“I know who you are, Una,” Sena replied cordially. Her eyes scanned from behind her glasses at the young redhead. The styling choices were almost hard to look at and the girl’s sudden embarrassment was apparent. Still, it was the closest they had been to one another in her time at the school and the augury sense of familiarity permeated. The touch of their hands affirmed the feeling and while Sena fully expected it, she knew it would take time for Una to understand: It was kinship. However, the mystery would have to be enough for the moment. “Dr. Ashford talks about you all the time.” She said, letting go of her hand gently. “I’m Sena,” She spoke with a crisp professionalism, but the tone in her words was alluring and personable. “I work with him in his pharmaceutical business.” She patted the side of her bag, displaying polished nails as finely well kept as the rest of her ensemble. “I had a few things to drop off for him while he was away, maybe you’d like to join me?”

As Uná shook Sena's hand a feeling came over her. That's odd… Do I know her? Her hand tightened around Sena's as if squeezing a close friend's, firmly saying "Glad to see you here.".

Uná tilted her head. "I could swear…" She shook her head. "Never mind. Poke around in the cottage? Uh yeah!" Trouble followed Uná where she went but she'd been good at avoiding the worst of it in her nearly sixteen years. She nodded looking excited.

They were only a few steps away and Sena’s heels clicked smartly on the stone pathway leading up to the small porch where she unlocked the door with her own key and motioned for Una to follow. 

Turning towards the office, the smell of aging books and sandalwood permeated as usual, even without Ashford’s presence. Sena flipped her sunglasses up while her steps reverberated through the property and she nonchalantly dropped her bag on the Dean’s desk as if she owned it. “How are your classes going?” She asked, picking up a small binder at the corner of the desk, thumbing through it briefly as she listened.

Eyes zeroing in on the door the anticipation nearly killed Uná as curiosity as to what was behind it. She was soon rewarded by Sena opening the door and Uná kept her manners and didn't push past. It smells like a posh library! Bet there's books in here that would make Heidi squee. 

Turning round Uná saw a very masculine decor and color scheme. Dark woods and rich colors all seemed to flow from room to room. She almost missed Sena's question. "Classes are going well. I started a study group with my bo- my friend. So I've been keeping a 4.0 average." Uná blushed as she said friend.

I almost said boyfriend about Nikki. I don't know if he wants that kept secret or not. Better ask next time. I just kinda thought it was obvious. Uná's eyes brightened as she remembered Sena worked with Ashford. She smiled brightly. "Ms. Sena since you work with Dean Ashford may I ask a pharmaceutical question? Unless you don't 'shop talk' while you're off work."

Sena’s eyes lifted from the page slightly and she smirked at the mention of a “boyfriend” before glancing back down as Una spoke. Like everything that Ashford kept as physical documentation, everything was in a sort of code that only he could read. She wasn’t sure how it was generated or why, but her attention was diverted by Una’s unexpected question and she looked up again slightly quizzically. “You can ask whatever you want.”

Uná started to look around the room, the wealth of information overwhelming so she wasn't concentrating on what she was seeing. At Sena's affirmation to ask, Uná turned toward the woman. "I was given an enhancement to allow me to control my powers while conscious. I wanted to know if it had any side effects and I was hoping maybe you knew since you and Dean Ashford work together… maybe you know about it?" Uná looked hopeful that Sena would know about the drug and that she'd be willing to share her knowledge. 

Sena’s eyes narrowed a bit, “It’s an enhancer, but it’s supposed to help you control?” She tossed the binder back on the desk and crossed her arms. “Do you have it with you?”

Uná actually had them on her. She kept them on her because she didn't know what she should have done to dispose of them. Uná nodded and pulled out a plastic sandwich bag from her bra. "Sorry. Safest place for them. I didn't want to flush them just in case." Uná handed over the baggie with about a full week's worth left of the pills.

A look of concentration came over Uná's face. "I stopped taking them recently but...I don't remember why. I just don't know that I want to keep taking them. There has to be a way for me to access my powers without being on meds." Uná looked very determined about accessing her powers.

Some amusement went over the dark haired woman’s face as she watched Una retrieve her medication wrapped in plastic like trash that she carried around. Just looking at the pills daintily aligned at the bottom of the bag caused her to shake her head slightly and she gave a small sigh. “Who prescribed them to you?” She asked, taking the bag in her hand, not even examining them that closely.  

