Valiant: The Covenant Chronicles

[Covenant #29: The Mirage Mansion]

Log Date: 11/6/12764

Data Sources: Jayta Jaskolka

Event Log: Jayta Jaskolka

The House of Regret: Hosting Room

4:52pm SGT

“Alright, calm down! Calm down, you daft featherheads!” Danya orders as she makes her way through the chirping swarm of harpies crowded into the hosting room, which consists of vast space with a fire alcove running the length of the wall, and several couches and chairs arranged within the recessed portion of the floor. Through the glass wall is the back porch, sumptuous in its square footage and equipped with lounge chairs. “You are all to be on your best behavior. Anyone that steps out of line will be assigned to bathroom detail and weeding the rock gardens upon our return. Is that understood?”

Variations of assent are crowed and chirped back at Danya as she makes her way over to where I’m sitting in one of the chairs, waiting for the moment when we actually go. She looks me over, checking my jacket and the turtleneck beneath it, then makes a tch noise. “This is why I dislike felines. The wardrobe is always the first victim of their presence. Didn’t you notice all this fur Cinder left on you? You look like a walking fur magnet.”

“What? There’s barely any fur on here!” I protest, looking down at my black turtleneck. “And you can barely see it! It’s dark grey fur on a black turtleneck, who’s gonna notice that?”

“We are visiting one of Lord Syntaritov’s most esteemed relatives, and very possibly the closest thing he has to a godmother.” Danya says tersely, lifting a hand and hooking her fingers in an order to someone out of view. Very soon, all three of Trinity are seen trotting into view, one of them holding a lint roller. “Do you not want to impress your Lord’s relatives? Especially now that you are formally his Mistress Lady?”

I still get a bit of a thrill out of hearing that title, even if it’s tempered by my exasperation about being expected to care what Raikaron’s relatives think of me. “Why would I be trying to impress them? A relationship isn’t a competition or a performance.”

“A competition, perhaps not. But a performance? That depends on who you ask.” she says as Trinity arrives, two of them standing me up while the third starts applying the lint roller to me with vigor. “A relationship is a duet. It is a dance, a song. While it is primarily for you and your partner, others will watch. They will listen. And they will judge. You may not intend it to be so, but it is a performance, whether you want it to be or not.”

I scowl at that. “Well, I’m not going to perform my relationship for the sake of other people. If Raikaron’s godmother doesn’t like me, she can go suck it.”

Danya’s expected retort never comes. Instead, her lips twist into a cold smile. “Indeed? Well, you are the Mistress Lady now. Far be it from me to tell you how to comport yourself in the presence of your partner’s family. If you do not wish to heed my counsel, I will not trouble you with it any longer.” With that, she moves to the door in the wall, which I’m sure will be our gateway to the Cafe the girls are so worked up about.

“What was that all about?” I mutter, narrowing my eyes at Danya’s departing back. “Why did she get so smug all of the sudden?”

“It is not wise to disrespect Lady Miqo.” left Trinity says, holding up my arm.

“Keeper of dreams, judge of the heart, regent of Forgotten.” the middle Trinity says, using the lint roller on my side, underneath the arm that was just lifted.

“She is one of the great ones, esteemed among the gods.” right Trinity adds.

I roll my eyes. “Oh, so she’s a goddess. Yeah, like I didn’t meet and hang out with at least two of those in the last month.”

“A goddess? No, no no no.”

“Lady Miqo is a creature of the Dreaming, like Father.”

“Not a goddess. Eater of gods, perhaps.”

I squint at the albino harpies. “Eater of gods? You’re pullin’ my leg.”

“How else is one to kill a god?” the middle Trinity asks, starting to brush my other side.

“Ideas cannot be killed; only appropriated.” the left Trinity says.

“And hypernaturals are the sentient manifestation of concepts and ideas.” the right Trinity adds, lifting my other arm.

“Therefore, to kill a god, you must appropriate its concept.” the middle Trinity explains.

“In effect, you must make it a part of yourself.” the left Trinity adds.

“You must eat it.” the right Trinity concludes.

It takes me a moment to process all of this. “That’s… okay, that’s dumb. How are you supposed to… that makes no sense! How are you supposed to eat a god? Shove it into a food processor and eat whatever comes out?”

“We cannot tell you the how, merely the what.” the middle Trinity says, moving around behind me to brush down the back of my jacket.

“The why will depend on the who.” says the left Trinity.

“The when and the where are products of the circumstance.” the right Trinity adds.

“Aurescura above, if I had a credit for every time you guys said something that sounds simple but makes no sense…” I mutter.

“We speak truth. You know this.”

“Open your mind, and you will understand.”

“Listen, and you will hear.”

The trilling of the harpies near the door interrupts our conversation, and heads turn to where Raikaron has stepped into the room. He’s back to his usual business attire — black vest, slacks, and shirt, with a ruby-red tie to match his hair. A fur-trimmed greatcoat has been hung about his shoulders, though he hasn’t bothered to put his arms through the sleeves — instead, he’s busy pulling on a set of black silk gloves as he steps into the room. Harpies pop out of their chairs and couches in his wake, following them as they chatter with excitement, their feathers fluffing out in their hair. Even with the advent of winter, most of the smaller ones are still wearing ripped pants and t-shirts, only donning hoodies to combat the cold.

“My Lord.” Danya greets, looking up from the runes she’d been tracing onto the door in the wall. “August as always. I will have the portal completed shortly.”

“Excellent. Don’t rush on my account.” From there he makes his way over to me, Trinity stepping out of the way as he leans down to give me a quick kiss. I tilt up on my toes a little bit, savoring the small show of affection. “I like the turtleneck look. Sensible, yet sensuous. I think it suits you.”

“Really? You don’t think it’s too plain?” I ask, tugging at the hem of mine. My brother had always caught a lot of mockery for being so fond of them, and so I’d often avoided wearing them. But their snug, warm fit was something that got a lot of mileage in winter, and it was definitely winter here in Sjelefengsel.

“I would hardly consider a turtleneck plain. Simple, maybe, but not plain. And besides, there is a certain elegance in simplicity.” he says, straightening up and offering an arm for me to take. I slip my arm through his, and follow along as he moves towards the portal door as Danya finishes drawing the last of the runes. “You will not have an issue with watching the girls while Jayta and I pursue our mandate, will you, Danya?”

Danya arches a brow as she finishes the runes, and activates the portal. “It is a small burden compared to the challenge you have been saddled with, my Lord. I do not envy your task, or risking the displeasure of Lady Miqo.” Through the seams in the doorway, a yellow light briefly flashes through, and Danya turns the doorknob, pulling it open and stepping to the side to gesture us in. “After you, my Lord.”

“Thank you.” he says, stepping into the room beyond and leading me along. “Jayta, welcome to the Neko Cafe.”

I look around as we step in. It’s certainly a cafe, with little booths along the walls, and tables spread across the middle of the room, and a curving bar counter across the back. There are people here, though not many, and they quite clearly hail from a variety of cultures, places, and races. The waiters, in tight black uniforms, are similarly varied, though most of them appear to be wereckanan or vashaya’rei of some persuasion. The lighting is easy and relaxed, and the entire place smells comfortably of spices and warm things — not dissimilar to how Raikaron typically smells.

“It seems like a nice place, but I don’t get why it’s so special.” I say as the harpies start to stream around us, chirping and rustling excitedly as they start filtering into the Cafe, drawing stares from the present patrons.

“It’s not easy to explain why the Neko is important, or ‘special’, as it were.” Raikaron says, slowly walking into the Cafe as the rest of the harpies come through behind us. “Even I struggle to fully capture its relevance. It is many things at once, but always a cafe on the surface, and perhaps that is the easiest way to think of it right now. It’s a cafe, a place where people come, lay their burdens down for a while, and rest their feet before continuing on.”

I look around, and notice that each window of the Cafe contains a view of a different vista. One is of a vast, rolling plain; another has a view of a town square; another has a view of a snow-covered plaza; yet another with a misty, fog-laden road through the middle of a forest; and on, and on, and on. “Wait, why… where is this place again? What world is it on?” I ask, confused.

