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Chapter Text

More than anything, he wished for a blanket–or a hot cuppa. Right about now, all Remus Lupin wanted to do was sleep. But instead, he found himself lying awake counting the seconds in snowflakes as they fell beyond the overpass. He couldn't tell anymore what kept him awake: the cold, or the moon. With the full moon about a week away, insomnia and fatigue played a nasty game with him, churning his stomach and pulling on aching joints anticipating the upcoming transformation. It was not his most comfortable—or safe—hiding spot, tucked under an overpass zipping with traffic at all hours. In fact, it was more a choice made by desperation than anything. No sane itinerant would remain so publically exposed on purpose, but the winter storm had delayed his travels and left him stranded on the roadside. But homelessness meant hardly affording such luxuries as peace or quiet, and for a werewolf on the streets even they were more often replaced by the simpler things like food. Remus was quite used to this by now. Still, having a place to go–a place to transform–was worth bargaining away one's remaining coin for. At least, to Remus it was. And he could only hope that he would find such a location, and soon. Staying here was not an option.

It was true: he could go to one of the werewolf colonies, and perhaps he could find better food and shelter there. Perhaps even medicines lost to conventional Healers, as those communities were dealing with a unique disease with lots of time to dwell. But Remus had seen them during the War–spied on them, infiltrated them–and he had seen worse monsters than any mere werewolf. In a way, they were so like him: shunned by their own society at large for an incurable illness that was thrust upon them unwillingly. A curse. But they were bitter, and lead by men more animal than human–men who would burn a thousand villages to satisfy their bloodlust for justice. Remus was not safe there.

He sighed. He was not safe anywhere. 

Hot columns of steam poured from his lips, and Remus yanked his tattered, plaid coat tighter over his shoulders and flipped the collar up to protect his neck from the biting chill. Reaching for his knitted cap, Remus pulled his wand from its resting place behind his ear. 

"Incendio," he muttered, pointing the tip and sparking more life into the small fire dancing at his feet. Even enchanted, it never seemed to keep him warm enough. He bounced his wand across his knee idly, watching the flames with forlorn disinterest. 

This was not where he expected to be at twenty-five. But then, Remus supposed his life had been destined to take this turn from the beginning. It was a pessimistic thought, and he knew it. But it was hard not to think of the hardships that brought him here, down to the bottom. It was hard not to think of how disappointed he was–disappointed in the world, for being what he expected; disappointed in himself, for being right about his job prospects even as a teen; disappointed that he wasn't better than this, and disappointed for believing he could be. Werewolves weren't exactly favored dinner guests. Nor were they star pupils, kind strangers, or perhaps not even people at all. They were shunted between the Beast and Beings divisions in the Ministry as convenience dictated, like their lives didn't matter. Remus was disappointed in all of those things, but those things he had at least expected. No, at twenty-five he had hoped to still be living amongst friends, and able to manage his condition with their help. He expected to help babysit James and Lily's son, Harry, laughing freely at the boy's first words being "Moony," over, "Padfoot," and watching Sirius fume. He had expected to at least have a roof over his head of some sort, and to be with good company during the long nights. But he had never expected this. And in the darkest days, it was hard not to dwell. 

A flash of white light. A car rushed overhead, banging loudly against the worn joints of the bridge. Remus only sighed. He should be used to that by now.

He wished for sleep again, feeling the ache of exhaustion weigh on his eyelids with every blink. As the moon waned, a restlessness took him through the night until he paced back and forth, screaming silently in his head for relief. Sleep came in fits, disturbed by savage dreams and dark memories planted in soil better left untilled. Why his mind dug into the muddy depths was beyond him, but it became a self-perpetuating spiral. He cursed under his breath, wishing he had been a better Potions study. A sleep draught might work wonders for him, if only he could afford the ingredients. But he snorted: for that price, a warm bed at the Leaky Cauldron would do even better.

He closed his eyes, pressing his palms into his eyes and trying to rub away some of the discomfort. A kaleidoscope of color splashed across the blackness with each turn of his wrists and he groaned, willing, pleading for some rest. Another flash of light blared overhead, bright enough to see through his lids. Glancing up, Remus searched the small smear of clouds visible beyond the concrete roadway. It was too late in the season for lightning. 

When a pair of headlights tilted down the dirt road towards the underpass, Remus cursed, expelling the fire immediately and trying to make himself small against the concrete. Muggle authorities or no, the last thing he needed was any sort of trouble. The light drew closer, brighter, and he listened hard for the crunch of rubber as he waited. Thoughts raced through his sluggish mind: he needed this space. He needed the rest. He couldn't trust himself to Apparate safely without sleep–there was no way he could do it without Splinching half of him behind. He gripped his wand tightly as columns of white light tore apart the shadows hiding his belongings, exposing his tan suitcase and the remains of the fire. When the light rounded on him, Remus was blinded. Shielding his eyes, he searched desperately for the car he still couldn't hear. The silence disturbed him and he took a step back, trying to see whatever it was approaching–

Remus felt a stone shift under his feet, sending him crashing to the ground. He grit his teeth just as his back braced for an impact–an impact that never came. Panic shot through him as confusion shook exhaustion from him and he clenched his eyes shut–

He felt as though he were in a dream. His stomach lurched and motion sickness took him as all sense of direction was lost. The smell of damp trees surged into being on the chariots of birdsong, and finally he felt it: an impact, onto something much softer than concrete. Remus cried out unexpectedly, reaching out wildly on either side of him as his eyes ripped open. 

Pine needles. He landed on a bed of pine needles. 

Remus was in a forest. 

But–how? What–what in the hell was going on?

He shot to his feet, spinning wildly on his heels. Nothing but trees in all directions: tall, red pines, ancient and thicker than his arms would reach. A deep fog rolled over the forest floor as sunlight–sunlight?–cast gentle pink beams through the canopy as the morning dawned. Remus stared. How could it be morning–wherever this was? How had he gotten here–and where was here? Merlin's beard… Fuck.

Remus hoped he was dreaming. He hoped he passed out in front of his dumpy little fire, and he'd wake up on his suitcase-pillow thinking himself a bloody fool. If this was what insomnia was going to do to him, he'd even try those ridiculous Muggle sleep aids the first chance he got.

But it didn't feel like a dream. The same exhaustion returned as his heart slowed, tugging at his limbs like a ball and chain. The smells were too strong, too crisp; the sounds to clear, the sensations too…

….too real. 

A twig snapped behind him, and Remus felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He extended his wand, still clutched in ghost-white knuckles, listening for the source of the sound. It was much closer than he would have liked. "Hello?" he barked, in a voice uncooperatively hoarse. He tried to swallow, but his tongue was thick and impossible to coerce.

A muffled sigh escaped through creases in his fingers as Anders sat on the bench along the wall of the clinic. Beside his boots, a small satchel of goods – the beginnings of his pack for the mission into the Deep Roads – lay open, assorted contents spilling out slightly. A few bits of clothing, quills, parchment, some dried meats and crumbling cheese... Truly the food of lavish kings, indeed, he thought wearily. But down in Darktown, the derelict mine-turned-sewers, that was luxury. Anders had become accustomed to this place rather quickly after settling here. It was almost as though he fit right in. Darktown is home to the diseased, the insane, to criminals, and even the dead—unwanted corpses are often discarded here by murderers and lazy undertakers. They say it is only a step up from the elven Alienage, but at least the Alienage isn't polluted with chokedamp that covers the streets in a toxic fog.

But Anders glared through cracked knuckles at the sack, thinking only of what it meant; of where he was going. Somehow, the thought of the Deep Roads churned his stomach more than the perpetual miasma down beneath Kirkwall. He ducked his head, running his fingertips across his scalp with another sigh. He hated confined spaces. Choosing to spend a month-or more-in the black, darkspawn-infested depths was not something he'd expected, nor thought he would ever have considered--let alone agreed to. But when Hawke asked him to go with her, he had agreed.

He'd fallen under the witch's spell, obviously, he snorted with feigned disgust. She was neither a templar nor a refugee, and when she strode into his clinic seeking his aid, Anders had initially been suspicious: it wasn't often that someone came to him without intent to kill him or asking for a miracle. He turned to her with Justice in his ear and weapon at the ready.

"I have made this place a sanctum of healing and salvation! Why do you threaten it?"

"I just came here to talk. I wish to know about the Deep Roads. Rumor has it that you were a Warden. You must know a way."

It wasn't a demand, but her eyes hardly faltered from his and her stature was loose, and yet commanded respect.

"Did the Wardens send you to bring me back?" he asked, eyeing her with a heated expression. "I'm not going back. Those bastards made me get rid of my cat."

She cocked a brow at him, her composure relaxing. "...You had a cat? ... In the Deep Roads?" But her shoulders firmed and her body stiffened. "I need to know about the Deep Roads," she said again. Stronger, this time. "Any information you have could save people's lives."

He was hardly impressed by her claim of dire need. Anders was a doctor – he was much more useful here, saving the lives of hundreds of refugees, than he was tromping through that wretched place with fools thick enough to go there.

"I will die a happy man if I never have to think of the blighted Deep Roads again. You can't imagine what I've gone through to get here. I'm not interested-" He stopped. "Although... A favor for a favor?"

Back in the present, Anders sighed again, a hint of bottled rage carried in his breath. He didn't want to remember the next part. He had come to Kirkwall to save a man – and, he supposed that he did, in a sense. But... not like that. No one deserves to die like that. Not after what those bastard Templars did to him...

In the end, he'd paid her for what she'd done to help him. All she needed were the Warden's maps, not a flesh-and-bone Warden. But he'd hardly met her, and yet, somehow, he felt like he knew her; that he could trust her. And that she was a mage – an apostate, no less, and someone who fought for the rights of mages everywhere? Anders had never met someone like that: someone who had accepted Justice and what he meant, someone who knew what Anders stood for and didn't back away...

He stood, collecting his staff and heading for the back room, where he slept and kept most of his belongings. It wasn't much – just a cot adorned with a moth-eaten blanket and a pillow, and a small writing desk topped with a half-burnt candle in a holder surrounded by pools of hardened wax. Pages of his manifesto hid the shabby wood from view. Some of the ink was fresh from this morning. From storage, Anders took up a bowl and poured in what little was left of the milk a farmer had given him for healing his son's broken leg. He never charged for services, but a little extra food sometimes came his way. He set it out in front of the clinic, noting happily that some of the scraps he had left out the night before had disappeared. He missed having a cat. Until recently, he thought the refugees had scared them all away. Or eaten them. Having someone around who didn't automatically loathe him for being alive was something Anders hadn't had for a long time, and he realized as he thought it that it wasn't just the stray cats on his mind.

An odd flash of light drew the mage from his thoughts. He felt himself become alert, almost stiff with anticipation. Like a wolf smelling blood on the wind, Justice stirred somewhere in him and they both knew: what Anders had initially considered lightning was nothing of the sort. It was something else entirely – something strange.

Unhitching his staff and placing it firmly at the ready, Anders stepped out into the chamber opening into the rest of Darktown. The sound of his boots on the stone echoed off the carved walls as he went. Firelight illuminated the paintings of the slaves that once inhabited this place, dancing off the screaming faces and burning their haunting eyes into Anders' retinas.

The light flickered again – brighter, closer this time. The smell of trees mixed in with the sulfurous chokedamp, making Anders breathe in and cough unexpectedly as silt and dust mixed with the tantalizing scent of pine. Just what was this?

A loud boom rattled the loose pebbles on the ground as a hot white sphere exploded into being directly ahead of the mage, pulling the air into its belly like a whirlpool. Anders fell to his knees, his robes and loose strands of blond hair tugging him into the pull of the angry maw. He kicked his feet out in front of him, sliding and scraping against the flattened stone as he tried to resist. But it was too close, and the pull far too strong.

The last thing Anders could recall was a blinding light, the smell of pines and a horrific, animalistic scream from somewhere below him.

With the flat concrete roof against his back, he took a moment to force himself to breathe. Tightness gripped his chest. Eventually it had to come out, he couldn't keep messing with the bulls without getting the horns – even if messing with the bulls was the only way to keep them from charging each other. He sighed, taking a cigarette from the box in his pocket and sticking it into his mouth – the opposite end sparking and coming to life with a short snap from his powers. He inhaled deeply. He took in so much smoke that it almost made him gag. He spluttered to try to keep it inside. When he couldn't hold it in anymore he exhaled out his nose, giving him an excuse to let his eyes water.

It was 1am, Saturday, the 4th of June, and Tokyo was still buzzing with life. The party had ended just hours before, the fireworks that had once lit up the sky now far faded, and he had long since changed out of the powder-blue hoodie and pink shorts he had last been seen in. He now donned black jeans that were just a little too big on his boney frame, a white t-shirt, and a black zip-up sweatshirt with sporty white stripes going down the arms. He liked the hoodless sweatshirt, it was just oversized enough where the sleeves didn't get in the way but still big enough to make it feel like someone was wrapped around him. Soon it would be dawn and he'd have to go back down the stairs to the apartment he shared with his mother and sister, once more change clothes, and trip out the door as he scrambled off to one of his many odd jobs.

But where the seventeen year old normally would do it dutifully by stuffing his emotions in a bag for the day, this time Naoya Itsuki didn't want to. Instead he laid there on the concrete roof, content knowing that he was above the streets, slowly savoring his cigarette and feeling comfortable in his favorite jacket. He knew the emotion he was feeling was a very unusual and morose one. He had accomplished what he had set out to: he had found someone more powerful than he was to help his sister and get her out of her comatose state. But in doing so, he had realized his place; now that everyone had their happy endings, he soon realized that, other than his sister, he was soon going to be alone once more and that it was a grave that the psychic had dug all for himself. His chest clenched again as he thought of Mana and Kaname hooking up, and even Yi Xin's family had – forcibly – paired him up with some crazy Arayashiki woman... and he was pretty sure that Amou and Nakaura were probably making out at this very moment, and in that old church of all places. And what did Naoya have to look forwards to? The Organization possibly coming for him when he turned eighteen to turn him into a breeder, or a violent death fighting in the War. He didn't know which fate sounded worse. Hands resting behind his head, fingers weaved in his hazel hair, he stared up at the dull and star-less night sky with only the gathering feeling that this universe hated him and that something was wrong. And when the familiar feeling of a Binding Shield being raised trickled over his senses – he knew he had been right. The sky became even more distant and unreal, and the human world about him seemed to freeze.

The teenager sighed, already exhausted from what he knew was coming. He didn't want to deal with this. Not now. Naoya tensed and his stomach dropped when he heard the unmistakable flutter of feathered wings sailing past him. He didn't know how the aliens knew how to use earthly Binding Shields – or why they bothered to at that, given their vicious and violent natures – but he knew that if he laid there and pretended not to hear or sense the bloodbath that was soon to come in the streets below, then the angels wouldn't come for him as well.

Not that his mother would let an Eraser near him or his sister. Still, he briefly thought, what was an angel doing so far inside an EGO-controlled zone? The psychics heavily controlled this zone, and it was far from any conflict zones. Very slowly he got to his feet and crept to the edge of the roof, worn brown sneakers expertly lifted with each step so as to not make a noise. Everything was as it should have been when there was a Binding Shield in place – he expected to see other EGO like himself, peering out their windows in the same haze of confusion as he was, but the streets were still and unmoving – and even the other EGO looked to be frozen in place, like beautiful fleshy statues.

Something was not right.

The sound of wings behind him caused Naoya to immediately turn, amber eyes widening madly. There was nothing there. His senses told him that whatever was nearby was not human, and it certainly wasn't terrestrial – but it also wasn't the usual extraterrestrial feeling that Naoya was so used to fearing. Drawing in a breath of smoke, he exhaled through his nose in a panicked frustration and quickly wiped the dried tears from his face. The intel his mother had obtained from the Organization warned that the Erasers were getting ready to retreat, and that they were planning on a massive final attack before they fled from the new incoming threat - Polestar, the new threat called itself. Rumor had it that their threatening transmissions didn't come from this dimension and Naoya couldn't say he was surprised. After all, if something was bad enough to scare off the Eraseri Fleet then it had to be something from another world.

If this was going to be his first encounter with the mysterious Polestar faction, he would have felt better if he wasn't alone. Someone should have been there to witness his death.

Naoya, what's out there? his sister asked, her voice buzzing inside his skull.

I don't know, Haruna. Stay inside. He couldn't forcibly reply to her; she was a telepath, and he was not, but she would still be listening to his thoughts.

No. I'm coming to kick their ass, Naoya. I'm streaming PPV pro-wrestling from America and that asshole is interrupting my smackdown time.

Naoya knew that his sister could hear him groaning in his thoughts.

When the door to the staircase swung open, Haruna was still mostly dressed as she had been at the party – pop-star-looking black hoodie, though she had changed into pink pajama pants, and her hazel hair, which had more auburn to it than his own, was still held up in long, perky pigtails. They were identical twins in all other aspects: same height, same heart-shaped face and soft facial features, and the same amber eyes.

So what are we fighting? Arayashiki? Darklore? Wiz-dom? Haruna asked. Her enthusiasm to fight and potentially maim someone made Naoya feel ill, though he knew that she was only eager because she had no experience fighting in the War.

Eraser or Polestar. Most likely Polestar. Their mother had only recently told them to be weary of the new faction that called themselves Polestar. Naoya had never encountered one – his gut told him, however, that this seemed like something they would be up to. He glanced back down towards the streets, where once-moving cars sat frozen in time. But this is the weirdest 'shield I've ever seen.

You're smoking again, Haruna briefly and smugly scolded him. She ignored the childish pout from her brother and the thoughts he had that were similar to 'mom already knows' as she glanced around the rooftop, extending her senses for any trace of life she could pick up. Her confident smirk quickly faded away to a look of absolute horror. "Oh no." The words came out both mentally and physically.

"What, what is it?" Naoya could feel her terror, and it was directed at him. Again he heard wings flapping but saw no wings, his psychic senses telling him that he was surrounded by air but his eyes telling him that he was still on the rooftop. "Haruna, what is it? There's nothing here!" He ran to his sister, but the more he ran - the further away he got, the sensation of vertigo suddenly overwhelming him. The world around him went completely grayscale before flashing away to a bright light; that for all the peaceful feeling it tried to force on him, left him tumbling in its bright pale void.

Naoya didn't know when he passed out.

He could sense the world around him, coming into focus in his mind's eye, before anything else. There was the orange setting sun overhead, with stars burning oddly bright for that time of day, and trees that he looked around at in the second his mind's eye was active. His mind's eye came crashing back into him much like a fish landing in water after cascading over a waterfall. Damn, he briefly thought, that was a really Arayashiki way to compare the feeling.

When he cracked open his eyes, he saw that he was in a clearing of some kind; laying face-down in a soft patch of clover, as he turned his head he saw that his cigarette laying just inches from his lips and was nothing more than a ruined butt. Naoya stared at it, debating the existence he suddenly found himself in. It wasn't an EGO-caused hallucination; nor was it an illusion from an Arayashiki or Wiz-dom spell. It felt like reality. He stayed on the ground for a few seconds more before weakly getting to his hands and knees – his limbs feeling more like wet noodles than appendages.

"Where are we?" Naoya muttered, feeling the words leave his lips just as they would any other time. When he received no response, he picked up his head and looked around. Freshly-budding trees, scrubby brush, and cold mud as far as he could see – but no Haruna. "Haruna?" Naoya scrambled to his feet, taking a few steps as if he were a foal just learning to walk. "Haruna!" He couldn't sense her, and he couldn't hear her inserting her thoughts into his head. He was alone.

That was when he noticed a strange shifting under his feet, like a carpet decided to crawl under his sneakers. Looking down that was exactly what had happened. Clover radiated out from his spot, broken by patches of defiant soft-looking grass.

"Well that's weird," Naoya marveled. Could have been an Arayashiki shrine, or some Wiz-dom Druid messing with him; but he couldn't sense anything. It was like the whole world, other than him, was a wild blankness. A sickening feeling began to creep up on him; had he been taken hostage by the Polestar?

Naoya took a step and noted the greenery followed with him. If he wasn't facing the fact that he was possibly an interdimensional kidnapping victim, he would've been more than happy to play with the strange effect and later dote on the half-demon Kaname about how he felt like a magical girl princess. A faint feeling tugged at the back of his mind, the feeling of another being out there in the void. He turned his head, hazel bangs dropping into his face, and slowly walked in that direction - his senses on alert. There was no telling what he'd find.

He could hear birds chirping. And it was so strange: there were no birds in Darktown, not unless they had gotten terribly lost. And yet the sound was all around him, and he wanted to listen to their song in peace–but he knew something was wrong. This wasn't right.

Opening his eyes, Anders sucked in a breath as a blast of light met his gaze, momentarily blinding him. Where he expected the darkened chambers of Darktown, a scene of treetops and clouds came into focus from where he lay on his back. A hiss announced the pain finally registering, and Anders groaned as his fingers shot to the back of his head and began feeling around for a sign of serious injury. Broken bits of dried leaves disintegrated as he combed through his hair, and something soft beneath his head tickled his knuckles.

"Maker’s Breath," he swore, finding the source of the pain and grimacing: a large lump that pulled tightly on the muscles as far down as his shoulders. He must have landed hard. He hauled himself into a sitting position, exhaling with purpose as he willed a small amount of mana to the bruises. He rubbed the areas as he finished: still tender, but hardly as painful.

His nose twitched as the overwhelming scent of rotten wood and pine needles drew his eyes out over the area, surveying his locale. A forest brimming with lush undergrowth and soaked in a ring of fog expanded as far as he could see. And for a moment Anders pondered the idea that this was a very vivid dream. He felt a pulse from the quivering spirit inside him, but nothing more. He knew then: if this were the Fade, Justice would have taken over. And for the time being, he appeared to be–well, himself.

So that left him with a strange, unsettling alternative: that he was now somewhere else entirely, somewhere he knew nothing about. He meditated, casting his mind out in search of information. But he couldn't feel anything. Farther. Still nothing… Farther, still… No. This plane was far too open… far too wide… The longer he tried to sense it, the dizzier he felt. The emptiness of the plane was overwhelming. He couldn't even sense a single lifeform, and suddenly the cheery birdsong was uncomfortably disturbing.

His staff lay beside him and Anders pulled it to him, knuckles turning white as he gripped it and pulled himself carefully to his feet. He took a few wobbly steps, orienting himself. Beneath his boots, he could feel something shifting. Anders looked down wildly, spotting tiny seedlings beginning to grow in the soil beneath his soles. Where once was black earth, an eruption of green bloomed into a sheet of moss radiating slowly from where he stood in awe. He turned, eyes trying desperately to make sense of what he was seeing: it was not only where he was now, but also where he had been. The outline of his body was preserved in a ring of plants, the oldest of which had blended into a deep, warm emerald. Even his hand print from standing was transformed into a living memory–a plant trail, cataloging his every step and touch. He could feel the life from the moss, though–a hopelessly small pulse, like the weakest of embers.

This was so wrong. He circled the impression he'd left in the leaves, eying the moss even as it sprouted behind him. He was leaving a trail as he walked, footsteps growing and merging into a thin road of green like body heat spreading over melting ice.

"Oh, the Templars would love that," he frowned. He rubbed his hand over his mouth, looking again to the forest.

A savage, inhuman scream erupted from somewhere in the woods, sending a flock of birds flying off in distress. Anders clutched his staff a little tighter. Whatever this was, he didn’t think he had encountered anything like it before. It wasn't a spirit, nor anything alive–and certainly not a darkspawn, he realized, as the taint in his blood had failed to react.

Another scream, closer this time–and a creature launched into the air after the birds, catching one in its razor like maw with a splash of blood. It landed with a sonorous thud onto a nearby tree, ignorant to the hundreds of pine needles forcibly shaken out of the trembling limbs as it tilted a thin neck back and swallowed what was left of the bird whole. When it looked at him, Anders felt a chill run down the length of his spine. Seemingly eyeless, it was a winged reptile of sorts. It held itself rooted to the branch by two forelimbs with claws dug deep into the wood. Without rear legs to speak of, it had a graceful, cat-like tail twice the length of its  teardrop body that was ridged by spikes and swished back and forth through the mist. Its head was the shape of a pendulum blade, and it nearly disappeared as it looked at him dead on. In the center of its thin head was a red tongue lolling out from a bed of shark's teeth. A few feathers dangled from its mouth as it hissed at him and spread its wings wide.

As it launched itself towards him, the first thing Anders noticed was the speed. Incredibly fast, it was all he could do to jump out of the way before its claws tore into his armor. With a screech and a wild gust of wind, it flew by him with a narrow gap between them. Scattered dust and leaves billowed in its wake as Anders struggled to keep his sights on it. As it rounded on him again he sent his staff quaking to the ground, pushing a kinetic mind blast that knocked the thing from the air. It writhed on its belly in the dirt, flapping uselessly like an overturned insect.

Another screech behind him left Anders turning just as he readied a second blow, and scattered bits of blond hair scattered across his face as a line of pain was etched across his cheeks before he could blink. The second creature landed by the first, nudging and pushing it with its claws and dagger-like jaws.

Two of them. Anders twirled his staff and took several steps back. There was no way he could outrun these things, but he could probably take them. He felt the chill tingling against the skin of his left hand as he readied a frost spell, while simultaneously charging his staff with energy in his right. Something warm ran down the side of his cheek, and as he shot the first bolt of arcane magic he felt little remorse for the purple blood gushing from a searing burn in the side of one of the beasts. It writhed on the ground, crying out in agony as its partner hissed at Anders from behind it.

“You messed with the wrong mage,” he growled low.

It was on him before Anders could raise his arm to strike again. He felt it latch onto his shoulders, striking his pauldrons rather than flesh. His staff was wedged between its jaws as the thing bore down on him, and Anders could smell rotten flesh clinging to its breath. It flapped furiously, pushing the heels of his boots into the soil as he tried to stay upright. But just as he felt the spirit within him grow agitated, a voice struck out from the woods and the monster was flung clear across the expanse, slamming into a tree and crumpling into the ground.

Anders turned his head, watching the newcomer emerge from the woods. He was young, probably about his own age. His brown hair was disheveled from combat and the clothes he wore were more than outlandish–but in his outstretched hand, a short, crafted piece of wood. The way he held it—was it a weapon? Anders glanced to the flowering wolfsbane trailing behind him, raising an eyebrow slowly.

"Thanks," he said, shooting the stranger a nod. "The bastard almost scratched my staff. Bite marks all over the bloody thing…"

"Are you alright?" the stranger said. His accent was the same as his, Anders noted. Could he possibly be from Fereldan?

"Well, we're both still alive," he noted, wiping saliva from the grip of his staff. "So I would say so–at least for the time being." He checked over his shoulder to make sure both of those creatures were still down. They were still moving, but whether they would fight again was another story entirely. "We should get out of here before any more of their friends show up," he added.

"Agreed," replied the man, though he still hadn't lowered his arm. "I've seen several of them already. I don’t doubt that there are more."

Anders didn't care for the sound of that. And even as the words registered with him, he could see shadows darting around the trunks and through the fog. Smaller ones behind larger ones, they traveled in a formation eerily reminiscent of a flock of birds in formation. They had a pecking order.

"Call me Anders," he offered suddenly as the pair began to walk together, neither of them glancing away from the trees for more than a second. "Are you a mage? That was magic, wasn't it?"

"Remus Lupin," the stranger said, glancing at him with an odd expression. "And it was magic, yes," he added slowly, chewing on his words. "'Mage' is an older form of 'wizard' back home. So, yes–I suppose I am a mage."

"Well, Remus Lupin, do you know a safe place we can go?"

"Not a one," Remus admitted. His eyes were scanning the canopy, the sunlight bleeding through the leaves forming a patchwork of light and shadow across his sickly shape. "I'm not exactly from these parts."

"Nor am I," Anders returned. Remus was dressed for winter, but Anders thought little of it. His attention was continually pulled between the foreign weapon and attire of his companion and the endless expanse of trees. He felt eyes on him from everywhere, and the thoughts floating into his awareness told him Justice was just as lost as he was. Wherever they had fallen into, it was not any place either of them knew. Caution was unequivocally warranted. "But it's a picturesque little place, isn't it?” he sighed, shrugging with causality he didn’t feel. “I mean, aside from being infested by flying death lizards."

"I can't say I agree," Remus said, and Anders grinned.

It was a movement in the woods that distracted Anders from his asking next query, though, and he shot a bolt of lightning at another monster bearing down from behind. There was nothing quite like the smell of singed flesh in the morning.

"They're fewer and fewer in coming," he noted. He couldn't believe they were scared off by a couple of lightning bolts. "I don't like this."

They stopped, listening for the telltale shift in the trees that betrayed the monster’s direction. The shadows darting through the limbs had faded to a straggling few, and even the birds had gone silent. But Anders held his staff close, old battle memories returning. Was this an ambush? A hurricane of a hundred thousand fangs raining down on them–surely there were better ways to go. But Anders glanced to Remus and met his eye, and the fellow mage seemed similarly put out.

No, Anders thought. No, it wasn’t that. He was wrong.

"Pack animals," he murmured under his breath, tugging on his lip. He cast his mind out suddenly as it hit him: the beasts were like wolves–they didn't go for the strong animals. They went for the younger ones. They went for the weaker ones. Searching the forest, Anders closed his eyes and scanned for any ember of life–any indication that someone else was here. He had to be right–the alternative was too dire.

"There's someone else," Anders spoke, snapping his eyes open and staring through the trees. "Faint, in the distance. They're hunting us like wolves."

The sounds of flapping wings caused the psychic to look up. He knew exactly what he had expected to see; and it certainly wasn't that.

Most Erasers looked like the old definition of angels: pretty, androgynous beings with variously-placed wings. In some cases they had scales for skin and gnarly teeth, and appeared more like feathery dragons than angels. But the legless creatures gathering in the branches of the trees looked nothing like any Eraser, aside from the wings. A nervous, teetering laugh escaped Naoya as he noted the way they were gathering. They were hungry.

This was a dream, a bad, bad dream. Normally Naoya's dreams were etched in nice tropical beaches, cute girls, and plenty of shirtless boys; but every once in a while the stress of the War made his subconscious throw him a curveball. This must have just been one of those times. Practice in dreams would make the reality easier, he reasoned.

So the hazel-haired teenager looked up at the beasts, and, smiling, held out his arms invitingly as he waited for the teeth to descend and for him to wake up.

Bolting into the clearing after the reptiles, the sight of the teen awaiting death greeted the pair like a wretched punch. High up in the trees, the creatures had begun to circle the smaller figure. They squawked and shrieked amongst themselves – larger ones nipping at the fluttering tails of the younger juveniles. The pause in chaos was short-lived, though, as several of the monstrous animals flung themselves from the limbs and dove towards the teen's outstretched arms.

Remus had his wand aimed before they could descend. "Everte statum!" he shouted, directing the spell at the boy. He was flung backwards as though he had been thrown – something Remus would make sure to apologize for, provided they all made it out of this alive. The satisfying crunch of fragile wings meeting topsoil confirmed the teen had made it out of harm's way.

"We have to close the distance!" Anders shouted, hurling an arcane bolt into the trees. A number of the creatures scattered, only to be dispatched by a bolt of chain lightning.

Racing towards the boy, the air was thick with the growing stench of singed flesh and the cries of savage beasts. Their shadows danced across the grass, lurking over the moss and aconite that blossomed as the mages pushed through the fight.

Naoya rolled over, confusion painted on his face as he sat up in the patch of clover growing around him. He stared at the men through the bangs that hung low into his face. "Wiz-dom," he muttered, disappointed. With an accepting sigh, he pushed himself to his feet. "So I'm not dreaming. That's fine, too." Shoving his left hand into his jacket pocket, he held his right out to the side, his palm facing upwards. A translucent, rippling energy formed and danced around his fingers, whirling around as he focused. When the nearest monster charged him, he aimed his attack right into its gaping, slobbering jaws – the creature was thrown back, and its body lay on the ground with its mouth broken and agape. "Then it just means I have to pick up my game."

The three met at the center of the clearing. Naoya looked both of the magic-users over, rolling his eyes ever-so-slightly as to not be caught – his expression looking as if he thought the men were very poorly hiding a secret. "I take it these aren't your pets?" he asked them.

"So you aren't nearly as thick as you appeared!" Anders quipped behind a slurry of fireballs, glancing over the teen with a quick sideswipe of the eye. He saw the look he got in return–but what did the kid expect, standing there like a fool? Maker have mercy!

To Anders' right, Remus found himself focused on the movement in the trees. By now they had thinned the numbers of this hoard by about half. And he was gaining confidence with cautious enthusiasm. "Duro!" he shouted, watching one of the reptiles turn into stone. With a flick of his wrist, it shattered into a thousand bits raining down on the grass and leaves. But Merlin, these things were fast. A small juvenile swung at his face with open claws in a gust of wind, and Remus felt it rip through the sleeve of his coat and into the tender flesh below. He cried out, swatting at it–and again, when Anders bludgeoned it away with the butt of his staff, taking a chunk of skin with it. Remus swore under his breath, cradling is arm. It was nothing to worry about right now, but it pulsed with pain at every racing heartbeat. The noise from the trees was overwhelming. But as he paused to check his wound, Remus' eyes widened as he listened. Instead of the toneless, senseless screeching, there was, beneath it all, a rhythm. A clicking, a tapping–a humming song of nails on a chalkboard, whispering beneath the earsplitting battle cries.

It hit him, then: their eyes–they're blind. Could it be–?

"Sound!" he blurted out, grasping Anders by the forearm suddenly, causing the man to turn to him in shock. His hair was falling from his half-pony and the blood on his cheek had almost dried into a fresh scab. The questioning look in his eyes bade Remus to continue. He spoke as fast as he could.  "Sound!" he said again, almost breathless with the power of the realization. "They can't see–they're like bats! Use whatever you can–just make an explosion! Bombarda maxima!" With a wave of his wand, the ground beneath him trembled and a gathering of the reptiles floundered in the confusion. Several landed skull-furst into the soil–others collided in midair, and still others simply began to flee.

"Why not run just around screaming? Worked for you guys before," the teenager quipped. With both his hands in motion, he ripped one of the beasts from the ground in a fit of telekinetic power, before slamming the monster into the bodies of its packmates. The psychic paused briefly. His powers weren't suited for explosions, nor was it his style to be so noticeable when he didn't want to be noticed. That kind of flashy showmanship in a fight could have cost him his life early on in the War, least to mention the collateral damage that even the dullest of humans might start to question. "And I can't make anything explode," Naoya finally said, edging closer to the two magic-users. These things didn't have eyes, and he doubted his ability to cause a purely auditory hallucination; at least one of the magic-stick-guys had a plan, even if it meant being almost blown up on the process.

"Then just try to keep them away from us!" Anders cried out, feeling his throat sting as he attempted to be heard over Remus' spell. He turned to the kid, nodding at him in confirmation of his plan–and then, his attention was focused upward. From inside the circle of trees, a patch of pale blue sky frosted with stars was visible beyond the darting shadows of the monsters. Formless thoughts raced across Anders' mind, and he cursed at himself for not working faster. Explosions, explosions… He didn't think he could make an explosion. But if he didn't, could they make it out? What else could they do but hack and slash their way to a glorious, empty death? Anders thrust his staff in front of him, slinging a bolt of mana at one of the creatures that came much too close for comfort. It shrieked as it fell from the air, a gaping window in its middle splattering the turf with blood. A second one fell beside it, similarly wounded. "That's it!" The gory visual had spawned with him an idea. A brilliant idea at that, and Anders couldn't help but grin. "Boy," he turned, uncertain as to what else he should be called without a proper name as yet. "I need you to cover me–I have to concentrate. Everyone over here!" Anders widened his stance as the pair collected beside him. "If you both can hold them off for a second, I have an idea that just might work." Remus' reply was drowned in a metallic shriek, but the conviction in his face told Anders what he needed to know. "Alright," he said. "Destructive forces of nature, coming up!"

Breathing in, Anders closed his eyes shut and began to channel the mana throughout his body. Energy flowed through his veins and limbs in rivers, and each of his cells hummed to a silent vibration that only grew with each intake of air. Building up inside his core, Anders could feel a static clawing at his ribs. This was a dangerous spell–powerful, but deadly. The first time he had cast it, he almost died. The energy demanded escape like a caged wolf, and if it was starved too long–it snapped. Back home, there were stories of mages cooked alive from within that were favorites of the Templars. Anything to scare young ones into submission, he had thought then in his naivety. But the power he felt could turn against him at any moment. His own body was a dam, and it could crack if he waited much longer. He breathed out hard, willing the energy through the mana channels his veins had become. When he brought his hands together, there was a loud CRACK and a blue-white flash, and cradled between his wrists a live link of electricity crackled and screamed between his fingers. Anders stretched out his arms, feeling the intense heat begin to burn his nose. He squinted as he watched the plasma dance, blinded by the powerful light.

From his position at Anders' side, Remus turned when he caught the light out of the corner of his eye. Wide-eyed, he felt his jaw go slack at the sight of it and he stared in awe. Beyond Anders' head, Remus could see dark clouds roaming in from the horizon. As they closed in overhead with supernatural speed, he turned back to the chaos and noise. He didn't have to understand it to guess what was coming. Just as he felt the static in the air, he felt raindrops fleck across his cheek. And as Anders raised his arms to finally release the spell, a sonorous boom was hurled out over the area as thunder and lightning rained down from the clouds.

"Protego maxima!" Remus shouted, holding his wand above him as an orange-tinted shield bubbled around the three of them.

All around them, lightning tore through the sky and the pained cries of the many injured creatures had been lost to the thunder and the crack of electricity searing rock and flesh. The pack's organized formation of flight had scattered as their survivors fled to the safety of the trees. But even they had begun to take hits, and small columns of smoke could be seen rising beyond the pine needles. When it was all over, the sky began to clear and the rain had ceased. A strange silence blanketed the forest.

Anders fell to his knees, his vision swirling in front of him. He was exhausted, and as he tried to steady himself with one hand in the dirt, the other clumsily climbed his face. He wiped the trail of blood from his nose with the flick of his thumb. He scrunched his brow, closing his eyes as nausea washed over him. Andraste's tits - he'd forgotten how much the big spells took out of him. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and heard Remus asking from miles off if he was alright. He nodded. "Well," he said, after a moment to catch his breath. "We're all still alive."

Naoya patted his hazel locks, smoothing out the fine hairs that had stood up from the mage's storm summons. He turned away from them slightly, checking his cell phone in his pocket for any damage. "Huh," he breathed, only slightly impressed. He had a full battery now. Science be damned. Slipping his phone back into his jacket pocket, he turned back to the two magic-users. "Thanks," he said, offering a half-genuine smile. It was best to be courteous with mages and wizards. He was normally a good judge of people, but Wiz-dom were tricky; there was always a 50/50 chance someone would try to shove a bible into his face. At least they weren't Arayashiki cultists. "Hopefully they won't be back." He turned to look out into the forest, a tingling in his head telling him that they had gone... for now.

That was when Naoya noticed the plants. A curious look overcame his soft features, the large amber irises of his eyes briefly illuminated by the dimming sun, followed by a disapproving pout. So he wasn't the only special magical girl princess in the woods; there went his chances of finding a masked tuxedo-wearing man to sweep him off his feet. He looked back to the two older men. "This is the weirdest gardening club I've ever seen," he said, obviously motioning to their plant trails.

Anders followed the line of the boy's sight, and from where he sat in the grass it was easy to identify the plant trail growing beneath the teen: clover. Huddled together in the circle they had formed, Anders watched with mild interest as the clover and moss began to bleed together. Beside them, the stems of a tall flower began to creep from under the soil near Remus. Anders wished the headache pounding behind his eyes was only due to the spell. He inhaled deeply, pushing himself upright on shaky knees. The scent of burnt wood and passing showers mixed with the musky smell of wet forest, and he glanced to the pair before running his fingers across his scalp to retie his fallen blond bangs into submission. He let his shoulders and arms fall freely as he exhaled in a great sigh. 

'You too, huh?' he wanted to say. But the words seemed to overlook his need for answers and refused to come. Surrounded by the ruined corpse of the creatures that had just tried to kill them, the shock of everything that had taken place in the last hour was beginning to overwhelm him. 

Thankfully, it was Remus who broke the silence. "Is everyone alright?" he asked, looking between Anders and the boy. There was blood, yes, but by the look of it all nobody had been seriously wounded. There was no telling if or when those things would return, and a sense of urgency set his features on edge. He stared at the trees, his expression tense. But not a single chirp or hum–nor any sort of 'normal' sound–emerged from the woods. It was as though death had settled into the thicket, silencing the trees in a blanket of fear. The wind rattled through the creaking branches, and Remus finally let his wand arm lower. He held it close and at the ready, but he turned to the youngest of their group with a kindly smile. "My name is Remus Lupin," he said, but the words sounded vaguely awkward coming so formally as they stood in a blood-soaked field. He indicated the mage beside him. "This is Anders. Are you from here?" He studied them both as he spoke, and at their blank expressions the next few syllables escaped him with unusual haste: "Does anyone know where we are?"

The psychic arched his fine brows. These guys couldn't tell just from looking at him that Naoya wasn't from the middle of some random forest. "The woods?" Naoya quipped in reply. He slid his hands into his jacket pockets. "The now-slightly-on-fire-" he briefly eyed Anders with a slight smirk "-monster-filled part of the woods. That's all I know." He silently weighed telling them his name – the name Itsuki was hit-or-miss with non-EGO's, they either recognized it or they didn't – but if they were as clueless as he was about the sudden emergence of a forest, then they would be stuck together for a while; so they at least deserved to know his name. "And my name is Itsuki. Naoya Itsuki." When neither of the two magic-users showed any signs that they recognized his family's name, his boney shoulders sunk in relief. It saved a very long conversation.

"What were you doing just standing there like a fool?" Anders asked sharply, having found his voice suddenly returned to him. "You're lucky we came along, or else you would surely have been ripped to shreds!" He half-thought that in this rough situation, his anger could wait. But having just risked his neck for a boy who clearly didn't appreciate the scope of the reality facing them, he felt it wise to lay it out accordingly. "We need a place to go before those beasts decide to come back."

"Agreed," Remus replied. He let a silent sigh escape him, barely noticeable. "Regardless, if none of us has any idea where we are then we'll have to work together if we're going to stay safe." And, he mused, if none of them had any idea where they were, it was hardly a stretch to guess that they had been taken to wherever-this-was, just as he had. "My guess," he stated slowly, "is that this was no accident. And there could be others trapped in this forest, too. The best thing we can do is to try and find some shelter, and then we can attempt to figure something out from there." He balanced his wand in his open palm. "Point me," he whispered, but when the wand only spun in circles, he frowned. That was… impossible.

"What is it?" Anders asked. He had been eying the wand with curiosity now that he could take a good look. Just by observation, he couldn't tell much about it. It was about a foot long, made of wood; hardly suited for combat, and yet the spells Remus had been casting during the fight proved it more than capable.

"It was supposed to find north," Remus replied, casting the spell again with no change. "But it can't find any point at all. That's not possible."

"Figures," Anders breathed. "It seems the unusual is the norm here. How lovely." He cracked his neck, his whole body having stiffened after the spell. His mana was depleted, and he returned his staff to the mounts on his back. It could serve him well as a physical weapon, but something about a mage hurling a stick at his enemies didn't sit right with him. "Shall we go, then? Plenty of monster-infested forest to saunter through aimlessly."

Chapter Text

Anders ducked his head under some low lying branches. The shade of the leaves saw a drop in temperature, and although the morning fog had long-since dissipated a humid tang hung in the warmth that managed to trickle through the boughs. And although there were millions of discarded leaves littering the forest floor, Anders found that his steps were oddly muted as the moss spread from beneath his every step. Remus was not so lucky, however, and had hastily cast a spell to silence his footfalls as flowers slowly sprouted around him. Naoya's footsteps were naturally quiet, but even moreso muffled by the soft clover that followed him.

Remus studied the plants as they walked. Despite the strangeness of their surroundings, the mystery of the plant's very existence was something much more curious. Why were they all different? Why did they grow at all? Examining the wolfsbane flowers beginning to bloom in his path, the irony of his own plant was not lost on him. He could only guess as to what the other plants might mean, if anything at all. Chewing on the inside of his lip, it was hard to steady a mind rattling with questions. The sooner they found a shelter, the sooner the might find some answers. With renewed vigor, he set his sights on the horizon rather than the ground. Gazing through the trees, he watched carefully for any sign of a shelter, or any sign of movement.

Above them, the darkening sky was littered with stars, which burned brighter than before as night seemed to crawl ever closer. Faint like embers against the burning sun, in it's fading reaches they now flourished and bloomed against the blue-grey sky. Through the breaks in the green overhead, foreign constellations and entire galaxies danced within the small windows. They peeked in and out of the clouds rolling overhead like curious gods blazing across the heavens, igniting it with life. And a moon, pale white and scarred by ancient craters, yawned peacefully as it drifted through space high in the unreachable expanse. As it rose from the horizon, unnoticed by the trio far below, it signaled to the forest that night would soon be coming. The sentinel would watch with disinterest, gazing down upon the creatures of the world as a benign entity. Soon, the wolves would howl to their goddess and the bats would feast in her silvery embrace.

But for now, the sun was still up. For now, the lost travelers still had a chance. For now, the forest was calm. But only for now.

Naoya let out a sigh, breaking the silence. "So what happens when we can't find a place and those things come back," his voice was musical and crisp but carried with it a somberness, like windchimes. Those things were like the lower Darklore demons, and if they hunted like pack Darklore – then they would certainly be back. Curious and wary of the three of them, but the creatures would be back. He shrugged off the tired looks he received from his older traveling companions; though he himself was exhausted, he had trained himself to carry himself with the same posture as always. "Do we stop and light a fire and wait for them to come back? Do we keep exploding them, or do we hope that Andy has enough juice back to call in another storm?"

"Hopefully none of those things," Remus replied, tugging a stray leaf from his hair. "If we can find something fairly enclosed, it won't take much to properly secure it."

That was, if they ever found a place. They had been walking for hours, to no avail. The forest was endless, churning on all sides with strange flora and fauna. Already they had encountered a glen split by a small river, surrounded by fireflies. The muddy shoreline was flecked with odd footprints. Creatures none of them had ever seen or heard of made sounds both wondrous and horrifying as they trekked further into the unknown depths, making the journey tense and uncertain. A shelter was long overdue, by now–surely something would show up for them soon? A cave, a cliff–just something to protect them from the wind and rain would be a palace at this point. As exhausted as he was, Remus would give up sleep to keep watch if need be–just to have a place to hunker down for the night. It was odd that this familiar struggle would set him back so poorly, Remus mused. He'd camped out in plenty of forests before. He had the experience and knowledge to survive, as several years living on the street will teach one. In the back of his mind, he thought he ought to chastise himself. But this wasn't the forests of England. This wasn't home at all. These forests were different, foreign–wild, even. Like they had never seen the presence of Man. Indeed, it seemed that the same could be said of this entire place, or at least what they had so far seen of it. The clothing and demeanor of his traveling companions aside, the daytime stars, the creatures, his spinning wand… these were things that could not be so easily dismissed. There was plenty of evidence to support the terrifying theory Remus had chosen to ignore thus far: the theory that this was some other world entirely.

That only lead to more questions than answers, and Remus cursed under his breath as he reminded himself that he had much more important things to worry about at the moment. They could only get so far in the tangled vines and brush, and Remus chewed his tongue as he debated whether they should just make a makeshift lean-to and just hope for the best. It seemed hopeless, otherwise. But if they did nothing, they would surely spend the night worse for wear. Even with the aid of magic, it would take time to build any sort of hideout, and even longer to secure something so flimsy from the wind, let alone whatever nocturnal beasts roamed the forest come nightfall. Silently, he half-wished the light had brought them all somewhere else. The longer they walked, the more shadows bolted through the woods. Stray sticks snapped of unnatural accord. Remus rubbed the back of his neck, resisting the urge to look back and around.

Something terrible shrieked up ahead and bolted skyward, leaving tumbling leaves trailing to earth in columns of sunlight. Massive wings could be heard pushing it from the canopy as it fled, and only when it vanished from earshot did the trio relax.

"I forgot what a bother the woods can be," Anders muttered suddenly as he hitched his staff behind him again. "It's been so long since I've seen anything outside the city, I missed them. Perhaps I ought to rethink my stance on wildfires."

Remus offered a light, sarcastic grunt. "At least then we might see some sort of landmark. I admit I'm surprised we haven't found a path or a road… Not even an animal trail. If I only had a broomstick, we could get above the treeline and see where we are."

"Why would a broomstick help us?"

Naoya, who wandered just a few steps behind them, arched his brows and tilted his head to the side, unimpressed with the conversation's direction.

"Oh, back home they are very common. For flying," Remus added, seeing the confusion on Anders' face. "They're enchanted."

Naoya tilted his head to the opposite side, sighing quietly out of his nose.

"Ah," Anders nodded, but the look was hesitant to vanish. "So magic is common where you're from?"

"In a sense. Not everyone can use it–in fact, there are more Muggles than there are witches or wizards."

"'Muggles'?"

"Sorry–that is the name for the people who can't use magic. Most of them don't even know it exists. Hundreds of years ago, the magical community went into hiding."

Naoya held his head up straight and mockingly widened his eyes, pretending he was surprised by the definition of the word 'muggle'.

Anders couldn't hide his surprise, and barely missed a root jutting out from the earth. "I can't imagine what that's like. Where I'm from, such a thing is unheard of."

"Oh?" Remus looked to the mage.

Naoya rolled his eyes. "And here we go," he silently mouthed.

"In Thedas," he explained, carefully selecting his words, "anyone born with the gift of magic is seen as cursed. They're abducted as soon as they show signs of magic and thrown into the Circle to learn how to control their gifts. We are never allowed to leave. The people are taught to fear mages, and those of us who dare speak out against the injustices are thrown in prison. Or, worse…" He wanted to continue, but a topic of such caliber was really not suited for field trips with complete strangers. They would learn about him soon enough. Besides, Anders thought it best to leave out the Rite of Tranquility; to leave out the torture, the demons, the brutality of the Templars… A savage bitterness welled up within at the thought, and Anders felt Justice begin to pulse somewhere inside. Immediately, he stopped. "At least it's not raining," he offered casually, rubbing the back of his neck and avoiding eyes. "Usually, when I go traveling, I always get stuck in the rain…"

"'Thedas,'" Remus repeated. He bent down to avoid another dangling limb in their way, and his eyes were cast this way and that to search for more entangling debris. But his lips hung open a bit as words pressed on his tongue, and Anders waited patiently. "I don't think that sounds like any place I know. I'm from a city called London. At least, that's where I had a pillow: I was in the city looking for work."

"Are you a refugee?" Anders wondered if the sickly appearance had anything to do with a war, or maybe even something as horrid as the Blight.

"No, nothing so dire. I just don't have much for resources, so I do a lot of travelling. Living below the poverty line forces a lot of people to do what I do. It's not always easy finding work, so we have to make due."

"Oh," Anders replied meekly, understanding full and well a well-dressed statement of homelessness when he saw one. And he was not one to judge: technically, his clinic was less a home than it was a walk-in bedroom. And before he had even had that, the number of times fleeing the Circle had left him scrambling for shelter. Not many farmers wanted a strange, coinless mage sleeping in their barns for the night, nor did the Templars make trips into the towns and villages a welcoming respite from the cold. "I know how hard that can be," he said, hoping his sincerity was evident.

"What do you do?" Remus asked. Anders saw him run his eyes over the length of his wardrobe, sizing him up.

"I'm a doctor," he said. "I run a hospice."

Remus cocked him a brow, suddenly impressed. But he came to an abrupt stop, his features resembling a dog that had just scented a rabbit. Pointing off to the far left, Anders craned his neck to catch a glimpse of whatever it was up ahead.

"Is that–?"

"Wood! Yes," he agreed. He pretended not to hear Naoya's comment about how 'it was all wood, all around.' "Those timbers are old, though. Very old."

It was almost invisible against the background of trunks and leaves, but trailing his gaze up a small, winding creek, Anders could see a small cabin. The hushed glint of dirty window panes greeted them as they approached, the intact glass almost overgrown with weeds but still visible. Raised garden beds long since consumed by grasses were still visible by the front door, and the chimney had begun to crumble under the constant battle from the elements. The structure was desperately in need of cosmetic attention, but from what they could see outside, it was still sound. And by the Maker, Anders would never have imagined that an abandoned, spider-infested shanty could look so good. And they were lucky to have spotted it at all in the miles of wilderness. He guessed that if they had just taken a few steps further, they would have lost it. He wondered vaguely if they had passed many houses like that without ever knowing.

The front door was slightly ajar, and so they approached with as much caution as starving, very lost travelers are wont. Weapons at the ready, they burst in–and succeeded in scaring off a family of raccoons that were naturally incensed with their eviction. As the last of the stripped tails disappeared into the forest, the three companions were free to take the first look around their new home. There was not much to speak of, and it was hardly more appealing than the outside. A worn table and single chair, a hutch-turned-workshop littered with dried flower petals and a mortar and pestle, and a bed made of tired, creaking wood. The mattress was hay, and the blanket was a patchwork of animal furs. A bundle of small pelts wrapped with leather strings served as a pillow. A broom lay against the hutch, though the twig bristles were caked with a surface layer of thick dust–as was the rest of the room. As the men entered, they covered their faces with their sleeves as clouds swirled around their legs. Closing the door behind them cast them all in near darkness, and they wiped grit from the filthy windows to restore some light. A half-melted candlestick lay dormant on the desk, and Remus touched the tip of his wand to it. For a brief moment it sputtered and smoked before finally catching a flame. It wasn't much, but it would have to do.

Not bothering to clean the messes left under the bed by the former residents, each of them scanned for a spot to throw himself and collapsed there. They could work for their comfort later. But now, as they glanced back and forth amongst one another in the dim gloom of the cabin, the world seemed much darker than before. Much wider. Much lonelier.

Naoya prodded the bed. "I, like, think the bed might have rabies. One of you guys can have it," he commented, before wandering over to the window. He used the edge of his hand to clean a moderate portion of the dirty glass and looked outside.

Settled in the corner, Remus pressed his face into his hands. This was all so wrong, so bizarre. Just hours ago he had been forced under an underpass to escape the snow, listening to the cars pass overhead unaware of his miserable existence below their feet. He'd been alone, cold, and desperate. But in the blink of an eye, he found himself stranded Merlin knows where, together with two very strange people who obviously had no knowledge of one another… And it was summer here, for God's sake. He realized how hot he had become now that he could finally rest, and went to strip off his coat.

"Ah," he hissed, peeling the dried flannel away from his now broken scabs. In their rush to escape, he'd forgotten about his wound. At the touch of open air, the angry flesh stung as though it were a newly damaged.

"Are you hurt?"

Remus looked up to see Anders watching him. The gash on his cheek had been healed completely, and the mage scraped his fingers against the skin to remove the dried blood.

"It's not bad," Remus returned. "I can manage." He pulled out his wand to try and heal it, but Anders took a few steps towards him.

"Does it need healing?" he offered.

Remus hesitated, but he couldn't help being curious. Anders didn't take on any of the usual characteristics of any Healer back home. Indeed, he seemed more fit for battle than for medicine, and Remus found himself oddly curious. He held out his arm and watched his skin heal and stitch together under the direction of a warm, blue light. In an instant, the pain was gone and although the area was tender there was no more need for concern. It was not like any magic Remus had ever seen, and he would definitely be sure to ask about it later.

"Thank you," he said, flexing his wrist and forearm.

Anders nodded, and checked on Naoya before pulling up the desk chair and resting his chin in in his hand. Glancing around the room, his brow raised uncomfortably.  "There's no bathroom," he announced. "And this forest is a deathtrap. If I have to answer the call of nature, someone's coming with me."

"I'll hold your hand, but I'm not going to shake it for you," Naoya smirked. Rummaging around in his pocket, he popped open the top of a mostly-full box of cigarettes. Naoya leaned against the rotten sill of the cracked window, the end of his smoke between his lips as he cupped his hands to light it – feigning as if he had a lighter. "So, then," he said after sliding his "lighter" back into his pocket, "I'm Naoya, you're Remus, and you're Anders. We know that much." He nodded to Anders. "You're a mage with a big magic stick." Then he motioned to Remus. "And you're a... magic guy with a little stick. And I'm not a magic guy of any kind. Any ideas as to why we're all here?" He turned his head and glanced out the window, pausing in his smoke thoughtfully. He thought he had seen something outside, felt something outside, but then it was gone. Poof! Like that. Place was getting weirder and weirder. "And why we're all trailing plants outside?"

"I haven't the faintest of ideas," Anders shrugged, raising his brow at the comments about magic. "Although," he said, glancing between the three of them, "given that we're all from different places and somehow all came here the exact same way, I'd guess that it was probably intentional. My question is why."

"That still doesn't explain the plants," Remus added. "Let's see: Naoya, you have clover. And Anders, yours is moss, was it not? And," he half sighed, "I have wolfsbane." Remus shifted his feet, glancing at the floor. The only plants to be found on the hardwood were discarded leaves blown in during their entrance and the vestiges of the raccoon den. Nothing alive, nothing growing. "They don't seem to be able to follow us indoors. Clearly, there's some magic involved. They grow too quickly to be anything short of it."

"That itty bitty bit of magic is something I'll admit to, but it's not me doing it," Naoya added and agreed, calmly exhaling a breath of smoke. He stood as if he were far less distressed by their circumstances, the only thing betraying him was the way he idly pulled at the rotting wood of the sill with his free hand. "So we were all magically picked to come to this magic place and help start a magic garden." He took in a sharp breath, drawing on his cigarette, smirking. "Just magical isn't it?" The teenager lightly chuckled.

Anders looked Naoya up and down. "I saw what you were doing to fight those monsters. We've all got a bit of it to go on, by the looks of it. That could be why we were all drawn here to begin with."

Naoya eyed him right back. "Naoya Itsuki is not magic," he said flatly. "He is the opposite of magic. He is..." His sleek features scrunched slightly, trying to think of a word. "He is more science-y, not magic-y."

"'Not magic-y?' You have the Maker's gifts. I've seen you use them. If you're not magic, I'm a monkey."

"Congratulations. You're a monkey."

Anders opened his mouth to respond, but it was Remus who spoke next. "It doesn't matter what we are," he said, extending his palms slightly to issue peace. "The only thing that matters now is what we're going to do. Look," he said, rolling his wrists, "we have no idea where we are, or how we got here. Supposing Anders is correct and we were indeed brought here, then it makes sense that someone could be searching for us. And with the plants, we are very easy to track. Whatever the reasons we were brought here, I think it's clear that there is no benign intent. We need to accept that until we know what's going on, we could all still be in danger."

"Either way," said Anders, peeking out the window, "I don't think we'll be going anywhere soon. It's getting dark. And I don't know about any of you, but I'd prefer not to wake up in something's belly."

"We can do our best to shore up in here," Remus said, tilting his neck back to look around. "But tomorrow, we should leave."

"But where do we go?"

It was a question that none of them could answer, and it left a stinging silence in the center of the room. Suddenly, a low grumbling issued from Naoya's corner, and both heads turned to look his way.

"Well," Remus sighed, "for right now, maybe we should get something to eat."

A search of their home for the night lead to the discovery of three sources of food: some moldy bread that was hidden under the table, a moldy blob of what was once cheese next to the moldy bread, and a crow's nest nestled high up in the rafters – home to a pair of crows who were very upset upon being chased out of their nest. Remus and Anders had managed to start a small fire in the worn-out hearth, cooking the five eggs they had robbed the crow couple of and that Naoya had refused to eat. The rest of the night proceeded in silence between the three, with each of them retiring to a separate part of the shack. Anders steadied himself in the old chair, resting against the table; while Naoya warmed himself by the dying embers of the fire – the only one who fell asleep was Remus, who had hunkered down in one of the more clean corners of the cabin.

Overhead, branches scraped gently against the roof and Naoya drew himself flush against the crumbling, still warm stonework. He rested his chin in the crook of his elbow, amber eyes watching the fading reds flicker in the small pile of ash. Every scratch of branches, every change in Remus's sleeping breath, every time Anders moved his creaky chair – Naoya was beginning to suspect that Anders was doing it intentionally, especially after the fourth or fifth time – every little sudden sound made him tense more and hold his breath. He had never been outside of Tokyo; he had never been camping. Camping wasn't high on his list of things he wanted to do in the middle of fighting in the War and trying to keep his family afloat. Neither was eating crow eggs. Naoya was hungry, sure, but he'd gone to bed hungry before, it wasn't uncommon. Briefly, he wondered if eating random things someone found in the woods was a magic-user thing or simply a human thing – either way, it was no wonder to the young EGO that both those things were probably going to die out.

A tight feeling gripped his chest, and he closed his eyes – expanding his empathic senses for what he could feel. His senses told him that something was tense, something was waiting baitedly, something was curious, and that there was more than one something.

THUD! The roof above shook, dust and crumbles scattering to the floor, and the sounds of claws positioning themselves on the old shingles came as whatever was out there settled down.

"I'm going to guess that's not Santa Claus..." Naoya quickly pushed himself away from the fireplace, scrambling to his feet.

The creature that had taken roost on the roof hung down to peer inside. Its dark face was like the mutant child of a shark and a bat, glowing yellow eyes hot with a wild but commanded feralness, quills that ran down the back of its furred form perking curiously as it searched the house. Its pupils moved with its eyes, it looked to Anders, then waivered over to Remus. It didn't seem to consider Naoya, or if it did, it didn't consider him as interesting as Remus. It tilted its head, joints and bones cracking, as if Remus's presence was confusing it.

Slowly, the EGO turned his head, eyes widening at the monster watching them. "Oh my god," he spoke lowly. Careful to not move or speak suddenly. It wanted to attack them, he could sense it, but he also sensed that something was holding it back; like it was a dog waiting patiently for table scraps. "I don't think it's going to attack us-" No sooner had the words left his mouth, the monster opened its mouth wide and let out a horrible, screeching roar. Naoya had nothing to compare it to, and no quips to make about it. The screeching shook him and he responded by blasting the thing, and incidentally the window, with psi – leaving a broken wall. "What the hell is that thing!?"

"Blighted forest!" Anders cursed, scanning past his sleeve through the dust and debris for any sign of movement. He coughed quickly, bringing his staff to a ready at his side. At his behest, Anders could feel it begin to pulse with mana beneath his grip. Like an electric hum, the red steel vibrated with energy that only he could feel. It cooled from within, beginning to glow with a pale blue light as frost wove jagged lines down the metal body. Freedom's Call creaked and groaned as she worked, but more than anything else, Anders knew he could depend on this weapon to save his life. And perhaps even better: to take his enemy's. With a fluid motion, Anders twirled the staff above him and began to churn the air. With a deep whoosh, he swung it down as hard as he could muster and splintered the wooden floor. A blast of cold air rushed out from all sides, scattering the dust away from them and clearing the way. Fog rolled out from Anders' lips as he controlled his breathing, steadying his focus in preparation for war.

Beside him, Remus had regained his footing and composure. Obviously exhausted, he gripped his wand rather shakily. But his gaze was steady and he tracked dark shadows bolting through the residual mist.

"They're in the trees!" he spoke, keeping his voice as low as possible. He pointed his wand at the closest of them, stiffening his shoulders. "They're waiting."

In the calm, chittering and howling broke the stillness of the air. The noise sent shivers up Remus' spine. The clattering on the roof was what woke him, but the face in the window was what sent him into high alert. This predator was so different from the last, and yet in such a wretched way they were more familiar. Every time they howled, Remus was reminded of his own kind: of the werewolves. He watched them, even as their glowing, yellow orbs stared back, fixed points of firefly light in the dark. The sent splinters of ice shooting down the length of his spine. Whatever these things were, he would see to it they did not remain close to him for very long.

