3132 words. TW: for blood, mentions of neglect, and child and parent dying from illness

Loved all the prompts, had ideas for each of unwritten scenes for characters from the fantasy world I like to play in, so here's the Rebirth one.

Writer's Jam 2024 Piece

...

Inhale. Exhale. The scent of the brilliant red and white flowers reached her, as she stretched out on the ground, careful not to crush any of them. A content sigh escaped her. The setting sun was taking some of the harsh heat with it, as the adults talked crossed legged on a patchwork blanket underneath some trees. Baby Laila sat on their mother’s lap, trying to eat her shirt last she saw.

A fuzzy ball of yellow and black landed on her chest. Her eyes crossed looking at the round, little, bee, squinting in the warm hues of the evening light. Still. She stayed very still, because otherwise the serenity would be over. It did end, however, despite her not moving a centimetre, as Ammar came crashing through with no thought for the flowers.

He landed on top of her legs, stumbling over plants and twigs, with a grunt. His movements were still choppy and awkward. Too much energy for his small body. Round and soft like the bee that just flew away. He got up, sprinting away, (half stumbling). He was like one of those things Uncle Tristan showed her, with all the drawings that were practically the same, but you were supposed to shuffle the paper too fast for her clumsy hands. A flipbook. Shaky and too fast, except Ammar’s was probably missing pages.

It made sense, she guessed. He was young, small. She didn’t remember when he was born. Mama said she was only two, like Laila. She kind of remembered when Mamma brought Laila home. Two years ago, so she was the same age as Ammar. Was she just as clumsy and small then? It didn’t seem like it. She didn’t see how she could’ve been like him. Mainly, she just remembered a bundle of blankets that made lots of noise. That was Laila apparently. She cried a lot. Barely anyone slept for forever. She didn’t see why Mamma chose to bring her home, but when she stopped crying so much and grabbed her finger in her tiny hand maybe she was kind of all right. Maybe.

Uncle Tristan called her over. It was getting dark, so time to go home soon. She sat up, reluctantly, not wanting to go home. The park was peaceful. It was quiet like the house, but a better kind of quiet. Her eyes scanned the flowers again, remembering each one, cause who knew when they’d come back. It could be tomorrow, or the next day. Either way, practically forever.

One stood out, a round red one, with a dark centre. Missing a petal or two, but it was beautiful. The butterfly on it was a stark mix of black and white, before it disappeared into the sky. She watched it, until she was called for again. In a rush, she picked the flower, sprinting off toward the blanket. When she got there, she cupped the flower in her hands, brushing the soft petals with her thumb. A smile spread over her face, as she turned to her mum, aunt, and uncles.

Uncle Thongchai was the first person she saw, discussing something with Uncle Tristan. She eased over and offered him the flower.

“What’s this, kid?”

“It’s for you.” She hesitated, not sure why. “It’s pretty.”

“Look, uh,” His face made an awkward expression. Tristan eyed him, waiting for something. “Thanks, but boys don’t give each other flowers.” He patted her hand, soothingly.

“Oh.” She held it close to her chest, like she could protect it. “Sorry.” Because what else did she say.

Tristan flicked him in the forehead, and he went cross-eyed. “Bug off.” Then, he turned to her, with his warm, gentle smile, holding a hand out. “I think it’s beautiful.” She placed the flower in his hand. “Thank you.” Then, he placed it on his hat.

Uncle Thongchai looked at him funny. “What are you doing?”

“Looking great.” He smirked, turning to Aunt Carmen. “Don’t you agree, my sweet?”

“Gorgeous, my love.”

It was time to head home, so off they went. Mamma was exhausted, so Aunt Carmen took Laila from her, letting her sleep in her arms, while Uncle Thongchai and mamma talked in hushed whispers. Tristan and Carmen walked side by side. He let Ammar clamber onto his shoulder, legs around his neck, glancing around from his new perch above everything. From down here, she thought he might as well be on top of a tree or a mountain. Uncle Tristan took her hand, interlacing her fingers with his.

…

Two years later, she was peeking out the windows into the same brilliant evening colours, waiting for mamma to come home. Ammar still had too much energy for her liking, but he could focus more. Hold up a conversation. Laila could talk now, too. She was stumbling her way around on fast, shaky legs like Ammar had, not focusing on much.

She liked her better when she sat around and didn’t do much. She’d been getting something off the high counter, and left a stool right up next to it. Next thing she knew, Laila was climbing it and it was teetering wildly. She caught Laila’s wriggling body just as the stool went over, letting her fall into her chest as her back hit the tile floor.

The house was too quiet, so when a crash rang through the walls, it was impossible to ignore. Looking between the hallway and Laila for far too long, she eventually set Laila down, and ran toward it, to find Ammar surrounded by toppled books and an overturned bookshelf. Holding back a groan, she searched him for bruises, but he was as lucky as he was stupid.

Her skin itched and her mind raced. Mamma wasn’t back and her siblings were doing a brilliant job trying to kill themselves.

“Come on.” She grabbed his hand, hauling him up. He groaned and complained, but she brought him to his room and closed the door, hoping Laila was where she left her.

She was not.

Laila was trying to open the back door, so she scooped her up, and dragged her back to the same room she put Ammar in. The moment they were together, it was like their thoughts melded together as they started complaining about being hungry in the same instant.

They were mildly appeased when she promised to bring food if they sat quietly.

So, she turned the stool back over, reaching on her toes for a glass bowl. The slightest tips of her fingers touched it, bringing it into her hands, as the stool teetered and shifted, before she was falling toward the hard ground. Bruises brought pain to her limbs and tears to her eyes. A field of glass shards surrounded her and drops of thick blood fell to her lap when she lifted a hand. A sob tore its way out of her throat. She was supposed to be strong. Brave. But she didn’t feel strong and brave. She felt alone.

The lock in the front door clicked. Voices chattered just outside it, louder once the door swung open. Then all too quiet once they turned into the kitchen.

“Oh, Goddess, oh…” Aunt Carmen’s voice trailed off in shock.

She heard Carmen’s shock shifted to anger, as she sat in the glass, crying harder. It was all too much, until she was scooped into someone’s arms, pressed against a warm chest. Tristan shushed her. “It’s okay, baby, it’s okay.”

She felt instantly safe, pushing her face deeper into Tristan’s coat as Carmen yelled. “You left them all alone for hours!” But that was another time and place. In this one, he carried her into a bathroom, set her on the counter, and bandaged the cut on her hand.

…

Uncle Tristan looked at Aunt Carmen with such love and devotion, it didn’t seem like he could care about anything more. Until they visited later that year and the two of them had their own bundle of blankets, with a little brown hand peaking up out of it and dark, fluffy curls at the top.

Leo. That’s what they called the bundle when Tristan held the two of them in an old rocking chair, outside. Fresh air makes you grow, he insisted. So, it must’ve been true. Leo had big brown eyes, too big for his small head, and no teeth in his grin.

Leo grew so quickly, and she watched every moment. Partly because she loved him, but partly because she loved being around him. It wasn’t quiet in their house. It was loud, not the angry kind, but the lively one. Tristan and Carmen teased and laughed, called her and Leo names with such affection. Leo shrieked and smiled, kicking his feet in the air as Carmen tickled him into submission, with the scent of Tristan’s cooking filtering in.

She loved it. Up until the day it ended, four years after Leo first looked at her with his warm, endless eyes. Leo was sick. He wasn’t breathing right, and getting worse every day. She didn’t know what was worse, the short glimpses she got of him, or when her mum and Uncle Thongchai refused to tell her anything. It was bad enough. Her chest was tight, as a perpetual weight rested on top of her. But, then Carmen was sick, too. She wanted to come visit, but they were reluctant to go near the two of them. Carmen worried about letting them either. No one knew if the illness would spread. So she dropped food off with her uncle Thongchai, keeping contact to a minimum, as Carmen tried her best to take care of herself and Leo as her energy drained.

