The Embers under the Great Tree
IV
He was reminded a little of home.
Well, he thought it was home.
That was what you called the place where you grew up, right?
That was what all the books he read said about it, especially the picture books.
So yes, this place was really similar to home for him. Which was partially why he was a little confused about how no one else seemed to be as comfortable as he was at the moment. It might not have been exactly the same, but it was still close enough for him to say they were pretty similar to one another.
As he stood up, he walked towards the bars in front of him but made sure not to stand too close to them, just in case he accidentally touched them again.
Having done that once before, he decided it was best not to repeat it.
Mostly because it was a little painful.
Schmidt leaned forwards and squinted through the gaps in the bars, looking to the rooms that were just opposite him and trying to see if he could spot the woman they had come here with. He looked for a few moments and then took a sniff of the air before he caught her scent, quickly turning the other way and catching sight of her.
A frown came upon him, as well as a small bubble of confusion.
She didn't look as though she was very happy right now.
In fact, she looked quite sad.
He tried to think of why she might be sad but found himself struggling for an answer, so much so that he drew back and raised a hand to his head, scratching at his crown and frowning to himself. It was really quite the confusing thing for him to try and understand why everyone else was so quiet.
It wasn't like they couldn't talk to each other, but they were just really quiet.
Quiet and sad.
Or worried.
Schmidt felt more than a little uneasy at the thought, glancing further along to the right and taking another sniff of the air. Sure enough, it was clear to him that Kri-ah, right, Berserker.
He should call her Berserker.
Berserker was still here, but he remembered how they first met, how upset she had been about where he was and how she had told him that it was very bad they had been keeping him in that room where he wasn't allowed to leave. He didn't understand why she thought it was bad, but she seemed to be really passionate about it.
Though neither Gabriel nor Sister Kiara saw a problem with it, so he was confused.
It occurred to him that maybe Berserker didn't like it if there was a room you couldn't leave.
So she must have been pretty sad to be in this place.
She would probably want to leave as soon as possible.
A wince shot through him as he realised that it might have been his fault that they were like this in the first place. Berserker had been pretty adamant about them not following strange people but the Niamh girl was really friendly to him. About as friendly as sister Kiara and Gabriel, and she talked about how excited she was to show off some of her home.
So he just followed along and dragged Berserker with them.
He should apologise to her.
"Berserker?" His voice echoed rather loudly and he waited for a response, getting nothing for a few seconds and then calling out again. "Berserker? It's me. Schmidt. Can you hear me? I don't know if I need to speak louder or-"
"You're speaking loud enough." Berserker answered him back, though he could not see her, there was a picture in his head of her with her arms crossed and a frown on her face. "What is the matter?"
Schmidt tapped the tips of his fingers together a couple times before speaking up. "Sorry about this."
Berserker was quiet.
She might have been waiting for more.
"You said not to follow the nice lady. I didn't listen and I followed her and now you got in trouble because of me. Sorry."
More quiet followed.
Schmidt felt the strong desire to fidget on the spot, as though there was some sort of pressure on top of his head, like Berserker was standing in front of him and staring - or rather, glaring - down at him for his words. He wasn't quite sure where the disapproval was coming from or even why, but he could feel it all the same.
Maybe she wanted more of an apology?
"I'll listen to you next time."
"Yes."
Berserker at last answered him in a very clipped tone of voice.
"You most certainly will…and do not speak like that."
Schmidt blinked and tilted his head, then frowned. "You…don't want me to apologise?"
Another silence settled.
Then there was a low gnawing sound that vaguely reminded him of an animal coming from the general direction of Berserker. He couldn't quite see what was going on and had to strain his ears towards her to try and get a bit more detail, but didn't get all that much before he was forced to lean backwards.
"What is the matter with you?" Berserker was shouting. "You know what? You're just like him! Absolutely no consideration for me when doing anything, have you? I can see it just as clearly now as I could then. Running away and doing your own thing and then muttering an apology after the fact! You've gone and gotten yourself into trouble but all you can think to say is just 'I'm sorry' and then expect everything to work out, right?!"
Schmidt jerked backwards further.
Not quite sure what he was supposed to say.
It was the most he had ever heard Berserker say in one full setting, he blinked and looked across the lady with one eye.
She was staring towards him with a tilt of the head before glancing further down with some really confused look on her face.
Schmidt turned back to the direction he faced previously.
"Sorry I didn't think about you at the-"
"And stop apologising!" Berserker yelled out a bit louder. "You went and did it anyway so why bother apologising for it now!? What good is it going to do any of us…You just had to go and pay attention to that woman fluttering her eyebrows, didn't you? Letting her win you over with that charming smile all while I was trying to talk sense to you. Especially after you said you trusted what I had to say. Hmph. I should have known that was going to be a lie."
Schmidt winced and looked down towards the ground.
He opened his mouth to say sorry but then caught himself before he could and closed it again.
"...I just thought it would make her happy."
It turned out that was also the wrong thing to say.
"I knew it!" Berserker was positively screeching now. "Just! Like! Him! Everyone else first, right? Did you even want to go or was it because that girl would be happy about it? Mmmmh!?"
"It's…uhm…" He didn't know how best to say this.
