Tainted and Framed

[Red Sinfonia]

It was peaceful, quiet, with the softness of the breeze licking Ilsyna’s shoulders, trailing along her arms, cooling the puckering wound that she’d deigned to ignore in light of their fleeing - and Atticus’s threadbare consciousness. It was a moment that she’d had many times in the past - the past here meaning only days ago. Strange that they hadn’t been as appreciated then - not even the times after she’d wrangled herself out of trouble, that she’d ripped herself free from clutches of undesirables, after innumerable escapes and dashes and wild laughter while tasting the sky once again. She doubted she’d have taken this particular moment if it wasn’t for the man lying in the grass beside her - she’d have probably taken off, wings spread, choking back the disbelief and the pain and the terror and tucking it away to deal with in fever dreams and nightmares. No culmination, no inner reconciliation. It was a moment that was filled with introspection that wondered about things like these - explored whether or not to feel regret that she was not apt to deal with such situations, despite all her experience, and she may yet die soon regardless.


 

The haphazard thoughts, interjecting themselves in the silence of the moment, gave pause when something soft was placed across her body. It was warm, still saturated with the heat of its wearer, and Ilsyna languidly opened her eyes. There, next to her, was no longer a figure that was prone and absent of comforting movement, but now had shifted and was lacking the emerald cloak that had been draped about himself - now on her instead. There was a mottled formation of emotions that began to work themselves, untangling, out of the moment that she’d shared with herelf. It was an odd mix of things, probably partially consuming some of the former events, if she was being honest with herself. A strange and voracious bubbling that formed in her chest, that burned and singed the ends of every nerve.


 

Words. Atticus spoke words and moved and showed every sign that he was now okay, despite the previous lack of mobility, incurred by the waking nightmare that was the Underground. Somehow, words that she once wanted for her future refused to give her rest. Something in her felt enraged, for a silly reason, perhaps for his complete disregard or mention of what had happened to him. Perhaps, in her mind, Ilsyna knew she was overblowing the incidence, making his previous circumstances more morbid than she had thought. It was a sobering rationality - the only one she could cling to. For it, she could take Atticus’s offered moment of solace, of affection once their foreheads touched and she stilled, suddenly aware of the grass that rustled and moved around her, of a subtle warmth on her cheeks.


 

Once he had made his suggestions on what to do next, keeping them open to her input, Ilsyna finally moved from her place, pushing with her arm so that she could sit up, gaze scraping along the slope of the hill. Her bottom lip was clasped firmly between her teeth on the left side, reddish from the pressure on it. Ilsyna turned her face back to him, fiery eyes an obscene, vibrant green, brows pushed together in an almost agitated expression. She reached out from beneath the cloak, fingers still slightly trembling, and she gripped Atticus’s arms, fingers like determined steel. Her chest gathered up, as though she was about to lambast him, or breathe fire, or some other thing that took her in the moment.


 

Instead, Ilsyna pulled him foreward and kissed him on the forehead, atop the fray of bangs that lay there. The apex of her emotions expressed, she pulled back, but her hands remained. “Masters save me, don’t- don’t do that again. I mean, I know you saved us, and no, I don’t know what else you could have done, but I could have… or Garroth... something…” She hurried out, words rushed and falling like water. Once she’d realized their nonsensical creation, she laughed and let him go. It was a ridiculous outburst, but she hoped that the core of it seeped through - concern. Concern for a friend, regardless of the short time he’d taken to make it so such a status. Perhaps it was his oddly placed dedication.


 

Ilsyna took a great sigh now, looking up at the sky, yearning for it and its wickedly frigid air, for the wind that whipped and sang over feather and skin. The stink of the underground world would be purged, along with the darkness that weighed on her like oil, perishing beneath silky moonlight. Not yet, however.


 

“I think… I think I need to rest a bit longer first. We both should fill our bellies. We can leave when the moon is at its highest,” Ilsyna said truthfully, though as she pulled the cloak from her body and began to absentmindedly fold it, she realized that there as no where to rest. They had this knoll, this hill, but after having felt those monstrous creatures slide away beneath its harboring canopy, she did not think she could stomach to face the trees after the sun had set.


 

“Where do you plan to head?” A voice asked, pulling Ilsyna’s attention upward and noticing Garroth, the speaker, who had returned with Olivia in tow. She had a growing feeling that he did not tell her everything that they had seen beneath the ground - perhaps a mercy given her for the youth that she held - and certainly nothing of what they had unleashed upon the land.


 

“North,” Ilsyna replied, leaving out Everdenn in the offchance that she should.


