Tae

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Kalliope & Sjan-dehk & Iyen

& Hafiz

Part 2

Date: Sola 28th
Time: Night
Location: Castle Hallways near Banquet Hall

---

“You know, Sjan-dehk, this is probably one of the stranger feasts I’ve been to,” Iyen mused. The tease in her words perfectly reflected the playful smirk on her face. “There’s usually, you know, a little more feasting and not so much walking, in my experience.”

“Really?” Sjan-dehk asked, his voice dry and eyes unamused as he glanced at her. “Thought it’d be because you haven’t gotten us thrown out yet.” The slap Iyen gave him on the arm wasn’t as light-hearted as what her laugh suggested, but Sjan-dehk brushed it off. After all, she did have a point – it had to have been almost an hour since the two of them had arrived at the castle for the King’s banquet, and all they had managed to accomplish thus far was to get lost amidst a maze of hallways and corridors. That they all looked the same to their eyes didn’t help in the least.

“Hey, that only happened twice!” Iyen pouted, but that quickly turned into a cheeky smile. “Three or four times, if you count what happened in Inahk and Sjangjah, and Sakaka. And half of those times were because of something you started, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“No, I only finished what some other cunt started,” Sjan-dehk corrected. A pair of servants came towards them, their shuffling gaits hurried. Sjan-dehk greeted both men with a tip of his hat, and was about to ask for directions when they quickly bowed their heads and scurried off. Iyen didn’t even have time to say a word.

Well, Sjan-dehk didn’t blame them for such a reaction. They were probably busy with getting the banquet ready. And besides, it wasn’t as if either Iyen or he looked particularly friendly. Although they did put some effort into looking formal and presentable, they still looked as if they had been at sea for the day, and had only the time to freshen up. That was in fact the truth, in Sjan-dehk’s case – he had been collecting testimonies from the people whose settlements had been sacked by pirates a few days ago. He had only been in harbour for perhaps two or three hours before it was time for him to leave for the banquet.

And so, he had come wearing the best clothes he could scrounge up – the uniform he reserved for parades or anything that called for a little more pomp. It had geometric patterns embroidered in yellow thread on the chest, and a stripe of a similar colour running down both trouser legs, but it was otherwise identical to his uniform, albeit a little stiffer and made from better fabrics. And of course, Sjan-dehk wore his usual, well-worn kit over it. From either hip hung a sword, and a pair of pistols sat on his lower back.

“Well, if things turn to shite today, I can add one more to your count,” Iyen said. “Or maybe three or four, since you’d be the first to get thrown out of a place outside of the Commonwealth.”

“That’ll get me in the history books, aye,” Sjan-dehk replied with a chuckle. He matched her grin with one of his own, and met her mischievous eyes with a similar gaze. “Though now that I think about it, that distinction has to go to Yehn-tai. Got himself and a few others into a fight with local drunks the other day, and got hauled out of a drinking house. Had to deal with that shite myself, so that was fun.”

“First to get thrown out of a formal party outside of the Commonwealth, then,” Iyen corrected.

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come–” Muffled voices wafting from around the corner caught Sjan-dehk’s attention, and he immediately cut himself off. One of the voices, he recognised. Kali. He couldn’t tell to whom the other voice belonged, but they didn’t sound like a Caesonian to his ears. But he didn’t care much about that. What he did care about were the words this stranger was saying to Kalliope. Sjan-dehk didn’t understand most of them, but those that he did, didn’t sound nice.

“Sounds like a fight,” Iyen said, her voice falling to a whisper and discarding its playful tone.

“Aye,” Sjan-dehk replied. He crept forward, Iyen following close behind him, and peeked around the corner. And sure enough, there was Kalliope, standing in the middle of the hallway, behind a man whose outline was largely obscured by an expensive-looking robe. Sjan-dehk narrowed his eyes. Even though this strange person blocked much of his view of Kalliope, what he could see of her face was enough to tell him that she was in distress.

“Hey, that’s her, isn’t she?” Iyen asked in a hushed voice. “The lady you–”

“Yes,” Sjan-dehk interrupted.

“Well then, I’ll follow your lead.” Iyen’s hand fell to the hilt of the short, elegantly curved blade by her side. Her fingers curled around the grooved handle, and she rested her other hand on a coil of rope wrapped across her body. Shards of metal embedded in its twines shimmered in the low light. And although she wore her clothes tight around her body, Sjan-dehk knew from experience that she had more than just a few blades hidden away in her braces, her leg wraps, and even in the pins that kept her hair in the tails that she favoured.

But now wasn’t the time for violence. As much as Sjan-dehk wanted to march up to that person, give their head a proper slap, and be done with it, he had a feeling that doing so would probably make things worse for Kalliope. “Easy,” Sjan-dehk whispered. “I think we can do this without any need for violence. We’re just here to find our friend, aren’t we?”

Iyen grinned. “That, we are.”

Sjan-dehk stepped around the corner, making sure his footsteps were loud enough for Kali and the stranger to hear him coming. Iyen followed, hovering just behind his shoulder. As Sjan-dehk drew closer, the pain on Kalliope’s face became all the more evident. It took all of his restraint to not simply draw his pistol and gun the stranger down right then and there. Easy. Let's not make any trouble for her. He cleared his throat. “Lady Kalliope,” he called out. “Iyen and me, we were looking for you.”

“Hello,” Iyen greeted with a smile and a wave. “We found you!”

“Yes, hello,” Sjan-dehk said, looking over his shoulder at Iyen with a look that very politely asked her to remain quiet. He turned towards the stranger, a man whose very stature announced to all of his importance and power. Sjan-dehk, however, didn’t care about either, especially when they belonged to someone who had brought Kalliope to such a state. And so, when he spoke, he did so in a very casual and rushed manner.

“I am Sjan-dehk of Jafi,” he introduced himself, then pointed to Iyen. “Iyen of Sudhrayar. We are here for Kalliope of Caesonia, and now we find her, so…” He glanced at Iyen and tilted his head towards Kalliope. She nodded slowly. Only then did Sjan-dehk walk around the man, paying him almost no heed, to gently take Kalliope by her arm. “Easy, I got you,” he said in a low voice, just loud enough for her to hear.

“We go now,” Sjan-dehk said, louder, clearer, and with finality, and started to pull Kalliope away.

Hafiz had already won. He knew it; she knew it. Her trembling frame spoke louder than words, each shuddered breath a confession of defeat.

Then, like an unwanted pest, he arrived. His fingers twitched at his sides, suppressing the rage simmering beneath his exterior.

The man approached with an infuriating ease, moving as if Hafiz were merely an obstacle.

He adjusted his cuffs gracefully, his expression almost benevolent. Hafiz stretched out a hand as if to intervene, though he had no intention of stopping them. ““Ah… how fortunate,” he purred softly, eyes fixed upon her trembling form. ““She was just about to collapse.”

Let him believe he’d rescued her. Hafiz’s smirk widened, gaze never wavering.

“Such a fragile thing.” As Sjan-dehk pulled her away, Hafiz allowed the barest brush of his fingertips against her wrist—a whisper-light touch that spoke louder than any words:

You're still mine.

He didn't watch them leave. He didn't need to. She would never be free. And she knew it too.

At first, Kalliope didn’t react when Sjan-dehk and Iyen approached. She didn’t even seem to register their presence. Her gaze was locked ahead, unfocused, shoulders stiff, fingers trembling at her sides.

It wasn’t until Sjan-dehk stepped around Hafiz and gently took her arm that something flickered in her eyes—recognition, confusion, fear.

Her breath stuttered. She flinched as if expecting pain. Her first instinct was to recoil, to shrink away, to brace for the inevitable blow or cruel grip that would remind her exactly where she belonged. But it never came.

Instead, there was warmth. A steady, grounding presence.

Then, a voice—low, familiar.

"Easy, I got you."

Sjan-dehk.

Her eyes darted up, panic still clouding her vision, but now she was seeing him. And it wasn’t Hafiz. It wasn’t chains, or cruelty, or the past creeping in to consume her whole. It was Sjan-dehk, guiding her, pulling her away.

She wanted to move. Needed to. But her legs felt stiff, disconnected from the rest of her body. She stumbled, barely able to follow his lead. Her breaths were shallow, too fast, too uneven. The pressure in her chest built with every step, a vice tightening around her ribs.

And then, Hafiz was gone.

Sjan-dehk had led her far enough away.

But the distance didn’t make her feel safer.

She couldn’t breathe.

Her chest heaved, but no air seemed to fill her lungs. The walls blurred, tilting at strange angles. A soft, strangled sound tore from her throat as her fingers clawed at the fabric of her dress, desperate to loosen something—anything—but it wasn’t her clothes that were suffocating her.

It was Hafiz. His presence still lingered, wrapping around her like chains she couldn't see but could feel tightening, tightening…

"I—" Her voice cracked. "I can't—"

Her legs gave out. Sjan-dehk quickly tightened his hold on her.

If not for his grip, she would have collapsed. Instead, she crumpled against him, shaking violently, her nails digging into his sleeve. "I can't breathe," she choked out, panic thick in her voice. "I can't—he—he—"

She squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head, trying to force away the memories, the fear, the overwhelming certainty that she would never truly be free. But it clung to her, smothering, suffocating…

She was drowning.

And no matter how hard she gasped for air, she couldn’t break the surface.

“It’s okay, he’s not here now,” Sjan-dehk said quietly. Slowly, he shuffled the both of them over to a wall and gently leaned her back against it. Then, he carefully kneeled, bringing her to a sitting position on the floor. “Let’s get you comfortable, alright?” He peeled himself away, but continued to hold one of her hands in a tender grip. Just enough for her to know that he was still there, but not so tightly that he exerted any pressure on her.

“She’s panicking,” Iyen said, concern written all over her face. She ran a hand nervously through one of her tails, twirling dark hair around a finger. “Shadowed Green help me, Sjan-dehk. I hope you know what to do.”

“Aye, I do,” Sjan-dehk replied, casting a glance over his shoulder. “Could you keep watch? We’ll need some space around us.”

“You got it.” Iyen took a step back, a hand hovering by her weapons.

Sjan-dehk turned back to Kalliope. He pulled on the ends of his hat’s chinstraps, loosening them just enough to let him push it back and let it rest on his back. “Kali,” he called softly. “Kali, I need you to look at me, okay?” Doubt gnawed at the corners of his mind – although he did know what needed to be done in such a situation, his experience with it had been mostly limited to getting a despairing sailor back into action as quickly as possible. That wasn’t what Kalliope needed, and it surely wasn’t what he wanted to do for her.

But as quickly as that doubt appeared in his mind, it disappeared. There wasn’t anyone else that could help, not at this moment. It had to be him. “Kali,” he repeated her name, reaching out with a hand to cup her cheek. Very gently, he turned her head to let their gazes meet. He greeted her with a warm smile. “Good evening, Kali. Just look at me, alright?”

He squeezed her hand again, rubbing his thumb over the back of her palm. Whatever it was that had distressed her so, it had to have been incredibly traumatic. And related to that man. A frown flashed across his face for a moment, but he quickly forced it away. Now wasn’t the time for him to delve into things. He just had to focus on Kalliope. Nothing else mattered.

“I’ll admit that I don’t know what happened,” he began slowly, his dark eyes still locked onto her bright, verdant ones. “But whatever it was, it’s not happening now, yes? Whoever that man was, he’s not here with us now, and he won’t be with us, not if Iyen over there can help it.”

“I’ll cut his balls off if he tries,” Iyen chirped.

“That, she will.” Sjan-dehk gave her a sharp look over his shoulder. Iyen shrugged, but nodded, and Sjan-dehk looked back at Kalliope. “You’re safe here, Kali. With me–” He stopped suddenly, a flush creeping over his cheeks. Then, he cleared his throat. “Well, you’re safe now, that’s what matters. Nobody can hurt you now, not while I’m…Not while Iyen and I are around.”

Kalliope’s breath still came in short, shallow gasps, her fingers twitching against the fabric of Sjan-dehk’s sleeve as if trying to find something solid, something real, to anchor herself to. The walls still felt too close, her skin too tight, the weight of invisible chains pressing down on her ribs, squeezing, suffocating.

Then, warmth. A hand against her cheek, gentle but firm, guiding her, pulling her back.

Not Hafiz.

Sjan-dehk.

His touch was nothing like Hafiz’s. Hafiz’s hands had been cruel, possessive, meant to break, to claim, to remind her that she was his—a thing, not a person. Even when he hadn’t been violent, even when his touch had been deceptively soft, it had always been tainted with the knowledge that he owned her.