With the single snapping of a twig, an explosion of violence ignited the attack. Jumping high from the trees, several dog-like forms were briefly silhouetted against the beckoning moon as they extended their claws and launched themselves towards their prey. Red blood looked black in the silvery light as it was splayed from their limbs, and several bodies fell to the dirt with a sickly smack as Anders struck out with a spike of razor-sharp ice. In the same stroke, he brought his staff down upon the nose of another, tearing flesh that instantly froze upon contact with the steel. It shrieked and clawed at its own rotten maw, unaware of Naoya's crushing wave of psi until it was far too late.

Not far from the others, Remus ducked as one of the wolf-monsters launched itself towards him with barred fangs. It collided with the wall beside him with an unpleasant crunch and barked, a high-pitched, wounded sound. Remus dispatched it with a wave of his wand. How many of them were there? Looking out beyond the carnage, Remus thought the firefly-eyes extended deep into the pitch black of the woods. A coldness gripped his heart and he couldn't help the slight drop in his wand-arm. He didn't think they could take much more of this—they barely escaped with their lives the first time! Another shriek as the next of the dogs was flung into the air by his magic. It couldn't end this way—no matter what, they had to see this through. They were going to push through this mess, or they were going to die trying.

The only thing that he couldn't be sure of was which of those it would be.

Anders rushed at a group of several of the creatures trying to force their way in through the hole all at once. As soon as the wood began to creak and they broke free, he swung his staff in a high arc above his head and cast it out like a sword. Although it struck nothing but air, enormous spikes of ice rose from the floor in a thick, sweeping trail that followed the motion of the staff. Spinning around, Anders swung his staff again—this time, striking the frozen forms of the canine monstrosities as they shattered like glass. He could hear more of them along the roof, now, and scaling through the canopy above. He panted heavily, and in the pause between combatants Anders sorely wished for a lyrium potion. He could feel his mana reserves had run low in the sickly, depleted and weak feeling inside of his body. He could still fight, it was not that—more, a drain, like after losing significant blood. He had once compared himself to a wilting flower among the Wardens, so that they might understand. But anyone who flung himself at darkspawn using a sharp stick was not likely to do so, and it came as no surprise when they laughed. Anders' head spun, and for a moment he stepped back to the others as he gathered himself.

"I can't do much more of this," he said, and he could see it in their eyes that neither could they. "Think, Anders, think…"

But for all his racing thoughts told him, Anders realized that they were trapped. They couldn't go into the forest again. Even if they were foolish enough to try and not get lost, those wolf-beasts were experts in the trees. He could hear them yipping and howling at one another, both above him and all around. No, there was no way out of this but through. And Anders gripped his staff tighter as he realized just how screwed they were. He barely noticed when cracks of blue—white light began to flicker across his skin, spreading over his clothes. A tug at the back of his mind pulled Anders away from the moment, and for a half second he wondered if it was his body about to collapse. But, he felt himself move. Distantly, from impossibly far off. And he heard Justice's booming voice shouting from his mouth. Like a flipped switch, Justice had taken control. Anders maintained a grasp long enough to see himself turn and face a new pack of monsters rushing in from outside.

A flash of light drew Remus from his frantic search around the cabin. He turned, blinking heavily through the sudden intensity of the glow. Anders's entire body was wrapped in crackling, jagged lines of light, and his eyes were white as suns. From his steps, the moss became intermingled with wisps of dark blue and black smoke, as if his very form was burning the air around him.

"Gather yourselves," Anders said, but his voice was no longer his own. Much deeper, much stronger, it commanded respect and dared listeners to challenge it. "They will return in force," he said, slamming the staff into the ground. "Prepare for the worst, and do not be overcome."

Naoya narrowed his eyes at the glowing mage, heavy bags etched into his smooth skin highlighting his suspicion. "I'm not even going to ask," he said, turning away to face one of the creatures. It was obvious that it was a magic trick of some kind, probably one where the caster let some sort of higher being channel through their body for a power boost, Naoya reasoned. The feeling that glowstick-version-Anders gave his empathic senses was overbearing; it was a burning righteousness that made Naoya's stomach churn. He tried to ignore it, but it was difficult – what with the man running around, shouting at the top of his lungs, like a rave party caught on fire.

When the wave of monsters finally struck, Anders—or whoever this was—swung the staff again, blazing a trail of fire that scattered the beasts with shrill yelps of fear and pain. The air was ripe with the stench of burnt fur, and Remus watched as Anders actually began to step into the gaping mouth of the wall. When he turned to beckon them onward, Remus felt the weight of those glowing eyes like a blow to the stomach. It was as though he missed a step taking the stairs: this definitely wasn't Anders. Remus hesitated before following, with Naoya coming right behind him.

Turning to the creature, Justice widened his stance, spinning the staff and creating arcs of light. He flung the end of the staff, sending out quick shots of magic–each move graceful and expertly done. A blue fist of energy shot up from the ground and caught the nearest beast, flinging it into the trunk of a tree with a horrific snap. More swarmed around him, snapping at him and receiving a sharp crack across their jaws. When the bolts of energy from the staff weren't being used, it was ice from his hand or shots of pure mana. Careful steps kept him moving, and Justice watched carefully for the powerful maws of their enemies.

The effort of taking control of their shared body made Anders more vulnerable: Justice was righteous, Justice was fury… He was not accustomed to a physical form and the pain that accompanied damage. Each time he took over, he put Anders at risk for injury from the sheer invulnerability of spirits. Anders could break. Justice could not. And with that in mind, Justice lashed the dragon-headed staff down upon the back of the beast who dared an attempt at biting. Blood splattered across the blue mages robes he wore, and even dotted his cheeks. But he noticed only briefly, as he felt Anders object somewhere within. He roared, casting a violet explosion of electricity from his extended arm, and he watched with satisfaction as the bolt arced through three of the monsters at once. They fell into a heap some distance away, and Justice let out a challenging roar to the rest of the firefly-eyes: this wasn't over.

The nearly full moon hung overhead, nearly consumed by incoming rainclouds but still bright enough to illuminate the dark forest and the ring of inhuman bodies that Anders had scattered. Naoya could sense them. He could have put up a binding shield, but the creatures weren't from where he was – and in the middle of a fight was a terrible time to find out that something didn't work. The psychic briefly debated causing a mass hallucination, but with Anders doing his best impression of a nuclear dinosaur that plan was useless. All around, he felt their presence and saw their eyes glitter. They jittered and yowled, sure that something had happened... but they weren't sure of what, and held their positions. There were different kinds, he noted. Smaller, skinnier, darker ones; and bulkier, white ones - like it was a jock taking steroids. There was one sitting up in a tree, its fur a stark pure white. It threw its head back and let out a chirping, barking noise. The fatty white ones replied with other tones, and the white one in the tree shifted, waiting for something to happen below. Naoya swallowed hard as he locked eyes with the stark white one. That one was the leader, and knew exactly what was happening.

A loud, deep, howl filled the air; it was commanding, and unlike the lesser breeds the alpha's tone was crisp. The onslaught fanned out, creating a circle around the outside of the trio and leaving Justice and the front of the cabin in the center. The large, ghostly white form in the tree shifted and jumped high, landing on skilled padded feet. Unlike the darker ones with their quilled backs, it had extra white fur on its lanky body; and unlike the other white ones, its form was precisely muscled. Its glowing eyes were intelligent. Its snout was defined. It stood high above its footsoldiers, a towering form on level with the house. It stalked the inner circle, around the man standing by the pile of its dead pack.

Justice turned, angry puffs of steam issuing from a stiff expression as frost killed the moss under his boots. So this was their leader. A demon. Foul. Fierce. Controlled. Not to be taken lightly, to be sure. There was an intelligence about this one, Justice sensed, meeting the beast's eye unafraid. He let a powerful sigh escape him, though his shoulders hardly moved. It was a power grab: a wordless expression that indicated his unwillingness to back down.

We can't do this by ourselves, he thought, and Justice knew that those were Anders' words even before he could feel the mage start to come forward in the back of his mind.

We need this, he sent back, trying to reassure his friend. Both of them could see it: combining their resources could save them from this, and the alternative was death. Not that that would bother Justice, of course, but Anders was his friend. His only friend, at that. And neither of them wished to stay here in this realm. Justice himself would rather return to the Fade, to breathe the air beyond the Veil once more. But there was no sign that this place was even connected to it. And so he had to fight. He had to fight for them. They both did.

Justice brought Freedom's Call to bear at that moment, grasping it with an unshaking grip as he demonstrated to all the blood coating the golden dragon's head.

"I cannot bear the sight of these beasts anymore," he said, fixing his gaze upon the grotesque snout of the leader. "I would prefer a more direct path. Let us be done with this!"

Casting a bolt of mana directly at the foremost creature, Justice worked with a patient fury as he struck down another pair of wayward dogs. He struck his heel against the ground, shooting up a jagged trail of rock with trembling force that forced the leader to jump and avoid. He tracked it with his eyes, planting a paralysis glyph across the ground where—

It was gone. His breath hitched in his throat as Justice spun on his heels, searching wildly for the foe he could no longer sense. Around him, the wolves hung back. He could see their blackened coats against the trees, their elongated shadows hunting along the darkened forest paths. Justice stopped, feeling hundreds of eyes pining him where he stood. Their cabin sanctuary had become a gladiatorial arena. The lightning that welcomed the rain flashed across the thousands of fangs in the audience.

The alpha launched itself from the trees directly above Justice. His head swirled as he fought to keep Anders' sudden fear out of his way—no! He needed to be in control! Skidding against the rocky ground, Justice pushed himself against the earth with skull-crushing force. He swung the staff as an extension of his arm, but his disciplined attack was deflected. A few righteous fireballs splintered several trees and sent the main group of monsters scattering. The orange glow from the embers somehow magnified their unholy features, making them utterly hideous to behold. But the rain killed the fires before they could ignite and shoots of steam and smoke further obscured his view. He let out a roar, pulling all of the available mana to his core. And he knew it couldn't end well: he knew Anders was nearly out. Without lyrium to boost, it would be through pure luck that they had any spells to cast at all if this went on much longer. When the large alpha struck again, it was all they could do just to keep themselves standing. This one was strong—impossibly strong, and swifter than any wolf demon of Thedas. There was no rage in its heart. There was no mindless, wild fury. Anders screamed of caution in their shared mind, but both he and Justice would see this fight end.

Justice stopped dead, allowing a white flash to streak by him in a blink. He dug his heel into the leaves, wondering if the moss would allow him a steady footing. But he had no time to question: as the white wolf rounded on him and made for his throat, teeth bared, Justice thrust the dragon head into the thick diaphragm of the beast. He felt a storm of saliva wet his face as the thing gave a winded cough in midair, and he threw the weight of his back into the staff and cast the animal to the ground with an angry surge of power. The lower pack members roared in defiance, and Justice let himself glance quickly at the surroundings. Even the ones attacking the wizard and the boy-Remus and Naoya, Anders pushed—had stopped to watch the fight, and all parties were staring at him and his foe.

In his companion's eyes, Justice could see that they were afraid. Afraid of the monsters, afraid of death—but also afraid of him. So rarely did mortals understand what they beheld in front of their own eyes that Justice could forgive them. Justice was unflinching. Justice was righteous. Justice was fury. And as an embodiment of that ideal, the Spirit of Justice himself was similarly endowed with the responsibility of its deliverance. The crackling blue light that illuminated the ground in a pale firelight bounced off the spilt blood, and there was no room in his heart for remorse, no room for anything but the purity of his nature: the purity of justice. It was why he allowed the beast to return to its feet: a downed and defenseless enemy was not a true combatant.

But, justice can be blind. And when the claws swung at him, Justice was not quick enough. The pain he felt—Anders' pain—it was a sensation like nothing else. Sharing a body—it was an experience that could not be described. Justice could recall his first feel of grass, his first walk under the trees, and his first smell of filth. All were moments he felt strangely attached to, for a spirit who was not supposed to live across the Veil. The Fade was a mockery of the human realm, and there was nothing as substantial as the human experience. It was what made Justice question himself over and over again: had his love of this realm, had his desire to merge Anders been proof of his corruption? Was he a demon, or was he still a spirit? Justice was a pure idea—it could not be tempted. And yet, here he was. Savoring the flavor of this pain in the strangest of ways, as horrible as it was and as terrifying it was to feel blood—his blood, their blood—running down his front. Both he and Anders hollered into the sky, feeling knees weaken below him.

Justice was a fool. Surrounded by the bodies of his fallen enemies, it was so easy to forget who he was—he was Anders, just as he was Justice. And their body was weaker than their spirit—than he by himself could ever be. Mortal flesh was flimsy, and it even deteriorated over time. Anders—Anders was at risk. They were both at risk of losing this—of losing the Experience.

Vengeance. Anger. Justice swung his staff, hard. The crack of bone was a satisfying sound, but he did not allow a smile to cross his lips. But he felt his weight shift as he grew weak, and the counterbalance of his stance could not catch the weapon's return. He stumbled, sinking the dragon's snout into the moss as he sought a steady hold. He was angry—he seethed with fury, and his hands were white with rage. He could hardly hear Anders in his mind, screaming at him to relinquish control—to heal himself, for the Maker's sake, before—

WHAM! The ghostly pale alpha had enough, and rounded on its thick-thighed hindlegs to knock back the weakened mage with a single one-handed blow. Anders's body hit the dirt and rolled to a stop at the feet of some of the footsoldiers, and the alpha watching with a satisfied air about it. Immediately, the lesser crowded around the fallen mage, sniffing his limp form with curiosity and nipping at each other in their chaotic order. The leader let out a chirping bark, snapping at a few smaller members of the pack - snorting at them. When they backed away, their high alpha proceeded to examine the still body. Looming over Anders' unconscious form, it prodded him with its snout. It sniffed him, then, as if taken aback by the scent, immediately pulled its head back and snorted in an attempt to dislodge the scent from its nose. It sat on its haunches and used its foreclaws to turn the downed mage on his side, wrapping elongated and clawed fingers around his middle. It picked him up with the ease of someone picking up a small rock.

Naoya watched, and though he was not the one physically attacked – it assaulted his senses. The energy, it was pensive; held back. These things weren't going to kill them - attack, yes; kill, no. Snapping, jibbering, slobbering jaws held just far enough away from Naoya and Remus that they were nothing more than threats. This wasn't a hunt to kill, there were far too many of them for three bodies to alone to feed. Naoya pressed his pouty lips thin together, a bothered and angry frown coming over his sleek features. "What's your game?!" he shouted at the thing. "I know you're smart enough to understand me! You're not killing us. So, what the hell is your deal?!"

It tilted its head, blinking its glowing eyes. "Did you think you could appear here and go unnoticed," it said. Its voice was deep, baritone, and warped. It took Naoya a moment to realize what bothered him about it; the thing spoke, but it had no cadence - its voice sounded as if, naturally, it had no business speaking. "The Lord of this region has sent me to gather you."

Remus stiffened, and he failed to notice how his wand-arm dropped ever so slightly at the voice. It was—monstrous. It sent shivers up his spine, and to look at the face of the leader now cast Remus into a black pit of confusion and disgust. They were like werewolves—not perfectly, no, but the resemblance had not been lost on him. True werewolves looked nothing like them, and yet their actions at the behest of another lord, their vicious nature and their savage, unquestioning attacks—it was more like the clan Remus had spent so long infiltrating. They bore no mark of starvation or desperate servitude, though, and the look behind the poison-yellow irises of the alpha told Remus everything he needed to know.

"Who is your Lord, and why does he attack us?" he demanded, aiming the tip of his wand between heavy white brows. "We have no business with him, and yet you attack us without cause! Release him," he growled, pointing to the limp body of the mage.

He could see blood working down Anders' arm, dripping slowly onto the floor. It wasn't significant, but it was evidence: his heart still beat. He was still alive. Which was more than they could say if this went on much longer, and they were in no position to argue the summons. But this Lord of the region was no man Remus wanted to meet. Trapped inside this inexplicable realm though he was, there was no confusion as far as this man: he sent his people to do his work. He attacked without cause. Whoever the Lord was, he was a dangerous man. The words of the alpha echoed across Remus' thoughts, stirring in him tense questions of his own: how did the Lord know they were here? How did he find them? Was it he who brought them here? Remus clicked his jaw, running his tongue along the backs of his teeth. If they didn't go, they died. If they did go—Merlin, why did it come to this? If they did go, they might never come back. But they might find answers. They might find out why all of this had come to pass.

The thought was of no comfort.

With an awkward, waddling gait - like a gorilla carrying a doll - it moved nearer. With a swift movement it dropped a motionless Anders, sans staff, at their feet. Its limbs began to shrink and slink back, its bones and body creaking and crackling as it contorted down into a more human shape. Before long, a man stood before them. He was very tall, unnaturally so for a human, and lithe and pale, with stark white hair and piercing golden eyes; his facial features were angular but his face was oval in shape, his jaw dappled by light stubble. And he was dressed very well, wearing a black pinstripe vest with a white silk undershirt, and black formal slacks tucked into well-made knee-high black boots.

"I apologize for the trouble, but if you weren't able to fend off a few of my balverines then you wouldn't be much use to Lord Reaver," the man said, his voice now much more human though accented by a strange pronunciation of words, hard on the consonants and fumbling on the vowels. "He is the one whose lands you have come to," the white-haired man replied calmly. "People are rare in these parts." He held his tongue, holding back something as his fine boots shuffled through the wolfebane and clover and stepped on the moss. "Sending my balverines to test you was merely to make sure that you weren't like the last lot of untrustworthy strangers that came through. But you have proven to be unlike them." He then bowed, a respectful if but slightly stiff motion. "I am Alastor Grienwulf, leader of the Balverine Order here and the head agent of Lord Reaver." He straightened. "Lodging, food, and whatever else you are in need of will be provided, should you come to the city with me and attend an audience with Lord Reaver."

"'Lord Reaver' this, and 'Lord Reaver' that!" Naoya spat, placing his hands on his hips. "What happens if we refuse to go with you and meet this Lord Reaver?"

Alastor frowned slightly, but his expression didn't change otherwise. He straightened just as robotically as he had bowed. "I would advise against it. You barely had shelter. You have no food. You have no drink. You, child, smell of tobacco and I will bet that you will run out soon." He looked to Remus and Anders. "And I would not even begin to mention your issues." It was unclear who the last line referenced.

"Why doesn't he come get us himself? Why send a liaison?" Naoya questioned.

"The Lord cannot leave the city," Alastor replied curtly, "It would be unsettling."

Remus, who had been kneeling down to tend to Anders, looked up at the words. His lips pressed into a thin line as he considered their options, but even a mountain troll could see that there were next to none. What would they have done even if the balverines hadn't shown up? Foraging for food would have been difficult. Hunting would have taken its toll, and so far they were clearly prey animals in these woods. They couldn't stay in this shack even if they tried, and then where were they to go? If they fought, they died. If they stayed, they died. They were trapped - literally and figuratively. His wand hand shook slightly in his white-knuckled grip and he chewed his tongue, taking a sharp breath through his nose. There was a spot above his right eye, near the temple, that felt like someone was stabbing him with a hot poker.

"Your Lord isn't offering room and board for free, I suspect," he said slowly, taking in the new form of the alpha. Alastor sent a chill down his spine, like the arctic wind seeking exposed flesh to burn. But the man only watched him expectantly.

Remus sighed sharply, glancing over to Naoya with a questioning expression. If the promise of food and medicine were true... But more than that, did this Lord Reaver have answers to their original questions? Could he be the one who brought them here? He waited for a long, tense moment as Naoya fought with his response. But it seemed that he, too, had given up hope.

"It looks like we must acquiesce," Remus said, standing. "We'll go with you, peacefully - but not as captives."

While Naoya agreed, he folded his arms over his chest as if he also thought that it didn't seem right to concede so quickly. "So how far is this city from here, Al?"

"Alastor," the balverine corrected the youth. "It's not far for my kind, but with you walking, as I'm sure you'll want to, it's maybe a half-day's walk from here. Brisk pace."

"So I'm guessing we can't ride you?" The deadpan look Naoya received from Alastor only made the psychic crack a wide smirk. "Doesn't hurt to ask." He ran his hands through his hazel locks. In truth, he didn't wish to ride on the back of one of those quilly, slobbering balverines. In truth, he wished he had the ability to teleport, like some of his own kind had. It would make everything a lot easier.

"So they say," Alastor commented, seemingly stopping himself from rolling his eyes in favor of giving a blithe blink – as if he expected to be rid of the teenager soon. Off to the side, another balverine approached Alastor, familiar staff in jaw, and sat a few feet behind him; as it got closer, it was easy to note the odd, almost-green discoloration in its auburn fur. "I believe this is your companion's." He snapped his fingers and held a hand out expectantly, the poison balverine dropping Anders' staff into Alastor's awaiting hand. Alastor then held it out towards them, but it was Naoya who stepped forwards to take it. "I'd wash it off as soon as you can. His breed tend to be corrosive droolers." Ignoring the disgusted noise the psychic made, Alastor looked to the three of them.

"We'll go with you, Alastor," Remus said, putting a hand up as Naoya seemed to open his mouth to object, "but I'm afraid we won't last the night outside in this storm." Thunder rolled overhead as the final word left his lips, seeming to confirm that the weather would not break until at least dawn. The only noise for the span following was the pitter patter of the downpour, and the wind howling through the broken windows like haunted screams of the dying.

Alastor's golden eyes flickered to the sky, seemingly not minding the way the rain dampened his clothing and hair, then turned back to the three before him. His gaze was distant and icy, unblinking as thunder sounded again. "Of course," he agreed. "I was not going to force you to walk all that way in the rain."

"But you were going to attack us in the rain all the same," Naoya quietly muttered. He brushed some stringy hazel hair behind his left ear, folding his arms with a defiant pout.

Alastor eyed the boy, briefly annoyed with what his sharp ears overheard. "That being said, it is an inconvenience. I was sent with provisions-" he snapped his fingers, summoning another reddish balverine with a wrapped box in its mouth "- to show good will, should you prove you were not like those who came before you." The balverine dropped the box at its high alpha's feet, and Alastor took a step back to show that he would not take it.

Seeing that it would make no sense for one of them to physically try to touch the box, should it be a trap, Naoya held out his hand and used his telekinesis to pull it closer to them. When it was close enough he reached out and tapped the box with his hand; it was a wooden thing the size of a picnic basket, wrapped in a fine ornate sheet of some kind, and covered in slobber. Naoya stuck out his tongue and wiped his hand on his pants. "Anything you guys don't drool on?"

"There will be a few of my friends in the area, to keep things like the bioraptors off your trail." Alastor blew right past the psychic's comment, ignoring it completely. A single wave of his hand was enough for the balverines that had hunkered around them to flood the opposite way they'd come. "We will take our leave from this place, and return in the morning to fetch you." Alastor himself jumped with the same grace as his large, more monstrous form. And like that, with a quick leap, he was gone out into the night and the storm.

After a moment, when Naoya couldn't feel the balverines so close, his form laxed. He frowned, turning to Remus and the unconscious Anders. He couldn't sense anything from the downed mage while he was unconscious, but Naoya saw that he was still breathing. "We should get him inside," Naoya said to Remus, his voice soft and trailing.

Chapter Text

Anders awoke with a start. He bolted upright, but hissed and rolled back down as pain crawled up and through his middle. He cursed, feeling nausea twist his stomach into knots at the unexpected stress and he lay still for a moment, forcing his breath into his palms as he waited until he could move again.

He had forgotten. About the attack, about his injuries, about—the others! Again Anders sat up, gingerly this time, and glanced around the room. He was still in the cabin—the remains of, anyway—and from where he lay tucked away in a dry corner, he could see Naoya sleeping opposite. His black jacket was unzipped and Anders could see the white shirt underneath, but noted with relief that there was no blood on any of his clothing. Remus was nowhere to be found, and Anders swallowed.

He propped himself up on one wrist, now turning to himself. But his blue robes were undamaged and there was not a single red stain to be found. But—how? The wolf-beast had attacked him, sliced across his front. Pressure from exploring digits confirmed the tenderness of the area, but Anders slipped his fingers through the jacket and down to his bare skin. Where he expected to meet with rigid scabs and torn flesh, he was met with sore, tender skin—unbroken skin, at that. He wondered how that could possibly be.

“Maker’s breath,” he whispered, dragging his free hand over the thickening scruff on his face. He felt a quick burst of relief, and Anders frowned. “We’re lucky this isn’t worse,” he told Justice with a low voice. “We have to be careful.”

But Anders was in no mood to relive that fight so soon. On top of having lost, Justice taking over was… disturbing. To be completely self-aware and yet incapable of acting, watching himself through his own eyes and yet not… It was not a sensation Anders liked.

He pushed himself up, feeling the need to move his cramped and aching body. Careful not to stir his wounds, Anders wrapped his fingers around his staff which had been set next to him and slowly made towards the gaping hole in the building’s side. The pinkish hue of the morning sky made the shadows look purple, and thousands of tiny drops of leftover rain collected on the millions of leaves turning the forest into a gathering of diamonds. Anders could hear the sounds of the birds flocking through the canopy. They scattered water droplets as they searched for food, sending miniature rainshowers tumbling over the leaves. Scratching his stubble, the mage leaned his shoulder against the wood and closed his eyes, merely listening to the sounds of encroaching morning. It was serene, almost. The air was thick but full, overflowing with the peaceful scent of mossy woods and wet bark. Anders inhaled deeply, tight shoulders loosening with a powerful sigh.

“You’re awake,” a voice said, and Anders turned to see Remus sitting beside the cabin, back pressed to the wall. “How do you feel?”

“Like shit,” Anders admitted, but he pointed to his undamaged clothes. “I assume this was your doing? Thank you. You might make for a fine healer,” he added, and Remus returned a half-smile.

“Don’t thank me,” he said. “Those wounds probably won’t heal properly. They’ll leave a scar.”

“Better a scar than a body,” Anders commended, and Remus shrugged. “How?”

Remus took his wand from his belt, holding it loosely in his hand. “I know a few useful spells,” he smiled, but it was empty.

Anders watched him for a moment, catching the dark circles below his eyes and the shake in his limbs. “Did you sleep at all?”

“Oh, yes,” Remus replied. “A few hours. But… my sleep comes in cycles.” He avoided Anders’ eye, staring at the grass and the wolfsbane growing in front of him. “It’s always been that way.”

Anders shifted on his feet. He understood the struggle of insomnia very well indeed, but without his clinic’s supply of herbs he was helpless to do anything for Remus. So he changed the subject, hoping to at least distract him. “What happened after I…?”

Remus explained the events with Alastor, and Anders felt sick. “When will they come to collect us?”

“Sometime after dawn. Soon.”

Anders let a strained breath leak through his teeth with a hiss. “This is probably a trap,” he said, leaning up against his staff. “Some kind of set up. There’s no way this Lord Reaver means us any well-wishes.”

Remus nodded in agreement, but he peered through the forest to the fading moon. He watched it sink below the horizon, slightly more swollen than it appeared when it rose. “But there isn’t much we can do.”

“I know.” Anders saw the pink sky slowly turning blue through the boughs and fought back a curse. He hated feeling trapped like this, and Justice bristled inside. We’ll kill them if they try, he said. No one will torture you again. But Anders bit his lip, feeling the weight of their circumstances pressing on him like a cage. They had been spared, for now. And with any luck, they could get some answers. And, he told Justice soothingly, if all else fails, there was always a well-placed spell.

“But,” he heard Remus shift his position, turning to face him, “speaking of the balverines, what was that? I’ve never seen that sort of magic. What did you do?”

His tone was curious, but Anders tensed. Having explained it to Hawke not two weeks ago, he thought it would be easier if he had to do it again. How wrong he was.

“I… this is hard to explain,” he started, and Remus seemed more than willing to wait for him. He wasn’t scathing or fearful. He was calm and patient, and Anders shifted the weight on his shoulders as he realized that he had no idea what this man would think of him once he finished. How could he explain everything to Remus in a way he would understand? Maker knew that he might not even have spirits like Justice in his world at all. Would he even understand? Should he just lie?

“That was Justice,” he said finally, though the words felt like rubber on his tongue. “I met him years ago in my travels, and learned that he was a spirit trapped in our world. Spirits like him are from a place we call the Fade, which is… harder to explain. But, in order to survive outside his realm, Justice needed a body. A host. It was well after we had formed a friendship that I learned he would soon be in desperate need for a new one. And I thought—a willing host, a friend… I thought I would help him.”

Anders forced himself to meet Remus’ eye. But his expression was curious, and Anders almost took a step back. Having just explained that he was an abomination to another mage, he expected Remus to run. But—not this.

“So you… have a spirit, inside you?” Remus asked with a raised brow.

“…Yes and no,” Anders replied, thinking desperately for the right words. “He’s… part of me, I suppose. We can’t have a conversation. I feel his thoughts as my own.”

“But it was not you who took on those balverines.”

“Not… er, directly, no. There are moments of clear separation, when there is a divide between us. But for the most part, he is me just as I am him.”

Remus paused, searching Anders’ eyes. If he was confused, Anders couldn’t blame him. From what he’d gathered, Remus had no idea what demons or spirits were at all, let alone abominations or shades, or—anything that might help sew the picture together. He was almost lucky.

“Is he listening to us?” Remus asked. “Right now?”

“Of course,” Anders said, but he brought his hand to the back of his neck. His ears were burning. This was becoming awkward.

“I…” Remus started, his mouth moving to form words that never came. “Fascinating,” he said finally. “I’ve never heard of such a thing. I can’t imagine what it must be like.”

“What?” Anders stared at him. “I—thought you would find it—normally, I encounter resistance— Resistance was such a mild word, Anders thought, but he found himself too shocked to really worry.

“The magic involved must be astounding,” Remus said, and Anders was lost for words.

Anders opened his mouth to respond, but a crack of branches up above sent them searching the sky. With unmatched grace, the alpha balverine announced his return, landing silently in front of them and brushing off his front with mild disinterest. They needn’t know he had been listening to them for well over an hour, watching them—studying them.

"Mr. Lupin," he greeted, hands tucked behind his back. "Are you and your companions ready to go?" The only things different about him that day were his black leather gloves and the purple cravat.

"Alastor," Remus returned the greeting, albeit rather stiffly. Alastor rested his hands behind his back, Remus noted. A sign of non-aggression, yes - but also dishonesty. Behind him, in the trees, he noticed several black shapes: more balverines. How long had they been there? “We are—almost ready,” Remus added, realizing that that was nowhere near true. Naoya was still asleep as far as he knew, and none of their supplies were packed. He nudged Anders’ ribs. “We’ll be seeing to that now,” he finished, heading straight inside.

Anders followed, glaring at Alastor as long as he could manage. Although the man’s pale face bore no obvious expression, Anders swore there was the hint of arrogance, or confidence: he had been victorious in their combat, and now Anders was the one at a disadvantage—and they both knew it. To Alastor, Anders was just another meal. Remus had already begun stuffing the sack of supplies with everything they hadn’t used, so Anders took to waking Naoya. Outside, he caught glimpses of the balverines watching them.

“Naoya,” he breathed, shaking the boy’s shoulder with a rough tension. “Wake up. The balverines have returned.”

At first, the teenager's eyes just barely cracked open. After a few more shakes, Naoya's eyes opened further and he blearily looked up at the blonde. He exhaustedly glared at the mage, though it seemed more the expression of a two year old and not a seventeen year old. Even with sleep glazing over the boy's gaze, Anders resisted a shudder - there was something off about that boy. It was an almost inhuman quality nagging the back of his mind, but he couldn't place why.

The psychic staggered to his feet, rubbing his eyes as he took in the sight of the mage and the wizard. With the added bonus of daylight, he could actually see the traces of terror on the edges of his companion's expressions.

"I don't get what the big point is, why this Reaver guy has to put on a show like this," Naoya spoke as he stretched. He put a hand on his hip and used his other hand to emphasize his words. "Think he's compensating for something? Shows force, but he's, like, this tiny little guy?" He was trying to take some of the stress off of them; his empathy senses felt almost pre-migraine from feeling their paranoia. "A little guy with a little hat." He mustered up a sure smile and walked past them, zipping up his jacket, ready to at least try to be the brave one.

Outside Alastor stood patiently waiting, the balverine's incredible height as a human almost dwarfing the young EGO's own stature.

The walk through the forest was silent for the most part, accompanied by the sound of trees moving as balverines jumped freely from branch to branch. They gibbered, they howled, they roared; but there was no threat in their tones. If Naoya didn't know any better, he'd have guessed they felt... happy? Or at least as happy as a bunch of monsters frolicking in the sun and tree boughs could get.

Somehow, the boy strolled along as if it were just an average day.

"So, uh, you're a thing," Naoya started, thinking about how to word himself to sound the least threatening. Loose hazel bangs bounced as he walked along, trying to keep up with Alastor's long strides.

"Balverine."

"Yeah, a balverine. You're their king, the alpha balverine? Or is that Reaver?"

Alastor didn't reply. He didn't even look at Naoya, just kept his gold eyes glued on the path ahead; scanning the treeline for the sign that they were getting close to the city.

"So is this Reaver the head balverine then?"

"Reaver is not a balverine," Alastor replied, calmly, but also strangely bitter.

"So... you're just his soldiers? Why do the balverines follow him?"

"They don't," the way he said it was strange. Naoya sensed something hesitant, angry; deep-rooted. Alastor turned to the older two. "Does he know how to be quiet?"

“I’m sure he does,” Anders toned dryly. His arms were crossed and he glared at the balverine at his side as it escorted him through the unyielding woods. But he was nonetheless listening to the exchange. “But I think the more appropriate question is, ‘Does he know when?’”

Anders thought about going on, because in truth the psychic was pressing on his nerves. His already heavily taxed, pounding, nerves. But he thought better of it: it was a stress response, and he knew it. He needed to vent a little steam, but this was not the way. He let out a stiff breath through his nose, flexing his fingers against the body of Freedom’s Call as he held it close. He was thankful that no words had been said with regards to their weapons. It probably meant that the balverines were confident that they would overwhelm their “guests” in the event of the unexpected. And, they were probably right. But the comfort it gave Anders as he was once again pressed in on all sides was beyond compare. Despite the vast differences in circumstance, Anders was still reminded of all the times he was returned to the Circle in chains by an escort of brutish Templars. Being taken to face an unknown enemy, crowded in and shuffled onwards—Anders was on edge, and his stomach turned in knots. Justice was silent in his mind, and he knew the spirit was watching everything, the same as him.

“The city must be quite impressive,” he forced as he shuffled on. Charm was his first defense, a necessary survival tactic he learned quickly as he fell hard and fast as a new apprentice. Now, it was an automatic reaction most of the time, and his silver tongue had saved him from many a dangerous encounter over the years. He just had to find the right opening. “And this Lord Reaver must be rather powerful to send such an entourage—one splendidly dressed entourage, at that.”

With a monotone, Alastor responded: “One would assume so.”

A wry smile twisted Anders’ lips, though he did his best to hide it. “Yes,” he agreed. “But then, one would assume a lot of things about someone who sends his hounds to fetch his prize. So far, I’m almost reminded of home. I assume the dog shit is just as much a problem here, as well.”

Naoya’s pouty lips drew into a twisted little smirk as he contained a laugh, but Alastor gave a short, dry chuckle. “A long time ago, I came from lands of ice and snow. How proud you must be to come from a land of dog waste.”

“Very. I never had to guess what people thought of me, and the smell turned away most of the bandits. It’s a shame, though: I was always more of a cat person. Do you have any of them around here? You must need something to snack on from time to time.”

Alastor didn’t respond, and Anders didn’t mind. He cocked his brow with casual dismissal and refocused on their path ahead of them. It was gnarled and windy, and had a great deal more in common with an animal path than any trail made by civilized feet. It was wide in some spots and single-file in others, and filled with roots and rocks, forcing those on the ground to choose their next step with care. The balverines in the trees flew through the canopy like shadows, darting from trunk to trunk with a grace Anders hardly expected from their bestial forms. It was something he noted with a curious sense of fascination, but also contempt.

But the trees were beginning to thin, and the floor of the forest was beginning to carpet with ferns. Vines had begun to snake their up the length of the trees, blooming in odd lily-like flowers in any spot touched by a beam of yellow sunlight. The clouds were beginning to break through the endless green, and more of the daytime stars popped in and out of focus. Their destination was very near.

On the horizon, coming into view, was a reflective surface - and as the traveling party got closer, it became quite apparent that it was a large wall. A large golden wall. Shingled rooftops could be seen peeking over it in places, and from the distance they were at it was possible to make out a large, forested but classic manor sitting atop a hill in the distance. The gates to the city were as high as the wall, a thick hard wood of some kind, detailed by ornate golden designs – and they were wide open.

Remus, who had taken up a position closer to the rear, slowed slightly to take in the sight. It was… shocking. Such a richly endowed city, fortified by a solid gold wall—to emerge from the center of what he likened to a jungle was something out of The Tales of Beedle the Bard! He hadn’t expected this. Not from this place, and certainly not from the balverines. Approaching the gate, the city gleamed like a jewel against the sea of green. It was encased in the mouth of the sky by vast snow-capped mountains in the distance, isolating it from all else.

The balverines travelling with them jumped high, seemingly disappearing into the sky for the moment; all save for Alastor, who continued to lead them into the city. The open gates lead them to quaint cobblestone streets and rows of Victorian-style townhouses and shops; golden fountains in small parks and gathering areas. Alastor lead them through the city, where people stopped and looked at them. They dressed fairly enough, they were well-clothed and seemed well-cared for, for the most part. But the most notable things about them were their collective yellow stare - they all shared those familiar glowing golden eyes. They murmured and whispered, paid no heed to the balverines who landed from on-high and mingled among them; some of them even patted their heads, like they were old friends or beloved pets. Remus watched the displays of affection with a strange, hollow sensation building inside him.

They were so like werewolves. But, so absolutely foreign and strange that they couldn’t possibly be—and yet, Remus felt here as if he were walking into Greyback’s clan once again. All of his internal shields were on high alert, and as his eyes took in the scene Remus felt his shoulders relax even as his gut tensed, taking on the role of spy once again even without a mission. Very aware of the balverines closing in behind them, Remus widened his paces ever so slightly, coming to walk beside Anders and Naoya again. It was good to have allies this time around.

The city was a masterpiece, each building a carefully constructed stoke of paint to further the image of a healthy utopia. Prosperity bled through all of the curtains and drained into the streets. It was unreal. Remus flexed his fingers, uncertain if he were truly awake. But Remus couldn’t help but smell death beneath the roses. There was no such thing as perfection, and those who had professed it were monsters under the skin. This city was a mask. It was an illusion. And golden eyes peered through the cracks, hunger and longing in their demonic stare. Remus noted the golden-eyed children with particular attention, and any sense of wonder was replaced by a sadness far deeper than he knew.

Alastor continued to show them the way, only stopping to remind them not to wander away. "Please don't wander," he said, politely. There was no venom in his voice, although it carried its usual aloofness with it.

Eventually they came to the large manor they had seen from the outer rim of the city; just as magnificent, clean, and pleasant to look at as it seemed from afar. Alastor led them up the ancient stone steps, and even his footsteps were silent. But his guests were hardly concerned, as they craned their necks in all directions as they soaked in the expanding grounds and gardens. It looked pristine - as though it had been tended to for many generations in exactly the same way. Not a single blade of grass was out of place and the blood-red flowers lining the beds shuddered gently in a slow breeze that passed over the land. More stone steps lead up to a cobblestone terrace, decorated by red and yellow flowerbeds and a large statue of a beautiful man wearing a suit with a large stovepipe hat and palming a fancy cane while fingering a pistol of some kind with the other hand.

Naoya stopped and tilted his head, looking up at the statue. He had been wrong about the hat.

“Seems like a humble fellow, doesn’t he?” Anders sneered, glancing up at the statue with disgust.

Remus eyed the statue, and he had to agree with Anders: this was no mere manor house - it was a temple of narcissism.

Alastor indicated they should follow him now, and they climbed the polished marble steps to the arched wooden doors that led inside. The ancient hinges creaked in objection as the balverine pushed them open, holding the massive weight with hardly a complaint as he ushered them through. Remus felt his lips part as he stepped into the room: the foyer was positively enormous! The sound of their footsteps echoed across the checkered floor, and their reflections gazed back at them from underneath the floor polish. The walls were red with golden trim, lined with thick, tall candles and several gated doors topped with odd symbols. On one, a dog's paw. On another, a question mark. In each of the room's four corners was a statue similar to the one outside, depicting (Remus assumed) the Lord Reaver himself. There was a sense of loosely ordered chaos here: that one false step could crack open the glass and release Pandora’s Box. It was with heavily bated breath that the three men waited for whatever would happen to them next.

Large, heavy mahogany doors swung open at the top of the marble steps, and in strolled the man seen posing as the various statues. He was tall and with dark brown hair, neatly coiffed in a suave and posh manner; wearing a finely-tailored white suit with a thick black fur collar, and a stovepipe hat donning, for some reason, a pair of gear-shaped goggles. On his hands he wore black leather gloves, and he fingered a cane; his palm resting completely on the large gem head, that glittered like a night sky splattered with shining golden stars. He saw the newcomers and smiled; a saintly sure gesture that was dripping with a dark sense of vanity. The way he sauntered over to the railing overlooking the foyer, it was very clear that he didn't need the fantastic cane. "Welcome, dear guests!" Reaver chuckled. "My, my, Alastor," he said, even his voice coming off as grand, posh, and smug. "Are these the three, poor lost souls from the forest?"

"Lord Reaver," Alastor spoke up in response. "These are Remus Lupin, Naoya Itsuki, and Anders." He gestured a gloved hand to each in turn.

Reaver looked them each over, running his hand along the intricate metal railing as he made his way down the grand sweeping staircase. As he came closer to greet them in a more personal manner, his steps were elegant but somehow poshly demeaning. Something about him seemed far older than the late-twenty-something looking man that stood before them; one look into his eyes and it was clear he wasn't a normal human. "I trust that Alastor didn't give you all too much trouble when I sent him out to see you last night." He feigned a scolding pout and glanced to the great white balverine. "He has a bad habit of being a tad too harsh, positively icy sometimes. Don't you, Mr. Grienwulf?"

Naoya watched Reaver, not quite sure what to make of the strange, selfish man. “So are you—“

“Naoya,” Anders breathed, interrupting him before he could begin. It wasn’t a gesture of anger or hostility, but caution. There had been no telling what to expect from Lord Reaver, but from the minute he had appeared at the top of the stairs, Anders could recognize a predator. Whatever this Lord Reaver wanted from them, it was nothing good. He couldn’t be certain, not yet—but it wasn’t merely Justice whispering in his thoughts that put Anders well over the edge: perhaps it was something in the Lord’s dark, hollow eyes, or perhaps it was simply the cold and calculating tone of voice. Maybe it was none of those things save the simple fact that this man appeared to be quite capable of ripping flesh with mere words alone. He was more than capable of taking on any Kirkwall noble, and the flamboyance of his dress and possessions—even his mannerisms—Anders thought they were best considered a warning rather than a hospitable invitation.

At the cautioned tone, The Skill Hero cocked a fine brow.

“Oh, let the boy speak. You’re only young enough to question all the world once, you know.” Well, in his own case he was always young. Always. He looked down at the hazel-haired boy, his eyes were blue but somehow shallow and dark; run under by expertly-applied eyeliner. “Itsuki, was it? Exotic name, compared to your friends here. Do you prefer Naoya or Itsuki? Makes no difference to me, I just want my guests to be comfortable.”

Reaver paced the floor slowly, taking them in. Anders felt a stray twitch in his free hand as it dangled limp and empty beside him, and it was every effort he had not to let his staff sway in the other. It itched to feel the hum of mana, to be held outward protectively against the scrutinizing stare of the new powers that be. This examination—it was all part of the game. Part of the pleasantries, of course, but something deeper. A sizing up of opponents. A crease had formed in his brow as he shifted his weight from side to side, growing more restless and paranoid with each tick of the clock. The constant scrutiny they were sure to be under now was—so eerily reminisce of the Circle, Anders thought with a difficult swallow. But now, the outside was no longer the freedom he sought when it was an endless, danger-filled unknown. They were trapped here with the balverines that tried to kill them; here with their leader, the Lord who spoke with venom dripping down his smile. Lord Reaver was to be his ruler now, nothing short of Greigor or the First Enchanter all over again. Anders held himself very, very still.

Remus watched silently beside him. The grandiose statues had failed to capture Lord Reaver's essence, it seemed, because to Remus, his arrogance seemed to just billow in his wake, wafting over the room like a cold breath and oozing from his lips as he addressed Alastor with lowly regard. His attire was positively flamboyant despite the neutral color scheme, and Remus found his eye drawn to the tall, spectacle-adorned hat and to the staff he waved about in his hands. The latter was a simple black walking stick for all intents and purposes, but at its tip it was crested with a large gemstone cut into a polished sphere. It was milky white with veins of blue that wafted through the body in tendrils of crystalized smoke, so very like the purest of moonstones. But there was something odd about the stone. It was hard to gather from between his fingers, but Remus watched as the Lord paced across the floor. Did it… sparkle, or glow, perhaps? It was entrancing to watch, and Reaver must have noticed him, for he stopped right at Remus’ feet and held the rod aloft.

“It’s a rare and precious gem,” he said, and Remus could hear the deep grin in his voice. “There are no others like it,” the Lord went on, “and it is, dare I say, rather… alluring.”

Remus looked from the gem to Reaver, and then back again. It was striking, indeed, and it had drawn him in with singular skill—something that had surprised him. As Lord Reaver turned and continued down the line they formed, Remus felt his knees begin to shift and buckle under his own weight. The world was much heavier, the air he breathed thick and dry. His exhaustion had returned, and it demanded to be known. He stiffened, allowing his shoulders to broaden with formality.

"If I may," he said to Reaver, "We were made to understand that there was a reason you wished us to be brought here?"

“Ah, that. All in due time, Mr. Lupin. All in due time.” He decided to settle for surnames, seemingly feeling that it was the safer bet with this trio. “Come now, I’m sure you all must be hungry, tired - in need of a good rest and hot soak after wandering those wild woods, hm~?”

“How long before you run out of distractions and have to give real answers?” The agitation of Anders and Remus played heavy on Naoya’s senses. Part of him wanted to escape, if but to make the older two more at ease; another part of him was annoyed at how over-protective Anders was. What was he, some princess in need of saving from the wicked villain?

The immortal turned his head, glancing at Naoya from the corner of his eyes. A sizable pout flickered to an amused smirk. “Ah, a sharp lad you are, Itsuki, my boy.” He turned and offered a pat on the head as a prize, quickly catching Anders’s annoyed gaze before shrugging it off. “But really? Can you blame me for wanting to entertain you? It’s rare to have company from outside these wonderful city walls.” It was with slight sarcasm that he said that; he couldn’t hide his own displeasure with the walls. He swiftly moved away before the irate mage standing behind Naoya could deliver any retribution. “Feast first, answers second.” He wagged a gloved finger at them. “I can certainly tell you that there’s no better a man than myself to explain why you were all yanked from your respective worlds and brought here, to this plain, to produce plants in your footsteps.”

“’Feast first, answers second,’”, Anders muttered, following Alastor down the darkening hallways of the Reaver estate. With their short dinner come to a close, the Lord had insisted upon their getting some rest. “Much to discuss,” he had said as he waved them off with a flitting hand, but about what he refused to mention. Anders held his staff close, and as he was led further into the winding, exotic corridors of the mansion he kept his ears open.

The feast (as Reaver had called it, though it was hardly so grandiose) had been—stiff. Awkward, and unusual at the very best. They ate a small meal in silence, broken regularly by Reaver’s voice as he regaled them with high-flung tales of his past and the tedious details of being in charge of a veritable hoarde of balverines. Anders felt better with something inside his stomach, but the sound of Reaver’s voice threatened to end that peace the longer he was exposed. Ever present, Alastor wandered in and out of the dining room like a flickering shadow, tending to their needs. It was a position that seemed unsuited to the man. He possessed the grace for servitude of such high caliber, but his demeanor was as icy as his frosted hair. And more than that: there was something feral about Alastor that went beyond his true, canine form. A certain flame burned inside him, one that Anders recognized: discontent. Restlessness, seething below the surface, but refined by incredible self-discipline that Anders could never match. But the underlying cause was unmistakable: Alastor was not happy. That put it mildly.

But if Reaver noticed, he made no indication of it. In fact, Alastor was Reaver’s go-to man, by all appearances. Save for the repeated jabs of the Lord to his butler about his perpetual frown (“Oh, come now, Alastor, smile for the guests!”), all seemed well. The household was a well-oiled machine. Alastor had come to collect them and shepherd them onto their next destination without so much as a word from Reaver, and their soles tread over finely polished hardwood as Alastor guided them through. Up a set of marble stairs, past what seemed like a library, a trophy room, past various portraits and busts of their oh-so-accommodating host - the most notable examples being two paintings, one involving a woman's dress and the other depicted a hunt for a unicorn - and to another wing of the mansion. Anders had dragged his feet in following, taking his time to examine his new surroundings in detail. Normally, the lavish paintings would have made him laugh with a twisted disgust. But he couldn’t shake his unease, and blinked in surprise when Alastor came to an abrupt stop and he almost didn’t notice.

“These,” the alpha balverine stated coolly, indicating three neighboring hard-carved oak doors with an idle wave, “are your rooms for the night. There are sleeping clothes in the bureaus should you be interested in them. If you require anything else, please ring the bells on the end tables and I'll attend to you." Alastor stepped aside, so that Remus and Anders could choose their own sleeping quarters. "I will bring the boy up when he's finished with Lord Reaver."

They nodded at him, muttering small words of thanks. Alastor took the opportunity to dismiss himself, disappearing into the black beyond the candles lighting the hall and leaving an awkward silence in his wake.

Anders crossed his arms, staring down the hall after Alastor. “I don’t like this.” It was a small statement, but the only one he could think of at the moment that could adequately describe his feelings. So many emotions tugged on him at once that to individualize them would diminish their impact.

“No,” Remus agreed, and Anders saw that he had crossed his arms as well. His focus wandered up and down the sculpted doors and across the hall. Together, the two men seemed a strange mistake in such a glamorous picture. “I don’t care for this, either.” He reached for the doorknob nearest him and pushed the door open with a slow creak.

Red walls, splashed with a silky pattern made of golden leaves, proved a warm and welcoming sight. The ceiling was high, but not dreadfully open—in fact, the room was downright cozy in all matters of size and shape. The furniture was elegant and dignified, serving their purpose without a single scratch to testify their age. Made of darkly stained hardwood, the furniture stood boldly against the wallpaper. There was a bookshelf scattered with a few scrolls and hand-bound titles of unknown make. The bureau stood opposite of the bed, topped with a polished mirror and crested by personal grooming supplies. The wash basin was of particular interest, and Remus curled his nose as he remembered just how long it had been since he had enjoyed a true and proper bath. But even then, his eye was drawn by the lush canopy bed that commanded the room. It was adorned by a billowing pile of down pillows, and the comforters cascading over the mattress pulled on something deep within him—a part of him that had not seen the comfort of a bed for many, many months. It was primal, whispering to him like an unholy craving. It took everything he had just to turn away from it.

“Should we wait for Naoya?”

Anders’ voice issued from the room next door, which at a glance told Remus it was very nearly the same. “I want to. But we have no idea how long he’ll be, although I daresay he probably won’t be too long. I don’t know for sure, but I don’t think he’s much of a challenge for the Reaver’s ‘trial by firewater.’”

Remus snorted, and he was thankful no one was around to see. The image of a drunken Naoya draped over the shoulders of the frigid Alastor was not something he thought he could take straight-faced. Remus sighed, rolling his eyes and blinking the ridiculous thought away before it caused him any more trouble.

Making his way over to the bed, Remus let his fingers run over the soft blankets and a deep sense of longing nearly drove him into the sheets. But he only allowed himself another moment’s grasp before releasing them to explore further. There was a writing desk on the wall parallel to the bed, and he lifted the roll-top slowly to see a piece of parchment ready and waiting, beside an ink reserve and a sharp quill. Silvery moonlight peeked in through the cracked floor-length curtains, and Remus was finally able to see the celestial body as he pulled apart the fabric to catch a glimpse of the moonlit gardens. It was so very familiar, and Remus felt his brow twinge as he examined it closely. Pale white and gray, the moon of this realm was larger than Earth’s but only slightly so, like a Hunter’s moon magnified by the atmosphere. The face bore heavy scarring as well, but there was no “man in the moon” here. Rather, it bore deep craters and immense grey plains that whispered through the heavens about a cold and brutal world. Catching himself in the reflection on the glass, Remus nearly jumped. He hated the way his scars looked in the moonlight. It was hard enough to hide them during the daytime, but they almost glowed in the bath of silvery light coming from above. So did the rest of his scars—the normal ones, he corrected himself—so it was not a trait of his affliction. But he noticed them. His eyes were drawn to them and it felt as though the cause of such horrendous wounds was self-evident. Everyone could see, and everyone must know, of course—even if it were not actually so. Remus frowned, pulling his clothes a little tighter around him.

He hadn’t really paid it much mind in the chaos of the last day, but now questions he couldn’t ignore tore to the forefront of his mind. What did this mean for him, if anything? Would he still undergo the transformation in less than a week’s time, even under a new moon? Would it even happen on schedule? He covered his face as he imagined being forced to transform at random. It was a foolish thought, certainty—but, not totally unfounded. He had no idea what this meant for him, and the thought send a cold chill racing down his spine. Remus shrugged it off, pacing at the foot of his new bed thumbing his chin with an idle hand. He had to be safe—that could not change, no matter what. But the situation was seriously dire now: there was no shack far away from humanity where he could transform in peace any longer. Now, he was alone. Alone, save for Anders and Naoya. And, save for the Lord Reaver and his massive, private estate.

This was a ticking time bomb.

He was a ticking time bomb.

“Sorry, what?” Remus blurted, spinning on his heels to see Anders in the open doorway.

The mage leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “I asked: what do you make of all this?” he said again, waving a hand about. “The rooms, the Lord—all of it.”

Remus smiled. “You don’t like Reaver.”

“Was I so obvious?” Anders shrugged. “No, I don’t like him. I don’t like this place. I don’t much care for any of this.” Remus invited him in with a gesture, and Anders sank onto the foot of the bed with a frustrated frump. “No,” he went on, staring fixedly at the spot of floor between his boots. “This reeks of something—off. I don’t know what yet, but I don’t think we should trust Reaver.”

“What makes you distrust him?” Remus had no love for the man either, but so far he had done nothing but feed them, house them and promise them information. Other than the incident with the balverines at the cabin, which may have had nothing to do with the Lord directly, Reaver had so far been a gracious, albeit arrogant host for three complete strangers with strange plants in their footsteps.

Anders raised his brow with incredulity. “The balverines, for one. Reaver doesn’t have the glow to his eyes. He’s not one of them, and yet he’s in charge of an entire pack of the beasts? I sense a story there. And this estate, in the middle of the woods? It just—“, he sighed, his lips twisting into a crooked frown, “—there’s something off about this place that I don’t like. And Justice agrees with me.”

“Hm.” Remus nodded. “I think you’re both right, but it’s too soon to say anything for certain. The fact remains that we need his information. For the time being, I’m afraid there isn’t much we can do.”

“… I know,” Anders said, but his shoulders sank. “I feel—trapped. And if you knew my history, you would understand why I hate that feeling above all else.”

“I’m sorry,” Remus said, and he was. But he didn’t know what to say, either, and the silence lingered.

“What are we even going to do with his information, one we have it?”

There it was. The question that nobody could answer, and yet it pushed the air from their lungs with its weight.

“I don’t know,” Remus answered, and he shifted his weight. He tired of leaning against the bedpost and allowed himself to sit beside Anders. “Go home, I suspect. That is the ultimate goal of this, is it not?”

Anders shrugged, and a humorless grin creased his lips. “I never thought I would find myself trying to get back once I was actually free. This is quite ironic.”

“If it helps us at all,” Remus said. The brief jolt of life the small meal had given his exhausted body was quickly wearing thin. “For now, I think it best that we focus on recovering. Whatever tomorrow morning holds, we should be ready. We should rest.”

Anders agreed, if somewhat hesitantly. Waiting for Naoya might simply be a waste of time, and Remus was right: whatever the Lord or his dogs had in store for them, they needed to be ready. Accustomed to trouble falling asleep, Anders left the door to his quarters cracked. He fully intended to be ready as soon as he heard any movement from the outside. But as he lay back on the pillow his body felt as though it weighed several tons. As soon as the mage closed his eyes, Justice had taken over his sleeping host to protect them in the night.

Chapter Text

It was well after dawn when Remus awoke. It was initially a confusing experience, waking up in a swirl of blankets rather than on the busy streets. But it was enough of a shock to stir him completely, and he sighed as he realized what a fool he’d been to shoot upwards in bed on the alert. Embarrassed, he let himself fall back against the mattress and pillows, draping his wrists over either side of the bed. It had been a long time since he had slept so well, and he would be remise to see the feeling go.

It took him a long time to come back to himself. Perhaps overwhelmed by just how much food and rest—and life-threatening circumstances—Remus had survived these last few days, his mind was groggy and his body creaked and groaned, swearing profusely that it was much older than a mere twenty-five if this exhaustion was evidence of anything. Now, he examined his expression in the mirror atop the bureau and found that he had a little more color in his freshly shaven face. The grooming tools were 19th century at best, which fit the theme of such a polished Victorian mansion. Remus wondered if he should have expected it after witnessing Reaver and his strange attire. But to say that he was surprised by anything this realm had to offer anymore would be something of a massive, gargantuan lie. What he couldn’t do with the available tools, he substituted with magic. As he sent a comb through his mousey brown hair, he felt a slight waxy residue from soap crinkle in the wrinkles of his knuckles and content filled his belly.  

Anders was already up when Remus crept into the hall. The mage’s door was open fully and sunlight poured into the hall from the tall, narrow windows along the wall. The curtains had been neatly pulled back, and Anders had clambered onto the bed with a small selection of books from his room’s bookshelf. A halo of dust swirled through the beam of golden glow from outside as it beat against his light blue robes and he shifted his attention as Remus appeared in his doorway, allowing another plume of dust to erupt from his feathered pauldrons. Remus thought they must be well-worn.  

“Good morning,” he said, waving Remus in. “I was wondering if I would be the only one who got up today.”  

Anders bore a pleasant tone, but Remus frowned. “Is it that late?”

“It should be about midday,” Anders shrugged. “I’ve been reading for a couple of hours, trying to gather any information.”

“And?” Remus covered the distance between them in a few short steps, and leaned over Anders’ shoulder to spot the book’s cover. Before he had finished reading it, his fingers had already snatched it up. “Grimm’s Tales, here? But how--?”

“You know the book?” Anders didn’t seem quite as astonished as Remus thought he should be under the circumstances.  

“This is a fairy tale book from—from home! My home,” he added quickly, not to be confused. Remus turned the cracked covers over in his hands, marveling at the thing. “They’re Muggle stories, to teach lessons to children. How did it wind up here, of all places?”

Anders held up another book, one with a deep red leather cover and a handsome leather strapping. “I don’t know. Maybe the same way we did? This one is in a language I’ve never seen before. There are a lot of them like that. It makes me wonder what else we’ll find here.”

Now Remus was curious. What other clues lay right under their feet? Together, the pair scanned through both of their bookshelves and dared the nearby rooms under discreet cover of silence. But nothing else of interest emerged, and suddenly they grew anxious. Anxious—and impatient.  

“Naoya!” Anders called, rapping pale knuckles against the teen’s bedroom door. “How can you still be asleep in there?”

It wasn’t that Anders hadn’t slept past noon before. Oh, on the contrary: he found himself living in cycles, where occasionally he could sleep all day and still be exhausted from the sheer act of living. It was more the feeling of pressure on his heels; that they had a limited window in which to explore this area, before they were eventually summoned by Lord Reaver. No proper host (as Reaver claimed to be) would leave their guests unattended for too long a period, and the quest for answers pushed hard on his nerves.

 
“Naoya!” he called again, knocking a little louder.  

The sound of breaking glass came from inside the bedchamber, as well as someone’s sluggish and dragging footsteps. When Naoya finally figured out how to open the door, the room behind him had its curtains drawn shut and his pale, exhausted face peered out at them from the crack in the door. His hazel hair was messy and stuck up in places; a bad case of bedhead.

“Whaaaat,” he half-whined, sleepily rubbing his eyes with the sleeves of gray silken pajamas that were too big on him. One of the sleeves was noticeably wet. Deep bags were carved under his dull amber eyes, and he gave them both an irritated bleary look when neither of them answered him right away. “It’s too early for this…” He motioned to the both of them. “This.”

From the light in the hallway that snuck past the door, Anders caught a glimpse of the sheets sprawled over the bedframe as if a storm had just recently passed through the room. Just beside the bed, shards of broken glass lay in a darkened patch of carpet. Anders’ eyes flickered over the wet patch on Naoya’s sleeve, relieved when there was no hint of any growing redness.  

Anders curled his nose. “You’re hungover.”

He blinked, squinting in the morning light coming from the large windows in the corridor. “You’re hungover,” Naoya childishly spat, wiping his face on a dryer part of his sleeve. Just as he was about to half-remark about something else, he clenched his eyes shut, his hands going for his temples, and shook his head as if he’d struck by something. “Company’s coming.”

No sooner had the words left his lips did a crisp, icy air reach the trio. There stood Alastor, quietly watching them from a few paces away, his golden eyes peering from behind his cheeks as if his face were a mask; he was carrying a small bundle of neatly-folded black clothing, with a pair of dingy tan sneakers resting on top. Further back from him was a balverine with auburn fur, sitting patiently with no hackles raised and with its head held up as it, too, watched them.

“I see you have all survived the night,” Alastor said, his tone sounding vaguely like a scoff but it was hard to definitely tell. He glanced them over quickly, trying and failing to ignore the way that Naoya patted himself as the hungover teenager came the realization that he wasn’t wearing the clothing he has arrived in. “I have your things here, Mr. Itsuki. It seemed proper to wash your clothing after last night."

Naoya gave the tall balverine an attempted scowl, reaching out to take his things expectantly. “I don’t remember getting undressed,” he commented, his breath almost unnoticeably fogging in the air. When Alastor handed him his clothing, he snatched it and eyed the pocket contents that had been placed inside his worn shoes. “Get a good peek, pervert?”

Alastor restrained a groan, but cast a look over his shoulder when the reddish balverine behind him let out an amused-sounding snort. “Of your vomit? Yes,” he turned back to the three before him. His breath left no fog in the air. “You all slept through breakfast, however. But when you are all ready, there’s a brunch spread set out in the breakfast nook. Lord Reaver is unfortunately busy until after noon, and he sends his apologies.”

Anders looked to Remus, then to Naoya, and then back to Remus. There was an uncomfortable pause in which none of them made any motion to follow, and Alastor rolled his eyes. Wordlessly, he and his counterpart turned on their heels and began heading back down the hallway, boots and claws clicking on the stonework, and after another glance between them, the older mages reluctantly began to pursue.  

Naoya bristled, throwing his clothes into the bedroom and beginning to unbutton his night shirt. “You’re just going to leave me here? Wait for me!”  

After another light meal to fill their grumbling stomachs—one rather more silent than the last—their dishes were collected by small, thin, golden-eyed maidens who worked with lightning speed. Their eyes were downcast and their movements precise, but it was the pale complexion and the singular focus that put Anders on edge. Slaves, perhaps? The thought was undoubtedly Justice's, but Anders couldn’t help but wonder the same. He set his eyes on their hands, searching up the exposed skin on their forearms and then broadening his search over their postures. Years of running a hospice and seeing to thousands of refugees had taught him to look for certain signs in his patients: a limp, unusual scarring, anything “odd.” But these servants bore no sign of mistreatment whatsoever. And yet they seemed to function as more machines than anything truly alive.

