Hello. I've been kept very busy as of late, which is honestly the norm. College, issues at home, a friend with severe medical issues, dealing with illness myself, finals, and getting my wisdom teeth removed made for a stressful, exhausting, and worrying month. I am probably never going to be much of a regular updater, and the fact that Fanfiction is essentially a form of entertainment and skill honing for me means that it comes after my duties. My health, school, family, and friends have to come first, and the fact that I had people harass me about appearing so infrequently was more than a little annoying. I'm very grateful that most of you are so patient, though, and that you find my work to be interesting and entertaining.

[Edit] This crossover universe is a steampunk-heavy and somewhat gothic (genre, not fashion and culture) mesh of late Victorian and Edwardian time, as DGM seems to be set in the early 1890s and HDM in an alternative universe version of pre-World War Europe, and while it is not an entirely accurate representation, it has prominent echoes of its origins. There is a lot of pseudo-science, symbolism, and spiritual stuff shoved in here, and plenty of it is left up to you all to interpret as the readers. I had to change a bunch of stuff based on the newest DGM chapter, and I will try to add in stuff from the next one to come out, as this will likely still be going when that happens.

Trigger warnings: this story is rated M for a reason. Sex is involved, but the explicit chapters will be on tumblr and AO3. Primarily, the reason behind the rating is due to violence and disturbing themes present in the story. Just as in DGM and the His Dark Materials series, there will be death, murder, genocide, semi-explicit violence and gore, human experimentation, dæmon/spiritual abuse, child abuse and neglect, mentions of social class warfare, and other nasty things. I will add additional chapter warnings if needed.

I do not own either DGM or His Dark Materials, they belong to Katsura Hoshino and Phillip Pullman respectively. I only own (literally) the dæmons I added into the series and my version of the ending and other plot alterations.

Prologue: Moments of Halcyon

"Childhood is not from birth to a certain age and at a certain age the child is grown, and puts away childish things. Childhood is the kingdom where nobody dies." -Edna St. Vincent Millay

In the crimson light of a descending twilight, a quartet of figures traveled together down an empty road, heading towards a city that glowed with light from lamps and candles in the dimness of spreading shadows. They moved forward in tandem, three on the ground and the fourth in the air above, taking the form of a small bird and soaring through the air meters above before diving down once more, shifting shape into a puppy that plodded alongside the other three. By the time that the companions reached a derelict little inn near the outskirts of the city, the sun had ben entirely hidden behind distant mountains and the skies had faded from red into violet and indigo.

After three years of traveling together, they had a routine established. The man waited while the child asked for a room for his sick father, and then the man came forward and handed the money to the innkeeper's wife after the boy had assured her sympathy and wheedled food and drink out of her, his dæmon turning to a small kitten that fluffed up her fur and looked as small and helpless as possible. The man and his own dæmon stayed quiet but cheerful, as their haggard appearance spoke for itself, and in minutes the four of them were in a small room. The bed was tiny and the mattress thin, but they had warm cider with bread and cheese that the two humans shared because dæmons didn't need to eat, and they soon settled down to rest their weary bodies.

"Allen, do you remember?" The man asked, taking off his ever-present top hat, more grey than black but still in surprisingly good condition after all the years he had worn it.

"Remember what, Mana?" The child looked up from where he was playing with his dæmon in her ermine form, grey eyes wide in his pale, dirt-smudged face.

"Our secret language, of course! Let's practice," he said, pulling out a charred stick and a scrap of newspaper. Allen settled down beside Mana and slowly drew each of the strange symbols that made up the alphabet they created together, carefully forming each line and curve of their special secret that the man loved so much. Gemma crept forwards on quiet paws, her little pink nose hovering an inch above the markings as Allen wrote a little message within—"Merry Christmas"—and leaned against Addie's side where she lay.

Adelaide laughed quietly as Gemma flicked forms again, and Mana absently stroked the head of his dæmon, cleaning away dirt that clung to her scales and fondly watching the child.

"You drew the shape for 'C' incorrectly," Gemma said, and Allen stuck out his tongue at her even as he painstakingly erased and redrew it as the correct symbol.

