CH 19, Reprieve.

For reader notice. I have 3 ongoing fics. Void Hero, TWTGH (the want to go home), and Geneticist. I go between updating each one and attempt to update each once to twice a month when possible.

I would also like to invite you all to my Discord server for my fics— https/discord.gg/tsCyUV2m6k . I do polls, post announcements for the chapters, and have links to all the important things on that server. It recently got a facelift as well, with the new surge in activity. Being on the server means you get to vote for the different fics and maybe even change a fate or two.

IN ADDITION, here is my link tree link, it has most if not all the links connected to me. https/linktr.ee/LittleLamb31532

Anyway, back to the fic.

~~~~~

Izuku woke slowly, his eyelids heavy and sticky, dragging open with the same resistance as pulling wet fabric apart. For the first time since his battle with the Orphan of Kos, he felt truly aware—aware of the rawness in his throat, the ache in his chest, and the unsettling dampness of sweat-soaked sheets clinging to his body. His tongue was sandpaper, scraping the roof of his mouth with each parched attempt to swallow. The motion sent a spark of pain through his head, sharp and sudden, leaving him gasping softly in the stale air of the Dream.

Memories of the past few days—or was it weeks?—bled together into an indistinct haze. He knew he had been awake, but the moments were fractured, a patchwork of sensations and fleeting images. Soft freckled skin brushing against his clammy cheek. The old man's crooked smile, his voice rumbling like distant thunder. The Doll's cold, porcelain hand pressing gently to his fevered forehead, soothing the fire in his skull while he trembled uncontrollably. He vaguely recalled the sour tang of bile splattering her pristine dress as she cradled his head in her lap, her delicate fingers carding through his matted hair.

It wasn't just his body that betrayed him. Something deeper, something woven into the fabric of his being, felt fractured. The sickness seems to be never ending, coiling tighter and tighter with every passing moment. He felt worse with each breath, his muscles burning as if doused in acid, his veins molten with fever. Every movement, every twitch of his fingers, was a fresh agony.

Izuku groaned softly, the sound more of a rasp than a voice. He tilted his head to the side, catching sight of the familiar pale flowers swaying gently in an unseen breeze. The beauty of the Dream, once a strange comfort, now felt like mockery. How could something so serene surround him when his every moment was hell? A warm hand brushed through Izuku's hair, the softness of the gesture lulling him into a momentary reprieve. The winds outside his room had stilled, leaving the air heavy and oppressive. The unnatural silence clawed at his nerves, a silence that felt alive, as though it were waiting for him to break. His stomach churned violently, nausea clawing at his insides. He curled in on himself, seeking refuge from the relentless, alien discomfort.

A second hand joined, scratching gently at his back, and then a third, softly rubbing behind his right ear. The sensations multiplied—four hands, five, six—until it felt like his entire body was under siege. Fingers poked and prodded, rubbed and squeezed, pressing into places that sent sharp shivers down his spine.

His breaths came shallow and quick, his wide, bloodshot eyes darting around the room. Nothing. The familiar, confined space of his quarters was unchanged: the bed he'd dragged himself to, the simple dresser, the faintly glowing lamp casting weak light over the wooden walls. Nothing and no one was near him.

The sensations didn't care. They pressed into him, intangible and insistent, as though his very flesh were betraying him.

Desperation clawed at his mind, and he swatted at the invisible touches, his hands meeting nothing but air. The phantom hands didn't fade. If anything, they grew bolder, their ghostly persistence spreading like fire through his nerves.

With a panicked cry, he flung himself from the bed. His body hit the floor hard, the boards creaking under his weight. Pain shot through his knees and elbows as he scrambled to the window. Outside, the quiet garden stretched before him. White flowers swayed faintly in an unseen breeze, their tranquility at odds with the storm raging inside him.

The nausea surged, and Izuku doubled over, bile forcing its way up his throat. He vomited out of the window, thick, sticky strands of orange and red fluid pooling onto the flowers below. It glinted dully in the pale light, viscous and wrong. He coughed, his chest heaving as his eyes scanned the mess.

No worms. No parasites. Yet he could feel them. Crawling. Wriggling beneath his skin, behind his eyes, slithering over his teeth. A phantom torment, deeper than flesh.

His legs gave out, and he collapsed backward, landing hard on the wooden floor. For a fleeting moment, his vision blurred, and the Dream melted away.

