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Curse of the Dragon
Chapter 5
Polyrhythm
The meager flame from the lantern flickered off the stone walls. Ahiru had her knees up to her chest, her pendant nestled tightly in the cradle of her palms.
The brunette dancer sat beside her, the tall woman poised with her hands folded in her lap. There was something warm about her in the way Hermia gently guided the redhead back to her hut, her shy and gentle eyes empathetic and understanding. However, Ahiru forced herself not to trust her, no matter how tempting it was.
Uzura, on the other hand, paced up and down the floor, a spark of energy and enthusiasm in the dim quiet. "Ducky-ducky-ducky-ducky-zura!" she chanted as her shadows danced along the walls, the light tip-tap of her drum echoing in the silence.
"I do know how you feel," Hermia said over Uzura's rhythmic pounding, her fingers twitching as if she didn't know whether or not to reach out. Instead, she rested them over her own heart earnestly. "Even if you don't believe me. But of course I won't push you into feeling better right away! I—well, I understand! Ah—is there anything you need?"
Ahiru lifted her troubled gaze, her hands still wrapped around the red jewel. Hermia had been the kindest to her by far (aside from Uzura, but the child seemed to be just as aware of everything as Ahiru herself). Fakir had been rude and harsh from the very beginning, Rue was icy in her politeness, and Raven, the elder, completely unsettled her.
There was an entire community of people—at least one of them being a monster—who wanted her dead. Hermia was her only chance (even if it was mind-boggling that she could be so kind and still go along with this crazy sacrifice, too). "The one who … the one who kidnapped me. The one who brought me here …?"
"Fakir?" Hermia was gentle with her coaxing.
"Mm. Fakir." Ahiru inhaled deeply, her breath quivering between her lips. "What he said before, about me having to—in two months—?"
Hermia's eyes drifted away, her expression falling as they both watched Uzura joyously dance back and forth across the ground, amusing herself as children were wont to do. "I wish there was another way. But you see, we've been waiting so long. It's a shame, though. You seem—" Hermia trailed off for a moment, wringing her hands in her lap anxiously. "—different than what we expected."
Ahiru stopped listening. Instead, she buried her face in her arms and her knees, biting her lip. A shame? Wishing there was another way? Different than what they expected? Just exactly what were they expecting when they took her here? And how were those words supposed to make her feel any better?
She was scared. Frightened. And she really wanted to go home.
Ahiru was willing to do anything at this point. She would learn to be a good princess—she would learn to be the right sort of woman to be queen! She would keep track of all of the country's problems instead of enjoying what life had given her. She would give more, and take less, and be the best and most proper lady she could be at all times. Every day, she would make sure that her curtsy was perfect, and that she could balance in her heeled slippers, and that she would never forget which fork to use first and she would never stumble or stutter over her words again. She could learn to be worthy of her prince, if only given the chance!
Why her?
It was only when Hermia's hand rested upon her quivering shoulder that she realized she began to sob, curling up into a blubbering mess in the middle of her hut. Even Uzura paused in her step and scampered over, placing her tiny hands on Ahiru's lap as if to placate her. "... Duck-zura?"
Ahiru didn't even look up, even as Hermia's expression twisted in anguish. "... I-I am so sorry," she whispered, bowing her head, her brown curls bobbing with the movement, "I feel it; the pain and the fear … I feel everything. I wish there was something I could—"
When Ahiru still hadn't responded, entwining herself in her own arms and attempting to shield herself from everything, Hermia pulled away. "... There is something I can do for you. Let me speak with Elder Raven! I'm sure he'll understand, and maybe it will ease you somewhat! Uzura, come along! You can help!"
There was a light squeeze to her shoulder before footsteps echoed across the ground, and Ahiru was finally, blessedly alone. At the moment, she didn't care what Hermia might've had in mind to help. She didn't want to be eased. She wanted to escape from this place and whatever sacrifice they were making out of her.
It was all just too much. To think, just a couple of days ago, she was preparing to meet her fiance, afraid that she wouldn't be a good enough princess or queen. And now …
Mytho was probably more worried than ever. These people planned to keep her for the next two months, and then she would be …
He would never find out. Pique and Lilie would always wonder what happened to her. She would never see the majesty of Vineta again, with its crystalline lake and smiling citizens. She would never breathe in the salty-sweet coastal air of her home, Hedeby, the cool, foamy waves licking at her bare toes.
To think, her mother wanted her to have a happy ending.
Ahiru's eyes opened and she lifted her head from her folded arms, her tearful gaze drifting and landing upon the light glow of the lantern on the table. Quiet and calm, warm and gentle. Everything her mother was, everything she wanted to become.
… She didn't know what curse they were talking about, but it couldn't have been that bad that she had to die, right? She couldn't let herself be snuffed out just like that, here in the darkness …
Maybe these people were wrong. Maybe they could find some other way.
Ahiru reached for the pendant around her neck. So stubborn, she was, when they took such a vital interest in the little, red jewel. It was her mother's keepsake, and she was told to always protect it. But … maybe they could break whatever curse they were talking about with it alone, and then she wouldn't have had to die in the first place.
It was the only bit of hope she could grasp. The thought of leaving it behind made her heart ache and her soul weaken, but wouldn't her mother want something different for her than this fate?
Her reasoning was sound, wasn't it? What curse could be so terrible that they needed her, some silly duchess-girl from Hedeby with a pretty jewel, to die?
Not knowing what to think and not knowing what was right, she reached up around the back of her neck and unclasped the pendant for the first time in a long, long while. The familiar weight left her collarbone, and she suddenly felt cold and naked without it.
With trembling hands and quivering legs, she stumbled to the table and placed the gem and chain onto the surface, the smooth, crimson surface almost glowing in the lamplight.
Just like that, she gathered her skirt and left the jewel had been her source of strength for most of her life behind in the darkness.
Ahiru knew she had to be quick and quiet. When she pushed back the cloth that covered the threshold of the stone hut, she poked her head out to glance at her immediate surroundings. There was a villager here and there, but they were scattered enough to get by, or so she'd hoped. Perhaps most of them were still up above on the upper ground.
When it appeared that the villagers nearby were looking away and a couple of them had retreated into their own huts, Ahiru took a muted step out onto the cobblestone, and then darted quickly behind the small structure's wall. She tried to ignore the pounding of her heart echoing in her ears and focused solely on making a silent escape.
The shadows were helping to conceal her, and she was glad for the town's inherent darkness. Her hut was decently away from the nearest lamppost, thankfully, but she had enough visibility herself to see where she was going.
Good. Hopefully her luck would keep up!