Sjan-dehk’s touch was the opposite. Solid, grounding. He wasn’t forcing, wasn’t taking. He was giving—warmth, steadiness, something she didn’t realize she had been starving for until now.

She needed this.

She needed him.

It was terrifying.

Her wide, glassy eyes locked onto his, and for the first time since Hafiz’s voice had shattered her world, she saw something that wasn’t fear.

Sjan-dehk was speaking, but the words barely reached her through the roaring in her ears. Something about safety, about how Hafiz wasn’t here, about how Iyen would cut off his—

A sharp, broken laugh clawed its way out of her throat, more a strangled gasp than anything else. But it cracked something inside her, just enough to let in air.

Safe.

She didn’t know what that felt like. Not really. Not in a way that made sense.

But Sjan-dehk was here. He was real.

That had to mean something.

She forced a shaky inhale, her grip on Sjan-dehk’s sleeve tightening as if trying to remind herself that she had control over her own body. Her other hand rested in his, trembling slightly, but she didn’t pull away. Couldn’t.

Her lips parted, voice barely more than a whisper. “I—I thought I was back there.” Another ragged breath. Her head tilted slightly into his palm, drawn to the warmth despite herself. “I couldn’t—I couldn’t tell what was real and what wasn’t.”

She swallowed hard, throat raw, and let her gaze flicker toward Iyen for just a moment.

Something twisted deep in her chest.

She hadn’t noticed the woman at first, but now? Now she saw the easy confidence in Iyen’s stance, the way she lingered close, the familiarity in her voice. How he had brought her to this dinner.

Kalliope’s breath hitched.

Of course.

She had let herself think—even for just a moment—that this could be something. That he could be something. But he already had someone. And why wouldn’t he?

Her fingers slowly loosened their hold on his sleeve, her walls rushing back up, the instinct to protect herself slamming into place like armor.

Still, she couldn’t make herself pull away from him completely.

Her voice was quieter now, something hollow creeping in. “You’re wrong,” she murmured, eyes dropping away from his. “He’s not gone.” Her hand slipped from his sleeve, falling back to her side. “He never will be.”

Her lips parted, then closed, then parted again, something fragile flickering behind her gaze before she buried it deep. “His scars are the deepest.”

And no matter how far she ran, she would never be free of them.

Up until now, Sjan-dehk had thought that they had been making good progress. He had allowed himself to relax when he heard Kalliope’s choking laugh, and had allowed himself to believe that all would soon be well when she uttered a couple of clear sentences. This sudden change in her voice, however, told him that he had let his guard down too early. And to make things worse, he had absolutely no clue as to its cause.

He threw an uncertain look over his shoulder at Iyen. She shrugged, looking just as confused.

“Iyen, could you go look around the corner?” Sjan-dehk asked. Sending Iyen away was a stab in the dark, but it seemed to him that Kalliope’s manner had changed only after she had glanced at her. Perhaps she wasn’t comfortable being vulnerable in the Sudhrayarn’s presence? Sjan-dehk thought that to be a possibility; the two women weren’t even acquaintances. “Make sure no one disturbs us, least of all that rich-looking cunt.”

“You got it,” Iyen replied with a nod. She gave Kalliope a sympathetic look and a smile, and then she swiftly disappeared down the hallway.

Sjan-dehk turned back to Kalliope and forced himself to remain calm. If she was like a ship adrift and lost, then he was akin to an anchor, and his arm, the chain linking the two. Even if he hadn’t a clue as to what to do – and he really didn’t – he wouldn’t make things any better by letting that uncertainty show on his face. Or in his demeanour.

“That should keep her busy for a while,” he said with a slight grin that didn’t last long. Scratching the back of his head, he continued. “Alright, maybe I’m wrong. Maybe he’ll never leave you, and maybe the scars he left are too deep to heal.” Unconsciously, his thumb rubbed small circles on her cheek, rough calloused fingertip brushing over supple skin. “But I remember Dai-sehk, Sada Kurau’s surgeon, I mean, he said that the scars that form over wounds are tougher than the skin they used to be. And he’s good with this medical stuff, so I’d say he’s right. So who’s to say that you can’t come back stronger after what that cunt did to you?”

He gently pushed her head until their gazes met once more. “If he won’t leave, if he wants to be a damn termite in wood, then let him stay. He did nasty things to you? Then spite him. Make him watch you become stronger than when he first met you. Let that bastard cunt know that despite all his efforts, he couldn’t bloody break you.”

Once again, his body moved on his own, and his hand found hers. “This sort of thing, I know it’s easier said than done, but you don’t have to do it alone.” The words were just flowing out of him now, as if he just knew what to say on instinct. “Abyss be damned, if nobody will help you, then I will. If you fall, I’ll pick you right back up. Carry you, even, if I have to. Or just bring you back with me to the Commonwealth. He’ll have to be crazy to follow you all the way there.”

He paused, and the weight of his words finally caught up with him. A flush came over his cheeks and sheepishness pulled on his features. He was making a lot of promises; promises that might land him in at least some trouble if he tried to keep them. And yet, he knew that he meant every word, consequences be damned. “Take your time. We can go when you’re ready.” He gave her a mischievous grin. “I wasn’t joking, by the way. I’ll carry you to dinner if you need me to.”

Kalliope’s breath hitched as Sjan-dehk’s hand remained steady against her cheek, his thumb tracing small, grounding circles that sent warmth seeping into her skin. She should pull away. She *should.* Every instinct, every scar, every whispered warning carved into her soul screamed at her to retreat, to rebuild the walls that had kept her safe for so long.

But… she didn’t.

Instead, she let herself feel the callouses on his palm, the heat of him bleeding into her frozen skin. His words lingered in her mind, weaving through the cracks in her armor and settling deep in the places she thought long dead.

If he wants to be a damn termite in wood, then let him stay. Spite him. Make him watch you become stronger.

Her throat tightened, and her eyes burned, but she refused to let the tears fall. Not yet. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had looked at her and seen strength. Not a weapon. Not a tool. Not something to be broken and molded into obedience.

Just... her.

Her fingers twitched in his grip, and for a moment, she allowed herself to lean into him, just enough to feel the solid strength beneath the warmth. His words were reckless, foolish even. He didn’t know what Hafiz was capable of. He didn’t understand how deep the scars ran or how the shadows of her past clung to her, threatening to pull her back at every step.

And yet... he was still here. Still offering to carry her, to catch her, to stand between her and the darkness that had haunted her for so long.

Her eyes flickered toward the hallway where Iyen had disappeared, doubt twisting in her gut. Why would a man like Sjan-dehk—a captain, a warrior—make such promises to someone like her? Someone broken. Someone tainted.

Someone who could never be enough.

Because he already has someone, the voice in her head sneered. You saw it in the way she looked at him. The way he brought her here. You're just a moment of pity, a burden he's foolish enough to try and carry.

Her heart clenched painfully, and her fingers began to slip from his...

But then he spoke again.

If she fell, he would pick her up. He would carry her

Her breath shuddered, and the war inside her raged—fear and longing, doubt and desperate hope, all colliding and tearing her apart from the inside out.

Would it really be so terrible... to let him catch her? Just this once?

Her gaze lifted slowly to meet his, searching the depths of those dark eyes for the lie, the trap, the hidden cruelty she’d come to expect from people who spoke sweet words and offered soft touches.

She found none.

Only warmth. Only sincerity. Only... him.

Her resolve cracked, and before she could stop herself, her trembling hand tightened around his, clinging to him as if he were the only thing keeping her from drowning. “You don’t know what you’re promising,” she whispered, voice raw and unsteady.

Sjan-dehk swallowed, and he had to will himself to not avert his eyes. It was one thing for him to know that he had made grand promises with neither much thought nor a plan as to how he was going to keep them, but to hear the same thing – well, more or less – from her mouth made it all the more apparent just how foolhardy he was. He didn’t even know who this Hafiz was, only that he looked and sounded like he was high on the Alidashti ladder of nobility. Was he going to risk crossing swords with such a man for Kalliope? A woman he had only known for, at most, all of a week?

Well, yes.

That answer came quickly to him. How could it be any other? The way she looked at him, green eyes peering right at his soul; the way she clung to him, as if he would float away if she didn’t, it all made him want to protect her. To help her, one way or another. It was a strange feeling, to be so protective – beyond what duty of morality required of him – of another, but Sjan-dehk wasn’t about to fight it. To keep Kalliope safe felt right to his heart, and that was good enough for him.

“I’m... I’m not someone you save, Sjan-dehk. I’ve been broken and remade into something... ugly. Something dangerous. And he... he’s in here.” She tapped her temple with her free hand, her eyes glassy and distant. “No matter how far I run, he never leaves.”

Her breath hitched, and her head tilted slightly into his palm, desperate for the comfort, the grounding. “But... I want to believe you. I want to believe that I can be more than what he made me.”

A broken laugh slipped from her lips, barely more than a breath. “I think... I think I’ve forgotten what it feels like to be safe.”

Sjan-dehk smiled at her. Not a grin, or a smirk, but a soft, gentle one. “Guess it’s about time you started remembering, then.”

Her gaze softened, vulnerable and fragile in a way she hadn’t allowed herself to be in years. “But if you meant what you said... if you really won’t let me fall... I...” Her voice faltered as her heart pounded against her ribs, terrified of what it would mean to trust him. To let herself feel.

Her body felt heavy, exhausted from the weight of carrying her fear and pain alone for so long. And here he was, this reckless, stubborn captain, offering to bear it with her. Her fingers tightened around his for a moment, and before she could stop herself, she pulled that hand from his grip before she leaned forward, slowly, hesitantly closing the space between them.

“What’re you–” Sjan-dehk started, but then his breath hitched in throat when she started leaning closer and closer to him. He didn’t pull away. He couldn’t, entranced as he was by her eyes, her pretty face, even the faint scent of her, growing stronger with each passing moment.

Her arms slipped around him, tentative at first, as if afraid he might pull away—or worse, that she’d wake up and this moment would shatter like all the others. But when her forehead rested against his shoulder, something cracked open inside her. Her grip tightened, clinging to him as if he were the only thing tethering her to reality. The warmth of him seeped into her, steady and grounding, and for the first time in what felt like forever... she let herself breathe.

Carefully, gingerly, almost as if he were afraid she would push herself away if he moved just that much too fast, or touched her with anything more than gentleness, Sjan-dehk wrapped his arms around her. One hand cradled the back of her head, fingers acting on their own as they brushed through her hair. He dipped his head and closed his eyes, savouring the press of her body upon his; the warmth of her breath against him, and simply just her.

“You’ll be alright.” Those words came out in a quiet whisper, and without much thought. And yet, he meant it. Kalliope would be alright. Hafiz would not have her, break her, or do anything to her, not without Sjan-dehk having a say in the matter. At that moment, there wasn’t a thing of which he was more sure.

“I don’t know how to let you in,” she admitted, voice barely a whisper. “But... I’m tired of fighting alone.”

A pause. Her breath shuddered against him as she soaked in his warmth, needing him in a way that terrified her.

“...I’ll also let you carry me to dinner,” she murmured after a moment, her voice trembling with something that almost—almost—resembled humor. “But only because I want to see the look on everyone’s faces when they think I’ve finally seduced Captain Sjan-dehk.”

A small, teasing laugh slipped from her lips, and she squeezed her eyes shut against the tears threatening to fall.

Sjan-dehk chuckled. Slowly, he peeled himself away and looked at her with a mischievous shine to his eyes. “Glad to see your humour’s back,” he said, rocking himself back onto the balls of his feet. He reached for her cheek again – it just felt like the right thing to do – and caressed it for a moment longer. “You don’t have to fight alone. Nobody should.” He pulled his hand back, giving her a warm smile that turned into a grin. “And you can take your time letting me in. I can always shout from behind the door while waiting, like this.”

He turned his head to look down the hallway. “Iyen!” His voice echoed off the walls. “Time for us to go!”

“You didn’t have to shout that loud,” came Iyen’s reply, followed by the sound of her approaching footsteps. “But alright, I’m ready when you are, Sjan-dehk.”

Sjan-dehk turned back to Kalliope. “Now, let’s see…” he muttered before hesitantly wrapping his arms around her. He tried a few times in different positions, until he got it right, supporting her by her shoulders and behind her knees. Standing up slowly, he took some time to balance himself, in the process tucking her closer to him. All the while, Iyen stood beside them, lips pulled into a wide, cheeky smile.

“Isn’t this sweet?” Her teasing words came out in a melodic voice. [color=228B22][i]“I’m jealous. You never carry me like that, Sjan-dehk.”

“Yes, I have,” Sjan-dehk replied. “Can’t remember when, but surely at least once.”

