The Briar Patch: Ch. 15 - In Winter's Wake (Pt. 2)

The fireplace of the Alpione den is sustained not by any material fuel, but rather by the pure unfiltered aether of the individuals whom shared a bond with the binding cast over the hearth. Such bonded parties are then able to summon the flames at will simply by enabling the binding to siphon their natural reserves of aether. Even shared, the amount of aether consumed in the process would be draining for most creatures that basked under the light of the Star Crossed Lovers. 

Yet those of the Verdance could maintain the bind indefinitely. 

Few outside of those of the Verdance were gifted with their seemingly endless reservoir of aethor, nor their nigh singular ability to replenish the ethereal essence of creation. Truly, it was an unparalleled trait, unique to the diminutive children of the Verdance, for whom the intrinsic perpetuation and abundant store of aether were but the norm. With such boundless aether at their disposal, the drain to maintain a minor bind was insignificant at its worst, and a single Shol could sustain the connection indefinitely.

Over Time, the habit of maintaining a bind becomes less intentional, reaching into the will of the subconscious. This was particularly so in an instilled bindings that had been placed beforehand. Such was the ease with which the Shol could influence the aether, and how innate an ability it was that these aetherical manipulations took barely the conscious thought to activate. 

Yet it was not without influence. Just as the aethor of the lifeform fluctuates, so too does the amount siphoned by the binding in the hearth ebb and flow. 

With how the Keepers of the Verdance veritably breathed the aether, the fire was a good telltale of how the source of its aether fared. While not a perfect indicator, the fire acted as a loose tell of the state of those whom fed it. 

For a hale individual the fire burned as any normal hearth would, whereas the surge of aethor that came with agitation oft brought with it the experience of a sudden flare of flames. Lastly and perhaps least surprising, is the drastic loss of the aether that all creatures suffered when their lifeforce diminished. This is particularly so as the life-giving fluids that filled their vessels served as one of the greatest concentration and reserves of aether.

Lockes being the only such individual amongst them with ties to the hearth, was by default the only one who could've affected it so.

So when the flames flared, crackling ominously on its own initiative as if seething, the two present in the den started. 

That in itself, however, wasn't what they found most unsettling. 

Rather, it was the sudden loss of the fire that Lockes kept ever burning. 

As if smothered. 

"Lockes--"

The breathy utterance was barely audible over the sudden flush as the fire suffocated.

Their only light was extinguished, and with it, their maladjusted sight. 

As the hollow was thrown into darkness, the two found themselves at a sudden loss. Already the cold was setting in. 

Vye was frozen stiff, body prickling despite the cold that was settling in. The eerie silence only emphasized the dread in his vessels as all his plumes stood on end. 

The silent darkness crept with unknown horrors, horrors that threatened to reach out from every direction, to snare and maim. To pull him further into stygian night where he would be lost forever amidst the stifled screams, where the silence proved more terrifying than the voices themselves. For to scream, one had to be alive. Though even that was sparse comfort, for there existed deeper pits still of hellish terror. 

Horrors that could inflict untold suffering. Horrors that would. 

Just as that night had been.

The Bræmbel Shol shivered. No, this wasn't the same. There were no Reapers here--well. Vye flinched as he peered through the aether, and the young Shol stared up at Zeal--and was startled by the sharp eyes staring unflinchingly back at him. 

"You're a Reaper." 

The void that he had failed to recognize. The lies and deceit. 

"Liar!"

A hand reached for him and the Bræmbel flinched harshly, his plumage further fluffing up. To his relief, he felt the presence hesitate, and back away. His fear abated, as did the volume of his plumage.

"Vye, it's okay. I wont hurt you--"

Zeal. 

This was Zeal. 

Zeal wouldn't hurt him.

But he couldn't shake off the terror that had suddenly seized him. 

At least not until he pried his eyes open and forced himself to look up at Zeal. There was a distinct note of discomfort in the Seeker's countenance, and to Vye's alarm, a very raw remorse. 

His fear was nigh tangible, but the heavy guilt more so. 

Zeal hadn't wronged him. If anything the Seeker's life would've been made simple had he chosen instead to have simply captured and kept the Shol captive. Or sold him off. Given that Zeal demanded nectar as payment, Vye's speculations favored the former case to be more likely.

But the important part was that Zeal had done none of those things. Had in fact, quite literally, thrown himself into harm's way to protect his young charge.

Though in truth the unreadable and at best questionable intent of his protector only served to unsettle him in Times like these. 

Vye berated himself for these thoughts, for they only did Zeal wrong where he had done so much right by him.