Tristan was wrapped up in something. Somewhere away. They wouldn’t tell her where or for what either. But they sent messages every day, in a vain attempt to bring him back. They did succeed, eventually. But not until after both Carmen and Leo were gone and the joy had left Tristan’s eyes.

Her mother and uncle told her to leave him alone. Not to bother him. But she imagined him alone in that house that had been so lively and loving. Empty. Hollow.

And, she set out the backdoor, dashing through the night until she was at his door. It took a few knocks before he let her in, eyes red, and face almost as red. He swiped a hand over his eyes, sniffling. “Everything okay, kid?” Her heart hurt. Nothing was okay, but why was he worried about her?

She held her arms out wide, and he accepted the hug, gratefully.

…

Later, that same year, their lives were shaken up again. Uncle Thongchai was bouncing a baby on his knee. Dark wisps of hair over pale skin. She was round, soft, and happy. Her joy spread to him, and his smile brought one to her mum’s face.

Her mum teased him, happier than she’d seemed in years. “I thought you didn’t like kids.”

“Most kids suck.” He retorted.

“So only yours are decent.”

“You heard me.” He snarked.

She flicked his forehead and he swung the baby, Parker, away. “Careful.” He chided.

She tsked and called into the house. “Tristan, come hold this baby, so I can put Thongchai in his place!”

“Are you sure?” His eyes went wide. “It’s only been…”

“You underestimate him.”

He appeared out the back door, wrinkles having formed around his mouth in the months since. His eyes were harder to read now, but he took Parker in his arms like it was natural.

“You don’t,” Uncle Thongchai said. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to.” Tristan insisted as Parker batted his cheek with a tiny palm. He grinned. “She’s gorgeous, T. Amazing.”

…

That was her existence. Life and death in cycles. It was roughly a year later when Thongchai was gone, too. Mum wouldn’t tell her what happened to him. Something with their secrets. She knew they had them and they were important, but that was it.

Mum just sat outside. Staring. Like all the life had drained out of her along with her friend, her brother. That wasn’t the only problem left with them. Parker was a whole year old. And their problem now. Parker wriggled in her arms, unhappy and squirmy, without knowing why. She bounced Parker a few times, trying to soothe her, when thunder hit nearby. Parker started crying, refusing to quiet. More thunder didn’t help.

She turned to her mum and back to Parker, torn, when Ammar and Laila walked into the room. It was probably a bad idea. She hated doing it, but she shoved Parker into Ammar’s arms as she headed to her mum. Glancing back, she caught him dumping the baby to Laila, but she didn’t have time to care.

“Mum.” She was desperate and it showed in her voice. “It’s going to rain. You’ve got to come in.”

Her mum just ignored her efforts, until she got more forceful, to which her reward was to be shaken off. Tears pricked her vision.

…

The older she got, the more wrong she felt. Her skin was wrong, the world was wrong, everything was wrong, and she just wanted out. There wasn’t much she could do for her family (her biggest failing), but she couldn’t figure out why the mirror felt like an enemy.

Being a bit devoid of close friends, she tried to confide in her brother, but it was hard to word her problem when she didn’t understand it. But his confused look told her, he never got that wrong body, wrong skin feeling she did, so she was just weird. Okay, then.

It pricked at her. That feeling, anytime she wasn’t occupied, forcing her attention. Hopefully, solving it would help her fix it, so she thought on it until she spiralled into anxious places she almost didn’t escape from.

She’d always felt off, but it was easier to ignore when she was younger and smaller and life was good. When she was picking flowers and Uncle Tristan was spinning her in his arms. Then, it was easy to put off because life was a series of tragedies and she had to care for her siblings, and then care for her mum when she forgot to eat and went a couple days without sleeping. But, things were settling, so she had time to think. And that was only half of it. During those first couple years where her age ended in -teen, she grew so much taller. Muscle developed along with a couple bristly hairs on her upper lip. Stark contrast to the girls her age who’d started growing a couple years ago, rounding out.

Intrinsically, she knew something was wrong with her. But she’d say that, complain about feeling perpetually crummy enough, until she was taken to a healer and given a clean health report. Peak condition. She was doing great. She didn’t feel great.

Tristan was concerned. He was the only person she could tell. All she knew was occasionally, wearing a hood and heavy clothes, sometimes adults would mistake her for a girl with her still high voice, and her heart did swoops, even though Ammar would be so put off if that happened. She told Tristan and he got all quizzical and cross-eyed.

…

At fifteen, she stood in front of a mirror. Hair down to her shoulders (she’d been letting it grow, it eased that terrible feeling she got looking at herself.) Tristan’s hands on her shoulders stabilised her.

“If feminine things feel right, why not try it?” He’d said when he talked her into trying on one of Carmen’s old dresses. She’d always wanted to, of course he could tell, but it wasn’t allowed. A long, deep, dark purple garment. It was rather simple, but it spun and kissed her ankles when she turned, and that filled her with childlike joy.

“But…” Her tongue tied when she tried to argue. It did feel right, but it had to be wrong. “What would Aunt Carmen say?”

His eyes met hers in the mirror, as her mind brought terrible thoughts. She’d accepted she’d never be enough for mum, but Carmen and Tristan always treated her with love, even if she failed.

“I think,” He started slow. “She’d say she could do your make-up way better than I can, but it’s serviceable.”

Tears appeared, even though she was happier than she’d known in years. He brushed them away with one movement of each thumb. “You look beautiful, dear.”

“What would Mum say?” She sniffled. “Boys don’t wear dresses.”

Tristan could’ve said many things in that moment. He chose, “Why not?”

He also chose to lounge around their house in one of Carmen’s pregnancy dresses that he’d altered (was this planned?), waiting for her Mum to come home and ask “What would Carmen say?”

His answer this time was “That I don’t pull it off quite as well as her, but a close second.”

…

Of course, he was by her side when all the pieces came together and maybe she could actually be a girl. He helped explain it to her mum. Made sure Mum supported her and if not she knew there would be consequences, all said with a charming smile.

Laila didn’t care. “Another sister? Cool.”

Parker was too young to care.

Ammar required work. She knew Tristan talked him through his discomfort, and he came through.

Tristan was doing her hair, when he asked. “You want a new name?” Like it was just a thing people did, like she was allowed.

“What?”

“Living as a girl, I thought you’d like a name to fit?”

“Can I just do that?”

“Why not?” He shrugged, continuing to work her hair into braids.

Well, when he put it that way.

“Where’d you learn to do this?”

“Hairdresser owes me a favour. She’s been giving me lessons since I found her brother’s glass key to his eye case.”

“What?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Her brother’s partner. It wasn’t his case.” He said, as if that made any more sense.

Either way, he was almost done with her hair, leaving it in dark braids strung with red and white beads past her shoulders.

“It looks…” Was that her? “Thank you.”

“Always.” He kissed her head and looked at the clock. “Time to go. Samarra will be at your mum’s house, soon.”

At door, she caught sight of herself again. Who was she? Not the kid from years ago.

“Leonicio or Gabriella.” Carmen had said years ago, when she’d asked what the baby would be.

“Gabriella.” She blurted out now.

Tristan hummed, a confused expression on his face.

“That’s the name I want.” She looked to the floor. “If it’s okay?”

He tilted her chin up. “It’s perfect.”

word count: 2997

CW: drowning, death, mentions of torture and prison

I still wasn’t used to this, since winter was never like this back home. I had no choice but to follow this winding, steep path in the middle of the night. It only appeared once every generation at the Winter Solstice.

To make it better, Elliott had said I’d better reach the end before sunrise. He didn’t say it, but when he saw me out it looked like he was already planning what he’d put on the mourning boat at my funeral.

It actually wasn’t so bad, ignoring the cold. Too dark to see much, including the rocks and roots I kept tripping on. But the air was still, like the whole forest was holding its breath. No monsters, no people (apparently no one else was desperate enough to come here.) I had to. Our friends were at stake and I wasn’t much good doing magic research with Elliott. But I could do this, if I was only quick enough.