Looking over Sena as she examined the last of the pills. Uná still couldn't seem to quite remember why she didn't want them. "Dean Ashford." She remembered that they had worked quite well.

“And you feel better without it?”

"I feel the same. No that's not true. I… something happened to make my mind change in a big way but…" Uná rubbed her head.

Sena pursed her lips and tossed the bag in the waste bin. The same one that Ashford had used when she had confronted him Sunday morning. A place where she knew he would find it. Acting was not her strong suit, but the truth in her position made the words come easier. What she wanted to say, she knew Una wasn’t ready for, however the opportunity that had been offered up was one that could not be refused. “You don’t need them,” She said plainly, looking the younger girl in the eyes, “If I tell you something, can you keep it a secret between us?”

It had been an interesting few days for Cleo to say the least, Sunday and Monday had the teen mostly sitting in the infirmary recovering from her injuries and the constant headaches she was getting from her new developing abilities. Later on that night, Cleo had met Jasper in the early hours and spent a short time conversing while stargazing, it was a nice enjoyable moment of peace. Tuesday found herself back in class and although she didn’t feel herself many thought she was back to her old self when blamed for a classroom prank that had everyone sounding like chipmunks.

Today however; Cleo found herself at odds with everything going on in her mind. She remembers a conversation she had with Heidi, Kaylee and Cole on Saturday, it’s gritty details of a night before, but one she can not recall, it’s like the memories of the night have faded away, like they never happened and it left her confused, worried. How could she have a graphical conversation like that and not remember it happen? Cleo didn’t know but as she sat alone at the fountain, her words of Ashford and this inner conflict had convinced her of one thing. She had to get out and dodge.

The days that followed Saturday night reminded Cole of how bad a decision it was to stretch his rule of no working relationships. Granted, there wasn’t truly a relationship per se; they had been out a few times and that was all. He felt like he was the one pumping the brakes more than her and while the resulting silence from the confessional with Heidi and Cleo had probably put the brake pedal firmly on the floorboard, he didn’t feel bad about it. The vision that he gained when the time called was so clear that there was no dispute. He could feel it in his soul, like he could see the world as it was truly made without influence or suggestion. When he looked on Una in the midst of the burning building, he knew with certainty he wasn’t looking at a mutant. The fog that clustered around her had reacted to his sense of discernment as if it was curious and afraid at the same time that it had been recognized. The image played behind his eyes as he sat in front of a laptop at a high table in the large campus dining area.

The food was surprisingly good, though he rarely indulged for lunch, instead only a couple protein bars and coffee sat next to his fingers as he worked. The office would have been quieter, but he needed some fresh air and a change of scenery. As it were, Ashford was making a serious investment in the protection of the campus and while Cole understood the significance of the work they were involved in, the level of expenditure seemed a little grandiose even for those standards. There were competing bids for the work, however the leading quote came from Senturion, a European firm with which the Dean had stated he was familiar and had done business with in the past. They specialized in a mechanized drone line referred to as Sentinels that worked within a network based around the objective they were meant to protect. There were some that resembled standard, quad-rotor drones, but the ground units were completely bizarre. Cole’s hands worked over the keys as he made some notes. Other sizable upgrades would come with the plan, many of which would be extremely useful so he couldn’t be too skeptical.

Running a hand over his face, he looked over an email before firing it away and reached for his coffee, taking a sip and sitting back in the chair for a moment, he crossed his other arm over his chest and immediately reread what he had just sent. Like everything else about the Ashford Institute that he had encountered thus far, there seemed to be a pervading sense of compartmentalization. The detective in him also couldn’t help but be curious, though his gut instinct quietly whispered for him to be suspicious. He rubbed at the stubble on his chin for a moment and finally closed the window, though sensing someone approaching he turned his glance away from the screen.

Cleo had since made her way in, as much as she loved the peace she was enjoying within the rays of sunshine. The teen decided she wanted to calm her nerves with some coffee and made her way to the diner area of the school, there were many students going about their business, and the usual crop she found herself in weren’t around probably attending to their own devices of course. Cleo had got herself a cappuccino, like most coffee it was her kryptonite and most likely have her bouncing off walls later, but for now it will help calm her nerves.

