Qia

Last of us universe rp anyone?

sounds fun if you can develop the idea :D

Commencement: A Foundation Institute RP

The air outside was crisp, a light breeze rustling through the trees lining the street. Harper’s hand clutched to her father’s, her fingers curling around his with a desperate need for reassurance as they walked along the narrow sidewalk. Her sister, taller now at fourteen, strode just ahead with a box of some of their old toys in her hands, her steps confident and unhurried. Harper’s eyes strayed from her to look down at the stuffed rabbit in her other hand, its worn fur a comforting presence, even as her teeth met her lips to stop them from quivering. The rabbit’s mismatched button eyes seemed to stare back at her, judging her with an impossible-to-say question, for how could it say anything at all?

Still, was it disappointment she saw in those button eyes, or was it just her overly active and anxious mind playing tricks on her?

Harper squeezed the rabbit a little tighter, her thumb tracing the worn spot on its ear where the stitching had started to come undone. Her father had promised to fix it, but they had never gotten around to it, always too busy with one thing or another. Maybe after today, after they dropped off their toys at the orphanage, they’d sit at the table together, and he would pull out his little sewing kit, the one with the tiny scissors and colourful threads. She tried to grasp onto that thought like her world depended on it, imagining the comforting scene, but it slipped through her fingers like sand, leaving her feeling more adrift than before.

She had to give it up. She had to grow up.

“We’re doin’ somethin’ important today, girls,” her father had said earlier that morning, his voice warm and certain. “It’s good to give back, to share what we have with those who need it more.”

Harper wasn’t entirely sure how giving away their old toys was supposed to make her feel better. The rabbit was the only thing she hadn’t been asked to put in the box, a small mercy she’d clung to initially. She glanced at Sierra again, her older sister’s back straight as if she was already carrying the full load of knowing things Harper didn’t. Sierra never seemed nervous, her steps were always confident and sure. She didn’t have a rabbit she clung to for comfort. She didn’t need one.

As they approached the large brick building ahead, Harper felt her breath catch in her throat, a lump forming that she couldn’t swallow down. The orphanage loomed over them, its ivy-covered walls and tall windows seeming to stare back at her just as much as her rabbit had. She slowed her steps, hesitant, her feet dragging as if they were suddenly too heavy to lift. The building felt imposing, almost alive, with its dark bricks and creeping ivy, each window a pair of eyes watching her every move.

Her father gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “It’s okay, Harper,” he said softly. “We’re just here to help.”

Harper nodded, but her lips stayed pressed together. She wasn’t sure what she was feeling—confusion, inquisitiveness, or something else entirely. The building didn’t seem like a place that needed help. It was... peaceful, in a way that made her feel small.

Sierra stopped just ahead at the steps leading to the orphanage door, shifting the box in her hands. “Are we gonna meet the kids?” she asked.

Their father paused, glancing down at Sierra before answering. “Maybe not today,” he said, a bit more gently now. “This is just about givin’ them somethin’ to enjoy. The toys will do the talkin’.”

But Harper couldn’t stop wondering about the children who lived there. What were they like? Did they have toys of their own, or were their lives all empty spaces, like the box Sierra was holding? She clutched her rabbit tighter. Would she have ended up in a place like this if things had been different? If they didn’t have each other, would she be one of the faces peering out from behind those ivy-covered walls?

As her father knocked on the door, Harper couldn’t help but take a step back. They weren’t here to get rid of her, were they?

As if sensing her worry, Sierra turned to her then, a mean look on her face.

“Better be careful, Harps,” she taunted, her voice just low enough for their father not to hear. “They might decide to keep you here, trade you for some new toys.”

Harper's heart stuttered at the words. Her wide eyes darted back toward the looming building, as if it might suddenly swallow her whole. She knew Sierra was just teasing—didn’t she? But the fear crept up on her anyway, crawling its way into her chest, making it hard to breathe.

She clutched the rabbit so tight it almost hurt, its worn fur a tiny comfort against the rising tide of panic. “No, they wouldn’t…” she whispered, her voice trembling as she tried to convince herself more than Sierra.

Sierra shrugged, her smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. “You never know. Guess we'll find out, huh?”

Their father glanced over his shoulder, catching the tail end of their exchange. “Everything alright back there?” he asked, his brow furrowed just a little.

Harper opened her mouth to say something—anything—but the words stuck, frozen somewhere between her throat and her mind. Sierra rolled her eyes, stepping up to the door as it opened with a creak.

“Yeah, Dad,” she said easily, her teasing tone gone. “We're good.”

The matron greeted them with a smile, and Sierra handed over the box of toys, her confidence back in full swing. Meanwhile, Harper stayed close to her father’s side, still holding her rabbit like it was her lifeline. Then, with some timidity, she placed the toy on top of the box, not missing the encouraging smile sent her way by her father.

Goodbye…Mr. Stuffers.

“Thank you so much,” the woman said kindly, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she glanced down at Harper with an understanding smile. “The children will love these.” Her voice was warm, like a blanket on a cold day, but it did little to soothe Harper’s nerves.

Harper didn’t smile back. Her eyes focused instead on the doorway, on the dark hallway that stretched behind the woman specifically. She half-expected to see a child peek out from one of the rooms, watching them with the same curiosity that Harper felt. But there was no one. Only the empty silence of the orphanage.

“Of course,” their father said then. “It’s our pleasure to help.”

