Dunno: So Surge, how you feeling today?

Surge: ...Why do you even know I exist? Why me?

Dunno: Because! So…What’s your morning routine?

Surge: Ugh. Stalker. Sigh. Well, usually, when I wake up I go to shake Cav awake, just in time for breakfast. Typically we just eat soup, but once in a while we get Ripple to cook for us. I mean, it’s okay, but mushroom soup is not the best… Cooking isn’t my specialty.

Dunno: So… Nothing special? Just the usual mushroom soup?

Surge: No, not really. I mean, sometimes Sadie and I tag along with Cav when she goes gem-hunting, and sometimes I participate in races, but, nothing… Spectacular.

Dunno: *Awkwardly twitches then changes subject* This is you little cavern huh? Obsidian walls, glowing mushrooms, a mini little pond huh? A bed of grass, glowing gems for lights, and… What is that? Something from your… Magic perhaps? Well, nice hangout. Especially with all those trophies and all. Wait… Why do you have so much canned food? Storing for the zombie invasion that’s never going to come? Lemme take a picture. *Show picture to the audience*
_{Actually commissioned this pic on Sylestia. I was way to tired}

Surge: *Blushes* Cav shoved them there. She’s listened to way too many stories from the elders.

Dunno: Interesting… Well, what about noon?

Surge: I usually make myself a sandwich, and then I check what errands are up for me. It’s pretty much just the postal service being lazy, or a trip to the stores, but I get paid, so it’s fine. *shrugs*

Dunno: So, why do you do these errands?

Surge: Well, I’m not just gonna eat mushroom soup for the rest of my days okay? And plus, I barely have anything to do around here, so why not kill two birds with one stone? Okay, so maybe the jobs aren’t very interesting. But it’s better than laying around!

Dunno: *Nods* So, you then carry out your jobs in the afternoon?

Surge: Pretty much. I typically get about 20 nuggets per job. It’s pretty expensive, but hey, I’m fast, and I’m not gonna just do stuff for free. I get about 10 errands a day, and it takes me around the whole afternoon, these jobs are a lot more complicated then you’d expect them to be.

Dunno: ...You do like, nothing exiting. No offense, of course.

Surge: *Rolls eyes*Or, I ditch the jobs if I find someone that needs help, for example, Pure. I guess I’d get scolded at after that, but it’s totally worth is to deviate from my boring life.

Dunno: Moving on. We have a time limit here!

Surge: Then, for dinner, Cav, Sadie, Ripple, and I gather up and get some nice pastries from Darcy’s for dinner. Once in a while Ripple will bring some for some reason dead fish, but Ripple never explains. He tends to break down on those days. I swear those Crash Bells are starting to make him weaker.

Dunno: Let me guess. Then you all go home, and you sleep on that little bed of grass over there, and the day’s over.

Surge: And my little stone of magic sings a soft lullaby, of Once Upon A Time, there was a hero and a heroine, that they lived happy with their sidekicks and their mentors, Once Upon A Time.
Once Upon A Time
_{Okay, maybe I took Surge off of his profile, but I drew the grass and the book myself!}

Dawn dawned. Kerric opened his eyes when the first bit of pink light touched the cavern, and as he sat up, the glowshrooms around him began to brighten. He stifled a yawn, stretched luxuriously, and ran a paw through his hair, not so much combing it out as tousling it in an artful way. Chances were that no one would see, but Kerric was a firm believer of always putting his best foot forward. You never knew who you’d run into while out adventuring.

This was the third cavern he’d explored in as many days, and he looked around it with affection as he climbed to his feet. That pile of rocks there had provided some nice bouldering yesterday evening, and the moss on the south wall had made for a very comfortable bed. Not every cavern was so accommodating, and Kerric was appropriately appreciative of everything this particular place had given him. “It’s doubtful I’ll come by this way again,” he told the cavern, “but I’ll think of you fondly.”

He paused, looking sideways at one of the walls. It didn’t magically open to reveal some great treasure, and after a minute, Kerric shrugged to himself and went about gathering his belongings. He hadn’t really expected anything to happen, but he’d heard the stories. Sometimes, a little politeness went a long way, even when it came to the inanimate.

With his bag over his shoulder and his rope in his claws, Kerric took one last look around the cavern and then headed towards the entrance. Time to continue his journey.

Lunchtime couldn’t come soon enough. As much as Kerric enjoyed traveling, he wasn’t much for doing so on an empty stomach, and he’d missed breakfast in his eagerness to continue on. His stomach rumbled, and he paused for a moment to consider his options before deciding that now was as good a time as any for a break.

The tunnel he was in now wasn’t large, but it was wide enough for a Drasillis to comfortably seat himself with his back against a wall. Kerric settled down beneath a cluster of crystals, which cast a radiant purple light, and pulled a cloth bundle out of his bag. From this, he extracted some fuzzfruits, a small squash, and a pawful of insects he’d caught earlier in his trip. He didn’t care for mealworms, but he’d saved the myth-moth cocoon especially for this. Myth-moths brought good luck, and Kerric had a feeling that something momentous was waiting for him today.

He savored his lunch, peeling each fruit carefully and lingering over the cocoon, and still managed to finish fairly quickly. He deposited the fruit skins beneath the crystals, where a wandering mole rat might find them, swung his bag back up, and made for the tunnel’s mouth. His mouth was still sweet with myth-moth, and he could feel bright certainty coursing through his blood: excitement lay ahead.

And there it was. One small cavern, two and a half tunnels, a quick drop down through a hole he hadn’t seen in time, and suddenly Kerric found himself standing before a cavern different from anything he’d seen before.

Granted, yes, some of the caverns he’d explored had been truly mind-boggling. He’d watched wingless Ineki go tumbling through the air, and he’d once been chased by a beast even bigger and arguably meaner than the Bone Monster. This cavern, though, had a muted sort of strangeness about it, an almost ethereal beauty that made him freeze in awe. Everything inside it seemed to glow from within, and Kerric hesitated, reverent, half afraid to take a step in case he broke the peace of the place.

There was work to be done, though, and Kerric eventually stepped forward, careful not to trample any of the flowers surrounding him. On closer examination, he realized that the plants weren’t actually floral but were, instead, mushrooms of a kind he’d never heard of, with spores tucked away beneath delicate red petals. He touched a petal gently with the very tip of a claw, and it released a small sprinkle of spores, which drifted away with Kerric’s breath.

“Oh, what Bruc wouldn’t give for a taste of you,” Kerric said to the mushroom, with a small quirk of his mouth.

Mushrooms crowded the little cavern, each one vaguely luminescent, which when taken together gave the stone walls a soft glow. Kerric wondered if Bruc had, in fact, already discovered this cavern, but decided the answer was likely no. The cat Ineki didn’t often leave his shop or his garden—if ‘garden’ was even the word for the place where one grew mushrooms—and was rarely seen away from the settlement.

Kerric walked slowly between the mushrooms, stopping now and again to look more closely at an especially eye-catching one. There was another new species nestled between the floral mushrooms, this one with the usual rounded top and deep amethyst scales embedded in the cap. From a certain angle, it almost looked as if the mushroom were watching Kerric, an idea that made him laugh quietly to himself. The mushroom had probably developed the look as a self-defensive tactic; he could see how certain sentient beings might be guilted into not eating the mushroom based on those enormous ‘eyes.’

A low rumble echoed through the small cavern, and Kerric realized, a tad belatedly, that his stomach was growling. Lunch felt like it’d happened a long time ago. He started to reach for his bag, intending to take out a small snack, when his gaze caught on the round green mushroom.

Kerric hesitated.

As a general rule, he didn’t eat unidentified things that he found out in the wild. There were plenty of tales about adventurers who’d eaten unwisely and paid the price for it, and Kerric liked to think that he had enough common sense to avoid a similar fate. The sugar-sweet myth-moth still lingered in his mouth, though, and he remembered the feeling he’d had upon waking this morning, that something grand was going to happen today. He’d discovered this cavern, which some might say was exciting enough, but Kerric was sure that more lay ahead.

“Well,” Kerric said aloud, to no one in particular, “you don’t become great by never taking risks.”

With that, he reached out, plucked one of the green mushrooms, and popped it into his mouth before he could think twice about it.

The mushroom didn’t taste like much. It felt a little spongy, the way raw mushrooms do, and there was a faintly sweet taste to it, though Kerric wasn’t sure if that was simply from the myth-moth he’d eaten earlier. He chewed thoughtfully, swallowed, and checked himself over to see if anything had changed.

Nothing seemed to have happened. Kerric gave in to a brief flash of disappointment, but this was an adventurer’s lot, after all. You couldn’t find something amazing every time you go out.

He sighed to himself before climbing back to his feet. He’d mark this cavern down on his map, as well as he was able to, and hope he could find it again next time he was out this way. Although mushrooms weren’t the treasure he had hoped to find, he knew that Bruc and even Ambrose would be interested to hear about the place. Once he got back to the main settlement, he’d…

Wait.

Had the ceiling always been that high?

Kerric craned his neck back and nearly tipped over beneath the weight of his bag. He righted himself, shook his head, and tried to readjust the bag—a much more difficult task than it should have been. He hadn’t packed much when he left, but the bag suddenly felt like it weighed three times as much as it should. Had the mushroom perhaps weakened him?

Kerric took a careful inventory of himself, checking all over in an attempt to pinpoint exactly what had changed. His skin felt tighter on him, like it was suddenly a few sizes too small, and his wings seemed shorter than he was used to. The whole cavern appeared to have grown much larger, too—either that, or Kerric himself had shrunk.

Kerric was beginning to suspect more and more that the latter was the true case here. Frustration welled up in him, and he kicked at a nearby rock, only just biting back a whimper when he stubbed a toe in the process.

This wasn’t fair. He’d started out in such a good mood, confident that he was going to discover something amazing, and what did he get for his trouble? A mushroom that shrank anyone who ate it. Kerric didn’t like to complain about misadventures, especially when he’d brought them on himself, but he wanted very much to shed a tear or two right now. There was so much injustice in the Cave, so many obstacles facing a young explorer who simply wanted to make a name for himself. It was almost enough to make anyone give up the chase.

Kerric kicked at the rock again, just for good measure, before abruptly turning towards the far side of the cavern. No use crying now, he knew. Weeping wasn’t going to solve anything. He was going to find a way out of here, and then he was going to go see Bruc or Ledore and ask them for something to reverse the mushroom’s effect. Surely someone would know a spell or have a potion or two.

In the meantime, Kerric hoped he’d find a small, dark hole to explore—some sort of crevice he wouldn’t normally be able to enter. If he had to be small, he might as well make use of it. He sniffled hugely, tamping down the last of the urge to cry, and started determinedly towards a promising gap in the stone wall.

After receiving her orders, Rynn takes the time to care for her familiar, Lil’Zev who is also her mount due to the twisted magics within Dalaran. She found Lil’Zev in the mage city and took him in after he followed her home. He has been growing ever since and shows no notions of stopping! After Zevron joked that he was almost big enough to be a mount, Rynn decided she would attempt to train him to do just that. It took a few years but now he is very useful.

Rynn meets up with an associate, Neleia (played by my RL partner). The hunter can be quite a grump and prefers to ‘shoot first, ask questions later’ but is a great asset when the Legion comes around to attack. Using a transmogrify potion to turn herself into the visage of a dragon, Neleia gets the both of them close to the city of Suramar.

The errand they need to run involves sneaking some supplies to the Suramar citizens. Quickly Rynn and Neleia don their disguises and make their way through the marketplace of the city. Rynn can’t help but feel Suramar is one of the most gorgeous cities she has ever had a chance to visit, even Dalaran or Silvermoon. While she did love her home in Nagrand, if it wasn’t for the impending Demonic invasion the mage wouldn’t mind making a small home in Suramar.

Completing the task, she said her goodbyes to the hunter and traveled to the next spot. This one would take a bit of finesse, she had to find the Telemancer and try to get him to join the small, but growing, force of Suramar rebels. On her way she does a bit of exploring to gather more mana crystals from the Leylines to give to those Nightborn who have been shut off from the Nightwell. The Telemancer she was hunting for was one such Nightfallen and might be in great peril if she didn’t find him soon.

She finally found him overlooking the view of Suramar. Oculeth seemed melancholy at first, almost to the point of ignoring her greeting. She stammered a few more sentences, trying to get a reply, before realizing he was slipping away right before her eyes. After giving the Nightfallen a few mana crystals, he was able to coalesce his thoughts together enough to talk once more. Oculeth requested that she went through his waygates to gather his materials and repel the invading elves who were trying to steal his research on telemancy.

Everything was going well until suddenly the Waystones flared as she was passing through the next point. Rynn felt a lurch in the pit of her stomach as she was thrown into this unusual place. Time seemed to slow down and even gravity didn’t seem to properly exist. She could hear Oculeth’s voice in her mind worriedly exclaiming about someone trying to hijack the leylines his waypoints were connected to. Rynn found her way back out of the odd void by chance and landed quite hard on an old temple floor. It was there she saw the cause of the disturbance. Warpcaster Thwen, Oculeth’s old student, had broken into his test chambers and was dismantling the wayportals so that they could be utilized elsewhere. Rynn quickly came to Oculeth’s aid, trying to distract her so he could save his precious work.

Trapping Thwen into the odd place they had discovered, Oculeth fell to the ground, all his mana spent. He was drained completely and on the cusp of turning into a Withered, a fate worse than death. Rynn did what she could to lighten his form and lead him quickly to the Nightfallen base where they could tend to him. After infusing with a rather potent source of mana crystal, Telemancer Oculeth came around, thanking the mage profusely. Amirynth smiled softly, happy that he had made it and then went back out for her final errand.

