Tales of the Betrothed (closed)

[SheIsCursedTea]

𝐸𝓁𝓎𝒶 𝑀𝑒𝒾𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇

I wanna 𝓁𝑜𝓈𝑒 me.
And I want to be so far from 𝓈𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 and 𝓂𝒾𝓃𝒹.

Time had lost all meaning to her.

At each rock of the boat, her stomach lurched painfully. The absence of windows in a small sleeping cabin meant she had no idea whether it had been minutes or hours since the party had boarded the ship. It didn't matter.

Elya stretched her arms above her head, feeling her muscles groan from being in her position on the floor. Sleeping space was limited in the cramped room, and Elya had had no intentions of sleeping. Her eyes flicked to Cin, who had lay down the second they had boarded and immediately started snoring. Reriic on the other hand. Her eyes moved to stare at the back of the other Prince, who was still but it was anyone's guess if he was actually sleeping.

Her stomach lurched again, but the cause this time was very different.

'Reriic reeled back from another blow dealt by Navid, clutching his arm as the glaive had caught the prince's arm rather than the staff and ripped a gash straight to the bone.'

Elya swallowed thickly, her almost healed wound on her side sending a sharp spike of pain from the memory.

'Unable to choke back the cry of pain, Reriic lashed out with the staff and managed to catch Navid in the side with it before being flung away with a sweeping motion of the Gradian's weapon.'

Her grip around her staff, which had been laid across her lap since she sat down, tightened, her knuckles turning white.

'Exhausted, broken, and bleeding, Reriic did not try to get up once he'd finally skidded to a stop.'

Elya lurched to her feet and straight to a bucket that was sat to one side and managed to make it just before her stomach attempted to empty itself of its contents.

Since the incident in Gradius, this had become a more common issue. Some days, Elya found she could hardly keep her food down and the only thing that helped the nausea was training until her body gave out.

That was also the only time she managed to sleep. All sleep was restless and plagued with the recurring images of her failures playing out again and again until she woke up in a feverish sweat, her stomach churning and sickness rising.

It therefore made no sense what she had done to her brother.

At the thought of Alastair, her stomach heaved again, but nothing came up but bile. Her face was a mess of tears, snot, and vomit when she eventually managed to pull herself back out of the bucket, grabbing a rag to wipe down her face. She dragged her breaths in quickly, desperately trying to slow the pounding of her heart in her chest as she resumed her position on the floor.

She had failed too many times. She would not fail in her duties again.

Her watch continued.

It's the 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝒻𝑜𝓇𝓉𝓈 that make us feel 𝓃𝓊𝓂𝒷

[K33LA]

Kunal Sa'ir Mahapatra

Kunal coud not bring himself to look at Kora, the shame of it all too potent for him to handle. Her words vibrated with quiet anger, so different from his own; it was difficult to concentrate on the meaning of her words over that tone. It added a jarring quality to her voice, one that in past encounters would have driven him mad with indignation. Perhaps it still would.

If there was anything he felt in this moment, folded on the deck of the ship, Kora above him, it was to disappear. Kunal wished he could stop existing, if only for a little while; he would go to some place no one could see or hear him, where he escaped even the thoughts of others. He closed his eyes hard and tried to make it happen. Somewhere dark, warm, silent... but it did not work. After a time he opened his eyes again, almost hoping Kora would have left. She had not. With a rattling breath, still unable to meet her gaze, he asked a question of his own.

"Why do you want to try?" Kunal let the air hang still between them. His voice held no arrogance, no defiance; in truth, it was devoid of inflection. Tired. Perhaps he was stalling. Perhaps it was a challenge. Perhaps he just needed to hear her say it. "Why... am I worth the effort to you?"

Two brown eyes flicked up to examine her face, then looked away once more.

[iamtherealgiz]

x x x x x x x x x ✗ K o r a x Z h a d d a g h

Kora found herself crossing her arms in front of herself– partly to block out the chill in the air coming off the water, but mostly to try and keep herself settled. Not liking the feeling of standing above Kunal in his current state, she eventually let herself slide down to be seated beside him. She knew well enough what it felt like to have people always looking down at her– even if she was still angry with him, it didn’t feel right to do the same to him. Pulling her knees to her chest, she considered his question. Why did she want to help him?

”I don’t know.” she answered slowly. ”But you do need it. And who gets to decide who’s worth help anyway? We have all been on this journey together. I want us to finish it together.”

