Snippets and Stories: (BP) Augmentation

Zeal stood, shushing Vye when the Bræmbel Shol made to inquire.

The two Shols exchanged a look of puzzlement.

"That noise." Zeal trailed off, grimacing.

But the Shols shared another bemused look and shook their heads in unison. Vye shrugged up at his companion, "I don't hear anything Zeal."

"Nor do I." the Dark Shol piped in, "Naught of immediate significance anyhow." A pause. "What is it that you hear?"

To this the Seeker was at a loss for words, the uncertainty a very odd look for the aloof man.

Shols by their own were highly developed in their six senses, yet Lockes's hearing was sharper than the average Shol. Odd then that neither of them had picked up on whatever alerted the Seeker.

And how to describe it such that the Shols could understand? Such a fickle thing it was. Achingly nostalgic, almost painfully so, yet just the same such a melody was unlike anything he had heard before, of this Zeal was certain.

How familiar it was, and as such struck a chord, although he couldn't place it and was sure he had never before heard it.

Somehow it almost seemed to tingle across his skin light as a butterfly's kiss, and in the same breath resonated deep within him. 

Almost as if it wasn't something to hear. Yet he knew it was there. Like a vibration. A sound. A mournful cry, wistful and yearning.

At first he had thought it white noise, like that of silence grown overlong, but nay.

A sound not to be heard, but felt, he realized. Soft were its whispers, the baleful wail, that though seemed ever in mourning, yet exuded a fragile and tender warmth. One of comforting presence and which spoke of love unconditional.

Such love that it was nigh unbearable, painful to receive for so boundless was it that there was no returning such an unsolicited and so freely given gift, he found himself but undeserving.

Such set him with a flutter of his Heart that he could not shake off. One that set him aloft, yet ached terribly, burdened him so, and lulled him into a false sense of comfort.

"It's soft. A sound I hear not in my ears, but within mine mind. Arcanic influence perhaps?"

Lockes stiffened, and clipped out tersely, "The Plague Doctors... ?" Tentatively they reached through the aether, consciousness dispersing into the aetherical flow of the land and senses straining to feel for any anomalies.

The Northern Bluepine had seen the demented mind games played by the dark ministry of the Sanctum. Those beloved puppets so coveted by their equally deranged masters.

But the mercenary shook his head, "Nay. We would be able to feel the aetheric shift if so."

While true, Lockes would not allow themselves to be comforted just yet.

It was complacency that had cost them their Circle, and they would not be so quick to again trust what should have been a fail safe. That and the Plague Doctors were the subtle sort. Though their aetherical signatures were warped by those odd devices they wore, something that wouldn't have escaped notice for those sensitive to the flow, somehow Lockes doubted that some twisted form of concealment technology to be beyond their reach.

Still more puzzling was how familiar Zeal's description seemed to be, yet-- 

And then the dark Shol balked as it dawned on them. Vye tilted his head, curious to hear whatever revelation the they seemed to have come to.

"Zeal."

It couldn't be, and yet here they were.

The Seeker looked up at his name with mounting confusion. Such hesitation was strange to see on one who typically held themselves with strength and grace. Swallowing thickly, Lockes carried on, tone contemplative and just as perplexed as the Seeker felt, "Zeal, what you just described..."

And yet it was spoken in full confidence, leaving no room for skepticism, "... is the Heart's Song."

And it was no feeble resonant either. Lockes allowed their mind to drift, to see through the eyes of the Reaper.

And suddenly the world was filled with color, with Life, once more. Life that they could feel, could breath, and the nostalgia of what they were once a part of was shattering.

The discomfort was nigh tangible as he eyed the Alpione Shol, downturned and embittered. If this was a jest, it was in poor taste. But upon raising their face, the Bluepine met his gaze unflinchingly, steady and unyielding.

"That's not possible." Zeal spoke at last, as his companions both seemed reluctant to break the silence nor provide any explanation forthwith. Not that he would've expected one from Vye, there was far too much he didn't know, be it of the Reapers or his kindred.