Rynn’s final stop was the most important one. She met up with Malis to catch up on events and find out how the other side of things were going. While Rynn was adept with both the Nether and Fel, being that once she was a warlock and now she studied the higher magical arts, it was Malis who was in tune with the Spirits. The Zandalari troll was working with the druids to see why the Emerald Dream seemed to be corrupted from within. So far they had not discovered anything new but they were still working on some threads so hadn’t given up yet. Malis was also in talks with the Nightborn in hopes that they would stop working with the Legion and realize there was other options. So far it had born no fruit but the shaman was sure there was someone who was listening as she had not been kicked out of Suramar yet.

Afterwards, Rynn flew home to Dalaran and then back to the Mage Hall where she could hand in her report. She was tired but glad she could help in her own small way. The bloodelf couldn’t wait to get back to Nagrand to see her son, and hopefully the rogue who stole her heart, but for now there was work to be done in the Library and more studying to be completed before she would be able to port back to the open fields and floating isles that were familiar to her.

Sephirah awakens each morning to the sound of water gently lapping the Maritime islands coastal line. It’s a quaint noise, and one she welcomes as she allows her body a few moments to awaken. She lives in the coral reef just off the coast, one that has been designated ‘the Sun’s Kiss’ as it is the perfect environment where brilliant corals, bright fish, and golden sands reside. The waters are warm and welcoming, and are considered home for a few of the Kelph that call this giant cavern home. They have easy access to the mainland here, and few come to swim since it’s considered a residential area for some of the most valued workers in Maritime’s community; so it remains quite peaceful. It’s a lovely place to live, and as the Mycenian finally finds the liveliness to pull herself out of bed, she greets the morning with a gentle yawn and tidies up the covers and pillows - which she has far too many of, as the Kelph enjoys her fair share of pillows to cuddle with in the night.

The first order of business is to quell the grumbling in her belly. A short trip to the kitchen and gathering some supplies, and soon she’s prepared herself a small meal of heated kelp and jellyfish jelly, shrimp, and delicious scrambled fish-eggs with just a not-so-small dash of sea salt. Truthfully, she wasn’t much of a cook; in fact, Sephirah was likely the only soul that thought her overcooked food tasted wonderful! Anyone else that tried a bite looked repulsed, well - except for Ahimoth. He just held his breath, smiled, and swallowed hard. That poor lad had it rough, but she loved when he was over, he ate anything and everything she made! Afterward, she settled in a chair of seaweed and anemone, decorated with lovely in-tact shells and starfish to read her books of powerful sea vessels and construct miniature figures of ships. Sometimes she’d even craft clothing of nets and shells and pearls, just little things to bide her time with until it was time for work.

With breakfast in her belly and her mind content, she went about prepping her spines for the day and cleaning and scales. Looking presentable, the woman swam beyond the confines of her colorful home. Soft sands greet her along with the exuberant sight of various fishes. These weren’t the edible sort, however, or at least, she refrained from catching them. Deeming they were far too pretty and rare to remove from their environment. Instead, she’d venture out to deeper waters for more common and abundant fish, but today was not the day to be gathering groceries. There would be folks waiting at the docks for the ferry-lady to pull them across the seas, offering safe passage to particular tunnels they could venture through to explore or meet with friends. Not to mention, the docks that lined the outer most edges of the cavern might have a waiting soul or two as well - especially Alabaster, the cavern’s carver who’d been gone for quite a few days now. He was her most frequented voyager, and the very individual who carved her to life and brought her to these islands. She’d go about the majority of her day ferrying Mycenian’s back and forth. Preferring to avoid sluggish feelings during work, she usually skips lunch as it makes her feel as if she works slower. Her work primarily consists of manually pulling a large barge. There can be a maximum of 30 individuals aboard, however there’s usually only five or so depending upon the day. She’s very strong; which newcomers to Maritime find shocking when they first meet her since she’s so very kind and motherly - they’d have expected her more a woman of the school than a laborer that prefers pulling heavy barges and building ships.

The seas are dangerous, and it isn’t odd for a sea monster to be sighted during her voyages; but Sephirah is a smart woman. Through the use of magic, she creates blinding lights beneath the water that frighten the giant and dangerous creatures. This usually keeps her and her passengers safe, though there have been a few rare times where attacks have happened; but Sephirah sticks to her word when she says she’ll give safe passage across the massive seas. She may not have a child of her own, but motherly intuition makes her as fierce as any mother protecting her young.

Because she basically runs her own ferrying service, her work hours may vary depending upon requests and the workflow of the day. She isn’t the only service available, but she is certainly one of the most trusted. Usually, she finishes her last voyage in the early evening. Once she returns, she docks her barge at her personal dock and typically spends the remainder of her day with her companion Ahimoth. Together, they have endless talks, explore the seas, visit the shipyard, play games, and do numerous other activities with one another. Typically, their time is spent in the deep seas, where they explore the magical caverns that keep water of the sea flowing back into the sea. They occasionally even hunt for treasure, though they are more interested in the aspects of the cave itself rather than what treasures it has to offer. It’s magic fascinates them, and they both keep journals with findings of the magical properties they’ve discovered. It also isn’t odd to find Sephirah working on her own ship when Ahimoth has to work late - she’s a skilled shipwright, and honestly came close to making that her primary job if she weren’t so worried how individuals would fare out on the seas when they got to rough for your average ferry. She adds a little more to her vessel whenever she can, making it into a sturdy ship that will eventually act as a nice little method of relaxation for the kelph.

Eventually when night comes, she is certain to give Ahimoth a farewell before retreating to her home for the night where she makes herself dinner if she and her companion hadn’t gotten any out on the town. She may tidy up her home, though it’s rarely ever messy. She might just notice a thing or two has been moved by the current. With a bit of pruning and picking at her scales to remove any debris or dirt they may have gathered during the day, she settles into bed with multiple journals - recording several things in their designated journal such as the number of passengers that were ferried that day, or any potential findings on her explorations with Ahimoth. She also records special memories, never wanting to forget things she feels are too important to simply not write down. If a model ship went unfinished earlier, she uses the rest of her time to get a bit more of it done before she grows just tired enough to put things aside and nestle into her many pillows for the night.

Just a bit of their personalities (There’s also a link to their everyday lives in Ashes’ profile)

I (Madara the human avatar) usually have to wake up both Solar and Ashes in the morning. All they seem to want to do all day is sleep…must be a cat thing. As soon as they’re awake, Solar always finds something to argue with Ashes about before actually coming down to eat breakfast.

Solar as the ability to transform into a human while Ashes does not. This also causes a lot of problems for between them in the mornings. Ashes likes to sit on my lap during breakfast which makes Solar very jealous, so much so that he’ll turn back into a cat just to get my attention.

Once the morning is finished and everyone’s fed and ready to go, we divide the jobs. Since there are so many Ineki in the house, it’s never hard to fill all the jobs. Solar and Ashes, when it was just them, used to go to the hives with me to collect nuggets. That was their job and they were very proud to have it. They almost never argued while “on the job” and they were able to utilize their size differences to their advantage.

After work, everyone returns home and speaks about their day during dinner. Solar always makes a point to mention how he’s doing the most and is the best at everything. Ashes usually agrees with him. Solar is like his big brother and he really looks up to him even though Solar is mean to him most of the time. Deep down, Solar has excepted Ashes as his little brother.

I put them both to bed around 10pm after a few small complaints from Solar that he’s old enough to have his own room. Well, there isn’t enough space for that right now so he’ll just have to continue sharing a room with Ashes.

The next day, everything starts again :)

Morning finds Isra waking to the rush of waves. Maybe to some people their home wouldn’t seem like much, but to her it’s a kind of paradise—the tidal cave and the massive bones of the Behemoth that died here. She, Amira, and Kiran have made it theirs, decorating their own areas with what items three street urchins have managed to collect. Isra’s is hung with colourful, if cheap, scraps of cloth.

They eat if they have food, sharing it among them. Flatbread, maybe a bit of fruit if they’re lucky. Then it’s time to head into the city for another day of gleaning what they can to get by.

Amira, the eldest, spends her day running messages and packages. The baby of the group, Kiran, may also veer off to obtain what she can on her own, or she might join Isra in the bustling marketplace. There, Isra spends the morning playing her Kawala flute, straining to make her music heard over the din of traders, beggars, and other musicians competing for the odd tossed coin. Kiran will dance to the music if she’s joined her. It’s thirsty work, playing under the searing sun, but Isra only allows herself brief pauses for sips of water.

Ever the big sister type, Amira insists the girls meet up at midday to share what they’ve obtained (but mainly, Isra knows, to make sure they’re all safe). They pool their resources and eat lunch before splitting again to continue their work, such as it is.

Evening finds them back in their oceanside cave. Some nights, they decide to maintain the deception that the Behemoth still lives. They light a fire so smoke billows from the opening, and find that perfect spot where the acoustics carry their screams, howls, and bestial noises out into the night air. No other Demyans will have the nerve to venture in if they have anything to say about it. Their cave is guarded by an illusion—a memory of a creature too terrible to behold—but it works.

Somewhere in all this, they find time to be girls. They talk and laugh and weep and rely on each other, a bond strong as sisterhood. Isra is the calm one, soft-spoken and reasonable, in counterpoint to Amira’s fierce strength and Kiran’s emotional turbulence. She was raised to be this way; gentle, graceful, and invisible until she was needed. She still wears the slave marking on her face. Luckily, no one in Demya has proved interested in returning a runaway to her master.

As she drifts toward sleep, Isra often dwells on memories of her old life. She was treated well and lived comfortably, but her parents hadn’t wanted her to live as property—the life they still live. She knows she’s fulfilling their dream for her; sometimes, the freedom she now knows is so overwhelming and beautiful it makes her heart ache. So it’s only in these brief moments before slumber that she allows herself to miss them.

But she has another kind of family now, and even if they are just three half-grown girls doing their best in a world with little sympathy for them, she’s comforted by the presence of her best friends. Tomorrow, they will do it all again.

Kiran does not wake up with the sun as her sisters do. She would happily sleep all morning, curled in the shade of the Behemoth’s sternum, but there is work to be done if she is to eat that day.

Even so, she is still in a fog at breakfast. Bits of sleep sand are captured in the creases of her eyes, head drooping forward before snapping back at random intervals. Their morning meal is meager but ritualistic. Whatever bits and bobs leftover from the previous night’s meal. Sometimes a small surprise from Kiran if she has found something in her night walks. This morning, it is a simple affair of stale bread and some lukewarm water. Kiran picks her food apart with delicate fingers, nibbling on bits and pieces at a time to make it stretch farther.

Amira is nothing but energy this early. Her food is wolfed down as quickly as possible so she can regale her friends with stories from her dreams. Kiran is envious that she is able to remember them so clearly - although she suspects sometimes that Amira has embellished the details. Her own dreams have always been a muddled mess, and by the time she wakes, Mother Moon has claimed them once again and Kiran remembers nothing. So she hungers for this particular daily ritual, clinging to to every word with rapt attention.

To her right, Isra smiles and works quietly to repair a new tear in the thin fabric sandals Kiran favors. They are a mess of patches, cobbled together again and again and again under Isra’s fish bone needle. Kiran will need to steal some new ones soon, probably. The girls are resourceful. They waste little, and stretch the use of their meager possessions as long as possible. But there comes a point when an object has been pressed too far beyond its intended use, and no amount of repair will bring back its vitality.

While the sun is still low in the sky and the heat has not yet pooled in force, Kiran often travels with Isra. She has tried to help Amira in her chores before, but she does not like the way Amira’s clients look at her. Kiran has never had any love for strangers. At best, they ignore her completely. At worst, they try to address her, or make a disparaging remark. Then Amira triggers her defensive mode, all righteous anger and a barbs, and inevitably the job is lost. Kiran loves Amira for her protection, but she does not love the way her empty stomach curls with guilt afterwards.

With Isra, it is easier.

They search for their own corner of Demya, and then gentle Isra begins to play. Kiran loves it when she plays. The sound of the flute relaxes her, lulls her mind to a state of warm security, and offers her an anchor to focus her attention. Slowly, the rest of the port city fades away. She begins to dance. They are seldom steps to anything she has been taught. Kiran does not think, she only moves, and that is the best of gifts her middle sister could ever provide. If they are fortunate, they will catch the attention of the generous. A spare coin here and there will help to buy protein, or a new needle for Isra, or even those new sandals Kiran has needed. While she feels no true guilt over theft, there is some satisfaction to be gained in honest purchase. It is a power Kiran is rarely permitted and one she savors.

Lunch is an informal affair. Usually, Amira has selected a meeting place for the day. Sometimes it is on the docks, kicking their feet over the water; other days when it’s overcast, they gather on the roof of one of one of their favorite buildings. Today they meet in the attic of an abandoned store, all sandstone and dust.

Isra and Kiran are the first to arrive, and spend the first several minutes gently shooing some resident mice out of the corners and laying out some tatty rags for placemats. Today’s music and dance has netted them a roasted Sandrunner. It is overcooked, blackened and ashy, but there is enough meat left to suffice for a meal.

Amira arrives shortly after with a small loaf of flatbread, payment from one of her courier jobs. Isra sets about making meager sandwiches for each of them, rationing out the day’s water into halved eggshells they’ve preserved for this purpose. It isn’t much, but it will get them through the day.

There is less chatter at lunch than during their other meals. The Sun is scorching, and every ounce of energy is preserved for eating and resting before afternoon tasks begin. Even Amira is quiet, chewing her food and lost in thought, no doubt mapping out her jobs for the second half of the day.

Once they have finished, all three girls go their separate ways. They will need to work harder for a proper dinner or they will sleep that night on grumbling stomachs.

By now sun is high in the sky and the heat is near unbearable. Kiran’s path leads her to Demya’s bustling central marketplace. She has little love for the markets. For many, the packed streets and press of bodies amongst the tents have its own charm. Bright colors adorn the stalls, countless spices and cooked meats create a blend of scents, and the sound is a living thing, filled with music, shouting, laughter, and the bray of pack animals. They say you can find anything in the Demyan market. It is a gathering place of people from the world over.