 

Garroth nodded thoughtfully. “I am going to head South in the morning. I’m leaving this town. I do not know how the people would feel about my reappearance with the… rumors going around,” he said the certain word carefully, with Olivia’s expression seeming to confirm his doubst. “We can stay in…” He paused here, swallowing a certain word, reaffirming his new reality. “My house. So far as Olivia says, it’s been untouched, and it has some privacy. As long as we are careful with any lights and are not spotted, we should be fine,” he offered, leaving out the doubts and the terrible, ‘I think’ at the end of his words.


 

Though Ilsyna knew that at least she and Garroth would detest being subject to the dark again, they would have the safety of walls and doors and windows and the sky above. It gave much more escape than the Underground.


 

“I have a few things to send you on your way… I couldn’t take much and I couldn’t make any new ones in time. I’ll have to return to the store - I can’t see you off this time,” Olivia spoke up, plunging into her basket again and extracting a few potion bottles.


 

Ilsyna rose, her wings stretching comfortably, just catching the sleepy sunlight, and she nodded. “I think that is our best option,” she noted, reaching out a hand to help Atticus up. “What do you think?”

 

[Leyara]

Atticus froze, his lips sealing and brows sitting in a crooked position as he stared at the other with concern. Anticipating her scolding, by her suddenly turning towards him with such a fierce expression, he became slightly nervous--wondering what he had done to cause it. But instead, he found himself in Ilsyna's grips as she pulled him closer. One hand moved up, his fingers touching her arm lightly out of reflex. Then he fell silent at her kiss upon his forehead. The tips of his ears became red as he was caught a little off guard by her unexpected actions. Deep down, he appreciated it, however.


She pulled back and he watched her patiently as she lectured and explained her ideas to him. His eyes lowered in thought as he brought his hand to rub at his chin. His finger brushed under his lip, and when he moved his hand again, his gaze caught a smear of blood that had begun to dry on his face from earlier. Surprised by it--and feeling a little embarrassed that he didn't notice it sooner--he quickly wiped at his mouth with his hands until he felt the red was gone.

"Ilsyna, I'm--"


Atticus' words were silent and cut off by the sudden approach of Garroth and Olivia. His heart dropped a little over the lost chance to give her a proper response. But he tucked the thought away and instead, turned to greet the two friends with a tired smile. He remained silent though, as the three of them discussed plans for the night. His focus mostly concerned his own thoughts. The paranoia and hastiness he felt after the Underground. It was sure to be more scarring for Ilsyna and especially Garroth. But Atticus couldn't get it out of his mind, either. It was making him lose focus, and his confidence from before was chipping away slowly. Perhaps all he needed was a good night of sleep and then he would feel better. But for right now, his mind kept trailing off into a dark area.
 


..."What do you think?"


Pulled from his thoughts, Atticus lifted his head to gaze up at Ilsyna, who was now standing. He forgot to listen to everything the others were talking about, so he hesitated a moment, then gathered up his flute and grimoire before taking her hand and nodding.
"You're right, we should rest up first..." He answered in a low tone, his face suddenly expressing exhaustion now that he was on his own feet. "... I spent quite a bit of my energy."

---



Once inside Garroth's home, Atticus helped with covering the windows up--ensuring that anything outside wouldn't be able to see them so easily. Carefully, while trying not to make too much noise, he pushed a bookshelf across the main room, covering up a window at the front of the home. Garroth came up from behind him, also keeping himself busy so that he wouldn't think too much about his empty-feeling home. He placed an armful of books back onto the shelf and then left the rest of the pile for the mage, as he turned his attention to gathering blankets for the other windows. 

For the moment, Atticus was left alone in the room as he picked at the pile of books on the floor, refilling the shelf he just moved. His mind wandered a bit and occasionally he would stop to look at the cover of one of the novels. Atticus didn't spend very much time reading stories in his past. If he ever did read, it was because the adults at the orphanage made him do it for the sake of education. But it was usually something dull and uninteresting, so he would end up falling asleep anyway. After he was adopted, he was only forced to read if it was a grimoire. It was one of the common punishments when he would misbehave, since it wasn't exactly fun reading a thick book full of spells and a language he didn't really understand at that age. But that was that man's charm. Making him do things that seemed ridiculous and impossible, either for the sake of educating or just to get a young Atticus out of his hair.

The memories of this person--whom Atticus never really referred to as anything but "old man"--always brought a snicker from the mage. Even if the man always tried to act like he was just an uncaring, grumpy old mage, there was still something really humorous and fun about him much of the time. Sometimes, when Atticus would annoy him too much to teach him magic, the old man would trick him into doing other things, while fibbing about it actually having anything to do with magic. Whether that meant raking up the leaves in his yard--"gathering 10,000 fallen leaves to cast an incredible spell upon the earth" which would turn out to be "good job, you made the grass look clean!"-- or somehow convincing Atticus to make him a sandwich. In the end, he would always reward Atticus with a lesson or two anyways. If nothing else, because the gullible child amused him.