Moreover, he cast a furtive glance in the young Shol's direction, things Vye didn't need to be privy to.

"Aye, I'd not believe it were it not so. How a Reaper could possibly be able to synchronize with the Heart's Song." they winced and turned away, "It is the cry of the Soul, of Life itself. That one whose nature is so drenched with blood, and whom consumes it to resonate so strongly."

Fronds flicked with the same dissonance that plagued the Bluepine, biting back the envy. They had forsaken the Verdance. It was by their own hand, their own choice, that they had severed themselves and tapped into the essence of Life itself.

But for the Reaper to touch the Life they could no longer even feel.

It was like a slap to the face.

Why couldn't they touch the Verdance?

Snippets and Stories: (BP) Betwixt Two Seas

Snippets and Stories: (BP) Betwixt Two Seas Zeal grunted as he reclined against the smooth damp stone on the beach, flecks of spume spraying over him despite having dragged himself far from the water's edge. Even one such as he would be fatigued by the series of back to back, consecutive dives.

Snippets and Stories: (BP) Gelid's Passing (2 of ?)

Vye shook his head. He was being silly.

Outside, the snow kept coming, drifting flakes of snow that blanketed the world in white.

... Were they safe and warm? He hoped so.

---

Elsewhere, Zeal hooked an arm through the reins, pulling a simple wooden sleigh along. 

It had taken quite a bit of traveling to get all the preparations done, but they were complete at last.

Well. Almost.

On occasion, Zeal would spot things on the way back and barter. Highly unusual as the Seeker was not known to be such a spendthrift. The man kept a iron grip to his satchel, and if anything was rather stingy in even the most common of indulgences, which of course made this whole fiasco all the more entertaining for the Bluepine.

Lockes chuckled when Zeal stopped in his tracks, staring at a vendor's wares before abruptly trudging off, making a beeline for the stall. It was a simple task, following the Reaper through the crowd with their eyes. He was a head taller than a majority of the townspeople.

They watched the brief exchange as the Seeker pointed out some goods and the vendor wrung him up.

And once again Lockes tossed a knowing look his way, grinning wide as they did so.

"... It's Sea Hazel. Vye loves them." Came the gruff rumble of the Seeker's voice, by way of explanation.

"As is the veritable mountain of goods we now have to lug back?" They gestured to the makeshift sleigh the Bluepine had warped to carry the load, "One would think us merchants, or Gelid's Saints."

"... Aye." Zeal grabbed the reigns and trudged off, pulling the sleigh, packages and all, behind him with little effort, if at all, "You needn't trouble yourself. I've not asked for your assistance."

Too much was it to be carried back in their packs, and even with the numerous fronds at the Northern Blue's disposal it was a questionable venture.

yet even then the stubborn man refused the notion of borrowing any beasts of burden

"I've no need for that which I can do myself." 

He'd stated when Lockes insisted that they alleviate the burden whilst on the road.

Lockes was practically glowing with mirth, and though he'd not acknowledge it, the Reaper was tinged far too red for it to merely be the cold alone.

They fell into pace as they left the settlement, following the road back to the inn where Vye was doubtlessly waiting up. 

The silence was comfortable and there was a good sense of camaraderie between the two of them. Which was why it came as such a surprised when it was Zeal who broke silence.

The Reaper grumbled, almost hesitant, "Vye's... a child, isn't he."

A statement, Lockes duly noted. Completely rhetorical, for they both knew. A mere ruse to start a conversation. The severed Shol hummed, a jovial note that carried into the melodic lilt of their voice, "A coty, yes. A juvenile quick approaching adolescence."

"If possible, it'd be nice for him to experience the festivities, as a child."

"I'm sure he has with his Circle." Lockes spoke, a serene and fond smile settled on their face, their eyes seeing not the present, but Times past, " Especially being of the lowlands, the wintry winds brought much more drastic change. It is of great importance to those who hale from the moors."

