[Mature] Particles//Waves

[Nauleth Siordanti]

some day early-Roalis, 2719
SIORDANTI ESTATE, VIENDA | DAYTIME MAYBE?

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Escape and travel had blurred into days Nauleth's mind had not entirely felt like putting the effort into committing to proper memory. They'd dulled to keep from cutting him deeper with their sharpness, and once the four weary fugitives found their way into the relative safety of Anaxi soil, into the familiar shining airship terminus of the bustling, shining capitol of Vienda, the eldest Siordanti all but fell on his knees and kissed the cobblestones, haggard and exhausted, sore and terrified. He hadn't, of course, not literally, aware that their journey wasn't quite over and their safety not entirely assured as well as aware he'd have to suck up any lingering pride he surely didn't have and bring his Gioran companions to the only place he knew to hide—

Home.

Sunshine was blinding. Arova-level air was suffocating when laced with the scents of progress and industry the Anaxi capitol was known for. Heat was oppressive compared to where they'd all just escaped from deep in the mountains of frigid Gior. Hailing a taxi felt empowering, however, despite the fact that Naul was so frayed at the edges he was merely pretending to have his shit together by the time they arrived outside of Vienda's walls at the sprawling, quaintly picturesque Siordanti estate.

There was so much confusion upon their arrival—familiar staff surprised to see the prodigal failure return because they'd certainly heard rumors of his disappearance in Gior from Hadrian and Iralia once they'd been told by the Headmistress herself. Despite years of estrangement, Incumbent Siordanti did not take the news well at all and had run himself ragged in negotiations that had ultimately failed to turn into anything close to a rescue.

To say that his parents were shocked to find their eldest on their doorstep along with his blonde fiancé and a pair of disgraced Huanes would have, of course, been the understatement of the moment, but no one was turned away. Baths were run. Food was made. Beds were given. Clothes were provided. Important things were hidden. Being the well-practiced politician that he was, Hadrian asked no questions at first, not of Naul nor of Athrym nor even of Kaelum, and while he was wary the company of a very passive albino child with them, he also wasn't stupid. Leyenak had been a priestess of Imaan and she was still a Huane, that much the Incumbent knew not to mess with.

As far as the redhead professor knew, his father didn't even reach out to the Bruthgraves. Whether it was out of respect or fear for their safety, he didn't know and truth be told, when they'd first arrived, he didn't even clocking care—

Naul crawled his way into a bed and disappeared in it.

A day of hiding.

And then another.

And another.

Some of it was real exhaustion: he slept for long stretches, ate and made some modicum of conversation. Some of it was feigned for his own sanity: the Physical sorcerer withdrew from everything he possibly could for as long as possible—and nearly everyone save Athrym who he certainly didn't deny his company, regardless of his family's Anaxi perceptions of what a proper relationship should look like before a betrothed couple were wed—longing to finally weep over and process through months of fear and confusion, anger and distress, pain and frustration.

Eventually, he knew, he'd have to sort through everything—legally, intellectually, scientifically. Eventually, he knew, he'd have to sit down and sift through the ashes of his relationship with his father in the desperate hope for some kind of assistance in assuring everyone's safety. Eventually, he knew, he'd have to go through all of their stolen notes and dig deep into their shared experiences in an attempt to make sense of it all.

He just didn't want to.

The Roalis heat had seeped slowly through the thick glass windows of his old bedroom, sunlight dancing over the back of his eyelids though he'd been awake since before dawn when he'd snuck to the windows to purposefully open the curtains so that he could watch the day begin. He'd drifted in the waiting, disappearing into his thoughts, curled beneath sheets, but when the sun sparkled, he couldn't help but stir again.

Nauleth stared at his desk, piled with all of his notes, piled with legal documents, piled with paperwork he'd avoided. He felt the weight of his own field like some second atmosphere, heavy with all of his worries and doubts, and he felt the rumbling of his stomach reminding him he was hungry.

He'd probably wasted enough time, but Gods! how everything seemed like too much to deal with—it was a selfish fear, that. So clocking selfish to shy away now. Now! After all he'd already faced! After all he'd survived to get here, and yet he was still hiding in bed!

With a groan, he rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling, watching the scattering of particles of light not through the glass windows but off the dust motes that drifted in the air of this room he'd grown up in, the room his parents had quickly turned into a guest room for dignitaries and foreign important people whose names he had no interest in ever knowing once their eldest passed his examination and was shipped off to Brunnhold. His mind immediately ran through all of the various theories for the way light reflected off small molecules and large molecules differently while fingers traced idly over the freckled skin of his chest and lingered over the now-familiar scars that outlined the vicious shape of a mythical beast's maw permanently etched into his flesh.

Finally, with a quieter sigh, he rolled to his other side, feeling the tingle of nerves all the way down to the tips of his fingers as he put weight on his left shoulder, and let his gold-rimmed gaze wander over the face of the young woman curled with such aching necessity in the bed next to him, mingling his field with hers without subtlety and reaching up to brush platinum locks from her face.

They'd both made conscious choices to hide, crashing and burning like airships in the night since their arrival in Vienda, both keeping their separate realities, their deeper hurts, from each other even in the same room and as well as avoiding shedding light onto everything that had sought to destroy them in Gior. It wasn't sustainable. It wasn't pleasant. It wasn't progress. It wasn't healthy. He'd been bent by the mass of it all, gravity of the dark dragging all the light away, but they'd been through too much to let it win. Something had to be done—something was wrong in Vita—but something had to be made right in himself, in Athrym, too, given how their lives had changed together, before he could take on such a daunting task,

"Are you awake?" Naul knew the answer to his question asked not in now-familiar Gioran but in Estuan, waiting to meet her verdant gaze. He didn't hover too close, unkempt and unshaven, wild but less haggard than when he'd arrived, choosing perhaps to stay more hidden under bed linens lest the petite blonde be displeased by his forwardness, "Before anyone attempts to ply us with breakfast, maybe—we should, you know—" The redheaded professor paused, not wanting his words to sound like an innuendo so much as a serious sort of invitation,

"—talk through some things we've been avoiding."

Welcome to Brunnhold—now go home.

[Athrym Bruthgrave]

Early-Roalis, Perhaps? 2719
SIORDANTI RESIDENCE| THE SECOND HAND UNWINDS

Vienda was just as bright, and just as noisy as Athrym had remembered, though this time when they entered the city she hadn’t felt distaste. Or annoyance. Or a sense of superiority. Her summer gaze had swept over the cityscape as they had come down for a landing, wondering almost idly if the view would be as impactful from the back of an ayeoph, glancing at the Da Huane’s as they exited the vessel.