Turning around and leaning against the wall, Cleo took in her surroundings while taking in the scent of the coffee, this made her want to simply sink into a chair and vanish for a while and enjoy this moment of bliss. With happiness on her face for a moment as she blew at the hot liquid before taking a sip, she saw one face that she most certainly wouldn’t forget in anytime soon. Cole was sitting by his lonesome and working on something, She would end up staring at the guy longer than she would admit, he was present during her whole blurt out session from saturday and he came out with some interesting revelations too. After a moment of thought, Cleo would go and approach him.

Walking up to the table the guy was sitting at, Cleo approached his side, taking another sip of coffee to keep her nerves calm. “Excuse me Mr Cole, Sorry if you are busy, but is it okay to join you? I kinda feel the need to talk to someone.” Cleo shyly smiled. After a moment, she sat down across from Cole, shifting a little until she was comfortable, again taking another sip from her coffee. “So like, I am trying to figure out how to put this, Things have not been the same since Saturday, I got this feeling later into the night that i can’t explain, like a sense. not to mention our conversation.” She paused as she sighed. “I can’t even remember why we had it”

Uná smiled, seems Sena felt the same about the meds as Uná herself did. "I can keep a secret...between friends of course." Uná blinked rapidly confused as to why she exactly said that. That's weird. I mean not that it wouldn't be nice to have an adult to really talk to but why'd I even say it like that?

Sena relaxed a bit and leaned back on the desk running a finger over her lips for a moment and crossing her other arm. “Most of what people see and expect in medicine is wrong.” She said with a pause, considering her words. “Mutants by extension, have a similar expectation, but the truth is that what we call ‘mutations’ or even ‘powers’ as some of you like to say, is a method nature uses to overcome what’s been suppressed for a very long time.” She looked back at Una carefully. “I’ll give you an example, have you ever wondered why certain colors automatically trigger certain emotions?” She let the question hang in the air briefly, but she was feeling more in her element. “Red associates with power, green with wealth, blue with healing and so on. Everyone understands, but where did it come from?”

Debating if she'd actually learned about this in History at some point Uná mentality shook off that perception. "Red is probably from blood. Green probably replaced gold since the invention of paper money. Blue? Maybe water? Water is essential to life and maybe that's why. But none of it is really grounded in History. Most things like colors and the meanings of flowers are really more of a society ideal than a grounded reason."

“You have some professors here that will tell you all about their grounded reasons,” She couldn’t hide a growing smirk as she spoke. “Is it true because they say so, or because it really is?” She looked at Una matter-of-factly, “The science that they believe in is only a part of this reality, but there’s much more that has been hidden from you- and you know it’s there, you just said so yourself.”

Pausing Uná frowned. "I… yes. I mean it's theoretical. But you're not speaking theoretically. You make it sound like myth could be real. And I guess you can say there's a seed of truth in them. But then what's truth or fiction? That's a deep rabbit hole. But I'll bite, there's always more than one side."

Sena smiled at her skepticism. “I’ll prove it to you,” She said and walked over towards one the shelves aligned with books and other items from Ashford’s travels. There was an ornate porcelain vase in it’s own stand that she casually removed and held in front of her turning it in her hand slowly for Una to observe the hand painted details. Without warning she dropped it; looking at Una with complete composure as it shattered across the hardwood. “Watch.” She said, rotating the same hand that had just released the vase.

A neon blue and violet hue formed around the broken pieces and the air stirred slightly. Almost as fast as it had hit the floor, the pieces drew back together and reformed in her hand as if nothing had happened. She raised an eyebrow with a sly smirk, looking at Una. “Now is it still pieces or is it whole?”

Uná blinked. "Both. Technically it's both. Or it could be. Unless you never dropped it." This was starting to get all theory of reality in here.

“You’re right, the pieces are still there, but your mind makes it whole.” She said with emphasis. “Just like your mind tells you that you don’t need those pills.”

Uná's eyes snapped to Sena. "You're not making this conversation easy Sena. It's like you're trying to tell me that reality is what you make of it. Trust me I know that better than most. I hate it when someone holds a truth behind a curtain and describes it to make you guess. Professor Everose does that and it pisses me off." Uná's eyes narrowed slightly and shifted black then back to blue as she blinked.

“I know it does,” Sena said calmingly in agreement. The familiarity that flashed across the young girl’s eyes was what she was looking to find and she touched her shoulder firmly looking into her blue irises. “I’m telling you that when you understand how the universe really works, they won’t be able to hide it... and it will be what you make of it.”

