Hey just a heads up. A member of my family passed away recently so may have to skip me for this round. I'll try to get something up today but if I don't you know why.
Qia
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A Little Weasel
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- Joined: 5 yrs ago
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Recent Statuses
2 days ago
hmm sounds like what a sussy baka might say tho... (jk jk).
6
likes
12 days ago
Why do all good things come to an end?
3
likes
17 days ago
I can't believe I binge watched this show. But damn Dark is so good.
1 mo ago
Or maybe melons>>> lemons?
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1 mo ago
God now I have Daddy Cop stuck in my head. My fault xD
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Bio
Hi, Qia here <3. I'm a gamer and RP fan just looking to have a good time.
Most Recent Posts
Oooh, can't wait to get that tea... BTW lovely new pfp Qia!
Merci. The prettiest one I've gotten for this character for sure.
this collab is uhhh looking like a 4 parter 
Interactions:N/A
Elena emerged from the clinic, the late morning sun casting the street in hues of amber and gold, though its warmth failed to thaw the glacial weight gripping her chest. She leaned back against the coarse brick wall, her fingers fumbling absently with her phone as she scrolled through her contacts. The familiar name on the glowing screen seemed to beckon, her thumb hesitating above the call button as fragments of her mother’s voice—at once tender and reproachful—echoed in her mind, stirring a complex ache of longing and apprehension.
A sigh escaped her lips as she relented, the tap of her finger initiating a connection that felt heavier than it should. Each ring reverberated in her ears, magnified by the silence around her, her pulse quickening in time with the rhythmic chime.
At last, the line clicked open.
“Elena?” Her mother’s voice, soft but tinged with immediate worry, came through the receiver. “¿Qué pasó? Are you alright?”
Elena tilted her head back, the coolness of the brick pressing against her crown as she brushed an errant curl from her face. “Hey, Mom. Don’t freak out, but….I’m calling from the North Side.” Her voice carried a practiced nonchalance, though she winced inwardly, already anticipating the storm brewing on the other end.
“¿Qué? Elena, ¿qué haces allá?” The alarm in her mother’s tone was razor-sharp, slicing through the muted hum of the city beyond. “I told you to stay away from that side of Cloverfield. What are you thinking?”
“I wasn’t planning to be here, okay?” Elena lied, her voice defensive but tinged with fatigue. She’d expected this, but it didn’t mean that she was in the mood for it. “Something came up. A family needed help, and I couldn’t just walk away.”
Her mother sighed deeply, the sound carrying a weight words could scarcely convey. “Ay, mi hija. Always jumping into things without thinking. You have such a big corazón, but Cloverfield isn’t a city that rewards good intentions. You know this.”
Elena’s jaw tightened. “I wasn’t about to let a little girl and her mom fend for themselves against… something awful. I did what you always taught me to do—help when you can.”
A silence stretched between them, punctuated only by the faint static of the call. When her mother spoke again, her voice was quieter, weighted with both love and resignation. “And I taught you to be careful, to think before you act. Cloverfield preys on people like you—people who don’t see the strings attached to every gesture, every underhanded deal.”
Elena pressed her lips together, her gaze drifting to the clinic door where Loni and Luciana were still inside. “I know, mamá….”
“And sometimes, mi vida, the right thing comes back to haunt you,” her mother continued, the sorrow in her voice unmistakable. “Do you remember the Vargas family? They just wanted to help too. What did that bring them, hmm?”
Elena’s stomach twisted. She did remember. The Vargas family, friends of her mother, had tried to shelter a young runaway from a powerful gang.
Their kindness had cost them everything.
“This isn’t like that,” Elena insisted, though the conviction in her voice faltered. “I’m not getting tangled up in anything. I’m just… helping.”
Another sigh, this one softer, more forgiving. “I know your heart is in the right place, mi amor. Just promise me you’ll be careful. I can’t lose you too.”
Her mother’s words hit Elena in more ways than one. “I promise,” she said quietly. “I’ll be fine, Mom. I’ll call you later, okay? I just… wanted you to know where I was.”
“Gracias, mi cielo,” her mother replied, her voice warm but still laced with worry. “And Elena? No olvides quién eres. Don’t let this city change you.”
A faint smile softened Elena’s face, the words resting over her like a benediction.
“I won’t, mamá. Te quiero.”
“Te quiero más,” her mother said before the line disconnected.
Elena lowered the phone, staring at the darkened screen for a moment as the echo of her mother’s voice lingered in her mind. Straightening, she pushed off the wall, her resolve steadying as she turned and stepped back into the clinic.
A sigh escaped her lips as she relented, the tap of her finger initiating a connection that felt heavier than it should. Each ring reverberated in her ears, magnified by the silence around her, her pulse quickening in time with the rhythmic chime.
At last, the line clicked open.
“Elena?” Her mother’s voice, soft but tinged with immediate worry, came through the receiver. “¿Qué pasó? Are you alright?”
Elena tilted her head back, the coolness of the brick pressing against her crown as she brushed an errant curl from her face. “Hey, Mom. Don’t freak out, but….I’m calling from the North Side.” Her voice carried a practiced nonchalance, though she winced inwardly, already anticipating the storm brewing on the other end.
“¿Qué? Elena, ¿qué haces allá?” The alarm in her mother’s tone was razor-sharp, slicing through the muted hum of the city beyond. “I told you to stay away from that side of Cloverfield. What are you thinking?”
“I wasn’t planning to be here, okay?” Elena lied, her voice defensive but tinged with fatigue. She’d expected this, but it didn’t mean that she was in the mood for it. “Something came up. A family needed help, and I couldn’t just walk away.”
Her mother sighed deeply, the sound carrying a weight words could scarcely convey. “Ay, mi hija. Always jumping into things without thinking. You have such a big corazón, but Cloverfield isn’t a city that rewards good intentions. You know this.”
Elena’s jaw tightened. “I wasn’t about to let a little girl and her mom fend for themselves against… something awful. I did what you always taught me to do—help when you can.”
A silence stretched between them, punctuated only by the faint static of the call. When her mother spoke again, her voice was quieter, weighted with both love and resignation. “And I taught you to be careful, to think before you act. Cloverfield preys on people like you—people who don’t see the strings attached to every gesture, every underhanded deal.”
Elena pressed her lips together, her gaze drifting to the clinic door where Loni and Luciana were still inside. “I know, mamá….”
“And sometimes, mi vida, the right thing comes back to haunt you,” her mother continued, the sorrow in her voice unmistakable. “Do you remember the Vargas family? They just wanted to help too. What did that bring them, hmm?”
Elena’s stomach twisted. She did remember. The Vargas family, friends of her mother, had tried to shelter a young runaway from a powerful gang.
Their kindness had cost them everything.
“This isn’t like that,” Elena insisted, though the conviction in her voice faltered. “I’m not getting tangled up in anything. I’m just… helping.”
Another sigh, this one softer, more forgiving. “I know your heart is in the right place, mi amor. Just promise me you’ll be careful. I can’t lose you too.”
Her mother’s words hit Elena in more ways than one. “I promise,” she said quietly. “I’ll be fine, Mom. I’ll call you later, okay? I just… wanted you to know where I was.”
“Gracias, mi cielo,” her mother replied, her voice warm but still laced with worry. “And Elena? No olvides quién eres. Don’t let this city change you.”
A faint smile softened Elena’s face, the words resting over her like a benediction.
“I won’t, mamá. Te quiero.”
“Te quiero más,” her mother said before the line disconnected.
Elena lowered the phone, staring at the darkened screen for a moment as the echo of her mother’s voice lingered in her mind. Straightening, she pushed off the wall, her resolve steadying as she turned and stepped back into the clinic.
Location: Elara's Home-->Royal Cabin
Interactions/Mentions: Eris, Kira (@The Muse)
Elara’s gaze lingered on the diminishing silhouette of Flynn as he ventured into the frigid night, Amaya cocooned securely in his embrace. Her heart constricted as the door clicked shut behind them, leaving an almost tangible void in their wake. The room, though still bathed in the amber glow of the hearth, felt achingly hollow, the crackling fire a feeble balm against the icy tendrils of unease that coiled in her chest. Her fingers, trembling faintly, clung to the weathered doorframe, its rough grain pressing into her palms as she stared into the deserted street beyond. Flynn’s parting command reverberated in her mind, a beacon amidst the storm of her thoughts: “Find Eris Hightower.”
Squaring her shoulders, Elara turned toward the hearth, her gaze briefly ensnared by the erratic dance of the flames. The gravity of the night pressed against her like a leaden shroud, but she willed herself to cast it off with a resolute inhale. There was no luxury of faltering, no room for hesitation—Amaya’s very survival hinged on the choices she made in these fleeting moments.
Making sure she had everything to deal with the cold first, Elara stepped out into the frosted night, her breath visible in the cold air. The faint creak of the door opening snapped Kira’s focus into place, causing her to straighten against the wall. The village lay shrouded in an uncanny stillness, each crunch of her boots against the frost-laden snow resonating like an intrusion upon the silence. Shadows sprawled across the narrow, deserted streets, their distorted shapes elongating beneath the feeble luminance of flickering lanterns. Overhead, the moon loomed in solitary majesty, its alabaster glow spilling across her path like an ethereal guide. She moved with a measured cadence, her head bowed, while her thoughts churned in relentless motion. Flynn’s urgency, so vividly etched into his voice and manner, lingered in her mind, and though his gratitude had been genuine, the enormity of his expectations settled heavily upon her shoulders.
Allowing Elara a moment to gain distance from the house, Kira silently moved into action. Her steps, quiet as a predator's, carried her deeper into the shadows as she began to trail her from a careful distance.
The memory of Kira’s admonition surfaced unbidden then, her words a spectre of caution piercing the still night: “You’re not safe yet.”
The recollection sent an involuntary tremor coursing through her, an icy ripple that seemed to harmonize with the frozen air around her. But Elara’s resolve did not waver. With every step, she steeled herself, her focus narrowing on the distant silhouette of the tower Flynn had described—a promise of answers, sanctuary, or perhaps another peril awaiting her arrival. Only time, and hopefully a bit of luck, will tell.
The rhythm of Elara’s heartbeat thrummed in Kira’s ears, quickened by nerves and fear, each beat part of a siren song that begged her to inch closer. Her pupils dilated, a chill running down her spine. It was maddening how easily Elara could be overpowered in this moment. With just a few strides, Kira could close the distance, pin her to the ground, and… Kira clenched her jaw, tilting her head sharply as if to physically banish the thought.
When Elara reached the Alchemy Chambers, Kira slowed her pace, slipping behind the shelter of a nearby tree. She pressed her back against its bark and turned away, lowering her head to keep her cursed, glowing eyes from betraying her position.
Steadying her breath, she attuned her senses to sound rather than sight. The faint knock of Elara's hand against the wooden door reached her ears, followed by a brief pause. Then, the door opened.
“Lady Moonshadow,” Eris greeted, her voice tinged with surprise. She instinctively bowed, immediately recognizing Elara—the striking white-haried woman who was often seen at Princess Amaya’s side. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”
The invocation of her formal title elicited a faint but perceptible tremor of disquiet within Elara, though her outward demeanour remained a mask of composure. “I must extend my apologies for this unheralded arrival, Lady Hightower,” she began, her voice a balance of decorum and veiled urgency. “There’s been… an incident. I’ve come on behalf of the Prince. He requested that I inform you of the Princess’s condition and seek your aid.”