The woman stepped aside, motioning for them to enter the building if they wished. Sierra strode in first, her head held high like she belonged there. Harper hesitated, her feet glued to the spot. She looked up at her father, unsure whether she wanted to go inside at all.

He smiled down at her, squeezing her hand. “Come on, Harper. Just for a minute.”

Reluctantly, she let him guide her forward, stepping over the threshold and into the orphanage. The air inside was cool and still, the kind of silence that felt like it had been undisturbed for too long. Harper’s eyes darted around, taking in the old wooden floors and the faded wallpaper. Everything felt... tired, like the building itself had stories to tell but no one had been listening.

She glanced back at the hallway again, and that’s when she saw it—a figure, just for a second, sitting by the far window at the end of the hall. It was a girl, her back turned to them. She couldn’t have been much older than Harper herself, her posture slumped, as if the weight of the world rested on her small shoulders.

Harper blinked, and the figure was gone.

“Who was that?” she whispered, tugging on her father’s sleeve.

He followed her gaze but saw nothing. “Who, honey?” he asked, his brows furrowing somewhat.

“The girl,” Harper insisted. “I saw her... by the window. She was…staring at me.” Like she’d recognized me, she added in her head but did not voice aloud. She’d rather not be made fun of again by her sister for overthinking things.

Their father exchanged a glance with the woman, who smiled kindly.“Oh, there are a few children here,” she said. “They keep to themselves sometimes, but I’m sure they’ll enjoy the toys once we give them out.”

He nodded, his eyes briefly scanning the hallway again, though he remained focused on the woman. “Would you mind if I spoke to you privately for a moment? Just a few questions.”

The woman’s smile faltered a bit but quickly returned as she gave a knowing nod. “Of course. Just over here.”

As they stepped aside, Harper watched them curiously. She couldn’t make out what they were saying, their voices dipping into hushed tones, and the distance between them felt like a chasm. Still, the way they spoke—it didn’t feel like the easy, polite talk that usually followed a simple donation. There was something else. Something important.

But whatever it was, it was just out of her reach. She needed to be closer.

Sierra, clearly uninterested in their father’s conversation, stepped toward the stack of books piled in a dusty corner of the room. “Look at these,” she said, rifling through the old, worn spines. “Bet no one's touched these in ages.”

Harper glanced once more at their father before reluctantly following her sister. “What do you think they’re talkin’ about?”

“Who cares?”Sierra shrugged, picking up a faded, dog-eared copy of The Secret Garden. “Dad’s probably just doin’ his military thing again. Makin’ sure everything’s in order.”

“Do you think...” Harper began, crouching beside her sister, “...there’s something we’re not supposed to know?”

Sierra snorted, keeping up her air of indifference. “Probably. Adults are always keepin’ stuff from us. But whatever, it’s not our problem.”

Harper frowned. Sierra always acted like she didn’t care, but Harper wasn’t so sure. She picked up another book from the stack, its cover barely hanging on by a thread. “I dunno... maybe they’re talkin'-” Harper stopped, shaking her head. “talking about the donation,” she mused, her voice just loud enough for Sierra to hear.

“Maybe.” Sierra’s brow arched but she did not comment, tossing the worn copy of The Secret Garden back onto the pile and wandering to another shelf. “But I’m tellin’ you, it’s not our business. We should just let it go.”

But Harper couldn’t let it go. She stood, pretending to be engrossed in the same book as she drifted a few steps closer to where their father stood with the woman. She made sure to keep her gaze down mostly, flipping through the brittle pages, her ears straining to catch their conversation. She could only catch and understand fragments of their conversation—words like "placement" and "timeframe," but nothing that made sense to her young mind.

At least until their final exchange.

“Not here anymore. She’s been placed elsewhere.” the woman said quietly with the same warm smile on her face-too warm, Harper thought when she risked a look. There was something off about it, though she couldn’t quite figure out what. “I for one would recommend any of our other girls. This one is quite…strange. Different.”

Harper’s fingers stilled over the page, the crinkling sound of the paper beneath her hand barely audible compared to the sudden thudding in her chest. Her eyes darted toward her father and the woman, trying to piece together what the woman meant by “different.”

When her father finally spoke, his voice was quieter, more controlled, like he was holding something back. Harper knew her father well enough to recognize the tightness in his shoulders, the way his jaw clenched slightly when he wasn’t satisfied with an answer. He didn’t seem to push further, though. Instead, he glanced back at her and Sierra, his expression softening as he seemed to consider something for a moment.

“No need, I think,” he said, voice clipped. “Thank you.”

Harper watched her father exchange a final nod with the woman. The conversation had taken a turn, one she wasn’t prepared for. Who was ‘she’? And why did the woman call her ‘strange’? Her father’s reaction, though composed, told her there was more going on than she probably knew.

Sierra, completely oblivious to the shift, was still wandering down the aisle, picking up another book and dusting it off lazily. “C’mon, Harps, let’s go,” she called, barely glancing back.

But Harper couldn’t move. Her mind whirred, and for a split second, she considered asking her father directly—right then and there. Yet, the look on his face stopped her. He wasn’t just unsatisfied. He was troubled. And if he wasn’t going to press the woman for more answers, that meant she wasn’t supposed to know.

There was one thing that she wanted to clarify, however. Only because it had hit a bit too close to home for her. So, when he eventually walked back to her and Sierra, she asked her question as casually as possible.