Aya didn’t move. She didn’t open her eyes. Her blood was stagnant in her veins, dark and congealed. Stiff. Heavy. Distantly she heard the dull screech of a steam wand heating milk for a latte. She felt the paper underneath her hand, felt the warm plastic of her pen. She remembered how to breathe. Her heartbeat was a slow, steady rhythm, no longer forgotten.

Her eyelids fluttered open.

It was almost disorienting to come back to her body - her mundane reality of an empty cafe and a half-drunk mocha. She blinked. Her hand twitched slightly, pivoting around the joint in her wrist. Aya tried it again. Her fingers moved, releasing their grip on the black envelope and it fell the short distance to the table.

Little by little, Aya broke the spell on her body. She flexed her fingers, her hands, her arms. She pulled her neck this way and that. All the while, that single, familiar truth sat with her.

I’ve died. It was simple. Somber. Maybe a little sad. But Aya couldn’t bring herself to dwell - not when she still had a job to do. The failure of her death pushed her forward.

Flipping the page in her notebook, Aya picked up the third envelope. She turned it in her hand, foreign trepidation staining her thoughts. (No. Not ‘foreign.’ Aya. She was Aya, sad, nervous, soft spoken Aya -) She took in another slow breath. It shook as she pushed it out of her lungs. Closing her eyes again, she placed the pentip against the fresh page. She slipped back into her meditation.

Nothing.

Not the nothing that came with the first two envelopes - just… nothing to find. Aya couldn’t have spent more than a few minutes meditating over the envelope, but she knew it was pointless. The envelope was lighter somehow, lacking some metaphysical weight.

Was she just incapable of seeing whatever it was? Was she missing something? Aya breathed in slowly again, and muscle by muscle she forced herself to relax where she’d unknowingly tensed. Her eyebrows relaxed. Her shoulders dropped slightly. Her fingers loosened their grips on the envelope and pen. Her toes uncurled in her shoes. With every breath, that stoic determination that’d so thoroughly filled her seemed to melt away.

It didn’t belong to her. She wasn’t dead, she was Aya. Another breath. Another heartbeat. The envelope remained devoid of anything to find, as little by little Aya remembered what it meant to be her.

When her eyes opened again she felt lighter somehow. As empty as the envelope. A sudden sense of vertigo hit her. She dropped the pen and envelope to the table, squeezing her eyelids shut and bringing a hand up to press into her temple. Aya rested her elbows on the table and used the heel of both palms to press into her eyes, palms cradling her forehead, fingers twisting in her hairline. Her jaw clenched before she forced it to release again.

Another breath.

Aya raised her head again, blinking with bleary eyes. She let her gaze wander, regrounding herself in reality. Two baristas behind the counter, chatting, making themselves drinks. The navy and white color scheme of the cafe. Another patron sitting at the only other occupied table. The music overhead had changed to something slow and acoustic, a gentle tenor crooning in Spanish. Aya looked back down at her notebook. There was a single splotch of ink, thick where she’d let the pen rest against the paper. The third envelope stared up at her.

Aya picked it up, holding it in the air in front of her face. She turned it, watching the way the silver lettering reflected the light. Aya wondered if it was even worth trying again. Was there something she just wasn’t getting about the envelope? She paused then. Did she even want to see what was in it? In the last one? She remembered the torrent of too many emotions, the fire, the confusion, the death. Looking into these envelopes was like drowning - waves washing over her, not knowing which way was up, water filling her lungs, making her lose herself until she no longer existed - and all there was, was the vast, consuming ocean.

What was the point of this exercise? Why make her see these things? What purpose could traumatizing her possibly have? Professor Everose had called this a test. Was it just to see if she could? Did they want to know how she’d react? Why would they want her to know how Mr. St. John had lost his family, or that Dean Ashford’s doctor was -

Aya froze. Her eyes widened. Dean Ashford’s doctor was a killer. She wasn’t even human, she was as alien to this realm as the dark man - Finvarra - and the Sluagh, and Uná. She’d taken it for granted when she’d looked into the envelope. It had been a fact as clear and familiar as the open sky. It was only now, when Aya was herself again, that the truth of it struck her. Aya felt her heart rate quicken, her breathing growing shallow.