But Zeal rumbled on, pulling them from their thoughts, "I'm aware of the significance of Sholian festivals celebrating Gelid's passing. But I speak of the present. Just for a moment, I would have him go without worrying about all of... this." 

They had long since left the town gates and evening had fallen upon them, the city behind them mere speckles of light flickering in the encroaching dark.

Too dark to see the smile on the Bluepine's features, "I'm certain with you, he's felt more peace than he ever hoped this world could give." 

Such compliment helped to assuage the Seeker's worries, and in their place, set a warmth in his chest. 

At least, until the severed Shol spoke again, "But you know, more than any of this, I think Vye would be happiest with being close to the ones he holds dear. After all, isn't that the most important allegory of Gelid's Passing? One of few similarities between our kind, a tradition of togetherness with which both Solaris's brood and the Verdance honor."

"Aye." The Reaper seemed to be contemplating this. Not that he doubted it any, but rather it gave him much to think. Shols formed Fairy Rings, Circles of strong lasting bonds. In choosing one or the other, sustenance and shelter they would readily relinquish if it meant being with their Circle. For them, the desire for kinship oft came above all else. 

And Vye, bereft of his beloved Bræmbel kin, sought out Zeal. Perhaps not intentionally so, but nonetheless the vale Shol oft turned to the Reaper, seeking the comforts of the companionship of past.

Vye would be pleased with their presence alone. But Zeal wanted to give him more.

Lockes listened to his ramblings in silence, before shrugging. How often those of Solaris's brood looked elsewhere for answers. Complex creatures they were. "... 'ware that you may be denying that which he desires most."

Zeal grimaced and made to speak, but stopped.

"... Lets hurry back."

Lockes smiled and nodded.

Snippets and Stories: (BP) Gelid's Passing (1 of ?)

Vye stared at the evergreen that Zeal had convinced him to grow. This particular variety, though exuding a pleasing fragrance, served more ornamental purposes than anything else, and it seemed odd then that the Seeker had been so insistent that his companion nurture one while they were away.

That alone wasn't what bothered him though.

As of late, they wouldn't tell Vye a thing. Yes, they. Both of them were in on this little secret.

There was a lot about this world he didn't understand, and certainly he would not deny them their fun out of some fit of jealous rage. The two were getting along splendidly, considering their history, and he was elated for it. And so the Bræmbel Shol had shrugged it off. 

But that was more than a week ago. 

And before they so abruptly left him by his lonesome.

"We'll be back soon."

But how soon was soon? 

For the entirety of the past week Lockes had been giggling to themselves, muttering a low "oh my" on occasion in an almost teasing fashion, shaking their head, and tutting at Zeal. Yet despite this seemingly disapproving tone, the Blupine was always bright eyed, a secretive smile never far from their lips as they watched the Seeker with rapt attention. Zeal himself seemed rather abashed by all of this even as he busied himself with various odd tasks and divulging little with Vye. 

This in itself wasn't unusual, Zeal wasn't much of a talker and oft informed the young Shol as circumstances arose, or when questioned. But what exactly was this? What was going on? Zeal rarely got worked up for anything. And even after asking, the man brushed him off! Worse still, Zeal would outright ignore him and pretend not to hear, dodging around his questions, or to suddenly be busy with something or another. If anything the more he prodded at the Seeker, the more the other avoided him. 

The Seeker wouldn't even listen when Vye went over the route he had planned and their next destination! Even Lockes had only been half listening, distracted as they were with--with whatever this is.

Vye huffed, folding his arms under his as he leaned on the window sill, giving the snow blanketed city below a sour look without really seeing anything. He glowered at everything, and nothing. 

That's just mean. Zeal was being mean. And Lockes was just plain unhelpful.

It left Vye feeling rather put out by the whole thing.

There was something the two were in on, something that he wasn't only not a part of, but altogether intentionally and purposefully excluded from.

"All in good Time! You'll see!" Lockes had waved him off, with a chuckle, refusing to divulge more before pulling their hood lower and ducking out of the inn room with Zeal close behind. They turned around to encircle Vye in a warm hug, "We'll try not to be long but this might take a bit. Don't wait up, okay?"