One of her hands wrapped around the red stone of her necklace as she spoke, the trinket already warmed from her skin. ”I don’t know that you are ‘worth’ the effort. But then again… if it’s something you need, and you’re willing to put in an effort, isn’t that enough?” The princess paused, trying to sort her thoughts as much as her words. Part of her expected him to flip emotions again and just chuck her overboard. That would certainly be an undignified end to things. Drowning in a desert. At least she wouldn’t have to face Dinora. ”If you do not wish to talk of your past, that’s fine. You can set that boundary if you need it, and others too. Just… tell us. Don’t threaten us.”



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[Rada Han]

When I turned my head, to cry
I had to dry my eye
I saw the tortoise from the sea, bringing you back to me.


Her adverse reaction to the ginger alone was enough to lift Jean-Baptiste's spirits. A grin found its way onto his face and he couldn't make it leave again if he tried in those moments. There was something endearing in Bashirah trying to maintain her grace during the worst of times, typical of a prideful Gradian.

Jean thought nothing of the weary, scrunching, disgust-addled features he'd never seen from her before, other than the objective fact that she looked better on her worst day than most people did at their best. The prince's lips were settled on his flushed face in a subdued curve, lacking in his usual energy. He was tired too, even though sickness was not what kept him awake.

"Even the most experienced sailors get sick if the waves are treacherous enough. You'll get your sea legs in time." Uttered Jean in an unfamiliarly comforting way. Seeing the most supreme of all princesses retching pitifully in a corner tugged at his heartstrings. He sat down cross-legged across from her, mindlessly fiddling with the ginger with his fingers. "By the way it reeks in here, I'd guess that the other landlubbers are seasick too. You should be up on deck getting fresh air. Although..."

Jean cast a glance toward the hatch with the subtle scrunch of his nose to signal his distaste. He wrestled with whether to inform Bashirah about what happened between himself and her dear brother. "...Now's probably not a good time."

[Professor-Zeitgeist]

Ƀΐʝɸυӿ ☠ Șᾰɱєɗΐ

In spite of the strangeness that strangers bring, it was actually kind of nice to have other people around. It's not something that Samedi had any shame in admitting to herself; she had always thrived in social situations, the more chaotic the better. Months alone on the open water of her homeland had started to... unsettle her.

At least there was rum. Good stuff, too, high-proof and spicy. Shame there wasn't more of it, but now there were other things to occupy her mind.

The Desert Rose wasn't exactly designed to be used on the water. Such a vessel would be dreadfully impractical in Shazgard under normal circumstances. Instead the vessel was of a unique design, one exceedingly well-suited to its region of origin. Sand skiffs were light-weight, flat-bottomed vessels that skimmed over the surface of the sand on runners. A thin rudder protruded down into the sand to allow the skiff's pilot to steer, though for the most part the vessels relied on wind as both a power source and the primary form of steering. Smaller skiffs, ones designed for a single pilot, were often powered by a singular triangular sail, while larger ones unfurled massive kites into the sky to catch the strong winds that were needed to move such a great mass.

Samedi's skiff was on the larger side of medium, much to the fortune of everyone currently crammed into it. The night winds filled its sails, sending the vessel skipping along merrily over the water's surface. Samedi was sitting back on the quarterdeck, her booted feet kicked up on the wheel so that she tilted back a bit in her chair. The choppy water didn't seem to bother her at all; she was used to it, by this point, knew how to anticipate the bumps and accommodate for them in her movements.

The sound of voices, then raised voices on the deck caught her attention. She sat up, peering at the people on the deck with a mix of interest and concern. She'd already ruffled some feathers with her questions, though, so she wasn't about to go and investigate. Instead she settled back into her chair, took a puff from her pipe, and let the smoke blow out into the night sky.

The sky was dark, marked only by the stars that helped to guide their way. Good. That meant that the skiff would leave no shadows for anything below the waves to follow.

[K33LA]

