Qia

Commencement: A Foundation Institute RP

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_{Location: The Augmented Reality Center - Pacific Royal Campus}

Dance Monkey #4.061: Something's Gotta Give

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_{Interaction(s): Cass @Lord Wraith}

Previously: Running in Heels

Harper sighed in relief as she finally found an empty seat at one of the smaller, round tables near the edge of the room. The bustling crowd seemed to fade into the background as she made her way over, her eyes looking for any sign of reprieve. Her feet were already screaming from the heels, but given her minimal effort to break them in, she wasn’t surprised. The brunette wasted no time kicking them off under the table the second she sat down, wiggling her toes against the cool floor in quiet victory. She glanced around, hoping no one noticed her unceremonious shoe removal, but the room was too busy for anyone to care it seemed.

Good, Harper thought, leaning back in her chair while giving herself a chance to breathe and take in her surroundings again. The rhythmic thrum of the music, the swirl of bodies on the dance floor, the bursts of laughter from nearby tables—it was all background to the quiet beat of her own thoughts.

For the first time since the semester had begun, Harper wasn’t moving, wasn’t constantly looking for someone or something. She could just… sit. It was nice, a rare luxury she hadn’t realized she’d missed so much. It was the only indulgence from her past she’d allowed herself. The thought lingered as she rolled her ankles beneath the table, savouring the fleeting relief and the simple pleasure of being still.

Nonetheless, the dull ache in her feet was almost a welcome distraction—something tangible she could focus on, unlike the knots in her stomach. The heels were just a symptom, after all. A symptom of something she was constantly doing: making adjustments, compromises, and small sacrifices just to keep moving. Just to keep up. To be there. To be…useful.

“Long night?” A voice cut through her thoughts, startling her from her reverie.

Harper tensed slightly before glancing up. A guy, maybe her age or a little older, stood near the table, his hands tucked into the pockets of his pants. His smile suggested familiarity, though Harper was certain she’d never seen him before.

Her regard narrowed, cool and assessing. “Do I know you?”

The guy chuckled softly, shaking his head. “No, not really. But you looked like you could use some company. Or, y’know, a distraction from those killer heels.”

Harper’s brow twitched at his regular tone. So, someone had noticed her earlier. This realization made her sit up straighter, automatically pulling back from the uninvited intrusion. “I’m fine. Just needed a break,” she replied, her voice clipped and controlled.

He raised an eyebrow, unfazed by her dismissive response. “Sure, sure. Doesn’t look like much of a break, though. You’re still wound up.” His eyes studied her face, as if he could read something on it that she could not see.

So that’s what that felt like.

Harper didn’t respond immediately, just studied him with a critical eye in return. Who did he think he was, walking up to a stranger like this? The audacity of his casual approach made her bristle, her mind filled with a dozen retorts. She almost told him to leave but stopped herself, realizing there was no point in causing a scene over someone trying to make small talk. Yet, Harper wasn’t one for pointless social pleasantries, especially when she was trying to enjoy a rare moment of peace. Where someone wasn’t being chased. Or interrogated. Or kidnapped.

“I’m good,” she repeated, her tone firmer this time, hoping he’d take the hint.

But instead of backing off, the guy just shrugged and pulled out a chair, sliding into it without asking. “Mind if I sit? Promise I won’t keep you long. Just figured it’s better than standing awkwardly alone in a corner.” His nonchalance was both irritating and intriguing, as if he was used to breaking through people’s defences. The chair scraped against the floor, however, a grating sound that matched her rising irritation. What was the point of asking if he was going to do it anyway?

“Suit yourself,” Harper muttered, tucking Cass’s jacket closer to her chest. “But I wasn’t exactly asking for company.” Her eyes darted around the room, searching for an escape route, but she knew she was stuck for now.

He leaned back in his chair, an easy grin playing on his lips. “Fair enough. You’re not the chatty type, huh?”

Harper’s eyes flickered up to meet his briefly, her expression as unreadable as ever. “Not with strangers,” she replied, her voice cool and detached. She hoped the curt response would deter him, but his presence was like an itch she couldn’t scratch. It didn’t help that when she tried to tap into her powers, she hit that same mental wall as before—the one she knew better than to push through. Which meant she had no way of reading his true intentions.

He let out a low whistle, though his body language remained composed. “Noted. Guess I’ll just sit here quietly then,” he said, as if her refusal was expected, even part of the conversation. His tone wasn’t taunting, but there was something in his nonchalance that made Harper stiffen, her guard rising instinctively. She wasn’t sure what it was about him—maybe the way he wasn’t pushing, wasn’t affected by her obvious dismissal. What did he want?

She felt his stare, lingering just on the edge of her awareness, as she focused on the room—the people, the chatter, the music. Let him sit there. He’d lose interest soon enough. But after a few beats, the quiet stretched, and instead of leaving, he spoke again, his voice lower this time, almost thoughtful.

“You’re doing that thing.”

Harper’s brow furrowed, though she kept her eyes fixed elsewhere. “What thing?”

“Scanning the room. Calculating. You haven’t stopped since you sat down.” He tilted his head, studying her with a keen, almost unsettling interest. “It’s subtle, but it’s there. Bet you’ve already clocked the exits, too, just in case.”