Vye had given a nod, reluctant to let Lockes go from their hug. 

"We'll be back soon." they reassured him. Giving the young Coty a last ruffle of his foliage, the Alpione Shol disappeared, leaving Vye craning his neck to see the two of them even as the door fell shut with a sharp click, the bolt slid in place. 

That was 3 nights ago.

Zeal hadn't even spared him a second glance, in far too much of a rush for whatever it was that occupied his two comrades so.

He leapt off the sill, clambering onto the table and coiling up in the center of the nostalgic belongings strewn across its surface.

Insides jokes were fine and all, but it had been nigh constant, yet despite being so blatantly obvious, the two were so hush-hush about the whole ordeal, going mum whenever Vye pointed out their odd behavior. Or in Lockes's case, amused snickering and secretive, knowing, glances.

The Bræmbel Shol stared at a small but hefty pouch containing several precious metal coinage and a handful of metal chips of lower denomination. Zeal had left it there should he need anything from the inn while the two were out.

It was immature, perhaps, and downright petty, but he swiped at the coin purse anyway, knocking the bag to the floor and glaring as it landed with a merry jingle. 

He grumped to himself, hissing and fluffing up, plumes ruffled as he knocked a couple of other knickknacks off the table. A couple of Zeal's freshly folded articles, a water skin, a strange wooden charm Lockes told him to keep close by, a couple of rolls of paper, ribbon, and sticky strips that the Seeker had bought and hauled in the morning of their departure.

Okay, so maybe it was more than just a couple of knickknacks.

Spent, the Bræmbel Shol coiled the sheets and curled in the center of his makeshift nest.

Frankly though, it wasn't altogether unexpected.

Realistically, keeping him alive was of far greater priority. And in their travels, he posed a great liability, one that would be better left behind in safety.

He was just a Coty and likely the sole Shol still fully intact. If anything it was folly for him to travel with them, every moment out there was putting the future of the Verdance on the line. Furthermore, what reason could there be to call for his presence, when Lockes could do so much better, and then some. 

Even severed as they were from the Verdance, the dark Shol and former Pillar of the Alpione Ring was far more capable in their communion. Even fallen, they were able to raise the Prismatic Arc, they had more than earned their place as a child of the Verdance. 

A capable and reliable individual, the extent of whose abilities were never truly realized.

If anyone could reach the Briar Patch, it would be them.

What need did either of them have of some helpless whelp, still quite literally, green around the ears? A Coty who, with the exception of his tentative similarities to that of the Yggdrasill, was without even the most basic of the Verdance's gift, who had to not only receive a graft, but have yet to truly harness the Verdance and grow into his abilities?

And he knew, with Lockes's guidance, it was the wiser, smarter decision for him to remain. To stay behind where he could be kept safe. He was an asset, one that would serve better use and less hindrance away from perils.

But surely--surely they wouldn't play such a cruel joke as to leave him alone, and in the coldest Time of the Orbital cycle no less. 

Vye shook his head. He was being silly.

Outside, the snow kept coming, drifting flakes of snow that blanketed the world in white.

... Were they safe and warm? He hoped so.

Snippets and Stories: (BP) The Elixir of Life

They were passing through a village. One that like many in the quaint countryside had once seen better days.

When the rot was still amongst them, many fled beyond the stone walls of the 16 Sanctums to these quaint towns.

And for some Time it did seem that the wilderness and fresh country air healed.

Until the rot was passed to them as well.

Village populations were decimated, entire towns lost and the once cobbled roads since fallen to ruin.

The dilapidated ruins they had thought abandoned.

Until they chanced upon a scant few left. Scarred by the rot, for it passed through the flesh, and though the few remaining denizens survived, they decayed.

Sour pus oozed from open sores. Some had lost their eyes, and all that remained were festering sockets with their hollowed, empty stare.

They had stopped for a rest. The town wared them at first, but when Zeal dealt with them as they would any other, they welcomed the travelers tentatively.