Before Anders could examine anything more, the trio were guided out into another hallway and out a fabulous glass door onto a spacious porch in the rear of the mansion. Shaped like a half-circle, it was supported every few feet by pillars as thick as tree trunks. The seamless vista was broken by a large gap in the center of it all, where another set of stairs led gently down to the grass where a stone path snaked into the expanding gardens in the grounds beyond. The Lord himself was seated in one of the lush lounge chairs spread across the floorplan, but he stirred at the sound of the door hinges swinging to allow them in.  

He smiled at the sight of them. “Ah, there you all are. I was beginning to wonder when you would be stirring. Didn’t strike me as the nocturnal types, at least not usually I would presume.” His dark blue eyes shifted momentarily to Naoya, nodding in the slightest way, but his smile did not fade. Motioning with a black-gloved hand to the chairs beside him, he spoke: “Come, come, take a seat. We’ve much to discuss, don’t we.”

Naoya was the first to seat himself, not hesitating in the least bit, to Reaver’s right. Anders sat down opposite from Reaver himself, with Remus sitting between Anders and Reaver. The three of them exchanged glances, and a single-minded determination formed their first question:

“What is this place?”

“Don’t you mean ‘where’?” Reaver smirked, fingering the stem of his drink. The annoyed look he received from the mage seemed to roll off him. “Though, I must say, you’re very clever for noticing that this isn’t exactly a 'where-are-we’ scenario. Not many people get that,” he chuckled, leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs. “Good for you.” He lifted the golden chalice to his lips, taking a sip, before putting it down again. “But, yes, this isn’t exactly a favorable, comprehensible realm. This realm exists, yet it doesn’t exist. It’s connected to every single world out there, yet it sits just out of grasp of them. It takes people from all over and shoves them together here, into a positively cosmogyral hodgepodge of people.”

Naoya sat and listened, trying to ease his way into a comfortable position in his own chair. Suddenly his expression changed, seeming less focused and more confused. He glanced over to the two mages, but didn’t move beyond that.

The psychic’s demeanor did not go unnoticed by Reaver. “Are you feeling lost, Itsuki, my boy? As you should be: we aren’t actually speaking the same language. There are words that aren’t translating correctly to you right now, I bet,” the Lord stated, matter-of-factly. “Which was it? My money – and that’s quite a large sum, I might add – is on 'cosmogyral’.” He smirked, then looked to Anders and Remus. “It’s not as likely to happen with you two as it is with him. You two and myself are lucky enough to share the same root language,” he said, as if it were some fantastic accomplishment.

“What are you talking about?” Anders asked. He was leaning forward on his elbows with his wrists between his knees, ready to get up and move in a split-second’s time. “We’re all speaking the same language. I don’t hear anything out of the ordinary at all.”

Reaver settled Anders with a half-amused look, looking over to Remus and Naoya. “Did you boys catch that, by chance?”

Anders cast them a look, expecting them to be as bewildered as he was. But both of them were staring at him, mouths agape.  

“Dwi ddim yn deal,” Remus said, turning to Reaver, but stopped at the sound of his own voice. He fixated on the floor, his eyes swirling over the grain in the hardwood as he searched his thoughts. He looked to Naoya, who offered a vague shrug, and then to Anders, but he rounded on Reaver once more. “Ydych chi'n siarad Cymraeg?”

Reaver smiled again, nodding proudly. “Yn wir. A Siapan. Beth bynnag iaith angen i mi siarad, yr wyf yn siarad.” He took another sip from his chalice, turning his gaze to Naoya. “Watashitachiha, onaji gengo o hanashimasu. Anata wa watashi, Itsuki-san, o rikai shite imasu ka?”

Naoya nodded, and Remus turned to Reaver again. “But how?” He blinked, hearing his voice changing again.  

“How what?” Anders butted in, staring at all three of them as though he had been left out of the joke. “What did you do? Why couldn’t I understand them?” He felt his ears burning as he bristled beneath the skin.  

“Now, now,” Reaver paused, putting up a hand. “No need to be so testy. You all wanted answers, remember?" There was a smugness dripping from his voice. "You see, right now, each of you is able to understand the other without any problem. As I mentioned, the three of us—“, he indicated Anders, Remus, and himself—, “are all lucky enough to speak roughly the same primary language. Naoya, on the other hand, poor lad, is not speaking in this language at all. He’s speaking his native language, his mother tongue. And the only reason you can hear him in this language is because the properties of this strange world provide a sort of filter. A translator, if you will. Luckily for me, all your languages were something I learned a long, long time ago in my own origins; so it’s not really necessary… for me.”

“If that’s so,” said Remus, “why did it affect me? English is my primary language.”

“Ah,” Reaver said, a bemused glint in his eye, “that is because it is not your first language. You may have grown up speaking the Archon’s Alban, Mr. Lupin, but your first language was another, it seems."

“In a manner,” Remus explained. “My mother spoke Welsh at home, and taught it to me as a boy. But that doesn’t explain why I would revert to that if English is my dominant language.”

Reaver’s teeth gleamed as his broad grin was drowned in his chalice once more. “That was my doing.”

Anders frowned. “We’re supposed to believe you can control the properties of reality?”

Reaver pinned him from behind a cocked brow. “You have plants growing in your footsteps. You fell from the sky into an entirely new realm. And in less than a week, you survived an attack by my balverines and now end up in the company of the most lavish host in all the region. And yet, this is the one thing you can scarcely believe? I thought mages were supposed to be intelligent." He switched the way his legs were crossed. "Of course, ‘intelligence’ doesn’t always equal 'common sense’. No wonder magic tends to die out.”

Naoya laughed openly and Anders felt his cheeks become a more focused shade of red by the minute. “If we are to believe this, then what would you want with us? Why bring us here, when you obviously seem to have so much power of your own?”

“Oh, I didn’t,” Reaver breathed, as if he were surprised that they weren’t aware of the act.

“So people just 'fall in’ through chance,” Naoya summed up the beginning of the conversation.

“Some by chance, others by fault of their own,” Reaver went on.

“So how do we go home?”

“Why in the world would you want to do that?” Reaver half-scoffed. “There’s so much more to do here. Granted, it’s not like the city you hail from, my boy, but still. It’s rather rude to insult your host.”
“We’re not the first, then,” Remus said, to which Reaver nodded with approval.

 
“Hardly. This realm has taken many more before you, and you won’t be the last. But not everyone is as lucky as you, to wind up here in the company of someone as gracious a host as I. A rare treat indeed.”
Anders’ brow furrowed, and he glanced at Reaver behind interwoven fingers he held pressed to his chin. “You’ve seen others. What happened to them?”

Reaver blinked, resting a youthful cheek on the knuckles of his free hand with his mouth scrunched in distaste. Anders thought he looked like he had taken a bite out of a lemon, and yet remained singularly unimpressed by the experience. “That’s such a dull topic,” the Lord yawned. “I can’t keep track of every poor soul who wanders into my woods.”

Something clicked for Anders and as he took his next breath he was simultaneously fighting Justice down, brutally aware of the blue that for a split second had spiderwebbed across his hands. He was right to have been suspicious. They all were. “There’s something you want from us,” he half spat. “That’s why you brought us here. Your balverines weren’t sent to fetch us—they were sent to kill us! What stopped you? Who are you, really? And why did you bring us to this place?”

Reaver took another sip from his chalice, and Anders thought to blast the thing right out of his hands. The Lord’s eyes were fixed on Anders even as he lowered the goblet without the slightest hint of ire. “You are… unique,” he said, chewing on his words and savoring their flavor. “But that assumption is so brutish, don’t you think? You were brought you here because in the whole of this realm there is not a single person like the three of you. There isn’t a single thing that goes on in my lands that I do not have some hand in, and yet here you three are.” Reaver stood, leaving his now empty chalice on the small table between them and stretching the aches of a long morning out of his slender limbs. “Come with me,” he said, and made for the staircase to the grounds.   

As lush and trim as the décor of the mansion, the grounds were a cascading river of elegance and order that was strangely out of place in the wilderness outside the walls. Above the precisely trimmed hedges, gnarled trees and snowy mountaintops kissed the sky like the teeth of a wide, unforgiving mouth. The mansion and town were a world all of their own, safely nestled under the iron fist of their Lord. Reaver stepped off of the stone walkway and into the grass, only briefly frowning at the green pressed into his soles. But before the men could do the same, Reaver held out a gloved hand, halting them. 

 
“Aside from naturally good looks and a tastes for fine décor, this is the only difference between you three and me,” he said, inspecting each of their faces for signs of understanding as he gave a sweeping, motioning gesture to his boots.

Naoya’s shoulders scrunched as he took in a breath. “The plants?”  

“Precisely," Reaver beamed, patting the teen on the shoulder. He gingerly stepped back onto the paved path.

"You said you knew what the plants meant,” Naoya went on.

“Oh, I do,” Reaver rested both of his gloved hands on the head of his cane, tilting his chin upwards. “You three were sent here with purpose, and it was some sort of luck that brought you to my door.” When he received semi-curious yet wary stares, he lightly rolled his eyes. “You know, most people would be delighted to hear that their life had a purpose.” He stepped past them, making his way back to the mansion. “Unless, for one odd reason or another, you were quite content to throw your life away. Hearing that you have a purpose might make those thoughts of worthlessness seem quite selfish.”

Remus and Anders begrudgingly followed behind Reaver, while Naoya hung back for a moment, playing idly with the zipper of his jacket before catching up to them.

Reaver chuckled, darkly amused, but did not look back at them. “Of course, there’s still the task of discovering your exact purpose. There’s always a catch to these sort of things, isn’t there?”

“You mean you don’t know?”

“I never claimed to know your precise purpose,” Reaver pointed out. “And as you noted, I wasn’t the one who brought you here.” He stopped, tapping his chin in thought. “Well, I do suppose I’m the reason you were brought before me.” Reaver shook his head, trying to stop himself before he began. “But the whole selection process is handled by… another party entirely.”

“Who?”

“Not a who, but a what,” Reaver said. “Astriferous.”

The silence that passed between the four men was tense at best, and Reaver rolled his eyes as though each of his guests were mere school children. "Astriferous," he said again, purposely straining his mouth to work as slowly as possible. "That is what this place calls itself."

"'Calls itself'?" Naoya shook his head. "It named itself?"

"Oh, yes," Reaver went on. "This universe, as you might call it, is spectacularly unique. It is known by all, and is referenced in thousands of ancient scriptures and writings. Of course, none of them have any real understanding of what this place is, or else they would never speak of it again."

Anders felt his jaw give a painful click as he shifted his teeth to snare his tongue before it ruined him. He forced himself to sigh, slow and heavy, before he opened his lips to speak. "If I wanted to be teased like this, I would have come dressed in something else! Tell us something explicit, something tangible!"

Anders opened his clenched fists and flexed his fingers. Outbursts were not his usual style, but this--this, situation, the unknown realm and wild threats beyond anything he had ever seen--Anders would rather have faced a locked room and a broodmother than to sit here and be toyed with by an arrogant upper-cruster for the sake of entertainment.

Reaver pouted, and the way his lips pulled into a perfect and statuesque expression made Anders hate him just a little more.

"I once knew a mage, and he was intelligent. I suppose your type of magician isn't." Reaver's eyes were alite now, but the fire was not pleasant.

Anders pressed his nails into his palms.

Any further conversations with the Lord that day ran into similar verbal brick walls, all usually involving the words “purpose”, “task”, and “I’m afraid I can’t tell you”. With dinner came a wave of stale yet threatening air between the Lord and his guests, and with nightfall came the quiet lull in interactions – no servants asking if they needed anything, no Alastor looming just out of sight, and – most importantly – no Lord Reaver. The Trio had retreated to Remus’s bedchambers, after checking to see that they were, entirely, alone.

"Astri—what?" Anders tried, his mouth failing to form such a foreign word.  

"Astri-fer-ous," Remus repeated, slowly wrapping his own mind around the bizarre name. It was a mouthful, but nothing in this place made any sense so it seemed only fitting.  

"Yes," Anders frowned, pressing his palm firmly against his cheek as he rested in the armchair. "'The realm between realms,'" he repeated in a terrible mockery of Reaver's voice. "'A black hole, linking all universes and spanning all time.' I think it's safe to say that we know even less now than we did this morning!"

Remus offered a grunt of agreement.

On the neatly-made bed, Naoya lay on his stomach, his chin resting in his palms while he propped himself up. He watched the two human men pace back and forth, watching them as if he were expecting something from them other than frustration.

“That’s the point,” Naoya spoke up, but the two magic-users seemed to brush him off. He pouted at being ignored.

"Blighted bastard," Anders grumbled. He paced back and forth so fast that the curtains billowed in his wake, the feathers on his pauldrons shifting wildly in the breeze. "Lure us in with promises of information and deliver less. I'm beginning to wonder if he knows what he claims, or whether he's just stringing us along."

"He knows," Remus said, curling his fingers under his chin in contemplation. "He has information. But he's gathering his cards before he plays his hand."

Anders rolled his eyes with obvious disgust. "I always lose coin playing Wicked Grace," he muttered.

"Reminder to Naoya: play cards with Andy," Naoya murmured quietly to himself.

"He wants something from us," Remus continued. He watched Anders pacing with his eyes, sighing through pursed lips. "I want to know what he's playing at."

"And why is it that we are the only ones with plant trails?" Anders sighed, pressing the bridge of his nose. He was starting to get a headache. "If Reaver was so interested in them and their supposed 'purpose,' why did he say so little about it?"

Naoya sighed, kicking his feet against the comforter of the bed as the older two went on.

"And this entire place is unnatural, did you notice?" Anders pointed his thumb out the window. "This entire city is surrounded by the forest. But there are no birds flying overhead. There's no plants in this city. No crops. How do all these peopl—balverines, eat?"

"I hadn't noticed," Remus replied. "But now that you say it, those are all very good points. I want to know more about that staff of his."

"I think we should stay together from now on," Anders said, turning on his heels as his coat flared behind him. There was an angry, protective look behind is eyes. "Even sleeping arrangements. I don't trust this Lord Reaver, and we're most vulnerable when we're—what is it, Naoya?" Anders snapped when the boy's kicking had grown ceaseless.  

“Are you two done?” The EGO had wanted to wait until they had run out of steam, but it had become apparent that they would run themselves in circles forever. When he saw that he had both their attentions, he stopped kicking his feet and shifted his weight to only one elbow, draping one of his arms over the edge of the bed. “Anyone ever tell you two that you have the listening skills of rocks?” He rolled his eyes. “One, the balverines eat meat. I saw one just swallow a rabbit out in the gardens earlier today, a whole rabbit. They probably eat a lot of the wildlife, too. Two,” the psychic went on, lazily holding up two fingers on his drooping hand, “Reaver might have some things going for him, but he’s not a balverine and, from what I’ve gathered, he’s not supposed to be in charge here. Why put a guy they don’t like in charge? He also can’t leave the city, something is ‘magically’ keeping him here.”

If Anders had been drinking, he would have spat it out. "And how, by Andraste's holy knickers, do you know all of that?"

“I haven’t been getting chummy with Reaver for show, y'know.” He gave them both a haughty and knowing look, he knew exactly what they had thought he was doing - messing around with Reaver, but then again that was what he was aiming for. The psychic rolled over and swung his legs underneath him, sliding off the bed and standing up. “He’s not supposed to be here, but he’s stuck here – and Reaver doesn’t like it, so he’s made everybody else get stuck here, too. Including us and the balverines; they only get to leave the city when he needs something outside done, but I don’t think he’s going to let us go that easily.”

Anders wanted to say something wounding to the teen, but Justice was listening intently. There was a pause, Anders visibly debating on what to say. "...That would explain the servants," he ended, finally. He explained his observations of the maids after breakfast, and concluded with a thought: "That implies that he wants us to do something for him."

"Something he isn't sure we can do just yet," Remus added, brows disappearing behind his fringe. "But what?"

None of them knew the answer, but the question hung over them nonetheless.  

"I think we need to have a proper discussion with the Lord Reaver," Anders said. He shook the front of his robes as he stood, pressing them down and neatening the seams. "Or take a look at some of this information for ourselves."

"How?"

"There was a library, Remus. I saw it this morning on the way to the dining hall. If there is any information to be had, my guess would be to go there."

“Libraries aren’t really my thing," Naoya yawned. The previous night’s debauchery and lack of sleep were beginning to weigh on him again. He gave an idle stretch. “You two get confused by people, Naoya Itsuki gets confused by books.” He frowned and shook his head, loose hazel bangs bouncing. “Besides, nerding out in the library at this hour? Try to look more suspicious, will you?”

"Fine." Anders rolled his shoulders forward, feeling defeated. "But we all need more information, and at least I'm trying to get it. The first chance we get, I think we should go to this library and search through the archives. What do you say, Remus?"

"I'm in," Remus said. He rubbed his hands together, and added, "First chance we get."

But the first chance came much sooner than Remus anticipated. The night drew to a hasty close and thoughts became muddied after long hours awake and ready. Anders' original plan of sleeping together as a group failed miserably after Naoya suggested that the older man wanted company to stay a fear of the dark and laughed. Sleeping with their doors cracked was the next best thing in Anders' mind, and through this opening Remus listened to the sounds of sleep as he starved for it on his pillow.  

There was too much information from the day's plentiful conversation darting across his mind. But that was not what kept Remus awake. The drapes were closed, pulled shut and securely tied at all ends to keep any light from tricking in from outdoors. But like the lethal kiss of radiation, Remus could feel it: the moon, traveling across the sky. His body hummed, silent but overpowering. It was nothing he could describe with words if he tried, but the sensation was so very real and disturbing that it was enough to keep him from sleep no matter how much he wanted it.  It was a restlessness in the body, like the wolf inside him was stirring from his long, month-long slumber. It was fur, just under the skin and invisible to the eye. Surely it would erupt from his follicles any second, accompanied by feral canines that pushed his own teeth out onto the floor. His fingers hummed with anticipation, eagerly awaiting the enormous claws that would split his fingernails in two.  

Remus swallowed. It wasn't real, none of it was. He knew that. But he felt it, and the churning in his stomach was as much fear and disgust as it was self-loathing and a deep, burning rage. This world, "Astriferous"--it was a realm between realms. Remus was far from home, far from his own moon. And for a brief time he had wondered whether that would make a difference with his "condition." The knowledge that he was wrong stung more than the evidence that had him writhing.  

He flopped back and forth uselessly in the pitch black. The shuffle of sheets and pillow was sandpaper to his ears, and he craved a glass of water to soothe the desert of his tongue and ease the pain of the headache sleeplessness had forced into his skull like a vice. He let out a stiff sigh, but it sounded more like a frustrated groan. If he listened closely, he could hear Anders snoring from his bedroom next door. He had left shortly after Naoya did, both to go to bed.

"Bugger," he swore, practically smushing his skull against the pillow and frowning as the down poked through the fabric here and there to scratch his neck. With a woosh of air, he chucked the blankets off of him and swung himself out of bed. The hardwood floor was clean and cool against his bare feet, and he made a mental note to at least say thank you to one of the servants tending to the room if he saw one. Without so much as a creak in the floorboards, Remus slipped his coat over his night clothes, burrowing deeply into the plaid fabric as it kept him warm in the darkened halls. He slipped through the door, but not before snatching up his wand from it's resting place on the nightstand.  

If he wasn't going to sleep, then he was going to put his time to good use. He tip-toed down the length of the hallway, hands out in front of him and feet searching the floor carefully for objects in his path. He couldn't risk waking the others with any light. Finally, he came to the end: a T-shaped fork in the path. To the left, he could travel down to the kitchens and dining rooms, and possibly take a brisk walk in the evening air. But he rubbed his arms, feeling the fine hairs stand on end. No, that would make the scratching worse. It wasn't even scratching, it was the humming, the ceaseless hum of the moon that—he rolled his eyes, taking a deep breath. He was here to forget about that.

"Lumos," he whispered, half yawning. He squinted in the sudden golden glow provided by the spell, holding his wand overhead and watching the shadows flee. He stared down the pathway to the dining, waiting a little too long. Curiosity whispered in his ear: he hadn't traveled down this other hallway yet, not long enough to get a good look.  Remus turned, holding his wand out in front of him to illuminate the corridor. But the light couldn't penetrate farther than a few meters. He would have to explore. He took the first step.

Outwardly, the hallway was similar in décor and design to the other hallway, leading down. But perhaps it was the atmosphere of the night, or perhaps the fact that he was sneaking around like a schoolboy again, but this new corridor felt closed in. In the bubble of light it was hard to tell—and he was certainly wrong on this, definitely—but it seemed as if the walls were creeping in on him the farther he went. He half-expected something to leap out at his tender flesh from the dark.

There were doors on both sides, tall and broody, watching over the hall as they loomed above the heads of every person to trek their floor. Spaced in between them in decorative fashion, paintings and banners hung intermingled with the stands holding fine vases and the occasional headless or armless bust. Every once in a while he paused to test a door, touching the knob and opening it a crack before closing it back. One opened to a luxurious bathhouse, the smell of the rich soaps cloying; another opened to reveal another bedroom, just as luxurious as the ones that they had been given. But there was another door coming into view, and Remus stopped. He watched it, a breath locked behind his adam's apple. It was already open, just a crack. Around its bold frame, golden light danced around the edges of the door. Firelight. Remus hesitated before pushing it open, eyes widening at what he saw.

A library, just as Anders said, grandiose and filled to the brim with thousands of books gathered over countless centuries. The room was a vast chamber, bordered on all walls with towering bookshelves set into the walls without a single book missing. There were spiral staircases on either side of the room, hurling his eyes from the floor and onto the second level where the massive border shelves touched the ceiling. The two-level library was open in the center, allowing moonlight to cascade through a powerful glass dome set in black iron. The shelves spaced through the center of the room broke against the far wall, where a number of tables and arm chairs basked in the glow of an enormous fireplace.  

Remus approached the first shelf, idly clutching the golden ladder that would allow the reader access to the upper echelons. Each shelf was adorned with such a fixture, although the center shelves were not nearly as imperial as the ones in the walls. He let his eyes wander over the first set of shelving, studying the dry and brittle rolls of parchment. Scrolls, of course. But what might they display? Wondering at the knowledge contained in the room, Remus reminded himself to close his mouth.  

"Amazing," he said in half a whisper, his neck craning to take in everything the room had to offer.

On the closest table, an open tome was sprawled out across the wood. Silently, Remus made his way to it and put his palms on the corners, reveling in the rough texture under his skin. Books like these were no common prize. Absorbed by the scent of ancient books, Remus took a moment to realize that the text below his wrists was written in a language he had never seen before. He gently flicked his thumb across the parchment, opening the next page.  

                                                                             
In the center of the pages, split down the center by the book's seam, an elaborate sphere was drawn at the center of what appeared to be a spider web. But at each point where the lines of the web connected, another sphere was drawn, smaller and smaller, jutting out into the far reaches of the parchment. Surrounding the elaborate design was messy, black ink scrawled by someone probably long dead. But the word in the center of the greatest sphere was one Remus did understand: "Astriferous".  

From beneath a tightly knit brow, Remus thumbed through the next few pages and then to the few pages previous. This was—something, he mused, something important. Was it a map, maybe? Or simply a diagram? He widened his search, examining the other books piled atop the desk. But none of them drew his attention quite like the tome. Some were old, creased with age in places and falling apart in others. Others were newer: a red book caught Remus’ eye, lying flat against the table for display. A six-fingered hand made of gold, traced with the number 4 on its palm, graced the cover.  

“Doing a bit of light reading, are we," mused a voice from behind. Remus felt his blood chill. He made to speak, but the voice cut him off. When Remus turned, there was Reaver, sitting in a large leather armchair in a darker corner of the room. His legs were crossed, and his cane was propped beside him. “I, too, find that on the nights where my beauty sleep eludes me that a book helps whittle away the hours.” His dark blue eyes flickered for a moment to the stack of books that Remus had been looking at. "Was your bed uncomfortable?”  

“Ah,” Remus offered with a shrug, fighting to remain as noncommittal as possible. “Nightmares. I thought maybe I would clear my head with a walk. I appear to have gotten a trifle lost.”  

“Not all who wander are lost, Mr. Lupin,” Reaver grinned, but Remus swallowed. There was something behind the smile, ancient, staring out at him from the black pupils of his eyes. “I welcome the company,” he continued, positively brisk. “We should have Alastor fetch us some hot tea, while we’re at it.” No sooner had the words left his lips, did he perk up slightly, eyes focused behind Remus. “Ah, there we are. Always attentive, my Alastor.”  

Remus hadn’t even seen Alastor, nor heard any footsteps approach. But as the alpha balverine appeared from shadow and whisked past Remus without a word, he resisted the urge to rub the back of his neck. Something about the balverine was off, he seemed even less hospitable than he had before… and his lack of warmness before had been astounding. How long had they been watching?

 
“I do apologize for the round-about answers earlier today,” Reaver said, recapturing the wizard’s attention. “And that’s a rare thing, my apologies. I don’t often have to go about explaining the way things around here work. However, these books” –he pointed to the table– “are some of the finest in my collection. They detail this realm and provide an excellent pool of resources–resources that I can use to answer all of your most pressing questions.”  

Remus caught his eye. “The plants?”  

“The plants, your friends,” Reaver nodded. He licked his lips, not breaking eye contact with Remus as he picked up his cane, using his fingers to spin it with ease. “And… any questions about specific celestial bodies and certain situations that may arise from their phases.” There was a darkness there, Remus concretely decided; a tired, existential, and weary darkness. “Tell me, Mr. Lupin,” Reaver smirked, “Is your complexion always so pale before the full moon’s light?”

It was as though he missed the last step on a staircase. Remus felt all the blood leave his face as he stared at Reaver, unable to form words. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn't think; his heart thudded inside the vacuum that was once his chest. How? How did Reaver know? He couldn't, he couldn't possibly—could he? But the way the man spoke, the look in his eye... if Reaver didn't actually know, it was all oddly specific. In an instant, every word, every action Remus had taken over the course of his acquaintance with Reaver was analyzed in his mind. But Reaver's stare was a dagger into his stomach, and his insides squirmed. Remus swallowed.

"I've been feeling a bit off color," he managed, his syllables carefully sculpted. Remus forced a shrug, the struggle to remain nonchalant pressing in on him. "Traveling so far from home will do that to a person. But your hospitality has improved it greatly," he added. "Have you learned much from your books?"

“Books are good company,” Reaver nodded, leaning his head to the side as his eyes looked away from Remus – something for which Remus was silently thankful for. “Of course, there are those with the talent to find out information about people, from people.” He arched his black, manicured brows, giving a light shrug. The cane still spun in his fingers. “Where they stand on certain subjects, or where they’re more likely to sit.”

Reaver said the word “sit” with emphasis, almost like a command, as he turned his attention back to Remus. He indicated a chair behind his guest, already pulled out and waiting. Remus felt more inclined to stand, to be ready to take the first opportunity away from Reaver's expectant stare. But there was a pressure behind his eyes, and Remus imagined fingers along his brain stem. The more he tried to stand the worse the feeling became, until he reluctantly sat, jaw tense and hands knitted. His eyes darted about, and Remus swore he could see the glowing eyes of the balverines in the shadows between the bookshelves.

But Reaver went on: “I’ve always found that route a little more direct, books may be there in the early hours but, much like certain people, they can drag on and on and aren’t always informative things. It’s much easier for one such as myself to find out what I need to know just by looking at a person and being… persuasive.” The look he fixed Remus with was dripping with satisfaction, and he stopped spinning his gem-topped cane in favor of waving the starry end side to side in a sweeping motion. When Remus couldn’t look away, Reaver shook his head almost scoldingly. “Now, are you three really considering leaving my company so soon, Mr. Lupin?”           

Chapter Text

"Where were you last night?" Anders caught Remus mid-yawn, and he waited for the man to finish before asking again.

"What do you mean? I was in my room all night long," Remus answered, albeit slowly.

Anders crumpled the paper he held in his hands as they walked: invitations, slipped under their doors overnight to a "proper" breakfast with the Lord of the manor himself. It was all very ostentatious, and it left Anders with a sour feeling on his tongue that only something much stronger than water could wash away. He was reminded of the rich folk of Kirkwall's Hightown, foolishly donning servant's clothes to fail miserably at fitting in as they searched through the filth that washed down from their marble-paved streets for the Darktown doctor that would tell no secrets. Anders allowed himself a small balloon of arrogance in his chest: given the right circumstances, even the man with the richest clothes would dirty them to keep his secrets buried.

"No," he replied, "you weren't. I had to get up halfway through the night and your door was wide open, and you were gone."

"Did you flush this time?"

Naoya's sing-song voice trailed up from behind, and Anders' neck cracked sharply as he turned to glare. "Obviously not, or you wouldn't be here."

Naoya paid him no mind. "You're just mad because I wouldn't shake it for you," he grinned. "I had to teach him," he explained to Remus, with half a giggle in his throat.

Anders felt his fingers twitch and a spark of warmth die in his palms. Oh, how he wished that he could just shoot lightning at fools! Or perhaps a fireball. Or--oh, maybe a kinetic spell! Show that brat a taste of his own magic.

But he is not magic,  Justice whispered in his head, and Anders frowned. "I know," he said aloud without thinking, rolling his eyes when Naoya laughed openly at him now. Anders sighed, taking longer strides to reapproach his query.

"So where did you go?" he asked again. Remus looked even worse than he had yesterday. Anders could see dark circles beneath his eyes as though he hadn't slept for days, and the way he kept touching his lips with an ever paler demeanor made Anders wonder if he wasn't vomiting all night long. "Are you ill? You look... tired," he said, not wanting to say 'awful,' even if that was the truth.

"I'm--fine," Remus said after a sharp, nasal sigh. "I'm just feeling a tad under the weather. I'm sure it will pass."

Justice's tone was sharp and clear in Anders' mind: He's lying.

Anders balked. What could he possibly have to lie about? But Justice's silence was both condemning and unsure: something was going on, but neither of them could tell just what. Not yet, at least. But Anders swallowed, his tongue dry and tacky as he pondered the situation.  He didn't like this. Not at all. But the three of them continued on to the dining hall, by now knowing the way with relative ease. Naoya looked between the two older men, frowning at the anxiousness he felt in the air.

“Did you guys smell smoke last night?” he started, changing the subject. “I couldn’t see anything from my room, but one of our guards told me it was just a house fire down in the town…”

When neither Remus nor Anders replied, his shoulders sunk and he folded his arms in a pouting resignation of their silence.  The quiet tension between them was broken by Reaver, whose voice, even from a distance, carried over the hush like electricity through a wire.

“I don’t want them burning down half the forest again!” Reaver almost snarled, but even his nasty tone was somehow silken-sounding. “It gives them less places to hide, but it makes the view positively hideous. I don’t want to see a burnt forest from my bedchambers, unless I was the one who did it! I-” He seemingly stopped his rant as the wizard, mage, and psychic drew closer to the dining hall. “No more forest fires,” Reaver started up again, his tone less harsh than before. “Dispatch a pack from the hive to find out where the blazes are coming from and put them out. We cannot afford the fires spreading to the whole city. Do you understand, Alastor?”

“Understood, Reaver,” Alastor blithely replied.

“What was that?”

“Lord Reaver.”

By the time the three had reached the familiar dining hall, Reaver was already seated at the head of the table with Alastor standing at his right hand - as if nothing was wrong, and any signs that Reaver had been so demanding just seconds before were nonexistent. Just as before, Naoya and Remus took the seats closest to Reaver while Anders sat directly across from their host. A small collection of well-dressed attendants saw to the table, setting it with a few food items and preparing a steaming kettle with a bundle of dried tea leaves.

"Trouble in paradise?" Anders asked, grinding his chair across the floor with a gaudy screech. He accepted a plentiful cup of tea with a wry, self-satisfied grin at the sight of a flash of indignation behind Reaver's ever-careful expression. He could smell the blood in the water, and after long enough licking his own wounds he thought it due time to return the favor. "If you and yours can't handle a blaze, I'm sure the three of us wouldn't hesitate to offer assistance. After all, you have been nothing but a gracious host these last few days."

"Oh, so you overheard that, did you?" Reaver wearily sighed, giving a fluid shrug and shake of his head. He offered a smile, very briefly flashing his teeth. "But don't trouble yourselves, you're all guests. It would be very rude of me to trouble company to deal with something as arbitrary as a brush fire."

"But we are troubled nonetheless," Anders continued, sipping his tea with an uncharasteristic nonchalance. "And not to belabor the point or anything, but that was not a brush fire. You said so yourself just now. Someone is after you."

Reaver wrinkled his nose. "Well, who isn't," he curtly replied, resting his chin on his knuckles.

Naoya saw Reaver's hand slide under the table, resting on the leg that he remembered seeing a gun holster strapped to. Quickly, the teenager reached out to the plate in front of him, taking a thick waffle from the stack and putting it onto his plate. "These waffles are pretty big," he pretended to be amused rather than concerned.

"Not many people, I'd wager," Anders said, ignoring Naoya altogether. "We trekked through miles of forest and saw nothing but empty wilderness. No villages, no people, nothing outside of a single abandoned house--nothing, until your people. Whoever it is, they're beyond your control. And they're starting to get to you. Ah-!"

The quick kick to his shin from under the table would have hurt if Anders hadn't been wearing such thick leather boots. Naoya was staring at him, his tightly knit brows in odd contrast to his pleasant smile. He blinked at Anders, a sharp and altogether rigid action, and Anders suddenly felt his neck burning. He realized he had been leaning forward in his chair, and slowly sat back. He cleared his throat.

"Tell us more about the plants."

The Lord pouted, pulling his lips to the side of his mouth in annoyance, and with some effort he pulled his arm up and rested it on his chair. "Well, one would think that the plants are all indicitive of the person they take after," Reaver started. "You have, what was it, moss? So one could assume that you are common, stubborn, and it doesn't take much to sustain you." He shifted, arching his manicured brows. "It also has medicinal properties, and you did say were you were a nurse." Reaver seemed immune to the homocidal look he recieved from the mage, and paid no mind to the way Naoya almost choked on a waffle. His attention was drawn to Remus, who had been sitting quietly and out of the conversation. "Are you feeling alright, Mr. Lupin? You haven't touched a thing." He paused, adding in almost as an afterthought: "Then again, you looked dreadful last night as well. Is it the moon? There's old stories about the moon affecting one's hunger."

All eyes turned to Remus, who appeared ready to vomit. "I didn't sleep well last night," was all Remus said. He had pressed his forehead into his palms, resting his elbows on the table with the air of one who had never been more exhausted.

Anders felt his lips twitch into a small frown. Even if Remus hadn't been truthful about staying in bed, he looked sick as a dog. "You should lie down," he said.

"No," Remus replied, pinching the bridge of his nose and visibly struggling. "I'll be fine."

"Nonsense," Reaver waved the thought away with a lazy gesture. His cheek was pressed into the knuckles of his opposite hand and he grinned with a self-assurance that made Anders bubble with silent disgust. "You look dog tired. The next few days will be hard on you, I suspect. Go and have yourself a rest, and your companions will fill you in on everything you miss. Off with you."

Remus hesitated, holding a fixed gaze in Reaver's direction. "Yes," he said finally, with some effort. "...I suppose I'll be off, then."

But even then, he stood slowly and took his time in leaving. Reaver followed him with his eyes, and once he was gone he chortled quietly to himself. With another wave of a finger, Alastor was sent to follow.
Anders watched them both go, his empty stomach filling with bricks. Reaver—whatever Remus didn't want to talk about, it had to do with him. Almost certainly so, Anders thought, and he didn't need to ask to immediately know Justice's views were the same. That had to be it—Anders pressed his teeth together to keep from screaming it, but disgust had begun to mutate into thinly veiled rage inside him. Reaver was a snake, with a tongue laced with poison that sought out the wounded. Anders resisted the urge to get up and chase after Remus, to demand answers and to block the watchful eye of Reaver's servants breathing down their necks. He wanted to leave, to break out of this elaborate prizon. Singed fur and the cries of fallen balverines crept into his imagination, and Anders knew he would be overwhelmed before he even began. It was not a fight he would win--not yet. And Anders flexed his fingers in silence as he waited.

Whatever Reaver wanted them for, Anders would die before he got it.

But before Anders could say his next word, Reaver's presence loomed over the dining hall once again.

"Now then," the Lord finished as Alastor's heels disappeared around the corner, "I thought after breakfast that I might show you something you'll find rather useful." He stood, pulling his gold-buttoned vest taut and brushing his sleeve with an idle hand.

Anders felt his head pounding already.

Drums thundered inside his head as Remus walked; deep, low pulses that made lights flicker behind his eyes if he turned his head too sharply. Shadows darted in and out of the paintings and decorative statues adorning the hallway, and Remus paid no mind to the wallpaper when it started to crawl. He needed sleep. But there was no way it could come for him. There was too much at stake. Reaver had done... something. At first Remus had been uncertain whether the effect was real. Perhaps he had been too exhausted to filter himself as words that he wouldn't normally have ever willingly spoken slipped out in conversation. Perhaps his body caved when Reaver offered him the chair he had reluctantly taken. But it was more than that. Remus ran his hands up the back of his neck and through his hair, an instinctive response to a scratching inside his skull he suspected wasn't actually there at all. It was a whispering in the back of his mind, a feeling—a presence, perhaps—inside his most sacred thoughts. He could feel it trickling into his mind, an inky liquid manuvering through the creases in his brain matter to stain and taint.

He hadn't noticed the sensation at all until after his encounter with Reaver in the Library. Once safely back inside his bedroom, Remus had hoped that would be the last of it. But the hair on his arms continued to stand on end, the goosebumps that warned him something was horribly awry would not cease. What little sleep he had managed to get was disturbed by images of savage hounds and the overbearing presence of aristocratic laughter. Each time he awoke, he was covered in cold sweat and shaking terribly. But the nightmare grew worse each time he went back to sleep, haunting his waking thoughts. Splashing water on his face did nothing to alleviate the strange feeling clawing at the back of his eyes, pulling at his thoughts and weaving through his mind. Remus thought it was his exhaustion at first. But it grew by the hour, like a toxic flu, and he found that he could not ignore it.

Was it something in the food, the drink? A potion could cause these adverse effects. No. Neither of the others seemed as disturbed as he was. Anders visibly detested Reaver and Naoya was almost enjoying himself here. If it had been a potion slipped into their drink, it would have affected all three of them most likely.

But it wasn't. None of this was happening to them. Remus felt his fingernails bite into his palms and he crushed a tiny branch of panic threatening to blossom under his lungs. Reaver was--controlling him. Somehow. Influencing him. Not completely, almost not at all, really--not yet, anywway. The longer he was around Reaver, the worse the effect became. Remus could resist if he tried. But it was becoming harder. He couldn't have stayed with the others just now if he had wanted to, and that thought was overpowering.

Remus didn't want to believe it. It was so outlandish--to be controlled by another was not unheard of, but he expected it to happen about as often as a being abducted into an alternate universe. The signs were there, but he had enough to worry about with tomorrow's upcoming full moon--

He stopped: a full moon that, if his theory was correct and he was being influenced, Reaver could use to his advantage. How was not important--the thought of an unsafe werewolf was enough to chill Remus to the core.

He had to get out of here. There was no talk of leaving Reaver's manor yet, outside of the as-yet unconfirmed belief that they were not welcome to come and go as they pleased. Their need for information was killing them, forcing their hand. Even if Reaver did have the information he said he did, Remus was not at all inclined to believe Reaver would just let them go, not when he still wanted something from them. That was the only reason they were still alive. An escape was needed. But Remus spared a passing glance out the windows as he kept walking: the forest was no place for him, not for any of them. They had no idea where they were. They had no idea where they were going. And they had no idea what happened to bring them here in the first place. They had no chance without Reaver. The mansion was an oasis in the mysterious and savage landscape surrounding the polished grounds. When even balverines lived behind closed walls, what hope did a pair of unprepared wanderers have in the endless wood?

How would he fare by himself? Remus saw himself traveling with the others in his mind's eye, picturing a hasty escape under cover of darkness. But the truth of the matter was that he put them in just as much danger during full moon here as he did out there. And he couldn't do it by himself. It was a fool's errand to try and survive alone out there. He needed the others.

They needed to know what he was, then. The way his gut instinctively clenched made him sick. But did he have much choice? Remus licked his lips as a disturbing line of thought followed the question: Reaver knows, and he will use that to his advantage somehow if given the chance. He shouldn't be given the chance.
He had to tell them.

Remus wanted to throw up. But the truth of the matter could not be denied. Bound together by the most impossible chance, would they abandon him—shun him as so many before them had, once they learned the truth? Or would their situation keep them together, force an understanding? Remus didn't want to think about the possibility of winding up alone even after all of this was said and done. He could try to make it, but how far was anyone's guess. Still, that was better than playing a part in their ultimate ruin by being a coward. He shuddered.

There was a sudden drop in air temperature, and Remus frowned. "I know my way," he said hotly, trying to drag himself down the hallway as slowly as possible but too anxious not to pace. "You needn't follow me."

"It is not my wish to do so," Alastor responded. His voice was deceptively calm, laced with a control that Remus simply didn't have at the moment and it only made his mood worse.

"Then why are you?" He whirled around to face the balverine alpha, glaring up at him. "We know that none of you want to be here! And yet you are! You do his bidding when none of you respects him. Why not kill  him and be done with it if that is what you truly want?"

Alastor frowned, and one pale brow rose as if to ask, Really? "The same reason you are storming down this hallway like a frightened child."
"I am not afraid of Reaver," Remus spat. He turned heel and continued down the hallway once more.

Alastor caught up with him in but a few strides. "But you are afraid."

Remus bit his lip to stifle an irritated snort. "If you have just come to belittle me, I would appreciate it if you would kindly sod off."
"He's in your head, isn't he?"

Remus jerked to a stop. He turned, staring--discomposed. "How did you--?" He started, but stopped, opening his mouth uselessly and snapping it shut. After a grinding moment's contemplation, he spoke again, hesitant and distrustful. "...I don't understand what's happening."

Alastor was silent for a long time. He broke away from the conversation and continued down the hallway, a raw chill swirling through the air in his wake. "Come with me."

They travelled in silence, walking deep into the belly of the mansion. One left turn, another right, down several flights of stairs. Remus felt it cooling down the farther they went, and there were no more windows in this area of the mansion. The decorations slowed to a trickle, dabbing the walls like splashes of paint here and there until the trickle became dry and there was nothing left but the occasional candlestick or oil lantern to shine the way in the dark. These must be the servants' quarters, Remus realized. Around another bend, they appeared like tombstones in the fog: doors, lining a long, claustraphobic hall that ended in shadow. Alastor walked forward with his head high, but Remus craned his neck to take in everything. Bunkbeds and bare dressers, end tables with a single candle burned until nothing but a stub remained, and eyes--golden eyes, illuminated from within, following him with unblinking stares. Remus recognized the pair of women who had dressed the dining table in one of the rooms, one sitting atop the bed as her sister tied her locks into a braid. At the far end of the hall, Alastor held a plain white door open for Remus to pass through. Glancing behind him, he saw the yellow eyes fix on him. Remus had the distinct impression that they would not dare enter that room on their own, and their curious glances sent the hair on the back of his neck climbing upwards. He swallowed, and then headed inside.

The room was perfectly square and fairly large, with a tall ceiling high enough for  Alastor to stand comfortably in his human form. A writing desk sat opposite, directly across from Remus as he stepped inside. A leather-bound journal rested atop the dark, wooden surface, with an ink bottle and finely crafted quill ready to use beside it. There were no windows in this room, and so the unadorned bureau seemed sucpiciously empty of clutter as Remus took in the sight. The entire room was quite minimalist, and he wondered if Alastor actually used it at all. A double bed sat against the farthest wall, perfectly made without a single wrinkle in the bedding - aside from the indentation made by the auburn-colored balverine that was curled up in the center. Remus recognized her immediately as the same balverine that accompanied Alastor after their first night in the mansion. She opened one eye lazily, perhaps expecting to see the Alpha enter—but her nose rose and her ears perked as Remus made his way slowly through the doorway. She sniffed, a clutch of fir standing at the back of her neck, and her quills gave a soft shudder.

"Shh," Alastor said, coming up from behind Remus with his tone oddly gentle. "Be still. I brought him here."

The balverine gave a quick puff from her snout, but otherwise returned to her previous position on the blankets. Remus could see her watching him, though, alert to each of his movements.
Alastor pulled the chair belonging to the writing desk out for his guest. "Sit."

Remus did so. Alastor loomed over him even when both were at full height, but now that he was sitting beneath the man Remus felt very small indeed. He glanced out into the hallway of doors one last time as Alastor swung the door behind him, and aside from the balverine on the bed, they were finally alone.

"No one will disturb us here," the alpha said, having caught the look.

Alastor did not meet his eye for a moment, tapping his chin lightly as he furrowed a frosty brow in thought. Remus dared not move, and he debated whether to let go of the breath he had been holding, fearful that it would make too much noise.

"You are wondering what my reasons for this are," Alastor said finally. "You are wondering why I have brought you here."

"Information," Remus replied, half-guessing. He sat back against the chair, one leg crossed over the other and his arms likewise closed off. He observed Alastor cautiously, thankful for the feeling of his wand tucked into his belt loop. "You have information. But you are not willing to part with it for free. Surely there will be consequences when Reaver finds out about this."

Alastor looked bitter. "Reaver will not learn of this."

"No?" Remus pointed towards the door, and then the sleeping balverine on Alastor's bed. "There are plenty of ears down here to share a few words with."

"That is Nadine. Her breed is... incapable of speech. As for the others, they will obey me," Alastor shot. "Unquestioningly. I am their Alpha."

"You bow to Reaver."

Alastor made a low noise, and Remus imagined he caught a glimpse of sharp teeth lining the man's mouth; jagged points where there should have been smoothness. "I bow to no human; whether they are of Reaver's breed or not. Reaver has no control over me like he does with you, like he does with all the lesser balverines. My blood runs older than his power, and so I am free of it."

"But I am not a balverine," Remus said.

"No," Alastor replied, observing him with a sour mixture of pity and disgust. "You are not. But you are more like us than you care to admit."

It wasn't a question, but Remus hesitated, unsure if it was meant as a statement or a declaration. "I don't know what you mean."

Alastor clasped his hands neatly behind his back, staring down at Remus with a hungry expectation. "I do not have time to play games. I can smell it on you."

Remus scrunched his nose. "Smell what?"

"There is a wolf inside you," Alastor said. "But you are not like us. As you say, you are not a balverine."

"Nor is Reaver," Remus replied coldly. "And yet you follow him. I should think it wouldn't matter what I am."

"I do not care what you are," Alastor breathed, and his eyes narrowed. "You are not my kind, so you are not my charge. But Reaver does care, and it does matter to him."

"Why?"

"The teenager is clever," Alastor frowned. "He is correct: the balverines do not serve Reaver willingly. They are slaves. And so long as you are under his influence, so are you."

"But not you?" Remus couldn't fail to notice when Alastor kept referring to "them," instead of, "us."

"No," Alastor said, shutting down such questioning with a harsh look.

Remus paused. "How is he doing this?"

"The cane," Alastor said. He glanced to the door for a fraction of a second when a series of unruly barks and shrieks came from the other side, from one of the rooms along the hallway. "The stone that crests the top is no ordinary gem: it is from an ancient civilization of Reaver's homeland known as the Old Kingdom, and it has been long-since lost to history. Artifacts dripping with ancient and unpredictable magics are still discovered every century or so, and the one Reaver has in his unfortunate possession is designed to imbue the user with the ability to control and impose his will on balverines and any creatures that may be considered... cousins to us."

"That... explains why the crystal influences me," Remus muttered, his expression stiff. He shifted his weight, uncrossing his arms to knit his fingers across his knees. "Reaver was a conquerer when he arrived, then," he said. "He arrived after you, with the crystal already in his possession. You were helpless to stop him."

"Reaver had help," Alastor said, and he closed his eyes and breathed deep. "The balverines do not follow Reaver because they want to. They do it because they have no choice. He killed the last Great Alpha, my friend, Lugaru, and made it his mission to control every balverine present in the Hive. I, much like the traitorous balverine who assisted Reaver, am one of very few who are capable of resisting, because we were imbued the will of the great Balvorn. But Reaver must believe that I am his entirely, or else he would kill me and all hope this hive has of freedom is lost."

Alastor crossed his arms, examining Remus: "Your scars are unnatural. You lose control when you transform, like a newly turned or lesser breed." He paused, shaking his head with a look of soft pity. "I have noticed your scent grows stronger each day. Tell me if I am wrong, but soon enough you will not be able to maintain this form?"

"...No."

"How long?"

Remus hesitated. The words were difficult to say, and they formed like a block of melted rubber against his tongue. "Full moon."

Alastor nodded to himself. "You are struggling to hold it back. The closer you come to the transformation, the stronger the hold is on you. You feel it."

"...Yes," Remus said, growing pale. He pressed his fingers together and brought his hands to his forhead, kneeling forward onto his knees. He sighed, realizing that even sitting far away from the man and his cane that  the strange feeling was ever-present. It was a tumorous connection to Reaver, and it made Remus sick. "I want to stop it."

Alastor lacked emotion in his eyes now. "You cannot."

"Then what do I do!?" Remus half-shouted. He saw Nadine lift her head as he fought his desire to stand, pressing on his knees with white-knuckled fingers to keep him pressed against the chair. "I will not allow him to control me! The longer this goes on the greater threat there is to the others! You have to get them out," he added suddenly, eyes widening. "Whatever this has to do with me, you cannot let the others come to harm!"

"I can," Alastor replied. "You fail to understand your station, Mr. Lupin. I am only concerned with the hive."

"Then why bring me here?" Remus demanded. His hands were trembling now, half in fear and half in rage. "Why talk to me at all?!"

"You are not a balverine," said Alastor. "But you are close. My sympathy is not lightly given, and I suggest you use it well."

Remus drew his hands over his face, shoulders shuddering as a massive sigh rippled through his flesh. "Alright," he said, though the words pained him. "Alright. I'm listening. ...You're his right hand man, no? What does Reaver even want with all of us?"

"Freedom. Reaver wants his freedom. He cannot leave this land. This place is his prison, we may be slaves but he is the prisoner."

"This is the only safe place for miles around," Remus protested. He flung an arm out, indicating the outside. "The forest is no place for any sane person to go. I wouldn't dare set foot out there again if I had the choice."

"Reaver does not have the luxury of choice. If the powers that put him here had their way, he would be imprisoned here. Forever. With no regard to who or what this land rightfully belongs to, and with no care as to who he hurts trying to get out."

"If he was imprisoned, what was his crime?"

Breathing in dryly, Alastor seemingly resisted a faint grimace of a smirk. "What wasn't. Have you not spoken to the man?"

Remus nodded, rolling his eyes. "Fair point. So then, who put him here?"

"Someone I hope you or I never encounter, if the stories are true. He is older than the one who gives me my resistance, and his power is like nothing in this realm. He hunted Reaver for centuries before finally trapping him here for eternity."

"Or, so he thought," Remus added. "Or else we wouldn't be here."

"Yes." Alastor gave a stiff nod.

"But he tried to have us killed," Remus added. "The plant trails made him stop. That part I don't understand: what does any of this have to do with the plants, and why are they so important?"

"Others before you were gifted with such a trait. It is unusual, but not entirely rare, per se. Reaver did not spare you: I did. It began with a mission to hunt down the humans starting the forest fires. My pack and I were patrolling in the area when you fell from the sky, and per Reaver's orders I was to kill everyone that was not one of ours. But, you proved yourselves much stronger than those who came before you. Perhaps strong enough to suit my needs."

Remus gave him a suspicious look, but Alastor didn't flinch. "What needs?"

"Simply put," Alastor said, bending low so that he nearly breathed into Remus' ear, "I want to remove 'Lord' Reaver from his post. I want him gone. I convinced Reaver that one of you might be the one to free him from his prison. Your plant trails were indicative of your unusual nature, and they were enough to interest him in you further."

"What makes you think we would help you?" Remus asked. His voice was low and calm, and neither knew there was any real threat in it. But Alastor stood to full height again, making sure to tower overhead once again.

"You help me," he said, "Or all of you die. If Reaver does not shoot you first, balverines will not stop hunting you, no matter how far you go."

Remus was still. He recognized the seriousness of Alastor's tone, and understood the severity of the threat. But there was an underlying feeling in Alastor's words that made him press: "What makes you think we can help? Why tell me all this, when you know I'm under Reaver's influence? One slip and I suspect he wouldn't hesitate to pry this information from me. We would all be in danger."

Alastor turned, pacing back and forth with is hands clasped behind him. "Reaver needs a soul that he cannot control. The participant must be completely willing. Therefor, you are not at risk. And for reasons that I have not been able to determine, he is terrified of that boy."

Remus' brow shot up and he choked with surprise. "Naoya? Reaver is afraid of Naoya?"

Alastor went on, "This is why I choose to tell you, and you alone."

That, and my 'condition,' Remus thought, frowning. "What do you need from me?"

Coming to a stop, Alastor was directly across from him once more. "I need your trust."

Remus sat straight back in his chair, taking in Alastor completely as if to weigh his demeanor against his words. "You are Reaver's right hand. Why should I trust you? This could be the setup to an elaborate ploy. It is not so much an issue of trust as it is mutual interest, and any bargain in which we are at risk is no bargain worthy of trust."

"It is not," Alastor agreed, "but you are not going to find a better solution before all of you are slaughtered when Reaver is done with you."

Remus felt something cold run down the length of his spine. It was an answer he had expected, but to finally hear it was hardly less chilling than the anticipation. Alastor was looking at him expectantly, and Remus tried to swallow a sticky lump in the back of his throat. He breathed out hard, pressing his knuckles into his knees and flexing his fingers, only to repeat the steps over and over again as he gave their options some very serious consideration.

What was he to do? If he did nothing, would he be risking more lives than his own? What happened when the full moon rose tomorrow night and he was helpless to do anything about it? Reaver needed them alive for now, but when his secret was exposed and their carefully constructed balance turned topside? Remus was pressed against three walls, and the fourth was no better looking than the others. But it was the closest thing he had to a way out. It gave him the best chance he needed to be safe.

"Give me your word that you will protect Anders and Naoya, even from me. Keep them safe, and you shall have my trust."

Alastor considered this for a moment, and then his stiff shoulders gave an affirmative shrug. "This is what I need you to do:"

"They serve a purpose, believe it or not," Anders replied cooly, brushing off the front of his robes and holding the sides of his coat out as if to demonstrate his point. "Energy must be allowed to flow freely when casting spells, and loose clothing allows that much better than a tight suit of armor."

"I understand that," said Naoya. He pointed at Anders' coat, aiming his finger high. "But the feathers are for....?"

"I happen to like them," Anders said. "These are hardly bold; you should see some of the robes from Tevinter. At least I try to look halfway decent."

"I think there's a difference in decency between our worlds," Naoya folded his arms over his chest.

Anders snorted in agreement as they rounded the corner to the hall that lead to their bedrooms. At once, their fast pace came to a slow and their footsteps lost volume: the last time they had seen Remus, he was headed here to sleep. The last thing they wished to do was disturb him, and Anders was glad that this was something he and Naoya both seemed to agree on without any words.

Actually, he had been surprised by the teen today: each time Anders had come close to snapping, Naoya had been able to swoop in and relieve him of Reaver's overbearing arrogance. Anders was grateful for it even if he had been cross, but being pushed into the back had allowed him the luxury of watching the scene instead of participating, and that was when he noticed it: noticed Naoya, darting in and out of conversation with a skillful tact that Anders had been too involved to notice before. Duelists, he and Reaver fenced words around one another and demonstrated their verbal footwork. If Naoya had been Orlesian, he would have been a capable opponent in The Game.

Anders was reluctant to admit it to himself, but perhaps Naoya was more than he appeared. His behavior at the mansion had proven that he was not the ignorant teenage boy he portrayed himself to be in the forest. But what kind of person Naoya was underneath all of the illusion was still a mystery, and Anders was not in any hurry to push buttons so soon.

"Robes have more practical uses outside of magic as well," he continued seriously. "When you live under constant watch and scrutiny, they're perfect for a quick fuck between bookshelves. And," he reached inside the lining of his coat and slid out a delicate piece of folded parchment, "they're useful for discrete 'appropriation.'"

Naoya paused, glancing between Anders and the paper. He wrinkled his nose. "Where were you keeping that?"

Anders rolled his eyes, pushing the door of his room open with an exaserbated sigh and inviting Naoya in. With a wild and furious motion, he cast the sheets and pillows off onto the floor with enough force to billow the curtains and allow streaks of daylight to dance across the floor for the briefest of seconds. He sat himself squarely at the head of the bed, splaying the parchment open across the bare mattress.

"Look here," Anders said, waving Naoya over. Once the boy settled opposite him, Anders went on:

"This is where we are now," he said, jabbing a calloused finger directly in the center of the map. In a neat circle, the walls of Reaver's city were clearly defined with a large, blotted "X" at the site of the mansion. Stretching for miles surrounding the tiny blip of a city, illustrations of the massive forest spread like a generous smear across the landscape. The snow-capped mountains that could be seen through the windows seemed much farther away on paper, and that was only one brief section of the map. Anders pressed his index, middle and ring finger against three small, red 'x' marks in the mass of trees, uncomfortably close to the city. "You said you smelled smoke last night," he said, "And Reaver said that the forest fires could be seen from his wing of the mansion. I think these are the locations of the fires."

"You're thinking of escaping, aren't you," Naoya lightly smirked at Anders. "We still don't know who's setting the fires, though," he then sighed, frowning thoughtfully. Hazel bangs fell from behind his ear, hanging into his face. "They wouldn't be setting the fires close to home." He pointed to the forest on the opposite side. "That leaves this whole area..." His voice trailed, his shoulders sinking, already exhausted at the mere thought. "If they're out there, we wouldn't know what to expect."

"No," Anders agreed. "And I'm not saying we should run to them. We don't know anything about them, and the farther we can stay from any sort of danger the better. However," he frowned, "we know they are enemies of Reaver. We don't have any allies now, but if we had to choose I would take a chance on them at least being willing to hear out those who are no fans of the Lord. It would be a fools' hike to head off into the woods without a plan, and as much as they are a threat to us they have been able to survive in that blighted woodland. We may need to seek them out."

"What's all this, then?"

Anders turned at the sound. "Remus! How are you feeling?"

Remus pressed himself against the doorframe, looking pale. "Well enough," he said, pointing at the map. "Where did you get that?"
"Reaver took us to his archives while you were sleeping," Anders said, but the tone of disgust could not be disguised. "I thought for half a second that maybe he meant that bit about showing us something useful, but after an hour of nothing but his senseless talking I tried to do some research for myself. This," Anders jerked his thumb to the map, "was slid into a stack of papers waiting to be sorted. It was easy enough to slip into my robes without anyone noticing."

"Then we're thinking the same thing," Remus said. "We need to get out of here."

Naoya shifted, sensing unease. "Something happened while we were gone."

Arms crossed, Remus explained about his meeting with Alastor, and the balverine's desires. "He's going to try to use us," Remus said. "We need to leave before that happens. Tonight."

"So I was right: Reaver is stuck here," Naoya lightly huffed.

"If he's trapped here, maybe he can't follow," Anders said hopefully.

"Not him," Remus replied. "But the balverines can. And they will hunt us."

"So what are you suggesting?" Anders asked. "How do we avoid Reaver and his pack long enough to escape them?"

"Don't forget about the plant trails," Naoya said. "The plants will lead right to us."

Remus frowned, nodding darkly. "The best cover we have is the cover of darkness. We're left largely alone after dinner--that should be our opening. If we can make enough headway overnight without drawing attention, we might make it out long before anyone notices."

There was a pause as each of them considered their plan.

"Then we have no real options," Anders said in a low, uncomfortable tone. "Naoya's right: the trails will doom us to recapture sooner or later. We'll need help. Looks like we have no choice but to try seeking out the fires."

Naoya leaned back, eyes scanning the ceiling in thought. "Or we leave, and light a fire ourselves." With his companions' attention, he went on: "If we light a fire big enough, it could distract enough of the balverines to give us a chance to escape and the plants might get burned in the process - which means no real trail to follow afterwards. By the time they find any green plants we should be long gone. Plus, the people starting the wildfires would get blamed."

Anders and Remus exchanged looks.

"That is... a very good plan, actually," Remus said, visibly surprised.

"I like where this is going," Anders agreed. He patted Naoya on the shoulder, earning him a cross pout and a pained swat as the teen tried to banish his hand.

"So then, after dinner we make our move?"

"I think so," Anders nodded. "I just wish we had access to supplies. If we don't find these rebels, we'll be hard-pressed for resources."

"We have to try," Remus said.

"Well," Naoya lightly snorted, "this should be fun."

The walk down to dinner was unusually quiet, though it was not the same silence that accompanied the Trio before. The afternoon was spent largely on their own, each taking the time to rest and gather themselves as needed for the night ahead.

Anders spent his time browsing through their bookshelves one last time, and daring the neighboring rooms for anything at all that may have had the remotest use to them. Naoya's bookshelf had yielded a hand-bound script on unusual flora—some of which, Anders recalled, he had seen in the forest. It was a language he couldn't read, but the illustrations were clear and the ink had been colored in places that he thought may indicate useage: red ink pointing to inedible or unusable parts, and black ink for otherwise mundane information. There was a small section in blue, even, but that meaning was altogether unknown. Anders slid that into the pocket with the map, not for the first time grateful that there was plenty of pocket-space in mage's robes.

Remus had tried to force a few hours of rest with his time. He knew this point well: when his limbs had begun to shake and unseen figures darted in and out of his vision, he was reaching a critical depletion of sleep. He had been awake most of last night, and tomorrow night he would not sleep a wink—but he was not ready to think about tomorrow. He was not ready to think about what he still had yet to do. His nightmares were full of creatures with long snouts and sharp talons, the bars of a cage he could not break free from, and the sound of posh, velvet laughter.

Naoya had returned to Reaver, to bear the brunt of the burden the absence of the older men caused. "Anders is watching Remus," he'd lied with a deceptive shrug when Reaver asked. "He's a doctor." But he took the perch of an eagle, observing closely the schedules and movements of the household as the evening drew in. The Lord seemed oblivious to them all—oblivious to the tension that almost made Naoya's eyes spin and his throat go dry with the pressure of it on his senses. Still, through it all he kept Reaver's eyes on him and away from the two men who desperately needed time to prepare for their flight. He returned when it was time to collect them both, and the plan launched.

They left their rooms as they found them: devoid of personal affects. They carried everything on their backs, though it was not much. They had no food, because a raid on the kitchens would draw far too much comotion. Slipping food from the dinner table would have worked wonderfully if they had pouches or bags, but the clothes on their backs were all that they had. It was a boon that they would  not need water skins or canteens: Remus had demonstrated his ability to draw water from the ground or the air with the wave of his wand and a few incantations. But the escape plan was not guaranteed success, least of all when they had no shelter or protection from the forest they were diving into. Their steps descending the length of the mansion pounded against the carpeted floors, weighted down by the knowledge that this could potentially be disastrous in a number of ways.

"Once dinner is over," Anders said in a low tone, "we get ready. The staff will be distracted, and we can escape with minimal eyes on us."

"Right," the others replied. None of them sounded certain.

Reaver saw them in with his usual flare, and the already half-emptied wine glass in his hands sloshed with liquid gold as he welcomed them. "Ah," he said, and his voice hummed. "Finally. I had hoped to talk to you all together tonight. I believe I have finally found something that will set things in motion for you."

Anders turned his head so that Reaver wouldn't see him rolling his eyes.

Once seated, the staff saw to it that all their needs were met. Previously hesitant to take much, both Anders and Remus openly accepted about the amount of food served to them. The more calories now, the better. The female balverines, finely dressed and hair in tight, elegant braids, finished the display of wealth and skill by topping off three crystal glasses with their own doses of the yellow liquid.

"A toast," Reaver smiled, his teeth gleaming in the ambient light. "To the beginning."

Wordlessly, they all drank.

The silence continued into the evening. The chink of silverware against the china became the overtone, soon becoming overbearing and scratching painfully behind the ears. Communication was wordless: glances across the table that could express volumes in a few short feet. Anders glanced at Remus, who glanced to Naoya. Shoulders were stiff and legs were coiled like springs, ready to jump at a moment's notice.

