Author's Notes: Well gang it has been an interesting couple of months to say the least. lol. Moved again, and I'm in the middle of getting started at a new job and finding housing; but for the most part, things are going pretty good. Updates will be sporadic most likely, but if things keep going well, they might get more frequent. I hope everyone's 2021 is going better than their 2020 at least. Anyways, stay safe out there.
Music Choices: Ouija by Harley Poe, Come On Down by Zeal & Ardor
Eclipse
Chapter 46
Rooftop Meetings Part II
The Speculorum ( known colloquially as The Mirrorways)...
In the ever dark of the mirrorways, one often sees inexplicable things. A ship lost at sea a thousand years previous might appear, laying forgotten on her side. An empty city, spatially contorted in a way that neither faunus nor human mind can truly comprehend, her geometry twisted and pulled in uncomfortably impossible directions. A mirror to a point in history that might not fully align with the viewer's own timeline; a glimpse of one's own future that may or may not come to pass.
The locals don't use these landmarks to navigate, because they are unreliable. They move, or cease to exist, depending on the whims of the Speculorum or the passing magic user. A true veteran of the Mirroways navigates by the power of their voice alone, and their passage leaves a signature ripple throughout the magical planes. A calling card that others come to know you by.
Few people in this current day and age dare to traverse the Speculorum alone. Among the free peoples of Remnant it is widely known that these regions belong solely to Hecate's children. Very, very few dedicated magic users have the stamina, will or desire to train their bodies and minds to deal with effects that all non-aetheri must overcome; but, there are a few.
Of these elite few, only two such wild magic users would be bold enough to ever enter the regions of the Mirrorways that correspond with Kingdom of Vale. The Mirrorways are dangerous enough on their own, and anyone so informed knows just whose territory those regions brush against; and even though it would be a cold day in Menagerie before he was ever desperate enough to trespass into the Speculorum? Only the aetheri were bold enough to risk such an encounter regularly.
Currently, the mirrorways near Vale are alive with sound, louder than they've been in years. Aetheri often sing to one another over long distances, and their songs can last a Remnant lifetime, as time interacts differently in the halls of Hecate. But there is an unusual amount of song-traffic at the moment. People are talking. Mostly about recent events, ones that have set the domains of fate and magic further abuzz than they've been in centuries.
In the half-dark, suddenly, there is movement; the flapping of wings and bright red eyes. An unusual sight in an unusual place, but one not without precedent; a lone Unseelie is darting through the darkness, the little Grimm's pale face flashing here and there as he instinctively avoids the hidden threats of the Mirrorways. There are predators here, afterall; strange, unknowable things that might find even a poor, corrupted undead an appetizing meal.
The little Unseelie pauses sharply, his thin, hungry frame rigid as he listens intently, closing bulbous, red eyes so he can concentrate. For a moment, there is nothing but the typical, vibrating void; but after a moment, the chords of a song pass him by, on its way to its recipient. A masculine tune, deep in his chest and his cup: a man over in Vacuo singing to his friend half a world away. The Unseelie cocks his head, listening to the message, before relaxing and waiting a little more.
Another voice from another direction, the song feminine but dangerous. Bold. She darts past his ears, sweeping towards her target. He listens to her as well, recognizing her song. The Reaper, a rare voice in these regions, trying to get ahold of one of her errant pupils. She sounds pissed. The little Unseelie winces sympathetically, before shaking the song out of his head and waiting a little longer.
Time did not conduct well within the Mirrorways, but it could have been a few minutes before another song shook the halls. Something new, a stranger to this region; and the song itself was not a message or an instruction, but a very dangerous question. A spell of seeking, one that would spread feverishly throughout the entire network, hunting relentlessly until it flushed out its answers. The little Unseelie perks up and quickly starts towards the source of the song.
The voice of the singer is fervent yet fearless. It was a voice that could make the hairs on your arms and neck raise, but you couldn't name the reason as to why. They lacked passion, but possessed intensity; like a snake feverishly whispering its desires into a payphone late at night.
The little Unseelie wove through the echoing dark, making little noise and drawing the attention of nothing and no one as he searched. In what looks to be the distance is a burnt out town, one that is alien to the continent of Saunus and likely all of modern Remnant. A civilization that had been born and built hundreds of thousands, maybe even millions, of years previous.