He was on the beach. Alone. The crashing waves and acrid scent of salt and decay assaulted his senses. His fevered body trembled as he clawed at the wet sand, dragging himself toward the shimmering water. His skin felt like a prison, teeming with things that didn't belong.

He reached for the ocean. But his breath faltered, his strength failing before his fingers could touch the waves.

Izuku blinked, the scene vanishing as abruptly as it had come. He was back in his room, sprawled on the wooden floor, his breath shallow and ragged. The phantom hands were gone, but the feeling they left behind clung to him like oil. He clawed at his clothes, ripping them off in a frenzy as he tried to escape the suffocating itch beneath his skin. He was too hot, too cold, and everything in between. His heart thundered in his chest, each beat pounding the undeniable truth of his own existence into him.

His hands trembled as his eyes darted over his body. His left arm bore the mark of his mother—the intricate branding that declared him her child and her chosen hunter. The deep crimson lines traced delicately over his artery, a stark contrast to the pale expanse of his skin.

Scars crisscrossed his form, faint silver trails that seemed to shimmer in the dim light. They were there and not there, memories etched into his flesh yet devoid of texture. He could trace every line in his mind, recalling the moments they were born, and yet his fingertips found no ridges, no valleys. His hair, once pure green curly locks now laced intricately with silver and red hairs fell into his vision, not new. He couldn't check his eyes, he had no mirror in his room, but the once pure green should be the same as his hair, more silver than red. But nothing new. Please nothing new.

His gaze returned to his skin and lingered on each freckle, every imperfection, searching desperately for something wrong, something that wasn't supposed to be there. The heat suffusing his body burned like a warning, but he forced himself to breathe, to ground his racing thoughts.

"Nothing new," he whispered, the words shaking with fragile hope. His hands curled against his chest, clutching at himself as if to hold everything together. "Nothing new... please."

With a shuddering breath, Izuku dragged himself to his feet. The rough soles of his feet protested against the cold wooden floor, his body trembling with the effort. His knees buckled, but he forced himself to move. He needed to get back to bed. He needed to sleep. Sleep would fix this. It had to.

He stumbled forward, his body tilting precariously as he lunged for the bed. The woolen sheets were his goal, their familiar warmth promising solace. But the moment never came.

Instead, his face collided with something firm and unyielding. Not the soft embrace of his bedding, but something else entirely.

Izuku froze, his breath hitching. Slowly, painfully, he peeled himself back, his muscles taut with trepidation as his exhausted body fell back once more, a low pain blooming in his backside as he slammed into the wooden floor yet again. His breath hitched, his hands trembling against the boards as he struggled to push himself upright. His body, heavy with exhaustion and fever, refused his commands.

He willed his eyes to open, to see who or what had dared block his path to the solace of his bed. It felt like a monumental task, his lids heavy as if burdened by the weight of the entire Hunter's Nightmare. Slowly, painfully, they cracked open, and his heart nearly stopped.

Before him, a tall woman sat perched on his bed, her posture regal and poised. Her presence radiated an air of ancient authority, a cosmic power far beyond his comprehension, yet undeniably familiar.

Izuku's trembling arms gave out beneath him, and he fell fully to the floor once more, his chest heaving with labored breaths. The room felt colder now, the air thick and oppressive, as though it, too, acknowledged the presence of the figure before him. He averted his eyes quickly down, his head swimming.

"W-who…?" he croaked, his voice barely audible over the pounding in his ears.

His gaze darted upward despite himself, his vision tracing the ethereal glow of her form. She was tall, impossibly so, her body radiating a cosmic grace that seemed untouched by mortal understanding. Pale as the moonlit sea, her skin shimmered faintly, smooth and unblemished, every curve of her form exuding an otherworldly perfection.

She wore nothing, her bare figure unapologetic, neither shy nor brazen. It was simply hers, a form that transcended human concepts of beauty or propriety. To Izuku, it was overwhelming. He averted his eyes instinctively, his cheeks burning, but not out of desire. There was something sacred, incomprehensible, and terrifying about her presence, as though he gazed upon a truth far beyond his mortal comprehension.

The woman tilted her head slightly, her flowing silver hair cascading over her shoulders like liquid starlight. Her lips curved into that same chilling, knowing smile—devious yet oddly tender.

"You've felt my touch, little one," she said, her voice melodic, each word dripping with an ancient authority that echoed in the corners of the room. "But now... you see me."

