Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Zero!”

She’s having the dream again.

“Fire!”

Her vision bursts into light; the searing heat of dragonfire rushing overhead.

“One!”

Songs roar in her ears, a sickening cacophony of cast-off copies.

“How can he still have so much strength…”

No matter where the dream begins, it always ends the same.

“No!”

A scream, and then silence.

Zero springs to life with a familiar name on her lips, uneven gasps of air forcing themselves through her lungs. Her sheets are stained with sweat, and she sits there for a long moment in darkness, alone.

“Damn nightmares,” she hisses under her breath as it steadies. Tension gives way to resolution; she twists herself towards her nightstand and begins to fumble about. After a few moments, her hand closes around the increasingly familiar smooth surface of her prosthetic arm. It clicks into place a moment later, and she gives each of its joints an experimental flex—habit, she guesses.

Strange. It feels somehow different than normal. But it’s as responsive as she needs it to be; no reason to be picky.

A shuffling sound outside brings her to stiffen, but she relaxes as a familiar voice follows it a moment later. “Zero?”

“Hey,” she murmurs into the darkness. Her throat is raw. She almost asks him to give her some light, but immediately thinks better of it. That would be an easy way to burn her house to the ground.

He’s little more than a baby, after all. He’s not Michael.

“Are you alright?” he asks. “You were shouting again.”

“It was nothing.”

“But—”

“I’m fine, Mikhail.”

The dragon falls silent, and for a moment Zero wonders if she’d spoken with more bite than intended. But that's ridiculous—she's usually much harsher with him, after all. A little snap like that won't bring him down.

“Hey,” she says again. “Get your nose out of the window. I’m getting dressed.”

“Oh!” he exclaims, as if stirred from reverie. “Sure thing, Zero! No problem!” The cottage creaks slightly as he pulls away.

“He seems oddly happy,” she murmurs to no one in particular.

Clearly the sun has yet to rise, but she knows from experience she won't be falling back asleep. She slips out of bed somewhat regretfully, grimacing as she trades surprisingly comfortable sheets for frigid air.

Fumbling about blindly again, her hands fail to find a match or a candle. “Shit,” she swears under her breath. “Must’ve ran out.”

Resigning herself to working in darkness, she stumbles forward in the direction of her dresser. The wood seems oddly smooth as she makes contact—she could’ve sworn this old thing had been falling apart. Rifling about inside, she fails to find her usual clothes—had she left them out on the line? Nice going, dumbass.

She settles for a black blouse—at least, she thinks it’s black—and leggings. These clothes, too, seemed oddly comfortable—and she didn’t think she owned this many clothes in the first place. Hard to go shopping when you’re half-dead and in hiding, after all.

Grimacing, she shakes her head and closes the dresser. Either something really is off today, or she’s finally losing it—and she knows which one is the more likely option.

“Zer-oooo,” Mikhail calls, stretching out the last syllable. “Are you up? You haven’t even turned the lights on!”

She sighs. “Would if I could, asshole.”

“That’s mean, Zero,” Mikhail pouts. “But don’t worry, I’ll help!”

Before she can even begin to protest, Mikhail is hooking a claw through the window, clumsily fumbling about as he tries to squeeze through. She winces at the clattering of things being knocked off her desk.

“Mikhail, would you—” she begins in a scathing tone, but suddenly the dragon lets out an “ah-ha!” of triumph, there’s a soft click, and the cottage is bathed in light.

Zero's first thought is this: Where the fuck am I?

It looks like her cottage, at least at first glance. It's not any bigger or smaller, and the furnishings are all in the same places. But the more she casts her gaze upon her surroundings, the more disparities reveal themselves: there’s no holes in the ceilings, the windows are made of glass, a strange silver object has been knocked off her desk (sort-of like Accord’s trunk, she thinks, only thinner), and everything looks so damn nice.

The light comes from the ceiling—several crystal-like orbs that cast a pale artificial glow upon the room.

Zero doesn’t even know where to begin putting this together, so she opts to fall back on the familiar—berating Mikhail. “How many times have I told you not to try to squeeze your smelly scales in here?”

“But they’re not smelly!” Mikhail exclaims. “I’ve been washing just like you taught me!”

Zero takes a deep whiff, and is surprised to find that he’s completely right. Mikhail smells almost downright pleasant.

This is, by far, the most disturbing of the morning’s revelations.

“Whatever,” she sighs. “Just don’t do it again. I have to clean up your mess now."

“I can—!”

“No. Helping.”

“Oh,” Mikhail says, freezing half-way through trying to squeeze a wing in again. “Right. Sorry, Zero.”

Rolling her eye, she sets herself to picking up the belongings Mikhail had knocked to the floor. Most are just alien enough to be unfamiliar—bottles with unrecognizable labels, papers that are blindingly white, and that strange silver rectangle. It hums slightly as Zero lifts it up, and she nearly drops it again. Whatever it is, she gingerly places it back on the desk.

Finally, her gaze falls upon the mirror. Remarkably, it seems to be the one thing that doesn’t look any different than she remembers. It cracked when it hit the ground—dammit—but it hadn't completely shattered. It wasn’t as though she put much stock in her appearance anyways, it’s not the end of the world—

Zero stops breathing.

There is a dull ache on the right side of her face. She’s gotten used to it at this point. Sometimes it hurts like a bitch, but mostly it’s just there. An eternal reminder of her failure.

The ache remains. Her eye is gone.

So is the flower.

The first thing Zero can think to do is lift up the patch—that’s what’s covering her eye now. She’s not the type to get queasy, and after a brief examination in the mirror she confirms it—the flower is gone.

She slips the eyepatch back into place.

The flower is gone.

Zero doesn’t know what that means. Has the infection regressed? She didn’t think that was possible—she’d tried to destroy it even before she’d lost the eye, and she knew what that had gotten her.

She needs to be sure. Zero hastily begins searching the room— shit. Her sword is nowhere to be found among these strange belongings, or any other blade for that matter.

She has to put it to the test the other way, then.