“An Incident?” Eris repeated, concern flashing in her eyes. Without hesitation, she stepped back from the door, reaching for a satchel and her heavy jacket hanging on a nearby coat hanger. Throwing them on, she stepped out into the chill.
Locking the door behind her, she turned to Elara. "What happened? Are they safe? Where are they now?" The questions spilled out as she fell into step beside Elara, letting her take the lead.
Elara adjusted her cloak against the biting cold, her breath puffing into the night air as she quickened her stride. “They’re safe for now,” she assured, though the tension in her voice hinted at the fragility of that truth. “The Princess is at their home. The Prince is with her. But the attack… It was unlike anything I’ve seen before.”
Eris’ breath hitched, and she whispered in shock, “You were there?”
Elara’s hands clutched the edges of her cloak tightly as she recounted the day’s events. “We were ambushed by a Blightborn.” Her words faltered momentarily as the image of Amaya’s blood-stained sleeve flashed in her mind. “He injected her with his own blood, claiming it was to communicate with her. But it was more than that. He invaded her mind, twisted her emotions…” She shook her head, her voice dropping to a whisper. “It was horrifying.”
Eris felt the blood drain from her face. Her mind raced, spiraling through every scrap of information she’d studied from the Prince’s interviews with the Blight-born. She grasped for any memory of such powers, but her thoughts came up empty, leaving her with only dread. This was something new.
She looked at Elara, spotting the distant look in her eyes. “Were you hurt at all?” she asked softly, frowning. It felt wrong to ask if Elara was okay—of course she wasn't. The look on her face was evidence enough.
Elara’s stride faltered, her poise momentarily disrupted by the weight of Eris’s inquiry, but she recovered swiftly, her composure a fragile veneer hastily restored. Her glacial blue eyes flickered toward the Sage, their usual clarity clouded by an undercurrent of unease. “No,” she answered at last, though her voice trembled, a faint quaver betraying the tumult beneath her calm exterior. “Not in body, at least. Amaya shielded us, but…” Her sentence unravelled, her words dissolving into the stillness like snowflakes melting upon contact. The memory surged unbidden—jagged shards of ice hurtling through the air, crimson streaks unfurling like blossoms in the frost—each fragment sharp as a blade slicing through her consciousness.
She drew in a tremulous breath, the sound barely audible, her chest rising as though the effort cost her dearly. Her fingers curled tightly around the edges of her cloak, the fabric a poor barrier against the storm raging within. “It was close.” Too close.
Eris slowed her pace, hesitating briefly before resting a gentle hand on Elara’s upper arm. “I’m so sorry,” she murmured, her voice soft as she met Elara’s gaze, her brows knit together with genuine empathy. For a moment, she faltered, searching for the right words, though nothing felt adequate enough to ease whatever it was that Elara had witnessed.
“I’m…. I’m glad you and the Princess are alive.” she said at last, withdrawing her hand as they continued down the dimly lit pathway. “If there’s anything I can do to help, anything at all…”
Elara offered Eris a faint, grateful smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Your presence is already a comfort,” she said softly.
The two women walked in silence for a time, their footsteps crunching softly against the frost-laden ground. The distant glow of the Prince’s cabin grew brighter with every step, standing out like a beacon against the darkened village. The biting chill of the air was tempered by the soft sound of the wind weaving through the trees, though neither spoke, their minds heavy with the weight of the day’s events.
As they rounded the final bend in the pathway, the cabin came into full view. Eris noted the unusually high number of guards patrolling the perimeter, their torches cutting through the darkness in the distance, and a sense of unease settled over her.
The royal home’s sturdy frame was lit by the warm flicker of lanterns hanging by the doorway, their glow spilling across the fresh layer of snow like golden pools. Smoke curled from the chimney, a silent promise of warmth and shelter within.
Upon reaching the cabin’s threshold, Elara extended her hand and rapped lightly against the timeworn wood.
The door swung open almost immediately, revealing a guard who had clearly been on his way out. He straightened upon seeing the two women, his gaze flickering between them before offering a respectful nod.
“Lady Hightower, Lady Moonshadow,” he greeted them, though he offered no sense of warmth in his expression. He stepped back, allowing them to enter and escape the cold. “The Prince and Princess are upstairs, in the Princess’s chambers,” he continued, gesturing toward the stairs. “You may go right up.”
“Thank you,” Eris said softly, her voice touched with concern as she glanced toward Elara before stepping inside. She paused for a moment, her eyes scanning the candlelit interior of the cabin, taking in its heavy atmosphere. It was the first time she had ever set foot in the Prince’s home—she had always met him in the Alchemy Chambers, and she had little reason to be here.
As she looked around, her thoughts turned to the Princess, someone she had heard much about but never truly held a conversation with. She had never seen the quiet, intimate side of their lives, nor felt the weight of their burdens as she did now.
Elara followed Eris inside, pausing as a wave of familiarity mixed with unease swept over her. The cabin’s warm yet sombre atmosphere felt welcoming and heavy, like an echo of past moments shared within its walls, now overlaid with a fragile tension. Her gaze roved across the room, noting the subtle nuances she had come to recognize on previous visits: the mantle, intricately carved and adorned with modest keepsakes; the faint, lingering trace of Amaya’s favoured fragrance still clinging to the air; the neatly folded blankets draped over the back of a well-worn chair, a testament to enduring care despite the circumstances.
Having resumed his post by the door, the guard watched them silently as they removed their cloaks and stepped farther into the room. Elara’s hands moved on autopilot, carefully folding her cloak as her thoughts drifted. Her pale eyes flicked toward the staircase, her mind conjuring an image of Flynn’s probable earlier ascent, Amaya cradled protectively in his arms. The memory of his worried expression lingered, stirring a pang of guilt deep in her chest.
And yet, the ache wasn’t just guilt—it was layered, complex. Something about knowing Amaya was upstairs, her vitality sapped by the tribulations she had endured, tugged at Elara in ways she couldn’t fully articulate. She could almost see her friend now, a fragile silhouette of her once-resilient self, resting under the same roof yet feeling heartbreakingly distant.
Still, she straightened her posture, her hands folding together as she glanced at Eris. “Shall we?” she asked softly, her voice steady despite the undercurrent of emotion in her expression.
Eris nodded wordlessly, her eyes briefly meeting Elara's before she followed her up the stairs. The silence between them felt heavy, and as they ascended, a tight knot of anxiety began to form in her chest.
When they reached the Princess's chambers, a lone guard sat outside the closed door. He straightened at their approach, rising quickly and offering them a respectful nod. Without a word, he turned toward the door and knocked softly.
Squaring her shoulders, Elara turned toward the hearth, her gaze briefly ensnared by the erratic dance of the flames. The gravity of the night pressed against her like a leaden shroud, but she willed herself to cast it off with a resolute inhale. There was no luxury of faltering, no room for hesitation—Amaya’s very survival hinged on the choices she made in these fleeting moments.
Making sure she had everything to deal with the cold first, Elara stepped out into the frosted night, her breath visible in the cold air. The faint creak of the door opening snapped Kira’s focus into place, causing her to straighten against the wall. The village lay shrouded in an uncanny stillness, each crunch of her boots against the frost-laden snow resonating like an intrusion upon the silence. Shadows sprawled across the narrow, deserted streets, their distorted shapes elongating beneath the feeble luminance of flickering lanterns. Overhead, the moon loomed in solitary majesty, its alabaster glow spilling across her path like an ethereal guide. She moved with a measured cadence, her head bowed, while her thoughts churned in relentless motion. Flynn’s urgency, so vividly etched into his voice and manner, lingered in her mind, and though his gratitude had been genuine, the enormity of his expectations settled heavily upon her shoulders.
Allowing Elara a moment to gain distance from the house, Kira silently moved into action. Her steps, quiet as a predator's, carried her deeper into the shadows as she began to trail her from a careful distance.
The memory of Kira’s admonition surfaced unbidden then, her words a spectre of caution piercing the still night: “You’re not safe yet.”
The recollection sent an involuntary tremor coursing through her, an icy ripple that seemed to harmonize with the frozen air around her. But Elara’s resolve did not waver. With every step, she steeled herself, her focus narrowing on the distant silhouette of the tower Flynn had described—a promise of answers, sanctuary, or perhaps another peril awaiting her arrival. Only time, and hopefully a bit of luck, will tell.
The rhythm of Elara’s heartbeat thrummed in Kira’s ears, quickened by nerves and fear, each beat part of a siren song that begged her to inch closer. Her pupils dilated, a chill running down her spine. It was maddening how easily Elara could be overpowered in this moment. With just a few strides, Kira could close the distance, pin her to the ground, and… Kira clenched her jaw, tilting her head sharply as if to physically banish the thought.
When Elara reached the Alchemy Chambers, Kira slowed her pace, slipping behind the shelter of a nearby tree. She pressed her back against its bark and turned away, lowering her head to keep her cursed, glowing eyes from betraying her position.
Steadying her breath, she attuned her senses to sound rather than sight. The faint knock of Elara's hand against the wooden door reached her ears, followed by a brief pause. Then, the door opened.
“Lady Moonshadow,” Eris greeted, her voice tinged with surprise. She instinctively bowed, immediately recognizing Elara—the striking white-haried woman who was often seen at Princess Amaya’s side. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”
The invocation of her formal title elicited a faint but perceptible tremor of disquiet within Elara, though her outward demeanour remained a mask of composure. “I must extend my apologies for this unheralded arrival, Lady Hightower,” she began, her voice a balance of decorum and veiled urgency. “There’s been… an incident. I’ve come on behalf of the Prince. He requested that I inform you of the Princess’s condition and seek your aid.”
“An Incident?” Eris repeated, concern flashing in her eyes. Without hesitation, she stepped back from the door, reaching for a satchel and her heavy jacket hanging on a nearby coat hanger. Throwing them on, she stepped out into the chill.
Locking the door behind her, she turned to Elara. "What happened? Are they safe? Where are they now?" The questions spilled out as she fell into step beside Elara, letting her take the lead.
Elara adjusted her cloak against the biting cold, her breath puffing into the night air as she quickened her stride. “They’re safe for now,” she assured, though the tension in her voice hinted at the fragility of that truth. “The Princess is at their home. The Prince is with her. But the attack… It was unlike anything I’ve seen before.”
Eris’ breath hitched, and she whispered in shock, “You were there?”
Elara’s hands clutched the edges of her cloak tightly as she recounted the day’s events. “We were ambushed by a Blightborn.” Her words faltered momentarily as the image of Amaya’s blood-stained sleeve flashed in her mind. “He injected her with his own blood, claiming it was to communicate with her. But it was more than that. He invaded her mind, twisted her emotions…” She shook her head, her voice dropping to a whisper. “It was horrifying.”
Eris felt the blood drain from her face. Her mind raced, spiraling through every scrap of information she’d studied from the Prince’s interviews with the Blight-born. She grasped for any memory of such powers, but her thoughts came up empty, leaving her with only dread. This was something new.
She looked at Elara, spotting the distant look in her eyes. “Were you hurt at all?” she asked softly, frowning. It felt wrong to ask if Elara was okay—of course she wasn't. The look on her face was evidence enough.
Elara’s stride faltered, her poise momentarily disrupted by the weight of Eris’s inquiry, but she recovered swiftly, her composure a fragile veneer hastily restored. Her glacial blue eyes flickered toward the Sage, their usual clarity clouded by an undercurrent of unease. “No,” she answered at last, though her voice trembled, a faint quaver betraying the tumult beneath her calm exterior. “Not in body, at least. Amaya shielded us, but…” Her sentence unravelled, her words dissolving into the stillness like snowflakes melting upon contact. The memory surged unbidden—jagged shards of ice hurtling through the air, crimson streaks unfurling like blossoms in the frost—each fragment sharp as a blade slicing through her consciousness.