The comment caught her off guard, though Harper kept her face impassive. “Old habit,” she muttered, her guard rising further.

He smiled faintly, shrugging as if to say he wasn’t judging. “Not surprising. You’ve got that ‘always prepared’ vibe going on.” His eyes narrowed thoughtfully, like he was trying to piece her together. “Military upbringing? You’re too precise, too aware not to have been trained for it.”

Harper’s jaw tightened. It was an observation that made sense, but the fact he’d picked up on it so quickly put her on edge.“Something like that,”she answered, not giving him more than he needed to know.

“Yeah, thought so,” he mused, leaning back in his chair as if satisfied with his deduction. The way he moved was almost too at ease for a place like this. Harper noticed then that he had an effortless style, the kind that made him stand out without trying too hard. His hair was a tousled mess of dark curls, adding to the impression that he wasn’t overly concerned with making a perfect impression. But the sleek, tailored suit he wore told a different story—dark fabric that highlighted broad shoulders and a frame built to be noticed. His tie was loosened just enough to lend a casual touch to the otherwise polished look, as if he’d made a deliberate choice not to fit the typical mould.

“You move like someone who’s always thinking two steps ahead. But it’s gotta be exhausting, right? Always anticipating, always guarding. Don’t you ever want to—what’s the word—relax?”

“I’m fine, thanks,”Harper replied, her voice firm, a warning not to push further.

“Sure,” he said, though his tone suggested he didn’t believe her. He leaned forward a little, resting his arms on the table, his scrutiny of her unwavering. The loosened tie and easy posture gave him an air of casual confidence, but his eyes—sharp and calculating—didn’t match one bit. “But are you?”

She met his stare. People didn’t usually press her like this, especially strangers. And yet, here this guy was, picking at the edges of her composure. Part of her wanted to shut it down, to put a hard stop to the conversation. But another part—buried deeper—wondered why it bothered her so much. Why did his simple observation feel like an invasion? Why did he even care? What did he see in her that made him push?

Harper shifted a bit in her seat, trying to deflect. “You really like playing therapist with people you just met?”

He chuckled, the sound low and unbothered, like he was genuinely amused. “Not usually. But something tells me you’re not like most people. Am I wrong?”

Harper didn’t respond, her lips pressing into a thin line. He wasn’t wrong, but that wasn’t a compliment in her world. Being different meant standing out, and standing out rarely came without consequences.

“You know, you remind me of someone I used to know. Someone who never let their guard down either.” His voice softened, taking on a more empathetic tone. “But the thing is, no one can keep that up forever. Eventually, something’s gotta give.”

She didn’t like it. The implication behind his words. The guy spoke with a certainty that rattled the brunette—like he knew something she didn’t want to admit. Before she could form a reply, however, the energy in the room shifted. Harper felt it before she even saw it—an undercurrent of unease. The low hum of conversation around her faltered, then changed pitch, signalling that something was amiss.

Harper’s gaze was irresistibly drawn toward the growing crowd on the dance floor, her curiosity piqued by the sudden commotion. A cluster of students had gathered, their bodies pressed close together, their murmurs swelling into a cacophony of concern. Something had happened. Faint whispers reached her ears, carried on the currents of anxious conversation, and one name stood out, repeated in fragments of hurried speech: Chad. He’d been hurt. And by not just her date but Aurora, as well.

What in the world was going on?

The guy across from her followed her gaze, his own demeanour changing subtly as he took in the scene. His relaxed posture stiffened, and his eyes narrowed with a newfound seriousness. “Looks like trouble,” he murmured, the lightness gone from his tone.

Harper didn’t need him to tell her that. She was already halfway to standing, heels slipping back on as her body moved before her mind fully caught up. Cass. Chad. A fight. The context snapped together too quickly for her liking, and an uneasy knot tightened in her stomach. She knew her date was fiercely protective of his friends, which meant whatever had happened, it must’ve been serious. Lorcán’s words had hinted at just that, but still—a fight? Her fingers tightened briefly around Cass’s jacket as her mind went through the options.

Stay or go? Intervene or wait?

“You gonna let it give?” the guy asked then, a quiet challenge under the question.

Harper’s eyes flicked to him, locking onto his steady gaze. Strangely, she felt a glimmer of understanding pass between them—an unspoken acknowledgment, like he already knew the choice she was about to make. She hadn’t changed overnight, and as Emily had said, she couldn’t be expected to. Not yet.

Without further hesitation, Harper turned away, her feet propelling her into the thick of the crowd. The pulse of the music and chatter rippled around her, but her focus narrowed as she scanned for Cass. She didn’t blame him for getting caught up in whatever had happened; it was just the kind of night where things spun out of control. Nonetheless, she couldn’t help but wonder how he’d explain it.

Just ahead, she spotted him weaving through the crowd, his loosened tie and relaxed posture marking him out. Harper quickened her pace, her heels clicking with determination as she closed the distance between them. When she was close enough, she reached out, her fingers curling around his arm, firm yet gentle. Tugging him back just enough to catch his attention, she leaned in, raising her voice to be heard over the music.

“Next time, maybe leave the heroics until after the first dance, yeah?”