Merchants were scarce and they were in desperate need of materials.

Materials that they carried.

It was part of their guise, after all. Sometimes they entertained, other Times like now, commerce was their trade. Either way, it was an easier and less suspicious means of blending in with denizens of any kind despite how utterly foreign they were, and a means of paying for expenses. 

Thieves and their ilk were little concern. Zeal dispatched of them easily enough, and the presence of a Seeker and acting mercenary in their midst all the more believable. It played well into both, giving credibility to their front.

Especially for those who have supped deep upon the meager scraps of desperation and drunk deep of the same chalice.

Traveling merchants were scarce in these parts. Oft avoiding places of heavy infestation, and shying away from those who suffered still. Those that did brave such ravaged lands were disdainful, treating the inhabitants as lesser being.

It was scarce. Scarce, but not unheard of.

And for their tiny caravan, they would be the latter.

A clever ploy, and they had the young Bræmbel Shol to thank for it.

"Clever little Coty." Lockes had murmured as Vye explained his plan. Perhaps this was why Furzé chose the young Shol to succeed them.

It was simple and resourceful, an easily sustainable means of keeping their image. Merchants were free to travel without rousing much suspicion. It was, after all, their trade.

And so they traded.

And Zeal, ever the vigilant guard, ensured no goods were passed without the proper coinage or equivalent.

But such dedication needn't be so.

Though the concept of currency seemed foolish and foreign to Vye, he was not a fool himself.

Currency is the lifeblood of the sanctums. Worth in something that in itself is worthless. A notion that oft puzzled Vye.

The moorland Shol was quite shrewd and knew how to drive a bargain. Months of watching Zeal's exchanges and observing the din of marketplace bartering had been enough for him to pick up on it, and what he didn't yet know, he learned.

And he didn't just do it as well as the usual vendors.

He did it better.

Vye drove a hard bargain, easing up when the crowd found him without purchase, and unyielding when hands were played, as any mechant worth half their salt knew to be. But he played like a veteran. His youthful appearance he played to his trade, feigning ignorance.

Many had more to offer, but only fools played their trumps in the first hand.

And so it went on, the back and forth draws as he lured them in and feigned interest back. Just a little, but not too much.

A difficult feat, especially where the claws of sickness gouged deep, leaving gaping wounds that bled still.

But they were merchants. And so Vye wheedled them out of coin like a goldlusting miser or overzealous dragon, then feigned astonishment as some "antique" or useless garbage caught his attention. Thinking they'd found a chink in his armor, a lucky break, they took bit the tossed bait. It was odd then for Vye, having shown interest and feigning a lack of, to subtly offer a pretty penny for the junk item. And the crowd never noticed it was just enough, for them to have made back the excess profit they would have given to the travellers.

When Zeal asked why Vye went through such a hassle for the ruse, the answer was simple.

"It's more believable. And--" Vye peered at the slowly gathering crowd, "--no one wants to be a charity case. Like this they can keep their pride, and feel no remorse in our exchange. To them I'll be the money loving merchant with some eccentric and questionable tastes, and they'll be the poor that I sup upon but whom catch a lucky break to get even. A perfect storytale classic, wouldn't you say?"

And so they bartered, and bartered, and bartered.

Lockes managed inventory as Vye took center stage, with Zeal as his burly guard.

At intervals the Bluepine would slip out for a status report, and information exchange, or to appraise. 

Here, their extensive database proved most beneficial.

All in all, it left everyone content.

Zeal didn't have to interact with anyone, Vye handled sales and got to observe the world, Lockes got to stay far away from the world they had decidedly had their fill of, an aversion neither of the other two would so much as think to fault the Bluepine for it.

Everything was going well, until one denizen came closer to the stall. He had nothing to exchange, but the threads on his back, and being a cold Spring day that it was, he could but stared longingly from a distance at the Apples Vye had grown just a week ago. Fresh, plump, and juicy.

