Here's a collection of a few drabbles of varying length that occupy various places in the vast timeline.
Training in the morning is a little less fruitful when there's no one to train with, but Naya manages to make it work. She's diligent with keeping herself sharp, waking up early most days to be the first one in the training room so she can go through some drills. It's a remnant of her days with a formal trainer when she'd been shaped into top form, required to best herself everyday in order to please her parents and escape the feeling of never being good enough for their praise.
When she leans down with her legs straight to touch the floor, blood rushes to her head. Those routines help wake her up and keep her centered. She can press her palms flat to the ground, remembering a time when she'd strained to touch her fingertips to the floor after avoiding stretches before training. There were many moments of complaining about aches and pains after long training sessions when her trainer had confiscated her stele, insisting that the soreness would remind her to take better care of herself. And she has learned - mostly. Sometimes she still rushes into things without enough regard for her own fragility, but she's better at picking herself up after the little scrapes and bruises that accumulate. The majority of those can be healed.
Other things stay raw for longer. She's uncomfortable with the thought that once-familiar things have become estranged and foreign. Perhaps, she thinks, she never really knew him enough if he could suddenly become akin to a stranger to her. When she thrusts with her Sabiki to practice some drills, the balance of it never betrays her, piercing the air with precision. She had once known his temperament as well as she knew the temperament of her weapons, having memorized each imperfection and groove that only complicated their behaviour. It is worse to think that he feels the need to hide things from her as if she would not help, comfort, or understand. Maybe she has misjudged her place - it would not be the first time that her importance has been secondary.
She tires faster than she expects. Sleepless nights are not something she's used to, but how can she possibly fend them off? A somno rune, perhaps, but those have always left her feeling sluggish and irritated in the morning. Maybe it is her own fault for caring too much. Caring in the wrong kinds of ways. Worrying about things he won't let her fix. She has not yet trained for the eventuality of their emotional departure, and yet it feels like another thing she should start preparing for. People drift apart, she knows, and not all parabatai have managed to stick together. Not us, though. Her Sabiki never wavers in her grasp - can't waver unless she wants to second-guess that too. Not us.
... ... ...
The night was long and most of Maar's group remained asleep. They had taken up lodging in a small village of unaligned faeries who had allowed them to stay, their horses hitched against stone and wood posts that remained lit with luminescent flora. Even the music that had lingered around the village's bonfire had ceased and Maar was left to stand watch, staring out into the silence. He had never minded being alone, even preferring to keep to himself in the midst of those who traveled with him. They had an unspoken understanding, after all, hardly needing to negotiate aloud to decide their next step for their lifetimes were plentiful in mundane measurements. New things were few and far between.
But the entirety of the village had not been laid to rest. The breaking of sticks alerted him to movement, glancing back to encounter the sight of a nymph who had come to investigate his presence. She remained to the shadows, the glints of gold eyes and gold hair reflecting the fire that had not been laid to rest. Her form was thinner and more lithe than most of the gentry faeries in the Seelie, but her face had a familiar elegance to it the closer she got to him, slowly closing the distance before she was entirely visible in the light. Though Maar remained on guard, his hand never erred towards his sword, unintimidated by the presence of those who were not part of the Court or displayed hostile tendencies. Faeries in the village tended to be docile more often than not, and the instinctive urge to protect them had never led him astray.
Does the forest speak to you? Her words were soundless, her lips remaining in the curious straight line as she neared. Does it reveal itself?
"I...don't see danger. I will know if there is a threat," Maar responded, preferring to do his work unbothered, though he didn't yet move to fend her away as she grew closer. "A threat to your village is a threat to my group."
Giving no reaction to his words, the nymph reached for his cloak, running her fingers along the embroidered edge before blinking up at him with those large, wistful eyes. Do you yearn to slay what the forest has to offer? I have never understood or known the complicated desires of your kind.
"We are the same kind." It was an offhanded remark, but it still elicited a tilt of the little nymph's head. "It is best to...not have reason to fight. That is often the case."
Your group defended my village, once. The forest had been unkind and sent its dark warriors to destroy us. To think that we meet again, despite the vastness of these lands. She released his cloak, extending a hand to catch a floating bit of ash from the bonfire in her palm, closing her fingers around it. Magic was something Maar was able to do, but it was practical and devoid of mysticism, used solely for functional purposes. When she unfurled her fingers, a smoke flower bloomed in her hand, the petals opening and baring themselves to the air. But quick was the wind to carry it away, leaving her hand empty. Her skin was devoid of marks and her palm was smooth; no doubt had she never held a weapon or needed to defend herself. The fragility of such creatures had surprised him almost as much as their stubborn persistence.