“That girl…is she different, like you?”

Her father blinked, his eyes narrowing for a fraction of a second. The tension in his jaw returned briefly before he smoothed it over, covering it with his practiced neutral expression. Without a word at first, he crouched down to her level, his hand coming to rest gently on her shoulders.

“Harper,” he said quietly, his voice careful, with an undercurrent of warning, “sometimes people use words they don’t understand. And sometimes it’s better to leave certain questions alone. Understand?”

She didn’t. Not fully. But the girl knew that she wouldn’t be able to get anything out of her father about it.

Not here.

Not now.

Maybe not ever.

^{_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

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

Dance Monkey #4.067: A Cat and Bird Game

^{_{___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}}

_{Interaction(s): Haven @Skai}

Previously: Smoke and Mirrors

Sierra leaned against the mezzanine railing, the polished metal cold beneath her fingertips as her gaze swept over the crowd below. The soft hum of conversation and bursts of laughter filled the room, mingling with the clatter of glasses and the occasional chime of silverware. From up here, the party appeared almost serene, as if the earlier fight hadn't occurred at all to disrupt it momentarily. Yet, none of that truly held her attention. Her thoughts were miles away, accompanied by a sense of annoyance and curiosity that spun beneath the calm mask she always wore so well.

Dressed in a sleek black jumpsuit that clung to her frame, accentuating her posture, Sierra exuded poise (or her definition of it anyway). The combat boots on her feet, though understated, definitely told a different story. She absently swirled her drink, the gentle clink of ice against the glass matching the rhythm of her heartbeat. The familiar motions helped anchor her, though her mind was far from still. Something gnawed at her—a flicker of annoyance, sharpened by the knowledge that once again, Harper had kept her in the dark. The ends of Sierra’s patience frayed ever so slightly, though outwardly, her demeanour remained composed, cool as the ice in her glass. She had mastered the art of control long ago, more out of necessity than any real desire for calm. Her world simply didn’t allow anything less.

Taking a sip of her drink, she allowed the liquid to slide down her throat, offering a brief moment of distraction.

It didn’t last.

Harper had always hidden things, secrets that Sierra was left to uncover on her own. As if she hadn’t already spent years piecing together the shattered fragments of their lives, Harper continued to withhold, pushing her farther away with every lie of omission. A bitter smile tugged at the corners of Sierra’s mouth, a wry acknowledgment of the endless cycle they found themselves in, the taste of resentment lingering like the drink on her tongue.

Where are you?

And then, as if pulled by an unseen string, her gaze settled on Haven, weaving through the party near the buffet.

Sierra exhaled softly.

“I know you can hear me, Haven,” she murmured under breath, her voice low and almost teasing. “Let’s talk for a bit, hmm?”

The winged woman certainly heard her. Sierra’s words reached through the music, phantom knuckles dragging themselves down the base of her neck and to her wings where the muscles that granted her flight tensed. Her feet slowed to a stop, turning from the direction she’d been going toward the source of the voice. Her gaze lifted from the crowd, up to the point that low tone originated from, and stopped on the blood-red hair and piercing eyes above her.

Haven’s chin lifted, her lips a flat line against her otherwise bored expression. Why should she even bother to answer? She was having such a good time with Rory, and she was excited to get back to him and continue their date. It would only get better as the night went on. She knew that answering Sierra’s summon would only spoil the fun.

What if it’s Harper?

Her eyes glanced at the people around the redhead. The friend was only here to visit her brunette teammate anyway. So where was she? Her gaze returned to Sierra’s expression, noting the irritation laid bare on those ivory features, and decided that one quick conversation with her was worth it for Harper’s sake. So, her feet reluctantly began to move again. She figured that she’d had enough drinks to keep herself from swinging, anyway. Perhaps she’d even have some fun with it, this time.

One more moment with Harper’s friend, and then she’d be back in Rory’s arms without a care in the world.
She ascended the steps slowly, taking measured breaths as she willed her composure together. At the top, she shifted her wings behind her back to really rub them into Sierra’s face. She didn’t bother to see the reaction. Instead, she looked into the crowd below for Rory as she followed the railing towards the redhead. She only spoke when she was close enough for Sierra to hear, her tone casual despite her tense posture.

“I can’t say I expected you to be here.”

Sierra's eyes swept over Haven as she approached, her gaze narrowing a little as those wings shifted with deliberate flair. It was a small movement, but one that felt too intentional for Sierra’s liking—a quiet show of power. Another flicker of annoyance danced beneath her skin, but she swallowed it down, refusing to let it bubble to the surface. Control was her game, after all; she wouldn’t let an insignificant ruffle from Haven crack her self-control. Instead, she allowed a slow smile to stretch across her lips.

“Well, I’m just full of surprises, that’s all,” Sierra replied, the soft edges of her southern drawl wrapping around the words like silk. There was something almost lazy in her tone, a natural charm that mirrored Haven’s own laid-back demeanour, but there was also an underlying sharpness—a warning, maybe. Straightening from the railing, her body language remained deceptively relaxed, but her eyes were as keen as ever, locking onto Haven with precision. The noise of the party faded into a distant hum, barely registering as her attention zeroed in on the girl before her.

She lifted her glass again, taking a deliberate sip, letting the liquid stay on her tongue before she lowered it with a soft clink onto the railing. Her smile, once polite, twisted into something more cunning as she tapped her chin thoughtfully, considering her next move.