“Ah. That’s a good question, really.” Raikaron says, following my gaze to the windows. “The Neko is in exactly where it needs to be at a given place in time, and because of that, it is in many places at once. Nobody quite knows where the Neko is, because the Neko is always exactly where it needs to be.”

I frown at that. “That breaks so many rules of science…”

“At least as you understand them.” I can hear the smile in Raikaron’s voice.

“Don’t you start that with me.” I say, giving him a warning look. “I’m not looking for debates today.”

“As you wish.” he says, still smiling nonetheless.

“Raikaron! Look at you, punctual as always!” The call from across the room draws our attention, and I look to see a red panda Halfie with white hair making her way across the Cafe, dressed in the same tight black uniform as the rest of the waiters, but with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. “You got here right on time! Lookin’ snazzy, too!”

“Miqo.” Raikaron says warmly, freeing his arm from mine so he can lock arms with Miqo, the two of them leaning in to touch their foreheads together for a moment. “Thank you for having us. It is always a delight to visit the Neko.”

“And it is always a delight to have you here.” Miqo answers in turn, pulling her head back and turning to me, her dark teal eyes gleaming with an irrepressible warmth. “And I already know you, but I do not think you know me. I visited when you were sick and needed help, a little over a month ago. You were not quite coherent at the time.”

“Oh, yeah. Thank you for, uhm. Helping with that.” I say nervously, offering a hand for her to shake. “I’m Jayta.”

“Handshakes are for coworkers and dignitaries. C’mere, dear.” Miqo scoffs, reaching past my hand and pulling all of me into a hug. I squeak out a little eep of surprise, too startled to resist; the hug is firm and oddly… comforting. Miqo’s fur is soft, and smells like white sage and spice and kitchen things, and I feel warm and happy when she’s hugging me. She seems to radiate felicity the way a star gives off light, so bright and powerful you can feel it warming your skin. It’s like the way Raikaron radiates dread and foreboding when he’s in his Blackthorn Demon form, although Miqo seems to have her aura reigned in, and it only gets really strong when you’re touching her.

“It’s, uh, uh— nice to meet you.” I stutter, awkwardly hugging her back.

“It’s nice to meet you too! I knew there was a sweet thing underneath that rager I saw a while back.” Miqo says, releasing me from the hug and holding me at arm’s length as she looks me over. “And Raikaron’s taking good care of you, right?”

“Whu… oh, yeah, yeah. He’s taking good care of me.” I say quickly.

“Yes. Very careful, he is with her.” comes Trinity’s sly murmur from off to my side.

“Plays gently. For now. Still testing her limits.” adds another Trinity from Raikaron’s side.

“Wouldn’t want to break his favorite toy. At least not yet.” the third Trinity adds smugly, sauntering past the one on my side.

“Trinity.” Raikaron warns sharply. “Go amuse yourself elsewhere. I did not requisition your commentary on this topic.”

Trinity titters, all three of them slinking off to find seats at one of the tables that haven’t been taken by the other harpies. I find my face heating up as Miqo absorbs that interaction, her eyes dancing between me and Raikaron. “Oh? I take it then that this is no longer a ‘strictly practical’ arrangement?” she asks, sounding thoroughly amused.

“There have been some… developments in the time since your last visit, yes.” Raikaron says, smiling askance at me. I smile appreciatively back at him; it’s nice that he doesn’t make a big deal of it. “They have been very recent developments, so we are still navigating those changes.”

“Ah, well then.” Miqo says, looking pleased. “I wish you the best in navigating that, then. Those are some of the most enjoyable changes to adjust to. In the meantime, let’s see you to the bar and get your drinks, shall we?”

Raikaron takes a deep breath. “Actually, there is something for which I needed to ask your assistance, Miqo.”

Miqo raises her white eyebrows. “Oh? Certainly, what is it you need help with?”

He licks his lips. “Well, to be short and to the point, I have transgressed one of the Witchling’s laws. I now owe her restitution, and it’s something I do not have a choice in. I’m not asking you to intercede on my behalf, but I need help reaching a place in order to fulfill the mandate that she has set for me.”

The evaporation of Miqo’s cheerful mood is almost physically palpable. “Oh… the Witchling, you say? That’s a dangerous force to trifle with, Raikaron.”

“I know. It was not intentional, but I still must make amends, or my existence is forfeit.” Raikaron says. “She has tasked me with retrieving something from the Mirage Mansion that once belonged to her, and returning it to her in the Old City. If you can help me reach the Mirage Mansion, I would be indebted to you.”

“Ah… yes, I think I know what she is talking about. That poor thing…” Miqo says softly, before turning and motioning for us to follow. “I can get you to the Mansion. But what lies within, you will have to do on your own.”

“I understand. I ask no more than that.” Raikaron says, walking after her, and I keep pace with them as they wind through the tables, towards one of the closed doors that I’ve noticed intermittently placed along the Cafe’s walls. “I understand you may not know, but will any of the family be at the Mansion?”

“I cannot say for sure. It is abandoned the vast majority of the time, but you should approach with the understanding that your relatives may be present — and if they are not, they may sense your presence and become curious.” Miqo says. “Will Jayta be coming with you?”

“Yeah, I’m coming.” I speak up at this point. “I’m not going to sit here sipping draughts while he’s off doing something dangerous.”

“Understandable. Just be aware that any relatives you encounter will be extra curious about why there is a non-Syntaritov on the Mansion property.” Miqo says as she reaches the door, which has a series of rings built into the center of it, with runes inscribed on each one. She starts twisting those rings, one by one, each one letting out a series of mechanical clicks as she does so. “If you are going with Raikaron, he will escort you and keep you safe, but Syntaritovs are often fascinated with mortal creatures, the same way cats will watch a bird through the window. Raikaron will be your window — just remember that if the window is not there, the cat may be tempted to do more than just watch.”

I raise an eyebrow at that, looking at Raikaron. He purses his lips. “Syntaritovs come in several flavors, as it were. Not all of them have my particular disposition and methodology. And some of them can be… unpredictable or capricious.” he explains.

“Indeed. People often forget that Kastril could be just as terrifying as her husband, albeit in a different way. And their descendants often carry hints of both their temperaments.” Miqo says as she finishes twisting and locking the rings into place. “I’m sure you’re well aware, but remain wary even if there is no one on the grounds. The Mansion itself is ancient, and it is not wholly inanimate. It has intent, and the means to act on it, if it so desires.”

“We will remain alert, and respectful.” Raikaron says as Miqo pulls the door open. We’re immediately greeted by a stretch of beach, with steel-blue waves rolling up on the sand, and a cold wind blowing in from the winter ocean. “I do not imagine this errand will take more than a couple hours at most, so we will be back in time to enjoy a social visit. We only visit once a year, so I would hate for the opportunity to go missed.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Go ahead, and don’t worry about the harpies. Danya will help me manage them while you are gone.” Miqo says, motioning a black-furred hand to the beach beyond.

Raikaron nods and steps through, and I follow after him, my feet sinking a little in the hard-packed sand near the ocean. The door closes behind us, and Raikaron starts walking, finally sliding his arms into the sleeves of his greatcoat and pulling it closed. I likewise close up my jacket to ward against the chill as I follow him down the beach.

“Do you know where we are?” I ask as we walk along the beach. The dunes to our right are covered in dune grass, and beyond them is what looks to be forest. To our left is the ocean, and there is a mountainous island out there, probably about some three or four miles.

“In the general sense, yes.” he replies. “We are in the Dreaming, my native plane of existence. Where in the Dreaming we are, though… that is another question entirely. I can only assume it is the part of the Dreaming that belongs to my ancestors, and I do not know where that is located.”

I look around as we trek down the beach. “I thought the Dreaming would be… different.” I say, trying to be diplomatic about it.

