Swallowing the Brimstone Chapter 4: stories, a soul eater fanfic

four_Stories

Thane

Though he sleeps, you sit at your father's bedside while wrapping your wrist, confessing what you've done. You think you may understand his burden more fully, finally grasping the weight of protecting your people. You've spent many months reflecting on your father's past decisions and how you would have chosen differently, but now you realize that there is no right choice, sometimes.

"I did not want anyone to die, yet I did the most harm."

Your father's hands twitch in his sleep. You wonder what he grasps after in his dreams.

At a table by the hearth, Medusa mixes herbs and grinds them with mortar and pestle, their oils pungent in the room. Because she so frequently tends to your father, she is often subjected to your thoughts spoken aloud, and you have come to appreciate her quiet company- she does not condemn you for your sometimes darker musings, even offering advice from time to time.

She is a healer first and foremost, however, and upon seeing your novice attempt at wrapping your wrist, she waves you over with a frown. Pointing at a seat, she orders you to stay put while she finds adequate dressings for your injury. "We must gird our weaknesses," she says, inspecting a collection of wooden splints in her basket of supplies to find two of an appropriate length. "The greater good most often comes at the expense of compassion." She secures the splints to your forearm, immobilizing your broken wrist. "Which you have in spades, young lord, and it seems to be both your strength and weakness."

You can do nothing but grimace at both her words and ministration. The splints seem to be slightly off-center, but you refrain from adjusting them because the woman has no qualms smacking those who would tamper with her work. "Though you learned that from Lord Sephtis, I am sure." Once she is finished with you, she begins to clean up her mess of herbs and remedies, moving them to containers and jars. "And it is because of his compassion that I am allowed sanctuary here, away from my power-hungry sister, so I cannot chide you for that."

Using your sash and the opening of your overgown, you carefully rest your arm inside your clothes like a sling. Quietly, you ask, "If you were in my position, out on the cliff, what would you have done?"

Medusa raises only her eyes to yours when she replies, "The only thing I would have done differently, my lord, was make sure the wolf was dead." She continues to collect her belongings, tinctures clinking together in her basket. "Most of the town, myself included, believe you should hunt down the rest of the Old Ones so that we may live peacefully."

You openly gape at her. "You know best of all what kind of devastation that causes-"

She holds up a hand, nodding. "I do. Everything comes at a price. I suppose it is a matter of deciding which choice costs the most in the long run, my lord." Basket in arms, she stands, giving you an enigmatic sort of smile. "I simply worry- how many more meetings with Moro do you think your body can handle?" With that, she leaves another jar of that awful, stinging poultice on the table for you before excusing herself.

Could you kill the gods of Raskogr? Would they stay in the grave? Would they rise up and pick up where Asura left off, so that all you can hear at night are the screams of the burning bellows girls? Would you fend them off like your father, touched by curses and doomed to wither away to bones and madness?

Harvar would never forgive you, certainly. You don't believe Blair would approve, either, though you can't pinpoint why because she's always been neutral when it came to your father dealing with the Old Ones. And then there is the matter of Soul Eater- who is neither wolf nor man but somehow in an undefined place between the two. Would you be forced to slay him, as well?

You suppose you may have to kill Soul, regardless. After shooting Moro this morning, he will certainly come after you, and likely not for the usual exchange of trifling blows and banter. He has never truly attacked you or anyone from Iron Town with the intent to kill, but that may not be the case anymore, should Moro die.

If you killed Soul along with the gods, would it bring peace to your people? If you tipped the Nightwalker's scales, what would you lose in return?

"Thane."

You start, head whipping around to see your father's hand weakly raise. You hurry to him, grasping his fingers and finding them as cold as the snow piling outside. His feet twist under the furs on his cot. "She is wrong." he says to your surprise- he had evidently been both awake and coherent enough to listen to your conversation with Medusa. "Do not follow me- you must make… your own path." His head makes an involuntary shake, eyes wandering about the room under his mask. "Don't make my mistakes."

It is hard to see your father this way. "I fear I may have, already," you admit. "I don't know what I can do that won't make everything worse."

"It's a narrow path," he agrees, his voice taking on an amusement that makes your heart sink. Sephtis suddenly chuckles, the noise unnatural and misplaced. "She's waiting for you."

His laughter becomes loud and crazed then, and you try to calm him until his weary body can no longer take the strain, and he falls into a fitful sleep. You brush back his sweaty hair. "Who is waiting, Father," you murmur, trying to make any sense of his descent into madness.

Your hand pauses. You know exactly who is waiting.

Even if compassion is your weakness, it steadily spurs you forward into the forest.

There is little doubt that this is one of the more stupid ideas you've had. You made certain Ox was busy dealing with Patricia's latest attempt at breaking into the armory when you stole away into the blizzard.

One probably shouldn't take the insane gibberish of a cursed man so literally. Night is falling, and any number of things could kill you out here: exposure, vengeful ghosts, gods, wolf-princes, a slippery patch of ice too close to the cliff- though to be perfectly truthful, you are more fearful of Ox and Harvar when they realize you aren't in Iron Town.

Still, something pulls you forward, be it desperate guilt or desperate hope. You try to stay off the road, where the wind whips furiously enough to blow a man off his feet, and stick to the trees, trying to avoid perilous snow drifts that could swallow you whole. The light is dying fast, and you don't have a chance of keeping a lantern lit in this weather, so you need to hurry and find the fallen supply wagon before it becomes too dark to see your own feet.

It's difficult to navigate the deep snow with a splinted arm throwing you off balance. Everything from your knees down is quickly going numb, and your doubts resurface- you should turn back, no one could survive this weather all day, you must simply admit you are a murderer and pay the consequences- and then you suddenly shout, because you've gone completely and utterly blind.