Atticus gave a bittersweet grin to his thoughts, while staring at a random book in his hand that he was about to place on the shelf as well. He huffed quietly at his thoughts, accidentally picking up some of the dust and inhaling it immediately. He bent forward to cough, waving his hand in front of him at the dust clouds.

"Hey, I--oh, take it easy." Garroth suddenly appeared in the room again, noticing the other man hacking up a lung suddenly. 

"It's.. just dust" Atticus spat the words out as he stepped away from the shelf, letting out another couple of coughs before he was finally better. "Everything set?"

"Yeah... the windows are all covered. We should be safe" Garroth shifted a bit on his feet, turning his gaze around the now-awkward looking room. It was also much darker in the house now that the moon was mostly blocked out. Save for some windows that were only covered by furniture most of the way, leaving some space on top for moon light to peak through.

"Don't worry about cleaning up the books, it is only a waste of energy. I have food out so you should come eat with us."

There wasn't a lot of food in the kitchen. In his initial retreat, Garroth had taken as much food as he could to survive in the Underground. Some bread and vegetables were all that he had available to them, but that was plenty for Atticus. The moment he bit into one, he realized just how long it had been since they ate something. He was famished, and carrots never tasted as good as it did tonight. The meal they shared was brief, yet satisfying, and after they were done, Garroth was the first to take his leave from the table. Atticus watched the other man as he disappeared to the bedroom that was tucked on the other side of his home. There he would gather some bedding for everyone to have a warm place to sleep.


Atticus stood from his seat, exhaustion oozing from him in the form of a heavy sigh. He wanted help Garroth some more, but at the same time he wasn't sure if he should give the man a minute to himself instead. It was probably not easy for him to return to his home without his lover. Not that Atticus could relate, but he could empathize to some extent. After all, the mage also had a home somewhere. It was a distant thought lately, but watching Garroth tonight made him remember it more. And how empty it must be now.

"Hey," He murmured to Ilsyna now, moving closer to touch his fingers to her arm; careful not to poke at her hurt shoulder. "I'm sorry for being reckless.. earlier."

He shifted as if to continue walking, but stopped himself before he could even take one step. There was more he wanted to say to her. But he was a little slow to pull his thoughts together, a little too tired, so he backed up and pulled a chair up beside her. It wasn't as if he had anything else to do if he wanted to give Garroth a moment of quiet.


Taking a seat and facing her, he sighed again softly, dipped his head down and pulled the necklace off from around his neck. The same one he used days ago to find their directions. The stone which was blue with a pale stripe across it, given to him by the old man he grew up with, his father-figure and mentor. It was nothing but a simple, polished rock until magic was used to move it. But it was still pretty to look at and calming to fidget with.



"I'm a bit late in asking.. are you alright?" Atticus leaned forward and stared at Ilsyna. The lack of light muting her colors, making her appear more black and white, and blurry without anything to illuminate her features. 
"That was a lot to take in. Especially... er, with my weight to carry. That spell I was hit with wasn't exactly natural."


Atticus dipped his head down again to rub at his hair sheepishly. He didn't really know how to talk about what happened in the Underground. But considering the outburst she had before, Atticus didn't want to simply ignore her concerns--or his own.

He picked up her hand and held it between both of his, brushing his fingers over the creases on her palms, and the bumps of her knuckles. Then he held it tightly, smiling a bit under the darkness of the room.
"I can't promise I wont exert myself in order to protect you. I'll try to be more careful about it, but even if I end up disabled on the ground. If you feel yourself slipping to the curse, call for me."
Atticus released her hand, which now held the necklace. If it could provide her something to meditate with, or comfort to any level, he rather give it to her at this point. Even if it does nothing for her, at least it was another effort. It would probably look better on her anyways, he reasoned with himself.


He leaned his back against his chair and rested his arms on the sides. Staring at her with a smirk and half open eyes--a tired attempt to imitate his usual confident attitude.



"Even if you can't, you know I wont let it take you. So rest easy. Even if we must sleep in the dark tonight."

 

[Red Sinfonia]

Shocking how much a meal, paltry or meager as it could be with small amounts of staple foods, could silence the dull ache in the bones and the mind and bring things back into focus. Ilsyna, especially, was not one to ever scoff at offered food. Despite all that had occurred in the Underground, all the terror they had experienced, her thoughts went mercifully silent with every flavor, every bite, filling her empty stomach - which had begun to complain at the mere sight of their small spread - until a modest contentedness blossomed in her chest. At the end of it, she’d even offered up some of the roots that she’d kept in her pack - partially sweet, pregnant with the earth, but they worked to fill any void that may have been left over.