Izuku's heart hammered in his chest. His mouth opened to speak, but no words came. The dream itself seemed to shrink away from her, the room growing dimmer as if the very walls feared to enclose her.

"Do you understand what it means to stand before me?" she asked, leaning forward slightly, her gaze piercing. Her words were both a challenge and a promise, each syllable crawling beneath his skin like a whispered secret.

Izuku shook his head, his throat dry and uncooperative. "K-Kos…" he stammered, his voice cracking.

Her smile widened at the sound of her name, and the weight of her presence grew, pressing against his very soul. He couldn't meet her eyes. Every time he tried, nausea churned in his stomach, and the room spun faster, a relentless tide pulling him under. His trembling legs pushed him backward, his palms scraping against the rough wooden floor as he scrambled to create distance from her. From it.

The thing that didn't lie to him.

His heart clenched painfully, a bitter ache that gnawed at his very core. If he'd had the energy, he might've laughed—a broken, hysterical sound. She hadn't lied. She had never lied. And now, his consequences sat tall and proud before him, regal and unyielding on the bed he had once called his refuge.

Her smile deepened, a curve of soft, deceptively tender lips that made his stomach twist in knots. Her eyes—those unfathomable eyes—stayed locked on him, boring into his soul. He couldn't see them, couldn't bear to look, but he felt their weight all the same, like they were carving him open and leaving a part of her behind. Staining him.

Why did I eat it? The question rattled through his mind, desperate and pleading, only to meet its own cruel answer: She promised to love me.

She promised…

To make me hers.

His muscles froze the moment his back collided with the hard wood of the wall. The cold press of it did nothing to soothe the fiery chill spreading through his veins, but it marked something: he had made distance. He had put a wall between himself and her.

But it didn't matter. Not when her gaze reached him just the same. Not when the haunting echo of her promise rang in his ears, binding him tighter than the strongest chains.

"You are mine now," Kos murmured, her voice soft as a lullaby but laced with an edge of finality. "No matter where you run."

Izuku's breath hitched as she moved. The air in the room seemed to shift with her, heavy and suffocating. He pressed himself harder against the wall, his chest rising and falling in panicked gasps as Kos stood from his bed.

Her movements were fluid, unnatural in their perfection. She unfolded herself like a coiled spring, her body rising higher and higher until her head nearly brushed the ceiling. She was taller than he had realized, taller than anyone should be, and yet she didn't stoop or falter. Every motion was deliberate, each step slow and measured as she moved toward him.

The wooden floor creaked beneath her bare feet, the sound dragging a shudder out of him. Each step felt like a heartbeat—his heartbeat—pounding louder and louder, faster and faster, until it drowned out everything else.

Izuku's mind raced, spiraling deeper into chaos with every deliberate motion she made. What have I done? The thought screamed in his head, clawing at his sanity. He had survived horrors beyond comprehension, had fought nightmares made flesh, and yet none of it—none of it—had prepared him for this.

He could still feel the gentle touch of the Doll's hands, the warmth of Gehrman's smile, the soft murmurs of the Messengers as they tended to him. Ebrietas's warm arms as she wrapped them around him. They had cared for him, shown him a kindness that had been lost in the Nightmare, and he—he had thrown it away. All for a promise he didn't fully understand, a love that now felt like a trap closing in around him.

Her footsteps drew closer, and his body betrayed him, trembling as if the very act of being in her presence threatened to break him apart. Why did I eat it? The question repeated, relentless and damning. He had wanted to be loved, to be chosen, to matter to someone beyond the Dream.

But now he knew. The love she had promised was twisted, tainted, wrong. A love that didn't nurture or heal but consumed, devoured, and left nothing but ruin in its wake.

Her shadow fell over him, towering and oppressive, and Izuku's nails bit into his palms as his hands clenched into fists. Self-loathing bubbled to the surface, hot and acidic. This is your fault.

You wanted this.

You let her in.

Tears pricked at his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. She didn't deserve to see them. She didn't deserve to see how much of him she had already broken.

Her shadow loomed over him, swallowing him whole as her presence pressed down like an iron weight. Izuku's breath hitched when her voice came, soft and saccharine, yet dripping with a sickening possessiveness that made his stomach churn.

"You tremble so beautifully, my little one," she murmured, her head tilting ever so slightly as if to savor the sight of him. "Do you shake because you fear me… or because you finally understand that you are mine?"