And hard to come by in these parts. The soil was jnsuitabke for their cultivation.

At first Vye ignored him, though both the Shol and his guard had their peripheral alert for any sticky fingers. It wouldn't be the first nor last attempt, and especially being of the Verdance, nothing taken would escape Vye. He could sense the Life in each apple.

So during intermission, the Shol made his way over, and to the man's surprise, took his seat beside him.

"Share with me your story, stranger. I've a penchant for tales."

And so the man talked, and Vye listened.

And at the end of it, offered up cloth bindle for the man to fill with the stock he pleased, so thoroughly had he enjoyed the tale. An exchange both found satisfying.

"You're going to lose us coin." Zeal grimaced.

"On the contrary, I'm making us more." Vye smiled up at him, "This town is very close knit and love one another dearly or so I've gathered. They'll not forego necessities for pride so I'll not likely offend and, I've shown them that I'm not all fire and brimstone with this generosity. See, I'm just doing m' trade."

And here Vye nodded to the town, "I've made myself more loveable. They will welcome me now, I am closer to them and they will more readily trade with me, and offer up more as well."

And they did.

Some did try to exchange a tale as the man before, and the Shol would contemplate then agree though only if the amount was under his discretion. Each story being a different tale after all, and he was picky with his cup of tea, or so he told. Still he appreciated the sincerity and would offer up what he could.

Such traits made him more genuine, and lovable.

And by the end of the night they were offered a seat around the bonfire.

"... T'wont be comfy as a bundle but I warrant it twice 's warm an' no wolves t' deal with." An elderly man smiled down at Vye, and Vye nodded his agreement and happy with such hospitality.

It was with warmth that they met the few remaining survivors of the MireBrook Boughs.

A bandage on the man's arm had come loose, and Vye reached out to fix it.

This the elderly man observed and smiled,"You've a soul born kind. May the North Star ever light your path." He sighed, "Many are repulsed by our rotten flesh, and the Death that clings to us in stench and flesh."

"... Perhaps what you need is Spring."

"Come again, young 'un?"

Not again.

Zeal made to stop him with a hand on his shoulder but Vye slowly reached up and grasped it. Squeezing it once softly, he removed it and smiled up at Zeal.

But his eyes sent a very different message in their glower.

Don't interrupt me.

"Legends speak that water from a well drawn from a pure fount will cleanse the sickness."

"... Is that so? I've ne'er heard such a tale before." the elder spoke with great hesitation. Many a tale they have believed in desperation, only for hope to only ever be a merry chase. He dared not do so again.

"Aye. But it must be drawn from a pure source. Tainted water brings only pestilence. Know you of any?"

There was a break in the conversation. And at length, the old man nodded, "I'll take ya. Ye wont find it on 'ny maps. ...'s what keeps it pure I s'pose."

And so they excused themselves and were led out into the moorland.

"This 's it."

It was a pitiful well. Covered with a splintered wooden round, and obviously fallen into disuse, for the stonework was crumbling and altogether missing at intervals, the rope in tatters and its future potential in splinters. But Zeal pried the cover off as per Vye's silent command, and the Bræmbel Shol bade their guide leave.

The old man was wary, and rightfully so, but did as Vye bade.

Certain their guide had left, Vye removed a sizable vial from the inner pocket of his cloak, the soft brilliance of a scintillating golden light flickered within, emanating a faint warmth. Not that felt in the flesh, but in the Heart.

A soft sweet scent drifted through the clearing as Vye broke the wax seal.

Uncorking this, the scent grew stronger. Vye held it close--and then unceremoniously upturned the contents, the glittering drops of sunbeam pouring into the well. Such pretty flecks, twinkling softly like stardust in their descent, their glow lighting down the depths of the well.

They had not too far to fall, and plopped into the water below.

"That should do it."

Zeal scowled, "You can't keep doing this."

"... They shouldn't have to suffer."

This was going too far, "And neither should it be at your expense. These are the same people who would kill you, need I remind you?"