In the near distance, she could see the ladder that led up to the upper ground. No one seemed to be around, and as soon as she was satisfied, she took a deep breath, holding it for a moment.
She broke into a wild sprint, disregarding all sense of propriety as her arms flailed off to the side with her movement. Her eyes were dead-set on the ladder, concentrated only on her goal.
Her fingers found one of the wooden rungs and clenched around it, hoisting her lithe body upwards as she made a mad scramble to ascend. It was only when she reached the vertical tunnel around the ladder that she paused to catch her breath, clinging around the wood with white knuckles. Halfway there. No going back!
Finally, she continued her way up, poking her head out from the opening as she'd done just a bit ago to spy on the town's festivities. This time, there was no music, no instruments. People were scattered about, the piano long-since wheeled away and most of the villagers busying themselves with clean-up or other such chores.
It would've almost seemed normal—like a regular village, with bustling people hard at work, with baskets of vegetables and clothes—if not for the bleak darkness and their calm, quiet expressions. Everyone seemed so reserved, she thought, for the entire population to have such a "savior" in captivity. They were emotional and some were even driven to tears earlier. Now, they were so composed.
… This wasn't the time to think on this. She had to find her way out.
Ahiru thought she could remember the general direction of the exit. And if she couldn't recall it perfectly, then she could just scale the edges of the upperground until she came upon that large, wooden barrier with the dragon insignia scrawled upon it. The hard part was actually getting there without being spotted, particularly when all of the villagers were still out and about. She had half a mind to return to the hut and remain there until they were all asleep (as she'd remembered just how barren and empty the place was at night), but what if her courage ran out before then?
She felt so silly. She already made it this far! Why would she turn back now?
Then again, if she was just a little more patient for the evening to come, it would take her far less time and it was likewise much less risky ...
Ahiru half-grumbled and half-whined to herself, one hand still holding her steady on the ladder as the other reached up to tousle her own hair in frustration. Once again, she was letting her impulsiveness drive her, when it would've been much simpler if she had just—!
"... What are you doing."
"Kyah—!" Ahiru almost let herself plummet (honestly, this ladder was just so dangerous!), but she recovered as quickly as she could, securing herself against the wooden rungs as she whipped her head around to face the person who spoke, blinking. "Eh?"
Wearing a deep frown and a suspicious stare was the bespectacled man who played the piano earlier, his eyes accusing from behind the glass. Up close, it was a strange sight to see a man dressed in the shabby, ripped cloth that everyone here wore, yet his glasses were in absolute perfect condition, and his purple hair was slicked back so neatly. "I said, what are you doing?" he repeated with a raised eyebrow.
Well, so much for not being seen. Ahiru pouted up at him. While Fakir had been quite rude from the very beginning, this particular man seemed to judge her, his intonation and expression making her feel as though he was talking down to her.
… He was, literally, but that was beside the point. The redhead clambered up to the surface, and then stood at her full height in front of him. He wasn't as tall as Fakir, but he still seemed to stare down his nose at her, chin up, the glare of his glasses reflecting into her eyes. She squinted and crossed her arms. "None of your business!" she replied.
Adjusting his glasses, he took a moment to study her. She hoped that the redness in her eyes from her crying earlier had disappeared. Hermia made her feel comfortable enough to sob out her troubles, but she wasn't about to start wailing in front of this one.
Then, as if coming to his own conclusions, he gave her a simpering stare and stepped past her. "If you're looking for the way out, why don't you just let me to show you?"
Ahiru blinked up at him, her jaw falling slack. "E-Eh?"
"Come on," he continued casually, his shoulders shrugging, "It's this way, if you don't remember."
At a loss, she glanced around to see if he might've been talking to someone else. When she finally decided to follow, he was a good few strides away from her already. She scrambled to catch up, her eyebrows furrowing.
He wasn't really serious, was he? He was just showing her out? Ahiru wasn't buying it.
But she followed anyway, her curiosity getting the better of her. Besides, if she remembered correctly, this was the way back to the doorway Fakir led her through just yesterday.
Avoiding the stares from the other, whispering villagers as they marched down the lamplit, cobblestone streets, she kept her head down until he finally stopped. "This was what you were looking for, wasn't it?"
Ahiru's eyes widened. Yes, this was the opening. But it was sealed shut, just as it was before Fakir opened it with the palm of his hand. She took a few wary steps forward, reaching out to press her fingertips against the solid wood, tracing the lines embedded in the surface. The dragon insignia wasn't on this side—or, if it was, it just wasn't visible right now. Worrying at her lip, she gave an experimental push with both of her hands, and then with her shoulder. As dread began to seize her, she stepped away and reeled her leg back, swinging it forward in a wave of her skirt as she gave a very unladylike kick to the wood. But the impact instead sent a shock of sharp pain up from her toe all the way to her hip, and she pulled away, hopping on her other foot. "Ow—!"
Behind her, the man adjusted his glasses and snorted. "What, did you think we would just leave you to your own devices if it was that simple for you to leave? Please!"
Unbidden, Ahiru felt the tears of frustration prickle at her eyes, cold dread welling up in her chest. She dropped her leg when the pain ebbed away, her lip beginning to tremble as realization creeped in. "Y-You—why didn't you just tell me it was all closed up instead of bringing me over here?!" Fakir was rude, Rue was cold, and the Elder was unnerving, but this man was just … mean.
He smirked again, shrugging. "Well, certainly you would've wanted to find out for yourself! Don't cry over it. You couldn't have really thought it would be that easy."
… No, she didn't think it would've been that easy. But it was all that she had. It was all crumbling away, disappearing like dust in the wind right before her very eyes. All of that building adrenaline and hope that swelled within her back in the hut—thoughts of Mytho, of her friends, of her mother—deflated and left her crumpling to the ground in front of the sealed doorway.
Then, he just had to speak again. "And before you ask, no, there is no other way up."
Ahiru bit her lip, funneling her despair into one petulant act of defiance. She removed one of her slippers from her foot and flung it in the man's direction.
"Hey—gah!" Though it did nothing to assuage the ache of disappointment and growing alarm she felt, watching him take her shoe to his face, knocking the glasses right off his nose to land on the ground, was satisfying to the selfish, childish part of her. "You—that was absolutely unnecessary—!"
"Ah … Autor …?"
The man paused and squinted at the newcomer, Ahiru likewise turning to see who'd arrived. It was one of the villagers from that morning, with the short, teal-green hair and gray-blue eyes, likewise wearing glasses and still holding that sketchbook. Shyly, the small girl stepped forward and delicately plucked Autor's spectacles from the cobblestone, offering it to him without meeting his unfocused gaze.