Berserker let out a long sigh.
He kept himself quiet until she was speaking again, far quieter and more reserved than before.
"...Schmidt." Perking up a little at her voice, he noted how exhausted she sounded. "I am saying this for your own good. Doing things for others is going to get you in trouble. Like right now. You went and wanted to make that girl happy…and now we're all currently incarcerated. Do not apologise if you are going to do it again."
Would he do it again?
He looked up and thought about it for a few moments, then thought about it some more.
"...I don't know if I would do it again."
Berserker sighed once more, a mixture of annoyance and pity all in one.
"Well." She said after a pause. "There is time to fix that. If we survive this."
Fix what?
He blinked and pinched his brows.
This sounded like it was one of those things that she knew more about than him and, therefore, was one of those topics that he should just leave to her. With a slow nod of the head for his own benefit, he decided it was easier to leave that sort of thinking to her at the moment.
Especially as there might be some other things happening.
His eyes moved further away and towards the direction of the person they had been put in here with.
She said her name was Katherine…but then apparently it was also O-Feel-e-a?
Ofeelea.
That was such an odd name but then perhaps he was thinking too strangely.
Given that apparently his name had been very wrong according to Berserker and had it changed.
Ah!
Maybe it was a surname.
Ofeelea Katherine.
Yes, that made much more sense to him.
He was watching Ofeelea closely, pinching his brows a bit tighter and letting his gaze slowly drift towards the side of her face that was covered by that strange cloth. It was strange to him because he would go to try and stare at it only for his gaze to wander away and he'd have to jerk himself back towards her to look at it again.
Weird.
"Do you have a lot of Angel friends, Ofeelea?"
There was no reaction from the girl and he could have sworn that he heard a sharp intake of breath from further down the row of rooms around where he heard Berserker speak from. Yet that might have been a trick of the mind, or of his hearing. He didn't think he had done anything wrong that time.
Yet he didn't get an answer to his question.
Maybe he was being a bit too rude? He should clear that up.
"Ah, sorry." He called out to her. "Do you want to be called Ofeelea or Katherine? Or Miss Katherine? Or Mrs Katherine…? Sister Kiara didn't teach me that far with this sort of thing and I don't think that Gabriel knew about it. She said that Angels don't have those sorts of things at the front of their names so…"
Trailing off, he felt he might have been a bit too sudden in speaking with her.
Ah, was this her first time in a room like this?
"I was in a room like this for a long time before I got out." Reassuring her, he put on a smile as best as he could manage. "It isn't that bad. It's quieter inside these types of rooms but my one was a little different. I couldn't see outside of it at all. I just had to wait for someone to come and visit me, so being able to see outside and look at other people is really nice. It isn't as lonely."
He wanted to lean forwards, then stopped as he remembered the bars and moved back from them.
"...Did you ever meet Gabriel before? She went out a lot. You look like you go out a lot as well and you know another Angel. She doesn't seem as though she is as nice as Gabriel though. I think she might be meaner…which isn't very good."
It was only when he fell silent once again that he noticed Ofeelea had moved ever so slightly, her eye landing on him once more and there was something a bit weird about the way she was looking at him. As though she was really confused for some reason and not understanding what he was saying.
Which he only recognised because he made the same face when he saw his reflection for the first time.
Gabriel had said he was a bit confused about something he had never seen before.
Then she had looked all sad for some reason.
Though the next day had been a bit better because she smiled again.
Schmidt blinked and perked up ever so slightly, looking at Ofeelea and calling out to her. "If they let us in the same room as each other, do you want me to brush your hair?"
Ofeelea jerked backwards like something had pushed her, tilting her head and opening her mouth and looking as though she was going to say something. Then she closed it again - very slowly - and furrowed her brows. Staring at him really intensely. He recognised that sort of face as well.
Berserker made it when they first met.
Schmidt realised the problem.
"Oh, I don't have a brush." He mumbled, then started down at his empty hands for a couple of seconds as the disappointment flooded him. Now he felt bad that he had offered to do something that he couldn't do, shoulders dropping ever so slightly before he looked back up and called out. "Do you think they would give us a brush for your hair?"
Ofeelea closed her eye and took in a long breath before she finally spoke to him.
She sounded really tired.
"...Why do you wish to brush my hair?"
He blinked and tilted his head. "...Sister Kiara did that for me sometimes. I thought it was nice when she did it. She smiled a lot and it made her happy."
From further down the hall, Berserker spoke up.
"You never offered to brush my hair."
Her voice sounded strange, like she was annoyed and confused.
So was Schmidt.
"You never looked lonely though." He replied and then frowned as he realised this was returning to their earlier conversation. "Oh, I didn't realise you wanted me to brush your hair. Sorry. If we get let out or moved to the same room, I can brush your hair if you want me too…but I don't know if I would be good at it. It doesn't look hard but Sister Kiara said it was sometimes difficult."
He stopped speaking when he realised neither of them were actually reacting to what he was saying.
Instead there was this odd and invisible feeling, the strong urge that he should stop talking.
He obeyed that urge and worked his mouth shut, looking first towards Ofeelea and then towards the direction of Berserker without actually seeing her. He shuffled backwards and then pursed his lips.
