Valiant: The Covenant Chronicles

[Covenant #28: The Claim]

Log Date: 10/29/12764

Data Sources: Jayta Jaskolka, Raikaron Syntaritov

Event Log: Raikaron Syntaritov

Morningstar: Palace of the Sovereigns

10:44am SGT

As much as I would like to, it’s become impossible to ignore the persistent feeling of trepidation and faint disapproval emanating from the other side of the room.

“Alright, Danya. Have out with it.” I say, setting down my stylus and swiveling in my chair at the desk.

Danya looks up from her data slate. She’s currently sitting in an armchair in the corner of my room as we compile our notes for the final conference of Lords today. “Pardon?”

“You have something on your mind you’ve been wanting to tell me for the last few days, but you haven’t said it.” I say, lacing my fingers together. “It’s become very distracting, so let’s go ahead and air it out. It’s hard for me to focus when you’re silently radiating judgement in the corner of my room.”

Danya shakes her head dismissively. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Very well, then; if you will not address it, then I will. Do you have something you wish to say about my recent interactions with Jayta?”

“‘Interaction’ is a rather clinical way of describing how one humors another’s lust.” Danya mutters, scrolling her data slate.

I raise an eyebrow. “Feeling snippy today, are we?”

Danya lowers her slate. “Did it have to be during the Congress, my Lord? She could not have waited until we were back at the House to have this epiphany?”

“You know as well as I do that I don’t exercise control over the mental faculties of others unless absolutely necessary.” I point out. “I assume, then, that you have an issue with the timing of this development?”

“I simply do not think it is wise or judicious.” Danya says, returning her attention to her slate. “We are on unfamiliar territory, with many opportunistic actors present. Affairs are more safely executed when on your home turf.”

I can’t help but chuckle a little at that. “I was not aware romantic affairs were meant to be conducted with safety and propriety in mind. Shall we also hand out instruction manuals on how to commit murder in a proper, acceptable manner?”

Danya gives me a flat look. “You know what I mean. We are much more susceptible to the machinations of other Lords when we are away from Hautaholvi. All of your enemies are here, my Lord, and even if they do not act on their ambitions, they are still more than capable of taking notes on any weaknesses you reveal to them.”

“And you believe Jayta is one of those weaknesses.”

“I know it.” Danya replies without hesitation. “You were soft for her, my Lord, even before she found her liking for you. The closer she gets to your heart, the more dangerous she becomes to you. In many ways.”

“And you need not recite them to me. I am well aware of the myriad vulnerabilities that a romantic entanglement makes possible.” I answer evenly. “Simply because I am allowing myself a little happiness does not mean I’m letting my guard down. You will find me as canny as I’ve ever been, personal life notwithstanding.”

“Very well. I am in no position to say otherwise.” Danya says, thumbing through the documents on her slate. “I have finalized the notes for your presentation today on the proposed reforms for Sjelefengsel’s sentencing guidelines, and they await your review. I just sent the document to you.”

“Thank you. I will take a look at those now.” I say, swiveling my chair back towards the desk, and picking up my stylus as I do so. “And Danya?”

“Yes, my Lord?”

“I appreciate that you are concerned for me, but spare a thought for Jayta as well.”

“I certainly have, my Lord.” she accedes, then mutters, a little quieter: “If she’s as much a brat in bed as she is outside of it, then my fear for you is well-founded.”

I have to stop for a moment, wondering if I’d misheard her. “Excuse me?” I say, turning a little in my chair.

“Nothing, my Lord.”

“No, I definitely heard something just now.”

“Nothing but the wind.”

“Danya, the windows are closed.”

“Would you like me to open them? I hear the weather’s supposed to be nice today.”

“No, I— ugh, nevermind. Can you get me the numbers on recidivism rates for reincarnated souls? I want to have something concrete to throw at the Eighth and Ninth Circles…”

Event Log: Jayta Jaskolka

Morningstar: Palace of the Sovereigns

1:38pm SGT

“Well, I gotta admit — it’s been fun, but I think I’m ready to go home.” Brian says, delicately dipping a shrimp in a little cocktail cup. The shrimp itself looks like it’s a jumbo shrimp, but next to Brian’s massive hand, it’s comically small. “Morningstar’s nice; the parties have been great, but I’ll be honest: it’s left me a little worn out.”

“Yeah.” I agree, looking around. We’re currently in the luncheon room, which is below the grand hall where the Sovereigns hold court for their formal conferences with the Lords. Up until now, the daily meetings had been a single Sovereign presiding while the Lords and their advisors attended conferences, usually in one of the adjacent wings. But in these last days, the meetings had moved to the grand hall, with all Sovereigns attending, as the Seventh, Eighth, and Ninth Circles started locking in major policy decisions and agendas for the next decade. “I’m gonna be happy to go home to Hautaholvi. The capital is… it takes a lot of energy. Everyone here has big personalities.”

“Hey, it’s the capital of hell for a reason, right? Weak shit won’t cut it here in the heart of power.” Brian says, popping the shrimp in his mouth. Many of the advisers to the Lords are doing their rounds at the catered buffet tables, overflowing with all manner of food. Typically a buffet means quantity over quality, but this particular buffet was some high-quality stuff. Each serving was individually plated, professionally arranged, and artistically displayed — no ladling food out of a tray or trough like you were at a streetside buffet. “I’ll be honest, I’m not sure I could cut it here on the regular. I could see myself burning out eventually — I know I play the part back in Hautaholvi, but that’s a quieter city. The only bigshots I have to worry about out there are Blackthorn and his people.” Pinching another shrimp by the tail, he ducks it in the cocktail sauce and glances at me. “Is it just me, or did I see you cozied up to him the other night during that fight exhibition down at the Pit…?”

Brian isn’t the first one to have asked me that question over the past few days. I’d struggled with how to respond to the accusations at first, but by this point I’ve figured out my response, and it’s to answer with a sly smile and not a word.

“Oh hohoho, you naughty minx.” he gasps, pawing the shrimp at me. “Girl. Seriously? When did this happen? And Danya let it happen?”

I scoff at that. “Let it happen? Please. She couldn’t have stopped me if she wanted. Besides, I’m sure she preferred to keep it in the House, rather than letting another Lord get her teeth in him.”

“Huhuhu?” he chuckles, popping that shrimp into his mouth. “So you had competition, then? And from another Lord? Hooo, little buddy. That’s playin’ a dangerous game. I would not want to be the demon that yanked the rug out from under one of the Lords. They can be mighty spiteful when they choose to hold grudges.”

“Oh, I know. I’ve seen her sulking and seen the looks she’s sent my way.” I say, nibbling on the churro I choose to round out my lunch after the club sandwich and salad. “She knows she can’t touch me, though. Raikaron would have her by the ankles if she tried.”

“Well well, ain’t you just a little princess.” he says, his chair creaking perilously under his burly mass as he shifts a little. “You’re playin’ with the big dogs now, kiddo. There’s no going back after this. Once you’ve slighted a Lord and gotten away with it, you’re on the scene. People are gonna know your name.”