He cleared his throat, taking the glasses from her. "Thank you, Malen. Hmph." He pulled a bit of cloth from his pocket and polished the lenses before donning them once more. "Now, what is it?"
The girl glanced over to Ahiru, who was still on the ground with a missing slipper, looking like she was on the verge of crying. Almost immediately, Malen dropped her gaze, as if unable to meet her eyes with anyone's. "Ah … Elder and Miss Hermia are looking for you."
"What for?" the man, Autor, asked, his hand on his hip as he pocketed the cleaning cloth.
"They only told me to come get you … so I don't know, really."
He sighed with exasperation, then turned his attention back to Ahiru. By now, the redhead was ignoring them, trying to focus on maintaining her quickly-diminishing composure. "I guess you're free to look around or whatnot, considering there's nowhere else for you to go. Just stay away from the edges and don't touch any of our valuables." With a huff, he turned on his heel and walked off, likely to meet with Raven and Hermia.
Malen lingered but for a moment, staring over her shoulder for one last look at Ahiru and clutching her sketchbook to her chest, before following after Autor.
Once again, Ahiru was alone, but this time, she had no hope to cling to. She was cold and naked without the jewel around her neck, and she felt like she was sinking deeper into despair with every passing second.
Ever since her kidnapping, she thought she had a plan. She had to escape. She had to send word to Vineta. She couldn't just expect to be saved—she had to help herself, too.
But they had taken that opportunity away from her. They had taken every opportunity away from her.
She buried her face in her hands.
Karon's head was throbbing something fierce. Not even the tea he brought to his lips could soothe him. He tried to mask the growing aggravation he felt from behind the lip of the teacup, his eyes glancing across the ornate table to the royal visitor on the other couch.
Prince Femio arrived earlier that afternoon at the town's gates, accompanied by a grand procession. Two (strangely well-behaved) bulls wearing rose crowns around their horns pulled his gold and jewel-encrusted carriage, flanked by trumpeters, lute-players and drummers. Other wagons in his caravan bore servants (slaves, Karon amended with inward disgust) and trunks full of lavish belongings and personal effects. The colorfully-dressed minstrels and musicians sang, danced and juggled alongside his guard, the knights donned in exquisite full-plate and regalia and proudly mounted on their horses. Streamers and roses were scattered every which way, leaving long trails of vibrant paper and petals in the wake of the spectacle along the cobblestone road.
The banners of the ruling house of Rungholt—royal purple with red roses framing a noble bull—fluttered in the fresh Vinetian breeze. The people were enthralled, cheering as the merrymaking parade announced Prince Femio's arrival. There were whispers through town: these must've been peace negotiations; no war would come to them now; Prince Siegfried had succeeded in keeping everyone's happiness!
Karon pinched the bridge of his nose. It couldn't have been worse.
The procession approached the glittering lake and the bridge that crossed it to the Grand Chateau. The trail of paper and petals followed them the entire length of the march, and Karon knew that he would have to sanction the clean-up of the entire town himself. As royal advisor to his absent prince, he had to be the one to greet Prince Femio of Rungholt personally, so he stood at the entrance of the Chateau with several other councilmen and knights to receive them.
The royal carriage pulled to a stop, the bulls exhaling heavily and shaking roses from their horns. The valet,dressed in pink and gold with a yellow cape, dropped the reins and hopped off of his bench. Karon did take notice that the inner lining of the valet's cloak was a deep red and he was dressed like a bullfighter. Strange that they would choose those creatures to lead Prince Femio's carriage, but bullfighting had been a common pastime in Rungholt, he'd heard. There were stranger things in this world, and far more important, more pressing matters to think about.
Now in position with his hand poised on the carriage door, the valet bowed his head, scattered roses to the ground and wind, and opened it. Prince Femio, with passionate eyes of lavender and flowing hair of plum, dramatically threw his hand into the air in a deep, greeting bow through the flurry of petals, the stem of a rose tucked between his lips and teeth.
Now, as they sat in the drawing room, Karon mentally corrected himself. It could get worse.
The Rungholtan prince lounged across the chaise, nibbling happily on a cream pastry while his four advisors and his valet, Montand, stood stark-still by the wall beside them, Vinetian guards on the opposite end. "My, my what a quaint little room this is!" he sighed, his speech accented thickly with the elongated syllables of his native region. He arched against the chaise and whimpered longingly, almost rolling back so his head lolled off the side of the armrest. "It is charming in its simplicity, but alas, my muscles ache from travel and my poor heart is weary—air, please, Montand, I must have air~!" He flung the remaining half of his pastry over his head as he swooned, and it slapped against the wallpaper across the room, sliding down sloppily.
Montand was by the prince's side in an instant, pulling a paper fan from his hip and obeying. "Of course, Your Highness!" Montand was rather firm-faced, and quite formal in his address, Karon noticed.
For the young prince to feel faint from the apparent heat of the "quaint" room was preposterous, considering how finely decorated and spacious their royal drawing room was. Then again, Prince Femio was wearing layers upon layers of fine velvet and lace. Karon's eyebrow twitched and he put his teacup down onto the table between them.
Indeed, the Prince of Rungholt proved to be just as ludicrously silly as the rumors said. He all but danced through the halls, his valet scattering petals after every step. Each sentence Prince Femio spoke was accentuated by a flourish or pose, his chest puffed out and eyes glittering. He was as young as Prince Siegfried, but behaved like a child. At least, until Raetsel, Pique, and Lilie came in, wheeling the tea, sandwiches, and sweets into the drawing room—immediately, he'd taken to his knee and held roses out to them, his hand poised over his heart as he lamented that he could not possibly love just one of them, for his heart belonged to all women.
The ladies tittered nervously and promptly excused themselves (or frantically retreated—in this case, it would be the same thing).
How that country had become so powerful under the rule of such a spoiled, deluded boy, Karon would never come to understand.
Finally, Prince Femio seemed to recover from his mild fainting spell, and Karon took the opportunity to speak. "I … I hope that the room feels more comfortable, Your Highness." He cleared his throat. "If I may, I don't believe we received due news of your … visit. We have not prepared any such welcoming balls or gatherings." It would have been customary for Prince Siegfried to welcome his guests in some way, but circumstances hadn't been in their favor these past few days.
"Non, non~!" Prince Femio sang, his long, delicate finger waving back and forth in correction, "'Tis a surprise, indeed, but we've been patiently waiting for … ah, what was it now?" He paused with a slight frown, turning toward Montand. The valet leaned in and whispered something into his ear. "Ah, yes! A response! We have been eagerly waiting for Prince Siegfried's response and—oh my, shouldn't he be here to greet me?" His frown morphed into a pout.