Kunal Sa'ir Mahapatra

"I don't--" Kunal began, then recoiled. He swallowed and inhaled, Kora now beside him, his flesh abuzz with the desire to flee. "I do not know why... Gradius, it..." A dry, choking sound shook out of him then. Brown eyes still wet, yet the tears did not fall, he could not contain the thoughts he so savagely wanted to repress from tumbling forth. "I, everyone knows that I'm-- that she's--" He was trembling, eyes wild again and yet somehow passive. A deer frozen with fear. "Everyone knows. Everyone knows. Every private thought, every private experience I-- all those secrets. They aren't my own now. I held them tight. I tried for so long to hold them tight, so no one could see, but they--" His dry voice broke, and he felt like a fragile thing. Glass on the cusp of shattering. It was all too real and surreal; how this was possible, he was not sure; some odd, crucial form of survival. Of distance. To feel it so acutely and blunted at once. "I wanted so desperately to be Supreme. The illusion was all I had, immaterial, but mine. Mine. And illusions were more important than my--" He moved to stand, almost as if to run, but could not complete the action. Kunal crumbled again against the railing, and this time his gaze bored directly into Kora. "Have you ever been so thoroughly defiled? He saw my sister's pain. He must know mine, and I-- I can't stand it. I can't stand it, Kora, and I want to-- I just want it to stop. I'm so tired. I'm so weak. And I can't stand everyone knowing."

He grasped at Kora then, so much smaller than he, as if clinging to salvation; his touch, so severe and uncommon as it was, had no intention to hurt. Firm, full of need, but not violent. Kunal was desperate for a rock in this tide, and who better to provide such stability than a Shasta? "I fear I will go insane. I fear for my sister. She was the only thing that ever mattered to me. Do you understand me? Did you love Zaara like that? Did you?"

[Ariiadne]

вαṡhïɾαh❁
『 ℘rincess oƒ GRADIUS 』

Maybe her ears were still ringing from the retching, or just the way his voice bounced off these wooden walls, but Jean-Baptiste sounded different.

Sincere.

She found the energy to drag herself back up to an upright position, again wiping her eyes and nose with her sleeve to make sure she hadn't missed anything unsightly. Bashirah watched him continue to speak with her typical steadiness, but it was obvious her mind worked behind her eyes as he did. His final admission jolted her from those thoughts, and her attention snapped to him as sharp as a startled deer.

"Why? What's happened?" Her knuckles blanched as she gripped the lip of the bucket tighter. "Is it Kunal?"

The princess did not wait for an answer, as if she needed one. Her legs unfolded beneath her rather clumsily both from the sway of the vessel and disuse. One arm cradled the vomit pail while the other used the hull to steady herself. There was worry on her face that she couldn't hide -- or, maybe, did not try to?

Despite their time recovering, Bashirah knew Kunal and she both were still fragile after everything that transpired. Kunal especially so. But she also knew it was her turn to protect him, even if it was from himself. Petty quarrels and hurtful words with these people would no longer be acceptable. Old habits die hard. She learned this when she herself had to hold back a quip or two since. And the prince had always turned his fear into fuel for anger. It was easier that way. She envied him, once. In a way, she still did. At least he could harness his fear. It just reduced her to a pathetic heap.

[iamtherealgiz]

x x x x x x x x x ✗ K o r a x Z h a d d a g h

Part of Kora felt as though she were witnessing something she shouldn’t as the words poured out of Kunal, more broken with every breath he took. So locked in that moment, she wasn’t ready when he suddenly had his hands on her. Fear reared up inside her when the large man grasped at her so desperately. She wasn’t used to such gestures, and the image of him near throttling Jean was still fresh enough in her memory that it sent her heart racing towards fight or flight. The panic ebbed quickly as he continued to crumble before her, resembling an oversized child more than anything. Had he ever called her properly by her name before? Even if he had, it sounded wholly different and alien on his tongue now. She remained stiff and nervous under his touch, ultimately allowing him to cling to her. There was no violence this time. It was the same desperate clinging she’d done to the edges of her nurse’s dress when Dinora had rebuffed her when she was small– when she’d still been allowed to cling to Zaara’s hand and her tiny fingers hadn’t fit around the older girl’s. It was the same. And maybe, that was why…

“That kind of violation… of your private thoughts, and your person… no, I don’t know what that’s like.” She found herself having to stumble through her words, forcing them beyond a hard lump that had formed in her throat. “And Zaara…” Did she want to say this? To Kunal? Somehow, with him so wretchedly miserable before her, she felt as though something was being offered here. Maybe that was in her head. But also perhaps, she could relax her own tethers and offer this in return. “Yes… Yes I loved her… so, so much... but…” That ‘but’ felt like bitter bile on her tongue. “Ours was… We lost our relationship once. But we were trying, and… and now, after everything, it’s too late to know if it would have ever been the same again. That’s the worst part… the not knowing. It’s… it’s an ache, and… it feels like something alive, gnawing a hole inside of me. I think I’ll feel that for a long time. Maybe the rest of my life.”