“It’s not that big of a deal. All I did was get there before Envy did.” I say, brushing off Brian’s exultation. “Besides, the rest of hell has better things to do than feed the rumor mill. Sinners to punish and all that.”

“Girl, seriously?” Brian scoffs. “In the higher Circles the rumor mill is the entertainment. Hell, even in the lower Circles the rumor mill is the entertainment! You just don’t know it because Regret mostly keeps his head down and his House out of it, but even he can’t fully escape it. Everyone wants to know what the latest feuds and vendettas are, who’s sleeping with who, who’s gettin’ cucked, and who’s gonna pay for it. That’s the tea, the spice, and some of us live for it.”

“Huh. Like you?” I say, raising an eyebrow.

“Guilty as charged.” he says, tossing the last shrimp in his mouth before handing off his empty plate to one of the servants. “You know me, I run the Hautaholvi Exchange! Part of my business is literally dealing in secrets and favors. The rumor mill is basically a work resource for me. And trust me, little buddy, your name’s gonna be making the rounds for the next month or so. Tabloids are gonna be on that like maggots on meat.”

“What, for getting cozy with Raikaron at one of the social events?” I protest. “That’s so stupid! Why is it such a big deal?”

“Why is it a— seriously? Little buddy, Blackthorn’s never had a Mistress Lady as long as he’s been here!” Brian says, leaning a forearm on his knee as he gives me an incredulous look. “We all thought he was aces! For us this is big news. World-shaking stuff.”

I give him a flat look, eating the last of my churro. “Now you’re just mocking me.”

He grins. “Yeah. Maybe a little. But no, being serious now… people are gonna be talking.” He pauses to size up the buffet tables, as if debating going back for more. Honestly, I can’t blame him; as big as he is, and as small as the portion sizes are, he’d probably need to shovel at least a dozen of those plates to get something approaching a decent meal for someone of his stature. “So if you don’t mind me asking, like, what is it? Are we talkin’ just a little fling here, or something a little more serious? Looking to lock him down for the winter? I mean, we’re getting into cuffing season…”

“Brian, you just admitted to feeding off the rumor mill and using it for work!” I say. “What makes you think I’m gonna spill my guts to you, of all people?”

“Aw, c’mon, little buddy!” he says, waving that away. “You know I’m not gonna throw you under the bus! I wouldn’t do ya dirty like that. But you can’t blame me for being curious, yeah? I’ve known Blackthorn for decades, and he’s never so much as shown an interest in anyone until you showed up.”

“Well, what can I say. I’m special.” I say, preening a little.

“Aw, don’t do that. You’re dodgin’ the question!” he insists.

“I don’t have to tell you a thing about what’s going on with me and Rai.”

“Ugh. You’re killin’ me, Jayta. C’mon, just a lit—”

The loud thumping of spear butts against the floor interrupts us, and most of the demons in the room look to the doorway where a couple of uniformed Palace guards have taken post. Coming out of the spiral stairway are Sheol, in long, flowing, dark grey silks; Lilith, in sharp, sleek business affair, and Lucifer, in… ripped jorts and a crop top with a midriff jacket over it, scrolling through her phone.

I can tell by the way that Brian folds his lower lip up under his tombstone teeth that he wants to make a remark, and is only refraining because he doesn’t want to get atomized on the spot. Considering how quiet the rest of the room has become, he’s not the only one that feels that way.

As the Sovereigns make their way across the luncheon room, demons clear out of the way, leaving a path to the raised section where the Lords are enjoying lunch away from their advisers. However, Lucifer breaks away from the other two, angling across the room heading for one of the buffet tables. Even though she hasn’t looked up from her phone, demons are clearing from her path like a school of fish parting for a shark — nobody wants to get between a hungry demon goddess and a table full of food, even if she’s dressed like a rebellious college sophomore.

“She’s, uhm. Coming this way.” Brian mutters to me as Lucifer gets closer.

“Yeah, I, uh. Noticed.” I mumble back.

Lucifer looks up from her phone at that point, locking onto me as if she heard me. “Hey you! Yeah, what’s-yer-name. Jayta. With me, I need someone to carry my buffet plates. Who’s your big black friend?”

Across the room, Lilith’s head spins around so fast I’m surprised it didn’t break her neck. “Luci! Phrasing!” she hisses.

Lucifer looks over her shoulder. “What? What do you mean, phra—” Then she stops, as if realizing what she said. “—oh. Right. Yeah, I guess that wasn’t the best choice of words, was it.” She looks back around at Brian. “What’s your name, big guy?”

Brian, for as massive as he is, looks like he’s wilting in front of Lucifer, who’s shorter than him even when he’s sitting down. “Uh… Brian?”

“Really? That’s it?” Lucifer says, wrinkling her nose. “I was expecting something that had like, four or five syllables. They’re really starting to slack on the names nowadays, aren’t they. Shame. Well, up on your feet, both of you. I’m gonna need help picking out my food; I need to make a call and I’ll only have one hand free.”

“Oh. Uh, okay. I mean, yes, your Highness.” I say, standing up and motioning Brian to follow as Lucifer goes back to staring at her phone, making a beeline for the buffet tables. Given that I’ve spent time with Lucifer before and I’ve seen how normal she is, I’m not too awestruck, but Brian looks super spooked by being asked to carry food for the one and only Lucifer.

“Alright, let’s see here, Jesu Jesu Jesu… here you are.” Lucifer says, scrolling through her phone until she reaches the right contact and dials it. She holds it up to her ear as we reach the first of the buffet tables, pointing out a fancy-looking salad bowl. “One of those, please. Lili will give me looks if I don’t at least to pretend to eat healthy.”

I lean forward, picking up the salad bowl off the table, then after a moment of consideration, turn and hand it off to Brian. I stay close behind Lucifer as she starts down the length of the table, occasionally pointing out dishes for me to pick up for her and hand to Brian. Her pace slows down as whoever she’s calling finally picks up, and she starts meandering a lot more as she talks.

“Hey, Jesu, big bro, mhmm. Yeah it’s your little sister, Luci… mhmm. Yup. I know, we haven’t talked in ages. No, this isn’t a catchup call, I’m actually in the middle of a business conference right now. There’s a couple things we need to talk about, though.” Lucifer pauses, lowering the phone to peer over the buffet table. “Is that a noriac flank pot pie? Hot out of the oven? Shit man, get me one of those!”

I lean over the table, picking up the steaming pot pie as Lucifer goes back to talking in her phone. “Yeah yeah yeah. So here’s the deal, one of my archdemons told me that we’ve been seeing a pretty chunky uptick of bigots over the past few years… yes, I’m aware, that’s what hell is for. I’m not complaining about that. The reason I’m calling you is that these aren’t just your bog-standard racists and homophobes or transphobes or whatever other ‘phobes you got crawling around out in the mortal plane. They’re your people.”