No, not Da anymore. Just Huane.

Kaelum had his arm around his sister, almost constantly, Leyenak wearing her weariness on her child's face. Her skin still glistened with powdered quartz faintly, and her pink eyes were hidden by the same cloth they had pulled from their satchels before they’d reached Verit-Lie. Conversation between the four of them had been scant, non-existent unless necessary. The blonde glanced away, her face void of any sort of emotion. She didn’t feel anything during the flight. Anger, hurt, fear….it had all muted under the shock and exhaustion. For once, she was the perfect Gioran. Expect, that she wasn't. She would never be. As they followed Nauleth, Athrym knew they were hiding from the one place that she could never go back to—

Home.

The travel by taxi was a mild distraction for the youngest of their group, her fingers creeping to the cloth so she could squint at the curiosities outside. So many buildings and so so much open sky. Of them all, Leyenak was the most sheltered. She’d only been to the summit a handful of times, and now she was on the ground, in the wide and wild world. It was huge, vast even, and so open! Eventually however, her enthusiasm waned, and by the time they’d reached the Siordanti residence the passive had fallen asleep tucked under her brothers arm.

Their arrival had been greeted with a flurry of activity and surprise, though Athrym felt like she was moving through a dream. She changed and bathed and ate and slept. Hadrian and Iralia didn’t ask questions, and the blonde didn't offer answers. She couldn't bring herself to hide inside under the sheets, too long had they been trapped inside. Instead, the petite Gioran found her way outside, sitting in the garden for hours at a time, staring at the lush greens and oranges of the fauna but not seeing them. Her mind replayed it all, over and over again, like one of those fancy new moving pictures. From their first visit to the Deep, to their dramatic airborn escape. Each time it replayed, the young woman imagined how to do things differently. Imagined herself stronger, or her mother more supportive, or her father more proactive. She imagined so many different ways things could have gone better, but in the end they hadn't.

They couldn't. Not with Lomenak Da Huane.

Through the shock, and the numbness, her temper flared without restraint at the thought of her Matriarch, every illusion of grandeur and honor she had dashed against the sharp rocks of the truths that had been revealed. In the face of such terrifying and world changing discoveries, Lomenak had fought to hide them. Fought so hard that she was willing to imprison them, to murder her own people, to murder her own children. How had Athrym been so brainwashed, so blind to what her people truly were? It was there, in the histories of Aminark Giore, sending innocent children to their deaths by the hundreds. In the laws of their people, the traditions of their country, and she had been blind to it. Justifying it with myths and legends and cultural acceptance. They accepted passives, put them into work and the revered positions of priesthood, so surely that made them better than the savages in Anaxas and Bastia and the like.

Truthfully, they were the savages.

The three Gioran refugees lived within the Siordanti home, Leyenak out of place more so than any of them, her magicless presence and dedication to Imaan an awkward and unsure cat among the pigeons. Even now, after everything that had happened, the tall child kept her routine. Her prayers were now held in the light of the day, oversized sunhat shielding her albino skin from burning whilst she knelt and murmured her thanks and her pleas. As the blonde watched her from the garden seat, she swallowed the bile that caught in her throat as she listened to the quiet words.

Leyenak still asked Imaan to look over her mother.

Curled in the sheets of the Anaxi’s childhood bed, the petite blonde wore little more than a soft cotton shift borrowed from the Siordanti’s, caught somewhere between dozing and wakefulness. She had been awake when Nauleth snuck from the linens to open the curtain, finding deep sleep to be unwelcome no matter how much it was needed. The heat of Roalis was uncomfortable to her, especially after so long away, and she couldn’t help but only half wrap the silken material around one leg to leave the rest of her exposed. Her long platinum locks were loose across the bedding, curled fingers tucked close to her face as she breathed softly. She felt Naul move, not opening her eyes as he stared at the ceiling. She didn’t shy away from the weaving of his field through hers, nor the gentle movement of fingers to shift white-blond strands from her cheek.

Are you awake?

Her green eyes opened gently, watching as his gold rim ones looked her over, lost in the unkempt features of his face. The Gioran didn’t speak, aware that he’d already guessed she wasn’t asleep when he’d asked, instead listening as he raised the topic they had both been carefully avoiding without even really saying it.

Gior.

Letting her gaze drift from his face, Athrym followed the puckered pink scarring that crept over his shoulder and disappeared under his body where he lay against the sheets. Her field tensed, crystallizing with an icy frost, and her brow drew together as the anger that simmered there swelled like a winter gale. It held for a moment, as images and memories raced through her mind, before fading again. An edge of anxiousness clung to her as the blonde found her voice.

“I don’t know what I want to say.” The pale creature said softly, staring at his scars and raising her brows slightly.

“I don’t even know where to start.” Looking up to meet the crisp blue of his iris’, the Gioran blinked, her aura void of color.

“You should have never come to Gior. If you’d stayed in Anaxas none of this would have happened. You could have just gone about your business and forgotten all about Gior and me and the clocking Deep.” The name of her home was like the cracking of a seal on some long-waxed bottle, letting a mote of something creep into her voice, wavering slightly on the word. The anxiousness clawed at her, and Athrym fought to regain her control, suddenly realizing why she’d not allowed the fear and the grief to sweep in and take her away.

The last time she’d been afraid, the whole world had shattered. People had died. She had been disgraced and painted a traitor.

She’d lost her entire life. She was no-one. Nothing.

Athrym, the Nobody.

[Nauleth Siordanti]

some day early-Roalis, 2719
SIORDANTI ESTATE, VIENDA | DAYTIME MAYBE?

Naul frowned lightly at Athrym's wandering gaze, not because he was self-conscious of scars he could have requested faded further from the freckled tapestry of his skin (though truthfully he kept them for himself as undeniable physical proof of his so-called spiritual encounter ... and well, also because they proved themselves far more stubborn to erase from his flesh than a normal injury due to their mystical nature); he was aware of all the emotions of helplessness and frustration the sight of them most likely dredged within her.

His frown only deepened when she found her voice, sighing through his nose while his lips remained a thin, taut line. Her words were meant to be self-deprecating, were meant to make her become insignificant, but they also crushed bones and cut deeply. They hurt him.