Her eyes stung and her shoulders trembled, but she bit down on the inside of her cheek, trying to maintain her composure. “I… would give anything to know. And maybe… with you and Bashirah, this can be a new start for you. Holding so much in— so many secrets, and all to be… Supreme? Maybe instead of being the Supreme Prince of Gradius, it’s time to just… be Kunal… You’re free.”






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[K33LA]

Kunal Sa'ir Mahapatra

CW: Suicidal thoughts

"Just... Kunal," he repeated, his hands still upon Kora. His grasping fingers relaxed as he deflated, though he did not let go. An airy chuckle escaped him, rumbling in his chest like the purr of a cat. Kunal needed to absorb the concept. To simply be himself. Whatever wretched thing he was, that was him. That was Kunal. To accept it. To be alright with it...

I am not worth the effort. I am not worth her effort. I am... I am...

"Did I... Did I ever tell you I am sorry... for your loss?" The person speaking, was that Kunal? The Gradian prince could not be sure. He released her then, though with his gaze he did not free her. He dug into her, searching for meaning, searching for something. He was an ugly, raw, exposed thing. A nerve. "If you... If I lost Bashirah... I would kill myself." Kunal stated it in a sing-song way, a snatch of an old tune. There was no refrain in these words though, not truly. It simply was. "I can't... imagine living without her. It's... not possible."

Kunal observed Kora, personally, impersonally, and poured over the details of her. He had never listened to her, as he learned before, and now perhaps he was seeing her for the first time. Kora was exquisitely... Kora. How strange to be an impassive, attentive observer to one's own experience, he thought in some quiet space.

"Did you want to die when Zaara died?"

[iamtherealgiz]

x x x x x x x x x ✗ K o r a x Z h a d d a g h

Sorry…

That word, especially with the sincerity with which it filled the air between them, felt even more alien coming from him than her name had a moment before. She opened her mouth to speak, but found herself stunned silent. Even her lingering fear was muted and distant as he released his hold on her, though his gaze remained ever that of the desperate and lonely child. There was no hiding the startled look on her face when he said what he would do if Bashirah died. And one look was all she needed to not doubt for a moment that what he said was true. He really would… “Kunal…” She started, unsure how to voice the scramble of thoughts that were racing through her mind in that moment. What could she say?

But then he brought the question back over to her, which she wasn’t sure how to navigate. Sharing these thoughts out in the open wasn’t easy, even as they’d dominated her waking thoughts and left her sleep troubled. Why would he ask this? Maybe she knew. Maybe she only guessed. There was something to be said about having your experiences heard and understood. Would there be an understanding here? Or were they both just trying? This whole conversation felt more like a dream than reality. A place outside of time where the consequences did not yet exist.

“It… it wasn’t so much that I wanted to—“ There was a pause as she ascertained the truth of her own words. Recalling the distress and panic of that moment— her and Jean trying to keep Zaara alive. It had all been so fast. Too fast. The miserable hours after had been a lifetime. She still didn’t know what to think of the lifetime that was still to follow. “But I know it shouldn’t have been her. I keep thinking that…” Kora pulled her knees to her chest. “I knew who I was without her. Or at least… I thought I did. Which was… nothing really. A sentimental token of the king’s mistake. An offering to Dradecus to make the numbers match. I realize now, even separated, my idea of life ‘without her’ was still one where she existed somewhere.” Thinking about the things she’d learned. While she doubted the truth of most of it, there was one detail that kept clawing back into her skulls. The monarchs had been ordered to return Zaara unharmed. No such orders existed for the b*****d child of the Zhaddaghs. And whatever was happening to the people of Shazgard now— if they hadn’t drowned under this new sea—

“I’m not the one they’re waiting for.”

Heat flooded the back of her neck and she balled her hands up tight. It felt strange to say that part out loud. Relaxing and flexing her hands again, she let them settle around her drawn up knees.

“And if Bashirah were to lose you? What would you have her do?” She wanted to tread carefully here. She knew Kunal loved his sister fiercely. She had an inkling for how much the two of them depended on each other. Surely… “Would you not want her to live? And I don’t mean survive, I mean really and truly live.”

“Can you offer yourself that same kindness?”





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[Rada Han]

When I turned my head, to cry
I had to dry my eye
I saw the tortoise from the sea, bringing you back to me.


He shouldn't have said anything. Damn his tendency to speak without thinking first! Jean-Baptiste just knew that Bashirah wouldn't take well even the slightest hint that there was anything going on with her brother. He'd thought he was being vague, but his face told a story of its own when she said Kunal's name. The scrunch of his eyebrows. The tilt of his head. The way he glanced away from her. Of course it was Kunal. When was it ever not Kunal?