To Kiran, it is sensory overload. If she permits herself to lose focus, she will quickly become overwhelmed. By the time evening comes and she has not returned to the Behemoth, Amira will come looking for her, and she will find Kiran burrowed and crying in some dark space or corner. Amira will try to chastise, but will quickly lose heart at the sight of her distraught friend and usher her back home where Isra is waiting patiently.

But today, she is focused. It helps when she has a target, something to occupy the full of her attention. The pale merchant by the steps serves this purpose dutifully. Kiran can tell by his attire that he is neither a friend of the Scorned nor a Demyan. His skin is an alabaster color that Father Sun is particularly aggressive towards. He is over-hot and desperately uncomfortable.

In Kiran’s hands rests her one great treasure - an obsidian dagger that has been in her family for longer than her young mind can conceptualize. Ignoring the heat, shutting out the hustle and bustle of the crowds, she presses forward. Her steps are elegant and sinuous, as if in dance. They guide her through the press of bodies without touching a soul.

Then her goal is in front of her, and just as quickly and smoothly, she draws the blade over the bottom of the man’s satchel. Small, hard fruits go tumbling over the marketplace. The merchant notices her now and is screaming, waving his hand threateningly, but the other vultures of the market have seen his plight and are closing in. He cannot defend his wares from all the hands that grope about the dusty sandstone.

Kiran is already gone. She clutches three of the knotty fruits tightly to her chest, and is smiling fit to burst. If the sun were not so bright at this hour, or if one were to pay close enough attention, they would notice the faint glow about her skin.

Dinner will be wonderful tonight.

Evenings in the Behemoth are relaxed and happy, the times Kiran treasures most. The heat from the day is fading, leeching out of the sands as quickly as it came. Within the skeletal remains, the three girls once again share a meal, this one much more fulfilling than their previous two. They may even have enough leftovers for a proper breakfast. Usually, Amira provides the entertainment, regaling her sisters with all sorts of news from around Demya. Isra will occasionally contribute or play a new tune for them. Tonight, however, it is Kiran who has a story to share.

She spares no details in recounting the theft of the fruit, eyes bright and gestures animated. Amira is laughing fit to burst when Kiran makes a face to imitate the merchant, and even Isra covers a smile with her hand. They are young and they are happy and for a little while, they forget their struggles. They don’t think of the days where food does not come as easily, or when sickness rattles their breath, or when they lie awake at night with thoughts of lost loved ones. They feast instead on happier thoughts, memories, and warmth of their vitality.

After her story, the girls take turns making monster noises at the mouth of the beast. The Behemoth offers protection through superstition, something Demyans shroud themselves in. Each night, the Behemoth bellows its threats over the waves, and the villagers press their charms to their lips and whisper prayers to the Sun, Moon, and any other deity who might be listening. Even the children, always braver than their parents in such matters, will no longer stray near the old bones. It is a wonderful game, and a necessary one if they are to discourage theft or worse.

Not long after dinner, Amira crashes. She never does anything at less than 100%, and sleep is no exception. Kiran giggles at her snoring. Amira adamantly denies all accusations the next day. Isra is slower to her rest, making sure that all is well and taken care of in her maternal way. She clears away the scraps from dinner, wrapping anything still edible in bits of cloth to prevent the sand mites from getting to it. Kiran helps her in silence, enjoying the comfortable camaraderie of it.

Together they drape a blanket over Amira, and then curl up in their respective corners. Kiran does not yet sleep, though. She waits, listening carefully, until Isra’s breathing evens out. Sleep has claimed both of her sisters.

Only then Kiran does rise, treading on silent feet through the Behemoth’s gaping maw and back into the world. Outside, the desert and ocean are dark, only just illuminated by the thin light of Mother Moon. The night is cloudy. There will be a storm soon, and the wind whips at her hair. Behind her, Demya is perpetually glowing, even more animated in the night than during the day. Sometimes she braves the city on her night voyages, but not tonight.

Kiran breathes. She smiles. Then she walks, barefoot, to where the waves meet the sand, and moves slowly away from the city. Her toes curl in the damp grit, cooled rhythmically by the foamy water as the tide rolls forward and retreats again. She lifts her arms to her sides and walks as though on a tightrope, drifting aimlessly down the beach and away from the comfort of home.

Kiran has never feared the nights. She is relaxed and utterly at peace, drinking in the wind and moon and waves and sand as though they are as necessary as oxygen. In the darkness, her glow is much more evident. She shines like a small star, or like the little fish that gather in the tidepools in late summer.

It is well past midnight when she returns at last, renewed, refreshed, and ready for sleep at last. She curls up once more under the sternum of the Behemoth. Amira still snores, Isra breathes deeply, and outside she can just hear the first rumble of thunder over the ocean. Kiran closes her eyes, pulls the little rag snake Isra once stitched closer to her chest, and is slowly lulled into a dreamless sleep.

Each day, she is expected to be awake, dressed, and in the Classroom by 07:15. It used to be, without exception, 07:00, but enough grumbling and moaning has earned her a quarter-hour of wiggle room. Typically, she has gotten little sleep — her escapades keep her out until the early hours of the morning, but she cannot use them as an excuse for why she stumbles into the Classroom much closer to 07:30.

Most days, upon seeing her wander into the room barely dressed; hair wild and unbrushed; eyes bleary; form hunched, her Instructor pinches the bridge of his nose and sends her back to her quarters to make herself presentable. This is always a hard-earned victory for Deimos — one of the very few she enjoys. Now, she can take her time waking up. Shower; tame her wild mane. Some days she’ll sneak a few more minutes of shut-eye, but usually this results in her Instructor coming to look for her and his complaining that he “broke protocol” to “give her a break” and “how does she thank him?”

It’s a bitchfit she’s heard way too many times before, and not one she’s in the mood for today. So, she showers. She tears a brush through her hair. She washes her face. She dresses herself almost according to the boring dress code that’s been forced upon her — her shirt is cut so that it almost hangs off one shoulder to reveal the splash of color that her bra strap provides; her slacks are ripped in a manner that would give jeans that “distressed” look, except these are not jeans. She knows it looks silly, but it’s really their fault for taking the ‘casual wear’ privelege away from her. And besides, it’s not like she has to look at her mess of a wardrobe all day.

She takes her sweet time making her way back to the Classroom, and instead of taking the hallway that leads directly from point A to point B, she finds herself meandering around the long way. By this point, Daybreak’s corridors are full of various agents in the midst of their morning routines. Briefings, assignments, coffee. To most of them, she’s invisible, though the few who are in the know about her situation may raise an eyebrow at her. They know that she is not where she’s supposed to be, but it’s almost an unspoken rule that Nightmares look out for each other — a sort of us against the world unity that she totally digs.

When she finally wanders into the Classroom with a croissant stolen off the snack tray and one of those little paper cups of coffee in her hand, her Instructor is clearly irritated. It’s been almost an hour, he says; he was just about to send Security out looking for her. He grumbles something about teenagers and snatches the coffee from her hand as she drops into her seat. She knows he has three kids at home who are “somewhere around her developmental stage.” He’s got to be used to this by now.

He wastes no time getting started on his lecture. Deimos listens quietly at first, though she does her damnedest to look bored by it. Chin carefully placed on her palm; slouched forward just enough to say ‘I have better things to be doing with my time.’ However, despite her feigned disinterest, she finds human history fascinating — probably because there is just so much of it. Despite keeping one wolf-like ear trained on the Instructor, distractions eventually start to sneak in.

Most of the walls in here are just as bare and utilitarian as the rest of the compound — there used to be posters and educational things hung on the walls, but most of those have been removed thanks to her inability to remain focused on the lesson at hand. In the evenings, this room is used sort of as a night school for the Nightmares that Daybreak deems ‘fit for rehabilitation.’ Their curriculum, she assumes, is much more hands on; much more focused on ‘how to exist alongside humans without making yourself a target.’ Hers is pretty basic — her Instructor often comments on how it’s much more suitable to his degree than teaching a bunch of monsters how to pretend to be human. She’s never asked him for any more elaboration, because she would have to wreck him if he insinuated that she wasn’t intelligent somehow, and she kind of likes him.

Thanks to her distraction and his constant need to redirect her attention, the lesson doesn’t finish until close to 12:00. Instead of storming out without a word, she forces herself to be somewhat pleasant — offers him a, “See you tomorrow, Instructor.” And slinks out the door before he can tap at his ID badge and insist yet again that she call him by his name rather than his title.

(She remembers his name. It’s Carlyle. Carlyle Courville. She just doesn’t like it and she doesn’t want him to think that she likes him, so instead she distances herself by referring to him by his title. Gotta be smart about these things; can’t let them think they got you all figured out.)

From 12:00 to 13:00, Deimos can usually be found in the cafeteria. She’s not impressed by the food they serve — nobody else seems to have a problem with it, but she figures they must be at that age where everything tastes like goop to them. She assumes that’s an age, anyway. Her tray usually consists of some sort of meat, some sort of vegetable, and some sort of side. Today it’s chicken, steamed veggies, and a small scoop of potatoes.

Boring, just like everything else about this place.

Sometimes she sits herself close enough to listen in on others’ conversations, but most of the time they’re talking about their kids or sports or something equally dull. When you make your living fighting monsters, it sort of loses its appeal as mealtime conversation. Usually, when people-watching and eavesdropping fails to hold her attention, she’ll wolf down her food as quickly as possible and head back to her room for a nap.

The rest of the compound may be sparsely decorated and dull, but her room is downright cozy. Most of Daybreak’s live-in employees stay in apartments on the other side of the compound so it doesn’t entirely feel like they’re living at work, but hers is tucked right in the midst of everything; just below the research labs in an otherwise obsolete section of containment units.

She has a big cozy bed with lots of blankets thrown over it; posters and drawings and sheets of fabric hanging from the walls. Her clothes are piled in drawers she keeps under the bed, and she has her own private bathroom. There are no windows and the fluorescent lighting is just as harsh here as it is in the rest of the compound — sometimes it makes her think her complexion is just awful and it makes her look at least twenty pounds heavier than she actually is — but when she has them switched off, the glow that emanates from her tail and ears is soft and comfortable.

She always oversleeps. Usually, by this point, she is so overtired from all the sleep she didn’t get the previous night that she is out as soon as her head hits the pillow. It’s only when she hears the sharp rap at her door that she shoots upright and blearily looks at the clock — sees that it’s already 13:27. Quickly fixing her shirt and dragging herself out of bed, she meets Melissa at her door and lurches herself up one flight of stairs to the lab.

Diagnostics is her least favorite time of day. It usually only takes a couple of hours or so except for special occasions, but it is still invasive and uncomfortable. Melissa is the doctor in charge of collecting the data, and she is a relatively new fixture in Deimos’ life. It used to be a revolving door of scientists who would poke and prod her; take readings and measurements and write everything down in their little books, but Deimos grew less and less comfortable with it over time. The Incident that finally pushed things to change was when she finally lashed out at one particularly careless man; just snapped when he missed her vein for the fourth time and ripped all of the cords and electrodes off of herself and went for him. It took three others to pull her off; to shove her into her room and lock the door. She screamed and raged and tore apart most of her belongings — honestly frightened the scientists into thinking her compliance as a research subject might have reached its end.

Only Melissa was brave enough to slip into the room and try to quell her. Deimos doesn’t remember much of her blind rage, but remembers that the moment she finally came back to herself, her face was buried in Melissa’s shoulder and she had gentle arms curled around her; a hand rubbing soothingly at the back of her neck.

And that is why she refers to Melissa as Melissa and not as the Doctor or the Scientist. That is why she will allow Melissa to take her blood and collect whatever data she wants, but the second that Douglas steps into the room, she becomes nightmarish and snarls in his direction. Even though she trusts Melissa, she dreads this time of day — maybe she subconsciously wants to oversleep in hopes of skipping it.

Still, 99% of the time, everything goes smoothly and she is released to her own devices after approximately two hours. Sometimes, if she is especially well behaved or has to endure a particularly painful test, Melissa will reward her with a pint of ice cream from the staff freezer. It always seems worth it afterwards, even if she was dreading it before.

After dinner, which she usually skips, Deimos is typically left to her own devices. Curfew is at 20:00, but until then, she has run of the compound. Sometimes she will wander aimlessly in hopes of stumbling over something that will entertain her for a while, and sometimes she retires to her room early and crawls right back into bed. Oftentimes, it feels as though she’s just trying to kill the hours — her real fun only starts after her door is locked for the night.

She usually gives it about an hour or so before she sneaks out. It took her quite some time to find a proper escape route, but she eventually discovered that she could slip through one of the air vents. From there, it’s only a short wiggle into the next unit over, and since that containment unit is not currently in use, its door is left open.

Sneaking out of the compound has become routine to Deimos. She knows where the cameras can’t see her; knows which parts of the compound are still in use at this hour and which ones are abandoned. Getting back in in the morning is usually more difficult than getting out, and before long, she is standing on the city streets taking in a big breath of smoggy air.

From there, she typically spends her nights doing whatever she wants. She treats herself to the much more flavorful food that can be found in 24 hour diners and late night food trucks; explores the alleys and the parks and the parts of the city that have those bright neon lights. Sometimes she hangs around the Nightmare district; sometimes she slinks around the hoity-toity income-restricted neighborhoods and admires the big houses and fancy apartment buildings. It’s never hard for her to fill her night with activities, and before she knows it, the first light of dawn is staining the sky.

She has to be back at the compound by 05:30, which is when the gates open up and the first shift employees begin to trickle in. She has yet to be caught sneaking back into her room, but she knows better than to let herself be careless. The second they figure out how she’s escaping, they’ll fix the grate and she’ll be back to being bored all the time. She knows she’s got a good thing going on.

Usually, she’s just slipping back into bed around 05:45. That at least gives her a couple hours of sleep before she has to be in class, and despite the fun she’s had all night, she is always grumpy when 07:00 comes.