Slowly, with tantalizing anticipation pounding in her chest, Zero begins to sing.

It’s a nameless tune, soft and solemn like a funeral dirge. She doesn’t know where she picked it up—she doesn’t care, but it's hers, the one thing she’d had before the flower. Songs can’t be stolen, only twisted—as the flower had twisted one of the few joys in her shitty, shitty life.

Gradually, she raises her pitch, shaping wordless sound into lyrics etched into her heart.

But power does not spring to life at her fingertips.

The world hears her, but it does not respond.

Her song cuts off suddenly, dying on her lips as her voice cracks. Blood thunders through her veins, oxygen through wheezing breaths, she—

She’s not an Intoner.

She’s just…

Human.

She can’t help it. She laughs. A slow, breathless chuckle at first, but before long she’s doubling over like it’s the funniest thing in the world. Zero slips to the floor, clutching her knees in a fetal position and just laughing.

“Zero?” comes Mihkail’s voice from outside. He sounds genuinely concerned. “Are you okay?”

For a moment, she feels she doesn’t have the strength to respond

“I’m free.”

“I’m confused,” Mihkail says, poking his head through the window again. “You weren’t free before?”

Zero takes a deep breath. Her good eye bores into the wall.

“Not really,” she admits in a very small voice.

“Oh,” Mihkail says. In an instant, his voice is bright once more. “Well, I’m glad you’re free now!”

“Thanks, dummy,” she says. They're earnest words of gratitude.

She sits there on the floor in silence for several minutes more. Morning light begins to shine through the windows. Finally, she resolves to get up—she really should…

She really should go…

...What am I going to do?

The flower’s destruction was all that drove her. The very most she had ever hoped for was a blissful death when all was said and done. The all-consuming fires of her resolve were probably the only thing that had kept her corpse of a body walking.

She’s pretty sure she isn't a corpse anymore, at least.

She’s here, and the flower isn’t.

“Zero!” Mihkail chirps, stirring her from her rumination. “Hey, Zero! Aren’t you gonna water the garden?”

“Garden?” she echoes. She definitely doesn’t own a garden—the idea that she’d have the patience to take care of something is absolutely laughable.

“Yeah!” Mikhaill affirms, against all odds. “I don’t think they got enough water the last time it rained. They look kinda sad.”

“Plants don’t get sad, dummy,” Zero sighs.

“I think they do,” Mikhail murmurs under his breath. “But anyways!” he hastily continues. “You always water the garden in the morning! You say—” and suddenly his voice takes on a tone that Zero realizes with sickening clarity is supposed to be an impression of her, “—plants are weaker than us, Mikhail, so sometimes they need our help to grow big and strong!”

Zero stares blankly. “I have literally never said a single word of that sentence.”

“Zer-oooo!” he pouts once more. God, when had he gotten so bold?

“Alright!” she relents, if only to stop his whining. “I’ll go water the garden.”

As Mikhail happily stomps about outside, Zero slips on a pair of boots and realizes she’s smiling.

What is wrong with her?

Stepping outside, she takes in a breath of crisp morning air. Here, at least, things seem mostly the same—though the road too looks different than she remembers.

“Zero!” Mikhail calls from behind the cottage. “Come on, Zero!”

“Stop repeating yourself, dummy!” she exclaims exasperatedly. “What’ve we got here, carrots or—?”

Rounding the cottage, Zero’s gaze falls upon her garden.

She tries to twist her head away, but it’s a futile effort.

She vomits into the field of flowers.

Chapter Text

“Zero!” Mikhail exclaims, as the girl in question spits on the ground in an attempt to clear her mouth from the taste of bile. “Zero, are you okay? Are you really really okay?”

She shakes her head jerkily as she stumbles back, mind primarily focused on getting away from these fucking flowers as soon as humanly possible.

They’re just regular flowers, obviously. Either way, Zero has absolutely no interest in catching so much as another glimpse of the smattering of white lilies among them.

“Are you sick?” Mikhail chirps incessantly. “I can help, Zero, I—”

“Shut up,” Zero growls, and thankfully that has the intended effect. She runs a hand across her face, back against the wall—fuck, her head is pounding. What’s her deal anyway, breaking down at the sight of a few weeds? It’s pathetic.

“I’m going inside,” she declares, and starts walking. She can all-but feel Mikhail opening his mouth, so she continues first. “The flowers are fine. Besides, it’s good, uh, fertilizer.”

“Oh,” Mikhail replies in an almost thoughtful tone. “That’s smart, Zero! You’re really smart!”

Her recently-emptied stomach rumbles as they round the front of the cottage, and she casts a rueful gaze downward. “And really fucking hungry, apparently.”

“You should rest, Zero,” Mikhail says—as if he’s the one taking care of her. “Don’t worry, I’ll find you some breakfast!”

Thankfully, she’s in enough of her right mind to recognize impending doom when she hears it. “Slow down there, dummy. Let me look around inside first.”

“Aw, alright,” Mikhail relents as she steps through the door. “But if you change your mind, let me know! I’ll hunt the greatest breakfast you’ve ever seen, Zero!”

She highly doubts that, but she’s the furthest thing from a picky eater. No, the idea of Mikhail bringing back another living-fucking-sea serpent is where her ‘reservations’ come in.

Rather than reminding him of that incident, she says: “I’m sure you would, Mikhail.”

The hints of a fond smile vanish off Zero’s face as the door shuts, leaving her alone to her thoughts.

What the hell is her deal? Fond?

If the flower really is gone, whatever’s fucking going on with her lies squarely on her shoulders. The dragon had always been a means to an end, hadn’t he? An end that had, somehow, already been met, so—

For a moment, her mind asks her if she’d entertain the same thoughts if it were Michael.

That’s a completely different situation, she bites back at her long-absent subconscious. She doubts Mikhail would’ve even had the guts to kill her, but Michael and her had been on the same page from the beginning. Zero kills her sisters, Michael kills Zero. Everyone gets what they want.