“You slung me over your shoulder like a sack of rice, Sjan-dehk.”

“That’s just a difference in style,” he countered before looking down at Kalliope. His cheeks were a deep red – he could feel it – just by how close she was. He swallowed and cleared his throat, tightening his grip on her shoulder and holding her more securely. He took a tentative step, then another. “Hope this isn’t too uncomfortable for you.”

“Just... don’t let go.” Sjan-dehk nodded and picked up the pace.

It was the smallest surrender, fragile and uncertain. But for the first time in what felt like forever, she allowed herself to lean on someone else.

And Gods help her... she prayed he wouldn’t break her the way the last man had.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: Evening
Location: Banquet Hall
Interactions: @Rodiak Zarai
Attire: Look Leo! Green! Also hair…

---

Torvi stood at the entrance of the grand banquet hall, letting the opulence of the room settle into her senses. The air was thick with the perfume of rich foods and the delicate hum of aristocratic chatter. As always, she carried herself with quiet confidence, her sharp golden eyes scanning the room with practiced ease.

Her gown, deep hunter green, was a perfect blend of practicality and elegance. The fabric, rich and flowing, allowed for ease of movement, while the subtle detailing along the edges hinted at restrained luxury. No excessive flourishes, just sharp lines and well-crafted tailoring. A black leather belt, adorned with silver runes, cinched at her waist, and her boots, polished to a soft shine, peeked from beneath the hem.

At her side, Fenrys moved silently, his massive form drawing more than a few wary glances. His sleek, dark coat gleamed under the candlelight, and his amber eyes swept the hall with quiet awareness. He was a shadow at her heels, a presence both regal and menacing. At an unspoken command, he eased down behind her chair, his bulk settling in a way that kept him out of the way—yet ever watchful.

Torvi took her seat, her gaze flicking across the table to the woman sitting opposite her. She studied her in quiet amusement—the relaxed posture, the hint of mischief lingering about her like a second skin. This one, Torvi thought, would be interesting.

After a moment, she leaned forward slightly, her lips curling into the barest hint of a smirk.

"Now, I do not believe we have had the pleasure," she mused, her voice smooth, tinged with quiet amusement. "I am Torvi. And you are...?" She let the question linger, her gaze sharp yet teasing, as though sizing up whether the woman across from her was worth remembering.

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

Race: Yuan-ti
Class: Rogue Arcane Assassin
Location: Top Deck
Interactions: @Apex Sunburn Scratch and Val, @Helo Ezekiel
Equipment:

Full Equipment List

🌸 A finely crafted katana
🌸 A concealed dagger laced with paralytic venom
🌸 Throwing needles coated with different poisons
🌸 Black silk combat outfit reinforced with hidden Mithril chainmail
🌸 Soft-soled boots that allow for near-silent movement
🌸 Smoke bombs and illusion charms for quick escapes
🌸 A set of forged documents under multiple aliases
🌸 A tea set and an assortment of teas
🌸 Incense

Attire:
Gold Balance: 35
Injuries: None currently, but has numerous faded scars on her body

Meiyu barely flicked her eyes upward at the man approaching her, though she had already noticed him long before he spoke. The faintest glow of magic in his eye, the way his hand lingered on his sword hilt, it was clear this was a man who knew battle. And yet, for all his vigilance, his first assumption amused her.

She glanced down at the boy, whose arm still rested in her lap, trembling slightly from pain and the weight of the situation. “He’s not my son,” she said smoothly, her voice carrying an undertone of mirth. “Merely an unfortunate soul who stumbled into my path.”

The boy let out a shaky breath, his eyes flickering up to Ezekiel. “B-broken a bone before?” he stammered, swallowing thickly. “Yeah. Once. My ribs.” He shifted slightly, wincing, but his expression was hard to read—part pain, part something else.

Before Meiyu could speak further, another voice cut through the scene with far less politeness than the first.

Meiyu turned her head slightly, catching sight of the dark elf forcing his way through the gathering onlookers, dragging a small girl in his wake. The contrast between the two was striking—his rapid, blunt mannerisms against the girl's much softer presence. As they arrived, Meiyu leaned back slightly, folding her arms over her chest, allowing them to work uninterrupted.

She watched with interest as the surgeon moved with quick efficiency, his eyes scanning, assessing, and questioning in a way that set him apart from the usual healers she had encountered. Unlike Ezekiel, he did not immediately offer a solution. No, he examined, he tested, he doubted.

Meiyu remained silent as he listed his observations—no abrasions, no cuts, no sign of a fall. The girl, his assistant, followed his instructions diligently, checking for further injuries, confirming his suspicions.

And then, the conclusion.

"You didn’t break your arm. Someone broke it."

A slow, satisfied smile crept onto Meiyu’s lips, her amusement barely concealed as the dark elf finally turned his sharp gaze on the boy, then on her. Clever.
The murmurs in the crowd grew louder. Whispers of "Who would do such a thing?" and "What kind of monster—" flitted through the air, accompanied by scandalized gasps and indignant glares.

Meiyu sighed, almost disappointed by how predictable people were. She unfolded her arms and stood gracefully, adjusting the folds of her kimono before speaking in a voice that carried just enough steel to settle the growing unrest.

“Please,” she drawled, casting an unimpressed look at the gathered spectators, “let’s not pretend any of you actually care. A child breaking a bone is hardly the most shocking event in the world. Unless, of course, you plan to spend the rest of this voyage gasping at every misfortune.” She waved a delicate hand toward the stairwell. “Move along. The ship’s entertainment will return to its regularly scheduled performance soon enough.”

A few bristled at her words, but more than a few hesitated, glanced at each other, and then, one by one, the crowd began to dissipate. Nothing ruined gossip faster than being made to feel boring for indulging in it.

Once the noise had died down, she turned her gaze back to Scratch, her golden eyes glinting with something like approval. “Well done,” she murmured. “Your attention to detail is admirable. Far better than the good sir over here who assumed the boy was mine.” She inclined her head ever so slightly toward Ezekiel.

Then, she exhaled softly and addressed the more pressing matter.

“Yes,” she said simply, her voice even. “I broke his arm.”

The boy stiffened slightly at her words, though the pain had already numbed his initial fear.

She continued before anyone could interrupt. “The boy is a thief. A rather sloppy one, too, considering how easily I caught him. Could I have instead alerted the ships authorities? Sure, but I wonder what actions they would have taken?” She tilted her head, glancing at the dark elf, then Ezekiel, then finally at the boy himself. “The way I see it, they would have handled it far more harshly than I did. You see in my experience, people like the ones aboard this ship—wealthy patrons who expect safety and comfort—do not like the thought of someone sneaking into their pockets. If word got out that a thief was among us, no matter how simple and untrained, the crew might have taken more… extreme measures to ensure their passengers felt secure.”

She crouched slightly, looking the boy in the eye, her expression unreadable. “A broken arm is painful, yes. But it heals. I chose this over the possibility of you being thrown off the ship.” She tapped a single finger against his forehead. “Remember that, next time you think to steal from someone who sees more than you do.”

She straightened, her voice returning to its usual lilt. “Now, I do believe the boy needs tending to. Whether it be from the one offering magical healing or not, I could not care less.” Her gaze flickered toward Scratch and then Ezekiel as she grabbed her tea once more and took a sip.

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

Race: Yuan-ti
Class: Rogue Arcane Assassin
Location: Top Deck
Interactions: @Apex Sunburn Scratch and Val
Equipment:

Full Equipment List

🌸 A finely crafted katana
🌸 A concealed dagger laced with paralytic venom
🌸 Throwing needles coated with different poisons
🌸 Black silk combat outfit reinforced with hidden Mithril chainmail
🌸 Soft-soled boots that allow for near-silent movement
🌸 Smoke bombs and illusion charms for quick escapes
🌸 A set of forged documents under multiple aliases
🌸 A tea set and an assortment of teas
🌸 Incense

Attire: Kimono
Gold Balance: 30
Injuries: None currently, but has numerous faded scars on her body

Meiyu sat on the top deck, her figure draped in a flowing kimono, its black and gold fabric shimmering in the soft glow of the light. She was ensconced in one of the plush lounge chairs, a small porcelain cup of tea held delicately in her hands, the steam rising in thin tendrils as she read a well-worn book. The weight of her curved sword sat beside her, the blade hidden under the folds of her robe, a silent reminder of the quiet danger she carried with her.

The deck bustled with people—voices murmuring, laughter echoing, the occasional clink of glass or scrape of chairs. Yet, Meiyu was alone in her corner, detached from the crowd as her sharp eyes observed those around her, always watching, always calculating.

A dragonborn and his young daughter caught her attention. The father’s demeanor was harsh, his voice barely a whisper but cutting all the same as he looked with barely concealed disdain at the large warforged man standing near the bar as he led his daughter down the stairs. Meiyu could almost taste the tension in the air between the two. She was well-accustomed to prejudice, having seen it many times before and even experienced it herself.

Across the room, a half-elven woman with striking magenta hair moved with an air of curiosity, her eyes scanning the room as she approached the bar. Meiyu couldn’t help but admire the woman's seemingly carefree attitude, the way she held herself, as though she didn’t have a care in the world. She could already tell there was something beneath that fae-like calm, a story that begged to be told.

Then there was a cloaked figure, perched by the bar like a shadow among the brightly lit patrons. Their hooded presence stood out, as though they preferred not to be seen, yet drew Meiyu’s eyes all the same. Not many were cloaked and even less seemed to be trying to hide their face like this person was. The soft rustling of their cloak suggested more than just concealment—they were hiding something. Meiyu’s lips curled slightly, a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. There was always more than met the eye in places like this.

And now, an older dwarven man had come up the stairs and approached the warforged, his hearty laugh ringing out above the murmur of conversation. Though the conversation was too distant to hear clearly, she could sense the dwarven man was delighted by the warforged presence. What a refreshing contrast to the previous interaction with the dragonborn.

A light tap at her pocket brought her back to the present. Her fingers moved with practiced speed, seizing the wrist of a young boy, no older than thirteen, attempting to lift something from her. His eyes widened in shock as she pulled him into full view, a calm smile still playing on her lips.

"You've chosen the wrong target," she said softly, her voice like silk, but carrying a weight that made the boy freeze. "In some parts of the world, if someone is caught stealing, they lose a limb."

The boy’s face went pale, panic creeping into his features as he glanced at her sword. He opened his mouth to protest, but the words died in his throat as Meiyu’s grip tightened around his wrist.

"I’ll be generous," she continued, her voice still calm, "and allow you to keep your limb. But you must learn a lesson. You need to be wiser on picking your targets and understand there are consequences to being caught."

His eyes darted to hers, wide with fear. "W-wait, what are you going to do?"

Without another word, Meiyu twisted his arm, her movements swift and precise. The boy let out a strangled cry as his arm broke with a sickening snap, his face contorting in pain. Meiyu pulled him gently down, her demeanor oddly soothing as she sat him next to her, the broken limb resting in his lap.

"Shh," she murmured softly, her hand gently pressing his trembling shoulder, as though comforting him. "No need to make a scene."

Her eyes flickered over the room, then she called out, her voice carrying in the quiet space. "Doctor!" she called, her tone as even and serene as before. "It seems this young man has fallen and broken his arm. Do hurry, please."

The lounge grew quieter for a moment as the people nearby took notice, but Meiyu remained the picture of composed elegance, her delicate fingers resting on the boy’s trembling shoulder, her eyes scanning the room for any who might dare to challenge her calm.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: Evening
Location: Banquet hall
Interactions: @princess Anastasia
Mentions: @Lava Alckon Drake
Outfit: Dress, Hair, and Makeup

---

The herald’s voice echoed through the grand hall, announcing her arrival. "Presenting Lady Thea Smithwood of Stravy!"

Thea entered the banquet hall with a purposeful stride, the weight of the evening barely registered beneath the confident facade she wore. The moment she stepped inside, she felt eyes on her, and for a fleeting moment, she basked in the attention. Thea was no stranger to it, though tonight, the anticipation of seeing her mother again clung to her like a heavy cloak. Perhaps that was why she indulged in a bit of alcohol before the banquet? Not nearly as much as she had been drinking about a week ago, but still enough to give her some confidence.

Her attire tonight was nothing short of striking: a gown of shimmering fiery orange silk that hugged her figure tightly before flowing down in graceful waves, the fabric catching the light as she moved. The low-cut neckline was daring but sophisticated, framed by delicate gold embroidery of twisting vines that seemed to dance across her curves, an intricate touch that drew attention to the natural elegance of her body.