Holden floated next to a cart full of tea apparatus and pastries, from which he’d politely offered the guest across from him to partake. “‘So. You’d like to hear something about my typical day? Well, for posterity’s sake, I suppose.”

Holden took a sip of his tea. “Most of my days begin with waking up.” He smirked. “I sleep during any typical night, although if I’m busy with something, I don’t. Don’t seem to need to, since the day I fell down that hole. Landed rather badly, apparently. I wouldn’t really know—never had the desire to go down there and look. But I digress.”

He took another sip, then topped off his cup. “Keeping the temperature just right is key to full enjoyment.” He smiled in approval at his interviewer, inwardly giving her points as polite company for quietly listening, and not attempting to hurry him along.

“Tamshir, was it? Well. After a nice cup of tea, and a little something to break my fast—eating doesn’t seem to be something I need to do, either, but I wouldn’t miss it as long as there’s something worth dining on available—I typically busy myself with whatever project I find engaging at the moment.”

After setting his teacup down on the cart, Holden drifted through the air to a series of shelves against his den wall, which were neatly stacked with books, fine diningware, and various bric a brac. He plucked a potion bottle off of the closest one, and held it out for his visitor to see the remains of a green liquid inside.

“Lately, for example, I’ve been visiting with a rather unhappy spirit, fairly recent to their new existence. She’s unable to interact with most other beings, or objects entirely, but was able to lead me to this. Haven’t had a chance to have it tested yet, but I suspect it to be poison, for…reasons she and I have discussed.” Holden placed the bottle back on the shelf.

“A pity, really; she’s a fine conversationalist.” His expression flashed briefly to something between anger and disgust. “And we don’t need more Mycenians being hastened to a second existence—or none at all. Happens naturally enough without that kind of help.”

A sudden rapping at the door, and his face shifted back to a neutral expression. A fox-spider ineki opened the door a crack without waiting for a response, and peeped inside. “Hooolden? You home?”

Holden sighed, just a little. “And then, there are the typical distractions. Pardon the interruption.” He turned to the door. “And yes, Zhjip, as you can probably deduce by seeing me, I am home. You might also notice that I have a guest.”

Zhjip brightened. “Of course you do—I’m here.” She peeked further in, and saw Tamshir. “Oh! Hello there!”

Holden turned back to his first guest, and cut his eyes to Zhjip dryly. “Tamshir, this is Zhjip. Zhjip, Tamshir.” Drifting back to the cart and his tea, he added, “And Zhjip, since you are here now, would you please come the rest of the way here, and not stand in the doorway to talk?”

Zhjip came inside, skittering up to the cart.

“And perhaps, close the door?” He cast a long-suffering look at the fox-spider, as he reached for another cup and filled it with tea.

“Oh, yes, sure!” She skittered there and back quickly, and he passed her the new cup before freshening his own.

“Zhjip. Did you need anything?”

She scanned the contents of the teacart. “Do you have any ramen?”

Holden gave her that look again. “No, I’m afraid I don’t typically have ramen with my tea. But I meant, did you have a reason for dropping by?”

She seemed briefly disappointed at the lack of ramen, then perked up again. “Oh! No, I was just coming to say hi.” She smiled and wiggled into a sitting position, spilling only a little of her tea in the process.

Holden nodded, then turned his attention back to Tamshir.

“Well. As I was saying,” he continued over his steaming cup, “I am in the habit of finding fellow spirits and certain other beings in…non-standard states of existence, and communicating with them. When they want to be communicated with, that is. Other than that, a day might find me engrossed in a new tome, enjoying a fine meal, or…”

“Or doing things with friends!” Zhjip chimed in.

Holden was a bit too nonplussed to school her on the rudeness of interrupting, at the moment, because reflecting on that, it was true.

“I suppose that has become one of my not entirely atypical habits, of late.” Not that he was the instigator of any such activity, but…

He sipped at his tea, then cleared his throat. “In any case, did that give you enough of the information you require?”  He glanced questioningly at Tamshir. “If so…” He turned in the air to stare pointedly at Zhjip. “...you might have your next volunteer for telling their tale.”

He graced both guests with his most amicable smile. “Elsewhere, of course.”

Zhjip was more surprised than anything else, when Holden’s guest was willing to follow her back to her home. Even after Zhjip warned her that it was all the way back at the end of a dark, otherwise unused tunnel. And that there were cobwebs, even.

And then the lady SAT RIGHT ON the spot most padded with cobwebs, when she offered it as the most comfy place to sit, without acting like it was weird or gross or anything!

She decided this Tamshir was all right in her book. Yes, indeedy.

She didn’t have anything fancy to offer a guest like her buddy Holden did, but thought maybe there might be some of that last batch of dried ramen that Zee had given her left? But after looking around the various webs she stuck stuff in, nope. She must’ve eaten it all. Zhjip felt kind of bad about not having anything to offer.

After that, she kind of skittered around aimlessly for a bit, not sure what exactly to do or say. She didn’t have visitors often, other than Zee or Holden, and they were friends, so they were…well, kind of used to her way of things.

Zhjip wasn’t sure how to act around a stranger who didn’t automatically act like they wanted to get away from here.

But the lady had asked her a question, about what her usual day was like. Hmm…well, what was it like? She fidgeted, climbing up a wall and back down again, feeling acutely like she wasn’t that good with words.

But on the way back down, she spotted something.

It was a little book, that Holden had given her. But it wasn’t like a typical book, all full of words already— all the pages were empty, and she was supposed to write things on them.

Which she had been doing. For a while now.

Zhjip had an idea.

“...Tamshir? Um, would you like to look at my diary? I put stuff about my days in there, and it helps me remember things that happened, and it might answer your question better than I could tell you out loud.”

She started to offer the little book, then pulled it back. “Oh! But let me add one more thing to it before I forget to.” Plucking a pen out of a nearby web, she hastily scribbled something. “Okay! Now it’s ready.”

Smiling shyly, she held out the diary.

***

various entries in Zhjip’s diary

Some mice have moved in further up the tunnel. Fun to watch.

Accidentally scared a mouse this morning. Wasn’t even gonna eat it. Felt bad.

Ate ramen for lunch! Yay!

Zee found a new cave, We’re gonna go explore it tonight.

Found a pretty rock in the new cave! IT GLOWS

Went exploring. Found a crack in a wall of packed sandy stuff. I could hear somebody singing on the other side!

Hunted a…thing for lunch. Not sure what it was, never seen one before coming this direction. Tasted pretty good tho.

Went back home. Reminder: get a shovel.

Got a shovel.

Went back to the tunnel with the singing on the other side. Should have brought a light like Zee always tells me to, but I forgot.
Nobody singing right now, gonna dig.

Just about dug a hole big enough to fit through, when the singing started again!

Made the hole big enough to fit through. Crawled to the other side.
When they saw me, they stopped singing and ran away.

They sang really pretty, too.

Wish I had some ramen.

Hunted another thing. This one tasted funny.

Zee came to visit, and I showed her the mice. She said they’re always in motion, just like me!

Went exploring with Zee and Holden! We found some shiny stuff, and some nice string.
Holden says there was somebody in there with us, but I didn’t see them.

Zee made a necklace for me with some of the string and my glowy rock! SO PRETTY

Shared my ramen with the mice, and they don’t run away now!

Reminder: don’t eat mice anymore.

Entry on the last page with any writing:

Went to visit Holden. He didn’t have ramen.
But a nice dog lady was there, and she came to visit ME, too!

Lucien is awoken early, often before the sun has barely begun its path across the sky. He never gets to awake on his own accord, and instead is mercilessly roused by Xiu, his flying squirrel companion, as he tries to make a nest in his hair. Xiu is nocturnal, and spends his nights out in the forests flying from branch to branch. As dawn approaches, the small bundle of silver and white fluff returns home to slink through the open window and preen relentlessly at Lucien’s white strands. Needless to say, the combinations of licks and tugs serves to wake him up.

After situating Xiu in a more appropriate bed, Lucien makes his way to the small area of his abode that’s designated as a kitchen. Breakfast is light and mostly consists of fruit. Peaches, plumbs, nectarines, or pears, sometimes with biscuits if he’d thought to acquire any from the bakery the day before. He takes his time with eating, and tries his best to be quiet as the rest of his family is usually still sound asleep by this point of the day. Though, admittedly, he is sometimes tempted to purposefully wake their lazy arses up. :|

He usually wastes away the morning hours. Some days he’ll paint, though he doesn’t think himself that talented with the art, and other days he’ll find a book and a tree to read it beneath. His summer months are of course quite different from his fall and winter ones. If it were winter, during the time when his power is at its peak, he’d be busy making sure all the hibernating animals are still slumbering and being fed dreams to keep them sated through the harsh and cold season. But as it is, his powers are all used up for the rest of the year, and so he spends most of summer being listless and withdrawn from the rest of society.

After Lucien’s parents awaken, the god of sleep allows the two dream deities to escort him down to their pools. Sometimes he manages to talk himself out of it, but most times he isn’t as lucky and is dragged along by one or the other. As a boy, it use to be one of his most favorite parts of the day. He and his sister Kyrie would waste away the hours climbing trees and singing songs and chasing one another while their parents worked. They’d make up fake stories, fake dreams, young imaginations wild and loose. Now? Now he mostly sits beneath his father’s tree or among his mother’s flowers and alternates between short naps, an unfocused gaze, or doodling in a notebook.

Sometimes his parents try to coax him to interact with their pools, to actually make dreams with them. But fears of nightmares and actually having to deal with the dreams of humans sets a chill down his spine and a stubborn look across his face. There’s a reason he only deals with animals.

Lucien skips lunch, and he’s already well aware of how horrible that is of him and that meals are ‘all too important to go about skipping’. Skipping it gives him more time to himself, not that he needs more time to be alone. He’ll spend the hours idly wandering through the woods, or sometimes curled up with a blanket in the root bed of a tree. Every now and then a sleepy Xiu will wander out of his warm bed and come to chatter at him, to which Lucien will stubbornly tell him he should go back to sleep.

After lunch is more the same as before lunch. Routinely napping, doodling, or idly staring up at the silver leaves of the tree that grows over his father’s pool. His father always use to tell him that the leaves changed between day and night, that the way the sun shone off them was different than the way the moonlight reflected from them. As a boy, Lucien was never able to tell the difference, and would constantly try to stay up until after dark to see the leaves physically change. He never did see them change. Even as a man, Lucien still sometimes has trouble understanding the difference his father meant all those years ago. But sometimes.. just sometimes, the leaves do look different at midnight than they did at noon. He’s never able to explain why they look different though, just that they do.

When it comes time for dinner, Lucien will sometimes on occasion insist his parents continue on home ahead of him. He’ll stay back by the pools with a cup of spiced tea, sweetened with honey, promising he’ll be right behind them once he’s finished with it. He isn’t being completely untrue.

By that time of the evening, after having spent most of the day alongside the dream pools, something in his chest will start to stir. It doesn’t happen every night, or even most of the nights, just sometimes. Once he’s certain that the dream gods are out of sight, Lucien will kneel before his mother’s pool and dip his fingers into the still water, sucking himself in a human’s dream. He never interacts with the dream, never changes anything for fear of ruining it or creating something abhorrent. He simply contents himself with watching. The imagination of his parents never ceases to astound him.

By the time he returns home for dinner, Xiu is already starting to rouse. Lucien will spend some time giving the small ball of fluff some attention, and is usually forced to share part of his dinner with the rodent. He doesn’t mind all that much, as besides his parents, Xiu is some of the only company he’ll encounter during summer. Before bed, Lucien will set the small squirrel down on the open window edge and coax him to go explore the night. It doesn’t usually take all that much coaxing, but why should it? If Lucien were able to fly between branches he wouldn’t let himself be trapped inside either.

Luper wakes up to an argument. They used to wake up on their own, or when their fish nudged them awake. Before Bas and Ilvan moved in it was just Luper and their two fish, Sunfish and Moonfish. Sun and Moon, for short, and the two flying fish would wake Luper in the morning when the two got hungry. It was a good method of waking up on time. Luper would get up and feed the two fish as they swam through the air around them, bumping gently against Luper’s head and limbs.
But now that Bas had moved in, and Ilvan basically had as well, Ilvan would wake up early and feed the fish. So Luper could sleep in, at least until Ilvan began to strike up an argument with Bas.
So that sets the scene as Luper sighs, still lying in their nest-like bed of blankets and pillows, listening to the prissy Drasillis and spitfire Ineki shouting at each others. Basileus’ voice, high and shrill piercing the late morning air, and Ilvan’s deep and rough one like a rumbling undercurrent. A subriver of rocks and gravel and smoke and familiarity.
Luper hauls themself up to their paws, rubbing at their eyes and yawning. It’s a little exhausting to put up with the two other mycenians, but Ilvan was familiar and Luper had promised Basileus’ parents that they’d look after the Drasillis. So Luper manages.
Why anyone would see Luper as a parent-like figure is still a mystery to the teal Ineki.

Today the argument is over the odd sinuous creature that follows Ilvan, which has stolen Bas’ scarf. Luper solves it by offering up one of their own blankets for the creature to nest in instead. Ilvan supervises Luper as they attempt to cook brunch, and it takes a few tries before they decide to instead ask for a loaf of bread from Gwillian instead of making one themselves. Bas huffs and crosses his arms and turns the other cheek like the willful teen he is, refusing to go visit the two Kelph.
Ilvan throws an arms around Basileus’ shoulders and pressures him to come along with, and he jumps back and storms off to his room.
So Luper and Ilvan go to visit Gwillian and Lasky on their own.