The buildings, or the remains of them anyways, were mostly wrecked. Windows blown out, frames twisted and charred; if they weren't so bizarrely alien, they would have been indistinguishable from any other Grimm blighted ruin that covered Remnant's continents.
However, the material that had been used to build them? Utterly foreign, or at least completely beyond the capabilities of modern Remnant architects and engineers, even with the assistance of Dust and rare Semblances. The dead city's bones possessed a sickly, violet iridescence that spoke of an ancient violent force, something that could decimate a city of magic and nearly indestructible matter.
The little Unseelie pauses again, his body radiating caution. Fear. The voice of the seeker is higher than the ground floor of the Mirrorways. It's likely that they were standing up on top of one of these glowing, dead buildings, singing their spell into the fabric of Vale's Mirrorways; looking for answers, for people, or entities, that might bend to their will.
His frame shivers suddenly, and he crouches low, eyes wide. A stave suddenly blooms into being, like a bloody flower, spreading across where his heart should be; his clawed fists tremble by his sides, before stilling, growing calmer, confident. The singer is not powerful enough to overwhelm his own protections, or bind him to their will. His own ally is more powerful than they were in this arena, despite them being an aetheri. He sighs in relief.
This ultimately is one of the greatest fears of a Grimm with more freedom that the average brute. That something or someone else might bind them to their magical will, and they might lose it. It was why most intelligent Grimm sought out powerful, magical allies, even if that was itself a double edged blade. However, it was considered better to have a mortal ally that one would ultimately outlast than to risk falling prey to a lesser, but crueler, master or mistress than Salem; because for all her faults? Salem at least treated her loyal subjects well, so long as they proved themselves to her. She merely expected their unwavering obedience. The same could not be said of every penny mage running amok through the Mirrorways and astral planes. And in the end? That was why most free willed Grimm sacrificed said freedom to return to her grasp; because she was better than most mortal alternatives.
Personally? He knew he was very lucky to have fallen in with the group he had. The tribe he currently worked with had an excellent reputation amongst the independent Grimm overall, going back several centuries; their magic users followed the old ways like most free tribes, but they held a standard that was enviable even in this modern age. He had free reign of his own existence, save when they had an errand or favor to ask of him; and he was in the very rare position where he could say no if he didn't want to do it.
Most Grimm in his situation didn't get to say no, or even entertain the idea. In fact, it was practically unheard of.
His patrons weren't perfect, no, but he liked them, and that was really about as good as it could get for an undead in his position.
The singer's voice became more fervent, and he shook himself, trying to find his nerve. He needed to find the source, and if possible, disrupt it. Because what they were looking for ultimately put his patrons' freedom, and therefore his own, in terrible danger.
"Show me the paths the gods walk in their slumber-"
He started to run, springing forwards on all fours towards the ruins, weaving silently through the thrumming dark.
The ruins smelled like burning metal and upturned soil. A truly volcanic cologne, only older than magma and more ethereal than dirt and stone; the smell of something that came before either material existed. Perhaps certain flavors of Dust came close, but even they missed the mark. The ruins and whatever had created them existed within their own laws.
The singer was perched atop the highest mound of rubble, and had a full 360 view of the toppled rooftops surrounding them. Not that vision mattered much here; the perceptions of the physical realm were second fiddle to the senses that ruled in the Mirrorways.
The pale, flat mask of the singer tilted slightly as their voice wove the full extent of their spell, building intricate layers upon the groundwork they'd laid. Already they were getting extensive feedback, from the native spirits and entities, from any open mirrors that had observed the activities, and from any unprotected sources of information that fell within their domains. Overall, it was a lot of information and would take them hours to process it all and craft it into something cohesive.
The informant was sitting in a trance state, cross legged on the rubble of an alien city, scanning the Mirrorways for secrets and whispers they could sell to their buyer. They seemed oblivious to any physical threats that might assail them.
Or at least, any inexperienced individual might think so; but from the power of their voice, it was clear they were an aetheri of terrible strength. Attacking them here would be utter suicide.
A pair of bright red eyes peeked out carefully at the gently swaying, singing entity. The little Unseelie glared at the aetheri's back. After a moment, he popped up onto the rubble, making no effort to conceal himself. However, he did not attack the singer, either.
A few minutes passed, as the air shook and warped with the power of the spell they were casting, before the noise abated. The echoes of the Mirrorway's dulled after a moment, and the aetheri turned burning, silver orbs glanced back to appraise the lonely little Grimm.