Honestly, If it weren’t for the flower they never would’ve met—or she wouldn’t have survived that meeting, at the very least. She isn’t exactly the sort of person anyone wants to be friends with.

Had Michael and her been friends? He'd been looking for companionship or— or something, of course, but…

She hates that she can’t think of an answer.

She hates how much that hurts.

“Fuck me,” Zero murmurs aloud. “I’m going soft.”

You’ve grown strong, her own voice echoes through her mind, like a dream half-remembered, and again with that pounding fucking headache.

Her hand grasps at her side to no avail. She wants to tear this stranger’s house apart—slicing the shit out of something works wonders for relieving stress. But her sword, of course, remains nowhere to be seen.

Zero’s stomach rumbles once more, helpfully reminding her that she can’t remember the last time she ate.

Food first, then. At this rate, her riveting inner dialogue isn’t on the verge of anything except making her vomit again. And with the flower’s absence, dying of starvation suddenly seems a very reasonable concern.

A few moments examination confirms she still has a kitchen, though ‘kitchen’ was a very generous descriptor for the corner of her former cottage. She has a stove now, for one—though how the hell she’s supposed to use it is another question. There’s a fairly well-stocked pantry too, filled with unrecognizable cans and containers.

She slides a few drawers open, eventually finding something vaguely familiar: several sets of cutlery, forks and stuff. Familiar if she’d grown up a spoiled noble brat, at least—these look like actual silver. A part of her instinctively begins to weigh how much she could get for selling them all.

Her eye also catches a very welcome sight within the drawer: knives. She picks one up at random, testing its balance in her hand. It’s shit, obviously—these are for cutting up meat and vegetables, but it’s so much better than nothing. She makes to slip it into a pocket or a pouch, then stops, growling under her breath at the complete and utter lack of them on her clothes. For now, she sets the blade on the counter within arm’s reach.

Finally, Zero’s search leads her to the largest cupboard—or rather, not a cupboard at all—it’s another strange device. Unlike the others though, this one’s purpose is immediately made clear as she swings the door open, blasting herself with frigid air. She has no idea how it works, but the concept is obvious enough—keep food cold so it doesn’t spoil. Rifling about for a few moments, she emerges with her spoils in hand—a carton of eggs and a package of bacon.

Yeah, the refrigerator is alright in her book.

She weighs the idea of just digging into the bacon now, before she once again recalls she is very mortal now. Her old diet of raw meat would probably kill her before nightfall. That meant contending with steel pans and the alien stove. She’d had to cook for Michael, though. This could hardly be any worse, right?

It comes to her more easily than she expected. Eggs in one pan, bacon in the other—she’ll flip that in a bit, and raid the cupboards for spices in the meantime.

As she busies herself about the kitchen, a large sealed bin on the floor catches her eye. ‘DRAG-ON BITES’, it reads, featuring a cartoonish depiction of a smiling dragon.

“Part of a balanced diet,” she reads off the label.

Zero shuts her eye, and for a brief, beautiful moment, she allows herself to fantasize about feeding Michael a bowl of kibble called ‘DRAG-ON BITES’.

“Mikhail,” she calls, summoning him to the window. “I’ll give you a bit of bacon—” his eyes light up like the sun, “—a bit. You can munch on this for now.” She’s not really sure how big dragon portions are supposed to be, so she settles on carrying the whole bucket outside.

Mikhaill’s eyes grow wider still, if that’s even possible. “Is all that for me, Zero?”

“Knock yourself out,” she says, waving a hand. “Uh, within moderation,” she adds as an afterthought. She isn’t sure where she’ll have to go to steal more of that.

“You’re the best, Zero!” Mikhail exclaims, digging in with reckless abandon. “The best— anyone ever was— ever!” he continues through the resounding crunches of dragon-sized chewing.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, dummy!” Zero calls over her shoulder as she slips back inside. Turn this down, pull that off the burner—her own mouth is starting to water. The two of them aren’t exactly within delivery range out here, after all. It’s nice to see she hasn’t lost her touch.

A buzzing noise sounds from somewhere behind her, and her first instinct is to flinch towards the knife, but—it’s just her phone. Crossing the room with long strides, she grabs it off the table and flips to the notification—a text message. Sliding her thumb across the screen, she opens up the recent conversation.

#1

April 23, 1:11pm

#1: I will be there by 9 at the latest. Does that work for you?

You: sure thing sis

You: you want any breakfast?

#1: It is a bit of a drive. I will do my best to make it in time.

#1: I have missed your cooking, after all.

You: ever the charmer, one

You: see you tomorrow, then

#1: I shall see you then.

#1: Take care, Zero.

You: pretty sure that’s my line

You: love you

#1: I love you too.

6:07am

#1: Departing now.

8:23am

#1: I will be there soon.

In an instant Zero’s phone slips out of her hand, clattering back onto the table.

One is on her way.

One is alive.

And if One is here, in this… wherever the hell she is, the others probably are too—her darling sisters.

In that case, there are no guarantees, are there? Maybe the flower had just finally gotten sick of her shit. Was One going to walk in here with a lily blooming out of her eye?

She’d been a fool to let her guard down at all—good things didn’t happen to her.

That’s not how the world works.

She snatches up her phone again, keying in the code and checking the time—8:27. She has a kitchen knife and a baby dragon, how the hell is she going to kill an Intoner?

Wait.

Zero runs her thumb across the back of her phone. It’s the same beat-up case she’s had for years, just on a new device—the old piece of shit wouldn’t be getting any service all the way out here. Zero knows this, so why—

How does she know what this is?

Why does everything feel so fucking familiar?

For a moment, Zero staggers towards the kitchen sink, convinced she’s about to throw up again. The feeling passes quickly though, leaving her with only the lingering sensation of her brain trying to split itself in half. She doesn’t have time for this, One could be here any moment and Zero’s weak now, weaker than last time—

Last time.

The last time she’d seen One, she…

“Whatcha readin’?”

“Ah, Zero.”

A confrontation. The end of a long journey.

“That’s why you’re trying to kill us: to save the world.”