Was he making a mistake again?
He did that sometimes.
"No."
Schmidt started and looked up, Ofeelea was looking at him with a really odd face.
"I do not believe I need you to…" She hesitated for a moment, the face got even stranger and started to twist as though she was having trouble speaking. "...brush my hair."
"Oh." Schmidt tried not to feel too bad about the rejection and instead shrugged his shoulders. "Okay."
Well, that was fine, right?
Schmidt jerked upright and turned his head, taking another sniff as the same rather burning scent entered his nostrils once more. He paced forwards and looked further down as far as he could manage, leaning until he was almost touching the bars but not quite able to glimpse down the hallway.
But the smell was getting stronger.
"I think your Angel friend is coming back."
His words jolted Ofeelea to her feet, she moved to her own bars.
It was not until the smell was flooding his nostrils that he finally saw the glimpse of black and white, the Angel appeared from the darkness as though emerging from water and stepped right towards the room where Ofeelea was. Staring into it for a short moment, then her head turned and she was suddenly looking towards him.
Schmidt had noticed it earlier, but it was more obvious now.
This angel was meaner than Gabriel, he would almost describe her as being somehow colder as well. There wasn't the same bright nicety that Gabriel seemed to have whenever she visited him. It felt like just being warm when she was around, almost peaceful like getting ready for a good nap.
But the Angel, when she looked at him, felt as though the hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end. His wings flexed back and forth against his will and he shuffled on the spot. If anything, he felt like putting as much distance between himself and the angel as possible, or at least putting something between them so she couldn't stare at him with those cold eyes.
"I have expedited an audience." The angel said rather suddenly, tearing her eyes from him and looking back at Ofeelea.
Schmidt felt brief relief at that before he felt a little nestle of discomfort form in his gut when he realised that now Ofeelea would be looked at with those same eyes. He knew it would probably make Berserker upset if he started saying something about it, but he tried to imagine how Ofeelea would feel being looked at like that.
Especially when he didn't like being looked at like that.
"You did what?" Ofeelea sounded a little surprised and now looked a bit more nervous. "What did you do…?"
The Angel grunted. "I made it clear that I would not subject myself to bureaucracy. Time is of the essence, is it not?"
Ofeelea did something very funny with her face as it twisted around once more, like she wanted to shout but also wanted to…cry?
It was hard to say.
But Schmidt felt there was something really vague with the Angel's words, like she was saying something but it had a different meaning to it. He had encountered that sort of thing before with words meaning different things. He thought of the angel that made him feel cold and then noticed one other thing.
She came back alone.
Where were the others who walked her outside of the room?
Schmidt felt a little ill rather suddenly. "Hey."
His words didn't seem to register for a moment in their conversation, Ofeelea was speaking a little louder than he was.
"The whole point was to try and salvage enough good will so that they would not take this as a slight against us. We have poor standing enough with the Abrahamic factions and the Fae will almost certainly be concerned that we are here, bullying our way-"
"I will not have this mission waylaid because you fear the wrath of pagans." The angel spat. "And you impressed upon me the importance of this mission, unless your plan involved being held captive and subjected to the whims of the Fae without assistance, I have forced their hand in pleading our case."
"Forced their hand in seeing you as a threat, perhaps." Ofeelea countered just as swiftly, eye narrowed. "Between what became of Kuoh and now that stunt at the Vatican, they have every reason to be suspicious of us. Now I would be surprised if they were not hostile-"
"Hey!"
Schmidt didn't like raising his voice, especially when he felt a wisp of heat rise up in the back of his throat, he clenched his jaws and muffled a cough which saw some black smoke leak from between his lips.
The pair turned towards him, both looking a little agitated.
But Schmidt looked to the Angel. "Did you hurt anyone?"
The mask didn't show any emotion and looked a little scary, but the height of the angel was still great enough that it felt a little imposing.
For a few seconds, he thought her silence meant she wasn't going to answer him.
Then she scoffed rather loudly and turned towards Ofeelea once more, who first looked to him and then sent a pointed look at the Angel.
"I harmed none of them." She declared. "I merely broke their restraints and returned here. They made little effort to stop me and have doubtless gone to inform their superiors. Who, in turn, shall see to it that our case is brought under their direct overview."
"...Won't they be upset though?"
"Yes." Ofeelea spoke through gritted teeth. "They most likely will be…Given that we have all but made a mockery of them and declared we do not respect their judgement."
"I don't respect their judgement." The Angel stated as though speaking the obvious. "And I am not beholden to it either. There is only one remaining being in this - or any other - world who can command me and they have already given me my orders. Those remain my priority, first and foremost."
Ofeelea raised her hand, stopped, then lowered it back down again.
She was a lot quieter now, but Schmidt felt like he could guess what she was feeling from her face.
She looked more than a little lost right now.
"Why though?" He asked, feeling a desire to know, stepping closer to the bars and feeling the flicker on the edges of his skin. He wanted to reach out and take them, but he held himself back and just stared. "I don't understand…they hadn't done anything to us yet so why make them angry?"
Schmidt just didn't get it.
He-
His neck stood on end.