Her smile deepened, the corners of her mouth curling in a way that felt less like warmth and more like a predator enjoying its prey. "There is no need to run, no need to fight. You have already given yourself to me, body and soul. Did you think you could undo what was promised? What you devoured? No, sweet boy, you are mine, and nothing—nothing—will ever change that."

Her words slithered into his mind like venom, coiling around his thoughts and strangling any hope of escape. His trembling grew worse, his hands clutching at the wooden floor beneath him as if he could anchor himself against the pull of her voice.

His eyes squeezed shut, his teeth grinding from the strain of clenching his jaw. Every muscle in his body screamed at him to move, to fight, but he felt her touch before he could even attempt resistance. Soft, cold hands cupped his chin, slipping between it and his chest with a grace that mocked his strength. It was effortless, as if his defiance was a fleeting thought to her.

He jerked his head, desperate to pull away, but the rough wood behind him caught his scalp. Splinters dug into his back, sharp and unforgiving, as if the room itself sought to trap him with her. A small, broken cry escaped his lips before he could stop it. "P-please—" he stammered, his voice raw, his thoughts too scattered to finish. What could he even say? What could he do against this?

"Mine~" she purred, her voice low and intimate, wrapping around him like chains. Her breath ghosted over his ear, cold and deliberate, each word a dagger sinking deeper into his psyche. "Even here in the dream, where you are safest, you are mine~"

His eyes burned as tears threatened to spill, and his lungs heaved in a vain attempt to find air. The room spun around him, his mind a whirl of static and dread. Blood roared in his ears like a storm, drowning out rational thought. His arms felt impossibly heavy, pinned to his sides by something he couldn't see but could feel—something real and immovable.

Mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine. The word echoed in his mind, relentless, each repetition driving him closer to the edge. It was like poison, seeping into his veins, tainting everything it touched. He didn't want this. He couldn't want this.

He had longed to be loved, to be wanted, but not like this. Not this suffocating, all-consuming claim. This wasn't love. This wasn't what he needed.

The weight in his chest grew unbearable, and his vision blurred. Before he could spiral further, a sharp tug yanked him back.

He gasped, his lungs finally dragging in air as something yanked him away, the force jarring and undeniable. The sudden motion smashed through the oppressive haze, ripping him from Kos's spidery grasp. Her touch was gone, but the memory of it lingered—crawling beneath his skin like writhing worms.

Izuku curled in on himself, trembling as the world blurred into confusion. His throat tightened, choking off any sound as he clung desperately to the figure that had dragged him free. His fingers gripped soft, unfamiliar fabric, grounding him against the overwhelming tide of nausea and fear.

Then, a voice broke through the oppressive silence, so soft and otherworldly that the ambient hum of the dream itself seemed to hush in reverence.

"Sister."

The word came from Flora, spoken not with warmth but with venom. Her ethereal tone carried the weight of an ancient grudge, slicing through the air like a blade.

"What do you think—"

Her words were cut off by a lilting, melodic voice that set Izuku's heart pounding anew.

"Kin~ how are you~? It's been what… generations of mortal beings since we last crossed paths~?" Kos's sing-song tone was unnervingly casual, her words dripping with mockery. He could feel her presence growing closer, each step sending a chill down his spine.

Izuku tried to shift, instinct screaming at him to flee, but the arms around him tightened, pulling him closer.

"Don't move, little one." The voice was soft yet firm, carrying an undertone of worry that Izuku had never heard before. Ebrietas's usual monotone was gone, replaced with something raw and fragile. "I can't protect you from Auntie if you're too far away. Please, cease movement."

"Yes," Flora interjected, her voice low and seething with restrained fury. "The last time we were together, we forged the bonds of sisterhood and forsook the flesh. But you—" Her tone grew sharper, more dangerous, each word laced with barely-contained rage. "You seem to think you have a claim to my child. We both know I can't allow you to embrace him as your own. The strain would kill him, just as Oedon's children are devoured by their parent's madness."

Two sets of footsteps echoed in Izuku's ears, drawing nearer. His breath was shallow, but his heartbeat had begun to steady as Flora's words filled the room.

"Embrace him as my child? Oh, my dear sister, you're positively deranged!" Kos tutted, her voice laced with mock amusement. "I have no intention of taking him as a child, dear Flora. No, no… I only wish to make him mine~"