You turn to stone where you stand, one hand on a tree for balance. Your eyes water with how wide you open them, but there is only darkness. The world seems to twist in every direction, and you suffer a moment of nausea while clinging to the tree still under your hand. Perhaps the Nightwalker has come to collect his payment, drinking every drop of light so he may better see your soul and eat it.

You jump out of your skin when something flies over your shoulder, a gust of wind howling past your ear and ruffling your hair. Though it is pointless to look, your eyes seek out whatever had flown by, and then you see a faint circle light behind you. Squinting, you try to make out the shapes that move within it, like a distant window looking outside an empty room, but it is too far away. Your heart pounds loudly in your ears.

"I do not have time for ghosts or trickster magic!" you call out to anyone who might be listening, your fear channelling into anger. You curse. If you let go of the tree, you'll be adrift in darkness. For the life of you, you can't remember where in the forest you are, or if the way to that port-hole of light leads straight off Raskogr Cliff.

You suppose your father did say the path was narrow. With an uneasy sigh, you tentatively let go of your one anchor to the world.

The moment you lift your hand, you lose your hearing. "Gods be damned!" you shout, and then cringe, because you hadn't expected to hear yourself. You realize it is not that you have lost the ability to hear, but that the blizzard has abruptly ceased. There's no wind or creaking of trees. Turning around to find that round window of light, you can faintly hear a chirping bird.

You walk towards the sound, your steps somehow sure-footed on a road you never see.

The circle of light, as you draw nearer, is more of a doorway than a window. Through it, you see the shadows of tall trees neatly lining a clearing in the forest. You're startled to find it familiar- you've been there before, but it should be much, much farther away from you than this. A bird is still chirping from the other side of the door, so you swallow the lump of terror in your throat and step out of the darkness and into the clearing.

The storm has stopped. Peeking between thinning clouds and bare treetops, the sliver of the moon is dreamlike, illuminating the fresh snow on the ground. Your breath comes out in thick, frozen fog as you look behind you. Bewildered, you tip your head back when you're met not with the door you had walked through, but the near vertical cliff face of Raskogr stretching up to the sky. When you tilt your head, searching for where you must have come through, you notice that the peculiar shapes of nearby tree branches, rock formations, and evergreen shrubs seem to form a perfect circle when viewed at a precise angle.

You think you've been led through some type of magical gate to this clearing. Your good hand on the sword at your hip, you cautiously search for whatever being might have deigned to bring you here.

Your heart lurches when you see a prone body tangled up in a thick cloak in the snow, nearly buried. Has the forest led you to the woman who'd fallen down the cliff? You throw caution to the wind when you see the rise and fall of her still-breathing body. You quickly kneel beside her, brushing off snow and carefully turning her to her back.

She's not Patricia's sister at all. She's actually a man.

His face is covered in sweat and grime, a swollen cut running from jaw to ear. His skin is like a stove, and when you brush your hands over the wet stain bleeding through his cloak, he rasps out in delirious pain. You grimace when you peel back the fabric and look- the man's shoulder is fetid, stinking and horribly infected. And then, underneath the pus and clotted blood, you find the star tattoo.

You hurriedly push yourself away, backpedaling through the snowy clearing. Blood thunders in your ears. What was Star Clan doing in Raskogr? Your anger is immediate as you instantly recall all the horrors White Star has inflicted upon the country, of all the carnage his clan of assassins is responsible for. How many caravans have they slaughtered? How many kindred have they stolen before they could reach the safety of Iron Town?

Inching closer to get a better look the man's face, you recognize this cannibal: he is Black Star, a son of the Warbringer, and has often led the attacks on your father's supply trains. The injustices he and his father have committed alone are enough to kill him where he lies.

Perhaps the powers of the forest brought you here to eliminate this mutual enemy. You dislike the thought of killing a helpless man, but this isn't a man- this is simply a demon parading around in human skin. You'll be putting him out of his misery and doing the world a favor.

Standing, you draw your sword, though it's awkward holding it with only one hand. When you step forward once more so you may cut his throat, you see a shadow.

It is not like shadows cast by the moon shining on the trees. It is like the darkness that had swallowed you earlier, making your eyes burn when you try to see but find nothing for your eyes to focus on. You can only discern its shape when it moves, and you blink when you make out the silhouette of a deer staring at you from across the clearing. Its spindly legs carry it with grace to Black Star's body, where it bends its neck low to sniff his face.

Your sword trembles in your hand. "Are you the Nightwalker?"

The shadow picks up its head, ears attuned to you. Voices slowly murmur like insects along the ground, gathering in the clearing and picking up in volume until their whispers overwhelm your ears and heart.

"I am not," the chorus replies. You blink, and the deer is no longer, replaced by the figure of a woman, her hair pooling like an empty night sky down her body, a pale face only seen when the moon is hidden behind clouds. She has delicate antlers branching from her head, so dark as if to eat the light around it. "I am his shadow."

You do not understand what that means or if it has any significance, but she appears to be related to a god- that's enough to make you sweat. Trying your best not to blink lest she changes shape again, you ask, "Did you bring me here to kill this man?"

The moon comes out and the shadow-woman's face disappears, though you think there is a glinting of glowing indigo where her eyes should be. "You are mistaken," the voices say, rustling inside your head. "I have been waiting for you, Thane, son of Sephtis, for I want this man to live."

You are ruing your compassion the further you haul this cannibal lump.

His arm slung across your shoulders, you've discovered the assassin is heavy despite his size, and is entirely comprised of dead, uncooperative weight. Not long after you pass back through that eerie shadow gate, skipping through miles of forest in moments, Harvar and Blair find you.

"Where in the nine hells have you been," the woman cries, floundering through the snow to meet you. She gives a cursory glance at your companion, but quickly ignores him in favor of worriedly putting her warm hands on your face. "There was an avalanche and we thought- we've been searching for hours, kid!"