Lucifer pauses and turns, one finger tapping at her lower lip before she points out what looks like a bowl of soup with a lot of… something floating in it. I reach over and grab it, and as I’m doing so, the contents shift, with one of the orbs in the soup rolling over to reveal that it’s an eye. Gritting my teeth, I turn quickly and hand it off to Brian before I lose my lunch.

“Mhmm. Yeah. Yeah, you heard me. Your people… no, I didn’t stutter. Yup… yup.” Lucifer says, moving on to the next buffet table. “People that are practicing your religion, or whatever warped version of it they’ve come up with now. Uh-huh! Yeah! I’m goin’ there! Your zealots are ending up in my hell… why? Are you kidding me? Are you really asking me that right now? Why are your people ending up in my hell?! Why do you think, Jesu? They’re being dicks and douchebags! This isn’t rocket science, you know how this works! If you’re a jerk during your mortal life, you go to hell! What about this is so surprising to you?”

Lucifer points out what looks like a slice of apple pie, and I lean forward to grab it, passing it off to Brian. “You good?” I ask him quietly. “She’s getting a lot more than I expected for someone her size…”

“I’m fine. Totally fine.” he says quickly. “I’ll carry whatever she wants me to. Whatever it takes to stay on her good side.”

“Oh, don’t give me that.” Lucifer scoffs in disgust as we catch up with her. “You and I both know your followers are far from perfect little angels. You remember the Crusades? Mhmm? What about the Inquisition? And the Witch Trials? And like thirty-six thousand other major wars fought in Dad’s name over the last billion years, to say nothing of the minor wars and all the regional conflicts between the different sects and splinter religions. Yeah. Uh huh. That’s what I thought. Joggin’ your memory now? Yeah. Yeah. A whole ton of your followers are shitheads. And they’re cloggin’ up my hell. So you need to get on the same page with all your prophets and straighten out your people, because my archdemons are tired of dealing with their bullshit… yes! Yes, it’s that bad! Nothing but moaning and whining all day. ‘But I believed in Christi, why am I in hell?’ ‘I went to church every week, why am I in hell?’ ‘But I lived by the holy book, why am I in hell?’ And that’s ANOTHER thing! Why on God’s green earth — pun intended — are you and Dad still using that musty-ass dustrag for your religions? You guys haven’t bothered updating that thing in millennia! You guys got shit in there that’s been in there since before humanity left the Milky Way! Some versions of it still make it a stoning offense to be gay! And because you two have never bothered updating the damn thing, it’s given some of your followers some mighty funky ideas about what they think you two want out of them!”

“Do you know who she’s talking to?” I whisper to Brian as Lucifer’s grilling steadily grows more heated and agitated.

“I think she’s talking to Jesu Christi?” Brian murmurs back. “God of the Christlings, I think he’s her brother.”

“Oh. I don’t know much about Christlings, I was born Aurescuran and raised in a witch coven.” I reply. Both Brian and I are staying behind by ten feet, not wanting to get up on Lucifer when she’s chewing out someone with this much vigor.

“ ‘Not your finest work’? Jesu, the platypus looks like a goddamn masterpiece compared to some of your followers that are ending up in my hell!” Luci snaps into her phone. “I don’t want your apologies! I want you to get off your ass and tell your followers to stop being dicks to other people! Is that really that hard? Don’t you remember when you lived among the mortals? The entire point of your cutesy little mortal field trip was to tell the religious establishment to stop being dicks. Remember that? Yeah? The whole crucifixion thing? Well guess what, your followers and believers are back to being dicks again! You might even argue that they never stopped in the first place! So yeah, if you’d get off your exalted tush and tell your people to get their act together, that’d be much appreciated!”

By this point, Luci has wheeled on the dessert table, glaring at it as she studies the offerings, while every other demon in the room is giving her a wide, fifty-foot berth. She points to what looks like a bowl of ice cream that has traces of rum and raisin in it, and I scurry forward to pick it up and put it in Brian’s arms, which are starting to get pretty full.

“You’ll look into it? You better. I’m not lettin’ you off the hook on this one, Jesu; it don’t mean shit until you actually do what you say you’re gonna do… mhmm… yeah, whatever… yeah, I’m doing fine otherwise. Yeah, Lili’s here. No, I’m not gonna— it’s complicated, you know that! We’re workin’ through some stuff, okay? Just give us some space.” Turning to me, Lucifer covers the bottom of her phone and whispers to me, pointing to one of the plates in the cheesecake section. “Can you tell me what that is?”

“Uhm…” I lean over the table, looking at the fancy, scrawly text on the placard. “I think it says that it’s apple crumb cheesecake with… lingon topping?”

Lucifer’s eyes widen as she gasps. “Oh, I gotta have me some of that. Grab me one of those. Actually grab two, I wanna give one to Lili.” Taking her hand off the bottom of her phone, she returns to her call. “Yeah, I’m still here. What? Oh, Michael’s there with you? I didn’t know you two were back to doing poker night again… mm? Yeah, I can pass that along.” Spinning on her heel, Lucifer shouts across the luncheon room. “Hey Lili, your ex-husband wanted me to send his regards! Anything you want me to tell him?”

Lilith, over at the table where the Lords are eating, looks absolutely livid — whether it’s due to having her business broadcast in front of the upper Circles, or because of her ex-husband, is unclear. Her response is to raise both middle fingers. “Tell him he can sit his archangel asshole on one of these!” she shouts back at Lucifer.

Lucifer shrugs. “Fair ‘nuff.” she says, returning to her phone. “Okay, yeah, if Michael’s still there, tell him that his ex-wife can’t stop shouting my name and that we’re having the wildest, most unrepentant sex you can find within the local galactic cluster. What? No, it’s nothing personal, I just like aggravating him. It’s the gift that keeps on giving.”

I finish loading one of the two plates of cheesecake, topped with a red berry sauce, into Brian’s arms. At this point he’s perilously close to dropping the plates he’s got, so I elect to just hold the other one, turning back towards Lucifer, who’s heading towards the table that the Lords are at. I hurry after her, with Brian following along behind me.

“Yeah. Yeah, that is the only reason I called you. I’m tired of seeing your politicians and your bishops at the gates of my hell. They are your politicians! They use their so-called faith as a prop for their campaigns and pass laws that they think you want them to pass! So don’t try to wriggle out of that when I can clearly see yours and Dad’s names plastered all over their campaign ads! Besides, do you know how much work it is to run two hells at once? It ain’t a walk in the park and having your people clogging intake in my hell is making my life harder than it needs to be. I already got enough to deal with in Sjelefengsel; I don’t need you making things harder for me too. So if you could… yes. I just need you to talk to your people and tell them to stop being dicks. We good? Okay. Good. Look, I gotta go now, I’m about to sit down for lunch with the rest of the conference. Yeah, yeah, whatever. Love ya too. ‘Kay. Bye.”

With that, Lucifer closes the call as she ascends the stairs leading up to the long table the Lords and the other two Sovereigns have settled at. Heading to the chair at the end that’s been reserved for her, she pulls it out and sits herself down right next to Lilith and Sheol as Brian and I catch up with her. “Alright, did I miss anything?” she asks as I start placing the plates that Brian and I are carrying for her.