Everything was fine, until a black cat ran past me. I thought it might be a spirit, because well no one told me cats were native to forests in this area.

Then I recognised it and knew company wouldn’t be far behind, “Hello, Loki, where’s your owner?”

“I don’t own him,” there they were, I’d never forget that voice. Distinct accent where they dropped the r’s at the end of words and h’s at the beginnings, and cold tone, “He chooses to stay with me.”

I pulled my own sword out, sure that Echo had theirs ready, “It’s been a while and it’d be nice if I could actually see you.” I was pretty sure they could see in the dark. It would explain manythings, but I was hoping they’d take pity and create a light orb while I tried to remember how to.

“Oh still don’t know how to?” I could hear the cockiness in their voice, which had moved to come from my left now. They obviously had no trouble navigating through the night that was only getting darker.

“I forgot, okay, it’s not an important spell.”

“A shame really, since a wee child could do it.” Then I heard a few musical notes and a small orb orb of purple light appeared between us. It floated into my hand and I could see Echo was ahead of me now, holding a pan flute. The light tinted their copper skin, black curls, and dark coat. “A little something to make the race fair. Let’s go, Loki.” They winked at me with a smirk before sprinting off.

Well, now I need to reach the spirit at the end of this path much faster. Elliott’s book said they’d only grant one request each appearance. I took off after them and the light orb conveniently stayed with me. So, maybe Echo showing up wasn’t all bad, assuming I could outrun them.

I ran like my friends’ lives depended on it, which they did if Elliott didn’t find something else. Only problem: I was a swimmer and Echo was a runner. I had good stamina, but if they didn’t tire themself out sprinting I’d lose in a contest of speed.

Later up the path though, I heard something very promising. Someone panting, then choking and coughing. And I remembered something. One of the many times Echo and I had fought I’d kicked them in the chest and they went down hard, desperate for air. They might have been fast, but they had bad lungs.

Sure enough, I turned a corner on the path and found them sitting on a rock, breathing heavily.

“Not winning any races today, are you?” I grinned

They attempted to stand, glaring at me all the while. Near me more like, as they avoided direct eye contact. But they ended up having to sit down again.

“Well?” They gestured at the path.

“No, I think I’ll keep you company a minute.” This was great. I had the upper hand for once, and they practically did it to themself.

Their eyes started looking unfocused, staring off somewhere distant, then they yawned and their expression was a bit panicked.

“What’s wrong, not enough sleep last night?”

“Perfectly fine, thank you.” They stood up, determinedly and started moving again, much slower than before. I continued on ahead of them, putting distance between us.

Somewhere along the way I started to hear music. Beautiful. Soothing. It sounded like home, the lullabies my parents sang to my sister and I, where Dad would play his Cuatro and Mom would sing. I wanted to stop. Bask in the memories. Return to being a child somehow.

I woke up and it was colder somehow. Different though. It was cold before, enough to make me shiver the whole walk, but now I knew why the forest was holding its breath. The air sank into my bones weighing me down, trying to hold me in place like I was trapped under a frozen lake. Only I could breathe and walk. I knew I was being watched though, from every direction. I wasn’t sure by who, but I could tell after the years. Whispers. All around me too. Confused. Angry. Distraught. Too quiet to hear, but still overbearing.

Then a growl pierced the crisp, heavy air. I turned to find something with no distinct form, a shadow given shape right in front of me. I brought out my sword and slashed in one move, but it only passed right through.

So, I ran. Not a permanent plan, but maybe I could’ve figured out where I was, what this was, and how I could kill it before it killed me. This place was...odd. I ran through corridors that I could’ve sworn were straight out of the barracks from when I was 16, stone walls just like when Echo and I were imprisoned,the city block where Farah and I used to walk, and the hallway where Mom marked my sister and I’s height on the wall as we grew complete with the marks.

I entered the room where Damon and I used to sleep after we trained years ago, and tripped over his bunk. As I tried to drag myself up, I saw the shadow dissolve with a black sword left through where its center was.

Echo stood behind it. They seemed duller, almost? Some of the colour was gone, not only from their skin, but their hair, clothes, and eyes. I checked, but as far as I could tell I looked the same.

“So you weren’t fast enough, either?” They said.

“What? It wasn’t sunrise. I still had time.”

They scoffed and started walking away, “ You still understand nothing, Santiago. The path disappears at sunrise. That’s not what happened. They caught up to us.”

I started to follow, “ Hold up. I have questions.”

“And I care why?”

Right. Yeah. Getting anything out of them was like getting a wound stitched with no anesthetic. Think. Everything’s a mind game with them. I just had to find a reason they couldn’t ignore.

“You seem to understand this place pretty well. It wasn’t a coincidence you found me You could’ve left me in that prison when you escaped. You didn’t give me that light orb to make it fair. Despite all the time we’ve spent on opposing sides. Despite all the times we’ve fought. You don’t want me to die. That’s why I’m going to walk with you. And you won’t stop me.”

They didn’t say anything. But I did catch up to them and matched their pace, staying far enough away that they wouldn’t be tempted to bring a weapon out.

“Sooooo?”

“Yes, Santiago?”

“I have a name, you know.”

“How unique.”

“It’s Luna.”

“I’m aware.”

“Then why do you call me Santiago?” We’d left that room, wandering through the complex hallways, and exiting out onto the training field.

“First names breed familiarity.” Oh-kay. I’d accept that. Or at least accept they believed that.

The forest changed. Now we were walking through an abandoned warehouse in Ecrin.

They paused, “Well, this is where our lives got fucked over. This realm has a sense of humor.” The place we met...

“Realm you say. Where are we?” I looked around like I’d find a clue, even though I was pretty sure the training field didn’t exit into this place when I’d been there. It wasn’t as cold anymore. More on par with the forest before I’d woke up here.

“This is why I say you don’t know anything,” They muttered that part. “The Shadow Vale, The Night World, Eariotria. Whatever name you like. It’s where human souls go when they die, where dreams and nightmares originate, where spirits live. We’re obviously in the memory portion.” Throughout this whole speech, their tone indicated I should have known all this already.

“Alright. Okay. I see,” I tried not to panic. “So, we’re dead.”

“No! Our souls have been taken here by an Aener. You heard the music didn’t you?!”

“Yes, what’s an Aener?” I said it the way they did, only realizing I was copying their stupid accent after. The warehouse had long winding hallways. We exited one into an apartment. Simple, with worn wooden floors. The air was a bit lighter. It was easier to breathe now.

“A kind of spirit. Winter is when this realm is closest to yours, so spirits can wander. They’re especially strong on the Winter Solstice. Didn’t Yang warn you? Didn’t Farah? They’re the only ones among your posse I’d expect to know.”

“No!”

“So none of you understand magic and the world. Lovely.”

Something stuck out to me beyond the insult. Elliott was last name basis. But they’d called her Farah.

“Okay, I get it. I’m an idiot. Everyone is next to you. But what was that and why couldn’t I kill it?”

“A Shayde. Preys on lost souls. You can’t kill it.” They said it I’d insulted its family.

“But you could. Why?”

Echo led us through one of the doors in the apartment hallway instead of answering. I was surrounded by water, and when I kicked to the surface I was warm. I felt sunlight on my face, but the air was still off. I couldn’t see Echo, but I saw me. I was younger. 6 years old. Learning to swim with my sister and my dad.

What. What was this? Where was Echo? I couldn’t see them anywhere on the surface, so I took a breath and dived down.

It was just like I remembered swimming back home. Everything was the same, except the drowned form of someone much smaller than me, a little over shoulder height and dressed in a dark coat.

I wrapped an arm around Echo, to pull them to the surface. After bringing us both to shore, I placed them on their back. I checked their breathing.

They weren’t. No pulse.

I started chest compressions.

This was bad. I’d be stuck here alone. And more than that, I realized. I didn’t want Echo to die either.