Her golden locks, usually falling loose around her shoulders in delicate natural curls, were arranged in soft, deliberate waves around her face in an updo. Her makeup was subtly bold with eyes accentuated with dark kohl and lips painted a deep red that only heightened the tantalizing curve of her smile.

Though her gaze swept across the room, scanning for her brother and others she might know, there was one face she couldn’t help but seek more eagerly than the rest: Lord Drake Edwards. Her steps slowed, eyes scanning for his familiar presence among the sea of guests and wondering where he would be seated, her chest tightening with both excitement and a touch of anxiety.

But even as she searched for Drake, the weight of the evening remained. This event, this banquet—her mother, the looming shadows of what this banquet would bring for Varians—everything felt heavy beneath the gilded glow. Yet, with Leo beside her (whenever he chose to make an appearance), she felt certain she could weather the evening.

Turning her head slightly, she spotted the king himself, lounging on his throne in his usual, chaotic indulgence. It took everything in her not to laugh at him and she found herself quickly turning her attention to the Queen and her children. She gave a curtsy before her eyes landed on her best friend and a mischievous smile spread across Thea’s lips. She waved at her best friend, her hand a quick, playful gesture that cut through the sea of people between them. Despite the glamour and grandeur of the evening, Thea felt a moment of ease, a little piece of home in the form of the girl who had been her anchor over the past few days. Anastasia was a calming presence for her, and tonight, Thea needed all the calm she could get. She held the wave for a moment longer, as if to say, ‘I’ve got this,’ before turning her attention to the looming presence of her mother, Duchess Alice.

Her nerves returned as she took her assigned seat a few seats away from the woman.

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

Meiyu

Meiyu Xian

Meiyu Sadai Xian 🌸 29 🌸 Female 🌸 Yuan-ti Pureblood

Appearance

Height: 5'6"
Weight: 125 lbs
Hair Color: Raven black, sleek and often adorned with silver serpent hairpins
Eye Color: Golden, slit-pupiled like a viper’s
Skin Tone: Warm bronze with faint iridescent scales visible in certain light
Distinguishing Features: Faint iridescent scales on parts of her body, elongated canines, and a whispering voice that seems to coil around the ears
Clothing Style: Flowing black and emerald silk robes over a fitted combat outfit. She moves like liquid shadow, leaving only the faintest rustle of fabric in her wake.

Psychology

Likes:
🌸 The silence before a kill
🌸 Rare teas and incense
🌸 The thrill of deception
Dislikes:
🌸 Crudeness and unnecessary bloodshed
🌸 Losing control of a situation
🌸 Fire (a relic of an old trauma)
Habits/Quirks:
🌸 Runs her fingers along her katana’s sheath absentmindedly
🌸 Barely blinks, making her gaze unsettling to others
🌸 Smirks when she knows something others don’t
Dreams/Motivations:
🌸 To uncover and reclaim the lost relics of Syrkarn’s ancient Yuan-ti dynasties
🌸 To build a power base in Khorvaire, far from the control of the old Yuan-ti priesthood
🌸 To one day sever her connection to her cursed bloodline and be truly free
Sexuality: Pansexual
Willingness to make friends(1-5): 2
Willingness toward romance(1-5): 4

Personality:

Engaging With Others
Extroversion(1-5): 2
Kindness(1-5): 3
Chattiness(1-5): 2
Trustfulness (1-5): 1
Sense of Humor (1-5): 3
Loyalty (1-5): 2
Selflessness (1-5): 1
Flirtatiousness(1-5): 5
Arrogance(1-5): 4
Handling Conflict and Decisions
Patience (1-5): 5
Temperance (1-5): 4
Forgiveness (1-5): 1
Courage (1-5): 3
Stubbornness (1-5): 4
Pacifism(1-5): 2
Impulsiveness (1-5): 3
Creativity (1-5): 5
Mercy (1-5): 1
Charisma(1-5): 5

Background

Place of Origin: The secretive Yuan-ti city of Syrkarn, hidden deep within the jungles of Sarlona
Current Occupation: Spy, assassin, and relic hunter for hire
Living Family Members: None she acknowledges
Companions on the Airship: TBD
Why are you traveling to Khorvaire?
Meiyu has spent her life in the shadows of Syrkarn’s ruling Yuan-ti priesthood, used as a tool in their intricate games of deception and assassination. But after discovering an ancient relic hinting at a lost Yuan-ti empire, she chose to betray her handlers and flee, determined to claim this power for herself.
With the war’s aftermath leaving a power vacuum, she sees an opportunity—to carve out a place of her own, free from the chains of Yuan-ti tradition.
Non-Combative Skills:
🌸 Skilled in the art of disguise
🌸 Trained in a number of infiltration tactics
🌸 Has learned how to read uncommon and ancient texts with a focus on breaking ciphers
History:
Born into the Whispering Coil, a sect of elite Yuan-ti spies and assassins, Meiyu was never given the luxury of a childhood. From the moment she could walk, she was shaped into a living weapon, trained in deception, seduction, and silent kills. Her katana, a rarity among her kind, was gifted to her by one of her instructors—a symbol of her potential. By the time she came of age, Meiyu was a whispered legend, moving unseen through Syrkarn’s courts and back alleys, toppling merchant lords, stealing secrets, and eliminating threats to the priesthood.

At 15 years old, she was deemed ready to be tossed into the Last War. The Whispering Coil sold its services to the highest bidder, and Meiyu was among its deadliest agents. She played many roles—a courtesan in Aundair, seducing nobles and magi to steal battle plans; a masked assassin in the streets of Sharn, silencing Brelish officers; a smuggler in Thrane, delivering stolen relics; a phantom in the night, slipping into enemy camps before vanishing like a ghost. Each mission shaped the war in ways few would ever know, but beneath it all, she remained a tool of her masters, her true purpose hidden from even herself.

It wasn’t until the war’s final years that she saw beyond the lies. Sent deep into Karrnath to infiltrate the Emerald Claw, she was ordered to retrieve a stolen Yuan-ti relic—one that, if it fell into undead hands, would be disastrous. Months of deception and bloodshed led her to the artifact, but the truth shattered her world. The relic was not something the Emerald Claw had stolen. It was something the Yuan-ti had buried. It whispered to her of an empire older than the priesthood, a civilization erased from history. She had not been sent to reclaim it—she had been sent to ensure it was never found.

When the Emerald Claw uncovered her betrayal, she barely escaped with her life—only to find herself hunted by her own people. The Whispering Coil, seeing her as a liability, cut all ties and marked her for death. Alone and betrayed, she fled, leaving behind everything she had ever known.

For the past four years, Meiyu has kept to the shadows, traveling across Xen’drik, Sarlona, and Khorvaire, taking jobs to survive while searching for more traces of this lost civilization. Every fragment of knowledge, every artifact, every half-buried whisper brings her closer to the truth. Now, she sails once more to Khorvaire—not as an assassin, but as a rogue determined to reclaim the past her people tried to erase. The Last War taught her that power lies not in empires, but in knowledge—and she will claim it for herself.

Combat & Magic Potential

Class Concept / Role:
Rogue Arcane Assassin

Signature Abilities (3):
🌸 Poison Expert – Adeptly craft, apply, and handle poisons, significantly boosting toxin effectiveness.

🌸 Deadly Precision – Deliver a perfectly aimed strike to an unaware target that can critically injure, disable limbs, damage vital equipment, or outright kill the poor soul (requires a roll).

🌸 Shadow Meld – While in darkness or dim lighting, you become nearly undetectable, blending into shadows to an almost supernatural degree.

Major Weaknesses (3):
🌸 Cursed Bloodline – Meiyu’s Yuan-ti heritage makes her a target for both those who despise her kind and those who seek to control her for their own gain. Some magic tied to her blood can be used against her.
🌸 Fire Vulnerability – Due to a childhood trauma involving fire, she is deeply unsettled by flames and struggles in intense heat. Prolonged exposure can cause her to panic.
🌸 Overconfidence in Manipulation – She assumes she can always talk or deceive her way out of danger, sometimes underestimating those who see through her tricks.

Racial Traits:
Yuan-Ti are immune to poison and mental domination, and once per day they can hypnotize or subtly manipulate others with their words. They also have Darkvision

Boons & Banes:
˚⊱🪷⊰˚Boons˚⊱🪷⊰˚
🌸 Master of Shadows – Can use illusion and shadow magic to create distractions, mask her movements, or deceive enemies.
🌸 Blade Dancer – Exceptionally graceful in combat, weaving through attacks with effortless agility.

˚⊱🪷⊰˚Bane˚⊱🪷⊰˚
🌸 Vengeful Heart – If slighted, she will go to great lengths to settle the score, even when it’s unwise.

Combat Equipment and Gear:
˚⊱🪷⊰˚Weapons˚⊱🪷⊰˚
🌸 A finely crafted katana
🌸 A concealed dagger laced with paralytic venom
🌸 Throwing needles coated with different poisons

˚⊱🪷⊰˚Armor & Clothing˚⊱🪷⊰˚
🌸 Black silk combat outfit reinforced with hidden Mithril chainmail
🌸 Soft-soled boots that allow for near-silent movement

˚⊱🪷⊰˚Other Equipment˚⊱🪷⊰˚
🌸 Smoke bombs and illusion charms for quick escapes
🌸 A set of forged documents under multiple aliases
🌸 A tea set and an assortment of teas
🌸 Incense

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Kalliope & Hafiz

Part 1

!!!Trigger Warning!!! SA, Abuse, Torture, Mental Health

Date: Sola 28th
Time: Night
Location: Castle Hallways near Banquet Hall

---

Kalliope stood before the mirror, adjusting the plunging neckline of her gown. She wore a striking piece of deep emerald silk that clung to her curves in all the right places. The fabric shimmered under the candlelight, the high slit along her thigh revealing just enough skin to be enticing without compromising her ability to move. Thin gold chains adorned the open back, draping delicately across her shoulders like jewelry, a deceptive touch of elegance masking the steel-edged woman beneath.

Despite the softness of the silk, she had not sacrificed practicality. A small blade was strapped discreetly to her thigh, hidden by the flowing fabric. Beauty was a weapon in itself, one she wielded just as expertly as the steel she carried.

Edin’s request had been clear: attend the banquet, blend in, and keep a watchful eye. Banquets like these were more than just an excuse for nobility to flaunt their wealth and status; they were breeding grounds for secrets, whispered alliances, and veiled threats. Not to mention , this banquet was unique and it was required of Varians to attend thanks to some suspicion on them. If something were to happen tonight, she needed to be ready.

She smoothed her hands over the gown, adjusting the small blade strapped to her thigh one last time. Satisfied with her preparations, Kalliope exhaled and turned toward the door, her heels clicking softly against the floor as she stepped into the dimly lit corridor.

The halls were quieter than usual, the usual clatter of servants preparing for the evening muffled behind closed doors. She welcomed the solitude, using the moment to settle into the role she would play tonight.

Yet, as she continued down the hall, a familiar unease slithered up her spine–whisper of instinct honed over years of survival. She wasn’t alone.

A shadow shifted at the edge of her vision, stepping into the dim glow of the sconces lining the hall. Before she could quite turn and see who her company was, he blocked her path like a wall she would never escape.

Grand Vizier Hafiz Kadir stood before Kalliope. His dark eyes bore into her with intensity she had seen once before. His chiseled features were accentuated by the flicker of the lights, shadows dancing across his angular jaw and high cheekbones.

Draped in an opulent robe of deep purple adorned with intricate gold embroidery, every detail of his attire spoke of wealth and power. In his hands, he held the end of his long braid, his fingers idly toying with it in a dismissive manner. He tilted his head slightly as he regarded Kalliope, his lips curling into a smirk.

“Look at you,” he drawled, his tone filled with faux amusement yet patronizing, “All dressed up like you’re someone worth the silk on your skin.” His gaze dragged over her figure, lingering and leering as he drank her in.

"I must say, Kalliope," he murmured, voice laced with contempt, "I'm impressed. I never expected you to crawl out of that wretched pit I threw you into. You must have clung to life like a rat, gnawing and starving, filthy and broken…" He took a step forward, eyes glinting with cruel amusement. "But here you are," He reached out, the back of his fingers brushing over the scar he had left on her face. "Trying so hard to act as if none of that happened."

For a moment, Kalliope couldn't breathe. The world around her shrank, the grand halls of the palace fading into nothing but the suffocating weight of his presence. Hafiz Kadir.

The name alone was enough to awaken ghosts she had long since buried beneath layers of steel and willpower. But seeing him–hearing him–was something else entirely. The years had done nothing to soften the cruel edge of his voice, nor the way it slithered under her skin like a poison she couldn’t expel.

