Just in case you didn't notice - this is the third post in two days (the documents were about to be deleted :P), so you might want to check that you haven't missed anything :)

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Chapter Twenty-Five: Falter

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Jolesp's parents were, and had always been, unbelievably, filthy rich. This of course made Jolesp's holos markedly easier to develop, especially because his father had installed a professional-quality filming studio in the eastern wing of their house. The teenaged director took it all as a blessing from above, since he refused to be less-than-professional, and film (or even practice) elsewhere, unless the scene called for it. Their first "official" meeting of actors, film help, and writer took place in exactly that studio early in the summer.

Lera slowly entered the room, carrying a large, bulky bag. She glanced at Jolesp; seeing him occupied with Hasi and her character analysis, the fair-haired girl made her way to Nichyn. "Hey, you," she half-whispered.

He looked up from the soundboard, a small smile already on his lips. "Hello— What is all that for?" he asked abruptly, staring at her crammed book bag.

"Well, if you'd make yourself useful…" she hinted gruffly.

He immediately stood and took the bag. "Well?" he pressed when she saw on the edge of the desk.

"They're for you." Biting her lip did not quell Lera's expectant grin. When Nichyn only stared at her, she rolled her eyes and opened the bag. "I went to the library today, and…kind of accidentally ended up in the political science/history section," she said, rambling slightly. "I know you want to go back to NLY eventually to help, so I thought you'd better start reading."

Slowly, carefully, Nichyn retrieved the first data-text: Political Ideologies That Shaped 35th Century Gallinore.

"Most of them are actual texts, of course. A lot of people prefer them that way, for academic projects. But you can keep them longer than data-texts, so I didn't think you'd mind."

"I…Lera…"

At his astonished appreciation, she ducked her head, blushing. "I just… There are books on past revolutions, too, and I can help you find some information on the aftermath. So you know what kind of things to expect, when you…."

"Damm 'kuin," he said, still staring at the bag. "Thank you."

"They're just books from the library," she told him, smiling shyly. "I was already there, really, when— Oh, right. Speaking of." She pulled the book bag across the table to herself, and began to rummage through it. "I have something else for you. It's kind of a late birthday/welcome to Gallinore present, since I didn't really get you anything then."

Nichyn unconsciously touched the bracelet that was still tied around his wrist. It hadn't left his arm since Lera placed it there on his first day in the Rym household. "You didn't have to do that," he told her. "You barely knew me then."

"But now I do," she replied firmly. "Oh, here they are."

"They" were a package filled with thick paper, and several drawing styluses. Lera had chosen carefully, and braved talking to a store manager about which were best for sketching. Since discovering the drawing of Nichyn's mother, she had been able to better follow her friend's artistic habits. He loved it, the way she loved writing. One look at his face now told her the art store manager had, indeed, known what she was talking about. Nichyn loved her gift.

"Lera…" Almost tenderly, he took the tied package from her hands. "How…?" Slowly, he raised his bright eyes to hers. It went without saying that all of his scant art supplies had been left behind on NLY. The weak flimsi had been enough, but not the same.

"I noticed," she said simply, but the look in his eyes made her blush. She didn't see the way Nichyn blushed as well.

"Lera, it's—that is, I love it—but it is…too much."

She raised an eyebrow. "Nichyn, I know there aren't any price tags on your gift."

"I've seen…they are not…" Nichyn dropped his eyes to the gift.

Lera almost told him that she had an allowance, that she baby-sat regularly, that she had published a few short stories in the provincial holo-report. But Nichyn's pride would probably follow his excellent manners, and Lera had enough guy friends to know how that would go.

"Come on, Nichyn," she cajoled. "What are you going to do, make me brave the public—the manager—the customer service people again? Make me try to return the open package of quality—but not that quality—paper?" She widened her eyes, and pouted a little. It had always worked on Arelyk and her uncle.

Nichyn's good manners crumpled, and apparently not even his pride would make Lera deal with strangers if she didn't want to. Of course, Lera seriously doubted he had really wanted to argue.

Surprising her only a little, Nichyn suddenly hugged her. "Damm 'kuin," he repeated by her ear.

She thought he might say more, but Zuleika chose that moment to finally walk through the door.

"You're late," Arelyk told his sister.

As she and Nichyn separated, Lera glanced at her chrono. "He's right, Zuleika. Almost twenty minutes late, actually."

"Shut up," the red-head casually told Lera. "Like you weren't enjoying the dark with Arelyk." She paused suddenly, and noted Nichyn and Arelyk's respective closeness and distance from Lera. "Or is it Nichyn now?" she asked dryly.

Lera's cheeks flushed as she glanced at Arelyk. He was frowning disapprovingly—but only at Zuleika, and only because his sister had teased his best friend.