“Nothing of consequence.” Sheol says in her deep, husky voice. It’s the first time I’ve heard her speak, and I hadn’t expected her voice to be so rich and dark.

“Hungry today, are we?” Lilith asks, raising an eyebrow as I continue unloading the array of plates from Brian’s arms.

“Look, if we’re gonna be paying through the nose for this kind of catering, I want my money’s worth out of it.” Lucifer says, unrolling her utensils from her napkin. “Be a damn shame to let any of this go to waste. I also got some apple crumb cheesecake with lingonberry topping for you.”

“That’s not the only topping you’ll be giving her.” a familiar voice mutters further down the table.

Lilith glares down the table at one of the Greater Lords. “Lust, do you value having all of your limbs remain in their current configuration?”

“Lay off her, Lili. You know she’s just starved for attention.” Lucifer says as I set the last of the plates on the table. “That everything? Awesome. You two can run along now.”

“Take this back, or give it to someone else.” Lilith orders, picking up the second plate of cheesecake and holding it out to me. “If Luci wants to share a dish with me, she can share hers.”

I take the plate hesitantly, glancing at Lucifer, who raises an eyebrow at me. “What’re you looking at me for? You heard her. Go put it back.” Then she gets a sly look on her face, and grins. “Or better yet, take it to your Lord. I’m sure he’d like something sweet from his favorite demon.”

I glance down the table to see Raikaron listening politely to other Lords as they eat and carry conversations with each other. I’m a little unsure about whether Raikaron wants anything to eat, or wants to be bothered, but if he ends up being perturbed by it, I can always tell him that Lucifer told me to do it, which is technically true. Moving around the end of the table, I make my way down to the middle section, where Raikaron’s sitting, and carefully touch a hand to his shoulder.

He turns at the touch, looking up and seeing me behind his chair. “Jayta. Is there something I can help you with?”

“Lucifer recommended I bring you some apple crumb cheesecake with lingonberry topping.” I say, proffering the plate. “You didn’t have anything, so I figured I’d check and see if you were hungry…”

He smiles a little. “You’re too thoughtful.” Reaching up, he takes the plate and sets it before him, then reaches up to catch my hand before it’s lowered. “How are you? Enjoying lunch so far?”

It’s a polite question, the kind of thing you’d expect to be exchanged between colleagues, and the way it’s framed, it sounds professional. But the way his fingers wrap around mine tell a different story — he doesn’t want to be at this table, listening to the other Lords drivel on about their petty machinations and their social manipulations. He wants to be with me instead, away from all this.

“It’s been good. I have Brian to keep me company and keep me from getting too bored.” I reply, squeezing his hand in return. “I’ll be happy to help you with your reports again tonight. They’re certainly… enlightening, and I have learned quite a lot from the experience.”

He can’t hide the amusement in his green eyes. “You have no idea how much I appreciate your assistance.” he says. “I’m quite looking forward to it. I enjoy teaching people new things.”

I can’t help the smirk that gets the best of me. “You are an incredible teacher, that much is undeniable. Full of all sorts of skills and neat little tricks. I have to say I’ve already learned a lot from you, and I’m looking forward to learning more.” Lifting his hand, I give his fingers a quick kiss. “I’ll see you back in the grand hall, my Lord.”

“And you too, Jayta.” he says, relinquishing my hand as I retreat back down the stairs. The glow I feel is irrepressible, and Brian, waiting for me at the foot of the stairs, notices.

“Well.” he remarks, an eyebrow raised. “Someone’s rather excited about compiling reports and handling paperwork.”

“It’s part of my job. I’m the avenger for the Lord of Regret, after all. I need to be able to handle the paperwork for the House in case he should need assistance with it.”

“Seems you’re rather enthusiastic about that part of your job.”

“Doesn’t everyone love filling out reports and putting them in their place?”

“Mmm. Sure. I don’t think reports are the only thing that’s getting filled out and put in its place.”

“Oh Brian. Get your mind out of the gutter. Some of us are actually hard workers, y’know?”

“I don’t doubt you’re workin’ hard for something, but it sure ain’t a gold star and a pat on the head…”

“And how would you know? Maybe I like being told I’m a good girl.”

“…do you?”

“Hmhm.”

“Fine then, keep your secrets. Now, I’m still kinda hungry, so I say we do another round at the tables and maybe try out some of those dishes Lucifer picked. I’m kinda curious about what kind of food one of the Queens of Hell likes to eat…”

Event Log: Jayta Jaskolka

Morningstar: Palace of the Sovereigns

4:02pm SGT

“…as you can see from the numbers here, recidivism in reincarnated souls accounts for a staggering twenty-three percent of Sjelefengsel’s yearly admissions. These are not my own numbers; they are pulled directly from the public records of Sjelefengsel’s central intake and processing agency. Of this twenty-three percent, a further twenty-nine percent are souls that had served a sentence in Sjelefengsel, were reincarnated, and lived the kind of life that led them straight back here once they died again. Now, while I will grant that this is a fraction of a fraction, it is a large fraction of another large fraction, on the order of hundreds of thousands of souls. Every year, year after year.”

I watch as Raikaron gives his presentation, aided by the images that manifest, one by one, over the long table in the grand hall. We’re essentially in the throne room of the palace, with the Sovereigns sitting in their thrones at the end of the room, watching as each Lord gets up from the table to give their closing presentation for the Congress. Since there are seven Greater Lords and over twenty Lesser Lords, it’s a process that’s taking a while, and taking its toll on everyone’s patience. It’s obvious that some Lords intend to continue running their domains exactly the same they’ve been doing for the last several decades, but you can’t just tell the Queens of Hell that you’re not going to change anything, then sit back down.

So a fair number of them have been padding their presentations with numbers, buzzwords, inconsequential little policy and process changes to make it look like they’re doing something meaningful. I think the shortest presentation so far has been forty-five minutes; most of them are averaging an hour and a half, and the ones that actually have substance can get up to three hours long. Nobody is enjoying this, Sovereigns included, but everyone is forcing themselves to sit through it because there’s an unspoken understanding that it’s part of the process and needs to be done.

Raikaron’s presentation, though, is actually grabbing my attention. It’s addressing a problem that is bigger than just his own domain, and he’s showing a genuine interest in the problem, its causes, its effects, and presumably, the potential solutions. You can feel it in how he approaches the topic, breaks it down, explains the effects, then gives you the numbers creating those effects. He knows what he’s talking about, and he’s deconstructing the problem and analyzing it, instead of just giving a glorified progress report like some of the other Lords are.

That’s not to say it’s the most gripping thing in the world. I still find myself tuning him out at some points, just like I’ve done for most of the Lords up til now. But at least with him, I’m able to pay attention to more of it than I otherwise would.