Her body betrayed her first. Her pulse slammed against her ribs, her breath caught in her throat, and for a fraction of a second, she felt small again. Felt the weight of chains around her wrists, the taste of blood in her mouth, his body pressed against her.

Then, he touched her.

A flicker of movement, the back of his fingers grazing the scar he had left on her face. A scar she had worn like armor, proof of what she had endured and what she had survived. But now, under his touch, it threatened to become something else. A brand. A reminder that, in his eyes, she would always be his possession and her stomach churned.

Hafiz’s fingers hovered over the scar, as if savoring the delicate discomfort it caused her. There was something undeniably cruel in the way he lingered, his smirk widening, though his eyes never lost the sharp gleam of satisfaction. He could feel her pulse quicken beneath his touch and it stirred something wicked inside him. He had always known how to make her bleed in ways of both body and mind.

Her reaction was instant.

Before she could stop herself, her hand snapped up, fingers wrapping around his wrist in a vice-like grip. Not trembling. Not weak. Steady. Controlled. But gods, it took everything in her not to break it.

His lips parted in a near-smile, though there was no warmth in it. He could practically taste the defiance rising from her like smoke, could feel the thrum of her rage and fear coiling together like a deadly serpent. It was all too easy to toy with her, to make her wrestle with the ghosts of her past, to remind her of what she had been and still was to him.

The heat of rage warred with the ice of fear in her veins, twisting into something sharp and volatile. She forced her lips into a smirk, despite the storm clawing at her insides. He will not see me break.

"Broken?” Her voice was steady, too steady, like the calm before a storm. She tilted her head slightly, her gaze narrowing into something sharp and dangerous. "Tell me, Hafiz, does it haunt you? Knowing that no matter what you did to break me, I’m still standing?"

Hafiz's eyes flickered, a brief flash of something unreadable. He tilted his head ever so slightly, studying her with arrogance. "Still standing," he repeated under his breath with twisted amusement, the words tasting like irony in his mouth. His smirk only deepened, the expression one of near-mocking delight as he rolled his wrist within her grasp, testing her hold as if it were nothing more than a child’s attempt at restraint.

Her grip on his wrist loosened and she let go, knowing if she injured him it could spell trouble for her. No, she would have to resist that. The ghost of the pain he'd inflicted on her tried to claw its way through, but she shoved it back, forcing a smile that dripped with false sweetness. "You may have made me bleed, but I’m still alive. And you? You’re just a rat playing king in his own little kingdom. Tell me, does it taste as sweet as you imagined, knowing you’ll always be lesser than your brother?"

The words were a dagger, cold and cruel, meant to wound just as deeply as the ones he'd left in her past.

Hafiz laughed. A low, rich chuckle that held no mirth, only amusement that slithered beneath the skin like a whisper of something dark. He stepped closer, leisurely, as if he were not a threat but something worse—something inevitable.

“Lesser?” He echoed, as if tasting the word. “Oh, Kalliope… my sweet little phantom. Do you truly believe I have ever envied my brother?” His fingers toyed idly with the end of his braid, his gaze never wavering from hers.

“Raif was made to be a symbol. A golden, glimmering puppet dressed in virtue, a fool who only exists to be paraded before the people so they can pretend the world is kind.”

He leaned in slightly, just enough that his voice dipped into something softer, something almost intimate…like a secret shared between old lovers.

“But you and I? We are not fools, are we?” His head tilted, his eyes narrowing with a cruel sort of knowing. “You should thank me, really. You have only ever become something because of me. It was I who gave you purpose, I who carved out the woman standing before me. Every ounce of strength you think you possess—every bitter sip of defiance—it is what I molded from the pathetic clay you were. Without me, you are nothing but a lost little girl playing pretend in silk she doesn’t even deserve.”

He sighed, feigning disappointment as he took a step back, letting his gaze drag lazily over her once more. “And yet, here you stand, gnashing your teeth, trying so desperately to convince me you are whole. But tell me, Kalliope…”

His voice dipped, honeyed and venomous all at once.

“When the night is quiet, when no one is watching, do you still hear it?” He paused deliberately before continuing even softer. “The sound of your own screams?”

He smiled, slow and satisfied, watching for the fracture in her carefully constructed armor. “Or have you fooled even yourself into believing you don’t wake up gasping?”

Kalliope had endured every manner of cruelty Hafiz could devise, but this…this was what he did best. Not the scars he had left on her skin, nor the pain he had inflicted on her body, but the way he wove words into weapons, wrapping them around her like a noose.

She could feel it tightening.

The air felt thinner, her limbs heavier, as if his voice alone could drag her back into the abyss he had once thrown her into. His words slithered into her mind, curling around memories she had spent years trying to drown.

The screams.

Not just hers–though those were the ones that haunted her most–but the cries of those she had been forced to silence, the echoes of every night spent in the darkness, waiting for him to come, waiting for the next lesson in pain, waiting for the next piece of herself to be stripped away.

Her pulse roared in her ears. She could feel it happening–the fear clawing up her throat, the instinct to run, to fight, to break just to make it stop.

No.

She swallowed down the bile, forced her breath steady, and lifted her chin. She would not let him see it. He would not have the satisfaction.

Her lips curled, slow and deliberate, the ghost of a smirk playing at the edges. Not forced–no, she made sure it looked genuine, like amusement rather than defiance. Because if there was one thing she knew Hafiz loathed, it was being laughed at.

"Oh, Hafiz," she purred, tilting her head, her gaze flicking over him like she were examining something particularly pathetic. "You always did love the sound of your own voice. Tell me, is that what you get off to at night? Whispering to yourself, pretending you’re more than just a parasite clinging to the legacy of better men?"

She let the insult sink in.

"You think you shaped me?" Her smirk deepened, though her fingers curled against her palms, nails biting into flesh to keep her steady. ”You forged a weapon, I suppose. But you were never smart enough to realize…" she leaned in slightly, just enough to let her voice drop into something sharp, something cruel. "Weapons don’t stay loyal to the hands that wield them."

Her heart hammered. She knew she was playing with fire, but if she let him see the cracks, if she let him see even a sliver of that terrified little girl he had once controlled, he would win.

She took a slow, measured step back, though the walls behind her left no real escape as she felt her back press against it. Still, she let her expression settle into something unreadable, something unshaken.

"So no, Hafiz," she continued, her voice lighter now, mocking. "I don’t wake up gasping. I wake up breathing, free, knowing that every day I live is another day you failed."

She let that sit between them, the weight of it thick in the air.

Then, with a quiet, taunting laugh, she added, "But tell me, old man, when the night is quiet—when you’re all alone—do you ever hear it?"

She tilted her head, watching him carefully, her voice dipping into something almost conspiratorial. "Not my screams—no, those were never enough for you, were they? But the whispers? The ones that slither through the cracks, the ones that call you a failure.”

She let the word drag, slow and deliberate, her smirk sharpening like a blade. "You clawed your way to power, shed blood for it, shaped me into a weapon for it…but deep down, you know.” She lowered her voice, letting it slither between them like his own venomous words. "You will never be anything more than a shadow in another man’s kingdom. Never feared the way you want to be, never respected the way you crave. Just a dog who bit too hard and got thrown the scraps of a throne."

Her chin lifted, her amusement razor-thin but unbreakable. "So, tell me, Hafiz… when you close your eyes, do you still hear that?"

She watched, searching for it—that flicker, that flash of something beneath the arrogance. Because if there was one thing she knew about Hafiz Kadir, it was that power was never enough for men like him. He wanted to be more. And nothing would ever be more damning than knowing he never would be.

Hafiz’s smirk twitched at the edges as something darker, something colder slithered beneath the surface of his expression. For a moment, he merely stared at her. Then, like a venomous beast stirred from its slumber, his face twisted.

It was not a snarl, nor an immediate explosion of rage, but something far more dangerous. His nostrils flared ever so slightly, his fingers flexing at his sides, before the corner of his lips curled. A moment of triumph flickered in her chest even at the smallest indication her words were close to hitting their mark.

Then he laughed.

It was not a sound of amusement. It was more like the scrape of a dagger being unsheathed in the dark.

“Oh, Kalliope,” he mused, shaking his head as if she were nothing more than a wayward child. “That was quite the performance. Really, I must give you credit. I almost believed it myself.”

He took a slow step forward. She met his step forward with a step back of her own, trying to hold herself high still. “‘Weapons don’t stay loyal to the hands that wield them,’” he repeated, the mockery clear in his voice, “Is that what you tell yourself at night? That you are something more than what I made you?” His voice was dripping with condescension. “That you are free?”

Another step toward her.

“Do you think that’s why you’re here now? Why you’re standing in silk instead of chains?” He chuckled, “How convenient for you to believe that. To pretend that you have crawled out of my shadow by your own strength.”

He reached out slowly, dragging a single finger along the scar on her cheek.

Her back bumped into the wall and Kalliope felt it. It was subtle, like a crack in the stone beneath her feet, small enough to ignore but dangerous enough to cause a collapse if left unchecked. His words had always been poison, but now they felt like they were slipping into the cracks of her resolve, finding their way into her mind where they had no business. She wanted to snap back, to twist her tongue into a dagger of her own, to show him that she was still in control.

I am Kalliope Arden and I am not afraid. I do not yield.

But his touch… it lingered. That damn scar, that reminder of what he had taken from her.

“And yet, every time you look in the mirror…” His voice softened, almost gentle. “I am still there.”

Her chest tightened, and for a moment, she felt a strange, uncomfortable heat rise to her face—an anger, yes, but also something far more insidious: the creeping fear of his truth. Of his hands still being there, even if they were never touching her anymore. His words dug deeper than any blade ever had.

His hand dropped, but he kept talking, “Do you want to know the truth, Kalliope?” His tone darkened into something venomous. “You can drape yourself in pretty things, slather yourself in perfume, whore yourself out to whichever man is foolish enough to believe you are his…”

His lips curled as he leaned in, his breath warm against her skin, “But you will always be mine.”

Kalliope’s breath hitched.

It was slight—so slight no one else would have noticed, but Hafiz would. Of course, he would. Because he knew exactly where to press, exactly how to sink his claws in and twist.

Whore yourself out.

Sjan-dehk’s face flickered in her mind—his touch, the warmth of it, so different from this filth, so different from him. But the thought of Sjan-dehk, of their unspoken….whatever they were, tangled with the nausea rising in her throat. Hafiz didn’t know, didn’t deserve to speak of things he had no claim to, and yet the sheer gall of it made something in her snap.

Hafiz’s breath was warm against her cheek, and when she felt her back press fully against the wall, the panic slammed into her, sharp and suffocating. But something else flared hotter.

Rage.

I am Kalliope Arden and I am NOT afraid.

Her laugh was quiet, shaky, but not with fear—with something far more dangerous. Her nails dug into her palms as she tilted her head, baring her teeth in something that wasn’t quite a smirk, wasn’t quite a snarl.

"You delusional, pathetic old man. Is that what this is about?" She mused, voice dripping with venom. "Jealousy?”

Her pulse pounded, her breath coming quicker now, but she clung to the anger, let it fuel her. If she let him see the fear, he won.

"You can talk all you like about ownership, Hafiz, but let's look at the facts, shall we?" She leaned in now, pressing into the fire in her veins. "You came to me. You sought me out.” She gave a sharp, humorless laugh. Her lips curled, vicious and unhinged. ”Sounds more like I own you.”

Hafiz’s expression darkened, his amusement curdling into something more intense… Something vicious. His hand shot out, gripping her jaw, his thumb pressing just beneath her ear—not enough to bruise, but enough to command.“You own me?” he snarled, repeating her words as his voice dropped into a low, seething growl.

“Then tell me, Kalliope—why is it that no matter who you’re with, no matter how much you pretend, you still feel the ghost of my hands on you?”

The moment his hand clamped around her jaw, Kalliope’s breath stilled. She had braced for this—the weight of his touch, the sharp dominance of his grip—but nothing could have prepared her for the way her body reacted. Her muscles went rigid and she couldn't move. She should have fought. She should have spat in his face, wrenched herself free, something....but his words coiled around her like chains, tightening until she couldn’t breathe.

Because he was right.

No matter how much she bathed, no matter how many times she tried to scrub him from her skin, she still felt the ghost of his hands. It sickened her, ruined her, and as much as she wanted to deny it, the truth was already sinking its claws in. He hadn’t needed to lay a finger on her to remind her who had left the deepest scars.

He leaned in, closer, his lips nearly brushing her ear. His breath was now hot against her skin, intimate in the most sickening way.

“Even when you’re alone, when the room is silent… you feel me, don’t you?” He laughed maliciously as he pressed on, “Do they feel it? The way I shaped you? No matter who fucks you, no matter how much you spread those pretty thighs, they will never rid you of me.”