You blink, brows furrowed with your cheeks mashed between her palms. She isn't wearing nearly enough layers for this weather, and is not one of your guards, besides! "What are you doing out here? I- wait, hours? Surely not, I only left at nightfall." You try to catch a glimpse of the moon, but you can't look skyward with Black Star's arm around your shoulders.

Havar glides to the ground from a nearby tree, rising from the snow on two legs. "It is nearly dawn. Ox will soon eat the forge," he says, before asking, "Who is this?"

You're so dumbstruck by the loss of time that you don't get a moment to explain before the kindred crow recognizes the unconscious man. Harvar's typically unexpressive face pulls back into a hateful snarl. "Star Clan?" he seethes, Blair backing away from you and the assassin with wariness. "You came out alone to save this?"

"I was led to him," you hurriedly say.

"By whom, Eibon?"

"Now, boys…"

You huff, hitching Black Star higher on your shoulder before trudging past the both of them. "You don't have to help."

To your shock, Harvar strides ahead of you and blocks your path. He draws his firearm, pointing it at the assassin's hanging head. "I'll help put this abomination where it belongs," he growls.

You're too stunned to react, so it is Blair who takes charge, slapping her hands against the barrel of the pistol and putting herself in the line of fire. "Get a hold of yourself this instant, Harvar," she hisses into his face. "Crows are made from wisdom!"

You don't know what she means by that, but after a few heart-thudding moments, you are relieved to see Harvar gently nudge Blair's hands away from the gun before he lets the weapon rest at his side. "I could have blown off your hands." He gives you a distrustful look over Blair's shoulder, which doubles in intensity when he glares at the assassin again. "Explain yourself," he demands, though you and he both know he has no authority to demand anything of you. Blair is curious too, turning and asking a similar question with her eyes.

"I scarcely know how to say it." You press your lips together to find enough warmth in them to speak properly. "I was looking for the woman from the caravan, then I was swallowed by darkness and walked through a… a portal to the bottom of the cliff- please refrain from asking me how that happened because I don't know- and then I found this one instead," you say, hitching Black Star up on your shoulder again. Your wrist and ribs let their complaints be known with the effort. "And when I was about to slay him, the shadow of the Nightwalker asked me to save him, instead."

There's a long beat of silence before Blair and Harvar abruptly explode into rapid-fire questions, but you sigh and walk around them again, hiking up the slope back to Iron Town because you don't have any answers for them and you think if you stand for much longer your legs are going to give out. You didn't ask for this task- that woman from the caravan could still be out there but instead you're stuck with this man-eating demon for reasons you aren't privy to.

Thankfully, you only make it a few paces before Harvar is on the other side of the assassin, carefully taking the man's injured arm around his own shoulders and lifting some of the weight from you.

"If even half of what you say is true, I apologize," he says, trying to stay in step with your shorter stride. "You have spoken with Tsubaki, the Nightwalker's sister. She is his shadow made flesh."

The god had said as much to you. Frustrated, you blurt, "What does that even mean?"

"...I read the lore, not write it."

Blair comes up on your other side, wrapping her arms around herself for warmth. "But why would she want the Warbringer's son alive?"

Their eyes land heavily on you. "You tell me. She disappeared before I could ask, only leaving me with that damned portal," you say, tossing your head in the direction you came. "You know the rest. Ah- I assure you, the time was hardly anything for me- I'm sorry to have made everyone worry."

Blair laughs at that. "Save your apologies for Ox, you'll need th-" She cuts her sentence short, suddenly halting in her tracks. You and Harvar slow to a stop.

"What is it?" you ask, worriedly scanning the vicinity for anything amiss.

She turns back to you with a cheery face that feels out of place. "You two get that boy back to the town, I'll keep searching for Patti's sister. The storm's passed, I'll be fine!"

"W-wait, what? Don't-" you protest, but she's already trotting back into the snowy forest with a wave. "Harv, if there's been an avalanche, we can't let her go out there by herself."

The kindred gives you a dry look that speaks novels. "She is more capable than you think. Let's worry about the cannibal first." When he starts back up the hill and you do not follow, he sighs. "Thane."

"She's not even wearing a cloak."

Strangely, Harvar twists his mouth as if he wants to say something, but refrains. You don't mask your suspicion, as you've never known him to not speak his mind, but he looks away. He does eventually say, "I will find her if I must, but not until after you are back home...if there is still a home left after Ox."

Maka

"Bears are born from strength," you recite.

When you were young, your father used to tell you and the other young ones stories by the fire pit. He'd flex his hands and the shadows he made seemed to come to life. You heard the tales so many times that you thought you would be able to repeat them from your heart til the day you died, but Asura has taken most of these from you.

There is still one story you remember, though, lodged deep in your memory where the demon can't pry it out. It's not a story at all, but more of a child's verse with no rhyme. Its lines resurface in your thoughts from time to time, and you use them now like an old friend to remind you who you were.

"Bears are born from strength," you murmur again, your hands tightening around the reins, "while crows are made from wisdom." Crona balks at the black path of destruction that cuts through the road. It steams, the winter snows melting around it.

You will know my rage and despair.

Your arms throb, the curse burning and stealing the breath from your chest. The whispering in your nerve endings makes certain you know that this is a place Asura had been, leaving his mark on the earth. Squinting through tearing eyes, you raise your head to look for a way around the scar. "W-wolves protect, lizards conserve," you desperately rasp, unwilling to relinquish your control to the demon again. The closer you get to the burning land, the harder it is to keep yourself, and the curse has become stronger since you've left home. Without someone like Blade to thwart you, you're terrified you won't be able to stop the demon's rage like you had in Riohdr.