“It is hard to overstate the strain this reincarnation recidivism places on Sjelefengsel at large. It is not just processing and intake that struggles with the burden; it is the court system and the penance system which bear the weight of this dysfunction. In the penance system particularly, the issues are self-reinforcing; our desire to ameliorate the backlog of souls awaiting punishment has resulted in a quantity-over-quality approach, funneling as many of these souls as possible through a standardized, one-size-fits-all set of sentencing guidelines. While we have technically achieved our mandate by doing so, the fact that so many reincarnated souls return here within a century of leaving is proof that what we are doing here is not working. By doing shoddy work on the penance side, we are creating more work for ourselves: constantly paying for a pound of medicine when we could’ve invested in an ounce of prevention.”

From where I’m sitting beside Raikaron, I can stare past the Lords and their advisors on the other side of the table, and see the flows of lava that run through channels on the edges of the throne room. The bright orange rivers originate from the back of the grand hall, behind the thrones, and flow the length of the room to the end; they help regulate the temperature in the room, keeping things nice and toasty despite how late we are into fall. I can also see through the windows lining both sides of the hall, which allow a limited view of the vast splay of Morningstar’s city grid. With the evening drawing near, the golden lights of hell’s capital are starting to glimmer to life in the swift-falling night.

At least until those lights start going dark, block by block.

For a second I’m not sure what I’m seeing, but as more squares of gleaming lights turn into black patches, I realize that I’m watching a power outage, a blackout, in realtime. And it’s not slowing down — that wave of darkness is washing across the capitol right up to the volcano in the center of it. Which means it’s gonna hit the Palace last.

A moment later, the lights in the grand hall wink out.

Everyone wakes up at that. There’s an immediate, widespread sound of fabric rustling as people sit up in their chairs and abandon their slouched positions, and Raikaron trails off as his presentation graphics disappear. It’s not completely dark in the grand hall, thanks to the glowing lava still flowing through the channels on either side of the room, but everything is now dim and heavily shadowed, and people are starting to murmur to each other, asking questions.

“Well.” Raikaron remarks mildly. “That puts a bit of a kink in my presentation.”

A loud double-clap from the end of the hall prompts decorative torches on the walls to suddenly spring to life, revealing that they’re not so decorative after all. Sheol lowers her hands, issuing an order as she does so. “Continue your presentation, Regret.” she orders, then looks to Lilith. “Lilith, if you would find out what’s going on…”

“Already on it.” Lilith replies, her phone out and thumbing furiously at the screen. Lucifer, sprawled out on her throne with her handheld console, barely even looks up, apparently unbothered by the power outage.

“Very well. This next part did not require graphics anyway.” Raikaron says, turning back to the rest of the table. “I understand that an expansion and a reimagining of Sjelefengsel’s sentencing guidelines is a radical approach to take, especially without an existing body of evidence to support the efficacy of such changes. To that end, I would like permission to rework those guidelines, and run them as a pilot program within the Hautaholvi locality, so that data can be collected, and so that we may have a body of evidence by which to measure the effectiveness of…”

He trails off unexpectedly, and I look up to see his neon green eyes have come unfocused behind his glasses. The other Lords at the table have noticed as well, others watching him and clearly wondering what’s going on. He blinks a couple of times, then shakes his head and goes on.

“The effectiveness of such changes to… to the sentencing…” he begins, then falters and trails off again, his brows drawing together in perplexion as he looks around. “I’m sorry, I must ask: is anyone else sensing that?”

“What, you being a pretentious know-it-all?” Spite drawls. “Because I’m definitely getting that vibe from you wanting to run a special program that doesn’t stick to the rules that the rest of us have to follow.”

I’m fully expecting Raikaron to deliver a stinging rejoinder, and so I’m surprised when he completely passes up the opportunity. “No, no, not that.” he murmurs, turning in place with his brow still furrowed. “There’s a… presence in the Palace, feels like it’s… warping everything. Twisting reality around it the way light bends around a black hole. Truly, do none of you sense that?”

“I feel it.” It comes from the end of the hall, where Sheol has risen from her throne. “Something has intruded upon the Palace which should not be here.”

“I sense it as well.” Lilith says, slowly lowering her phone. “How did it get past the defenses?”

The other Lords at the table start to rustle nervously. It’s one thing for Raikaron to be concerned; it’s another to see the Sovereigns visibly rattled. “Is something happening?” one of them asks, vocalizing what is being murmured by the others at the table. “Should we be concerned?”

“The Palace guards are dealing with it.” Lucifer drawls without looking up from her handheld console. “It’ll be fine.”

“I am not sure it will; it is getting closer, Luci.” Lilith mutters, starting to stand out of her throne now. “It draws near to the throne room even as we speak.”

“Lili, there’s three hypernaturals in this room and a bunch of deminaturals.” Lucifer points out. “We are in the heart of the oldest hell in the universe, practically sitting on top of Sjelefengsel’s core, which gives us the power we use to rule this place. And that’s in addition to the power we already get from lording over our own hells. Whatever comes through those doors, if it wants to pick a fight, it chose literally the worst place to do it. I can count on one hand the number of hypernaturals in the known universe that could waltz in here and win that kind of—” She suddenly stops as her handheld flickers and goes dark. “—oh, son of a bitch, are you kidding me? I was almost at a save point!”

Lucifer’s handheld isn’t the only device that’s gone dark. It looks like the same has happened to Lilith’s phone, and the phones of any other demons that had pulled them out. Along the walls, the fire in the torches starts to weaken, gradually dwindling down until each torch has gone out - and along the sides of the room, the lava flowing through the channels begins to slow down, losing its glow as it starts to cool and solidify, beginning near the doors at the front of the hall and slowly working its way down the length of the hall all the way to the back.

“Raikaron?” I ask quietly, shifting uneasily in my chair. “What’s happening?”

His eyes are darting around as the shadows fully return to the grand hall, and he holds one arm out to me. “Come here, Jayta.” he orders softly. I hesitate for a moment, but then slip from my chair and move over to him; he folds his arm around me, keeping me close to his side.

Normally I think Raikaron would be roundly mocked by other Lords for such a display of protectiveness, but the mood in the grand hall is tense right now, and he is no longer the center of attention. Other Lords are starting to shuffle uneasily, as if they want to get up out of their chairs; their advisors have started to murmur to each other more insistently, though the chatter dims away to quiet when the sound of shouts penetrates the grand hall’s double doors. Everyone in the grand hall stops to listen, straining to hear the muffled orders of Palace guards telling someone to stop where they are. There is no reply in turn, and the shouting of the guards starts to peak even higher before it abruptly goes silent.

Completely silent.

No sounds of weapons driving into bodies, no humming or crackling from firearms, no weird noises from magic being employed. No sounds of struggle, no sounds of running or fleeing, no sounds of lifeless bodies hitting the floor.

Just sudden, deafening silence.

The entire hall has gone deathly still, aside from the Palace guards posted just inside the grand hall. They turn hesitantly towards the doors when the corridor beyond suddenly becomes silent; one starts lowering his polearm, like he was prepping to use something he’d never thought he’d ever have to use. The quiet and stillness persists for several long seconds, with all of us waiting — and then susurrating noise slithers through the silence.