“More fantastical, filled with strange, weird, and wild things?” he guesses. “Yes, people often assume as much. And in fairness, it often is. But just as often, the Dreaming is a reflection of the world we know, the environments we live in, the laws that govern them. Often, it is just similar enough on the surface to make it comfortable — and then tweaks details on the edges or in the background. Balances the normal with the strange. Have you looked at the sky yet?”

I tilt my head back, looking up, and stop when I realize the sky is definitely different. Instead of a curving dome of blue that you see on so many planets, I realize that the sky is also ocean, pocked with occasional islands - like we’re on the inside of a hollow sphere made of water. It leaves me speechless, and all I can do is stare — astounded, dumbfounded, by this casual defiance of every scientific law I’d ever learned.

Raikaron stops walking, turning and looking back at me. “This is how the Dreaming often behaves. Up close, and at a passing glance, it’s no different from the Waking. Like everything you’ve ever known. But take a step back, and you’ll see the bigger picture is really quite intriguing.”

“That’s… how does…” I say, struggling to formulate my question.

“We’re in the Dreaming. It doesn’t have to make sense.” he says, shortcutting right past the beginnings of my question. “The laws of the Waking have no hold in the Dreaming. The only law here is the law of will. It is a malleable reality, one that can be shaped with thought and intent alone. The form of the Dreaming is whatever you, and others, will it to be. And this…” He motions to the great, curving ocean sky overhead. “…this is what my ancestors will this portion of it to be.”

“So if I wanted to turn the air to water, to convert the sand to glass, I could just… think about it, and it would happen?” I ask, lowering my gaze to look at the beach we’re on.

“Perhaps. It depends on where you are, and who is around you.” he explains, offering an arm out to me in an invitation to keep walking down the beach. “The law of will, though it may seem simple, has its intricacies. Yours is not the only will in the Dreaming. There is my will, and the will of every other creature of the Dreaming that is within it. Shaping the Dreaming requires contending with these wills, if they are within range of you. If it was just you and I, and we were given a blank spot in the Dreaming to work with, then we would have to contend, or cooperate, on how we intend to shape that piece of the Dreaming.”

Though he probably didn’t mean for me to do so, I reach up to take the hand he’s raised as I walk towards him. Lacing my fingers through his as we continue down the beach. “So you have to fight with other people over what the Dreaming will look like?”

“Not necessarily. To constantly fight others over what the Dreaming should look like would be wearisome. In places where the Dreaming can be shaped, those within are usually content to let it morph and evolve with the passing of other Dreaming creatures. Such changes are typically temporary.” he says as we leave prints in the sand. “And then there are places in the Dreaming that have been shaped by the great ones among us. Those places retain their shape and form regardless of who travels through them — because changing it would require contending with a vast and powerful will that can shape wide swathes of the Dreaming.” He motions with his free hand to the beach and the ocean curving overhead. “This is one of those places.”

“So there are parts of the Dreaming that are stable. Not all of it is constantly shifting and changing.” I surmise.

“Correct. Even the stable parts will evolve over time, or slowly crumble away if the one that shaped them has gone the way of the cycle.” he says. “I suspect this region of the Dreaming was shaped by my first ancestor, Solebarr Syntaritov. That is why it retains its form, and why we are constrained by the rules that govern it. Trying to change or defy those rules would require contending with his will — and that is not something I have the courage or the foolishness to attempt.”

“Your ancestor was one of the great ones?” I guess.

“He is, yes, though he would not describe himself as such. And he is still alive, despite having watched generations of his descendants come and go. Otherwise this place would’ve long since dissolved back into the chaos of the Dreaming in the centuries after his passing.” he says, his direction changing to start moving up the beach at an angle. I look at where that trajectory leads, and see a break in the dunes, where the edge of a fenced estate are peeking into view. “There it is — the Mirage Mansion.”

The estate slowly comes into view as we approach it, the wrought-iron fence rusted away to nothing in several places. Within, the lawn is patchy and overgrown, with several spots having been overtaken by drifting piles of sand leaking through the fence from the dunes on either side of the property. Shrubs that may’ve once been lawn ornaments have grown far beyond control, becoming wild, bushy hedges that block the view rather than accentuate it.

But the lawn is doing well compared to the actual mansion itself. More of it has come into view by the time we reach the fence, and past the wild shrubs, I can see that the mansion is in ruins. Much of the exterior is blackened by a fire that ripped through it at some point in the past, and sections of the structure have clearly collapsed. There are burned-out holes in the walls, and only a few windows have survived catastrophe and the grinding wear of time. This is not the palatial estate I was expecting for Raikaron’s ancestors — instead, it looks like the site of a tragedy that was too expensive to repair, too expensive to tear down, and was eventually abandoned when a buyer couldn’t be found for it.

“Wow. It looks like it’s seen better days.” I say as we start down the path winding through the lawn to the front door.

“This is how it’s always been, ever since it burned down in Solebarr’s youth. Forever preserved in a state of ruin.” Raikaron says, angling around a sand drift encroaching on the main path.

“Why, though?” I ask, still soaking in the ruined architecture before us. “It looks terrible, and it’s not like anybody could use it like this. Is it supposed to be a historical site, or something?”

“I suppose you could make that argument. But in truth, I think this is how my ancestor wants it to be.” Raikaron says. “He doesn’t want to remember what it was. He wants to remember what it became. And besides that, there can be a certain beauty in ruins.”

I glance at him. “Seems like you find beauty in a lot of strange things. Simple things, ruined things…”

He smiles. “Beauty is in many things. Not just the billboards and the magazines.” Reaching the front porch, he steps up the stairs, moving towards the decimated doorway. “Stay close to me. I don’t sense anything with malicious intent in here, but you can never be too sure when it comes to places where Syntaritovs used to live.”

“You say that almost as if you’re not one of them.” I say, crossing the threshold behind him. Within, the ground is covered with a combination of sand, dust, dirt, and ash, layered between fallen and burnt timbers and boards. “I thought you were proud of your family’s legacy?”

“It’s complicated. As is often the case with families.” he says, his shoes leaving prints on the dirty floor. I follow him carefully, making sure I stay near or close to his footsteps. “I have great pride in the reputation of the Syntaritov name, while also understanding that the reputation was not easily earned, nor is it entirely sinless. Quite the opposite, actually. Syntaritovs are notoriously subversive, and typically do not have qualms about inflicting suffering if it serves a greater end. What varies between individual Syntaritovs is the extent to which each of us embraces these qualities and ideals. Some Syntaritovs take it further than others would, and my understanding is that I fall on the milder end of the spectrum. And I have seen firsthand that some of my relatives are less… reserved than I am.”

“So you’re saying that you, a demon Lord, are better behaved than some of your relatives are?” I say as we wind down the main hall into what looks like a living room.

“Well, it’s more than that, but… yes.” he says, stepping over a fallen timber. “Better behaved, more stable, more organized. Many Syntaritovs follow their instincts, guided by their feelings. It works, certainly, but that impulse is not as strong in me as it is in the others.”

“Well, I’ve never met any Syntaritovs besides you, so I don’t have anything compare it against.” I point out as he moves the middle of the room, where a set of mildewed couches and chairs sit around what looks like a seal on the floor. The colored slabs of marble that make it up have been cut in pieces and mosaic’d together to resemble a curled-up red panda, and would probably be more impressive if it wasn’t covered in a layer of grime and dirt.

“That’s probably for the best. People rarely come out of an encounter with a Syntaritov the same as they went in.” he says, reaching up to pull one of his black gloves off. Lifting his exposed hand, he hooks a thumb in his mouth, briefly biting down on it, before pulling it back out and shaking a drop of blood onto the marble floor. As it soaks through the caked grime on the ground, the marble starts to glow, acquiring a pale, amethyst hue. He motions for me to come join him where he’s standing on the seal — there’s plenty of room, so he doesn’t have to move out the way for me.

“What about Miqo, though?” I point out as I join him on the seal. “Isn’t she one of your relatives? She seemed nice enough.”