Stepping away from the bars, he gulped as the feeling of something being around him started to-
There was movement in the corner of his eyes, and suddenly the Angel in front of him was all but glaring at whatever was over his shoulder. Not alone in that, he could see that Ofeelea was much the same, her one visible eye was as wide as it could manage, almost bulging.
But Schmidt did not see much of that, or any of it.
Instead he was the large black shapes closing in on either side, watching them and feeling them press against his own wings, folding them inwards until they rested against his body. The larger shapes coiled around him and then closed off, embracing him in a cool but rather shocking hug.
They were not arms, he looked down at them and turned his chin into them ever so slightly. Pausing at the almost velvety texture of whatever was around him, it was smooth and a colour of midnight. That sounded about right to him but the thoughts which flurried through his mind were anything but peaceful.
Instead it was some strange sense of unease but he couldn't explain why.
Eyes on the wings, he felt something touch the top of his head.
Or rather, the very tip of his left horn.
It slid along and climbed further up, pinching gently from either side as a whistle cut through the air behind him.
Almost like a song, but deep.
Really deep.
Curling right across the path of his horn and then leaving, he looked left as another shape stepped past him, his eyes landing on something that wasn't quite right. The general shape kept twitching - spasming, even - until it settled.
In one moment he thought he might have been staring at a woman in a rather simple dress.
Then there was a dark cloak which billowed in a breeze he could not feel.
Finally there was a shape taller than he.
Metal like ink and a helmet with only pits for eyes, it stepped forwards and then around him, he looked left and right as the embrace followed the figure until he realised what was holding him in place.
Wings.
Very large wings, larger than his own.
But they were so different from his own that he could not resist staring, for a moment he was reminded of Gabriel's wings but these were different to hers. They were black but it was equally as mesmerising. They were softer than he could have imagined and radiated a pleasant cold. His finger twitched and he slowly lifted his arm up within the confines of the embrace.
The pits of the helm watched his every movement, but the figure made no move to speak or even stop him.
"What is it?" Berserker raised her voice, sounding a little on edge. "What is that? What is happening down there? Schmidt?"
He barely heard her, instead moved his fingers up and towards the large feathery wings currently embracing him.
The back of his fingers brushed against them and he stopped, then drew his hand back down.
"Sorry."
He flushed a little as he spoke.
The figure in armour said nothing to him, they just tilted their head very slowly to one side and then started to move closer. Leaning forwards while the wings closed in tighter against his back. Not uncomfortably, but just enough that he wasn't able to try and retreat. The dark metal was almost flush against his skin when the person in front of him finally stopped.
"You…"
He blinked.
The voice was a lot quieter than he thought it would have been, it also sounded like a girl's voice.
But rough.
Odd.
Quiet but rough, a bit like metal.
"...You truly are an odd little one, aren't you?"
He jolted as something cold pressed against his cheek, eyes flickering downwards to see the metal fingers brushing against his skin and right towards his hair, moving past his eyes and pushing a stray locke behind his ears.
"So young and so blindingly innocent." The girl in front of him continued onwards, the pits that were eyes tracked his every movement and twitch. "I doubt you can even understand malice…You can't, can you?"
Schmidt wasn't sure if he was actually being asked anything.
He blinked.
In that span of time, the embrace vanished and then when his eyes opened, the figure was gone.
Instead there was just a woman in the middle of the hallway just beyond his room, she stood in a dress of a lighter grey colour, some sort of see through fabric draped over her face which hid away most of her expression. He looked down at her sleeves and blinked, unlike the rest of her dress, they were odd. It looked as though they had been woven from feathers to him.
Which seemed quite unusual.
"Well."
The girl spoke, her voice clearer and a lot louder than before.
"Seeing as how you have gone through such a hassle in making yourselves noticeable for anyone who would have been paying attention, it seems as though you have earned yourself an audience with me before you are passed along to those who…have a more vested interest in what you seek."
She spoke like she was going to laugh, but never quite did.
"Especially you." Turning, the woman waved an arm towards the Angel. "That was quite the amusing little stunt you pulled earlier. I doubt poor Saoirse has ever felt so offended in her life, having someone just get up and walk out on her like that."
The Angel squared her shoulders. "I saw no reason to entertain the belief she held authority over me for any longer than I needed to."
"Mmmmh." The woman turned away, humming in a low tune and pacing down the hallway. "...Now you're an interesting one, aren't you? I am quite certain that you are supposed to be dead and yet…here we are."
Schmidt blinked, she was down the length of the hallway to where Berserker was.
Berserker was supposed to be dead?
Was she in trouble?
He stepped forwards to the bars and looked down, eyes squinting at the general shape of the woman as she walked towards the bars of Berserker-
"What are you doing to her?"
The woman stopped, then turned her head towards him, it tilted once again and then a chuckle escaped.
"Oh, nothing~" She sang, and stepped back. "I need not do anything. This is far too interesting to allow something as trivial as wounded pride hamper. I suppose you all have your reasons and I, for one, would relish the chance of seeing how this all pans out. Especially as we have not had such sights since…many years ago."
It's the way she walks, almost a dance, that has Schmidt's full attention.
Something whimsical in her words, like she isn't taking anything seriously at all.
Almost like Gabriel, but it's different.
This woman is different.