She drew in a tremulous breath, the sound barely audible, her chest rising as though the effort cost her dearly. Her fingers curled tightly around the edges of her cloak, the fabric a poor barrier against the storm raging within. “It was close.” Too close.
Eris slowed her pace, hesitating briefly before resting a gentle hand on Elara’s upper arm. “I’m so sorry,” she murmured, her voice soft as she met Elara’s gaze, her brows knit together with genuine empathy. For a moment, she faltered, searching for the right words, though nothing felt adequate enough to ease whatever it was that Elara had witnessed.
“I’m…. I’m glad you and the Princess are alive.” she said at last, withdrawing her hand as they continued down the dimly lit pathway. “If there’s anything I can do to help, anything at all…”
Elara offered Eris a faint, grateful smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Your presence is already a comfort,” she said softly.
The two women walked in silence for a time, their footsteps crunching softly against the frost-laden ground. The distant glow of the Prince’s cabin grew brighter with every step, standing out like a beacon against the darkened village. The biting chill of the air was tempered by the soft sound of the wind weaving through the trees, though neither spoke, their minds heavy with the weight of the day’s events.
As they rounded the final bend in the pathway, the cabin came into full view. Eris noted the unusually high number of guards patrolling the perimeter, their torches cutting through the darkness in the distance, and a sense of unease settled over her.
The royal home’s sturdy frame was lit by the warm flicker of lanterns hanging by the doorway, their glow spilling across the fresh layer of snow like golden pools. Smoke curled from the chimney, a silent promise of warmth and shelter within.
Upon reaching the cabin’s threshold, Elara extended her hand and rapped lightly against the timeworn wood.
The door swung open almost immediately, revealing a guard who had clearly been on his way out. He straightened upon seeing the two women, his gaze flickering between them before offering a respectful nod.
“Lady Hightower, Lady Moonshadow,” he greeted them, though he offered no sense of warmth in his expression. He stepped back, allowing them to enter and escape the cold. “The Prince and Princess are upstairs, in the Princess’s chambers,” he continued, gesturing toward the stairs. “You may go right up.”
“Thank you,” Eris said softly, her voice touched with concern as she glanced toward Elara before stepping inside. She paused for a moment, her eyes scanning the candlelit interior of the cabin, taking in its heavy atmosphere. It was the first time she had ever set foot in the Prince’s home—she had always met him in the Alchemy Chambers, and she had little reason to be here.
As she looked around, her thoughts turned to the Princess, someone she had heard much about but never truly held a conversation with. She had never seen the quiet, intimate side of their lives, nor felt the weight of their burdens as she did now.
Elara followed Eris inside, pausing as a wave of familiarity mixed with unease swept over her. The cabin’s warm yet sombre atmosphere felt welcoming and heavy, like an echo of past moments shared within its walls, now overlaid with a fragile tension. Her gaze roved across the room, noting the subtle nuances she had come to recognize on previous visits: the mantle, intricately carved and adorned with modest keepsakes; the faint, lingering trace of Amaya’s favoured fragrance still clinging to the air; the neatly folded blankets draped over the back of a well-worn chair, a testament to enduring care despite the circumstances.
Having resumed his post by the door, the guard watched them silently as they removed their cloaks and stepped farther into the room. Elara’s hands moved on autopilot, carefully folding her cloak as her thoughts drifted. Her pale eyes flicked toward the staircase, her mind conjuring an image of Flynn’s probable earlier ascent, Amaya cradled protectively in his arms. The memory of his worried expression lingered, stirring a pang of guilt deep in her chest.
And yet, the ache wasn’t just guilt—it was layered, complex. Something about knowing Amaya was upstairs, her vitality sapped by the tribulations she had endured, tugged at Elara in ways she couldn’t fully articulate. She could almost see her friend now, a fragile silhouette of her once-resilient self, resting under the same roof yet feeling heartbreakingly distant.
Still, she straightened her posture, her hands folding together as she glanced at Eris. “Shall we?” she asked softly, her voice steady despite the undercurrent of emotion in her expression.
Eris nodded wordlessly, her eyes briefly meeting Elara's before she followed her up the stairs. The silence between them felt heavy, and as they ascended, a tight knot of anxiety began to form in her chest.
When they reached the Princess's chambers, a lone guard sat outside the closed door. He straightened at their approach, rising quickly and offering them a respectful nod. Without a word, he turned toward the door and knocked softly.
*Walks up to Kairo Tower*
Henlo
*Alliance*
Hey now...this is only part 1 :)
In collaboration with @The Savant
Mentions: Vincent (@Estylwen) Interactions: Asterion (@The Savant)
Shuffling Allegiances: Part One
The streets of Nickel thrummed with a vibrant, nocturnal dynamism that pulsed through the air like an electric current. As Emilia Castiglione emerged from a narrow alleyway, her keen, observant gaze was immediately drawn to the imposing structure of the Kairo Skyscraper looming ahead, the gravity of her mission settling heavily upon her shoulders. She had meticulously chosen her attire for what was bound to be a pivotal meeting, donning a tailored crimson pencil skirt that beautifully accentuated her figure, complemented by a sophisticated black lace bodysuit beneath. Draped over her frame was a midnight-blue leather bomber jacket, its exquisite texture and sleek silhouette drawing the eyes of passersby; the jacket featured subtle embellishments that shimmered gently, enhancing its overall refinement without overshadowing her ensemble.
Crucially, her look was completed by a glossy clutch, masterfully crafted in a dark hue that harmonized artfully with the rest of her attire. While it might appear merely ornamental at first glance, this seemingly innocuous accessory concealed an assortment of carefully chosen essentials—discreet yet indispensable tools she might require during her time in the bustling district.
The chaotic essence of Nickel revealed itself to have an underlying design, one woven by the astute hands of Asterion Kairo. Emilia's extensive exploration into his persona had crafted a vivid portrait of a man who relished the thrill of unpredictability and challenge, whose ambitions were driven as much by the allure of dominion as they were by the turmoil he sought to master.
In other words, the woman was not entirely sure of what to expect of the man.
As she approached the grand entrance of the towering skyscraper, she became acutely attuned to the myriad sensations that surrounded her, each element cataloged as part of her sensory panorama. However, it was the sudden flicker of movement in a shadowy side alley that made her pause instinctively. A silhouette swept across a dimly illuminated doorway, vanishing too swiftly for her to discern its purpose. Was it a lookout? A random passerby? Or one of Kairo’s many eyes?
She didn’t stick around to confirm the answer.
Instead, Emilia stepped inside, the lobby before her a study in modern elegance, its polished floors and sleek furnishings illuminated by soft, ambient lighting. As she moved towards the front desk, she couldn’t help but notice the subtle tremor of unease in the receptionist's demeanour. The young woman, likely no older than eighteen, wore a crisp uniform that spoke of professionalism, yet her stance revealed hints of uncertainty and inexperience.
“Good evening,” Emilia greeted regardless, her voice imbued with the practiced calm of a seasoned negotiator accustomed to maneuvering through tense interactions. “I’m here to see Mr. Kairo.”
The cute blonde behind the front reception desk on the ground floor smiled at the woman approaching. She had a curiosity in her eyes but a slight confusion at the same time. Was Mister Kairo expecting someone that she didn’t know about? Her voice a soft, pleasant, and welcoming tone, “Welcome to the Kairo Skyscraper,” it sounded like she had said that same line a thousand times until it sounded perfect coming out.
Sitting there in her comfortable office chair as she clicked a few buttons and used the mouse to pull up the agenda. “Is Mister Kairo expecting you?” it was. with the time of day — night actually — she didn’t assume he was expecting anyone when she glanced at the time. 23:20.
However, Mitzie still pulled up the scheduling to reveal that there were not scheduled visitations or meetings at this time. Her bright blue ocean eyes glancing up at the woman who was dressed very nicely — lacy — maybe this was one of those visits? Her face cracked a crooked smile as she was trying to keep her face straight, “I do not see any registered meetings scheduled, what is your name? I will give him a call and figure out if he’s taking visitors.”
Emilia graced the receptionist with a measured smile, an expression artfully crafted to exude both warmth and authority.“Emilia Castiglione,” she introduced herself confidently, allowing the other’s eye to remain on her demeanour. “And no, he isn’t expecting me, but I would be most grateful if you could inform him of my presence. Kindly mention that it pertains to a shared acquaintance.”
“Please take your time,” Emilia continued, infusing her words with an almost soothing quality. She gestured toward the chic and contemporary aesthetics of the skyscraper, appreciating its impressive design. “It’s clear that Mr. Kairo possesses a strong appreciation for both style and structure. I would prefer not to disturb that needlessly.”
Emilia then expanded her awareness, attuning her senses to the subtle vibrations of the building and the small sounds of any of its occupants bustling about. This awareness had become a practiced habit-an amalgamation of instinct and practicality- that she remained ever cognizant of her environment. Her gaze briefly flitted to a corner of the lobby, where the polished gleam of metal signalled the presence of security personnel. A slight inclination of her head indicated she had silently documented their positions, assessing their potential threat level as effortlessly as one might glance at a watch.
However, her focus quickly returned to Mitzie, brimming with patience. “I’m happy to wait,” she said. “Though I imagine Mr. Kairo wouldn’t want to miss an opportunity for engaging conversation.”
Mitzie was somewhat confused about this whole ordeal since she usually never had guests showing up at this time and assumptions, questions, and a bunch of other thoughts were popping into her mind. Things that she knew she couldn’t share outloud or not so openly. “I will warn you. It’s a little late so I do not know if he will be up for such a spontaneous meeting,” she giggled a little while moving the chair with wheels over to the side of the desk that had the direct phone line that connected to all the other phones in the building. She pressed a few numbers and let it ring.
The phone rang twice before Asterion picked up. Mitzie could tell there was a flatness and exhaustion to his voice. “I apologize for disturbing you, Mister Kairo, though you have a visitor.”
“Yes.”
“I understand.”
Mitzie glanced up at the woman before looking away again in concentration, “Her name is Emilia Castiglione and she said that you two might have a shared acquaintance,” her lips rubs together a little bit while she played with the cord of the phone. Nodding her head while listening to the man.
“I do not know how to answer that, sir,” Mitzie seemed nervous and glanced at Emilia yet she forced a smile.
Nodding her head while listening, “Yes, I will let her know. Thank you.”
The woman hung up the phone with a smile while turning to Emilia, “He said he will meet with you,” she stood up while finishing her words. Mitzie gestured for the woman to follow her. “It is a little bit of a maze up to the penthouse,” the woman confessed while leading the woman down a back hall. A different hall compared to others going through even the last main guests of Asterion — Mitzie stepped and angled herself in a way that Emilia wouldn’t be able to see the buttons she pressed before pressing enter.
When the proper code was entered and enter was pressed, two doors opened and slid into the walls before an elevator door opened up. “If you press the highest button with a T, it will bring you to floor one-hundred. It’ll open to a long hallway, go into the third door and it’ll take you up a spiral staircase. Stand at the top of the staircase, it ends into a wall, but knock onto the wall and wait,” Mitzie smiled at the woman.
Emilia nodded graciously. “Thank you, you’ve been very helpful.”