"It would be best if you returned to your home," he managed finally, glancing over at the gold that danced in her hair. "The darkness isn't safe."
I have survived this long, haven't I? Do you regard my safety as a personal responsibility of yours, Seelie? A calm smile pulled at her lips, an easy tranquility that didn't leave her eyes.
"Maar. I'll take watch." A woman's voice was quick to break the peace and Maar looked over in the direction of the sound, seeing a changeling woman from his group heading towards his position. "Better me than you if you're getting distracted."
"I don't need to be questioned." Still, he had been standing there longer than one usually kept watch, and the weariness was starting to catch up to him. With a sigh, Maar stepped back from his post, careful to not bump the little nymph with a quick survey in her direction. She was already gone, having soundlessly slipped back into the shadows of the village.
"Let me know when you want to start heading out again," the changeling woman said, crossing her arms as she assumed the spot that Maar had been in a minute earlier. "We still have more land to cover."
"...We're in no rush." Maar said nothing else, walking over to a constructed home where he'd been told to go when he was done with his shift. His gaze searched for the sight of the gold nymph to see if she was still lurking about - watching him perhaps. But it seemed that she had disappeared entirely, leaving no trace of her presence even with how keen and careful his senses were at noticing anything out of the ordinary. His thoughts had been getting away with him, admittedly, and he shook them off as he headed to the hut he'd been assigned to go rest. The Faerie always held things that captured his interest and it was difficult to fend them off entirely.
... ... ...
"Reports say you've been behaving. That's good. It means you have a chance on leading a normal Shadowhunter life, you realize."
The woman emphasizes behaving like she sees Grace as some troublesome dog, but that's no surprise. People who choose to work closely with the Clave are usually more concerned with keeping things running smoothly than actually doing anything productive or useful, but that seems to be the case for most governing bodies. It's certainly an unbroken track record that Grace has found, and she just rolls her eyes at the comment.
"Right." It's hard to hide the sarcasm in her words, certain that she would have gotten either a disapproving look from Zach or a raised eyebrow and excuse from Kellan if they were there. "That's me. Behaving and doing the good work."
"You realize that you're a smart kid. With a little bit of work and some dedication to whatever Institute you choose to live at, I'm sure even you could get a job in Alicante," the woman continues as they walk down the path, leading Grace to the exit of the city.
"Yup. Even me."
Her remark seems to go mostly unnoticed, the woman only giving her a tight-lipped smile as if it communicates any comfort or intention of goodwill. "I know you've had a difficult childhood, but things seem to be settled with your brother. It'd be for the better if you moved on. It's not something for someone like you to concern yourself with - you know the Council is working hard to deal with whatever complications might come out of this. Of course we care about his safety."
"No, you care about him possibly leaking Shadowhunter information," Grace remarks swiftly, not caring to hide a scorned expression. "You can't just bluff around these things like I'm some naive kid. I know him, though. Not the Council or the stupid Clave, you realize. He's not going to say anything."
"And we know you feel strongly about the matter, but we still have to be careful." It's more frustrating that the woman doesn't seem to give any reaction to her accusations, treating her with the same kind of dismissiveness that one might direct towards an unruly pet. "It's best if you just focus on yourself, Grace. Don't give a worse name to your family. We're doing everything we-"
"Bullshit. You know that." Kellan would have disapproved of her disrespect, but it's harder to muster any respect when they're so open about blatantly lying to her face. Keeping quiet in the wake of their false promises is like ignoring an itch, which often makes it more unbearable as time passes.
The woman says nothing for a long moment, her chin still lifted as they approach the gates that lead outside of Alicante. She's a good example of what the Council is full of - people who are good at saving face and brushing off actual issues if only so they don't have to play all of their cards. But Grace has become accustomed to disappointment. It is not often, after all, that she meets anyone deeply affiliated with the Clave that actually care to listen to anything she has to say, and lashing out has mostly become for the sake of her own sanity instead of actually expecting change or a genuine reaction.
"Look, you had best figure out what you're doing with yourself soon. You're almost an adult, so it's about time you move on," the woman says finally, stopping by the gates. "We'll check up on you again, but it's time to figure out what you're going to do with yourself."
"Yeah, yeah. I have an Institute to get back to," Grace says with the same amount of respect that she's been shown in her lifetime of dealing with adults that haven't ever bothered to listen. She doesn't slow even after she nears the gates, knowing her way back to the manor where the Portal was, wanting to get back to New York anyway.
But she can't deny that the constant urging for her to move on has her feeling more cornered than ever. She doesn't regret it - how could she - but sinking years into finding Kellan has consumed her. She remembers nights where that's all she used to dream about. Couldn't eat without thinking about him. His items would resurface in random spots throughout her childhood Institute and it would be all she could think about for days. Sometimes it feels that the normalcy that everyone is pushing her towards is unobtainable.