She turned the page in the notebook to see what she’d written for the second envelope again. Her eyes scanned the words, flashes of memory replaying in her mind. She stopped when she reached the last line: ‘I’ve died.’

Her eyebrows pulled together though when she saw the character she’d written for the word ‘I’: 俺. Masculine. Authoritative. Her fingertips brushed over the kanji, feeling the edges where her pen had pressed into the paper. Who had she been?

Aya bit her lip. Then she picked up the second envelope from where it sat on the table. Her heart hammered in her chest, as she looked down at it, eyeing where the flap was sealed. Professor Everose had given Aya clear instructions not to look inside.

But obedience had already killed her once.

Aya’s slim finger slid under the flap of the envelope. The wax seal broke, tearing at bits of the fine black paper. Aya’s shoulders tensed at the sound, but she carried on. She slowly pulled out a cream-colored card. Her eyes scanned the words written. Then again. Then again, like it would help her understand.

Adam Pierce.

She felt her heart stop. Professor Pierce was dead. No… no that couldn’t be right. He had classes, he’d been there for the Danger Room conversation on Saturday, looming behind Dean Ashford -

There was a date and time written beneath his name. Saturday night. Aya felt like she might throw up. A hand snapped to her mouth to cover a shaking gasp for air, as tears sprang to her eyes. Professor Pierce was dead. The phrase circled in her mind, over and over again, like repeating it would make it understandable. Her eyes found the other envelopes. With a shaking hand, she lifted the first one. She already knew what it would say.

Coleman Lee St. John.

The security officer’s face flashed in her mind - his picture at his own funeral, surrounded by bouquets of white roses. Fresh grief pooled in her chest at the memory, only some of it hers. A date was written under his name, from a few months ago. She ran her thumb over the letters on the paper, feeling guilty.

She hadn’t had the right to see into his life like that. His family, his death, their grief, the fire... the fire. It had been filled with righteous hate, the burning need for retribution, smoke and anger and so much pain -

The third envelope was empty save for a blank piece of paper. Aya turned it over in her hands, eyebrows furrowed. It explained why she hadn’t been able to see anything. Why give her nothing though? To just… see where she went? A test? Confusion mixed with suspicion to form a growing distrust. Again and again, she came back to the same question.

Why?

The final envelope stared up at her from the table. It grew in her vision until it was all she could see. Aya couldn’t stop her hand from reaching out, fingers slow and trembling. She picked it up, crisp black parchment course against her skin. It felt… heavy somehow. It stilled her breath in her throat. The other envelopes and the revelations that came with them had been horrible - not just because of the pain and grief. Whatever sort of ability she had, it took something from Aya: her identity. It hid the boundaries between herself and the souls surrounding her, made it too easy to lose herself and take on someone else.

Whatever was in this envelope, it would take from her too - if she even dared to look. Professor Everose’s gentle face flashed in her mind again, smiling, guiding, soothing. She’d failed to warn Aya what this 'test' would really mean - which meant Aya would have to prepare herself, instead.

She pulled open the final envelope. Like the others, it held a single cream-colored card. Aya held her breath as she slid it out, letters slowly revealing themselves.

Avalon.

The word seemed to pulse. It echoed in her mind. Aya didn’t look away from it. She didn’t know how. She couldn’t stop her eyes from falling closed, card still pinched between her fingers. The world went black.

Darkness pulsed around her in a steady, living rhythm. Aya’s breathing slowed to match it, in and out. The push and pull of the darkness’ tide coaxed her deeper and deeper, floating far from the shore until it was completely out of view.

And then the riptide claimed her.

It was a city dipped in starlight - high towers of shining, black opal, colors like frozen firelight trapped in the polished stone, catching against motes of floating lights. Aya looked up as she spun, a laugh bright on her painted lips. Her gown rippled through the air. Her auburn curls, so carefully pinned up, bounced where they hung around her face. Lilting music filled the air, elegant dancers laughing around her as they spun and dipped and jumped. The very air was vibrant with energy, textured in a way she could touch, taste, smell. Aya looked over her shoulder at her dancing partner as her spin slowed, and her smile turned cheeky.

He was so handsome, it nearly broke her heart. He returned her smile, pointed teeth obsidian-black. He lifted a gloved hand towards her, in open invitation. Beckoning. Her eyes turned wicked then, mischief bubbling up like champagne.

Silly man, didn’t he know she wanted to be chased?