As she stepped inside the sleek confines of the elevator, she caught Mitzie’s gaze one final time just as the doors began to glide shut. “It seems Mr. Kairo has quite the labyrinth to protect himself,” she quipped lightly with an amused lilt. “I’ll make sure to follow your instructions carefully.”
With that, the doors sealed her within the unassuming yet sophisticated elevator, enveloping her in a cocoon of metal. Upon pressing the button designated "T," her countenance shifted subtly, her lips setting into a contemplative line. The instructions she had received were decidedly unconventional, but she recognized the wisdom in not dismissing them as mere quirks of eccentricity. Each element, she understood, was likely intended to test visitors or disorient them before the pivotal encounter with the man himself.
As the elevator ascended, Emilia adjusted the strap of her clutch, her exterior concealing the anticipation that simmered beneath the surface. This meeting, she knew, could shift the balance of her mission in ways she could only begin to imagine.
The elevator's gentle chime signalled its arrival at the designated floor, the doors gliding open to reveal a long, lavishly appointed hallway that was precisely as Mitzie had described. Emilia stepped out, her stilettos clicking softly against the floor, and made her way to the third door on the right. As she reached the door, her hand hesitated briefly on the handle before she ascended the spiral staircase that led to the next level. At the top, she stood before the wall as instructed, raising her hand and knocking firmly.
And then, she waited.
There was a handful of minutes between the woman’s knock and a ding that could be heard. A light vibration from the wall could be heard and felt before the wall popped out and the secret door lifted up. Elevator doors opened up and Asterion was standing there, his immediate body language was not very welcoming and stone-like, as his eyes were icy. His once put together suit was missing a tie, the first few buttons of the midnight blue shirt unbuttoned. His cuffs were rolled up nicely but looked like it was quickly and carelessly done. The raven black hair of the man was disheveled and he combed a handful of fingers through his hair while looking at the woman.
Asterion’s eyes seemed to go from icy to slightly confused when looking at the woman, his eyes glancing over her once, and meeting her amber-hazel looking eyes. One quick thought went through his mind before he spoke — Is this Krish’s doing? — with how she was dressed. He wasn’t sure if she was a prostitute, a hooker, or someone that enjoyed the aesthetic of a late night walker.
“Hello, Miss Castiglione,” he spoke evenly while staring into her eyes. It might have been a little intense since he wasn’t shifting away from her gaze. “Is there a particular reason you are here? So late at night.” he wanted to emphasize the time. It wasn’t like he was doing anything besides the mountains of paperwork he had been ignoring for the past few weeks. Figuring out where everything was at. He was balancing books at the moment which he did need a break from but he wasn’t sure about being bothered by a stranger.
Emilia’s gaze absorbed every nuance before her- the tousled strands of hair that framed his face, the haphazardly rolled cuffs that hinted at apathy, and the conspicuously absent tie that suggested a lack of concern for decorum. Was he a man surprised or merely indifferent to the world around him? His frosty demeanour, a manifestation of his disinterest, scarcely unnerved her; on the contrary, it mirrored her expectations of a figure with his reputation, leaving her poised and composed in the face of it all.
“Good evening, Mr.Kairo,” Emilia began, her tone respectful but not deferential. “I apologize for the late hour, but I assure you my reasons for being here warrant the inconvenience.”
The silence lingered momentarily, a calculated pause that served to establish the flow of the discourse and assert her dominance in the exchange.
“As you might suspect, my visit is not without purpose. I’ve come to discuss matters of mutual interest-issues that could affect the stability of Nickel and perhaps even extend beyond it.” Her gaze briefly flicked to his unbuttoned collar, then returned to meet his piercing stare. “I won’t take more of your time than necessary, despite us both being able to benefit from this conversation. Otherwise, I can take my leave and we’ll consider this encounter a fleeting introduction.”
Mutual interest issues, and he thought about that line a little more as he listened to the rest of what she had to say. A nod came from him as his eyes looked elsewhere in thought. There was some severity to the situation if she was coming this late at night but he wondered if it was a trap. An implantation of thoughts and his eyes sharpened while he focused off her line of sight then he looked at her. “I will entertain your visit,” stepping to the side in the elevator, he gestured for her to come in, and gave her space to do so. It was a more private elevator, smaller, but it could probably hold three or four people comfortably close.
“Who do you work for?” his eyes glanced over to her. “I would say it is safe to assume that you work under one of the other district leaders,” he added.
Emilia stepped into the elevator, her lips curving into a subtle, almost cryptic, smile.
“Your assumption regarding my affiliations with influential entities is not entirely misplaced,” she replied. “However, I think we should refrain from framing this dialogue within the confines of loyalties or power structures. Instead, I invite you to perceive my presence here more as a potential collaboration—an opportunity to forge a mutually beneficial alliance.” She shifted slightly, though she maintained complete ease in his territory.
“Let’s just say my interests lie in ensuring that the delicate balance in Nickel—and perhaps beyond—remains intact. I believe in dealing with destabilizing forces before they escalate into chaos, and in that regard, I believe our goals might align more than you’d expect.”
With a fleeting glance at the array of buttons adorning the elevator panel, her tone softened imperceptibly. “I assure you, I have no intention of squandering your valuable time, Mr. Kairo. Quite the opposite; my purpose here is to ensure we maximize our time together—for the enrichment of both our interests.”
Instead of using any of the main buttons on the panel, he chose to use a button somewhat out of the way. A black looking button that looked somewhat false or more like a camera in a way. He placed his thumb onto it and within a few seconds, the door shut, and they began to move up. An artificial feminine voice calling out, “Welcome back, Mister Kairo. You were not gone that long,” it ensued a conversation or at least tried too.
“I did not leave at all Eden,” he casually replied to the artificial intelligence.
“Oh! I did not notice. I am sorry,” Eden apologized.
Asterion sighed while glancing over to Emilia, “I have a guest, Eden,” he informed the A.I..
“I apologize, Mister Kairo. I will give you privacy,” she stated while something dinged like she turned herself off.
As the elevator doors opened, they opened into a modern sleek office space that was its own room from the other parts of the house. “You talk as if you know my interests, Miss Castiglione. It is a little insulting that your boss did not show up themself, but I understand…us leaders can be very busy,” he walked into the office and approached his desk but did not sit down.
“What do you mean by the balance of Nickel and beyond. It sounds like you are holding back something,” he picked up a decor item from his desk as he looked at it. Examining it a little before setting it down and glancing at Emilia.
As the elevator doors glided open, Emilia entered an environment that seemed to embody all she had anticipated about Asterion Kairo. The office was an arresting amalgamation of opulence and authority, and beyond the expansive windows, the myriad lights of Nickel shimmered against the velvety night sky. This breathtaking panorama served as a bold proclamation of supremacy- a reminder that this was a man who was perpetually a step removed from the fray below, always masterfully in control of his domain.
Much like the woman she’d come to respect and represent in this very moment.
Her gaze returned to Asterion, her amber-hazel eyes momentarily straying to the decorative object he had lifted before returning to his visage. “An impressive space,” she remarked. “It reflects a keen eye for balance-strength tempered with refinement. Much like its wonder, I imagine.” With an air of nonchalance, she adjusted the strap of her clutch, her movements fluid and effortless.
“I can empathize with your sentiments regarding the less-than-ideal scenario of addressing a mere emissary instead of the mastermind orchestrating the dynamics behind the scenes. Nevertheless, allow me to reassure you that this is wholly intentional and not a mere oversight on our part.” Emilia held Asterion’s gaze, the faintest bit of tension visible in the set of her shoulders before she exhaled softly, allowing a touch of vulnerability to creep into her tone-not as a weakness, but as a calculated gesture of sincerity.
“You’ve built something remarkable here, Mr. Kairo, but even the most formidable players must stay ahead of the game. The truth is, this isn’t just about balance per se; it’s about the forces threatening it. Forces that I suspect intersect with certain individuals you’re already keeping a wary eye on.” She lowered her eyelashes contemplatively before meeting his gaze again.
“Take for instance, Vincenzo Accardo.”
Asterion glanced at her when she complimented his office and he stayed quiet on the note. How she explained it was an indirect compliment to him and he didn’t care to respond. His eyes seemed to catch how she adjusted her clutch which she has done before. Was there something in there? Was the woman nervous to be around him or alone with him? That was something women were terrified of at times, to be alone with any guy, so he could understand if there was some uncomfortability in her because of that.
“Thank you,” he finally got out when she began complimenting the material goods — his space once again. The tower. “Working behind the scenes? So…” he thought for a second. “I cannot fully trust you since you could be working behind the scenes, against… let’s say me?” the man wanted to see her reaction to his words. Everyone worked behind the scenes in one way or another. Emilia was choosing her words carefully, too carefully in his opinion, and he was getting the vibe that she was not letting on a lot that was on her mind.
His eyes rolled when she brought up, Vincenzo Accardo, “And I was hoping to not have to talk about business for the rest of the night,” his tone was sarcastic. There was no truth in that statement because he knew she was there to talk business. Showing up at such a late hour to talk about other districts was somewhat annoying. A hand lifted to his head and he began to rub his temple on that side softly.
“What about him?” The man asked.
“Business has a regrettable tendency to encroach upon the most inopportune hours, would you now agree?” Emilia responded, a subtle hint of a sardonic smile dancing upon her lips. She allowed his earlier remark regarding trust to linger in the air, savouring the silence a moment longer than might seem socially acceptable; however, her expression was one of deep contemplation rather than defensiveness.
“You’re right to approach any representative with caution. After all, trust is earned, not given. But I suspect we can agree that caution doesn’t preclude conversation. Especially when it concerns someone like Accardo.” Emilia’s amber-hazel gaze locked with Asterion’s as she leaned in slightly, just enough to suggest she was about to say something worth his attention. “His network is expanding into territories its presence was previously minimal. Key assets- people and resources- have been quietly redirected, some from areas that would typically warrant more oversight. It suggests preparation. For what, exactly, remains to be seen, but the pattern is undeniable.”
Her gaze briefly wandered to the skyline, drawing an implicit connection between the city’s luminous exterior and the maneuvers of power that transpire beneath its surface.
“Vincent isn’t simply expanding blindly either; he’s targeting vulnerabilities, exploiting fractures in alliances, and gathering information on those who stand in his way.”. Her eyes returned to his. “Secrets, Mr. Kairo, are as valuable a currency as power in this game. And Vincent? He’s proven quite adept at collecting them.”
Crucially, her look was completed by a glossy clutch, masterfully crafted in a dark hue that harmonized artfully with the rest of her attire. While it might appear merely ornamental at first glance, this seemingly innocuous accessory concealed an assortment of carefully chosen essentials—discreet yet indispensable tools she might require during her time in the bustling district.
The chaotic essence of Nickel revealed itself to have an underlying design, one woven by the astute hands of Asterion Kairo. Emilia's extensive exploration into his persona had crafted a vivid portrait of a man who relished the thrill of unpredictability and challenge, whose ambitions were driven as much by the allure of dominion as they were by the turmoil he sought to master.
In other words, the woman was not entirely sure of what to expect of the man.
As she approached the grand entrance of the towering skyscraper, she became acutely attuned to the myriad sensations that surrounded her, each element cataloged as part of her sensory panorama. However, it was the sudden flicker of movement in a shadowy side alley that made her pause instinctively. A silhouette swept across a dimly illuminated doorway, vanishing too swiftly for her to discern its purpose. Was it a lookout? A random passerby? Or one of Kairo’s many eyes?