A long, soft exhalation.

Like someone gently releasing a breath they’d just inhaled. And it fills the throne room, seeming to come from every direction, omnipresent and sourceless. No matter which way you turn, it always feels like it’s emanating from just behind you, gliding over your shoulder.

As the sound fades, I notice movement at the double doors. But they don’t swing open; instead, a point at their center starts to decay, the material of the doors flaking outwards into a fine, powdery dust. It’s not a violent decay, but instead silent and graceful; as the crumbling spot expands outwards, the dust slowly spirals forwards into the throne room, before peeling backwards like the petals of an opening flower. And walking through the center of that expanding hole is small, diminutive figure in a black cloak, the hood pulled up over the head and wearing half of a white mask, modeled in the semblance of a cat’s upper face.

“It cannot be!” one of the Greater Lords hisses, surging to his feet as several other Lords do the same, and their advisors scramble to get up and put their Lords between them and the intruder. “What is she doing here?”

Raikaron pushes me behind himself and towards Danya, who has stood up. The Palace guards at the door move to block the intruder’s way, but she lifts a hand beneath her cloak, and makes a small twist of her wrist, like she was brushing lint off her clothes. On either side of her, the Palace guards lose their hue and definition, silently fading into ashy dust that swirls away when she walks past it.

“Witchling! What is the meaning of this?” Towards the head of the table, one of the Greater Lords — Wrath, I think — has gotten on the table, standing on it and shouting down its length at the intruder. “You were not invited here and you are not wel—”

Be not.

Everything in me instantly freezes up as I feel the whole of reality itself shift. I don’t hear the words, because they’re not spoken; I don’t sense the words, either. Instead I know the words, and their intention; as if that particular facet of reality had suddenly been amplified to the point where it was impossible to ignore or overlook. It is a kind of communication that forgoes words, that bypasses thoughts, and uses reality itself as the medium for communicating ideas and concepts. Treating the fabric of existence as something that can be highlighted, amplified, erased, or rewritten to convey one’s intentions.

And the intention here — that each and every person in the room can sense — is that the Lord of Wrath should stop existing.

Which he does. He fights it for a moment, for a split second; he flickers—

Then he’s just not there anymore.

And even more than that, I start to realize that I can’t remember who was standing on the table seconds earlier. And I’m not even really sure if there was anyone standing on the table in the first place.

I know that something happened, but I’m not sure what. What I do know is that the Lords and demons at the foot of the table are scattering away to the sides of the room, giving the intruder wide berth as she continues down the length of the throne room. I faintly remember someone shouting at her, calling her Witchling earlier, and all the memories from my childhood come flooding back. The scrolls and tapestries in the coven matriarch’s house; the small, hooded figure overseeing every depiction of Aurescura, and the Old City, and standing before the Beast at the renewal of each profane Cycle.

The Witchling, the sacrificial savior of each and every soul, mortal and immortal, in Aurescura.

“MAUGRIMM! You think you can just walk in here and start disappearing my archdemons like you own the place?!” The shout comes from the head of the table where Lucifer has thrown down her handheld console, and finally stood up from her throne. She starts down the stairs in front of the thrones, slamming a fist into an open hand, and there’s a flash of crimson and yellow light. When it clears away, Lucifer’s no longer a scrawny 5’6 college delinquent in ripped jorts and crop top.

She’s nine feet of ripped, fuming goddess in fully-armored battle regalia that’s smoking from the raw heat and power that it’s giving off.

“Stay near me, Jayta.” Danya murmurs, folding an arm around me and pulling me backward another few paces. I don’t resist, folding my hands against my stomach — my fingers, the whole of me is trembling, and I can’t stop.

You know I do not countenance fools.

I feel the reality shift as the Witchling continues forward at the same, inexorable pace that she has maintained since entering the throne room. Never once slowing, or moving faster, not even when reducing the guards to dust or answering the Lucifer’s challenge. Neither does she slow down as she reaches the end of the table; instead, it cracks and decays before her approach, falling away into a fine dust that swirls to either side of her. More and more Lords stagger out of their chairs with their advisors quickly following, scrambling to get to the sides of the room and out of the Witchling’s path.

“Having one of my Lords mouth off to you is not an excuse to wipe him from the fucking face of existence, you empty tatterdemalion!” Lucifer snaps, stomping up onto the head of the long table. “What the hell do you want? Have out with it, because you are testing my patience and I am this close to giving you a failing grade!”

One of yours has broken the Law and taken an Aurescuran soul as his own.

With this, she comes to a halt, almost level with where we are. Her cloak slides aside as she lifts an arm; her mask remains facing Lucifer, but her hand is raised in Raikaron’s direction.

And all the sudden, he is hanging above the floor several feet, the air around him twitching and glitching as if the fabric of reality was breaking down. Raikaron himself looks strained, as if there was an immense pressure on him, and he was fighting back against it, trying to keep it from crushing him.

“What?!” Lucifer hisses, looking at Raikaron, before her eyes go to me, and it starts to click. “Oh, you’ve gotta be… seriously, Raikaron? Are you really that stupid? Did you think that you would get away with it? You know we keep our hands off Aurescuran souls! Everyone in the afterlives knows this!”

“Didn’t… know… she was… Aurescuran when… I offered… her… the contract.” Raikaron grunts out through gritted teeth, his limbs still twitching. It looks like he’s trying to reach for his vest pocket, but is unable to do so, paralyzed by whatever non-euclidean force is holding him in the air. “Didn’t… find out…. til later.”

“And did it occur to you to throw that fish back in the lake?!” Lucifer demands, gesturing wildly. “Not every catch is a keeper! It doesn’t happen often but some souls are off-limits!”

“Can’t… would send her back to Coreolis… where she’d be jailed for murder.” Raikaron grunts through a pained grimace. “Contract… was to… help her escape that.”

My heart flutters in my chest as I’m reminded of exactly how I’d ended up in Raikaron’s service. What I’d been trying to escape. And for the first time, I’m starting to truly understand not just how the contract enslaves me, but also how it protects me.

It was not your place, son of Syntaritov. You knew you broke the Law, but you did not repent of it. You rationalize your transgression, thinking intentions make you noble; but your actions reveal your arrogance. This soul was not yours to protect.

“Maugrimm, look. If it’s the girl you want, you can have her back.” Lucifer says as reality finishes fluxing and bending to communicate the Witchling’s will. “If I’d known he’d taken an Aurescuran soul, I would’ve been on top of him much sooner. You want her, you can take her back. I’ll take care of the contract.”

The Law demands more than just restitution. It requires reckoning for the transgressor.

“No!” Danya hisses, looking to Lucifer. “Your Highness, we will yield up the girl if we must, but to punish further than that is excessive for what was a mistake executed with charitable intentions.”