Then, he snapped. In a single, vicious movement, he slammed her back against the wall, his other hand seizing her hip, his grip bruising, possessive, and cruel.

No. No, no, no—

Her breath hitched, panic clawing up her throat, and when he slammed her into the wall, her mind shattered. The room shrank around her, walls closing in, suffocating, swallowing her whole. His breath was fire against her skin, searing, burning through years of carefully constructed walls, ripping her open like he always did. The words slithered into her mind, wrapping around her ribs like a vice.

Memories surged, unbidden, unwanted—dark rooms, locked doors, the weight of him pressing her down until she thought she might drown. She could feel it, still fucking feel it, as if no time had passed at all. She had fought, screamed, bled…and still, he had shaped her.

She wasn’t here anymore. She was back there, trapped, helpless, no one coming to save her. A choked, ragged sound tore from her lips, and for the first time in years, she felt like that girl again.

“Do you remember, Kalliope?” He asked in a venomous tone. He waited, letting the silence stretch suffocatingly. “Do you remember how you’d beg?”

“I should remind you.” His voice was a hiss, his rage boiling over into something terrifying. “Should prove that you are still mine.” He pressed closer, “But no—” he then jerked away, laughing.

His words ripped her from the depths of her memories, dragging her violently back to the present. Remind you. The implication slammed into her like a dagger to the gut, and sheer, unfiltered terror took hold.

Her body moved before her mind could catch up—a feeble, desperate struggle. Her hands pushed against him, weak, trembling, useless. A choked whimper escaped her lips as she turned her face away, as if that alone could make him disappear. No, no, not again. Please, not again.

Then, suddenly, he was gone. The weight of him vanished, replaced by laughter, sharp and cruel. But the relief didn’t come. Her body still trembled, still burned with the phantom of his touch.

“You’re already ruined.”

The Grand Vizier’s smirk was victorious, cruel in its certainty as he stepped back, watching her.
“And besides, I haunt you wherever you go already.” He tilted his head, voice dipping into a whisper of mockery. “Now tell me, Kalliope… Who really owns who?”

The words settled into her skin like a poison, each syllable sinking deeper until they twisted, consuming everything that was once Kalliope. Ruined. His voice echoed in her head, relentless and unyielding. His laughter had stopped, but the cruel certainty of his words lingered, clinging to her like the stench of rot.

Her chest tightened as a hollow ache spread through her, swallowing her whole. She felt like a broken thing, a shattered glass whose pieces could never be put back together. There was no fighting it. No denying it. Every part of her that had ever fought, every piece of her that had hoped to escape, was now buried beneath the weight of his claim.

He didn’t need to touch her. He didn’t need to force her to bend beneath him again. He had already destroyed her, piece by piece, with words that were more suffocating than any physical strike he could land. He haunts me. The thought sent a wave of nausea through her and it took every last bit of strength she had to keep from vomiting. It was true. He was always there—lingering, lurking in the shadows of her mind. She didn’t have to look over her shoulder to know he was watching her. His presence was an indelible mark on her soul, one that no amount of time or distance could ever erase.

Her throat burned, and she couldn’t swallow the sob that was rising inside of her. His words had cracked her open, exposed every inch of the brokenness she had tried so desperately to hide. But there was nothing left to hide now. Not from him.

Who owns who?

Her lips trembled, the weight of the question choking her. She couldn’t answer him. She didn’t even know if she was capable of answering. She had never been hers to begin with. Not truly. She had been his—always his. And in the end, maybe that was the cruelest truth of all. He had won.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Thea & Leo

Date: Sola 28th
Time: Morning
Location: Oasis Tea Cafe

---

Thea sat alone at the small round table, the soft hum of conversation from the other patrons in the Oasis Tea Cafe fading into the background as she absentmindedly adjusted the lace trim of her dress. Her fingers traced the edge of her teacup, the delicate porcelain offering little comfort compared to the swirling thoughts in her head. The humid air of Sorian had settled into her skin, but the coolness of the cafe’s private room was a welcome relief. It was almost too quiet–too still–as she waited for her brother.

Her mind kept returning to Charlotte’s message, the cryptic warning about Leo needing her. The weight of that simple statement hung over her, pressing down on her chest as her concern for him deepened. He was always so strong, so steady. Leo never showed weakness, and for him to need anyone felt strange. She couldn’t help but wonder if he had been struggling all this time, hidden behind his usual bravado. Her heart twisted at the thought. There was also the thought that perhaps he didn't need her and that's just how Charlotte perceived things. Maybe he'd find this whole thing a nuisance?

And then there was the matter of the engagement. Her stomach turned slightly at the memory of the prince breaking off the arrangement, leaving her a letter, of all things. It felt like a lifetime ago, but the shame of it still lingered, like an unpleasant taste in the back of her mouth. She hadn’t had the chance to speak to Leo about it, hadn't even seen him properly since arriving in Sorian for the courting season. And yet, it seemed like something she couldn’t avoid any longer. There were too many unsaid things between them, things she had hoped would settle with time but now knew they couldn’t be ignored. The engagement was a thing of the past, but the silence between her and Leo was too loud to continue.

Thea pushed the thought away, focusing instead on the soft click of her heels against the floor as she crossed her legs beneath the table. The door to the private room creaked open, and for a moment, her breath caught in her throat as she looked up.

No Leo yet.

She wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed. He’d be here soon enough, she knew…or she hoped he would be, at least. What if he decided not to come? The thought oddly made her sick and relieved at the same time.

But it felt important. This moment with him, the chance to talk to him about everything–the engagement, their mother deciding to send her home, their father’s disappearance, and whatever Leo had been up to. She had no idea how he would react to any of it, but she couldn’t keep putting it off. She had been avoiding so many things in her life recently, but she couldn’t run from this conversation. Not any longer.

Taking another steadying breath, Thea glanced at the door again, hoping that Leo would walk through it soon–just as she had hoped for so many things over the years, with little to no result.

“Thea!” Leo’s voice betrayed none of his disappointment that she was still in Sorian as he approached the table. “Happy Birthday!” Things would be simpler if she did as their mother instructed and returned to Stravy. Then again, maybe that would’ve been worse. A sudden look of dread flashed across his face as he considered the possibility of Thea disappearing while traveling the same way his father had. With men like Calbert and Black Rose threatening him, that suddenly felt like a terrifying possibility. Maybe this was the best-case scenario.

Thea offered a faint smile at his birthday wishes, though the tension in her chest only grew as she watched him. “Thank you, Leo. And thank you for coming.” Her voice was soft, her concern evident as she studied him more closely. Something was off, and it was impossible to ignore.

“I’m so glad to see you’re well,” He added, only to second-guess his words. Did that imply too heavily that she might be in danger? “Not that you wouldn’t be.” He added, unconvincingly, as he took the chair across from her. Unable to be still, he fidgeted with his mint-colored suit. He glanced around at the other patrons, searching for signs of danger. Fritz had been lucky enough to receive a warning that someone would try to assassinate him. Leo doubted he, nor Charlotte, and possibly even Thea, would be so fortunate.

“I suppose by now you’ve heard all about my..” his face flushed slightly, and his eyes traveled away from Thea’s. Leo cleared his throat. “..Outbursts. And my sincerest apologies for that. Certainly hasn’t helped our family image any.” Shame ruddied his complexion, and he quickly changed the subject.

“How are you? Has anything…” He paused, searching for the right word, one that would not be too alarming. “...strange happened to you here, in Sorian?”

Worry gripped at her chest as she watched her brother. He wasn’t himself. His flushed cheeks, the way he fidgeted with his suit, and his wandering gaze–it all spoke of a restlessness that she couldn’t reconcile with the brother she knew. Charlotte’s words echoed in her mind, heightening her unease.

“I’m fine,” she said carefully, her eyes never leaving him. “Nothing strange has happened to me, unless you count sneaking back to Sorian after Mother tried to send me home.” Her attempt at humor barely lightened the air, her tone growing more serious. “But you…you don’t seem fine, Leo. You’re avoiding my eyes, fidgeting. It’s like you’re waiting for something terrible to happen.”

She leaned forward slightly, lowering her voice. “Screw our family image right now, we can work to fix that later. Charlotte said you might need me, but she didn’t say why. Please, just tell me what’s going on. I want to help however I can, but I can’t help if you don’t let me in.” Her gaze searched his, steady and full of worry, waiting for him to respond.

“Where to start…” Leo half whispered, more to himself than Thea. Black Rose? Being hexed? Magic? There was so much of it, all so dire, but keeping his sister in the dark about any of it would only make it harder for her to stay safe. He started with the small stuff; how Morrigan assigned a servant to him, one who had yelled at him and flung horse poop around, for no other reason than Morrigan wanted to mess with his head. He almost continued into all the trouble Riona had caused him, but that suddenly seemed too petty to care about compared to what else he had to share.

He moved on to all the bizarre pranks that had been pulled on him: the shrill voice, the pink skin, the unearned drunkenness. How Lottie, Fritz, and he had formed a detective club to find out what happened after the memory loss party. How even Prince Wulfric had joined in on investigating once they uncovered a deeper conspiracy simmering in the shadows of Sorian.

His voice dropped to a whisper. “The party’s host, Marek Delronzo, he’s some kind of crime lord here. He runs a corrupt company called Black Rose with Alexander Deacon, and Calbert Damien has partnered up with them. Calbert has also personally threatened Lottie on two occasions that I know of.” Leo paused, looked around again, and then intently stared into Thea’s eyes.

“Count Hendrix was informed that someone would attempt to assassinate him on Drunkards Day. Someone left bones scattered about my room in the guest house. There was a human skull inside of a chest in my room, and this as well.” He withdrew the photograph of him and his father from the pocket at his chest, the back of which read ‘Don’t worry, you’ll reunite with him soon’, and offered it to Thea to look at.

“Thea, I want you to swear to me you will stay away from Calbert, his family, and anyone connected to Black Rose. This is dangerous; mishandling this situation puts multiple lives at risk.” He waited for Thea to agree.

Thea’s face remained calm as Leo spoke, but her mind raced, clinging to every name and every detail. Marek Delronzo. The name wasn’t entirely unfamiliar, Anastasia had mentioned him before, speaking fondly of the lavish parties he threw. But she had never suspected he was anything more than an eccentric socialite. Alexander Deacon and Black Rose were entirely new, and Calbert Damien’s name brought a bitter taste to her tongue. He held King Edin’s ear and she thought he was just a snake of a man, but clearly there was a bit more to him than that. The connections Leo was weaving were terrifying, but her focus stayed firmly on him as he continued.

When he produced the photograph, her breath hitched. Her eyes scanned it quickly, the sight of their father making her ill. She hadn't actually gazed into that face in over a year and she wasn't sure how it made her feel, but as her gaze reached the back of the photo, she went pale. All the blood seemed to drain from her face, leaving her as white as the porcelain teacup in her hand. The cryptic message scrawled on the back felt like a knife twisting in her gut, but she forced herself to look as calm as she could, even as her hands trembled.

“How…?” Her voice was barely above a whisper, and she cleared her throat, forcing strength into her tone. “Leo, where did this photograph come from? How could someone even have it?” Her heart pounded. The thought of someone possessing such a deeply personal item, something that should have been safe in Stravy, sent chills down her spine. The implications were as terrifying as everything else he’d shared.

She handed the photograph back to him carefully, her expression troubled. “This is…this is madness, Leo. You shouldn’t be in the middle of this, none of you should. Lottie, Fritz, even Wulfric? What kind of conspiracy is this?” She pressed her hands flat against the table to steady herself. “I promise. I’ll stay away from Marek, Alexander, and Calbert. But you and Lottie–” Her voice cracked slightly, and she swallowed hard before continuing. “How am I supposed to just sit here and do nothing while you’re risking your life? I can’t lose you too, Leo.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy with a desperation she couldn’t entirely mask. Her hands tightened into fists as she stared at him, worry etched into her features. “If Calbert has already threatened Lottie and now this…” Her voice faltered, and she shook her head. “You can’t face this alone, Leo. Please. Tell me what I can do to help.”

Leo found his resolve as he looked into Thea’s wide eyes and paling skin. His hand did not tremble as he took the photograph back, folded it up, and returned it to his pocket. He would be strong for Thea’s sake, and so his hand slid across the table; open, and he waited for her to take his hand.

Thea hesitated only a moment before reaching across the table, clasping Leo’s offered hand tightly. Relief washed over her—not just at his reassurance, but at the fact that he wasn’t shutting her out. If he was letting her in, then she could do something. She could keep him safe.