They weren’t responding. It was harder to breathe again.

Did I even know who to tell if they died in here?

They gasped, and relief surged through me. I hugged them without thinking, and their body stiffened.

I let go quickly. “Right, sorry, no touching.”

Their eyes were shut tight and their voice was shaky, “What do you see?”

“The ocean. The Beach. We’re back home. My home, I mean.” I tried to keep the wistfulness out of my voice. I was pretty sure I failed.

They exhaled and their body lost some of its tension. “Right. The sun. The sun’s out.” The relief in their voice was palpable.

“Huh?”

They sprang to their feet, “Time to go.”

“It’s not so cold and the air’s not so thick anymore either.”

“Yes, yes.”They were looking for an exit, and found the entrance to my house. “We’re getting farther away from where the dead roam.”

“Hold up! You almost died. Let’s take a minute.Please. ”They stopped. “Come on, I know a nice spot on the beach.”

We sat underneath a tree. “So you can’t swim.”

“No.”

“I figured that. So why could you kill that thing?”

They inhaled deeply,” I suppose I owe you. I didn’t almost die. I almost died again.”

“As in you’ve had near death experiences twice?”

“No, I died a few years ago.”

“You seemed pretty alive in the forest!”

“Let me explain. I was taken hostage. They wanted information and held me under too long. As far as I knew they threw my body into a lake in this forest on the Solstice. I woke up in this realm with new abilities.”

That was...something. I’d expected many things. They were better at magic than me. The spirits just didn’t like me. I wasn’t expecting this. “Oh, you’ve been here before. That explains a lot.”

“Yeah.”

Held me under too long. That explained the panic after drowning.

I felt like I should apologize, but for what? I had my problems with them, but the thought of that happening to them hurt.

“Thats’s, that’s awful. How could someone do that?”

They shrugged, stood up, and started walking back towards the exit.

We walked out into a place I didn’t recognize. A brick corridor. I could smell blood. A man walked straight through me, like how my sword passed through that Shayde.

“You can’t interact with them. They’re a memory.”

“But there weren’t any people in the earlier memories?”

“We’ve gone deeper. The memories are stronger now.” We turned a corner and I heard the sounds of a struggle, water splashing. “Thinking deeply about something will bring it to us.”

“So?”

“Think about what you want most, Luna, with your entire being.” Their back was turned to me as they brought out their pan flute.

“If we focus hard enough on an exit we can leave, Echo?”

“Now that you’ve gone far enough, yes...” I didn’t like that phrasing. “And...”

“And what?”

“You can call me Noah.”

“Noah? What do you mean ‘you’?”

“It’s the name I chose for myself, and I mean you’re leaving.”

“Not without you!”

“They aren’t going to let me leave...besides I’m dying anyway and no one will miss me.”

They started playing. I surged forward, grabbing their arm to stop them. “Wait! Explain.”

They flinched away, “What’s to explain? I’m ill. Always have been, and the second part is obvious.”

The scene shifted. I remembered this one. The outside of the old prison where Noah and I were held hostage. We’d escaped together and I watched us run out the door. Still so strange watching myself from the outside. Versions of me and Noah from a couple years ago rushed out the door, desperate for fresh air and sunlight. I followed along with our past selves, watching from the outside as I met up with my friends. They’d come to help me. Farah and I embraced tightly. Noah stayed off to the side alone.

I heard pan flute music start again, but I was too late this time.

I woke up back on the path. Purple light orb still attached to my hand. It was still dark out. I had time.

Looking back, a bit away, a human body was lying on the path.

Noah.

I rushed over and checked their breathing. They were, softly, but they were breathing. They were asleep it seemed. I got no response when I shook their shoulder. “Now’s really not the time for a nap, y’know.” I said desperately.

Then I realised this was similar to how Farah and Damon were, too similar. They’d been searching a different area of the forest with Elliott for some ruins when they’d suddenly fallen asleep on him, not waking up no matter what he did. He’d brought them out of the forest one at a time, before coming to get me so we could take them home and search for a cure. I still wished he’d gotten me earlier, but he was terrified of me going in here. Thought he must’ve been immune somehow to whatever got Farah and Damon and I might not be.

Apparently, he was right. And Farah and Damon were stuck there, too. Along with Noah now.

If I brought them with me, it’d take longer. If I didn’t they’d vanish with this place at sunrise.

I picked Noah up, and carried them across my shoulders. The sun was just starting to peak over by the time I reached the clearing.

It was beautiful. Trees with soft pink leaves unlike all the trees before that had green needles. A pool of water in the center that glowed with blue light. Flowers of every color I could think of in bushes. There was a translucent figure of a deer floating above it.

I set Noah down gently and approached the deer, “Um, hi?”

I heard a voice in my head in response, “Hello, Luna, you’ve done well making it here. With a friend no less. What do you seek?”

“Could you cure my friends of any and all ailments, please? Farah, Damon, and Noah?”

“It’s done.”

I turned around, expecting to see Noah awake, but they were as still as ever.

“Why aren’t they awake?”

“Sadly, your friend is too wrapped up with the dead. They have to want to leave.”

“Then send me back! I’ll convince them!”

I woke up back in Eariotria again. Just as disconcerting as ever.

Noah was sat cross-legged on a building ledge watching what I’d guess was a younger version of themself with a teenage boy.

“Why’d you come back?”

“I told you. Not without you.”

They stood up, turning towards me. The scenes flashed by. Noah’s memories. Violence. Bloodshed.

Not all of us think the ends justify the means. I saw when I said that to them.

“Still think I’m worth it?” There was a hesitation in their voice. A bit of hope.

“Yes.”

We woke up together outside of the forest.

CW: Dysphoria, Violence, panic attacks, religious trauma.

Also on: "https://www.royalroad.com/profile/328234/fictions"

Chapter 2

6 Months Later.

I was desperately trying to maintain focus straight ahead next to Luc, in the back of this much larger and grander church than anything we had back home, when she nudged and gestured at the back for me to see something.

I glanced over to find Tia karina in the back with the biggest smile I’d ever seen on anyone. I couldn’t believe she’d actually made it, but my heart soared to see her again. I missed home far more than I’d let on, and she felt like home more than anything.

Luc and I were last after all the boys, and the one other girl who had not dropped out. I didn’t understand why anyone would drop so close, when completing this training and getting to serve to the city was such an honour.

Luc went first accepting her badge when it was our turn. Then it was all me, and I had no idea what to do.

Afterward, Luc took the three of us to her favourite spot to be alone, while a black cat lounged on top of the security wall.

“You know your dad wanted nothing more than to be here girls, " I thought about correcting the slip up, but it didn’t actually bother me that much. It seemed like I didn’t even have to though, since I saw Luc getting her attention.

“But he had to take care of the family.” Just like every night when I was separated from Luc and left alone in a tiny barrack with only my thoughts I felt regret and worry for Dad being alone surge through me.

Once she was done speaking, Luc quickly looked around before saying, “You shouldn’t be here, you know it’s not safe.”

“I know, but I had to see you two one last time.” she insisted.

I didn’t understand what Luc meant by unsafe, before I remembered Tia used to be an Ordinator before she was forced to leave.

It hit me that she came all the way here despite all that just for us, and my heart swelled. I wanted nothing more than to reach out and hug her, but knew I had to be strong. I had Grandfather’s legacy to live up to after all.

When it was time to escort her back to the port, my worries didn’t end mattering as she wrapped both of us up tightly. Before she left, she gave us a small wooden box and told us to open it back in our rooms. Then she boarded a boat exactly like the one we’d ridden in on. Every time Luc tried to take us back to the Academy, I asked for another minute, until I couldn’t see a single trace of her ship left on the horizon.

Back at the Academy, we holed up in Luc’s new dorm room she shared with the other girl left, Diana.

Neither of us were quite sure if we actually wanted to open the box, so we did it together with our eyes closed. When we opened them together, we found it was filled with Mom’s things.

Her jewellery. The Sea shells she and dad collected off the beach.