Lasky greets the two Ineki over the garden wall, a flower tucked behind one of her ears. Ilvan blows a kiss, directing a small globe of fire along it’s path. Lasky giggles and says she’ll meet them in the house, her voice like sweet warm tea on a cold evening.
The dutch door’s top half is open. Ilvan vaults it, Luper opens it and steps through, closing it behind themself. The house by the water is full of the smell of flowers and baking breads and cookies. Ilvan calls out their entrance to Gwillian, who pokes his head out of the kitchen with a small smile.
Lasky enters in the back door from the garden, smiling and beautiful. She rubs noses with Gwillian, and then asks what the two Ineki are over for.
Ilvan asks for a loaf of bread, and Luper offers a nice cut of fish in exchange. They don’t have the fish with them, but it’s not too far to walk home and retrieve it. Gwillian silently nodds, and goes to retrieve a fresh loaf of bread, which Luper offers to carry home, wanting to enjoy it’s warmth and heat, but Ilvan claims under the grounds of their ability to better keep it warm. What goes unspoken is that neither Ilvan, Gwillian, nor Lasky want Luper to accidentally drop the loaf. Luper doesn’t want that either, but the subject remains thankfully unspoken.
Luper runs the fish over after brunch, bringing their tackle box and fishing pole along as well, because Luper’s favorite fishing spot is not far from the Kelph’s house. Gwillian accepts the fish with a quiet “Thank you.”, and puts it in the icebox. He slips a few cookies into Luper’s tacklebox. Luper pretends not to notice, because a customer is coming in to buy some of Gwillian’s well-known baked goods. Luper does, however, exchange a knowing smile with the large kelph.

Luper loves fishing. It’s peaceful and quiet, and a good time to think. Luper’s two pet fish, Sun and Moon, dip into the water occasionally, before returning to hovering around Luper, providing light to see by. It’s darker by the water, and Luper is not trusted with any sort of fire unsupervised.
Luper nibbles on the cookies from Gwillian, feeding some of the crumbs to their pets, and waits for some of the fish in the water to rise to the bait. Fishing lasts a few hours.
After catching a few fish, Luper makes their way to the market, sells half, pus the nuggets in the bank, and then makes their way home. Bas is curled in one of the squishy armchairs with a book.
Luper put the fish in the icebox, cleaned off their paws, and then sunk into the other armchair with a sigh. Bas shuts the book and the two turn their chairs and play a game of chess, which lasts very nicely until there’s a knock on the door from the neighbors. Ilvan has gotten into trouble again, and Luper has to haul themself out of their comfy armchair to go stop a fight.
Ilvan has a black eye from picking a fight with a much larger kelph, but they puff out their chest, “You should have seen the other guy!” they boast to Bas.
Ilvan then provides a not-too-accurate play by play and advice for Bas and Luper’s chess game.
It’s nearly time for dinner by the time Bas whines and submits to Luper’s few remaining chess pieces. It’s a thursday, which means the three pick out a good fish and some spiced cider and head over to Lasky and Gwillian’s cottage.
Under the close watch of Gwillian, Luper fried up the fish. Bas sulked and set the table. Ilvan boasted of their fight to Lasky, who clucked and tsked over it like a concerned mother while mixing up a salad.
The dinner is eaten, and desert is taken on the overlook of the river. Bas and Ilvan go down to skip rocks on the river, which inevitably becomes a competition. The two return home sopping wet and not very happy.
Luper curls up in their bed to the sounds of Bas and Ilvan fighting over something, but the two eventually sort themselves out, and go to bed as well. Sun and Moon circle each other around the ceiling in a calming way, and Luper falls alseep watching them.

Per usual, the day starts as the sun rises. Nothing too surprising there. Morning routines include snuggling in and kneading against Mika, checking to see if Sam is up, opening the gates to the shop they live above, feeding the birds, going out to exercise the ostrich (and greet nephilim neighbors), and threatening bodily harm

Birds of Paradise is quaint, to say the least. While a bulk of their living needs are on the upstairs floors, their kitchen is on the ground floor where the actual shop is. No one really complains about the two cooking meals while striking up a conversation, it’s nothing new. Holly is usually accompanied by their callous raven, Poe. For this part of the day, he’s often found napping anywhere he can. He very much dislikes the morning hours and will close his eyes at any moment he can. Among the birds, among the plants, on the stair landings, in the living room, back in bed.

By this time he’s actually awake for the most part, also ends up putting up with a lot of random nonsense. The ridiculous events of the day include (but are not limited to) getting visits from their extended family (Domi and Kir, Lev and Cas, their neighbors Dia and Forte - this also includes the unwelcome company of the two Lucifers, for some reason the King of Asphodel has plenty of free time and is often found harassing them.

During this period of time Holly also has his main meal for the day, typically a copious amount of raw meat. Every so often he’ll go out and eat - visiting family of his own accord, harassing Dia and Forte for snacks, trying to avoid having his king harassing him for reasons unknown. When there isn’t anything in particular that he needs to do, he always ends up gravitating to Mika. He doesn’t have to directly interact with him, he doesn’t even have to say anything, but he’s since grown to simply enjoy being in his presence.

After the shop’s been closed, it becomes time for the cat to play. More often than he cares to admit, Holly ends up making his way into the Night District. Sometimes it’s for demon-specific wares, sometimes it’s to stay in the loop about recent events and gossip, most of the time it’s just to beat up dogs. Cat demons - especially one that hails directly from Sleepy Hollow, are notorious for their sense of “cruelty” and this is especially true for Holly. He doesn’t eat them, or even kill them, but there’s something admittedly really fun about turning a giant ego trip into a bloody pulp. He always has a faint smell of blood from his diet, so he doesn’t worry that much about the stench lingering, so long as any visible signs are taken care of.

He doesn’t really mention specifically what he does when he goes into the Night District, but even King Lucifer has learned to just let sleeping lions lie. All in all, Holly’s day starts and ends within similar cycles to Mika, although he’s also not a stranger to sleepless nights every once in a while, during which he simply reads various books. History of Anaheim, History of Albion’s Edge, icelandic history books, languages, anything that happens to catch his fancy.

The flowers of the palace gardens stretched their stems towards the sky. Pericles had to strain his neck to see the colorful petals, each as large as a man’s body, blazing against the azure sky. Pink, yellow, blue, red, purple. The winds caroused with the rainbow plants, and from his throne in the open-air pavilion Percy felt overshadowed by their freedom, joy, and, vitality.

He remained this way for hours at a time. His servants came and went as Percy remained motionless: twisting his dyed hair into elaborate braids, applying gold leaf below his eyelids with a delicate brush, draping his body in crimson swaths of cloth. It was a painstaking process. The constant tension in Pericles’ body reminded his retinue that he was always aware that his every moment was a prayer, sacred and not to be wasted.

Once the ministrations were complete a servant would bring a mirror. Percy’s eyes twitched down, and with a twitch of his pinky he would order the servant away. Not satisfied with the result, the process would begin anew. The leaf was washed from his face, the hair unwound, the clothes stashed away. A new hairstyle would be chosen, a new symbol painted on his face, a new set of clothes trimmed and brought.

Only when he was satisfied that he was as vital as the towering flowers of his gardens would Pericles nod his approval.

His throat was sore with praises. Chosen for his high, lilting voice, sometimes Pericles cursed his golden voice during the hours of endless ritual. Every song was bought at a dear price. The soaring, stone walls of the temple were designed to amplify his sacred chants and remind him that he was trapped from the outside world. The etchings built into the walls, telling the tale of the arrival of his people from the stars, seemed pale compared to the movement of real life. The glittering-emerald eyes of thankful locals, awed by the brilliance and knowledge of their conquerors, could not complete with the harried haggling of merchants in the market just outside the temple’s precincts.

He could hear their voices drifting through the halls, shrill and angry. Too close, too far.

His every movement was sacred, and it was during the day that he prayed the most. Up, down, up, down, twist, turn, twist, turn. Until his body was sore with the knowledge of his divinity. The sweat that trickled down his face smeared the gold leaf painted along his eyelid. Perfection wilted. No matter how he tried the vitality he so craved was just out of reach. He could not cavort in the wind.

At night he finally had a moment alone. While he would have liked to spend it in the gardens, resting under the eaves of his open-air pavilion, instead he found himself sitting on the balcony outside his quarters. The sharp tang of smoke made his nostrils flare. Bright points of light, like stars shining in the night, flared in the city sprawled out below him.

There were sacred truths, and then there were truths.

The city seethed with hatred, and he could well imagine the masses pounding at the palace gates; the vital dance of the flowers meant nothing to them; their emerald eyes did not glitter at the lilting beauty of his songs. Instead, they set fire to the city halls, to the prisons, to the courts, and it flared a crimson more brilliant than Pericles’ carefully-chosen clothes. It flared so brightly that not even Pericles could ignore the force of their anger.

‘The stars rain down upon us tonight,’ Pericles thought to himself. ‘Perhaps my people should never have come to this planet. They do not want us here.’

His eyes turned to the pitch-black sky, and he dreamed of home.

8:00 AM Mycena Standard Time

She wakes snuggles between her mommy Menelaus and her mama Oriana, yawning and stretching her limbs and wings. The breeze created by their fluttering wakes Oriana, who is a light sleeper. Together, the two start about preparing a breakfast of mushroom omelets for themselves and Menelaus.

8:30 MST

The omelets are done-perfectly golden, made with freah eggs from their neighbor in the next cave who raises chickens. The smell of the food rouses the still-sleepy Menelaus from her slumber, and together the family dines on the omelets.

“How did you two sleep?” Mee asks Ori, offering the love of her life a kind smile.

Ori smiles right back at her wife and replies, “I slept just fine, dear.”

“And Chouko?” Their daughter’s name was another gift from their chicken-rearing neighbor, fluent in languages that exist outside the Cave. It is a word that means “butterfly child” in a tongue from long before the Frost. When she hears about it, Chouko is thankful she was not yet alive. She prefers warmth to cold any day.

“Fine, mommy!” replies the young ineki, voice cheery and bright like her coat.

9:00 MST

Full of omelets and love, the trio have separated by this time. Mee returns to the large bed that the three of them share so she can sleep a little longer, while Ori begins tending to her mushroom garden.

Chouko has other plans. Waving goodbye to her mothers, she takes off on gentle wings that almoat look like they couldn’t support her weight and flies to a cave nearby.

9:15 AM MST

A short flight gets the blue and orange butterfly child to her favorite spot in all of her known world. It is a cave filled with rocks that she knows contain uncarved Mycenians-her mommy is a carver and took her to this cave once, explaining the requirements of her job. It is not the uncarved Mycenians Chouko is there for-it’s a spot very important to her parents.

This cave was where both Mee and Ori were carved a relatively short time ago.

This cave also contains an offshoot of the Sacred Tree that was where the butterfly couple discovered their daughter.

Butterflies float around the tree, seeming to sense the girl when she comes near and clustering around her. She laughs, a bell peal exhoing through the cave. She pulls out her sketchbook and draws whatever she sees fit.

Some days it’s other Mycenians. These are some of her favorite days because of the expressions she’s been able to capture. Other days, she draws the natural scene around her.

11:30 MST

After spending about two hours in the cavern, Chouko flies back to her home cave. The trio lives in a small cave that is a day’s travel from the main city in Mycena, all three of them preferring their quiet life to the hustle and bustle of the main cave. She cleans up from her time in the butterfly cave and assists her mommy Mee in preparing lunch for the trio.

12:00 MST

Menelaus and Chouko have prepared sandwiches for lunch, and together they pack up the food in a basket. Chouko takes the basket itself, while Ori grabs a blanket and Mee gets water containers for the three of them. Sometimes there are chips-mushrooms fry surprisingly well-and today is one of those times. They set out to another nearby cave, where a hill looks out on a field of mushrooms that glow brightly when a crack of natural sunlight from far, far above hits them.

Here, Oriana spreads out the blanket and Mee unpacks lunch. Chouko eats the peanut butter and jelly eagerly, snacking on mushroom chips in between bites of her sandwich.

12:30 MST

It is Chouko’s turn to help and she does so by packing up everything from lunch-the cloth their sandwiches were wrapped in, the wooden bowl for the chips, and the blanket they picnicked on all go into the tight weave of the wicker basket. Ori carries the basket and Mee the containers, while Chouko leads the way home.

13:00 MST

They arrive back at the house and Chouko begins her chores for the day. She sweeps, realizes today is the day she needs to clean their small kitchen, and fetches a bucket of soapy water to do the cleaning with. When she’s done, she bathes.

14:00 MST

Generally, the young ineki will take time to herself. She is fond of reading and often does so-every week the family of three makes a trip to the main cave, where there is a library to be found. Her book this week is about a group of boys with adventure in their hearts.

16:00 MST

Around this time she takes a basket of mushrooms to their neighbor. She enjoys helping them out-they’re full of amusing stories and often have a tale or two to spare her.

Today’s tale is of a time before the great freeze, and she stays helping them do chores for a good hour after the story is told.

18:00 MST

She heads home as the mushrooms that light the area around the caves start to dim. Night is beginning to fall on Mycena, and Chouko hurries back to her home cave.

Menelaus and Oriana have prepared stew for dinner, and it is almost done by the time she arrives back to their cozy home. Mushroom stew as usual, well seasoned and the mushrooms ate very tender-this is how Chouko knows her mama cooked, because for as much as she loves her mommy, she struggles with food.

The trio sits around their table, bowls of mama’s mushroom and pepper stew in front of them. Chouko savors the thick chunks of fungus as her mothers chatter about what they accomplished today.

“How about you, Chouko?” asks her mama.

The young ineki offers Ori a snile. “Sid had some interesting stories about the time before the frost! They told me about this birdlike cat Dora and another cat Purr and the shenanigans they would get up to!”

Mee inclines her head curiously. “Do they know where Dora and Purr are now?”

Chouko frowns slightly. “They didn’t say. I’ll have to ask tomorrow!””

“Or…” Mee starts, exchanging a glance with Ori, who shakes her head slightly but gestures up instead.

“Let’s leave Sid to rest for the night. What if we went to the firefly cave?” adds the monarch.