“She is a relative of mine, but she is a Morquela, not a Syntaritov. Morquelas are, generally speaking, much less troublesome than Syntaritovs.” he says as the portion of the floor we’re standing on starts to rotate and sink. I edge a little closer to him as we descend through the floor; I was expecting some sort of spiral staircase or fancy hidden elevator mechanism taking us down to a basement or an underground complex, but it’s nothing of that sort. Instead, we’ve descended into a depthless, inky black abyss. The hole we came through overhead winks out of existence, leaving us in the dark with the only light being the pale violet glow from the marble we’re standing on.

“Hoo, this isn’t spooky at all…” I mutter, moving towards Raikaron until I’m brushing against him. “So I suppose you know what you’re doing here? Because I’ve got no clue; I’m just following you.”

“I have some idea, yes.” he replies, giving my shoulder a reassuring pat before walking to the edge of the marble seal. “Though I have never been here before, I am guided by feeling, just the same as other Syntaritovs are. Instinct, I suppose you could call it; we know where to go and what to do to keep a narrative moving.” After a moment of staring into the darkness, he speaks again. “You know why I am here. Show me where I need to go.”

I’m about to ask who he’s speaking to, but the darkness around us abruptly acquires shape, form, depth, and hue. Quite suddenly, and without warning, we are standing in a vast, dim room full of shelves, tables, and beanbags — and absolutely drowning in plush toys of every shape, size, and color.

“Oh.” I say sharply, feeling the hairs on the back of my neck rise up as I stare across the ocean of plushes. The violet glow of the marble seal is reflected in a multitude of eyes, whether beady black or made of buttons or other materials. “Okay, that’s… unsettling.”

“Quaint.” Raikaron remarks with the measuring tone of someone that’s mildly surprised and curious. “Whatever my ancestor took from the Witchling is in here somewhere. Though I cannot help but wonder about the contents of this room, and how it came to be.”

“Looks to me like your ancestors had a problem with hoarding.” I mutter, my gaze moving to the edges of the room. The glow from the marble seal only goes so far, and the shadows between all the plushes get deeper and darker the further away they are. At the very edges, you can’t even make out the individual plushes — they just look like stacks of amorphous, looming masses in the dark.

“That is what it may seem like on the surface. But things are rarely what they appear to be on the surface, especially in the Mirage Mansion.” he says, staring down as if he was trying to see the floor past the carpet of plushes covering it. “I have a feeling these are not just toys or dolls.”

“That’s not ominous at all.” I say, fighting past my unease and moving to the edge of the marble seal, crouching down so I can get a better look at some of these plushes carpeting the room. I’m seeing a lot of teddy bears, but also rabbits, cats, foxes, seals, frogs, horses, dragons, dogs, wolves, penguins, tigers, lions, parrots, whales, dolphins — you name it, there’s a plush for it. Most of them are just cute approximations of the animals; others are anthropomorphized, and still cute. Or would be cute, if there weren’t so damn many of them. As it is, it’s just the slightest touch creepy. “If they’re not just toys or dolls, what are they supposed to be?”

“An excellent question.” he replies, starting to pull on the black silk glove he’d originally taken off to bite his thumb. “I cannot say with certainty. I have my theories, but I am not sure it would be wise to try and prove them here and now. For the time being, it seems prudent to focus on obtaining what we came here for, and leave the curiosity aside for the moment.”

“How are we supposed to find what we’re looking for in all this mess?” I ask, catching sight of what looks like a mountain jay plush. Green feathers, gradually grading over to hot red at the tips — it’s an interesting because most of the plushes usually have solid-color palettes, rather than gradients. I tilt forward a little, reaching for it. “Are we looking for one of these plushes? Why would the Witchling even want one? That doesn’t seem right…”

Raikaron glances towards me. “Jayta, stop—!” he starts to shout. But it’s too late; I’ve already grabbed the mountain jay.

And I am very suddenly not in the Mirage Mansion anymore.

It is hot.

Usually the tent is cooler, but today there is no wind. The shade beneath the red tree usually keeps most of the sun from reaching the tent, and the tent usually stays cool while the wind is blowing. But today there’s no wind. It is hot and still and I can hear all the insects making noise. I tried climbing the tree to see if there was wind higher up, but there is no wind there either.

So now I am on one of the branches. It is lower down, beneath the other branches, and it had more shade on it than the others. It is less hot here than it is in other places, though I have to keep moving because the shade keeps moving as the sun moves. The bark is also uncomfortable. It isn’t too bad at first, but the longer you sit or lay on it, the more the rough edges dig into your skin. It’s not as soft as the blanket in the tent, but the tent and the blanket are too hot.

I wish the wind would start blowing again.

The sound of crunching leaves off in the distance catches my attention, and my feathered ears tilt up as I raise my head. The sound is familiar, because I’ve heard it every day now for the past two months, always coming from the same direction. Scooting along my branch a little further, I raise my head up higher to see if I can spot him coming through the vines and underbrush.

There he is, my brown-eyed boy with the two cats.

“Frosh!” I crow, bouncing on my branch and causing the leaves to rustle. “Frosh Frosh Frosh Frosh!”

He looks up and waves with the one hand he has free. The other is holding a bag with the strap over his shoulder. I start backing along my branch as he leaves the shade of the green trees and enters the clearing around the red tree; by the time he’s reached the base of the tree, I’ve climbed halfway down the trunk, and jump down the rest of the way. Coming up to him, I grab his arms and sling my head forward, softly headbutting him in the chest like I always do.

He grunts a little, reaching up and patting my feathered ears until I chirp and let go. “Hi, Feather.”

I step back a little on my digitigrade toes, turning to point one of my clawed fingers to the tent. “Haaaawwwwt!” I whine.

He looks at the tent, then tilts his head back at the dappled light peeking through the leaves of the red tree. “Yeah. It’s hot today.” Taking the bag off, he sets it down and opens it up, taking a canteen out of it and popping the spout up, pointing at it. “Cold.” Then he points to me.

I open my mouth; I’ve heard him say this one before. He taught it to me, but I haven’t had a reason to say it recently. I try to get my lips into the right shape to make the noise, twisting my tongue away from my sharp teeth to avoid biting down on it just in case I mess it up. “Col’.”

“Almost. Col-dah. Col-dAH.” he repeats, opening his mouth so I can see how he’s making the noise.

“Col…” I squinch up my face, trying to get my tongue in the right place. “…duh?”

“Yeah! Yeah. Like that. Col-dAH.”

“Coollllldaaah.” I try to say it all together, drawing it out so I don’t accidentally cut my tongue on my teeth. I hold my hands out, reaching for the canteen. “Cooollldaah?”

“Yeah. Here. Don’t drink all of it.” he says, giving me the canteen. “I only brought one for you and one for me.”

I immediately grab it and latch onto the spout, sucking greedily at it. It is cold, like he said, and plain. Just water. But it’s cold, and that’s exactly what I needed, with how hot today is. Shuffling forward, I tilt in again, planting my head against his chest again while I keep slurping the cool water out of the canteen. I twitch my feathered ears, slapping one of them against his shoulder, and he reaches up to pat it, before realizing I’m still sucking on the canteen. “Hey, stop drinking all of it! You won’t have any for later if you drink it all now.” he says, reaching up to grab the canteen.

I tighten my grip around it, baring my teeth at him with cold water dripping down my chin. He scowls, and I change my approach, whining at him instead. “Froooooosh.”

He sighs and closes the spout on the canteen, then lets go of it. I pull it back to myself, holding it close, then hold it close to my side as I crouch down to dig in his bag. “Hungee.” I say, tugging one of the two boxes instead.

He crouches next to me, helping me lift one out. “I brought some apples fo—”

I gasp a breath.

I’m back. Back… here. Staring up into a dark room. Purple glow. Sitting on hard stone, slumped back against something soft. Someone. There’s an arm around my midriff, as if they’d just yanked me from somewhere. There’s a voice behind me.

“Jayta? Jayta, can you hear me?”

I don’t answer, still panting. It’s all slowly coming back. Where I am. Who I am. After a moment, I turn my head, and see that Raikaron’s holding me from behind. We’re sprawled out across the center of the marble seal, still glowing silently beneath us. “Rai…?”