“Well, you seem to know what’s going on, don’t you?”

A confrontation. The end of a long, long journey.

“One!”

“You think you’re the only one who can fix things?!”

A confrontation. The end of a long, long, long…

No, that wasn’t…

“Whatcha readin’?”

One blinks, looking up from her book. She’s leaning against the side of Zero’s cottage, her car parked in the grass just off the side of the gravel road.

“Ah, Zero.” She slides a bookmark between the pages and places the book into her purse. “It’s a historical fantasy novel. You might like it.”

“Not sure I have the patience for that, Sis,” Zero says. “Sorry to leave you hanging,” she continues as she unlocks the door. “Couldn’t hear you pull up from the shed.”

“It’s no trouble,” One assures her. “I wasn’t waiting long.”

“Good. We wouldn’t have wanted that, after all.” Zero says with a look of utter sincerity.

One’s straight face cracks slightly. “Of course not. That would make you a terrible host.”

Ripples of laughter trail in their wake as the two step inside. Zero takes a look around, then freezes. Her eye falls upon the platter of sandwiches she’d left on the counter, resting before an open window.

“Hey, dragon! Why are we down a sandwich?”

A rumbling sound from outside sends Zero’s attention hurtling back to the present. Moments later, it’s followed by the tell-tale thwack of Mikhail’s tail thumping against the ground. “Hi!” he exclaims.

There’s a clicking noise, then a slam. “Hello, Mikhail,” a familiar voice replies as Zero’s heart freezes in her chest.

“Zero!” Mikhail calls, voice oozing with idiotic excitement. “Zero, One’s here!”

Fuuuuuuuuuck.

Chapter Text

The door swings open.

One is instantly recognizable. Pale skin and crimson eyes. Black headband over blonde bangs. A pair of pom-poms hang from the strings of her white jacket, bobbing in the air as she steps inside.

She’s not entirely the same, though. She stands a bit taller, her features slightly disparate from Zero’s memories. More of her hair brushes against her shoulders.

One breathes deep as she rubs her boots on the doormat, a slight smile crossing her face. “Breakfast smells delicious, Zero. I’m glad I made it in time.”

“Yeah,” Zero says, standing stock-still in the middle of the cottage. Her chest barely rises to breathe. “Just in time.”

“Do you have everything you need?” One continues as she turns to close the door. “Factoring in parking time, we’ll have to leave in—” One turns to face her for the first time, pausing mid-sentence. “Zero. Your knife.”

Zero glances down at the knife clutched in her hand. “Huh. You don’t say.”

She takes a step forward.

Confusion etches itself across One’s face. “Zero? What are you—?”

In an instant her entire demeanor shifts, burned away by a flash of realization. A familiar fire returns to her eyes. “You remember.”

“Oh, good,” Zero chuckles. “For a second there, I was worried you were gonna pull Four’s whole shtick. ‘This isn’t you, Zero, we’re sisters!’” she imitates in a high-pitched voice. “My skin’s crawling just thinking about it. Think I’ll kill her next.”

“No, you can’t—” One blurts out, panic flashing through her eyes. She catches herself in a heartbeat, voice steadying as she meets Zero’s gaze. “Zero, you need to listen to me. We’re not in that world anymore. We’re—”

“Guess I spoke too soon,” Zero says with a grimace. In the blink of an eye she closes the distance, driving the knife forward into empty air as One lunges to the side.

“Zero!” One exclaims with a mix of panic and confusion. It’s gratifying, Zero thinks to herself. One always tries to sound so fucking serious—logical. It’s like nails on a chalkboard.

“You have to—” she tries again, backpedaling as Zero lunges out once more. A stack of something tumbles to the ground noisily. “Listen to me! We’re sisters!”

“And here I thought we understood each other, One!” Zero grins, turning on her heel. “‘Intoners offer only pestilence to this world.’ Ring a bell?”

“Do I look—” One grunts as she dodges to the right “—like a fucking Intoner to you?!”

She’s breathing hard, Zero realizes. The past several motions have already begun to drain her.

There’s no brand on her forehead. She’s not singing, either.

Zero extends her arm, leveling the knife in One’s direction. “Talk.”

One pants heavily, collapsing against the wall next to the door a few feet from the tip of Zero’s blade. “We’re sisters, Zero. Real sisters. You. Me. Two, Three, Four, Five. We grew up together.”

“Holy shit,” Zero murmurs. “You’re that far gone. You actually believe yourself.”

“I’m telling you the truth,” One says firmly. She’s starting to pull herself together, starting to sound like the good old One Zero’s used to.

“Riiiiight—”

“Zero!” Mikhail’s voice suddenly rings out from the other side of the door. “One! Are you guys okay? I heard shouting!”

Zero holds One’s gaze, drawing her finger across her neck. “We’re fine, Mikhail.”

“Okay, but are you really okay?” Mikhail repeats. “Because earlier you said you were okay, and then—”

“I said, we’re FINE,” Zero growls, inching closer to One. “Go play in the fucking mud or something.”

“You mean it?” Mikhail gasps in astonishment. “You really, really—?”

“GO.”

The sound of beating wings echoes, and a moment later the cottage returns to silence.

“You two are getting along awfully well,” One notes.

“You’re getting awfully bold for someone in stabbing range,” Zero hisses back.

“You're older than you were, Zero,” One hurriedly continues. She’s slowly edging to the side—Zero lets her, for now. "Five’s next, then Two and Three. I’m eighteen. Four’s our little sister. You—”

“Wait,” Zero interrupts. “Five, Two, Three, One, Four. We’re out of order now?”

One nods.

Zero snorts, shaking her head. “That’s fucked up.”

“I’m not used to nearly being the youngest.” One admits with a breathless smile.

“That’s rough,” Zero chuckles dryly. “So. What’s your story?”

“One year ago, I began to… remember things,” One explains. Her eyes grow somewhat distant, mouth settling into a thin line. “Events from other lives. Lives from other worlds. Then one morning I woke up at home, expecting to find myself in Cathedral City.” She shakes her head. “After that, it took some time to readjust.”