“You know,” Sierra started, her voice low, tinged with dry amusement, “Harper’s always been good at keeping things from people, but this—” She waved a hand in a loose gesture, as if indicating the air between them, or the uncovered truth that hovered there. “Well, this one is a bit more complicated, wouldn’t you say?”

Haven had seen each shift in personality from her peripherals. That second smile seemed more her true nature. It was perfectly punchable. She only turned her head when the gesture began, her eyes tracking the movement of Sierra’s hand before connecting with that piercing gaze once more. She could see the playful glint in those eyes. As if she assumed Haven didn’t already know the meaning behind it.

She was talking about the real nature of the relationship with Harper. Haven had picked up on the secrecy by the way the two women interacted. Harper had defended her, after the woman had been cruel. Of course, there was more to it.

“Whatever is between you and Harper, she made it clear it’s none of my business. I figured you weren’t just old friends anyways.” She began with a light shrug of her shoulders. It was her best attempt to respect Harper’s deliberate lie, though she had to admit that she was curious. Whether she pried into it further or left it in the air, she had a feeling that Sierra was going to tell her either way. “I was hoping for some fun banter like earlier, not some guessing game.”

“I’m in a good mood, so let’s have fun with it.” The smile she presented was absolutely saccharine as she tilted her head.

Sierra raised a brow at Haven's response, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. Of course, Haven would play it cool—it was a common thread among those Harper kept close. Her sister had always gravitated toward people who knew how to deflect, how to keep their cards tucked neatly against their chest. But Sierra wasn’t so easily fooled. She saw through the light shrug, the practiced saccharine smile. It was all part of the act. Still, a part of her was intrigued—curious to see just how far Haven would go to protect Harper’s secrets, even when her interest was clearly piqued. Harper’s loyalty ran deep, but so did Sierra's understanding of their little sisterhood of silence.

She took another sip of her drink, letting the moment stretch as she considered her next move. Haven thought she could play it off like this was a game. Fun, she said. Sierra could oblige, even lean into it. She had no problem playing along if that’s where Haven wanted to take it. But the thing about games was that someone always lost, and Sierra had a feeling Haven was more invested in this than she let on. Her thoughts ticked forward, sharp and calculated, as she decided how best to unravel the calm Haven wore like armour.

“You’re right,” Sierra began, her voice carrying an easy indifference. “Whatever's between Harper and me, it’s not really your business.”

“But here’s the thing,” she added, a modest tilt to her head. “Harper’s little habit of keeping things to herself tends to blow up in people’s faces. I’m sure you’ve already noticed.” Her words were simple, conversational, but beneath the surface was a barb, an intended prod at the fragile cracks Sierra knew existed in Haven's perception of Harper.

Sierra leaned in just enough to narrow the distance between them, her gaze locking onto Haven’s with a quiet intensity. There was no malice in her movements but the slow, predatory glint in her eyes. “So maybe,” Sierra mused, “it’s not about old friends or even what you think you know about Harper and me. Maybe it’s just about what you’re willing to let go.” A genuine smile curled at the corners of Sierra’s lips, but it wasn’t warm. It was the smile of someone who knew exactly what she was doing. The game was in play now, and she was eager to see if Haven would rise to the challenge or crack under the pressure.

Haven’s light brows twitched together for a moment. This was the first lie she recognized in Harper, besides the smaller and more personal slights in her friend's demeanour. Those had never bothered her before. By saying that about Harper, Sierra seemed to reveal another piece of the puzzle that was still missing many parts.

“I don’t have much to hold onto, these days. You’re going to have to be a bit more specific about your meaning.” She cooed. The distance closing between them had her even more on alert. Her right hand casually hung by her thigh, but it was far from relaxed. She drew attention from it by resting her left on her hip, shifting her weight to one side.

“I’ll admit I’m curious, but I trust that Harper has her reasons. For example, she probably kept you a secret because of your everlasting charm.” Her tone dripped with sarcasm.

The jab was blatant, and Sierra couldn’t help but chuckle softly, the sound dripping with amusement and condescension. There was something deeply satisfying about watching someone walk right into her game, and Haven’s sarcasm only pushed Sierra further. Words had always been Sierra’s weapon of choice, and Haven had just given her the perfect opportunity to wield them. Her pulse didn’t quicken like most people's would in a confrontation—she was too seasoned for that.

No, this wasn’t some wild exchange of insults; this was a controlled dismantling, and Haven, like all the others, had no idea what she was up against.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Sierra cooed back, voice dripping with saccharine sweetness, “if you think this is about charm, you really are in for quite the surprise.” She leaned in just enough to close the distance between them, savouring the way Haven instinctively tensed. The din of the crowd buzzed around them, ignorant of the tension that crackled in the air between the two. Sierra let it all fade into the background; distractions meant nothing to her when she had her target in sight. The people, the music, even the atmosphere—none of it mattered.

“You see, the secrets she’s keeping from you?” Sierra’s voice dipped lower, a quiet thread meant only for Haven’s ears. “They’re not just hers. Some of them… well, they’re mine too.” She let the silence stretch between them, her eyes softening with a mock concern that didn’t fool anyone. Pausing, she tilted her head, as if she cared whether or not Haven could handle what was coming. The next words slipped out like a soft blade, so smooth they almost didn’t register.

“And they just so happen to involve you.”

