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Andeon did not have a home within Amityville.

Where others had message boards and boxes full of find memories, Andeon had a set of rooms. Black-walled and nearly bare. He owned no furniture, no decorations, no clean changes of clothes. He brought no formal robes, no uniform, no casual attire. He polished that same old dented, scratched armor every night while others soundly slept. Others had pictures and plushies tacked to their walls to remind them of friends and family.

Andeon had dents and scratch marks to remind him of his purpose.

The Illithid lacked anything to suggest that he lived in that place. He merely existed there temporarily, a tour of duty that he knew better than to think might be coming to a close. He glanced around the room as he quietly strapped his pauldron on, adjusting the belt until he could roll his shoulders comfortably. He glanced up at the reflection in the long mirror on the back of his door, and what he saw there did not surprise him.

He was becoming far too comfortable in his second skin. The smooth features no longer startled him, nor did the long tentacles that he bound loosely at the nape of his neck with a thin leather cord. That apathy was somewhat unsettling, but he did not have time to think it over. He could feel agitation like a sudden wave, attuned as he was to the thoughts of those around him. If he had a mouth, he would have smiled.

In his natural form, that smile would have included a great deal of teeth. Oh, how he missed his teeth.

Moments later, he was barreling down the hall at a full run, projecting his thoughts with the tone of a sports announcer.

ANDEOSINE FAKES A LEFT, he moved gracefully to one side, then back to the other, He spins right! He's too fast, they can't catch him. He's coming up on the goal line, he shoots!

“NYYYYEEEEOOOWWWWW!” A cannon cat wailed as it flew swiftly down the hall, the end result of a hard and well-aimed drop kick.

HE SCORES! THE CROWD GOES WILD. THE HERO OF THE DAY- He stopped abruptly, one leg still mid-kick, as the open door granted him a view of her room. By the time Riley managed to look up, Andeon would be leaning against her door frame.

Good morning, beautiful.

Andeon did not put up much of a fight. He left his arms down at his sides, occasionally piercing her angry tirade with a placid and monotone, Help. Stop. Oh no. As she raged on, Andeon glanced about, as though he half-expected one of her agitating minions to be close on his heels. It was rare that he was able to find her without someone's lower half jutting awkwardly from her a**. Of course, it had always been that way. Aen'ryliis came from a family of politicians, a ruthless clan that had neither time nor patience to suffer fools. How, then, she had come to be guarded by them was beyond his understanding. Never in his life could he have imagined Aen'ryliis being babysat. By a red dragon and a hunchback, of all the ridiculous and useless things in their wide and varied world.

The hall was empty, though, and Andeon was grateful for it. He closed his eyes, and briefly felt the air for thoughts that might suggest their proximity. He could hear the whispers of gut wrenching teenage romance. The faint prayers to Jack that he was certain would go unanswered. No insufferable ignorance seemed to be close, and so he opened his eyes with confidence that their meeting would not be interrupted.

For once.

With an air of utter satisfaction, Andeon reached up to push the shaken cat away from his face. The on nestled comfortably on her head – Pickles, he had named it when he had been stuffing it unceremoniously into her underwear drawer – pawed again at his face, and Andeon reached a claw out to gently scratch it behind one ear.

Whosabestestlittlebittleinvader? Yesyouis! YesyouismylittleCommanderGeneralPickles. Oh whosadaddyslittlebatallionleader? You is! Yesyouis!

Pickles mewed happily, and Andeon suddenly found the ignorant thing at least ten times more charming that any of Riley's other various consorts. After all, Pickles had a star over one eye! Perhaps if Christof had a star, Andeon might reconsider his worth.

He made a mental note to self: Injure patchwork in such a way as to require star-shaped eye replacement.

You forgot handsome, clever, brilliant, and just a fantastic cook, love. Though I do have so many admirable traits, it would be unfair for me to expect you to list them all. I'll let you off the hook this time. That shade of red looks lovely on- oh, no.

That's just a scratch.

My bad.

Andeon smiled, but it was a cruel and vicious gesture. His hands rose between them, palms flat, and shoved her with an excessive amount of strength. Whatever space it created between them, he filled with a step. And another. And another. His clawed feet cut through the swathe of cannon cats as easily as air, taking little care as to whether or not he was stepping on them. He stepped until she was back against a wall, and one exceptionally long tentacle lashing back like a whip to slam the door shut.

And who, he all but hissed the words, his white eyes narrowing, do you think you are talking to, love?

A hand reached out for the cannon cat she thought to taunt him with, claws wrapping around the head that she held so fiercely in place. Pickles barely had time to mew as he twisted the little things head right off its body with a soft pop of vertebrae separating. Dust ran through their fingers, and Andeon lowered his head to hers.

I did it for the same reason I'm doing this.

Tentacles wrapped suddenly around her waist, pulling her to him. For the second time since he had arrived at Amityville, Andeon kissed his nemesis in the way only a mindflayer could.

Because I can.

Anymore.

The word was like a curse in his mind, but Andeon did not let his thoughts wander to whatever might have come before that moment. They had their short lifetime of history together, save for those past six years. Still, there was a small but noticeable difference in his thoughts. Like a lightbulb flickering, if only for the briefest second, that bravado was replaced by a sense of loss. Not sadness, necessarily, but something rooted far more deeply than anything that simple, unrequited feelings could explain.

Whatever it was, Andeon did not let himself think on it. Whatever emotion was there, it was quickly swept away. Beneath a rug of mental defense that not even she could penetrate. Of all the things Andeon had learned, the importance of apathy was among the most important.