Finally, after what seemed like a small eternity, the balverine maidens burst through with a tray laden with tiny cakes for the ending course. Reaver grinned from behind a ruby cloth napkin.

"Ah, splendid," he sighed, pressing his elbow against the table and laying his cheek in his palm. He watched the women with his eyes as they set a single dessert in front of each of the three guests, and then finally the Lord himself.

Alastor appeared, silent as always, carefully refilling Reaver's cup with an expression devoid of emotion. Remus swallowed, his mouth dry with anticipation. He tried to catch the balverine's eye, to spot the slightest hint of the man who had spoken to him only hours before. Alastor's poison-yellow gaze flickered to Remus for only a split second, however, and Remus was left with nothing.

Dessert went down quickly, and dinner was finished in the same brooding silence in which it began. The Trio washed down the last of the food with the water provided and Reaver busied himself once more with the napkin, dabbing at his mouth. Once finished, he stiffened in his chair, sitting up at full attention.

"Now, then. Onto the matter I mentioned earlier," Reaver started.

His words sank in like a knife only when Naoya slumped forward onto the table with a small moan. Anders' chair scraped across the floor as he made to help, but as soon as his head reached full height he began to blink. His brow stitched together uncomfortably, and Remus saw him begin to sway uncomfortably. Within another minute, he was on his knees, struggling to stay awake. Remus was the last one to succumb, and with his vision beginning to swirl he fought for a clear glance at Reaver. The man was practically glowing, looking down at his prey like a lion about to feast. His icy blue  eyes were backlit with a wild hunger, and an anticipation that clutched at Remus' throat. In loose fingers, Reaver dangled his empty wine glass with a smug satisfaction. Remus felt his body give before he could stop it, and his head fell against the table as he too blacked out.

Reaver signalled for the staff with a casual wave, and the maidens hurried in to begin clearing the table. Alastor reappeared at his side, and Reaver gave him a sideways smile. "You know," he said, sighing contentedly to his butler, "I do love it when I win."

Alastor swept past Reaver, and he looked upon the unconscious three at the table, his jaw tightening as he pressed his fangs together inside his mouth. After a brief pause, he moved to grab Naoya's lax form.

Chapter Text

The sensation of warmth on his cheek began to rouse Remus from what felt like an eternal sleep. His eyelids were heavy, and so for a while he simply laid where he was, groggy and confused. It could have been weeks that passed, Remus wasn't sure. Time was meaningless here. But the heaviness pressing on him grew stronger by the minute. And then, the screaming began.

Remus jerked awake, eyes ripping open. He was lying face down on a hard stone floor, watching dust scatter away from his face as he tried to calm panicked breaths. The tiles were covered in a sprinkling of hay, and from his position on the ground Remus could see an enormous bundle of it that he thought might be an attempt at a bed. In the earthen spaces between tiles, chutes of wolfsbane were struggling to grow. Remus' head seemed bloated and heavy as he tried to lift it off the floor, and he felt a pinching against his wrists before he heard the clink of chains: his hands were bound behind his back.

Remus forced an even breath out from between his teeth, trying to calm himself. It didn't help.

He rolled himself over, wincing when the chains pressed against his skin. Propping himself up on an elbow, Remus tried to get an awkward look around. He was in a small, dark room that lay along a hallway full of other, similar rooms, each containing a balverine thrashing violently against the bars and howling in rage against their containment. The racket was deafening, and it sent chills rocketing up and down his spine. The stench of urine and filth was overpowering, and Remus shut his eyes tight as a sudden sense of nausea overcame him but he could not stop the small bit of bile that erupted in the back of his throat. The warmth he felt on his cheek came from a tiny pillar of mid-day sunlight let in by a brick-sized window at the very top of the cell's rear wall.

BANG!

A sound rang through the halls as a door towards the end was slammed against the wall. Long shadows stretched down the dark corridor: the Lord of the city, his cane in one hand and his revolver in the other, and the large, hulking form of another man--a guard? Reaver strode along as if it were his right, his head held high above the filth of the Lessers' lair. The thick man trailed along behind, carrying his shoulders in what was undoubtedly a submissive stance; he a cowering puppy instead of a powerful balverine. He held his tricorn close to him, as if it would save him from Reaver's wrath.

"This is where you brought him?" Reaver demanded.

He cleared his throat. "Yes, Lord Reaver, just as you asked. I wasn' able to get much out of him, though."

"Hm," Reaver sneered. "I don't think that will be a problem anymore. Open the door."

There came the sound of a hundred rattling keys, and Remus craned his neck towards the bars in time to see them swing outward, groaning in protest as they admitted this newcomer into his cell. Large, thick fingers stuffed the key ring back into a worn trouser pocket as the guard closed the bars behind him with a terrible, metallic grinding. Remus seemed to come to his senses as the sound of their voices approaching his cell sent a wave of ice through his blood. He sensed instinctively that this appearance from Reaver was no accident, and that it would only lead somewhere terrible. How long had he been out? His eyes darted to the window, where the bold light of morning had begin to fade out into an afternoon glow. He needn't have looked: Remus could feel it already, an ache that threatened to stretch his very bones beginning to bleed into his awareness. Tonight was the night.

Somehow, he found his voice. "Where are the others?" he demanded without thinking, the words cracking from the dryness of his throat.

Reaver arched a fine brow and turned his head. "Awake? Good, makes things much easier. As for the others, what difference does it make to you where they are?" The immortal tilted his head sideways, feigning a pout. "Didn't you all just meet the other day? Awfully soon to start worrying about them. But if you simply must know, they're fine - for the time being. Your, ah- only a 'friend', was he? He hasn't woken up yet. And, well, the youngest of your little trio is still at the bottom of the bottle, so to speak."

Reaver flicked his wrist and the guard approached.

"Thought you was gonna sleep all day," the brute said, his voice gruff and hoarse as though he wasn't used to speaking. "Had plenty of time to search your belongings while you was out cold, too." The man placed the heel of one of his boots on Remus' side, not-so-gently turning him over onto his back. His face was lined with scars, many hidden behind a thick layer of stubble. Behind his snarl, Remus could see rows of yellowed, slightly pointed teeth. The man crouched down so that he was holding his knees. "Now, tell me: where's that stick of yours? Don't need anyone dyin', do we, mage? Tell me where your weapon is. Now."

Remus said nothing, involuntarily thinking back to the last thing he could remember. Reaver, gloating at the head of the table—he must have laced their drinks! But the balverines moved them here, the guard said so. So—where was his wand? If they had indeed searched him, wouldn't they have found it on him? The missing pressure against his belt loop was a sore loss, and Remus was helpless to explain it.

At his silence, the man frowned, momentarily regarding him with cold eyes. "You'll come around soon enough," he shrugged, wiping something from the corner of his mouth. He stood up, removing his tricorn hat and resting it in his hands. His hair was thick and dark, but clumped into thick strands by grease. "Newcomers try to fight, but they always come around in time. All the poor sods who come traipsing out o' those woods never knew what hit 'em," he added, turning and gesturing to the balverines in the cages. "But they always come around in time."

He laughed, a wet and throaty thing that sent a wave of hate surging through Remus' veins like molten steel. This man, this balverine - he was so like Fenrir Greyback, the man who made it a priority to turn children into werewolves like himself; the man who gathered the sufferers of his disease and turned them against their neighbors; the monster who turned innocent people into nothing more than beasts.

"Because to the rest of the world," Greyback had cried, "we're all monsters!"

But Remus Lupin was not a monster. He was a man, struggling to get by. He folded his socks, he had a record collection, he tried to be somebody. It didn't matter, though. None of that mattered, because all he would ever be to the world was a werewolf. Remus hated himself. He hated the thing he became. He hated that he wasn't even human and that once a month he was reminded of that fact in a way that was too painful for his mind to even comprehend.

All because of people like this.

"I'm not a balverine," Remus spat venomously. "I'm not like you!"

The man - Boots, Remus chose to call him - offered a sarcastic snort in reply. "Ah, but you're wrong. You migh' not be a balverine but you're closer to us than you are to your friends." Boots knelt low again, grabbing fistfuls of Remus' shirt and jerking him into a sitting position. His breath was hot in the werewolf's face as he spoke in a low, guttural growl. "You cling to this enlightened part of yourself, your - your humanity, but deep inside you're no different from us.  We can all smell it, can't we, boys?"

The last bit had been a near shout, and the agitated yelps and roars of the nearby balverines escalated into a resounding explosion of indistinguishable noise at their leader's call. But with an angry grunt, Boots let go of Remus' shirt and headed to the bars, kicking them violently. "SHADDUP, ya bloody ankle biters!"

The howls immediately hushed, but did not completely die away. Boots grumbled to himself, rolling his eyes as he returned to his prey. Reaver rolled his eyes, bringing his hands down from his ears and glaring at Boots out of the side of his eyes. He cleared his throat, and Boots immediately stiffened.

"Tell me where your weapon is, mage." he warned, again leaning in close.  

Remus glared at his tormentor, every fiber in him seething. Through gritted teeth, he said the only thing that came to mind:

"Fuck. You."

There was a sharp crack and the side of Remus' face exploded in pain. Stars flashed in his field of vision, and a warm trickle ran down his stinging cheek. Boots growled, examining his knuckles before wiping a large, golden ring against his trousers. But when his eyes had readjusted, Remus saw a smile working its way over the balverine's scarred face.

"Defiant. I'll give you that," he grinned. "But I stand by what I said: you can't fight it forever. It's only a matter of time." He chuckled to himself, satisfied with this knowledge, patting Remus on the head like a boy. "I can sense the animal within you. You're weak - soon, it's going to overtake you. Soon, it's going to force its way out."

Remus tried to swallow, but his throat was tight; he was barely breathing. He didn’t even notice. Because if his throat was closed and his lips were pressed tightly together, he couldn’t let out the screams collecting in his chest. He refused to let them out, refused to break the silence with an outburst that would represent all of his anger - all of his weakness - shoved together into one awful sound. But for all of the rage burning through his thoughts, Remus felt a wave of disgust settle in the pit of his stomach: Boots was right. Even if they managed to escape this place, he would still turn - and if he was here when it happened...

A sound escaped his throat, sounding suspiciously like growl, and Remus hung his head. The sunlight meant that the final day had come: the full moon was tonight. He would turn, whether he wanted to or not. And in this place, he had no control. Alastor had lied—there was no plan, was there? Remus felt his neck burning, shame building up inside him. Falling for such a ploy—Remus had never been more disgusted with himself. He wished now that he had told Anders and Naoya the whole truth when he revealed Alastor's plan, wished that he had told them to go and get away safely before the worst should happen. But this was never what he expected, once again putting his trust in the worst people imaginable.

He was a werewolf - he should never have joined Anders and Naoya in the first place! What would he have told them on the first full moon in this world, even if none of this had happened? What would he have done? Where would he have gone? His foolishness stung worse than the cut along his cheek, the guilt pierced him slowly, brutally. It sat in his gut, burning through his insides like he'd swallowed embers. Everything that happened now was his fault. More of his friends would die now, and it was his fault.

"What do you hope to achieve by locking us away down here?" Remus shot. "You already know we have nothing to offer you - we have no possessions, no information. We came here with nothing!"

Reaver used the end of his gun's barrel to turn Remus' chin up to look him in the eye. "That's just your point of view," he said, a smarmy expression overcoming his chiseled features. "I had to play the dutiful host to you three for too long." He removed his revolver from Remus' jaw, spinning the bejeweled piece in his hand with expert precision before holstering it. "Now it's time for you three to pay your dues to La Chateau de Reaver."

Slipping a key from his sleeve, Reaver tossed it in the air before catching it again. "I knew there was something similar to a balverine in you, but if you say that you're indeed different - well, we'll just have to find out how different... won't we? Now, just stay calm," Reaver directed, "I'm sure this probably won't hurt a bit." The immortal leaned closer to Remus, reaching behind and unlocking the shackles. They fell to the floor behind him with a thud, their fall softened by the wolfsbane circle surrounding him on the floor. Immediately, Remus brought his wrists up, rubbing them sorely. His elbows and shoulders were stiff from disuse and his skin had been rubbed raw from constant friction with the metal and he heard a satisfying popping sound as he flexed for the first time in almost a day. He stared up at Reaver, confused. What was that supposed to prove?

"I don't understand," he croaked, "Why - would you let me go?"

Reaver didn't reply at first, instead taking a step back, and with a wide sweeping gesture the Lord motioned towards the doorway. He then frowned, moving his fingers in a little waving movement and Boots quickly stepped aside. "There's the door, Mr. Lupin," he said accommodatingly. "Now, get off with you. Tsst, scoot, off you go. Vamoose, allons-y, geh weg!"

This was all too convenient. Remus knew that this was a set-up. But what was there to be gained by resisting? Another day in this cell, another week? If he could jut get out of this cellblock, there was more chance of him escaping - or reuniting with the others - than there was if he remained here. That did not stop him from hesitating - before slowly rising to his feet, eyes flickering to the door and to Boots, waiting in the hallway beyond, and then back to Reaver, who remained where he was, observing him with a snide smirk.

But when he tried to take a step, blinding pain surged behind his eyes and Remus stopped, horrified. He couldn't do it - he couldn't leave. It wasn't the pain - even if it surged with renewed vigor the more he struggled. It was the sudden feeling, a foreign thought emerging from somewhere in his mind. Again, he tried to move, but he found that his body simply disobeyed him. He shut his eyes, clenching the bridge of his nose. A sharp breath flared from his nostrils as he tried to will himself to move - to just take that one step, that one pathetic, step--! But he couldn't. All he could do was stand there. And he knew with a terrible, sinking feeling that it was because Reaver didn't want him to leave.

So this was Reaver's test.

Reaver stood there, hands stacked on the glittering crystal orb that sat atop his cane. Watching as Remus froze, he let out an amused chuckle.

"Can't do it, can you?" he commented and tapped a gloved finger against his lips, his smile fading as he thought on this confirmation of his theory. "So, quite like the balverines, you're swayed into obedience by this." He tapped his cane on the stone floor. "You say you're not a balverine, and we both know that's true. But you're a beast like them, and not much of a man, then, I'll take it. And what a shame, you seemed to be the only one with some semblance of manners. Though if beasts like you do happen to come with manners, I'd take an army of your kind for comfort in this dreary eternal place over the mindless structure of those creatures for a few centuries." The immortal lifted his cane, then holding it under the orb like it were a scepter. "Still, then, I'm quite curious. What do you look like in your non-human form?"

The briefest of moments passed in silence. When nothing happened, Reaver looked taken aback, looking to the cane and shaking it with an annoyed scowl. Remus' hands shook and his fingernails bit into the flesh of his palms as he tried to hold back his anger, but at the Lord's frustration, a faint, humorless grin worked its way onto his face - something Reaver didn't fail to notice.  Remus let out a pained hiss and nearly dropped to his knees again, hands clutching at his temples and fingers wrapping themselves in his hair as he felt Reaver's eyes fix on him and the staff command his obedience.

"It doesn't work that way," he heard himself say, his eyes watering and light flashing in his vision as the pain continued to grow in intensity. Remus started to panic: the words were slipping out like they had been greased—before he could even begin to object, Reaver's influence won out. How far did the connection go now that it was almost moonrise?

The pain suddenly ceased, and Remus realized he had been holding his breath. He gasped, choking on musty air and spiced perfume through heavily gritted teeth. His mind was going a thousand miles an hour without thought, his chest was tight and his hands couldn't stop shaking.

"How does it work?"

Reaver's voice was curious, but not overtly so. Remus shot him a defiant look. "You already know how—stop playing games!"

Reaver frowned, his grip going white against the cane. Remus bit his tongue to stop from crying out.

"Tell me," Reaver said. "I want you to tell me."

Only after another minute of this, did Remus finally speak: "Moon—", he grimaced, "it's the moon!"

"The moon?" Reaver repeated, almost as if the nature of the answer were an insult. "Yes, I think that's much better. Don't you see how much easier this is if you just cooperate, Mr. Lupin? And here I was hoping you'd give a more interesting answer." He lightly sneered, his defined lips pulling back to reveal his teeth in his disappointed look. "So, what is it then. The new moon, the full moon? The halo moon or a moonbow, perhaps? I only know so much, you see—such are the limits of my position, as small as they are."

"The full moon," he spat through a heavy scowl. "Once a month. I can't control it - it just happens."

He could see Boots just beyond Reaver's reach, smiling at him with a mocking grin as he shook his head. He needn't say a word - his message was clear: "You poor bastard."

"Reaver, stop this!" Remus shouted suddenly, his face long-since turned a shade of red. Defiance roared up like a dragon in his belly, but he pushed it down: he needed to end this before it turned from bad to worse. "Stop toying with me. I don't know how you know so much about us, but you know enough to be in control. So why are you doing this? Why did you really come down here?"

The slapping sound of stone hitting flesh echoed through the cell. Reaver held the end of his cane, staring down at Remus with blue eyes laced with venom. He watched the guard immediately force Remus onto the ground and shackle him once again, tucking back a stray lock of hair that had come loose with his swing.

"You seem to mistake your position here, Mr. Lupin," the words were musical but icy. The immortal then pulled his cane away, looking at the small splatter of blood left on the crystal orb. "Tsk, you've gone and gotten your blood all over my Control Crystal. This orb's almost ten-thousand years old, you should show it more respect."

Withdrawing a handkerchief from his pocket, Reaver began to polish the head of his cane. "You know, the balverines do something similar. They use the full moon to make some of the more 'pure-blooded' of their kind." He paused, then rolled his hand in a gesturing motion at Remus. "I do apologize. Of your kind." The immortal smirked, light devious crinkles forming at the corners of his eyes, then returned to wiping. "Well then, if the moon does as you say... I suppose it's only a matter of time, isn't it? And for your resistance, I have something that might help make the hours go by that much faster..."

At Reaver's words, the guard waved someone in, and off to his left Remus heard something shuffle out of the darkness of the hallway. A musky, sweet stench permeated the cell as the doors opened, admitting a shifted balverine into the room. Its fangs were coated in white frothy saliva that dripped onto a narrow chin as it barred it's sabre-like teeth, and the quills along its stretched, twisted form glittered black as coal. Remus' eyes widened as the creature stepped forward and extended its claws, an animalistic hiss escaping from deep within its belly. He struggled, but with no wand and his hands tied, al he could do was wriggle helplessly against  the guard's vice-like grip.

"Kill him," Reaver warned as the balverine approached, "and your pelt will be filled with bullet holes."

The balverine with the musty, mottled fur turned its head to look up at him.

Reaver headed out the door. "Mr. Lupin, I suppose if you really want to know why you're down here, it's because I need someone that the this cane can't take hold of and that the balverines haven't eaten yet. Can't tell you how many I've lost to hungry imbeciles." Reaver leered at Boots for a second. "That leaves temperamental Anders, and young Itsuki. And, well, with you no longer a viable option and that teenager upstairs, I suppose my only option left is dear, angry Anders. Of course, if the moon does do as you say, you aren't much use to me beyond being a pretty new pet. We'll just have to see how pretty your other form is, else you might just become a new rug." The dark-haired man in the white suit started to walk away, not even turning to look back. "The full moon's coming, Mr. Lupin~ Until then, tatty-bye."

Reaver's laughter followed him down the hall, and the guard stepped back, releasing his hold on Remus, who immediately tried jerking away from the wolfish creature. But it was fast - too fast. It was over before he'd had a chance to blink: a pair of thin, red lines erupted from the minuscule scratches along his throat. Remus blinked stupidly as the balverine retreated, wondering why the creature hadn't pounced, hadn't tortured him. But he only had to wonder for a moment. Remus felt the sensation of having the floor drop from below him, and his vision swirled. The whole world seemed to shift, and he was suddenly on the floor again. The citrus smell of the crushed wolfsbane mingled with the pungent stench of dog, and the cell was nothing more than a mass of color and texture, blended together like an abhorrent cocktail.

Then he saw it: blood. Blood, splattering the walls and pooling along the floor. It was on his hands, painting his skin in warm, sticky splotches. Day had become night, silvery moonlight pouring in like a spotlight, illuminating -

Oh, Merlin, no —

The cell was too dark to see past the column of light, but the body partially illuminated at the base was unmistakably Anders. He was laying in a pool of his own blood, his hair collecting into thick, red clumps. He'd been torn apart. Remus' stomach hitched, emptying what little it contained.

He forced himself up, mind reeling. His breath was rapid, panicked. This wasn't real. It couldn't be real!

He craned his neck, glancing wildly up at the distorted faces of the balverines towering over him. Reaver was grinning, half-laughing, and the canine balverine barked with amusement as a thick boot met Remus' chest and pressed down on him. When the guard reached his hands towards Remus' face again, he could see them covered with blood.

"NO!"

Remus kicked, socking the man's great belly and reveling in the man's pained scream. Remus tried shuffling away, stretching his shoulders painfully for that extra inch of distance. He rolled onto his stomach, spotting the bars of the cell wide open still. He heard the poison balverine hissing behind him, and he jerked forward—

Naoya's face was sliced down the length of it. He lay crumpled against the bars, his one remaining eye staring fixedly up at him, calling him out—

Now Remus could smell it: the pungeant odor of thickly spattered blood. Thick fingers grabbed him from behind, dragging him across the floor and whipping him into the hay pile. But now his face had been warped even further, and it bore an almost melted look. The other balverine was nothing but glowing eyes and fangs, a horrific mockery of the Cheshire cat in the darkness of the cell.

"Again," he heard Reaver's warped voice say to the poisonous breed, and Remus again felt the scraping of laced claws against his neck. Reality began to fade again, and Remus could only try to quell his racing breaths as the balverines finally left his cell. Soon he was no longer alone: Sirius Black, Peter Pettigrew, Lily and James—tormented faces joined Anders and Naoya with him, and they all wanted blood—his blood.

His fault! His fault! His fault!

Finally, slowly, Remus curled into himself. The roar of the balverines was joined by a single, howling scream.

Somewhere far away from Remus, Anders woke up, which was the first challenge of many he was about to face. It was dark, and he couldn't see the bridge of his nose in the—wherever he was. He knew he was awake, though, because he knew the feel of the Fade like only a mage could. But in all other respects, this was more like a nightmare than anything from the waking realm.

Anders let out a slow, patient breath. His heart had already begun to beat out of control, and he forced himself to listen for any sound that might betray what was happening. He flexed his limbs, feeling for the first time that he was bound in a chair, his arms and legs strapped tightly to the frame. He couldn't direct his magic without his hands, and Anders whipped his neck urgently, relieved to feel his small half-pony slap against his ears. At least he could still move his head, he thought, his lips automatically pulling to the side with an anxious expression that nobody would see. He let out another breath, testing his bonds—but they were solid, not allowing for any slack that might give him enough room to wiggle a hand free. The last images he could recall replayed forcefully inside his mind.

Reaver. He must have known—somehow, he had to have known about their plan to escape. That Blighted bastard! That bloody coward, the rotten, piss-drinking, shit-eating son of a—

"Who's there?"

Anders tilted his ear towards the sound, but there was nothing. Now he cursed himself. He was still alone in the dark.

No, Justice said. Not alone.

Relief made Anders' limbs nearly tingle. He could almost laugh, and he chastised himself for forgetting his friend. Anders let the knowledge wash over him and he felt his panic begin to subside, though only slightly. Having another present, even inside his own body, was preferable to Anders. He knew all too well the horrors of being alone in the dark. A year spent in solitary had taught him more than he ever wanted to know.

Anders could feel himself returning to that miserable cell, forgotten in the deep cellars of Kinloch Hold. Unaccustomed to total darkness, phantom lights danced in front of his eyes and Anders couldn't help but remember the demons that whispered each night for him to give in. His hands shook now as they had then, even with the restraints, and Anders dug his fingernails into his sweat-soaked palms to remind himself that he was still in the present. His breaths shuddered as he remembered the stink of the cell, from the chamber pot the Templars only emptied once per fortnight if he was lucky. The sound of his own voice echoing his panic was a sweet poison: songs whispered to himself to pass the many hours became whole conversations, became stories, became screams—screams at the top of his lungs, anything to keep the silence away—!

ANDERS.

Justice broke through the horrific cyclone of images, his mere presence a shining beacon brighter than the spirit's natural glow. Anders breathed again, one, two, three, one, two, three... He blinked the shards of fear from his eyes and licked his lips, shifting his toes inside his boots as his whole body gave a great shudder.

He could not express his gratitude to Justice in words, but he he suspected Justice already knew. Words were often extraneous for them.

Tiny blue crackles of light crossed the top of Anders nose, confirming that they had both just head the same thing: the growing rhythm of hard soles on stone. Someone was coming. Anders turned his ears towards the noise, listening intently as the evenly paced steps came closer to his chamber. They stopped just before what Anders assumed was a door, and he heard the rattling of a key ring followed by the harsh clank of a lock.

The light in the hall was not much better, and at first Anders could only see the briefest silhouette of the man entering the room. But his stomach clenched and Anders stiffened, because it was unmistakable.

"I really ought to do something about the horrendous lighting down here," Reaver muttered briefly, heading over towards the far wall and setting a match to the mounted torch. Immediately, the room was flooded with a sickly orange glow and Anders blinked as his eyes adjusted painfully to the light.

"Good morning!" Reaver purred, and Anders' insides burned at the smug grin Reaver wore like an accessory. "Or, rather, afternoon. You're a heavy sleeper, Nurse Anders. Out like a light for twenty-two hours." The glint in his eye told all that was needed to know about how Anders wound up in the dungeon: Reaver had messed with their drinks.

At the thought of Remus and Naoya, Anders sat up as straight as he could. "Where are they?" Anders spat, following Reaver with his head as best he could. He was watching his hands, for any sign of a weapon: he was not strapped down to a chair without purpose.

In response, Reaver inspected the head of his cane, scrunching his nose at the few stubborn droplets of red that hid in the crevices. He pointed the jeweled tip in Anders' face, making sure he got a good, long look. "You should really have a conversation with your friend. Tell him that it's very rude to get blood all over something that doesn't belong to him."

"Bastard!" Anders roared, his voice resounding painfully against the walls as he strained against his bindings. It only made Reaver's smile widen, and the coals of Anders' rage burned hotter. "What did you do?! I swear by the Maker, I will do worse to you—you'll spill more blood than you drew!"

"Oh, calm down, calm down," the Lord chided, mock pity lifting his brows. "You're awfully easy to work into a tissy-fit. I didn't draw a lot of blood. More like I smacked him around and left a big bruise." With a spring in his step, he swung out his cane at the air in demonstration. "Which was rather kind of me, given the circumstances Mr. Lupin left me in. Someone should be thanking me for sparing such a boring creature.

"By the Maker-"

"And it does you no good to swear unto your god, or gods, or what-have-yous." Reaver shook his head as he spoke, a smile sneaking up on his chiseled face. "I don't believe in your deities, therefore nothing's going to happen to me. Trust me, countless others have asked their gods for help against me; but I can tell you that in all my years that I've maybe only ever seen anything close to a deity once. Maybe twice, if you count this blind old hag I once knew... She was a frighteningly powerful woman..."  He walked over and stroked back some of Anders' blond locks, then gave him a patronizing pat. "Ah, but I digress. Point is, no one's dead. Not yet." Lidded eyes watched the irate mage squirm, Anders' skin flaring blue and quickly fading like a burning effigy of personified anger.

 "You son of a bitch," Anders growled. Reaver withdrew his hand just in time for Anders' saliva to miss it's mark.

With blinding speed, Reaver had Anders' jaw clasped tightly in his hand, slamming the back of his head into the chair. "You still continue to disappoint me," he said, tilting Anders' head to either side. "I thought with a spirit like yours you would be more entertaining. I have lived far too long to be rattled by a child like you, and you are alive only by my good graces. If you want to stay that way, then I suggest you start playing the part of the good little mage and answer my questions."

He let go of Anders' face, watching the white pressure marks he left on his cheeks fade back into an angry red. He wriggled his fingers in the air as he spoke: "Is that amicable to you, Nurse Anders?"

Anders glared at him behind gritted teeth, wishing to spear Reaver with just his eyes. "You're mad. You're howling at the bloody moon!"

Reaver restrained a terse laugh. "Oh, I'm not the one who's howling," he said, his pursed lips trying to keep himself from a full-blown grin.

Anders pressed his lips firmly together, directing all his fury through his hardened stare at the man who thought a torture chamber was the gateway to a civil conversation. Reaver only shrugged.

"I expected as much, coming from you. You do seem to fancy being the protector of your little group, don't you?" Reaver wiped the cloth along the head of his cane again, still staining the white cloth with blood. "But for all your efforts, you are rather abysmal at it. If you knew half as much about your friends as I do, you would be infinitely more successful. Young Itsuki wouldn't be hitting the bottom of the bottle, and Mr. Lupin wouldn't be on such a short leash. Things have just gone just, as the rabble would say, 'doggone crazy' for you." A laugh finally escaped him, his white perfect teeth flashing as he grinned.

Something inside Anders gave an involuntary twitch. Protector? Hardly. He was not the leader of their group, nor the most cautious. But Reaver's words hooked him, drawing him in with a painful truth: he did care about the others. He had been so busy hating Reaver that he could have missed anything—any opportunity to get them out. The others had been trying so hard... Anders felt a loyalty and a strange sense of kinship with the others now, after having survived this long together. He hadn't thought about it, but he realized that he had actually come to consider them as friends. It was easy to want to protect the people he cared about. It was as ingrained a part of Anders as Justice was. But something else nagged at the back of Anders' mind, whispering like a worm in his ear: what did Reaver know about them that Anders didn't? The thought made Anders' chest ache. He sucked in a heated breath, his chest straining at the restraints of the chair.

"You're playing mind games. Of course I want to protect them—not like you would know what that's like!"

But Reaver's complexion paled, and his eyes grew distant—haunted. "Well that's where you're wrong," he said with a teetering smile, trying to sound charming but his allure was fading. "There's me. Who better to protect than myself? After all, that's who you have to live with at the end of the day." He turned away from Anders, pressing his hands into his hips. "Such a shame you're so interested in being a martyr. You would've made a handsome escort."

His words were light, but Anders saw the cracked facade for what it was. "It looks like we're both failures, then," he prodded, adding as much venom as he could muster.

"No one has said anything about you failing just yet, Anders," Reaver spoke again after a few minutes. His practiced ways and mannerisms were coming back, and he spoke as if he had no outburst at all. "Maybe there's a way for you to still-" he rolled his eyes, his back still turned and his tone even "-succeed..."

"Have you ever done this before?" Anders asked. "You have complete control. You won. And now you're going on about how I can succeed? We fell right into your trap. You've locked us away for your amusement, or something much less interesting, because if we were going to be left to rot, you wouldn't have shown up, would you? So forgive me if I don't believe you when you tell me there's something beyond failure here. Because at the present moment there is strikingly little that I can do to free those I care about. I doubt that you and I can meet any sort of compromise."

Reaver tilted his head, placing his cane against the wall to bring his fingers up to his lips. He tapped them rhythmically, his brow curling upwards. "Oh, but what if that's not true? Come on now, don't play the stubborn mage. Hear me out. Well, not that you have a choice in the matter at the moment," he placed a hand on his hip, shaking his head, small dark curls bouncing from the motion. "I've got a little problem to take care of. Young Itsuki is a little too veteratorian for it, and Mister Lupin, well-" Reaver had a glint of amusement spring to his voice "- he has a... 'pre-existing condition' that makes it difficult for him to complete this task. And by process of elimination, that leaves you. Agree to help me, and they can go. You can do whatever you like afterwards. You might even find yourself back home, or someplace as equally similar."

"You want me to help you escape." Anders eyed Reaver carefully, feeling the shift of power and trying not to delight in it. "This place isn't just your home: it's your prison. I know more than you think I do, Lord Reaver. And I don't think I'll be helping you."

Reaver looked as though he had been slapped. He visibly struggled with himself, a bubble of rage bursting through his elaborate persona.

"Very well. I wanted to do this the nice way," he said. "You are nothing if not stubborn, mage. Let me remind you that I am, as you said, in complete control."

Reaver unholstered his pistol, tapping it against his chin in mock contemplation. An idea seemed to strike him, and he leaned in very close, leaning Anders scrunching his nose at the sudden smell of spices. He felt the barrel of the gun press against his kneecap.

"Do this for me, or watch both of your friends die."

"NO!"

Reaver backed away, squinting behind a gloved hand as Anders' skin erupted into a blaze of electric blue light. Justice struggled against the bonds of the chair, drawing every ounce of strength between both he and his host to break free.

"YOU WILL NOT HARM THEM," Justice boomed, and Reaver shrunk back as the wooden chair gave an unholy groan followed by a sharp crack.
 
Both Anders and Justice screamed as a knife cut into the meat of his thigh, as much in surprise and fear as pain. Justice struggled against the breaking bonds, but Reaver forced Anders' head back against the chair with his fingers, the other palm still wrapped around the handle of the blade.

His expression darkened considerably. "I've tried doing this the nice way," he said. "But niceties are lost in terms of dealing with you, mage.

He twisted the knife just a little, and Anders cried out again.

Reaver went on: "I know for a fact that you can be broken. It will just take time, and I have more than enough of that!"

At Reaver's command, the door into the hallway opened and an auburn balverine entered the chamber with something hanging from a cloth in her muzzle. Reaver snatched it up without looking at her, throwing the cloth into the darkness beyond the flame as he unscrewed the cap over the jar inside. "Balverines are good for more than just the thrill of the hunt. Especially the poison breed."

Thrusting upwards, Reaver ripped the dagger from Anders' thigh and smeared something cold across the open wound that left Anders' flesh tingling and screaming. From the location of the wound, Anders could feel something moving through his veins, sapping his energy and depleting his mana. But only when the lines of blue across his skin began to fade did Anders begin to truly panic.

He could no longer feel Justice.

No, no-!

Anders' vision began to swirl, and even against the support of the chair his limbs had grown to the weight of lead slabs. "How did you-" he sputtered, finding his tongue equally uncoordinated.

Red hair, green eyes, and the glint of a staff in the firelight; Reaver seemingly faded in the background, as her form solidified. She stood just at the edge of his vision in the darkness, and Anders couldn't even begin to wonder how she got there.

"Hawke?" he said, or tried to say. His lips grew slack and his head lolled. He was hardly able to look at her. But he saw her face, her emotionless expression, and the brand across her forehead.
Someone grabbed Anders from behind, jerking his head against the chair just as Reaver had. He felt heat against his neck as Hawke stepped out of the darkness, moving past Reaver and his sadistic grin to position herself at Anders' feet. She brushed back a few stray bands of hair from his forehead, and Anders struggled to breathe.

"I came looking for you," Hawke said. Her voice was monotone, but every one of them struck Anders like a blade. "We needed you. I tried stealing maps from the Chantry archive once I learned that you abandoned us, abandoned me. I was caught, and made an example of. Anders," she whispered, "this is your fault."

"No," Anders said, cursing his lax tongue. "I didn't abandon you—I swear it, Lillian, I—"

"Enough," said another, much harsher voice. The heat against Anders' neck was almost searing, and a hot, white brand came into view as it passed his ears. A metallic gauntlet grabbed him by the hair, joining the other around his throat. Hawke looked on, expressionless, even as Anders pleaded.

"Knight-Commander Meredith thought that we could be made examples of," Hawke said, "you shall see, Anders. This is truly the best way we can serve Kirkwall."

"NO!" Anders struggled against his bonds, mind swirling with rampant thoughts: magebane didn't cause this. It wasn't hallucinogenic. This was happening—this was happening, but that was impossible! The Templar with the brand came closer to him and Anders struggled helplessly as the molten lyrium was pressed closer and closer to his flesh. His eyes went from the Templar, to Hawke, to Reaver. Anders watched his smile with a burning hatred: Reaver almost looked curious to see this unfold.  

Catching his eye, Reaver laughed to himself. "I told you, dear mage," he said, excusing himself out, "everyone can be broken."

Visions of his immediate surroundings flickered into his mind’s eye, there was nothing off or threatening about what he was able to sense… Except for the smell of the bed. It smelled clean and fresh, sure, but it was laced with the light smell of dogs and cloying perfume. Eyes cracking open, the teen immediately regretting doing so. He shut his eyes as quickly as he’d opened them, groaning and burying his face into the soft pillows as he rolled onto his stomach. Naoya stayed like that for a while, he rolled onto his side only when his neck started to hurt. Again he tried to open his eyes - and was met with the sights of some strange, rich-looking bedroom. His brow furrowed, scrunching his features as he pushed himself up to get a better look around.

This wasn’t his bedroom, and it was too old fashioned-looking to be a spare EGO bunk. Finally, his mind cycled over all the possible places he could have been, before realizing that he was back in his room at Reaver’s manor. Naoya looked down at the bed, and as comfortable and plush as the sheets were, what caught his attention wasn’t the nice bed or finely-stitched down comforter. “Where’re my clothes…?” he tiredly slurred, tugging at the silken gray pajamas he found himself once again dressed in. He didn’t remember dressing himself. His head pounded, his mouth tasted like vomit - and he couldn’t do anything more than just squint at everything, as fully opening his eyes was like a full-frontal assault on his senses.

A pitcher and two, clean glasses on one of the side tables caught his attention, and he waved his hand to float it over to him. The glass rattled, but didn’t budge. He hadn’t been drinking last night… had he? Confused, he fluttered his eyes a few times trying to make sense of it. Maybe he was just tired. Again he tried to pull the glass over to him with his mind, but focused harder - causing the glass to shatter. Naoya groaned and threw himself back into the pillows. “I gotta do everything the old-fashioned way,” he half-slurringly groaned.

Once more he sat up, this time pulling himself over to the edge of the bed and pouring himself a glass of what he hoped was just water. Naoya downed it, finding himself more eager for water than he wanted to admit, and poured another. Feeling a little better, and avoiding the broken glass, he got out of the bed - but kept the half-filled glass in his hand. On a vanity bureau the psychic spotted a neatly-folded pile of what he recognized were his clothes complete with his cleaned sneakers resting on top. A note had been placed on top of his shoes, written in black ink and on linen paper.

Naoya blinked at the paper he held. In his aching state he thought that staring at the paper hard enough would lead to the words making sense. But they didn’t. “I really wish I knew how to read English,” he let out a large yawn, scratching at his hip idly. The only word he recognized was “please”; and he knew enough to know that the note was written in cursive. Maybe he shouldn’t have slept through most of his classes or spent schooldays chatting up girls and staring at the boys’ basketball team. Curiously, he gave his jacket a quick sniff and found that it smelled clean and freshly-laundered… and a lot like the bed. Everything that had been in his pockets was inside one of his sneakers: wallet, cell phone, cigarettes… and a long, wooden stick. He turned it over in his hands. It was smooth, and almost weighted. It was Remus’s wand, he remembered.

“Hocus pocus,” he tiredly laughed, placing it beside his clothes. Why on earth did he have Remus’s wand?

The young psychic caught a look at himself in the vanity’s mirror. His light hazel hair was a mess and it was clear that he had a case of bed head; Naoya also thought his eyes looked a little dull, probably from the hangover. Which was odd… he still didn’t remember drinking. He shrugged, reasoning that booze would explain not remembering booze.

He set his glass of water down and attempted to smooth out his hair, playing with it this way and that. Jokingly, he gave himself small pigtails and made a sassy face. He then pulled his bangs and some of his hair back into a half-pony, letting the rest of his ear-length hair hang loose. He chuckled at his own reflection. “I look like a better-lookin’ Andy,” Naoya quipped, letting his hair fall back into place. He decided that was how he was going to greet the mage. Then came the thought that he had no idea where either of his companions had gone. Last thing he remembered was the three of them, eating dinner with -

“Reaver.”

Realization donned. This was not his world. He had been ripped from his own world, and this was that crossroads place. They arrived at Reaver’s mansion. Eating dinner with Reaver. Remus and Anders had wanted to leave. He was supposed to go with them. They had been trying to escape from this place.

Throwing his clothes on, Naoya jiggled the ornate door handle - finding it locked. “What the…?” He jostled the lock a few more times with no luck, thinking of way to pick the lock only made his headache return. He took a few steps away from the door, raising his hands out in front of him and trying to focus his psi. The air rippled with energy, but when he went to fire hardly any came out. It fizzled and failed. Again he tried, again his powers fell short.

When he couldn’t stand the pain in his skull anymore, he crumbled to his knees and vomited on the floor.

Naoya wiped his mouth on his sleeve and attempted to swallow the lump in his throat. A horrible feeling clawed at his senses, he could feel something was wrong; something had happened to the two older men.

He shakily got to his feet and started pounding on the door with balled fists. “HEY! The door’s locked!” But there was no answer, not even the sounds of footsteps. He threw all his weight, not that it was much, against the heavy mahogany door. “Hello??” All he managed to do was bruise his boney shoulder.

Frustrated, he stomped his foot and released a wave of psi. Furniture rattled and glass creaked from the expelled energy, and the fluttering of gold-tassled curtains gave the psychic an idea. Naoya eyed a small wire chair at a nearby desk, something that he could easily lift in his hands, before dragging it over to one of the multi-paned windows and readying it as if he were going to swing a bat at a ball.

“You’re still disoriented?” an incredulous voice demanded. A gloved hand gripped the wire chair and lifted it up, taking the thin teen with it before he let go. Alastor held the chair out of Naoya’s grasp.

Naoya quickly looked to the door, which was now wide open. He hadn’t heard the door unlock, much less the silent giant of a man come in behind him. “No,” Naoya answered. When he went to bolt for the open door, Alastor caught the back of his collar. After struggling for a second he folded his arms over his chest and pouted.

“Are you sure, or are you normally this stupid?” Alastor set the chair down, but didn’t release his grip on the boy’s clothing.

“Depends on who you ask.” Naoya frowned. Remus has mentioned that Alastor was going to help them escape. “What kind of escape involves drugging me?”

“It wasn’t part of the plan,” Alastor shortly explained. “Reaver… Unlike your companions, you had a bad reaction to whatever Reaver slipped you. You broke out in a horrible sweat and vomited all over yourself.” Alastor shook his head, shoving the psychic towards the bed while he moved to shut the door. “This is the second time I have had to clean you of your own vomit.”

“Could have just left me there,” the EGO grumbled. “Or fed me to your friends.”

“You’d have to have meat on your bones for that to happen. We balverines do not have much use for toothpicks.”

Naoya made an offended expression, patting his ribs and waist. “What happened to all that hospitality?”

The frost balverine took a deep breath, once more shaking his head. “If you really wish to find out how ‘hospitable’ things are around here, may I suggest going down to the dungeons where your friends are.”

Naoya eyed him. “What are you saying?”

“I’ve got a proposition for you, and I think it’s rather wise that you listen to me.”

Chapter Text

Naoya rubbed his long fingers together tensly. “What happened to my friends?”

Alastor paced in short bursts, hands nestled tightly behind his back. The air was growing cold, and Naoya’s breath fogged in swirls.

“None of us are bending over for Reaver!” The objects resting against the dressers of the room rattled as Naoya’s insides coiled. Alastor stopped, golden eyes watching the teenager. “Just tell me what happened!”

Naoya watched Alastor pace. The white giant’s emotions were finally slipping through the facade - but not yet, was the feeling Naoya got most from him.

“You need to learn to listen, especially if you want to get out of here with your friends. Else they might die, and you’ll be stuck here with myself and Reaver. Until you die. Because he won’t be willing to let you leave. And listen when I say that Reaver is certainly the shorter end of that deal.”

The EGO’s brows furrowed as he vaguely frowned, the glint in his haunting amber eyes almost saying that he’d known worse.

Alastor locked eyes with the teenager and froze, mid-step. He grunted, deeply, as if he were trying to stave off a headache. “Stop that,” he sharply commanded in his inhuman balverine voice, and Naoya blinked a few times, confused, as he shook his head like he had been daydreaming. “The balverines have an order-a natural order. If Reaver weren’t in control we’d be governed by our own pack leaders - purer breeds, what-call-yous.”

“And let me guess, it doesn’t work on you because you’re super-snowflake special?”

Alastor rolled his eyes, his gloves crackling with ice as he rigidly flexed each of his fingers. “In the furthest sense of the word, yes. I am the only member of my breed in this Hive: we are called Frost balverines, ranked very close to the top echelons of the entire balverine species and the closest relatives to the ancient balvorn. I am immune to Reaver’s influence because my breed is older than the magic he abuses.” He held up his hand, before Naoya had a chance to say something else to get on his nerves. “I do not know what the wizard told you of our meeting, but all you need to know is this: Reaver’s cane. The head of it is a relic from our world. More than several millennia old, which all of the breeds - outside of my own - fail to precede. Help me get that cane and in exchange I’ll tell my people not to slaughter your band during your escape. I will lead you out of this Oasis.”

Naoya scrunched his nose, confused. He blinked, dark amber eyes searching the floor as he thought. “That doesn’t tell me why Reaver took my compatriots. And what the hell do you mean by, ‘Oasis’?”

“Did you not think it odd that this city should appear out of nowhere in the thickness of the forest?” Alastor snapped, growing impatient. “In this wretched universe, there are places - cursed places, that take on the image of whomever rules over them. This entire city is one. All of this - the mansion, the buildings - it exists as this solely for Reaver. It is a prison as much as it is a miracle: so long as he is ruler, Reaver is unable to leave this Oasis and so it bends to his tastes in order to placate him.“

"Why don’t you just kill Reaver yourself?”

“There is a reason,” Alastor half-growled and half-explained, his demeanor commandingly fierce, “why I do not simply tear out his throat. If he dies, here, by my hand - I take his place, and I do not wish to be imprisoned like he is. Reaver took your friends, because he wants someone to do that very thing. Someone who is willing and that he can’t control. He’s tainting them. He’s tainting we balverines. He needs removal. You’re the only one left who can do it.“

"So you want me to help imprison him... in his own prison,” Naoya cupped his hand over his own delicate chin in thought. “If this ‘Oasis’ exists based on what it thinks will placate Reaver, what’s to say that it won’t change to help him escape?”

“He does not have as much control as he pretends to flaunt.”

“No kidding.” Naoya looked back up at the balverine, an apologetic look on his young face. “I’m… sorry your people are enslaved. I’ll try to help to the best of my abilities.”

There was a curt knock at the door. Alastor turned and glanced at it, but not before eyeing the psychic to see if he would make another break for it. Deciding the youth possessed no desire to, he opened the door to be met by a tired-looking man and a reddish-colored balverine who perked up at the sight of Alastor.

The man was densely built, but not out of shape. He cleared his throat, his round golden eyes uneasy. “Nadine and I, uh, got some news, sir. From the dungeons.”

“Out with it, then,” Alastor replied, his own eyes flickering to the red balverine. She replied by wiggling her way in front of the human-formed balverine. She made a few chirps, awkward grunts, and throaty cooing noises. Alastor’s brows knitted, giving him a perplexed look unusual for his features. He slid something out of his breast pocket, entrusting it to her. “Give this to him. Let no one see.”

A gentle hiss and a nod was all that the blooded breed gave before vanishing into the dark of the hallway.  

“Very well.” He looked to the human-formed balverine. “See to it you find me later.” And with that, he closed the door.

“Friends of yours, bringing news of mine?” Naoya asked. He was right behind the tall man.

Alastor gave a small jump, ears perking and body tensing. He leered down at the sunny, innocent smile the boy wore.

“Yes. There are still some who have just enough wits about them to respect the Order over Reaver,” Alastor replied, nudging the teenager a few steps away from him. Clearly the child had never heard of personal space.

Naoya frowned. “Just what is it you want me to do, exactly?”

Alastor opened the door to the hallway, indicating Naoya should follow. “I need you to get Reaver’s cane from him.”

From the way Alastor was speaking, Naoya could only guess that the balverine had no idea of his inability to control his powers just then - or, at least, the precision of control. Naoya was still weak, and his abilities were misbehaving; it was all he could do to control the one power he could, the most important one - the one he didn’t dare use, not even on Reaver.

Far from the boy and the balverine, another man battled a far different monster.

Time. Time ticked forever forward, and for werewolves, the greatest enemy of all was the passing of every second. The thing about lycanthropy, the thing about full moon, was that it worked in a cycle. It always came back around.

The thing about Remus was, he always tried to forget. But with everything else in his life, his time revolved around his affliction. He could never truly forget, not for a second. After all,

It's only a matter of time, isn't it?

Reaver's words stung. All the fire in his belly couldn't burn them and they blazed in the back of his mind white hot and so vivid. And he could only clench his fists, palms dissolving in red as his fingernails bit into the skin. He could only wait, holding in the angry screams that threatened to break his ribs. It was  because the realization stung like molten sand: the realization that those words were absolutely right.

The cries of the balverines had intensified as the day wore on, their shrill shrieks and howls blending into a demon's song that caressed is eardrums like nails on a chalkboard. It was nearing sunset now, and they were almost savage - like they sensed what was coming. The moon beckoned. Remus was trying so hard not to see them, curled into the farthest corner of the dark, hollow cell. A headache pounded behind red eyes as he sat, knees drawn up nearly to his chest, arms clutching his stomach as if that would somehow alleviate the pain that was already coursing through his body. His back gave a twisted jerk as his muscles cramped, and each time such a spasm shook his form a small panic —this is it, this is it—would rise and fall, as everything in him waited to be ripped apart.

It began in the joints days ago. An ache, like the nightmare of an arthritic old man, set in slowly a few days before the Moon, as it always did. It was easy enough to hide from the others, but as the hours until moonrise slid into the single digits he found that he could hardly bare to walk without great effort. The pain bloomed with the waxing of the moon, eventually enveloping his whole body in an incesant flame. There was nothing he could do to stop it, he knew from experience. He could lie down flat, he could force his body to relax; it didn't matter. His eyes were clenched shut and his mouth was a hard, thin line. He wanted to banish the pain, to force it out of his thoughts. But he focused on it, letting it envelop his senses in a whitewash of fury because if he drowned in this pain, he needn't think about what was to come. He didn't need to feel the weight of what he had done.

But the thoughts still came, unbidden. Hatred was an unnatural thing for Remus, although if he cared to think back on it, he would conclude that was by no means the boy he'd been only a few years prior. He had suffered through war, he had seen friends die - and the hate he carried from those events still lingered, greeting him like an old friend on cold, dreamless nights. He tried to squash it from his being, knowing people did not care for bitterness on his tongue. He tried to sever it from himself, but it was something he found he could not do. In a flood of pain-tinted thought, Remus felt hatred surge deep within him, from some nameless burning pit.

Remus hated the balverines. He hated them being here, their beastly nature mocking him in his most vulnerable moment. His very identity would be stripped bare, replaced by something no better than these abominations. Remus would become feral and savage, incapable of rational thought and—he swallowed—incapable of stopping himself if Reaver were to use him as a weapon. And why not? It was the perfect plan, a satirical humiliation. Involuntarily, the words he had rehearsed in his head six or seven thousand times reverberated again: his confession to Anders and Naoya, about his innermost secret. But he had failed to tell them. He'd failed to be honest about Alastor's so-called plan because he was afraid of coming clean about what he was. And now, everything that was about to happen to all of them was entirely his fault.

Remus was a coward. In the short time since arriving in this godforsaken world, he had managed to ruin everything. The guilt he felt was almost as strong as the pain. But in the growing darkness Remus hid his face in his hands: he should never have come with them in the first place. He should never have endangered them so. To bond with them in so short a time - he didn’t deserve them. He didn't deserve their kindness, he didn't deserve their trust. But his face grew hot, and Remus realized there was a part of him that needed them. Anders and Naoya, they had grown on him. Years spent wandering in the cold and the rain flooded back into his memory and the pain of loneliness swallowed him like the dark. Remus realized that he needed them desperately, and he hated himself more for being so needy.

His palms grew wet and the cuts from his fingernails stung. Silently, Remus wiped his eyes.

The door at the end of the hall slammed open once more, admitting some new horror into the hall. But instead of boots climbing the stone steps towards his cage, the soft slap of—no, that couldn't possibly... But along with that, a persistent tic, tic, tic—

A balverine, clawed paws coming to rest at the doorway of his cell. Remus took a shaky breath, inhaling the stench of dog and the wolfsbane that had slowly overtaken the floor of the cell. It crunched beneath the balls of his feet as he pushed himself up, disbelief and confusion contorting his throat.

"You—I know you," he half croaked, and the balverine's ears perked up. "Nadine."

The auburn balverine exposed her teeth in what Remus could only assume was a horrible imitation of a smile, for she nodded at him as she did so. Remus swallowed. Could it be that—perhaps it wasn't after all—

"Alastor?" he ask her as soon as he reached the limits of the cell. But he stopped, kneeling down and letting himself rest. His legs burned and protested, cramping up and twisting, snakelike. He gripped the bars as he slid down to the floor, letting out a frustrated grunt as his knees made contact. Nadine gave a concerned snort, and Remus could hear her nostrils working overtime as she leaned in and took in his scent. She waited for him to look her way once more before huffing at him.

"I'm fine," he said, pressing his forehead against the cold metal. Another wave of cramps hit him and Remus was drawn into the pain, dwelling so deeply on it that he couldn't feel the hair sticking to the back of his neck in cold sweat. There was a part of him that he didn't want to acknowledge - a part of him that knew he deserved this. But again, he let out a slow, concentrated breath and clenched his hands into fists once more, trying to calm a mind that only wanted to scream. He spared a glance out the tiny brick-sized window, horrified by the lateness of the day. He had less than an hour, if he was any judge of his own body.

"Alastor?" Remus asked again, more urgently this time, and Nadine gave a low whine. She held out a massive forelimb, extending her human-like hand enough to drop something crumpled she held in her grip. Although initially folded with care, the note had clearly been abused by the canine messenger before delivery. Opening it carefully, the lettering inside was long and tall, strangely almost runic in shape. It looked as though the author had taken time to form each letter with great care.

THIS WAS NOT ANTICIPATED. NADINE WILL SEE TO YOU. I HAVE NOT FORGOTTEN THE ARRANGEMENT.

There was no signature or identifying mark, but the origin of the note was very clear.

"You're here to get us out?" Remus asked, but when Nadine shook her head he could only gawk at her. "You can't just leave us here—Anders and Naoya, they—they have to escape!"

Nadine's shoulders heaved as she let out a cloying breath. An ebony claw scraped along the muck covering the floor of the hall.

YOU.

"Me?" Remus paused, considering. "You're—only here for me?"

Nadine nodded, and Remus frowned. "That doesn't make any sense—I can't leave now, the moon is nearly risen!"

Nadine shook her head even harder, growling at him. With a hind paw she wiped the mud slate clean and etched into it again.

AFTER.

"After I transform," Remus whispered, realization cold in his blood. "That's—Merlin, that..." He paused again. "You think it will work?"

Nadine gave no outward sign of anything at this point. She merely blinked at him, her golden eyes fixed on his green ones. Perhaps she was studying him just as he was her, trying to decide for themselves whether they were both mad.

"Alastor promised to keep the others safe." The statement was simple, but loaded. Remus was helpless to do anything once he transformed. He needed to know. He needed assurance. "He'll take care of them while I stay with you?"

Nadine's ears gave a twitch and she turned, glancing around the balverine pens for something Remus couldn't see. But she turned to him again and looked him up and down, before sliding her hind legs beneath her and squatting down beside the bars. Sitting beside Remus, Nadine gave a slow, toothy yawn. She was going to wait with him. Just like Alastor was going to take the others.

"Please keep them safe," he said, repeating himself until the words were nothing but a mantra. "Please keep them safe."

It was half prayer and half begging. Remus' mother was a devout Christian for the longest time, but it had been many years before her death that Remus had last heard Hope talk of God. Wizards like Remus and his father were forced underground by Christianity many centuries ago, and Remus wondered sometimes if the culture shock of marrying such a man had made her begin to question her faith. He would never know, now, but even though he didn't believe, sometimes in the darkest nights Remus found himself whispering small things into the air and hoping that just maybe there was something, someone. Even if that someone was just a balverine, pressing herself to his cell and promising that he would not be alone.

Remus could feel her fur through the gaps in the bars, and for reasons he didn't quite understand he raised his palm to rest it against her back. She was soft, and although he was careful to avoid the occasional quill neither seemed to be bothered by this contact. Nadine twisted her neck to sniff at his fingers before laying her head down beside his knees. She looked at him out of the side of her eyes, ears swatting her skull quickly.

"Not long," Remus frowned, surmising impatience from her behavior.

Eventually, he worked up the courage to strip, ignoring the pain and shutting out the thought of the balverines watching - not that they were, and nobody else had come down this way for hours. He wanted to be embarrassed, especially with his strange companion, but there was just no point anymore. There was no denying what was about to happen, and this was one way to ease the transition. In the fading light, he could still make out the scars that adorned his flesh like the story of his suffering.

A shudder passed down his spine and he grit his teeth as he felt his legs give way in another massive cramp. He was suddenly aware that the sun had set, suddenly aware of just how few the minutes were until -

Panic gripped him. He had always been afraid of his transformations, but never like this. An untold number of things could go wrong. Betrayal, blood, murder—fangs, images horrific and grotesque screamed across the claustrophobic landscape of his mind and—Oh, God, - the thoughts  sent a wave of nausea through his gut and he curled up even tighter, a hiss escaping through clenched teeth. He didn’t want to think about those things, but they were uncontrollable and violent, like flashes of nightmare punctuating the horrible pull of the moon at his bones, bending and twisting and pulling them into grotesque shapes. His breathing was rapid now, and the air had an electric feel like a storm was brewing. His heart pounded in his chest; it thundered in his ears.

There was no thought when he began to turn. Nothing but a horrible instant of pure terror and self-loathing - and then he was on the ground, no longer trying to hold in the cries as his flesh crawled and he was torn apart from the inside out.

Something slapped against his cheek and Anders stirred. And then again, harder this time. It was not violent, but urgent and precise. The voice that accompanied the unwelcome touch was silk venom.

"Good morning," Reaver purred, pressing the end of his cane a bit heavier against Anders' cheekbone. He dragged it down across the mage's cheek and placed it gently under his chin, lifting Anders' head to meet his eye. "Have a good sleep, did we?"

Anders blinked furiously, wishing for the innumerable stimuli to begin to make sense. His mouth tasted like he had spent the last week with something slimy under his tongue, and he had to take the worst piss of his life.

"Maker..." he breathed, still quite groggy. But the demands of his body pushed him into acute consciousness. And he glared up at Reaver, suddenly realizing his place once more.

"Wrong again," Reaver grinned. "But I daresay you must be feeling rather foggy. You writhed and screamed in your sleep all day long. Perhaps it can be forgiven."

Taking in a deep, shuddering breath, Anders pressed his head against the back of the chair, crushing his half-pony and letting it dig into his scalp. The pain would help him come back to his senses, to be in the present moment. He could still feel something toxic flushing through his system, and Justice was—gone, still nothing. Nowhere. He was still present, somewhere, though the thought was only of slight comfort. Anders was still alive, and therefor Justice was still with him. And yet the emptiness in his head was disturbing indeed, and Anders let out a nasal sigh. His throat was dry and sore from screaming, hours of hallucinations and nightmares having ripped the flesh apart. Even his eyes burned and mere blinking was taxing, as what felt like days of sleep deprivation pulled, chain-like, on every muscle and fiber. His limbs felt useless and heavy, and he lay half-limp against the body of the chair, supported only by the straps holding him in place. His body trembled involuntarily, and as Reaver replaced his cane in his belt loop to approach him Anders could not summon a proper protest.

"Have you thought over your situation, dear Anders?"

Maker, if Anders could only blow the smile off of that bastard's face. But he couldn't do anything. He was powerless. Old rage filled him again, clutching at his throat with a panicked frenzy as the situation made itself clear.

"I won't let you free," Anders tried to say boldly, but it was dry and scratchy and meek, so meek. "You won't keep your bargain. You won't let them go."

"Oh, contraire!" Reaver smiled at Anders, and the latter man wanted to vomit. "I have issued not a single lie since you first arrived in my lands—merely half-truths, as I'm sure a man of your... caliper, is sure to understand. Nay, I offer you a show of good faith: accept my offer and I will personally see to it that you are there to witness their release and exit from this land. Do this teensy, tiny thing for me, and your friends will never have to worry about this ever again."

Reaver paused, fumbling through his many pockets and seams to reach for something in his coat. "And," he said with a sly smile, "I shall even return this stolen contraband to them." He slid the rough parchment out of his sleeve, opening up the map of the forest fires. "I suspect they'll be needing a guide through the woods, after all.

"So," he finished, "what say you?"

Reaver watched Anders with a haunting expression of hunger. Anders sensed his options were painfully limited. But he was used to working with broken bits at best. To be a Grey Warden, after all, was to know and understand sacrifice absolutely. Wardens gave up their families, their futures—and in return, they received only an end guaranteed to be soaked in blood. Heartache was as much a part of the lifestyle as heroism. But no matter how great the deed, no matter the number of lives saved, the only thing waiting for the Grey Wardens were the ancient tunnels of the Deep Roads and the perpetual darkness of the Blight. Even if you no longer wore the uniforms, a Warden's time would still come. Their greatest Calling: walking into the depths, to their deaths among the darkspawn they were bred to kill. There was no avoiding it: Anders' destiny circulated in his blood. It was a part of him. As much of a martyr as Anders was, the sacrifice was being forced on him. And Reaver's offer was no different. Just like with the Taint, Anders was backed into a corner. But now, he knew the names and faces of the people he would be saving. They were his friends. And though they had met only days prior, Anders discovered that meant everything to him.

But it could still be another trick. Anders wanted to call Reaver out, to scream and demand the whole truth. But there was still that chance that he was right; that Remus and Naoya could go free, if only Anders would would do this one little thing. It was manipulation that the Templars could only dream of. Shifting aginst the straps of the chair, Anders's cold fingers curled and clenched, his nails biting half-moons into his palms. The idea that Remus and Naoya could go free was—miraculous, wondrous... It clung to him.

And more than that, what if he said no? Supposing that the three of them did somehow manage to get out of this situation alive, where would Anders go? Home, to Kirkwall? Back to the mage underground, smuggling frightened apprentice mages out of the city before the Templars made them Tranquil? The image of Hawke with the lyrium brand pressed against her forehead returned, haunting him. Anders blinked it away.

Anders was nothing of not an advocate for freedom. It meant everything to him that a man should be able to walk as he pleased and live as he was intended to. With this simple gesture, he could guarantee freedom to two more people... he could save two more... Calmly, Anders sighed quietly and listened to the sound of his pulse rushing in his ears. A kind of sadness came over him as he slipped into acceptance, already trying to distance himself from the memories of Naoya and Remus, if only so that their absence may hurt less. When the lump formed in his throat, he swallowed it.

"Nothing that you ask of me could be worse than knowing that they're still here."

Reaver's eyes lit up, positively full of delight. "Excellent," he said, clapping his hands together. "It will take time to arrange, though—weather, supplies, what-have-yous. Your Mr. Lupin won't be able to travel for some time. When I last left him, he was paler than moonlight."

Reaver chuckled softly to himself, thumbing his chin as he considered what would need to be done. But it was then that he paused, a serious expression coming over his roguish features. He whirled on his heel, the white tails of his coat splaying, and faced the cell door - where a silent Alastor stood standing, arching over slightly in the doorway that was too small for him. "Alastor, you have a charge. Why are you here?"

Alastor’s s cold expression shifted slightly, awkwardly huffing his shoulders. “Something has come up,“ he spoke clearly and coldly. "Something that needs your immediate attention.”

Reaver’s eyes narrowed, a displeased frown spreading across his face. He crossed his arms over his chest, fingers still gripping his cane, and headed for the door. “Of course there is. Why send a balverine to do a Skill Hero’s job?” He issued a frustrated growl. “Give us a minute would you, Anders…”

Alastor stepped into the room to let Reaver pass. When Reaver rounded the corner and disappeared, there was a very familiar: "Hi!”

A low blast sent Reaver toppling backwards and rolling down the prison corridor.