That sounded awfully familiar. Zero had expected to awaken to her cottage this morning after all. She had, in a manner of speaking, but…

“So, what,” Zero scoffs. “We really just woke up in another world? Do your sisters know about this?”

Something in One's expression tells Zero she wants to correct her, but she doesn't press the subject. “I’m sure you’ve seen the evidence for yourself.”

Hesitantly, One attempts to step around her. Zero follows the motion with the knife, turning her back to the door.

“If anyone else was going to remember, I expected it to be you,” One says. “The others know nothing.”

“And the flower?” Zero says, voice sharpening to a razor’s edge.

“There are no Intoners,” One replies. “The flower is gone.”

Zero doesn’t respond. One takes another step forward.

“This is a peaceful world, Zero. A better world. You’ll start to remember your life here soon.” Ever so gently, One rests her hand on Zero’s shoulder.

She’s not wearing gloves.

“No matter what happened in the past,” One breathes, “we can be happy here.”

Zero’s arm wavers. Her body trembles as she exhales.

“Obviously, you’re not an Intoner,” Zero says at last. “You love them.”

One breathes a sigh of relief. “Of course I do, Zero. They’re our sisters.”

“So,” Zero continues, shutting her eye. “You’d lie to protect them.”

“I—” One starts, then stops. Her eyes widen in horror. “No—”

“Yes,” Zero growls, her eye flying back open. She grabs One’s wrist in her prosthetic hand, eliciting a gasp of pain as she wrenches it back. One manages to pull away just as Zero swings out with the knife, red marks burned along her arm as she stumbles further in the cottage.

“You don’t need to save the world, Zero!” One shouts, voice rising to a fever pitch. “We can rest!”

“We’ll rest when we’re dead!” Zero roars back. "That’s how this goes! You used to understand that!”

One leaps out of the way of another strike, knocking into a shelf that topples to the ground. Something shatters as it makes impact, and anger boils in Zero’s chest.

Bracing herself, Zero leaps over the shelf. She barrels into the blindsided One, sending both of them rolling across the floor. Somehow, One ends up on top, and Zero struggles to escape her grasp as One pins her arms to the ground. When the hell did she get so strong?

Or am I just that weak?

“I don’t want to hurt you, Zero!” One gasps. Her face is red, eyes wet. “We're family! I love you!”

Words that once would have only stoked her rage cause Zero to hesitate enough for One to slip off of her to avoid a knife to the gut. There’s no time to berate herself, though—by the time she rises, One has managed to arm herself.

With a fucking frisbee.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Zero hisses. “You’re not a person, One! You’re just a fucking shell!”

“And you’re a corpse!” One bites back. “Now look at us! There’s no more flower, Zero! It’s over!”

“It’ll be over a lot faster if you hold still,” Zero growls as she charges forward.

In a flash, One throws the frisbee with just as much skill as she once wielded her chakram. The plastic disc hits Zero square in the wrist, eliciting a pained stream of curses.

“Fucking— shit,” Zero exclaims, dropping the knife.

“Please, Zero,” One repeats like a broken record. Her voice trembles ever so slightly. “Don't do this. I— I can't do this again.”

Zero shakes her head with a mirthless laugh. “It’s like you said, One. You’re appealing to the heart of a corpse.”

Zero steps forward, and her legs give out.

“Goddamn— mother of—” Zero rages, forcing her torso up only with the aid of her prosthetic arm. Then another bolt of searing pain shoots up her legs, and even the arm gives out on impulse.

“Zero!” One exclaims, rushing to her side. “Of course you wouldn’t realize you’re still injured," she says, her tone thick with worry. "You can’t just regenerate if you break your legs again!”

“Shut,” Zero gasps, “up. I can still—”

“—where’s your crutch, don’t tell me you’ve been—”

Zero’s eye hones in on the knife, come to rest in the shadows beneath her dresser.

“I can still—”

Just within arm’s reach.

“—end this.”

With a last burst of strength, she lunges for the knife. One tracks the movement, but she's left unable to react before Zero grabs her ankle and wrenches her to the floor. They’re both on the ground again, but this time Zero has the upper hand—looming above One, poised to strike.

“Zero!” One gasps desperately, real fear in her eyes now—and tears.

“Huh,” Zero breathes shakily. “Never seen you cry before.”

“Rose!”

The door flies open.

“Hey!” Zero shouts, rearing up angrily from her important task of laying on her bed staring at nothing. “I swear to god, no one in this fucking family knows how to knock—”

One stands in the doorway. Her face compliments her eyes, red and brimming with tears. Zero’s certain she’s supposed to be at school right now—though, to be fair, so is Zero.

“Hey,” Zero calls out, her tone softening. “You alright?”

One stumbles forward into the room. “I—” she tries to start. “I—”

Typical One. She’s gotten herself so worked up she can’t even get a word out. Everyone likes to say she’s ‘surprisingly mature for her age’, but to Zero the shield is all-too obviously transparent.

“Hey, it’s alright,” Zero says. “Don’t force yourself. Come here.”

Nodding, One hurries over to her bed. Zero pats the mattress next to her, and One cozies up into the crook of her arm, body shaking wordlessly.

“Just breathe,” Zero says, leaning over her. “Tell me about it when you’re ready.”

One’s hands tense, digging into the covers. Zero eases one of them up, holding it in her own until the trembling stops.

“I’m here,” Zero murmurs into her hair. “That’s what big sisters are for.”

Zero blinks, mind snapping back to the present. Her arm is still poised, One still pinned beneath her.

She drops the knife.

“How—” Zero starts, “—the fuck—”

“That’s the name our parents gave you,” One chokes out. “But— you wanted to match with the rest of us— and I was already One, so—”

“Zero,” she murmurs in disbelief. “You all started calling me Zero.”

“I’m sorry,” One says. “I couldn’t think of anything else to say— to convince you—”

Her walls are crumbling again, just like in the memory—Zero’s memory. She recalls it as vividly as the flower, as Michael, as her mission to kill the Intoners.