Karon's jaw clenched and his palms began to sweat. "Unfortunately, His Highness Prince Siegfried is … away." How much was appropriate to reveal? He was the Royal Advisor, yes, but these decisions were ultimately Prince Siegfried's. And this had all happened far too fast. "You see, he is to be married soon, and he is … meeting with his fiancee." It wasn't a total lie, and it was necessary to appear strong. After all, negotiations with Rungholt had been tense at best. Karon had even removed the bandages from his head before greeting the Rungholtans. They needed to come from a place of strength.
He was surprised to see, though, that Prince Femio's eyes went alight at the news. "A wedding! Oh~!" The prince pressed his hands to his heart and stood from his seat. "Such majesty and celebration! A true tale of love and happiness—alas, my heart never wavers, and I can never find a bride, for I belong to every woman, and I cannot simply just choose one~! I should be utterly punished—!"
"Ahem," Montand interrupted, leaning in to whisper into Prince Femio's ear once again.
In reply, the prince's expression fell and he sat back down. "Y-Yes, well, it does seem rude of him to leave right before my visit!"
Karon frowned behind his teacup. "As I said, Your Grace, we had no news of your arrival and the wedding is due to be within the next month or two. I'm afraid I do not know how long he will be away."
"Ah," he began, glancing over to Montand as if for reassurance before he continued, "then I shall … wait here for his return! Be certain to send word to him that I am here! Oh, I do hope his fiancee does not fall to my charms as well ... !"
Karon's heart sunk. "I—yes, of course." He was in no place to argue. Any wrong move could spell danger for the entire negotiation. "I shall have our servants prepare only the best for you."
The rest of the time had been spent exchanging pleasantries (or attempting to, on Karon's part, as he had to sit through Prince Femio's long tangents about himself) and taking part in cakes and more tea. All the while, Montand had been right over Prince Femio's shoulder, quiet and polite, but ever-present.
It was peculiar, and impossible to escape Karon's notice.
Finally, it was time to retire, and by then, dusk was fast-approaching. Raetsel politely led Prince Femio and his entourage to his room to prepare for the lavish dinner that Miss Ebine, the head cook, had been able to conjure at the last minute—Karon made a mental note to suggest raising Ebine's wages later.
Karon approached the nearest knight as they exited the drawing room, his eyes still trained on Prince Femio and his attendants as they made their way down the hall, the prince making backhanded compliments on the shabby coziness of the marble stairway. With a hushed voice, Karon muttered, "... In which direction had Prince Siegfried taken flight?"
"Northward, sir."
Karon gave him a firm nod. "Send a dove and a message northward. Tell His Highness Prince Siegfried of what has transpired—"
"—They are back! Prince Siegfried has returned!"
All persons in the hall froze and turned on their heels, facing the frantic knight in clinking plated armor scrambling toward them in a wild hurry. Raetsel's breath hitched, Prince Femio blinked cluelessly, his attendants were on alert, and Karon's heart dropped.
"Your Highness," Karon began carefully, turning back to the Rungholtans, "Please retire to your room and prepare for dinner; Prince Siegfried shall join you there."
"Oh, but of course I—" The prince trailed off as Montand stepped forward with a swift mumble that Karon couldn't catch from the distance. After a moment, Prince Femio gave his valet a nod, before turning back to Karon. "Ah, non, non~! I shall meet him now, and then prepare, yes?"
Montand stepped back, and Karon frowned. He had no choice but to agree.
They followed the knight through the corridors of the Grand Chateau, Karon and Raetsel secretly anxious while Prince Femio merely straightened out his attire to meet Prince Siegfried himself.
However, upon reaching the entrance hall, instead of seeing Lady Ahiru safely in Prince Siegfried's arms, they saw only him and General Lysander, their eyes dark with fatigue and something unfathomably tormenting. Karon felt the cold chill of misery flood him, noting the blood stains strewn across their cloaks, their cheeks dirt-smudged, his usually dignified and warm prince dull and withdrawn.
Prince Femio's attendants began to whisper among themselves, and all others were dead silent.
Karon's eyes met Prince Siegfried's and a dismal understanding passed between the two of them.
A precarious situation, indeed.
Ahiru trudged aimlessly around the underground village, her shoulders slumped, her slippers in her hand. The stone ground was cold on her bare feet, but she persisted on, unable to keep still despite how far her heart had sunk.
She didn't know what to do. She could've returned to the hut they'd given to her, but sitting alone in the darkness, even with her pendant, didn't seem all too inviting at the moment. Ahiru really wanted something—anything to hold onto.
They all stared as she wandered through. Ahiru kept to the edges of the village, meandering around the upper ground, but never crossing into the inner areas of town. She couldn't stand the looks they all gave her, some accusing, others smirking, most uncertain … and aggravatingly enough, no one tried to stop her from exploring either. They were so sure of themselves, so positive that they had her, completely and utterly.
Maybe they did. Ahiru was still coming to terms with that.
Even though people were walking about now, the bleakness of the village continued to persist, any of the earlier merriment and celebration of that morning dissipating into the dreary nature of the underground hamlet. Through her aimlessness, Ahiru did take notice of details she hadn't before. In one area of town, the edge of the stone platform actually met the earthy dome that encompassed it instead of dipping down into nothingness. It was here that they had planted a rather fruitful garden, most of the crops organized in a large patch of earth, but some of them along the wall of dirt and soil. As she passed, two villagers busied themselves with pulling carrots right out of the vertical garden and into their baskets, and even in Ahiru's disheartened state, she wondered just how they were able to make anything grow when the sun was never to be seen down here. They pumped groundwater from the walls as well, and they all seemed quite comfortable with the system.
For a group that was apparently "cursed," they seemed to be doing rather well down here, she thought wryly. But Ahiru carried on her way when even the farmers began to send their penetrating glances in her direction. She reached up to her neck to clutch at her pendant, but she'd forgotten that it was gone.
There was little else to see here, and no sign of another way out just yet, so she found herself descending the ladder to the lower ground. It was quieter here with fewer huts and people, and she took note that the whole platform was smaller than the one above. There was no garden and seemed generally less lived-in altogether. Maybe that was why they gave her a hut down here—they probably didn't want to be around her or see her that often.
Ahiru headed straight for her designated hut, not finding any reason to search around on this floor. There was nothing else to do for now, and she felt exhaustedly numb from everything.
Maybe she should just … nap.