He hadn't stayed behind in Anaxas because he knew he'd never have been satisfied had he not pursued the young woman in his bed all the way to her homeland whether she wanted him to at the time or not, no matter how tempting the intellectual promises of Gior had once been before he arrived there—yes, he'd wanted to explore their Physical conversation specialties; yes, he'd wanted to learn more about Echo Casting; and yes, he'd wanted to peer into that damned mysterious Deep. He'd wanted to bring industry and electricity. He'd wanted to do many things, but most of all, he'd forced his visa through the slow, difficult Gioran process with Headmistress Servalis' blessing and political weight behind it all because he'd wanted to see Athrym again—even if it had been merely to apologize.

It had not.

If Nauleth understood the emotions that bled into the petite blonde's field, merged and entwined like green growing things warmed by the sun with the centrifugal force of his own, it was because he'd certainly lost himself before.

"I wouldn't have forgotten anything—not one thing. Not ever. And especially not you. We risked our lives. Wasn't it for each other?" The redheaded physicist declared in his deep, gravelly morning tone of voice, expression one of concern even if the left side of his well-carved features lagged behind the right, "We made it out. We know the truth. We can do something about it—"

His volume rose with the hot passion of discovery and the sheer terror of what it all meant and Naul cut his own words short, glancing over one of Athrym's lovely pale shoulders toward the door, blue-green eyes coming into focus on the handle for a moment as if totally paranoid they were being listened to. Even if they weren't? Kaelum and Leyenak were just across the hall. Servants wandered the voluminous home he'd been born in. His parents were around, waiting for explanation. This was not a conversation any of them clocking needed to hear.

The eldest Siordanti stretched, shaking his head with a groan at the ache that seemed to permanently linger in the tendons of his scarred shoulder. He reached to trail fingers gently across his lovely fiancé's face, tracing lightly over her lips, and then he slid away, slowly crawling out of bed with all the reluctance of some lazy animal,

"—get dressed. Come outside with me. Let me show you the woods where Norwynn and I battled drakes and hatchers with sticks and rocks. Let's talk away from everyone else, Athrym." He hid the edge of fear in his tone well even if it fluttered through his field like wind over the surface of a pond. It was as if he wasn't sure they were even safe this far from Gior, hiding in his childhood home just a fistful of miles outside the sprawling landscape of Vienda, so scarring had his experiences been in Qrieth that he wasn't sure he'd ever stop being wary.

"I needed you. I followed. I went into the Deep willingly—and I'd still go back down there again if I could." Naul whispered before turning away, purposefully choosing his path toward the armoire in his room to pass through the bright rays of light that filtered through all of the open windows, letting the golden glow wash over his shirtless self. The Roalis sun danced over freckles and pale skin, tracing over sinew and muscle, scars and bone, but it felt so good. He stared at what meager clothing he had, not wanting to overdress.

A light cotton shirt, a waistcoat but no cravat or tie, and the tall Anaxi set about doing up buttons. It wasn't until the last few, those final buttons nearest his collar, that the young Siordanti winced, the angle of raising his hand and turning his wrist grinding tendons against permanently damaged nerves.

He paused, ginger eyelashes fluttering and jaw clenching in obvious frustration, and then attempted to continue the task, slower. If the petite blonde did gracefully get out of bed and acquiesce to being taken outside (because it was clear that out of all the fugitives, Naul had clearly missed the sunshine), he wasn't about to hesitate in assisting her with clothing, desiring the excuse to not worry about fussing with finishing getting dressed himself,

"And if I hadn't been there? Well, godsdamnit, someone else would have stumbled into that same hole eventually and worse could have happened. That was meant to be my business—our business. It seems as though the Circle decreed it so, and, for once, I'm not going to argue about it, Athrym." He left the last button because he just didn't want to bend his wrist the same way again, exhaling an annoyed sound through grit teeth, "But I still need you. All of you. The passionate, focused you, though."

Not this lost sad you, however— he stopped himself from saying out loud because he empathized, he did. Patience was just not actually one of Naul's strong suits, but being a professor had forced him to learn how to fake such an attribute. He wasn't very good at it.

Welcome to Brunnhold—now go home.

[Athrym Bruthgrave]

Early-Roalis, Perhaps? 2719
SIORDANTI RESIDENCE| THE SECOND HAND UNWINDS

Athrym frowned at his words, sighing and turning slightly to lift her hand from her hip and run it through her pale loose tresses.

“Yes, of course, but we didn’t have to. You didn’t have to. That truth has ruined—” She began to say in return, her own voice lifting with frustration. As he looked at the door, the blonde let her arm relax against the bed, knowing that look. They’d spent too long glancing over their shoulders, it was a hard habit to break. Everyone was watching, everyone was listening. Even here, people were listening, waiting to hear something exciting or revealing or….just something about what they’d experienced. Her gaze watched him, until he seemed to relax and stretch, exhaling the breath she hadn’t realised she was holding.

It was such a mess.

Tilting her head slightly towards trailing fingers across her lips, the pale Gioran watched from the bed as her fiance moved to get up, examining the fear that lingered in his features. They had a connection that no one could possibly understand. Something that would bind them till the end of days, impossible to forget.

Let me show you the woods where Norwynn and I battled drakes and hatchers with sticks and rocks.

Athrym’s heart fluttered, and her chest felt tight, field reeling back protectively at the mention of those mythical creatures that had always just been childhood tales. Always, until they weren’t. Visions of the darkness, memories of the hissing and the growling, she could still smell the copper of blood in the air. As though to shake them off, the petite woman turned to sit on the edge of the bed, leaning her hands on the mattress either side of her hips for a moment, collecting herself carefully before standing up.

“Gods no. Not again, never again. The Deep is an abyss of death and horror. You can’t still possibly want to return to it? After everything we saw.” Her voice was quiet, though the genuine incredulous tone was unmistakable, tinged with a wave of anger at the idea of going back into the catacombs. Turning to look at him with a frown, she followed his shirtless form across the room. The morning sun kissed his skin, glowing ruddy and warm with Anaxas palor, filtering vibrant orange from behind his bed mussed red hair. He was attractive, even with the scarring and the nerve damage, Athrym found him captivating. An ache burned behind her sternum and her stomach churned, recalling the blood and the glint of bone through torn flesh, never wanting to ever see the man like that again. She shuddered, turning away to find her own clothing, looking over Iralia’s selection for her. The woman had tried to make her feel at home, providing Gioran wrap dresses and corsets in whites and pale colors, but the blonde wanted nothing to do with her country. She fought the urge to rip every silken fabric from its hanger and tear them to shreds, digging through the clothing till she found something as far from Gioran as she could. It was a deep burgundy corseted gown, with full skirts and a long-sleeved overlay that tied delicately at the throat, leaving a diamond of exposed pale skin across her chest.