Blinding loyalty is no virtue. Such charity as you describe is corrupt beyond measure, forgetting that your Lord championed murder and vengeance under the illusion of justice. Then when the bill came due, he answered by frustrating true justice, depriving the mortal law while breaking the immortal Law in a single act of enslavement — and crowned it by calling it mercy. I am no stranger to the twisted logic of the Syntaritovs; I have known their cruel mercies firsthand, and I will not stand idly by while the truth is bent through such a tortured lens. I see you clear, son of Syntaritov. You will answer for the Law you have broken.

With that, the Witchling begins to curl the fingers of her upraised hand, and the incoherent reality around Raikaron starts to tighten and close in on him. Bits and pieces of him flicker in and out of existence, and I can feel my awareness of him slipping. Perhaps knowing he is seconds from winking out of existence, he turns his head, as much as he can, to look at me, and offers me something I hadn’t been expecting.

An apologetic smile, as if he was trying to say sorry before his time ran out.

Even though my hands are still shaking, I push Danya’s arms away and lurch towards the Witchling, folding to my knees before her. “Witchling! Please, forbear!”

The curling fingers stop short of closing into a fist. Slowly — in a way that opens up a terrible dread along my spine — the hooded head turns to me, the tawny eyes fixing upon me with all the infinite weight of Aurescura’s uncountable souls. Those pale, pink lips beneath the mask never move, even as I feel the question swell around me.

You would seek forbearance for the one who enslaved you?

I swallow hard. “He is not a good person. But he can be kind. He is flawed and has made mistakes; I cannot deny that. But he tries to do good where it matters. To change things for the better, even if his methods are strange and sometimes cruel. I ask you, please, to have mercy on him.”

You ask mercy because your contract with him shields you from the consequences of your actions. You know that just because you are one of mine does not mean I will judge your sins with a light hand.

I wince as the truth is unearthed and laid before me in a way I cannot deny or refute, and I lower my head, unable to stare into those cold, tawny eyes without feeling shame. I know my request for mercy is not entirely altruistic — that I am doing this partly because I am scared of what will happen to me once Raikaron is gone. “I still ask mercy, respectfully. He does not deserve to be unmade. This galaxy would be worse off without him.”

The grand hall is silent for a long moment, and it’s impossible to ignore my heart fluttering in my chest, terrified and hammering like a rabbit caught in a trap. Though the room is full of people, it’s almost like they’re not there; everyone is dead silent. Kneeling here, I can feel the way reality warps around the Witchling’s colossal presence, as if she was a black hole that destroys identity and consumes ego, and we are just planets caught in her accretion disk, risking our own destruction if we come to close to her.

And so when her fingers uncurl, and Raikaron drops back to the ground, heaving and gasping, it comes as a relief that the planet caught in her event horizon was released.

I will forbear destruction. But in its place, I will demand restitution.

I scramble across the floor to Raikaron, pulling him into my lap at he struggles to catch his breath and regain his composure. Flickers of shadow run over his skin as if he was struggling to hold in his eldritch form, and his eyes are wide, almost vacant, as if he had almost fallen off a cliff, and had only been pulled back at the last second. I run a hand over his cheek, trying to calm him down, and only look up when a shadow falls across the both of us. Though she can’t be more than five and a half feet, the Witchling seems to tower over us like a black monolith, the cold, tawny eyes cutting through flesh and bone to lay the soul bare.

You will go unto the house of your forefathers, son of Syntaritov. Therein lies something which your first ancestor once took from me. Acquire it, and return it to my throne in the Old City.

There is no room for negotiation, no leeway for interpretation, no opportunity for refusal. It is not a request, but an order, and one that we have no choice but to obey. No questions are to be asked, no instruction to be given — we are simply expected to do it, and how we go about it is irrelevant to the Witchling. She turns once her order has been given, and begins to tread back to the doors of the throne room at that slow, unyielding pace, having lost all interest in this place now that she has done what she came to do.

“Hey! You gonna give me back the Lord you dusted?” Lucifer belts from the end of the throne room. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten about that!”

The Witchling does not respond, or slow down. She does lift a hand in a faint, lazy motion, and the whole of reality seems to twitch and shudder — suddenly there is a man on the table at Lucifer’s feet, clutching his chest in a rictus of existential trauma. It takes a few seconds before I remember that it’s Wrath, the Lord that had originally confronted the Witchling — and whom I had entirely forgotten had existed for the past several minutes.

In the Witchling’s wake, the spirals of dust begin to move in reverse, reforming the decayed tables and chairs, the Palace guards, and finally the gaping hole in the double doors. As the last speck of dust settles back into place, it leaves the grand hall as if she was never here — aside from the terrified demon Lords scattered around the room, and a fuming Lucifer stepping down off the table.

“Is he alright?” Danya demands, swiftly kneeling beside me and studying Raikaron.

“I think he’s in shock.” I whisper, running a hand through his hair even though my fingers are trembling. “I think I am too.”

“The conference will be adjourned for today.” Sheol orders from the head of the table. “We will reconvene tomorrow. Go take your rest and be ready to resume tomorrow.”

Nobody appears to have any complaints about that. The advisors start gathering up their materials, and following their Lords as they drift to the doors; sidelong glances are cast at Raikaron and Wrath, who are still recovering from the treatment they received from the Witchling. Normally I’d feel self-conscious about it, but after what we just experienced, I don’t care about what others think or how they perceive us right now. I just want to hold my Lord close and know that he’s okay.

“I will return him to his quarters, and arrange a visit from a local doctor.” Danya says, sliding her arms under him and lifting him up. “I doubt it will help, but the caution should be taken nonetheless, in case it does yield some benefit. Gather our supplemental materials, Jayta, and return to your room. I will let you know when you can visit him.”

I reluctantly get back to my feet, going to our chairs at the table and gathering up the data slates we’d brought with us. Once I’ve grabbed them all, I turn and hurry to catch up to Danya, keeping my head down and hugging the slates tightly as I follow along behind her.

Of the many ways one could meet the heart, soul, and savior of their people, this was not the way I’d wanted to meet mine.

Event Log: Jayta Jaskolka

Morningstar: Palace of the Sovereigns

11:11pm SGT

No one’s in the hall when I crack open my door and peer through the gap.

After checking to make sure no one’s out there, I poke my head out and glance down the other end of the hall. Empty as well. Slipping out, I close and lock my door behind me, hurrying down the hall knock on Raikaron’s door.

There’s no response after fifteen seconds, so I knock again, a little louder. I hear something shift on the other side of the door; I don’t know whether it’s permission given or what, but I’d planned on coming in, whether he’d wanted me to or not. Grabbing the doorknob, I twist it and pull it open just enough to slip in and yank it shut behind me.

But when I turn around, I have to bite back a yelp of alarm.

It takes me a moment to realize that the room is filled with Raikaron — in his Blackthorn Demon form. The colossal, fourteen-foot eldritch wolf, crammed into this room and curled up, paws and the dead glade on his back pressed against the walls, the side of his mouthless head resting against the wall nearest to me. The bone-white face covering has been removed, laid in the center of the room, not far from his chest maw and the leathery black arms lining it. My heart is pounding in my chest, just because of how I’ve been conditioned to this form. It only ever comes out when Raikaron is mortally injured, or furious, or giving someone a reason to reconsider their insolence. Good things never happen when he manifests as what he really is, instead of his neat and prim vessel.