Schmidt doesn't even see the moment her hands coil around the bars of his room, the way they burn bright - how they had shocked him springs to his mind - and he lunges forwards to pry her hands away from them. Already shouting a warning which leaves his throat as nothing more than a noise of alarm.
And then she just pulls.
He stops and blinks, the bars of his cell just fall away like nothing and hit the ground with a heavy thudding, he stops in his lunge and catches himself, trying to balance with a flap of his wings and standing straighter. Looking somewhere between the woman and the mess of metal on the floor.
This was how he left his last room as well.
Maybe that's how they work, he thinks for one single moment, before he shakes away the thought and brings his eyes up.
The see-through fabric is looking right towards him, he can see the stretch of white just under it, the hint of a smile and the sound that spills forth is amused.
"Oh, you don't need to be so worried for me, little one." She speaks with a brush of her hand, like she was never in any real danger. Like he's done something funny but he doesn't know quite what it is.
"Come along." Raising a finger, she beckons him forwards and his legs drag him along before he even realises what is happening. Eyes flicking to the woman, then past her to the others that are standing not too far from him. Ofeelea is still in her room but he wonders if either the woman or the Angel is going to let her out.
So he asks.
"Are…" He coughs, raising his voice a little louder as he steps out of the room and into the hallway, moving around the bars just in case they still try to shock him. "Are you going to let the others out as well?"
"Since you were so polite about it." There's another restrained laugh, she turns her back on him and he watches as she just walks.
There is no urgency in her steps, nor any sign of strength.
She just walks like the people he saw in the street, lays her hand on the bars of the room further down and pulls again. He can see it clearer this time, the way she just gives a light tug and suddenly its just falling apart.
"...Won't you get in trouble for that?"
"Such a diligent young thing." She says without even turning, but it doesn't feel like she's speaking to him. Rather, she's talking to Berserker. "You never know when someone find find that innocent tone all to appealing, don't you?"
Relief shoots through him when Berserker steps into the open, he wants nothing more than to just bound towards her and see if she's alright, but she turns rather sharply before he can move and there's a hint of warning in her eyes. Like she knew what he was about to do and told him not to do it without even saying a single thing.
So he doesn't move so much as an inch.
Instead he stood rooted to the spot and waited.
For what, he did not know, but he watched as Berserker walked around the woman without tearing her eyes away and then started to back away in his direction. Slow and measured steps before she was right by his side, kicking away the metal bars that lay by his feet.
Her hand clamped down on his shoulder and nothing else, and a solid grip prevented him from moving.
"Be a dear and open up the last cell, would you?" With a whimsical tone, the woman turned on her heel and started to walk away, directing the request to someone. Schmidt wasn't sure who until he heard the familiar tearing of metal and looked over his shoulder just in time to watch the angel dump the bars of Ofeelea's room on the floor.
"Thank you~" A voice that was equal parts light hearted but oddly sweet, perhaps a little too sweet, echoed from ahead of them.
Schmidt blinked, then finally spoke up. "Does she want us to follow her?"
"Presumably."
Ofeelea was already walking past him, her shoulders tense and though he wasn't able to catch a glimpse of her face, he was able to smell the clear odour of sweat pouring off her. It was easy for him to tell she was on edge, maybe a little scared as well.
That…made him feel a little funny.
Not very pleasant.
Frowning, he pushed forwards and felt Berserker's hold on him slip ever so slightly, but it was renewed a moment later as she dragged herself along with him. Keeping by his side, feeling her eyes on the side of his head for quite a while before they broke away from him and moved on ahead.
He took the chance to spare her a look, she was squinting at Ofeelea's back, then she looked back at him with that same sharpness.
Schmidt looked away a second too late.
Berserker drew in a sharp breath with didn't sound all that pleased.
Then she exhaled. "I am imagining something that you had best hope is not true."
"...How do I know if it isn't true if you're imagining it?"
"...We will speak later." And she said it with the clear promise that they would be speaking later.
But he didn't actually know what they would be speaking about.
Was Ophelia nervous?
Yes, yes she was.
Would she ever deny feeling nervous or otherwise uneasy?
Not at this particular juncture, no.
And why was that?
Because she was certain that everything that could have gone wrong, did go wrong. All but certain that neither Lord Kirschtaria nor Daybit ever experienced something close to the level of madness that she was suffering through at this moment and the worst part was that all of it was linked right back to her.
True, the Angel had accompanied her against her will, but Ophelia was not going to shift blame and point fingers like an infant.
Very easily could she have spoken with Lord Kirschtaria and made it clear to have the Angel recalled so that she could continue in her mission without distractions. That would have been the sensible option, or better yet she could have avoided giving herself away to the Berserker and the dragon-hybrid in such a clear lapse of control.
An Angel in a celtic site - the most important celtic site - and she was somehow surprised that the zealotry had blown up in such a spectacular way?
If she ever faced Lord Kirschtaria again, if this catastrophe somehow produced a viable result, then she would apologise wholeheartedly for this display and maybe if she was lucky he might relegate her to some sort of background role, as opposed to casting her aside completely for this failure-
No…
No.
The mission wasn't lost yet, this was still the preliminaries.