Asura's mark stretches as far as you can see, black as the curse on your arms. Where it intersects with the road, there are planks and stones thrown down to prevent travellers from coming into contact with the earth directly. Along the roadside are stakes tied off with ribbons and prayers to ward off evil, and coming close to these seems to affect you as adversely as the black mark itself.

Your elk nervously shakes his head and begins to pace the longer you linger. "Deer live in…in gentleness," you grit out between your teeth. "Think you can jump this, Crona?" After a moment of consideration, he backs up a few steps before you feel the muscles in his legs coil. You cling to his back, pushing the voices away by remembering the virtues of changelings, as taught by the chief of your village in his colorful headdress.

It's as the elk leaps through the air, allowing you to fly like a bird in that brief moment of weightlessness, when you discover you can no longer recall the virtue of sparrows.

According to Blade, the 'bullet' that had poisoned Asura is but one of thousands, all made in a place named Iron Town. He told you to take the road up the cliff, but it is impassable when you arrive; it looks like there had been some kind of landslide, mud and snow mixed with fallen trees and man-made debris blocking the road.

You think Crona could scale the mess himself, but it would make the climb perilous for the both of you with you on his back. You decide to search for another path, riding south alongside the cliffs to scout for a way up. The blizzard whips at your back, buffeting along the rock face and throwing needles of snow in every direction. You're thankful the cliff leads into a forest, where you have a bit of respite from the weather.

The towering trees and plant life remind you of home, though you marvel over how everything here seems to stay green even under a thick coat of snow. Crona picks his way around rocks and shrubs as you crane your neck to find a path up the cliff face. Then, caught among the wind hissing through the creaking trees, you hear a scream.

You instantly draw your knife, urging your elk forward when he is reluctant to investigate. Crona bounds over a partially-frozen stream, and you direct him to round a jutting edge of the cliff as another terrified shriek breaks the air.

The source of the screaming is a woman who has dragged herself beneath a rocky overhang, gaunt and pale as a ghost. She frantically waves a torch towards something in a nearby tree, baring her teeth in equal parts panic and anger.

Crona stomps his feet, snorting and refusing to go any closer when neither he nor you can find the source of danger. You hurriedly slide off his back and dash to the woman, but when you shout, "What is it!? What's out there?" she begins screaming fearfully at you, waving fire in your face.

You stumble backwards, realizing you've slipped into your own language. Yanking the mask down your chin, you quickly say, "Friend! I am friend! Where is danger?"

Bewildered, the woman gapes at you before giving her head a shake and once more threatening the trees with her torch. "A ghost! There's some phantom o-or demon in there and I saw its eyes," she cries, struggling to scoot along the ground to get further away- you realize her ankle is bent unnaturally, and her left arm is worse.

"Demon?" You are already well-acquainted with those. You peer into the trees, stalking closer with your knife at the ready. "Showing self now, monster!" you shout.

Nothing appears. Looking over your shoulder, you glance at the injured woman, but she suddenly points behind you with the torch, wearing a wordless look of horror. When you whip back around, you are nose to nose with an unearthly face emerging from the trunk of a tree, skin like leathery bark and eyes made of empty knot-holes.

"Aaahh!" You instinctively swipe at it with your blade and are surprised at how easy it is to cleave off the entire bottom of its face. When the half falls to the ground, it looks no longer like a mouth and chin, but mere leaves and twigs, smoldering as if in a fire. You backpedal, unsure what to think and unwilling to be caught so close to the thing again.

Those empty eyes blink placidly before what's left of the creature's face sucks itself back into the trunk of the tree. "Good day to you, too," it says, an edge of irritation lacing its otherwise bland voice.

Your eyebrows nearly reach the sky as you watch a disfigured and gangly man- or something that had once been a man- pull himself out of the tree. The further out of the trunk he is, the less barklike his skin becomes. His eyes are no longer knotholes when he is finally standing on his own legs, but while one iris is an unassuming grey, the other is a blank socket, a faint, glowing stream of light smoking out of it.

He says, voice somewhat reedy, "Do you always attack before introductions?"

The woman behind you shrieks and throws her torch at him.

Her name is Elizabeth, and she is terrified of ghosts. To get her up on Crona's back had been a daunting task, as the tree-man had to help you lift her up there, and the woman had not been keen on being touched by the supernatural.

"I don't believe this is the way to Iron Town" she slurs, drowsy and painless enough to speak to the source of her terror after the bit of Joy's Tears you'd convinced her to drink when you'd splinted her broken limbs.

"You are correct. In fact, Iron Town would be north and west of here," he says, plodding forward through the forest with a lethargy that makes following him while leading Crona behind you difficult. "We are going to my hut."

Elizabeth is not happy with this at all, and you're not pleased yourself. "I have no desire to go to your hut, sir, or whatever you are-"

"Oh, I am human," he says, the glowing tail of his eye trailing behind him.

"And I'm the Empress," Elizabeth replies, unamused.

The strange man stops his gradual plodding, taking a moment to raise a bony hand up to his chin- it has apparently grown back, undamaged- stroking it with a thoughtful hum. He then looks over his shoulder at the woman behind you, the light in his empty eye swirling with a life of its own.

He offers, "Well, I am no phantom, at least," and turns back around to continue slogging through the snow. Curiously, his entire person seems to take on a frosty appearance, ragged clothes and all. "It is a long trek to Iron Town without the road, and I doubt you would survive the trip in your current condition. I may look like this now, but I was once a surgeon for Aranei Palace."

Elizabeth hesitates at this. "Forgive me for not thanking you until after I've decided you aren't planning to eat my soul."

"Fair," the man says, that strange tail of light twirling again as if amused. "And so, to the hut."

You don't know what a 'hut' is, but you hope it isn't far, given the rate the three of you are travelling. "What is name," you ask.

"I am Stein. You may call me Stein." His silvery hair goes powder-white as he talks, as if the very snow he trudges through is trying to absorb him. "And you are?"