And a note that Luc looked at and then passed to me, asking me to read it aloud. I wasn’t sure how well I’d do, but I had to try for her.

“Isabella, Please, for your own sake, forget about what your father thinks.He only sees the worst in you, and you deserve to be treated with all the grace and love in the depths of the sea.

I know this is a lot to think about, but I will help you through, and I swear to never leave you, for any reason. forever yours, Guillermo.”

I set the note down and hugged Luc instantly, forgetting about all my previous hang ups.

She cried into my shoulder, and for the first time in my life, I felt like the older sibling, despite us being twins, and her always taking care of me.

Once we separated, she asked if I was okay, and I tried my best to appear so, but I don’t think it worked since moments later she was holding my shaking body.

In that moment, I was back to being 8 years old, watching the mourning boat burn away in the distance, holding Luc’s hand as tight as my small fingers could. I rubbed a hand across my eyes, trying and failing to will away the tears as Mom floated away, the boat burning up bit by bit, taking her along with it. Her health had been declining for a long time, with Dad rushing between taking care of her until the end, and taking care of us. We ended up spending many days with his parents and siblings, with him also trying to have us spend as much time as possible with Mom.

I’d have wanted to keep the box in my dorm room, but I didn’t trust Declan and the other boys I was stuck with not to mess with it, so Luc kept it, promising I could come look at the stuff whenever I wanted.

I was still strung up about what Dad said about Grandfather. Reckoning Dad’s low opinion of him with all the amazing things he’d done stirred a pain in my heart, trying to keep my love for both of them alive.

With the ceremony done, it was time for us to get our probation assignments, and I was praying to shadow someone who worked in District 1, since it was the best path forward. I’d been bouncing in my seat for at least 10 minutes when Emily pulled me up and out into the hall.

“You need to stop worrying and get out of this room, for your own good, Marcos.” She said, " And I won’t hear any reasons why not, because your assignment will still be there when you get back.”

“Fine.” I relented.

She took us out to explore District 1. I was still awestruck at the architecture here despite living here for half a year now.

The buildings were brilliantly white, with large windows letting light bathe the interiors in the sun.

Emily directed us to the main train station, where we’d board a train to District 2 and watch the waves roll in and out. The sea had been calling to me through all the long days of training, but I’d had to keep focused, I’d never get the position I needed if I let myself get distracted.

Before we boarded the train, a poster on the wall caught my eye. Emily tried to pull me toward it, but the caption “THEIR BLOOD IS ON YOUR HANDS!” pulled me and refused to let me go.

I picked it up off the wall, and started reading through the text.

It showed pictures of honest to goodness children, who were all labelled dead or missing, all from Halakat. They were each separated in sections by cause, with some caused directly by violence from Ordinators, and others through neglect.

One girl in particular caught my attention, Talia Levi, I stored the name deep in my heart, not to be forgotten, and thought a quick prayer for her soul.

She seemed so small and frail in the picture, couldn’t have been more than 7, with large, round eyes so dark, they almost seemed black, and soft dark curls.

There were so many children on this paper, all so young with whole futures ahead of them.

I didn’t want to see what happened to Talia, but I forced myself to, only to find out she and her father were killed by a monster, left to die by Ordinators in District 6.

My chest ached completely and deeply as Emily ripped the poster from my hand and tore it up.

“It’s just false propaganda, ignore it, those people have nothing better to do than cause trouble.” She reassured me.

Relief flooded through me, knowing those kids weren’t actually hurt.

After boarding the next train, we were quickly at the port. The sound of the rolling waves soothed me to my core, to an extent I hadn’t expected. The sound eased my frayed nerves.

When we started to head back, Emily pointed out a senior ordinator pushing someone to the ground. “See, Occultists can ever appear in nice districts like this, that’s why we’re needed.”

A shudder ran through me at the thought of what one person could do by abusing the dangers of magic.

I couldn’t stop thinking about the incident at the port on the train back, imagining how many could have been hurt if that Ordinator hadn’t stepped in.

We stepped back into the room I’d been waiting in eagerly that morning, hoping desperately for a good assignment.

Emily had assured me that District 1 wasn’t the only good assignment.

I gathered from her explanation that District 1 was the best, and that’s why it had the Church and the Academy. 2 had the port, and was where the wealthiest citizens lived for the ocean view. 3 wasn’t bad, because that’s where all the tech gets built. 4 was where it dropped steeply, as that was where all the poor workers lived and commuted from. 5 was where all the food got distributed, and she didn’t even want to talk about 6.

We checked the board and found out I was put with Captain Ezekiel. I didn’t recognise that name, so I asked her, and she had me sit down first.

CW: Dysphoria, Violence, panic attacks, religious trauma.

Also on: "https://www.royalroad.com/profile/328234/fictions"

Chapter 1

Prologue

Once, there was a grey wolf. She ruled the whole forest, watching over the trees as they danced with the clouds, all the way down to the river fish who came and went as they pleased.

Then, she met a small wren. Their wing was broken, oh the poor thing, so she brought them with her. Wren and Wolf stayed together until the little wren’s wing healed, and it came time for them to move on. Except, they wanted to stay, but the wolf insisted.

By Wolf’s side was no place for Wren.

Reborn by Flames.

I’d never seen behind the curtain of the church before today. It separated a simple backroom from the pews and stage, made of heavy red fabric, it barely moved despite the drafts in this old building. I’d watched others spend their last moments as children waiting in this room, before their ceremonies.

Now it was my turn. Our turn.

The chair I was sat on shifted on uneven legs with each word from Father Joseph that filters through the gaps into this room. Lucero’s chair must’ve been crafted better, because she’s sat still, too still, next to me. A cold wind tore through the stagnant air of this heavy room, despite the warm summer night, dragging shivers through my skin.

The chills brought my nausea back full force. The worst part was I couldn’t figure out why I felt so sick. Dad made Caldo Santo for dinner, he’s made it for us the exact same way many times, but I guess it’s bound to go wrong eventually and that was this time.

My hands gripped the fabric tangled around my knees. This shirt was stiff and uncomfortable and impossible to move in, but Abuela insisted I wear it. It’s only proper.

It’s funny, I remember hanging onto every word Father Joseph said that night, as they were literally the ones I’d been waiting my whole life to hear. But I can’t remember a single one of them until I heard him call for “Lucero Vásquez”.

She placed a hand overtop of my own. If it hadn’t been looking, I wouldn’t have even known. I barely felt her light touch, before it drifted away. She stood up from her annoyingly stable chair and strode to the curtain in two steps, pulling it aside to disappear into the fabric’s embrace.

Freeing myself from my badly crafted wooden prison, I rose to the curtain, pulling it aside enough to look through.

Looking back, I cannot recall the words exactly, but I should have been able to, considering he gave the same speech every time.

Luc took the knife blade first from Father Joseph. She flipped it around, to hold it by the handle. There’s no moment of hesitation before she cut a line into her palm. She didn’t even wince.

Reaching over the brazier, she squeezed her hand tightly. Drops of blood fell slowly into a waiting bed of powder. Her eyes never left the brazier.

My breath caught, waiting for eternity in a second. It should’ve been instant, everyone knew that. Every eye in the church was on Lucero, and she would know it. She stared resolutely down at the brazier, like the metal bowl itself betrayed her.

Finally, a puff of blue smoke rose from the bowl.

The island itself breathed a sigh of relief. Some of the tension left my skin. She was exactly who she said, my sister would never betray us.

Luc exhaled, finally lowering her hand from the bowl, and clutching it in her uninjured one. She met the gaze of everyone watching head on as she strode forward to join our family in the back row.

No matter how I tried, I couldn’t remember the moments between then and when I was standing over the brazier, with my own bleeding hand out stretched. A round drop of deep red blood fell slowly like gravity was conspiring to make this moment excruiating. I swore it stopped in midair, just above the waiting powder. I couldn’t breathe. My whole life was decided here.