"Well, sorry that the floor's rough," he shot back, frowning as a warp in the floorboards caused the charcoal to veer off as he drew the 'i' and biting his lip in frustration.

"Well then, find a smoother patch of floor, stupid," she scolded, and Allen huffed, swatting at her and missing as she flicked forms to a bat and flapped out of his immediate reach.

After Allen had finished the little "secret message" and sung their special lullabye with Gemma, Mana and Addie read to them from "The String of Pearls," a penny dreadful depicting the twisted and violent revenge plot of a wronged London barber, before they settled down for the night. Allen and Gemma were used to such lurid stories, as Mana had trouble reading anything more complicated than a penny dreadful and they were still learning to read, and they lay down looking forward to the next day with childish delight. After all, tomorrow was both Christmas Day and their birthday, and there would be a morning performance for extra money before exchanging presents! What better way to celebrate their tenth birthday with their beloved parental figure?

If Allen and Gemma had known just what would befall their little family group come morning, they would have stayed inside and persuaded Mana and Addie to stay with them. They would be happy together, safe and warm and rested so that they could move on the next day and avoid the encroaching machinations of fate, the cold shroud of Death that lay in wait. But the hands of the clock ticked onwards, and the mortal ignorance of future tragedies allowed them a peaceful sleep free from nightmares of what was to come.

o—O—o

The mats in the training room were currently the setting of a lesson, as a former ballerina turned Finder went through a stretching routine, gently prompting a much younger girl to copy her movements with soft words and warm smiles. The young girl watched her carefully, her unsettled dæmon changing forms from a grasshopper to a large orange-brown moth to match the purple and orange butterfly perched on the wall beside the instructor.

"Center your torso a little more, Lenalee. Your leg is crooked," the older woman said, gesturing with a finger to where the girl's leg bent at the knee and veered slightly to the left. Lenalee nodded and carefully adjusted her position, observing how her leg straightened into a perfect arch in front of her with the movement. "Good job, dear. Now, bend forwards until your forehead is level with your knee and hold for a count of ten."

Behind them, another Finder was humming a jaunty tune to herself, scribbling on a piece of paper as she filled out a request form. Three crumpled balls on the floor were all that remained of her previous attempts, and it seemed the latest drawing would soon be going the way of its predecessors. Not that Lenalee planned to disparage the artistic talents of one of her instructors, of course. Soon enough the latest paper was crumpled and ripped in half, with a fifth sheet taking its place and soon became victim to uneven lines and swirls of ink.

"You're hopeless at this," Her dæmon grumbled under her breath as she smeared yet another line, and the woman frowned, swatting the tortoiseshell lightly on the nose in response, rolling her eyes as the cat fluffed up in indignation.

"I'm trying to draw this correctly, Zori. You're being rude," the woman complained, and her dæmon looked distinctly unimpressed, flicking her fluffy tail and tsking. "A straight line is a bit difficult, but it isn't impossible. You're just picky," she insisted, and the cat just stared at her pointedly before turning her back on her and stalking to the edge of the mats to curl up and wash herself.

Lenalee giggled a bit at the unusual sight of a human-dæmon pair arguing, and even her other instructor smiled, their respective dæmons fluttering their wings in amusement. Zornytsa was well-known for being beautiful and temperamental, as well as being a rare same-gender dæmon—one of three within the entire world's staffing of the Black Order—and Radomira could be just as fiery at times, having grown up as an acrobat in a cutthroat Russian circus. In fact, the giggling had caused both Zori and Radi to turn a glare on them, and the young girl hastily schooled her expression, her dæmon turning to a kitten and bashfully hiding his face in his paws.

"I'm trying to requisition equipment for the three of us to use, you could at least not laugh," Radi said, staring directly at her fellow Finder. "Especially you, Gabrielle. A set of rings is needed to improve Lenalee's aerial maneuvering. It could make a real difference when she's flying wit her boots activated."

"Rings?" Lenalee asked, her eyes widening in curiousity. So that was what Radi was hemming and hawing over for the last twenty minutes? She hoped that the new equipment came through, it sounded useful and potentially fun.