The familiar voice was accompanied by a familiar figure in a black jacket with white stripes - Naoya appeared in the doorway before ducking inside the prison cell in time just as a bullet ricocheted off the metal door frame.

“I thought you were getting the gun,” Alastor grunted.

“I’m working on it!” Naoya snipped. “I’m having a little trouble with not getting shot!”

For a split second, Anders considered the possibility he had been drugged again. "Andraste's sword!" he cried to Naoya, "what in the ever loving flame are you doing here? You know what? I don't want to know—just get me out of this—!"

Reaver's form lashed into view in the doorway, far less manicured than before. Rage boiled beneath his skin and burned his eyes, and he—

With a heaving grunt, Naoya slammed the thick wooden door of the cell shut, right in Reaver's face. The Lord pounded against the door with the head of his cane, spewing obscenities even as he locked the cell shut. Alastor glanced at Naoya, his expression a mix of annoyance and disbelief.

"What?" Naoya rubbed the back of his neck. "I panicked, okay? At least he's on the other side of the door."

"Yes," Alastor grumbled, striding purposefully to Anders' side and undoing each strap holding the mage in place. "But now we are trapped inside this cell."

"No," Anders said. "We're not."

It took him a moment to find his strength and another still to find his balance. After his ordeal, Anders found his limbs stiff and his neck gave an audible crack as he flexed for the first time in who knew how many hours? He cursed as his body began to scream various needs to his brain, not the least of which was the stab wound in his leg, and Anders' first order of business was to make certain he could walk. His hands shot to his thigh, and Anders grimaced as he dug into his deepest reserves of mana. Muscle fibers began to sew themselves together, the process more painful than it should have been with such a limited reserve of mana. Pain was not as important as damage. When he finished, the wound was not healed, but rather mended 'well enough.' Anders could walk on it now, at any rate. And so he took full advantage of that fact by making for the corner and allowing himself a long overdue piss.

"You have a plan?" Alastor droned, and Anders looked over his shoulder at the balverine to soak in the look of disgust. It felt almost as good to see that bastard butler like this as it did to orgasm—almost. Finally through, Anders turn back to them. Although Reaver no longer pounded on the door, Anders could sense him out in the hall. His malace was palpable, and it stunk to high reaches.

"No, I don't have a plan," Anders frowned, but his hands gave a pleasant twitch. "But I'm damned good at escaping."

Throwing everything within himself, Anders let out a heated cry as a fireball exploded from his palms, rocketing towards the wooden door splintering the block straight from the hinges. The door slammed into the wall at incredible speed, cushioned by the only thing standing in it's way: a human body. White coat tails could be seen covered in soot beneath a heaping pile of splintered wood, unmoving.

Anders' limbs shook with the effort and he was suddenly out of breath. He leaned against the chair that had held him, momentarily winded. But he drove himself forward and stepped carefully over the debris in his path, glaring at it with each move of muscle. "He's lucky I'm weakened," he spat. He turned to Alastor and Naoya, both of whom were staring at him. "Let's go! Let's get out of here!"

“Not yet, where’s the cane?” Alastor insisted.

“No cane, no exit,” Naoya paraphrased, making for where he saw the shiny black end of Reaver’s cane sticking out from under the door. As soon as he grasped the smooth metal, he immediately jumped back - narrowly avoiding Reaver kicking the door off of him.

“There’s already no exit,” Reaver stated, pushing against the wall as he stood up. He eyed the three of them through the black curls that hung down in his face. In one hand he held his bejeweled revolver, using his other hand to steady himself against the wall. “Well, well,” Reaver mused, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. Dirt smeared his white ensemble, but he was otherwise unscathed. “It’s been a while since I’ve been this… this angry.” His attention then focused on Alastor, and he dryly muttered: “It’s always the butler, isn’t it.”

“You were the one who was so sure that you could not fail,” Alastor replied.

Reaver frowned, as if he were aggressively disapproving of a selection of new curtains. “How cliche.” He then straightened, cocking his gun and aiming it at Naoya. “You’ll return that to me now.”

Naoya wearily eyed the end of Reaver’s barrel.

“Return it to me now!”

“You’re just going to shoot us anyways!”

The Lord glowered at the boy. “You’re right.”

BANG!

The air in front of Naoya rippled, as if it were a calm pond that someone had thrown a stone into, just inches from the teenager’s face - and Reaver’s bullet ricocheted off of the psychic’s barrier, reflecting back and striking his weapon from his hand. Reaver cried out in surprise and held his arm close to him, shaking his fingers free of the shock.

“You rude little mutant,” Reaver snarled in a teetering but crisp tone, flashing his perfect white teeth.

It was a white, cold shadow that rushed past Anders and Naoya and slammed Reaver to the ground. Claws poked through the ends of his gloves as he repeatedly slammed Reaver’s face into the stonework, any words Reaver had objecting to his attacker were lost in the cacophonous roar Alastor let out. Alastor wrestled with keeping Reaver pinned underneath him while trying to maintain his human form; but his concentration was failing him, and his face elongated as his jaw distended to reveal a maw of mangled teeth and his eyes enlarged to yellow orbs full of malice and rage. Anders looked away and shielded his eyes, and Naoya clenched his eyes shut; both of them flinching slightly every time they heard the dull thud of flesh meeting rock.

Finally there was no fighting back from the Lord, and the alpha visibly forced himself to cease mauling the man underneath him, lest he kill Reaver. Alastor, his hair a mess and his chest heaving, let out one last deep growl, before dragging Reaver’s unconscious form away to a cell that still had a door.

"So what is this?" Anders demanded as they walked, both humans struggling to keep up with what was a steady stride for the Alpha. "What in Andraste's name are we doing here?"

Anders was glaring at Naoya, something the psychic didn't need to be looking at him to feel. He thought the mage would at least be pleased, being out of Reaver's prison. "We're getting out of here," he replied, curbing the urge to follow up with a, "I thought it was pretty obvious."

"Where's Remus?" Anders asked, struggling to talk and keep pace. "Where are our things?"

"Here," Alastor said sharply as they came to the end of the hall. "Did you truly think I would lead you out of here and leave you defenseless?"

"I don't presume to know anything about a man who drugged us," Anders snapped.

"That was—not anticipated," Alastor growled.

"He's on our side, Andy," Naoya assured the mage, ignoring Alastor's sharply dipping frown. Naoya knew that it was only half true. But Anders didn't need to know the whole, complicated affair so long as they got out in one piece, right?

Alastor reached for the iron door knob, his brows knitting tighter—as though they had much farther to go, but Naoya wondered. "The door is locked," the balverine stated flatly.

"No," Anders gasped in mock horror. "The very important supply closet is locked!"

Alastor was looking murderous now.

"Just break it down," Naoya suggested with a peacekeeping shrug.

"Do try to avoid a cave in," Alastor said quickly. His expression was flat, but his voice betrayed his annoyance.

Anders said nothing, approaching the door with single-minded determination. During the short trek from his cell, Anders had begun to feel a familiar sensation from within. Small, though, and perhaps uncertain. Now that the poison had finished circling through his system Justice had begun to awaken, and the spirit was disoriented. The drive to escape was strong within him, though, and Anders wasn't sure which of them was pushing him forward now when they both craved it like a drug. Wrapping his fingers around the iron door handle, Anders' breath fogged in his face for a flash of a second as he reached both for the crippled mass of mana struggling to reform, and for his dearest friend. Both of them were weak. But, it was enough. It was enough for now.

Anders leaned his weight against the handle of the door, biting his lip as the searing cold stabbed into his skin as he froze the lock inside the handle. The mechanism cracked and groaned as the ice forced joints apart, and Anders turned to Alastor and, with a quick jab of his thumb, indicated for the other to move in. With a heavy kick, Alastor's powerful strength saw the door fly open on it's hinges. Anders's staff was leaning against the wall, too long to lay on the shelving littered with long forgotten belongings. Ancient swords, strange boots and foreign insignias mixed with the more modern wear. The stench of balverine and blood was very strong here, and nobody stopped to wonder what had happened to the people the items once belonged to. Anders snatched up his staff and exited the room as quickly as possible.

Immediately, Alastor lead them down a spiraling set of stairs. The stonework around them seemed to change from set bricks and shapes to natural basalt, the stairs underfoot had been crudely carved and claw marks decorated the space around them.

"Remus is down here," he explained as they descended, "But you might not find him... well."

It finally let out in a corridor which was, for at least part of it, fitted to look like the dungeon above; doors lined either side, and clawed fingers reached out between the bars in the small windows. Some of the doors shook as the balverines inside rammed their full weight against them. Growls and howls and chattering, horrible, mutated, and throaty noises filled the air. Naoya cringed as he set foot down, the primal emotions hanging in the air grabbing for his senses. He held his head and frowned, averting his eyes from the dim torchlight as his headache returned in force.
"Enough!" Alastor barked, and immediately the large majority of the beasts grew silent. All except one.

She emerged from the darkness, her red fur distinct in the firelight and her quills threatening. Her yellow eyes glowed, Cheshire-like. Nadine approached Alastor slowly, her shoulders sunken.

"Then it has happened," Alastor said, to which the female nodded. "Perhaps it is... safer, this way. For them," he added. "We must move quickly, though."

"What is this place, why are they all here? Shouldn't they be on the surface?" the questions tumbled out of Naoya's mouth before he could think about it.

"No. These are the Ferals. In the old days, they would have been kept with the rest of the hive. But there's too many of them right now. My kind spend seven years in a mindless, animalisitc state before - if - we regain setience."

"So these are baby balverines," Naoya unsurely muttered.

"Remus is down here?" Anders said, ignoring the psychic. "With the feral beasts? Where is he?" Tight spaces. Dark, tight spaces, full of monsters. Anders did not like this place. But he remained firm. He was dizzy and not sure he was entirely here, but Maker, he was going to keep going. "Where is he?" he asked again, when Alastor hesitated to respond.

"He is... this way," Alastor pointed with a lengthy digit. "But I warn you: he will not be as you remember him."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Anders demanded. "Let's just get Remus and get out of this blighted place!"

Alastor stared at Anders for a moment, unblinking and expressionless. Perhaps deciding his response was best kept to himself, he indicated for Nadine to lead and the others to follow. "I do not know what you will find," he said slowly. "I have never met one of Remus's kind before now."

Anders' skin prickled at the words. Kind? What in blazes did that mean? He was sick of riddles—sick of games! All he wanted was to see the sky again, to be in the wood and, yes, even be chased down by the reptilian creatures again—anything, if it meant getting out of this wretched place! He just wanted out! How long had Remus been trapped down here with these things, he wondered? Was he subjected to the balverine's venom as well? Anders tried to imagine what it may have been like, having to listen to these bloodcurdling howls and the snapping jaws while deep in some toxic hallucination. He only shuddered.

"Why did Reaver put him down here? There were plenty of other cells, you saw!"

"When you see him," Alastor said, "you will understand."

"Bullshit!" Anders slammed his boot into the closest set of bars, but the noise was drowned by the resurgance of the feral howls. Over the roar, Anders bellowed: "No more riddles! No more hints, no more games! I want to get my friend and depart from this nightmare place!"

Nadine's ears pinned to her skull and she growled, but Alastor put his hand up. He was calm in the face of the flickering of blue lights gracing Anders' exposed skin.

"He is here," he said, pointing to a cell not far away.

Approaching the barred door, Naoya and Anders grew silent and uncertain. Spread out across the floor in the linear gaps between stones, the first thing either of them saw clearly were the royal purple flowers. In the moonlight streaking in from the window, the wolfsbane shuddered and snapped as the occupant of the cell crushed them with careless  haste, only for more to try and regrow with it's every step. It was a wolf. Big and gray with a thick body on sturdy legs, covered in fur from the tip of his tuftedtail to the tip of his wide nose. Naoya jumped back as the wolf inside lunged for the door, for their fragile skin and bones. The wolf's pain flashed across his empath senses, and anger - and a strange, distant fear; a fear that was altogether wrong and out of place.

The psychic let out a drawling whistle. "I never would have guessed it," he said, hands on his hips.

Anders glanced from Naoya, to Alastor, and to Nadine. "I—don't understand," he said. "What's going—"

But he could see it now: beside the wolfsbane seedlings scraping by across the floor, there lay a pile of clothing long torn apart. Clothing Anders recognized. "Remus is—?"

"A werewolf," Naoya confirmed. "Kinda small, though. At least for the ones I know of."

A werewolf. Anders swallowed, taking in the new information. His head had begun to pound, the intense noise splitting his eardrums. His thoughts were small, perhaps from shock but perhaps from the beasts. He tried to speak, but found his tongue dry.

Anders turned away from the cell. He didn't want to see the snarling wolf inside it's bounds. He didn't want to see the feral creatures in the cell block gripping for their loose clothing and any exposed flesh through bars of black iron and steel. Anders felt a strange numbing sensation inside him: denial. It couldn't be Remus, he told himself. He wasn't even sure what it was, if not just a giant animal. It wasn't a Blight wolf, nor was it a wolf possessed by a demon. Werewolves of Thedas were men bitten and infected by such loathesome creatures and this—whatever this was—was not Remus.

Anders brought his hands to his chin, scraping his fingers against his stubble and breathing hard. He stayed like that for a long time. Reality sunk in slowly, and when Anders turned back once more, he pressed his hand up against the bars, illiciting an immediate and rabid response. Once again, the werewolf hurled it's bulk against it's prison, this time barking in pain. But it would not be dissuaded, and it watched them with perked ears as it waited for them to make another foolish move.

Anders stepped  back and away, suppressing the sudden urge to hollar and scream again. But not out of rage or horror, but defeat. There could be no escape without all three of them—there was no justice in leaving a man with the enemy. They were defeated, and not even by the Lord—no, they were lost to their own curses and their poor judgement.

"What are we to do now?" he asked, eyes still fixed on Remus. "We can't leave him. Not like this, not... not as he is."  Anders was visibly pale. The man he knew was gone, replaced by this monstrous perversion.  

Naoya folded his arms over his chest, pouting indignantly, his eyes tired but alite. "Remus is still in there. I can sense him, a little." He held up a finger, trying to make a new point. "He's a werewolf, right? They only do this once a month. Come sunrise, he'll turn back into Remus." He turned to look up at Alastor, confident smile on his face as if he knew exactly what he was talking about. Werewolves were Darklore; Naoya's best friend back home was a Darklore. He mentally kicked himself, he should have known more. "I can either go in there, or we can wait it out. How long until sunrise?"

Alastor closed his eyes, giving a heaving sigh. "Eight hours. The night is still young, and my kind are very restless on the full moon. Balverines don't all turn for the moon, but you've got more than just Remus to be worried about down here." He opened his eyes, full golden orbs before a few blinks settled them back down into a humanized form. A gloved hand ran through his flared white locks.

The psychic stared at the balverine, then to the mage, then back to the balverine. "Was that a threat?"

"It was a statement," Alastor replied dryly. "Perhaps you have noticed that I do not have control of these Ferals. I cannot use the Crystal, nor do I dare. And so the last influences of Reaver are still upon them. They listen to me, but only to a point. They will seek to avenge their false alpha. We are all in danger. Time is short. We must go," he added strongly. "Nadine will see to Mr. Lupin. But you must come with me, now."

"No," said Naoya. "We all go together! I can do this."

None of them looked convinced, and Naoya scratched his head, displacing silken hazel locks. He thought of something smart to say, but decided against it. Now was not the time for charm. Now was the time to try to ignore the headache. Now was the time for focusing what he could muster of all his hallucination-causing abilities. Naoya had once made a man think he'd been hugged to death, kinda. An extra-dimensional werewolf wasn't that far off from some clanless Arayashiki, was it? Okay, it was, he objected to his own thinking, species and faction alignments and magic and blah blah.

Before Anders or Alastor could object further, Naoya had pressed himself to the cage bars. "If this doesn't work, then we'll try some other way," he quickly said, kneeling down to face the monster within.
Naoya let out a quiet breath, bringing his focus to a single point. He needed to find it: the piece of Remus that was still inside. He cast his thoughts out towards the werewolf, feeling only primal need and anger. It was not content to be trapped here, it never was. Though always it is trapped, and it brings no rest to the fury inside and—

Naoya quickly leaned back as the werewolf tried for the bars again. It's snout was bleeding, but if it knew it certainly didn't care. A burst of rage and fear hit Naoya in the gut, and he watched helplessly as the wolf began to take to it's own skin. Long, wet fangs dug into meaty thighs and hind claws scratched at the underbelly and shoulders. It was a self-destructive outlet for untamed emotions, and the pained shrieks dug into their ears.

"Remus," Naoya tried again, once more bringing his thoughts to point, "I know you're in there. I know you can hear me!"

The werewolf stopped, ears perked and green eyes watching. It was breathing very heavily, and Naoya could almost feel the pain it was in as it tried to alleviate it's turmoil. Naoya placed his palms on the bars of the cell once again, watching the werewolf as it stared at him, confused and unmoving. It tilted it's head to the side, puffing out of it's black nose.

"Remus," Naoya said, a little louder and clearer now, "you need to come back. You need to come to the surface. Can you do that?"

The werewolf shifted it's weight, beginning to pace back and forth. More wolfsbane grew in the muddied soil between stones as it walked, and in the chill of the underground it's breath fogged in heated clouds of dragons' breath. It gave no sign that it understood anything Naoya had to say.


"Well?" Anders asked, impatient and restless. "Is he... still in there?"

"A little," Naoya frowned. "Buried, though. It's not so much that he's gone, just that he's..."

"What?"

"...I don't know. Like, I can sense Justice inside of you, and I know you're two different people. But it's not like that now. Remus is still there, but the thing is, the werewolf is not a seperate personality. As much as the real Remus is buried, this is still Remus right here. His behavior has just... changed. Different parts of him got swapped out for others. He knows what he's doing, but he can't stop. Does that make sense?"

"Nothing makes sense anymore," Anders said with an exhasperaged shrug, and he ran his fingers across his face, leaving red lines down his cheeks. "Just tell me whether this will work so we can leave!"
Naoya said nothing, because he did not know himself.

"Well, there's only one way to know for sure" he whispered to no one. "I guess I have to pet the doggie."

It was a joke no one but him appreciated. Reaching his right arm inside the cell, Naoya needed to be as close as he could to make the connection. He pressed his shoulder and chest to the cold beams, wishing his jacket were warmer as the chill bit underneath his layers. He focused again, struggling with a pounding headache that warned him how much effort he was giving. Damn the drugs, damn Reaver.

"Remus!" Naoya had the werewolf's full attention now. "Please, I know you can hear me. Just listen! If you can, please come here."

"What?!" Anders barked. "You've gone and lost your mind!"

"I need to be in physical contact to get through all the way," Naoya returned without so much as a look. His eyes were fixed on the beast, whose paws clicked against the stone as massive claws lead the way in a very slow approach.

"There," said Naoya, "That's it. Very good. Nice and calm, okay?"

Part of him debated on whether to tell Remus he spoke to him like a dog in the morning, but the idea was probably not one of his better ones. But there was a sudden, strange stirring in the animal's mind, and the werewolf stopped. Whining to itself, it pressed it's powerful muzzle into the earth and pawed at it's face. Confusion, Naoya sensed. What was taking place in it's mind? The werewolf gave a quick shudder, almost panting now, and it gave a hideous, barking howl. Rushing the bars, Naoya screamed as a snarling set of fangs barely missed his outstretched hand. The werewolf screeched as it hit the bars again, and Naoya struggled against the two pairs of hands wrapped around either shoulder to drag him away. But when a searing pain broke through his awareness, Naoya's eyes widened to see blood flowing down his middle and his black jacket sticky with muted red.

Naoya screamed, not unaccustomed to pain by any means but shocked nonetheless. The wound pulsed with every beat of his heart, and the hands on his shoulders dropped him to the floor with an unfriendly jerk, pressing him against the stone. "What are you doing?!"

"Stop moving!" Anders exclaimed, ripping Naoya's swatting hands away and reaching for the collar of his jacket. "How does this—" Anders cursed, struggling with the zipper. It didn't take long to figure out, and swift fingers immediately splayed the jacket open across the floor to examine the wound.

"I can—" Naoya began, but his head spun and the pain was incredible. Naoya paled as he pushed the older man away with his limited strength, trying to sit up and then immediately regretting the decision. He groaned, pressing his head to the floor. "My species heals fast, I'll be fine once the bleeding stops," he explained, but his voice was a near whisper. "Has the bleeding stopped?"

"No," Anders warned. "You need to—"

"I'll deal with it," Naoya grunted. He forced himself up, sliding his coat off and pressing it to the red stain in his abdomen. "We need to move."

"You can't go far like that! Give me your arm if nothing else!" Anders shouted, bending down to swing Naoya's arm over his shoulder. "Lean on me," he demanded. "Press the shirt to the wound, and don't you dare stop!"

Alastor had already made his way to the end of the hall, which was growing more and more like a tunnel than a civilized structure as Anders and Naoya struggled to follow. On either side, feral balverines howled and barked at them, reaching their unnaturally long limbs through the bars to try and snatch anything they could grab of their potential prey.

"They can smell the blood," Alastor's voice broke over the waves of noise.

Swarms of the creatures pressed themselves to the edges of the cells, and as the walls turned into more and more rock than brick,  Anders could see the stone beginning to crack under the combined pressure of a thousand hungry eyes. Chips fell to the floor near the failing hinges, and Anders repressed a shuddering swallow.

"Faster," he hissed to the teen. Naoya's brow was dotted with sweat, and Anders bit back a desperate shout.

Forward. Forward, came the first clear thought in days.

Justice, Anders thought back. Maker, what a sight for—

We must continue, the spirit urged. Do not stop!

"Yes," Anders huffed aloud, half carrying the psychic now. Though the wound in his thigh burned, it was not bad: it was surprising how light Naoya was for a lad his age, and Anders comforted himself with the thought that he would pester Naoya about it once this was all over. He felt his own side grow wet with the teenager's blood, but he daren't look down.

"Keep going," he urged, his words coming faster than his breaths could carry them. "We have to move! Keep going!"

Beside him, he could hear Naoya's labored breathing. The teen offered sparse grunts in reply. Anger drove Anders' heels forward:  anger at the fool teen for bleeding to death beside a healer, anger at Remus for endangering their lives, anger at Reaver, anger at the universe—

"Here," Alastor implored. He stood before set of crumbling stone stairs leading to a locked trap door in the ceiling. "We will need to reach the master bedroom. The only way out that does not take you through the city is through that room."

Anders turned to Naoya as their soles slapped against the stairs. "Can you make it that far?"

Naoya didn't respond to Anders's query. His voice was quiet, but his words piercing: "It's not healing," he whispered, his eyes searching the empty air for an answer. "Why isn't it healing?"

Anders bit his lip. "He won't make it if we don't do something immediately," he said, coming up behind Alastor as the other man reached for the latch on the door.

The old joints groaned in protest as the door was pushed open, slamming into the stone on the other side and bathing the three men in a column of light. The smell of bread and sugar wafted down, and already Anders could see firelight dancing across what appeared to be a brick-faced hearth.

"This is the kitchen," Alastor verified. He took Naoya's other hand and together he and Anders lead the boy up the remaining steps. Alastor threw his arms across the heavy wooden table in the center of the room, smashing the plates and jars across the floor without care. "Place him here."

Naoya opened his mouth to protest, but Anders swung his feet out from beneath him and immediately laid him down across the prep surface. "It's still bleeding," he said, slowly lifting a corner of the jacket from the wound. There was no scab or clot forming, and so Anders took the rest of the fabric away. The gash was deep, cutting diagonally across the center of the boy's chest near the diaphragm and ending almost below his bellybutton. In the firelight it was hard to glimpse for certain, but Anders thought there was no visible fat or muscle inside the glaring red. A serious gash indeed, but not mortal—unless they waited to treat it much longer.

"Water," Anders demanded, pressing a palm to Naoya's forehead. In swift fashion Alastor obeyed, handing Anders a bowl and cloth. Anders took up the bunched fabric and wrung it out over the wound, clearing away a portion of blood. Running it along the outside of the wound, Anders' brow was furrowed as he muttered to himself.

Anders ran his hands along Naoya's prone form, touching, sensing.  Pale skin, clammy.  Thready pulse and shallow breaths.  Blood-drenched clothing. He'd lost so much blood.

Anders' free hand unclipped the staff from his back and it clattered to the floor beside him. Mana. He needed mana, but he was nearly spent. It felt as though his cells were drying up, as though his blood was made of sand. He had the tricks to cause explosions and freeze doorknobs—little, futile things. But healing required a focus he simply did not have after everything they had been through. And yet he reached into his deepest reserves, tapping into the Fade and begging Justice to steady his hand as it traveled over the wound, splayed fingers glowing with the pale blue light familiar to his spirit healing technique. But when the bleeding did not slow, Anders hissed aloud.

He cursed again, head reeling. His muscles seized and panic slapped in waves against his ribs, and for one agonizing moment Anders realized he did not know what to do. He closed his eyes, thinking back to all the things he had done to become the healer he was today. Most mages never learned the healing arts. Many cite a fear of blood to cover their true lack of aptitude. A deep grasp of magic is necessary, and most mages never wanted to learn anything past protecting themselves from demons. They never wanted to use their gifts when it was burnt into their minds from birth that magic is a curse for mankind's sins, and Anders tried not to blame them. But it took more than any talent to be a healer. Objectivity was not an easy thing, but it was absolutely necessary to work on the dying. With a steady exhale, Anders let himself go cold. He went hollow—no room for anything but logic and thought. His mind raced: Wardens, darkspawn, field medics, blood and—

"Oh—!," he blurted wildly, spinning around on his heels, "—I need something—something strong, cloth—"

Alastor's eyes lit up as the request clicked inside his mind. "The wine cellar," he said, vanishing out of the nearby archway.

"Naoya," Anders said, leaning down to the psychic's level, "I need you to put your shirt in your mouth."

"The blood's coming from my chest, Andy," Naoya responded weakly.

"Naoya," Anders snapped, "just do it."

Anders wrapped the driest parts of the black jacket into a rough ball, pressing it into Naoya's face. The teen gave him a spiteful glare as he took it, giving the jacket a mournful squeeze. "I guess black doesn't hide everything," he sighed.

Alastor returned then with a glass bottle shaped like the body of a violin or cello, with a lengthy neck and rich color to disguise the vile flavor within. Anders liked his liquor as much as any man, though he had learned from several youthful experiences—not the least of which ended with him in Templar chains—to avoid the strong stuff. This, however, was a situation requiring the hottest fire.

Naoya had picked up his head, growing paler than Anders believed possible given the blood loss. As Alastor popped the cork and slid the bottle to Anders, he swallowed hard. "Aren't I supposed to get a sip first?"

"No time," Anders said, nodding to Alastor whose hands wrapped around Naoya's arm and leg opposite the mage. "Hold onto my arm," he said, offering the arm not holding the bottle. "And put the shirt—right. One. Two. Three!"

Just a small spill of brandy dripped smoothly across Naoya's exposed chest, but it was enough to cause him to kick out with his last free limb as a muffled scream escaped his writhing form. Tears welled behind his eyelids and trickled angry lines down the sides of his face. The hanging utencils over the brick oven rattled alongside every bit of glassware in the room. Pots and pans trembled on the shelves, and the water bowl shattered as Naoya's cries of pain were echoed out through his mental powers.

"Finished," Anders breathed, wincing as Naoya tore his slender fingers from the mage's arm. There would surely be bruising.

"There was time!" Naoya spat. "There was time, you bastard!"

"That's the spirit," Anders nodded, a crooked, ghostly grin working his exhausted expression. He wiped sweat from his brow, frowning.

Naoya was still bleeding some. Deep in the wound, something Anders couldn't place worked beneath the inflamed tissues, keeping it open as much as possible. Now that he had a spare moment to breathe, he could sense it. He visualized the blood surging through veins, mixing with black quill ink drip by ever slow drip. There was something magical inside the wound, preventing it from healing. Something venomous left behind by the werewolf. There was no telling what it would mean for Naoya.

The journey skywards from the underground kitchen was much slower than any of them liked, but with Naoya wounded and nearly out of breath at every step, his pale form half draped across Anders' shoulders, they didn't dare go faster. They met no resistance as they walked in total silence, though the lack of other living persons was not entirely a comfort. Whether there were balverines in the rooms lining the halls, watching them with their sickly yellow eyes through cracks and shadows, Alastor gave no outward indication. But Anders' insides burned and Justice did not have to whisper to bring the paranoia they both felt to the surface. The mage's eyes darted this way and that, then to Naoya, and back again. His own footing was scarecely given the attention that perhaps it deserved, and Anders did not consider his luck that he had so far remained standing.

"How much farther?" Anders barked, a little more cross than he intended. He apologized in low tones.

"Your concern is valid," Alastor said with a wave of his hand. "We are nearing the master bedroom."

From beside him, Naoya's head lifted. "The tunnels would have been quicker."

"The tunnels would have been infested with the Ferals shortly," replied Alastor from ahead. "And you are in no condition to do anything but die."

Naoya gave a weak smile and a thumbs up. "Die young, leave a pretty corpse."

Anders looked apalled. "Naoya, for your sake, you had better be joking-!"

"We are here," Alastor said loudly.

They had come to the end of the hall, where the walls appeared to be consumed by an overly large and grandiose door. The ebony wood was bold in contrast to the brown shades of the rest of the wood work, and the knob was set with highly polished, gold plated finish. From under the door, the sickly sweet smell of dried poppy wafted up with unnatural potency. The scent was thick and strangely musky, and Anders detected undertones of citrus and something very earthy, something immediately familiar to him.

"Elfroot," he whispered to himself, but Naoya gave him an odd look.

"Marijuana," he said. "This is a drug den."

"The boy is not wrong," Alastor spoke over his shoulder. "Perhaps you should cover your noses."

Alastor withdrew a small key from within his inner breast pocket, quietly sighing to himself before opening the door with a steady swing. Immediately, the source of the smell was self evident in the tendrils of suffocating smoke that oozed into the exposed hallway like poison seeking to contaminate water. Anders' nose curled and he coughed-only a little, but enough to shake Naoya and cause the teen to wince. His white shirt was still wet in places, but per Anders' instructions he pressed his jacket into his middle in the hopes of stemming the bleeding. With his other arm wrapped around Anders' shoulders, Naoya was helpless against the smoke.

"Try not to cough," Anders instructed. "You'll only exacerbate your wound."

Naoya's tilted expression was sarcasm enough for Anders. "Can't you do something? I thought you were a magic healer!"

"I am," Anders frowned. "But I used the last of my mana on more important things like escaping from Reaver! I need time or a good poultice and some bandages, and given that we have none of those I suggest we take it slow."

"Hmph," Naoya pouted. But he was fooling no one: the pain he was in was written in the sweat dotting his brow and in the gentle tremble of his limbs.

The three men eased their way into Reaver's private chambers. The massive room was the size of a small ballroom, lined with round paper lanterns that gave out a low, amber glow-lighting better suited for seducing a lover than reading before bed. The same red overtones as the rest of the mansion dominated the decor here as well, only the ruby was swathed with checkered black tiles across the floor and black silk hanging from the lanterns. Hanging from the ceiling, the tiny eyes of rabbits stared widely down at them, and from somewhere in the dark a chicken could be heard clucking. Beside them as they entered, a stretch of shelves traveled the length of the wall split only by the occasional love seat or expensive chair. Paintings of voluptuous maidens and well endowed men gathered along the walls, guardians of the chains, straps and whips sitting expectantly upon the shelving beneath. Ball gags, masks, a colorful arrangement of toys-Anders likened the inside of the Lord's bedroom to one of the more expensive hideaways at the Blooming Rose brothel. He gave a quietly impressed whistle.

The incredibly lush and exaggerated bed stood proudly in the center of the room. The canopy was silk and the bedding was made of stitching so fine that Anders paused to give it a rather lengthy run between his fingers after laying Naoya down across the emblazoned quilting. The Lord's insignia would be marred with the blood of his victims soon, and Anders found that rather poetic.

"Right," Anders finished, turning to the frost balverine and watching him pace the borders of the room. "We're here. Now what?"

"Now we must find Reaver's escape tunnel."

Anders blinked. "I'm sorry, did you say find?"

"Yes. Did you truly think Reaver would tell any of his subservients where his personal escape route would be located?"

"And what, did you think I'm magic?" Anders frowned, his arms splaying out beside him in frustration. "I may be a mage, but I'm no miracle worker!"

"That's true," Naoya grinned from the bed, sensing Anders' scathing stare.

Alastor sighed, his heavy shoulders heaving. "I am lucky to know it exists at all. I tried to spend as little time in here as possible, for obvious reasons."

Anders rubbed his fingers together, tasting something sour. He was reminded of the time he started a rumor about a secret escape tunnel while he was trapped in Fereldan's Circle. Then, he'd gotten a good laugh at the Templars pressing their noses to the walls for weeks and months with nothing to show for their efforts. Now that he was on the other side of things, Anders debated whether he would do it all again.

In fact, he would, he decided with a self-satisfied nod-because the Templar bastards deserved it. But too long spent dwelling on the past made the future impossible.

"Let's not waste any time then," he said. "If I were an egomaniacal, manipulative sycophant, where would I hide my evil escape hatch?"

Together, the two able-bodied men scoured the room. Anders shifted paintings mounted to the walls to search for cavities and checked the lamps for any unusual switches or buttons. Not that it would scream, 'Hello, secret tunnel,' but maybe there was something they weren't seeing right in front of their faces. Meanwhile, Alastor tended to the more discrete things: Reaver's writing desk, his night stand, and the fireplace. Several tense moments passed without a sound, and Naoya was helpless to do anything but lay across the bed and watch. The whole scene was like something out of a poorly directed movie.

"Hey," he said through a sideways grin, "did anyone check the big bookshelf over there?"

"Why would we do that?" Anders called from somewhere behind him.

"Because," Naoya replied, "that's how it always is in the movies. Wouldn't it be funny?"

There was a pause.

"Movies?"

Naoya rolled his eyes, muttering, "I hate this dimension... time...place..."

Anders pursed his lips, tugging at a dry bit of dead skin with his teeth. It was a nervous habit he picked up as a child and hardly noticed until he pulled living tissue. His strode to the bookshelf to assist the butler, neither of them apparently willing to let the joke of a severely wounded, possibly delirious teen go to the wayside. At random, fingers slipped between spines and pressed the books apart. Anders rapped his knuckles against the back of the shelf, unsurprised to find it solid wood.

"There's nothing," he said, but no one responded. They had reached a dead end.

"Reaver's in prison now," came Naoya's small voice. "Maybe we could just stay here. Get Remus in the morning."

A bloodcurdling howl came from the somewhere down the hall.

Alastor made his way to the door, squinting into the darkness. "You will not make it that long."

"Ferals?" asked Anders, coming to stand by Naoya's bedside.

"No. Bring your weapon to bear, mage. Kill them only if you must. I will return for you both."

"Wait, you can't just-!"

Too late. Alastor had already been enveloped by the darkness. The lock on the door clicked as it was set, and half of Anders thought for the briefest of moments that this was an elaborate trap. His boots were heavy on the floor as he made to examine the bookshelf again. He snatched up the first book he could, determined to sift through every single one if that's what it took to break free. But suddenly Anders gave an incredulous snort, his eyes widening with disbelief.

"Reaver on Reaver?" he read aloud, thumbing through the pages without looking. "This is-Reaver's autobiography!" A quick glance at the spine told Anders everything he needed to know: written in gold letters were the words, "Volume 1 of 50." Anders immediately replaced the book and wiped his hands on his robes.

"I would hurry."

"I'm trying, Naoya," Anders replied. "How's the wound?"

"I think it stopped bleeding. Mostly."

"Just keep pressing on it until we can get you proper bandages."

"Or until you fix it," Naoya said, his voice hopeful.

"Whichever comes first," Anders agreed. They just needed something, and soon. Anders could treat infection if he had to, but the alcohol and the press would help in the meantime. The wound exposed was an invitation, and the last thing he wanted to put Naoya through was cauterization. His mana was returning. If they could just wait a little longer...

THUD. An angry lurch rattled the bedroom door on it's hinges, and both occupants turned to look.

THUD. THUD. The sound of claws tearing at the wood bounded across the open floor.

"Shit." Anders took up Freedom's Call, bolting for the door. The metal staff hummed once again, the familiar channel working to funnel his magic. He knelt in the doorway, leaning against the weapon as he slid a dagger from a hidden pocket beside his belt. Grunting with the force it took, Anders cut a circle directly in front of the door. And then a star inside of the circle, forming points of a compass around which he drew another intricate design. Normally, glyphs could be brought into existence with magical will alone. But as Anders finished, he felt splinters fall against his hand and looked up to see the snout of the balverine exposed in the gaping hole. He couldn't waste the mana he did have. Not even on the balverines. Naoya was too important.

Anders withdrew his blade and returned it to it's secret home, pressing the now empty palm to the center of the design carved into Reaver's polished floor. "This had better be worth it," he muttered, allowing the only mana he could think to spare to flow from his fingers and into the glyph that had  begun to glow a fierce, summery green beneath his skin. It faded to a searing neon purple and then disappeared almost completely from view. The only thing left to do now was wait.

"Naoya," said Anders once again, coming to the bed where the boy had propped himself up on a mass of Reaver's pillows, "take this." Anders took his dagger out again, holding it out.

Naoya accepted the dagger with a bewildered expression. "Are you sure you want to give sharp objects to the injured minor?" he half grinned, even as he glanced up and down the length of the blade with a concerned brow.

Anders didn't answer him.

With a final, gargantuan heave, Reaver's bedroom door gave way, cracking and splintering onto the floor. The balverines moved as swift as shadows, two of them hurling their bulk high into the room. A massive explosion shook the paper lanterns and several fine oil paintings dropped to the floor as the entirety of the room was rocked by the blast. The poor beast that triggered the glyph to go off was no more.

Anders whirled about as a massive set of fangs plumitted towards him from high near the ceiling, bringing Freedom's Call up in time to see the balverine's jaw snap as it's own force pushed it's teeth and maw around the hardy steel. Pushing out with a cry, Anders flung the wolf beast across the room and into one of the velvet chairs where it crumpled into a heap and clawed at it's own disfigured face with pained cries. The other balverine howled at Anders from across the room, hissing at him and pawing at the floor.

"Look out!"

Naoya's warning came too late and Anders felt his skull smash against the hardwood. Pressure built as the balverine pressed it's weight on Anders' head as if hoping to pop him and Anders' hands worked furiously to find a piece of the balverine to grab onto. Saliva dripped against his ears as Anders' fingers finally made contact with wirey hairs, and with a flash of heat the balverine retreated, screaming and howling as a blistering orange inferno enveloped it's body. Shielding his face from falling cinders, Anders rolled onto his back and thrust out hard with his legs, kicking the balverine with enough force to topple it.

The last balverine launched itself towards the bed, and Naoya yelped as he rolled onto the floor in time for the sheets to be ripped apart by powerful claws.

Just as quickly as the balverine lunged to sink its fangs into the psychic, it was snatched up in a much larger maw. The balverine screeched and swatted at Alastor's white snout, but the frost balverine violently shook his head - before finally biting down on the other and silencing it with a sickening crunch.

The sleek form of the largest balverine in the room turned to the wall of yellow eyes that watched baitedly from the doorway, making sure the dead body of the Reaver loyalist was on display for even the balverines who looked in from the skylight above.

I AM IN CHARGE, came the mental wave that went with Alastor's snorts. It wasn't a loud command, but it was authoritative and overwhelming. ME. It was a warning, and - with the limp body of the Reaver-loyal balverine dangling from his jaws - a very viable threat. Alastor whipped his great white head to the side, tossing the dead balverine into the bookshelf, a cascade of various narcissistic books toppling down, save for one book that stuck fast to the shelf.

Naoya glanced to Anders, unsure if it was something the mage would have picked up on, but Anders looked upon the scene as if he were witnessing a fight of animals and not a delicate display of authority and balance. Humans, Naoya dully thought.

"Tha's th' one," Naoya slurred to Anders, weakly pointing a bloody finger at the lone book on the shelf. He pressed his hand to his chest, wincing at the pain the small motioned caused him. He then started sliding closer and closer to the ground, his eyes blinking in confusion.

"No!" Anders' staff dropped to the floor as the mage rushed to Naoya's crumpling form. "Naoya, stay awake! You need to stay awake!"

But Naoya only continued to blink, his eyes unfocused and far off. Anders repressed the urge to shake him, fear welling up when he saw the renewed gush of red blood soaking through the thin shirt.

"Naoya!" Anders' voice grew louder and he began to slap his hand against the teen's cheek. "Naoya! Naoya!"

Chapter Text

A gasp and a click. A painful twitch and a cold spasm, each of which sent sharp cries out into the oblivion of the endless forest. Exhausted, bare, and trembling, muscles spasmed under the the strain as suddenly a man was born again and the wolf inside him was left to sleep. Thoughts turned from images and concepts to words. Sights began to have names. Remus remembered his name.

He remembered his name. He remembered his name. His name was—tears, hot with pain and cold with fear, slipped across his bloodstained face. He remembered his name. And things were so hard to remember.

Ragged, panting breaths escaped him as he twitched on hand and knee, his eyes struggling to focus on the fingers that felt so small, so strangely small without the long claws that had adorned their tips mere moments before. A shudder rolled over his spine and he felt something click. His mouth hung open as angry whisps of steam fell from his lips, bleeding and raw as the cold bit into fresh skin and razor sharp fangs slowly sank back into his gums.

And again—once again—Remus was human.

But he barely felt it.

He remembered his name, though, and he held onto that like a torch in the dark even as the cold light of a new dawn burned across the fading, starry sky.

He gasped as the pain registered completely now, images of a snout, bloodied and bruised, tearing his body apart. His arms gave and he fell forward onto his elbows and then onto his belly, feeling the prickle of pine needles against his naked body. He could see the blood scattered on the fallen leaves and his thighs burned as he brought them to his chest and fresh scabs opened anew. The new human’s mind whirled as he pieced together what was happening, and suddenly he rolled over to release the contents of his stomach: some red bile and bits of grey and white fur, splattering the leaves and the new chutes of wolfsbane that left a sweet tang against the scent of the forest.

A hot snort left saliva droplets across his ear and Remus nearly screamed as he turned, insides cold. A creature—a balverine, he remembered—she stood over him, her unnaturally long limbs pressed tightly to her as she sat on her haunches and watched him with a curious gaze in her golden eyes. She snorted at him again, a broad, pink tongue snaking across her nostrils as she wiped the scent away.

Remus felt himself frown. She was familiar to him. Somehow. She was important. She was—she was—

He let out a hiss. He couldn’t think straight, not yet. Laying back on his elbows, Remus looked her form up and down several times, trying to get the broken bits to finally click. His chest trembled, as much in shock from transforming as much as fear, the powerful creature standing over him hardly a calming sight. But each pump of blood to his brain was the water of life. With each passing second, he remembered a little more. He could piece together a little more. He examined her one last time, watching her as she sat still as a statue. She was waiting for him.

“N-,” Remus started, but his tongue felt strange and speaking so horribly wrong. A mouth filled with human teeth was strange enough, though he squashed the feeling, banishing it to wherever the monster slept inside. He formed the word slowly, taking the time to form it with his lips: “Na-di-ne.”

Nadine barked out a laugh, her teeth bared and small tail swatting leaves in all directions. Remus suddenly remembered that he was nude and his face flooded with blood. He sent his hands to cover himself, sensing that the balverine cared little about what he wore or what he looked like underneath clothes and that his shame was really to blame for her jovial state. Still, he tried his best to hide his modesty and began to look around.

Last he could recall, he was in a cell below ground. Now, the sun warmed his face and the wind whispered in his ears and across skin flecked with goosepimples. Remus tried to remember. He could remember it if he tried. Nadine’s fur against his hands. White hot pain. Screaming. Wolves, the scent of blood and wolves, but not wolves. Someone coming. Pain, metal cage bars against his skin, breaking and bruising. A face—Naoya—

“My God,” Remus gasped, sitting up and not caring about the pain any longer. His throat was raw from howling, and he pushed just to speak. But the words were desperate: “Naoya—Naoya, my God, Naoya—!”

Stars blared in his vision and Remus doubled over again, but the panic in his throat would not go away. His eyes widened as new, angry tears spilled across his cheeks and cleared away more blood spatter. He couldn’t breathe. Each breath was forced as something cold strangled him from within, forcing Remus to gasp in a crumpled heap on the ground. New tears continued to wash away splashes of blood, dropping from his cheeks and onto the leaves with a pink tinge.

“What… happened?” His sentences were painfully short as he winced between words, each breath rocking red lines across his middle. “The—others… what happened? Must—tell me—”

Nadine’s ears gave a short twitch and a long, agitated sigh escaped from between her many white fangs.

“Nadine—!” Remus hissed as he lifted himself on to his knees, ignoring the screaming protest coming from his failing body. His face was hard and he tried with all his strength not to fall again. “Tell me,” he half yelled. “Tell me!”

But the balverine was silent in the wake of Remus’ pleading expression. She held out an arm before her and Remus took it, his shaking legs extending from below him and allowing a very wobbly stance. Now he could see it: a small pack strapped onto her shoulders, and with her other arm Nadine swung it to ground level and clawed it open with graceless fingers.

Remus gasped, astonishment like nothing he had ever felt before rising internally as he slid the only thing left of his old life slowly over his tender arms. His plaid coat, thinner than it was in it’s heyday but still sturdy and very warm—it was something he never expected to see again. Though his legs and feet were still bare, it covered as far as parts of his thighs and a small bit of warmth eased the trembling. Still supporting himself on Nadine’s arm, Remus sent his other hand sifting through pockets, conducting inventory. “Ah,” he tried, “my wand?”

Nadine’s ears pressed back as she gave the pouch a quizzical look. Immense claws overturned the bag, shaking it out. A tiny roll of bandages and a small canteen of water smashed into the ground with the force of her throw, but there was no sign of any wand, and even less of any other weapons. Remus cursed.

“Where are the others?” he demanded. “Did they—make it out?”

Nadine nodded.

Remus let his arm fall from hers and for a moment he gave a dangerous wobble as he stood for the first time on his own. “Please take me to them.”

Anders’ face scrunched into something ugly and determined as he worked. Maker forbid the boy wake up and say something now, after all this time. Lifting the white t-shirt up from Naoya’s stomach, Anders checked on the wound that had caused them all so much grief. After multiple sessions of mana as it slowly regenerated, Anders had managed to close the wound after several  hours work. But Naoya’s skin reflected the blue light from Anders’ palm as he whisked magic through the boy’s frail body. Even after what was akin to magical surgery, the wound was still saturated with something dark. Where it should have healed to smooth skin, a brutal, ugly scar remained. Naoya had so far been passed out, sleeping off the worst of the pain that Anders tried hard to keep at bay. Anders watched for any sign of labored breathing, Naoya’s peaceful face in sharp contrast to the night’s events.

Satisfied with the state of the scar, Anders lay back against the cool rock face and watched water drip down in the center of the doorway from somewhere above. The last few hours had all been a blur and part of Anders wondered whether it really happened. But his shoulder was just now finishing the arduous process of drying after carrying a ghost-white, half-dead teen out of the tunnel and into the dawn. Through fits of sparse sleep, Anders could hear himself shouting at Naoya, “Don’t you dare bleed out on me!” Screaming the teen’s name as he worked his minuscule supply of mana through the painfully slow process of sewing the wound, Anders only calmed down and stopped fighting when Justice came to the surface and forced it. Naoya’s life had been saved, but the cost was great. It was the spirit who carried Naoya and walked their shared body to the safety of a rock alcove miles from Reaver’s mansion and far from the Oasis only to have it collapse beside the boy from utter exhaustion. It was after dawn when Anders next awoke.

He hadn’t been alone in the woods like this for many months, if not years. The passage into Kirkwall required only safe winds to carry a sail, and that journey had seemed desperate at the time. Anders’ body ached and his eyes burned, not yet having the excess mana or the will to lick his own wounds. Somewhere far in the distance, he could hear birdsong. Glancing towards his feet, embers from the pitiful firepit he’d managed to build in the small hours were growing cold. Before he even moved, Anders heard his knees and back—his entire body—giving very tempting protests. But they needed the warmth to stay alive. Naoya needed the warmth.

His boots scraped against the rock as he stood, stumbling into the woodland bordering the alcove and gathering an armful of reasonable tinder.

But it was not long before a man and a balverine stumbled forth from the trees.

Nadine smelled them before she saw them, and Remus could only guess when he saw her ears stiffen as though spotting prey. He leaned most of his weight against a sturdy branch he had turned into a makeshift walking stick, testing the ground before he stepped. But it didn’t take him long to spot Anders, looking ragged and worse for wear with a bundle of sticks under his arm.

Remus’ breathing was heavy as he approached, pushing with as much force as he could muster from his exhausted body. From this distance he could see Anders’ skin glowing faintly blue with the electric cracks across his skin. Justice launched upwards as Nadine came close enough to touch him, slamming the dragon-headed staff on the ground between the two men and looking almost feral. But when his eyes widened, the glow faded away to a smooth honey brown.

“Anders,” Remus croaked, hoping it were true.

“Maker, I—” Anders started, blinking stupidly from shock. “I thought—we had to leave you! Are you—how did—?” Remus winced as Anders dropped the firewood and wrapped him in a bear hug, for which the mage immediately apologized. He looked the wizard up and down, closing and opening his mouth like a suffocating fish. “I—I thought we might never see you again,” he admitted, even as his cheeks reddened when he realized that Remus was nearly nude. Both of the men could see their breath in the chill of the morning air.

“You’re covered in blood, Remus,” Anders spoke, clearing his throat and regaining control of his objectivity. “You need medical attention.”

“Naoya?” was all Remus responded. He followed Anders’ gesture to spot the boy on the stone, pale and shivering, but sleeping. Without a word, the wizard limped towards the patient to examine the wound for himself. Remus went even paler. “How bad was it?”

“Does it matter?” Anders replied. “Naoya said you weren’t in your right mind when—”

“How bad was it, Anders?” Remus asked again, more forcefully this time. His voice was hoarse, and it broke uncomfortably every now and then with the rasping of his throat. He wasn’t looking at the mage but Anders could see him trembling with something that was either exhaustion or rage—or a terrifying mix of both. “What happened?”

Anders came to stand next to Remus, kneeling down beside him. He pressed his palm against Remus’ shoulder. “How much do you remember?”

Remus bit his lip to stop the shameful tears he could feel welling up again as his heart pounded ice through veins in lieu of blood. This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening. “I, uh—a little,” he said slowly. “Bits. Pieces. …How—how did it happen?”

“Naoya tried to see if he could talk to you,” Anders explained. “He thought he could feel part of your mind somewhere leftover, and theorized that he might somehow reach you. Do you remember?”

“No. You can't—you can’t reason with a—” Remus swallowed, unable to say ‘werewolf.’ It still felt so wrong, so abhorrent and vile—even though the evidence of his lies lay half dead before him. “Did I bite him?”

Anders hesitated. “I don’t know.”

Remus’ breath hissed through his teeth as he covered his face. He stayed like that for a long time. “This is all my fault.”

“No.” Anders didn’t even have to think about it to know how wrong that was.“This isn’t anyone’s fault. We had no idea what would happen.”

“I should have told you. I should have told you what I was, so you could have gone without me.”

Anders shook his head, unable to believe what he was hearing. “We would never have gone without you!”

“I doomed you from the start,” Remus insisted. “I should never have come with you to begin with. I knew the moon was coming and still I went along with you. And now that you know what I am you would do well to stay as far from me as you can, so that this is never repeated!”

Nadine whined, and both men jumped as they spotted her suddenly between them. Hanging from her mouth was a wrapped bundle. When she dropped it at their feet, it rolled open to reveal a ripped piece of paper with a simple letter A.

“Oh!” Anders gasped. “Alastor send us away with it, though I had forgotten it.” He glanced to Nadine. “How did you know—no. No, I don’t want to know.” His skin crawled as he imagined the balverine eyes surrounding them in the woods again and decided then and there that they couldn’t stay here much longer. It was still far too close to the mansion.

Remus sifted through the contents of this last parting gift from the Alpha: a set of clothes, three small loaves of bread and a set of bandages. There was nothing indicating his success one way or the other, and Remus couldn’t help but wonder.

“Mm, what’d I miss?” Naoya mumbled exhaustively. The two older men turned, seeing that the psychic had enough strength to lift his head up. Amber eyes flickered between the two of them, his expression shifting to that one of confusion and then flattening out in a sarcastic manner as he observed Remus’s lack of clothing. “Nevermind, I don’t want to know,” he sighed, laying his head back down and once more closing his eyes.

Evening drew in close around them for the first time in almost a week, though none of them had said much since the morning began. Their efforts were put mainly into tending wounds and securing their temporary shelter, especially once Nadine had deemed it fit to return to the Hive. Now they were on their own, with only the small fire for company. Anders had long since fallen asleep, finally able to rest for more than a few minutes at a time. His skin glowed and cracked with the pale blue lights as it did earlier, and it occurred to Remus that Justice must keep watch while Anders slept. Only from the outside, it seemed, for Anders’ features were contorted and he occasionally moaned in a disturbed fit.

On opposite sides of the fire, Remus and Naoya sat staring into the embers. Naoya was propped up on as much extra clothing and soft bedding they could provide for him in the wilderness. And Remus sat stiffly in strange hand-me-downs: a green tunic and dark brown trousers accompanied by smaller niceties - underclothes, including socks to go with a pair of black leather shoes. Remus bunched the long sleeves reflexively in and out of his fingers as he watched the fire with pursed lips. He was pale and Naoya thought he looked badly beaten. The bruising under his eye from what he found out was Reaver’s cane was a swollen mass of red and purple, and the tip of Remus’ nose was scabbed in a way that reminded Naoya exclusively of the werewolf’s snout bleeding as it threw itself desperately towards the cage bars. Though he hadn’t given them much thought before, in light of the last night’s events Naoya studied the silvery scars on Remus’ form: two parallel lines from one cheek to the other across his nose, a pair stretching from the corner of his jaw halfway down his throat… None of them were particularly gruesome, and they gave him the appearance of someone who had spent a lot of time outdoors. Though now, knowing what they were from, Naoya couldn’t help but imagine fierce claws tearing away the flesh. The way Remus handled himself in combat, Naoya wondered if he hadn’t been in some kind of skirmish or a war. When the wizard did move, the psychic couldn’t help but notice the severe wincing and spot the many red lines under his clothes when he thought Remus wasn’t paying attention.

Naoya frowned. There was something about the quietness of the forest that was just as deafening as the noise of the city. Quiet wasn’t good; quiet was dangerous. If Naoya knew anything about quiet, it meant that a fight was coming. He wanted to sleep, and he blinked back the weight of his eyelids. But he wouldn’t let himself rest. Naoya had a fifteen minute power-nap, loosely, and was once again up.

He was getting anxious and jittery again, and he needed a goddamn smoke. But he was going to run out of cigarettes eventually. Trying to conserve had only made things worse. Maybe he could smoke half of one. It was a compromise. Fishing around in his jacket pocket, Naoya’s hands touched dry blood as he slid one from his pack and stuck the end in his mouth; the end coming to a soft glow with a quick, short snap from his powers. He leaned back, feeling the end of something long and very thin press against his leg. “Oh yeah,” he said, and he tried not to make a face as he twisted his middle to get it. “This is yours. It was stuffed in my shoe after Reaver drugged us.”

Remus did not hide his surprise. He came and sat beside Naoya, taking his wand from the boy with wide eyes. “Oh, my God,” he gasped in disbelief. “I was wondering what happened to this! I thought it lost in the mansion, though I--I had hoped - well,” he cleared his throat, “nothing went like it was supposed to. I, ah… I suppose I’m just glad to have it back.” He turned away from Naoya, half contemplating whether he should return to the other side of the camp. But after a moment, he looked back. “Are you… alright?” Just off to his left, Anders was still asleep, and so he kept his voice low. “If you’re in pain, please tell me. I may not be as skilled a healer as Anders, but this is-” he hesitated at the words, ‘my fault’ “-something I know how to deal with.”

Amber eyes flicked to fall on Remus, and Naoya stared for a moment while he tried to process the question. Briefly he placed his hand against his jacket, feeling the bandages wrapped around his bony frame tighten with his breathing. It did hurt. But pain was something he could live with. Remus was feeling guilty, and Naoya didn’t need to use his empathic abilities to tell that. “I’ll live,” he flashed a quick smile, exhaustively reassuring. “It’s not the first time I’ve been banged up.” It also wasn’t the first time he had almost bled to death on the ground, but he pushed that memory back as much as he could. He glanced to the side and shrugged, blowing out another breath of smoke. “And besides, it was an accident.”

Remus averted his gaze, taking a long breath and forcing something tacky down his throat. “If you need anything, I want you to tell me,” he stressed, trying to sound sincere rather than about to vomit. He started to say something again, and then stopped. Speaking candidly about this was not something he ever liked. The words took great effort to form. “These wounds are… difficult.”

Cursed, if he were to be perfectly honest. They would never heal properly. Never. Even if he hadn’t been infected, and Merlin banish the thought—whatever foul magic was behind this illness was left in everything it touched. Just from the boy’s complexion, he could tell Naoya was in pain. Naturally so: the nature of the wounds would simmer under the bandages like a poison, even if they had already healed most of the way. And Remus would know. A heavy, tense sigh escaped him and he rubbed the back of his neck out of reflex. For a moment, he didn’t speak. Emotions raced through him faster than he could process them, and after the fight earlier, he realized he was not prepared to deal with them again so soon. But Naoya was looking at him, and at a loss for words, he said the first thing he could think to say: “I can fix your coat if you like.”

Naoya held up the bloodied fabric with a curious expression, handing it to Remus who turned to lay it out flat across the ground. He cleared his throat, holding his wand over the defeated mess. “Scourgify!”

A froth of bubbles erupted from the tip of Remus’ wand to splatter over the entirety of the jacket. It quivered and hissed like acid on a cut and for half a second Naoya’s eyes widened as he contemplated having half of his jacket turn white with some sort of magic bleach. But when Remus’s expression changed little, he bit his lip and watched his favorite coat go on the mend. He was silent as Remus transfigured a pebble into a needle and drew black thread from the wand, sewing up the stitching tenderly by hand. By now night had fallen completely, and the firelight was the only thing allowing the work to progress.

“I could do it by magic,” he explained without looking up, “but I find some strange peace in doing it by hand. And, the stitching is a bit stronger.” After a little while, the bubbles fizzled out into nothing and Remus broke the thread away with his teeth, examining his finished product. “How is this?” He held it out to Naoya for final inspection.

Naoya gingerly took his jacket, turning it over in his hands. It was clean, and Remus had done a fine job of repairing the rip from the night before. “Not bad,” the psychic admitted. He forced himself to sit up and slowly - stiffly - slid his jacket on. “Thanks.”

“Welcome,” said Remus. “You learn a lot when you have to sew your own clothes.” He gave a drab glance at his new attire, wrapping his coat tighter around him.

After a moment spent studying Remus, Naoya blew out his last breath of smoke before extinguishing what was left of his cigarette on the stone beside him. “You didn’t bite me, you know,” Naoya said. He kept his eyes right on Remus; the wizard might have wanted to look away, but Naoya wasn’t going to let him go that easily. “This is a wound from some claws, that’s all. And even if you did bite me, I wouldn’t turn.” Something in his expression softened as he kept trying to reassure Remus. “Werewolves can only turn humans.”

Remus grew stiff and his face hard. An odd shudder passed through his body. “You don’t know that.”

“There are werewolves where I come from,” the psychic replied. “Maybe not exactly like you, but they can only turn humans.”

With patient force, Remus made sure to take a deep, heart-calming breath before addressing Naoya again. “And what happens if we find out that that is not true? What if that wound is a bite, and what if you have been turned?”

Naoya shrugged. “Then we deal with it.”

At this, Remus rose to his feet, his hands tugging at fistfuls of brown hair. He wanted to curse, to scream in panic and despair, but all he could control were his feet and he paced back and forth, back and forth, as though every other step he met a wall and was forced to turn around. His face was drained of color and he became more agitated with every limping step.

“You don’t understand,” he began after a few minutes hesitation. “You don’t understand what this might mean! You don’t understand what I’ve done to you! Neither of you understand why you should have left me behind. And now this - this! Oh,” Remus paced, dragging his hands down his face, his tone a mixture of anguish and rage, “this should never have happened. This is my fault! I should have done something. I should have given in to Reaver. He would have spared you, let you go perhaps - Alastor was supposed to keep you safe!”

“He did,” Naoya urged, rising into a fully upright sitting position. “And Reaver tried to shoot us anyway! You did the best you could for us. So stop blaming yourself for something that’s not your fault!”

Remus snorted, a bitter and angry noise. “No. I never told you what I was. I lied to you. You would never have come looking for me if I had—”

“Stop!” Naoya winced, but he fought through his pain and stood on his own. “Stop, okay? Things didn’t go like they planned. They never do! We all did the best we could. I don’t think Alastor would have had anything to do with us if it weren’t for you, so stop blaming yourself when we both know you had no control! It wasn’t you, you weren’t yourself! Accidents happen!”

Remus stopped, staring at Naoya. A hundred emotions ran across his face at once and salted tears dug into the cuts and scrapes as he wiped them away. “It was no accident. I failed to keep myself secure. My kind are vicious. Nothing will stop a werewolf, their aggression and singular focus on infecting humans is unparalleled! I was very young when I received the bite that turned me, far too young to understand. I used to imagine that he regretted what he had done, but now I know better! I have done everything in my power to make sure that I never followed in his footsteps. But what I have done to you, even by pure accident, is unforgivable!”

Naoya shook his head, ready to point out that Remus’s argument was doing nothing to convince him he was right. But when he opened his mouth, someone else’s voice resounded instead.

“What are you doing?” Both of them turned to find Anders waiting expectantly, having long been awoken by their fight. “What’s going on?”

“Remus was just explaining why he wants to leave,” Naoya responded, shrugging his shoulders again as Remus rounded on him. “What? Psychic, remember?”

Remus pressed his fingers into his palms, forcing his arms down at his sides. He would have preferred not to have this conversation at all, and yet now there was no avoiding it. He may as well be honest.

“Yes, I’m leaving,” he said slowly, turning only halfway to meet Anders’ gaze. “I’ve already decided.”

“You can’t,” Anders replied, his voice calm but soaked in warning. “Remus, we need you.”

Remus frowned. He finished turning, properly facing Anders now. “I should think that after what happened, it would be very clear that I am the last thing either of you need.”

“This is about what happened to Naoya,” Anders said, standing. “Isn’t it?”

“Anders, don’t.” Remus’ fingers gave an idle twitch at his sides. “I could have killed someone. That was far too dangerous to be allowed to happen again!”

“None of that was your fault! I think it was an accident-completely justifiable given the circumstances we were all in! And,” Anders added, “you made sure that we were safe in the end. Whatever we need to do, Remus, we will find a way!”

“I don’t see how,” said Remus. His arm swung out beside him as he indicated the forest at large. “We have no allies, we have no shelter… What are we going to do next month, chain me up to  tree and hope for the best? Do you even realize what sort of danger you put yourselves in just being with me?”

“We will find something!” Anders said loudly, slowly. “I can - glyphs, maybe, for paralysis or sleep! There has to be a way. We can talk about this!”

Remus shook his head. “You realize you’re suggesting something unprecedented and untested? No. I was behind bars in a cage made for the balverines and still managed to attack an innocent boy. This is the right thing to do, Anders, and you know it!”

Anders crossed his arms, taking a long, hard look at Remus. “Take it from someone possessed by a spirit of justice: this isn’t what’s right, Remus. Perhaps it looks that way to you, but you’re wrong.”

“I almost killed the boy, Anders. And next month, what happens when we have nowhere to go?” He glared at Anders, acutely aware that the blue of his robes was still coated with Naoya’s blood. “I’m protecting you!”