"Maka."

"Your clothes tell me you are a long way from home, Maka. Grigori tribe?"

"Y-yes," you reply, surprised and alarmed that this strange man knows your village. You stumble as you attempt to direct Crona to dip his antlers beneath a low-hanging branch.

Before you can ask him anything about it, he says, "Oh, Marie will really like you."

Warily, Elizabeth lowly asks, "Who's Marie?"

"She should be here by now," Stein says, the glowing tendril floating about his head now angular and agitated. "I told her where to meet us, but she's somewhat sluggish in the cold season- oh, here she comes-"

You startle, drawing your knife when you hear a large crash in the thick brush. Behind you, Elizabeth screams atop Crona, and though you are too anxious to do much more than notice it, the elk is surprisingly docile, calm as can be when a sizable brown bear comes barrelling through snow-covered shrubs. You hastily back away, pushing the elk behind you.

Then the bear speaks. "If you would simply keep that bell on, I would not have any issue finding you," she says, swiping stray twigs and debris from her hindquarters with giant paws.

"I am precisely where I said I would be. It is your appalling sense of direction that needs addressing."

The bear shakes her fur with a displeased grunt. She turns her head to peer behind Stein, and you notice she, too, is missing an eye- though where hers should be is simply scarred over with no ghostly things drifting out of it. "These are they?" she asks, excited.

"Of course, more kindred," Elizabeth mutters, apparently recovered from her initial terror. After a pause, she nervously adds, "...Were we expected?"

Stein slowly climbs tortoise-like onto Marie's back. "Yes. We knew when you'd come."

The bear shows her bottom teeth in an approximation of a smile. "Welcome to Raskogr," says Marie, congenial.

It's not until you are performing the Bloodless Bow, mindlessly replying, "Sorry for intruding," that you realize the bear has spoken in the Old Ones' language of your home. You whip your head up with a gasp, and Marie laughs, her strong shoulders rattling Stein atop her back.

"Heeeyyy," drawls Elizabeth, tongue still heavy with medicine, "Common, please. Com-mon!" Her mouth twists into a moue. "Don't wanna be left out."

Travel is considerably faster with Stein on the bear. "He tends to merge with everything he touches if he isn't concentrating. That's why he's so slow," Marie says, pushing through a thick patch of brambles with little effort. You have to lead Crona and Elizabeth around it.

You look back over your shoulder to make sure Elizabeth doesn't slide off the elk when Crona has to hop over a rocky dip in the earth. "Is becoming bear?" you curiously ask, because it does not appear the man is growing fur or claws.

"Because Marie has a soul, I cannot resonate with her without her consent," Stein says, unfazed by thorns as he passes through them like water, "She keeps me in one piece, as it were."

Elizabeth makes a worrisome noise in the back of her throat, gesturing to her right eye with her good hand. "I think you're missing a few bits, to be perfectly honest."

"Re-zon-ate?"

Marie explains in your native language. "Hmm, it is similar to uniting- of echoing and sharing a combined existence with another. Stein does this with anything he touches."

"And you?"

"If I allow him to, yes," she replies. Then, in Common, "Just a left here-"

"A right," Stein corrects.

Marie turns around with a mighty yawn, breath clouding in the chill air. "-and then we'll have a warm stew and a good night's rest," she says, just as a loud voice cuts through the forest.

"STEIN!"

More to herself than anyone else, Elizabeth says, "W-wait… I know that voice?"

The bear and strange man continue plodding forward, unperturbed, and as you follow them around a twisting path through tall trees, you see a tiny wooden house tucked into the side of a rocky hill. You hear a crashing through the undergrowth that's even louder than when Marie appeared, and you brace yourself for whatever strange creature approaches, hand at the hilt of your knife.

You watch, breath wedged in your throat, as a large white wolf bounds out of the trees and lands atop the hill, a man in furs and leather on his back.

The wolf is not as large as Asura had been, but there is no mistaking the creature for what it is; the beast is another god. Though this is your first time seeing it, something about the wolf enrages you, voices you do not want to hear twisting in your ears.

"There you are," the man calls out, one hand tangled in the wolf's fur as it leaps down from the hill and pads over to Stein and Marie. "Has Mother been h-"

"YOU!" Elizabeth howls, Crona startling from her voice. "You're the one who attacked us!"

Upon seeing you, the elk, and Elizabeth, both the wolf and the man's lips pull back into snarls. The man's teeth are nearly as sharp as the god's. He reaches behind his head to slide forward a skull headpiece, covering his face. "You are not welcome here," he growls, pointing a spear towards the three of you. "Leave!"

"Actually, we've already-" Marie tries to say, but the large wolf gathers himself into his legs and makes a leap for Crona, fangs gleaming.

It's your village all over again, and fear and anger well up in you so instantly that you have no chance at containing it. You have one friend left in this world, and you will not allow him to be eaten by a giant wolf, god or not. The parts of your skin that were touched by Asura's blood awaken as you dash directly into the wolf's path.

The light dies in your eyes, the forest dimming away as the demon pushes down any part of you that isn't rage into oblivion. As Asura wraps his hatred around your soul, you catch the briefest glimpse of his resentment towards the gods of Raskogr.

Using your voice, he roars.

Mifune

From the shadowy corner of the tavern, you listen for news- particularly anything that might suggest Star Clan knowing there's an unclaimed kindred hiding in their territory. You hear nothing like it, thankfully, though you do catch some rumors of the Warbringer reaching for more power through a ghastly experiment with a pair of kindred sisters. It also seems the road to Iron Town has been blocked by a supply caravan accident.

The latter is only good news. Few will be bothered to follow you up the Cliffs in this weather, and the less anyone sees Angela this close to White Star's home, the better.

Melded to your shoulder, the girl's tail absently curls as her eyes flit to opposite directions, observing the surroundings. A spider, having made its home in the warm, low ceiling, drops down to the table, crawling near your meal.