That really happened.

On instinct, Zero wraps her arms around One once more. One tenses for a moment, but the motion isn’t an attack this time. Zero pulls the both of them to their feet, and together they stagger towards the bed.

They make it to the mattress and sit in near-silence. One is still breathing heavily, wavering on the brink of tears. It’s such a different picture to her memory of the stone-cold ruler of Cathedral City that the disparity between Zero’s warring mind is at last impossible to ignore.

She has a life here. She’s lived a life here—with her sisters, sisters, not failsafes doomed to madness.

She was…

Happy.

For so long, Zero knows she's accepted her lot in life. What point is there in trying to live when your fate is already sealed? She’d play her part, and she did— in so many lives— branches, whatever.

“You must have known this would happen,” Zero finally croaks out. “You should’ve just killed me.”

One’s body tenses at her side. She says nothing.

“I’ve tried to kill you all in every life I remember. Could’ve beaten me to the punch. Protected your sisters.”

“Zero,” One murmurs, her voice raw. “You’re my sister too.”

To that, Zero has no response.

Acting off of instinct again, she wraps an arm over One’s shoulder. Too exhausted to flinch, One collapses into her. Finally, she allows herself to sob openly, body wracking with the motions.

For lack of anything better to do, Zero gently runs her fingers through her sister’s hair.

Chapter Text

“Alright, enough of this sappy shit,” Zero eventually exclaims, pushing One off of her with one arm—though, not before her tears have dried.

One sits up straight as Zero pulls away, stretching with the motion. Her gaze lingers on Zero a moment longer, as though she’s looking for something more, but finally she nods in acknowledgement.

Zero makes to leap to her feet and rid herself of her stagnating stiffness, but her leg doesn’t quite cooperate. A soft hiss under her breath alerts One, who begins to cast her gaze across the room, before settling on a long black-and-white object leaning against the wall.

“Here,” One says, walking back and handing her the crutch. “Put that under your arm.”

A scoff is the first thing that rises to Zero’s throat, but the dull worry in One’s eyes somehow manages to stifle it.

Besides, this thing looks like a decent bludgeoning weapon.

“Didn’t we have somewhere to be?” she says, rising with the crutch’s support. “That’s why you bothered to crawl out here to the middle of fucking nowhere, right?”

One’s eyes light up suddenly, their old life returned to them. “Four’s recital. It starts in—” she slips her phone from her pocket “—three hours. And the drive takes up two and a half.”

Zero technically registers One’s words, but her mind is mostly hung up on the first two. “Four’s… recital?”

One hums in assent, already rushing about the room in preparation. “Yes.”

“What are we gonna do,” Zero asks, unable to help herself from barking out a laugh. “Watch her beat the shit out of people on stage?”

“She boxes as well,” One helpfully supplies. “But no. It’s her annual dance recital.”

“In, like,” Zero waves a hand through the air, “a theater and all?”

“That is the typical venue of a recital, yes.”

“Fucking hell,” Zero sighs. “I get it now. Your plan was to arrange my death by boredom from the start.”

“You’ll enjoy it, Zero,” One says. “Besides, we’re her sisters. We have to go.”

Somehow, Zero feels as though she has made a terrible mistake.

Ultimately, they’re only able to barely scarf down Zero’s slightly-cold breakfast before hurrying out. Mikhail returns just in time to see them off, though that proves itself the exact opposite of a blessing in disguise.

“Ugh,” Zero exclaims, grimacing reflexively. “What the hell, dummy? You smell like you slept three days in a doghouse full of cerberus shit.”

“I’m sorry, Zero!” he says, flaring out his wings—which, with the way the wind is blowing, only makes it worse. “I just went to play in the mud awhile, like you said I could! It was really fun, I—”

“Oh my god,” Zero murmurs, eye wide with horror as she runs a hand over her mouth. “I’m a fucking idiot.”

“Aw, no you’re not Zero!” Mikhail says, immediately leaping to comfort her. Right. Dragon hearing. “You’re really great! Sure, you yell a lot, and you can be pretty mean, and sometimes you smell really bad too, but you’re really—”

For the briefest of moments, Zero wishes she still had the power of her Song. She wants to scream until her eardrums bleed.

“Mikhail,” Zero intones with every ounce of patience she absolutely does not possess. “By the time we get back. I want you to have cleaned yourself up. Until you smell. Absolutely. Divine. Got it?”

“I will Zero, I will!” Mikhail yelps repeatedly. “I promise!”

“Zero,” One calls, her hand on the door of the car.

“Yeah, yeah,” Zero shoots back. She turns her attention back to Mikhail. “See you around, dummy.”

“Bye, Zero!” Mikhail calls as she fumbles with the other door. She figures it out a moment later, slipping into the passenger’s seat. “Bye One! Say hi to Four for me! And Two, and Three, and Five!”

One flashes him a small smile. “I’ll do that, Mikhail.”

A sudden chill creeps through Zero’s body at her words. “Hey,” she says, tapping her prosthetic’s fingers against the dash. “Let’s get a move on.”

“Seatbelt,” One replies. Zero raises an eyebrow, but puts together what she means after a few moments, strapping herself into this supremely uncomfortable box on wheels. Satisfied, One twists her key, and with that they hit the road.

Zero doesn’t exhale until Mikhail is safely out of One’s sight.

After that, it doesn't take long for her to remember why she’s never bothered to drive—this sucks.

The wind in her hair blowing through the open window is nothing compared to soaring through the skies on Mikhail’s back. The scenery is nothing to phone home about either—green grass, gray road, and oh look, there’s a cow. Really, the most she can say about it is at least she doesn’t have to do anything. She can just sit back and relax in mind-numbingly boring comfort.

Granted, maybe comparing a dragon to a glorified carriage was setting herself up for disappointment.

At least One’s taste in music is good. If there’s one thing she’s begun to realize about being human, it’s how silent the world is. Song isn’t just a power to an Intoner, it’s a sense. Apparently, machines like this car could help fill the void—a welcome discovery, in her book.