Anders shook his head. “You’re a coward who’s running away.”

Remus turned a visible shade of red. “How dare you? You don’t understand, Anders - you don’t know how the world sees people like me! Once they know what I am, they can’t even look at me! Don’t you see what I’ve done to Naoya, to the both of you? The danger I put you in just by being in your presence is unimaginable, and I will not risk pass on my affliction just so that we can stay together as a group! How can I forgive myself? You don’t-”

“I don’t what?” Anders stormed close to Remus now, and his voice rose with each step he took. “Don’t know what it’s like to be feared, just for what I am? I am hated just for being born, Remus-they locked me away in a tower without ever knowing my name and left me to rot in the name of public safety. A child! Just for being born with magic! I know all too well what it’s like to be something everyone loathes, and I never walk free of that fact! And now, fused with Justice, even my so-called people would execute us both as soon as learn of what we are: an Abomination, something the Maker himself cannot forgive! I understand, Remus: you are afraid. You are afraid of yourself, you’re afraid of the future and what might happen. But we need you, here! Naoya needs you more than anyone, and if you leave him now you’re no better than the werewolf who bit you when you were young! We still don’t know how bad his wound is-and if he’s been turned, Remus, he’s going to need you. Not just because you’re a werewolf, but because you’re his friend and you have a responsibility to him to see him through whatever comes!”

Naoya watched on, frowning as he felt his stomach drop at Anders’s rant. He held a hand to his side, shifting his weight on his feet. He swallowed hard, resisting the urge to mentally reach out to both of them - it was difficult with the emotions they were throwing around, and he softly grunted from the effort. Opening that can of worms would have to wait.

Anders’ eyes were still brown, but his skin crackled threateningly with blue and white light. Even his voice had begun to change for the smallest of seconds, and to Remus it seemed that rage visibly burned inside of him. “Remus,” Anders finished, breathing deeply enough for the lightning to fade, “don’t do this. We don’t care what you are! When I told you about my merging with Justice, I expected the worst. I expected you to think me a monster. But you did the opposite - you embraced it. You didn’t care! Whatever we must do, Remus, we will work through the challenges! We will figure it out! But if you leave now, you are throwing all of that away. Don’t do this, Remus. You’re a good man, and I can’t think of anyone I would rather travel through this realm with. Please, don’t do this!”

The wizard and the mage stared at each other for a minute, uncertainty hanging in the air between them, before the psychic wandered over to the two of them and wrapped his arms around both their waists - pulling them into an awkward group hug. “Stop,” Naoya said, looking up at them. “Just stop. Naoya thinks there’s been enough of this.” He gave them both a little squeeze. “And don’t try pulling away from Naoya, or else you’ll open his wound back up and we just got it to stop.”

Anders looked to Naoya and then back to Remus, a stupid grin starting to working his still pink face despite his better nerve. Half surprised and half amused, he muttered something about “this is silly,” causing Remus to burst out with sudden, wet laughter at the ridiculousness of it all. Anders’ grin only broadened, and suddenly neither of the men were fighting the embrace. Instead, the both of them laughed.

Somehow, they each knew then that everything would be all right. They could make it.

The following morning, most everything had returned to a state of relative calm. But perhaps hinting of an unknown turbulence, the sky was laden with flocks of dark, swollen clouds and Anders thought it would be just their luck to get caught in a storm before they had found a suitable shelter. The mage swatted at a mosquito touching down at the nape of his neck, and part of him wanted to set the whole forest on fire.

But then, that’s where they were headed. He didn’t need to set someone else’s blaze.

“No,” he replied sourly, examining the mush that had once been an insect on his finger before wiping it on his robes. Remus had cleaned them as well, and Anders found the sensation of something clean against his skin rather odd after living for months in the sewers below Kirkwall. “No, Reaver took the map when he searched me. He was a fool not to take my dagger as well, but I never considered that man well off from the start.”

Remus made a noise of agreement. His hands were wrapped around the metal canteen from Nadine, a layer of cloth between his skin and the contents made to boil with a tap of his wand. It wasn’t tea, but Remus said that he’d learned to get some of the same comfort from a simple cup of warm water while living like a vagabond. Anders didn’t question it. Overnight, and with some decent sleep, all three of them had begun to gain back some color and even began talking again as they had before. He wouldn’t question anything that might help them recover faster.

“I don’t think it would be wise to wait for the next fire,” Remus said after a long drink. “Not that Alastor is going to fail in his endeavor to retake the Oasis, but Reaver is…”

Ruthless? Cunning? Pitiless, merciless, unyielding? Anders could think of a thousand and one perfectly good adjectives to describe the Lord Reaver, and a thousand and one more that were infinitely less kind. “No,” he nodded. “You’re right. We don’t have time to wait. Even if it were not an urgent thing to find them, we’re not doing well for ourselves out here if we stay.”

“And we kind of have no good place to go,” Naoya added, holding his stomach.

“How do we find them without a map?” asked Remus.

Anders pushed the butt of his staff against the embers in the fire, willing them to breathe and burn a little hotter. Then, he had an idea. He stood, brushing the front of his robes and placing his staff against the log he’d fashioned into a seat. He headed into the woods, snapping a twig and returning into the outcrop only to place it into the fire. But when Anders pulled it out again, it was covered with a light coating of ashes.

“Right,” he said, twisting his lips as he worked. He threw a splash of grey and black onto the stone floor. “This is the mansion.” With a swipe of the twig, Anders drew a small triangle that pointed towards Naoya’s knees, and filled in the empty space between them with a vague gesture of his hands. “Imagine this is the forest, right? This—”, he indicated the point, “is the mountain range we saw from the gardens. If we can use the peaks as a guide, maybe we can navigate roughly to where we need to go.”

“Brilliant!” Remus pushed himself up from his knees, coming to stand beside the mage. “Excellent. That should be much easier than trying to find north again. But through the canopy, it’s impossible to spot anything clearly.”

“And the clouds,” said Naoya. “I don’t really want to get rained on. Maybe somebody should climb a tree.”

All three men looked at one another.

“Not it!” Naoya immediately sounded. That left the mage and the wizard.

“I’ll do it,” Remus offered.

“No.” Anders put his hands up. “You both need more rest than I do. My leg has already healed fairly well, and I’ve gotten plenty of sleep. Plus,” he added, “my boots are made for sturdy work.”

“And you’ve got the feathers in case you fall,” whispered Naoya from behind his hands. Remus tried hard not to crack a small smile.

Anders pretended not to have heard the comment, but his hands reflexively brushed the grit from his feathered pauldrons nonetheless. Even though they too had been touched up gently, dust swirled around Anders’ nose and he noticed the residual smell of dog. How he missed the company of a friendly, purring cat. “Don’t wander off,” he joked half-seriously, turning and hiking back the way Justice had taken them before discovering the overhang.

Is there a path? he asked mentally, and images of the escape through the dark were replayed in response. They were familiar but totally foreign in a way Anders could not describe: they were memories seen with his own eyes, but ones he did not entirely possess on his own. He himself barely remembered the journey from Reaver’s escape tunnel, and could not accurately pin down the point at which the alpha balverine had stayed behind. There was a chance that Alastor didn’t know whether Naoya had survived, if the alpha even cared one way or another.

A break in the trees lead up to the top of the rock face they camped under. Birch trees gave his skin a patchwork of honey yellow as light passed through their leaves when not obscured by fat clouds, and Anders pressed his heels carefully into the fallen debris to try and at least minimize the noises he was making. He enjoyed the birdsong, perhaps because it was peaceful but perhaps due to the absence of it in the Circle. Nests would be built by the windows sometimes, but there weren’t many windows in the Tower and Templars would push the small things off the sides, chicks and all, in the name of “maintenance”. It was never more than a temporary comfort to the mages locked inside, and Anders took a liking to the sounds of nature even if he didn’t care for some of nature itself. When he reached the summit of the rock face, Anders let his hands rest against the rough bark of an old oak tree. Strange, though: the birds themselves were not alive—or at least, they did not have an aura Anders could detect when he threw out his mind. He did, and so did Remus and Naoya, as well as each of their ridiculous plant trails. His footprints were little spots of life like tracks in fresh snow. But the trees were alive as well, and Anders imagined he could feel sap pulsing through the veins of the massive trunk as he pressed his skin into it’s outer bark. Gazing up the length for a handhold, Anders spotted a delicate vine twisting around the perimeter of the trunk as it decorated the tree with flowers that looked so much like white lilies. It was a beautiful sight.

And, with luck, it would be thick enough to help hold his weight. Anders grasped the twisting, rope-like body in his palms and gave a great tug. A few leaves and some bark were loosened and fell scattered around his feet, but for the most part everything seemed sturdy enough. The vine itself had barely moved. And so Anders pressed himself to the trunk, nearly hugging the massive tree, and  put his boots against one of the vines. Then, he gave it all his weight. It held. And so the mage climbed skyward, muttering futile complaints to himself to keep his eyes forward instead of down. Maker, he didn’t want to begin considering getting down. Anders let out a tentative laugh, cursing himself for doing these things. But as he crested the highest limb, his voice suddenly failed him.

The view was breathtaking. The rock face was one of many erratic masses, like the scattered crumbs of some unimaginably large piece of earth crumbled by a giant in the clouds. Some of them had water pooled on top, creating small waterfalls of unknown origin that drew in hundreds of birds and other fauna. The forest went on forever, turning the horizon a spectacular shade of green as late spring drew the last bits of grey from the land. Every now and again, one tree stood above the others, a massive giant of it’s kind. Great vines thicker than the tree Anders stood from draped from boughs praising the sun high above the rest of the trees, soaking in the light. Anders spotted a flock of the wretched reptile-beasts far in the distance, making a note to stay far away from them. And far to the northwest, the great wall of mountains and their only true marker stood guard over the valley below. The snow-capped peaks bowed to nothing, pushing even the weather to their whims and beckoning the clouds around them to drape them in a cloak of mist. Anders turned back, seeking any sign of Reaver’s mansion and how far they had come. But the forest consumed all signs of the mansion, all signs of the Oasis, and there was nothing to be seen one way or the other as far as Alastor’s success.

A light brought Anders’ attention back over the valley, and at first he thought that it was lighting. But he couldn’t see any thunderheads anywhere near them, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. This is the energy from the vortex, Justice warned, and Anders took a quick step back, torn between his fears of falling and his fear of the light that had stolen him from Thedas in the first place. The trees began to stir, the leaves a hissing wave of noise that could not drown the strange whispering that drew Anders’ eyes up, down, and every which way—

More lightning, and suddenly it appeared: a white mass, pale inky tendrils seeking out fresh paths to carve in the open air above the trees. Bleeding out of the center, they were fingers of voices that soaked the air with an electric energy that brought the stench of ozone on the wind. In the center, Anders thought he could see more trees: massive redwoods, a sunset forest thick with chaos ripping the trees on the other side. Red and orange, flames had begun engulfing them and obscured anything distant from view. And then a shape—small, very small—was thrown from the vortex and into the woods, a faint scream ripping through the chaos.

And then, as quickly as it had begun, it was over. The white tendrils faded out like ancient smoke into nothing, and the portal between worlds vanished in silence.

But someone had fallen into this world, just as Anders and the others had. Someone they had to find.

Anders climbed down as fast as his limbs would carry him, half running and half screaming down the embankment to the alcove in a flurry of excitement and fascination. And in hardly any time at all, the alcove was abandoned as the group set out to find the newcomer. The forest was as thick as before, but the trio pushed boldly through the concentrated woods. They scanned the trees for any sign of the reptiles, but nothing outside of birds or the occasional deer seemed interested in them today, a fact for which they were thankful.

“This way,” said Remus, holding his wand out in the palm of his hand. It spun loosely for a moment before pinning down a spot in the direction Anders had described, leading them to follow a single path.

“Are you sure it was a person?” Naoya asked. In the effort to keep up he had lost some color, but as yet he hadn’t complained about any pain.

“Yes, I think so,” Anders returned. “We should hurry.”

The greater part of an hour passed before they reached the spot Anders described, and it was not hard to miss. The forest looked as though a micro-burst had exploded into being in a circle of trees no wider than a house. Cracked branches hung like severed arms and the air had a residual electric pulse to it that Anders hadn’t noticed before. In the center of the new clearing, a violently yellow shrub stood like a spout of fire in the wake of the destruction. And little, much younger shrubs trailed off in a line away from the largest plant of them all.

A plant trail. Remus’ eyes shot to the wolfsbane around his shoes before he turned. “Hello?”

But there was no answer.

“Hello!” Anders tried next.

Still, nothing.

Naoya finally caught up to the older men, but unlike them he walked to the center of the clearing. He paused in front of the flowering yellow bush, his hand going to his bandaged side as he took a moment to catch his breath - his fingers playing idly with the white fabric of his shirt over his wrappings. Eyes narrowing, he tried to sift through the feeling he got from the portal’s residual energy, their own excitement and mild fear, and whoever it was that had fallen. He suddenly pointed with a slender finger towards a fallen tree, towards the small opening underneath the pillow of roots. “In there,” Naoya said, making a point to say it softly. “She’s scared. And injured.”

Coming closer, it was obvious that the person they were looking for was a child - after all, the space wasn’t big enough for anyone else to fit. A soft sniffling could be heard, someone trying to stifle their sobbing. Upon looking inside the space under the tree, they found the source: a girl with long brown hair, messy from her descent; dressed in an over-sized pink sweater with a picture of shooting star on the front, a simple lavender skirt, and black flat shoes. She was curled up as far back as she could get in the hole, clutching her left arm and staring out at them with wide, wet eyes. She couldn’t have been older than twelve or thirteen.

Remus came to kneel beside Naoya, feeling the wolfsbane beginning to sprout under his knuckles as he pressed his weight into the soil. “Hello there,” he said calmly, forcing his words to be slow and patient.

But he didn’t expect the handful of dirt flung at his face, and he jerked back with a sputtering expression as his sleeves shot to his face to wipe the grit from his eyes.

Anders tried next, holding his arm near his face in anticipation. “Don’t worry, we’re not going to hurt you. We’re here to help!”

With a gasp, Anders ducked as the next handful of dirt grazed the top of his head, embedding itself in his hair. He growled, pulling the ribbon from his hair and running his fingers through golden locks. “I don’t understand why she’s not coming out.”

“That’s because we’re in the middle of the woods and you guys are strangers,” Naoya stated in a haughty but hushed tone, stepping between the two of them. “Young injured girls don’t go running off with strange men in the woods.”

“As though you could do better?” Anders snorted, but he regretted saying anything when Naoya’s only reply was to flip his hair and saddle Anders with a self-assured look.

“Have you ever spoken to a little girl before, either of you?” Naoya put a hand on his hip and shook his head. “No? Okay. Leave this to Naoya.” He pushed them aside, walking over to the opening and bending over to peer inside. “Hi there,” he smiled.

But the little girl only sniffled and threw another handful of dirt, which fell short of hitting Naoya.

“I’m Naoya,” Naoya said. He gingerly lowered himself so that he was sitting on the ground in front of the hole, his back resting against some of the exposed roots. “I like your sweater. What’s your name?”

She stared at him, wary but curious. “Mabel,” the little girl said, her voice nasally from crying.

“Mabel, huh?”

“Uh-huh.” Mabel wiped her face an over-sized pink sleeve.

“Are you okay, Mabel? That arm looks like it really, really hurts, and this guy here is, like, totally a doctor.” Again, she only stared at him, holding her injured arm. He let out a small chuckle, motioning back at Remus and Anders with his head. “Don’t worry, no one out here bites. Promise. We saw you fall and we just want to help.”

Anders was still pulling his hair back into the half-pony, so Remus nodded for him. “Yes, it’s true. Look here:” Remus shifted, allowing her to see his own plant trail for herself. “We fell through just the same as you. We have plants, just the same as you do. We just want to help you.”

“You’re hurt,” said Anders, finally ready to try again. “Is it alright if I come a bit closer? I’m a doctor.”

When she only pressed back further into the hole again, Naoya turned to look at them both, slowly lowering a hand down in the air - out of view of Mabel. His eyebrows were perked and his expression clearly said you’re coming on too strong. When they backed up a few steps, he turned back to Mabel with a small, sunny smile. “You don’t have to come out,” he started, “But do you want to see something cool?”

He picked a small yellow flower from her plant trail and held it in his outstretched hand. With some help from his telekinesis, it slowly began to float towards Mabel - spinning in the air - where it gently settled on the ground in front of her foot.

“How did you do that?” Mabel asked, awed.

“It’s a secret,” Naoya winked and smiled. “But I’ll tell you if you let Andy take a look at your arm. You don’t have to come all the way out if you don’t want to, just as far as me.”

She hesitated before she shifted and gingerly crawled towards Naoya, keeping her hurt arm cradled against her chest, stopping just as far as he had offered. “I don’t think it’s broken,” Mabel said, again wiping her face on her opposite sleeve. She settled onto her knees, looking away from them.

Anders waited for Naoya’s approving glance before kneeling closer. Rocks disturbed from the soil by the uprooting of the tree pressed painfully into his knees for a brief moment before the cushion of moss took away any hint of the rough ground that had been there before. “Mabel,” he said quietly, “I’m going to touch your arm now. I want you to tell me if it hurts too much, okay?”

He saw Mabel give a weak nod, glancing between him and Naoya and then back to her arm. Anders let his fingers drape carefully around her sleeve, careful not to apply any pressure as he slid back the soft fabric to check for any visible injury. She was warm and trembled violently, her face cherry red as a little sniffle fought back the wetness oozing from her nose as she cried. “May I?”

“Ow, ow, ow, ow…” Tiny whimpers escaped her as Anders extended her arm at the elbow, allowing him to push her sleeve up the rest of the way. But she shook her head when he asked her if it was too much, and so he continued. There was a lot of dirt around her elbow and shoulders, and the skin of her forearm was pulsing with an angry red that was slowly turning purple.

“You landed on your arm,” Anders said, and Mabel didn’t have to nod this time. Tears welled up in her eyes and she started to cry again, and Naoya gently took her other hand.

“You’re okay, Mabel,” he said, and Anders watched him study her face as he tried to calm her. There was more than sympathy in his eyes. Anders didn’t understand Naoya’s abilities, but that didn’t stop him from wondering if the teen was actually able to sense her pain, to experience her emotions. Naoya’s expression was soft and soothing, but there was a tension in his body that spoke of something more. Anders was glad to have him assisting.

Anders took a breath to center himself and drew his mana to his fingers, and Naoya glanced over at his palms as they began to glow a peaceful blue color and smiled again.

“Hey,” the psychic said, squeezing Mabel’s hand. “Want to see something else cool?”

Together, the two of them watched as Anders set his palms over her arm, and Mabel flinched.

“It’s warm,” she said, but she didn’t draw away. “It tingles.” The new bruising blooming across her skin was halted and then made to recede, drying up before it could even begin to grow. There was no pain, though a small crack and tug in her elbow made the girl wince a bit as her joint was loosened and all the stiffness suddenly released.

When Anders finally finished, he pressed his fingers to his temples, rubbing away the beginnings of a tension headache. Andraste’s flaming knickers, why was healing magic always so taxing? “How does that feel?” he asked.

Mabel twisted her arm about in the air, turning it back and forth and drawing it to her. She flexed every which way, now wiping away the last of her tears with this arm instead of the other. “Better,” she admitted, drawing both her arms over her chest and sinking into herself. She was still scared, still confused, and no one could blame her for that. She brushed a long brown bang behind her ear. “So… was that magic?”

“Yeah, Andy,” Naoya echoed her question, grinning and elbowing the mage lightly. “Was it?”

Mabel quickly caught on, and she gasped as her eyes lit up with excitement. “It was, wasn’t it!”

“Mhmm,” Anders nodded, once again taken slightly aback by such a positive response. But part of him was very pleased, and even a little proud. He conjured up a small flame in his palms, his face tugging into a tiny smile when he saw Mabel’s awe. “Remus and I are mages,” he said. “We can do a lot more than this, too. Would you like to come with us? We don’t have much, but we can protect you. You don’t have to be all alone out here.”

Mabel nodded, timidly and with eyes big and wet and uncertain. But Naoya took her hand with the biggest smile he could muster, pointing to the clover that lead back the way they had come. “It’s a little ways away, but I think we can manage before dinnertime.”

The alcove didn’t seem so small when it was just the three of them, Remus thought to himself. But then, maybe it was better this way: more reason for them to get out. They had no intentions to stay, of course they didn’t. But bringing a twelve-year-old girl back to their rock shelter was not exactly something anyone was proud of, even if Mabel didn’t seem to mind what was essentially no shelter at all. It was certainly better than the roots of a dead tree, and they did have fresh water. But now it wasn’t just about the three of them. Now it was about protecting someone wholly innocent in this. Someone who had no idea about Justice, or werewolves, or EGO…

Someone who… well, perhaps that was a thought chain that was best left untouched.

Remus sighed into his cup, transfigured from some of the many fallen stones from the cliffside. Each of them had one, and they nursed the mint tea they managed to brew with leaves clipped from a happy find on their return trip. The small firepit in the center of the alcove now burned steadily with the aid of a little magic, turning different colors at the girl’s request as she watched it happily. The smell from the set of large, blue eggs the size of fists cooking over heated stones was savory-though, none of them could describe just what animal they had come from, and to admit they were eager to dig in would be deceptive. But as four sets of eyes focused on simmering yolks, the growling they heard did not come from the forest.

“There you are,” Anders murmured, handing out “plates” to each person, one serving of unknown protein each. He took his seat next to Remus.

None of them moved to enjoy their strange meal very fast.

“Well, tuck in before they go cold,” Remus half shrugged, his brow arched.

Anders made a face down at his food before trying a tentative sample. “I still don’t miss that mansion,” he soured.

“Mansion?” Mabel asked. She had a section of egg white clasped between her fingers, and slurped it up. She spoke through her food: “You guys stayed in a mansion?”

“That’s a long story,” Naoya replied. He sat with his legs crossed, his plate resting on his knee. He hadn’t yet touched his share. “Maybe later.” He smiled and winked at her, and she flashed a mouthful of metal as she smiled at him.

Anders’s brows kneaded. “I’ve been meaning to ask you, Mabel. What’s on your teeth?”

“What, my braces,” She blinked a few times, then pointed to her teeth. “You don’t know what braces are?”

Naoya prodded the egg on his plate carefully. “He doesn’t know what a toilet is, either.”

“Pfft, what?” Mabel laughed.

“They don’t have them where I come from!” Anders defensively stated.

“And where’s that?”

There was a silence that came after Mabel’s question as the three men looked at one another.

“I’m from a place called Fereldan,” Anders explained. “Though I lived in a city called Kirkwall before I came here. Where are you from, Mabel?”

“I’m staying with my Great Uncle Stan in Oregon. I call him my Grunkle,” she replied. “But my parents live in California.”

“Oh, you’re American?” Remus asked.

“Yup!” Mabel nodded. “Are you from England?Across the pond?” she added, pretending to hold a cup of tea in the most prim and proper manner with a poorly emulated British accent.

Naoya giggled openly, but Remus remained straight-faced. “That’s right.”

“What about you?” Mabel asked, turning to Naoya sitting beside her.

“I’m from Tokyo,” he smiled, giving her a small peace sign with a little wink in tow. He took his cell phone from his pocket, frowning at the dangerously low battery. At least he could do this last thing before it died.

“That makes you the odd man out, Andy,” Naoya said, putting a thumb to his chin seriously. “Looks like we’re all from copies of the same place.”

“Not necessarily,” Remus said. “There are things about you that I don’t understand, Naoya.”

“Like what?”

“Like whatever that is in your hands.”

“What… this?” Naoya looked to his cell phone, his brow furrowed so that he almost seemed cross-eyed as he looked at it. “It’s a mobile phone. Don’t they have, like, phones where you come from?” Remus seemed more modern than Anders did. Naoya hoped he was, at any rate. Naoya didn’t know how to explain what a phone was to someone.

“That’s a phone? It doesn’t have a cord!” Remus visualized the image of the red public call boxes used to access the Ministry of Magic in London - which, for something new to the Magical community, seemed extremely primitive in comparison. “We have phones where I come from,” Remus confirmed, “but they are a rather uncommon sight - at least, in the Magical community. Wizards prefer communicating the traditional way: Owl Post. The Muggles - the non-Magic folk - are the ones using all sorts of complex technology, and most wizards don’t pay any mind to it unless they need to.” Remus paused, pondering how to explain further. “The Magical community prefers to keep to itself, you see. I’ve only used a phone once or twice before, but I daresay even Muggles would be fascinated by that device in your hand.”

The teenager narrowed his eyes, lips pouting in thought. “That kind of sounds similar to the magic-users from my world,” he said, “preferring to keep to themselves and unfamiliar with technology.” He cracked a troublemaker’s grin. “Bunch of old farts that can’t keep up with the times.”

He turned the phone so that the screen faced Remus. The background was a lavender four-pointed star enclosed in a golden circle, the symbol of the future-seeking compass, standard on all Organization-issued phones. He wasn’t sure if Remus could read his language, so he decided to go on: “It can do a lot more than make a phone call. Store phone numbers, take pictures, play music, record video, send email…” Naoya stopped, then added: “That last one is like owls?” His voice inflected upwards, not sure. Was that a good explanation? “Um, like, just curious. What year is it where you’re from?” Explaining a phone was hard enough, but the internet were going to be impossible to explain.

Remus paused, letting this knowledge sink in. That tiny little device, something that fit into the palm of his hand, could do all of those things? He almost didn’t believe it, but the Japanese characters on the strange, tiny screen seemed to challenge his notion of normal. He thought of his record player, back home. It was probably still sitting in his father’s study where he’d left it years ago, collecting dust beside an old Abbey Road vinyl. To think he could have that in his pocket! Remus found himself astounded, and resisted the urge to reach out for the thing for a closer look.

“It’s 1985,” Remus replied, catching Naoya’s eye. “Though not for you, I take it?” He wanted to laugh, but ended up grinning, practically embarrassed. Merlin, this was weird.

“19… 1985!” Naoya exclaimed. “Well that explains a lot.”

“What is that supposed to—”

The sound of Mabel giggling broke their conversation. “It’s 2012 where we’re from, right, Naoya-” But she stopped when she saw the confusion on Naoya’s face. “Right?”

Naoya swallowed. “Uh, well,” he started, sliding his phone back into his pocket. “It’s 2004 for me.”

“How long are your Ages?” Anders asked, very confused and trying to make sense of half of what he was hearing.

“Uh,” Naoya began, but when nobody else could give an answer, he was forced to finish. “What’s an 'Age’?”

“…100 years,” Anders frowned. “This is the Dragon Age, the last one was the Blessed Age. It’s 9:31 Dragon right now.”

The other three looked at him, and Anders felt his ears burn.

“Okay, okay,” Mabel waved her hands, trying to figure it all out. “Dragon year-time and magic-” she pointed at Anders “-and 1985 retro magic-” then Remus “-then post millennium 2004 magic?” she finished with Naoya.

Naoya huffed. “Not magic.”

“Then what?”

“A monkey,” Anders smirked, throwing a vengeful, satisfied smile Naoya’s way.

Naoya fixed Anders with an unamused look. “Mabel, I’m not exactly the same as you are,” he explained. “Remus and Andy are both fully human, like you are. I’m not.” He scratched the back of his head, looking away from the three of them, realizing he had never really explained it before. “My people are called the EGO, we’re all psychics.”

“Psychic?” Mabel followed up, her shoulders sinking while Naoya nodded to the term. “The last ‘psychic’ I knew was a little creep who wouldn’t leave me alone.” She frowned, looking down at her shoes. “He was also a fake.”

Naoya blinked a few times, staving off an offended expression while ignoring the throaty chuckle that came from Anders. “Fake? Naoya Itsuki is no fake,” he sassily spat, wagging a finger.

“I think Naoya is something, but 'fake’ isn’t quite the word I would use,” Anders added, grin in full force.

“His powers are entirely real,” Remus added. He quietly sipped his tea, green eyes sparking with some amusement as he watched them.

Mabel rubbed her chin, skeptical. “Okay. Tell me what I’m thinking.”

“Something about trying to be tricky,” Naoya stated, folding his arms across his chest. “I don’t do telepathy.”

“But you did mind-move stuff earlier,” Mabel deflated.

“Yep,” Naoya chirped. “That’s telekinesis.”

“Why not mind-reading stuff?”

“EGO are all born with a certain set of abilities. We get stronger with them as we get older, but our powers stay the same set our whole lives,” he explained, biting his cheek at the memory of what happened when power was too much, too soon. “I wasn’t born with telepathy. Just good looks and some telekinesis.” He smirked.

“And only one of those things is true,” Anders muttered to himself, though he caught the corners of Remus’ mouth twitch upwards.

Mabel must have caught the smile too, because she looked over at him. “What is it?”

“Oh, nothing,” Remus sputtered, but then he gave a small sigh and allowed himself to truly smile. “I just think—well, I find it rather astonishing what we’ve accomplished,” he said, “given that we evidently know barely anything about one another.”

Anders and Naoya looked at one another as they let the words settle over them.

“We’ll rectify that,” Anders said, finally taking his own mug in hand and taking a hearty drink. “I think we’ll have plenty of time to get to know each other.”

He held out his mug: “To whatever comes next.”

The three cups clattered together, followed by a fourth. “To whatever comes next!”

“… Just so you know, this cup-thing is, like, really cheesy and Naoya is only doing this out of peer pressure.”

Chapter Text

"So why do you have moss?"

"Because I'm a healer, probably," Anders replied, stepping over a collection of jutting roots as he walked. It was mid-afternoon and they had been hiking for hours, each of them on the alert. They had a vague idea of where they were going, but no idea what they would find. Anders had his hand-drawn recreation map in his head, going over the position of each X-mark once every five minutes to make sure he was right, because that's exactly where they couldn't set foot. As it stood, he was fairly certain they were in the middle of them, heading straight through the corridor of fires which appeared to be trying to surround Reaver's Oasis. Either they would see the next fire, or they would encounter those responsible for starting them.

Or, they would get lost and end up at the sea. Any way they went, something was going to give. They just had to wait.

"Moss has uses in the healing arts," Anders explained further, ducking under a group of low-hanging branches. The small, grey feathers that decorated his pauldrons had collected a few hitchhiker seeds, but if Anders noticed he didn't make to remove them. "It can be used as a bandage, if necessary," he went on, "and it absorbs liquids. It's really quite something."

Mabel nodded, and Anders could hear her earrings clinking behind him as he lead them on. "So what about the clover? It's totally lucky, right?"

"Don't ask me," Naoya shrugged. "Maybe it's just pretty."

"Actually," Remus added from the rear, "from what I know of leprechauns, the clover can represent one who can see 'things that are unseen,' a sixth-sense, as it were. Psychic powers. And, you're right, Mabel: it is commonly thought to bring good luck."

"Lucky me, then," Naoya chirped. "I have both of those things."

"Then what about those purple flowers?" Mabel asked finally. "They're really pretty."

"This is aconite," said Remus. His voice was faint, as he was continually turning to vanish the plant trails with his wand. "It's more commonly known as wolfsbane."

Mabel paused, waiting to pick one before it was destroyed by the wand. She did not seem to have a fear of magic, which was of much relief. "What does it symbolize?"

Remus' face remained neutral, even if his emotions did not. "It is—," he started, pausing to consider his words. "It's—"

Naoya's eyes widened as it clicked, and he suddenly let out a high-pitched laugh. "It's because he doesn't like dogs," he said.

Mabel gasped. "You don't like dogs? But they're so cute! How can you not like dogs?"

Remus let out an inaudible sigh.

Mabel moved on in short time, and she tucked the helmet-shaped aconite behind her ear, wedging the stem in her headband so it wouldn't come loose. It bounced up and down with her hair as she walked. "Oh, oh! What about me? What about my plant?"

From the head of the line, Anders shook his head. "I don't recognize it."

"Neither do I," Naoya admitted.

Mabel looked back to Remus, her pleading eyes wide.

"Did none of you ever take a potions class?" Remus started to ask, but he supposed not. "I'm fairly certain that your plant is witch hazel."

"Witch hazel," Mabel repeated. "Like, 'wizard'?"

Remus smiled, understanding what she was hinting at. "It's difficult to say," he grinned. "But you never know. You would already have attended school in my homeland, though I'm not sure how the Americans do their schooling."

"But what could it mean?"

"Wisdom, perhaps. Emotional understanding. And healing, too. I'm not sure. It's been so long since I studied any of this." It seemed like centuries since he had been in a classroom to Remus, but in truth it had been just shy of a decade. The realization was humbling.

"You mean I might be able to heal people, too?" Mabel's eyes were alite.

"Maybe Anders can  make you his apprentice someday," Remus smiled.

"That depends," Anders replied. "Do you have any abilities, Mabel?"

Mabel took a gasping breath, her fingers raising pointedly to reply. But when she opened her mouth, she paused. Her face sank. "Well, I'm really good with clothes," she murmured.

"Me too!" Naoya smiled at her, which seemed to bring her back around. But Anders and Remus exchanged looks.

After perhaps another hour's walk, they reached a small spring where they settled to refill their single canteen. It was the same here as it had been during their last venture through the forest: many footprints, some unidentifiable, littered the small, sandy shoreline. But the water was crisp and cool, and they did not argue when it promised such relief. They had only the one bag from Nadine to carry and Remus slung it over his shoulder and let himself slide down the trunk of an old oak and come to rest in the clutches of it's welcoming roots. His body was tired, and though he didn't feel his stomach gurgling hunger drained his every cell like a vampiric bite. Despite objection from their resident healer, Remus had refused to let Anders heal any of his wounds and he sank into his exhaustion, nearly drifting off as he relaxed. But he straightened his back, forcing himself to be alert.

Anders was not content to sit. He placed his staff against the trunk beside Remus, but paced back and forth in a small circle as a restlessness dug into him. He had always been an anxious person. His confidence was a lie, as was so much of his outward portrayal that sometimes Anders couldn't tell who he really was. But the truth of the matter was that he had no idea where he was leading them, just as they had no idea where they were going. Just walking, hoping to land in a broad area—it would be a miracle if they found anyone at all. And now that they had a child to feed as well, the need for something to happen was pressing on his thoughts without cease. He caressed his chin with his thumb, feeling stubble that had grown soft in the days since he had had a good bath or shave. It made him cringe.

Naoya splashed his face with water while Mabel took a drink of the filtered water in the canteen. His brow was dotted with little beads of sweat, half from walking through the mid-day heat and half from the pain that still sank into his core from the wound he tried not to say a single word about for Remus' sake. He took a quick look around, trying to sense anything potentially hostile before he let himself relax. The sunlight filtering down from the canopy was an inviting yellow that illuminated seeds floating like snowflakes through the darkness under the leaves, and Naoya watched one float by in the distance, caught in a lazy breeze.

But it was Mabel who spotted what all three of them failed to notice. "Look over there!"

Almost invisible tucked between the many trees, a red and blue window made of stained glass reflected the sun in just the right direction to catch a child's eye. Nearly lost to the unending consumption of nature, a building—intact and strong—stood in defiance of the trees surrounding it like hungry wolves. Anders offered Remus a hand, pulling his friend up as together they strode off directly towards it. In a few swipes of wand and staff, most of the vegetation consuming the structure was felled and sunlight burned the white exterior for the first time in what was evidently many, many months.

"A windmill," Anders said, shoving aside a large, overly thorny branch that earned a cross growl under his breath.

"It looks hardly over a decade old," Remus commented, and Anders was forced to agree. The coating covering the sides of the angled structure was chipping, but not nearly so rotten that it gave the appearance of disrepair. The beams above the door were solid, the knob relatively unrusted, and the blades of the massive windmill itself sported only a few holes, probably ripped apart in a good storm. They looked as though they hadn't moved in a while, though, but that hardly meant anything when vines hung in clumps from the mechanism in the center.

"It's far too new to be abandoned," Remus added, taking out his wand and waving it in front of him. "Homenum Revelio!" Nothing happened, and Remus licked his lips. He tried again, and and still there was nothing. Remus frowned, more in confusion than in distaste. He turned back to the others, who were waiting expectantly. "Other than the four of us, we are alone."

"I don't sense anyone," Naoya confirmed at Mabel's side. "Or anything, either."

"Nor I." Anders crossed his arms over his staff, pressing his head against the cool metal. This didn't make sense. Such overgrowth, for a building that was younger than Mabel? He sighed. "I suppose that means we must investigate."

"I'll go," said Remus before Anders could offer, carefully approaching the door and twisting the handle. The cold metal gave a jerk, but refused to turn. Carefully, Remus pushed, and then pulled on the door with one hand while twisting the handle with the other. It didn't budge. Well, he thought, at least that was a good sign. If it really was abandoned, maybe the insides remained undisturbed. He pointed his wand tip at the knob nonetheless, whispering, "Alohomora!"

The lock beneath the lock lit up from within with a small flash of golden light, jiggling against it's hinges for a tiny second. And then the door swung open as if commanded, slowly creaking on disused hinges. Remus stepped inside.

"Hello?"

The room was stale and covered with dust, and Remus' voice did not carry. It was circular, with a small kitchen on one side and a living area on another, separated by a surface of cabinets and drawers topped with a tile counter. A soft couch, still adorned with a knitted blanket folded over the back, sat awaiting someone to sit on it, and a bookshelf with a colorful collection of unread novels waited eagerly to be flipped through. Just beyond the counter and into the kitchen, Remus was able to make out a small stove and a shelf packed with sacs marked FLOUR and OATS. But the rest of the kitchen was lost in shadow. Just to Remus' right, a staircase spiraled up the length of the wall and up to the second floor, which Remus suspected held the gears of the windmill blades but also a small bedroom.

"It's all clear," he said, returning to the others. "Rather dusty, but that should clean up in a jiff."

"I don't understand how," Anders warned, "but look there,"—he pointed to an area of lumpy, yet squared off ground. "That looks like it was farm land not long ago. The area is much too angular to be natural. And this building is far too new for the forest to be so thick. I don't like this."

"What if the forest is... alive, or something," Mabel said, staring into the trees.

 Naoya looked down at her curiously. "Or... something. You're right. But this whole section of wood has a really weird feel to it. The building feels older than these trees."

That didn't make any of them feel more at ease. But the sun would be setting soon, and mutual frowns did nothing beyond confirm their worst thoughts: none of them had a better alternative than here to camp for the night. As it stood, the food, water and shelter was potentially the luckiest find in the history of man, even if it was equally as unsettling. It was a mansion compared to their little alcove miles away.

"There's a fireplace," Remus' voice came from within, and Anders saw light chasing away the shadows as Remus held his lit wand overhead. "We'll be warm, at least."

"Look," Naoya shrugged, turning away from the windmill, "why don't you guys secure this place for the night with all your magic nonsense? I might not be good in the woods, but I know we'll need a fire. Mabel and I can go collect some wood so we don't freeze."

Anders nodded. "Good idea, but don't take too long. And don't go too far, alright?"

The last he saw of the pair was them waving goodbye, before their bodies disappeared into the overhanging branches.

Naoya disliked the woods. It was too quiet, there were no buildings or stores or anything he could be useful with. In all his seventeen years he had never been outside of Tokyo, and while forests were important to the planet and pretty in theory - he disliked the uncertainty of them.

The EGO race and the Organization that made of the backbone of their faction thrived alongside technology and concrete; they had built electric empires of skyscrapers, run by computers and cellphones,- all in the hundred years of their species’ existence. The magic-users and inhuman races all had to adapt to the spreading metropolis, less they lost valuable turf and resources in the War.

Naoya Itsuki was bred to be an urban survivalist, not a wilderness one.

But as Naoya pushed a low-laying branch out of the way, he knew that they shouldn’t go too far. Movies, TV, and the few books he’d bothered to read had taught him that much. Getting lost in the woods would be a nightmare for him.

Mabel marched ahead of him, head held high as she went on about how the wood they needed to find was supposed to be dry and not “green”. Naoya merely followed, his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets.

“You seem to know your stuff,” Naoya commented, and Mabel looked back at him with a confident flash of her braces.

“‘Course,” she beamed. “Grunkle Stan doesn’t like to pay for heat on the nights when it gets chilly, so we borrow wood from some of his neighbors, or we go out and get some from the forest.”

“'Borrow’ meaning 'steal’?”

“He says: 'it’s not stealing if they don’t know it’s gone’,” Mabel quoted her great uncle.

Naoya chuckled. It half-sounded like something his mother would say. “Sounds like he’s teaching you some valuable things.”

“Yeah,” she went on, picking up a stick and waving it enthusiastically. “He teaches some pretty good life lessons to me and Dip-” but she stopped, her frame sinking as she let out the breath she would have used on the word.

“Dip-?” Naoya asked, stopping. He could feel her happy confidence suddenly bottling up, and being replaced with some kind of grief… and at the center of it was anger. He knew the direction her feelings were directed all too well: sibling troubles.

Mabel’s face scrunched and she broke eye contact. “Bad stuff. I don’t wanna talk about it,” she mumbled, her messy brown hair falling out of place as she turned away. “Let’s just get the wood…”

“Mabel, who’s 'Dip’?” Naoya gently asked, his tone soft yet knowing.

She looked back at him, her brown eyes watery.

“No, no, don’t cry!” Naoya waved his hands in front of him. “I won’t ask anymore, promise. I know I don’t like to talk about my sister when I’m upset with her.”

Mabel studied him, sniffing back the wave of tears she had started. “Y-you have a sister?”

Naoya half-grunted, nodding. “Yeah, we’re twins,” he said, holding up two fingers. “But I’m older by ten minutes.”

Mabel’s eyes widened, excitement coming back to her. “Dipper and I are twins, too,” she gasped. “And I’m also older than him by ten minutes!”

“Well, well,” Naoya smiled, putting his hands on his hips. He was confident that the crying crisis had been avoided. “What are the odds of that.”

“I know, right?” Mabel ran over to him, hooking on to his arm. “Tell me about your sister! What’s her name? Does she have cool mutant powers like you? Is she pretty like you? What does she look like?”

Naoya gently patted her shoulder and let her hang onto him, and they continued walking as they searched for wood. “Well,” he started, trying to find the words. Even back home he was still getting used to talking about her casually. “Her name is Haruna. She has powers that are a little different than mine; and unlike me and our mom, she can do telepathy. And of course she is. We look the same for the most part, the only real difference is that she has really long hair like yours and her hair is a little more red than mine.”

“Your mom has powers too?”

“Mhm. Like everyone in my family, she’s very strong. And trust me, if you think a human mom is bad when she’s mad, don’t make an psychic mom upset,” he laughed.
It was entirely true. His mother, Kana; his aunts, Yume and Mina; his grandmother, Sarashina… all scary, entirely in the metaphysical sense. One time he had encountered a psychic woman - a mother of a dear friend - who had been dead for ten years and her consciousness was still plenty aware, and was “living” inside her daughter’s repressed memories. Naoya shivered thinking about it.

“What about your dad?”

Naoya took in a sharp breath through his nose. “I don’t know about him. Never met him.”

“Oh,” Mabel’s smile vanished, realizing what she had probably just asked about.

“Don’t feel bad,” Naoya reassured him. “About 85% of my species is female. A lot of us never meet our dads, it’s pretty common. I’m lucky enough to know he was from Los Angeles, and because Haruna can use telepathy - then he probably can as well.”

She pouted admirably, trying to imagine it. “You’re all mostly girls?”

“85% female, 14% male, 1% other.”

“Other?”

“EGO who don’t want to be either a boy or a girl.”

“Oh. Of course,” Mabel nodded approvingly.

Quite some distance from the children, the two mages were hard at work. It was not enough to firm the structure and protect it—not when they didn't even know who built it, or worse. Maker save the poor sod who died here, or perhaps they who resided in it now if they should come back. There was no stench of death and the forest was calm surrounding them, but still.
"What are you doing there?" Anders had been watching Remus for some time. His own magic had come to it's complete usefulness long ago, but Remus had kept pacing up and down the structure, walking around the borders, inside and out. As much as it made Anders feel as useless as dwarf in a magical contest, it was also a chance to study magic that was outside his norm.
Remus stopped mid-step, turning to him at his query.

"This? It's just a protection charm," he explained, quickly finishing the creation of the ward around the outside of the windmill's front door with a quiet whisper. Anders watched him work, scrutinizing the disturbance in the air wherever his wand pointed: it was as though he was generating the haze of a great heat source, or disturbing the surface of some strange, thick fluid.

"You've used quite a few," Anders noted. "How many are there?"

"Many, though it depends on what you want your spells to do, really," Remus explained. He backed away from the door, picked up a fist-sized stone and played with it in his hands for a moment, tossing it up and down fondly. But he gave it a sad look with the raise of his brow, and with a quick twist of his arm Remus threw the rock full speed towards the doorway. Upon contact with an invisible barrier, it burst into molten flames and promptly disintegrated. "That one should protect us from anyone or anything hostile that reaches the door," he said. "It would have to break the other wards first, however."

Anders whistled, his ears slightly pink. Remus was nearly stepping on the rune he had carved into the steps, and although it pulsed with a threatening power it felt somehow mundane. "I never learned anything quite like that," he said, his fingertips brushing the back of his neck.

"Perhaps you could," Remus offered suddenly, a curious glint in his eyes. "I do have one more charm to cast, and to be honest I have been wondering about the differences between our magicks for some time."

"You aren't suggesting what I think you are?"

Remus nodded. "Aren't you curious?"

Anders felt his staff pressing against his shoulders as it hung securely across his back. He inhaled, letting the image of a fireball fill his thoughts and hardly wasting breath when immense heat spilled across his open palm. He held the fireball up, demonstrating it. "I'm not sure I could. Much of my magic is elemental," he explained. "And there isn't much study beyond defense in the Circle. Everything must be approved, documented, studied... The First Enchanters are more concerned about teaching apprentices to fight demons than they are much else, though sometimes we learn to enchant things on our own. They want us to control our powers, not explore them."

"It's just the opposite for us," Remus replied. "We take courses in defense, but the average witch or wizard needn't learn combative techniques. What is your staff made of? What is it's core?"

"It's just red steel," Anders said. "Hardly special."

Remus frowned. He turned his wand over in his hand, extending it handle-first to Anders. "Try this."

Anders gave Remus a skeptical glance, but took the wand nonetheless. But his mouth opened slightly as the mana in his body seemed to hum excitedly: where Freedom's Call was a tunnel for mana, a dead channel for energy, Remus' wand was already surrounded by a strange aura.

"What is this?" he asked, glancing up to Remus. "It feels..."

"Alive?" Remus asked. "I don't feel anything anymore, but I'm not surprised that you do. Many wands react to new hands—when I was searching for mine as a boy, I nearly set a bookshelf on fire with a flick of the wrist because the wand did not want me to be it's owner. It was quite something. 'The wand chooses the wizard,' they say. I don't understand it myself, but you say your staff is merely a channel for you, correct? My wand is not alive, but it can make decisions. It is," Remus paused, "... very hard to explain. It knows my tactics. It can respond before I do. It is like an extension of me, of my magic. I suspect that it may allow you to cast spells if you practice with it, but I question whether I could use your staff. Wandless magic is rare where I come from."

Anders quietly unhitched his staff, extending it to Remus. "Let's find out. What do I need to do?"

"Will it," Remus shrugged. "Try something easy. Wave it towards one of those trees," he said, pointing across the camp.

Anders felt like a bloody idiot waving a stick through the air, but he complied nonetheless. Red sparks shot out of the wand tip, sizzling into nothing as they landed like spent embers across the ground.

Remus was practically beaming. "Excellent! Excellent. Let's see if you can cast a proper spell." He demonstrated the precise movement with his wrists, teaching Anders an incantation it took him a few minutes to master. "Give it a go."

Setting his sights on a pebble some feet away, Anders once again gave the wand a wave. "Accio pebble!"

But rather than flying towards him, the earth beneath the rock exploded into a shower of dirt and fallen pine needles, and both men covered their heads. In the silence that followed, Anders blinked, his face a deep red. He hadn't failed this badly since he was a new apprentice, twelve or perhaps thirteen-years-old. But Remus burst out laughing.

"Don't worry," he said after a moment, catching his breath. "This is not a bad sign."

Anders rolled his eyes. "I just blew a hole in the ground." The bucket-sized hole was still smouldering.

"Yes, that's true," Remus nodded. "But it means that your magic can be channeled by my wand. With practice, you might be able to cast spells the same as I do."

Anders' grin turned from something sheepish into something pleased. He examined the wand in his grip with a new fervor, yearning to try again. "What of my staff?" he asked, nodding his head towards Remus. "Do you think you could use it?"

Now it was Remus' turn to feel less than ready. The staff was cold and unresponsive in his fingers, and it was heavier than he had originally thought. "I'm not sure. As I said, wandless magic is nearly unheard of where I come from."

"But you can cast spells without an incantation," Anders noted.

"Some," Remus admitted. "Though even that takes immense skill."

"Don't tell me you're nervous," Anders teased, and Remus bit his lip.

"How do you learn to use a staff?" he asked, putting some distance between he and the mage so as to swing the staff back and forth. Merlin, it was a fine weapon indeed, magic or no.

"Gut feel, and instinct," Anders said. Remus gave him a look, and Anders shrugged. "The Circle is not as wonderful a place for mages as they profess."

Remus sighed, his brow giving an aporetic roll.

Anders put his hands up, his expression suddenly serious. He took the staff from Remus and remounted it to his shoulders. "Alright," he said, "try this: hold out one hand and close your eyes, and imagine you are full of light, or energy. Can you feel it?"

Remus nodded slowly. "Yes."

"Good. That's a good start."

Remus could hear Anders' boots crunching softly against fallen leaves as he circled him, the sound becoming strangely muted mere seconds after initial footfall. In his mind's eye, he could see the moss spreading from Anders' black boots. "Now what?"

"Now," Anders said, "focus on that. Make it bigger. It should be warm inside your core."

After a pause, Remus replied. "Alright."

"Can you take that collection of energy and move it through your body? Feel it warming your chest, and then maybe your arm?" Remus nodded. "Good. Bring that sensation down into the center of your palm, and let it build there. And when it feels like you might start to lose it, let it leave your hand. Let it flow into the air, but hold it in your grip. Imagine an apple in your fist when you do."

Anders watched Remus' face contort with effort, and his fingers graced the open air above Remus' extended palm. It was warm, but not nearly anything close to a fire. Suddenly, Remus opened his eyes and the air went ice cold.

"I lost it," Remus explained. "I lost focus."

"I would have been amazed if you had gotten it on your first try," Anders said. "Most mages don't get fire right for a good few lessons."

Remus looked to Anders, an odd expression growing. "But?"

"But," Anders went on, "this was... impressive. You did heat the air." He paused. "Next time, don't think so much about moving your hands. Focus more on moving the energy, directing it's flow."

They nodded at one another, both equally satisfied and strangely curious. It was a good start, though the start of what neither could say. The mere fact that they may be able to use other forms of magic was impressive in and of itself, not to mention the fascinating topics opened up by the idea of sharing techniques. As Remus finished the last of his protective work, Anders watched on with renewed interest, now studying the fluidity of the wand movements as well as the spell itself.

"Hey," a voice broke some time later as the sun was nearly set. "I can sense the barriers. I'm not going to like... explode, if I come over there, am I?" Naoya and Mabel were just in view on the opposite side of the camp, both sets of arms laden with bundles of sticks.

"No," Remus said, waving them in. "You'll be fine."

The air shimmered around them like a bubble as they entered, and Mabel gasped. "It tickles," she giggled.

Their dinner that night was slightly better than the last. The stream provided a few fish, and they stumbled upon a bag of rice in the kitchen of the windmill. And after their time in the woods, none of them complained that it was slightly chewy to the tongue as they ate off of real plates and drank from genuine cups for the first time since Reaver. With nothing left to do, they gathered around the fire pit under the stars and chatted the night away. It was a rather nice change, though nobody expected it to last for long. Still, the topic was left untouched. They were tired. They were pained. They needn't drag themselves through the mud while they had food in their bellies and good company to keep.

After dinner and a few pleasant stories by the fire, however, the tone of the evening had shifted. Once again, a silence permeated the air even as it was filled with steam rising from another brew of mint tea.

"So... um," Mabel muttered after some time, "what... what is this place? What are we doing here? And why is the sky like that?" Her voice broke, and her teary eyes glistened with the light of the heavens overhead. "Am I dreaming?"

By now, none of the older men were put of by the question, but they did exchange looks before putting down their cups. Anders disappeared into the windmill house, collecting the blanket from the back of the couch and returning to drape it across her shoulders as Naoya bundled up beside her.

"Well," Remus began, "it is... a long story."

Long after the bonfire had burnt out, the four of them had retired into the windmill as thick clouds rolled in overhead and blotted out the moon. The voices of a thousand crickets could be heard faintly from the windows, and occasionally a bestial scream or howl broke through the night. Deep inside their ring of barriers, the lonely sight of four humans tucked into an old structure would barely be noticed by the true inhabitants of the forest.

Naoya and Mabel had long ago retreated to the newly cleaned bedroom upstairs, leaving the two older men alone in the living area below. They had spent a good hour flipping through useless novels and further examining the interior of the windmill before deciding that it was a decidedly futile endeavor and planted themselves on the single couch.

The single couch that only one of them could sleep on, though the subject had as yet been avoided.

"Something the matter, Remus?"

"Hm?" Brought out of the reverie so suddenly, Remus blinked. The afterimage of the candle beside the couch blurred Anders' face as Remus met his gaze. "Oh, no, I was just thinking of something from a few days ago," he said. "Something Alastor said before everything went pear shaped."

"Oh?" Anders had taken the tie out of his hair and had begun running his fingernails over his scalp. He appeared mildly interested in he conversation when he was not torn away like a cat scratched behind the ears.

"Indeed," Remus nodded seriously. "I had forgotten about it until recently, because it seemed so outlandish and it was rather useless to us overall. But now, I wonder if it isn't worth some further thought." Anders' face was now hidden by a wall of golden hair. Remus tried not to smile in amusement, though one hand did stray and scratch the nape of his neck. "Alastor said that Reaver was terrified of Naoya."

Had Anders been drinking, he would have choked. "What?" He pushed his hair back behind his ears to look Remus in he eye. "You're joking."

Remus shook his head. "He could have used Naoya to achieve his goal, but he didn't. He couldn't use me, and you were openly opposed to everything he stood for. Naoya is a young boy, someone who might have been persuaded much easier than you. However, Reaver went out of his way to abuse us. You and I were locked away, but Naoya was barricaded in the comfort of his room. Reaver went out of his way not to incur displeasure on Naoya's part until the very end, it seems. My question is why."

Anders scratched his stubble, feeling the many prickly hairs growing much too long and he ached for a hot bath. "That is... odd," he mused, though the proper word eluded him. The thought of a man as vile as Reaver shaken to the core by a twig such as Naoya was nothing short of bizarre. "Reaver did say we had a purpose here."

"Yes," said Remus. "That's true... but I heavily suspect that half, if not all of what he said, should be taken with a grain of salt."

Anders gave a raise of his brow in agreement, though he did not respond right away. He gave a stiff, tired sigh, rubbing his thigh where the knife blade had seared into his flesh. It stung at the mention of Reaver's name, though in a few more days there would be no sign of it at all. "Maybe he's right, though."

"How so?"

Anders sucked on his bottom lip before replying. "We do have plant trails, something neither Reaver nor any of the balverines possessed. And now we've come into a young girl who I saw fall from a portal in the sky. I saw the other side of the portal, Remus-it was another world, another forest. 'California,' did she say?"

"Oregon," Remus corrected him, though Anders waved it away.

"I don't want to agree with Reaver. But the way we all fell into this world, the way we have plants... maybe we are indeed marked for some purpose. Maybe there is a reason after all. And whatever reason that is, maybe it's a part of Reaver's destiny too."

Remus considered this, taking another slow draught from his now-cold mint tea. "What do you think Reaver fears the most?"

Anders gave a slight, jovial snort into his mug. "He acts like he's afraid of nothing."

"Yes, but all men fear something. Each of us has our own boggart- ah, I'll explain later," he added, when Anders gave him a look at the word 'boggart.' "What would a man who has such power at his disposal truly fear deep inside?"

"Perhaps that such power was not good enough for his aims," Anders suggested. "Perhaps that he could not defeat his enemy."

"Reaver is hundreds of years old. He has far too many enemies to count, no doubt."

Anders nodded, but his brow knit when a strange thought occurred to him. "Perhaps his enemy is not something one can defeat."

Remus caught Anders' gaze, the thought clicking immediately. "You don't think-"

"It could be. What if?"

"Reaver's greatest enemy," Remus whispered, "is death."

"Reaver was a crazy, old man with a young man's face," came a voice from the staircase.

Naoya descended the old steps, his arms folded across his chest. He wasn't smiling, and there was a strange wary observance in his eyes. "Al said Reaver was cooped up there for a long time. He was so desperate to get out that he went a little nuts."

"There's no questioning that," Anders replied. "We were all subject to his particular brand of sadism."

"All," Remus said, "save you. Your experience was harrowing as well as ours, but you were kept at an arms length. Something about you kept Reaver from doing you more harm than necessary."

"I know that," Naoya answered, finally reaching the bottom step. "I'm a good talker; I'm not human; it could be anything. I'm saying he was crazy and we might never understand why." He studied them both, looking at them as if he had every secret known to man and he was content to keep it for himself. "Mabel's asleep," he began after the silence in the air had become just the right level of awkwardness. "I think I know why she was so terrified when she fell through the portal." He paused, then added: "Other than falling from the sky and being approached by three strangers."

Remus was watching Naoya, watching his mannerisms. "That would be terrifying enough to a twelve year old," he said. "And you think the poor girl went through something more?"

Naoya's face was as serious as his tone, something unusual for the teen. "She told me earlier that she has a twin brother," he replied. "And from what I felt of her emotions, something bad happened to him."

The magi exchanged looks. Naoya hated when they did that.

"That is worrisome," Anders nodded. "But there's nothing we can do about that now except console her."

"And hope for the best, until we can find her a way home," Remus finished.

Naoya shook his head. They weren't understanding. His cheeks scrunched as he thought about how to phrase his next few words. "Someone got hurt." Naoya looked at them. "And she did it. Those are the feelings I got from her. Whatever it was, Mabel was directly responsible - but she's upset by it, she has too much remose for it to have been anything other than an accident."

The bridge of Anders' nose wrinkled as he frowned. "Are you saying she killed him?"

"You two were both the 'only child', weren't you," Naoya sighed. "She loves her brother. But whatever happened between them was fresh when she fell through the veil, and it's tormenting her. She did something and it ended up hurting him. She's not okay." He paused, realization donning on him, then looked at Anders. "... Didn't you say you saw fire in the middle of the portal?"

"I did," Anders nodded. "Maybe she set the fire, then? I've known twelve-year-olds to accidentally destroy something when they can't control their emotions."

"Whatever it was," Remus said, his chin cupped between two thumbs, "I suppose it no longer matters. Not immediately, anyway—not now, not once she came here."

Anders’ head tilted to show his agreement. “Unfortunately, that’s true. It could be the same for all of us: whatever we were doing before we came here, it’s not important. We just have to focus on the now, focus on locating the Firestarters. As long as we can help Mabel through her grief, our priority should be her survival.”

“Survival’s a heck of a thing to force on a kid,” Naoya commented, but Anders made no motion to deny it.

“Of course,” he said slowly, “but this is no place for her. This windmill may have been the luckiest find of the entire Age, but it is no home for three wanderers and a child who have no idea where they are or how to get home. We can worry about her happiness when we have something solid to give her. We need hope.”

“We found her, we saved her! We’re all she has right now - we might not have any ourselves, but we’re her hope at the moment.”

“Yes,” Remus muttered, “a werewolf, a teenager, and a mage.” It was meant to himself, but he knew when he received a cold glance from Naoya that it had carried.

“If you want to be accurate, it’s two teenagers,” Naoya added, his feminine voice sharp. “Who have feelings, just like the mage and just like the wizard.” His eyes narrowed and the bags underneath them made him seem far more weary than anything.

Silence. Always with the silences. Anders’ head pounded. He swore under his breath. “Let’s end this,” he said, standing up and brushing off the front of his robes. “We’re all right-all of us. Each point is valid and needs addressing but we’re all exhausted. We all need rest. And maybe instead of this endless bickering, we can come back in he morning with fresh eyes. Let’s not fight,” he finished. “Not again.”

Remus dragged his fingers down across his face, scratching at stubble he would rather not have been present. He gave a stiff shudder, nodding curtly. Standing, he approached Naoya. “I am… sorry,” he said. “I admit with everything happening lately that perhaps I was too… cold. I find myself focusing more on survival over anything else. You may be right.”

Naoya stared right at him, no - it felt more like Naoya was staring into him. “I am right.” He haughtily straightened himself, turning and heading back up the stairs. “Now if you two can, like, stop talking about other people loud enough so that they can hear you upstairs, we should all get some sleep.”For the briefest of moments, footsteps could be heard pacing the circular room above before fading into the creaking of a bed. Remus and Anders said nothing for a long time.

Whether it was an hour or a minute that passed after that, neither of them could say. But the time passed in silence, each man lost in his own thoughts. The idea that they had been fighting so often of late was disturbing. They were a team, after all—a team born from necessity and burden, but a team nonetheless. Perhaps some strife was to be expected after Reaver, and then the lack of proper food, sleep, or shelter... In fact, all things considered, they were doing remarkably well. But unease ate away them nonetheless.

Why hadn't they seen any sign of the Firestarters? Why was this building in the middle of nowhere, consumed by the trees? And what was happening between the group? Dynamics were changing. They were changing. So much had happened to them in the past two weeks, the future was next to impossible to predict. It was that fact that kept the candle lit for quite some time, finally going out in the wee hours of the morning to the sound of the crickets.

The following morning was damp and chilly. Hints of a small rain overnight was splashed across the leaves and left fog to roll across the forest floor with the threat of a crisp fog very strong despite the promise of the spring season. Bending down to clear the dead leaves from the foundation stones of the windmill, Remus couldn't help but shiver in the air. Spring though it may have been, it was not warm enough, not yet. He had been studying the area for anything strange, anything out of the ordinary. A windmill does not come out of nowhere. And yet, as far as he could tell, there were no more signs of life out in this vast forest other than the humans stuck out of time and place.

"Anything?" Anders' voice was distant, from somewhere on the other side of the building.

"Nothing yet," he replied, scraping away some of the grit and moss that had overtaken some of the stones. Part of him had hoped to find a date, or perhaps even a name. But this building was less a farm and more a special, decorative home, by the look of it and would bear no exterior marking. There was no sign that the interior had held any wind-powered grinding stones for grain—merely that it was as it appeared: a personal home. And even that was mysterious in it's own right: for all the dried goods they had been able to scavenge off of the last night or so, there were no personal effects. No photographs, no paintings, no identifying markers that would otherwise indicate who may have lived here before apparently abandoning the entire plot. Remus frowned, returning to full height and glancing across the trees. Behind him, the door of the windmill creaked open and a pair of steps hurried down into the grass.

"We're heading out to get some firewood," Naoya announced as he and Mabel began to cross the yard, scattering seeds into the air as they pushed aside patches of tall grasses and weeds that bordered the yard.

"Later!" Mabel chirped, her tone much more joyous than the teen's. Remus suspected he was still bitter about last night, taking a long breath. Mabel's sleeve flopped back and forth over her hand as she waved goodbye.

Sunlight filtered down through the tree branches overhead, illuminating the trail of clover and witch hazel that stretched behind the young adventurers as they walked. This time they decided to search for wood in the opposite direction they had the day before, going out further than Naoya was sure Anders and Remus would have liked. Secretly, they’d been covering a lot of ground on these little firewood forays.

“So we’re looking for people who start fires because they’re going to help us?” Mabel incredulously questioned, running her fingers through her long brown hair in place of a comb.

“That’s what we’re hoping for,” Naoya replied, his hands in his pockets. He had decided that unlike the older two humans, wasn’t going to hide things about their situation from her - albeit he kept out the bloody parts. “The man we ran away from didn’t like them, and we’re guessing they don’t like him enough to want to at least hear us out.”

