they shouldn’t fight the inevitability of fate.

Drista rushes toward the next one. She is about to strike her fist through the illusion when the figure turns toward her. Drista stops so quickly that she trips onto her knees. Drista sucks in a tight breath. The setting grows to include Drista in the ethereal moment. As fake sunlight falls through the overheard leaves, Drista stares at the happy expression of her mother. Puffy is dancing around with satyrs, pretending like she is one of them. It is a better illusion of the dream Drista accidentally made an illusion about when she was younger. A perfect version.

“A few years ago, I met a beautiful woman. I knew right away from the flush on her cheeks that she wasn’t a Fae. I should have captured her. I should have put a thrall over her. I could do neither. I could only hold her. When she asked me a question, I was compelled to answer her. When she took my hand, I allowed her to drag me wherever she wanted. I never knew what love was, but that might have been the closest I had ever gotten to it.”

Drista climbs to her feet as Puffy trips into the Green Lord’s arms. He catches her, and the two stare at each other for a long moment as if the Green Lord purposefully dipped her. Drista ignores him as best she can as she comes to stand beside her mother. Puffy’s eyes are wide with surprise. Her smile has not left her face, though, and that is what Drista stares at with warm tears rising in her eyes. She reaches her hands out to gently touch her mother’s cheeks. Unfortunately, even the slightest chest brings reality crashing in. Puffy— healthy and whole and nothing like the sickly woman lying in her royal chambers— disappears as if she were never there. The darkness is cold as it reaches to claim Drista. The tears she was holding back slide down her cheek. She only allows two, however, before she furiously wipes the underside of her eyes.

The Green Lord has created another scene. Drista stares at it from a distance. The Green Lord— looking more like the man she knows now— is standing in front of a feminine entity covered with butterflies. There are so many that Drista cannot even see the entity’s face. She can only feel immense power and wisdom. It is terrifying because the fact that this is an illusion implies that this is only a fraction of the entity’s actual power and wisdom. The entity lifts her finger to touch the Green Lord’s nose. A butterfly lands there a second later, and a shockwave from within the scene shatters the illusion before Drista can. “Dream was meant to happen. You were not. This entity from beyond the veil of this world informed me about the truth of this world. Now, I serve her because I want to.”

Drista closes her hands into fists. She hears a strange noise like a spotlight turning on. She whirls around to find the Green Lord standing underneath that light. Drista rushes toward him, step after step, but she stops when she notices the expression on his face. He seems hopeful. He lifts his hand, offering it to her. “What do you want, Drista?”

“I want what I’ve always wanted: a family,” Drista tells him simply. There is nothing he can offer to her to make Drista give up on this world so completely. She is offended he would think he could give her anything.

The Green Lord scoffs. He drops his hand against his side. “At every turn, you’ve rejected your family. You yearn for them, yet you allow your own cowardice to stop you from loving and being loved in return as you often claim you want.”

Drista seizes with tension, but it melts away within an instant. The Green Lord is, unfortunately, right. Drista’s own nightmare showed her that was the case. Drista shakes her head. Remembering her nightmare gives her the courage to meet his eyes, “You’re right. I was afraid. I’ve gotten better, though. It’s all thanks to the nightmare the mist gave me.”

“You didn’t suddenly break free from your fears. All the mist did was inform you that you have fears that need to be conquered,” The Green Lord argues, giving Drista an unimpressed expression.

“And I think that’s enough. I will get better from here on out. I will love recklessly, and I will selfishly let others love me. It will be a bumpy road with many setbacks… but I won’t stray from it anymore,” Drista declares, putting her entire chest into her declaration. Even if she hasn’t defeated her fears, she has learned that sometimes courage can lead to something beautiful. Drista will never shake the terror inside of her, and she knows that she will continue failing at being a good daughter and sister (and even friend), but she won’t stop trying. She won’t let her fears stop her from achieving what she truly wants anymore. “You said earlier that we were similar, Green Lord. But you forget to mention the difference between us: change. I am willing to change myself and the world! You are stagnant, and that will be your undoing.”

“And how do you propose that will happen?” The Green Lord questions, raising an eyebrow and crossing his arms over his chest.

“She will be how it happens,” A voice proclaims. The Green Lord and Drista turn in surprise as a creature appears in the illusion with them. It is a giant wolf taller than Drista herself. The wolf has warm golden brown fur with molten bronze eyes. Drista recognizes the creature as two different entities: Lady Sun, the celestial that carried Phaethon’s chariot, but she also knows that this is Huntress’ form inside the illusion. She has taken a different shape to gain access to the internal world.