 

After, Garroth had left the room to find them blankets and wools to keep them through the night. While Ilsyna didn’t mind the cold - was built for it - she wasn’t one to argue, smart enough to know when to enjoy a warm throw while it lasted, and instead worked to untie the boots upon her feet. There was a soreness thrumming in her arms - from the stress, the exertion, from helping to block out the windows and spaces and flood the house with near-darkness. At the very least, her wings were well, filled with a vitality and eagerness - now that she had fed and was not surrounded by rock. All she needed was a short rest and they would rend the air and carry her away. It was a small comfort to know, a vast difference from the helplessness - anyway - that she had felt the day prior, when they’d trembled and agonized beneath the conception of her curse.


 

A painful thought. But Atticus was quick to break her from it, as it seemed he was apt to do since she’d met him.


 

That he apologized was an arduous pang in her chest, causing Ilsyna to bite her lip once more. Was that what she had wanted out of him when she’d been angry? Had he truly been reckless? Or had he simply done the right thing and she just couldn’t accept that he’d bled for it?


 

In her experiences, Ilsyna always survived, if only by the skin of her teeth. Filled with the immensity of immortality - the feeling of it, anyway - with an imperviousness that she did not believe possible at first. But then she tripped into trap after trap, all senses of trouble and mischief, and she always made it out in the strangest of circumstances. As though the Masters were watching over her, mirthful at her rebelliousness as opposed to enraged for throwing the cautions of her people to the wind, burning their traditions with every step and spitting on them. Do not heed the outside world. She even flaunted the luck of her youth, when her brother had been ripped from her arms - mother screaming, groundlanders quick with orders and blades. They all hid from the terrors of the rest of the world, but she seemed to welcome them - knowing, in some way, that she’d come out all right.


 

Would she have actually made it out of the Underground, though? Would she have survived it, as she so wished to believe? Within, she dearly wanted that to be true - that her luck hadn’t run thin, the patience of the Masters dimming, that Atticus could have been lost to the darkness for nothing because she would have been fine in the end.


 

What colored Atticus now was stark concern, a tender question, his warm hands capturing one of her own. As he had spoken, had promised her safety, for her to be free, she could feel the smooth stone pressed between their skin - marveled at it when he pulled away. It was a beautiful little thing for its size, and she couldn’t comprehend any of its possible sentiments - certainly, it had been useful when he had used it before, though she supposed that was a product of magic and not simply the stone itself. Too bad she was lacking for an Ashight, with hardly a knack beyond small witchlights.


 

Ilsyna lifted it to her chest, feeling the cool stone fall in the space between her breasts, and she clasped it around the back of her neck. Its presence offered a quiet comfort, that glimmered softly against her tanned skin. “Thank you,” she said, the smile that accompanied the words quite natural, two fingers already managing to fiddle with it.


 

“You weren’t… wrong,” she began, her brow knitting together, eyes briefly searching the floor as though she’d find the words that she wanted to express there. “I mean, you didn’t do anything wrong, Atticus. If I hadn’t been so stubborn - if I hadn’t made us go down there…” She paused, grit her teeth as her mind worked to keep up. But she was muscle and sinew, strength and courage - she was not one for words, had hardly remembered the prayers and passages of the Masters. There was a note of regret there, deigning to work itself up her throat, but she couldn’t manage to spill it onto her tongue - couldn’t feel it for all that it was. She realized for it that, perhaps, she wanted to regret going down there - for risking Atticus’s life when he’d meant to save her own - but she gazed off in the direction Garroth had gone, and knew she could not regret it. “No… the thing is, you saved our lives, Atticus. Not just mine. I just… don’t know how to be grateful,” she murmured, the last part with a tinge of smile, a ghost of a laugh. “I’m unused to feeling so inept,” she admitted, pushing off her boots and pulling her legs up onto the chair with her.


 

There was a small, comfortable silence, where neither it and her position lasted long. “Actually, if we’re giving gifts!” Ilsyna exclaimed suddenly, turning to her side and rummaging through her oversized pack. She pulled back the main flap, seemed dissatisfied with its contents, and continued going through the side pockets until she’d found the appropriate one. From it, she pulled a necklace composed of several leather thongs that circled around the neck - one drooped lower than the others, and from it hung a metal grip that held a small feather, colored emerald and cobalt with a stripe of black across the top edge. “I met someone at a bazaar a while back. She made a necklace of one of my feathers after they’d shed-” She accented this by stretching a wing, running her fingers along the small feathers that lined the underside, close to her back. “Then I realized how strange it would be to wear my own feather,” she said, lips slightly downturned. “I couldn’t sell it though… I don’t know if Ashight feathers have any use but…”


 

Ilsyna offered it to him, in nearly the same way he had given her his. Despite her mirthful, relaxed expression, her grip was iron - as it had been before. She wanted to tell him that she didn’t think she’d make it - that it was so he could remember, so he wouldn’t forget, for some silly sentiment that she felt for someone she’d shared awful experiences with. That if she died, it would be okay - she wouldn’t fault him for it. These things wanted to force their way out, but she barred them, tucked them back down inside. Atticus wouldn’t accept it. She’d hardly known him for two days, but something told her that much - he would not accept it.