It was a baited hook that she knew Haven wouldn’t be able to resist. But Sierra wasn’t about to drop the bombshell here, in the middle of a bustling room where anyone could overhear. Oh no, this revelation deserved privacy.

And she was going to make sure Haven asked for it herself.

---

Commencement: A Foundation Institute RP

Please stop crying.

The thought drifted through the girl’s mind, sluggish and burdensome, as she lay flat on her back, eyes locked on the ceiling. The air felt suffocating, pressing down on her chest, but not in a way that led to panic—more like a slow, constant load she couldn’t quite shake off.

Another restless night.

She could hear sniffling from across the room, the soft sound of crying filling the almost empty space, broken only by the hum of the air conditioner.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she hoped that if she willed herself hard enough, maybe the sounds would fade away. Maybe the world would stop feeling so hollow. But the more she tried to block it out, the clearer it became, like the small gasps and hitching breaths were growing louder with the continued stillness instead of against it.

Sierra wasn’t sure how long it had been, but it felt like hours since Harper had started.

Her chest tightened. Every soft sniffle from the other bed chipped away at the emotional walls the girl had been carefully constructing since…well, everything went to shit. She’d told herself she needed to be strong, composed. Calm—that’s what Harper needed now. Not someone falling apart right beside her.

But the truth was, it was hard—harder than the girl wanted to admit.

She rolled over, pressing her face into the pillow as if that would muffle the sounds, smother the guilt. But Harper’s sobs crawled around her, wrapping Sierra in a suffocating sense of helplessness. It wasn’t the loud, desperate wailing she had half-expected, no—it was worse. The soft sniffles, the kind of crying that crept into your bones, making everything feel colder.

Just stop crying already, she thought again, the plea sounding weaker, almost cruel now.

But Harper didn’t stop. And Sierra knew, deep down, that she wouldn’t. Not tonight.

With a shaky breath, she pushed herself up, sitting on the edge of her bed, her feet dangling over the floor as she stared at the shadowed walls. The dim light from outside cast ghostly shapes around the room, but none of it felt real—not compared to Harper’s cries pulling her back to reality every time, tugging her out of her own head.

Before she could stop herself, her feet hit the cold wooden floor, and without thinking much more, Sierra padded softly over to Harper’s bed. Her sister was curled up, facing away, her small frame shaking with each little sob. The girl watched for a moment, her heart full as she took in the slight rise and fall of Harper’s shoulders, the way her sister’s body tensed like she was trying to hold it all in but couldn’t. The sounds weren’t violent, not raw, just soft—too soft, too restrained, and that made it feel all the more painful.

Sierra hesitated, her hand hovering over Harper briefly before finally resting it gently on her sister’s shoulder. Her body flinched at the touch, just a tiny jerk, but she didn’t pull away, didn’t retreat into herself. The light brunette swallowed the tight lump in her throat. Slowly, almost cautiously, she climbed into the bed beside her sister, pulling the covers over them both as she wrapped her arms around Harper’s trembling body.

Harper didn’t say a word, didn’t even acknowledge her, but she didn’t resist either. She let Sierra pull her close, let herself be held, and after a few moments, buried her face into Sierra’s chest. The low sobs didn’t stop, but they softened, the muffled sound filling the space between them as Sierra held on, stroking Harper’s hair in slow, gentle motions. Her own breathing felt shaky, uneven, but she tried to keep it steady, knowing Harper needed this—needed her.

“We’ll always have each other,” Sierra whispered, all she could think of in the moment. “No matter what else happens.”

Harper didn’t respond. But her presence, the warmth of her against Sierra’s chest, said enough.

---

Standing on the balcony, the last of the fading sun casted an orange glow over her face.

The warmth barely registered.

She brought the cigarette to her lips, feeling the paper crinkle softly between her fingers as it smouldered, burning down slower than she expected. Inhaling deeply, the acrid taste filled her lungs, a sharpness she welcomed against the dull ache in her chest. The faint sounds of the base—the hum of engines, probably a convoy passing by, and the distant chatter of soldiers—barely reached her. Out here, none of it really mattered.

Sierra exhaled, watching the smoke twist and curl into the cool evening air, vanishing into the dusky light. Her gaze drifted out to the horizon, where the shadows of the pine trees stretched endlessly. For a moment, her eyes remained on those dark shapes, letting her mind wander, but all she found was quiet—too much quiet.

How did it come to this?

Her fingers tightened around the cigarette as she took another drag.

I don't even like smoking.

It wasn't something she ever thought she'd do, not really. But grief had a funny way of unravelling you, pushing you into places you didn't recognize—into habits that weren't yours. The numbness that came with each drag felt like a strange relief somehow. She leaned her elbows on the cold metal railing, feeling the bite of it seep through her olive green jacket

The door behind her creaked open, snapping Sierra out of the trance. The soft click of the latch, the weight of footsteps behind her—familiar, heavy. Her uncle’s voice cut through the haze, gruff and surprised.

“Didn’t know you smoked.”

Sierra didn't turn to face him. She kept her eyes forward, the horizon blurring as her mind drifted. The cigarette hung between her fingers, symbolizing something she didn't quite want to claim but couldn't let go of.

“Started recently,” she muttered, her voice flat, almost bored. There was a dark humour buried in her words, but even that felt faraway. She flicked the ash from the cigarette, watching it float like tiny embers against the darkening sky.