Realms of Sun & Shadow

Elara turned as the taller woman in the Lunarian uniform approached, her striking red hair streaked with grey catching the light like embers in the twilight. The woman's casual demeanour, punctuated by a languid yawn, hinted at a fatigue that resonated within Elara, the echoes of her own long journey still fresh in her mind despite the length of time since then.

“Hello,” Elara greeted warmly, her voice carrying a note of genuine friendliness. “Yes, it does feel like quite the spectacle, doesn’t it?” The words flowed easily, buoyed by the crowd's electric energy, their collective excitement a living pulse that mirrored her growing sense of wonder. Moonlight bathed the scene in a delicate glow, transforming the day into something enchanted, a world where the ordinary was woven with threads of magic—and, sometimes, something darker. But not now. Not where the silver-haired woman stood.

Or so she’d thought for 30 seconds until Ayel made his presence known.

Elara's eyes narrowed as she watched the man strut about like a peacock, his every movement infused with an arrogance that left a sour taste in her mouth. Each grand gesture seemed designed to draw attention, a calculated display meant to elevate him while belittling those around him. His loud, condescending voice grated on her nerves, each word striking her like nails scraping against a chalkboard, deliberately aimed at provoking a reaction. A surge of protectiveness washed over her, directed toward Cassandra, who stood quietly at her side, caught in the crosshairs of Ayel's disdain. It infuriated Elara to see Cassandra, who had done nothing to deserve this treatment, bearing the weight of such blatant disrespect simply for existing.

Yet it seemed that others held the same thoughts as she, expressing their clear disagreement of the cocky man’s hostility. Elara watched it all in silence until a young Aurelian herald stepped onto the stage, his posture straightening as he caught sight of the approaching figures at the far edge of the square.

“Ladies and gentlemen of Dawnhaven!” His voice boomed across the square, instantly drawing attention. The murmurs of the crowd began to hush, curiosity and tension thickening the air. “It is my great honour to present to you—Amaya Selu, Princess of Lunaris, and Flynn Astaros, Prince of Aurelia!”

---

The news of Queen Anjali’s passing struck Elara like a blow she wasn’t ready for, even though she'd already felt its sting once before. The sorrow crashed over her, heavy and relentless, threatening to pull her under. And just as she thought she might surface, the announcement of the King's remarriage and the impending birth of a new heir left her heart trembling with fresh uncertainty. What would Lunaris become now, with a new Queen and child to reshape its future? But when Amaya took the stage, Elara’s focus shifted, her heart swelling with sympathy for the princess.

Watching Amaya stand before the crowd, Elara could see the storm raging behind her friend's poised exterior. The pain was palpable, threading through every carefully chosen word, each one a tribute to the late Queen. Elara’s admiration deepened with each syllable that passed from Amaya’s lips, her heart torn between pride and heartbreak. Amaya wasn’t just a princess; she was a friend—someone Elara had grown to care for beyond duty, bound by shared grief and silent understanding. In Amaya’s eyes, Elara saw both fragility and strength, a mirror of the emotions she wrestled with herself.

But then, Amaya’s voice cracked, the weight of her loss breaking through the brave façade. Elara’s heart twisted painfully, a visceral ache that made her want to leap to Amaya’s side, to shield her from the world’s gaze. She knew better, though. Amaya had to remain composed, had to show the people that their princess could carry the weight of her crown even in her darkest moment. So Elara stood back, watching helplessly, feeling the distance between them grow as the heavy silence fell over the crowd like snow.

As the first snowflakes drifted down, Elara couldn’t help but notice how they gently settled on Amaya’s hair and gown, glistening like tiny diamonds against the dark fabric. The sight was so beautiful it was almost painful, like watching a dream dissolve into memory. Each flake felt like a goodbye from Queen Anjali, a final, tender touch from a mother to her daughter. Elara’s throat tightened, her breath fogging in the cold air as tears welled up unbidden. And yet, despite the sadness that clung to her, there was also hope—a fragile, flickering light buried beneath the grief, one that whispered they would survive this storm together.

Once the royal couple had departed, Elara turned, expecting to find Cassandra beside her, only to realize the blightborn woman had vanished into the crowd. A fleeting pang of worry rose in her chest, but she quickly pushed it aside. Cassandra would find her way, and Elara knew they'd cross paths again, even if she couldn’t say when. Wrapping her cloak tightly around her, she pulled the hood up to block out the falling snow, her thoughts swirling as she began the long walk home, her footsteps silent against the freshly blanketed ground.

Umbra: The Abyssal Connection

A

---

A watched as Vin’s jeep sped away, the roar of the engine fading into the distance. Relief washed over her, but it was fleeting. She glanced up at the darkening skies, her heart sinking. The wind was picking up, whipping the remaining dust into a frenzy. The tell-tale signs of an approaching sandstorm were unmistakable, and dread settled in her stomach.

VV’s voice cut through the chaos, her alarm clear. “Hey, guys? We’re gonna get caught in a sandstorm if we don’t do something.” A’s mind raced, searching for a solution. The urgency in VV’s voice mirrored her own rising panic. They needed to act fast, or the storm would swallow them.