They had not even made it to Muspelheim yet, so this could still be salvaged.
She was sure it could still be salvaged.
All she needed was the right chance and then everything would be fine, she was certain of that.
Their fates as a whole just depended on the whims of the pantheon of Gods which they had to avoid offending.
Which Susa-il had doubtless done several times over in utterly unapologetic ways.
…
…It was really difficult not to feel as though she was doomed.
"Hey."
Ophelia barely reacted to the voice of the dragon-hybrid, because that was another thing she was struggling to come to terms with. Why was one of those things just hanging around here in the first place? More to the point, why were they acting as though they were nothing more than a toddler?
She was aware that most dragons avoided the human world more than they used to but this was something else entirely.
It was a display of ignorance that almost felt as though it was some sort of act or-
"I don't know why you're worried." Apparently not taking her lack of a response as evidence she held no interest in speaking, the dragon continued on. "But I'm sure that everything is going to be fine."
He sounded so innocent when he said that, so naively innocent.
Ophelia clenched her jaw and closed her eye, biting back her retort until it was nothing but paste on her tongue, then she gulped it down before turning her head very slowly in the direction of Schmidt.
…His name…was Schmidt.
He looked back at her with those bright wide eyes like some sort of puppy and with a smile that looked more nervous than reassuring. Fidgeting like a child as they walked, a look wholly contradicted by the Berserker behind him, who was sending her a look as though trying to set her on fire.
Ophelia wisely decided she would have nothing to do with that and turned back around.
Her eye flicked to the Goddess - because what else were they going to be - who was leading them around.
She had seen the wings and even beyond that, she saw the sleeves and the black feathers that comprised them.
There was only one Goddess she knew of in Ireland who suited the theme of crow wings.
The Morrigan.
"Did someone say my name?"
Ophelia went stiff, knowing for a fact she hadn't said so much as a single thing and yet the voice of the Goddess came from right in front of her, no more than a call over her shoulder.
The veiled head turned and Ophelia could see the whites of her teeth through the screen covering her face.
The image distorted, crackling and glitching, before it reformed in a completely different appearance to those before. A simple woman with brunette fluffy hair and plain clothes. A pale grey cardigan over a black cotton shirt, a knee length white skirt and running shoes, the woman did a small spin and-
She was right in front of her.
Ophelia jerked backwards as the tips of their noses touched, the invasion of her personal space had her forget to breathe, going very neary cross eyed as the face of the woman was right there. Freckled features and dull hazel eyes, soft rounded cheeks. The woman had a smile that was almost friendly.
Almost.
But there was a sharpness in her gaze, a subtle warning of danger that she couldn't put her finger on.
…Like being stood in front of a wild animal and expecting it to lash out at any moment.
A crackle, the image glitched.
She breathed, the hallway was occupied by the behemoth in black plate obsidian armour once more.
"It would be wise-" The voice was impossibly quiet, but it was like a whisper in the woods when one was all alone. "-if you were to focus on what you are to say when brought towards those with greater authority. Not out of kindness do I make this request, but out of a sense of responsibility."
The helm tilted ever so slightly, metal creaked.
"I do so wish to see how you shall explain all of this and how you mean us no harm."
The shape twitched violently, the veiled mourner returned.
"Come along then."
And she just kept walking on like nothing happened.
Ophelia didn't dare think anything to do with her for the duration of the walk.
And it was a rather short walk until they moved up a rather small length of staircase, the opposite they had been led down, and brought them towards a hallway which was allowing more light into it. Windows ran counter either side, bathing the room in a light which seemed to dim as the Goddess in front of her strode forwards.
As though a layer of cloud was coming upon the sun as she moved past it.
From further ahead the hallway came the telltale sounds of frantic movement, Ophelia heard them long before she saw them, watching as the Dullahan from earlier came storming around the corner - silver longsword drawn - only to stop the second she caught sight of the Goddess, or so she assumed as catching sight of.
She went stock still, then straightened out immediately.
"...This is highly irregular." The words sounded strained and the flicker of light that sported from the opened neck seemed subdued. The tension was not missed either. "And I would urge you to at least allow us to accompany you with a detachment-"
"Am I so vulnerable, do you think?"
The Dullahan froze up.
The Goddess raised her hand, turning it over and glanced down at her fingernails, letting loose an almost melodious hum that sounded just off-key enough for her to wince at the noise. The smoke from the Dullahan simmered down to mere wisps.
"Not at all." Saoirse corrected swiftly. "Forgive me for implying otherwise, I merely mean to say that it would be beneath your status for a task as simple as escort. If you insist upon delivering them, then it would be proper to follow protocol."
"Tell me." The Goddess cut her off with a tilt of the head, drawing her eyes away from the back of her hand. "Is this an ordinary situation in your experience?"
Saoirse did not answer, nor did she need to.
"I thought not." With that, the Goddess started marching forwards once again as though she had never been stopped to begin with. "Though if you wish to insist on accompanying me on a simple walk, then far be it from me to dissuade you…I was unaware that your duties were so meagre as to allow the time for such a trivial pursuit."
Ophelia could feel something that was not quite tense, but very much uneasy.
She shifted her weight ever so slightly, just enough that she was an inch or so further back from the Goddess than she had been earlier.