She purred the words, her tone dripping with a possessiveness that sent a fresh wave of nausea crashing over Izuku.

Ebrietas's hold on Izuku tightened as he shuddered uncontrollably. He knew he needed to see what was happening—needed to witness the confrontation unfolding before him—but the thought of facing two Great Ones at once made his stomach churn. Just glimpsing Kos had sent waves of nausea rippling through him.

Still, he adjusted himself, pressing further into Ebrietas's comforting embrace. Taking a shaky breath, he tilted his head up and dared to crack his eyes open.

Flora stood about ten feet ahead, her presence towering yet protective, a barrier between him and Kos. Her hair cascaded like a living stream, deep black streaked with rivers of molten red and silver. She wore a simple garment, a single piece of fabric that clung to her form with a balance of elegance and restraint, as if nature itself had adorned her. He couldn't see her face from his position, but the warmth emanating from her presence washed over him, soothing and oppressive all at once. Tears welled in his eyes, unbidden, at the sheer magnitude of her existence.

And then the nausea struck anew as Kos moved into view.

Her eyes found him instantly, piercing through the barriers of space and will as if nothing could shield him from her gaze. He couldn't bring himself to meet them, couldn't endure the weight they carried, but he felt them—felt them burrowing into his very soul, branding him with her presence.

"You don't mean—" Flora's voice wavered, her tall form distorting subtly as something deeper than anger filled her tone, a crack in her usually serene composure.

"Oh, but I do~" Kos purred, her voice honeyed and filled with wicked delight. "He made the deal. He accepted my terms. All it took was a little… persuasion."

Flora bristled, her silhouette shifting as though the very fabric of the dream threatened to unravel around her. "Persuasion?" she bit out, her voice low and dangerous.

"Yes~" Kos continued, savoring each word like a fine wine. "It wasn't hard, really. Once he was beyond your nurturing gaze, deep in the darkest depths… all it took was a promise~" She giggled softly, the sound a chilling mockery of innocence. "Oh, he tried to fight it. Poor, sweet boy, so determined. But once a seed like that is planted…" She trailed off, her smile widening as her gaze flicked back to Izuku. "He was mine~"

Izuku felt his chest constrict, the weight of her words pressing down on him like a physical force. His breaths came shallow and uneven, each one a struggle against the rising despair that nested in him.

Flora turned her head to glance back at Izuku, but the weight of her gaze was too much. Shame clawed at him, burning his cheeks and churning his stomach. He shrank further into himself, unable to meet her eyes. The enormity of his actions pressed down on him like a vice, leaving him dizzy and nauseated.

"Even still," Flora began, her voice steady but edged with authority. "By the laws of our kind, unless he were to willingly bring you the ring of betrothal…" Her words hung heavy in the air, laced with unspoken condemnation.

She took a deliberate step forward, her movements precise and full of purpose, the sound of her footsteps echoing ominously in the space that was the dream. Izuku's breath hitched as she advanced, each step distancing her from him but drawing her closer to Kos.

"You are prohibited," Flora continued, her tone hardening, "from physically seeking him out. And unlike Oedon, I know you follow the old laws—no matter how loosely you may cling to them." Her voice turned to steel, every syllable carrying the weight of an unshakable decree.

Kos's smirk faltered for a moment, but only just.

Flora's steps ceased abruptly, and she stood tall, her presence looming. "I'll allow this transgression to pass," she said coldly, "only because you have just clawed your way out of death's embrace. But heed me, sister." She turned her head slightly, her profile a dark silhouette of menace against the ethereal glow of the dream. "Unless you can make him bring you that ring—willingly—stay. Out. Of. His. Room." Each word landed like a hammer blow, punctuated with an icy finality. "The shack. His sanctuary. These are safe places. Off-limits."

Kos let out a soft, amused hum, her smirk returning in full force. "Oh, dearest sister," she cooed, her tone a sickly-sweet mockery of affection, "if that's the game you wish to play… so be it."

She took a languid step back, her movements fluid and unhurried. "But you know I'm nothing if not persistent." Her gaze flicked toward Izuku, who was still trembling in Ebrietas's arms. "I will watch him. Always. From just beyond the threshold, just outside his precious little room. And when the time comes…" She let the thought linger, her voice dipping into a possessive purr. "He'll come to me. Ring in hand, should he ever need my aid, that would be the price~"

Flora's form shimmered with barely contained fury, her voice lowering to a deadly growl. "You will not cross this line again, Kos." Her words were a promise, heavy with an ancient power that seemed to make the dream itself tremble.