However, there was something a tad out of place when she returned to the hut. Ahiru left the lantern inside, so the glow emitting from within wasn't strange. But it seemed brighter, somehow, and warmer. She neared the stone structure cautiously, taking careful steps.
When she pushed back the fabric to peek inside, her eyes widened, her shoes slipping from her grip and falling uselessly to the ground.
Dancing around the lantern on the table was a tiny, little lady.
Or at least, it resembled a lady. Ethereal, she danced and floated about the table as if she was made of light itself, her translucent wings fluttering from beneath her full, flowing hair, her billowing dress almost vanishing as she moved—she was spirit-like, slipping between existence and dreams, a warm, almost affectionate glow emanating from the tiny dancer that reflected off of Ahiru's discarded pendant still resting on the table.
A fairy. And unbidden, Ahiru hiccuped, bringing her fingertips to her lips in awe, tears filling her eyes. It was a fairy—a real, true fairy, right there, dancing on the rim of the lantern. Swans were commonplace, and Pegasi quite easy to find, but a fairy … oh, they were only legends, just like dragons. Fairies were the ultimate good, full of magic and light. Or at least, that was what her mother told her before.
The fairy turned toward Ahiru, her eyes growing wide in curiosity. Then, smiling so sweetly and so warmly, she took to the air, her wings buzzing delightedly as she flittered to the redhead.
In spite of everything that had happened, Ahiru smiled tearfully as she lifted her hands, silently inviting the fairy to sit on her palms. "H-Hello," she whispered, her bottom lip trembling. Oh, how her mother would've loved to have seen this beautiful creature, as real as the sun in the sky. The fairy waved delicately and sat comfortably on Ahiru's joined hands. "W-What're you doing in a place like this?" She even felt warm to the touch, full of the comfort that Ahiru had been unknowingly yearning for this entire time.
The fairy was silent, but tilted her head, reaching out to press a tiny hand to Ahiru's cheek. The small bit of contact was all Ahiru needed, and she let the tears fall. "A-Ah—! I'm sorry! I don't mean to cry or anything! I just—I guess so much has happened, and I—!"
When the fairy stood up and fondly opened her arms, Ahiru couldn't help but bring her to the juncture of her neck and shoulder, reveling in the tenderness the little embrace offered. Crumpling to her knees, Ahiru bowed her head and let herself sink into the welcoming, gentle warmth of the fairy. She didn't question how this fairy could be real, or why she would even be down here.
None of it mattered. This fairy had given her hope. Somehow.
Ahiru didn't know how long she sat there on the cold ground with the tiny lady, letting her dance on her shoulder and lap as she desired. Eventually, the fairy reached out and tugged at one of Ahiru's locks of red hair playfully, before taking to the air once more with a sweet grin. "Eh?" Ahiru glanced up at her in dismay as she began to flutter off and out of the hut. "W-Wait! Don't leave! Where are you going?!" She scrambled to her bare feet and burst outside to follow. "Do you know the way out or—?!"
She followed the fairy's glow and the light buzz of the beating wings to a quiet, secluded part of the lower ground that she hadn't noticed before. And when the fairy stopped, hovering over one specific spot, Ahiru skidded to a stop.
… There was a trapdoor here. That meant there was even more below the lower ground. Ahiru's heart skipped a beat. Was that another way to escape—?
The fairy gestured to the door with a tilt of her tiny head, and Ahiru immediately obliged. It wasn't heavy or locked, and when Ahiru squatted down and pulled at the handle, it opened with great ease. Immediately, the fairy buzzed with delight and zipped downward, her inherent glow lighting the way down.
There was another ladder leading down to a third platform. And there was a glimmer down there, too, that reminded her of the pearl-white grasses back up on the surface …
"That isn't a way out, you know."
"Gyah—!" Ahiru shot up to her feet, the trapdoor slamming shut when she dropped it.
Rue stood there, cool and devastatingly beautiful as usual, but mildly agitated and balancing a basket of clothes against her hip. "My, you're quite excitable, aren't you? Anyway, as I said, it isn't a way out, so don't get your hopes up."
"I was just—!" Ahiru bit her lip, feeling her heart sink all over again. "I was following the—!"
"The ladybug. Yes, I saw."
Ahiru blinked. "Lady … bug?"
Rue kept on with a slight huff, adjusting the basket in her arms. "Hermia has spoken to Elder Raven, and he has instructed me to watch after you while Autor prepares something for you." Her gaze lowered a bit, eyes growing distant. "... It will help you understand."
At a loss, Ahiru couldn't find the words to respond. Understand? What more was there to understand? They were cursed, and she was supposed to be sacrificed, and no one had given her a complete story yet. Fakir had been the one to be honest with her first.
Taking Ahiru's silence as a signal to go on, Rue continued, "Well, come on then. You're to help me with the laundry."
"Eh?"
With a small smirk, Rue turned to lead the way back toward the ladder to upper ground. "Fakir did say you come from nobility. Perhaps it's time to learn a more practical skill now that you're without servants, Ahiru."
Her tone left no room for argument, and Ahiru's cheeks flushed with shame at the words. It was true that she didn't know how to wash clothes or anything like that—Pique and Lilie had always taken care of those things for her, and she didn't really question it.
While she did feel like she should learn, she didn't want to start with her kidnappers' clothes. With one, final glance down at the trapdoor, Ahiru sighed and trudged after Rue, feeling exhausted from all of this emotional whiplash.
Even if it wasn't an escape route, Ahiru couldn't help but be curious and long for the presence of that fairy again.
They made their way back to the upper ground (with Rue using a rather practical method of pulling the basket up with looped rope—honestly, these people seemed to figure out everything about living down here). Once again, Ahiru found herself avoiding eye contact with the vast majority of the villagers, and kept her eyes down on her feet as she trailed after Rue. Stopping in the center of the town, Ahiru took a glance around. The formation of the cobblestone and the placement of the huts made this little area almost look like a town square, and this was where everyone gathered and danced about earlier that morning.
Instead of a large piano, there were two washtubs this time, and a couple of villagers were heaving the last needed buckets of water into them. Rue smiled arrestingly when they finished, thanking them accordingly before setting the basket down. She set about preparing, adding soap to one of the filled washtubs while Ahiru stood uncomfortably off to the side. "You'll be in charge of scrubbing," Rue instructed, turning her nose up. "Use that washboard over there. Surely, you've seen your servants do it before."
Ahiru didn't know why she was going along with this, but soon enough, she was on her knees in front of the washtub, her sleeves rolled up, and vigorously rolling the soapy fabric against the washboard. She had a feeling Rue intentionally gave her this duty—the poised woman didn't seem the type to enjoy such labor at all.