"Are you ever quiet?" he pointedly demanded.

"'Fraid not," Hasi interjected. Hearing the chance to squabble with her "best friend," the dark-haired young woman had cut short her conversation with Jolesp.

"I don't believe we came to argue," Nichyn headed off the cat fight. He moved away from Lera, but not before squeezing her elbow.

"No, we didn't," Jolesp said indignantly, picking up on the change. He gave Zuleika a stern look as he gestured for Arelyk and the girls to follow him into the recording room. "Last warning, Ms. Rym."

Zuleika scowled at him as he passed her. "Pompous control freak," she muttered.

"I know you are, but what am I?" Jolesp stuck out his tongue at the older girl.

"What are you, three?" Zuleika demanded. "Show some respect for your starlet."

"Yes, I am your three-year-old director, and Macy Lamaze would be more than happy to replace you. So why don't we get to work now? Unless you want me to call Ms. Macy…."

Nichyn raised an eyebrow at Lera, but she only snickered and shook her head.

"Zuleika, Hasi and Arelyk—you'll be going through your scenes. Nichyn…" Jolesp hesitated. "Lera will go over the soundboard with you—"

Lera looked up, frowning. "I thought you showed him the tech part," she said. "Jolesp, I don't know why you—"

"I did show him!" the young director protested. "He didn't understand any of it."

"You went off on a tangent every three seconds, didn't you?"

"Tangent," he repeated thoughtfully. "I like that word. Can we have a 'tangent' in the title?"

"'The Director Finally Finished This Film After Eighty Years of Tangents'?" she suggested.

He scowled at her. "Great art takes time, Ms. Author."

"Just tell me if it takes so much time, I have to re-do all my research on the First Imperial War. My memory only remains perfect for five years."

He made a face at her. "Just go over it with him, sina-Lera. Or I'll do it, and leave you to go over the characters with Hasi and Zuleika."

Lera's eyes widened, and her lips tightened. "No, that's okay. Just the sound board? I can do that. Easy. Piece of cake."

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Nichyn was hopeless with technology. Lera, herself, was no great whiz, but years of Jolesp's directions had kept her aloft. The instruction manuals hadn't hurt, either. But Nichyn…

"You know, you'll probably be…really busy with your part anyway," Lera finally said. He had just tried to dim the lights, only to set off the theft alarm. "I can do most of it."

"No," he said stubbornly. "I can do it. I just need to…to get used to it. Which one increased the microphone strength, again?" His hand hovered uncertainly above the sound board.

"I'll re-label the controls," Lera decided, "or get one of Jolesp's servants to do it. It might help you, a bit." She winced faintly. "By the time they'd worn off, Arelyk and I had already been using this for a while…." She pointed to a dark knob on the right. "That's the microphone strength. Turn it to the left to diminish—"

He carefully did so.

"Now turn it to the right to increase it."

He cranked it a little too quickly, and both teenagers winced as Jolesp loudly called, "Action!" As Lera and Nichyn watched the room, Zuleika, Hasi and Arelyk launched into their lines.

"The first group of run-throughs are always…interesting," Lera warned Nichyn as she made a face. "I can cover the basic sound stuff for now—why don't you take a look at those texts?"

"I can't believe you brought a stranger here!" Arelyk's character exclaimed. "What if she's an Imp?"

Zuleika, playing Lacane, flipped her hair. "Honestly, Harris. What was I supposed to do? Let her bleed to death?"

"Yes!" Saja called, apart from the siblings. "Or at least buy thicker doors, so I can't hear you.

"Like she couldn't hear everything anyway," Hasi added, out of character. "Lerasina, the Rebels deserve to be caught. They've got a potential spy in their 'fresher, and—"

Lera's lips tightened as she leaned forward. "A potential spy, Hasi," she spoke into the intercom, "who is supposed to be caring for a head wound in the 'fresher. Save it, Hasi. You'll get plenty of diva time as Saja stumbles into the apartment at the start of the scene."

Hasi gave her a very fake smile, but Lera just grinned back. Hasi tended to unnerve Lera and render her a babbling, flustered mess; it was rare for her to successfully take the wind out of the other girl's sails. Co-directing was one of the few places where Lera had the higher ground for defence.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Nichyn trying to stifle his own grin. She had no doubt he had been paying attention to the conversation, ready to jump in and defend her. Instead, the look in his eyes had turned approving, and slightly mischievous. Her smile grew as his expression melted warmth inside of her.

It felt, she was only slightly surprised to realize, even better than one-upping Hasi.