He lets out a relieved breath. “Oh good, you recognize me.” He lets go of my waist, reaching up to take my face with that hand. “You don’t touch anything in here unless I tell you to, okay? It could hurt you if you’re not careful. Many of the relics in here may look physically harmless, but they are still dangerous. A lot of leftovers from Syntaritovs will deeply affect the mind and the soul before they affect the body.”

I’m still catching my breath, but I swallow hard and nod. “I… I saw… I was in a forest, there were two kids, and a red tree…”

“You probably saw a memory. I think that's what these plushes are; they are memories given a physical form.” he says, looking up and around the dim room. “Creatures of the Dreaming feed on memories and emotions. But higher-order Dreamlings will often acquire memories, and use them as batteries, feeding off the emotions they generate. Or in the case of Syntaritovs, keep them as leverage or collector’s items. While also using them as batteries.” He pulls me a little closer, hugging me to his chest as he studies the room. “This is why the Witchling wanted us to come here. My ancestor must’ve stolen one of her memories long ago, and she wants it back.”

“But she… she…” I stammer, looking out at the shadowed expanse of plushes around us. “You felt how powerful she was… your ancestor couldn’t possibly…”

“You do not know of the history that your guardian has with my ancestor.” Raikaron says, starting to sit up and get his feet beneath him. “Solebarr Syntaritov made possible the salvation of Aurescura, and the existence of the Witchling. We know that she joined the fight against the Shyl-tari thirteen thousand years ago in order to pay off the debt she owed him. But he may have required more than that, or taken it as payment for his assistance. Whatever it is, it is in here, and I suspect it is one of Maugrimm’s memories from the time before she became the Witchling.”

He takes his arms from around me as he fully stands, checking his gloves again. “Do you know where to look?” I ask weakly, looking at the ocean of plushes around us. “There’s gotta be thousands… tens of thousands of plushes in here. How will you know what you’re looking for?”

“I can sense it. I’ll know it when I come across it.” he says, reaching up to pull the hood of his fur-trimmed greatcoat over his head. “I’m going to go retrieve it. It may take a few minutes, possibly more. I’m going to leave you here on the seal — you should be safe so long as you remain on it. Don’t touch any of the plushes - if they make contact with your skin, you will be pulled into their memories, and I will not be here to pull you back out.”

“Wait! Can’t I come with you?” I say hastily, scrambling to get to my feet as he moves to the edge of the slab. “I’m wearing jeans, I’ve got shoes, I can keep my hands in my pockets!”

He turns around, placing a hand on the side of my head. His eyes, behind the glasses, are serious and focused. “You will be safer here, in the light. There is more beyond the edge of darkness in this room, and I want to keep you where it’s safe. Wait for me — I promise I will come back.”

I want to argue. I really want to argue. To tell him no, to come with him, so I don’t have to be alone in this creepy room. But I know he has his reasons; he doesn’t make these decisions idly. If he says it’s safer for me on the marble seal, it’s because he believes it. “Okay.” I say unhappily, turning my head a little to give the inside of his wrist a kiss. “But be quick. Let’s just get what we need to get, and get out of here. This place is starting to give me the creeps.”

“I’ll be as fast as I can.” he says, withdrawing his hand and stepping off the seal. His leg sinks up to his ankle in plushes before it touches the floor. The other leg soon joins the first, and he begins wading through the carpet of plushes, moving towards the shadowed edges where they begin to pile up. I back away from the seal’s edge, moving towards its center, where I watch as Raikaron fades into the dark, and the sound of his movement soon fades away as well.

Over the next couple of minutes I just stand there, waiting for him to come back, and avoiding looking at the plushes as much as possible. But it’s hard; no matter where I look, their glossy eyes can be seen gleaming in the gloom, reflecting the violet light given off by the seal. I eventually sit down in the middle of the seal, feeling like a kid that’s been left on a bench, waiting for my escort to come back and pick me up. I don’t like it, but after what happened with that one plush I touched, I can understand why Raikaron wanted me to stay here. Having to take care of me and himself would’ve complicated things, and probably made them go slower than if he was doing it himself.

To pass the time, I use my fingers to trace the grooves in the seal I’m sitting on. They’re carved with precision and simplicity; there are no wobbles in the lines, and they only form the broad strokes of the image of the curled-up red panda. I realize, belatedly, that it reminds me of Miqo, since she’s a red panda Halfie. Perhaps it’s no coincidence that the seal also happened to have a red panda on it, if she was Raikaron’s relative.

When I get bored of tracing the grooves, I go back to staring around the room again. I’m starting to get fidgety; the silence of the room, the stillness, is reminding me of a sensory deprivation chamber. Without another person here to listen to, be aware of their presence, everything is just too quiet. Too quiet, and too still. Nothing is moving…

Or at least I didn’t think anything was moving.

And maybe nothing has moved. But a plush dog I thought I originally saw on a shelf on the edge of the darkness is presently sitting on one of the tables closer to the seal. It’s possible that it’s just a copy — there are tens of thousands of plushes in here, after all — so I glance back to the shelf where I thought I had originally seen it. But half-submerged in the dark, I can’t locate it — everything just blurs together and looks the same on the far edges of the dark. After a moment of straining my eyes, I give up and glance back to the table where I’d last seen the plush dog.

Only to find that it’s now stacked atop a bunch of other plushes, right at the edge of the marble seal, its glossy black eyes reflecting the violet glow.

“Oh NO oh NO oh HELL NO.” I jump and scramble to my feet, fumbling for the bracelet around my wrist. “Oh HELL NO, no SIR, we are NOT doing that today, just NO.” Yanking the shotgun charm off my bracelet, I start pumping it as soon as it’s full-sized, immediately point it down, and pull the trigger, obliterating the dog plush and most of the stack it’s sitting on in a blast of superheated plasma.

As the echo of the blast fades in the room, I lower the shotgun, catching my breath, and look around, hoping I’ll see Raikaron coming back — only to catch sight of the dog plush, once more peeking over the edge of the seal, this time about seventy degrees to my right.

“NOPE NOPE NOPE!” The shotgun comes up again, blowing the plush’s head clean off. “Go RIGHT to hell with that, I did NOT come here to be in someone’s horror movie, I am NOT interested in your creepy doll fetish, so you can take your jumpscares and put ‘em where the sun don’t shine, and RAIKARON I SWEAR IF YOU DON’T GET BACK HERE SOON—”

“Jayta?”

“Ghh!” I twist in place to see Raikaron stepping back onto the seal, and I drop my shotgun, bolting to him and pulling him to the center of the seal, burying my face in his greatcoat. “Rai let’s go, let’s leave, this place is creepy and I don’t like it, and the dolls are coming for us, let’s go, can we please just go now—”

“I hear you, I hear you.” he says, putting an arm around me. “It’s okay. We’re going. We got what we needed, we’re going now. It’ll be okay.”

“Please, please. Right now.” I repeat, clinging to his coat. I can feel a faint sense of upward pressure against my feet, like you get right after an elevator starts moving, and I pull my face away from him to see that the seal is rising again, the plush room fading away below us. Feeling movement from Raikaron, I turn back to him to see him tucking something green into his greatcoat. “You found what we were supposed to get?”

“I did.” he replies quietly. “This was the easy part, though. Returning it to the Witchling’s throne in the Old City will not be nearly so quick or leisurely as our visit to the Dreaming.”

I press my lips together at that. Knowing that this is the easy part isn’t encouraging. I wish it was the other way around — that we got the hard stuff out of the way first, and did the easy stuff last. “How long will it take to deliver it to the throne?” I ask as the marble seal rises back through the floor in the dilapidated living room.

“That is an excellent question. I cannot say for sure.” he says, reaching into his vest pocket and pulling out his pocketwatch, popping the lid on it. It’s a strange thing — it has six arms, and many of them move in opposing directions. “Time in the Old City does not behave the way it does in the mortal plane. From what I have heard from those that have been there and returned, it sometimes dilates, and sometimes contracts. There does not appear to be a clear rhyme or reason for whether it will do one or the other for a given individual or visit.”