She didn’t stick around to confirm the answer.
Instead, Emilia stepped inside, the lobby before her a study in modern elegance, its polished floors and sleek furnishings illuminated by soft, ambient lighting. As she moved towards the front desk, she couldn’t help but notice the subtle tremor of unease in the receptionist's demeanour. The young woman, likely no older than eighteen, wore a crisp uniform that spoke of professionalism, yet her stance revealed hints of uncertainty and inexperience.
“Good evening,” Emilia greeted regardless, her voice imbued with the practiced calm of a seasoned negotiator accustomed to maneuvering through tense interactions. “I’m here to see Mr. Kairo.”
The cute blonde behind the front reception desk on the ground floor smiled at the woman approaching. She had a curiosity in her eyes but a slight confusion at the same time. Was Mister Kairo expecting someone that she didn’t know about? Her voice a soft, pleasant, and welcoming tone, “Welcome to the Kairo Skyscraper,” it sounded like she had said that same line a thousand times until it sounded perfect coming out.
Sitting there in her comfortable office chair as she clicked a few buttons and used the mouse to pull up the agenda. “Is Mister Kairo expecting you?” it was. with the time of day — night actually — she didn’t assume he was expecting anyone when she glanced at the time. 23:20.
However, Mitzie still pulled up the scheduling to reveal that there were not scheduled visitations or meetings at this time. Her bright blue ocean eyes glancing up at the woman who was dressed very nicely — lacy — maybe this was one of those visits? Her face cracked a crooked smile as she was trying to keep her face straight, “I do not see any registered meetings scheduled, what is your name? I will give him a call and figure out if he’s taking visitors.”
Emilia graced the receptionist with a measured smile, an expression artfully crafted to exude both warmth and authority.“Emilia Castiglione,” she introduced herself confidently, allowing the other’s eye to remain on her demeanour. “And no, he isn’t expecting me, but I would be most grateful if you could inform him of my presence. Kindly mention that it pertains to a shared acquaintance.”
“Please take your time,” Emilia continued, infusing her words with an almost soothing quality. She gestured toward the chic and contemporary aesthetics of the skyscraper, appreciating its impressive design. “It’s clear that Mr. Kairo possesses a strong appreciation for both style and structure. I would prefer not to disturb that needlessly.”
Emilia then expanded her awareness, attuning her senses to the subtle vibrations of the building and the small sounds of any of its occupants bustling about. This awareness had become a practiced habit-an amalgamation of instinct and practicality- that she remained ever cognizant of her environment. Her gaze briefly flitted to a corner of the lobby, where the polished gleam of metal signalled the presence of security personnel. A slight inclination of her head indicated she had silently documented their positions, assessing their potential threat level as effortlessly as one might glance at a watch.
However, her focus quickly returned to Mitzie, brimming with patience. “I’m happy to wait,” she said. “Though I imagine Mr. Kairo wouldn’t want to miss an opportunity for engaging conversation.”
Mitzie was somewhat confused about this whole ordeal since she usually never had guests showing up at this time and assumptions, questions, and a bunch of other thoughts were popping into her mind. Things that she knew she couldn’t share outloud or not so openly. “I will warn you. It’s a little late so I do not know if he will be up for such a spontaneous meeting,” she giggled a little while moving the chair with wheels over to the side of the desk that had the direct phone line that connected to all the other phones in the building. She pressed a few numbers and let it ring.
The phone rang twice before Asterion picked up. Mitzie could tell there was a flatness and exhaustion to his voice. “I apologize for disturbing you, Mister Kairo, though you have a visitor.”
“Yes.”
“I understand.”
Mitzie glanced up at the woman before looking away again in concentration, “Her name is Emilia Castiglione and she said that you two might have a shared acquaintance,” her lips rubs together a little bit while she played with the cord of the phone. Nodding her head while listening to the man.
“I do not know how to answer that, sir,” Mitzie seemed nervous and glanced at Emilia yet she forced a smile.
Nodding her head while listening, “Yes, I will let her know. Thank you.”
The woman hung up the phone with a smile while turning to Emilia, “He said he will meet with you,” she stood up while finishing her words. Mitzie gestured for the woman to follow her. “It is a little bit of a maze up to the penthouse,” the woman confessed while leading the woman down a back hall. A different hall compared to others going through even the last main guests of Asterion — Mitzie stepped and angled herself in a way that Emilia wouldn’t be able to see the buttons she pressed before pressing enter.
When the proper code was entered and enter was pressed, two doors opened and slid into the walls before an elevator door opened up. “If you press the highest button with a T, it will bring you to floor one-hundred. It’ll open to a long hallway, go into the third door and it’ll take you up a spiral staircase. Stand at the top of the staircase, it ends into a wall, but knock onto the wall and wait,” Mitzie smiled at the woman.
Emilia nodded graciously. “Thank you, you’ve been very helpful.”
As she stepped inside the sleek confines of the elevator, she caught Mitzie’s gaze one final time just as the doors began to glide shut. “It seems Mr. Kairo has quite the labyrinth to protect himself,” she quipped lightly with an amused lilt. “I’ll make sure to follow your instructions carefully.”
With that, the doors sealed her within the unassuming yet sophisticated elevator, enveloping her in a cocoon of metal. Upon pressing the button designated "T," her countenance shifted subtly, her lips setting into a contemplative line. The instructions she had received were decidedly unconventional, but she recognized the wisdom in not dismissing them as mere quirks of eccentricity. Each element, she understood, was likely intended to test visitors or disorient them before the pivotal encounter with the man himself.
As the elevator ascended, Emilia adjusted the strap of her clutch, her exterior concealing the anticipation that simmered beneath the surface. This meeting, she knew, could shift the balance of her mission in ways she could only begin to imagine.
The elevator's gentle chime signalled its arrival at the designated floor, the doors gliding open to reveal a long, lavishly appointed hallway that was precisely as Mitzie had described. Emilia stepped out, her stilettos clicking softly against the floor, and made her way to the third door on the right. As she reached the door, her hand hesitated briefly on the handle before she ascended the spiral staircase that led to the next level. At the top, she stood before the wall as instructed, raising her hand and knocking firmly.
And then, she waited.
There was a handful of minutes between the woman’s knock and a ding that could be heard. A light vibration from the wall could be heard and felt before the wall popped out and the secret door lifted up. Elevator doors opened up and Asterion was standing there, his immediate body language was not very welcoming and stone-like, as his eyes were icy. His once put together suit was missing a tie, the first few buttons of the midnight blue shirt unbuttoned. His cuffs were rolled up nicely but looked like it was quickly and carelessly done. The raven black hair of the man was disheveled and he combed a handful of fingers through his hair while looking at the woman.
Asterion’s eyes seemed to go from icy to slightly confused when looking at the woman, his eyes glancing over her once, and meeting her amber-hazel looking eyes. One quick thought went through his mind before he spoke — Is this Krish’s doing? — with how she was dressed. He wasn’t sure if she was a prostitute, a hooker, or someone that enjoyed the aesthetic of a late night walker.
“Hello, Miss Castiglione,” he spoke evenly while staring into her eyes. It might have been a little intense since he wasn’t shifting away from her gaze. “Is there a particular reason you are here? So late at night.” he wanted to emphasize the time. It wasn’t like he was doing anything besides the mountains of paperwork he had been ignoring for the past few weeks. Figuring out where everything was at. He was balancing books at the moment which he did need a break from but he wasn’t sure about being bothered by a stranger.
Emilia’s gaze absorbed every nuance before her- the tousled strands of hair that framed his face, the haphazardly rolled cuffs that hinted at apathy, and the conspicuously absent tie that suggested a lack of concern for decorum. Was he a man surprised or merely indifferent to the world around him? His frosty demeanour, a manifestation of his disinterest, scarcely unnerved her; on the contrary, it mirrored her expectations of a figure with his reputation, leaving her poised and composed in the face of it all.
“Good evening, Mr.Kairo,” Emilia began, her tone respectful but not deferential. “I apologize for the late hour, but I assure you my reasons for being here warrant the inconvenience.”
The silence lingered momentarily, a calculated pause that served to establish the flow of the discourse and assert her dominance in the exchange.
“As you might suspect, my visit is not without purpose. I’ve come to discuss matters of mutual interest-issues that could affect the stability of Nickel and perhaps even extend beyond it.” Her gaze briefly flicked to his unbuttoned collar, then returned to meet his piercing stare. “I won’t take more of your time than necessary, despite us both being able to benefit from this conversation. Otherwise, I can take my leave and we’ll consider this encounter a fleeting introduction.”
Mutual interest issues, and he thought about that line a little more as he listened to the rest of what she had to say. A nod came from him as his eyes looked elsewhere in thought. There was some severity to the situation if she was coming this late at night but he wondered if it was a trap. An implantation of thoughts and his eyes sharpened while he focused off her line of sight then he looked at her. “I will entertain your visit,” stepping to the side in the elevator, he gestured for her to come in, and gave her space to do so. It was a more private elevator, smaller, but it could probably hold three or four people comfortably close.
“Who do you work for?” his eyes glanced over to her. “I would say it is safe to assume that you work under one of the other district leaders,” he added.
Emilia stepped into the elevator, her lips curving into a subtle, almost cryptic, smile.
“Your assumption regarding my affiliations with influential entities is not entirely misplaced,” she replied. “However, I think we should refrain from framing this dialogue within the confines of loyalties or power structures. Instead, I invite you to perceive my presence here more as a potential collaboration—an opportunity to forge a mutually beneficial alliance.” She shifted slightly, though she maintained complete ease in his territory.
“Let’s just say my interests lie in ensuring that the delicate balance in Nickel—and perhaps beyond—remains intact. I believe in dealing with destabilizing forces before they escalate into chaos, and in that regard, I believe our goals might align more than you’d expect.”
With a fleeting glance at the array of buttons adorning the elevator panel, her tone softened imperceptibly. “I assure you, I have no intention of squandering your valuable time, Mr. Kairo. Quite the opposite; my purpose here is to ensure we maximize our time together—for the enrichment of both our interests.”
Instead of using any of the main buttons on the panel, he chose to use a button somewhat out of the way. A black looking button that looked somewhat false or more like a camera in a way. He placed his thumb onto it and within a few seconds, the door shut, and they began to move up. An artificial feminine voice calling out, “Welcome back, Mister Kairo. You were not gone that long,” it ensued a conversation or at least tried too.
“I did not leave at all Eden,” he casually replied to the artificial intelligence.
“Oh! I did not notice. I am sorry,” Eden apologized.
Asterion sighed while glancing over to Emilia, “I have a guest, Eden,” he informed the A.I..
“I apologize, Mister Kairo. I will give you privacy,” she stated while something dinged like she turned herself off.
As the elevator doors opened, they opened into a modern sleek office space that was its own room from the other parts of the house. “You talk as if you know my interests, Miss Castiglione. It is a little insulting that your boss did not show up themself, but I understand…us leaders can be very busy,” he walked into the office and approached his desk but did not sit down.
“What do you mean by the balance of Nickel and beyond. It sounds like you are holding back something,” he picked up a decor item from his desk as he looked at it. Examining it a little before setting it down and glancing at Emilia.
As the elevator doors glided open, Emilia entered an environment that seemed to embody all she had anticipated about Asterion Kairo. The office was an arresting amalgamation of opulence and authority, and beyond the expansive windows, the myriad lights of Nickel shimmered against the velvety night sky. This breathtaking panorama served as a bold proclamation of supremacy- a reminder that this was a man who was perpetually a step removed from the fray below, always masterfully in control of his domain.