“Thea, you will not lose me. Or Lottie. Or anyone else.” He forced himself to fully believe that, even if his belief only lasted for a moment. “I’m not here to shut you out of this.” He continued; he didn’t have much choice in the matter. Telling Thea to stay out of it would almost guarantee she’d do something recklessly bold. Leo couldn’t begrudge her that, he’d react the same.

“I want to bring you in, have you working with us on finding ways to take down these villains.” If Thea was part of the team, then he or someone he trusted could keep eyes on her. Could keep her safe. “And we must not confront them directly, for they employ the use of dark and unnatural forces. Magic.” A healthy amount of fear crept back into his tone as he whispered the foul word. “I believe that is how they acquired that photo and how they robbed so many of their memories the night of that party. There’s no telling what they are capable of.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, her grip firm as if anchoring herself to him. “If I can help, then of course I will. I’d rather be by your side in this than sitting in the dark, worrying.” She met his gaze, determination hardening her features. If she was involved, she could watch over him, keep him from doing something reckless. He had Lottie and Fritz, but they weren’t his sister.

The thought of magic made her stomach twist into a knot. It was a thing of myths, of whispered fears and fairy tales meant to keep children awake at night. And yet, Leo spoke of it as if it were real, as if it was the very force working against them. The idea that magic had been used to steal memories, to conjure the photograph now seared into her mind, chilled her to the bone.

“I agree, we need to avoid direct confrontation. There's no room to be reckless. Magic is outlawed for a reason, right? But perhaps it's not a bad idea to learn what we can about it. Know your enemies and such, right? I wonder if there's any information hidden within the castle library?” She mused, keeping her voice lower in case anyone were trying to eavesdrop on them.

Only now did she realize how small her own problems seemed in comparison. The broken engagement, sneaking back to Sorian, even her newfound interest in Drake–none of it mattered right now. Not when Leo was tangled in something so much darker.

“The castle library…” Leo withdrew his hand and repeated the suggestion as if it were a grand revelation. “An excellent idea! Thea, every day I’ve spent on palace grounds, I have found myself hexed! My voice…the pink skin…the drunkenness…” He filled in more details: the glasses Count Hendrix had that revealed magical auras and how he’d seen something dark and malevolent encroaching on him. The ease with which Thea had believed everything else he’d told her eased any reservations.

“Here is what I am sure of; someone in that palace toys with sorcery. I think this hexing business is a separate issue, it lacks the gravity that Black Rose brings with their threats. And the castle is a much safer option to search for more information, maybe even find something we can also use against Black Rose.” Leo left out his suspicions about Lady Morrigan without proof; that was something he’d only keep in the back of his mind.

“You know, given your close friendship with a certain princess that lives in that castle, I think you should be in charge of that front. You’d be able to snoop around just about anywhere without drawing much attention.” He suggested, and of course, the thought of how well-guarded Ana usually was made the idea sound like the safest way for Thea to be involved.

“If it’s separate from Black Rose, then that means someone else is playing games with you,” she mused, tapping her fingers lightly against the table. “But why? If it were random I feel like they would target others too. So is it personal? Or are they testing something?” Her mind sifted through possibilities, but without more information, it was impossible to say. Still, someone casting spells under the royal family's roof was a dangerous prospect.
She exhaled, pushing aside her unease to focus on what she could do. “You’re right, being close with Ana gives me access most others don’t have. I’ll do what I can to look into the castle’s archives, see if there’s anything useful.” Thea’s lips pressed into a thin line. “If someone’s using magic in the palace, there may be whispers about it. Servants always talk, perhaps I can befriend one and see if I can hear rumors. I'll play to my strengths of making friends and building relationships.” Was that really a strength of hers? She seemed to wholeheartedly think so. This led her to remember another budding relationship.
Her gaze flickered back to Leo, an embarrassed and nervous blush creeping across her face. “Oh, um, I-I have some news as well...” she began, taking a deep breath. “I know my engagement with Prince Felix was supposed to be good for our family, for our status.” Thea’s fingers curled slightly against the table. “And I’m sorry I royally screwed that up.” A dry, self-deprecating laugh escaped her. “I scared him off by being honest, and I didn’t mean to.” She shook her head. “I know it was an important match, and I hate that I ruined it.”

Leo could neither stop the eye roll nor hide the annoyance that flashed across his face at the mention of Prince Felix. He had not forgotten how uncomfortable Thea had looked beside Felix, how the prince’s eyes held only judgment, and his hand had gripped her like a possession. He waved a hand dismissively, “You deserve better.” He simply stated.

She hesitated before glancing up at Leo, a flicker of something hopeful in her expression. “But… I may have found another match. It’s not as prestigious as marrying the Crown Prince, but he will be a duke, and it would provide ties to Caesonia.” She bit her lip. “It’s a good match, politically speaking.”
Realizing she was rambling, she inhaled sharply and let out a breath. “That’s not really what I wanted to tell you though.” Her hands twisted in her lap, her voice softer now. “I met Lord Drake Edwards.” She paused, the blush on her cheeks deepening. “And I really like him, Leo. He seems to really like me too.” Thea’s gaze dropped for a moment, but when she lifted it again, there was a quiet certainty in her eyes. “He makes my heart feel happy.”

“And that’s what matters most; that you are happy. I’m certain not even mother could take issue here. Lord Edwards is an excellent choice, a fine man from a respected family.” Leo spoke, and a smile crept up. He noted the unmistakable joy that mentioning Drake brought to his sister’s face. Maybe even the happiest he’d seen her look in a long time.

“But, if mother has anything less than positive to say, I’d be happy to remind her that she went off and married whomever she pleased without any thought on how her choices reflect upon our family.” He offered as his smile turned more mischievous. Leo felt more relaxed than he had in days; knowing Thea was doing well had made everything else feel a little less hopeless.

Thea’s heart warmed at Leo’s words, the weight of lingering doubts easing from her shoulders. She had worried–worried that she had disappointed him, worried that she was making choices that would only cause more trouble. But hearing his support, seeing the way he so easily dismissed Felix and embraced Drake, made her feel lighter.
A small, grateful smile played on her lips. “You have no idea how much that means to me, Leo.” The relief evident in her words. “And if Mother does have anything to say, well… I think I’d quite enjoy watching you remind her of her own choices.” A spark of amusement danced in her eyes.

“She can always return to Stravy, give you a break from her meddling.” He added.

“I’m glad we’re talking, glad that…well that you’re exactly who you are. I was worried…everything I had to tell you was just so…it sounds crazy. But you believed me, and I’m thankful to have your help. I’m sure your support will mean the world to Lottie too.” Leo struggled to find the right words but got close enough to what he meant. The past year had been too much, too isolating, and he’d found not an ounce of support from his mother. There was a sense of guilt for never trusting that he could even ask Thea for support until now.

A soft, affectionate smile spread across her face. “Of course I believe you, Leo. You’re my brother, the first friend I ever had in this life. There’s nothing you could tell me that would make me turn away from you.” Her voice was steady, full of conviction. “I will support you until the end, no matter what.”

“Same.” He agreed without hesitation.

She held his gaze for a moment longer, letting the weight of her promise settle between them. A small smile tugged at her lips. “And as for Lottie, she also has my full support. But I have a feeling she’s stronger than both of us combined.”

Then, as if suddenly remembering something, her eyes brightened. “Oh! Before I forget—Annie is throwing a birthday party for me tonight after the banquet. You are coming, right?” She arched a brow at him, feigning a stern look. “I expect my favorite brother to be there.”

“Thea, I wouldn’t miss your birthday party. It’s my favorite holiday!” Leo relaxed in his chair, perfect posture slipping away as comfort eased in. If there was one thing he could excel at, it should be this. Being the perfect brother, making sure Thea always had someone on her side, looking out for her the way family was meant to, everything else mattered less. As long as he kept doing that, he could figure out the rest of the mess he’d turned his life into.

Thea beamed at Leo’s words, warmth filling her chest. “Good,” she said with playful satisfaction. “I’d hate to have to hunt you down and drag you there myself.” She let out a giggle and that's when she'd noticed a server approaching their table. She'd almost forgotten they were supposed to be getting breakfast.

Leo startled at the sudden intrusion, tension quickly coiling up as his stiff and guarded posture returned.

“Good morning, my lord, my lady. Have you decided on your order?” He asked, giving them both a pleasant smile.

Leo gave only a curt nod as he glanced at a menu. He was more than a little disappointed in himself for allowing somebody, even a nobody, the opportunity to sneak up on him like this.

Thea glanced at the menu, then at Leo before grinning. “I’ll have some of the Morning Mist tea, please. Oh! And an order of coconut macaroons!” She then tilted her head at Leo, letting him order.

“Oolong tea, harvest quinoa salad.” He didn’t glance in the waiter's direction, but once the man had left, he smiled at Thea. “I’m a little worried about what exactly ‘Danrose dressing’ is.” He joked as he pointed at the description of the grilled chicken salad.

Once their orders were placed, she decided to ask Leo something else. "So, has anyone caught your eye yet this season? Anyone you find interesting?"

“I’ve little time to get wrapped up in a summer fling, and I’ve met no one who I see the future Duchess of Stravy in,” Leo answered. He spoke as if he were being asked to go over a business proposal that he’d yet to begin working on. The topic filled him with dread, in the same way a cumbersome stack of paperwork would; a task filled with monotony whose payoff did not equate to the work required.

“But, interesting people, sure. Laying the groundwork for useful alliances. Count Hendrix, Prince Wulfric, Shehzadi Nahir. Although, I’m not sure if the Shehzadi sees me as a worthy ally or regards me more like a cat does a mouse.” Pride showed through as he spoke of his ability to meet and converse with the right people. Lifting the scaffolding for his house and family, and by extension all of Stravy, to continue to grow and prosper.

Thea rested her chin in her hand, watching Leo with a curious look. “You know, Leo, for someone who claims to have little time for romance, you sure put a lot of effort into making connections.” Her tone was light, teasing, but her gaze softened with something more thoughtful.

She reached out, gently nudging his arm. “I know duty and alliances are important, but… you deserve to be happy too. Not just as the Duke of Stravy, but as Leo—the person, not just the title.” Her lips curled into a small smile. “I’d like to see you with someone who challenges you, yes, but also someone who makes you laugh and actually relax for once. Besides, I don't want to see you end up in a marriage like Mother and Father's.” She kept the last line quieter, even though she knew most people were likely aware of the issues the Duke and Duchess had when they were married. She then decided to focus on something else he said.

Tilting her head, she asked with playful curiosity, “As for Shehzadi Nahir—do you want to be the mouse?”

“Mice, do not make good Dukes.” Leo shrugged. “And a royal cat, is not a Duchess. Connections that can benefit Stravy are worth more than summer fun.” He pointed out, a small grin betraying how appealing the mouse option was, the undeniable appeal of danger.

“For me, there is no separation from the title. It’s my future, just as much a part of who I am as anything else. But look at you, you are happy with a logical match that suits both your desires and your station.” He continued; there was no reason he couldn’t secure a union that worked similarly for him. But relaxed was not an option; it was a state of laziness and complacency. It turned leaders into men who did not notice the wolves until they had broken down the door.

“And if you see me with anyone that reminds you of our parents, feel free to slap some sense into me.” He offered.

Thea listened carefully, her expression softening as Leo spoke. She knew he had a point and she couldn't fault him for it. Connections were always important, but she wasn't convinced they were the most important thing.

“Oh, I’d do more than slap some sense into you,” she replied lightly, though the warmth in her tone betrayed her true feelings. “I’d find a way to lock you in a room until you promised to come to your senses. But I doubt I’ll ever have to because I know you're smarter than that, Leo.”

She paused, her smile fading just slightly. “I know the title is important, and I know you take your duties seriously. But I also know that the title alone doesn’t define you. You’re my brother, the man who always stood by me, who worked so hard to protect what we have. That’s who I see when I look at you, not just the future Duke of Stravy.”

Leo nodded his agreement, despite not seeing Thea’s point there. Everything that Thea described was exactly who he thought the future Duke of Stravy ought to be: a man loyal to his family, duty, and homeland. It was an honor to do these things, to be trusted to do them, and to shoulder burdens without complaint. It all meant more than just a rank to Leo, it was a sense of identity constantly pruned and cultivated.

Her gaze softened further as she added, “I suppose that my point is, yes, connections and alliances are important. However, I think what's more important is finding someone who compliments you and supports you. Someone you can share the responsibility with, not someone who adds more weight to your shoulders. That will be more beneficial to Stravy in the long run.” She then tilted her head, a small grin playing on her lips. “And if you ever do decide to be the mouse, I promise not to judge you too harshly.”