"Well, well," the aetheri hummed, amused. "The Speculorum never fails to surprise, does it?"
The Unseelie scowled.
"How nice it is to be surprised. I'll admit, I tire of routine very quickly," they continued whimsily, before patting the flat surface next to them. "Care to join me?"
The Grimm didn't budge. He hadn't 'lived' this long without discorporating by being reckless. The aetheri, of course, was not surprised by this. He couldn't see their face, but he could feel that they were smiling. If he had hairs, they would be standing on end. Instead, his tail lashed slowly.
"No? That's alright. The scene from here is rather gruesome, I suppose."
He growled in his throat.
"Waiting…," he grimaced, glaring angrily.
"What? It is you know, but I'm not one to judge," they chuckled, spreading their arms out wide. "Who hasn't had to get a little gruesome at some point or another to get a job done? I'm sure you understand given your...condition."
There was something uneven about this one, or at least they liked to act like they weren't playing with the full deck. It was hard to determine what was an exaggeration and what was genuine.
Regardless, Waiting had been around long enough to know that aetheri like this one? They were often more…. other than human or faunus. They started off the same as the others, but something went wrong or perhaps they lost all purpose or reason to remain connected to the physical realms. Without emotional tethers in the real world to keep them grounded, many aetheri could become very unpredictable, mentally becoming more arcane than mortal.
"This generation is so squeamish, you know? All self righteous posturing and hand-wringing," the Blank One sighed lightly. "But tell me, little one - are you here on behalf of those who pull your leash? Or your own curiosity?"
He bristled at that, before flapping his wings and forcing himself to calm down.
"Here...to deal," he managed thickly. Even with this form, he wasn't built for crafting longer sentences. Having a fully coherent conversation was always a struggle.
The aetheri was not surprised by this, and chuckled, their voice tinkling like mischievous bells. Their voice was closer to its natural pitch here, as they needed it unobstructed in the Mirrorways for effective casting.
"Oh?" they snickered. "Is the murder so nervous that they send their flying monkey instead of someone with actual feathers?"
He growled again, before snorting in contempt.
"Not here...for them. Here for me."
The Blank one waved a gloved finger back and forth like a pendulum, tsking. He listened for a moment, before continuing, undaunted.
"Service. Is a threat. To everyone ," Waiting grit out, settling on his haunches. "Sell to them? And. When they're done. With you? They'll do worse. Than kill you."
"Mmm. You would know about fates worse than death, wouldn't you?" they sighed mercurially, before springing to their feet, clapping their hands. Waiting tensed, preparing to flee. "But you have to admit! A Kingdom conscripting aetheri - my, my, that would be rather interesting, wouldn't it? I don't think that's happened in millennia! Maybe even longer."
He glared nervously, tail almost curling into knots.
"And if they acquire a Maiden or two on top of it all? Well, they could really make some waves. Especially if they learned just what's hiding behind the light of their precious Beacon," they playfully tapped their masked chin, turning towards him. "Can you imagine it? The littlest Kingdom challenging the witch and the wyrd thief on their own playing field, in terms of magical firepower? Wouldn't that be funny?"
He stilled, understanding creeping through his dark limbs.
"The Kingdom. Is a tyrant," he hissed angrily. "We don't need. Another. And this? This has already. Been tried. Before your time. It failed then. And will again."
The aetheri was rocking playfully on their heels. They weren't taking him seriously, even though they undoubtedly could see him for what he was. Who he had been.
"Tyranny. Cannot defeat tyranny," he insisted, feeling desperate. "The Service cannot. Destroy either-"
"But they don't need to destroy them, sweet one!" the aetheri spun. There were silver wisps radiating off of their form, like ghostly plasma. He watched the fire cautiously. "They just need to contain them."
"It can't be done!" he snapped, rage building behind his eyes as he tried to get a handle on his temper. His voice sounded feral, grinding. Demonic. "Others have tried! Have you not...spoken to Set?"
The aetheri cocked their slightly, their eyes burning bright. He knew he'd nicked some chord or another, but it was too late now.
"I've grown tired of that one's empty smiles and platitudes," they droned flatly, glaring at him. Tendrils of silver curled and fogged across the ground around them, before retracting. "Set has had how long to get results? How many millennia has he been at it, do you think? With nothing to show for it?"