Much like the woman she’d come to respect and represent in this very moment.
Her gaze returned to Asterion, her amber-hazel eyes momentarily straying to the decorative object he had lifted before returning to his visage. “An impressive space,” she remarked. “It reflects a keen eye for balance-strength tempered with refinement. Much like its wonder, I imagine.” With an air of nonchalance, she adjusted the strap of her clutch, her movements fluid and effortless.
“I can empathize with your sentiments regarding the less-than-ideal scenario of addressing a mere emissary instead of the mastermind orchestrating the dynamics behind the scenes. Nevertheless, allow me to reassure you that this is wholly intentional and not a mere oversight on our part.” Emilia held Asterion’s gaze, the faintest bit of tension visible in the set of her shoulders before she exhaled softly, allowing a touch of vulnerability to creep into her tone-not as a weakness, but as a calculated gesture of sincerity.
“You’ve built something remarkable here, Mr. Kairo, but even the most formidable players must stay ahead of the game. The truth is, this isn’t just about balance per se; it’s about the forces threatening it. Forces that I suspect intersect with certain individuals you’re already keeping a wary eye on.” She lowered her eyelashes contemplatively before meeting his gaze again.
“Take for instance, Vincenzo Accardo.”
Asterion glanced at her when she complimented his office and he stayed quiet on the note. How she explained it was an indirect compliment to him and he didn’t care to respond. His eyes seemed to catch how she adjusted her clutch which she has done before. Was there something in there? Was the woman nervous to be around him or alone with him? That was something women were terrified of at times, to be alone with any guy, so he could understand if there was some uncomfortability in her because of that.
“Thank you,” he finally got out when she began complimenting the material goods — his space once again. The tower. “Working behind the scenes? So…” he thought for a second. “I cannot fully trust you since you could be working behind the scenes, against… let’s say me?” the man wanted to see her reaction to his words. Everyone worked behind the scenes in one way or another. Emilia was choosing her words carefully, too carefully in his opinion, and he was getting the vibe that she was not letting on a lot that was on her mind.
His eyes rolled when she brought up, Vincenzo Accardo, “And I was hoping to not have to talk about business for the rest of the night,” his tone was sarcastic. There was no truth in that statement because he knew she was there to talk business. Showing up at such a late hour to talk about other districts was somewhat annoying. A hand lifted to his head and he began to rub his temple on that side softly.
“What about him?” The man asked.
“Business has a regrettable tendency to encroach upon the most inopportune hours, would you now agree?” Emilia responded, a subtle hint of a sardonic smile dancing upon her lips. She allowed his earlier remark regarding trust to linger in the air, savouring the silence a moment longer than might seem socially acceptable; however, her expression was one of deep contemplation rather than defensiveness.
“You’re right to approach any representative with caution. After all, trust is earned, not given. But I suspect we can agree that caution doesn’t preclude conversation. Especially when it concerns someone like Accardo.” Emilia’s amber-hazel gaze locked with Asterion’s as she leaned in slightly, just enough to suggest she was about to say something worth his attention. “His network is expanding into territories its presence was previously minimal. Key assets- people and resources- have been quietly redirected, some from areas that would typically warrant more oversight. It suggests preparation. For what, exactly, remains to be seen, but the pattern is undeniable.”
Her gaze briefly wandered to the skyline, drawing an implicit connection between the city’s luminous exterior and the maneuvers of power that transpire beneath its surface.
“Vincent isn’t simply expanding blindly either; he’s targeting vulnerabilities, exploiting fractures in alliances, and gathering information on those who stand in his way.”. Her eyes returned to his. “Secrets, Mr. Kairo, are as valuable a currency as power in this game. And Vincent? He’s proven quite adept at collecting them.”
The bedroom was imbued with an understated serenity, the amber glow of a solitary lamp spilling across the walls in warm, honeyed strokes. Shadows pooled in the corners, deepening the room’s texture, while the muted whir of a fan harmonized with the soft rustling of scattered papers. She sat perched on the bed, her legs folded beneath her, surrounded by a chaotic mosaic of notes and schematics that blanketed the comforter like windblown leaves in autumn. Her dark hair, loosely tied, rebelled against its constraints; stray strands framed her face, unnoticed in her absorption. Meanwhile, the fabric of her well-worn pyjamas clung in familiar folds, drawn taut over the gentle arc of her pregnancy—a quiet, persistent testament to the burgeoning life she carried.
Yet, for all the comfort the room exuded, Anna’s attention was elsewhere, tethered to the labyrinth of her thoughts.
Her brow knit in concentration as her finger glided along the diagram of a meticulously designed glove, annotations crowding its margins with notes. Critical components leapt from the page—pressure-sensitive nodes embedded in the fingertips to monitor HZE flux, micro-actuators lining the wrist for optimal dexterity, and an intricate energy modulation array to temper volatile surges. Though the concept appeared straightforward, the execution demanded surgical precision, every component a delicate cog in a larger, interdependent mechanism. These gloves weren’t conceived as inhibitors, crude tools of suppression, but as instruments of harmony—designed to stabilize and refine abilities that threatened to spiral beyond the user's control.
Anna tapped the schematic’s edge with her pencil, her thoughts spiralling through the complexities. The adaptive feedback loop at the heart of her design demanded painstaking recalibration, a task rendered all the more arduous by the boundless variability of hyperhuman physiology. Each individual’s abilities, as singular as crystalline snowflakes, necessitated a mechanism both endlessly flexible and unerringly exact—a feat that often felt like trying to bottle the wind. The enormity of the challenge bore down on her, an invisible pressure that threatened to crush her resolve. It was as though she were tasked with carving perfection from shifting sands, the ground beneath her work constantly in flux. And yet, as insurmountable as it seemed, she couldn’t stop. Even with the looming reality of her body stretched to its limits, her pregnancy a constant reminder of how close she was to bringing a new life into the world, she pressed on.
“Maybe a localized HZE modulation system…” she murmured to herself, jotting the thought into the margin of the page. Her solution, if it worked, would allow users to channel their abilities safely, minimizing risks like neural fatigue or system overload. It was a delicate balance—one that required a blend of cutting-edge engineering and deep knowledge of hyperhuman biology.
“Now, if only I could just…” she murmured again, her voice tapering off as frustration drove her to shift a cluster of papers aside. Her hand halted when it connected with a wrinkled envelope concealed beneath the layers of her work. The elegant cursive script on its surface hinted at a meaningful intent, suggesting significance that had previously been shrouded in obscurity. She recognized that its true content lay buried in the depths of her unfinished tasks, silently beckoning her attention and embodying choices and challenges—requests—that required consideration.
Anna's attention remained fixed on the envelope for a moment, her hand gently resting on her abdomen. She bit her lower lip as she reflected on her situation, considering the numerous obligations that awaited her, both imposed by others and self-created. In her mind's eye, she envisioned her children’s future and grappled with the fear that they might inherit their father's struggles or instead find comfort in a more supportive setting. She recognized that life often presented injustices to individuals like herself, who possessed no extraordinary gifts. Yet, she realized it was likely even more challenging for people like James, whose uninvited abilities rendered him an outcast in the eyes of society.
A society that labelled them as different. A society that instilled fear towards them.
With a weary sigh, Anna eased back against the plush pillows, her eyes drifting shut in a rare moment of reprieve. The day’s weight lingered in her chest, but the soft creak of the bedroom door pulled her back to the present. She straightened instinctively, her hands pressing against the mattress as James stepped inside, balancing a plate in one hand and a glass of water in the other. The sight of him coaxed a quiet smile to her lips, the kind that felt like a small victory after an arduous battle.
“Here ya go—peanut butter and pickle sandwich, just like ya ordered,” he said, setting the plate on the nightstand with a flourish. “Because nothin’ says ‘pregnancy craving’ like an absolute culinary abomination.”
Anna's smile widened momentarily, her worries dissipating as if they had never been. “You say ‘abomination,’ but I say ‘delight.’ Don’t blame me, though—it’s your kid in here callin' the shots.”
“Fair enough, but it's your kid too,” James retorted lightly as he settled beside her on the bed, gesturing toward the scattered schematics. “And I coulda sworn we were supposed to have a date night tonight. Hmm.” He scratched his chin in mock contemplation, feigning ignorance. “Wonder what happened there.”
Anna chuckled softly, her laugh easing some of the tension in the room. She gathered the disordered papers in her lap, carefully stacking them with the crumpled envelope on top. “Oh, you mean the date night where you spend the whole evenin’ tryin’ to distract me from thinkin’ about work?”
“Exactly that one,” James said, his lips twitching into a faint smirk. “You know, the one where I bring out my A-game—askin’ deep, meaningful questions like whether pickles even belong in the universe, let alone on a sandwich, and then challengin’ you to prove me wrong.”
She snorted, shaking her head. “And here I thought I married a man with refined conversation skills.”
“Hey,” he feigned offence, “I’m a man of mystery. Besides, the whole point of a date night is to get away from all this work.” He paused, shaking his head in disbelief. “And I can’t believe that I’m the one that’s sayin’ this. Sierra’s off with Barbara tonight—a real babysitter, can you believe that?—and you’re still here, knee-deep in blueprints.”
Anna rolled her eyes, but the warmth in her smile betrayed her affection. “Okay, point taken. But,” she said, plucking a schematic from the stack and holding it up like an ace in a card game,“This is the future, James. It’s not just work. It’s…” She trailed off, searching for the right words, her gaze falling to the crumpled envelope.
Noticing the shift in her demeanour, James set his teasing aside, his voice softening as he retrieved the plate from the nightstand. “It’s important. I know….” he finished for her.
Anna nodded, the weight of his understanding easing a fraction of the tension coiled within her. She accepted the plate, her so-called “abomination” remaining untouched for the moment. “I just…I can’t stop thinkin’ about how many people could benefit from this—how many lives could change if I get it right. But at the same time, all I can see are the gaps. All the things I don’t know yet… maybe things I’ll never figure out.”
James tilted his head, his gaze carrying a warmth that cut through her doubt like sunlight through a fog. “You always do this,” he said softly. “You carry everything on your own shoulders like it’s your job to fix the world.”
“If I don’t, who will?” Anna challenged. “I’m tryin’ to create somethin’ that gives people a chance, here. It’s about makin’ sure people like you don’t have to struggle the way you did.”
James’s expression softened further, a quiet understanding in his eyes as he reached out to place a hand gently on her abdomen.“And people like her,” he added, his voice barely above a whisper.
“And people like her,” Anna repeated, the words carrying a weight that neither of them needed to explain. She finally picked up her sandwich, taking a bite before adding through a muffled chew, “If it’s a ‘her,’” pausing to swallow mid-sentence before finishing, “Of course.”
“It’s a her,” James said confidently, leaning back with an air of certainty, “I can feel it in my gut.”
“Your gut isn’t exactly a reliable metric, dear,” Anna teased. “Besides, what are you going to do if it’s a boy?”
James grinned, leaning forward as if he had been waiting for this moment their entire married life. “ Easy. Name him J.J.”
“J.J.?” Anna raised a brow, skeptical.
“James Junior,” he replied, his smugness palpable.
Anna groaned theatrically, though her laughter undercut her protest. “Over my dead body,” she shot back, shaking her head as their laughter mingled.
James chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender.“Alright, fine. What about a girl?”