Jean relented as soon as she said it. Damn it, he couldn't just lie straight to her face. It shouldn't have surprised him at all when she decided to run to her brother's side. Jean stood up as quickly as she shouldn't have and held his arms down out as if he'd been able to catch her if she stumbled.

"Please, Bashirah, don't follow him up there yet. It'll just look like I ran to you to snitch on him. Not a good look for me, he hates me already as it is." Said Jean in rapid-fire with a regrettable look in his eyes as he tried to reassure her. He felt like he was being incredibly unsuccessful at it. "Kunal is just... being Kunal. He's fine, he's with Kora. By the sound of things, it doesn't seem like he's tried to throttle her yet. Maybe they're talking. Perhaps it's better to let them be for the moment."

[SheIsCursedTea]

𝐸𝓁𝓎𝒶 𝑀𝑒𝒾𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇

I wanna 𝓁𝑜𝓈𝑒 me.
And I want to be so far from 𝓈𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 and 𝓂𝒾𝓃𝒹.

Thirty seconds or thirty minutes may have passed since the last time she crawled her way over to the bucket, but her stomach was rolling once again. The boat lurched to the left and then to the right and her head was spinning. She felt a little like the first time her brothers had taken her out drinking. Luca had plied her with shots, Quinn pints of ale, and Riven had been the one holding back her hair while she vomited in the alley at the side of the tavern while Alistair laughed and Emille shook his head at his younger siblings' actions.

'Alistair will never forgive you for what you've done.'

Elya closed her eyes, her head thumping softly against the wall behind her. Her chest felt tight and when she sucked in her next breath her lungs didn't feel full.

"Reriic, I need to talk to you. It's about Alistair ..."

Elya tried again to fill her lungs and found it harder this time. The room was too hot, the air stale and a third attempt to breathe brought her no relief. Her head was spinning, her stomach churning. She needed to get out of this room.

"I need you to send him home."

She lurched to her feet and stumbled to the door.

'I can't breathe. I need to get outside. I can't breathe!'

Her vision was swimming, she could feel her stomach lurching painfully, she couldn't think, she
couldn't breathe.

She pushed past someone in the cramped hallways, a breathy "sorry" the only thing she could push past her lips as she continued to try and continued to fail at drawing in a full breath. She didn't see who it was, and at that moment she didn't care.

'I need to get outside. I can't breathe. Why can't I breathe?'

She pushed out onto the deck, the cold night air hitting her, and a lurch of the boat sending her stumbling towards the quarterdeck. She hit the steps, her vision still blurring but now beginning to darken around the edges. And then, her stomach rolled again and this time she felt the rising nausea. Scrambling up the steps, Elya rushed to the rail and the second her stomach hit it she began to retch.

Like earlier, she seemed to only throw up bile, her stomach contracting painfully, but this time she couldn't stop the panicked sob that accompanied her current state. She slid to her knees, still desperately trying to breathe.

"I can't breathe. I can't breathe ... "

It's the 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝒻𝑜𝓇𝓉𝓈 that make us feel 𝓃𝓊𝓂𝒷

[Professor-Zeitgeist]

Ƀΐʝɸυӿ ☠ Șᾰɱєɗΐ

Well, whatever was happening on the deck seemed to be settling down. Samedi could still hear soft, tense voices talking about sisters and grief, but more and more of the conversation was lost to the wind. It felt kind of strange, knowing that two strangers were having what sounded like a counseling session on the deck of her skiff, but stranger things have happened. Stranger things were happening actively, all around her.

Speaking of strange things, the sound of boots scrambling up the stairs jerked Samedi out of her brief sting of relaxation. It was one of the elves, the one who had been the most vocally critical of the group's plan to allow her to ferry them across Shazgard. The question of what brought her to the quarterdeck was immediately answered when Samedi got a good look at her face. Oh, she knew that look very well, had seen it many a time in her time on the merchant vessel she'd sailed with. That was the look of someone who had lost their lunch, breakfast, and the previous night's dinner.

Samedi winced sympathetically when the poor thing began to retch over the railing. She couldn't just stand aside and watch her suffer. Instead she grabbed her canteen as she stood and made her way over to the railing.

"Deep breath, cher." Samedi's voice is warm as cinnamon as she leaned in closer, gently scooping Elya's hair back with both hands. Once she had it all gathered she held it in one loosely-curled hand, careful not to close her fingers just in case Elya were to suddenly jerk away. She didn't want to cause her any undue pain.