“So,” Zero eventually speaks up, giving form to sound once more. “Any idea what Accord’s been up to?”

One’s brow crinkles. “Who?”

Huh. “It’s not important.” Would’ve thought she was talking all their ears off. One’s, at least. She certainly never gave me any peace and quiet.

She can feel the unspoken questions lingering on One’s tongue, but ultimately she doesn’t voice them.

I suppose I’ll just have to track her down myself.

“Is there anything else on your mind, Zero?”

A slight smile crosses Zero’s face. “You know me, One. I don’t ask about pointless shit.”

One nods. “Of course you don’t.”

That being said, there is something else. “Intoners don’t exist anymore,” Zero begins, taking a breath. “So, the Disciples…”

“Ah,” One says. Her features tilt ever so slightly downward.

Keeping her eyes on the road, she shakes her head.

“I see,” Zero says, exhaling.

That was the answer she expected to hear. It’s not as though she’s going to miss any of them. They were, by all accounts, absolutely terrible—well, maybe not Cent, but he made up for it by being a complete pain in the ass. Any sentiment the four might’ve garnered aside, she’d already said her goodbyes.

They never existed in this world, after all. She’ll probably just forget all about them.

Zero can tell One takes notice as she slips into uncharacteristically pensive contemplation.

The image of birds flying free from the cathedral flashing through her mind brings with it another thought. “And your—?”

One’s features still, calmly expressionless. “No.”

“Oh,” Zero says. She can’t say that fills her with anything other than relief—her only encounter with One’s brother had him gleefully running her through with a dragonbone blade. The memory brings with it a brief twinge in her chest.

“Sorry,” she grunts, for lack of anything better to say.

“It’s alright,” One replies, her tone still clipped. “He was only me, after all.”

Zero hums in quiet acknowledgement. She turns her head to the side, silently watching the world rush by.

Two hours pass before the city comes into view. The gray speck on the horizon gives way to bright lights and towers that seek to pierce the heavens. It carves a strange contrast to the rolling hills of the countryside surrounding it; pockmarked with smaller towns and settlements. On one side the sea borders it all, blue waves lapping across the pristine shore.

It’s a pretty sight, sure, but the resemblance is impossible to ignore. “You’re sure that’s not Cathedral City?”

“The similarity is only surface level,” One replies. “There’s no cathedral, after all.”

She’s right. Not only is the titanic central cathedral absent, but this city brims with life. Green is as common a sight as gray amidst the streets and towers, and the desolate ruins of the city she’d known are nowhere to be seen. Perhaps Cathedral City, too, had once looked like this—long, long ago.

People on the other hand, haven’t changed much. They aren’t so dirty, and their clothes are different, but they’re still just people. Loud people, at that—another definite sign that One’s enhanced senses as an Intoner are long gone. She doesn’t look like she wants to stab her eardrums with a fork.

A few details jump out at Zero more readily. Nobody looks armed or armored; no soldiers patrol the streets maintaining order. It makes her wonder if wars are fought in this world; if there’s even any need to fight them.

Then, there’s the golems.

Golem is perhaps not the right word, but it’s the closest parallel she’s able to draw. They come in various shapes and sizes, remaining consistent only in their metallic bodies and distinctly inhuman appearance. There’s not many of them, but they seem to weave their way amidst the city like anyone else. They stop to chat with friends, they linger at the windows of storefronts, and they wait for rides on the side of the street. Nobody pays them any special mind, nobody treats them as anything lesser.

It fills her with a certain sense that might not be utter contempt for the entire human race.

Zero’s really not sure what to make of that, or the golems, but she’s not about to ask One any more questions like a wide-eyed schoolgirl, so she shelves that train of thought for now.

“We’re here,” One announces some twenty minutes after they’d entered the city. She pulls off the main road into a parking lot, searching a few moments before she brings the car to a stop. Zero eagerly lunges to her feet, nearly forgetting the crutch in her haste—though her leg quickly reminds her.

“Finally!” she loudly exclaims, stretching her arms over her head. “Thought I’d never be free of that fucking thing.”

“You’re just going to be sitting back down inside,” One notes as she steps out to join her.

“Shut up,” Zero sighs in response. “Let me have this.”

One leads the way to their actual destination, a sprawling building that the sign out front calls a college. There’s a few people trickling in and out, but the real bustle comes when they step inside. People are everywhere, talking and pressing up against each other and waving their limbs about. Her right hand itches for the familiar hilt of her sword, but it’s gone, so she just grips the crutch tightly and grits her teeth.

“Do you need to go find seats or something?” Zero forces out.

There’s a glimmer of concern in One’s eyes—too perceptive for her own good—but she nods. “We have a while until the show starts. The theater isn’t far from here.”

“Perfect,” Zero says. “I’m gonna take a walk. Meet you back here.”

Not waiting for a response, Zero stalks off. There’s too much here—too much of everything. She needs somewhere she can breathe her own air.

Mercifully, the halls are less crowded. Zero leans against a wall and closes her eye, doing her damnedest to block out the distant cacophony of the entry chamber. Her crutch begins to tap a dissonant rhythm against the tiled floor.

“Hey there,” a voice calls, cutting through her moment of solitude. “Are you here for the performance?”

“I dunno,” Zero replies, eye still closed. “Is that any of your fucking business?”

“Wow, you even sound like her,” he murmurs. “Sorry, I just haven’t seen you around the campus before. Guess I got curious.”

She turns her head, eye opening to a white-haired boy in black clothing. He’s shorter than her, blue eyes glimmering as he tilts his head up to meet her gaze.

He waits another beat for her to say something, and fills the void when she doesn’t. “Some friends of mine actually organize this whole thing. It’s pretty neat seeing the two of them keep it fresh every year. The free tickets don’t hurt, either.” Again, he looks her way expectantly. “So, are you here to see someone?”

“My sister,” Zero supplies in a cold tone.