"Why didn't you kill that man," she says softly before her long tongue shoots out in the blink of an eye, slapping the spider and popping it into her mouth with a tiny snap. "You coulda taken him, but you let him have the paper!"

You growl your disapproval. Her tongue hadn't been invisible like the rest of her, and you casually glance at the rest of the tavern's patrons to see if they'd noticed anything. "Manners," you remind her. When the noise of the room is at its highest, you murmur, "I did not give him what he wanted."

"What?"

"I hope you properly memorized the shopping list," you say before taking a sip of your ale.

Your heart feels lighter from her tinkling laughter, feeling her crawl beneath your hood to warm up against your neck. "You tricked him!" she giggles, pleased.

"Mm." You're glad she doesn't press her previous question- you hope to show her that one does not have to kill simply because one is adept at it. That being said, you aren't sure why you let the Clan boy live, yourself. What had deterred you? His injuries? His sloppy attempts at defending himself?

You finish and pay for your meal, Angela whispering to you the things you ask to buy from the innkeep.

"Sure you won't be needin' a room?" the man asks, giving you a dubious look. "You cain't be goin' out in that storm, and at night."

You carefully stow the supplies into your bag. "I've no time for leisure."

The innkeep bids you farewell with the eyes of a dead fish, clearly not anticipating seeing you alive in the future. "Safe travels. Watch out for the Nightwalker."

You pause. "...My thanks," you reply, giving a brief bow. You wonder if he refers to the Night Stag you are supposed to hunt.

"The fat men by the fire said the road is blocked," Angela says once you are outside in the icy winds.

The girl had listened well. "Yes."

She says, hopeful, "If the path is too hard, I will burn it for you."

You find yourself cracking a small smile, suddenly glad of her company though she had disobeyed you and sneaked out of the palace to tag along. "We shall see. How much of a feeble old man do you take me for?"

"You shouldn't've given him the horse," the girl pouts. More seriously, she adds, "Wasn't he a cannibal? He was with the other one, at that other town. You killed him."

It appears you won't get around this subject after all. As you think on how best to answer her question, it occurs to you what had made you spare the assassin's life. He told you Imperials never let the enemy live, but in your experience, neither would Star Clan- yet he'd taken Angela by the tail and held her as a hostage instead of a snack. "What kind of cannibal would set you free?" you ask.

The girl hums to herself at that, stumped. "I still don't like him," she sniffs.

Her Song she uses for calling fire is the story of the water beast, whose touch is only cool in deep oceans. Her family had translated it for her, once, and she had told you its meaning: the moment the beast is ashore, his skin sets everything to flame, leaving burns eternal.

When the climb up the road becomes too perilous, Angela melts a path through, broken wagon wheels and fallen trees going up in ash. She sings the tune a shade more forlorn, now, and you think she must have realized the water beast and the salamander who left the Dead Path were the same god.

It feels as if the two of you are the last souls in the world, the white swirling of the storm whipping about as Angela sings from inside your cloak. Her voice makes the spirits in the earth hum in reply, coaxing them with a power you haven't seen in kindred since before the war.

You wonder if there are stories sung about girls like Angela- if there is a Song for her, warning others of her might.

You're reminded of embers and hellfire. "Enough," you say over the wind. Her voice has been going hoarse, and you shouldn't be relying on a nine year old girl in the first place. Her fires die the moment she stops singing, the blizzard burying it all in freezing darkness.

"I'm fine," she says, clearing her throat. "It's too snowy- you're gonna freeze!"

Being the reptile out of the two of you, she is far more likely to die from exposure before you do. Even curled against your neck, she can hardly keep her temperature. "I survived worse than this long before you came around. Rest."

"I don't need to rest!" Smoke breezes past your ear and the girl appears before you, hands angrily clenched at her sides.

"Angela," you say sternly, but she doesn't react to that voice anymore. "Angela, stop." You are blatantly ignored. The girl attempts to stomp ahead, the snow nearly to her waist, and then, in irritation, she flings out her hands and sings something new.

The air around her seems to bend, snow instantly evaporating when it falls near her. Small pinpricks of light spark near her hands, and then you are blinded by a fireball blinking into existence, crackling loud enough to drown out both Angela's voice and the whipping winds.

Heart in your throat, you watch as the spell flies from her hands, barreling through snow and earth with such speed that it sucks the air from your lungs. The blast is powerful enough to uproot entire trees and knock them to the sky, snowdrifts vaporized into mushrooming clouds of steam as its force propels the girl backward and knocks her painfully into your legs.

Blood flooded with panic, you grab her and roll away from a falling, flaming pine tree. On hands and knees, you shield her from other burning debris, pine cones melting divots in the snow.

You have sworn to keep foul language away from her, so all you can do is simply glare.

She's shivering, clinging to you with wide eyes. "...It was Maaba's, Kim taught me it," she squeaks, looking around you at the wreckage. She nervously babbles, "It's the Song of the Screeching Wyvern, I didn't know, Mifune! I didn't-"

The ground beneath you gives an alarming lurch under your hands and knees. Angela's mouth shuts with a snap. You hear a rumbling, gut-shaking thunder, and you pick up the girl and run.

"What's that noise," she struggles to say while jostling in your arms.

"Transform." Whether she obeys because she hears the urgency in your voice, or she sees what's following you, you have no way of knowing.

The avalanche catches you like a tsunami.

"He's over here," you think you hear someone say, and you force your eyes to slide open. The sky is dark and crisp above you, storm passed, a mess of stars painting the heavens. Your eyes drift down.

There's a cat on your chest.

"Mifuneeee," Angela warbles, kneeling beside you with her tiny hands fretfully touching your face. "A-are you dead? It was an accident, I didn't mean to!"