With her free hand she offered the canteen. "Swish and spit first, then drink," she instructed. Something about her tone made it clear that she was used to giving orders, to taking charge, but there was still a gentleness to it that kept it from being abrasive or demanding. "Ya gon' be alright."

[Sierra The Captor]

Reriic || Annabel

((We wanted our fight to see the light of day, so here it is! We rejoin the current timeline at the end c: Sierra’s previous post in case you want that context))

Reriic shied away from the dagger Annabel launched at him, though he stared at it for a long moment after it embedded itself in the ground before his feet. He was used to insults, they meant nothing to him, but physical attacks were another matter entirely. His fingers dug into his arms in a momentary attempt to keep his temper in check that ultimately failed.

“I will associate you with them all I like, seeing as you are one and the same. Your wings might be different, but I bet the blood is not.” Reriic nudged the dagger with the toe of his boot before stooping down to pick it up. He turned the thing over in his hands as he righted himself, examining the blade and hilt with idle movements. Without looking up, he spoke again, “I believe I am the second of the royals you have attacked, aren’t I? Or did you think I would forget that little altercation in my home? Time has passed, but you don’t appear to have changed…” He raised his eyes and looked her over anew, “Or have you?”

The dagger rolled out of his hand and fell to the ground with a dull thump. He noticed the strange tones in her voice and could only speculate just what it meant for the group. For him, it meant that his inkling hadn’t been too far off the mark and something was wrong with her. He would get to the bottom of it, although his reasons were far from altruistic: he wanted satisfaction. Mutilating the monarchs in Laelie had not appeased him and still he dwelled on things only compounded during Gradius; his failings, his desire for vengeance. Everyone else seemed to have forgiven the faeries, but he did not. Time healed wounds but fools forgot those who did them harm. Did Annabel actually fall into the grouping of those who harmed him? There was one way to find out. Working to keep the edge out of his voice, he sneered, “I think my presence is needed here, since I’m practically the only one that wants to ask questions when unusual things occur. Like, for example, why did you come back to us, Annabel? I do not know what happened to your princess –nor do I much care–, but she is clearly not within our number any longer; you have no responsibility here.”

No, it’s not. This is what Annabel wanted to tell him, that there was no similar blood of the sort. But the curse was actively working against her, in pursuit of the negative emotions piling up the more he spoke of his accusation. Stop it, stop it. Had Reriic not known of the curse, he might’ve thought the violent shaking of her hands was caused by the spite that was laced in his word. In actuality, Annabel was trying very hard to repress it. For a moment, she was about to give in, but much like her will allowed her to, the temptation mellowed out, followed by a staggering confusion on her face as to what had aroused in her mind. Her fingers traced the lines creased on her forehead, closing her eyes once more, and replied in a very soft voice, loud enough for Reriic to hear, “What happened in Laelie became my responsibility,” she started, hands still shaking, “I could not keep my promise as a guard, and as a result, Laelie fell in ruins.”

Her gaze fell on Reriic, hatred still apparent, but there were different conflicts in her face altogether. One part of her wanted nothing more than to ignore Reriic and rest in peace for the night. But as her sight bore in on Reriic, the bloodlust returned, the irrational sentiment of dislike on the elf elitist in tune with the monster inside.

Annabel did not fight it.

It increased tenfold, and the inhuman voice a minute prior was mixed with her own. “I needn’t your approval to uphold the promise I had sworn to keep to the princess, nor do I need to answer much of the questions since you clearly have a set of prejudices you have of my kind.”

A blade was half-withdrawn out of the scabbard, wings fully open on her back, but the sheen of a thousand glitter of her design was instead replaced by green veins spreading throughout. The inhuman voice resumed “If you treasure your life, you will leave.”

Reriic’s eyes widened in surprise at the threat, but the feeling left him quickly. The blade Chandar had made for him hung loosely at his side, still a strange weight Reriic was not entirely confident with, but he moved his hand to the hilt anyway. If he needed to he could stab well enough, but he doubted it would come to that. The elf met her gaze with his own, “I believe you may be underestimating me.”

With their eyes locked, Reriic drew upon the magic he’d been sorely without during the trials in Gradius and turned it against Annabel. He lifted his hand, narrowing his focus on the girl just beyond his reach. Without extended ceremony, he made the air around her heavier, made the force pulling her to the ground harder to fight against. The magical energies that permeated the natural world again leapt to the prince’s beck and call, almost as if it had missed him as much as he had it and he found his struggle now was refraining from crushing Annabel outright instead of attempting to wring some power from the air. The ease of it all washed over Reriic like a lost love, tempting him to push further. To see how long the faerie’s body would hold out before she snapped like a tree in a gale. Slowly, he closed his hand into a fist, the motion confirming what he wanted out of the unseen force.