She could feel his eyes on her, the way he was studying her from the doorway, trying to piece her together. He wasn't used to seeing her like this—hell, she wasn't used to it either. But here she was, standing on a balcony, smoking like someone she didn't know. She could sense that he wanted to say something about it, ask something, but Sierra wasn't sure if she wanted to hear it.

“I'm fine,” she said, preemptively cutting off any question he might have asked, her voice sharper than intended. She hated how false it sounded, even to her own ears. The truth was, she wasn't fine—hadn't been since….But admitting that felt like too much, so she let the lie hang in the air, like the smoke between them.

Her uncle stepped closer, his boots scraping softly against the concrete. “Sierra,” he started, voice softer now, with that careful tone people use when they know you're barely holding on. “It's okay to not be fine. Especially now.” He didn't say it directly, but she knew what he meant.

Sierra's jaw clenched, the cigarette burning down to its final inch between her fingers. She flicked the butt into the distance, watching it disappear into the encroaching darkness below, her gaze following it until she couldn't see it anymore.

“I know,” she said after a beat of silence. She leaned a little more heavily on the railing, trying to find her balance.

Then, sighing, her breath shaky.

“I don't know how to do this. I don’t know what I’m doing or what I’m supposed to do….”

The admission slipped out before she could stop it, and the vulnerability in her voice startled her. She hadn't meant to let that crack show. Not to him, not to anyone. But it was too late to take it back now.

Her uncle moved closer, resting a hand on her shoulder, a gentle but firm presence at her side. “You'll figure it out,” he said kindly. “And you won’t be alone. Barbara and I are…here to do whatever we can for you and Harper. They… would have wanted that.”

But that was just it. Sierra knew she did have to do it alone—at least most of it.

No one else could be what Harper needed right now.

No one else could be the strong one.

It had to be her.

It was always her.

---

Sierra Baxter
Fort Bragg, NC
October 20, 2020

Admissions Office
Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT)
77 Massachusetts Ave
Cambridge, MA 02139

Dear Admissions Office,

I hope this letter finds you well. My name is Sierra Baxter, and I was recently accepted into MIT's Bachelor of Science in Bioengineering program for the upcoming academic year. I’m writing to formally request a deferral of my enrollment for one year due to unforeseen personal circumstances.

Earlier this month, my family suffered an unimaginable loss with the passing of both of my parents. In the wake of this tragedy, I now find myself in a position where I must focus on supporting my younger sister, Harper, as she adjusts to these sudden and devastating changes. As much as I value the opportunity to study at MIT and pursue my passion for bioengineering, I must prioritize my family’s needs during this difficult time.

With that in mind, I am requesting to delay my studies until the fall of 2021. This would give me the time I need to ensure my sister is properly cared for while also allowing me to fully process and heal from this loss, so that I may continue my education with the focus and dedication MIT deserves.

I deeply appreciate your understanding and consideration of my request. I look forward to joining the Bioengineering program next year when I am in a better position to engage with the challenging and rewarding experience I know that awaits me at MIT.

Sincerely,

Sierra Baxter

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_{Location: Strigidae Dorms - Pacific Royal Campus}

Dance Monkey #4.066: Smoke and Mirrors

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_{Interaction(s): N/A}

Previously: Something's Gotta Give

The door to Harper’s dorm room clicked shut with a small but distinct sound that reverberated through the stillness of the space. Sierra stood just inside the threshold, her fingers staying on the cold metal of the doorknob longer than necessary, feeling the tremor in her hand. From beyond the walls, the faint thrum of music floated in—a reminder that life was moving forward, students preparing for the dance still as if the late hour didn’t matter.

But here, inside this room, time felt suspended. Trapped, almost.

Looking over, she couldn’t help but notice the neatly made bed, its corners tucked so precisely that they could probably cut. Even after all this time, Harper seemed to have held onto that rigid discipline of hers, as if letting go would somehow unravel her entirely. Sierra’s gaze swept over the desk, each item arranged in a way that almost felt obsessive. But her eyes snagged on one tiny detail—the coiled laptop cord, unplugged and lying like a snake ready to strike. It was the one imperfection in an otherwise immaculate space, and it made Sierra’s fingers twitch with the temptation to plug it in, though she resisted. She'd already gone through it earlier, digging through files with a skill that had become second nature, covering her tracks just as effortlessly.

The room felt suffocating now, with its forced order and rigid control. Sierra took a few steps forward, her movements tentative, as if she were a guest in her sister's life. Her eyes wandered over Harper’s belongings, cataloging each item in its assigned place. Despite the differences in their personalities, the redhead saw fragments of herself in Harper—pieces of who she used to be, before everything shifted. It was as though their father’s ghost was woven into every detail of their lives, his influence lingering long after he was gone. They’d both absorbed the lessons of discipline and self-reliance, even if Harper showed it now in a way that made her seem more rigid, more distant.

Sierra exhaled slowly.

For all the order in this room, it felt like a prison of Harper’s own making, one she had built brick by brick. Moving toward the window, she pulled back the curtains, letting the cold evening light flood the room. She needed air—needed to escape, though she wasn’t sure what exactly she was running from. Her reflection in the glass startled her, the sharp lines of her face a mirror of the hardness she had carried for too long, an armour she rarely removed.

A flicker of guilt passed through her. Harper had always tried to be strong, but it was a mask, wasn’t it? Beneath the surface—beneath the perfectly made bed and the spotless desk—Harper was unravelling, maybe more than Sierra ever realized. How much of this had she missed, too wrapped up in her own bitterness and detachment? The walls Harper had built around herself seemed impenetrable, but Sierra’s own walls were stronger. And wasn’t that the irony—two sisters, both locked in their own emotional fortresses, neither able to break through?