“...About a three-minute run to the east of here, a bit deeper into the city is a hidey hole I’ve used from time to time. Marked with a big gray bird symbol on the west-facing wall. Deep enough inside the building is a cozy little shelter that will shield us from the storm, even has some kind of old garage opening on the bottom level for the big guy here if he’s a friend of yours…”

A nodded in agreement to that idea, feeling a sense of urgency. She quickly scanned the battlefield, grabbing a few useful items from the fallen: a couple of water bottles and some extra ammunition. The wind was growing stronger, and the dust was beginning to whip around them with increasing ferocity.

“Let’s move,” she urged once she was finished, her voice barely audible over the howling wind.

Commencement: A Foundation Institute RP

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_{Location: The Augmented Reality Center - Pacific Royal Campus}

Dance Monkey #4.056: Running in Heels

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_{Interaction(s): Lorcán @Lord Wraith}

Previously: Crushed Petals

Harper moved carefully through the crowd, her eyes sweeping over the room in search of Cass. All the while, she did her best to avoid tripping over people’s feet, including her own, cursing herself for not packing extra shoes. Her heels, though elegant, were far from practical, and each misstep felt like a reminder of her own anxiety—about tonight, about everything. The fabric of her dress swirled lightly around her legs as she maneuvered through the throng of students, trying to appear a lot more graceful than she felt.

Glancing up at the mezzanine for a brief moment, her sharp gaze landed on Amma, who stood like a sentinel above the crowd. Her black hair cascaded over her shoulder like a waterfall, glossy and dark against the dim lighting from above, making her stand out as she always seemed to. From up high, Harper imagined Amma could see everything, taking it all in with that same inscrutable expression she often wore. It was as if she existed in the scene but was distanced from it, like the moon casting its serene gaze over the night while Harper, in comparison, was the sun—brilliant, vibrant, and ever-present in the midst of it all.

Though their eyes didn’t meet, the raven-haired figure exuded a commanding and untouchable presence, as though she existed in another world entirely. Poised but distant, she was part of the crowd yet somehow apart from it, her thoughts likely drifting far beyond the dance floor. Harper wondered what might be occupying her mind. Amma’s stillness was intriguing, as if she carried a weight larger than any of them could comprehend—a secret burden that remained elusive.

Well…not so secret anymore. And yet, Harper wouldn’t be surprised if there were still layers she remained unaware of.

For a moment, the brunette felt the temptation to go to her, to close the distance between them and ask what she was thinking or perhaps just share another quiet moment away from everything. The urge was almost palpable, a magnetic pull that made her heart skip, protesting against the opposing movement of her feet as they carried her away from the stairs. But something held her back, a nagging sense that Amma might not be so easily reached tonight—not in the way Harper would want. The invisible barrier between them felt thicker than usual, a wall of unshared thoughts and unspoken words.

Instead, Harper let the idea pass, swallowing it like so many other unsaid things between the two of them. Maybe it was better this way, she reasoned. Amma had her own world to navigate, just like she did, and maybe tonight wasn’t the night to cross those lines. There were already too many tangled threads to deal with, too many emotions waiting to unravel at the wrong touch.

She dropped her gaze and slipped along the edge of the dance floor, weaving through the thinning crowd. The music thumped in her ears, the bass vibrating through her chest, but Harper only half-listened. She hummed along to it despite not recognizing the tune being played, her mind elsewhere. Cass wasn’t likely to be lost in the thick of things—for whatever reason, she just didn’t get that impression from him. He was probably somewhere on the periphery, just like her, keeping out of the frenzy at the center.
If that was true, they’d have that in common at least—this shared tendency to avoid the spotlight while keeping a careful distance from everyone else. Maybe it was time to figure out where exactly he’d slipped off to, and maybe—just maybe—it wasn’t too late to salvage something from the evening so far.

As she moved along the edge of the dance floor, Harper’s gaze fell upon a familiar figure standing near the periphery. It was Lorcán, his presence unmistakable even from a distance. He stood slightly apart from the main throng of dancers, his posture relaxed yet alert, as if he were waiting for something—or someone—specific.

A small wave of relief washed over her. At least she wouldn’t have to search far for someone she knew. Harper adjusted her path, weaving through the remaining clusters of people with a renewed sense of purpose. Each step felt lighter, her earlier hesitation melting away as she neared him. It wasn’t until she was almost upon him that she remembered the last time she had seen Lorcán. It had been during the trials, when his quick thinking had snapped her out of her own suffocating thoughts. She could still feel the pressure in her chest from that moment when the heaviness of it all had threatened to crush her—just before Lorcán had been the one to steady her.

And then he’d been the one to fall in the end.

A picture of him lying in the hospital bed, pale and unmoving, flashed through her mind, giving her pause. It was still surreal to think that he’d nearly died—after everything they’d gone through, that part had never quite settled in. But this was Lorcán. He was alive. Standing there, looking like he had already conquered half the night with that effortless air of confidence he carried.

She had nothing to be nervous about.

As she drew closer, the sound of the crowd seemed to fade. The edge of the dance floor provided some reprieve from the noise, and now that she was standing just a few feet away, Harper let herself take in the full sight of him. His outfit, all sharp lines and baby-blue tailoring, was a striking contrast to the chaotic energy around them. Somehow, even after everything that had happened, Lorcán had the ability to make the world seem calmer. She couldn’t help but smile.