Oddly enough, Ahiru wasn't all too bothered by it, even if it was a bit taxing on her muscles. It gave her something to do—something to tire her out. And it was monotonous enough for her mind to wander off into its dizzying circles again. Thoughts of her prince, of how Pique and Lilie would giggle if they saw her doing her kidnappers' laundry, of her mother, of that fairy lady bug thing …
While she was not giving in to becoming their slave or something, she definitely had to admit that there was something nice about simply being and doing.
Ahiru would finish this task this time. And then, she would work on escape. Again. Somehow.
Determined, she set her jaw, pursed her lips, and scrubbed faster.
"Slow down," Rue admonished, sitting casually on a stool nearby. "It's just laundry—there's no rush."
"Ah … s-sorry, I've never really done this before."
"I thought as much." Pushing a lock of thick, dark hair behind her ear, Rue leaned forward, tilting her head. "I don't expect anyone to want to try if they don't have to. It isn't my favorite chore, that's for certain."
Ahiru didn't know why, but she kept the conversation going, somehow feeling soothed by the repetitious, tedious work of scrubbing at rough fabric. "I dunno. It's kinda relaxing in a weird way."
"You're an odd one, aren't you, to enjoy such a task when you likely haven't even swept your own floor before?" Rue smirked, turning her chin up. "What does a noblewoman such as yourself do with her time?"
With a blink, Ahiru took pause, her hands growing still on the washboard. She had her lessons with her tutor, mostly on etiquette and waltzes. There were some days where she had to study mathematics and literature, but she hardly paid attention, come to think of it.
But what did she do with her free time? Daydream of her prince? Play with her dolls? Feed birds that came to her window? Walk on the beach and … daydream more?
At the core of it, Ahiru really didn't know what she'd been doing with herself. She bit her lip with uncertainty. "Um—! I liked … w-well …" She had one aspiration for herself, really, and that was to be a ballerina, like the one that twirled in her music box, like Rue, Hermia, and that woman with the flowers did earlier that morning—like her own mother. But during her first lesson when she was still quite little, her instructor had claimed that Ahiru had bad feet and awful balance, and told her mother and father that teaching her would be for naught.
When Ahiru trailed off into cheerless silence, Rue's expression softened as if she realized she'd touched upon a sensitive subject, her crimson eyes strangely unguarded despite her usual, proud disposition. "... Well, if you like cleaning so much, at least it will be something to do. Just let me know if there is … anything else that might entertain you."
At least for the next two months, Ahiru supposed with a downhearted frown, going back to her chore.
Fakir's right hand itched. With a scowl, he mentally forced the sensation away, turning his attention to Autor as they stepped out of Elder Raven's hut.
Autor looked particularly worse for wear, the weariness and anxiety prevalent behind those glasses. Damn Hermia and her excessive empathy. Putting Autor into that position was hardly ideal, even if it did seem like the only way.
Just two more months of this, Fakir reminded himself, and it'll finally all be over.
Autor adjusted his glasses with a trembling hand (Fakir only saw it because he was looking for it). Fakir knew him well enough to know that he was trying to hide his trepidation with irritation, so he didn't press the matter. After all, they all had to do what they had to do. Fakir's own part was finished.
Elder Raven's words still rang in his ears. "As far as I'm concerned, Fakir," he said just a few minutes ago, "you have almost redeemed yourself. But never forget your failures, and what they cost us."
As if he needed a reminder. As if the guilt hadn't tore and gnawed and ripped at him for what felt like an eternity—unchanged, unwavering, and still as fresh as if it all happened yesterday.
Frozen in time. As unmoving and stagnant as the air of their town, the inescapably painful memories still keeping them all tossing and turning in the night.
Yes, Fakir's part was over, and just now, it had been Autor's.
To do it, Autor had to relive it all.
It was understandable that Autor had been against it at first. But Elder Raven's word was finite and sensible. Hermia had felt that girl's anguish and had seen how stubborn, yet kindhearted, the sacrifice apparently was. Elder Raven considered the smoothest and most painless way to go about it was to play to the girl's sympathies, regardless of Autor's own reservations about the subject. Fakir thought it to be rather manipulative, but didn't protest; shining a bit of light on their own truths wasn't a bad idea, and Hermia was coming from a good place by suggesting it, despite it meaning that Autor had to see it all over again.
None of them wanted to go back to that time, but it seemed that they had to in order to move forward.
… What did moving forward even feel like anymore? Fakir couldn't even remember, it had been so long.
It was with tense silence that they stepped out of the hut, Autor clutching a roll of parchment (the words fresh and detailed and painful scrawled out in jagged lettering) to his chest as he adjusted his glasses again. "Hmph. We seem to have gone well out of our way for a girl who's only going to die in two months." Autor tried to hide it, but Fakir could detect the barest hints of distress in his words.
Fakir glanced away, his frown deepening. "It's nothing you haven't done before." He tried to downplay it—make it seem less difficult than it truly was. But Fakir watched Autor sit at that desk, his muscles clenched and his eyes wild while the words poured onto the page. Autor broke three quills as he wrote, and his fingers were still stained black with ink and red with the blood of his cracked writer's callouses.
Autor was a wordsmith of history. An infuser of memory. He could write all that was and had been.
Fakir used to write all that could—
"Please, that coming from you?" Autor turned away, his hands crinkling the parchment. "Maybe you've forgotten what it's like, considering you can't anymore."
Anger flared in Fakir's chest and his green eyes blazed, but for now, he let it slide. They couldn't have an incident. Not when they were so close to the end. Not when they were just beyond the reach of freedom. And he knew that Autor was in a precarious, traumatic place right now.
No, Fakir hadn't forgotten. He couldn't. But he knew that they all had to do their own parts in this, as Elder Raven dictated (as much as Fakir was loathe to admit it).
They walked in tense silence for a brief distance, and came upon a peculiar sight. Rue sat at the edge of the town square with the laundry washtubs as usual, but she wasn't working this time. Instead, she casually sat on a stool while that girl was hunched over the washboard, digging the soaked, soapy fabric into it.
Fakir raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest. The girl had her tongue sticking stupidly out of the side of her mouth, and she was splashing far more than necessary—not that she could've noticed, with her eyes staring off into nothing like that as she worked. She certainly didn't look like a princess-to-be. Maybe they were doing her prince a favor by keeping such a handful away from him.
Autor grit his teeth together, as if struggling to keep himself together after his ordeal. "Great. Now they're letting her do our chores. So much for out of sight, out of mind." Fakir was sure that the girl was driving Autor near mad at this point.