"Yes, rings. They're hung a few feet off the ground, and you swing on them from your hands and ankles. I used them sometimes, before." Radomira went back to sketching, letting out a small satisfied 'ah' as she finally achieved a passable picture of what she wanted and placed it beneath the completed set of forms.

"Désolé, Radomira. I shouldn't have laughed," Gabrielle apologized, Veillantif fluttering to perch on Zornytsa's paw. Guiren joined him, looking up at the older dæmon with big green eyes until Zori sighed and nudged him with her muzzle. Vei received a careful flick, to avoid damaging his fragile body. With that settled, both women stood up and prepared to continue the exercises for the day. Lenalee hurried to copy Gabrielle's position, imitating the stances down to the slant of her toes, the tilt of her hips, and the angle of her shoulders. Radomira and Zori added in a few maneuvers of their own, and soon all three humans were lightly sweating, their dæmons carefully staying back to prevent accidental touching.

Almost an hour later, a loudest of footsteps came racing down the hall, and Komui appeared in the doorway, newly-short hair and lab coat disheveled and Qingzhao hopping along at his side, her light auburn fur in similar in a similar disarray. Lenalee practically glowed at the sight, the knowledge that her brother had come looking for her to spend time together a balm to her. Gui took on his favorite form of late, a fire-throated Robin, and fluttered in excited circles around her head as the same sense of heady elation and love coursed through him.

"Thank you, Miss Gabrielle, Veillantif. And thank you as well, Miss Radomira, Zornytsa," they squeaked in tandem, before bowing and rushing to the doorway to accept an exuberant hug, Lenalee tentatively smiling and Gui once again matching forms to greet Qing with a nuzzle of noses. The older women watched with melancholic expressions as the siblings left, with Komui half-dragging his younger sister as he bemoaned how much he had missed her in the few hours they spent apart that day. Lenalee was content to let her brother keep her close and listen to his chatter and whining, because any moments spent with her brother were precious.

Lenalee was free from the restraints that held her trapped to that sterile bed for so long, free to walk and dance and play, free to see and speak to general Order members, and most importantly, she was finally free to hold her dæmon close rather than cry out for him. It had been jarring and horrible, wanting nothing more than to cuddle her soul close to her chest and cry into his fur or feathers in sheer relief at having him safe in her reach once more, but he spent such a long time locked in a cage to keep the two of them from harming each other in their suicidal haze.

However, that liberation came at a heavy price, even with her brother's comforting presence and protection. Tomorrow, Lenalee would leave on a mission to Morocco, yet another mission where she risked death every moment she spent outside the cold stone walls of Headquarters. She was still an exorcist, still a child soldier on a horrific battlefield that had taken so many and would consume thousands more in years to come, and only death or and end to the war could truly bring her a lasting sense of security.

o—O—o

Rigel leaned against the railing of the ship, Fikriya in the form of a dolphin that arched through the water as they moved through the waters of the Red Sea. The freedom and joy of the latest form was a true delight, a respite from the endless misery, violence, and monotony of their usual activities. For all that they had been apprenticed to the old Bookman for several years now and seen the worst humanity could offer up several times over, their latest assignment had them seeking a bit of light.

The old man was talking to a grizzled old sailor with a gull dæmon towards the aft, with Khalida perched beside the gull and exchanging measuring glances and small talk. They'd be busy exchanging facts and stories for some time, and so with a mental confirmation the boy and the dolphin edged casually around the side of the ship, twitching and wincing every time the thirteen-foot limit of the bond became strained, until they were hidden from sight by a grouping of boxes and barrels.

Fi abandoned the sleek dolphin shape for that of a serpent coiled around his neck, her scales rustling against the rough woolen fabric of his cloak and his loose red hair. After their last assignment ended two weeks ago she had been clinging to him more than she ever had in their thirteen years of life, seeking comfort in the knowledge that they were close and bound together as they should be.