The weight of the force gravitated by Reriic’s magic made her thrash about under the pressure of the air surrounding her. She struggled to maintain the murderous eye contact she had before, a wide eyed look dawning on the notion of a similar incident repeating itself if she allowed herself to be controlled by the elf prince’s dangerous motive to squeeze the very life out of her. Her fingers left the hilt that was about to be withdrawn, distracted by the dark magic festering in the elf prince. Her breath hitched when Reriic’s raised hand was motioning into a fist, indicating that whatever he was about to do could end their fight, right here and then.

Before such an action could be done, Annabel attempted to retrieve what was left of the air around her. She broke her eye contact, arms swiftly swiveling in all directions, creating a short burst of wind. The wind was brief and rightfully so since her magic was waning in on itself as she was farther away from the forest, but it was hopefully enough to detract Reriic’s attention away from her. Her body disintegrated into glitter, and disappeared out of sight.

Anna had not miscalculated, the gust of wind kicked up dirt and grit all around them. Reflexes acting faster than reason, he threw his arm up and looked away, breaking his line of sight and his gravitational manipulation in one fell swoop. He cursed bitterly, glancing around as if Anna might still be somewhere he could see. There was temptation to apply pressure randomly, hoping to catch her by luck alone, but Reriic refrained. There was no point wasting energy when she would have to return to normal size if she wanted to do more than just run away. He could wait. Settling his hand back on the hilt of his blade, Reriic stayed facing the direction he’d last seen the faerie. He doubted that would be where she came at him from, but it was as useful a point to watch as any other.

Had Reriic truly made the decision to apply his gravitational magic, Annabel would’ve been caught within seconds, rendering her escape useless considering the shift in dominance between them. As a faerie, the guard was as feeble as a mosquito flying about if eyes and ears were slow to read in the fast buzz, but nimble nonetheless. Basks of glitter swarmed behind the elf prince and the faerie returned to her human form once more. Not waiting a moment to spare Reriic another attempt to use his magic, the sole of her left boot met with the small of Reriic’s back as she pushed the prince to the ground, catching him completely off-guard. Grabbing his head so that he was forcefully turned to the side, her other leg rested for balance, the right hand pressing his shoulder as though she was ready to ram the prince’s body into the soils.

Her left hand, the arm with the cursed wound, was holding the blade close to his neck, red-lusted and eyes that were filled with monstrous hate for the young Dradecan. It was no longer the clear burgundy that she was blessed with. Slits eyes that appeared to have briefly closed and opened vertically staring squarely into his, whether Annabel herself was aware of it or not, “Now,” she said slowly with gritted teeth, voice combining in a low, guttural groan, “Apologize.”

Reriic stared up into her changed eyes through the tangle of hair she'd loosed by grabbing and tossing him around. His vision swam from the sudden collision with the ground and he was painfully aware of the cold bite of a blade to his throat that restrained his movement. Even Reriic knew that in a contest of strength he was outmatched, and no matter how confident he was with magic he equally doubted that his skills were such to heal his own slit throat before blood loss took him. If he could get his hand to her wrist he might've been able to cause enough rot that she would falter, but he could not accomplish it from the way he was pinned.

And yet he was vindicated in loss all the same, wasn't he? The faerie before him only resembled the girl he had traveled with all this time by virtue of figure and hairstyle alone: whatever glared down at him was new. This revelation salved his wounded pride at being so stupid as to let her get behind him in the first place.

“Apologize for what, being right?” He sneered back, defiant to the last, “Look at yourself.”

Wordlessly the faerie grabbed his blackened hair and rammed his head against the ground, as a way to halt him from spewing nonsense from his mouth and sparing her further irritation from hearing his voice, but the blade was still close to his neck case he decided to make any movement against her. Although these were her actions, it felt like she was an outsider in her own body, terrified by her bloody disposition yet still leaned into whatever animalistic form was possessing her. As her face leaned forward to the Dradecan prince, eyes resembling reptilian pupils boring into his, she hissed, a strange mix of her own voice with a guttural groan, “Try again.”