“That is because the Old City keeps you for as long as you need to be kept.”

The new voice has both of us twisting around. Standing in the living room, on the edge of the seal, is a slim woman with a complexion like creamy coffee, and neck-length hair that’s a darker, mahogany brown. Blue feathers are laced through her hair - the same blue feathers that make up what appears to be a modern iteration of a corset, along with a blue skirt that flares along the back, almost in the semblance of tailfeathers. Her eyes are a sky-blue hue — sharp and bright, something distinctly inhuman about them.

Beside me, I feel Raikaron take a sharp breath, and the arm he has around me tenses up. The pocketwatch is snapped shut, and he tucks it back into the pocket that it came from. “I apologize. If we had known someone was here, we would’ve asked permission to come in.” he says, his voice tight.

The woman watches, her head slowly tilting to one side without saying a word. She leans forward a little, her head tilting back to the other side like a bird, as she studies Raikaron. “Your eyes are like my husband’s.” she says after a moment, her eyes going down to fix on the pocket of Raikaron’s vest. Her voice is smooth, and it flows almost like music. “And you carry a pocketwatch like I do. You must be one of ours.”

“I am a Syntaritov.” Raikaron says. “Are you…?”

The woman smiles. “If you two are going to the Old City, I can make you lunches to take with you. Come with me.” Without another word, she walks past us, headed for the hall adjoining the living room.

I look to Raikaron, starting to ask who she is, only to find him rapidly shaking his head at me. The message is obvious — it’s a conversation we can have later, but not right now; still, it leaves me a little frustrated, because this always seems to happen in Raikaron’s social circles. If you run up against a mystery, you can’t ask the questions that would demystify them because it’d be rude to do so in their presence, and you have to wait until later to have those questions answered.

We follow the lady with the blue feathers out of the living room, down the hall and into a room that’s definitely a partially-burned kitchen. “I miss my children.” she says as she goes. “It’s been a while since I had any. I might have a conversation about it with Sole once he’s no longer imprisoned, but I’m not sure how much longer that’ll be. I have a feeling he’ll be out soon, though. Within a decade or two.”

“Solebarr is imprisoned?” Raikaron asks, sounding shocked. “Is that why we’ve heard nothing of him for the past century or two?”

“For roughly a century he’s been imprisoned, yes. So not very long.” the lady with the blue feathers says, leaning down to open the door of a burned-out oven. Reaching inside, she pulls out what looks like a jar of… peanut butter, as fresh and clean as if she’d pulled it off a supermarket shelf. “The Starstruck have started getting antsy, since their supply of star shards has dried up. I’ve told them a dozen times they just need to be patient and wait for him to get back, but they just keep fussing and fretting.”

“Okay, wait.” I say, unable to stay quiet any longer. “Let me get this straight: your husband was captured and you’re not trying to go rescue him?”

“Oh, he let himself get captured.” the lady says blithely, reaching up to a scorched microwave and opening it. She reaches in, pulling out a jar of… sliced pickles. “If he didn’t want to be captured, they wouldn’t have been able to capture him. But they were so adorable about it; they tried so hard, and did the fights, and the big speeches, and everything. Sole said he felt sorry for them, so he let them catch him and seal him.”

“Hmm… that… that does sound like Solebarr, actually.” Raikaron reflects. “Who’s ‘they’, though? Who captured him?”

“It was those vigilante hero types. They were real big up until a couple decades ago; the, the… Challengers, that’s what they were called.” the lady with the blue feathers says, going to the slumped fridge and opening the freezer side of it, where she pulls out a loaf of multigrain bread.

“Oh.” Raikaron says, surprised. “I never knew. They must’ve kept that quite secret.”

“He’s got a good point, that comes as a surprise to me too — but it doesn’t bother you?” I add. “He’s your husband, and you haven’t seen him in a hundred years. Don’t you miss him?”

The lady with the blue feathers giggles. “Oh, a century apart is nothing. We’ve been bonded for over a billion years. Both of us sometimes go on work trips that take us away from each other for thousands of years at a time, so this is really not very long for us. Besides, I can still visit him — the cage he’s imprisoned in allows for visitors.” Reaching over to the burnt and warped toaster, she pushes the eject button, and it pops a butterknife up out of one slot and a fork out of the other, both of which she grabs.

I just gape at that. “A billion—” I look at Raikaron. “A billion years? Who lives for that long? Who could stand being married for that long?”

Raikaron raises an eyebrow at me. “There is much to be gained from a long matrimony. It’s just that mortals don’t usually get to explore that, due to their… well, mortality.”

The lady with the blue feathers chuckles at that. “No, she’s right. It’s not for everyone. It’s for very few people, actually. Many grow bored, with a relationship that long. Others crave something different after a while; new relationships and new experiences with other individuals. And many people change so much that the relationship no longer makes sense. But Sole and I, we…” She runs her finger along the edge of the butterknife, tracing the dull teeth. “…we’ve grown together. Changed together. We’re a part of each other; we are one identity. Two expressions of the same individual. We are whole and complete in a way that many crave, but few will ever experience.”

I’m quiet at that, imagining what that must be like. It’s not easy — that’s a relationship on a magnitude that I’m not sure I can even comprehend. I glance at Raikaron without thinking about it, and then realizing what it may imply, quickly look away. The lady with the blue feathers notices, and smiles.

“You two will probably never get to that point.” she says, opening the peanut butter — crunchy, it looks like — and starting to spread it on a couple slices of the bread. “It takes a long time to get there. Most people get tired of living before then.”

“What would you even do in a billion years?” I ask, still boggled by that. “That’s so long…”

“The universe is a big place. There’s always something new to explore. To poke around in.” she says, setting down the first slice and picking up the second. “But there’s nothing wrong with a short life, either. Very few people get to choose the length of their life, and most of them do what they can with what they’re given.”

“You always wanted to be a scientist, right?” Raikaron says now, looking at me. “And that is because you wanted to understand the galaxy around you, and how it works.”

“Yeah. I mean, I used to…” I admit.

“Imagine how much you could learn about the universe in a thousand, a million, a billion years.” he suggests. “Would that be time well-spent, to you?”

I’m quiet for a moment, thinking about that. It does seem nice — simply having time to poke around the gears of the universe, never worrying that your time or your discoveries will be measured against the encroachment of old age and death. “A thousand years, definitely. A million years, maybe… a billion years… I think by that point I’d have learned everything I need to know about the universe.” I concede.

“You’d be surprised.” the lady with the blue feathers says, opening the jar of sliced pickles and starting to fish them out with the fork. “Even after a billion years, I’m still learning things. The universe, once you learn its laws and rules, all the forces and fundamentals that run it… there’s really not much else to learn after that. Gravity will always be gravity. Light, heat, motion — the laws that govern these things don’t change.” She starts laying the pickle slices atop the peanut-buttered bread. “But people… living things, living creatures, there’s always something you can learn about them. They come up with so many strange new things. That is what my husband loves about mortals: the stories. He says most of them are repeats and retellings, but they find different ways to tell their stories. Sometimes they even come up with something completely new, and that’s always exciting.”

I start to open my mouth to ask her why she’s putting pickles on peanut butter, but I think Raikaron senses what I’m about to ask and places a hand on my back — a silent request not to remark on it. “Well. He is the student of the Inkling, so there are no surprises there.” he says. “There is truth in it. The same few stories repeat every day, in countless different permutations. Even in the time I’ve been alive, there are still some that take me by surprise.”

“Good. It is nice to be surprised — it happens less and less often the older you get.” the lady with the blue feathers says, finishing layering pickles on the sandwiches and covering them with another two slices of bread. “I know you’re going to the Old City, so hopefully these sandwiches will help carry you through if you run low on supplies. It’s hard to pack for a place like that, where you don’t know how long you’ll be there — whether it’s years or days. I also miss packing lunches for my kids — they’re all grown up now. Moved out, with families of their own. Children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren and hundreds of thousands of generations of Syntaritovs, spread across the stars and the dreams of mortals…”

“Did you usually make your children’s lunches?” I ask as she starts putting the sandwiches into recyclable little baggies. I can’t help myself - peanut butter and pickle sandwiches on multigrain bread is just… I can’t imagine what I’d do if I opened up my lunchbox at school and found my mother had packed me one of those.