Reaching behind her to fasten the small pearl like clasps that ran up the back of the corset, the Gioran fumbled, unable to get the last few eyelets over the ball. She felt her temper flaring, cursing under her breath and getting more flustered with each attempt. The gentle touch of warm hands were a welcome distraction, and she lowered her hands, staring at them whilst Naul spoke quietly.

“If we hadn’t have been there, then so what? So what if it was someone else Nauleth? So what! You nearly died—” Sweeping to face the man, Athrym pressed her hands against his chest, looking up into his face with deep creases between her brows and fear etched in the summer of her gaze.

“Naul, you nearly died. In my arms. I felt your blood on my hands, I heard your heart beating slower and slower.” Glancing down at his shirt, the young woman moved to fix his button, old habits too ingrained to forget. She hadn’t seen him wince, but she knew that the injuries had left their mark. The venom, or whatever it was the hatchers had left in his veins, it had tainted him maybe forever. Her anger simmered, and as the Anaxi scholar spoke his last words, her frown deepened, eyes on the button as her hands stopped moving.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She said shortly, the anger in her voice hanging in the air. Drawing back from the taller man, the Gioran reached for an ivory brush, smoothing the tangles in her pale hair before deftly braiding it away from her face and twisting it into a tight bun. Stabbing a couple of silver pins into the twist, Athrym crossed her arms, not meeting his eyes as she stood waiting for him to lead them outside.

“You have all of me. All there is left at least.” The petite galdor uttered as they walked, though it was marred by the lack of conviction. Her field shivered, cold with her anger and her fear, colors still void from its shift though feeling as though they were hidden just beyond view. Her lower lip drew down a little, pouting even if she didn't mean to.

"I'm homeless. I'm country-less. Clocks, I'm disowned and dishonored. A traitor to my people and a poor, poor choice of suitor. I can't give you anything Naul. I have nothing. I am nothing." She said firmly, feeling the weight of her failure across her shoulders.

[Nauleth Siordanti]

early Roalis, 2719
SIORDANTI ESTATE, VIENDA | MORNING

One ginger eyebrow raised in expectation when Athrym spoke of ruining—ruined what? He didn't ask out loud, but the physical conversationalist clearly thought it, and perhaps that sour taste in his mouth was just enough of a trigger to motivate him to get out of bed.

Nauleth couldn't entirely disagree—the Deep had been full of horrors—but he couldn't entirely agree, either—the Deep had been full of magical secrets he desperately needed to understand. He watched her for a moment as she stared at the clothes his mother had done her best to gather, aware that Iralia had meant well when selecting culturally appropriate choices but had perhaps missed the entire point of their dangerous escape from Gior by finding all the fabric reminders. He watched her frustration build, the distinct sensation of it tightening in her field like overgrown roots choking a well-laid cobblestone path.

The redhead, tall again here in Anaxas, took in her decision: the deep burgundy fabric against the familiar landscape of her pale skin was complimentary in a way that would have distracted Naul had he been in any mindset to derail their much-needed moment of working through things.

Of working through everything.

He sighed, reaching where her trembling fingers failed again and again at getting tiny pearl clasps to meet, chewing the inside of his cheek at her words. He inhaled sharply as if about to speak, fingers lingering near her neck, only for her to turn to face him and place her hands on his chest, emphasizing just how close to death he'd been with the press of her palms. Finally, when he did riposte her honest point of just how dangerous things had been, of just how close they'd all been to losing their lives for the sake of so-called truth, his tone of voice fell flat, suddenly deflated by the sadness in her pale, lovely features,

"If it was someone else, no one would ever know. They'd just be buried down there with the truth. We all could have died down there, but we didn't. We could have died escaping, but we didn't. Now, we can't just pretend it didn't clocking matter."

She fixed the button he could not, and he stood awash in the anger that seethed in her field when he stopped himself from saying too much. He glanced away from her face, toward her hand, shoulders sagging. Naul shook his head as if to dismiss the question, as if to make it visually obvious he didn't want to finish the empty accusation.

Athrym drew away and he turned to finish dressing before making his way to the door, actually pausing to listen as if it even mattered. Gods, it was hard to shake that fear, that paranoia. Hissing at his own foolishness, he held the door open into the hall of his once-family home. It wasn't a strange place—he'd spent his first decade of life here, visited for years here, and missed it all terribly with its creek and copses of trees, with its dark wood and wallpaper and constant hint of pipe smoke in nearly every corner from his father.

He almost stopped in the hall at the petite blonde's angry retort to his half-ersed accusation, however, the weight of his field pulsing tangibly, "Athrym, no—that's not what I—"

The young Siordanti looked over, catching a long glimpse of her pout, and some disapproving, injured sort of noise rumbled deeply in his chest. Just as quickly, he looked away and didn't reply, but the hurt that etched its way into his well-bred features, one side at a time, made it clear that he took all she said very personally.

He hadn't been in this house in almost nine years.

There in the foyer, uncaring of anyone who might hear (or, perhaps, somewhat hoping his own parents heard him in some twisted, wounded sense of justification), Naul turned and stared, actually pausing to compose himself, though his field may as well have been some exploding star—expanding rapidly, tangibly hot, and gravitationally out of control,

"You're here—"

A single finger pointed to the carefully laid tile at their feet,

"—talking to me—" that same finger dug into his tight, fiery chest,

"—about being disowned and dishonored as if I have no clocking idea? Miss Bruthgrave—Athrym—lover—betrothed, are you sure it was your hands that kept me from bleeding to death down there in the Deep with the glow of Daegerote below us? Don't forget where I've been, especially because I know my family certainly hasn't."

His palm raised, waved purposefully near the left side of his face, and then the redheaded physicist laughed away the offense and hurt that sharpened the edge of his voice: too loud, too coarse, too obvious on the Siordanti estate where he'd not been welcome in so very long. He'd only brought everyone to his family home because he had nowhere else he could think of going. Even if his parents hated him, even if they wanted nothing to do with him, Hadrian was an Incumbent and he could assure their safety. Curling fingers back inward, he pointed toward that diamond-shaped tease of skin, aimed for her heart, meeting her verdant summer gaze with the now-cold wash of sea-glass blue,

"I don't have all of you because you're holding yourself back with that kind of shame. Either that or you left some part of yourself in that godsbedamned dark."