“But you said that Al-guy was left in charge. The balverine king,” Mabel was still trying to understand the story, but she was catching on fast. Her face scrunched slightly. “Was Al handsome? One time my friends and I got ahold of one of their mom’s werewolf adult romance novels, and all I can picture is the main character from that.”

“If he was human, I would guess he was about thirty. He was really, really tall, thin, and his hair was snow white and he had gold eyes. Even when he wasn’t in his human form. Usually wore these black leather gloves, I think he doesn’t like touching things.” The psychic shrugged. “And he wasn’t really my type. I prefer guys my own age with dark hair.”

Mabel smiled. “Dark-haired boys, huh.”

“And girls,” Naoya casually added. “But mostly boys.”

Mabel nodded. “Like you?”

“Some were normal humans, one was a mage, and the one guy I liked the most is part demon,” he gave her a little wink. “His name’s Kaname. He’s my best friend, so don’t tell him. Or his girlfriend.”

“Naoya, that’s just scandalous,” Mabel giggled, waving a hand in an exaggerated dismissive manner. “Let’s see. I dated a mermaid - or is it merman?” Mabel started on her own list. “Merboy, a human, and a couple vampires. Oh! And a whole boyband!”

Naoya arched his brows, nodding respectfully. “Not bad for a thirteen year old. I prefer boys’ basketball teams over boybands, though.”

“Dipper would tell me that’s too many boys,” she sighed. Mabel began “combing” her hair again.

“You have every right to date who you’d like. But I can see his point, too. Brothers have to make sure their sisters are dating guys who will respect them, us twin brothers especially,” Naoya offered her, smiling gently. He then sighed, looking back ahead. “Haruna can date who she’d like. Not like I’d have much say in it. But…” he felt his chest tighten, the words sticking like rust on his normally silver tongue.

“But…?"

"She was sick in the hospital for a long, long time.” It was the best way he could think to explain it. It was far easier than explaining a genetic disease that required his sister to be put into a coma, else she would be at risk of her abilities destroying her own mind and the minds of others. “I would want her to take it easy, for her own sake.”

Mabel watched him, her fingers still working her long hair. She stayed quiet as she worked out what Naoya was saying, and the two of them ceased exchanging words for what seemed like forever. Finally, Mabel asked: “But what if we can’t find the firestarters? What if they don’t want to help us? What do we do then? Will we get to go home?”

Naoya shrugged. “Right now, we’ll keep searching for them and we’ll go from there.” He stopped upon picking out an oddly shaped grouping of branches in the trees up ahead, a large old broadleaf tree with a trunk as wide as a small car and the branches on one side were pulled down in a seemingly unnatural manner - as if someone was building a roof of leaves next to the trunk. “Mabel, you know woods and trees and stuff better than I do, what’s that look like?” Naoya pointed at it.

She stopped and squinted at it. “Kinda looks like somebody pulled a bunch of branches down into a little hut. Let’s go check it out!” Before Naoya could utter any note of caution, she had charged out ahead of him.

Mabel ran around the wide trunk of the tree, and Naoya followed after her - opting to duck underneath the great low-laying branches. A short snap is all that Naoya heard before the branches overhead parted, the world suddenly turning upside down as he was yanked up into the air by his right leg. The psychic screamed and reflexively covered his head, banging his elbows on nearby branches and the tree itself as he waited for the recoil bouncing to stop.

“Naoya!” Mabel shouted up at him. She ran back to where she had last seen the psychic, before finally looking up to spot him. “Naoya, are you okay?!”

“Owwww,” Naoya groaned. He shook himself free of of the shock, and looked down - or was it up? - at his right foot, where a thick rope had snared around his ankle, and the only thing that had protected his skin from being cut by the line was the looseness of his black jeans. Maybe there was a usefulness to not being able to afford fitted clothes, Naoya mentally concluded. He licked his pouty lips and held back the torrent of swears he wanted to spew - there was no denying that his entire right leg was in far more pain than the rest of him. “I’m mostly okay, going to be a little bruised, though,” he finally replied to her, turning his attention back to Mabel. “Stepped in a trap. I don’t think I can get down by myself.”

“I can climb up there and untie you,” Mabel said, starting for the lowest branch she could find.

“No!” Naoya shouted, then winced as he realized that he was in far more pain than he thought. He strained to give her an apologetic smile. “Go get Remus and Anders. I think my ankle’s sprained and one of them might be able to do something about it. Maybe.”

Mabel gave him a stubborn look before she grabbed a long, thick stick and started to climb the tree anyways. Stick in hand, she climbed as high as Naoya and after situating herself in a stable place, she placed the stick across two branches just underneath Naoya. “You can put your hands on this to keep the weight off your ankle,” she told him. “Like a doing handstand, except you’re really high up in a tree for some reason and you’re flashing the whole world your bellybutton.”

“Very smart,” Naoya agreed, steadying himself.

“I’ll be back before you know it!” she promised him, carefully climbing down.

“… Mabel?”

“Yeah?”

“Make sure you go back exactly the way we came, okay?”

"Here!" Anders' voice was shrill and urgent, but not panicked. "I've got something over here!"

"I'm coming!"

Huffing, Remus trudged his way back through the tall grass and past the rear of the windmill. From the back, he could see a round porthole-style window in what must have been the bedroom on the second floor. He could barely see the mage through the branches, spotting just a shimmer of his grey-blue robes as he moved several hundred feet away. It took him another few minutes just to get that far through the undergrowth. Finally he reached the man, stepping over a large tree trunk twice his girth. Remus had been unable to see it before he rose above the trunk, but Anders was standing in the center of a symmetrical depression, perhaps four feet deep and three times as wide and across.

"What is that?"

"A cellar hole," Anders replied, bending over and holding himself up on his knees. His breath was ragged.

Remus waited until Anders righted himself and the red surrounding his cheeks had faded. "I found a rock wall," he said, "though it looks as old as this cellar. Perhaps the windmill is older than we realize?"

Anders shook his head. "No, it's—ah, you need to see. You need to see this." He indicated that Remus should follow.

Leaves crunched violently under their shoes as they headed further into the woods. Out here, the farther away they were from the windmill the thinner the vines became. Like a bruise, the angry thorns and strangling vines grew less apparent over time. The proper color was returning to the forest. Remus didn't have to guess what he might expect when they started to thicken up again. The building reminded him of the first cabin they stayed in, though not nearly as dilapidated. It bore the same white exterior as the windmill, though the condition was much worse, likely due to weather. Or, perhaps, the gaping hole in the roof where a tree had fallen in. Anders pointed as they approached, and Remus looked beyond his fingers to spot a pair of windows with all of the glass blown out.  

"I saw it when I tried looking through the window," Anders explained, brushing several hitchhiker seeds off the legs of his pants and the bottom of his robes. He lead Remus to the first of the windows, indicating somewhere deep in the darkness.

"I don't see anything," Remus said, wrapping his fingers around the panes carefully, to avoid broken glass. His head was nearly through to the other side, and the smell of mold was rank. "It's too dark."

"Just there," Anders said from behind. "On the far side and to the left. Look closely!"

Remus did, squinting and willing something to appear. When still he saw nothing, he slid his wand through the gap. "Lumos!"

There, laying half strewn across the dirty wooden floor, were bones. Piles of bones, some crushed and others marred by obvious chew marks. The inside of this house was much the same as the windmill, in that the furniture was intact albeit bloodstained and there were belongings still riddling the abandoned shelves. But beside the table to the kitchen, a human skull with spiderwebs inlaid in the eye sockets lay beside it's own jaw. Deep claw marks ran diagonally across what was once someone's face.

"Balverines," Remus muttered, and Anders made a stiff noise of agreement.

"I think that explains why our windmill was abandoned," he said. "It appears that they were the lucky ones."

Remus nodded. "That doesn't explain the woods, though. They are much too thick for this building to be recent."

With some quick spellwork, Remus had removed most of the window and hopped inside the structure. The door had been barricaded from the inside with several bookshelves and a large piano, and another, smaller body lay strewn below the pile. There was a dreadful hole in the ceiling where a single branch protruded from the floor above, forcing Remus to duck as he approached the larger bones, careful to watch both his head and his footing. Merlin forgive him for stepping on and crushing a piece of a finger, or worse.

"These bones have been here for a while," Remus said, bending down to examine them. "They're not someone who died recently, anyway."

"How can you tell?" Anders asked.

Remus shrugged. "It's hard. But there are no insects here, and there is quite a layer of dust." He turned, glancing across the room again on his way out and frowning at all the claw marks he could see across the floor from this angle. Whoever these people were, they died violently. He rejoined Anders outside.

"This isn't the only one, Remus," Anders said. "They are mixed in with the cellar holes. I would guess that this used to be a large village at some point. Some point very recently."

"Then how do we explain all of this?"

The wind howling through the trees was the only answer, though the feeling of eyes followed them all the way back to the camp.

"I don't like this," Anders murmured, coming to rest against the steps under the door to the windmill.

"Trust your intuition," Remus said. "You said the same thing back at the mansion."

Anders only sighed, rolling his shoulders. "That's because it always leads me into terrible places."

A scream brought their joint attention across the yard just then, a pink sweater bursting into view. Mabel rushed into view, her eyes wide and her hair full of twigs and leaves. Her face had been scratched by a few small thorns, but if she felt pain she didn't indicate it. Rather, she bee-lined for the pair of men, stopping just in time to avoid knocking them off their feet.

"The—Naoya—" she gasped, panting heavily and holding herself as she struggled to breathe. "The trees—"

"Naoya," Anders demanded, kneeling down to her. "Is he alright? Mabel, what's happened?"

Mabel only shook her head furiously, continuing to pant. "A tree—he—"

Remus took Mabel's shoulders in his hands, mimicking slow breathing quite visibly and indicating he should follow suit. "There's a good girl," he said, forcing patience into his tone. "Breathe a bit. That's it."

It was clear that Mabel’s expression was urgency, and not fear, as she finally spoke: “A TREE ATE NAOYA!“ She panted, looking between the two of them. “We have to go and rescue him!”
Anders blinked. “Eaten by a tree?” Perhaps they ought to find more of these trees, perhaps plant a few more…

“A hunting trap,” Mabel breathed. “He’s upside down, and I think he’s hurt. We have to-hurry! Let’s go!” She tugged at both of their sleeves.

“Let’s go,” Anders said, taking Mabel’s hand.

"It's this way!" Mabel lead the way with a confidence she hadn't shown before, leaving the two men trailing behind her rather impressed. Regardless of the plant trail showing the correct path, it was clear that Mabel was not about to lead them astray for a single wanton desire. "Careful," she urged, "there might be other traps in the woods."

Anders' belt and various metal clasps clinked as he half jogged to Mabel's side at the words. "More traps?"

"Yeah," Mabel nodded as she walked, ignoring the leaves stuck in her headband in favor of arriving as quickly as possible. "Where there's one, there's always more, right?"

"Clever girl," Remus replied, using his wand to cut away more of the harsh overgrowth that hung overhead. "We should at least keep on the alert."

Anders pursed his lips in unfortunate agreement. "How much farther?"

"Just up here," Mabel said, coming to a half run and disappearing into the brush.

The two men struggled to keep up and weave through the forest at the same time. Dual paths of witch hazel and clover marked the path, merging flawlessly with the moss and wolfsbane to form a colorful road of sorts through the otherwise unremarkable floor. But as they rounded the corner around a twelve-trunked tree, they collided with one another: Mabel stood in a gap between the trees, staring out into a small open patch fixed in a beam of warm sunlight. Her eyes were wide, and her arms were tucked inside her sleeves which rested against her face as she pressed her hands to her mouth.

"Mabel?" Remus stepped around Anders and strode to her, kneeling and placing a hand on her shoulder. "Mabel, what is it?"

A single arm pointed to something in front of her, and Remus turned. A large tree centered the scene, a long cable dangling from one of the thick limbs. The end of it swayed with the wind, having been severed by something sharp. There was no sign of Naoya. But Remus felt his insides run cold as he saw something below the broken trap: rosemary and amaranth blossoms, in two distinct circular formations directly below the wire. Unlike anything else in the forest, their proud, vibrant color nearly stung their eyes against the green and browns of the woods. And from the center of the circle, there was a fresh patch of clover that wandered away into the woods beyond their line of sight-alone.

Anders cursed, rushing forward into the circle and adding moss to the design. "This is where you saw him last, Mabel?"

Mabel nodded, her small "uh-huh" shrill and frightened. "What happened to Naoya? Where is he?"

"We'll find him," Remus assured her, giving her shoulders a small squeeze. "Don't worry-all we need to do is follow the trail!"

"It goes this way," Anders said, already halfway down the path. "Hurry!"

For a moment, all Remus could hear was the sound of his heart and the thud that pervaded through his body as his legs pounded against the ground, their chase becoming more desperate by the minute. It was not hard to keep his face neutral for Mabel's sake, but Remus could sense that something was amiss. If Naoya got free on his own, why would he not immediately return to the windmill? And the rosemary, the amaranth-that was not there by accident. But the clover lead away alone, and the other plants were nowhere to be found. There was something important, something they were missing. And it was imperative that they discover whatever it was.

But in the next moment, an overwhelming silence broke like a vacuum had sucked the air from their lungs. The clover trail stopped. In the middle of the path, as though Naoya had been vaporized or flung skywards, the clover trail abruptly went cold.

Anders' neck clicked painfully as his head jerked upwards, desperate to examine every single tree limb and every single vine for a single sprout of clover. Anything-anything that might indicate where Naoya had gone. "Naoya!" he called, his Adam's apple working hard against the skin on his throat. "Naoya!"

Remus stood hauntingly still, his eyes working the scene just as desperately, just as fast as his thoughts. "He isn't here," he replied, earning a whirling glare from Anders.

"People don't just disappear, Remus!" he snapped. "Naoya!"

Mabel joined in, cupping her hands over her lips to amplify her voice. "Naoya!"

Remus' wand worked delicate patterns through the air. "Homenum Revelio!" he tried, turning in all directions. And then again. And, again. "Aparecium! Finite Incantatem!"

But there was nothing. Or, rather, no one. The trail had gone cold. Naoya was gone.

Chapter Text

Things had not gone the way he had hoped lately. He had made a potentially costly mistake, and if it hadn’t been caught in time - he wouldn’t be around to reflect on it like he was. Or at least, around as a human. Sokka swallowed, idly playing with his bone necklace. He tried not to think about those gold eyes that should have told him everything. He tried not to think about the creature that called herself Sabrina at all.

But he was determined to make up for it. That reason was why the teenagers was crouched down in the kinnikinnick and pine needles, bronze hands pressed to his forehead as his blue eyes searched for the snare trap that had been left in this area of the forest. The last few traps were empty - one had gone off with no kill, one had gone off and something had gnawed through the rope, and the last one he had checked had a measly weird rabbit-thing stuck in it. And even though it sat draping from his belt next to his satchel - a rabbit-thing wasn’t going to get him out of the polar bear-dog house, not with Wash and Ren. He let out a heavy sigh, his frame sinking under the makeshift leather armor he wore out hunting. 

He had been stranded with them for six months now. At first he had been confused, as they all were, about waking up in some random forest someplace that no one knew anything about, with nothing more than his sword, boomerang, and battle armor. He had been in the middle of a battle, and then the next thing he knew he was in a remote, monster-filled forest. And it was always disorientating to think about how he had turned sixteen while lost in some weird foreign place, but at least his new roomies were both like him - normal people, non-benders. Amazing, totally kick-ass non-benders, sorta unlike him - but he was plenty ready to learn from them both to get there. 

Wash was going to be the easier of the two to make it up to, Sokka thought. She was hard on him but she didn’t do it without reason - she was a well-respected Lieutenant that had been in charge of a lot of people in the “colony” she came from, and outside of being a combat medic she was also an expert survivalist - she said she had trained plenty of people his age for combat and survival. Wash had more expectations and patience with him than Ren; and he felt that she was already starting to come around. Ren would be another obstacle entirely, but he would eventually forgive Sokka. Maybe. Renkotsu, or Ren as Sokka had managed to wear him down into being called, was super logical and was probably one of the smartest people Sokka had ever met; some of the machines he designed and the uses for things he came up with were incredible - Sokka was more than interested in helping him design or put inventions together. Other than the fact that the man’s favorite weapons were fire and explosives and explodey fire, sometimes the man’s ill-placed dark humor worried Sokka - but he had saved Sokka from monsters a handful of times, and so Sokka reasoned he just cared in his own extremely cynical way. But he had been acting weird since they had taken in the new kid a few weeks back. Sokka knew to apologize and give him space. A lot of space - a whole atmosphere of spacey spaciness. The new kid hadn’t quite learned that yet; at least Sokka had a leg-up in that department. 

Shaking his head at his own luck, he gave up on finding whatever might have been left of the trap in that section, and turned heel to head back home - his patched up armor softly chinking as he walked. Wash would probably scold him for losing another trap, but it wasn’t his fault if the balverines kept ruining everything. 

That was when he saw the figure up ahead. Seemingly impossibly tall, from the top of her head her long flowing black hair billowed out behind her like dark tendrils of smoke, and her skin and figure were all obscured by the color gray. Her eyes were all white and glowy, and the closest Sokka had ever seen of her he could barely make out what looked like tears streaming down her face. He recognized the spirit right away. 

“The Crying Lady,” Sokka mouthed to himself. The teenager was quite proud of that name for her; originally he had thought to call her the Really Really Sad Woman, but that just didn’t stick when he had tried to tell the others about her. They all had mixed reactions - Wash shrugged it off as a trick of the light, Dip had tried to tag along once or twice to see her himself, and Ren grimly acknowledged the encounters but told Sokka to “be wary of such demons”. 

The Crying Lady paused, her head slowly swiveling to look at him. Silently lifting a hand, she motioned in a way that seemed as if she wanted him to follow her, before striding off in that direction. Like always, her feet didn’t seem to touch the ground. Deciding that he had nothing to lose by following, Sokka went after her. After all, she had never led him to anything bad before: some supplies here and there, and after the first time he’d seen her he had come across Ren. 

Leather boots trodding along as he followed, but she remained the same distance ahead of him as she glided with her mismatched steps - which Sokka couldn’t decide if it was outright spooky or not. 

How long had he been hanging in the tree? The stick Mabel had given him to rest on had broken, and now he only hoped his leg didn’t detach and send him falling to the forest floor. Naoya had found that keeping his eyes shut made him feel less like his blood was going to pool in his brain and make his head explode. 

The EGO took in a sharp breath, his eyes snapping open as something caught his attention. It was an emotion. An overwhelming emotion, flooding his senses. A tight, cold feeling gripped his chest. Tears stung his eyes. Sadness. Longing. Despair. Naoya knew the feeling of utter heartache anywhere. The mental image of a certain broody black-haired young man came to him, before Naoya stuffed the memory of his friend back as far as he could. It would do no good to lament over Kaname here, he tried to steel himself - failing when the tears broke through anyways. Great, now he was hanging upside down and he was crying over a boy who wasn’t even there. Remus and Anders would have a field day - he must have looked like a complete idiot. But still, the lonely feeling continued to overwhelm his normally good emotional filter. 

Oh God, he thought, his own anger at having such feelings forcibly carved into his being was growing. Whose feelings are these? 

He managed to crack open his watery eyes just enough to see a face staring up at him. She had long black hair, gray skin, white-hot eyes… and no face. 

“You,” Naoya breathed accusedly, sniffling. She looked up at him with some sort of purpose, she must have known what she was doing to him! But instead images came to his head - seven bells, a wide river lined with black stones, nine shining stars, and flesh dissolving into light - a mental noise that caused Naoya to wince and try to block it out. But she was beyond ancient and no match for him. A name appeared in his head: Astarael. 

Help. Astarael was there to help. Astarael was always going to be crying, he felt that she was lonely and heartbroken - but not in in a romantic way, though her eternal state would not stop her from intervening in the fates of those she decided were worth her help. Help you. Her way of communication was starting to push his limits. 

“Stop it!” he demanded. 

But Astarael only continued to stare as she dropped to the ground, a perfect circle of flora spread out from beneath her feet. There were leafy green plants mixed in with a brilliant red, drooping flower, the carpet of plant life obscured the grass and tree roots. She covered where her mouth was supposed to be with her hands and bowed her head. Help survive. Together needed, were the final mental words she gave before she disappeared - taking that horrible sadness with her. 

“Wait, no, come back!” a voice called out after her. 

The guy who came after the vanishing woman was around Naoya’s own age, and he was kinda lanky. He wore a strange blue top and knee-high leather boots and vambraces, and some leather armor that had been mended in several places. Immediately Naoya looked for any weapons, and spotted a blade and boomerang strapped to his back. Arayashiki? No, Naoya decided this guy seemed too pleasant to be compared to them. 
 
Only when Naoya gave a quick sniffle and attempt to wipe his face of any tears did the newcomer look up. The new guy rubbed his eyes, not sure if he was seeing things. 
 
Naoya gave him a small wave. “Hi.” 
 
“… Hi.” The other stared up skeptically, thick brows lowering, hands warily gripping the strap that held his weapons on his back. 

“Um, do you think you could cut me down? I’ve kind of been stuck up here for a while, and my leg really hurts.” It was the nicest tone Naoya could muster up. 

“How do I know you’re not a monster?” the other boy demanded, suddenly extremely on guard - it almost took Naoya by surprise. 

Naoya studied him for a moment. If the other boy had had encounters with monsters and balverines, then it was no surprise that he was being so defensive. The EGO thought of several different alternate ways to get the stranger to cut him down, before settling on his specialty: “Because if I was, I would have transformed by now, cut myself down, and done something about that ponytail.” 

The other teenager let out an offended noise, defensively grabbing his tied-back dark hair. “It’s a warrior’s wolf tail, thank you very much!” he huffed, voice cracking. “And is that how you ask someone to cut you down?!” 

“Well, since you’re offering…” 

“I didn’t offer, you just asked me!” 

“You, like, totally just offered to cut me down.” 

“I’m not cutting you down until you can prove to me that you’re not some horrible monster.” The other teen stubbornly crossed his arms over his chest. “And all you’re proving right now is that you’re a terrible headache.” 

“Imagine what happens when I shut up,” Naoya commented, smiling smugly. He moved his shirt and jacket enough to expose the bandages on his stomach. “Look, I’m not a monster. I’m injured. What kind of monster admits that?” 

“If you’re not a monster, then what kind of girl wanders around the forest by herself?” 

Naoya blinked, his brows knitting as his mouth spread out in a frown. “I’m a boy.” 

The other teenager immediately froze, his mouth hanging open a little. “Ah- uh-” he tried to get something out as he semi-panicked. “A-Are you sure?” was all that he managed to get out, the look on his face saying that he knew he had said something stupid. “From this angle you kinda look like a girl.” 

“Well,” Naoya started, pointing towards his pelvis, “If you want to check…” 

“No! No, no, that’s not- I mean, I’m good!” He waved his hands in an exaggerated fashion. “I’ll cut you down. Just… Pants on. Please.” 

Naoya half-chuckled. That was probably only the third time in his life someone had said that to him.
 
Upon drawing his blade, Naoya noted that the other boy’s sword was made of strange black metal. He walked around the tree trunk and out of Naoya’s sight. Naoya could hear him climbing branches, muttering quietly to himself. The rope trap jolted and Naoya dropped for a split-second before being lowered to the ground, settling down in the soft bed of red flowers and what smelled like some kind of herb. Clover soon sprouted along the rim of Astarael’s plants. 

“I can feel all the blood rushing out of my head and back into my body,” Naoya sighed in relief, carefully patting his hazel hair back into an acceptable style. 

“You get down and you start fixing your hair,” the other teenager scoffed, winding some of the rope up around his forearm before her climbed back down. He carefully cut the snare from Naoya’s ankle before sheathing his weapon and sliding the coiled rope onto his shoulder. 

“‘It’s a warrior’s wolf tail, thank you very much,’” Naoya semi-mockingly quoted. He closed his eyes and waited for the world to stop spinning. 

With a stiff sigh, the other boy conceded: “Point taken.” He looked Naoya over, seemingly deciding that maybe this wasn’t some horrible monster. “My name’s Sokka.” 

“Naoya Itsuki,” Naoya introduced himself, not opening his eyes. 

“So what got you?” 

“Your trap.” 

“No,” Sokka half-grunted. “What happened to your stomach.” 

Naoya’s lips pressed tight together, before his expression rolled into a delicate pout. “An accident.” 

“Accidents out here can lead to some very bad things,” Sokka said sternly. “Looks like you got lucky.” 

Long eyelashes parted and Sokka felt himself shiver as those weird amber eyes looked up at him.

“It’s always some kind of luck,” Naoya said sadly, almost remorsefully. “Isn’t it.” He frowned and shrugged lightly, then shook his head. 

Sokka rolled his eyes, kneeling down to collect some of the herbs and flowers that Astarael had left. He carefully slid them into a small satchel. “How long have you been out here?” 

“A week, maybe two. I’ve lost count,” Naoya propped himself up on his elbows, watching Sokka work.
 
Sokka stopped, looking at him. Naoya could sense that he was only starting to feel a little bad. “Can you walk?” 

Naoya sat up fully, rolling up the leg of his black jeans. An angry red covered his swollen joint, and it would certainly bruise later. He briefly wiggled his toes inside his tan sneaker. “Ow- nothing’s broken, but I don’t think I can walk.”  

Sokka glanced away for a moment, fixing his satchel shut, before he held out a hand to help Naoya up. Naoya barely came up to his nose, and he briefly wondered how someone so delicate-looking could have survived out in the woods all alone. His attention drifted down to the plants at their feet; the amaranth, the rosemary… the clover? That wasn’t there before. His gaze followed it, spotting the trail of clover going off into the forest; here and there taller bunches of yellow stuck out. 

“Oh, that was me,” Naoya admitted. He saw Sokka’s eyes following his plant trail. “It follows me-” 

“-Wherever you go,” Sokka finished, his tone trailing in thought. 

Naoya looked up at him. “You know how it works, Sokko?” 

“Sokka. And I know someone else with the same problem,” he explained. Frowning, Sokka sighed. 

“Which means it’s going to be hard helping you around if you’re going to be leaving a trail. I don’t know if I can carry you all the way back…” 
 
“Carry me?” Naoya blinked. “How far is it to where you live?” 
 
The taller teen gave a deep sigh, already tired from the thought of it. “Far enough,” he muttered. Resentfully rubbing his temples, he stooped down low so that Naoya could climb onto his back. “Let’s just get this over with.” When Naoya carefully slid onto place on his back, he stood - shifting the other boy’s weight around until he had a comfortable hold on him. “Man, you’re light. From how baggy your clothes are, I was expecting you to be heavier.” 
 
“Are you calling me fat?” Naoya whined in a faux-devastated tone, which Sokka promptly ignored. 

Other than the occasional comment, the two of them didn’t say much since Sokka had picked him up. Whether it was because Naoya had finally held up his promise of shutting up or that he realized that Sokka was beginning to breathe hard, Sokka didn’t question it. He did, however, go over fifty different scenarios as to how he was going to explain bringing home a random guy he found in the woods. 

Sensing Sokka’s anxiety, Naoya finally spoke up: “If you need to take a break…” 

Sokka shook his head. “No,” he breathed. “It’s almost sunset. We don’t want to be out here, trust me.” He swallowed the dry lump in his throat, trying not to think about how thirsty he was. “Besides, we’re almost there.” 

“Whatever you say, Caveman.” 

“My name’s not 'Caveman’,” Sokka mumbled. 

As they came closer, the brush started to thin out into a gravelly surface - a trail where footsteps and wheels stomped the ground flat - that stretched up a slope to the mouth of a cave at the bottom of a range of great red cliffs. It was a steep, rocky incline that lead to the small cavern in the cliff face; or so it looked, Naoya could see far enough into the cave and spotted a heavy-looking metal door with the number 17 painted on it in a well-faded white. It reminded Naoya of a very crude bank vault door, except there was no wheel on the outside to open it - just a strange hole in the center, which Naoya guessed some sort of portable knob would be inserted into in the event that no one was home. 

Out at the base of the slope was a woman and a younger boy; he must have been about Mabel’s age, if Naoya had to guess. Upon spotting Sokka returning with someone in tow, the woman handed the boy a knife of some kind and pointed him up the hill. The psychic got the overwhelming feeling that while she was concerned about Sokka - she felt commanding, not one to be trifled with. 

Naoya looked at the strange settlement up ahead, then rested his chin on Sokka’s shoulder. “But you use a melee weapon and live in a fancy cave.” When Sokka gave him a rough shift of weight in reply, Naoya lightly snorted. “Would you prefer Caveboy?” 

“NO,” Sokka defensively grumbled. He stopped, jostling Naoya around a little as a signal that it was time to get off. Naoya slowly did so, and clover spread out from under his tan sneakers. 

The woman approached them. She wore gray cargo pants tucked into well-worn black combat boots and a dingy white tanktop; her black hair was pulled back tightly in a ponytail. And her eyes were dark - almost black - and tired bags were carved into her olive skin. Naoya decided she was a very youthful mid-thirty-something, military type with obvious tour-of-duty combat experience - and he felt his own posture straighten alongside Sokka’s. This woman meant business. 

“Wash,” Sokka started, trying to watch what he said, as if he expected a lecture any which way he explained the new face. “I found him stuck in one of the traps. He’s injured.” 

Naoya swallowed, feeling Wash’s eyes sizing him up. She looked between the two of them, unimpressed, before her eyes fell on the clover at Naoya’s feet. 

“I made sure this time,” Sokka offered, almost pleading. “He’s annoying-” he gave a short, very pointed glance at Naoya “-but he’s not a monster.” 

It was Naoya’s turn to look between Sokka and Wash. He caught sight of a holstered gun of some kind on her leg, too small to be a regular sidearm. Wash caught him looking at her weapon, her chin tilting up expectantly as she reached for it. Without taking it out, she thumbed a small switch on its side, creating a high-pitched whining noise. “You know what this is,” she demanded. 

“Sonic pistol,” Naoya replied, recognizing the whine. He had seen them before, the Organization had been testing them and was planning to release them into the human population as law enforcement weapons, though as an EGO he personally had no use for one. 

“What does it do?” 

“I’m assuming that if I were a monster, and I’m not, you would actually turn off that safety switch you just pretended to turn off and shoot me.” 

With a small, acknowledging nod, Wash flicked another switch on her weapon, the whine stopping a moment after. “We’ll talk about this later,” she said pointedly at Sokka. “For now, get him inside.” She turned back to the boy up on the hill. “Dipper, tell Ren to open the door!” she called to him. 

“Okay!” the boy called back to her, a determined expression forcing his lips into a line. Unsure of what to do with his knife, Dipper simply carried it with him. His sneakers scraped against the well-trodden path as he beelined to the massive metal door, a trail of green spreading in his wake. What looked to Naoya like miniature pine boughs sprung up directly from the ground, and it was with great frustration that Wash took to picking each of the sprouts by the roots as she slowly made to follow.  

Dipper took a breath before knocking on the door. His tiny fists still made quite the boom against the steel. “Ren! Hey, Ren! Wash wants you to open the door!” 

There was an awkward moment of silence in which Dipper debated whether to knock again, but when the slat in the center of the doorway slid open with an audible slam, he swallowed. The pair of eyes staring back at him were none too pleased. “What’s going on?” 

“Sokka found someone in the woods,” the pale, curly-haired brunette explained, his hands climbing involuntarily to take his cap off his head. “He’s injured.” 

The man’s stony eyes narrowed. 

“Wash says to let him in,” Dipper urged. 

The man behind the door sighed out his nose, softly groaning. “Very well,” was all that he said before shutting the slat. 

The crank behind the door turned several times, a metallic clicking noise sounding when the final needed turn had been reached. Sokka helped Naoya limp up the hill just in time for the wide, rounded door to pop open and pull back, rolling to the side and revealing it's true gear shape, exposing the rusted, metal-plated inside of an ancient antechamber. 

An air lock? Naoya noted with some kind of creeping dread. Further inside a similar door was left open, and as far back as Naoya could see were dingy white halls - it reminded him horribly of a hospital or laboratory of some kind.  

“Take him to the main room,” the man by the door ordered. When Naoya caught a glimpse of him, he was taller than Sokka - but he wore a dark blue shirt, white pants tucked into brown boots, and a long light blue bandanna on his head. His face was adorned with odd, purple markings, which ran from the bottom of his chin to just above his eyebrows. His posture was rigid and expectant, and he held a small lit lantern out for one of the other boys to take. 

"Okay," Dipper murmured, taking the lantern in his free hand. He looked between Sokka, the strange boy, and back again. He was struck with the  impression of how very alone he was here, and he shook his head to get it out of mind.  

The interior of the chamber was dark and overly mechanical at first glance. The door ground against metal hinges and gears as it slowly closed and sealed behind him with a venomous hiss. The grating on the floor was clear of tools and any other unnecessary hazards—their mechanic had seen to that, almost obsessively. But it didn't make Dipper want to watch his step any less as he lead the two teenagers into the belly of the earth. Their footsteps echoed in the openness of the room. 

On the other side, several large, round-edged rectangles full of light bleached their eyes as they came closer, and Dipper squinted. The room was built into the rock and stood out like a rail car trying to squeeze out of a small hole. But snugly inserted under the stone, this was the first true chamber of the architectural masterpiece. Dipper held the door for them, allowing passage into the halls Naoya had seen before. It looked even more like a weird office or hospital up close, and Dipper couldn't have agreed more when the teen voiced that opinion.  

"Right?" he said, wanting to dim the lantern under the fluorescent glow but frowning at his full grip. He couldn't tell if the new guy was staring at him or not, or, if he was, why. "I guess it's some kind of weird, underground doomsday vault. I thought this place was super creepy when I first got here, too, but you get used to it." 

Well, a little. Sort of. 

The hallway broke open to reveal a grand circular room bordered by several arched doorways that were quickly lost in shadow. Whatever was down there, Naoya couldn't see. The center of the room was dominated by a large fireplace sunk into the floor and a ventilation tube that hung from the ceiling to collect the smoke. Clearly collected from the worst catalog in existence, each piece of furniture looked nothing like the piece next to it. All of the couches and chairs were sat on a level sunken into the floor as well, creating the effect of a somewhat comfortable meeting or living space. On four points of the couch-circle, stairs led up to the regular level and Naoya could see evidence of chisel marks and obvious wear in the steps. They were hand-made, cut into the floor on purpose. So was the fireplace and the ventilation shaft, he noted. As much as the place looked pre-cut, fresh off the press, it looked in equal measure to be a heavily modified and deconstructed piece of work. Whatever this place used to be, it was something else entirely now. Something much, much more. Sokka helped him onto one of the couches and Naoya felt himself sink into the cushions just a bit, propping his injured foot up with a reluctant sigh. 

“Nice place you’ve got here,” he said. “Much better than some rock or creaky old cabin with a hole in the roof.” 

“Yeah, well, we try,” Sokka quipped. He looked relieved to be free of Naoya’s weight as he threw himself down on one of the opposite couches. The teenager relaxed for only a moment, before he jolted back up into a sitting position. 

“At ease,” Wash’s voice came from behind Naoya. There wasn’t any force to it then, and Naoya got the feeling that it was more of a semi-joking dismiss than anything else. Sokka once again flopped back into the cushions with an audible: “Thank you.” 

“So,” Wash began, striding down some of the steps and coming to stand in front of him. “I am Lieutenant Washington. You’ve already met Sokka. And this is Dipper.” She side-stepped and motioned to the younger boy by means of an introduction. “And you are?" 

The psychic swallowed. "Naoya.” 

“Naoya? Well, Naoya. You could limp your way here, so I don’t think anything’s broken. You’ll just have to be off your feet for a couple days.” The Lieutenant motioned for Naoya to sit up. “But a couple days isn’t right now. Sit up. Empty your pockets.”  

Naoya looked at her incredulously for a moment, but she showed no signs of budging. He sheepishly took out the only things he had on him: his wallet, his dead cell phone, and his cigarettes. The collection was lucky to have stayed together this long, having been through the wash at Reaver's place and then through the fresh hell that was their escape. Naoya was reluctant to hand them over and Wash patted his sides to make sure he didn’t have anything else. The only thing she didn't give back was the pack of smokes. 

“Those are mi-” 

“I bet your parents wouldn’t want you having these at your age,” Wash cut him off, looking inside the box. Naoya tensed. He only had one cig left from what Reaver had given him over dinner one night. “Plus, they’re a fire hazard. Now, lean back again so I can look at that ankle." 

With an indignant huff, Naoya leaned back again. "Doctor?” 

“I was a combat medic,” she said, carefully sliding off Naoya’s shoe and sock as if she were expecting him to smell worse than he looked. Wash lightly frowned. “So, how long did you say you were out there?” 

“A week, maybe two- Ow!” Naoya half-yelped, not expecting the sudden prick he felt on his injury. Something had cut him! 

“So it’s tender there,” Wash idly commented.  

She had her hand obscured from Dipper and Sokka, but she made it obvious to Naoya that she had something small, metallic and sharp in her hand. She locked eyes with him for a moment, and in that instance Naoya thought only one thing: Shit. There was experience in her eyes, she’d seen this game before. She knew he was overplaying it. That glower was a warning if Naoya ever knew one. When Wash glanced down at whatever it was she had pricked him with, she made an unimpressed face and shrugged before sliding it into her pocket. Naoya could sense her suspicion lessen, but not dissipate. All that he could do was muster up a smile in the face of being found out. But when Wash stood, and brushed her hands off on her pants, she said something else entirely: “Like I thought, nothing’s broken.” 

"That's good, right?" Dipper said with a small grin. He'd been here a month too long, and he'd seen about as much as he'd wanted to of the monsters in the woods. He'd taken a seat on the other side of Naoya, and he adjusted his hat to see the teenager's face more clearly under the brim.  "Where the heck did you come from, anyway? How did you not get eaten by the balverines?" 

Naoya cupped his chin, using his bottom lip to blow whispy bangs from his eyes. "That's a long story." 

They had jokingly taken to calling the inventor’s wing of their strange shelter “Ren’s Workshop”. Renkotsu had begrudgingly accepted the name for his living and working quarters. 

“His name is Naoya Itsuki. He says he’s seventeen. From the year 2004.” The man leaned back in the cushioned office chair, repeating back what they had learned about their newest addition, his grave and marked face illuminated by the crank lantern that hung in the corner off what had once been some kind of managerial office. Of all the things that Renkotsu had dug through and hooked up and invented from the scrap in the vault, of all the things he was able to find uses for… for some reason Wash felt that he was secretly very pleased with the discovery of an executive’s chair, he always looked the most as ease behind his desk. “That’s close to the younger boy’s year, isn’t it.” 

“Dipper’s from 2012,” Wash replied, resting against the doorframe. “I’m technically from 2149. And you said you’re from 1546. Sokka doesn’t know what we’re talking about with our years. We can line all the years up, but I don’t think it means anything.” 

“I hate to think it’s random selection,” Renkotsu frowned, shaking his head. When the light in the corner started flickering, he reached for it and began quickly cranking the handle, eyes narrowing in thought, before putting it back after a minute or two. “Itsuki knows of your pistol. So does Dipper.” 

“He knew more about it than Dipper did,” Wash admitted, glancing down where the sonic weapon sat holstered. “Dipper knew how it worked - in theory - but Naoya seemed to know almost first hand.” 

Renkotsu was incredibly smart for someone from his time; he knew guns, explosives, tactics, and machinery in and out - it didn’t surprise her when she learned he plied his skills in archaic mercenary work when he wasn’t inventing. Though he  didn’t know exactly how some of the technology worked, but he was fast to understand it - and faster to take it apart, learn the basics, and put it back together in a manner that suited his needs. Sokka had joined him on several occasions. They were both fast learners and intelligent, but Renkotsu was moreso. Needless to say she didn’t let them anywhere near her sonic pistol. “Sonic weapons would have been huge and primitive then, and certainly not public knowledge.” 

“And he doesn’t have any weapons on him.” He was trying to figure out how all the pieces fit together, and was frustrated at falling short. 

“The only thing I took from him that might have been a problem is this,” Wash held out the almost-empty pack of cigarettes, shaking it for emphasis. “If he got near some of the flammable stuff…” 

“What on earth is it?” 

“Cigarettes,” Wash replied. But she had learned that the others in their little group, Ren included, sometimes didn’t know about certain things; namely anything that seemed remotely close to her own time period. Save Dipper, of course. “Tobacco?” Renkotsu didn’t show any signs of recognizing the words. “Drugs. They’re legal, but not for someone his age.” He got that one. “He had one stick left and I took it.” 

“So we’ve taken in an addict,” Renkotsu sighed heavily. 

“Going off cigarettes won’t be as violent as you think. He’ll be cranky, maybe a little jittery, while it works out of his system, but nothing worse than that.” 

“Why don’t we just give him opium and call it a day.” It was a dry, stiff humor the man with the bandana possessed. 

“I wouldn’t let that kid out of my sight if he was on opiates or azameth,” Washington replied, folding her arms over her chest. “Not until he was clear of it.” 

“So other than the fact that he’s an addict and knows weapons he shouldn’t…” Renkotsu let his voice trail. “Nothing else?” 

“I’ve seen his type before, he’s playing dumb. It’s not there on the surface, it’s-” she motioned to her own eyes for emphasis “-in his eyes.” 

Renkotsu nodded solemnly. “I have seen things that have eyes like his,” he agreed. “They weren’t human. They were youkai; demons.” He shook his head disapprovingly. “But I don’t think he is any of those things. Nor, it seems, is he a balverine.” 

“I don’t know about demons, but I’ve seen thousand-yard stares like that. He’s young and has seen some kind of combat.” She shook her head, trying to get the hollow eyes and gaunt faces of Somalian children out of her head. 

“It’s not uncommon where I’m from for people his age to have fought in a war or two. There isn’t much to him, and you think he’s a fighter?” 

She shifted her weight, leaning back against a support beam. “I think he’s killed people.” 

“So have you and I,” Renkotsu dryly pointed out. The mercenary sighed, lacing his fingers together in thought as he leaned forwards on the desk. “But maybe that’s what we need.” 

“A killer teen?” Washington incredulously blinked, looking at him. 

“The other two either won’t or are physically unable to kill the monsters out here, and there’s no room for mercy with such creatures,” Renkotsu explained, he was trying to keep his tone neutral but there was some force to it. “And if something as frail looking as Itsuki made it through the traps…” 

“The boy might be gayer than a rainbow,” the Lieutenant eyed him, catching on, though her black brows were knitted in a disapproving understanding, “But he’s got to be tougher than he looks.” 

Renkotsu nodded. “And if Itsuki is indeed a homosexual, we won’t have to worry about any more balverines pretending to be teenage girls being let inside.” 

Washington lightly snorted as she tried to contain a chuckle. “Not that I disagree that was a bad move, but the poor kid’s lonely.” 

“It doesn’t excuse his mistake.” He crossed his arms tightly over his chest and leaned back in his seat, the end of his bandana hanging over the back of the chair. “Mistakes like that can’t always be fixed. By bringing Itsuki here, he hasn’t learned from last time. We were lucky that this time who he brought home wasn’t trying to eat him.” 

“Oh, I think Naoya would still try to eat someone,” she smirked, scratching her chin. 

At her last comment Renkotsu sighed out of his nose, arching his brows in a dry manner before covering his face with his hands. “You and I both know that as long as his… preferences… don’t get in the way of things…”There was a knock at the door, echoing against the metallic chamber like a gong. Washington looked to Ren; it was his workshop, after all. But the man only frowned. 

"Come," he said, rather loudly.  

At the opposite end of the room, the door groaned as it was pushed open and slammed shut on it's own once let go. Naoya hobbled his way over to the desk where Renkotsu sat and Wash watched the teen  tilt his head this way and that as he examined the furnace on one wall and the many half-completed skeletons of works even she didn't understand entirely spread out across the floor space. Walking with crutches was tiresome work for one who was not used to the pressure under the arms, and Naoya winced as he finally met them, even as his amber eyes scrambled over the sooty schematics on the desk. 

"You wanted to see me?" he said.  

"Yes," Wash stated, her boots clacking against the metallic floor as she rounded Naoya, giving him a thorough once-over. His ankle had been wrapped and there was minimal swelling—he was healing fast. "I don't think it would be out of our way to ask you a few questions, if that's alright with you?" 

The inflection rose like a question, but Naoya knew that it was anything but. "Ask away." 

Wash came around to his front again, her arms crossed in front of her. She was her own wall of steel. "What is a seventeen-year-old from 2004 doing in the middle of the woods, in this monster-infested forest?"

Naoya gave her a look. "I woke up here," he said. "Same as you, if I had to guess." 

"Were you alone?" 

He gingerly placed his hand at his side. "There were some others," he said lowly, glancing away. "I don't know where they are now, though." 

"There were others," Wash repeated, "and you were left at that trap?" 

"It wasn't like they left me," Naoya shrugged. "We got scattered, and I got caught in the trap. I was lucky Sokka came by when he did." 

Wash's eyes narrowed. "Scattered by what? Be straight with us, boy. You realize how this looks?" 

"Balverines," Naoya said simply, moving his mouth so that there was a deep sense of purpose behind the words. "There were a lot of them." Glimmering golden eyes came to his mind, and Naoya felt himself tense. "There was a really big white one," Naoya looked back up into their faces. He gave am uneasy, sheepish smile. "Told me I would make a better toothpick than a meal..." 

"It is not wrong," Renkotsu said quietly, and Naoya ignored him, focusing on Wash.  

"That's why you cut me, right?" 

"That's right," she said, uncrossing and then recrossing her arms. "Enough of the balverines react to silver like poison that it serves us well as a test. By now you know that they can shapeshift. I apologize for not telling you, but we couldn't risk it." She paused, considering her words. "Do you know what happened to your group?" 

"No," Naoya lied. He tried his best to look solemn. "I just... heard some screams. I, uh..." He dropped his head, chewing on his lip.  

Washington sighed, and she dropped her arms with a frown. "I'm sorry," she offered. "We've all been through something. But you're here now, Naoya, and what happens now is up to you." 

Naoya looked up at her again. "How do you mean?" 

"We do not offer resources for free," came Renkotsu's turt response. "You will either stay here and work for your keep, or you will heal, and then leave. There are no other options." 

Naoya huffed. "Like I want to go back into the woods." 

"Then you'll have to make yourself useful," Wash finished. "Everyone has to make sure this place runs smoothly. First you heal, and then we see what kind of weapons you can use. You won't be going out anywhere for a while. You'll lead something back here to us, so you and Dipper are on housekeeping duty until we can figure out what to do about your damned plants." 

"I don't suppose you guys know anything about them...?" Naoya tried. "Why some people have them and others don't?" 

"No idea," the military woman said, again in her sternest voice. "Your guess is as good as ours. But it looks like we have a long time to learn," she finished, running her hands across her tightly held ponytail. 

"What are you doing here, anyway?" Naoya asked. "I found you by accident, but you guys are pretty well set up here. What are you trying to do?" 

Wash looked to Ren, who returned the grim expression and a silence expanded across the gap in the conversation.  

"We're just trying to survive," Wash said. "Just trying to survive..." 
 

The room he would have to share with Dipper and Sokka was maybe appropriate for two people, three at most. The feel of this room was much more relaxed, however. Everywhere Naoya looked he saw either books, scrolls, or loose pages covered in drawings. 

To the left there was a bunk bed, where the bottom was oddly bare in comparison to the mess of scribbled pages plastered in formation on the ceiling and the pile of semi-neatly folded blankets. The walls were coated in journal entries with notes scratched out in some places and overwritten in others, and there was several drawings in a row of a balverine - each depiction becoming more detailed as Naoya’s gaze went down the line. It was the rendering of an artist in the making, a detailed encyclopedia waiting to be born. 

The right was similar and yet immensely different: rather than pages of art and text, the full-sized bed was home to plenty of odd-looking schematics and curious trinkets, some of which dotted the foot of the bed. And carefully set across the top of the wide, six-drawered dresser placed sideways between the two sets of beds was a strange, dark blue set of armor with white furry trim. There were a few blueprints of the Vault stuck above the head of the bed and, next to those, a map that was clearly a work-in-progress stuck to the wall, each adorning many crudely-drawn creatures drawn on in either ink or charcoal - one in particular looked like an angry raisin with a top hat and four legs. 

Only for the briefest of seconds did Naoya think the space on the right with the crudely drawn raisin monster belong to the thirteen year old. 

“This one’s mine,” Sokka announced proudly, throwing himself onto the bigger mattress. “You can move the stuff on that bottom bunk, under Dipper’s.” 

“So you’re the only one with a big bed?” Naoya asked. 

“Hey,” Sokka started, matter-of-factly, “I had to drag up the frame pieces and mattress from the lower level by myself. I earned this bed.” 

“You’re so strong,” Naoya said, limping to inspect the bunk that had been “assigned” to him. The blankets were blue-gray, military grade probably; they were too scratchy to be hospital grade. There wasn’t a pillow, and Naoya wondered if he would be better not knowing what kind of condition he’d find one in. “To move a whole mattress, and by yourself…” 

When Dipper snickered, Sokka rolled onto his side to face the two of them. “You know, you could be nicer, considering that I - oh, I don’t know - saved your life?” 

Naoya paused before sitting softly on his new bed. “You’re right,” he tucked some of his hazel bangs behind his ear. “Thank you. For not letting me be eaten by horrible monsters.” 

“You’re welcome,” Sokka smugly replied. 

“So,“ Naoya took in a breath, lightly drumming his fingers on his knees, "Where are you guys from? Not here, obviously.” 

“My family’s from this place called California, but I was staying with some family in Oregon,” Dipper idly scratched the back of his head. 

“So you’re American,” Naoya sounded, pulling his legs up and laying down on the bunk. It creaked under him, and he tried not to think about the musty smell that had built up on the mattress. At least the blanket was clean… maybe. 

“Yeah. What about you?” 

“Tokyo.” 

“Japan?” 

“Unless there’s two of them where you come from…?” 

“No,” Dipper shook his head. 

Naoya lightly laughed. "Don’t think it explains anything more than that. If you asked anyone who knew me, they’d tell you I’m the least Japanese person they know,” his words very prideful yet tinged with traces of bitterness. 

“So you guys are from the same place, then,” Sokka broke into the conversation. Now sitting up, he had his arms cross over his chest and rubbed his chin - clearly thinking.  "Like Wash and Ren. The same world, just different times. Which fits in with what we think is going on here.” 

“Oh?” Naoya curiously perked. 

“Mirror worlds,” Sokka said, eyes widening with the utmost seriousness. 

“Mirror… worlds?” Naoya blinked. 

“Parallel universes,” Dipper further explained. 

Naoya giggled dismissively, smoothly lounging back. “Parallel universes? That’s nerd stuff.” 

“Laugh all you want, pretty boy, but this whole place is full of ‘nerds’. Right, Dipper?” Sokka looked up to where Dipper sat in his bunk. 

“No way, I’m not calling Wash or Ren nerds,” Dipper said with a small, nervous wave of his hands as he leaned back, curly chestnut hair bouncing as he quickly shook his head. "Me? Sure. Them? Not so much.” 

“You could at least back me up!” Sokka huffed. 

Naoya pointed to the bunk above him. “I don’t think Dippy’s a chump, he doesn’t have a death wish like you do, Sokko.” 

“Sokka, with an ‘uh’ sound,” Sokka once again corrected the newbie, with extra emphasis. “Is it common where you’re from to do that?” 

 Naoya oh-so-innocently feigned thought. “I dunno, I’m usually pretty good with people. I think you’re just special, Sokky.” To which Sokka merely grumbled and only caused Naoya’s smile to return in full force. “Is it common where you’re from to do that?” 

“As a matter of fact no, it’s not common to be super annoying where I’m from,” Sokka announced, placing a hand purposefully on his chest. He quickly sat up, putting his elbows to his knees and looking thoughtful. “You guys have like hundreds of countries, but where I’m from, there’s only three,” he began. “Well, four. Five?“ He shook his head in a fast manner, trying to shrug off the details. "The whole world’s at war, so it’s kind of iffy. Point is that there’s not a lot of countries. I come from the South Pole. I’m a member of the Water Tribe, and I used to travel the world with my sister, Katara, and our friend, Aang - he was this important guy called the Avatar.” 

“Avatar, like a person who contains another person?” When Sokka gave him an incredulous how-could-you-know-that-look, Naoya shrugged. “Look, Naoya is not good with book stuff. But that doesn’t mean he’s never seen a dictionary.” It was a simple, mostly true answer. Naoya had heard of powerful Darklore using humans as avatars, but had only ever met one himself and he had no desire to do it again. 

“When he first told me, I thought of video games,” Dipper threw in. 

“Oh, that’s a good one, too-” 

“You read dictionaries, not 'seen’ them,” Sokka pointed out. 

The tired-looking teen on the bottom bunk only pointed a finger-gun at him and nodded. “Not good with book stuff,” he repeated proudly. 

Sokka rolled his eyes. “Anyways, I woke up here about six months ago. It isn’t the place I imagined I would spend my sixteenth birthday, but…” His voice faded, and he gave a stiff, tired and forced shrug. 

"I know the feeling,” Dipper sighed, “I came here on my birthday. And that was a month ago.” Dipper pulled the blue rim of his cap down over his face. 

Naoya’s brows pressed down in thought - his thirteenth birthday had been spent hiding in a dumpster from some agitated eastern mages who were way too eager to skewer an EGO child for wandering into an Arayashiki zone; and he had spent his own sweet sixteen with a bottle of vodka, three packs of cigarettes, a pair of jeans that were ruined with clawed holes and bloodstains, and no one home in his family’s empty apartment - like many other birthdays, it wasn’t worth celebrating or remembering what he did that night. It never was. 

“That sucks,” Naoya sincerely offered after a brief silence, with a blink he chased the mental images of his own birthday ‘parties’ from the forefront of his attention. “But, hey, maybe next year both you guys will be home for your birthdays.” 

After one week, Naoya had almost blended right into their little collective. He had his duties to perform like everyone else, and he only occasionally shirked them. It seemed that, after enough time had passed, the concern over his initial arrival had passed. Almost.

Sokka had been sitting on Wash’s stern warning of “we’ll talk about this later” for the entire week and nothing had come of it yet. Instead, she had barely spoken to him outside of telling him and Dipper to show Naoya how things in the Vault were done… and that one time she had laughed because he’d tricked Naoya into eating a handful of bee larvae. (The larvae, while a viable but unsavory food source, was slowly becoming a rite of passage in the Vault - plus Naoya’s face was hilarious! Though it was less hilarious when the “pretty boy” freaked out and spat it out all over Sokka’s boots.) He didn’t understand why she was ignoring him - unless she was still upset about before. He was getting sick of his stomach sitting in knots. 

Sokka had been ready to cave in and go to her directly when, during dinner the night before, she had reminded him that they were due for another hunting run. 

And that was the story of how he was, once again, up before the sun and sleepily stumbling around in the room, hopping on one foot while trying to get dressed in the dim light of the small lantern. He had no exact idea how the lanterns worked, other than cranking equaled momentum that powered the itty bitty blue light, but he wasn’t going to smash one to find out. That was Ren’s job. 

He was all set to go meet Wash by the Vault entrance when he turned and noticed a pair of amber eyes watching from the bottom bunk. “… How long have you been watching?!” he demanded in a hushed tone. 

Naoya’s mouth pulled into a tiny pout and he shrugged one shoulder. “Was it a secret?” he whispered back. 

“It’s kinda weird!” 

Naoya’s eyelashes fluttered as if he had never considered it. “Oh, sorry,” he tiredly responded. “But, to be fair, the room’s kinda small and you’re jumping around.” When he smiled, the puffy bags under his eyes became noticeable in the faint light - he hadn’t slept again, Sokka noted. 

“Ugh, just- just go to sleep,” Sokka quietly growled as he left the room. 

“Be careful out there, Sokky,” Naoya softly called after him, Sokka successfully stopping himself from indignantly muttering about the older boy as he continued down the hallway. 

Wash was right where Sokka knew he’d find her - by the front door. She was kneeling on one knee while she inspected a pack of what they’d need for the day’s trip, an assault rifle strapped to her back. Gun were strange, but not entirely foreign to him. Wash was the only one who knew how to use them with any skill. With what few there were left in the Vault, she only used them in emergency situations: monsters, balverines, etc. And so she usually took one and a few “clips” with her when they went out far enough from the Vault, just in case. Ren studied them and could make cruder ones - though he specialized in explosives and heavy artillery like cannons and “bazookas” (he let Sokka shoot one once or twice, which Sokka knew he would always think of as one of the coolest things he’d ever done in his life) - Ren could make handheld guns that shot multiple times but the man couldn’t make the rapid-fire, sleek guns Wash was familiar with. He didn’t “have the proper tools”, was the point he had stressed. 

He stood back and waited for her to finish, but minutes turned into a dragging forever. “Sooo,” he started, then stopped, not knowing where to go with it at first. “So, what are we going after today?” No response. “You said something about nickel, so we’re hunting some of those Ovo-thingies today, right? The ones with the horns and the bright feathers?” Finally, he asked: “Are you still mad?” 

“You shouldn’t have been that far out by yourself,” Wash said, not turning around to look at him. She then expertly pulled her hair back into a ponytail. “You said you were going to the stream to fish. Instead, you went all the way out to the snare traps.” 

His mind raced for a moment, he thought that she was still mad about Sabrina and instead he found himself confronted about saving Naoya. “I was trying to- I just wanted to make up for-” Sokka couldn’t find his words. Instead he inhaled deeply before letting it out in a defeated breath, shrinking away from her as he glanced away. “Forget it. I’m sorry.” 

“I will not forget it and you should not tell me to,” Wash lowly asserted, she didn’t even look at him while she finished tying her boot. “I know what you were trying to do. You’re still a long way from not being a kid, and there’s not a lot of room for mistakes in this place - I think you’ve learned that the hard way. Don’t try to make up for one error by purposely making another.” Her well-cut features strained as she clenched her jaw, swallowing. “Something could’ve happened. Don’t do it again. When you say you’re going someplace, I expect you to actually go to that place.” Sokka picked up his head and looked her way. “Or else I’m revoking your rights to go OTG,” she finished, her tone taking on a more official tone. 

He cocked one brow. OTG was Wash-talk for “Outside the Gate”, going outside of the Vault - though he suspected she had used it long before the Vault became her “home”. “Are you saying you’re going to ground me?” he cracked a small, awkwardly relieved smile. 

She pointedly pointed a finger at him, her fine black brows arched high on her forehead. “No, I’m saying I’ll revoke your OTG privileges. Do you understand me, soldier?” When his smile only spread, Lt. Washington repeated: “I said: do you understand me, soldier?” 

“Yes, ma'am!” 

“Good.” She nodded once at him before she stood up. “Now, did you bring the nickel wires?” 

 

The Ovos, or Ovosaurs as Wash had called them, were strange, hip-height creatures that reminded Sokka of ostrich horses. They had two legs, small arms coated in blue and yellow feathers, and a small head covered in weird spikes - their tails were long and lizard-like and tipped by long, poofy feathers. Wash said they came from where she did, Terra Nova, and liked to chew on nickel metals. They liked light brush and trees, and were easy to trick into the snare traps with some nickel wires they ripped out of a strange machine for bait. Sokka hadn’t been able to piece together much more about the day than that, and the morning being still young - his mind was still in a slight fog. 

After he yawned for the twentieth time, Wash asked: “What, didn’t you sleep last night?” 

“Dipper somehow got a flashlight again,” Sokka mumbled, rubbing his eyes. “He was up most of the night reading. You know how he gets… the whole talking to himself about the book thing.” 

“Again,” Wash breathed, somewhat frustrated. 

“Yeah, but I think he was asleep by the time I left. I mean, Naoya was up too, but I think he’s having a hard time adjusting. Normally he just lays there. Though, he always looks sorta tired. Sometimes I see him shaking. He might be getting sick.” He stuck out his tongue, somewhat grossed out. 

Wash only sighed. She’d noticed Naoya getting jittery from getting cut off from his smokes… or smoke, he only had one left. He was going to get the shakes eventually, she had just ushered it along one cigarette quicker. Wash had noticed the shaking alright - even if his expression was neutral, it was hard to ignore the exhausted agony in those weird eyes of his. Naoya was jonesing, but she knew he wouldn’t stir up too much trouble - after all, she had tossed the last cigarette into the fire. Box and all, right in front of him. Hard to jones for something that wasn’t there. 

“Something wrong?” 

Closing her eyes, she breathed in. “I don’t think we could handle someone getting sick right now,” she absently said. 

“He’s gotta sleep eventually, right? It’s not like he just doesn’t sleep. I’ve seen him sleep once or twice.”

Wash lightly snorted. “So,” she said after a moment, “Do you watch him sleep and not-sleep, or do you have a list of other weird things about the new kid?” 

“I have a list,” Sokka proudly stated, puffing out his chest a little. 

“Well, you did bring him back; good to see you taking responsibility. Just don’t let him catch you watching him not-sleep. Might think you have it out for him.” She ducked under a few branches. 

“He’s this thin-” Sokka held up his pinkie for emphasis as he also ducked “-and talks all girly. What’s he going to do, tickle me?” 

Wash paused and threw a glance over her shoulder at him. “Something tells me you wouldn’t mind it,” her eyes narrowed as she smirked, shaking her head before continuing on. 

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Sokka’s voice defensively cracked from behind her. “I would so!”

The corner of the Lieutenant’s mouth pulled up into a slant. “The whole forest can hear you, Sokka.” 

“I would so mind it!” Sokka repeated, quieter but no less defensive. 

“I don’t know, you two were laughing pretty hard about something the other night.” 

“We were having a pun battle, thank you. Naoya made a steak pun, he said it was a rare medium well done! I’m not you, I have weaknesses - I can’t not laugh at meat-based comedy!” 

“Oh great, there’s two of you now,” Wash lightly griped, again shaking her head. 

Before Sokka could comment, the loud sound of thunder echoed through the forest, followed by a piercing scream. He jumped, his shoulders going tense as he automatically reached for the hilt of his sword. He had it half-drawn when Wash held out her hand, fingers spread, before clenching it into a fist. Quiet. They stayed still and listened for a few minutes, and when no other sounds accompanied it - she let her hand fall. 

“Perimeter traps,” the Lieutenant said quietly. 

Mentally, Sokka thought about where those were in relation to where they were, and where they were going - which wasn’t nearby, but it wasn’t far either. “Do we… go check it out?” 

Wash nodded. "There's someone else out there."

Chapter Text

One week. One entire, miserable week that Naoya had been gone, though it seemed like much longer. Time had stood still for the remainder of their group, and the large questions facing them had remained unanswered in the aftermath of the teen's disappearance. But time was nothing if not an urgent and unrelentless guide: they could not stay here forever. They could not do nothing.

"We can't leave him," Remus had said low, hushed tones that barely made it over the candle set in the center of the table between him and the mage.

"I'm not suggesting we leave him," Anders would hiss back. Without Naoya, he and Remus had been arguing a lot more than was good for them. The uncertainty facing them, the long hours of endless searching-it was taking a toll, and the loss of one of their own penetrated deeper into their hearts than any tortures of Lord Reaver. "You know as well as I do, though, that he could be farther out than the half-day's walk."

Like a barrier, their exhaustive search for the boy had been limited to a half-day's march. Half a day out, half a day back. They couldn't leave Mabel alone in these treacherous woods, but they couldn't ask her to risk her safety in wilds again when they weren't truly certain if they could protect her. They were both able, and powerful in their own right. But these woods were unlike anything either of them had ever known before, and the risks were uncertain—and so uncertainty stayed their hands. More than that, food and shelter were had to come by. The bags of dried rice were tasteless, but they were sufficient calories for the time being. But even that would run out, someday. For the time being, they were tied to their stolen resources in an umbilical sort of way: they would die if they left. They were trapped here, as much as they were saved. And so the dialogue continued endlessly.