Raikaron gives me a look, but the lady with the blue feathers just smiles as she tucks the sandwiches into a brown paper bag. “Oh, no! That was my husband. He did most of the cooking for the family. He was very good at it, but he always did strange things, like putting milk in cereal, or syrup on waffles, or soy sauce on rice.”

That throws me. “Wait, whu… what do you put on those things? Like waffles, what do you put on waffles?”

The lady with the blue feathers looks at me curiously. “Bacon with hot sauce and ice cream, of course. What else would you put on waffles?”

Raikaron shifts his hand from my back to my shoulder, squeezing slightly like he was asking me to stop chasing down this rabbit hole. “The universe is a vast place, and there are many fascinating culinary variations out there. Jayta is young, and she hasn’t had the chance to experience many of them.”

“Oh, really?” the lady with the blue feathers says, pausing in folding up the top of the brown paper bag. “If she prefers, I can make her a PB&J instead, since that’s more traditional.”

“Ah. So, okay. A PB&J is pretty normal.” I say, relieved. “I had plenty of those when I was kid.”

“Oh, really?” the lady with the blue feathers says, turning back to the oven. “My kids hated them. I think the jalapeño was a bit too much for them, so I’d substitute it with bell peppers instead.”

“Wait, hold up— jalapeños?” I say, confused.

“Yeah. Peanut butter and jalapeños.” she says, pulling a couple of jalapeños out of the oven. “I’ve heard some people do jams and preserves instead, but with kids, that’s just asking for a mess. Jam is sticky and gets everywhere if they drop it or let it leak out one side of the sandwich. So that’s why most people do jalapeños instead!”

All I can do is gape at that, then look at Raikaron. He glances askance at me with a look in his eyes that says I told you not to chase it, but you didn’t listen to me. Turning back to the lady with the blue feathers, I say “On second thought, the peanut butter with the pickles is good, actually, I think I’ll stick with that. If you don’t mind.”

“Oh, sure! Well, if you change your mind, I’ll just put these in here.” she says, slipping the jalapeños into the bag, then rolling up the top. “Or if not, you can just have them as a snack. They’ve got a bit of kick, so they’ll pep you right up.”

“You’re too kind.” Raikaron says, taking the paper bag as she holds it out to him. “You didn’t have to do all of this for us.”

“Well, you’re one of mine. I’m happy to help my descendants, even if it’s just packing them a lunch for the road.” she says, starting to put the lids back on the ingredients. “I suppose you’ll be going now? Since you got what you came for.”

“We will, yes.” Raikaron says, placing a hand to the side of his jacket where he’d tucked something away down in the plush room. “We would stay to socialize further, if we were not already obligated to another social engagement. There are subordinates of mine that I should return to check on, and ensure they are not causing too much trouble.”

The lady with the blue feathers smiles. “Interesting. Syntaritovs are certainly capable of being dutiful, but they are not often the micromanaging sort. It’s good to see you carving your own path.”

“I do the best I can to make my ancestors proud.” Raikaron says, inclining his head.

After that, the lady with the blue feathers turns to me. “You will take care of him and protect him, yes? I know it doesn’t seem like it, but he needs it. Even if he doesn’t realize it himself.”

“M- me? Protect him?” I stutter, taken off guard. “But he’s… I mean… I’m just… he’s way more powerful than I am.”

“Power is not a guarantee of safety. Quite the opposite, actually.” she says, lacing her fingers together. “My children rarely have to worry about danger in the traditional sense, and this is because they usually are the danger. But they still need to be protected — most often, from themselves and their own hubris. I’m not asking you to protect him from outside threats — I’m asking you to protect him from himself.”

I glance at Raikaron, who seems faintly bemused, then back at the lady with the blue feathers. “I guess I’ll try? I don’t have nearly as much experience as he does, and he’s my Lord, not the other way around.” I say, a little helplessly.

“All the more reason he’ll need someone to watch out for him. For the boys in the family, the power often goes to their head and they end up needing someone to bring them back down to earth.” she giggles, touching the fingers of one hand to her lips. “But that’s enough of that; I’ve kept you too long already. Good luck with your trip to the Old City!”

With that, she gives a little handwave — and all the sudden we are no longer standing in the ruined kitchen. We are instead back in the Neko, standing among the tables that the harpies have filled up, many of them giggling and hiccuping colorful bubbles after they sip from their candy-colored drinks. I blink a couple times and look around, just to make sure it’s not an illusion — it was just so sudden, and without warning. I’d expected we’d have to walk back, or that if we were teleported back, there’d be a portal, or some kind of dimension-breaking effect that would indicate there was a change of location. But there’s not — we’re just suddenly here, and the lady with the blue feathers is gone.

“Oh, back already?” We turn to see Miqo is in the middle of clearing a table. “That was a little quicker than I was expecting. I’d anticipated you would return through the door; did you find a faster way back?”

“In a manner of speaking.” Raikaron says, letting out a breath it seems like he’d been holding. “Have the harpies been behaving for you?”

“Nothing we couldn’t handle. Come, sit down and make yourselves cozy.” Miqo says, pulling out chairs for us at the table she just cleaned off. “Now that you’re done with work, it’s time for pleasure. Sit and relax; order something to drink and to eat. I would like to hear from both of you how things are going — and how you ended up in this situation with the Witchling.”

I glance at Raikaron. “I’ll admit your family members are a little weird, but they’re a lot nicer than you’re making them out to be.”

He chuckles at that, taking off his greatcoat as both of us move to take a seat at the table. “You haven’t met the crazy ones yet. Isn’t that right, Miqo?”

“Well, most of them might take issue with that… crazy is when you’re deranged, but you don’t know it. Insane is when you’re deranged and you know it, but you just don’t care. Most of the Syntaritovs would insist on being called insane…”

Event Log: Jayta Jaskolka

The House of Regret: Third Floor Hallway

10:45pm SGT

“And you visit the Neko once a year?”

“Once a year, yes.” Raikaron says, ascending the stairs behind me. “The time of the visit is not fixed. We go when it is convenient, and we can manage it. Last year’s visit was earlier in the year, before you had joined us.”

“Ah. I was wondering.” I say, stepping off the side as the stairs flatten out and open up to the third-floor hallway. “It’s… a nice place, I wouldn’t mind going back again.”

He smiles at that as he crests the stairs. “Has Miqo won you over, then?”

“Look, it’s not my fault the first time I met her, I was in a seething rage!” I protest. “When that’s your first experience with someone, it kinda makes things complicated, you know?”

“And now that you’ve had a chance to sit down and talk with her?”

“Yeah, she’s nice.” I admit. “No offense to the House, but she’s a lot nicer than most people here.”

“Well, it would be hard to compete in that department, considering we are in hell.” Raikaron observes, walking along the landing towards the fourth flight of stairs. “I suppose you’re turning in for the night? It is rather late.”

I turn, glancing along the hallway’s curve. I want to say yes, but at the same time, I have some things I still want to ask him, questions that have been lingering from today. “Well, before I do — who was the lady in the Mirage Mansion? And why didn’t you want to tell me who she was while we were there?”

Raikaron rests a hand on the railing of the fourth flight of stairs. “I was being careful. That lady was Kastril Syntaritov — the wife of Solebarr Syntaritov, and the matriarch of the Syntaritov lineage. She is very powerful, and she has sometimes been known to play games. Games of chance and wagers, where you bet… important things. Like your soul, memories, emotions, or other, stranger things.”

I turn towards a little more, curious. “What kind of strange things?”