Until it made contact, only for nothing to happen. Something in my heart cracked, as my chest physically hurt, waiting for the world to shatter on the outside. This was it; I was never going to make my family proud, and I hadn’t even done anything wrong.

My vision was blurry, until I blinked away tears that had went unnoticed.

Stupid boy, crying in front of everyone.

A familiar wave of self loathing came over me, sharp and quick, taking me along for the ride. Father Joseph looked down at me in pity as I tried to compose myself. I tried to look past him, and found Luc staring back at me.

It was too hot, why’d we have to have our ceremony at the end of summer? In a packed Church, because everyone knows everyone here, all wearing annoyingly thick formal clothes and seeing right through the responses I’d rehearsed.

Luc made eye contact with me again, and I silently hoped for her to find some way to get us both out of here, away from the dozens of prying eyes, all coming to the same conclusion from the test results.

Please, I didn’t.

Flames danced across my skin as I came to awareness. However, it turned out to be the breeze through the window. When I tried stumbling to my feet, I almost fell face first over the floor, but I caught myself on the wall.

Luc came rushing in, urging me to sit down through the haze gathered around us. She finally answered me, when I asked what happened for the fourth time.

“You fainted,” She said quickly, “Heat stroke,” She’d explained, and I wasn’t sure if it was for my benefit or she was speaking to the man walking in next to Dad.

Dad was finishing an explanation of what happened to Doctor John, apparently he’d carried me home, and the ceremony came back to me all at once. I’d have tripped again if Luc hadn’t made me sit.

I could barely hear the doctor through my own breaths. But he checked me out, and prescribed at least one day of rest, and that tore me away from my thoughts.

No, the boat, we had to make it.

But what day was it? How long had I slept?

I rushed to stand again, only for Dad to catch me as I fell. He shouted for Luc, and I felt his arms trembling as he held me up.

Once I was able to reassure them both, I was not sure how long it’d been, and I watched the boat sail away without us in my mind.

I’d ruined everything, I knew it. But Luc reassured me we still had hours left, and she held my hands tight until I breathed in time with her.

Dad sat down cross legged in front of me after that, and broke it to me that he didn’t want us leaving for Ecrin today.

He doesn’t believe in you either.

My eyes stung, and my chest was aching. I almost warned him for fear I was about to faint again, but then if I was wrong, he’d never trust me to be alone again. And Dear Goddess, if I really did ruin everything, not just for me, but for Luc-

The curse slips through my mind without me realising, and I made a mental note to apologise in prayer later.

Luc came back to save me in the middle of my rushed explanation of why our original plan was still for the best.

Saving you, like always.

The thought sprung forward bitterely, without me meaning it to.

She got us to agree to having breakfast, then rediscussing this.

Somehow, we were able to convince Dad it was still fine for me to leave tonight.

Luc and I were walking as fast as she dared let me to Tia Karina’s house.

Tia had hugs waiting for both us when she opened the door.

“I wanted to be there for you,” She’d explained, “but you know how they are. I didn’t want to make a scene on your special day.”

I was immediately bitter at both sides, them for only seeing her as an outcast, and her for letting what other people think stop her.

Apparently, my thoughts were obvious, though, because she was reassuring us she’d find a way to our graduation from the Academy, “I’ll be there in my best dress and heels, the sea itself won’t be able to stop me. ” She’d promised.

Her house was the same as ever, small and probably built solely by her, but comforting and it felt like home. She directed us inside to sit and have some tea. Luc and I sat cross legged on the floor as it brewed. When it was done, she sat down with us and caught up about everything in our lives since we’d last seen one another.

She hugged us tightly again when it was time to leave, and had us promise to take care of one another.

Next, it was time to say goodbye to our friends and family.

Well, Luc’s friends.

I swore we used to get along better, but then we got older and it seemed like the only thing that mattered was that I was a boy, and they were girls. Luc hugged each of her friends and promised them she’d be okay. Then it was time for family.

Grandmother came up first, and immediately told me to stand up straighter. Luc said, “Give him a break, he’s had a rough day.” and I was shocked at her wiling to talk back to not just an elder, but one we’re related to.

After Grandmother gave us a list of things to not do and told us to make her proud.

Abuelo and Abuela were next.

Abuelo hugged Luc tightly, and I secretely hoped for the same, but then mentally kicked myself in the shin. I shouldn’t want that, what was I, weak?

Abuelo patted me on the back with an easy, warm smile though, and I told myself that was enough.

Abuela came over carrying as many bags as her arms could hold.

“Food for your journey, " she explained, passing all of them to me.

She held both of us for what seemed like hours, but simultaneously not long enough.

Next was every Tio and Tia, and every Primo. Luc was hugged by every family member, but only the women and girls hugged me. I tried my best not to let that sting, because I knew they just didn’t want to coddle me.

Dad headed over to us last, after helping Abuelo and Abuela back home.

He asked again if I was sure about leaving today, and I assured him I was fine.

He held both of us tight, and suddenly I was a small child again, wearing black clothes and clenching his hand in my smaller one with Luc on the other side.

The boat ride to Ecrin seemed to take forever and no time at all.

Halfway through, I couldn’t escape the vision of Dad taking the fishing boat out all alone without us to help. What if he needed us and we weren’t there?

Luc was calming me from my panic before I even realised I was breathing far too quickly.

Ecrin’s port was unbelievable. Ships as far as I saw, each one made our own merchant vessal we’d ridden in on, look so small and frail. The buildings around the port were huge marvels of stone tiles and metal gears, all churning in sync. Luc had to direct me to leave the ship, since I’m caught up with all the new sights and sounds. The ocean here is far less clear than it was back home, and I wasn’t sure why. It was all the same ocean, after all. As we left the boat, a black cat ran past my feet.

The Academy building was in District 1, or so we were told. The buildings were blindingly white in this district, reflecting the sun straight into my eyes. Before I knew it, we were inside a fenced in area, with neat rows of green, small trees, each exactly alike. The academy building itself had huge arched windows with stained glass. We were led down hallway after hallway until Luc and I were forcibly split up to go into two different barracks. I missed her immediatly.

All the boys and I were put into one room, and told to pick beds. The beds were hard matresses on metal frames, with one on top of the other. I waited until everyone else had picked one, leaving me with whichever the others did not want. There were enough of us that we each had a bunkmate, crowded together in this small room.

The boy on the bed above mine was named Declan, and he seemed to immediatly find something wrong with me. Just like Grandfather.

We were toured around the building after that, and reunited with the few girls in this program, meaning I saw Luc again. I was happy to see her then mentally kicking myself for being so dependent on family. I was supposed to be the strong one, the one who’d live up to our family legacy, and I was acting like a scared child.

As we rounded one corner, I saw her for the first time in a year, after she departed for this same academy, leaving me alone on Celora.

Emily came into view and I wanted nothing more than to run to her, but I had a reputation to keep, so I kept walking and hoped to see her again after this tour was over.

They showed us where we’d train, and the hall where we’d eat, the bathrooms, and then back outside where we’d later learn to patrol.

(google doc version: https://docs.google.com/document/d/18qvT5fs12gu9O_UoppSaBHcAwLD4Q8T7IipwLDNPfhM/edit)

Farah opened the closet door as quietly as she could, and was greeted with black fur and heterochromatic eyes staring up at her. The cat brought a smile to her face. She kneeled down, hand outstretched to pet him. He ducked away, disappearing into the closet.

“He’ll come to you.” Came Wren’s voice from inside, soft-spoken, with a Queenstown accent despite being from Ecrin.

She sighed, “I know, I know, I just…forget.” She stepped inside, taking in how this old supply closet had been changed. Pillows and blankets covered the floor, of all shapes and sizes, the only thing in common being their texture. Definitely Wren’s doing then, if they were all made of the same fabric. The back wall was taken up completely by shelves, from a time before this became Wren's safe space.

Said Wren was lying along the opposite side wall from the entrance, leaning against it. Their cane propped against a wall nearby, and their sketchbook was held in one hand, a pencil in the other.