The wolf turns to look at Drista. She sets her nose against Drista’s forehead. Huntress calmly says, “I will bear part of the consequences.”

As will I, Phaethon agrees inside her head. Huntress and Phaethon both give Drista their blessing. It fills her body and spirit. Drista breathes in deeply and exhales heavily. She opens her eyes while putting a hand against her chest. She feels the warmth of the Sunset Stone radiating through her skin. Divine power surges through her body in the next second. The warmth spreads throughout her body, becoming a heat that doesn’t cause her pain. Her hair floats upward and flickers like a fire that doesn’t burn. Drista rises off the ground. She levitates above it while all the light in the illusion dims. She is the only light source. Geometric lines forming patterns across her skin glow the same color as the dawn, all of them originating from a golden tattoo over her heart resembling the sun god’s symbol. Drista opens her eyes. They are greener than they have ever been— a shade wholly unique to Drista’s new divine form. Drista closes her hands into fists. A ring of light expands from the source. As it moves away from her, it causes the illusion to fracture into shards that fall to the grassy ground.

The Green Lord looks around in shock as his illusion shatters around him. Drista floats higher into the air. The wolf turns back into Huntress. She aims an arrow at the Green Lord’s chest, but everyone else is suddenly looking at Drista as she turns night into day. She glances around the area. Purpled and Beau are in the midst of fighting the Nightwalkers, but no one can stay engaged with each other when Drista looks exactly like a sun goddess rising towards the sun that no longer shines over Elfame.

Drista twists her hand. From the darkness of the trees, the giant serpent Apep slithers out as she summons him. Apep rises to twirl around her body. Her light singes his scales, keeping him from squeezing her in his constricting muscles. Apep stops to place his head directly in front of Drista. They stare at each other. Apep hisses, “You look like the celestial bodies I swallow whole.”

Drista is unimpressed by his intimidation technique. She knows what he is now. He was once a sun devourer, but he was tamed by Phaethon and Mene. The siblings made a contract with him akin to the one Waglington made with the Daystar Throne. They used him to protect the Sunset Stone. Drista doesn’t dignify his words with a response as she gestures to the Nightwalkers. She can’t even be bothered to look at them as she gives Apep her first command using Phaethon’s authority. “Defeat the Nightwalkers.”

Apep whips away from her to strike the two she gestured towards. Beau grabs Purpled’s shoulder to drag him away from the giant serpent. The Nightwalkers make their own attempts to save themselves or escape. Drista lets Apep deal with it however he wants. She has someone else she needs to deal with immediately.

Drista falls to the ground. Before she crashes into the ground, she begins levitating again. She turns her body forward to push herself toward her father. The Green Lord’s eyes widen as Drista twists her body, kicking him in the chest. He is flung away from her. He almost hits a tree, but Drista flies faster than he does. She is behind him, making sure that he doesn’t hit the tree. She puts her hands on his shoulders. She smells burning flesh with heightened senses, but her disgust has been brought down. She likes feeling his flesh crumpling beneath her internal heat.

The Green Lord pulls away from her. Drista lets him go, tilting her head to the side with curiosity over what he was going to do. The Green Lord moves his fingers through the air in front of him. Strings appear between the two of them like an elaborate, three-dimensional spider’s web. Drista stares at one string until it bursts into flames. The fire spreads quickly, sparks leaping onto the neighboring strings to cause the entire set-up to turn into ashes on the ground. The butterflies lingering on the strings are destroyed by the flames, dropping corpses among the ash. A few butterflies escape, retreating to the Green Lord’s person as he stares at Drista.

She remembers casually that he cannot hurt her. Beneath the divine power radiating from her, she is still his daughter. She is of his blood, meaning he cannot cause her any harm. Drista decides this fight won’t be very interesting if she’s putting him on the defensive. And no matter how powerful an archfey is, they are nothing compared to a god— even some odd amalgamation like Drista is. The Green Lord isn’t going to be able to do anything to her, so she decides to finish this quickly.

Drista shoots forward, faster than an arrow from Huntress’ bow. She grabs the Green Lord by his throat, but she purposefully does not squeeze. She only holds it gently. She flies into the air a second later. She rises above the tall trees. From this high, her light spreads even further. She can see the distant lights of villages both within Elfame and outside it. She can even see the mountain where Cogsmeade hides behind its metal walls. The night sky above her shimmers with purple and blue like the Sky Mother is responding to Drista’s presence. Drista doesn’t pay attention to this as she holds the Green Lord away from her body.