Almost sheepishly, The vale haled Shol crept close to his guardian. This Time Zeal didn't reach out, instead parting his cloak and shifting so that the Bræmbel Shol may huddle if they so choose.

Vye did, gratefully accepting the invitation and snuggling against Zeal's side, basking in the comforting warmth. No longer shivering, he turned his attention towards the hearth, though it seemed the Seeker had already done the same.

It had been out for quite some Time.

Not once since their arrival had the dark Shol allowed the flames to die, for they knew well that neither those of Solaris's brood nor the Lowlands could ward off and withstand the freezing Alps with the same ease as they themselves could. And the young coty meant far too much to the Alpione host for them to permit even the most minor lapses of negligence. That such an infraction of their diligence would occur--

Not even the glowing remnants of the stones of Lockes slumbering subconscious were present. 

Zeal raised a hand, but no warmth emanated from hearth, further prompting the Seeker to brush the stone.

It was as ice.

Vacant and devoid of any warmth or aether. As if fallen into disuse.

It made the situation all the more surreal. As if perhaps the two were rousing from a hallucinogenic haze, and their Alpione host but an illusion born of an unsettling madness or psychic ensnarement.

Vye huddled closer still to his guardian. 

The unease was nigh tangible in the small hand that nervously wound its way into the cloth covering the Seeker's side. With mild amusement, Zeal noted that the other still kept a tight clutch on the Enigma that their Alpione host had presented to them at daybreak before leaving on their rounds. 

Silently, he noted that the Bræmbel Shol was still struggling to adjust to the dark, instead relying heavily upon his ability to peer through the aether. His own eyes had long since accustomed themselves to the sudden light shift.

"You don't think--" Came the same hushed voice, wavering in its uncertainty. But whatever his charge had intended to say was cut off by a distinct smoldering crackle.

Slowly, and with an ominous red light, did the glowing rocks nestled in the hearth flicker and gradually rise, illuminating the immediate surroundings but no more. 

As if to set the scene.

Far too weak to chase away the shadows, nor fend off the encroaching darkness that flickered in the corners, the dying embers could but cast its sickly red hues across the den. 

Meek yet riveting wafts of heat skittered across the stones, brilliant fiery worms of a hellish ember.

The Seeker shifted and without a word, his beloved greatsword the Nighthawk, flew towards them at his beckoning. The worn, leather-wrapped hilt of the weighty blade resting easily in his palm, the engravings glowing as the metal hummed. 

His young charge marveled briefly, for the enchantments of the sword were one that heeded Seeker's call alone, and it was an impressive sight as always to see such elegance even in the art of war. Even if it was a instrument of bloodshed. The Bræmbel Shol was quick to avert their gaze with thinly veiled unease, and behind which gleamed visions far too vivid and real for his liking. The obsidian blade glinted menacingly. Basked in the red hues strewn across the hollow, it seemed almost dripping with precious life essence.

The first Time he had ever glimpsed such an instrument had been moments before its indifference stained the ground with a terrifying shimmer, the radiant light of the rising moon entwining the rivulets of gold with silver accents. 

Vye shuddered and decided his attention was best allocated elsewhere. As the light cast from the hearth grew in intensity, the two settled back, though ever vigilant.

The fire burned low still. But while a weak fire may well be a sign that something was amiss with the Alpione Shol, it wasn't the only plausible cause. Unlikely though it may seem, it wasn't beyond the realm of possibility that the Bluepine had simply dozed off. Or perhaps their Alpione host had taken a larger loop in their usual rounds while circling Whitedew, and the bond had just grown weak by the sheer distance the severed Shol had put between them and the Alpione Ring, thus straining and enfeebling the aetherical transfer. Or maybe something else was interfering or otherwise placing a strain upon their aetherical reserves.

The abruptness by which the fire had smothered couldn't be dismissed, however.

Zeal settled back against the smoothed cambium that the den wall comprises.

Nothing for it but to wait. 

But his young charge was far less impassive, and could but look to his aloof guardian for reassurance. Yet despite the gentle hand combing his plumes, Vye whirled this way and that, eyes flickering as he peered through the aethor.

After a moment more of this antsy jittering, the Bræmbel Shol settled back against Zeal's side. 

Another moment more and he spoke, "Lockes is on their way here. So's the Crier."

That got his attention. 

From what he'd gathered, the Northern Blue communed nigh constantly with the sovereign beast and had at length, mentioned something about the creature acting as a vessel or medium of sorts. Borrowed eyes, through which they temporarily regained, albeit muted, the sight lost with severance from the Verdance.