“Sure, all agreeable points, but there’s no rush for any of this. More than enough to focus on right now, and I promise, I will not hold it against you if you are married long before I am.” He offered.

Thea chuckled, shaking her head. “Fair enough,” she conceded, though a light blush crept onto her cheeks at his mention of marriage. She hadn’t thought much about it before, not in a serious way even when engaged to Prince Felic, but now the idea settled in her mind—particularly with thoughts of Drake.
What would it be like, truly? A life with him? She knew they weren't even remotely close to really be thinking of such things, but her daydreamer mind couldn't help it. The way he made her feel was unlike anything she had ever known—steady, safe, exhilarating all at once. But there was always that tiny, nagging fear in the back of her mind. What if she was too much? Too stubborn, too strong-willed, too ditzy, too eager for something real? What if, in the end, she scared him away before they even had the chance? What if her demons scared him away?
She quickly pushed the thought aside as the server returned, setting their tea and food down in front of them. Thea straightened, smiling in thanks before glancing at Leo. “Well, I suppose we should enjoy this before it gets cold.”

“Any idea what the banquet tonight is about?” Leo asked in between bites of food. “Varian attendance is mandatory: doesn’t sound good.” He added, but at least this time, unlike the day after Marek’s party, Leo was certain he’d done nothing to earn the ire of the royal family here.

Thea took a sip of her tea, humming thoughtfully as she considered Leo’s question. “Hmm… honestly I'm not sure. Annie hasn't said much about it so I don't know if she even knows. But l could think up theories. Let's see…” She tapped a finger against her chin, then her eyes lit up with mischief.

“Oh! Maybe they’re planning to announce a new royal tradition where all noble families must participate in an elaborate scavenger hunt across the kingdom. Winner gets a golden goose, second place has to host next year’s banquet, and last place is exiled to a remote island.” She gasped dramatically.

“Exiled to a remote island sounds more like fun than a punishment. More relaxing than a summer in Sorian. I do like the idea of a scavenger hunt.” It was too early in the day to worry about the night. Getting lost in Thea’s whimsical and farfetched ideas was just easier.

“Or—wait, I’ve got it. A murder mystery party!” She leaned in, eyes sparkling. “Think about it! The royal family went all out on the theatrics, and they just wanted to make sure there were enough high-profile guests to make it a proper spectacle. Someone will ‘die’ dramatically mid-dinner, accusations will fly, and we’ll all have to solve the mystery before dessert is served.” She giggled as her imagination went wild.

“No wonder they demanded Varian attendance - we have the best detectives. They’d have no hope of solving this future murder without us.” His unabashed confidence returned and clung to him like armor.

She sat back, grinning. “Or, you know… it’s just a terribly boring diplomatic dinner meant to make us all suffer equally. But I much prefer my ideas.”

“And after such a terribly boring dinner, everyone will see you as the hero whose birthday party rescued their night from tedium.” Tonight was about Thea; not even a potentially boring and ominously threatening dinner was going to ruin that.

“Then again, if Duke Lorenzo is going to be there, no way it will be boring.” He shifted the conversation to recounting the dinner he’d attended with the Sultan and his family and Lorenzo’s outlandishly out-of-pocket behavior that night. He smiled wide when he got to the part where he had impressed the Sultan, it was what made that story one of his new favorites to tell.

“Whatever happens at dinner, we will handle it with unshakable grace, and the world will see how Smithwoods always persevere.”

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Mina Blackwood

Time: Middle of the night, Sola 26th
Location: Her room
Attire:
Interaction:
Mentions: Munir

FLASHBACK

The brush trembled in her grip.

It wasn’t hesitation. It was rage. It was sorrow. It was something raw and ugly clawing its way up from the hollow cavity of her chest, threatening to spill from her throat in a scream she didn’t dare release.

The first strokes were wild, unhinged. Black, deep and endless, swallowed the canvas whole. Gold followed—jagged streaks, violent slashes that cut through the darkness like open wounds. Her hands trembled, but she didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. Shadows stretched long and distorted across the room, twisting like silent specters along the walls. Bottles—half-drained, some shattered—littered the nearby table, the sharp scent of turpentine and absinthe thick in the air. The glass of her latest drink sat abandoned beside her, forgotten as the brush moved with reckless, feverish desperation.

A figure began to take shape—tall, proud, his posture one of unwavering strength. But his face… his face was shattered, a hollow abyss where warmth had once lived. Around him, golden chains coiled like serpents, binding, choking. His hands grasped at them, desperate, but the chains pulled, yanked, dragged him into the abyss.

Munir.

Her breath hitched, a sob catching somewhere between her ribs. The truth was painted there, exposed in every desperate brushstroke. He had been her light. And she had snuffed it out.

A splatter of paint dripped onto her bare arm, stark against her pale skin. She exhaled, shaking, and stepped back. The candlelight flickered, casting the painting in shifting hues, making it seem almost alive—the chains tightening, the figure struggling, the void devouring him.

She couldn’t sleep.

Not with the weight pressing down on her chest like a corpse. Not with the phantom warmth of Munir’s touch still haunting her skin. The way his hands had once held her like something precious. The way his golden eyes had searched hers, desperate, pleading, when she told him she felt nothing.

Liar.

The word echoed in her skull, cruel and unrelenting.

She had shattered him. Broke him so completely that she feared she had broken herself in the process.

It was for his own good.

That had been the justification, hadn’t it? The lie she whispered to herself over and over again, hoping it would one day take root as truth. That pushing him away, cutting him out like a festering wound, had been the only way to protect him. From her uncle. From the inevitable storm that followed her. From herself.

But gods, it had hurt.

It still hurt.

She reached for the glass, only to knock it over, absinthe spilling across the floor in a slow, spreading stain. A bitter laugh escaped her lips, raw and humorless.

"Figures," she murmured to no one.

Mina sank to the floor, her back against the wall, arms draped over her bent knees. The painting loomed above her, a cruel reflection of her sins, a truth she couldn’t outrun. The alcohol burned in her veins, numbing but never enough. Never enough.

Her fingers traced the rim of the overturned glass absently, her gaze unfocused. Munir would never know. He could never know why she had done it. That she had loved him—deeply, fiercely, in a way that had terrified her. That her lies had been the only way to protect him from the monster pulling the strings behind the curtain.

That she had broken his heart to save his life.

And in doing so, had destroyed herself.

The night stretched on, long and unforgiving. Mina remained on the floor, lost in silence, in the wreckage of her choices. The ghosts of regret whispered around her, unseen but relentless.

And in the dim glow of candlelight, the painting stared back at her.

A wound she could never close.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: The Witching Hour, Sola 28th
Location: Middle of the forest
Interactions:
Attire:

---

FLASHBACK TO THE WITCHING HOUR OF SOLA 28th

The clearing was alive with flickering green fire, its eerie glow casting twisted shadows against the gnarled trees. Five figures stood around it, cloaked and hooded. Their hands wove intricate patterns in the air, whispering words that should never be spoken aloud. The magic pooled between them, tendrils of sickly luminescence twisting like roots in search of something to latch onto.

“This will be our last ritual before the next shipment,” one of them muttered, his voice a rasp beneath his hood. “There’s been too many disturbances. We need the ships protected at any cost.”

A woman–slighter than the others, but with an air of quiet authority–tossed a handful of crushed bone into the flames. The green fire flared, consuming it greedily. “Work faster,” she replied sharply. “The girl in the city is close to breaking. If we apply more pressure, she’ll submit. Once she does, we’ll use them and the others to complete the spell.”

The youngest of the group shifted uneasily. “Are you sure this is necessary? These people—they aren’t bad people. They’re parents, children. Is all this really worth-” His words cut off with a sharp gasp as the leader turned on him, fingers clenching the air. The boy’s body went rigid, lifted off the ground by invisible force, his breath strangled in his throat.
“Question us again,” the leader hissed, “and you will be the next to feed the flame.” The boy’s body was released, and he collapsed to the ground, coughing, rubbing his throat. No one else spoke.

The ritual continued.

The flames darkened, deepening from green to black, flickering with an unnatural hunger. The symbols carved into the forest floor pulsed with energy, waiting for the last phrase, the final drop of power that would open the way.

A twig snapped.

The youngest turned, uneasy. “Someone’s watching us.”

The leader barely spared him a glance. “Then let them watch. Soon, they will be part of something greater.”

A shadow dropped from the trees.

Tall. Graceful. Wrapped in furs and leathers, a sword strapped to her back. Silver hair caught in the unnatural firelight, and golden eyes gleamed like those of a predator reflecting moonlight. Torvi Jorviksdottir stepped into the clearing, hands empty, posture loose. There was no fear in her face. Only interest. “Well,” she drawled, glancing at the ritual in progress. “Do not let me stop you. Looks like you have put a lot of work into this.”

The cultists tensed, fingers twitching toward weapons and spells. The leader narrowed his eyes. “Who are you?”
She tilted her head, inhaling deeply. “That is a lot of magic for so few of you. And… blood magic? Bold.” Her eyes landed on the youngest, who still rubbed his throat from his earlier punishment. “That one does not smell confinced.”

The boy flinched. The leader straightened. “You should not be here.” His gaze flickered toward his acolytes. “She’ll do.”

Torvi lifted a brow. “I will do? Do what, exactly?”

“You are strong. More than most, it appears. That makes you a fine offering.”

A smirk curled at the corner of Torvi’s lips. “An offering. How flattering.”

The woman beside the leader stepped forward, hands weaving a spell. “Bind her.” The shadows around the clearing slithered, reaching like grasping fingers, the air thickening with oppressive force. A sigil flared beneath Torvi’s feet, glowing with crimson power, designed to hold, to drain, to subdue. The cultists watched, waiting for her to collapse, to be reduced to another sacrifice bound to their will.

Torvi chuckled as she watched the sigil at her feet, one hand toying with a necklace around her neck. She then rolled her shoulders as if shaking off a chill.

The sigil flickered. Then died. Silence fell.

The leader frowned. “That’s not–”

“Possible?” Torvi finished for him and shook her head in disappointment, letting out a sigh. “Always. You witches always think you are all powerful. Cocky. Foolish.” From the other side of the group came a snarl as Fenrys stepped into the clearing now. The young kid in the group let out a frightened sound as he looked at the large wolf. He looked like he was ready to bolt, but to his credit he stayed put. “You forget you are only mortal.”

Torvi moved. Faster than their eyes could follow. One moment she stood within the dying sigil. The next, her boot connected with the spellcaster’s chest. Bones cracked, and the woman flew backward, colliding with a tree so hard the bark split. The others barely had time to react before Fenrys was among them, a flash of black fur and snapping teeth.

The youngest turned to run. A hand shot out, seizing him by the throat. Torvi lifted him off the ground with unnatural ease, golden eyes burning, pupils blown wide. She inhaled again, slow, savoring. “You reek of fear.”

The boy’s hands clawed at hers. “P-please–”

“It is a shame, really. So young, so much life still ahead.” Her other hand reached up and gently caressed his face. “Tell me, little one, who put you on this path? Tell me, and I will set you free.”

Her voice was soft, almost tender, the brush of her fingers deceptively gentle against his cheek. Did she really mean it, he wondered? Was mercy still an option? “T-the Black Rose.” He finally whispered, hope shining in his eyes, but Torvi did not let him go.

“Thank you, little one. May the gods grant you mercy and welcome you with open arms into their halls.” She watched the fear rush back into his eyes once again.

“B-but you sai–” CRACK! His voice was cut short as she crushed his windpipe, snapping the bones in his neck. A flick of her wrist sent him crashing into the ground. He did not rise.

The leader raised his hands, magic crackling between his fingers. “You–what are you?”

Torvi turned toward him, tilting her head, considering. The shadows danced across her features, sharpening the angles of her face into something almost… inhuman. “You tried to make me prey.” A slow smile. “That was your first mistake.” The leader unleashed his spell–black fire meant to consume. The necklace she toyed with earlier flared brightly, countering the spell. Torvi stepped through it. The air shimmered around her as the flames licked at her skin but did nothing, parting as though unwilling to touch her. She was already in front of him before he could utter another word, her fingers curling around his wrist. A sickening crack. He screamed.

Torvi yanked him forward, so close he could see the sharpness in her eyes, the breath of something other behind them. “Your second mistake?” She murmured. She leaned in, voice almost a whisper. “Thinking I was merely human.” The last thing he saw was her smile before the world went black.

The clearing was silent again.

Torvi exhaled, rolling her neck. Fenrys padded back to her side, muzzle stained red. She ruffled his fur absently. “Well, that was fun.” The black flames guttered out. The sigils lost their glow. The night reclaimed the clearing.

The hunt was over.