Chouko perks her ears up and grins happily at her mothers. “Can we really?” she pleads, looking back and forth between Mee and Ori for confirmation. The two nod in unison.

19:00 MST

They arrive at the firefly cave just as the luminescent little bugs are beginning to come out. The same blanket from their picnic is a buffer between the trio and the cool grass. While her mothers sit and hold each other, Chouko dances with the fireflies, gracefully swimming through the air on two legs with the aid of her wings.

20:00 MST

Morning… always comes too early. I tend to roll over and get tangled even more in my sheets while my phone alarm goes off like firecrackers. In the morning, though, I’m dead to the world. Tohru sometimes gets up and turns it off before I even hear it, which has resulted in me being painfully *late* more times than I’d care to admit. Recently, even the ice prince has been coming over to glare coldly and douse me with ice water if it goes off too early on a weekend… I guess it’s good that he’s opening up to us? I mean, it can’t be fun not having friends, even if your family is rich as heck.

Today is Sunday, so while that does mean we don’t have classes, my routine really doesn’t change all that much. Still gotta be up at the dining hall by 6 in order to get breakfast. ...Dorm life makes me wanna cry sometimes. Anyway, once I get there, the two second-years who like to call me Shorty are usually already there. The third-years almost always eat somewhere else - where, I have no clue, but they’re never here when it’s meal time.

After breakfast, most of us go and practice whatever our specialty is. Sometimes we pair or group off to help each other cover our weak points or just to have fun. Being serious all the time isn’t actually productive, even if… especially if? it’s a music and dance academy. Lately it’s been just Tohru and me, but occasionally his brother Keiru (a third year) joins us. He’s the student council president, so that plus his quiet demeanor means he’s still kind of intimidating despite the fact that he’s an absolute mother hen to Tohru. He helps tutor us and sometimes others if we need help in academics, though, so he’s actually a nice guy. Sometimes people call him an ice prince, but I think Sakuya fits the bill way more.

I run through my scales for a vocal warmup while the brothers finish up Tohru’s English cards. At first it felt really awkward and embarrassing to sing in front of people I was still getting to know, but it’s gotten a lot easier as the year went on. ...More or less, anyway.

My ‘talent’ (the academy’s term for whatever someone is training in) is vocals. Tohru’s is piano. A lot of the third-years have two or more talents, the talent they came to the academy to train in, and one more they chose to learn upon arriving. The second talent I’m training in, or will be, anyway, is currently undecided. I have until winter break to choose, or I can just forgo a second talent altogether. It’s always up to the student, but usually everyone chooses a second or even third talent to learn.

Practicing and having fun with Tohru and Keiru takes up the better part of the afternoon. When we’re done, I’m thoroughly exhausted, mentally and physically. Doing exercises all afternoon, even vocal ones, is really tiring (especially with an upperclassman like Keiru coaching you). I end up going straight back to me and Tohru’s room in the first-year hall.

Of course, me being me, that doesn’t stop me from making the questionable choice of playing a game for the rest of the evening. Keiru being the mother hen he is had us break for lunch (and then pushed us the rest of the afternoon with no breaks), so I don’t need to go to the dining hall again. It’s fun on school days, but right now I don’t have enough energy to interact with everyone else. Well, in person, anyway.

There’s one person I keep in touch with over this MMO called Planet of Magic (PoM for short). Their screen name is Kem, and they play a physical tank-type unit. Super super squishy to magic attacks, but that’s what I come in for - I play as a healer (also known as the “underpaid babysitter”), and we usually either tackle low level dungeons by ourselves or join up with a group for tougher raids. I don’t know Kem in real life, but I consider them a friend just like Mika and Sen. Before I know it, the sun has gone down and I’m playing by the light of my laptop screen. There are classes tomorrow, so I’d better get to sleep. Tohru is already asleep, it was lights out for him as soon as he got back. I’m gonna do the same now. Logging off of PoM, I say good night to Kem, shut down my laptop, and once I’m in bed, drift into a deep, dreamless sleep.

It’s always a surprise when she wakes, since she can never recall falling asleep. Birds chirped in the weak pre-dawn glow, and a soft breeze shook the dew from the brittle leaves on the trees. Miranda stretched, a habit she still retained from living, and let herself fall through the roof into the bedroom of her unwitting captor, Vismund.

There’s still time…

Miranda smiled a wicked smile, and leans down to whisper in Vismund’s ear. Rather than the sweet nothings she told him in life, instead she filled his head with nightmares and anxieties - they poured from her mouth in a black, roiling fog. He stirred in his sleep, his forehead beaded in cold sweat until, finally, he sat up with a yelp. His face passed right through Miranda’s transparent body - Rude…! and he scrambled out of bed and toward the bathroom. Miranda felt herself being pulled along behind him, an angry balloon on a ghostly string, as he left the bathroom and stomped down the stairs.

It seemed Vismund’s weird roommate had already been up for hours - or perhaps was still up? - and was slaving over an immaculate breakfast spread. Oh, to be able to taste the food of the living world! If Miranda had a stomach, she’s sure it would have been rumbling. “This isn’t for you,” he warned, but Vismund didn’t so much as hesitate before engulfing an entire stack of pristine fluffy pancakes.

Do you ever think about anyone else, Vismund?

Miranda followed him out of the strange house and across the immaculately groomed lawn. She came to rest on the back of the bicycle - a beautifully restored vintage bicycle - that had been so generously lent to Vismund following his, ah, accident that he had (unfortunately) somehow survived. His punishment for mangling his roommate’s beautiful car was exercise, and so he began to pedal toward town. Ever spiteful, Miranda dragged her heels in the dirt, becoming just solid enough to bring down his speed.

Eventually, they made it into town. Vismund had had to stop several times; being generally unhealthy and also haunted had taken tolls on his endurance, and Miranda certainly had done her best as a poltergeist to hamper their progress. Flux (the roommate) had demanded he find work to “make yourself useful” and to “get yourselves out of (my) way,” though Vismund hadn’t understood why the latter was plural. Rather than immediately begin his search, however, he instead ducked into a little sandwich bar and took a seat at the back. Miranda took a moment to tie his shoelaces together under the table before sitting opposite him, glowering. She kicked his shins under the table; he rubbed at his knees idly, he’d probably strained his legs on the bike ride in.

Much to Vismund’s dismay, a waiter came over to take his order, and after some time returned with a sandwich, chips, and a tall glass of beer. Miranda took the opportunity to drop a few wayward creepycrawlies in his chips, but Vismund completely failed to notice and snacked away. That was the problem, really - Miranda could only bother him as much as he remembered her, and Vismund had a powerful selective memory. It certainly didn’t help that he utterly did not believe in the supernatural. Miranda let out a small cry of frustration over her predicament, clouding the air with the nasty black fog. The weight Vismund felt on his shoulders became just a little heavier, and his breathing just a little more labored.

They spent the better part of the afternoon walking around town, Vismund pretending to look for work, and Miranda causing him every inconvenience she could muster. As they passed a little cabaret, the breeze carried the music and he caught a few words. A recognition dawned on him and his face contorted for a moment in fear. This was her song… For that moment, he remembered her name and her face and what he’d done. For that moment, he could see her before him, her hair wild and fanned out behind her, her eyes full of rage and hurt, the black and horrible mist spilling out of her mouth. For just that moment, he could hear her screams of frustration.

The moment passed, and he let her memory go again.

Miranda sobbed as she was pulled along, chained to this…awful man by the cruelest rules of the supernatural world. She sobbed as she rode home on the back of the bike, sobbed as he ate Flux’s gorgeous dinner (“THAT’S STILL NOT FOR YOU!!”), sobbed as Flux scoffed at her, and finally, as Vismund laid down to sleep, her crying quieted. She floated back to the roof at the end of her tether and watched the stars move in the heavens, and eventually drifted to sleep.

Ryan’s day begins at 6am when he must get up and set out Magdalena’s clothes for the day, double checking that each retains the appropriate ribbon pinned to a hem as he’s trying to teach Maggie a system of differently textured ribbons distinguishing the colors she’s unable to see so that soon she’ll be able to choose her own coordinated outfits. After this he makes a small pot of black tea, and packs Maggie’s lunch for the day. Caffeine causes his little birdy heart to beat erratically but he’s generally still exhausted from the night before she he takes a small risk with the lower levels in the tea in an attempt to wake himself up before work.

He fixes some pancakes and fresh fruit for Maggie once he hears her alarm go off and she starts moving about so that it’s ready when she comes out of her room. After breakfast it’s time to take Maggie to school, taking a bus and then walking three blocks to get here there, they usually make it with about fifteen minutes to spare.

Once the ten year old is safely at school Ryan finds a secluded spot to shift, cutting several minutes off his commute from the school to the Mall where he works the morning shift at the shoe store. On his way to work he generally stops at the coffee shop and picks up a cup of coffee for his manager, mostly because he finds it hilarious how the manager will instantly swear his undying love to whomever brought the man coffee… ‘Undying’ apparently lasted until the cup ran empty.

When school lets out Lilliana usually takes Maggie by the mall to grab a snack and see Ryan, who will makes sure to remind his dear cousin that Magdalena is not a doll and the owl shifter is not allowed to take the girl shopping for new clothes on a daily basis. This argument would be much easier is Maggie weren’t so adorable and/or Lilliana didn’t have such nice taste in children’s clothing.

After work he often goes to get a bit of training with his telepathy while Lilliana feeds Maggie dinner. The training doesn’t generally take too long but it is exhausting and he’s dragging a bit by the time he picks up Maggie and heads home so he’ll pick up another cup of strong black tea to help him stay alert on the walk home.

After putting Maggie to bed he’ll toss the laundry into the washer before fixing himself a quick dinner and calling the shifter council back in his hometown for an update on the status of Sebastian, never quite as surprised as he’d like to be to hear that they still haven’t found the man to arrest him, and then wash up the day’s dishes that he hadn’t had time to wash in the morning. After that he’ll throw the clean clothes into the dryer and take his shower, shaving as well if he needs to. When he gets out he fold the dry laundry and puts it away before crashing for the night only to repeat it all again the next day.

The light is back. They’re still asleep. Master’s head is so soft. I understand why he doesn’t wake up or move.
Oh, Master moved! He’s getting up! Morning master! Of course he’s going to wake up his mate. Good morning to you, too, Other.

Where are we going? I’m going to sit on Other’s head today. Master laughed, or… yes, he laughed! I like when Master laughs. Other is happy too. I think he likes me. I like him too.

Now we’re travelling. We’re back in the green. There’s no water here though. I’d like some water to swim in. I feel dry. Wait, what? What was th—WATER! There’s water falling from above! That hasn’t happened since the light from above went away. I love when water falls from above. Master likes it too, but the Other doesn’t seem to. Maybe it hurts him?

Oh, but the light in the sky is fading.

Lord for you~

The sun rises once again. Loewe and I are still travelling through this rainforest-esque world. Stretching out, raising my arms over my head and sighing happily when I hear my joints pop back into place, I can see him still smiling in his sleep. His hand is still on my thigh, and I’m almost tempted to move him off of me. Loewe is usually clingy in his sleep.

I can’t help but smile at him when I wake up before him. He’s so peaceful. Carlos has taken to perching himself on my usually, but only after I’ve woken. Just like he is now. But once Loewe wakes up, my ever-faithful companion leaves me for him. Traitor <3

Regardless of who wakes up first, depending where we are, I’ll usually venture off to find some food or some herbs; both are good for eating. While I’ve had trouble hunting as of late, there’s at least some trees that bear fruit non-toxic enough to eat.

We’ve come across a few small villages hidden among the trees too, and as of late, we’ve gone to visit them around midday. It’s pleasant enough, and the people have been very welcoming to both of us. If anything, they don’t want us to leave after we’ve shared a meal with them and have listened to more stories about their world and the events they’ve encountered here. They have so much culture and so much to tell us, but if we stay too long, the sun here sets and everything becomes pure darkness.

So, we head back early. The tide is at its lowest by the time the sun hits the water, but that’s fine with me. Loewe doesn’t find himself as invested in any source of water as I do, but I can’t help it. I was born in the Sea; it’s part of me. Sad thing is that there’s only rivers here, no actual bodies of water. Whatever. One we return to our little camp, I’ll usually get started on preparing some form of supper for us, and Loewe will go bathe. Sometimes I’ll join him, but tonight? Nah. I’m sore, and the cold air is enough to make my back hurt. I sent Carlos off with Loewe though, so neither of them should be bored or lonely.

Once they return, we’ll all eat and stargaze for a bit, and then settle back into a dreamless sleep (on my part, at least) and wanderlust of returning home to Dad and Father… I wonder how they’re doing?

Another day, another wave… When will Master and Brother come home? Blub…

There was no particular normalcy to Knight’s days really. If he was lucky, he’d get a few more hours of rest and relaxation in the mornings. If not, he would barely get any sleep. Such was the life of a warrior who could never really get away from his upbringing. Today though, was one of the few fortunate quiet days.

Despite having early waking hours drilled into him by his caretaker, he hated mornings. If he could sleep in, he totally would. But his body would become restless as the sun rose, even if his mind desired to stay unmoving and unthinking. A long sigh escaped the young man as he slowly opened his eyes. The wandering warrior blinked and grimaced at the gentle sunlight filtering through the trees. He had been sleeping in a dense forest that night. In fact, he rarely ever slept indoors when sent out on a mission. Too many questions and suspicious whispers made the atmosphere awkward for everyone. It was understandable when a stranger from another world entered a foreign one. It was even more understandable when the stranger happened to have stark white hair and red eyes. Individuals feared the unknown and in his many travels, Knight rarely ever came across another who had an appearance similar to his own.