Visiting the warrior tribes of the south, who turned their prisoners of war into mindless zombi slave workers with their dæmons pulled away, was horrifying in a deep and primal way. Bookman had insisted they watch for the sake of the records, and so they had comes standing on the edge of a field as the warriors of the tribe gathered around the young man who was about to undergo the separation ceremony. It had taken all they had to not scream out in protest and fear as they watched the brutal event, and afterwards they had both been lake and shaking, feeling cold and lonely in their core and wanting to cling together so tightly that nothing could break them apart.

Rigel had shuddered and surreptitiously clutched at Fi's scaley coils as they witnessed the young soldier and his barely settled dæmon dragged apart until the bond snapped. A massive water buffalo, a warthog, a hippopotamus, and an Aardwolf converged upon the screaming and thrashing zebra as she raged and pleaded like the terrified child she was, hemming her in as the two largest men of the tribe held down the arms of her boy and dragged his bound form further and further away. They both kept calling out and screaming protests as he cried and she desperately tried to fight her way to freedom, kicking and biting and flailing until they simultaneously went limp as rag dolls upon reaching a distance of fourteen feet.

That had truly been the worst part of the event, having to watch and record as the boy went blank and unresponsive, with his dæmon's beautiful dark eyes going dull and her form wavering as the brilliant black and white stripes of her fur dulled to a muddy brown and grey. Never again, please no. Watching the bond of body and soul forcibly severed had nearly made them physically ill, but the old man and his grumpy crow dæmon would chastise them and remind them of their duty and the tenets if they caught them at it. Still, he wasn't watching now, and so Fi wrapped herself tightly around him, the comforting warmth against her proof that they were in the here and now, not back in the cursed field with the zombi soldiers and their half-dead dæmons.

"Do you think we would've seen that if we hadn't..." Fi trailed off, curling her bushy tail around his waist, and Rigel hummed.

"Maybe. Maybe not. Other humans do things like that too, not just African tribes. Didn't the Greeks try severing the bond with a blade?" The mere though made them both shiver, and Fi changed from a snake into a large furry animal the size of a cat, clinging to his shirt and nuzzling his neck in thanks, his fingers tangled in her short grey fur.

"This is stupid," she grumbled, curling even closer. "We shouldn't be so bothered by this. We have to kill the emotions, bury them in the last record and ensure that we aren't tainted any longer."

"A Bookman has no attachments, no name, no heart," Bookman Junior recited, the familiar tenets rolling easily off of his tongue. But even his Master had a soul, the wise old Raven whose name changed as often as Junior and Spirit, shifting identity with each new persona and new record of hidden history to be preserved for all time. Her existence was the undeniable proof that for all he lacked a heart, he was still fundamentally human at the core of his being.

Fikriya shifted in Junior's arms once more, and the persona of Rigel slid further back into the depths of his mind as his dæmon sought distance once more. Fi was usually standoffish compared to other dæmons, rarely touching him for more than a fleeting moment and content to stay several feet away for long periods of time. Something tugged deep inside him and he pushed it aside without examining it, knowing it to be weakness in the eyes of his mentor and his duty. It was high time that they moved on...but could he really not shiver in fear and horror at the thought of loosing his dæmon, the one who knew him best from a lifetime of sharing a mind with him?

"Fuck." Fi had been sitting quietly for a long moment, almost brooding, and when she suddenly swore loudly it startled Junior, causing him to raise his eyebrow at her and lean back against a stack of boxes.

"What? Do you have the feelings again?"

"No...yes. Maybe, but that isn't...I won't change. I can't change anymore."

Well. That was unexpected. Perhaps not entirely welcome, but they were old enough to settle now. The old Bookman would be displeased that Fi could no longer eavesdrop as a rat or a fly or a bird, he supposed, but at least she didn't settle as a lion or a whale, nothing dangerous or potentially embarrassing.

"So...is this it, then?" He asked, wanting confirmation. Another feeling was rising inside him, something warm and jagged, like sobbing but not. It wasn't quite a bad felling, but perhaps it wasn't a good feeling either. Settling was major in every human culture for a reason, and proved aspects of a person that were practically worn on their sleeve.

For all the inconveniences that came with settling, Junior couldn't bring himself to resent Fi for doing so now, nor could he truly find fault in her form. He recognized the creature as a raccoon, something he had seen when Bookman had taken them to America the year before, and he knew the base symbolism associated with a raccoon. A raccoon was not only intelligent, but also independent, resilient, and resourceful, all of which were good qualities for a Bookman-to-be.