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Lera tiredly waved goodbye to Arelyk and Nichyn as she walked across the lawn. Their first rehearsal had been as long, tedious and bumpy as could be expected. All she wanted now was to eat some crackers (Jolesp's fancy family dinner was nice, but entirely too rich for her), and collapse in front of a holo-vid.

Of course, it didn't work out that way. The crackers and cheese, she got. Unfortunately, she found more than that in the kitchen. Her parents were simmering, making civil, careful snipes that did not hide their brewing argument. Lera recognized the warning signs immediately.

Instead of going to the media room, she headed up to her room. Not really expecting her parents to wait to argue until she was sleeping, Lera turned up her music. Hopefully, they'd realize she was still up, and be quieter. They did try, after all. It was more than some parents did—Hasi was proof enough of that.

With Claris' mournful soprano gently building to the eventual crescendo, Lera fell into her hover-chair. Even if she had wanted to try to sleep through a Verili argument, her mind was too busy for dreams, and too restless still for reading.

Claris' voice dropped suddenly, and failed to hide an angry reply downstairs. The colour rose in Lera's cheeks, and she picked her bag up from the floor. Impatiently, she retrieved the holo story's data-chip. The outline was finished—scribbled out whenever she had a chance, and every time her parents fought. Which, she admitted, had been happening a lot more lately. Even with her there. What if this was—

She halted the thought. It could never be over between her parents. Not after so many years of fighting and reconciling. They always came back to each other, eventually. They were too in love, and had been since practically the first day.

"Kriff it, Hallis, I am getting so sick of this—"

"What, you want the main job now? I'm your wife, Jamut—it's my job to take care of this family! And what does it even matter?"

"Politics," Lera muttered as she inserted the disc into her holo-station. The social changes creeping into Gallinore had become an increasingly central source of conflict between her parents. But her parents wouldn't let social politics lead them to a divorce. Lera would just—she'd help them, if she could. Take their minds off their problems? She could—could—

Do nothing.

Just like she had done nothing so far to warn Sanar, just like she had never realized Prophecy's love of irony would lead to Veras' death.

Lera's fingers fell hard on her keyboard as her mind raced.

It's not fair. It's not fair! It was never supposed to be like this, it shouldn't ever have to be like this, one death after another, two-by-two and more still.

Lera's mind scrambled for understanding as she wrote. It searched for some scrap of justification. Right then, it only made the horrible kind of sense that her humanity considered to be no sense at all.

Vengeance . Vengeance at any price. Vengeance to starkly cleanse—bleach—strip—a world of evil. Vengeance supported by Prophecy. Vengeance with a human taste for irony.

Lera couldn't accept that it was just that. Veras' fate could not be merely for the woman's easy replacement. It had to be something…something that would eventually help Sanar. Lera wasn't stupid; she knew sacrifice was necessary for anything worth having, but maybe—

What if it could help Sanar somehow? What if—

Saja makes her choice with Haziv's death.

SAJA: Fine. I'll do it. I'll help.

BRIEFLY: A flash of Haziv's face as she died by Imperial gunfire.

QUICKLY: Flash back to Saja's face.

SAJA: Just don't make a big deal about it. I'm not doing it for you.

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As a rule, Lera wrote happy endings. She liked happy endings, in her life and in her stories. Her characters, as dear to her as real friends, faced staggering difficulties, but remained together, lived together, despite their struggles. She didn't like killing important characters, or those dear to them.

Haziv Lamal—one of Saja's fellow street survivors, and one of the few people Saja half-liked—died while Lera's parents argued, and Vengeance waited (plotted, lurked).

Jolesp's wish for an imperfect ending came closer to reality that night, when Lera's belief in happy endings faltered.

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Devnos watched. And brooded.

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The skaptor lurked within him at all times. Breathing the fire of righteousness—of Pucijir's Holy will—it snarled, but waited. It tested its claws on niftyaxes, sharpened its teeth on infidels—

But only waited.

Waited for the climax, for the moment when it would burst forth and scour this world—and then the galaxy—until it was pure. Until the Day of Cleansing, when Pucijir would release this beast within him, and create His dominion.

Until then, His vassal stood guard, waiting just as patiently. Waited, but not idly. Rafintair paved the way. Created the perfect trap—

For the perfect Day.

The anticipation flowed through his veins—not much longer now. Nothing could distract him, not even minutely. Not the shifting warmth of the fire, nor the approaching, nor even—

(blood on skin and eyes dark brown blind eyes)

Nothing.

"Your majesty."

Rafintair gathered himself, bringing all his thoughts back to his receiving room. He looked up, his expression only—at worst—slightly annoyed. "Brother Vacchus. I assume you have good reason for appearing unannounced."

The Holy Brother Commander did not show any sign of fear; it had long since been stamped—cleansed—out of him. Brother Vacchus was a man much like Rafintair—another guardian of Pucijir's skaptor.