Kos merely tilted her head, her eyes gleaming with dark amusement. "Oh, Flora… you always were so dramatic~" she purred, before fading into the shadows like a whisper, her presence lingering like the ghost of a storm.

Izuku's shoulders sagged as tension fled, the cold air warming as she vanished from sight, but the oppressive weight of Kos's words remained, pressing down on him. Flora turned back toward him, her expression softening as she knelt beside him.

"You'll be safe," she said gently, though her voice carried an edge of exhaustion. "But you must promise me, Izuku…" She placed a hand over his trembling ones. "Never make another deal with her. Not ever again."

Izuku's body convulsed with a sob, curling in on itself as if he were a frightened child once more—a far cry from the resilience he thought he had gained in this accursed world. Shame and helplessness bled from him in waves, his trembling hands clutching at Ebrietas like a lifeline. He wanted to promise Flora, to give her his word, but the moment his lips parted, no sound came but another choked sob. Words failed him.

Ebrietas's voice cut through the silence, soft and sorrowful, her tone steeped in resignation. "You know he cannot promise you that, Auntie." She held him tighter, her embrace more a shield than comfort. "Now that Kos has staked her claim, she will linger. Whether he dies, or… becomes one of us, she will not relent. And even then, she may still pursue him."

Flora sighed, the sound ancient and weary, carrying the weight of countless lifetimes. "You are right," she admitted, her voice quieter now, tinged with a melancholy acceptance. A gentle hand brushed through Izuku's hair, her touch a balm against his shaking form. "Listen to me, my beauty."

Her words wrapped around him like a fragile cocoon, soothing yet heavy with an unyielding truth. "Even if Kos waits beyond the veil, you still hold the power to choose. Find a true love—someone mortal, someone who can love you as you are, unburdened by our laws or claims. Even if you were to bring Kos the ring, whether of your own free will or in pursuit of something else, she will not bind you completely. She cannot."

Her hand lingered in his hair as she continued, her tone firm yet tender. "The bonds of the Great Ones are… transactional, I suppose. We are possessive, yes, but when it comes to mortals, our claims are different. Limited." She paused, her voice softening further. "You still have a chance, Izuku. To find love. To live as you wish. To have children, if that is what you desire. She will have no power to stop you if you find a love that is true."

Flora's hand stilled, resting against his head, her presence grounding him amidst the storm of emotions. "This dream may not feel safe, not now, but you will endure. And I will do all I can to protect you. Always."

Ebrietas nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. "You are not alone, little one. Even if the shadows cling to you, there is light yet."

Izuku's sobs slowed, his breathing still uneven as he tried to process everything. Flora's words offered a fragile comfort, but the lingering thought of Kos—forever watching, forever waiting—wrapped itself around his mind like a cold chain. His fingers twitched anxiously, the space between them itching with unease.

Then, as if in a dream within a dream, the world shifted. The firm ground beneath him became the familiar softness of the cushioned bed he had claimed as his own. The transition was seamless yet surreal, and though his mind registered the change, his body was too drained to react.

Ebrietas was still there, her protective embrace steady and warm. Izuku became vaguely aware of his state, realizing he was still bare, but the exhaustion that weighed on him was heavier than any embarrassment. He pressed closer into her side, seeking solace in her presence.

A kiss landed gently on his brow, a warmth radiating from the spot and spreading through his body like a calming wave. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, the tension in his chest began to ease.

"Watch him, Ebrie," Flora's voice came softly, a tender command. "I'd trust you with his welfare long before Kos."

Ebrietas's tone shifted to something teasing, a faint spark of humor breaking through her usual monotone. "Does that mean if he brings me the ring, he can be mine?"

A soft thwap echoed as a pillow materialized from above, falling squarely onto Ebrietas's face. She didn't flinch, the action received with a quiet acceptance that bordered on comedic.

"I'll take that as a maybe," she said, her voice returning to its usual flatness, though there was a faint undercurrent of amusement.

Izuku couldn't help the small, breathy laugh that escaped him, more a reflex than an intentional response. It was a tiny moment of levity, but it felt monumental in the face of all that had transpired. Wrapped in the warmth of Ebrietas and soothed by Flora's steady presence, he felt, for a fleeting moment, a fragile sense of safety.