 

Once she’d made sure he’d taken it, Ilsyna reclined back in the chair, itching to change the subject, to distance herself from these things that she was not familiar with. “Tell me about you, Atticus. I know you, but I don’t know you,” she laughed. “Where’d you learn magic? Where’d you grow up? Where in the hells did you find Hathor? Did you raise her yourself? She is such a loving little thing…”

 

[Leyara]

Atticus' smile widened as the other examined the stone in her hands; his eyes momentarily locking onto it as it rested over her chest while she spoke. Her words were hesitant, wary of themselves as she seemed to struggle with what she wanted to say. She began to almost blame herself, pulling Atticus' gaze back to her face as his brows pushed together; lips parting with the temptation to speak up. Never for a second would he have blamed her for wanting to save her friend. Nor did he have any intention of sounding regretful for getting Garroth out of there. He paused at this thought, tracing back over his words while hoping he never came off that way by mistake. The mage was definitely exhausted from everything, especially agonizing spells. But he was glad that someone was helped in the process.


When Ilsyna spoke up again suddenly, Atticus realized his eyes had been closing as his mind drifted during their short silence. They shot back open to her voice and he managed to play it off as if he was definitely not dosing off. He watched her dig through the bag with increasing curiosity until she pulled something from it. In the dark it was hard to tell what it was at first, so he leaned forward a little, trying to focus his eyes on the leather piece in her hand.


A feather.


His eyes appeared more awake when she was explaining this to him. He couldn't help but wonder if it was truly acceptable to take one of her feathers, especially recalling her telling him that they were such a target for theft. Something that non-ashights acted too greedily for. Even if it was just a feather that had naturally shed anyways. Atticus was probably silly to feel concerned over something like that, and possibly the only one thinking of it.



"It's cute," He murmured after she had released his hand and he pulled it closer to his face to see the feather more clearly. There were probably plenty of alchemist recipes that required the feather of an ashight, or of these particular colors in a feather. Perhaps some spells worked well with them too. But Atticus couldn't imagine wasting something like this. He fidgeted with the leather parts a bit until he could figure out how to put the necklace on. Once he settled it in place, the feather rested itself comfortably below his collarbone, threatening to hide away beneath the folds of his robe.


"I'll use it just like this," He grinned softly and tipped his chin a little, twirling the metal grip on the necklace in his fingers. "Thank you."


His smile didn't fade when she asked about himself. It was a fair request, considering they didn't have much of an introduction at the start. He was just as curious about her, now that she brought the whole issue up.


A little more awake now that he was pulled from the depths of his own thinking, the male adjusted himself in his chair, pulling one leg up to rest his ankle on his knee. His hands curled over his leg to keep it's balance as he began explaining from the beginning.

"I was brought up in a village, Alcombay. I lived in an orphanage for most of my childhood, had a friend named Jaq who used to always get me into trouble. He was something of a brother figure, you could say?" Atticus rubbed at his nose as he drifted through his thoughts, allowing them to roll off his tongue as they came. "Anyway, there was only one mage in the village. Some old man named Hawk that had piqued our interest through some many ridiculous rumors we heard. So we started pestering him to show us cool tricks. He must have really hated us at first, just a couple of little kids banging on his door almost daily for the most nonsensical requests, like giving Jaq the tail of a dragon or something childish."
 


"But after some time I guess he gave in and agreed to teach us about magic. Started with short lessons. But eventually we all began to take it more seriously. To be honest, I was awful at it at first. Didn't think I'd ever get it down, I used to hit myself with my own spells all the time."
Placing his foot back on the floor, Atticus adjusted himself again and tugged at his clothing. He pulled at the materials over his ribs, sliding them away for a moment and patting his other hand on his skin. There was a sizable pale scar with an odd shape to it, although it was probably impossible to see in the dark.
".. I struck myself with lightning here, so there's a nice scar left over. I have a few in other places. Some more.. tender than others."
As he spoke, his finger traced the outline of his scar. Then his hand slid down to his left thigh, tapping at the inner-side of it with a sheepish grin on his cheeks.
"Hawk had to tutor me a little extra for a while. But eventually I learned to control it. And when I became a teen, the old man also adopted me."