Naul was not at all gentle in his delivery, for her words dug under scar tissue that was far older than what the hatcher had left behind. He knew what it felt like to be nothing, to have nothing, but he'd been his own ruination—as a mere child, no less!

Jaw stubbled with ginger clenched and his eyelids fluttered, the physical sorcerer choosing to stop saying anything here in the foyer, aware of movement from another room. Was it a servant? Was it family? Was it one of the Huanes? Taking a deep breath, the glance he cast toward the lovely young creature who was now quite tangibly angry with him was baleful but also seething,

"I don't want things. What you have left is everyone I want, Athrym. I've never—you're not—godsdamnit, really?—I don't care about homes or Kingdoms. I don't care what kind of choice you are according to clocking ridiculous standards. I care about passion and theory. I care about talent and intention." He added so very quietly (though not with any thought of an apology) before turning to open the fancy filigreed front doors and step out into the flood of sunlight that was the Roalis morning. He'd hold them open should the petite Gioran not strike him down with her emerald glare then and there, letting her slip outside with him without adding any more to his very incendiary words to the fire he was quite sure he'd just set.

Shoving his hands into his trouser pockets, squinting in the sun, he still didn't say anything else—regardless of how he was spoken to—as he made his way through the front garden, lips a thin line, field a simmering mess shifted with dark, muddled together colors. The Siordanti house wasn't nestled within the comfortable walls of Vienda and it wasn't even really situated close to much of anything—what had once been sprawling pasture was largely left to go feral, though Ilaria kept a few horses and parts of the large property had been crafted into more civilized spaces for parties and social events (all the stuck-up toffin shit Naul had never paid attention to as the son of a politician before his backlash).

His favorite places before being sent off to Brunnhold had been the creek and the woods: places of discovery and mystery.

Not entirely waiting for Athrym to catch up or perhaps challenging her to keep up, ruffled and now much more upset than he'd planned to be for a conversation he'd seen differently in his mind, Naul made purposeful strides to get away from manicured front gardens and toward the more wild places of his family's property, out of earshot, preparing himself only with the haphazardness of someone who already had a tenuous grip on his own feelings enough as it was.

Home is not always where the heart is.

[Athrym Bruthgrave]

Early-Roalis, Perhaps? 2719
SIORDANTI RESIDENCE| THE SECOND HAND UNWINDS

The short blonde stopped short of running into Nauleth as he spun around to stop and face her, leaning back slightly from the finger that pointed at the ground and the venom in his voice. She blinked, looking up at his face as her ire radiated in her icy gaze, jaw clenching tightly at the way the Anaxi spoke to her. Her fists clenched, and her field clashed with his—bitter cold against the swathe of heat that spewed forth in volatile anger.

“You stand there and claim to understand. Call judgement upon me? You are still Anaxi, no matter what happened here.” Her own hand jerked to point at the ground, the other fisted tightly by her side, head tilted as she glared up at him.

“Don’t presume you are deserving of offence Siordanti, beca—” Her voice stopped short as Naul stabbed a finger at her chest, and her brow creased further. For one moment, one sharp moment there in the hallway, Athrym nearly raised her hand to slap him. She ground her teeth together, temple throbbing and anger thick in the surge of red-shift in her field, distracted suddenly by a sound. A movement just beyond them. Her head snapped around, and her furious aura drew close, prepared to cast in her fury and fear. Exhaling, the pale woman let her gaze drop to the floor, before glaring up at the red head from under her lashes.

Seething, but biting her tongue, Athrym poured herself into the sunshine behind the man, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply. It was still so bright, so warm, especially after their imprisonment. The young woman had spent years under the mountain, without want for the outside world. She’d thrived in the cold and the dark, and never wished for the touch of the sun or the vastness of the sky. Everything was so much different when it was denied from her. How she’d missed colors, and warmth and changing skies.

Anger pulsed through her field, but as she struggled to keep up the Anaxi through his garden, the ex-Ambassador felt it twisting and freezing in her chest. She was angry, right now she was furious with him, but part of her knew it wasn’t really with Nauleth. It was easier to be angry at something tangible, something she could yell at. Anger was at least, easier to deal with than what sat just past the barrier of shock she’d been hiding behind since their escape.

Almost jogging to catch up to the man, surrounded by the wild unkempt growth of the Siordanti estate, Athrym tugged at her skirts where they caught against gnarled twigs and tangled undergrowth.

“You don’t get it, do you? I have been cast out of my country, and robbed of my name. Of my culture and my heritage. I am!” She gathered her field, feeling a surge of something within her chest, powerful and uncontrolled.

“No longer!” Her breathing was harsh, throat tight and chest aching.

“Gioran!” She shouted, collapsing to her knees and banging her fists into the ground before her, the tight anger in her field washing outwards in a powerful wave. On her hands and knees, the petite galdor burst into tears, curling her hands tightly into the grass and soil as she doubled over. Sobbing wretchedly, Athrym shook her head, gasping as emotions flooded her aura. Panic, fear, sorrow, anger, relief…everything she’d felt numb against swelled like a blizzard and pushed against the boundaries of her field.

“I’m sorry Naul.” She choked, lifting her head to look at the man with red rimmed eyes and wet cheeks, gasping for air amid her grief.

“I’m sorry. You don’t deserve my anger, and I don’t want to be angry at you. I’m just so…I’m so…” Shaking her head, the platinum haired galdor let go of the ground to sit back on her heels, brushing the dirt from her hands almost methodologically.

“How could Lomenak do this? Not just to us, but to Kaelum and Leyenak. To Gior itself. How could one person be so…” Her brow creased, breath hitching as she tried to think of the word, finally exhaling it as a question.

“So scared?” Turning her head, the blonde looked out across the wilds of the estate, sniffing as her tears subsided.

“I used to think that she was everything I wanted to be. So poised. So powerful. How could I be so blind to the atrocities of my people?” Looking back at him, she shrugged.

“You were right, in the banquet hall. We claim superiority against the other nations but truthfully we are barbarians playing at civility. It’s embarrassing, and horrific.”

[Nauleth Siordanti]

some day early-Roalis, 2719
SIORDANTI ESTATE, VIENDA | DAYTIME MAYBE?