It wasn't a perfect system. Regardless of how high the synchronicity between the Crier and Lockes may be, the dark Shol would suffer a deterioration in clarity the farther they were from the Crier, and a complete loss of vision should they be separated entirely.

That they would call the Crier to meet them meant that whatever it may be, Lockes would gather all of what remained of the limited sight they had now.

Zeal would've been content to await the Bluepine's arrival, but instead the Seeker swept his charge up into his arms, pressing Vye against his chest and holding him there.

The Bræmbel Shol squirmed in his hold, head popping up to peek up at him, eyes practically swimming in curiosity.

What brought on this bout of affection? Zeal was not given to such fond displays. Not that Vye had any objections, and on that the young Shol decided it would be best to take it for what it is than to question this odd behavior. Whatever it was, Vye was grateful for it. For any distraction whilst they awaited their wayward host. 

That and his protector himself was disinclined to provide an explanation.

It was comforting to hear the life thrumming in a slow steady beat beneath his head while enveloping him in blissful warmth. Vye fought the urge to drift off, but the fatigue of the long months and the strength that had yet to recover proved to be too much. With the soothing warmth and Heart beat so reminiscent of the collective beat of his Circle as they huddled together in the den in the dreary Wintry chill. Overwhelmed the exhausted lowland Shol's eyes slipped shut and soon enough his consciousness had drifted off into that of the land of dreams.

Zeal hugged the diminutive form in his lap, squeezing the small Shol tight despite the other having left for a place far beyond even his reach. Not because he desired any such affection, but because Vye needed it. 

Even in his sleep the young Shol was troubled, mumbling incoherently at Times emitting those odd near shrill peeps of distress. An incessant noise that scraped at his auditory tracts. Still it was better than the Times when Vye would call out for his brethren--would jerk upright in alarm--only to find himself alone.

Those Times were the most difficult to deal with. 

When the memory was fresh, and the loss far too vivid. Reliving the same nightmare over and over again.

The seeker held Vye down as he struggled and lashed out at imaginary enemies in his sleep, at first doing so with the intention of keeping the valley Shol from harming himself. Instead he inadvertently found that the touch served to calm these fits, soothing that feverish mumbling and relaxing the tensely withdrawn body.

And so he'd taken to hugging Vye tight during his troubled sleep, that he may protect him even when the young Shol had gone where he could not follow. The warmth and contact seemed to keep the worst of these night terrors at bay, and pacify him the Times they did not.

Because just before the hearth was smothered, however briefly, there had been a very real and deep sewn fear etched into those normally so very cheerful eyes. An expression that held the true depths of how strongly the horror that haunted him, had him in their tangled grasp, ever lingering in the shadows.

Perhaps it was some modicum of guilt that urged him onward, to do whatever it may take to ease the weight Vye seemed far too young, too frail, to bear on his own.

"Then just give up if it's so wretched to go on!"

And the suffering he'd unwittingly inflicted.

"Go off yourself if you're so miserable for all the good that will do, just like the rest of your pathetic kind!"

The Seeker's jaw clenched, "I never did say it did I."

Unsurprisingly there was no response, other than the gentle rise and fall as the last Shol of the Bræmbel Ring roamed lands far, far away, over the stars.

"You'll not hear me where you are now, but I'd say it just the same." and he held the small Shol against him just a bit tighter, "I'm sorry."

Zeal spared another glance down to ensure his young charge was comfortably asleep before planting the Nighthawk firmly beside him. With that the Seeker set his sights upon the sole entrance to the Alpione den, hence he would remain, ever vigilant until at last they heard the shuffle of the Bluepine, and the telltale rumbling that indicated the Crier to not be far behind.

And it was how the Bluepine would find them. 

The severed Shol slid around the corner of the chute, landing harshly on moss padding. Their eyes searched the den, zeroing in on Vye. 

Safe. In the arms of a Reaper.

The flames roiled in tumultuous waves, throwing the den into hues of vivid red.

The dark met the Reaper's gaze with no small amount of unease. A questioning look that went unanswered, the Bluepine noting his casual posture as he sat back against the living wood, even while a hand was subtly curled around the hilt of his stygian blade. It was an odd sight still to see a small Shol nestled in the arms of a Reaper. 

The Seeker hadn't appeared the least bit surprised by their early return. Perhaps it was a not so unexpected. 

And they fought down the urge to asphyxiate them then and there.

Lockes was no stranger to a Reaper's devious cunning, nor their diabolical schemes.

"We've put this off long enough." The Northern blue drew a shaky breath. "We need to talk."

With his usual languor, the Reaper shrugged, leaning back against the living wood of the hollow, "So I've heard."