"Jaq left the village not too long after that. So, I guess to cure my loneliness, Hawk decided to find me a new friend. I have no idea where he got a unique opinicus like Hathor from, he had a lot of shady connections... but by the stars, was she the most adorable thing I've ever seen as a pup. If only you could have seen her." Atticus waved his hands in front of them, a sincere joy painting his face at the memory of a young Hathor. Fur sticking out like a crazed kitten, a tail that always stood up, and feathers that always appeared ruffled. To others in the village, she was a hot mess. But Atticus immediately found a place in his heart for her.



"I can't imagine I'd be the same right now if I didn't have Hathor with me."

 

[Red Sinfonia]

“I can only imagine,” Ilsyna replied with an equal sense of mirth, lips curved into an honest grin, Atticus’s reminiscent joy piercing through what thinning veil of shadows lay between them. There was a warmth that had formed there, an orb of it that dared to nip at the chill of the past couple days. She welcomed the quiet radiance that had grown as he’d spoken, sharing the simplified story of his youth. Of the way he’d come to find his close companion. It pushed the thoughts of the creatures and their swarm behind her, softened the fear that had swelled in her bones. A moment to feel normal.


His story itself brought up some of the more painful things. The training of magic. The way that she’d learned the basic things so quickly as little more than a fledgling. How there’d been so much promise in her, the way that her teachers looked at her. Then the way they looked at her again when they realized that she’d never improve. That despite being an Ashight, a machine with feathers built for great and magical things, she could hardly conjure more than a dancing witchlight. These were fingers pushing hard into a bruise, but they were a familiar agony. A welcomed one. Much better than the more sinister things that they had been wading through, together; a curse that poised to consume the world as they knew it, if not Ilsyna first.


“Our…” A pause. “The mews in the bestiaries of Rad’ise Va have many creatures. More often than not gifted with flight, for obvious reasons. But we’ve certainly never had anything like Hathor,” Ilsyna noted with a smile, eyes cast to the darkness in quiet thought. “They tended to have beasts of burden. Small drakes. They always look like they’ve been shot in the arse with an arrow and they’re hunting the poor bastard that wronged them.” She snorted, her face inherently mimicking them as she thought of it, brows drawn together and mouth crinkled into a frown. She doubted Atticus would have been able to see all the details through the shadows, but she imagined that her expression overall would grow oddly distorted.


“Angry, I mean. They always look angry. And their hide is hard as rocks,” she amended, in case she wasn’t clear. She sighed, shook her head. “They were loyal beasts though and they made sky building easier. I’d probably have broken my back without them.” She shrugged, putting the memories of it behind her. They were not awful, in their basest sense - just simply gone, and she was alright with that.


Ilsyna reached out now, placing an amiable hand on Atticus’s knee, fingers curled around it gently. “We will see Hathor again soon. I am sure that she misses you immensely right now. I would,” she laughed, then straightened her throat when she realized what kind of context it could mean. “I mean… you know. If you’d been my friend for many years… not that I wouldn’t miss you now if you went away for days!” Eyes rolled, shut, lips pursed in attempt to stop the jumble from growing into a larger, tangled mess. “Ah, hell, you know what I mean.”


Fingers rose to fondle the necklace that he’d given her, already overly available to nervous movements of her hands. A small comfort to occupy her silliest moments while Ilsyna attempted to gather herself. A question with darker undertones arose, unbidden, but scathing in her throat.



“So… after all that. Did you stay in the village? … Until the curse came?” Ilsyna asked, swallowing her avoidance. Best to face the harsh things head-on. Best to say the ‘c’ word now, instead of hiding from it. “And then you were-... didn’t you say you were teleported here?” An expression of inquisition, discontentment. “I wonder why.”

 

[Leyara]

Atticus tilted his head to one side, his fingers sliding over the stubble on his chin as he tried to imagine the story Ilsyna was telling him. What it must be like to live in the air, to work in it, among other winged creatures and the kind of personalities they had by her description. An experience that was a little beyond his imagination, and it had piqued his interest. 
"A sky builder, huh?" He murmured rhetorically and a light smile found its way across his lips, partially hidden in the shadows of the room.


Then he felt her gentle hand wrap itself over his knee. His brows raised curiously, giving her his full attention as she spoke. Her intentions were warming, but her words were a little more entertaining. Clumsy, but also tempting him to relax and laugh a little more. But there was still too much on his mind. As much as he enjoyed listening to her story, and as much as he enjoyed sharing his own. It all felt so far away now.


Atticus huffed out a light, breathy chuckle and nodded his head to her first question. His smile was a little bittersweet now as he leaned forward on his knees, thinking about the events that had changed Alcombay right in front of him.