"But you are still galdori, no matter what Kingdom wants or doesn't want you. No one can take that from you." Nauleth weathered her furious hurt in the same way he seemed to weather the darkness and the pain he'd been introduced to in Gior, though it was perhaps for the best his back was to her while she shouted at him, expression still one marred by sadness.

The Living mona in her field seemed to seethe and writhe against the magnetic force of the Physical weight of his own, energies in conflict even if, ultimately, her quarrel was hardly with himself. He'd not meant to belittle her struggle with his comparison, not really, but it was difficult to express the depths of his empathy when the sorts of emotions he felt were new and strange enough. He was not articulate, not like Hadrian, nor did he possess the gentleness of his mother. It didn't mean he cared any less, but it did mean he simply found himself lacking when it came to revealing his innermost self to someone else.

Someone like Athrym.

She was struggling to keep up. He heard the whisper of thirsty leaves and summer branches turn to a rustling while she staggered. Turning finally at the louder crash when the petite blonde threw herself to the less well-kept footpath he'd led them down once they'd left the manicured expanse of his family estate's proper garden, he came to an awkward halt, squinting at her in the bright sun. He was already sweating, less than a year away from Anaxas and the heat felt unbearable.

He winced at the too-strong pulse of her field, hissing at the sharp, searing sensation that crawled through damaged nerves along the left side of his face, clawing all the way down his scarred shoulder and reaching even his fingertips. All of her emotions found expression in the strength of her aura, blooming through it like new grass pushing up from under snow in spring. Naul made an attempt to keep his facial expression distant and inexpressive, to hide the kind of suffering he experienced in its wake, left eyelid twitching as he blinked back moisture from the edges of both gold-rimmed eyes,

"Athrym, you don't have anything to apologize for. Not to me. I misspoke, but also, I—no, I haven't experienced the same thing. Not exactly, but—" He sighed, shoulders sagging before he reached up and pressed his palm against his freckled, well-hewn cheek as if attempting to grind out the hurt through sheer force. It only made the pain worse, but he kept talking, voice wavering and looking down at her while she brushed dirt from her hands. It was as if the agony brought him into the moment forcefully, and he spoke with a sincerity he normally stumbled through,

"—I just—listen, your Kingdom doesn't deserve you, anyway, nor does it define you. You are privileged enough to be able to now define yourself as you see fit: as a galdor, your relationship with the mona is far more important than your godsforsaken homeland. Everything else can all clocking sod off, to be honest."

He swallowed, hard, quite aware this was really not the right moment. Naul lowered himself into a crouch slowly, hovering in front of the sniffling petite blond balanced carefully. He reached to brush tears from her fair, flushed cheeks,

"You can have my name anytime you wish. I've said as much, and I meant it. We're in Vienda, conveniently close to the City Clerk's office, and if you want to leave everything officially behind, I wouldn't complain. Siordanti is a rather well-respected name, I'll have you know, internationally-speaking. My father may not approve of my choices in life, but he's supposedly a rather level-headed Incumbent for a Progressive." It wasn't a gesture of humor, not here, not now, but he smirked anyway, momentarily shy in the emotional exposure of his true feelings, looking down at the parched earth between them with a chuckle, jaw clenched and field dampening in their closeness. Looking back up, his sea glass-hued gaze searched her face,

"I won't pretend to understand Lomenak Da Huane or her motivations, but I'll guess it's a dangerous mixture of power and ignorance. I can't say I haven't felt those same things or even traveled down paths any less wrong in my life, though my mistakes were tainted by immaturity and I clocking well didn't have a Kingdom beneath me looking to me for guidance. Perhaps there was a time she meant well, or the Da Huanes meant well, in keeping the secrets, but, then again, maybe they never did. They aren't the only people in power with secrets, honestly—besides—everyone is afraid of something, aren't they?"

Nauleth disliked philosophy. It tasted sticky and sour on his tongue and he winced one more time, expression lopsided and exaggerated this time, suddenly shoving himself up to his feet before he reached to help Athrym stand when she was ready. His hands lingered on her person once she stood, settling comfortably against the red fabric of her dress, fingers curling slightly,

"I can't speak for all of galdorkind, either, to be fair. I don't know how to feel about anything—after—everything. Barbarians? Clocking hell, no. Gioran. Anaxi. Good Lady, even Hoxian—we've all just drifted further from whatever we once thought the truth was, safe in our magical bubbles. Or something. Godsdamnit, I don't know. I just don't know."

He didn't like that flavor, either. He wasn't uncivilized. He wasn't a monster—he was favored by the gods.

That's what galdori were meant to be, right?

That was their place in Vita, wasn't it?

Horror was not knowing when everything went wrong. Terror was questioning every academic year of his life, ever word read, every textbook written. Barbarism was realizing everyone was a savage, just in different ways—teeth in the dark, however, were far scarier. He didn't know who to trust, but he'd worked so hard to know himself. He didn't want to think too deeply, and yet he wasn't at all capable of shutting off his too-busy, too-calculating mind.

The tall redhead stared past her for a moment, over her slight shoulder, into the waves of heat that danced in the distance as if he was staring into the shimmering, endless, unfathomable darkness of the rift they'd found themselves face to face within the Deep. He felt helpless and confused,

"I'm a scientist, but I can't come up with proof of anything if I don't even know the clocking theory I'm trying to prove. This is all—this is all untested territory and I honestly can't navigate it."

Naul had done his best to avoid morality, to avoid philosophical definites. In magical academia, his sorcerous pursuits were not about a singular correct answer. In physics and physical conversation, hypotheses weren't right or wrong. Experiments were discovery and progress, not usually ethical forays. This was all a very different, uncomfortable landscape and it wore at everything that the professor had worked so hard for after his backlash, gnawing at his insides like hatcher venom.

He'd thought last Vortas that he was beginning to finally know who he was. Now, here in his very home, he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to find himself again.

"No. I was wrong in the banquet hall. Wrong about everything. I don't know what right is anymore, either, and that is a problem."

Welcome to Brunnhold—now go home.

[Athrym Bruthgrave]

Early-Roalis, Perhaps? 2719
SIORDANTI RESIDENCE| THE SECOND HAND UNWINDS

"My relationship with the mona. Yes. Yes of course. No matter the social implications of Gior, I am still galdori. I still have that.” Her words were true, though they rang somewhat hollow in her own ears. It should be enough—it should be—but if that was so, why did she feel so lost? So empty. No one cared if she was exiled from her country, disowned by her people. As far as others were concerned, she was still Athrym Bruthgrave. As far as humans were concerned, she was still their better.