He furrows his brow, as if he was thinking about it. “It is hard to say. There does not appear to be any rhyme or reason to the things she will take or change when someone loses a game against her. She has taken people’s ability to perceive color before. And fingers. Not chopping them off, mind you; you simply suddenly find yourself missing a finger where it otherwise would be. Sometimes she will take knowledge of things you know how to do. Like riding a bike, or how to operate a toaster. The examples I’m citing to you are all things she has done before, at least far as I’m aware from family stories.”

I scratch behind one of my ears. “That’s… weird specific.”

“Indeed. Like I said, there’s no apparent rhyme or reason to it.” he agrees. “Sometimes the things she takes are trivial, like toaster knowledge. Other times it can be devastating. Losing your ability to perceive color would be a heavy blow for most people. And there are many things she can take or change which fall between those two extremes. That is why I was cautious, and tried to control the conversation at some points. It was an honor to meet my ancestor, but at the same time, I know she can be incredibly dangerous. I didn’t want you to get roped into a game that might’ve gone badly.”

“She wouldn’t have tried that with me, would she?” I say, a little alarmed by that.

“If she was bored, possibly.” he shrugs. “Syntaritovs do not exempt each other from their machinations, and older Syntaritovs will use games and deals to teach younger Syntaritovs the important lessons of life. Kastril and Solebarr have been known to do this with their descendants just the same as they will do it to mortals.”

“That’s messed up.” I say, shaking my head. “Like yeah, I get it, you need to teach the kids a lesson every now and then, but doing stuff like gambling away fingers or someone’s sense of color?”

“It is not entirely without benefits.” he explains. “In Kastril’s games, risk is commensurate with reward. Winning can bring substantial rewards. She has given benefits to people who win her games — a small sampling of those rewards is giving people wings, or granting them mastery of knitting, or lengthened lives, among many other things. The benefits, like the detriments, are often strange and not entirely cogent.”

“Well.” I say, still absorbing all of that. “She seemed nice enough, even if she was a little strange.”

“Oh, certainly. Something you have to keep in mind with Kastril, and many other strange powers, is that while they may do harm, they typically do not intend harm.” Raikaron explains. “There are some beings that simply perceive the universe differently than how others commonly perceive it. It is not necessarily a bad thing. A farmer gazes upon a river, and sees a source of irrigation for his crops; a fisher gazes upon a river, and sees his livelihood; an engineer gazes upon a river, and sees a site for a hydroelectric dam; a commoner gazes upon a river, and sees a place to take a bath; a merchant gazes upon a river, and sees a route for transporting goods from one region to another; a priest gazes upon a river, and sees a place to baptize congregants; and on and on and on. The river is the river; it will always be the river. But everyone sees something a little different when they look at it, and some of those things will be the detriment of other perceptions of the river — even if detriment was not intended.”

I purse my lips at that. I get where he’s going with the metaphor, even though I’m not sure it exactly describes the issue with Kastril. This late at night, I’m not in the mood to nitpick his allegories. “If you say so. I wanted to ask something else — the thing that we retrieved from the Mirage Mansion. Was it what you thought it was going to be? One of the Witchling’s memories?”

He takes a deep breath, and it seems like he’s weighing the answer. “…it was, yes. But I think, for your safety, it is better if you do not see it.”

Oh, now that’s got me intrigued. “Have you seen it?” I ask, stepping closer to him.

“I viewed it, yes, to be sure that I was retrieving the correct memory.” he answers. “It is not something that should be treated lightly, or for idle curiosity. Certain memories can be the core pillars of a person’s sense of self, their identity — they are sacred things. These intimate memories are the sort that you do not gossip about, out of respect for the person that they belong to — especially when that person is a higher power, a force of nature that can warp reality around herself.”

I deflate a little. “So you won’t let me see it.”

“I think it is safer if you remain ignorant of it. I know you have not forgotten what happened at the closing conference.” Raikaron says gently. “The ascended savior of your people is not to be trifled with, Jayta. She is one of those strange powers I mentioned earlier. At least with Kastril, she partially understands mortals, and sometimes empathizes with them. That is not the case with the Witchling — she does not care about the vicissitudes of mortality. She is a force of nature, the gestalt of an entire world, the product of ten thousand cycles of suffering. She is a manifestation of the Order that watches over all Aurescuran souls, and there is no mercy in her, no compassion and no sentiment — there is only the Order, the Law, and the Duty. To frustrate any of these, or otherwise vex her, is not wise.”

“Okay.” I concede. In a way this has only made me more curious about what we retrieved, but Raikaron’s clearly not going to budge on it. And probably for good reason. “Well, that’s all I wanted to ask. I’ll let you get to bed now.”

I begin to turn back towards the hallway with that, but stop and look around when he speaks. “Jayta?” he says, motioning to the fourth flight of stairs. “Would you like to share the night?”

My brain scrambles in an instant, wondering what he means by that. “Oh. Like. Uhh…?”

He smiles a little. “It’s an open invitation. I admit that I have found myself, ah… missing your presence when I fall asleep. And… I suppose also when I wake up. The… snuggling, I believe mortals call it, was surprisingly enjoyable.” He then adds, quickly: “But it’s not an order, just an offer. I will not mind either way.”

Oh. “Are you sure it’s just snuggles you want?” I tease, loitering back over to him. “Most times they’re looking for a little more than that.”

He blinks at that. “I wasn’t, but… were you wanting more than that?”

I come up the first few steps of the fourth flight of stairs, giving me enough height to lean down towards him. “Maybe.” I say softly, reaching out to pull his narrow glasses off his face, folding them up and tucking them in my pocket. “Why don’t you come find out?”

He raises a hand to where his glasses were, then looks to where I’m retreating up the stairs. A slow smile curls the corners of his mouth as he starts following after me. “Your behavior has been simply atrocious ever since the Congress.”

I stick my tongue out, biting it. “Then why don’t you come straighten me out?” I dance up another few stairs, weaving from side to side as I tease him. “Little demon, Mistress Lady, bad girl, oh so shady~”

Placing a hand on the railing, he darts up the stairs suddenly, and I jump backwards several stairs, keeping several feet between us. He pauses on the stairs, and I stop as well, both of us staring at each other like two wild animals, waiting for the other one to move. I grin and bite my lip, my foot finding the stair behind me so I can launch myself backwards again, and Rai smirks, positioning his foot so he surge up the stairs again.

When darts forward again, I launch myself backwards up the stairs again. I almost lose my footing when I land, and when I jerk my foot back to backpedal onto the next step, I don’t lift it high enough, and the heel of my shoe catches on it instead. I start to fall backwards, throwing my arms out to catch the railing and banister — only to find Raikaron catching me, one arm wrapped around my back while he uses the other to brace against the stairs.

“You really ought to be more careful, little demon.” he says softly.

I’m speechless for a moment, my heart drumming in my chest as I catch my breath. But once I’ve got my wits back about me, I hitch my legs up, hooking them around his waist while I rest my arms over his shoulders. “Not if it gets me special treatment like this.”

“Ah, so that’s the reason for the bad behavior.” he chuckles, tilting upward and standing properly while I’m still clinging to him. “Someone has attention-seeking issues.”

Only when you give me attention is what I want to say, but I don’t want to give him that ammunition just yet. Instead, I lean in a little closer, bracing my forearms on his shoulders. “You said you liked the turtleneck, my Lord. Wanna see what’s underneath it?”

“You’re such a bad influence. And that’s saying something, since I’m supposed to be the demon Lord here.” Hitching a hand under one of the legs I’ve got wrapped around his waist, he starts walking again, coming up the rest of the stairs and into the fourth-floor hallway. “At least wait until we get to my room.”

“I refuse.” Reaching down, I snag the hem of my turtleneck, pulling it up and over in single smooth motion, shaking my hair free as it comes off. “C’mon, Rai. Work all day, play all night, right?”

“You’re incorrigible.” It’s toothless and good-natured, though — a token offering of resistance, barely anything behind it. I grin, leaning in and kissing him as he carries me to his room. It’s silly; it’s stupid; I probably shouldn’t be enjoying this as much I am.

But I like having a playmate.