“Damn, Lorcán. Are you here to dance or just to make the rest of us look underdressed?” Harper teased. It felt good to joke, to ease into something she was used to—even if it was just for now. The sandy-haired young man spun around, a slight look of surprise crossing his face. Harper watched his eyes trace her figure, a confused look on his face until recognition finally set in.

Lorcán's cheeks burned for a quick sudden, flushing as red as Harper's dress before he spoke.

“Thanks, Paddlepuss, you look good too,” He replied, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly, “I barely recognized you all gussied up, you just missed Cass,” He added.

Harper wasn’t used to being looked at like that—not by him or anyone, really. If they had before, she’d been too wrapped up in her own world to notice. But now, standing there in a red dress far outside her usual comfort zone, the way he looked at her felt… different. His gaze was intense, almost as if he were seeing her for the first time, making her acutely aware of every inch of fabric clinging to her skin. That’s when she remembered the haircut, courtesy of one Calliope. She imagined she seemed almost like an entirely different person.

Mirroring Lorcán’s reaction with a sheepish smile of her own, Harper allowed a small pout to replace it at the mention of Cass’s departure.

“Oh, really?” she said, crossing her arms in a gesture that was half defensive, half playful. “Did he say where he was going?” As the words left her mouth, a twinge of apprehension settled in. She wondered if Cass had been looking for her—if he’d been searching for some sign of her in the crowd. The thought made her shift slightly, her eyes darting around the dance floor as if she might spot him in the sea of faces. She bit her lip, trying to keep her emotions in check, as she fixed her gaze on Lorcán again.

The taller boy shifted under her gaze, his burning eyes not oblivious to the way she was looking at him and a sheepish smirk remained plastered on his lips as Lorcán puffed his chest a little suddenly feeling very confident in the baby blue suit he wore.

“It's Cass,” Lorcán answered wryly, “He's totally off to pick a fight, though his last words were to ensure you like saw, so I guess I'm doing my part here.” His eyes gave Harper another once over. It had only been a few weeks seeing everyone without uniforms, but now seeing Harper dressed to the nines, it made Lorcán feel like he was truly seeing her for the first time.

“Shame you weren't put in Canis, red is your colour, brah,” He added playfully while admiring the fit of her dress again.

Harper blinked, momentarily caught off guard by his compliment. The unexpected praise made her cheeks warm, a sensation she wasn’t entirely uncomfortable with. Then, at the mention of what Cass was up to, a flicker of irritation crossed her face—just a flash—before she masked it behind a tight-lipped smirk. Cass was off picking a fight. Of course, he was. More than likely, he had his reasons. She told herself that, repeated it like a mantra. Cass wasn’t careless. He didn’t give her that impression, at least. Still, the news stung, a sharp pinprick to the evening she’d imagined. She had hoped for something… different. Something that reflected this new version of herself, standing here in a dress she wouldn’t have dreamed of wearing a few months ago.

No expectations, remember? she reminded herself, trying to quell the disappointment bubbling up. But even as she tried to shake it off, a bit of it remained, stubborn and insistent, buried beneath the surface. Just once—just this one night, she had wanted things to go her way. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to focus on the present moment, on Lorcán standing before her with his calm, reassuring presence. Maybe the night wasn’t lost yet; maybe it just needed a different kind of beginning.

"Thanks for the heads-up," Harper said, trying to keep things casual. “And the compliment. You clean up pretty well yourself.” The words came out easily, but her mind had already shifted. Cass. Wildcard. It was always the wildcards. Reluctantly, she knew she’d go after him—because of course, she would. “Which way?” she asked.

His eyes went wide as a plate of sliders went by, immediately distracting Lorcán from the matter at hand. The girl in the red dress was quickly forgotten as the smell of beef and melted cheese tempted Lorcán away. Pausing, he gestured in the other direction before speaking.

“I think he headed that way,” The molten-eyed boy responded, “Can you take this?” He asked gesturing to Cass' blazer hanging off his arm.

“He left it with me, but it's probably better with you.”

Harper blinked at the sudden shift in Lorcán’s attention, the distraction from Cass’s whereabouts catching her off guard. She followed his gaze to the plate of sliders, the corner of her lips twitching in amusement. Typical Lorcán, always finding the silver lining—or in this case, the snack. Still, his ability to move on so easily while she was still tangled up in the night’s events was endearing in a weird way. Taking the jacket, Harper felt the fabric between her fingers, heavier than expected. There was something about holding onto Cass’s blazer, something symbolic in a way that made her stomach flip. Like she was holding onto a piece of him while he was off doing who-knew-what.

She sighed softly, and with a final thanks, Harper turned her attention back to the crowd. The thought of chasing after Cass felt like a familiar song playing in the background of her mind—she knew the rhythm, the beats, the inevitable pull of his unpredictability. But something in her hesitated. Maybe it was the dress, maybe it was the weight of the jacket in her hand, or maybe it was the fact that, for once, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to run after someone again. It was always the wildcards that caught her, drew her in—just like Cass was doing now, even without trying.

But tonight? Maybe tonight was the night she let herself breathe.

She straightened her posture, tossing one more look over her shoulder at Lorcán before setting off. This time, Harper wasn’t sure if she’d follow Cass’s trail. Maybe she’d take her time, wander the edges a bit longer, and figure out where she really wanted to go. The night was still young, and for once, she felt like she had the freedom to truly choose her own path.