"It would be best for you to start fresh," they tell her, and she realizes she has no idea what that might mean for her. She has invested her life into Kellan and she does not think they will ever let her be more than a little lost girl in search of him.
... ... ...
Aspen could feel rain against his face and a few stinging cold drops pelted down into his eyes. The dirty rainwater soaked into the back of his shirt and pants, his cloak bunched up underneath him. He wasn't sure how he'd fallen into such a situation, but he could taste blood in his mouth and feel a general ache through the entirety of his body, no doubt a bruise forming on his elbow and hip judging from the pain. A few more minutes and then maybe he would have mustered up the energy to get up. It was usually difficult to pull himself from the messes he got himself into, and while he was aware of footsteps down the alley, he didn't move, knowing that most of the time people were content to just move past him and pay him no mind.
"Are you okay?" The edge of a blade brushed against his hood, pushing it back from his forehead where it had started to stick to a bloodied wound. "It's dangerous to-..."
Aspen blinked up at the figure that was standing over him, the backlit silhouette of a Shadowhunter with a seraph blade in hand that illuminated him just slightly. The silence dragged on in a tired realization and he was certain he could feel a hostility start to settle in the air around him.
"...You killed my brother."
Aspen's head throbbed, but he was certain that was hardly the most severe of his concerns. "Oh. Did I?"
"Yeah."
There was an ambiguity in the Shadowhunter's tone that Aspen couldn't place and he propped himself up painfully on an elbow. "Well...What am I supposed to say to that, huh? I'm not sorry about it. I've probably killed a...a lot of brothers in my lifetime."
The Shadowhunter's hand tightened on the seraph blade, an intensity in his gaze that might have been anger or sadness or some other emotion that Aspen didn't quite know how to deal with. Slowly, the seraph blade pulled back from his throat, lowering it until it was parallel to his standing frame, wilted, but on-edge.
"Get up."
"I'm all wet and not in the good way," Aspen sighed, pushing himself up to his feet. He took his cloak in his hands to wring it out, dirty rain water pitter-pattering against the stone ground. His clothes were heavy, as if they wanted to drag him back down to the floor. He wouldn't have minded slumping back down against the wall. At least, it felt like a better option than having to be seen in his state, smelling like alcohol and rainwater and urban streets. He'd never washed his roots out of his skin enough, and steadily he started feeling like that hotel-hopping little boy again.
"I thought you'd be dead by now," the Shadowhunter stated, his grip steady on his blade. It was a threat, no doubt, and Aspen was too tired to fight back.
"Well, I thought the same, but I think it's dubious that you seemed so certain of it," he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. The dampness made it tangle and he ripped his fingers through a knot, a few strands catching between his fingers. "
"Hunt's not supposed to be in the Towns." It struck Aspen that the Shadowhunter was only holding back to test him. To analyze the way he spoke or moved as if to judge how severe of a sentence he deserved.
Wiping a stray drop of water that tracked down his cheek, Aspen tilted his head subtly. "Does it look like my allegiance is with the Hunt anym-"
The back of his skull connected painfully against the alley wall, the rest of him slammed back into the stone so the breath was startled out of him. A blade was flush to his throat and the Shadowhunter was suddenly very close and very quiet, his voice lowered to a whisper. "You're more lucky than you know, then. And you're lucky that I didn't run into you earlier or I would have killed you without question," he hissed, a bead of blood welling up where the blade was pressed into his skin. "But if you do anything against this Institute again, I will kill you, and I'll enjoy it."
Gold flecks bright and feral, the Shadowhunter narrowed his eyes with a clear yearning to press the blade in further and end whatever grievance he had. Aspen said nothing, staring at him with the challenge of stoicism that froze his bones. Water had soaked him to the core and the chill of the night air had long since seeped in. But the Shadowhunter seemed satisfied with his silence, retreating and giving him a long warning look as he abruptly pulled himself away to go down the alley and disappear. As if Aspen had been the one to corner him and threaten him.
There was nothing else for him to do except slink off to his place of residence, wanting to wash up and sleep of the rough night that he'd had. Even the Shadowhunter had merely scorned and threatened him like he was a nuisance that was too pathetic to be crushed under his thumb. Like a dirty rat, maybe, or a broken stray dog. He trekked through alleys and shadows with the intent of trying to remain unnoticed, the rain muffling his shape and his footsteps. It was not often that he yearned to be alone, but he only felt estranged from the person he had once been. His nails bit into his palms, sinking in and flexing, always stopping before it stung too much. He had made everywhere inhospitable for himself and all he could do was lie in the bed he had created.