She was the soul and he was the body, each one half of a sacred whole, and her form was beautiful, perfect, every facet of them shown and proven in the form she would keep for the rest of their foreseeable future. Nothing in the world could make him dislike her shape, especially because he accepted what they were. Bookman and Khal could harrumph all they wanted, but Fi wouldn't change for them or for anyone, and in the shadows of his mind and his hidden heart he was glad.

o—O—o

Two children curled together in a spartan room, keeping as warm and comfortable as they could with their dæmons huddled on either side of them beneath the thin blanket, transformed into wolves with thick coats of fur that retained heat and soothed the two boys with their softness. They had dragged their futons together to withstand winter's cold breath as it seeped into the small stone room, the combined warmth of their huddled forms keeping them from shivering. With their injuries itching as they mended beneath stained bandaging, they lay silent and still, taking comfort in the knowledge that they were together, safe from the brutal testing that had hurt them for months on end until morning came and the scientists who watched them blankly with clipboards in hand would enter and take them away from their temporary haven.

"Hey Yuu..." one said, shifting slightly as he moved his legs further up. The second child groaned lowly in response, his voice muffled by the fur of his dæmon and the tendrils of exhaustion that wrapped themselves around his being.

"Kanda, idiot." His companion mumbled lowly, on the very brink of sleep and less than pleased at being dragged back to consciousness.

"Fine, Kan-da. Kanda. Kanda!" The child was persistent, going so far as to lightly tug at a strand of the other boy's long black hair.

"What, Alma?" He mumbled, his eyes still closed as he frowned in annoyance.

"I was wondering...what were you dreaming about last night? You were crying in your sleep, but you didn't look sad or hurt. It was...odd." The child rolled over slightly, his head resting on his friend's shoulder. Kanda's eyes snapped open, blue irises almost entirely lost in wide black pupils. He frowned, trying to remember why he was so startled by the question, but only the whisper of a voice and the faint scent of flowers came to mind.

He could see his friend from the corner of his eye, rust-colored eyes wide and short hair tousled into a feathery mess, but at the same time the shadowed features of a strange woman seemed to overlay his friend's face. Coffee-brown locks turned longer and lightened to warm chocolate, the large facial scar was erased to leave the bridge of the upturned nose clear and unfettered, eyes that he somehow knew were large and expressive, yet could not make out clearly, curved pink lips opening and saying his name—

"It doesn't matter." He snapped, and Alma huffed, turning back to his dæmon, who rolled his eyes and ignored him. The brunette turned back around and poked the blue-eyed boy. "No. Shut up, stop, and lie down."

"But Yuu, I want to know! Please?" Alma begged, sitting up and bouncing in place. The black-haired boy growled, kicking his friend in the leg.

"I said no, damn you! And don't call me that!" He sighed in exasperation, wanting nothing more than to settle down and sleep in that moment. "Just go to sleep, idiot."

"No fair, Kanda." The brown haired boy rested his chin on his knees, wrapping his arms around himself as he pouted.

"We really should be sleeping, Alma. There's something big happening tomorrow, we need the rest to be ready," his dæmon scolded, nudging the excitable child with his muzzle. Alma extracted a hand and swatted the wolf on the muzzle.

"Don't be a spoilsport, Herme."

"Shut up already!" Kanda's dæmon snarled, glaring at the two of them as fiercely as she could manage.

"No need to be so mad, Miyako! Meanie, I was just curious, and I'm too tired to sleep," Alma complained. He rolled over on top of Kanda, who groaned and elbowed him.

"That makes no sense. Just leave it, I don't remember what the dream was about anyway."

"Fine." Alma rolled over again so that they were back to back, and the two boys were left in silence once more.

Kanda woke abruptly, sitting up so fast that he knocked the pillow off of his bed and onto Miyako's head. The presence of Alma had been strong in the dream—no, the memory, memory of the last night they spent before that day—and he could almost feel the warmth of his friend at his side. He angrily wiped it away, wiping his hand on the soft white sheets of the inn bedroom. He hated him for what he had done, his gut roiled with anger and betrayal, but he missed him all the more.