She looked away, her eyes landing on the framed photo sitting on Harper’s nightstand. The glass was cracked, a jagged line running through the center, splitting the image almost perfectly in two. Sierra hadn’t noticed it before, but now the imperfection seemed to leap out at her, impossible to ignore. In the picture, Harper stood with her team, her expression as aloof as her posture was rigid. The others smiled, their arms slung around one another in camaraderie, but Harper stood apart, hands at her sides, as though she was merely tolerating the moment. It wasn’t just stand-offishness—Harper looked like she didn’t belong.

The image gnawed at Sierra. She could remember Harper, even in high school, managing to carve out her place, awkward and worrying though it sometimes was. She’d never been the social type, but she had always found a way to make room for herself, or at least she had pretended to. But in this photo, the brunette seemed disconnected, as if the walls she’d built had sealed her off from everyone else. Maybe it was because she hadn’t made close friends yet. Or maybe, Sierra thought with a pang, Harper didn’t even know how to try anymore.

Sierra’s gaze drifted over the faces in the picture again before settling back on Harper. The thought crept into her mind unbidden: How much of this is my fault? Had she inadvertently trained Harper to shut people out, to be strong in a way that meant never relying on others? It wasn’t intentional, but in those times after their loss, Sierra had modelled self-sufficiency. Their father had drilled it into them both after all—the importance of standing on their own, of not needing anyone to pick them up when they fell. But looking at Harper now, even through the frame of a fractured photo, Sierra couldn’t help but feel the full load of that legacy.

And then, her thoughts turned to Haven.

She hadn't meant to think of Haven, but there she was, apparently somewhere in the back of her mind like an unanswered question. Those wings, a gift or curse, depending on how you looked at it, had made her think of their father before, she realized that now.

“At least here she is accepted for all of who she is. She doesn’t have to hide anything from us.”

Sierra’s fingers twitched.

That’s what you think.

She turned away from the window, moving toward the closet. She knew what she was looking for before her hand even reached the knob. It had been Harper who first found it during their time together, an old relic of their father’s life that she’d had zero interest in exploring. Why bother to know more about the man she’d spent 18 years of her life with and had grown to feel nothing but indifference for? But now, standing in Harper’s room with the photo of her sister’s cool expression fresh in her mind, the redhead couldn’t shake the feeling that she had missed something important.

The closet door opened with a soft creak, revealing Harper’s neatly arranged clothes and belongings. Sierra’s eyes moved past the uniforms and sweaters, zeroing in on the box tucked away in the corner. It was the same box Harper had taken when she moved into the dorms, filled with notebooks, letters, and that damned journal. Sierra crouched, pulling the box toward her, her hands trembling as she lifted the lid. There it was—the worn leather cover, its pages yellowed and fragile with age. For a moment, she hesitated, uncertainty constricting her chest.

But she opened it anyway.

Realms of Sun & Shadow

_{Interactions: Ayel-@Dezuel, Sya-@PrinceAlexus}

---

Elara stood silently as Sya’s temper flared, her eyes tracking the subtle movements that betrayed the woman’s frustration. The flick of Sya’s tail, the slight sway of her body on her new limb—these small signs revealed the depth of her irritation. Yet, Elara couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride for her. Sya didn’t shrink back or apologize for who she was. She stood tall, firm, unapologetic, claiming her space as if daring anyone to challenge her right to exist.

When Sya turned to her, Elara’s sternness softened, and a small smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “Thank you, Mistress Sya,” she said warmly, her tone rich with genuine respect. It wasn’t just words—Elara meant it. Sya’s strength in the face of disrespect was something to be admired. The sweet scent of freshly baked bread from the inn drifted past, and Elara’s stomach grumbled softly in protest, reminding her she hadn’t yet eaten.

But there were more pressing matters.

“Marquess Raunefeldt,” she began, her voice calm and clear, slicing through the tension like a blade, “your title and wealth do not grant you the right to demean and belittle those who serve this community with dedication and honor.” She fixed her gaze on him, watching as he shifted slightly in the saddle, his discomfort clear in the way he adjusted his reins. “Mistress Sya has earned her place here through hard work and respect, qualities far more valuable than any noble birthright, I think.” The air seemed to still as the crowd around them watched, their attention focused on her words. But for Elara, this wasn’t about putting on a show—it was about standing for the truth.

Stepping forward, her voice grew firmer, echoing her conviction. “You speak of respect, yet your actions show none. True nobility is not measured by riches or titles, but by the way one treats others, especially those who cannot defend themselves for whichever reason.” She paused, watching him closely now for his reaction.

“If you wish to be respected, you must first show respect.”

Umbra: The Abyssal Connection

A

_{Interactions: Val-@Herald, VV-@Estylwen}

---

A watched as VV and Val exchanged quick introductions, their voices struggling to be heard over the storm raging outside. The wind howled like a wild animal, a constant reminder of the danger they had barely escaped. She wrapped her arms around herself, feeling the cold seep into her skin despite the warmth provided by the fire. As she continued to look at them, a wave of guilt washed over her, prompting her to remember the one person they had left behind from their group. Her mind raced to D, alone in the escape pod, feeling scared and abandoned.