Laying in the grass for a few moments longer, the warrior closed his eyes mentally went over his itinerary for the day. This time around, he was instructed to watch over a young prince who had run away to escape the clutches of his greedy siblings. For the past few days, there were a few scuffles with bandits here and there, but otherwise, the prince and his companions did not come across anything they could not handle themselves. Knight had not been instructed to directly aid the prince, so he was content to observe them from afar. Today, the prince’s party were taking a rest to refill supplies and let their steeds relax before continuing on their long journey. Taking that into consideration and not detecting any enemy forces in the near vicinity, Knight decided to leave the party be and do his own thing for most of the day.

Opening his eyes a second time, Knight finally rolled to his side and onto his knees. Clicking his tongue, the young man finally got up as the sun crept over the sky above him. Being used to dealing with his own matters, he walked off into the forest to gather some food. Knight wasn’t really picky when it came to food, but when it came to cooking, he and his teacher were not… the best. If he could get away with it, he’d just eat food that was ready to eat off the branch or food that was cooked by someone else. Since there was no one else to cook food and he didn’t particularly want to make a fire at the moment, he opted to go the “eat whatever looks edible in the forest” route.

Searching for food and other supplies in the nearby vicinity also offered him a chance to scout out the area. Knight preferred to be on the cautious side when possible. He liked understanding his environment and identifying at least one or two escape routes in case things went south fast.
As he surveyed the land, Knight grabbed a few fruits from nearby trees that looked like apples. Typically, eating things in a foreign land was risky, especially if you didn’t know anything about the flora and fauna, but Knight’s gifted ethereal soul gave him a general idea of what was edible and what wasn’t. Taking a bite out of the apple like fruit, he mused over it’s texture and taste. The texture was a bit firmer than typical apples and was much juicier than expected. Looking down on his juice covered hand, the warrior made note to go wash after his meal. The flavor though was a bit sweeter than most apples. If he could compare it to anything, it tasted like some sweet berries. Overall, it wasn’t bad to eat as the warrior ate some more.

After washing off his hands in a creek and using his senses to check on the vicinity and the prince’s group, Knight decided to take a chance and casually survey more of the forest. It was a good chance for him to brush up on his skills and see how far they had before exiting the forest. Had it been a tough mission, he would likely be dragged into the midst of battle, protecting his charge or defeating those who did wrong. He accepted the small favors in life and made the most of it while he still could. Focusing energy into the soles of his feet, the warrior took off, seemingly teleporting into the distance. His quick step ability allowed him to travel quickly by taking burst like steps upon a solid surface. If he focused his powers more, he could even use the air as a surface to traverse over, though preferred not to as he wasn’t quite as skilled. But today he decided to mix things up and practice a bit of “air boosting” as he sometimes called it. Making note of the highest tree in the vicinity, Knight quick stepped towards it and before reaching the trunk of said tree, propelled himself upwards using the air’s surface alone. The first half of the trip up was easy enough, but his concentration began to waver a bit as he reached the top. His stance wobbled ever so slightly, but the warrior was able to correct it enough to reach the canopy of the tree. If he had used the tree’s surface, it would have been so much easier, he thought to himself as he caught his breath. Sitting down in a crook of a sturdy branch, Knight looked over the forest from up high.

From the position of the sun, afternoon had settled in. He probably could grab some lunch before heading back to his camp. Some protein for lunch and dinner would be nice, though smoke would easily give away his location so fresh meat would be out of the question. Rummaging through a small knapsack he carried, Knight pulled out some dried meat he carried for long journeys. The dried meat was better than nothing and at least it was some protein without having to deal with a fire. Perhaps he’d grab some more of the apple things when he hiked back he mused as he took a swig of water from a pouch. Taking in the calm weather, Knight allowed himself to gently doze off.

By the time he woke up, the sun began to settle in the west. Being a warrior, he could never fall into a deep sleep and kept his senses on during his little nap. Thankfully, it was a dull day though he detect something moving towards the far, far edge of the forest in which he and the prince’s party had entered. It seemed like company was coming, though there was at least a day or two between them. By the time this mysterious party entered the forest, the prince would likely be long gone. Still, not one to be lazy, Knight got up, brushed himself off and did some quick stretches before carefully quick step descending down the tree and heading back towards his camp. Along the way, he found more apple like fruits for dinner along with some other fruits that looked like berries. He munched on a few berries as he made his way back (that tasted like tart apples strangely enough) and ate the rest of the fruit and some dried meat as he reached his resting place. By now, he could sense that the prince was getting antsy and probably wanted to leave in the cover of dusk to at least get a bit further into the forest. Glad that he was able to get some rest and food earlier, Knight prepared to move out and trail after the party. It was probably gonna be a long night with little to no sleep.

Ilya rises with the sun every day. Her brilliant golden eyes open to illuminate the space around her undersea home in the depths of Mycena Cave. Ilya’s grotto is cozy, just enough room for one average sized ineki to stand and with a foot or two above them, making up the ceiling. A small area of moss, leaves, and old blankets from the surface make up her bed. She has a small table made of driftwood where she prepares and eats her meals, and lots of knickknacks adorning the walls of her home that she’s found from her explorations of the sea and the surface alike. Nothing Ilya owns is brand new. Ilya really doesn’t put much stock in material things.

Mushrooms from the surface are plastered to the ceiling with sticky mud and give off a faint glow so Ilya’s not living complete darkness. Though her eyes glow, they do not give off a lot of light, really only enough to see a couple feet in front of her. Ilya’s head tilts as she looks at one of the glowing mushrooms on the ceiling. She frowns slightly. “Poor thing is on its last leg. I shall have to get a replacement today!” Ilya makes a mental note before taking the withering mushroom off the ceiling. “Thank you for your service, Mister Mushroom.”

Ilya steps into the water at the edge of her home. “Nice and cool, just how I like it~” She slides in gracefully, whirling and swirling about for a few moments to cool her fluffy fur. Before long, she sets off to check her traps to find that she has caught three rather menacing looking lobsters. Two more than I need, I can sell or trade the extras in town today~ Ilya takes the cages back home to prepare the lobsters, while munching on one. “Thank you for your sacrifices, lobsters. You shall feed some happy Mycenians today!” Ilya stuffs the lobsters (and a few other odds and ends she has scavenged) into a satchel and heads for the surface.

“Good morning, ma’am!, it’s a beautiful day!” Ilya says to a passerby as she emerges from the water. Most of the local townsfolk know of Ilya. Many have befriended her, even! Ilya is a bit of an odd one, but she’s easy to befriend. Ilya shakes off and heads to the market to sell her lobsters.

Ilya sells her lobsters to the local fish monger for 600 nuggets. But the money never lasts with Ilya. She lives day to day on whatever she can sell or barter with. If Ilya doesn’t manage to make money to get a meal or ingredients for a meal, she’ll simply eat kelp just as happily. Kelp is readily available and delicious, in Ilya’s opinion. And, it is quite healthy and versatile!

Before long, afternoon has arrived, and Ilya has spent down her nuggets on provisions for the day and has just enough money for a cup of her favorite coffee and a muffin from the local bakery. Ilya sits with a small group of her friends as she enjoys her muffin and coffee. Other Mycenians seem to be fascinated with her way of living, and the questions seem endless. She doesn’t mind, however. Ilya loves to chat.

Ilya muses, “It’s how my pawpawps carved me, I suppose. He knew I was aquatic when I was still encased in stone. He said he could feel it when he touched it.” Ilya looks down at her coffee and smiles sweetly. “We used to bring in lots of fish to sell, I’d set the nets and traps and he’d go to town and sell what we didn’t need. Now? I just fish for what I need with a little bit of profit, hehe.”

“Hmm? Of course I miss him, but I seldom get lonely. Everyone I love is always in my heart and my memories.~ No one is ever gone. They’ve just moved onto another plane of existence. Perhaps he has been reincarnated or something! Maybe I’ll meet him again someday.”

After her lunch is finished and her errands are done, Ilya decides to head home early. But before that, she heads up to the hills above the town to get another glowing mushroom for her home. She picks it out thoughtfully, not taking one that’s too old or too young. She unearths it gently, taking a few extra inches of dirt around the root with it. She places it in a waterproof pouch right on the top of her other things inside her satchel, making extra sure not to crush it.

Ilya silently slips back into the water and heads home. Once there, she makes a mud mixture to fix the mushroom to the ceiling. Carefully, she affixes the mushroom next to the others. She smiles brightly. “Much better~” She looks around the room to see what needs to be done before dinner. She eyes the traps. “Ah yes.” Taking them, she slips back into the water to reset them for tomorrow.

Once finished with that, Ilya swims back to her home and prepares her dinner. It’s a simple dinner, cooked over a small fire. Broccoli, potatoes, mushrooms, carrots, and chicken in a simple sauce, served over wild rice she purchased a few days prior. She eats quietly while reading one of her ancient books that she’s read over and over again. It’s her favorite book. It’s about a mermaid who falls in love with a prince and wants to spend the rest of her life with him. Ilya sighs deeply, thinking of her special someone, who surprisingly wasn’t around today. Perhaps he was, he keeps to himself a lot, she remembers.

After washing herself up and combing through her hair, Ilya curls up on her bed. She holds her book close to her and continues to read until she drifts off into peaceful, blissful sleep. Her life may be simple, but she wouldn’t want it any other way.

Gloria is a simple Kelph who has a green paw and a cozy home.

Morning begins when the dawn rises. She neatens the blankets and pillows on her small, wicker bed, cleans her face and brushes her teeth in the small bathing area in her home. After a small breakfast of some fruit and maybe a small fillet of fish, Gloria tends to her garden. She prefers to weed, prune, and debug in the cool morning hours. After picking some of the riper fruits and vegetables, clipping some of the more crowded flowers, Gloria has a heartier lunch of bread, fish, and perhaps some pastry she’d made the day before. When she’s finished, she’ll clean house a bit: the bathing chamber is cleaned the beginning of the week, the kitchen the middle, and everywhere else is maintained daily.

After chores, Gloria packs up all the produce from her garden into a large wicket basket and trot on down to the town square, where the daily market is held. It’s not the monthly Market Day, of course, where more special goods and expensive products are presented and sold. Her flowers are the loveliest in the area and always a big hit with the locals. If there’s any leftover produce, Gloria pays visits to some of her friends to give it away. If it’s been a very successful sales day, Gloria heads down to the pond for some fishing, or returns home for some baking after shopping a bit herself.

As night falls, Gloria returns home to water her garden. Often times, Turkesa, young and living alone, joins her for a small dinner of more fruit, salad, and bread. Once any guests have left, Gloria whiles away the hours before bedtime reading about herbology, plant biology, gardening, cooking, or knitting.

About 70% of the time, Hayes is woken by a sharp knock on her desk, and greeted with the now-customary eyebrow-raise of her Wing Commander. Fortunately the man has long since learnt better than to comment, and nine times out of ten he proves the bearer of coffee – a brew so strong that one sip sends sleep scurrying for cover. It’s at about that time that Hayes remembers why she doesn’t usually accept coffee from the man, and realises that she has once again failed to reach—or remain at—her home. This doesn’t exactly make for a promising start, but neither does it reach the standards of a bad morning, so Hayes usually starts the day on relatively neutral terms—and having showers and a spare uniform on base probably helps keep her from starting sour.

Once fully awake—and having grumbled at touched-base with Crane—the pilot typically takes a moment to review the day’s schedule before heading out to the airstrip, which might then be beginning to show the first signs of life. If not then the delay marks the first of many little prods at her temper, but all being right the expected faces will be arriving—slowly but surely—and work getting underway. Seeing things beginning smoothly usually pushes her towards a brighter sort of mood, which is just as well given that she faces another potential push of temper within a couple of hours of starting work.

Rookies. A permanent problem.

Although her base has an excellent record for whipping new airmen into shape, and she understands they’re still learning the ropes, Hayes herself has neither the patience nor the temperament to put up with all their flaws. Unfortunately she also has to make sure they’re on base and even run them through certain drills: a part of the day that inevitably gets on her nerves. If lucky it will pass by with few problems and minimal snapping, but either way it is very much the thing that will set the tone of her day—and everyone else’s.

Should things go well then Hayes will be free of the rooks—and them of her—within a relatively short time, and she will then be free to get on with other elements of her job – including the parts she likes. There are always checks to be done and orders to be given, not to mention an ever-growing mound of ‘miscellaneous tasks’ to see to, but where possible the pilot spends her day making repairs or taking shorter flights, and thus stays on relatively even ground where temper is concerned. There are often hiccoughs, of course—minor mistakes to make her frown; idiotic comments to make her growl—but by and large her men do their jobs just right…and know how to keep her from the warpath.

More or less.

And if all else fails, there’s always Crane.

Unfortunately there are some things that even the Wing Commander can’t placate, and on a bad day the onset of afternoon also marks the Point of No Return. Even on a good day this is a space of time when things can take a rapid turn, for this is when the Generals are most likely to strike. If Hayes has limited patience for rookies, she has none at all for these stubborn old men, for they’re unfortunately of a kind who indiscriminately bark orders, piss everyone off, and never learn: precisely the sort of mix you don’t want to put in a spitfire Captain’s way. Facing them inevitably sours the woman’s mood, regardless of the reasons behind the meeting, and the result is often a shortness of temper that leaves everyone treading thin ice.

Luckily, Hayes also makes some effort to avoid further aggravation, and tries to put herself somewhere a little further from the rest of her peers. Sometimes this means a return to her office and the paperwork that never quite seems to end, but often the later parts of the afternoon will see her taking to one of her pet-projects: some battered aircraft that most would consider a lost cause. If given half the chance it will be on this that she’ll spend her last few hours of work—in between tending more important matters around the airstrip—and if left in peace it is also this that will help return her to some degree of calm…just in time for her to collect the most critical pieces of paperwork, and make another attempt to go home—

Or perhaps find herself flying straight into the line of fire…

Avaritia didn’t have a set schedule to follow, in fact, he didn’t have the intelligence, let alone the consciousness to do so. It complicates matter a bit when you don’t actually require sleep, nor food, nor any kind of sustenance for that matter. If he does end up sleeping, when he wakes, he’ll usually find himself under a thick layer of snow. A blizzard is the default weather up north.