Alma was always smiling, always laughing, warm and bright in the darkness of their shared childhood, and without him the world was cold. Kanda had not smiled since the day Alma died, and he felt as though he had lost the ability. The persistent brat that always annoyed him was dead, gone, no more stupid jokes and wrestling until they were both bruised and bloody and laughing on the floor, no more of Hermenegildo shifting into increasingly ridiculous forms to try and make them all laugh, no more food slathered in far too much mayonnaise, and no more cuddling together with their dæmons after a day of brutal tests and arguing over stupid little everyday things in the middle of the night.

Miyako nudged his shoulder with her head, a deep rumbling noise echoing in her throat. The beautiful tigress had settled on that day, and he didn't know or care if it was before, during, or after the bloody fight to the death that she stopped changing forms. What he did remember was how Herme had settled, a sleek black-and-white salamander that had bled and writhed before stilling and fading into golden dust under the horrified eyes of Miyako. Gone forever, lost and broken and faded into nothingness all because of them, because they chose to live.

Alma had smiled, coughing up blood that trailed down his neck and over Kanda's fingers, joining the red, red, red, RED that pooled on the floor and stained skin and stone, too much no no no please no not him no don't die I need you we need you our friends our only friends STOPTHISPLEASENOHEALDON'TDIEPLEASEHERMEALMANO. It wasn't real, it was a nightmare and he would wake up to see Alma staring at him with a concerned expression, asking what he was dreaming about, Herme by his side flitting from form to form in his usual energetic manner.

But it was real. Alma and Herme were gone, dead, you killed them you murderers but they were going to kill us and they were gone they were angry and they killed everyone wewantedtolivewantedtofindthemwantedtoleaveandfindourfreedom. There was nothing they could do, Kanda and Miyako both were alive, left behind lost and hurt and confused and betrayed. Not even ghosts remained, and no one else understood. Everyone else had family, had friends, no one else grew up in a cold, lonely lab with people with empty smiles who hurt them. And they hated it.

Gone forever was that bond, the times where they could laugh, wrestle, and play, where they could act like the children they were supposed to be instead of the test subjects they were treated like. Together, Kanda and Miyako had left that cold place with its memories of blood and pain, but the laughter and screams of their friends still echoed in their ears after three years that had been spent in the world outside the Sixth Laboratory, two at Headquarters and this past year traveling with the weird old man and his nosy, mothering stork dæmon. They wanted to care for them, and for the two other apprentices and their dæmons, but when would they be able to trust again after the horrors they lived through?

The closest people the two of them had to friends were Lenalee and Guiren, the small girl who had been stolen away and forced to undergo and witness terrifying ordeals from a young age and the flighty dæmon that clung to her side constantly, even when he took a flying form. But once her brother had come to become the Supervisor and stopped the tests and experiments, they had other people too. Not that Kanda and Miyako truly wished that Komui and Qi had stayed in China, because that would be cruel to the siblings, and without them the Order would the same hell it had been, if not worse. They were merely envious, as it was obvious that the siblings had been broken and miserable apart, and with Alma gone, they understood, and seeing them smiling and happy together caused an ache deep inside.

The memories were all that remained, no scars left as proof of that day or two years before it. All they had was each other and the dreams, of Alma and Herme, of the mysterious woman and her blurry shapeless dæmon. And as Kanda and Miyako lay quiet and still in the witching hour, the faintest of murmurs in their voices could be heard, soft and lilting with hints of mischief and warmth.

That's it for today. I edited all of it and added plenty, I hope you all like the changes. The next chapter is set at their canon ages. If you can't tell, Allen is nine going on ten here, Lenalee is ten going on eleven, Lavi is thirteen, Kanda and Alma were eleven in the flashback and Kanda is currently about thirteen years and six months old.

I'll have links listed for images of the dæmon forms that appear in this chapter on tumblr and AO3 if you want to see them. It might take a bit because I've only done it once but it'll be there for you to see.

Ciao, and please review.