Aya let out a high giggle as she grabbed the fabric of her fine gown and turned from him, running into the night -

Aya let out a low growl as she grabbed the nearest object - a heavy, gilded candlestick, purple fire flickering above it - and lunged forward to strike the disrespectful, ungrateful, clumsy, useless, filthy servant. Hungry satisfaction shot through her body when she heard his sharp cry. The boy tried to raise a hand and her rage only increased. He dared try and stop her, his lord? Aya snarled as the candlestick came down again. Then again. There was a crack and the servant was on the floor but Aya didn’t stop, not as the whelp’s face grew more and more unrecognizable, not as slick, hot blood coated her fingers, her fine silks, her golden rings.

It was only when the flesh of her own hand burst open, the boy silent on the floor, that Aya finally turned away. An ill-aimed swing had caught her somehow. She curled over her hand, hissing in pain. The candlestick fell to the ground -

The cup fell to the ground, empty and forgotten. Aya tried to fight back tears as she leaned over her husband. She took a dirty cloth, stained from his sweat, and dabbed the running water away from his lips. He hadn’t left the bed in days. His skin, once a warm, burnished copper, was now dull and greying.

They were alone in their tiny house, him lying beneath the thin blanket on the one bed, her sitting beside his leg, leaning over him, a hand brushing against his sweaty forehead. The family that they shared the too-small home with had stepped outside as a gift to them - to give them this final moment of privacy.

He blinked up at Aya, eyes unfocused. She made a soft shushing sound, forcing a weak smile as a tear burned its way down her cheek. She wanted the last thing he saw to be her smile.

Aya ran her fingers through her husband’s dirty hair -

- Through her cat’s dirty fur, clutching it close to her chest like a lifeline. It was too weak to protest. Aya mindlessly scratched behind its ears with long, untrimmed nails. She rocked back and forth, back and forth, eyes unblinking as they stared at the ground in front of her. Pedestrians trying to go about their lives, pretend they couldn’t see her, gave her a wide berth. They had to be careful not to fall into her gravity.

A chip in her nail snagged against the cat’s fur. She pulled at it, but it didn’t loosen. She pulled again, harder. With a wet tearing sound, her hand came free, midnight blue fur still tangled around her finger. Smoke wafted up from the hole she’d torn in the cat’s flesh, shifting cerulean and bloody orange in the light of the city. It drifted up, around her face, filling her lungs -

- Filling her lungs with her own hot blood. Aya looked down, eyes wide in a frozen stare. The golden hilt of her sword, glistening with jewels and delicate engravings, was flush against her chest, blade piercing through her uniform, her armor, her skin, muscle, nerves, and sinew, to emerge again just to the left of her spine. Aya looked up at her killer. His eyes were wide and frantic - young. Angry. Skinny from a lifetime of malnourishment. They stared at each other a moment, reality still catching up with them. Then the boy tightened his grip on Aya’s sword and ripped it from her chest. Her blood arced through the sky as the sounds of battle echoed -

- Through the city to reach her room. Aya grabbed onto the windowsill with both of her little hands, pushing up onto the tips of her toes. She saw the glow of fire before she saw the city’s skyline, smoke heavy on the air even at this distance. Magic sparked over the fighting, neon cracks of color ripping through the night like lightning. Aya’s grip tightened on the windowsill as she tried her best to balance on her toes. Her mother’s grip on her arm was sudden and tight as she -

- Forced Aya to her knees.

Her grunt echoed through the hall, pain reverberating up her legs, bouncing off her other injuries. Aya clenched her jaw. She wouldn’t cry out, not here - in front of them. Her blood seeped into the fine indigo carpet. She hoped it left a stain. Someone was talking, reading off her crimes in an arrogant, derisive tone, but Aya ignored him. She ignored everyone in the grand, insultingly ornate room.

Except for him.

He stood at the end of the hall, back to her, on a raised dais beside two empty thrones. Even at this distance, Aya could see the care that had gone into crafting them. They were statues of solid gold, carved to depict tales of old - images of plants and flowers, cats and snakes, hunters, beasts, monsters, all finely formed on the shining thrones, with red velvet so dark it was nearly black lining the seats and backs. He had a single arm resting on the back of one of the thrones, fingers curled around the frame. A golden serpent lay on the back as well. It was impossible to tell where it ended and the chair began, as the snake wound its way up his arm, curling and heavy, like a golden chain holding him in place.