A touch on his wrist, on the bone circlets, was enough to hush him. Enough to remind him that he was once no different. 

...And no less worthy of scorn.

"Do you know why humor is hard to understand, but tragedy universal?" Vye didn't wait for a response, nor did he want one. It had been rhetorical. "Because suffering is the same, no matter who or what you are. We all know what it's like to hurt. To be hurt. And... No one deserves to suffer. Even if it's arguably karmic retribution."

Zeal grimaced, so blatantly plain was the indignant fury that brimmed, just beneath that steady calm voice. And yet here they were.

Noticing this, the Bræmbel Shol heaved a sigh, "I'm not indifferent, and I'm not pretending to be." He looked up at Zeal, "I'm angry. And this anger I acknowledge, but it's not just about what we think or feel, it's what we do. I wont act upon. Vengeance wont accomplish anything." 

Suffering, there is plenty of. Vye bit back another sigh, "Let's go, it's getting cold and I didn't get to finish the porridge they gave me."

And so they passed the night in relative comfort, and bid farewell a couple days later.

In that Time the village, as per Vye's instruction, drew the pure water from the well. Drank it, bathed in it, and already their open sores had started mending, their skin pink and raw, but unbroken. No longer did they hurt, or their rotting flesh spread. Their bodies healed quickly, with the vigor of youth. A miracle, the denizens cried, an elixir of Life itself!

And thus did the legend of the fountain of youth slowly spread.

Whispers that would eventually lead to more foot traffic to frequent this part, as it had and would for many others.

The lowland Shol smiled. Slowly but surely, they were healing. With Time, the land and Life would thrive again, and Prismatic Arc raised once more. Vye would ensure it.

North Star: Prologue - Bad Start

Prologue: Bad Start

Truth be told, Rain wasn't fond of winter. The breezy weather was pleasant, certainly, but she always had to bundle up. Moreover, it was wet and damp everywhere, they couldn't sit on the grass or play games on the field during the cooler seasons with all the water and mud. Not that she minded the dirt, it was the cleaning up part that bothered her.

She hugged herself, leaning into and bracing against the strong winds that shrieked around her. By and by the school disappeared behind her and the roads gradually grew wider.

 The skies were already darkening by the time she had reached home, and the beginning of stars twinkling in the sky. They winked at her and she giggled, waving back. It was around then that she noticed a single light growing larger.

It was a falling star.

How odd. There were no recent forecasts of Starfell, and for a single star alone to fall.

She chased after the falling star into the woods. The encroaching darkness of dusk bothered her little, for she knew the woods well, following the paths she knew by Heart.

She ran until reaching a clearing, set aglow with a brilliant light as the star descended. Its sheer radiance blinded her before she sought shelter behind a tree, covering her eyes with a sleeve. Despite seeing stars mere moments before, the light didn't feel harsh, and soon enough she peeked out from behind the trunk.

There stood the Northstar, though she was too young to recognized the constellation that surrounded him. His body emitted a gentle light, a radiance that was somehow frosty and somber in its pallor. Bathed in its glow, she stepped closer, mesmerized.

The Northstar turned to her, and his eyes were as cold as the light emanating from him. As she padded over, he straightened up, shoulders back and head held high with the dignity that was entailed of his ancient kind, witnesses to the dawn of Time.

 The child smiled up at him, "Are you a star?"

"Do you not know who I am?" his brow furrowed, and he felt a small tickle of irritation as the child shook her head, eyes large and peering up at him in wonder.

Ignorant little thing, to understand so little of the gravity and immensity that his presence meant.

He withheld a sigh. Impatience was unbecoming.

A tug at his robe and the urge to leave was quick becoming stronger, he peered down at the girl and she smiled up at him again, "Mister, what's your name?"

"I am Northstar, Polaris A. who presides over the righteous path, and guide to those who have lost sight of it." as he spoke the all too familiar words, his voice carried with it an odd mix of apathy and pride.

By the child's lost look he felt himself deflate a little. The girl was clearly too young to understand his presiding prerogative nor his jurisdiction over the Heavens. Oh well, all with due time he supposed.