Umbra: The Abyssal Connection

hey just to let you know. I'm out of the country till Wednesday, so should be able to post by then :)

Realms of Sun & Shadow

_{Interactions: Cass-@Lu}

---

As Cassandra spoke, Elara listened intently, her senses attuned to the subtle nuances in Cassandra’s voice. “Is this common?” Cassandra asked, her red eye scanning the stage, the guards, and the crowd.

Elara nodded thoughtfully, her mind racing to provide a comprehensive answer that would satisfy Cassandra’s curiosity. “Royal announcements like this aren’t everyday occurrences,” she began, choosing her words with care to convey the gravity of the situation. “But they do happen from time to time, especially when there’s significant news or events that affect both the Aurelian and Lunarian people.” And boy, was there an announcement to be had today. The crowd’s murmurs and the guards’ stoic presence underscored the importance of the moment, adding layers of meaning to what little explanation she gave, making the air feel thick with anticipation.

Elara could sense Cassandra’s unease around the guards, the tension in her posture and the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. She understood all too well how their imposing presence could be intimidating, especially to someone not accustomed to such displays of authority. The guards, with their stern expressions and vigilant stances, were a necessary but often unsettling part of these gatherings. Though, there was a small sense of irony in that Cassandra might be considered one of those threats given her blightborn nature.

When Cassandra mentioned her skills as a seamstress, Elara’s eyes lit up with genuine interest. “A seamstress, you say?” she echoed, her mind already envisioning the possibilities. “I believe there could be a need for your skills here.” The town was always bustling with activity, a vibrant hub where new arrivals often brought fresh opportunities and unique talents. Elara was certain that Cassandra could find a place where her talents would be not only appreciated but celebrated.

Elara offered a reassuring smile, hoping to ease any lingering doubts Cassandra might have. “If you’d like, I can introduce you to some of the local merchants and craftsmen I know,” she suggested, her tone warm and inviting. She knew that these connections could be invaluable, providing Cassandra with the support and resources she needed to get started. “They might be able to help you settle in and find the materials you need.”

Umbra: The Abyssal Connection

A

_{Interactions: Val-@Herald}

---

A’s attack had been successful, a surge of triumph coursing through her veins. The man holding her cried out in pain, his grip loosening as he clutched his head in agony. She seized the moment, her heart pounding as she slipped from his grasp. The heavy dust cloud enveloped him, giving her the perfect cover to evade the rest of Vin’s men. All the while, blood trickled from her nose, a small price to pay for her newfound freedom.

The dust cloud was so thick it felt like a suffocating blanket, making it nearly impossible to see more than a few feet ahead. A activated her hematic rebreather mask, the device whirring softly as it filtered out the worst of the dust, allowing her to breathe more easily. The sounds of shouting and gunfire were muffled, creating an eerie, disorienting atmosphere that made her skin crawl. Every step felt like a gamble, her every sense on high alert.

Stay calm, A reminded herself, the mantra a lifeline in the chaos, keeping her focused. She needed to find VV and D, but the swirling dust made it nearly impossible to see anything clearly. She closed her eyes for a moment, relying on her Blood Sense, feeling the rhythmic pulsing of hearts around her, trying to distinguish friend from foe. Each heartbeat was a beacon, a clue in the disorienting haze.

Suddenly, she sensed a presence close by, a heartbeat strong and steady. A turned, squinting through the dense dust, and collided with a solid figure, the impact jarring her slightly and sending a shockwave through her body. Instinctively, she stepped back, muscles tensing, ready to defend herself if necessary. She watched as he held a finger to his lips for silence, then threw a wink her way, a surprising gesture considering their situation. The message was clear, though: at least for now, he could be trusted. Additionally, considering she was still standing and unharmed, A took this as a cautiously optimistic sign.

A nodded her head in acknowledgment, her eyes never leaving his, keeping close to the man but maintaining a defensive stance. Trust was a fragile thing in these circumstances, but she had little choice but to follow his lead.

Commencement: A Foundation Institute RP

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_{Location: The Augmented Reality Center - Pacific Royal Campus}

Dance Monkey #4.047: Crushed Petals

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_{Interaction(s): Emily-(No longer insignificant)}

Previously: Between Shadows and Light

The cool night breeze teased the edges of Harper’s dress, each gust sending a shiver of anticipation through her. With every step, the soft fabric shifted, heightening her excitement. The fitted bodice hugged her frame, accentuating her curves in a way that felt both empowering and surreal, as if she were walking in a dream. The gown's rich red hue shimmered under the moonlight, casting a warm glow against her skin, making her feel like the dress had been crafted just for her. Each stride set the ruffled layers of the mermaid-style skirt fluttering around her legs, creating the illusion that she was gliding effortlessly down the pathway—a vision of elegance and grace.

In her hand, Harper held the small boutonniere meant for Cass, its delicate white bloom starkly contrasting her dress's deep red. She glanced down at the flower nestled in her palm, its soft petals like a fragile promise she wasn’t entirely sure how to keep. It felt like a symbol of something more—something unspoken, but undeniably significant. A quiet sigh escaped her lips as her thoughts drifted to the evening ahead, the uncertainty of what would come weighing on her mind. She wondered how Cass would react when she finally handed it to him.