Finvarra.

Aya spit a thick wad of blood onto the carpet. A heavy boot slammed against her back. She fell to the ground, her lower jaw clacking hard into her skull. Her ears rang. For a moment, there was only blinding pain as Aya tried to remember she was still alive, still had a body.

Well, not for long.

She knew this was all theater. She was already dead. There’d be no trial, no opportunity for penance. The reading of her ‘crimes’ was a formality so they could all preen at each other that they’d given the mongrel a fair chance.

Aya didn’t care. Fuck everyone hiding in this golden palace, fuck the soldiers she’d killed, fuck him.

Her only regret was that she wouldn’t be there to see him fall.

Because his fall was coming. Soon. The bastard knew it, too. She could see it in the tense set of his shoulders, in the way these pompous rats flicked their eyes back and forth, trying to keep a smile on their lips.

When the soldiers heaved her to her feet again, her smile was half drunk with pain. A weak laugh escaped her. Then it grew. Even as it sent pain arcing through her lungs, her spine, her throat, Aya laughed. The people around her shifted uncomfortably, and even the man reading off her crimes grew silent. How fucking pathetic. They were clinging to some idea of status, of power, and they were too blinded by their goal to see that they’d all be in ruins before this war was over. Aya saw it. Finvarra saw it. His back was still to her, the coward, but it didn’t matter. Aya wished she could stay to watch his world crumble, he deserved to crumble, murderer, thief, bastard, Aya wanted to rip him from his golden throne herself, she wanted to -

The muscles in his back shifted slightly. His fingers flexed, curling tighter around the back of the throne. The snake lifted its head, forked tongue flicking in and out, tasting her blood in the air. Finvarra turned his head to look over his shoulder, meeting her eyes.

And suddenly all the layers fell away until there was only Aya. Ice shot through her veins. Finvarra turned more, standing sideways against the throne, with a slow, easy movement. His gaze never wavered.

Aya’s breathing quickened, growing more and more shallow. The last echoes of laughter that bounced through the hall shifted - it distorted, one voice becoming many, some high a bell-like, others guttural and monstrous. Aya swore she saw movement in the shadows. She saw a flash of fangs, familiar pink eyes, a hulking, skeletal form with daggers for claws.

Aya looked down, away from Finvarra. Golden serpents slithered their way up and around her legs, trapping them in place. Others wrapped heavy around her hands, up her wrists, tightening around her arms like chains, crushing, pulling, trapping. The snakes climbed higher and higher, wrapping tight around her chest and crushing her lungs. Aya’s breath was too shallow, too quick. Her head spun with terror as the snakes made their way up to circle around her neck. She couldn’t breathe. Her mouth gaped uselessly for air. They were choking her, she was going to die she was going to die she was going to die -

A golden snake pushed its way into her mouth. The plated scales were slick against her throat as it forced itself into her. She could feel it, a parasite in her body, as tears ran down her cheeks. She had to scream. She had to sob. She had to run. But Aya couldn’t move, trapped by layer upon layer of snakes, slithering their way up her body, chaining her in place. They climbed, until every inch of her was covered, from the ground to high above her head. Aya only had a sliver of light, stolen in the cracks between their bodies, to see out of. Finvarra still stood, unwavering. Then, that was gone too, and the world was black.

More and more snakes joined the colony, making it thicker, taller. The one inside her body began to calcify. As it hardened, Aya felt the rest of her body turn solid, too. Like a spreading virus, the snake froze the blood in her veins, hardened her skin. Eventually it passed beyond her, to the hundreds of serpents covering her. One by one, they all stilled their writhing, rigor mortis setting in. They were a single mass - Aya and the serpents solidified together to become something new.

A gilded tree shined against the black of the night, long, serpentine roots, and high, bare branches stretching in either direction. Gold dust glistened like starlight.

The snake inside her began to rot.

Black sickness ate at it, radiating from a single point. The snake withered, collapsing in on itself. Then so did Aya. Slow decay pulled her inward, turning her bones to dust, her flesh to dark gravedirt. The tree engulfing her followed. As steady as a clock, the tree rotted from the inside, wood becoming powder. The rot spread further out, finally reaching the exterior of the tree, collapsing it under its own weight - but when it came time, the gold dust didn’t move. It held its shape, a memory of what had once been, even as the tree deteriorated.