And as far as wicks were concerned, who clocking cared?

As Nauleth came closer, crouching down to brush the dampness from her cheeks, the pale creature searched his face. How different the same features could look after nearly a year of turmoil, and learning truths best left unlearnt in her opinion. He looked tired, sad, older. That’s what hurt most, the young woman realized. It hurt that she’d brought this on him, even if it wasn’t her fault it was her burden the same.

It wasn’t fair.

“You are right. It doesn’t define me. Lomenak doesn’t deserve my tears.” She said angrily, bright field flaring at the edges, only to soften as the red haired Anaxi continued to speak.

We're in Vienda, conveniently close to the City Clerk's office, and if you want to leave everything officially behind, I wouldn't complain.

Athrym blushed, caught off-guard by the suggestion, for a moment unable to think clearly. She laughed softly at his gentle accidental humor, glancing away as he did, letting the thought sink in properly. She’d always been a Bruthgrave, and according to Gioran tradition she always would be. Her prospective partner would have taken her name, as would their children and any men married into the family. Sure, they hadn’t actually discussed the terms of a marriage, there’d not been time since her dramatic departure and his romantic arrival, but her cultural knowledge was all she could work with. Now, here, Naul offered her not just a reminder of their engagement but a chance to choose her own future. Choose her own destiny.

Gior couldn’t control her, if she chose to remove herself from its deathly grasp.

Meeting his gaze again, the platinum haired woman felt her brow crease. Not in anger but in thought. She listened to him speak, her stomach roiling at the mention of her Matriarch. He saw a different angle, one she hadn’t had the mind to consider. Was there once a time Lomenak had meant well? She’d been in power since she was fourteen. A child made to fill her sister’s shoes too soon, a young woman with mind full of family given right and a powerful love for Aminark Giore. Leaning on the past to dictate the future, and so very deeply buried in the necessity for tradition.

Would she have done any better in that role?

Taking the offer hands when the Siordanti stood, Athrym rose more gracefully than when she had fallen, letting them move to rest on his shoulders as they stood close together. She was grateful for his persistence, for his fire, for his patience. She’d lost him, it felt like nearly so many times over now, and each time had punctured an aching hole in her chest. Where she felt the chill of the mountain to her very aura, Nauleth brought the warmth of progress. He had intrigued her so many seasons ago, and still now, Physical conversation so much different to Gioran’s. She knew at times her very presence hurt him, stung the raw nerve endings battered by injury and magical backlash, and yet here he was. No matter what the petite exile threw at him, the Anaxi weathered it.

And yet, there were cracks. Cracks where hatchers hissed from the dark and strange shimmering rifts sucked at magical aura’s.

“I have spent too much time since the Deep dwelling in anger, and in fear. I was so afraid that I avoided it, I focused on my rage and buried that gnawing trepidation, because to acknowledge it was to admit that the world is not as we know it. Hatchers, and magical pockets, hidden under the depths of the mountain. Mythical beasts, speaking without words and large as life. We saw it all Nauleth, and we’ve lived to tell the tale.” Shifting her hands to his face, Athrym held his cheeks and spoke firmly, a resolve swelling in her chest.

“No, this will not do at all. I will not drown in my rage any longer, not when there is so much to be understood. We must review the book, and talk to your Professor Moore. Why are there hatchers under Qrieth? What is that force that affected us so, including Leyenak? Is there a danger here we’ve yet to understand? Gior can have its politics, and its traditions. At the end of the day, there are more important things at hand. We have a duty, to our people. To the mona. We must pursue this, investigate it.” Lifting her chin, and lowering her hands to his shoulders, the ex-Gioran arched one pale brow.

“I believe you mentioned an office, in the city? Siordanti is a rather strong name, certainly holds some weight to it. Perhaps the name would assist in pursuit of a job, now that I no longer hold my diplomatic status.” She smiled a little, her field threaded with gentle hues of lavender and pale magenta, reaching to meld with his own with positive intent.

[Nauleth Siordanti]

some day early-Roalis, 2719
SIORDANTI ESTATE, VIENDA | DAYTIME MAYBE?

Nauleth's expression wilted into a frown, one side at a time, at the emptiness in her response. Where he'd been filled with sincerity in his encouragement, Athrym's reception of his words felt like a chilled breeze, the hollowness in her words a gaping chasm that reminded him of the Maw. Had he been focused on just his body temperature in the Roalis warmth, even at this house, perhaps that would have been a relief. Instead, the coldness of it all was unwelcome, and the ginger Anaxi swallowed a few extra words while he moved to crouch down toward the green summer ground, meeting the Gioran's equally verdant gaze.

Ultimately, he meant to say, only you can define yourself. Only, he did not know how to articulate such sentiment properly. The lessons he'd learned were his own, and they felt too personal to be relatable.

He wilted, searching her face, jaw clenching for a moment while he also searched his mind for the right words.

He'd spent much of his childhood attempting to fit into expectations and then razing those to the ground. His parents had wanted to pour him into one mold. His peers another. His dueling league coaches had attempted to fit him into certain categories. His professors had advised him to squeeze his ambitions into a particular channel. He'd felt as though none of them had fit! He wrestled with them all, uncomfortable and angry, frustrated that his own ambitious, insatiable need for understanding felt so unwelcome simply because it was often so unconventional.

He'd let his anger take root, too, driving a wedge between himself and even the mona in an attempt to separate himself from the expectations of everyone else. He'd turned away from and yet attempted to dominate the one sentient collective that had never judged him in the first place—at least until he took his need for control over something, anything too far.

Naul had paid the price for that, and he knew it.

He'd also lived and when he emerged from it all, painful and difficult though it had been, especially the difficult inward work of carving himself out of all that crystalized bitterness within, he slowly came to the realization that he only needed to follow the path he wanted in life—family, faculty, and Kingdom be damned.

The eldest Siordanti did not know how to properly express his own journey of self-discovery, not even to Athrym, as so much of it had been inward and personal. All he knew to do was invite her along with him, his reckless experiment of a life better shared with someone who understood him than with an entire population of peers who didn't even bother to try. The petite blonde before him, broken as she was, found herself in a place where they could meet in the middle in a different way than they had already, than all the ways they had already.