Anna hesitated, her playful smile fading into a pensive expression.“I don’t know yet,” she admitted, her thumb absentmindedly brushing the edge of the crumpled envelope. “ It has to feel… right. Somethin’ that fits her. Somethin’ like—” Her voice trailed off, her gaze fixed on the envelope’s worn surface as if it held the answer she was searching for.
The lighthearted air between them shifted, giving way to something deeper.
“You know, I’ve been thinkin’ about something… about someone,” Anna began, her voice quieter now, tinged with a blend of empathy and urgency. “A woman wrote to me last month—a mother. She’s desperate. Her son’s just startin’ to show signs of his ability, and it’s… too much for him. She’s terrified he’ll hurt someone, James. He won’t even leave his room most days.”
Her words quickened, spilling out as though she couldn’t contain the flood of emotion behind them. “And he’s not alone. There are so many kids like him. People thrown into situations they’re not ready for, scared outta their minds. You know what happens—a pyrokinetic doesn’t have to try to burn a room down when they’re panicked. It’s just… their body reacting. Adrenaline spikes, stress hormones take over, and they lose control. It’s not their fault, but they’re the ones who pay the price.”
She picked up one of the diagrams, holding it between them as if it were a talisman. “But this—this could change that. It’s not like dampeners, shutting people’s abilities down. It’s about stabilization, giving them the tools to regulate their powers, to understand them. It could make training programs safer, help with rehabilitation, or just make daily life bearable for someone whose powers are unpredictable. Someone like…” She hesitated, her eyes meeting his.
“Someone like you.”
James regarded her with a steady attentiveness once she finished speaking, his hazel eyes—so much like the ones Harper would one day inherit—glinting with a blend of understanding and subtle admiration. “Darlin’,” he began, his voice laced with gentle humour, “just to remind you… you married a very, very simple man. All this—even just in theory? It’s pretty damn impressive. Maybe a 'lil ambitious, sure, but impressive all the same.”
Anna laughed softly, the tension in her shoulders dissipating slightly.“Sorry… I guess I got carried away,” she admitted, her voice lighter now. Her lips quirked into a sheepish smile as her gaze dropped to her hands, her fingers twisting together in an unconscious display of nerves.
James leaned closer, his tone turning warm and earnest.“No need to apologize. You’ve got a big heart…. bigger than most. It’s one of the reasons I fell in love with you.”
Her cheeks flushed a faint, rosy hue, and she shook her head, her humility tinged with gratitude. “I just… I just want kids to stay that way,” she said softly, her voice trembling slightly with emotion. “To still be kids.”
Her gaze lowered, falling to her rounded abdomen, and her hand instinctively rested there, cradling the life growing within her. Her words hung in the air like a quiet wish, tender and profound.
“Just a girl.”
Yet, for all the comfort the room exuded, Anna’s attention was elsewhere, tethered to the labyrinth of her thoughts.
Her brow knit in concentration as her finger glided along the diagram of a meticulously designed glove, annotations crowding its margins with notes. Critical components leapt from the page—pressure-sensitive nodes embedded in the fingertips to monitor HZE flux, micro-actuators lining the wrist for optimal dexterity, and an intricate energy modulation array to temper volatile surges. Though the concept appeared straightforward, the execution demanded surgical precision, every component a delicate cog in a larger, interdependent mechanism. These gloves weren’t conceived as inhibitors, crude tools of suppression, but as instruments of harmony—designed to stabilize and refine abilities that threatened to spiral beyond the user's control.
Anna tapped the schematic’s edge with her pencil, her thoughts spiralling through the complexities. The adaptive feedback loop at the heart of her design demanded painstaking recalibration, a task rendered all the more arduous by the boundless variability of hyperhuman physiology. Each individual’s abilities, as singular as crystalline snowflakes, necessitated a mechanism both endlessly flexible and unerringly exact—a feat that often felt like trying to bottle the wind. The enormity of the challenge bore down on her, an invisible pressure that threatened to crush her resolve. It was as though she were tasked with carving perfection from shifting sands, the ground beneath her work constantly in flux. And yet, as insurmountable as it seemed, she couldn’t stop. Even with the looming reality of her body stretched to its limits, her pregnancy a constant reminder of how close she was to bringing a new life into the world, she pressed on.
“Maybe a localized HZE modulation system…” she murmured to herself, jotting the thought into the margin of the page. Her solution, if it worked, would allow users to channel their abilities safely, minimizing risks like neural fatigue or system overload. It was a delicate balance—one that required a blend of cutting-edge engineering and deep knowledge of hyperhuman biology.
“Now, if only I could just…” she murmured again, her voice tapering off as frustration drove her to shift a cluster of papers aside. Her hand halted when it connected with a wrinkled envelope concealed beneath the layers of her work. The elegant cursive script on its surface hinted at a meaningful intent, suggesting significance that had previously been shrouded in obscurity. She recognized that its true content lay buried in the depths of her unfinished tasks, silently beckoning her attention and embodying choices and challenges—requests—that required consideration.
Anna's attention remained fixed on the envelope for a moment, her hand gently resting on her abdomen. She bit her lower lip as she reflected on her situation, considering the numerous obligations that awaited her, both imposed by others and self-created. In her mind's eye, she envisioned her children’s future and grappled with the fear that they might inherit their father's struggles or instead find comfort in a more supportive setting. She recognized that life often presented injustices to individuals like herself, who possessed no extraordinary gifts. Yet, she realized it was likely even more challenging for people like James, whose uninvited abilities rendered him an outcast in the eyes of society.
A society that labelled them as different. A society that instilled fear towards them.
With a weary sigh, Anna eased back against the plush pillows, her eyes drifting shut in a rare moment of reprieve. The day’s weight lingered in her chest, but the soft creak of the bedroom door pulled her back to the present. She straightened instinctively, her hands pressing against the mattress as James stepped inside, balancing a plate in one hand and a glass of water in the other. The sight of him coaxed a quiet smile to her lips, the kind that felt like a small victory after an arduous battle.
“Here ya go—peanut butter and pickle sandwich, just like ya ordered,” he said, setting the plate on the nightstand with a flourish. “Because nothin’ says ‘pregnancy craving’ like an absolute culinary abomination.”
Anna's smile widened momentarily, her worries dissipating as if they had never been. “You say ‘abomination,’ but I say ‘delight.’ Don’t blame me, though—it’s your kid in here callin' the shots.”
“Fair enough, but it's your kid too,” James retorted lightly as he settled beside her on the bed, gesturing toward the scattered schematics. “And I coulda sworn we were supposed to have a date night tonight. Hmm.” He scratched his chin in mock contemplation, feigning ignorance. “Wonder what happened there.”
Anna chuckled softly, her laugh easing some of the tension in the room. She gathered the disordered papers in her lap, carefully stacking them with the crumpled envelope on top. “Oh, you mean the date night where you spend the whole evenin’ tryin’ to distract me from thinkin’ about work?”
“Exactly that one,” James said, his lips twitching into a faint smirk. “You know, the one where I bring out my A-game—askin’ deep, meaningful questions like whether pickles even belong in the universe, let alone on a sandwich, and then challengin’ you to prove me wrong.”
She snorted, shaking her head. “And here I thought I married a man with refined conversation skills.”
“Hey,” he feigned offence, “I’m a man of mystery. Besides, the whole point of a date night is to get away from all this work.” He paused, shaking his head in disbelief. “And I can’t believe that I’m the one that’s sayin’ this. Sierra’s off with Barbara tonight—a real babysitter, can you believe that?—and you’re still here, knee-deep in blueprints.”
Anna rolled her eyes, but the warmth in her smile betrayed her affection. “Okay, point taken. But,” she said, plucking a schematic from the stack and holding it up like an ace in a card game,“This is the future, James. It’s not just work. It’s…” She trailed off, searching for the right words, her gaze falling to the crumpled envelope.
Noticing the shift in her demeanour, James set his teasing aside, his voice softening as he retrieved the plate from the nightstand. “It’s important. I know….” he finished for her.
Anna nodded, the weight of his understanding easing a fraction of the tension coiled within her. She accepted the plate, her so-called “abomination” remaining untouched for the moment. “I just…I can’t stop thinkin’ about how many people could benefit from this—how many lives could change if I get it right. But at the same time, all I can see are the gaps. All the things I don’t know yet… maybe things I’ll never figure out.”
James tilted his head, his gaze carrying a warmth that cut through her doubt like sunlight through a fog. “You always do this,” he said softly. “You carry everything on your own shoulders like it’s your job to fix the world.”
“If I don’t, who will?” Anna challenged. “I’m tryin’ to create somethin’ that gives people a chance, here. It’s about makin’ sure people like you don’t have to struggle the way you did.”
James’s expression softened further, a quiet understanding in his eyes as he reached out to place a hand gently on her abdomen.“And people like her,” he added, his voice barely above a whisper.
“And people like her,” Anna repeated, the words carrying a weight that neither of them needed to explain. She finally picked up her sandwich, taking a bite before adding through a muffled chew, “If it’s a ‘her,’” pausing to swallow mid-sentence before finishing, “Of course.”
“It’s a her,” James said confidently, leaning back with an air of certainty, “I can feel it in my gut.”
“Your gut isn’t exactly a reliable metric, dear,” Anna teased. “Besides, what are you going to do if it’s a boy?”
James grinned, leaning forward as if he had been waiting for this moment their entire married life. “ Easy. Name him J.J.”
“J.J.?” Anna raised a brow, skeptical.
“James Junior,” he replied, his smugness palpable.
Anna groaned theatrically, though her laughter undercut her protest. “Over my dead body,” she shot back, shaking her head as their laughter mingled.
James chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender.“Alright, fine. What about a girl?”
Anna hesitated, her playful smile fading into a pensive expression.“I don’t know yet,” she admitted, her thumb absentmindedly brushing the edge of the crumpled envelope. “ It has to feel… right. Somethin’ that fits her. Somethin’ like—” Her voice trailed off, her gaze fixed on the envelope’s worn surface as if it held the answer she was searching for.
The lighthearted air between them shifted, giving way to something deeper.
“You know, I’ve been thinkin’ about something… about someone,” Anna began, her voice quieter now, tinged with a blend of empathy and urgency. “A woman wrote to me last month—a mother. She’s desperate. Her son’s just startin’ to show signs of his ability, and it’s… too much for him. She’s terrified he’ll hurt someone, James. He won’t even leave his room most days.”
Her words quickened, spilling out as though she couldn’t contain the flood of emotion behind them. “And he’s not alone. There are so many kids like him. People thrown into situations they’re not ready for, scared outta their minds. You know what happens—a pyrokinetic doesn’t have to try to burn a room down when they’re panicked. It’s just… their body reacting. Adrenaline spikes, stress hormones take over, and they lose control. It’s not their fault, but they’re the ones who pay the price.”
She picked up one of the diagrams, holding it between them as if it were a talisman. “But this—this could change that. It’s not like dampeners, shutting people’s abilities down. It’s about stabilization, giving them the tools to regulate their powers, to understand them. It could make training programs safer, help with rehabilitation, or just make daily life bearable for someone whose powers are unpredictable. Someone like…” She hesitated, her eyes meeting his.
“Someone like you.”
James regarded her with a steady attentiveness once she finished speaking, his hazel eyes—so much like the ones Harper would one day inherit—glinting with a blend of understanding and subtle admiration. “Darlin’,” he began, his voice laced with gentle humour, “just to remind you… you married a very, very simple man. All this—even just in theory? It’s pretty damn impressive. Maybe a 'lil ambitious, sure, but impressive all the same.”