"I did," His voice dropped almost to a whisper. His fingers twirled the enclosed feather that hung over his chest as his mind traveled, seeking the best way to explain to Ilsyna what little he knew or understood. After everything, Atticus was exhausted. Perhaps so much that his emotions were the only thing awake anymore. His mind kept threatening to focus on the faces of the people in his memories. They clenched at his chest, twisting it, begging to break it even further.
"I was there when everything began to fall apart. My old man and I were the only mages, so everyone relied on us." Atticus lifted his hands a bit as he stared at his palms, almost as if he could physically see all of their lives that he once held there. Each of them slipped through his fingers too fast for him to catch them, including the ones that he thought he had saved.  

"... Only a few made it to the temple. The waters cured them. Perhaps this knowledge I have threatened the caster.." His hands lowered as well as his face, as Atticus leaned over his knees. "I don't know why he didn't just kill me. He pushed me away. Everything I fought for to save those people... but I disappeared. Left them defenseless against that person. And.. those monsters."


In the end, nobody was really saved.


Hidden under his short curtain of hair, in the shadows of his face, Atticus' brows creased tightly as he fought against his increasing urge to tear up. Guilt, Regret, Grief. Whatever he would use to describe it, it hurt like hell. To remember those who fell, the blood on his own hands. And now he wasn't even certain if anyone at all was still alive. But now wasn't the time to mourn, he thought. There was still someone that needed him. If it was not Ilsyna, Hathor needed him without a doubt. At least, that is what he would tell himself. While in reality, it was probably Atticus who needed Hathor from the start. Even before the world turned to hell.

"Shit," He mumbled and rubbed at his face for possibly the tenth time in the past hour. "How many damn spells did I cast today? Leave me in this chair much longer, and you might have to carry me to bed."
Atticus scooted to the edge of his seat, bringing himself a little closer to Ilsyna. "I would like to hear more of your stories after a good rest. If you want, that is. I can tell you all about Hathor and how much of a rebellious pup she used to be."

The mage stood from his seat finally. He ruffled the top of Ilsyna's hair briefly before stepping towards the back room, where Garroth had disappeared to. Before entering, Atticus made sure to give a light knock on the door frame so that he wouldn't startle the other man. But when he entered, Garroth was already snoozing. Blankets and spare pillows were thrown over the floor, but the man kept his bed empty for his guests. Of course, Atticus went straight for the empty spot on the floor, sliding onto his stomach and tucking his arms under the pillow. He didn't care for removing his cloak or shoes. He even kept his grimoire strapped to his belt, which he might find pressed into the side of his hip if he decided to roll at all in his sleep. But there comes a point in one's life, where they are just too tired to care about the consequences.


---


A strange scent found itself under Atticus' nose. It was comparable to the fragrancy-smoke you get from blowing a candle out. But a little different at the same time, and somehow nostalgic. The mage had a difficult time pin-pointing exactly what it was. But then there was a sound in his ears that was equally unidentifiable. Like an echoed wind. He rubbed at his annoyed ears as if that would chase the noise away. But even with smell and sound, he never realized that his eyes were still shut. 


"tu vas kavut," The words shot out of Atticus' mouth without his control. He choked on them, but still an endless stream of chanting poured from his lips. His mana vibrated within him, and then he could feel a pulsing sensation in his right forearm. At first it was only a slight discomfort. But then it became more intense. Painful. Atticus clawed at the sigil on his arm as it felt like it might rip off of his flesh. 


Before the mage could even realize he was dreaming, his body jolted and eyes opened to find a little light peeking into Garroth's bedroom. Somehow he wound up on his back while still remaining on his side of the floor. His cloak was twisted around himself and certainly his grimoire pressed into his hip. But Atticus' attention was on his arm. The throbbing ache that he felt where his sigil sat. He yanked the cloth away from it and rubbed at it carefully until it calmed down. He couldn't tell if it was something concerning, or if he merely cut off the circulation in his sleep. The pain was close to the same at this point. Even if the pain in his dream was very different. Imaginations tend to exaggerate things like that.

Besides, "tu vas kavut" is not even a spell.


Atticus let out a wide yawn and finally began to adjust himself, clearing away all of his physical discomforts. He unfastened his cloak that was threatening to strangle him and rolled it up in his arms. 

 

[Red Sinfonia]

The conversation turned to one of inherent pain, and Ilsyna regretted her question as she listened to Atticus, listened to the anguish drip from his words, watched the solemn dip of his head. Felt that she had been careless in her inquisition, bringing to the surface his agony. They were his people, people that he grew up with and knew and loved, and he was taken from them in their greatest time of need. It almost felt alien to think about the familiarity, the community, the sadness of it, as all that was left for herself back home were winged strangers. Something in her felt selfish for it too, as though she had been the one to take him from Alcombay for her own purposes. It was silly, but that feeling curdled in her heart, calcified and hard.

The focus on it was momentarily dispersed, as Ilsyna felt the now-familiar tousle of his fingers through her hair, a smirk consequentially tilting her lips. A smirk and playfulness that belied their situation, the ending of their conversation, the darkness that shrouded around them. Perhaps, she thought briefly, the latter at least was a mercy, hiding the things that they could not face now.