~~~

The Hunter's Dream had taken on a gentler atmosphere since Izuku's first awakening on the cool stones outside the workshop. It truly felt like a dream now—softly surreal, quiet, and full of beauty that was just distant enough to remain untouchable. The building on the hill, though still dusty in places, had become a sanctuary for him. The white flowers surrounding it had grown so familiar that he could almost count the petals in his mind without looking.

For the moment, he was alone. The other denizens of the Dream—Flora, Ebrietas, the children, and the many from the church he had brought here, even the doll—were elsewhere, each occupying spaces that Flora had crafted to house them. Even Gehrman was absent, his usual stoic form not haunting the field as it often did. Izuku didn't mind.

He preferred the solitude of the workshop. It gave him time to think, to work, and to process. Recovering from the ordeal with Kos had been slow, but the time spent here had become his balm. He occupied himself with tinkering at the weapons bench or staring into the dimly lit corners of the room where shadows seemed to shift and stir. There was something lurking in those depths, something even Flora could not drive out, but he had learned to ignore it—or at least, not acknowledge it openly.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair as he eyed the dark beast battery on the workbench. The wiring had failed again. He'd tried to repair it several times, but with no proper text on electrical engineering in all of Yharnam, the task felt insurmountable. The frustration was mounting, but he buried it under a sense of grim determination.

Nearby, his threaded cane sat retired on a rack. He still felt a pang of regret whenever his eyes passed over it, but it wasn't practical anymore. As much as he had loved the weapon, its whip-like extended form made close-quarters combat increasingly difficult in the frenetic skirmishes he often found himself in. Its place had been taken by his scythe—a weapon he had come to rely on for its medium-range versatility, though it lacked the speed he needed for closer engagements.

That was the purpose of his current project: a new close-range weapon, something fast and deadly to balance his scythe. His fight with the Orphan had made it painfully clear that speed and precision were just as crucial as reach and power.

He thought back to the only time he had left the safety of the workshop. He had needed advice from the one hunter who could assist him in close range weapons, Eileen. His neck still stung from that encounter, though it was more from the awkwardness of the conversation than any physical pain. He had approached her while she was resting in the field of flowers, her mask tilted slightly to reveal the sharp lines of her face. She'd listened to his questions with her usual air of disinterest, but she hadn't dismissed him. She gave no forward answer, only handed him a bundle of metal and a blueprint written in a language he had never seen before, even from the hundreds of books he had read from the streets of Yharnam.

Izuku shook his head as he looked down at the old blueprints. The weapon was familiar but new lines had been added. The new ink is nearly impossible to notice as it was barely a shade darker. Izuku turned back to the bench, staring down at the half-finished weapon. It wasn't much yet—little more than some raw materials—but it was a start. He picked up his hammer and got back to work, the silence of the Dream enveloping him like a protective shroud. He stood and brought the metals and papers to the forge.

Izuku loved the feeling of the forge's heat, the way it pressed against his skin and dried his eyes as he worked. His foot pumped the bellows rhythmically, each burst of air feeding the fire until it roared like a living beast. The steady clang of his hammer striking metal echoed through the workshop, each blow deliberate and resolute. This was liberation—reclaiming something that had been stolen from him piece by piece, stroke by stroke.

The siderite lay on the workbench, a gift from Gehrman himself. The dark, silvery metal was heavier than steel and tougher to work with, but it held a unique property: its edge, once properly forged and sharpened, would remain unyielding, capable of cutting even through the sinews of beasts with a single strike. Izuku had marveled at it when Gehrman placed it in his hands.

"This metal is older than even the Healing Church," Gehrman had said, his voice quiet, reverent. "Rarely found, rarely used. But I believe it belongs to you now. Make it yours, lad."

Now, Izuku worked tirelessly to fulfill that charge. The siderite was stubborn, resisting the hammer's blows at first. But Izuku pressed on, his strikes growing stronger, more confident. The metal began to yield under his persistence, softening with the forge's heat and bending to his will.