Instinct drives him to the nearest river, if he’s lucky there might be a few fish under the ice to provide something of a light breakfast. If he’s really lucky he might catch the scent of a herd of caribou. Caribou is the main food source, even though he doesn’t require it, Avaritia will still instinctively seek out any chances for a meal. The animals are no match for him, he easily outruns them, or freezes them in their tracks.

Whether he caught a meal or not, the beast will then proceed to mindlessly wander his territory. While he doesn’t really have any set borders, he usually sticks around the same expanse of land, though it is still large enough that he can’t get from one side to the other in one day. He may actively hunt during this time if he hasn’t eaten anything big yet. Notable prey include caribou, moose, bears and mammoths.

A giant beast of ice wrestling against a group of mammoths is truly something to behold. Thankfully for Avaritia, though he can be wounded, he can’t be killed by anything that isn’t magical, else he would of been killed off millennia ago.

Humans, especially knights are something to watch out for during the warmer seasons, when blizzards are less common and grass appears in patches within vast fields. Though they do still occasionally head out into his lands during the harsh cold season. Avaritia doesn’t like human meat, so he doesn’t seek them out or hunt them, though he will still kill any that cross his path, however rare that situation might be.

A few hours before dusk, if he woke up during the day and if he’s in range, he’ll head straight north until he reaches the ancient lands. Nothing except for him dares approach the ancient lands, let alone enter them. The land is always grey and white here, there is no wind to howl, the snow fall slowly, if it falls at all, frozen husk of trees long dead haunt the landscape, but the worse is the ruins. Crumbled walls of grey stone dot the border of the ancient lands in a vague line, marking the border of a country that has long since passed into the pages of myths. Some remnants of the once great wall are still tall enough for Avaritia to perch on top if he would so choose.

The landscape further inside the fallen kingdom is no better. As the ice beast treks through the frozen land, piles of stone and half destroyed walls become more and more common. The beast often pauses near one of them, an almost faded memory telling him that these frozen shells are all that remains of farmers’ houses.

As he nears the center of this cursed land, ruined towers start propping up from the flat ground, some are still upright, as if challenging the ravages of time, some have already fallen, mere shadows of what once was. In the distance, the curtain of falling snow finally starts giving way to reveal the massive silhouette of what looks like a mountain.

Animal instincts that were slowly trying to nudge him away from the ancient lands suddenly start screaming at him to turn back at this point. There are days that he gives in to the animal he has become, but on most days, a small sliver of humanity, hidden deep within his mind urges him to continue.

Remains of walls, towers and houses grow more and more common, his claws often feel a stone path under the thin snow and the mountain starts to become more visible, revealing itself to be what remains of the capital city, crowned by the castle at the very top. Darkness always starts to glide in at this time.

And so begins the painstaking climb up the steeps walls of the city, surprisingly unscathed by the jaws of time that have claimed all the buildings bellow. Avaritia is always careful not to damage the buildings who, while their colors have long since faded, still tell him of better times. If only he could remember those better times.

He always reaches the palace just as the final remains of light vanishes from the world. There is no moon here. In darkness he waits on the balcony.

The sky, who had until now been nothing but a grey-white ceiling, suddenly tore open to reveal the dark night sky. The stars are so many that they could most likely light up the entirety of the ancient lands. But what was truly giving the world light were the auroras, numerous, bright and in every color imaginable.

They bathe the land in colorful light while Avaritia watches. He is always shown his memories, though he always forgets them when he leaves. He’ll cry out a song in despair that can be heard from miles outside even the ancient lands. He never dares sleep in this cursed land, and will always leave the castle at the stroke of midnight.

He’ll run away, getting as far as possible from the ancient lands, until he forgets everything and reverts back to a mindless beast, cursed to wander the land due to his greed.

The dawn breaks, the raven calls; I arise.

My mornings are uneventful. A thick blanket of fog covers the dusky plains giving it an eerie, haunted look. Appropriate. I walk along the barren fields where nothing grows, tending to the infertile soil, willing it to turn as I till it with my hands. The soil has been salted, long since stained with the blood of the fallen. A battle happened here. A war. Some manner of visceral travesty that, in the scheme of things, was pointless. Death is inevitable, that I have seen to be true. Living, though, is something that should be cherished. Why people constantly insist on violence I will never understand.

The bodies of the fallen have long since gone away. Some were retrieved and buried in their homeland, some were buried where they fell. Other were burned or left, forgotten, but have since gone the way of the worm and beetle. I do not deal with these things. My matters, my art, as it were, deals with something far more precious than the physical.

Wisps of blue, of green, of pale, ephemeral light drift aimlessly. No one else seems to see them, the flecks and undulating ribbons of light. Most can hear them though. Suppose that’s why no one ventures down this far along the highway. Some wail, some are as silent as the grave. All of them, however, are trapped. Something has tethered them here; guilt, remorse, bound by a sense of failed duty. I am the one to break that tie. Most of the work is easy. A simple act of my being there allows them to pass through to their destination. Others require more work, most of which is too dark and surreal to appropriately describe but I’ll do my best.

The earth is disturbed, the bones found, salted, and burned. Sometimes the weapon which killed them is separated from their bones and discarded, or burned separately to remove whatever dark power it was that held them. Those thet yet remain unyielding and stubborn… well, that’s what my knife is for. I have no idea why it works, but it cuts effortlessly through whatever hair-thin cord that confines them to their bones.

I wonder, sometimes, if there are such things as curses, damning these souls to linger, or if it is merely their own superstitions grounded in hearsay that gave them false faith. No god of life or death would wish a soul to be trapped as this. So why it is they are, confounds me.

As the sun moves toward the center of the sky, I make my way to the village.

It isn’t something I do often. Honestly, I try to do it as little as I can. My presence tends to… unnerve those I come across. It has little to do with my appearance. I am a plain looking man and dress modestly enough. But they know what it is I do or, at the very least, have their own opinions of whatever it is that entails. I, however, am as mortal as the rest of them and need the basic essentials. I bought bread today; hot and flaky, still warm… though the happy mood it brought me was short lived.

The part I hate… the only part I hate about what I can do are the flowers. Sometimes they grow in the untapped earth outside my door, other times they just… appear on me. As a bud, they’re innocuous. Dark things, bell shaped and so heavy they droop, hanging upside down on a lank stem growing out of dust-covered clover. It’s as they bloom I get a vision: a small glimpse of a face… I got that glimpse today, and I needn’t look far to find her. She was so sweet, playing by the fountain, swinging around her hand-stitched play-thing as her ebon curls danced around her. Someone must have loved her to have made her such a thing. I interrupted her long enough to give her the flower. Such a sallow thing compared to the twinkle in her eyes and the pink in her cheeks. She smiled at me as I tucked the bloom behind her ear and set her on her way, leaving her just as she was. I could still hear her laughter as I walked away.

I stopped asking questions a long time ago. “Why,” a pointless pursuit. “How” is revealed in time, along with the “When” and “Where.” Of course, I already know the “Who.”

I don’t know if anyone but the girl saw me; honestly, I don’t care if they did. Most were preoccupied cleaning up the mess the cart made when it careened into the fountain. Produce everywhere, the poor mule pinned and trapped in its harness, wine staining the cobblestones red. The sound of furious screaming and uncontrollable wailing followed me home. Accidents are always the worst. I never stay to watch them happen. I already know how they end.

The sun was setting by the time I headed home…

No one tends to follow me when I leave; they think my cottage plagued by ghosts and goblins or some such. I don’t mind. It’s better that way; less questions to answer. Death is such a strange thing when you aren’t used to it. Really, though, how can you get used to it? Why should you? Life is for living, for being free, doing all you can to lead a happy and fulfilling existence. Why should you trouble yourself entertaining thoughts about how it’s all to end?

That’s what gets written down in my books. They’re just journals, but every night passes the same. I make myself a modest meal of bread and butter and grapes if they’re in season, though it’s usually dried figs instead. I pull out my pen as I munch, scattering crumbs, and detail the accounts of the day. How the purging of the fields went; today having the tragic deviation of the girl by the fountain. At least she’s at rest, now. Giving the flower before removes the soul before the event itself, sparing the soul the pain of feeling what happens to them. It’s better that way. Death isn’t something you can stop, but it is something you can ease. When it’s time, it’s time. That’s all there is to it.

With a yawn, I’m reminded of the late hour. The sun’s been long put to bed, and so should I be. With a soft breath, I blow out the candle and crawl beneath the hand-stitched quilt. My eyes shut and I wait for the new day, and the raven’s cry to wake me.

Mornings usually started quietly in the house of their carver. From the front door through the entry threshold to the living room, and from there to the twin hallways that led to the kitcheb, Workshop, and the Sleeping Room. Carved meticulously with Phrontist’s help, the stone that made up the walls had flowery patterns and words of good wishes chiseled here and there. The wonderful etchings waited silently for the house’s residents to wake up and behold them. Sometimes, it happened without fuss; Phrontist or Superbia would wake up from the bunk beds that lined the Sleeping Room, Phrontist at the end nearest to the carver and Superbia further back, new and uncertain of her position.
But for Metanoia, mornings always began vibrantly. When he first opened his eyes for the day, blinking away the sleep that clung to him warmly, he always jumped out of his bed with a happy call to his carver, who was usually still fast asleep in the queen-sized bed at the end of the room. He would swish his massive fluffy tails and knock loose his signature hat which he’d hung on the bedpost, allowing it to fall perfectly into place on his head, before dashing out into the hall.
If the others weren’t awake yet, they always were when Metanoia woke up. No later than ten minutes after, the day began; Metanoia started by playing with Superbia. The drasilis had only recently been brought to their home, late one day by Rayquaza, and was nervous about life in the house. Their carver asked Metanoia to make sure that she felt welcome, and so Metanoia loved to play games with her. Shufflerocks, skiprock, rock cups, and checkers – Metanoia loved games so much! He played with Superbia until his carver and Phrontist finished breakfast.
The others ate slowly, but Metanoia couldn’t bear to wait when there was an entire day ahead of him. He always wolfed it down like an ineki possessed and thanked the cooks for the meal, sometimes before Rayquaza had even sat down, then dashed right back out of the kitchen to his satchel which he kept hanging by the front door. His destination, elsewhere! Since he was carved Metanoia had loved the thrill that he got when he finally shattered the stone around him. There was nothing better than to be released and free. Whenever he took his first steps outside of the house to bound about the garden, he thought of when he saw Rayquaza’s face for the very first time and smiled.
Exploration was the name of the game. Phrontist had been trying to teach him more about the spiritual meaning of freedom, since he couldn’t just pop out of a stone whenever he felt like it. Intellectual freedom, too. He didn’t really understand all of the big words that she used when she talked to Rayquaza, but he could tell that they made her happy. Words and conversation were what drove Phrontist, but discovery was what drove Metanoia. So when he got his fill of jumping in the garden, he would always make his way down to the bottom of the hill and disappear into one of the tunnels.
Discovery drove Metanoia. His eyes were very good, even better than a lot of the Mycenians he’d met; Phrontist told him it was probably because of how huge and green they were. So vibrant, and full of depth, like him. These faithful deep eyes of his were what let him see through the darkness of the caves without a light, hopping over cracks and jutting rocks that would trip him up. Sometimes when he got really deep into these tunnels, he would find an old campsite. Some burnt-up wood and frayed edges of a blanket, maybe a lantern itself if he was really lucky! Mycenians used to travel through this place a long time ago, way before he was carved. Before Rayquaza even got here. He’d go through these tunnels for hours looking for old stuff that he could tuck into his pouch.
He usually ate lunch in the dark and on the go. Phrontist was used to his daily routine by now, and she’d always pack him a sandwich or something light he could scarf down while exploring. It didn’t take him long to eat and there was never a wrapper to throw away, so Metanoia never slowed his pace. He appreciated that about his food. It was delicious and easy to handle, and it was usually something he could just put in his mouth and chew until it was gone as he ran.
His energy levels would normally get pretty low about seven hours in. He would start heading back in five. He’d been admonished before about getting tired and collapsing for a snooze in the caverns themselves; he woke up once to Phrontist’s panicked cries in the distance, sure that he’d fallen down a ravine or gotten hurt on some old relic. Dinner wasn’t very fun that night, and he could feel how upset Phrontist was the whole time. Rayquaza said a few short words to him about it and then sent him to bed. That was why he’d trained himself to start going home before he was tired. Metanoia felt like he’d gotten a pretty good routine down with it, he usually emerged from the caverns right when his eyes were starting to drift shut. Nowawdays, Phrontist was always waiting outside the door for him, and she would give him a smile when he came out.
Dinner was full of conversation, animated and lively. Rayquaza would listen patiently to Metanoia’s tales of what he found in the caverns, how deep and dark they were, how many twists and turns! He didn’t think that Phrontist really understood how the tunnels could be all that exciting, but she never chastised him or told him to talk about something else. Sometimes, Superbia would even chime in – the drasilis had started exploring a bit, too, though mostly she was looking for other Mycenians to make friends with. Metanoia was so thrilled whenever Superbia shared about her day. It was one of the few times he stopped talking about his own.
And, of course, at the end of the day, they would lay back to sleep. Phrontist always took the bed by Rayquaza, and Superbia was usually around the middle of the room. Metanoia knew which bed he’d take every night and it was always a different one. The one he had last night was his old bed; his new bed was this one! Or this one! He knew when Rayquaza lay down that he had ten minutes to choose, and so he spent those ten minutes pacing up and down the Sleeping Chamber. Superbia would watch him with interest, seeing how he sniffed at each bedpost, identical to the one before but somehow different. And when he found his prized sleeping spot, he would bounce up once into the air, sending his hat flying to land neatly on the hook of the post above his head. Then he would bound up, always into the second bunk, paw at the soft mattress and curl around, then drift softly into sleep.