While the divinity is at the forefront of her thoughts and actions, there is a mortal beneath this godly shell. There is a person who doesn’t want to kill if she doesn’t have to. There is a little girl who doesn’t want to hurt someone she considers family (no matter how terrible they are). There is a princess who wants to make the equitable decision and a pirate who wants to do whatever the Nether she wants without caring what the repercussions are.

“What should I do to you?” Drista speaks. It doesn’t sound like her voice. It is harsher and heavier, filled with importance and weight. If she whispers, it would feel like a summer breeze, but she is demanding answers from the prisoner held within her grasp. It sounds like a raging fire barely tempered by her rationality and morality. Drista knows that if she let this go on for too long, the divine flame inside her would burn away at everything. So, she needs the Green Lord to tell her what he thinks should happen to him. She doesn’t want to kill him. She definitely can’t let him go free. She doesn’t know where she would imprison him (maybe Pandora’s Vault?).

“You’re beautiful,” The Green Lord murmurs. His voice might be quiet, but it swells with genuine pride that nearly makes Drista drop him. The light dims around her as emotions start to spread across her face. The Green Lord lifts his hand to brush his knuckles against her cheek. He smiles at her. “I couldn’t have asked for a better daughter.”

“What the…” Drista whispers, drifting off (she wasn’t entirely right about her whispers sounding like a summer breeze. Her voice sounds like the strangely cold wind that blows across a person’s arms on an otherwise hot day, causing goosebumps and uncontrollable tremors).

The Green Lord opens his mouth. He tells her his True Name. Drista sucks in a tight breath as control over him transfers over to her. As she processes his powers merging with her own, a butterfly lands on her chest. For the first time since she’s entered this form, she feels something burning. The butterfly merges into her flesh. The outline adds to the sun tattoo over her heart. The butterfly nestles in the circle, its wings fitting perfectly without going over. Drista takes a sharp breath. She deals with those powers, too. Drista turns her attention to the Green Lord, but she knows that he’s dead even before she’s looking at him.

Drista slowly floats to the ground. The moment she puts her feet in the grass, she collapses onto her knees with her father’s corpse in her arms. The light fades first. The geometric lines over her skin retreat to the sun and butterfly tattoo left on her chest. They remain even if they are no longer glowing. Once the light is gone, the heat disappears. Drista shivers from the cold (and her emotions). Her hair falls all around her, shielding her face from the others staring at her crying face. She presses her lips together to keep from whimpering. She wraps her arms around the Green Lord’s head. She didn’t want him to die. She didn’t want his powers, either. She didn’t want his connection with the entity who gave him the butterflies, but they are clinging to Drista now.

Drista is brought from her grief when she hears a choked call. Drista looks over her shoulder. Huntress collapses onto the ground. Without the divinity clouding her mind, Drista instantly feels guilt for burdening Huntress. Beau rushes forward to grab Huntress. Beau helps Huntress lie across the grass, making sure she’s comfortable. Drista shifts away from the Green Lord. She crawls closer to Huntress and Beau, but she remains apart from them when she sees Beau’s eyes tearing up and Huntress placing a hand on Beau’s cheek. From this close, Drista can hear some of their murmuring. Apologies, promises, a tearful ‘ I’m proud of you .’ 

Beau leans down further so Huntress can whisper her True Name into Beau’s ear. Drista’s eyes widen. This is Beau’s fate in The Ender Prince. The Huntress dies protecting Beau, Ranboo, and the others. Beau becomes the Huntress’ successor, accepting her power and responsibilities. Beau is simply accepting this inevitable outcome. Drista glances at the cold, still form of her father. She can’t stand the thought that Beau would simply give in. She doesn’t want Huntress— who helped Drista in so many ways— to die. She doesn’t want one of her closest friends to grieve, especially since the whole reason Beau came here was for Drista and the whole reason the Green Lord messed with them was because of Drista.

Drista darts forward. She slides onto the ground on Huntress’ either side. Beau gives Drista a strange look as the princess presses her hands against Huntress’ chest. Drista calls forth the divine power of the sun god. It can see the truth, but it can also heal. Drista needs to heal whatever damage she caused. Drista pushes the divine power out of her palms.

You shouldn’t do this, Drista. You are going to hurt yourself, Phaethon warns. Drista scowls. She doesn’t care. Even as her nose starts bleeding and her vision blurs, Drista continues pouring the sunlight into Huntress’ body to undo what has been done.