Or dead.

A knot formed in the woman’s stomach as she pictured him waiting in the dark, slowly succumbing to his wounds. They had promised him they’d return, hadn’t they? The hope, though, felt delicate, like a fragile glass ball that could shatter at any moment.

“He has to be okay,” she whispered to herself, the words slipping out in a desperate plea.

A felt VV's elbow gently nudge her, bringing her back to the present.

“You doing okay?” VV asked, her voice filled with real concern. A quick look into VV’s worried eyes made A realize her struggles were showing, even if she tried to hide them.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” she said, forcing a smile that didn’t quite feel real, “We’ll see D again. We have to.” The words felt fragile, however, as if they could break apart under the weight of her worries. A small voice in her head told her she was lying, even though she wanted to sound confident. She wished she could brush the worry away like dust, but it stuck to her, heavy and uncomfortable.

As for the mention of the raiders, A shivered at the very thought of their almost capture and the big possibility of the situation reoccurring as VV suggested. Yet, she just as quickly pushed the concern aside. They had more immediate ones to deal with. Turning to Val, she gave him a nod from where she sat.

“First…thank you for helping us,” she said sincerely. “We wouldn’t have made it without you.” Then, clearing her throat to shake off the remnants of anxiety, she began to explain their situation to him. “We were part of an experiment. Umbra Corp. They did something to us, changed us. We don’t know the full extent of it, but that's why those raiders were probably after us.”

Realms of Sun & Shadow

_{Interactions: Ayel-@Dezuel, Sya-@PrinceAlexus}

---

Elara had taken it upon herself to transform her small cabin into a sanctuary throughout the week, her home becoming a warm haven amid the merciless storm that battered the walls for days on end. The howling winds outside screamed like banshees, shaking the windows and threatening to pierce the thin veil of safety she'd carefully constructed, but she refused to let the chill win. Her hands were raw from stoking the fires, the comforting crackle of the flames filling the otherwise discomforting silence that hung in the air like a thick fog. Each log of firewood became a precious commodity, measured and rationed with precision as she calculated how much longer they would last against the unrelenting storm. The hearth was essentially her lifeline, its flickering warmth the only thing keeping the icy fingers of winter from seeping into the very bones of her shelter.

Every day, Elara inspected her dwindling supplies, her heart sinking a little deeper with each inventory. Though the pantry had been stocked, the gnawing fear that the food might not last gnawed at her like a persistent ache. The melted snow she collected served as a steady source of water, but even that small blessing felt precarious in the face of nature’s fury, a reminder of how fragile her survival truly was at the moment. Each meal she prepared was a quiet ritual—simple and nourishing —her way of maintaining control in a world that seemed bent on stripping it from her. These tasks, mundane as they were, became her anchor, pulling her back from the brink of isolation-induced madness.

When the storm finally relented, and the familiar sound of a knock broke the oppressive quiet, Elara felt the weight on her chest begin to lift. Relief washed over her in waves as the messenger’s words pierced through the lingering fear that had taken root in her soul: it was safe to leave. She stood for a moment in the doorway, staring out at the snow-covered world beyond, feeling the burden of her solitary vigil melt away, replaced by a tentative sense of freedom.

As Elara stepped outside, the cold bit through her thick woollen cloak, but it was the world that felt both familiar and strange, draped in a heavy blanket of snow. The street was dusted in white, yet teeming with subtle signs of life—the low murmur of distant voices and the faint crunch of footsteps in the distance. The Aurelian guards had already passed, their torches cutting fiery trails against the fading storm, like beacons leading the way. A growing hum of movement filled the air as people began emerging from their homes, bundled in layers of mismatched winter garments, their faces nearly invisible beneath scarves and hoods. Elara stood for a moment at the threshold, her hand lingering on the doorframe, torn between the quiet comfort of her cabin and the communal warmth gathering in the heart of Dawnhaven.

Her princess would have to wait. The pull of the bonfire, the promise of hot food, and the sound of distant laughter beckoned her forward. She wrapped her cloak tighter, the dark burgundy fabric fluttering slightly as she took a step, the worn leather boots she wore crunching into the snow. The icy grip of isolation had held her for too long, and now the sight of neighbours—strangers yet familiar—warmed something inside her that no hearth ever could. She joined the steady procession of townsfolk, her breath clouding in the crisp air as the scent of wood smoke and the mouth-watering aroma of stew greeted her senses.

The closer Elara got to the Eye of the Beholder, the more the scene in front of her sharpened into focus. Through the flickering light of the bonfire, she noticed a growing commotion by the entrance. Her lips pressed into a thin line as recognition struck—there he was again, the same rude man who had been a thorn in her side the week before. A frown tugged at the corners of her mouth as the memory of his dismissive tone resurfaced, stirring an irritation she had tried to bury. This time, however, she wouldn’t let it slide. It was hard to forget a face like his, and the way his arrogance had left an unpleasant sting.

With her usual decidedness, Elara stepped forward, her cloak swaying with the movement. “Excuse me,” she began, her voice calm yet firm, cutting through the rising tension. Her eyes locked onto his, unflinching. “Mistress Sya here is a respected member of our community and the proprietor of The Eye of the Beholder. Her contributions are invaluable—especially in times like these. You’ll do well to show her the respect she deserves, blightborn or not.”

Umbra: The Abyssal Connection

Aiming to have a response out this weekend/ Friday. :)

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.