Your head pounds behind your ears. "M'fine," you mumble.

Frightened tears running down her puffy face, she throws herself around your neck, nearly choking you. Raising a hand, you gingerly pat her back.

She has dragged you beneath an outcropping of rock, carefully keeping you out of sight. You're proud of her. "You alright?"

She nods, sniffling loudly in your ear. Picking up her head, she looks at the cat lounging on your chest, fur puffed for warmth. The feline is nearly completely black save for a scarred patch of pink, hairless skin on one forepaw. "A kitty found us," she informs you.

"I see that." It looks rather well-kempt for a forest creature. Perhaps it is a town cat.

"Do you live in Iron Town, Miss Kitty?"

The cat looks at the girl and blinks. Angela has a way with animals- you've determined it to be a kindred talent. She and the feline exchange a few silent glances that you are too exhausted to begin to rationalize. You hurt everywhere.

"Mif, can you get up? I think she'll show us the way," Angela hesitantly says. "...I promise I won't blow up any more stuff," she adds hastily, voice still thick from crying.

The cat hops off your chest when you creak your way upright. Arachne's voice comes to you then, the phrase 'worse for wear' on an endless loop in your weary mind. You are once more reminded you are too old for this kind of work.

Angela offers you her shoulder to help you stand. After you habitually check your requirements- sword, bag, child- you give the girl a close-lipped smile of reassurance and hold out a hand. The worry in her faces eases a little when she takes it.

Gesturing to the cat, who looks grateful to get out of the snow and perch atop her head, Angela pulls you forward. There are many things about being led by a nine year old and a housecat up a mountain and through an ancient forest that might force you to consider how strange your world has become since you found this lizard girl in her den, but for the moment you must concentrate on being alive, or at least conscious enough to put one foot in front of the other.

This is all your mind can focus on for some distance, until you see lanterns lighting up the night, the imposing walls of Iron Town sprawling before you. You've stopped just inside the shadows of the forest, before the guard at the gate has a chance to see you. Belatedly, you realize the girl is tugging on your cloak, trying to get your attention.

"Mifune, I'm gonna hide." The cat jumps off her head, bounding away to the fortress with a little mew. "Thanks Miss Kitty," Angela stage-whispers before giving you an openly concerned look. "Are you hurt?"

"I'll be alright."

"I'm really, really, really sorry."

"I know."

Still apologetic, she smokes into her other form, but before you can see it, she disappears. You're so numb with cold and exhaustion that you do not feel her if she climbs on you.

"We can't trust anyone," she says before you can. "...Except kitties." You huff a tired laugh.

You trudge to the gate of Iron Town and are met by a young man wearing a full set of mail and leather armor, with a helmet bearing horns like a bull. He appears far more alert and agitated than any guard has a right to be at this time of night.

"From where do you hail," the guard demands, his spectacles glinting under his ample helm.

You carefully retrieve the missive from your cloak pocket, presenting it to him. "I act as emissary for the Empress Arachne, here to speak with Lord Sephtis."

The man looks over the paper rather swiftly for a guard, you think. His posture reads as one who has studied combat tirelessly, always poised on the edge of action. He snorts loudly through his nose somewhat like a horse, and says, "We have no intentions of making any deals with Arachne, nor do we open our gates to the Empire or its allies."

You slowly blink, glancing back the way you came and taking a long breath. "It's a long way back."

"Must be tough, working for the Empress," the guard replies, tone dry as dust.

"You let Mifune in right now!" Angela shouts, giving the guard a swift kick where his armor is weakest. You had somewhat expected this, but you still sigh.

"Kindred-" the man wheezes in surprise, folding over but refusing to go down on his knees. Angela waggles a transformed chameleon tongue in his direction before turning on her heel and darting into the town. "Wait, you ca- urrrmfgh," he groans. Still bent over, you find that he wishes murder upon you with only his eyes.

You give a faint shrug. "I will help find her if you let me in," you offer.

Black Star

Raskogr Cliff is in sight when the damned horse balks at a bridge and throws you into a river. You blame this event on the beastling girl back at the camp; she must have bewitched the stupid animal. Freezing water clenches around your lungs in millions of icy needles, and it takes you far longer to get back on land than it ought.

You find the horse has disappeared into the stormy night.

In a pocket of snow on the riverbank, you lie shivering and unable to recall a time you have ever felt this weak. You know you must find shelter out of the wind soon, or you'll freeze to death- or worse, Ivory will find and kill you for simply being pathetic; she is assigned to be the liaison between you and White Star, so she can't be far.

You force yourself to your feet, though you hardly feel your legs at all. It's difficult to find your breath. Trudging to the nearest line of trees at the base of the cliff, you collapse in an awful huddle in the forest, rattling so much you feel your teeth will shake out of your skull.

You have to hurry- the mercenary and the Empress are after the Night Stag too. This is your chance. This is your stage. You were born for this.

Your legs do not move.

How can you come so close to your goal and not touch it? You cannot fall here like this, so empty. You want to carve out the eyes of gods, to leave the Clan to rot in your shadow as you reach up and write your name in the heavens.

You are face down in the snow, but when you open your eyes, the night sky stretches before you. There are no stars shining as it draws you up in its darkness. You see nothing. You hear nothing. But you smell something faint- a quiet scent that you wouldn't notice if the night hadn't swallowed you first.

Flowers made of blood unfurl from your wounds.

"Who are you," you demand hoarsely, your daggers criss-crossed like shears against the pale throat of a disheveled and wide-eyed man you have pinned to the floor. "Where is this place?!"

This is not how an assassin should collect information upon waking up in unfamiliar surroundings. You wonder why it takes you so long to realize this- where had your mind been until this moment? You shake your head, trying to clear your swirling vision.