"It has been confirmed," the pale man said. "The one they call the 'Kavishka' is on Na'Lein'yhpaon. He comes in a group of seven—they were responsible for the slaughter of Holy Brothers two months ago."

A breath, tight with anticipation. "Where are they now?"

"They have disappeared momentarily—we believe they have taken temporary refuge in the 'secret' Mirese abbey."

Pensive, Rafintair sat back in his ornate chair. "Scout the area more carefully, but do not confront them until I give the word. The Kavishka and I will meet, whatever happens—it is better to know a man, than attack him and let him discover how far he can go."

"And the abbey?"

Rafintair waved a careless hand. "Leave it for now. Let them think they are still safe. We shall prove them eternally wrong soon enough."

"As you command, sire."

"Was that all?"

Vacchus bowed. "Yes, your highness."

Rafintair smiled; his teeth were more obvious than his triumph. "Nearly time, Brother."

Vacchus was quick to slip into the slightly more casual conversation. "Indeed, sire." A vicious grin escaped him. "And it would seem they still know nothing of the Prophecy's true nature."

The emperor laughed. It was not a pleasant sound; his serving girl flinched. "Exactly as we wish it," he agreed. "Exactly as we planned it."

(blood and skin and eyes now dark blind forever finally blind and a girl in the corner)

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A tap on Lera's window distracted her suddenly, and she startled out of her writing. Her loose hair caught the air as the girl's head—and eyes—rose. Absently, she deactivated her music player by remote control.

Another tap.

For a long moment, Lera stared dumbly. Finally, a third tap, and a whisper of her name, shook her out of her stupor. With a glance at her door, Lera walked to her window. A shadow lurked behind the curtains; when she drew them aside, Nichyn was waiting. Having caught her attention, he pulled back inside his window.

Upon seeing his quiet, slightly mischievous (just for her) grin, she smiled back. With a last look at her door, beyond which her parents were still arguing, Lera leaned forward from her window seat to lessen the distance between them. "Hey," she half-whispered. "What are you doing still up?" She resolutely kept herself from looking at her holo-station screen, where her writing was waiting. Nichyn's appearance was welcome, but hadn't yet completely lifted her out of her thoughts.

Across the way, the dark-haired teen shrugged. His expression was suddenly, unexpectedly tinged with bashfulness. "I wanted to give you something."

Lera raised her eyebrows curiously. "What?" Before he could answer, she shook her head. "Do you want to climb over?"

The space between their bedroom windows was very narrow; Lera and Arelyk had been crawling across the way for years. Nichyn, after a sceptical look, only swung across when he realized Lera was about to come across to his side.

"No," he said, grunting as he stumbled in. "You can stay. I'm here."

Amused by his behaviour, she grinned. "I've done it a thousand times, you know. I wouldn't fall."

Nichyn appeared almost green at the gills as he looked from her to the open space between their windows. "Humour me?" he pleaded.

She softly laughed. "Oh, fine. Today. But don't think anyone else would. You're on Gallinore now."

"I don't like heights," he told her. "And I really don't like seeing people I care about put themselves in danger. That doesn't change with the planet I'm on."

People he cares about. Lera glowed. "So what made you brave the gap?" she asked. Without Lera's realizing it, her earlier black mood (writing) was forgotten.

He turned back and leaned out of the window. "I didn't really need to come over here to give it to you, I guess, but…" He pulled himself back in, and turned around. In his hand was a sheet of the paper Lera had given him earlier that day. Carefully, almost cautiously, he handed it to her. "It is not as good as I would have liked it to be—I've only been able to devote any real time to my art here, but—"

A trembling smile spread across Lera's face as she studied it. "It's wonderful, Nichyn." She couldn't take her eyes off of it.

Throughout the earlier rehearsal, Nichyn had stolen every possible opportunity to draw. It was obvious. The details were imperfect, and the style unpolished. That wasn't what made the drawing wonderful. Nor was the subject herself special. It was the way it was drawn, and the emotion behind it.

The subject wasn't posed—Nichyn had captured her mid-thought, staring into space. Starry-eyed, drifting, planning, dreaming…Nichyn's perception was obvious. So was the warmth of his regard.

"You do realize," she absently told him, "that she's really too pretty to be me." Lera glanced up with warm eyes. Nichyn blinked as if in confusion, but she continued before he could say anything. "I love it, Nichyn. Can I—do you want to keep it, or…?"

Nichyn shook off whatever had stymied him. "I drew this one for you." He smiled faintly. "I have others."

At the implication, Lera grinned and blushed. "Thank you."

Nothing was further from her mind, at that moment, than Prophecy.