"...I relinquish custody of the captives to your authority, Lady Morrigan." Saoirse stepped back and turned down sharply, sheathing her sword and dropping in the same motion.
She remained that way as they group passed her by and Ophelia had little doubt that if the Dullahan had a head, it would have remained firmly pointed to the ground even as they walked past her.
Their walk continued for hardly much further, bringing them past an assorted collection of rooms and halls which were filled with a rather wide variety of Fae, hardly any of them bore an appearance that was even remotely humanoid, but there were some mixed in amongst the others who could at least pass as such.
Few and far between, she supposed.
And she kept her eye front to avoid looking at them as she passed them by, not allowing her stare to linger for too long.
The Goddess kept ahead of them, coming upon a pair of doors, and then stepping through them as they opened under their own power. It was a blinding assault of light which had Ophelia wince for a moment, blinking the light out of her vision, and stepping forwards into a cacophony of sounds.
It sounded like the hustle and bustle of an ordinary city and, indeed, as the lights faded away and she became accustomed to it, she stopped and looked across what was certainly a city. Perhaps a touch more archaic than she was used to but not less grand in scope or scale, certainly not in populous.
Fae of all walks of life roamed the streets, engaged in animated conversations or what seemed to be commerce.
Ophelia was struck by how ordinary it looked, despite how extraordinary they appeared when compared to humans.
…It was not too dissimilar from what she knew of the Devils but something told her the comparison was not quite right.
"...Oh."
Schmidt made a noise behind her which summed up her own thoughts rather nicely on what they were seeing.
"Come along."
Ophelia blinked, then turned to the voice and realised they stood at the top of a staircase, layered stone, which led them down to a cobbled road. Sitting on the road before them was a carriage, rather small looking but giving off the impression of being unusual in a way that she could not discern.
Its shape was indistinct, rather similar to other carriages with curled bands of silver along the rims and a brightly polished wooden frame. Her eyes moved across to the things that would pull said carriage and she found herself staring at horses.
Except they were rather large, a slight greying tint to their fur and if she looked closely enough, she could spy water dripping down from their bodies.
And the Goddess was starting to turn and look at her-
Ophelia's legs carried her forth without further delay, moving down the length of the steps towards the carriage and trying not to appear too frantic or desperate. Her eye locked back onto the Goddess as she glanced at the carriage and came to a dead stop just behind the divinity, waiting for further instruction.
The door swung open, the Goddess climbed up the steps and inside first, waving a single finger over her shoulder as an invitation.
Ophelia took it, moving up the steps and into-
She blinked.
This was a forest.
She was standing in a forest?
Barely even aware as her feet carried her forwards, the sounds of rushing water met her ears as she stepped forth and then felt her ankles go cold, yanking her foot back and turning her head down to stare at the little stream she had just stepped in.
Movement ahead of her stole her gaze, she strode forwards and stepped over the stream as she did so, casting a single look over her shoulders to see if there way anything-
…There was woods behind her, just woodland.
And she was alone in the woods, fog encroached between the trees, a web of mist formed around her through which she could not see save for the single little grove which she stood in. Ophelia felt her throat go rather dry all of a sudden, twisting about and turning in a full circle as she searched for any sign of someone else.
There was nothing and no one.
She was alone.
…Oh.
This…this wasn't good at-
"Now, now."
She stiffened at the feel of hands on her shoulders, a gentle nudge at her back ushered her forwards. The object she was being guided to revealed itself rather swiftly, a small log just beside the stream further upwards, moved towards it, she was ushered around and then pushed down.
It was not a rough push, but still firm enough that she would not imagine trying to resist it.
Eye fixed to the front, she dared not turn to her right - her blind spot - as she could feel the Goddess step around to that side and lower herself down. With only a small groan and a slight sensation of someone shuffling themselves beside her.
For a few moments, all she heard was the stream.
"I thought it best for the two of us to have a private conversation away from your…keeper."
She knew who the Goddess was referring to, but that was a rather…inaccurate method of describing the relationship.
And given the small chortle at the end of the word, the Goddess knew as much as well. Ophelia would have said she was trying to provoke a reaction but felt it wise to keep such thoughts to herself.
Instead she took in a breath before speaking.
"What is it you wished to-"
"Hush for a moment." She closed her mouth, "And look down to the stream."
Ophelia did as instructed-
There was something at the base of the stream, resting just beneath the currents and almost staring back at her. She could see it through the water as clear as day and she was rendered silent at the sight of it. Far from being her own reflection, it was a flash of silver in the stream.
A knife.
It looked like an ordinary knife to her, perhaps not the sort to be found in a kitchen, with very little to draw the eye save for the importance which had evidently been ascribed to it.
"Such a little thing, isn't it?"
The Morrigan leaned forwards, dipping her fingers into the water and gracing the hilt of the blade before taking it gently into her hand, pulling it back up and out of the water.
"And so often looked down upon…indeed, so easily to wield a sword or a spear, those are the weapons of warriors. How they do mighty battle with such gallant and powerful weapons, wholly befitting of the stoic images they cast…"
She danced the knife between her fingers.