He had little other advice to give—only himself to offer—and while he was aware he most likely still had little value to the Siordanti name despite his father's current kindness to the Gioran fugitives and himself, he hoped the gift of a clean break from all she chose to see as belonging to her would have meaning.

Shyly, feeling far more vulnerable than even when he'd been bleeding between her fingers in the Deep, Nauleth stood. The loss of self was a different kind of death, and one even he knew he'd merely played at. The real mystery still stretched out somewhere on the horizon—his True Name—and taunted him with the kind of personal sacrifices he knew his mortal mind had yet to actually bother to fathom. Athrym spoke the next time with more conviction than anguish and Naul smiled when her palms came to rest on his freckled cheeks, hoping that perhaps his words had softened rough edges after all.

"It isn't." He sighed in agreement, too aware now that the world was not as it should be.

He had never cared. He had never wanted to care.

And now he had no choice—there was no blinding himself to what he had seen, not for the eldest Siordanti. He needed to know, to understand, and the not-knowing, the not-understanding would hound him if he refused with venom far more poisonous than what pooled inside any hatcher's maw.

"I can't ignore it. I can't pretend that it wasn't all inexplicable truth and I can't pretend that surviving that means I have no choice but become part of the solution. I just—"

Delicate fingers trailed over freckled skin and came to rest on his shoulders, which sagged beneath the weight of her hands and slumped beneath the weight of so many converging realities. There, in the depths of seriousness, Athrym quirked a pale eyebrow and Nauleth didn't notice he held his breath,

"—I—oh—what? I did. Uh. Yes."

He blinked, caught off-guard, feeling the humid Roalis air thick and generous here in Anaxas flood his lungs as he remembered to inhale. Athrym's field brushed against his, bright colors spreading through his senses like lightning on the summer horizon, and he did not deny the intrusion. It was a welcome, comfortable gesture that he returned, losing the distinction of his magical self from hers while he attempted to respond after not really expecting such willing interest. The petite blonde smiled but his face couldn't quite mimic the expression, one side lagging, "It's not—I can't—It would technically be eloping, you know. Snubbing every one of our family members all at once in civil union so that you can take my name as your own. It wouldn't be a wedding. Just documents. And I—listen—I don't want to ruin your expectations of—"

The tall ginger was blushing, flustered, suddenly winded. He had offered. He had proposed, too, last summer, in total ignorance of their family connections, of entwined fates and decisions made without their permission. He'd meant it, too. He still did. But he couldn't give her a ceremony right now. He worried that, other than his surname, he had very little to offer her at all—jobless fugitive hiding behind the thin veil of his Anaxi citizenship, afraid beneath the burden of their dangerous new knowledge.

"—of your vision for things, Athrym. Between us."

Welcome to Brunnhold—now go home.

[Athrym Bruthgrave]

Early-Roalis, Perhaps? 2719
SIORDANTI RESIDENCE| THE SECOND HAND UNWINDS

Athrym looked over his face, watching the Anaxi stumble across words that he’d offered without perhaps really thinking through entirely. She felt her smile growing as his face bloomed in a blush, covering his freckles in its brightness, and she kept her green gaze on him as though the squirming was some kind of amusing distraction from the horrors of the world they knew.

“Naul...” She said softly, her hand shifting to his own, grasping them tightly before moving back to his face.

“Nauleth.” The word was more of a giggle than a statement, her field laced delightfully with his. Taking a deep breath, the Gioran shook her head, looking down at their hands.

“There really isn’t a vision to ruin. I didn’t want to get married for the longest time. I mean, have you seen my mother and father? They are the most depressing people I have ever known. Mother hates him for their wedlock and father is too stupid to care. I’ve forever been taught that I’d be better off a spinster buried in studies, and I was adamant the Matriarch life was not for me. I was planning on finishing school, getting a job in the Temple or the University of Gior maybe, cultivating my Living conversation so I could introduce a better farming system in the caves. I had no desire to become an Ambassador. I mean, Anaxas. Ew.” The pale blonde wrinkled her nose in mock distaste, gently teasing the red haired man, glancing up through pale unpainted lashes.

“Is it really what you want though? Are you sure you want to miss all the ceremony and such? You’ve spent so long having people judge you based on your past, are you certain you want to throw away the chance to rub it all in their faces? I can be Athrym Bruthgrave for now, Anaxas doesn’t care that I’m a refugee of my own kingdom.” Picking up on the lighter thread of conversation, Athrym raised her brows almost smugly.

“I have a mind to take up teaching too, now that I think about it. Echo Casting 101, in the Gyre. There are stunning acoustics in that place, perfect for using ones voice to create the echo chorus that Gior think they are so smart for. Professor Bruthgrave. Oooorrrr…Magister Siordanti? Too much? Maybe too much.” Her smile was more of a smirk, though there was seriousness in her voice. After a moment, her smirk fell, summer gaze looking past the man into the madness of Gior.

“There is need now, more than ever, to refine our conversations with the mona. To master our magics and find our True Names. If there are hatchers in the Deep, where else could they be? Why did the Daegerote appear, and why did it speak to us? There are so many questions, and not enough answers, and I admit I am afraid of what the answers will be when they are found. If I could make a case to Ophelia, would she allow me to at least refine my casting within the school? We could talk to her.” Focusing again on Nauleth, she nodded firmly.

“We should talk to her. Immediately. We’ve dallied to long here, I’ve no excuse for this. I am not some weakling human child dithering in the mud. I am galdori. We are galdori.” Letting her hands shift to the collar of his shirt, Athrym stood on tiptoe, tugging the taller red head down so she could kiss him firmly. She lingered, balanced on the edge of her shoes, fingers fisted in the fine fabric till her lungs felt they would burst. Finally, she drew back with a gasp.

“I have missed that.” The alabaster woman said with a bold rush of words, grinning ridiculously, heart thumping in her chest. Her verdant eyes searched his face, waiting for a reply, for any sort of reaction really. Had it really been so long since they’d kissed without feeling like it was a somber farewell? How long in fact? Days? Weeks? Months??

“Well Siordanti, what do you want to do? Right here, right now, what does Nauleth Siordanti want to do? I would marry you in civil elopement, should you wish it, or I would wait. We could be glorious in union, a formidable force against the madness of the Da Huanes. But regardless of what you choose, tomorrow, we must see Ophelia. We must talk to her about Gior. About everything. Together.” Her hands shook his shirt slightly in emphasis, cheeks pink with sudden urgent purpose.