His claws lifted, gently tracing the curve of her cheek. He had always appreciated how she had somehow managed to look beautiful even in that sickly masquerade. Like some perfect porcelain doll whose fragile features he was just itching to smash. Still, she looked too fitting. Too easily adjusted. She looked like one of them, and perhaps it was that reminder that had sparked that brief flicker of emotion.

I would expect no less, my pet. It seems that not much of anything from our world does, anymore. Keeping secrets from the council. Allowing your own kind to be so openly insulted. Acting like some brainless child – ah! Camouflage. Politics. Plans. Spare me your excuses.

Andeon released his hold on her, and turned his back. It was an insult all its own, even as he bent down to pick up another yowling little creature. Its head came off with another sickening sound, and he found some small comfort in it.

I wouldn't expect you to understand loyalty to your own kind. He smiled, although she could not see it. After all, how long did it take you to turn on one of them? Long before the Trials, if I recall correctly.

Andeon looked back, but he could not bring himself to return her smug sarcasm. Arrogance was in their nature, both as demons and as Illithid. Their intellect and their combat prowess had always given them plenty of reasons to be so sure. Their confidence was not unjustified, after all. Yet as Andeon looked upon Riley – as Andeosine looked upon Aen'ryliis – there was little room for their ego and bravado to truly shine. They were both rubber and they were both glue, and such conversations often left them both with nothing but a thick skin of failed insults. All the words in the world were sticks and stones, blunt arrows fired against a brick wall.

And they never would have sent me if it was not, he spoke quietly. It could have been a dig at her, an inarguable comment on the gravity of their situation, but it was not. It was stated as a simple fact. She was hiding something, of that much he was certain. The woman he knew would never have done that. Her loyalty to the hive had once been as unfaltering as his own. In that, she had been perhaps his only equal.

Andeon stood, squaring his shoulders and turning back to face her once more. He had always been tall, even for their kind, and well-muscled. He had been made to fight, whereas she had been made to manipulate. Andeon was a formidable force in his own way. He knew how to get what he wanted through force, blackmail, and deceit. Riley knew how to get what she wanted by making people want to give it to her. It was in their blood, both Illithid and drow, that she was quite correct.

And so he dropped quietly to one knee, a gesture that would have once meant respect and loyalty. Now, it was a hollow mockery. A fist crossed over his chest in that ancient salute, and Andeon lifted his white eyes to find her own.

The woman I knew, I would have followed into any hell, with confidence that she would find a way to bring us out. I would have followed Aen'ryliis into any darkness, and thrown myself into whatever lies beyond on her command.

He stood slowly, confident that no attack she could make could catch him off guard. There was something different about him, certainly. That wariness he'd once had with her was diminished, as though he could not bring himself to see her as the fierce woman that had left his face forever scarred. His claw lifted, and unclasped the belt that held his chestplate over his heart. One hand pulled back the metal, to reveal what lay beneath.

Her symbol, but not her mark. It was not some magical brand, some single-use token to vanish once he had fulfilled his duties. There, above his cold heart, the curved symbol of Aen'ryliis was carved deeply into his skin. Deeply enough that the pale scar tissue below it pulsed softly with every heartbeat. He reached out with his other hand, and brushed one of her slender tentacles over her shoulder.

I will follow Aen'ryliis to the ends of this world. But for you? For Riley?

Andeon dropped the tentacle.

For you, I do nothing.

Perhaps most distressing was how strange it felt to hear her say his name. Not that it sounded foreign, but hearing her say it was like hearing some brief, distant echo of his past. Not Andy. Not Andeon.

Andeosine.

The name combined with her suddenly frigid demeanor, the complete shutdown that seemed to come almost naturally to them, he caught a glimpse of that long lost... what? Friend? Companion? The native language did not have a word for what she was to him. Or him to her.

Usstan uil dosst, he spoke solemnly, a rare sense of resignation in his voice, vel'drav dos doer rath.

He fixed his armor with practiced hands, not needing to take his gaze from her face to securely cover the marking. The tension between them should have suffocated the small creatures, one of which had wrapped its arms and legs around his ankle and decided to go for a ride as he walked quietly from the room. Once outside of her door, the sudden silence was a shocking reminder. Without her beside him, Andeon was reminded of his purpose there.

No friends. No family. There was no room for such things as love or camaraderie in the world of the Illithid. The strong survived and the weak were laid to waste, and there were none more weak than those not of their species. He knew that. She knew that. Andeon's brow furrowed, and his claws carved his agitation into deep gouges as he dragged his hand slowly along the black-painted drywall.

There was a question that he didn't want to ask; how had they claimed her?

Have they?

The voice rippled into his mind as though a stone had been dropped into those already churning waters, and Andeon opened his thoughts to the overwhelming presence of the elders. It was Riley's father, but also his own in their cultures strange way. It did not matter that there was no direct relation. There was no true separation among Illithid. They were a whole. A community in the deepest sense of the word, and privacy came only when they chose to partition their minds and lock their thoughts away. It was that very skill that had commanded Andeon's presence, as Riley sought to keep some secret from the council.

If it was worth keeping, it was worth knowing. It was worth Andeon destroying her fragile little make believe world to find out. And so he had come like a bull in a china shop, and he would continue raging and stomping and smashing her every facade. Even if it meant peeling her skin away and physically ripping the thoughts from her head. He turned the corner into his empty room, and closed the door behind him.

I'm uncertain-

GET certain, the voice seared like a brand placed directly on his frontal lobe, and the pain of it was enough to bring the resilient young mindflayer to his knees. Contact was severed on the elders behalf, and with a loud, guttural sound of rage, Andeon buried his fist in the wall.