Indeed, Fakir was seeing her more than he thought he had to, and it had only really been a day or two. But Elder Raven found it necessary to keep the girl occupied, and perhaps draw her into agreeing to their terms willingly. After all, none of this was personal. This was just how it had to be. Fakir did have to wonder why it had to be someone like Ahiru, though, who really was harmless, if a bit loud, unlike her damned ancestor.
As if to solidify his thoughts, the girl seemed to have been far too lost in thought to catch herself as she shoved roughly against the washboard. The force of it and her general lack of balance sent her toppling forward. "A-Ah—!" Her squeal cut off into a muffled gurgle and she slid down against the washboard, her head and shoulders hitting the soapy water with a splash, her legs sprawled out behind her.
Fakir shook his head, marveling that this girl could even be real.
"How stupid," Autor muttered, impatience dripping from his voice.
Fakir smirked just a bit, softer than usual. Yeah, definitely stupid.
They watched as Rue approached the washtub, a tiny smile on her face as that girl extracted herself from the soapy pool. The redhead was sputtering, pulling off a drenched shirt that had clung to the top of her head. She looked positively silly to all who saw, and even Fakir had to admit that it was at least amusing.
The soaked girl looked absolutely clueless, and Rue laughed.
Fakir's eyebrows rose at the bell-like giggle that Rue released from behind her hand, having not heard that sound from his sister in—since before all of this. Then, his gaze drifted back to Ahiru, water dripping from her bangs and clinging to her skin. Had that girl really just—?
However, Autor didn't seem to take Rue's laughter as well as Fakir had. In fact, the bespectacled man turned pale at the sight, his eyes widening in disgust. "Did you see—did Rue just laugh? Just like that?"
While it was a rare and welcome sound, Fakir didn't think it deserved that much attention. "What of it? Leave it be."
"That girl, the sacrifice, made Rue smile. The sacrifice, Fakir!"
"Grow up. The girl was just being stupid—"
"When has anyone here made her laugh like that?! We never could do that for her. I never could do that for her, but she can?!"
Fakir ground his teeth together, his fists clenching, his voice taking on an edge of warning. "That's enough. I know you're stressed; I saw what you went through, but you need to calm—."
"Oh, that's rich, you telling me to calm down. You finally bring us the sacrifice, and suddenly you're better than us—you're forgiven for everything you caused!"
Fakir's eyes narrowed sharply, his hand forming into a tight, shaking fist.
But Autor spun on his heel, already making a beeline for Rue and the redhead at the washtub. And Fakir did not like the way Autor's muscles began to tense and his movements grew rigid, the rolled up parchment crumpling in his grip.
Before Fakir followed, he needed a moment to calm himself down first.
Ahiru didn't exactly know how she ended up face-first into the washtub. She had been thinking of that fairy again, of how she danced so prettily like Rue, Hermia, and that beautiful blonde woman with the flowers. Even if that trapdoor didn't lead to anything important, she was still curious—maybe there were more of those fairies. Or … well, Rue called her a ladybug. Whatever that meant.
Still, though she was flushed from embarrassment and trying to wipe the suds from her eyes, she supposed she'd done worse things. When she heard Rue's surprisingly musical laughter, her blush deepened. "That's not—it's not funny—!"
However, Ahiru couldn't help but notice that the mirth in Rue's eyes was warmer than her usual, cool countenance. It was a welcome change, and honestly, it was a rather pretty laugh—genuine and sweet-sounding. Rue's pale cheeks were tinged pink, her eyes crinkling a bit in her soft smile. "Hm … I've just never met someone so clumsy before. How did you even manage to fall over like that?"
"I slipped! Or something! I-I dunno!"
Rue's smile widened. "You weren't even standing, silly girl."
"I just—"
"Well, don't you seem rather chipper."
Ahiru jumped, recognizing the voice immediately and setting her pout into a petulant glare in Autor's direction. Yes, she decided she really didn't like him at all. But for some reason, he looked less dignified than he had earlier, with his hair a bit disheveled and his eyes somewhat bloodshot, his hand tightly gripping into a roll of parchment. His eyebrows were furrowed and his jaw was set tightly, and Ahiru had to wonder if something had happened.
Rue stood up from her stool, her expression cool once again. "Autor. Is it done—?"
He was all but shoved the roll of parchment at Ahiru, letting the paper collide with her face. "Gyah—!"
"There. There's the stupid memory. Which I slaved over, by the way, just for you." He snapped his attention to Rue. "You seem to be enjoying yourself."
Rue's eyes took on a defensive edge. "What are you talking about?"
"You, smiling at this girl and talking to her as if she wasn't lower than dirt!"
Ahiru was about to open the parchment to read it, but she was suddenly caught up in their exchange, morbidly intrigued by it all, even if she shouldn't have been. "The girl and I were simply having a conversation," Rue countered dismissively, "What, are you sore that I haven't given you my undivided attention again?"
Autor visibly bristled. "I'm sore because everyone here is catering to the spawn of the bastard who did this to us!" He accusingly pointed a finger toward the soaked redhead, her own eyes wide as saucers, her face now pale. "That girl has his blood running through his veins, and he betrayed us all! He betrayed Edel, he betrayed me! I just saw it—I felt it happen all over again, just to make this stupid girl understand?!"
She couldn't understand anything he was trying to imply. There were bits of information—a puzzle that she couldn't fit together, with half the pieces still missing. And she felt even more lost, knowing that everything all connected to her, and she was left with even more questions.
Were the answers in this roll of parchment …?
Just as Ahiru was about to open it, she noticed that a few passing villagers had begun to slow to a stop around them, keeping a good distance away, but sending hushed warnings to Autor. "You need to calm down," some said, seemingly cautious.
"Please stop this … !"
"Not now, please, not now!"
"We can't handle another incident …"
Even Rue had begun to back away, and Ahiru could only glance around, feeling the thick tension in the air and at a loss as to how to deal with it.
But all the warnings went ignored, especially when Fakir seemingly came from nowhere to step between Autor and Ahiru. She stared up at his back, and even from this angle, she could tell that Fakir was likewise taut with frustration. "Back off, Autor," Fakir growled, "We can't have this now, and you damn well know it."
Autor was not having it. He jabbed his finger repeatedly against Fakir's chest. "As if you have any right to say anything! I've said it before, I'll say it again, and again, because you never seem to get it—"
"Shut up."
"—This whole time, for three centuries, you always thought you knew better—"
"I said, shut up."
"—always resisting the Elder, always telling the rest of us what to do and never accepting that all of this is because—"
"Stop."