“Ah,” the boy says, nodding his head. “I’m an only child myself. Is that what you’d call it? Though, depending on your perspective, all the—”

He cuts himself off as Zero begins flexing each pitch-black finger of her prosthetic hand, each movement echoing with the audible clack of metal against metal.

“Wow, that’s some nice hardware,” the boy whistles. “Any chance you know the model number? Er, if you don’t mind me asking, that is.”

She’s about to open her mouth and describe to him just how far she can shove her model number up his— but then a woman’s voice rings out in the distance and he spins away from her in an instant. “Sorry, that’s my cue,” he says, glancing back apologetically. “But hey, it was nice chatting with you, er—”

She raises an eyebrow in disbelief at his sheer nerve. “It’s Zero.”

At that, his eyes light up. “Huh, really? That’s interesting.” He’s definitely about to keep talking, but the woman’s voice comes again—a little louder, a little more legible, and before she knows it she’s left with a “see you around, Zero!” and an empty corridor.

Zero sighs emphatically. Bastard didn’t even give me his name.

After finally taking the opportunity to enjoy her silence, Zero makes her way back to the entrance. The crowd has thinned dramatically since they’d entered, and she easily meets One’s gaze from across the room.

“There you are,” One says as she closes the distance. There’s a hint of relief in her voice, her normally measured steps hasty and uneven. “It’s almost time.”

Zero decides not to press the subject. “Lead the way, then.”

They continue forward and down another hall until One stops before a door and pushes it open. The theater is vast and lowly-lit, an empty stage on one side and an upper level of seating high above on the other. Most people have already taken their seats, the low murmurs of their conversations echoing across the room.

Squeezing down one of the middle aisles is made all the more awkward by the crutch. Halfway down One stops and pats the seat next to her, which Zero claims eagerly.

Settling in, One turns to—not to, past her and asks, “Where are the others?”

Zero looks to her other side and realizes with a start she’s sitting next to Three.

“The wise sister is never late, nor is she early,” Three replies in her slow, sing-song voice. “She arrives precisely when she means to. Then again,” she falls silent for a moment. “Ours often lack that particular quality.”

Zero raises an eyebrow. “That’s not even a riddle.”

Three shrugs, leaning forward in her seat. “I wasn’t feeling inspired.”

Good to see you haven’t changed much. Three doesn’t look terribly different; the violet hair cascading down her shoulders cut perhaps a little more neatly. She’s cloaked in a baggy hoodie, and thankfully seems to be bereft a few pairs of swords and scissors. If this world’s lucky, she’s lost the whole human experimentation thing too.

“One! Oh, and Zero!” a cheerful voice exclaims. Turning, Zero’s vision is assaulted by a barrage of blue and yellow—Two and Five.

“It’s so good you were able to make it,” the latter says sweetly. “Our dear Four will be just thrilled, I’m sure.” She, of course, is garbed in a dazzling dress that threatens to take Zero’s other eye with prolonged exposure. Thankfully, the sight is split up by One and Two sitting between them.

“It really has been too long,” Two chimes in, bending to meet Zero’s gaze. She’s wearing a deep blue sweater, with long sleeves that envelop her arms. She’s grinning broadly, and it occurs to Zero then that it’s been a very long time since she’s seen her smile so genuinely.

“I can’t wait to catch up,” Two continues. “I— oh, it’s starting!”

A hush falls over the theater as the light. The curtains rise to reveal two red-haired women, dressed in matching attire. They say a few words Zero completely tunes out, then open the performance with a duet she pays a little more attention to. It’s no Intoner’s song, obviously, but it’s got a nice rhythm to it—heartfelt and soothing.

From there, the whole thing goes on about how she’d expected. Some of the performances are songs, some dances, and others a mix of both. One sits straight, hands in her lap, clapping politely after each act. On her other side, Three alternates between complete disinterest and intense fixation with no apparent rhyme or reason. Guess she’s just got particular tastes.

Zero keeps an eye peeled for Four, but the intermission comes and goes without any sign of her final sister.. Then again, it’s not like she bothered to ask for a program. Just when Zero begins to wonder if she shouldn’t just follow Three’s example and catch a quick snooze until the end of the show, the girl of the hour makes her debut.

Four steps out onto stage in a green leotard, her brown hair tied back into a ponytail instead of its usual style. She takes a moment to smile for the audience, flashing her teeth as she gives a little wave. Zero realizes she must be giving a solo performance

She must be fucking thrilled.

“Three!” Two hisses across the aisle. “Three, Four’s on!” Shaking her head, Three jars herself back to consciousness.

Four bows her head, and she begins to sing.

She’s pretty good, too. Far be it for one of her sisters to have a bad sense of rhythm, but still, she’s clearly got the audience enraptured. The lack of flying castle or daemon dragon crashing through the ceiling helps.

Song aside, her dance itself feels somehow… familiar. She watches as she brings her arms past her face in symmetry, and she can’t place why.

Two’s holler followed by One’s frantic shushing shocks Zero out of it as the song concludes. She’s pretty sure she catches Four making eye contact with her from the stage, so she makes sure to get a good few claps in there.

Four shows up in one more performance before the show closes out, but Zero can tell her heart isn’t in it the same way. The cast lines up and waves, the curtains fall, and before she knows it she’s gratefully stretching her legs as they make their way back to the entrance.

“Zero!” a high-pitched voice calls, all the warning she gets before Four barrels into her, changed back into something closer to her usual outfit. “I’m so pleased you were able to make it. Did you enjoy the show?”

“Hey there, Four,” Zero grunts, prying her arms off her. “It was, uh, good.”

“You did very well up there,” One adds.

Four positively glows.

“Well, we’d best stick to tradition,” Five grins eagerly. “Who’s hungry?”

Zero shoots One a look of utter betrayal. You didn’t say anything about a family meal. One shrugs in response.

Before she can think better of it, Zero’s stomach rumbles greedily.

“Alright,” she relents. “But I’m not paying.”

“Oh, we’d never make you!” Two reassures her. Four is definitely halfway to declaring otherwise, but she holds her tongue as One nods in agreement.

Some things never change.