Pain blossomed in his skull like a terrible flower that turned his confidence to fear and for a split second his eyes darted to Annabel’s blade before he could regain control of himself. His breathing had become shaky, but he ignored it. This wasn't Gradius, he wasn't helpless. Reriic forced his gaze back to the faerie and glared hateful defiance; magical energies responded to his will and he filled her mind with the agonizing sensation of rot eating through her flesh in exchange.

Annabel completely shifted her focus, previously fashioning a murderous glare on Reriic to then being blindsided by the pained threshold upon her arm as she broke contact and held her blade away. While any fighter would’ve felt embarrassed by what would be a mere trick, whatever monster that held her anger was alleviated, and her eyes were then a normal burgundy again, breath hitched as she stared at her arm.

This did not mean that she let go of the prince. If anything, the shock made her other hand tighten and lift his hair as though he were a ragdoll and Annabel was no less than gentle with it.

A wince flashed across his face and he hissed his words through clenched teeth, “Release. Me. Now.”

Annabel let go of the prince as demanded, but not out of obedience, more out of disbelief as her eyes laid on the prince upon his words, breathless and in shock, her fingers twitching nervously but not willing to admit a single mistake on her part.

Kill him.

Stop it.

“I’m not a monster,” Annabel mumbled, voice trembling up until she took a deep breath and continued more stably, “I know what you think of me, but until Laelie is restored I’ll continue my path forward, and I’d be damned to let a sneering prince get in my way.”

“Not a monster, of course.” Reriic pushed himself onto his elbows and stared up at Annabel, unsure if he was safe from her and unwilling to crawl away in the dirt like a scared child. He dropped his gaze to her arm where the green scales crawled up to disappear beneath her sleeve, “Nothing monstrous about that.”

At that, her back straightened, quickly pulling down the sleeve covering her arm as she looked down, eyes faltering slightly. It should be duty to keep herself quiet among royals, though as the day progressed, and protocols were abandoned, pride slowly swelled within before she looked up again, “If I were, you’d be dead,” she paused for a moment, and then continued as she squarely faced the Dradecan prince with a darkened glare, “Sire.”

The worry that he was going to get stabbed passed and Reriic planted a hand on her chest to Anna back so he could stand. He dusted his trousers off before leveling her with an icy smile, “Until next time, Annabel…”

While their fight seemed to take ten years, in truth the altercation was over in minutes and the shadows along the shore must have blanketed them from the others because there were no interruptions until long after the pair had gone their separate ways to nurse bruise and ego aboard Samedi’s raft.

[K33LA]

Kunal Sa'ir Mahapatra

Not the one they are waiting for...

"Kindness..." It did not fit upon his tongue, that word. He was not a kind person, and he rarely spoke kindly to others. Those slivers of compassion were reserved for Bashirah, unquestionably; and even that was not an eternal truth, as this journey had cruelly taught him. What was he to say? That he would wish his sister die in the wake of his death? There was a dark, covetous part of Kunal that did. They came into the world together; they should depart it as a union, too. He... loved Bashirah. She was the only person he loved.

But she had also been dependent on him.

Bashirah needed Kunal. That was the crux of it. He could repress and repress and repress, but she... She could not. Or that is how it was, once. Kunal was needed. Kunal was important. And indeed, outside of Gradius, he had felt her need him less and less. That was the crux of it. Bashirah blossomed in the freedom of the open air, the warm sun, the breezes, the grasslands, the flowers and insects, the bright and foreign things. Gradius was a prison for them both, but for her... it was a prison she sought to escape.

He had felt her slipping from his grasp, like grains of desert sand.

"Oh," Kunal moaned, and all his misery was contained within the sound. All his unfairness, his ugliness, jealousy, remorse. He felt the snot trickling from his nose in liquid lines, but he did not care to wipe them away even as their salty shadow whispered upon his lips and tongue.

Kunal needed Bashirah. Kunal needed Bashirah.

And what a need! What a need. Strange, intoxicating, utterly necessary and pure. Kunal was survival to Bashirah; Bashirah was survival to Kunal. It was them, it was them, it was them! That was the crux of it.

"I am a terrible brother," he shuddered, a mighty heave shaking his chest. The Gradian could not stop his tears now, and his eyes became a river. For this, this, was the true monster. The abomination. His jealousy. His covetousness. His willingness to harm his sister once she was strong enough to stand on her own. "Oh, Kora, oh... Oh, I cannot continue this way. I cannot. Bashirah was cursed with me. Cursed."

"I want her to live," he prayed, demure, fervent. "I want her to live."

The depth of his words, these sounds, were full and present, and Kunal could hardly wrap his mind around them.