"—we can't move forward because of you! We are frozen like this because of you! Everything is because of you! Hell, even Uzura couldn't even grow up and it's all your fault—!"
Fakir reared back and sent his fist flying into Autor's cheek, knuckles colliding with his face in a harsh crack and sending the glasses into the air for the second time that day.
And for a long, suspended moment, everyone froze. Even Ahiru couldn't breathe as the weight of everything pushed down upon her.
She heard Rue breathlessly and uneasily mutter, "Fakir, no …"
The punch brought Autor to his knees, or at least, that was Ahiru's assumption, until he began to tremble almost violently, his limbs beginning to twitch, his form writhing and voice coming out in harsh grunts and whimpers.
It was disturbingly familiar. Like that night when she'd been kidnapped. But Fakir's transformation seemed intentional, like he was preparing himself for the pain before it started.
This time, it was chillingly different.
And when Fakir turned on his heel to face the villagers, Autor's pained groans and cracking of bone and muscle behind him, Ahiru could see the worry lining his face, and she knew that she was right. This was different. "Get everyone out—go to the tunnel, now!"
Everyone burst into action, but oddly not panicked, as if this had been done before. Rue scowled at Fakir, but he stopped her before she said anything. "I'm sor—dammit, scold me later! Get Raven, and make sure Uzura's safe!"
Without another word, she set off to do just that as Fakir went to nearby huts to get people out and help to evacuate. Autor's hands morphed and cracked, the limbs elongating and his body growing to that terrifying, massive size, the grey-purple scales beginning to pierce through his skin.
Under his weight, the upper ground began to quake, and that was when Ahiru realized that she was still sitting there dumbly, holding the parchment, shaking on the ground, and unable to figure out what to do or how to—
—What was happening?!
"What are you doing, you idiot?!" Fakir hollered over the dragon's growls and steady roars as he made his way back to her.
"I-I don't—!" Panic seized her. She tried her best to stand, but the platform shook even more violently, and she fell back on her rear, dropping the parchment. "I can't—!"
"Useless!" She felt herself get lifted up into Fakir's arms as Autor's neck stretched, the spines sprouting from his back, the wings forcing their way through. Fakir cradled her close and made a mad dash for that tunnel they used to get into the village. It should've dawned on her that this could very well have been her chance of escape, but as she watched the dragon roar over Fakir's shoulder, small embers puffing out from its nostrils with it's large, scaly tail swinging back and slamming violently into a nearby hut, sending wood and stone into the air—!
Ahiru was so scared, she could only cling to Fakir's shoulders helplessly and watch.
But out of the wreckage, the Elder stepped closer to the rampaging, purple dragon, his expression calm.
And then, Raven began his own transformation. His own was fluid and swift, as if stepping into his new form with ease. He made no sounds of pain, he didn't hunch over in anguish as the spines pierced out of his back and his bones morphed him into another creature. He was utterly, completely untroubled.
Ahiru's fingers on Fakir's shirt clenched, her eyes widening as this new dragon spread its feathered wings to keep itself aloft and its weight off the platform, its snout almost beak-like. And in the darkness, with it's black wings stretched out over the empty town, it reminded her of …
She shook her head and buried her face into Fakir's neck when Raven released a chilling, caw-like roar, piercing the air enough to make even Fakir himself stumble. "Nngh—!" She held tight when she felt him drop to his knees, but he still did not release her as the ground beneath them continued to shake precariously.
Looking up, she watched as Raven's screech penetrated through the other dragon's frenzy. The monster that used to be Autor reached up, covered its head, and curled up, twitching and writhing as he struggled to change back. But with one last swipe of it's shrinking horned tail, it sent debris flying through the air.
Toward them.
"L-Look out!" Ahiru shrieked. Fakir barely glanced over his shoulder as a hefty boulder and other smaller pieces of wood and stone sailed toward them. With a grunt, he launched Ahiru away from him, sending her rolling off to a safe distance as he deftly tried to leap out of the way.
She landed with a pained squeak, her head throbbing and vision fuzzy. Desperately trying to compose herself, she held her head still and tried to blink away the confusion. Then she attempted to sit up, wincing and frantically looking around. Fakir—had he—?!
Ahiru stood up (the ground had stopped quaking now, and it was eerily quiet) and stumbled around the large stone, stepping over wood and rock and ignoring the sharpness of pain along the bottoms of her bare feet. She bled from her knees and elbows, and her cheek was throbbing along with her head, but she could certainly still move and adrenaline still pulsed through her veins.
Fakir saved her again. Even if it was because they needed her for a sacrifice, she still hoped that he was alright—!
When she found him, her heart stopped. Fakir apparently dodged the boulder, but a stray piece of wood had lodged itself into his shoulder, embedded into the flesh. He was bleeding all down his arm as he hunched over on his knees, clutching at the wood with growing desperation.
And he began to twitch, his muscles spasming.
No. No, no, no, it couldn't happen again! This place wouldn't hold out if it did!
But she bit her lip, noticing in her peripheral vision that the tunnel was open. Surely, the other villagers were crowded in there and escape was near-impossible, but this would've been her only chance! If she could just hide and then escape into the chaos, then—!
"Nnghaaahhhhh—!"
Fakir slammed a fist down into the ground as wings sprouted from his back, ripping through the back of his shirt, the leathery, papery appendages flapping uselessly. He brutally quivered, a few scales appearing across his arms.
He's fighting it, she realized.
And she couldn't just leave him like this. Escape didn't matter right now.
Not that she knew what she could do, but she had to try!
Scrambling over to him, she reached out with quivering hands and dropped down on her bleeding knees in front of him. She didn't know how to—he looked like he was in such pain and—! "P-Please—shh, it's okay, everything's okay! O-Oh no—!"
The whites of his eyes turned yellow, his expression wild and teeth grinding like stones together. That was when she reached out and took his face between her trembling hands. "I-It's okay, shh, it's okay, Fakir, you're okay! It's over, it's over, we'll get you fixed up—! I-It's not too bad, I think! I'm-I'm here!"
Slowly, as she rambled on to him, she felt some of her warmth escape from her palms and wash across his cheeks. Somehow, his struggles began to dissipate. The scattered patches of scales remained, and his wings gave a slight spasm every so often, but soon, his eyes returned to normal, and the harsh lines across his face began to soften.
His transformation … stopped? "F-Fakir—?"
Fakir's green eyes refocused on her, and then lolled back before falling shut.
Ahiru squeaked when he slumped forward, the winged man falling unconscious in her arms.
Beta-read by Docktor Locktor