He had sketched his altered designs in advance, pages of notes scattered across the workbench before him. The twin daggers would resemble Eileen's Blades of Mercy in form, but not in function. These were his Blades of the Moon, crafted for speed and precision, their edges sharper and their curves more aggressive. He envisioned them as extensions of his own will, fast and unrelenting in battle.

He reheated the siderite, folding it meticulously, layering the metal again and again. Sparks danced in the air with every hammer blow, each one illuminating the dim workshop. Sweat dripped down his temples, but he didn't stop. The rhythm of his work became a mantra, steady and unyielding.

When the blades began to take shape, he turned his attention to the hilts. Bone, salvaged from a long-dead dark beast, was carved into smooth, elegant grips. He etched crescent moons and flowing patterns into the handles, a homage to the Dream and the strange beauty of the night sky. The engravings were precise, each curve and line deliberate, he poured liquid silver into the carvings, watching in sick fascination as the living bone twitched and sparked.

As the blades neared completion, Izuku tempered them, plunging the glowing metal into a bath of oil. The forge hissed and spat as steam rose in thick clouds, filling the workshop with the sharp smell of heated oil. The siderite responded beautifully, its surface taking on a dark, polished sheen with veins of silver running through it.

Finally, he moved to sharpening. The whetstone sang as he drew each blade across its surface, the sound sharp and clean. He tested the edges with the lightest touch of his thumb, pulling back immediately when they bit into his skin effortlessly.

When the Blades of the Moon were finished, Izuku held them up, the workshop's faint light catching the silver veins in the siderite. They gleamed like twin crescents, their edges whispering of lethality. He twirled one blade experimentally, feeling the perfect balance, the way it seemed to move with him rather than against him. They whispered through the air and sizzled lightly as the beast bone twitched against the metal.

"These are mine," he murmured, his voice steady despite the storm of emotions inside him.

Strapping the daggers to his hips, Izuku stood tall, the weight of the siderite weapons grounding him. They were daggers forged from the roots of Eileen's weapons, made of metal gifted from gherman, and forged with his own blood and sweat. He found himself smiling.

Izuku turned back to the forge, his gaze lingering on the embers still glowing faintly, like the dying heartbeat of the beast that had birthed his weapons. He pulled the blades from their sheaths, the polished siderite glinting in the dim light. The weight felt perfect in his hands, a reflection of his labor and resolve.

Carrying the weapons to the cooler section of the workshop, he settled at the sturdy desk in the main room. With careful precision, he laid the Blades of the Moon down on the work surface, the etchings in the bone hilts catching the flicker of lamplight. He unstoppered a vial of liquified bloodstone, the crimson substance gleaming as if alive, and poured it slowly over the blades. The siderite hissed softly, drinking in the bloodstone like parched earth.

Izuku watched as the etched symbols carved into the metal and bone began to glow faintly, the infusion taking hold. He knew this process would take hours, but it was necessary. The bloodstone would saturate the blades, strengthening their edges and amplifying their already lethal sharpness. The infusion would make them not just weapons, but tools of unmatched precision, capable of cleaving through the thickest hide or the strongest bone.

Once this was complete, he would slot in the blood gems he had carefully selected, each one a perfect complement to the blades' design. They would enhance the weapons further, imbuing them with the unique properties he needed to survive the battles yet to come.

Izuku leaned back, rolling his shoulder with a satisfying pop. A small, familiar noise drew his attention, and he looked up to see Ebrietas silently placing a cup of tea beside him. Her movements were graceful, almost serene, and she gave him a quiet glance that spoke of understanding before retreating back into the shadows.

He smiled faintly, picking up the warm cup and taking a sip. The tea was soothing, its subtle bitterness grounding him in the present. He returned his attention to the blades, watching the slow, deliberate process unfold. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he allowed himself to feel a sliver of satisfaction.

The workshop was silent, save for the faint crackle of the forge in the distance and the occasional soft hiss of bloodstone seeping into siderite. The air felt heavy with potential, a quiet promise of the battles yet to come and the strength he was forging within himself.

Izuku ran a finger over one of the glowing crescent symbols on the blade's hilt and whispered softly to himself, "Soon."

()~~~~~()

Word count for chapter 6852

Patrion thanks section: Brandon Smith, Rom Hack, Lifeless, Carfmodyios, Sean Ross, Dylan Rosenbusch