Silence filled the room, grating on a part of her brain that scrambled to fill it. “Can I see?”

They continued drawing, pace unmoved by her. “Not done.”

She nodded, just assuming they would know somehow, even though they weren't looking. "So, why are you in here?"

Wren shrugged, "Too loud.” 

She couldn’t tell if they meant outside or in their head, and she almost asked, until realising they sought escape and wouldn’t want to think about either. “Yeah.” She ended up saying to fill the awkward pause. Awkward to her at least.

She scratched the back of her neck. Wren appeared completely unoffended by the too quiet, too slow room, in complete contrast to her. So she rambled about the first thing that sprung to mind.

“While Alejandra’s away, everyone comes to me for everything, I haven’t had a minute to myself all day, and I just…couldn’t take it.” Part of being her second, she supposed.

She remembered the way Alejandra had held her hands in hers when she was leaving for Queenstown. “You’ll do fine,” The insistence was punctuated with a kiss against the back of each hand, before she boarded the train, not to be seen for a week.

To Alejandra’s credit, Farah was doing fine. Because they were in relative peace for the moment, rebuilding Ecrin to be better, to live up to its name as the City of Equality. She didn’t quite know how she felt about keeping the same name and title, but it didn’t matter how she felt. It was all decided away by a new council, who’d insisted on keeping tradition while only changing the harmful ones. Well, the ones they deemed harmful. 

Things were going to be different though. They had to be. Even if only one councilmember was actually vaguely representative of the people in Ecrin, and the rest were wealthy individuals who held grudges against the old church for financial reasons. Not for the atrocities committed personally to Farah, or Alejandra, or Wren, or the hundreds of youths just like them. Those were bad, of course. Don’t get them wrong, they valued the forgotten of this city too. Enough to get Farah’s name correct half the time.

Alejandra would make sure of it. Farah knew she shouldn’t put all that pressure on her, even in her own mind, but the hope of better was one of the few things keeping her going. Alejandra had been tireless in her efforts, making herself the councils’ main enemy. 

She should’ve been making the decisions, if Farah had any say. This whole city owed its new found opportunity for change to Alejandra. But she was too young, too jaded, too close to the pain blanketed across this city. After all, why should the people who were hurt the most decide how to change things?

She shook her head, escaping the trap of her own thoughts. “Sorry, that sounded childish, didn’t it? I shouldn’t complain.”

Wren didn’t say anything for a long while, the silence punctuated by the sound of pencil on paper. Then they turned to look at her. Well, near her. Wren didn’t much like eye contact, so they’d look in her direction vaguely, and she understood the sentiment. “There’s an empty spot.” They said simply, and returned to the embrace of that sketchbook.

And there was. A carefully made seat surrounded by blankets and pillows. Bigger than it needed to be for Wren, but just right for someone closer to Farah or Alejandra’s height. She settled into it, almost collapsing under the weight of today and the past years.

Loki slinked his way out of the shadows in the corner, practically materialising out of air. Maybe he did. Magic was real after all. She didn’t know much about it, despite knowing how to use some of it. She’d been so excited to learn everything she could when Samarra started teaching her, unlike how she’d been with most subjects in school.

Then Samarra was gone, a hollowness stretched out across where her presence should’ve filled. Not that she was the closest person to her, even if she’d started thinking of Samarra as more of an aunt than a teacher, or had a right to mourn with her kids. So she’d swallowed her grief, and tried her best to understand Wren’s methods of dealing with it, while reminding them to eat and sleep and all those other person things they’d not ever been good at prioritising.

She’d hoped Wren would teach her more magic, but she’d never asked. Could never find the importance of reminding Wren when they were doing relatively better.

Loki marched across the closet like he owned it, and he might as well have. He was a cat after all, or at least appeared as one, giving him the right to whatever he decided. He sat down next to her curled up form, ears shifting gently in time to Wren’s pencil, before climbing into her lap with a purr.

The smile returned to her face, as she stroked his fur. She could've sworn Wren smiled, too. Just a lopsided tilt of their lips, but something.

Despite having no memory of falling asleep, waking up to the reassuring weight of Loki in her lap, and the smell of peppermint in the air wasn't unwelcome. She found a cup of tea sitting on the shelf, still warm.

She sat up and reached for it, Loki meowing in disapproval at being shifted. He was pacified by her apology pet. 

The book next to it was drawing paper bound with black leather. Wren’s sketchbook. If she were younger, she’d have likely checked inside. But she wasn’t, so she let the temptation be.

She should’ve known everything was going far too well. Nobody she loved had almost died all week, after all. Hatred for magic users still ran deep for some people.

That was enough for her to awaken to smoke in the air, and fire taking over the walls.

She stumbled out of her room, finding all six councilmembers doing the same. She should’ve cared. A good leader would make sure they escaped safely.

She didn’t much care. Sure, they were important to the city, the same one that had done its best to make her feel small and worthless since her family moved there. But they didn’t risk their lives for her, listen to her talk about the things she wanted to invent someday, or remember her favourite flavour of tea.

Wren did. Maybe it was selfish, but she’d take that deal if it was ever necessary; all six lives for the one that mattered to her. 

So, she ran down the hall, around the corner, despite the smoke being thicker in that direction, to find her friend, her first friend, leaning hard on their cane as they made their way toward the stairs. 

They looked up at her, eyes wide in confusion. It was unclear if it was the fire making it impossible for her to hear, or Wren’s voice giving out in the harsh circumstances, but she watched their lips mouth one word, desperately. 

Go.

Quickly adjusting to hold some of their weight, she shook her head, trying to force the sentiment, not without you, through their self sacrificing mind. They cooperated when she helped them down the stairs. 

A far cry from years earlier. She didn’t know when she became an exception to their rule against being touched, but sometime ago she had. She was silently honoured by that, scared that if she spoke it aloud, it would break away.

Dawn broke over the remains of their temporary government building. The rain had started suddenly and heavily a few minutes ago, and left just as quickly.

She would’ve called it a blessing of the Goddess, if she didn’t know better than to think a deity found them worth paying attention to.

Assistants, and other workers scrambled around, trying to salvage things. The head of the council kept asking, more demanding, for her to do something. She was no longer a stupid, little girl, who couldn’t focus or remember to tie her own shoes to him, now he needed her. Because he and the rest of the council talked. That was all they did. He didn’t know how to act, so he badgered the young woman who’d spent her teenage years and young adulthood being forced to act to make things somewhat better for the next generation of kids like her. 

If she were Alejandra, she’d entertain his pestering with more patience than she should possess after these years. She’d find whoever did this, or even prevent the fire in the first place somehow.

If she were Wren, she’d tell him to fuck off.

But she was Farah, so she just walked away.

In the ashy remains of the general area of where Wren’s room had been, she found them. Sifting through the charred remains, searching desperately. 

She almost asked what they were looking for, but she knew. That was just her mind trying to fill the silence again, except now wasn’t the time. 

She racked her mind trying to remember the layout, and find where on the ground level that closet would be. Once she figured it out, she made her way over there, and found exactly what she was looking for. 

Somehow, the sketchbook mostly survived, the covers almost completely gone, and all the pages burnt around the edges. Magic, it had to be. Of course, Wren would protect it like that. 

She brushed the ash off the now revealed first page, squinting at the text.

Stay creative, Dear

-Aunt Samarra

Oh. That explained a lot, didn’t it?

One page was folded awkwardly in the corner. She opened the book, to smooth it out, as if that would fix the book, or the fire, or the fact that Wren still stared off into the distance sometimes, retreating somewhere deep inside their mind, where she couldn’t find them. 

She was greeted with her own face. At first, she thought Wren had smoothed out and removed all the flaws she pretended not to notice in the mirror when she and Alejandra got ready for the day together every morning. But, no, they were still there, just different, the way Wren saw them. Not like they were worth mentioning. Part of her was a tinge jealous of the way Alejandra and Wren bonded about their dysphoria in an odd, probably unhealthy way. But her logical mind knew she should be grateful not to have that weighing on her self esteem constantly.