The man, who looks not much older than you, sports a splinted wrist on his left while his right presently has a firm grip around a pistol pressed to your chest. "I am Thane, son of Sephtis. You are in Iron Town," he says placidly.

Taking several breaths and blinking sweat from your eyes, you spit, "What?"

Iron Town is the very last place you should be. It is a miracle Sephtis's son is dimwitted, because your face should be well-known here by now given all the raids you've led against their cross-country caravans. Perhaps the cut on your face disfigures you more than you'd realized.

Thane is the typical, kind-hearted idiot one would expect to find in a cozy place like this. He carries himself the way all self-important men who have never stabbed someone dead do. You've told him your name is 'Blade', and he believes the story you made up to explain the supply list that goddamn mercenary had apparently given you.

"Your father is a weaponsmith, you said?" Thane asks casually, looking over a veritable sheaf of reports in his lap.

You laugh, feeling light. You know not how you came to Iron Town, but you do know they have a good supply of opium and are not afraid to use it on the injured. "My sire forges far too many. They lay about everywhere, rusting, unless Star Clan comes by and finds a use for them."

"I am sorry to hear they cause your family trouble," he says, so genuinely sober you want to laugh again. "Our own supplies are running low, what with the pass blocked, but I will not send you back down empty handed."

The way he says this gives you pause, though your mind is too fogged to pinpoint why. "I've nothing to repay you with." You blink. "Uh...my lord."

"I am sure we will think up something," he says, sounding vaguely amused. A knock sounds at a door to your right, and he responds with, "Enter."

As a woman with golden hair walks in with a basket of supplies, you can't help but ask Thane, "These are your quarters?" There's only one bed, and you woke up in it.

He gathers his reports, carefully stowing them inside his robes. "When the salamander attacked, he left behind many wounded. Our sick room is rather full," he says, somewhat distant. Gesturing to the woman, he says, "This is Lady Medusa, our trusted healer. She has been nursing your wounds, though I suppose you remember nothing of that. Please take care not to kill her."

"R-right," you awkwardly mutter- how do common folk display deference, again? "Sorry."

Thane gives a prim nod to you and the woman. "I must attend to another matter. Good day," he says as he leaves.

Once the door is shut, Medusa drags a stool over to your bed, spreading her dark-colored dress and sitting tidily. "How are you feeling?"

Considering you are in the sleeping quarters of a man who would probably have you executed if he knew your identity, you think you're doing swell. "Good, actually. How long have I been here?" You ought to contact Ivory and give some kind of status report- you've managed to accidentally infiltrate Iron Town, of all places.

"This will be the third evening since you were found. Please drink this," she says, pulling a small vial out of her basket and handing it to you.

You knock it back and nearly choke on your own tongue. You don't know exactly what she's given you, but you know poison when you taste it. Clutching desperately at your throat, you fall against the headboard, fire shrieking through your veins. To your horror, the pain dulls almost instantly, your limbs numb and unresponsive.

"Now that we are alone," Medusa says with narrow eyes, "let me welcome you to my city, Star Clan." She viciously yanks away the dressings on your shoulder with little warning, and no amount of opium can dull the effects of that kind of violence.

"What the hell," you gasp, reeling. What you would give to choke her right now-

She throws the soiled dressings to the floor with an ugly slop. "You've taken a decoction of venom from a snake I sincerely promise you will not have found anywhere else in the world. This," she says, pulling another vial from her basket, "is the antivenom. And this," she then says, holding up one of your daggers, that damned wench, "is not the antivenom. So tell me, what is a son of the Warbringer doing in Raskogr?"

This reminds you of your sire and his answerless questions. You sneer, mouth tingling from poison. "I dunno what you're talking about, witch."

Medusa leans very, very close to your face, savoring the knowledge that you cannot even lift a finger to her. She hisses, "Thane may be a fool but I am not, so do not conjure up another paltry story, Black Star." She sits back on the stool, opening a jar of some pungent cream you want nothing to do with, and says, "While I am hospitable to enemies of my sister, Arachne-"

"Eibon's SHIT," you grit through your teeth as she mashes the cream into your shoulder none too gently. She's the Empress's sister?

"-I will not take kindly to White Star interrupting my carefully laid plans. Now. Tell me why you're here, and I will not hand your head on a plate to your Clan."

They've already fallen for that one once, but you don't mention your previous death. You need to come up with anything to keep her mouth shut long enough for you to finish what you came here to do. And you must do this quickly enough to save yourself from becoming completely paralyzed.

"You're usurping Sephtis?"

Her eyes narrow at the change in subject, but she is clearly too smug with her own treachery to withhold its details. "The man is nearly dead thanks to my venom. His son is in the palm of my hand, and he will soon follow his father into the grave."

You think Arachne's sister would fit really well in Star Clan, honestly.

The first thing that comes to your mind blurts from your mouth. "The Empress will try to convince Sephtis to kill the Deer God and bring her his head. She's sending a mercenary- a damn good one- with hair like straw-"

Medusa's lips twist into a half-smile, regarding you as one would an ignorant child. "I have already tended to a man with light hair, sent by Arachne. This is old news, Blade, and does not explain your presence at all."

You scowl. "So you know the terms? The protected trade routes and fancy horses and all that?"

She waves a hand, unimpressed.

"I am here to give Sephtis a better offer. Or you. It matters little to the Warbringer who makes the deal as long as they can deliver."

Face carefully blank, Medusa re-dresses your shoulder with fresh linen, taking care to hide your tattoo. "What offer is this?"

"You needn't protect your caravans if we're allied, for starters. And you'll run out of iron here eventually- Death's Table is sitting on a massive mine, just waiting to be worked. We have livestock that thrives in harsh climes. And," you smile, though only half your mouth obeys, "we have a knack for murder, in case you want someone nearby assassinated, say."

With a gleam in her honeyed eyes, a smile slithers across the woman's face.