Was it all, perhaps, a bit too much for them?

Harper’s fingers tightened around the boutonniere as her mind raced with what-ifs. Would Cass make a joke to ease her obvious anxiety, or would he be sincere, understanding the depth of the gesture? She wasn’t sure if he was the kind of person to read her so well and respond in just the right way. Even she didn’t know what reaction she was hoping for—torn between wanting to laugh off the nervousness and craving a moment of genuine connection. The only thing Harper knew without a doubt was that everything had felt so much easier before the trials, before her world had been turned upside down. When her biggest worries, though not trivial, weren’t as all-consuming.

She wondered if Cass felt the same, if he too longed for the days when things were simpler. Did he miss the times when she was just a girl keeping him company around a campfire, their voices mingling with the crackling flames? Back then, the only expectation was whether she could truly keep up with him on the dancefloor, their worries as fleeting as the night itself. Harper glanced down at the flower, a slight frown tugging at her lips.

This wasn’t her at all—this feeling of being boxed in by other people’s assumptions of her. Harper had always prided herself on being free-spirited within the boundaries of her disciplined nature, unbound by the constraints others tried to impose. Yet here she was, holding a symbol of something she wasn’t sure she believed in—a fragile bloom that seemed to mock her independence. It felt like a betrayal of who she was, a concession to the pressures that had been slowly mounting around her.

As Harper walked down the dimly lit pathway, the fluttering of her skirt and the soft breeze were her only companions. Lost in thought, she barely noticed the figure approaching from the opposite direction. It wasn’t until they were almost side by side that the person’s presence registered, the faint shuffle of shoes on the pavement catching her attention. The sound was like a ripple in a still pond, breaking through the surface of her reverie.

Attempt #2: Work in Progress

“Harper Baxter?”

The voice was familiar, but not enough to place instantly. Harper slowed her pace and glanced up, blinking in mild confusion as she took in the girl standing before her. Tall, with strawberry blonde hair and sharp features softened by a pair of glasses, the girl’s curious eyes seemed to scan her, causing the brunette to rub at her arms self-consciously. The scrutiny made her feel exposed, as if the girl could see right through her. Harper searched her mind, trying to recall the face, but the details of when they might have met felt annoyingly vague, like a name on the tip of her tongue.

“Uh, yeah. Hi,” Harper replied, her tone polite but uncertain. She tried to muster a smile, but it felt forced, not quite reaching her eyes. The girl gave a smile in response, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes either, a guardedness lingering in her expression. There was something about her, a hint of wariness that Harper couldn’t quite decipher, making her feel even more uneasy. It made her wonder what the girl saw when she looked at her, what judgments or assumptions were being made behind those curious eyes.

“You don’t remember what I look like, either?” the tall girl asked, her head shaking in what appeared like disbelief. Harper frowned, feeling a flicker of unease at the girl’s question. The way she said it, as if Harper should have known her immediately, gnawed at her, creating a knot of anxiety in her chest. She pursed her lips, her finger coming to tap on her chin as she searched her memory.

“A...melia?” she attempted,sudden recognition causing her eyes to widen and a blush to work its way up her neck. “Wait no, Emily! That’s it.” Emily’s brows arched somewhat, her surprise evident, and Harper felt a small surge of triumph at getting it right.

“Yeah, you got it,” Emily said, but there was a pause, a mix of emotions crossing her face—relief, perhaps, but something else lingered, something Harper couldn’t quite place until she spoke again. The blonde crossed her arms loosely over her chest. “Guess I didn’t make much of an impression both times, huh?”

Harper winced at the comment, the slight sting of guilt tightening in her stomach like a vice. “I didn’t mean it like that,” she quickly replied, her voice softer now, more sincere. “I’ve just been… distracted.” The words felt inadequate, a flimsy excuse for the way she had been back then.

Emily’s expression didn’t fully soften, but the guarded edge dulled a little, a small concession that Harper clung to. “Yeah, I guess we all have our stuff going on sometimes,” Emily replied, her tone carrying a hint of understanding, though it was clear the hurt was still there. There was a brief, awkward silence after this. Harper glanced away, feeling the cool breeze lift a few strands of her hair, wondering how to salvage the conversation. She hated moments like this—where past mistakes loomed, forcing her to confront things she’d rather leave behind. It had happened too many times this year already, each instance a reminder of how much she had lost and how far she still had to go.

“Look, Emily,” Harper finally said, meeting her gaze again. “I know I wasn’t exactly fair to you back then. I said some things that were… harsh. And I’m sorry for that.” She paused, searching for the right words. “I just—” she hesitated, the memories of her past struggles flooding back, “I was in a bad place.” She hadn’t yet grown close to anyone, which left a more guarded, more difficult-to-approach version of herself. With no real friends to lean on, Harper had relied on her sharp edges, her biting words, to protect herself.

Emily, unfortunately, had just been one of the ones in the line of fire.

Emily’s eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of old hurt crossing her face. “Yeah, I remember all that shit,” she said, her voice quieter now, but laced with a bitterness Harper couldn’t ignore. “It wasn’t just what you said, though. It was how… distant you were. Like, none of us even mattered.”