She sort of liked the way Wren saw her, she decided.

She shook her head. This wasn’t the time. Focus.

Wren clutched the book close to their chest when she returned it. Tears sprang to their eyes when they saw the damage, much to her surprise. A stray thought passed through her mind, that Wren was too machine-like to cry. She felt bad for it immediately. Years of schooling in a system that demonised any difference in learning or thinking didn’t disappear quickly or completely. Or at least, she hoped that was the cause.

She didn’t quite know if hugging them was the right idea, but she tried it anyway. The way they leaned their head against her neck told her she’d chosen correctly. 

Later, she was waiting by the train tracks with Wren, instead of helping secure a new building they could use. They could’ve stayed inside the station, but she didn’t want to wait the extra few minutes.

The show of vulnerability from Wren didn’t last too long. They were sitting next to her, yet might as well have been across the continent. 

So she said the first thing that came to mind, to nudge them back and to smooth a bandage over her own anxiety, “So, what are you going to do?” They tilted their head in that confused way that always reminded her of Loki, so she added onto her first vague thought, “Y’know, when this is all over?” Loaded question, but it would do, she supposed. 

They shrugged, “Never bothered much with dreams or life-long ambitions.” I didn’t think I’d live this long, was the unspoken sentiment. They would’ve verbalised it exactly as bluntly as that years ago, but sometime ago they’d started smoothing out the rough edges of themself that made her the most uncomfortable. She wasn’t sure if she preferred that, but the effort warmed her heart.

“Right, yeah, that makes sense.”

They twisted their fingers into the fabric of their button down shirt that hung loosely over their hips, “What do you want, Farah?”

Wren didn’t actually say her name often, so that in itself was a mild reset of her spinning, stagnating thoughts. 

What did she want?

She felt terrible admitting it, but she didn’t want to keep her important role in the reconstruction efforts. She was only 25, but the past 10 years felt more like 30, somehow. Whatever sense of justice and force of change motivated Alejandra through the worst days just wasn’t in her.

Wren was still waiting for an answer. They’d never rush her, though, they knew the trouble of gathering complicated thoughts into words. Finally, she said, “I dunno, I always wanted to invent things, maybe I could try for engineering in university?”

Wren knew her too well. A blessing and a curse, “...however?”

“I…I just wouldn’t belong there, y’know? Wasn’t ever the best student, much less a good one.”

Dark eyes turned down to watch the way she fidgeted in her lap, before deigning to drag out the reason she didn’t say, “And most students don’t wake up clawing the sheets.”

She wouldn’t have put it that directly, but it was true, and Wren knew it without her having to confirm it.

The arriving train saved her from her own need to make conversation. When Alejandra stepped out, she wasted no time rushing into her arms, not bothering with words. Alejandra grinned easily, far easier than she should’ve been able to, spinning her around in a hug that felt like home. 

They separated long enough for Alejandra to take her face in her hands like she was the most precious thing in the world, and kiss her. 

When Alejandra caught sight of Wren walking over, cane in their right hand to ease weight off their left leg, her smile shifted. No less loving, but gentler and more soothing, contrasted to the joy and excitement when she looked at Farah. 

Alejandra loved Wren, too. Farah herself had pointed it out to her, and she’d been immediately apologetic for her feelings, reassuring Farah that’d she put however much space between her and Wren that was necessary for Farah to feel comfortable. Alejandra was quite surprised when Farah’s answer had been none, and Farah was surprised too. Maybe she should’ve been jealous, but she just wasn’t.

Alejandra didn’t believe her when she was sure Wren felt for her too, and they opted to simply disagree about it.

Alejandra held her hand out to Wren, letting them close the distance, “Hey, Birdie.” She’d wondered for a long while what that nickname meant, and then felt so silly when it hit her. 

The corner of Wren’s lips twitched up, before they intertwined their fingers with Alejandra’s, “Hey, Sunshine.” That one she really didn’t understand, and had almost asked about it a dozen times. Each time she’d held back. Because she had her own things with each of those two that she kept private. Not for any particular reason, they were just between her and Alejandra, or her and Wren.

Wren didn’t ask to stay in Farah and Alejandra’s flat with them, too worried about being a burden. But Farah was pretty sure Wren’s room that burnt down was less a temporary space, like it was for her and Alejandra, and more the only place they had.

So Farah less offered and more insisted Wren come stay. They could have the couch again, the same one they’d slept on often before Farah moved in with Alejandra. Until Alejandra needed something to worry about that wasn’t their impending court date, so she focused on if sleeping on the couch would hurt Wren’s back. She was just about to go searching for a single bed, when Farah just said they should cut to the chase and offer for Wren to join them in theirs.

She awoke on the court day to find Alejandra missing, and Wren lying still, watching her. They’d pulled away from her, and she understood. Keep your distance today. When she finally forced herself to get ready, she discovered Alejandra’s note when Loki brought it to her.

Out for a run, love you.

She’d almost been worried Loki perished in the fire. Wren insisted he was fine, though. He comes and goes. She took that to mean he was either chasing mice, which he probably saw as beneath him actually, or off on worldwide adventures.

Wren had far more of a get it over with spirit about this, and was ready with breakfast made by the time she’d gotten dressed. They stood by the counter, hands in their pockets, and all the buttons on their shirt undone, exposing the edges of their top surgery scars. 

She barely remembered to swallow her food before she spoke, “I like the new look.”

Their lips twitched into an almost smile, again, before they held up one hand for her to see. It was shaking, fingers twitching every so often. Wordlessly, she got up and slotted each button through its matching hole.

Alejandra went first on the podium. She slipped her reading glasses on, as she held the pile of notecards she’d spent the past two weeks preparing. 

Both of those things were new; the trouble reading, the memory and focusing issues. A doctor had told her she was remarkably lucky it wasn’t worse after a decade of getting knocked in the head, and sent her off with a prescription for lenses.

When Alejandra asked how she’d looked, Farah had responded with beautiful, and Wren called her a nerd, while adjusting their own round glasses.

Alejandra spoke for an hour and a half in front of the judges, the council, the jury of random people here out of obligation, going over in broad strokes the problems with the old government and the church, and the harm it caused.

Farah wished she talked more about her personal experiences, if only because those were largely shared between her and Farah, and it would mean Farah had to speak less. She lasted thirty minutes, going over what happened to her in vague words, before it was too much.

Wren’s portion lasted four hours. There was no emotion to read in their voice as they spoke and they stared off somewhere half a kilometre away, but they gave a minute by minute play by play of what seemed like everything, but she knew wasn’t. They named every kid they knew from the streets who had died or disappeared, and why each one mattered. The names started blurring together in her mind, making her feel terrible, but memorisation had always evaded her.

None of them bothered to use Wren’s pronouns, and Alejandra was forced to wait outside after her seventh time correcting them. 

Someone cast doubt on Wren’s memory, asking if they really remembered all that. 

“Like it was a minute ago.” Had been Wren’s response, and she was suddenly grateful for her vague feelings and blurry memories.

The judges ended up deciding their pain could be bought, and they were each awarded a sum. They also decided that no specific person would be charged for anything, since all they had was their testimony.

Fine. That was fine.

She and Alejandra spent all night on it, drawing, doodling, writing messages, whatever came to mind throughout the pages. Alejandra was self conscious of her simplistic and hesitant drawings, but Farah insisted they would love each one.

And they did. Their eyes teared up for the second time Farah had ever seen when the new sketchbook was presented to them.

They held it in their lap now, as they and Farah sat on the crest of a hill, after Farah applied for university for next year. Samarra didn’t have a grave, but she had this spot, and that was enough.

“...She loved you, too, like a daughter.” Wren had said, and she understood a second later. Wren didn’t think she needed permission to mourn, but they’d realised Farah thought that. So, they granted it.