Anna laughed softly, the tension in her shoulders dissipating slightly.“Sorry… I guess I got carried away,” she admitted, her voice lighter now. Her lips quirked into a sheepish smile as her gaze dropped to her hands, her fingers twisting together in an unconscious display of nerves.
James leaned closer, his tone turning warm and earnest.“No need to apologize. You’ve got a big heart…. bigger than most. It’s one of the reasons I fell in love with you.”
Her cheeks flushed a faint, rosy hue, and she shook her head, her humility tinged with gratitude. “I just… I just want kids to stay that way,” she said softly, her voice trembling slightly with emotion. “To still be kids.”
Her gaze lowered, falling to her rounded abdomen, and her hand instinctively rested there, cradling the life growing within her. Her words hung in the air like a quiet wish, tender and profound.
“Just a girl.”
_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Location: The Foundation Institute - Atlantic Ocean
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________Human #5.074: What's in a Name
Interaction(s): N/A
Previously: Sentio ergo sum
The restroom lay in a state of stasis, its silence punctuated only by the drone of the fluorescent lights overhead and the intermittent cadence of water droplets, a melancholic sound of some unseen spigot’s weary confession.
Drip
Harper braced herself against the porcelain basin in front of her, her quivering hands gripping its edge with an intensity that defied her diminished strength. It was not mere fatigue that weighed upon her however—it was the indelible sting of mortification, fresh and unrelenting, the infernal rush of blood that warmed her cheeks giving its presence away though her sightless gaze could not confirm what she knew to be true.
The scene in the dining hall replayed in her mind in excruciating detail. She felt again the knot tightening in her abdomen, the visceral betrayal of her frame as it faltered beneath the suffocating deluge of heightened perception. Every detail etched itself into her memory, refusing to blur or fade.
And then, the laughter—piercing, caustic, inescapable. It had erupted not from a single direction but from everywhere at once, encircling her in its dissonant chorus. Yet, as her mind replayed the moment now, subtle distinctions emerged. Not every sound had been laced with derision. Some of the chuckles had carried an unmistakable hesitance as if their originators wavered between discomfort and the instinct to respond to something they couldn’t comprehend. Perhaps their intent had not been malicious.
Perhaps it was worse. That they’d pitied her.
Blindness. What should have been a reprieve from the unrelenting sharpness that had carved her identity into polarizing extremes, felt instead like retribution. It was no gift. It was no mercy. It was an admonition, a cautionary tether yanking her back toward some inevitable reckoning she hadn’t meant to bring about. But that wasn’t true, was it? She’d asked for it, practically begged for it.
Her grip on the sink slackened as her trembling hands rose to her face, the cool heels of her palms pressing against her eyes in a futile attempt to block out the unrelenting torrent of imagery.
The darkness behind her lids was no refuge, was it? For how could a punishment forged in the crucible of her own torment suddenly transform into a blessing?
When the nausea finally ebbed, when she no longer could feel the acidic burn of her throat, Harper turned the faucet’s knob, letting the cold stream spill over her hands. The sensation was bracing, but she cupped her palms and splashed the icy water onto her face anyway, the sting of it anchoring her, if only tenuously, to the present.
But what now?
She couldn’t remain here indefinitely, entombed in her own hesitation like some fragile thing. Hiding wasn’t her way—it never had been.
She was Harper Baxter, for fuck’s sake. The seeker of the unseen, the unspoken, and the imperceptible truths others were either too blind or too cowardly to confront.
When had she started believing that this unrelenting pursuit of clarity, the instinct to delve where others dared not to, was something to be ashamed of?
“Get it together,” she muttered under her breath as her fingers adjusted the blindfold resting over her eyes. “You’ve faced worse. You’ve overcome worse.” The fabric clung securely to her face, veiling her gaze and the strange, fleeting metallic sheen that had flickered across her eyes earlier. She didn’t know what it meant and wasn’t about to let herself dwell on it. This was neither the time nor the place to sit on yet another mystery.
A knock sounded at the door.
Ah, right. Harper had almost forgotten.
The unwelcome return of her self-proclaimed saviour and therapist.
“Uh, hey…you’re not, like, drowning yourself in there, are you?” His voice broke through, muffled slightly by the sturdy barrier between them. “’Cause, I gotta say, there are probably better ways to go than in a bathroom. You know, assuming it’s not the pissing kind.”
The humour, crass and unpolished, was delivered with a casualness that could only belong to him she realized then. Of all the people who could’ve followed her, it had to be him.
Her someone he used to know, if she could even call him that. She hadn’t asked his name, hadn’t wanted to know, and she still wasn’t sure if she cared to.
Harper moved toward the door, her fingers easily finding the handle, twisting it and pulling it open to reveal her uninvited confidant. As the door creaked open, her expression solidified into its trademark scowl—a mask as much as a message.
There was no preamble, no deference—just the one question that had been eating at her.
“Why’d you do that?” Her voice was sharp, stripped of everything except raw curiosity. Why had he offered to take her here? Why had he stepped in when no one else had after she had publicly fallen apart?
She, of course, couldn’t discern the motion of his shoulders, but the tone of his reply carried the distinct air of a shrug—casual, indifferent, and pointed in its simplicity.
“Guess I don’t like seeing people singled out or so distant from others which—by the way—is the second time I’ve noticed it with you.”
The remark landed with a peculiar sting, catching Harper off guard.
So distant from others.
Without replying, she pushed past him, her movements brusque and automatic. She focused on blocking it all out—the images, the voice, everything. Her feet carried her forward, but soon she realized she had no idea where she was going. Nowhere, it seemed, was the only destination she had in mind.
A sigh escaped her lips, heavy and resigned, as she slowly turned back to face him.
“Could you just… describe it for me?” she asked, her voice quieter now, tinged with an unexpected vulnerability. “Everything...”
She couldn’t see it. She would at least remember it. She would hold onto it all.
Drip
Harper braced herself against the porcelain basin in front of her, her quivering hands gripping its edge with an intensity that defied her diminished strength. It was not mere fatigue that weighed upon her however—it was the indelible sting of mortification, fresh and unrelenting, the infernal rush of blood that warmed her cheeks giving its presence away though her sightless gaze could not confirm what she knew to be true.
The scene in the dining hall replayed in her mind in excruciating detail. She felt again the knot tightening in her abdomen, the visceral betrayal of her frame as it faltered beneath the suffocating deluge of heightened perception. Every detail etched itself into her memory, refusing to blur or fade.
And then, the laughter—piercing, caustic, inescapable. It had erupted not from a single direction but from everywhere at once, encircling her in its dissonant chorus. Yet, as her mind replayed the moment now, subtle distinctions emerged. Not every sound had been laced with derision. Some of the chuckles had carried an unmistakable hesitance as if their originators wavered between discomfort and the instinct to respond to something they couldn’t comprehend. Perhaps their intent had not been malicious.
Perhaps it was worse. That they’d pitied her.
And what the fuck was she supposed to do with that?
Blindness. What should have been a reprieve from the unrelenting sharpness that had carved her identity into polarizing extremes, felt instead like retribution. It was no gift. It was no mercy. It was an admonition, a cautionary tether yanking her back toward some inevitable reckoning she hadn’t meant to bring about. But that wasn’t true, was it? She’d asked for it, practically begged for it.
Her grip on the sink slackened as her trembling hands rose to her face, the cool heels of her palms pressing against her eyes in a futile attempt to block out the unrelenting torrent of imagery.
The darkness behind her lids was no refuge, was it? For how could a punishment forged in the crucible of her own torment suddenly transform into a blessing?
When the nausea finally ebbed, when she no longer could feel the acidic burn of her throat, Harper turned the faucet’s knob, letting the cold stream spill over her hands. The sensation was bracing, but she cupped her palms and splashed the icy water onto her face anyway, the sting of it anchoring her, if only tenuously, to the present.
But what now?
She couldn’t remain here indefinitely, entombed in her own hesitation like some fragile thing. Hiding wasn’t her way—it never had been.
She was Harper Baxter, for fuck’s sake. The seeker of the unseen, the unspoken, and the imperceptible truths others were either too blind or too cowardly to confront.
When had she started believing that this unrelenting pursuit of clarity, the instinct to delve where others dared not to, was something to be ashamed of?
“Get it together,” she muttered under her breath as her fingers adjusted the blindfold resting over her eyes. “You’ve faced worse. You’ve overcome worse.” The fabric clung securely to her face, veiling her gaze and the strange, fleeting metallic sheen that had flickered across her eyes earlier. She didn’t know what it meant and wasn’t about to let herself dwell on it. This was neither the time nor the place to sit on yet another mystery.
A knock sounded at the door.
Ah, right. Harper had almost forgotten.
The unwelcome return of her self-proclaimed saviour and therapist.
“Uh, hey…you’re not, like, drowning yourself in there, are you?” His voice broke through, muffled slightly by the sturdy barrier between them. “’Cause, I gotta say, there are probably better ways to go than in a bathroom. You know, assuming it’s not the pissing kind.”
The humour, crass and unpolished, was delivered with a casualness that could only belong to him she realized then. Of all the people who could’ve followed her, it had to be him.
Her someone he used to know, if she could even call him that. She hadn’t asked his name, hadn’t wanted to know, and she still wasn’t sure if she cared to.
Harper moved toward the door, her fingers easily finding the handle, twisting it and pulling it open to reveal her uninvited confidant. As the door creaked open, her expression solidified into its trademark scowl—a mask as much as a message.
There was no preamble, no deference—just the one question that had been eating at her.
“Why’d you do that?” Her voice was sharp, stripped of everything except raw curiosity. Why had he offered to take her here? Why had he stepped in when no one else had after she had publicly fallen apart?
She, of course, couldn’t discern the motion of his shoulders, but the tone of his reply carried the distinct air of a shrug—casual, indifferent, and pointed in its simplicity.
“Guess I don’t like seeing people singled out or so distant from others which—by the way—is the second time I’ve noticed it with you.”
The remark landed with a peculiar sting, catching Harper off guard.
So distant from others.
“Like, none of us even mattered.”
Without replying, she pushed past him, her movements brusque and automatic. She focused on blocking it all out—the images, the voice, everything. Her feet carried her forward, but soon she realized she had no idea where she was going. Nowhere, it seemed, was the only destination she had in mind.
A sigh escaped her lips, heavy and resigned, as she slowly turned back to face him.
“Could you just… describe it for me?” she asked, her voice quieter now, tinged with an unexpected vulnerability. “Everything...”
She couldn’t see it. She would at least remember it. She would hold onto it all.
Alright, think I'll wait for some collabing with @Yankee and maybe @flux before I dive into the shenanigans involved in this whole Yellow Brick thing.
Also, @Qia with consideration to how everything's unfolding right now, would Isabella still reach out to Matthias? Or did she see what was happening with Glyde and just be like "ya know what, I don't care about that singular talk with him anymore" and just pretend they had nothing to do with each other?
Guess an Asterion-Order coalition would still be spooky for her though.
Not sure yet. I think it's gonna come down to the end of this collab I'm in haha. And with Mathieu possibly being found, she doesn't have a reason to reach out to so many people. But I'll give it a think over once I have the chance.
When a GM/OP keeps the lion's share of relevant lore behind the wall of their RP's private Discord server. Specifically in the case of publicly open RPs.
Also GMs setting up their own personal blogs in their RP's Discord. Cringe at best; attention-seeking/self-centered at worst.
Wait what do you mean by the second o.O?
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