The last of the tree was gone. Dust hung suspended in the air, a gilded shadow of what had once been. And then it too fell away. Golden particles drifted through the black night, suspended in the sky like stars.

Aya sat in the cafe, feeling only half-conscious. At some point she'd dropped the envelope on the table. Her eyes were unfocused as she breathed, mind still trying to orient itself in reality again. Her head swam. She felt like she was still floating in that tide, useless against the current. In the fog of her mind, there was sudden clarity.

She was being mined for information.

The realization didn’t hurt at first. But slowly, like that icy chill that had already crept its way through Adam Pierce’s body, emotions built, each one anchoring her.

Sadness.

Hurt. She’d trusted them.

Fear. There was something undeniably dangerous about all that she'd seen, potent knowledge staining her.

Anger. They’d used her like a tool. She wasn’t a student, she was a crystal ball, convenient for pulling up whatever images might be needed, no matter what it did to her. Aya didn't have any tears left. She was too exhausted, hollowed out to make room for her visions and the souls that'd come with them. Her mind worked, detached from her pain.

Professor Everose had given her this 'exercise' but if she was just after the information, then she wouldn't need Aya - she could have these visions herself. She was older, more powerful, and wasn't trying to use this ability for the very first time. It'd certainly be more reliable than having Aya do it - unless she knew the danger of the visions and was trying to protect herself. That thought hurt. As painful as it was, Aya felt dirty for considering it, like it was somehow a betrayal. She didn't want to believe her mentor would do something so cold. Aya carefully packed the thought away, not eliminating it, but eager to move on to other ideas.

If it didn't make sense for this task to come from Professor Everose, then there were only two people that she knew of that could give the older woman a command, and one of them was already dead. But the question came back: why wouldn't Dean Ashford just ask Professor Everose to have these visions for him? Aya paused. How had he even known Aya would be able to do this? Before today, her power had been limited to traversing between the Astral and Material worlds, nothing to do with visions -

And then Aya remembered the first time she'd ever seen Finvarra. She saw roiling black smoke, and his dark smile. Aya hadn't told anyone about her dream, not even Professor Everose. But she'd seen Dean Ashford the next day. She'd spoken to him about her fears, about a growing sense of dread, but had that been enough for him to know she could do this?

Saturday stayed in her mind. The memories were clear, even when she'd been exhausted and disoriented. Even if she couldn't recall the details exactly, she could step by step walk herself through what she'd done. She couldn't say the same of the night before.

Aya had been more than happy to leave the events of Friday night unexamined and forgotten. She'd written off her fading memory as simply trauma mixed with adrenaline. But now, swallowing her fear, Aya tried to remember, really tried. She saw flashes - the club. The Sluagh. Fear. Pain. But the images were murky - covered over with a now familiar, vast, solid white mist.

She'd only begun to forget after Saturday - after the meeting with him. It was then that Aya realized she didn't know what his mutation was. Aya's heartbeat, already growing too quick, spiked. Aya sat at the table in the little cafe, looking down at the black envelopes, their contents spilled on the table. She tried to control her breathing.

Eventually Aya moved. Picking up her pen, Aya turned to a new page in the notebook and began to write. Her grip was too tight on the pen as she wrote line after line, flipping the pages. When she finished, she turned to the back of the notebook to see four fresh envelopes in the back pocket - the ones she'd been meant to turn in to Professor Everose. Aya pulled four pages from the notebook, folding them each into careful squares and slipping them into the envelopes. She pushed the opening flaps inside of the envelopes to keep them closed. She tore out the rest of the pages she'd written on, folding them and placing them between the pages of her own personal notebook. Then the rest of her belongings were in her backpack and Aya was pushing herself up from the table.

Aya winced as she flexed her hand, muscles stiff. Then she looked up and saw the other patron in the cafe. Aya realized she recognized him. He was a student, new this week (after Saturday, her mind whispered). She remembered passing him when she left campus, praying he didn't notice her. And now he was here. Looking at her.

Aya's heart was in her throat as her mind worked in overdrive. She stared back at him. Then she threw the food wrapper and the rest of her mocha in the trash, and marched up to the boy.

“Are you following me?” She’d meant for it to come out combative, but instead she just sounded like a cornered animal. Aya pressed her lips together, cutting off any more words. She stared down at the boy in his chair, knuckles white as she gripped the strap of her bag.