Longer than he could honestly comprehend. Set was similar to the witch and wyrd thief, but he played with his own cards and by his own rules; he was a true servant of Hecate. Perhaps the last of the genuine articles, someone who had seen the goddess with his own eyes.
"One must start to ask if perhaps he's failing on purpose?" the Blank One hummed. "I mean, he had an aetheri turned Maiden under his paw and yet? He still couldn't bring about any lasting results. Or he didn't want to, at least, and now I hear it's too late. That's rather….convenient. I think our smiling friend has grown a smidge too comfortable with the status quo."
"Arcene could not. Take them on. She wasn't. The right bearer. For the Mantle," he insisted slowly, pressing the swell of grief down.
He had liked Arcene. She had been a friend, in fact and he felt at least partly responsible for her death.
The Blank One stared at him, nodding slowly. Calculating. He knew the question that was coming next, but that's why he was here.
"And how precisely do you know that?" the Blank One asked, their voice soft with the first threads of a threat.
He made himself stand firm, meeting their glare unwaveringly.
"I've come. To deal ," he repeated firmly.
The Blank One's eyes widened a fraction behind the holes of their pale mask.
"Interesting," they squinted after a moment, delighted. "Well then. Tell me exactly what it is you've brought to my table."
"I can't tell," he shook his head, watching their frame tense with irritation. "Can only show"
They strolled closer, hands clasped behind their back as they peered up at the void above.
"I can make you tell, you know?" they sang playfully.
"I don't. Make the laws," Waiting insisted, irritated. "You know. How they work."
Which wasn't a bluff. They literally couldn't force the information out of him. Because anyone who learned of the Mantle's location? Couldn't speak of it, or describe it in any way. They could only physically show another person where it was held; and that was no guarantee that the person could retrieve it. Especially since no one had succeeded in doing so, so far.
Fingers drummed teasingly on his hard skull, and he hissed in irritation, swatting the hand away.
"What if you could make the laws? Be like the Wyrd thief, and take reality into your own hands?" the Blank One asked, circling the 'rooftop' lazily. "That's what the Maiden's can do with those silly trinkets, you know? Take some of the reins back? That's why it's absolutely unforgivable that Set let that opportunity pass him by. The Winter Maiden could have accessed the staff of creation - and created new arcane laws. Arcene could have truly freed you, little one, like all the other lost little Grimm she rescued; and she chose not to. Doesn't that sting?"
He glared. Perhaps that is true to a degree, but Arcene couldn't have destroyed the old laws with the staff. Because it was the bloody staff of creation , and not destruction. Then the conflicting laws would have literally torn reality apart. A Maiden alone cannot change much, they've made sure of that; because without all of the relics, one could not safely alter all of the arcana, or weave them together cohesively into a functional tapestry that would not end reality. Even if it was tempting to try, he knew that you do not fuck about with Wyrd without all the proper tools or knowledge, he knew that much.
"Arcene. Did more. For us? Then anyone else. Ever cared to," he said, his voice grinding. "Keep her name? Out of your mouth ."
Tittering as the Blank One giggled to themself.
"Far be it from me to speak ill of the departed," they pressed a hand to their chest. "So! Tell me then, little one. What is it you most desire? What is the price you ask for something truly priceless?"
Waiting continued to eye the circling aetheri. In the void, he could hear the echoes of another singer, some new hunter trying to track the Blank One down in the eternal dark; he knew they would never find them here. They would only find the ripples of their passing after the fact. He had only succeeded in locating them because they had wanted him to.
"I want to. Know the best way," he struggled, before finding his steel and his voice. "To kill the King of Vale. And how to frame it. On the King's Service."
Pale, silver eyes met his own crimson before the Blank One burst into delighted chuckles once again.
"Oh! Is that all?" they teased, clapping their hands again as they appraised him. "My, bold moves for such a tiny Grimm!"
"Can you. Do it or not?" he growled in frustration.
The Blank One cracked their neck dramatically, and then their knuckles. He couldn't see their expression, but he knew they were smiling under that empty mask.
"I'll need a few minutes," they chirped, going back to their spot on the rooftop overlooking the ruins. "Try not to get too impatient while you're waiting, hmm?"
He shook his head in disapproval, before popping a squat, his wings straining nervously. He tried not to jump when the singing started up again. Step one was done, and soon would come the hard part: getting this fool to go inside the chamber where the Mantle was held.
Because no one, aetheri or otherwise, who went inside? Ever came back out.