"And yet, so very often, it relies upon a well aimed thrust or a slash at just the right angle and the knife can do all the work of the sword…and it can be so easy to conceal, so simple to use, can it not?"
Ophelia glanced the way of the Goddess.
She held the appearance of the freckled girl now, with a smile so simple.
"Just a little cut and…"
The silver blade was raised up, the tip positioned just at the edge of her throat. The Goddess seemed wholly unconcerned with the proximity of the blade and she had little reason to be, Ophelia thought, given that she very much doubted something as simple and ordinary as that could ever harm a Goddess unless she wished it to.
The smile on her face sharpened, the knife twitched just an inch.
Ophelia lurched back as blood poured from the wound into the stream.
There was so much, bleeding crimson with such intensity it was akin to a tap and through it all the woman was just holding that innocent smile.
On her feet, Ophelia took a half step back.
It was no longer a stream of crystal blue water, it was now an ugly shade of red which grew deeper and deeper by the second.
"I wouldn't have thought you to be so frightful at the sight of blood."
Words that were a mixture of mocking and intrigue, Ophelia paid them little mind as she stepped further from the edge of the stream. The embankment started to overflow, trickles of red climbed out as it widened by the second, further steps brought her away from the flowing of the stream.
Except it wasn't a stream anymore.
It was a river.
Gushing forth and roaring in her ears, she scrambled back away from it as it lapped after her.
The Goddess just sat on the log, floating in the very heart of it all with that same little smile on her face, dancing the knife in her fingers.
"I'm not quite sure why you're running."
The Morrigan tilted her head, the smile vanished.
Ophelia felt her feet fall out from under her, stumbling backwards and collapsing into something warm and slick. She dropped below and her vision was flooded with crimson, her arms flailed as she felt them weigh down over something, scrambling up and launching her head towards what dim lighting was above her.
A gasp tore free of her as she emerged, eye widening and arms splashing around to keep her afloat.
It was everywhere.
Why was the blood everywhere?
What-
"Is this not what you want?"
Something pressed down on the top of her head, forcing her back under.
Instinct demanded she open her mouth to scream, but she didn't, she kept it shut and instead frantically splashed around. The weight atop her head pushed lower and followed her, preventing her from closing in to the surface.
Her nose burned and her throat was clogged, flooding into her as she tried to scramble to the surface, hands clawing up.
Never once did it even occur to her to use magic.
It was some primitive and desperate display, what was worse was that she could feel the cool air on her fingers as they broke the surface of the red wall above her. Salvation that was just out of reach and with nothing seemingly pushing her down-
Her hair was caught, she was yanked upwards and torn free of the scarlet with a sharp gasp, pain and relief.
The black knight glared down at her, great wings of obsidian stretched as wide as they could, for what little she could see, spending too much time coughing and sputtering to dislodge the blood from her throat, vomiting it up with amounts that seemed impossible.
She was soaked with it, her skin dyed red.
"Well?"
Her hair was pulled again, forcing her to eye level with the black helmet.
"Why so shy? Is this not what your little cut aims for?" The Morrigan leaned closer, each word blasted her face with air so cold it froze the blood to her skin. "Is this blood not what you wanted?"
She got no chance to speak.
Her head was slammed back into the water and held down, she struggled and writhed, twisting in the grip until her scalp felt as though it would be torn away from her. Hands flying to the grip just above her head, except she could feel it, the way her nape was exposed to the cool air, and she dragged her fingers along the hand holding her in place.
She was wrenched up once more, gasping and sputtering.
The figure changed.
The mourner greeted her.
"It's so easy to see it like this, is it not? Nothing more the blood but then…who did this blood belong to? What were they like…such a horrible thing to try and envisage, is it not?"
Cold fingers pulled at her throat and dragged her close, nose to nose.
Ophelia stared with a wide unblinking eye.
"What is it all for? Who is it all for and tell me…is it going to be worth it in the end?"
Foreheads pressed flat against one another.
"Do you even know?"
She opened her mouth to reply, to say something.
Except she didn't know what she was supposed to-
The grip got tighter and she was twisted around, brought face to face with the water once more.
"Wai-!"
It was undignified.
It was a pathetic sound and it came from her.
She knew it probably wouldn't work.
And it didn't.
With neither mercy nor hesitation, she was slammed into the ocean of red once more and held there, the fist fulls of her hair pulled at her scalp, the knuckles of the hand holding her dug into the back of her skull like nails. Pressing tighter and tighter as she drowned-
"Gugh!"
Light blinded her, she stumbled forwards and crashed against solid earth.
Scrambling on all fours and pressing herself flat against the stone, she breathed in and out, savouring every breath that came to her.
"Well."
She heard the voice and flinched, rolling away-
Someone caught her and pulled her close, she did not even realise what was happening until there was a body shielding her, holding her tight and covering her right side. Barely making out who it was until she squinted, she saw those glowing slitted eyes and that face awash with worry, then saw the way it hardened as it turned from her.
Ophelia went still.
The Morrigan stood barely a few feet from her, hands clasped together.
"I think that was a lovely carriage ride."
Head tilted, the smile burned through the veil.
"Perhaps I shall escort you back when you leave?"
A minor pause, then a hum.
"I suppose I should say…If you leave, that is."