To his surprise, the child giggled, "I'm Rain, what are you doing here Mr. Northstar?"

Choosing to ignore the prefix, he instead thought of her question. The smile that crossed his face was closer to a grimace, but any ill will seemed to have escaped the child's notice, "My reasons for descending are beyond your comprehension, child. You need not concern yourself with them."

Rain just stared up at him, confusion clear on her visage, "Will you be here for long?"

"No, child."

"Rain."

"Pardon?" the stellar being raised a brow.

"I'm called Rain." she supplied.

At first he thought her quip bold, impertinent even. Demanding that a constellation such as himself address her by name, but staring down at the child, could see no conceit. It seemed doubtful that she even understood the implications of respect in her request for him to call her by name.

Sure enough, he gleamed her thoughts, revealing nothing but the childish understanding of the world, that just as the white wisps of moisture in the sky were clouds, she was Rain and he was Northstar.

"Are you now?"

A nod.

Northstar glanced around. The Earth of now, held little resemblance to the one of memories, whence he'd last seen it. It wasn't a pleasure trip that had taken him to this quaint speck of inert celestial dust, yet he was in no rush. It had been eons after all, and Time held a very different significance for the celestial lord. Besides, such was but a speck in eternity. Perhaps there was something to be gleamed from--he glanced down at the child staring at him--a different perspective, and entertaining a child was a small price to pay for it.

Settling himself down on a fallen tree, he beckoned to her, "And what of yourself? Twilight is upon us and you've yet to cross the threshold of home."

"I was with some friends, we were playing!" Rain grinned at the memory.

She sat there with the odd stranger, blathering on about her friends, school, the friendly old ratty tabby on her street, and so on.

Northstar was nice, weird, but nice. And his vernacular was strange to her, but she understood the geist of what he was saying, even if he used some pretty big and funny sounding words. That he listened so attentively was a huge plus in her book! He asked her about the town, what she did, and so on. His questions were as strange as he was. Northstar wanted to know the most mundane things.

The star chuckled as the conversation again went back to this odd game that the child seemed so fond of. Hide and seek? Tag?

"Mhmm! Do you wanna try? I'm really good at it!"

And as amusing as it all was, the darkness was soon encroaching. It would soon be Time for his departure.

It was then that a thought came to North, and he made a show of consideration, peeking down at the child from the corner of his eyes in amusement as she watched him with bated breath, at last answering, "Alright, but only one game, for the hour grows late. Pray explain to me once more how it is played."

Rain let out a happy cry and nodded enthusiastically, clamoring that North would count to 10 while she hid, once he found her and tagged her, she would be "it", and it would be the star's turn to hide.

North nodded and closed his eyes, counting down. It was all for show really, he needn't eyes to see the child as she squealed, unprepared, and darted off.

Upon reaching one, he stood, and stepped lightly over the litterfall. Had he been a mere mortal, her hiding spot would have been a good one indeed. But he was a celestial body and as it was, brushed aside the thicket to reveal the small white haired child hiding in the hollow of an old stump.

There was a frantic cry as she scrambled to run, but he was a step ahead, and tapped her on the head.

Rain crossed her arms, sulking up at him and he tutted at her lightly, twirling his finger in a motion that she took to mean it was her turn to turn around and play seeker.

She did so, pouting still, and closed her eyes. But even as she counted, behind her lids she saw a brightening light. Hurriedly, she counted to one and swiveled around, a small anxious pang rushing through her.

But the clearing was oddly dark, void of the cool blue light of the Northstar.

She searched high and low, and confused, looked up to search the sky for the star that had descended.

As she did, she saw a prominent glow fading into the sky. With a cry she called after him, but there was no reciprocating voice, and Rain could only watch as the glow grew weaker still, light diminishing as the distance grew.

Just before it faded back into the nightscape, she heard his voice chuckle, "Catch me if you can, seeker."

With a grin, she hollered back, "I will, I'll find you North!"

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."