After Atticus had retired to the bedroom, Ilsyna lingered. She had pulled the other chair close, had curled up between the two, wings pressed in close around her as though a feathery haven. Only the pulsing of her blood in her ears bade back the silence, and a cold settled around her, a chill invited - noticed - by the lack of her companion. It was an uncertain quiet, both desired and not, but she allowed it. She folded into herself, arms around her knees, swallowing back the lump that had formed in her throat. Eyes threatened to sting, of frustration and rage and any number of things, but she forced that back too.

Claws dragged slowly up her spine, shadowy hands pressing in around her, against her sides, her wings, but she would not look up. Would not look into the gazes within. Instead, a hand rose, grasping the necklace, fingers tightened, and she shielded herself against the moment.

It was some time later that Ilsyna gathered her things and retreated to the bedroom. The whisper of breaths inside was steady, quiet, and she could almost see the two lumps on the floor, still save for the rising of chests. They had left the bed open for her and she huffed, smiling, rolling her eyes, but appreciated the small comfort nonetheless. When she collapsed onto the plush furs, fingers twining with the blanket beneath, she sighed in relief. Her wings encircled her, guarded her, and she fell into a blissful dead sleep.

There were no dreams to haunt Ilsyna, no imagery to speak of, but she felt fingertips stroke her own, familiar feathertips, a young, musical laugh. A boy’s voice, whispering, giggling. “Ilsyna,” she thought he said. “I’m right here”, but when she woke, the emptiness his words had left were palpable.

A yawn caught her attention, and Ilsyna slowly opened her eyes, gazing at strips of gold sunlight that filtered through her wings. Seemed funny that she almost felt surprise, that they had made it to morning, that yesterday had happened at all. Her wings stretched, folded back and she sat up, long, emerald hair that she had loosed from the braid a wild, tangible halo around her face. Hands rose, fingers rubbing her eyes, dragging over her cheeks. Throat felt dry and her stomach rebelled against her, upsettingly empty. Her shoulder ached, but she noticed the thick scab that had knit the flesh together, suspected Atticus. She turned to her left, saw the man in question stirring about, then noticed Garroth’s empty bed.

Ilsyna scrambled from the bed, bare feet padding against the wooden floorboards beneath her, as she quickly left the bedroom, a semblance of odd panic, of sudden loss. She didn’t search long as Garroth stepped into the main room from outside, bucket of water sloshing about in his arms. “There’s a pump outside,” he said, peering at her curiously, brows raised at her unruly appearance, at the misplaced look in her eyes.

Something inside of her eased, a tension she did not know she had been burdening herself with, even though she knew that they would soon walk separate paths anyway. Garroth approached the table, placed the bucket down, and Ilsyna returned to get her things. “We have a long day before us, but the sun is encouraging, don’t you think?” She asked Atticus with renewed vigor as she pulled on her boots and laced them, then shouldered her bow and pack. She returned to the table and placed some of the healthy roots from her things there, parsing some out for Garroth. He appeared to do the same with hard cheeses and dried meats, offering what goods he could still find throughout the house. They traded quietly with the nonperishables and then he offered them what fruits, vegetables, and breads had kept from the cupboards, a continuation from the dinner the night before, but with more finality. This would be it.

As he ate, Garroth pored over Ilsyna’s maps, plotted his own destination. Though he would have meant to be unseen, she could see the muscle in his jaw twitch, the way he grit his teeth to bite back tears. He would be leaving the only home he’d truly known, she knew, but staying could mean death, and she offered him a silent, sympathetic hand on his shoulder, though they said nothing between them.

It was a short time later that words were exchanged, when Garroth was ready, but they were words of love, of stories. With a mouth full of fruit pulp, he told stories of the house in its better days, when it was lively, and the head of the Underground celebrated the town’s glory. He told it with a resolve, heading towards the door, where he paused and looked down the path he would have to take. It was away from theirs.

Ilsyna had snaked her arms around his neck, knowing and assured, muscles strong and arm. Garroth returned it with only a second’s hesitation, before he pulled her back. “Promise you’ll find me one day, when this is all over. I know you can. You know where I’ll be headed,” he said, voice hard and determined.

The trust, the resolve that she would survive at all, the unspoken, unnecessary possibility, hung between them, bound them, and Ilsyna returned a sharp nod. “I will,” she said.

Garroth leaned forward and kissed her forward, then turned to clap Atticus on the shoulder. His fingers grasped him there. “You too. I want to see you too one day. You saved my life…” A glance to their feathered companion, a silent request, and he turned away from them.

A moment of quiet, before, “Well… are you ready to do this?”