Harper winced inwardly. She had been distant, she knew that now. Detached from everyone around her, she had half-ignored their attempts to connect, pushing through any work given to her as if it were a solo effort. People had just been faces in the background to her, names she hadn’t bothered to remember because, in her mind, they weren’t relevant in the big picture. She had convinced herself that she didn’t need anyone’s help or friendship, accepting Aurora’s only begrudgingly at the time.

Emily crossed her arms. “So, what? Now that things are better, you’re suddenly all friendly?”

Another silence stretched between them, Harper unsure of how to answer the other’s question. She glanced down at the boutonniere still clutched in her hand, its petals now slightly crumpled from her earlier grip. The once pristine bloom now looked as frazzled as she felt—an unintended casualty of her restless thoughts. She loosened her fingers around it, hoping to salvage what was left.

“Look, I don’t expect you to forgive me,” Harper said eventually, her voice steadier now, more resolved. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry. And that I’m trying to change. Be…better.”

Emily’s gaze stayed on Harper, her posture still closed off, arms crossed defensively over her chest. Harper waited all the while, unsure of what else to say, her heart pounding in the silence. She didn’t expect a full reconciliation, but she had hoped for something—a sign that her apology had landed somewhere other than the void between them.

Emily finally sighed, shaking her head, the movement slow and deliberate. “People don’t change overnight, Baxter,” she muttered, her tone neither forgiving nor harsh, but somewhere in between. Harper nodded, the full weight of those words settling somewhere in her heart like a heavy stone.

“I know.”

For a brief moment, Emily just looked at her, as if debating whether to say more. Her eyes searched Harper’s face, perhaps looking for signs of sincerity or change. Then, without another word, she shifted on her heels and continued down the path, her shoes clicking softly against the pavement. As she passed by, she glanced back over her shoulder and offered a tiny, almost dismissive compliment. “Well…at least the dress is nice.” Her tone was neutral, devoid of the warmth Harper might have hoped for. It wasn’t forgiveness, not by a long shot. But maybe it wasn’t a full rejection either.

As Emily walked past, Harper stood still, her fingers brushing the now-wilted edges of the boutonniere. Then, her heels clicked softly against the pavement as she resumed her walk, the soft hum of music and distant chatter drifting through the air as she neared the A.R.C.

---

Jesus Calliope…if only you were here to see your hard work pay off.

The red carpeted pathway before her was flanked by gold posts and velour ropes, creating an illusion of grandeur that sent a wave of nervousness through her. The opulence of the scene felt almost surreal, the simplicity she’d grown accustomed to over the years not present in the slightest. The rich colors and textures seemed to mock her, reminding her of how far she had come and how much she had changed. Taking out her phone, Harper snapped a quick photo of the scene, the flash momentarily illuminating the lavish surroundings. She attached it to a message to the blonde in her thoughts, her fingers trembling slightly as she typed: You’re greatly appreciated and sincerely missed. I hope things are going better on your end with your family…and your brother.

She hesitated for a moment, staring at the screen. ​​Calliope had been a source of strength and comfort during one of the darkest periods of her life. Perhaps that was why Harper was not surprised to realize just how much she missed her friend, the absence more profound than she could have ever expressed. She pressed send, watching as the message disappeared into the ether, a silent prayer that Calliope would feel her gratitude and longing wherever she was.

As Harper prepared to enter the venue, something made her pause in her movement, an involuntary smile sweeping across her lips at the sight before her. It was three figures, each one seeming to embody a different emotion in the sea of celebrants, creating a tableau that captured her attention. While one of the boys wore an expression that hinted at a weariness with the evening’s festivities, his slouched posture and tired eyes betraying his fatigue, the enthusiasm from the other two was contagious even from afar. The female of the group twirled and danced around with a lightness that suggested not even gravity could hold her down, her cream silk gown shimmering as she moved, catching the light in a way that made her look almost ethereal. Her face lit up with a playful expression that, for whatever reason, brought Haven to mind, her last words coming back to her about just enjoying the night.

Because that’s what was most important, right? Just enjoying the evening as much as these three seemed to be.

With a deep breath, Harper straightened her posture, shaking off the heaviness that had found its way on her shoulders. She looked down at the boutonniere she was holding for Cass, its slightly crumpled state the only evidence of the war of conflicting emotions within her. Her fingers traced the delicate edges of the flower, the weight of her feelings slowly dissipating as she looked around at the vibrant energy of the dance floor, the music and laughter creating a lively backdrop. Harper navigated through the bustling crowd towards a quieter corner of the room, seeking a moment of familiar solitude.

The elegant, Hollywood-themed décor framed the space, with centerpieces adorned with white feathers casting a soft glow over the tables. She found a secluded table near the edge of the dance floor, partially obscured by the shadows of the towering centerpieces. The dim lighting and the soft hum of conversation created a cocoon of privacy, allowing her a brief respite from the festivities. Gently, she placed the boutonniere on the table, arranging it with care, as if setting down a piece of her heart.

Stepping back, Harper gave it a final, contemplative glance before turning and walking back into the heart of the celebration, fully intending on finding her date for the evening.

Except this time with different motivations.

No expectations. No pretenses.

Umbra: The Abyssal Connection

@Estylwen Sure thing :) I'll try to remember at least haha xD

Umbra: The Abyssal Connection

Should be able to get a post out on Friday :)