But when I see how he’s looking at me — big, soulful green eyes, no longer obscured behind the white mask — I feel my heart soften, and slow down. Carefully stepping over one of his massive, sinewy forelegs, I walk over to his head — his muzzle comes up to my waist, even when it’s resting on the ground — and reach out, gently running a hand through the fur on his muzzle. It’s softer than I was expecting, stiffer at the tips and a little softer down below. He doesn’t protest the touch, instead closing his eyes and turning his head ever so slightly to nudge my leg. Taking that as a positive sign, I sink to my knees, hanging one arm over his muzzle while resting against the side of it, using my other hand to stroke the fur under one of his closed eyes.

He doesn’t say anything, although I’m sure he could, and I don’t say anything either. There’s plenty that could be talked about, plenty of questions I’ve had, questions about the Witchling, and myself, and what she had ordered him to do to atone for breaking a law that I knew nothing about. I still want to ask those questions, and they won’t go away anytime soon. But right now isn’t the time for them. Just being here with him is enough. Knowing he’s okay is enough.

We remain like that for a long time. The more time I spend here, nestled up to him, feeling him, touching him, the less scary he seems. I’d only ever seen this form in anger or in dreadful, righteous judgement, but I was starting to realize now that he was just like any other animal. This form was terrifying when presented in wrath and judgement, but when it was calm, or at rest, it wasn’t so scary. It could be gentle, soft to the touch. Huggable, lovable. I still wasn’t sure about the chest maw lined with leathery arms, but maybe that would grow on me with time.

In time, I think I’ve almost lulled him to sleep, and I stop petting him. “Raikaron.” I murmur quietly, hoping he’ll hear me.

His eyes flick open, and I think he can read my voice, knows what I want even if I haven’t said it. His massive chest swells as he takes in a deep breath, like he was bracing himself, and his manifest starts to melt away beneath my fingers. It turns into shadows that shrink and withdraw, flowing back to a single spot against the bed, which reforms into his human vessel, still dressed in the clothes he was wearing in the grand hall. But he’s disheveled, his glasses off and his shirt untucked and unbuttoned, and the weariness is evident in his movements as he works on pushing himself up enough to sit on the bed’s edge.

Getting up off the floor, I walk over to the bed, sitting on it next to him. Tentative, unsure of what my next move should be. Whether I should say something, or just stick to the silence we’ve had so far.

“You could’ve been free.” he says softly, taking the burden of being the first one to break the silence. “It was your one chance to escape your contract. I could not have stood against the Witchling, and Lucifer would not have interceded for me, since I had transgressed the Witchling’s Law. You could’ve remained silent, and had your freedom from me.”

I look up to him, then away. “I considered it.” I admit quietly. Not entirely proud of it.

“I know you did. That does not surprise me.” he says. “But why didn’t you?”

I don’t answer right away. “I meant what I said, in the grand hall.” I say. “You are not a good person. You make mistakes, and you can be cruel. But you are… trying. Trying to be a good person, to make the afterlife a better place, one that works. And you have strange methods, but they… they do work. And you can be kind and loving.” I allow myself a moment to rest on those thoughts. “I believe those things. I think they are true. And I think the Witchling knew that they were true, which is why she spared you.”

“That the galaxy would be worse off without me.” he murmurs, reciting my closing argument to the Witchling. “You believe that?”

I look at him. “Do you believe it?”

“I want to believe it. Some days I wonder if anything I’m doing matters, or if I’m just trying to fix a system that was always meant to be dysfunctional.” he says, looking at his hands. “I know what other Lords think of my aspirations. What the Sovereigns think of my ambitions. That I am trying to fix a system that neither wants nor needs to be changed.” He curls his fingers closed. “But that is neither here nor there. I still struggle to understand why you did not let her erase me.”

“It wasn’t entirely selfless.” I say, looking away again. “You heard her, didn’t you? Everybody heard her; you can’t not hear her, with the way she communicates… you could be deaf, blind, dumb, locked in a dark box, and you’d still understand what she was telling you. You know that I’m using our contract as a shield to protect myself from the consequences of my actions.”

“Yes… I remember her addressing that.” he says, fiddling with his hands. Examining his fingers, twisting them together and thumbing his knuckles. “Is that really the only reason you stood to defend me?”

“No—” I say quickly, looking at him. I suddenly realize how that might sound like to him, and I don’t want him to think that I only did this to protect myself. Because I didn’t, and that’s not the only reason I stood up for him. I twist on the bed, shifting to my knees as I reach up, taking his head and turning it towards me. “No. I didn’t want to lose you. You can be infuriating, and vexing, and cruel sometimes. But I wouldn’t have let her erase you. I couldn’t stand to lose you, because I… I…”

I squeeze my eyes shut, resting my head against his. The words are there in my mouth; I’m biting them back, because they sound wrong, so very wrong. It’s not right; it’s not a healthy relationship, being enamored with the person that enslaved me. I know that, and yet something in me, down in the dark, basal depths of my mind and soul, craves it. It wants this twisted sort of relationship, and I am losing the battle to deny it.

“Because you…?” Raikaron asks softly. He hasn’t moved, waiting patiently while I hold his head against mine and struggle through losing this battle to say things to him that I know I shouldn’t. As the silence stretches longer through my bitten lip, he speaks again, as if gently encouraging me to speak my mind. “Little flower?”

I don’t know why, but those two little words break down the last of my resistance and self-control, and I open my eyes.

“I belong to you.” It’s a forceful whisper that comes out as an accusation, an angry proclamation of loyalty. Furious that this is what I want us to be. “I am yours.”

I can read the confusion in his neon eyes, and I know that, being what he is, he can sense my conflicted emotions. The frustration at realizing that this is what I am like; the craving, the need to have it validated and accepted and indulged. His confusion only lasts a moment, and starts to evaporate as he reads me like a book. A familiar chapter I’m sure he’s seen time and time again here in hell, a place full of such craven chapters.

But he doesn’t push me away, or chide me, or make light of it. Instead, after a moment of studying me, he reaches up and cradles the back of my neck, winding his fingers through my hair as he pulls me closer.

“Yes, little demon.” he murmurs, tilting his head up at the same time he gently pulls mine down to press a kiss to my forehead. “You are mine.”

I know I shouldn’t feel a rush of relief at those words.

I know I shouldn’t feel exhilaration at the rumbling emphasis he puts on the last word.

I know I shouldn’t feel a buzz of pleasure as I slump against him, wrapping my arms around him and resting my head against his collarbone.

This is wrong. I know it’s wrong. I know I shouldn’t be like this, especially after a traumatic encounter. But I don’t care, because Raikaron sees me, and understands my cravings, and accepts them. He knows that I’m screwed up, and rather than pushing me away or trying to fix it, he pulls me close and lets me be what I am.

And I am his.