"We could assume it was the Firestarters who took him."

"He would likely have come back by now. A week, and still no sign of him?"

"Not if he were their captive. Or if he's been harmed..."

Such conversations had become the norm in hushed tones and in sideways glances. It was all rather suffocating, and in the silence of the night Remus and Anders had come to a grim, ultimate conclusion: if they did not find any sign of Naoya after today, they had only one choice left to them. Whoever it was that took Naoya, the fact remained that the Firestarters were their only long-term hope out here in the wilderness. And whether they had a safe place to call home here, the fact remained that this place was not their home. Tomorrow morning would be their last search, and if they were not successful then there was only one last thing to do to ensure they got out of this. The magi had already decided which part of the forest to burn.

Dinner was relatively silent, if such a gathering could be called 'dinner' when it felt so compressing to the heart. Neither Remus nor Anders spoke much. Their muddied shoes lay discarded by the door and Anders' staff lay tossed across the entry rug caked with earth from another long day's search. There was a fire going under the mantle in the living area, and the smell of smoke was faintly comforting even as the dust from soot had already left a visible tint on the stained glass windows. The moonlight coming in from behind them was slightly obscured, drawing Anders' attention for some moments as he marveled at how quickly it built up. But there was a pervading silence as he and Remus sat uncomfortably on the couch, Mabel having long retreated to the bath to untangle the twigs from her hair. They had another moment to breathe when nights came, another moment to think too much about their lack of progress. But that did not mean they were at ease.

"You look stressed," Anders noted quietly. "Moreso than usual," he added with a small smile. "Something specific on your mind?"

Remus looked at him, and then back to his lap. His Adam's apple gave a tremor as he pushed something tacky down his throat. "I find myself thinking about what happens if... if we don't find Naoya. Specifically, what happens to him. I keep repeating the events over and over in my mind, wondering."

There was a short pause, in which Anders thought he could hear wind howling outside. The fire gave a small tremor. Remus looked exhausted in the flickering light.

"Anders," he said, "we need to find him."

"We will," Anders assured. "We waited here as long as we could, and if nothing comes of it tomorrow, the Firestarters could help us. They know this area better than we do. But I'm not telling you anything you don't already know. There's something more, isn't there?"

Remus put his face in his hands before sending them up and through his hair with a weighty sigh. His jaw clicked as he sent his tongue across his teeth searching for words. "Yes. We can not be sure what kind of contamination his wound will show. It may be nothing, like he says, but I can not take that risk. We cannot take that risk."

Anders nodded. "You still worry he's been infected."

"Undoubtedly he has been, to some degree. His scar will never heal completely for that reason, but he insists that it was not a bite. Whether that's true is unimportant—the damage is done. He hadn't shown any signs of illness before he disappeared. It was so many years ago, but when I was bitten I was sick for the entire month before my first transformation. I was so small, though..."

Anders leaned forward, making a motion to reach out but thinking better of it. "How old were you?"

"Four."

Anders must have gone pale, because Remus shrugged. "As I said, it was many years ago. I barely remember it now."

"I can't imagine that," Anders said, shaking his head. "I can't imagine going through that. How a parent must feel after an accident-"

"It was no accident," Remus replied, but he put his hand up when Anders' brows dipped sharply with anger. "It was not their fault. My parents did everything they could for me, but there is no cure. They gave me the best childhood that they could under the circumstances. It wasn't their fault."

"Then who?" Anders asked, his tone incredulous.

"Someone my father had offended," Remus shrugged again. Anders wanted to shake him. "I found out much later that he had forced open the window while I was asleep. It isn't much of a story. In any case, we have to find Naoya before the end of the month.  Even if we go to the Firestarters and they are not what we fear, we cannot stop looking. You understand?"

Anders nodded, though the truth of the matter was that he did not. The gravity of the situation was dire, and that was something he could understand. But what it must feel like to carry such a weight—that was something lost on him, though part of him wished that was not so. It wasn't as if magic was an infection, though he was considered disgusting for it nonetheless. And his link with Justice was a choice, to save his friend. Anders could understand the need for support, however, and he would try to understand this even if he never could. He owed his friend that much.

"Would you mind if I asked you something?" he asked slowly after some time. He felt himself stepping on pressure plates in his mind, and decided to tread carefully.

"Of course," Remus replied, his cheek pressed into his knuckles as he rested against the couch arm and watched the embers. "What is it?"

"I... well, I hope you'll forgive me for asking, but I was wondering about your", he hesitated, "...illness. We haven't spoken about it since that morning; there hasn't exactly been a chance. But since it was mentioned, I thought..."

Remus' eyes settled in his lap and his shoulders set in a serious slump against the back of the chair. He folded his hands together, stiffening visibly.. "Go on," he said, looking at Anders once again.

Anders hesitated. He felt probing at the least, and rudely insensitive at worst. But Remus was so different from everything he had ever known about werewolves. He had never seen one himself, though back in his Warden days Anders had had a revealing discussion with the Warden-Commander about her harrowing experience with an entire pack. Much like he had just now, he had begun the conversation with several cautious questions. The long period of silence was to be expected then, as it was now.

They were men, she told him. Mere people, lost—and it was best to remember that.

Since escaping Reaver's mansion, Anders had been replaying the conversation over and over again in his mind. But until now, he hadn't had the chance to truly study it mentally. And Remus had been more than content to let the topic go undiscussed, for obvious reasons. But Anders thought something more was needed when the thoughts did not cease; some kind of closure was necessary to truly put everything behind them. This was going to be a recurring event in their lives now, just as it was for Remus. He hoped the privacy and the state of their friendship would be enough to at least discuss something small. But Anders wondered nonetheless: though it was natural to be curious, where was the line?

Mentally, Anders pulled up archive after archive—everything he had ever heard or studied about lycanthropes. In Thedas, werewolves are the product of demonic possession. A rage demon possessing a wolf, causing a monstrous evolution that turned the animal into a wretched creature which then infected others with an unnatural, savage curse. They were not bound by the phases of the moon, but doomed constantly to their wolf-like state. They did not even resemble Remus: they were more humanoid, and could sometimes use weapons. But they existed in a constant state of suffering, and their ferocity was beyond feral. Those few who retained any shred of humanity lived in constant warfare within themselves.

This was not who Remus was.

Anders told himself it was purely for medical reasons that he was pushed to inquire for more, but eventually he was forced to admit to himself that there was something personal in it as well. Not pure curiosity, but a need for... something. Something deeper, tugging at him in the uncertainty that was his core. Empathy, perhaps? Sympathy? Remus was his friend. A damn good friend at that, which was surprising after just a few weeks of even knowing one another. And in that time Anders had thought little of the scars on Remus' face and arms, but now their source was self-evident. Remus had refused any healing Anders offered, and though he was much better now than he had been just days ago Anders could still see hints of that exhaustion and pain in Remus' movements and in his eyes. Regardless of how much he had healed since the last full moon, another one would always follow. It was a fact of life now, and Anders wasn't exactly a sucker for suffering.

"Stop me if it becomes too much," he began. "But I feel like, as a doctor, I should—no," he stopped. "As both a doctor and your friend, I want to know more. I want to help, if I can. Or, at least to understand. That's all," he finished, as though that would alleviate half the tension they both felt.

"There isn't much to understand, really," Remus replied with an offhanded shrug. "It is something that I've dealt with my entire life, and the responsibility is mine."

"I wouldn't assume differently," Anders said, and he wondered if perhaps that sounded colder than it was meant. He cleared his throat to pause and search for more fitting words. "What I mean to say is, you do have that responsibility, but this situation we find ourselves in—it changed the rules. For better or worse, we three appear stuck together for some purpose and this affects what we do from now on. I don't want to talk about this because I am afraid—I don't know your illness, Remus, but I know you, and I believe that-"

Anders made a frustrated noise deep in his throat, and he broke eye contact with a burning in his ears. Remus made no outward show of discomfort, waiting patiently for Anders to find his words again.

"Alright, look: I may not have worked on a werewolf before," the mage said finally, "but you needn't suffer if there is something to be done. My magic may be different than yours. It may help. Where I come from, there are werewolves. But they are much different than you. It is still a sickness, but it comes from the Fade—the realm Justice is from, you recall? There is nothing of the Fade in you. Whatever your affliction is, it's not spiritual or demonic. There may be things we could try that might help. And I want to help."

The silence that followed was awkward and drawn out. Anders wanted to cringe, to do something other than sit motionless. But he could tell through posture that Remus was considering his words. He needed to be patient.

"You remind me a lot of my friends," Remus said finally.

 “I remind you of your friends?”

“Sometimes,” Remus nodded. His eyes became glossy as he thought back many years. “They used to get into all kinds of trouble, and I went right along with it.”

“You?” Anders' lips curled into a smile. “I didn’t take you for the mischievous type.”

“Oh, yes. Not so much anymore, or at least not for a long, long time. But I was a major part of the antics of my youth. We did so much after hours exploration of our school that we created an enchanted map to suit our purposes. Though they were cleverer than I was, sometimes… They figured out what I was on their own. 12 year old boys, no less. Perhaps I was not the tactful liar I thought I was.”

“What happened?”

“It was our second year. In the short time I knew them, I had already been through five dead grandparents, four funerals extended family, one mother in St. Mungos-all for reasons too, ah, 'personal' to describe to non-family... I was not normally supposed to be at the school, you see. I had grown up knowing I would never attend. A werewolf, with other children? Unsupervised, let loose? Despite the fact that I would only be transformed one night a month, the thought was understandably chilling to parents. But the Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, made arrangements for me to attend. He said that as long as certain precautions were taken, there was no reason for me not to study magic like a normal child."

There was another short pause while Remus pondered how to continue. "My secret could never be revealed, because it would endanger not only the future of my education but potentially myself. When, for the first time in my life, I had three great friends, they were naturally very concerned when I came back looking as I do after full moon. It was a struggle to find a reason for my disappearances each month. Eventually, they cornered me. They told me that they knew what I was, and that they didn't care. Before them, I had nothing. I had no one. My family was constantly on the move in order to keep my secret, and I grew up isolated and very lonely. They were the first friends I ever had. They were…”

There was an extended silence, though when it was over Remus was no closer to an answer. How could he describe Peter and James, and Lily; describe everything they were?

“Where are they now?”

Remus expected the question, but his chest tightened nonetheless. Four years later, the would was still too deep. Memories of what he did to survive and sometimes just to forget were rising to the surface with their faces. “They… died.”

Anders said nothing. He didn’t need any further explanation. “I haven’t had many friends, myself,” he said. “Growing up in the Circle, you had to be careful who you trusted. You grew up expecting that people would vanish in the night and hope you weren’t next. I met someone there who became very important to me. The Templars took him from me, and I… Well, let’s just say that by the time I found him, he couldn’t be saved.”

"What was his name?”

“Karl,” Anders replied. The word still tingled like cinnamon on his lips.

“I am sorry,” Remus said.

“I'm sorry for your losses, too,” Anders nodded. “But the past is the past, no? We are here now, and I think we'll make the most of it.”

"Indeed," Remus replied with a pleasant, crooked smile. But it faded in a brief moment. "You are very kind to worry about this, Anders, but you don't need to."

"No, I don't. You're more than experienced, and you are more than capable. But you don't have to do it alone. Even if I do nothing for you, I would like to at least try to understand. It is something we will be dealing with as a group when the occasion calls for it."

"What is there to understand? Once per month I become a monster, and then I recover. As long as I have a place to do all of that when the time comes, there is nothing else to worry about."

"Is that why you weren't sleeping well before, when I found you outside that morning after the balverine attack?"

Remus nodded. "Naturally, with disease, there are symptoms that come and go. It would be self-evident to say that during the new moon phase, I feel at my best. Afterwards, the symptoms begin to re-manifest."

"Like what?"

Remus shifted in his seat and gave Anders a strange look as if to say, 'I see you directing the conversation, but I'll bite.' He tucked his left leg over his right knee, holding onto his shin with both hands while his jaw moved side to side with contemplation. "Like nausea, for one. A lot of nausea, before and after transforming. It is brutal on the body, and that's to be expected. But there are subtle things that can manifest sometimes and not others. There are occasions where I can almost predict how 'bad' this next full moon will be depending on the things I notice happening."

Anders sat waiting expectantly, and Remus sighed. Were it anyone else...

"Sensitivity to sounds or smells sometimes," he finally finished, hoping that was enough. He was in no mood to explain every individual nuance of lycanthropy. "The taste for raw meats never goes away. There are always certain 'wolfish' characteristics that are permanent, no matter the phase of the moon. There are many symptoms. Is it so important for you to know?"

Anders sat straight up, his ears flaming red. He felt the warmth spreading to his face and he pushed a breath through his nose to force the anxiety down into his stomach instead. "No," he said. "I suppose that's rude of me. I apologize."

Remus sighed. "No, it—it's alright, Anders. I just don't much care to talk about it. My kind are not regarded well, as I have said."

"Your kind?" Anders frowned. "You make it sound like you're not human."

"Not technically," Remus responded bitterly. "The Ministry can't even decide if we're Beasts or Beings."

Anders leaned forward once again, looking gravely serious. "Remus, you're still a human. You're still a person. You are one of the best I have ever known, in fact. Based on what you have just told me, this is just something that happens to you. It isn't something that defines you."

"There you go, just like them," Remus said, a half-smile twisting his lips. "They used to call it my furry little problem," he added with a laugh.

"That must have been quite the conversation starter."

"Many people were purposely given the impression that I owned a very grumpy cat," Remus replied. "Or a very misbehaved rabbit."

"That's unfortunate. Cats are gifts. I would leave milk out for them every night if I had the opportunity." But Anders felt his grin fall flat. "I'm sorry," he said. "Both for the fact that you must go through this, and for my prying. I suppose I am just curious, and it is not my place to be so involved in another's business."

Remus waved him away. "My friends were the same way for a while after confirming their theory. It does feel like being placed under a lens from time to time, but.... you're my friend, Anders. I expect you to want to know these things about me, and I don't want you to feel like you can't ask, because you're right: it does affect you now. And there are times when I can't always heal myself as well as I would like. It would be nice not to feel like I was attacked by a-well, a werewolf, every month. I admit that I find myself rather curious about your healing spells. You'll know more about it as needed, but please: let me come to you. I will."

Remus offered a light, pleasant smile when he finished speaking that Anders hesitated to return. "I want you to know that I don't care about this," he said. "About what you are. I don't think for a second that Naoya does, either. You mentioned that people in your homeworld regard you with suspicion and hate-and I want you to know that I will not, and do not. I don't think less of you, and that I'm not afraid to try and do what I can. This doesn't come from a place of pity, but a place of warmth: from a friend, to a friend."

Remus blinked, glancing down at his shoes. "You-," he started to say, but the words were lost in a small, choked laugh of contentment. Emotions danced across the wizard's face in flashes of lightning, and his gaze was full when he looked up. "I know. Thank you," he said. "That means more than you know."

By the next morning, the mood had changed considerably.

"Okay, okay," Mabel panted, descending the spiral staircase to the upper floor in a mess as she tugged her sweater over her head. "I'm ready!"

She ran her fingers through her still-damp hair one more time to fluff it before coming to rest at the door, bouncing on her heels. She had yet to complain about the many miles they had walked each day in search for any sign of Naoya. Her optimism was almost contagious. Almost.

"Wouldn't you rather bathe after we come home?" Remus asked, himself preparing mentally for the dirt and grit that would pepper their clothes by the end of the day. His clothing from Alastor had already begun to resemble the patched and dingy ones that had been lost in the dungeons with the amount of work they had put into the search, and Remus had already repaired three separate tears from the thorns in just the last day.

"I can do it again later," Mabel said, readjusting her headband to fit more snugly behind her ears. "You magic guys can heat the water up so fast—and besides, it helps wake me up a little, y'know?"

Anders nodded, thinking back to the community tubs in the Circle. It was easiest to bathe in the middle of the night or in the early morning when nobody was around. It was the closest thing he could get to privacy in his vulnerable moments, though he could play someone stumbling in as a pleasant, flirtatious surprise to make them uncomfortable enough to leave him be, even while he grumbled about it later. At least that was one of the nice things about this windmill: it was obviously made for a couple, and the wooden bath upstairs was tucked away in the bedroom behind a divider. When each of them stayed downstairs to allow for privacy, you bathed privately--very much alone. There were small things here and there for a man and a woman, which Anders knew a teen girl would find indispensably useful. And the men did as well: there was even a rudimentary shaving kit, and Anders patted his bare chin absentmindedly at the thought.

"You're all set to go, then?" he asked. "Have you got your pack?"

"Oh!" Mabel turned, her hair flinging behind her as she glanced this way and that. Hung up by the door, a tiny pink and purple satchel the mage and wizard had worked together to create from a section of curtains was strung up by a single strap. On tip-toe, Mabel reached for it and slid it over a shoulder, smiling broadly. "Ready! Let's go, I have a good feeling about today!"

She rushed outside, oblivious to the silence exchanged by the other two in her absence. She had said that every day they had searched so far. How they wished for a psychic to validate her prediction.

Stepping out into the morning sun, Remus blinked. He squinted through the haze, taking in the sight of the forest once again. It was beginning to feel all too familiar, almost like—home. It was not something he wanted to think about—the idea that this world might become his permanent residence. But at least the weather was warmer here than in snowy London. They had no idea what the date was here to gauge exact seasons, though the plaid coat Remus had been so pleased to keep after the encounter with Reaver now lay abandoned across the back of the couch. Though if he had to guess, in his own timeline today's date would be...

"Ah," Remus said aloud, and the others turned to him. "S'nothing," he shrugged, mildly embarrassed. "I just realized my birthday has come and gone. Last week. So much has been going on that I didn't realize. Not that it means anything, mind you, but I was trying to think of the date, and I was reminded."

"Not important?" Mabel gawked. "You only get one every year! How could it not be important?"

"I agree," Anders said thoughtfully. "I haven't celebrated my own birthday in so many years—but I still like to treat myself, if I can," he added, catching the look from Mabel that only made him laugh. "It was summer when I fell through to this world, though. And by the relaxed temperature, I'd say summer has yet to come here. By chance, how old did you turn?"

"Twenty five," Remus replied. It felt so odd that basic information like that was still obscured after everything they've been through together. It felt like he had been in this world for months, not weeks. "How old are you?"

"Twenty-eight, and still single," Anders added with a light sigh.

"You came to the wrong place to meet someone," Remus responded and Mabel let out a loud, "HA!"

"So the wizard can tell jokes," Anders smirked, his pride hardly wounded.

And so their search began, their lighthearted banter doing its best to keep the unpleasant what-if's from the very forefront of thought. Their plant trails began to form once more upon contact with the earth and they made no attempt to hide them, using them as both a marker and a beacon; a living trail of bread crumbs. The lack of clover was a permanent fixture, however, and the long hours spent debating the merit of searching at all in their absence was drowned in the idea that doing something at all was better than nothing.

There was only one place they hadn't searched, one direction they hadn't gone in for the sake of the youngest of them: the abandoned town. Or, what they had taken to calling a town. With exploration the ruins had grown in size from the one building full of bones to a number of small houses, and then to several streets. It was a larger settlement than could be seen from within the mass of trees. A maze of decaying civilization, the town was as much a trap for whoever took Naoya as they were to the three of them, and they would need to tread carefully. If they still came up short, if they still found no sign of Naoya, then they would need to forcibly capture the attention of the Firestarters. Anders prayed to the Maker that it was they who had taken Naoya, perhaps thinking him a wandering child in the woods. He did not wish to risk their wrath without cause.

The house full of bones was not far, though they avoided it to keep Mabel from having to see the destruction inside. It would be too soon that the balverines began to grace her nightmares, as well. Through quick slashes of staff and wand, they cut their way through the overgrowth, without caution, to speed their journey. They traveled in near silence, focused on the road ahead. Over the perpetual birdsong, Mabel hummed an upbeat song neither of them knew. Her steps were strong with purpose as she followed along. The farther in they went, the more the trees were replaced by what had once been a bustling area. Like square blotches in a painting of green, the houses gathered closer and closer together. They were nearing the center of the town.

"Do you guys know any songs?" Mabel said after a while. "You're so quiet."

Remus thought it over for a moment. Did he know any songs? Of course he did, but they were-well, they were before her time. And he didn't have the voice for it. "Most of the music I listened to came from the seventies or earlier. Pink Floyd, The Beatles... Madonna is very popular right now, I hear her on the radio often."

"Pffff," Mabel laughed. "Madonna is so old fashioned! She's like a billion years old!"

"Not in 1985 she's not," Remus said, and Mabel's giggling slowed.

"Oh, yeah," she said. "What else?"

Remus stepped over a small rock wall and onto what was undoubtedly the remains of a stone street. He glanced to either side, indicating his right. There were more houses there, more cover for someone to hide. He looked to Anders.

"I can't sense anyone," he said. "Not yet."

"Well," Remus went on, heading to the right, "I have always been fond of quite a number of artists. I left my father with an old set of vinyls that I hope to see again someday. I've had many of them since I was small, simply because they used to belong to my mother. I was frequently bedridden as a child, and my mother had such a wide variety of music... We would listen to records for hours."

"You got sick when you were just a kid?" Mabel asked.

"Yes," he said. "I still deal with it today, but that's just part of life now." Mabel made a noise like a cross between sympathy and curiosity,  but Remus largely ignored it. "What about you, Anders? Do you know any songs?"

"Oh, yes," Anders smiled. "I was told on several occasions that I had quite a voice for it, but I never thought so. But when you're raised in the Circle like I was, you find plenty to occupy your time. Never mock the Chantry in tune, though: I had to write the Chant of Light on four rolls of parchment when I was caught mocking the words aloud," he chuckled.

Mabel's eyes lit up. "Sing! Sing a song!"

Remus saw Anders' cheeks turn a darker shade of pink. "I couldn't," he said with a sheepish smile. "I haven't sung in so many years."

"Aw!" Mabel pleaded, and Anders immediately began to pout. He thought kittens had begging eyes before, but this? He sighed, smiling.

"Alright, but-don't tell anyone, right? Especially me, if it's bad." He cleared his throat:

"You know Andraste's old mabari.
He don't show up in the chant.
And if you ask those holy sisters,
Well, they'll say Andraste can't
Have had some big old smelly wardog.
But all Ferelden knows it right:
Our sweet Lady needed someone
Who would warm her feet at night."

Anders stopped there. The rest of the song was far too gruesome for ears so young. But he blushed some more as Mabel clapped and cheered.

"That was wonderful!" Mabel said. "And you do have a beautiful voice." From her satchel she pulled out a collection of colorful images on a long strip of white paper, and slapped one on the back of Anders' hand. It stuck with some kind of adhesive, and as Anders twisted his arm to view it properly, he laughed.

"Good job," he said, reading the words below the cartoon rainbow aloud. "Well, thank you, Mabel."

"Welcome!" she nodded, completely satisfied, and half bounced her way forward. "Ooh, hey--why don't we ask that guy over there if he's seen anyone?"

Both of the magi stopped. Their shoulders stiffened and both men turned, following Mabel's pointing fingers to spot a man at the end of the road, sitting at a stand eerily reminiscent of a child's lemonade stand. He wore a white mask shaped like a fat, smiling toad. Two small, pink circles marked the corners of an upturned smile. He sat with his fingers woven together expectantly, staring at them from within an overly large, cream-colored sweater with a red heart stitched in the center of the chest.

Mabel looked between the two men, her small voice wavering. "What? Didn't you—didn't you see him?"

"...No," they admitted. They had been watching the road as they walked. The man hadn't been there before. It was impossible.

"Well he's the first person we've seen in days," Mabel went on. "And he looks like he's selling stuff. Haven't you guys ever played a video game? Maybe he's here to sell us stuff before a boss fight! Or maybe he's got something to eat." Gravel kicked up behind her as she half jogged out of their reach before either man could object.

"I would think there would be a several more chapters in this story before a boss fight," the masked man said with a short amicable chuckle, and his voice was neutral to a soft, almost whispering fault. The mask had only two openings for his eyes, which were dark and tired-looking, but no place for his mouth; his voice seemed to radiate directly from it rather than from behind it, but it was clearly not his true face. The mask was tied with a string that hugged his temples, just above his ears. Dark, messy whisps of hair obscured the strap as it ran behind his head. He leaned forward as he saw them approach.

"Hola. Buenos días, new friends." His greeting was hollow and toneless.

"Hola, señor," Mabel replied, striding up to the man's stand with confidence. "¿Cómo está?"

"Más o menos, mi dulce niña."

Mabel blinked, giving an apologetic shrug. "I'm sorry, that's all the Spanish I know."

"That is fine, I do not require it for business to be done," the man pleasantly replied. "I can understand everyone all the same."

"And what exactly is your 'business'?" came Anders' voice as he caught up to Mabel.  

The man tiled his head to the side, as if it were an odd question. Remus fought back a shudder that threatened to run up his spine at the unnatural gesture. The merchant paid no mind. "Why, I am the traditional items merchant that's necessary in every grand tale. And your plant trails mark you clearly as part of one. My name is Zacharie."

"'Traditional items merchant'?" the werewolf tried, and when Zacharie only nodded, he went on: "Out here, in the middle of nowhere?"

"Life still goes on when you are not looking, especially in nowhere. You are not my only customers."

"Right," Anders replied, the word a little too drawn out to be casual. "I can imagine balverines are a pleasant customer base. Lots of demand for flea potions, I suppose."

"Have you seen others, then?" Remus pushed. "We're looking for someone. Brownish-blond hair, he's a teenager; skinny, somewhat short?"

Zacharie tapped the bottom of his mask, as if he were thinking. "Hazel. I think you mean hazel hair. There is a difference."

"You must have seen him, then?"

"I may have."

"Do you remember where?"

"Here, in this forest."

"Where in this forest?"

"By some trees, near some large red rocks."

"Oh," Anders frowned. "Did you ever hear about the templar and the renegade mage? I can be funny too."

"Oh, I imagine there are many who know of this conversation and are plenty amused," Zacharie replied.

Mabel turned and waved her hands at both magi. "Hang on, hang on, I've got this," she said confidently, before turning back to Zacharie. She leaned sideways against the counter of his stand, letting her elbow hold her chin with a sly, little grin. "So what's your price? How much we gotta pay you to give us the deets?"

Zacharie's mask tilted down to face her. "I only accept payment in Credits."

The candle of Mabel's confidence was suddenly blown out. She blinked, giving the other two a desperate, searching look. "We, uh—don't have any."

"Shame," Zacharie shook his head. "I can do a currency exchange for you, or you can sell me something."

The magi looked at one another, awkwardly sending their hands through pockets and patting down limbs. There was a distinct absence of the clink of gold.

"M'afraid I have nothing," Remus muttered, his cheek against his shoulder as he searched his back pocket. He had hoped beyond hope that perhaps a loose bit of whatever coin Reaver's empire was founded on had made it's way into his new attire.

"Nor I," Anders confirmed back. He had pulled his sheathed dagger from his belt to search his trousers and it rested between his teeth as he spoke.

"Wait!"

Her spark relit, the excited noise had come from Mabel. She threw her satchel to the ground and had began to sift through—Maker, how did she manage to fit so much into there? And where did half of it come from? Three pairs of eyes settled on her as she dug for another moment, pulling out the strip of paper from before.

"Stickers!" she beamed, the brilliance of her idea blinding. "How much will you give us for three stickers?"

Zacharie reached over the desk to take the strip of paper and examine the colorful images for himself. He ran his finger down each one, observing them as though each one was an ancient and most precious piece of art. And then he chuckled to himself. The sound was cold and without emotion, like the rest of his voice, making both Anders and Remus shudder inwardly. In the blink of an eye the toad mask had become a cat-grinning through teeth like a thousand birch trees or the pounding of the summer's heaviest rain. Pointed ears tilted up and down as Zacharie finished laughing to himself.

"Cat stickers. You are lucky I love cats," he said, pausing to examine a few tie-dye kittens towards the bottom of the slip.

"Take them!" Mabel smiled at him. "And maybe one more for being so nice. Is that enough?"

"Hm," the merchant replied, having already placed one of the stickers on his new mask. He ripped off three more stickers before handing the strip back to Mabel. "If you keep heading in that direction," he began, pointing, "then eventually you will see a range of cliffs. Red cliffs, surrounded by pines. You will find him there. But tread carefully: he is not alone, and the people are very..." Again he tilted his head, this time trying to find a word. "...Cautious."

Remus and Anders shot one another dire looks: the Firestarters.

Mabel pocketed the remaining stickers and replaced her satchel as the magi turned in the direction indicated. "Thank you!"

"Yes," Remus stopped for a moment. "Thank you, very much." Anders nodded in kind.

Zacharie continued to stare after them as they disappeared into the woods once again.

"That was... disturbing," Anders murmured once they were out of earshot. Far, far out of earshot. The hairs on the back of his neck were on end and Justice was just beneath the surface. Both of them were on the alert, waiting for any signs that that "merchant" would come back. The mage's chest was tight. Once again, they were without much choice. They were going to follow this tip—the only help they had received in days, from a complete stranger with dubious intentions at best—or they were going to go their own way. Neither was a guarantee at finding Naoya.
"I should like to know how he knew where to find us," Anders muttered, mostly to himself but he didn't care if it carried. "That was too perfect. It isn't right. Let's just take the word of a mysterious figure in the middle of a monster-infested woodland. I think it will work out well!"

Remus sighed. "I agree with you, Anders. But if the merchant was correct... Can we afford not to take that chance?"

"No." The reluctance of this admission was strong in his voice, but Anders' stride didn't falter. "I have been through worse and come out alive," he said. "But I'm going to complain about it nonetheless."

This last bit he said with a light curl in his lips, and the others smiled.

"It wasn't that bad," Mabel offered. "It was weird, but this place is full of weird stuff. Maybe it's just good luck."

"How did you know to sell him something?"

Mabel stuck her thumbs into the collar of her sweater, pulling it out with a smug look and letting it snap back into place. "You just have to know how to play... the game," she gloated. "My Grunke Stan taught me."

"I should like to meet this Grunkle Stan of yours someday," Anders snorted, mildly impressed. She could do well in Orlais.

It took another hour before any sign of the merchant's word had come to pass. In their journey from the lemonade stand in the middle of absolute nowhere, the forest had begun to thin. Not just cease to close in with thick vegetation, but to actually spread out. The trees had less girth here, and the vines in the canopy were not nearly as commonplace. And, as the merchant had said, large boulders and jagged pillars of red rock had begun to pop up here and there. And the smell of the forest had changed as well: the overwhelming power of the pine had been tainted by the vapors of salt and something vaguely fishy. Anders recognized it at once as the smell of the docks below Kirkwall, where refugees poured in by the hundreds each day seeking solace from the Blight. The sound of seagulls began to coax images of waves and seashells into the forefront of their minds.

"D'you think there will be mermaids here?" Mabel asked, taking a deep breath of ocean air. "I met one once, and he was really cool."

"It's hard to say, though that must have been a fascinating experience," said Remus. "I met several selkies in my youth, though I suspect yours was more human-looking in appearance?"
Mabel smiled, laughing fondly to herself as she reminisced. "He lived in the public swimming pool."

Anders smirked at the look on Remus' face. "I don't know anything about these creatures," he said, still grinning. "But either way, I want to now."

"Wait—Mabel, stop!"

"Uh-oh..."

Anders tensed sharply at the tone, looking ahead to where Remus had been walking in front of them. His arm outstretched, Remus appeared frozen as he bade Mabel to stand still.  Anders felt his own heart begin to race. He made to take a step, but Remus' hand shot out.

"Don't," he urged.

"Remus, what is it?"

With the same hand, Remus pointed down towards the ground. It took Anders a few determined blinks, but in the right ray of sun he caught the glint off of the metal wire strung between the trees marking the animal path they had followed: a wire pulled tense by the girl's unsuspecting step, barely visible across the top of her black shoes.

Remus cursed under his breath. This is what Zacharie had meant by 'cautious.' He knelt down beside Mabel, following the track of the wire as it vanished into the trees. He slid his jaw side to side as he thought. "We must be close to their camp."

"Comforting," Anders shot with a frown. "How do we get her out of there?"

"Can't you do some magic guy thing?" Mabel asked. "You know, levitate me or something?" She pinched her skirt closer to her legs in preparation.

"I don't think so," Remus said, sliding his wand from it's resting place on his belt. "The problem is, we have no idea what will happen when you spring the trap."

"Some Indiana Jones thing, then! You can't leave me here!"

Anders frowned. India-what? He stepped carefully to Mabel, putting his hands on her shoulders. "We're not going to leave you here. I'm promising you that."

He looked back to Remus, who paced slightly while tapping his bottom lip with his wand. Anders gave Mabel's shoulders a slight squeeze before tracking the wire with a careful eye. Moss grew over old moss as he retraced some of his old steps as he trailed the wire into the brush. Pushing aside some wild grapes, Anders squinted. Pushing to focus, his eyes followed the metal strand out, out, out... and then, up.

"Oh," he said aloud. "Oh. Remus, look."

Remus caught the urgent waving out of the corner of his eye and his reaction to the trap was much the same. "Ah..."

Mabel bit her lip, bunching her sleeves into her fists. "What is it? Are you guys gonna tell me?"

None of them failed to notice how her voice quivered.

"No," said Remus. "No, no, this is a good thing. Now we can work with this."

Mabel frowned, resisting the urge to step over there and give them a piece of her mind. "Work with what?"

"The trap," Anders explained, hurrying to her side. "We know what it does now. Remus, Mabel and I can work here. Can you handle the mechanism?"

Remus nodded. "Of course." He backed off, raising his wand to the ready position. "Whenever you two are set."

Mabel's eyes darted between Remus and Anders, an involuntary nose betraying her trepidation.

"All we have to do is jump," Anders assured her with a squeeze to her shoulder. "Backwards, as hard as you can. We'll do it together. Alright?"

Imagining some grievous blade swooping across the forest floor to sever her ankles, Mabel took a deep breath. And then another. And, another. "...Okay."

"On three, then... One, two... three!"

Together the pair stepped back and leapt, falling onto their backs as far away as their legs could throw them. With a great crashing, a massive pair of logs tore through layers of vines and small branches and slammed into one another with enough force to crush ten men between them. Mabel screamed, drawing her sweater up over half of her face but too stunned to turn away. Anders found his fingers reaching for his earlobes, the blast of sound reminiscent of a powerful explosion that pushed on flesh and bone like firecrackers. All of them were wide-eyed.

Remus raced forward, kneeling down with a thud. "Are you both aright?"

"I am," Anders groaned. "Though I think I hit my head on a stump. All this moss, and it couldn't soften that blow? Ugh, but—Mabel, are you..?"

"Yeah, yeah," she gave in weak response. She was still staring at the trap, clutching her chest.

Remus offered his hand, helping them both up before circling the trap, glancing at the sheer size of the two massive hunks of wood. "These are practically whole trees," he observed. "But we had no idea they were here from the ground. Very clever."

Anders had come up behind him. "Look," he said, pointing to an over-sized drape that hung high in the canopy, billowing against a freshly broken limb in the new hole in the greenery. The camouflage pattern stained onto fabric was perfect for the bloom of spring. "It broke limbs coming down. It had to have been here for a while, but it looks like it has been maintained."

"The Firestarters," Remus said, and he hoped he was right. "They would have the skill to do something like this and evade the balverines for so long."

"I think this trap is for the balverines," Anders suggested.

"I don't think so. They moved through the trees, if you remember. I think this is for trespassers."

"Then you're correct: we're close."

"This is dangerous," Mabel said, and the magi turned to her. "We should be careful, if we're just going to keep going...?"

Remus frowned. It was one thing for two fully trained wizards to risk the dangers at hand, but a child? They couldn't ask that of her. Not anymore. "We shouldn't keep on whatsoever," he said, eyeing the trap that could nearly have been the end of them. "We don't know what else is out here. And we lack a destination, so we may very well find a minefield of traps before we discover anything useful."

"So what alternative do we have?"

"Wait."

The magi stopped. "Mabel?"

"No!" The girl had her arms crossed now, and her normally chipper demeanor was turned sour with down-turned lips. "No. Don't do that. Don't go off on your own and leave me behind like that. You guys think that because you have magic that I can't do anything. And you leave me out of the important choices. I'm  thirteen, I get it. But the thing with the trap? That... that look that you guys exchange all the time, when you think nobody's looking? I see it. Naoya sees it, too! We're not just tag-alongs!"

"We don't think that," Anders started, but Mabel cut him off.

"I may not be magic, but I can do stuff too! You wouldn't have found Zacharie if it weren't for me. You wouldn't have gotten his information if it weren't for me! I've fought demons before! I can do stuff too, okay? And you two are off in your own world because you're magic buddies or whatever—I was so scared, but nobody would tell me what was going on until we were jumping out of the way! I'm not useless!"

This last part she said with a tearful sniff, wiping her eyes. She was trembling something fierce. Remus felt his stomach drop and Anders practically wilted. "Mabel..."

She said nothing, continuing to sink further into her sweater as if to hide her tears. She fell onto her knees, scooting awkwardly away as the witch hazel sprouts scratched at her bare skin. "I want to go home. I want to see Grunkle Stan. I want to see my stupid brother. I just... I just..."

She forced her chin up, taking a deep, angry breath. "No," she said again, but this time, it was to herself. "No." She stood up once again, brushing her knees off with hands that no longer shook. And she sniffled one last time before meeting the eyes of the other two with wet, glossy eyes. She sighed. "Let's just go."

The magi exchanged looks—but not the same knowing glances as previous.

"Mabel..."

"We had no idea..."

"It's okay," she murmured. "It's no big deal."

"But it is," Remus said. "You're absolutely right. We never thought of you as useless, but we never considered you, either."

Anders nodded. "I'm sorry, too. Things have just been forcing us to keep going; to keep fighting. It seems there were... unintended wounds."

Mabel kicked at the witchhazel with her shoes. "Nah, I just... I should probably say sorry, too. I didn't mean to put that all on you guys. I know you're just trying to protect me. I was just really scared. And before I came here, I had—" she paused, forcing her throat to swallow with effort—"I don't even know why I'm talking about it. ...I had a fight with my brother, Dipper. He's really smart. He was going to stay in Gravity Falls at the end of the summer to learn all sorts of stuff with our other Grunkle, Ford. But Ford doesn't think I can do anything like that. ...Dipper doesn't think I can do anything like that. ...Sometimes I feel like I can't do anything at all... And now I'm here, wherever this is, and I just want to go home..."

Her eyes had become watery again, but Mabel's hands were stiff at her sides. "I held you back from trying to find Naoya, didn't I?"

Remus took her gently by the shoulders. "Mabel Pines, you are one of the bravest people I know. You aren't magic, that's true. But you're absolutely right: we would not be anywhere near here without you. It isn't that you don't have skills—if I were to guess, I would say that it is more a lack of understanding on the part of others. You do more than you think, and it is largely due to just being the person you are: kind, thoughtful, and positive. You are capable of doing anything you set out to do—even more than Anders or I—and it is because you have a wonderful heart. No matter what happens, you find your way. Don't ever doubt that."

"We might have left the Windmill much sooner without you," Anders added, "but it was a good thing we had you around. It was a very good thing, because you kept us looking forward. You kept us from losing hope. Right when things were darkest, you found Zacharie. And now we're going to find Naoya, Mabel, and it's going to be because of you. Magic isn't everything. Back home, some of the best people I ever knew were born without it. You remind me of one of them, actually: she was an elf, from a clan of wanderers. She was our Warden-Commander, and she became the legendary 'Hero of Fereldan', despite the whole world being against her. They sing songs about her. She had the kindest soul I've ever known, Mabel, and you have the same spirit. "
Anders bent over just enough to give her a small hug.

"We don't know why we were brought together," he said, releasing her. "But you're part of this story now, whatever we make of it. And we're glad for it."

"I, uh..." Mabel sniffed, a tiny smile breaking through, "... thanks, you guys. ... So —...what do we do now?"

"Well, Mabel," Remus offered, "have you got any ideas? It appears Zacharie gave us good information, and I suspect that if we continue on we may find where Naoya has been taken. But we run the risk of further traps."

"And if we go much farther," Anders pointed out, "we won't get back to the Windmill before nightfall. We can travel at night, certainly. But I don't want to find out what other wonderful beasts roam the woods after dark."

Mabel put her finger to her lips thoughtfully. "You said we're close, right? The trap was really loud. What if they heard us?"

"There's no way to know," Anders frowned. "Maybe they run a watch to check the traps, but it's later on in the day. I would guess that they don't want to be out in the dark, same as us. So they might not come back until morning, if they do at all."

"What if we could make them check again?" Mabel asked. She sighed to herself as she thought, pacing in a small circle. Suddenly she giggled quietly, her face taking on a grave look as she pointed towards the two men. "Only you," she growled, rolling her eyes with an apologetic grin.

Remus looked at her. "Only us?"

"Yeah," Mabel replied. "You know, the whole—oh, I forget you're British. It's all over the TV and billboards and stuff. Smokey the Bear. 'Only you can prevent forest fires!'"

Anders' eyes widened. "Mabel—that's it!" He let out a bark of a laugh, as though the solution had been in front of him all along.

"What's it?"

Anders laughed again, brushing fallen hairs from his face and back behind his ears. "We set the trap on fire! Then they'll have to come and check on it!"

Striding purposefully to the logs, Anders examined the trap. The logs dangled uselessly in the air like park swings, and with a few carefully directed blasts of magic the pine needles and other debris was cleared away from beneath them. Not needing to be told twice, Remus followed Anders to the trap and as soon as the mage was done, he held his wand above his head. The trees above them groaned as red sparks shot from the metal cables one by one. As the logs completed their journey back to the ground, their bulk still shook the ground with the impact. In nothing short of an instant, each of the timbers combusted into dancing fingers of flame. Mabel coughed, the column of black smoke rising in the aftermath as powerful as the radiating heat. Through the thick of it she could see both men circling the perimeter of the blaze, sending blasts of water and ice here and there to control stray fires sprouting where they were unwelcome.

If this didn't catch someone's attention, then nothing would.

As they crested the top of a hill, they could see it in the shortening distance: smoke. Gray and thick, it billowed up from beneath the green and showed no signs of slowing. Or, thankfully, spreading.

"That's not good," Sokka said, coming up beside Wash. "But that's probably where the scream came from."

"I don't recall anything flammable in any of our traps, though," Wash said with only a slight hint of sarcasm behind her words. Both she and Sokka knew that there was nothing flammable—they had set many of them themselves! Sokka frowned, though, picking up on her meaning.

"You think somebody set the fire," he said.

"I don't know," she sighed in return, pushing her hands against her lower back. What she wouldn't give for a good pop to release tension. "But what else could it be?"

Sokka nodded gravely. "There's only one way to find out."

They ducked down into the woods again, following strict paths through the undergrowth as they checked the sky with each pillar of light. The wind was calm, and they were able to follow the smoke without pause. Boots well worn and familiar with the dangerous ground tread knowingly past each protruding root, ducking under each rock overhang and below the low-hanging limbs. Whoever it was in their woods, they had the home field advantage. And they knew how to use it. It didn't take long before they were directly beneath the tower of blackness, and they crept slowly towards the orange flames seen roaring through the brush.

"I hear voices," Sokka whispered. "I don't think they're balverines."

"We don't know that," Wash countered. "Even if they took our people, we don't know all of them. You should know that better than anyone by now."

Sokka's breath caught silently in his throat at the memory of Sabrina. He saw her in his mind again, reaching out to him for help. Her voice trailed across his thoughts as she begged him for help, claiming to have fallen into this world just like he had only a few months prior. Betrayal burned deep inside Sokka's chest, and he clutched his sword a little tighter. He inched forward, determined to make everything right—determined to prove himself once again.

"I see someone!"

"Careful," Wash hissed. "What do they look like?" She craned her neck, trying to get a good viewing angle.

"It's a man," Sokka began. " He's got a blue coat with small, grey feathers on the shoulder pads...He's blond. And he's got a staff.  And there's another: brown hair, green tunic... he's got a... stick? Okay, then." Sokka squinted as he tried to examine the scene further. "Oh, man," he said suddenly, and Wash couldn't help but look up at his tone.

"What is it?"

"There's a girl," Sokka breathed. "But I don't see anyone else."

"She's all alone with them?" Wash asked. Sokka nodded. "Now what the hell is a group like that doing all the way out here? They don't even look like they come from the same place."

"They could be like us."

"No—wait," Wash blurted. She pointed and Sokka followed her finger to where the men caught a small flame in the bud. It went out with a wisps of ice that Sokka could almost feel run down his spine, but that was not what caught his attention: all three of them had plants sprouting in their wake.

Just like Dipper. And just like Naoya.

"Let's go," Wash whispered, her military instinct kicking in and giving a predatory glint to her eye. She indicated her plan to Sokka with a few careful gestures and the teenager nodded. They moved in.

"Blasted flames," Anders muttered. They were large enough to burn the lower leaves and branches, and it was a chore to keep them from spreading. The heat was intense, and the mage coughed as smoke went down his throat.

"Over there!" Mabel pointed to a spot on the ground beginning to smoulder, which sputtered into nothing with a flicker from Remus' wand. "You think this will work?"

"I hope so," Remus replied. He tapped his wand against his bottom lip as he watched the wolfsbane flowers nearest the heat turn black and fade slowly into ash.

"Everything within fifty miles will see this if the weather holds," Anders said, coming back to the others. "I don't doubt that Alastor can see this from his new seat on Reaver's throne. And at the very least, we can roast some marshmallows."

Mabel gasped excitedly, looking between them at the mention of sweets—but her heart sank with her smile when she realized that none of them had anything of the sort on their person. "Magic guys can't summon marshmallows?" she murmured under her breath with a despondent sigh.

"Nobody move," a voice shot harshly through the smoke. "Hands up. Let's go!"

Chills rushed down spines as all three of them turned about-face. A woman with olive skin and a no-nonsense ponytail held a weapon to them with an iron look in her eye. Anders didn't need to know what kind of weapon was to observe the look in Remus' face and feel his heart drop. Justice was just beneath the surface of his skin, ready to protect them all if need be. Anders thought he could feel his whole body humming with a mixture of anticipation and the electric pulses of the Fade spirit, and his body tightened like a coil.

"We don't mean you any harm," Remus offered at once. His face was neutral and his voice controlled, and his wand was suspended between three fingers in his dominant hand. The woman pointed to it.

"Drop the stick," she demanded. Then she gave Anders a look of ice. "And you: drop the staff. Kick it to me."

Anders did as she asked. After all, as a mage didn't need a staff to be dangerous. But damned if it didn't help. "We're innocent travelers," he said, showing his bare hands. "We don't mean to cause any trouble."

"Innocent travelers don't set things on fire," the woman said. "And don't think I didn't notice your dagger."

Anders made a show of carefully removing the blade from it's sheath and tossing it in the space between them. "There. That's everything I have."

"We've come a long way," said Remus. "We've been searching for one of our own. He's—"

"You don't ask questions," the woman snapped. "You come into our territory, set fire to our traps—we're at war with the balverines of these woods. You know how this looks?"

"We're not with the balverines, nor are we members of the Hive," said Remus with an urgent dip in his voice. "As I said, we are travelers searching for one of our own. We have a child—surely that shows you that we are not monsters!"

The woman's black eyes searched them as she thought over his words. "Sokka?"

From behind them, a young male voice sounded. "I don't see anyone else."

Boots crunched on the dead leaves as Sokka came around to his commander. He was a boy around Naoya's own age, with even darker skin and water-blue eyes. His hair was shaved at the sides into a mohawk that fell into a small pony towards the back like Anders' did, and his wardrobe was made of aged blue cloth accented with bone. In his hands, a sword made of a strange, black metal was poised to strike. His posture was one of a student well trained in swordsmanship.

"Good," the woman said, though she didn't drop her weapon. She fixed her gaze sternly on the strange men once again. "You may address me as Lieutenant Washington. Now: who are you?"

"Remus Lupin."

"Anders."

"I'm Mabel Pines."

Wash lowered her weapon slowly. "Mabel, are you hurt? Are you with these men by choice?"

"Yeah," replied Mabel as each of them lowered their hands in turn. "They rescued me when I fell through some kind of hole into the woods."

At that, Wash's lips gave a judicious twitch to the side. She pointed to Remus and Anders. "Let me guess: you have no idea how you got here. You fell through some kind of portal and landed in the woods. Same as her?"

Both men gave the affirmative.

"Uh-huh," the Lieutenant said. "I believe the girl. The balverines don't traditionally turn children, they just eat them outright. But you boys? I'm not convinced yet. You wouldn't mind if I just checked something quickly, would you?"

Remus and Anders looked between her and then to each other.

"No."

"No."

Wash reached behind her with the hand that wasn't holding her pistol. "Good."

From her belt, she slid out her own dagger. It was not shiny and polished like Anders, but crude. Undoubtedly sharp and made by a skilled hand, it was obviously designed more for function than it was for beauty. But that only made the magi more uncomfortable.

"Hold out your palms," Wash demanded. Without speaking, and ignoring the gasp from Mabel, she slid her rifle onto her back and took their hands in hers, making one small, smooth stroke across each open palm. It was not enough to damage, but enough to draw a show of blood. And it was enough to make each man wince and gnash his teeth with averted eyes. Wash wiped the blade on her pants.

"You pass," she said.

"You sound disappointed," Anders blanched.

"Only a little," Wash retorted with what could almost pass for a smirk. "We've lost so many people to the balverines that sometimes I look forward to returning the favor. But," she added seriously, "the silver didn't affect you like it does them, so you pass. You're not balverines."

"No," Remus finished. "We're not. We fell into this forest like Mabel—and, I suspect, like yourselves. And we're just looking for someone we've lost. A boy named Naoya."

Chapter Text

It was always frustrating pretending to be a human. He did it every day back home, sure, but it was never for non-stop, week-long intervals like he was doing now. And what a tiresome week it had been. Naoya found himself thinking of Remus, Anders, and Mabel more often than he liked, but it was never without interruption. Naoya was never alone here. He couldn’t use his powers because there was always someone watching him; whether it was Lt. Washington on his heels, or the seemingly deadpan Renkotsu watching him from afar, at best he was left alone with Sokka, but he was never left alone with just Dipper. He wasn’t quite sure at their first meeting, but it didn't take long for Naoya to be more than certain that this Dipper was the same Dipper that Mabel spoke of. And it was Dipper who Naoya needed to speak to—privately.

But the older Firestarters were beginning to trust him more, and when Sokka had tripped out the door to go hunting with Wash earlier that morning he knew the opportunity had finally come. He just had to wait until Dipper was awake enough to talk about it.

"Dipper," he spoke urgently, catching attention of the tween after they had cleaned up from breakfast. "Listen: I have to talk to you."

"What, to me?" Dipper half-laughed. "Okay, what about? It's not the bathroom thing, is it? Because I finally got promoted from latrine duty thanks to you, and I really don't want to-"

"It has nothing to do with that," Naoya pushed—although the psychic bristled internally at the reminder of his "assigned duties." Did they really think he wasn't good for anything else around here? "Um, let's... go someplace a little more private," he added, giving a sideways motion of his head in the general direction of Ren's workshop and Dipper's brow lowered as he finally caught on.

"Uh, alright," he said cautiously. "Lead the way."

Dipper followed Naoya from the central chamber through the archway that lead to their room. Huffing as he walked, Naoya avoided the bodily temptation to just run and save time, but experience allowed him a strange sense of calm that stood in stark contrast to his beating heart. With Sokka and Wash on their hunting expedition and Ren cloistered away in his workshop, theoretically he had plenty of time and needn't rush. Perhaps it was the weight of his words pushing against his steps. They came to their cramped, little room in no time and Naoya looked down either end of the hall before finally entering.

"So what's this about?" Dipper asked. His arms were crossed, and his shoulders were squared off.

"I want to show you something," the psychic said. "I've had to keep it from the others, but I feel like you might be okay with it."

Dipper frowned curiously. "What is it?"

Naoya pouted, thinking. He scooted over on his bunk and patted the spot next to him, in which Dipper sat, albeit with great reluctance. The boy's legs didn't quite reach the floor, and Naoya remembered what it was like to be so small at such an age. That only made him feel worse. He held up a finger and smiled, urging Dipper to watch carefully. With a wave of his hand, the door to their room shut by itself.

It didn't take but a second for Dipper to catch on. “Telekinesis!” Dipper whispered with a gasp. He looked up at Naoya. “Magic?”

“Less magic, more science.” How familiar a remark. At least Dipper picked it up faster than Andy.

“A mutant,” came Dipper's next guess, and Naoya cringed at the word but nodded in acknowledgement. “Like, an actual mutant? With special genes and everything?”

“My people are called EGO,” Naoya emphasized. “But, yes. Genetically and physically we’re similar to humans, but there’s enough genetic difference for us to pretty much be a different species.”

Dipper stared at the floor, his mouth pressed thin in a small, thoughtful line. “Why hide that at all?”

“Wash held a gun to me the first time she saw me, and Renkotsu has this thing about non-human things.” Naoya gave a vague, uneven but negative-implying shrug. “Plus I got the feeling that you’re the only one here who will believe me.”

“I mean, Sokka talks about people with elemental kinesis— the 'benders'—all the time-”

“‘Hi, I’m Naoya and I have freaky mind powers that don’t rely on an element! I’m also an empath! Boo! Spooky feelings!’” Naoya cheerfully, mockingly explained while wiggling his fingers in the air, and Dipper couldn’t help but crack a small grin at it. But Naoya's own smile faded as he held his next and most important point in mind. "Listen, Dipper," he went on, watching Dipper closely, "I didn't just bring you here to show you my powers - which, by the way, I hope will be between us for now?"

Dipper nodded.

"Okay," Naoya sighed, "good. I showed you my powers because I want you to know something about me that nobody else here does. Think of it as a show of good faith, because I don't think you're going to like what I'm about to say."

"Oh," Dipper frowned. He kicked his feet against the edges of the bed, swallowing something tacky. "Just—I mean, just spit it out. I can take it."

Naoya inhaled sharply. "So: about your sister..."

Dipper's eyes snapped wide open and he leaned back. "I never told you I had a sister."

"No, you didn't," Naoya nodded, fighting back the cringe he felt trying to form on his face as he pushed for his words. "She kinda...  told me about you."

Dipper shot to his legs, rounding on Naoya. "You've seen her? You saw Mabel? Where is she, is she okay? How did you find her-where is Mabel? Where is she?!"

Naoya brought his hands up. "She's totally okay, Dipper," he soothed, but the boy would have none of it.

"You said your whole group was killed by balverines!" he screamed, and Naoya had to close his eyes and center himself as a wave of terror and despair met his senses.

"I lied, Dipper!" Naoya said loudly, himself standing with his arms outstretched. "I lied about that, I pretended that I didn't have  powers - look, your sister is alive! Everything is fine! She's with the people I was traveling with, people who are probably looking for me! You're going to see her again!"

“You knew where she was,” Dipper growled, shaking fists curled tightly and a snarl on his face. “You knew who she was! You knew all this time, and you didn’t tell me!?”

Naoya took a breath and sat back down on his bunk with one leg crossed over his knee, trying to make his posture as lax as he could. “Shh! Let's not be so loud, you know Renkotsu is probably creeping around!” he hushedly urged Dipper to lower his volume. With an understanding frown, Naoya swallowed. “It’s not like I could tell you right away. I know that I’d want someone to tell me right away, too, but-”

“But what, huh?!” Dipper's voice cracked with emotion and the boy heaved.

“But it’s complicated. Sokka found me hanging in the woods and rescued me, and I could have gone back to the others then and there. But I didn't want to risk them getting hurt if you guys turned out to be people we really didn't want to get involved with! I used my injury to discover where you guys were and I meant to hightail out of here as soon as I got the chance—but I saw you and when I realized who you were, I knew I had to stay!”

"I don't want to hear it!" Dipper scathed. "You were the first person here other than Sokka who might actually have become friends with me. I've been here for a month, and nobody wants anything to do with me just because I'm a kid! But it turns out you weren't actually interested in becoming friends at all! You were just getting all chummy with me—with all of us— to help get your real friends in! You were spying on us all along! My own sister won't even speak to me, and I thought...!" Dipper's eyes disappeared below the brim of his hat. "You were just using me! You were nothing but a dirty spy!"

Naoya frowned. He didn't want to admit that the kid's words had stung a little in places Dipper couldn't even begin to fathom. “Okay, yes—sort of. Naoya is sort of a spy,” he admitted, throwing his hands out defensively. “He’s not here to cause you harm, but the opposite!”

Dipper put his hands to his forehead. “Okay, why are you talking in the third person? It’s really not helping.”

“Naoya Itsuki talks how he pleases, when he pleases,” Naoya scoffed, pressing a hand to his chest in an insulted manner.

Dipper let out a frustrated growl, throwing his hands as he spoke: “I trusted you! And you lied to me about my own sister! Have you lied about everything you said to me?"

"No! Dipper, listen—you can throw Naoya under the bus now if you wanted to, okay? Naoya came clean about everything. Naoya even told you about his powers, and you are the only one here who knows! Okay? Naoya is sorry that it came down to something like this, but all the secrets are out. Naoya promises."

Dipper let out a slow, shuddering sigh as tension in his shoulders was forced away. He glared at Naoya for a long time, but his breathing soon began to slow and although his expression remained grim, his voice was not as searing. "How is Mabel? Is she... okay?"

“Mabel is... upset,” Naoya replied gingerly. "Whatever happened between you guys is still fresh for her. I didn't tell you right away because I wasn't sure it was my place. What's going on here is personal, between siblings. Trust me: as a twin brother myself, I'd be upset with me too. But I haven't lied about anything else."

Dipper's arms were crossed, and his frown was no less fierce. “I wish I could believe that."

"We are all in this together now," Naoya said simply. "Trust me or don't, but I promise you: no more spying."

"It makes sense, though," Dipper went on, largely ignoring Naoya's words. "That you would want to make sure we weren't going to turn on you before saying anything."

"Well, I mean," Naoya could see Mabel's cleverness was a family trait. "It wasn't as neatly done as that. You see, the others? They kind of don't know where I am. Finding you was an accident, actually. Sokka sort of stumbled out of the woods and spotted me. And when my companions do find me, they're probably going to have some words for me."

"Oh." Dipper put one wrist behind his head, and he chewed he inside of his cheek. "Is Mabel with other mutants—other EGO?"

"Nah," Naoya said with a shake of his head. "They wish they could be EGO, though. All they have is, like, magic stuff."

"Magic?" Dipper's eyes were aflame with curiosity again, and Naoya laughed. He felt a droplet of relief splash against his heart.

"Yeah, it's really old fashioned. They didn't even know what to make of me when I told them my powers aren't magic. They're probably looking for me," he said, and he unconsciously sent his thoughts beyond the borders of the Vault in search of any familiar presences. There were none.

Naoya said nothing more to Dipper about the magi, silently keeping thoughts of them to himself as guilt blanketed their images in his mind. As much as it had been a ploy to bring him here, Naoya knew that letting Sokka carry him here (even if it was needed) left no plant trail for his companions to follow. And now, he couldn't leave or else risk suspicion—losing all of the reluctant trust he had gained in the time that had passed. All in all, Naoya had gambled and won, but the taste was somewhat bitter. All he could do now was hope that the others would find him, and if he knew them at all, they had not stopped searching. Something told the psychic that they would be reunited soon, and he held onto that.

 

The approach to the Firestarter's base was silent. Perhaps no one dared speak, or there was nothing to be said. But it mattered little, because the journey was painfully short. As the magi took care to eliminate their plant trails behind them, they could only brood on the fact that, through all the searching they had done, for the Firestarters to have been so close all this time was something of a slap in the face.

The closer they came to the base, the stronger the smell of the sea became. Wash and Sokka stuck to a strict path and moved fast, leaving little time to pause for visuals. But the forest continued to thin the further they went, and as they came to a clearing they saw something in the distance that made Zacharie's words sing: a massive wall of angry red, jutting out from the ground like a great pillar severed at the base. A mesa, proud and defiant in the wake of the sea beyond; the cliffs jutted high into the air and the crest was covered in a layer of green where the forest sought to reclaim stolen soil. There was no question that this is where they were going.

The trees swallowed the view of the mesa as they approached it, climbing down the gentle slopes and crossing several waterfalls in their descent towards the shoreline. But like a great thunderhead approaching in the distance, the closer the path lead to the waves the more the red wall rose above them to dominate the view between the boughs. The longer they examined the approaching mountain, though, the more bizarre it's appearance became: it was as though the mesa had been scooped from another continent entirely and dropped from the sky, and the pillars of the same red stone jutting throughout the local forest had splintered off and speared the ground through sheer force of the impact. The native stones were black, brown, and gray—far more appropriate to a forest of pines than the fiery hues of this desert stone.

The soft floor of the woods gave way to a path of gravel and sand that inclined once more, leading them to the base of the red pillar and to a metallic, gear-shaped door sunk deep into the rockface. It's protective black primer was peeling here and there, and in the center of the gear the number 17 was still visible despite years of sun bleaching and corrosive winds.

"Vault-Tec," Anders muttered aloud, his head tilted near his shoulders as he struggled to read the small, beveled letters found upside down on the outermost rim of the door. "What is—?"

Wash held out her hand as they approached, continuing by herself to the door and withdrawing a small key from her bag. Shaped like a star, five silver spokes radiated out in circular fashion from a center point much like those for directing hot and cold water into a sink. And, peculiarly, it was nearly as small. Remus felt a crease form between his eyes as he watched the woman curiously—surely she couldn't open such a massive door with something so...?

But the Lieutenant, oblivious or perhaps purposefully ignorant of their stares, slid the handle into a predesignated groove at hip-level until there was an audible click. With little effort, she turned the spokes: once to the left, and then thrice to the right, each time the door responding with another pop or click at her touch. Immediately, Wash stepped back and all eyes were drawn to the handle as it spun out of control with a mechanical whirring noise. From the center mechanism of the Vault door, gears and whistles began to grind and scream, and several loose pebbles were dropped from somewhere up above as the ground rattled softly and the multi-ton gear was dragged backwards. It disappeared from view after only a moment as it suddenly rolled sideways into a groove built into the mountain. Vault 17 was open.

"Whoa," Mabel breathed against her better judgement, though Wash caught the child's awe and allowed herself a small grin.

"Mhm," she sounded in agreement, unhitching the handle and indicating for them to follow her inside.

The antechamber could best be described as 'industrial'. Cold, dark metal stairs and walkways were illuminated by eerie rotating lights, and every footstep echoed through the remains of what had obviously been a natural cave long before human intervention. Chains hung from pipes in the ceiling, some of them venting steam and others humming with a deep, buzzing groan. This was neither Dwarven nor any technology of the Qunari, and the lack of magic here left a strange feeling running down Anders' spine as he stared at the artificial lights. The mage eyed them warily, feeling his skin tingle as he walked past as though they were filled with electricity and his mana sang in response. Justice was a coiled spring just under his ribs, ready to jump into action if need be in this strange place. Anders looked to Remus, who, although similarly awestruck, did not appear concerned. He remained silent.

"Is this some sort of bomb shelter against the Soviets?" Remus asked, his eyes swiveling to take everything in. The structure was American, as evidenced by the decals of stars and stripes along the walls at varying intervals. It was strange and reeked of sophistication, unlike any modern technology save perhaps the fantasies on the telly such as Doctor Who, or Star Trek. No Muggle could have done this—at least, not one from home.

Wash had cocked him a brow. "The Cold War ended over one hundred fifty years ago," she said, confirming Remus' suspicions without realizing. "Don't tell me," the woman went on: "You're not from the 22nd century?"

Remus and Mabel nodded, though Wash did not appear the least bit surprised.

"I don't even need to ask you," she said to Anders, pointing to his medievalist robes. "To be honest, I don't think this Vault is from any time we know, either. It looks like something from the American 1950's, but the technology is far too advanced. It doesn't fit with any history I know of, in fact. If I had to guess, it came from somewhere else—just like all of us."

Behind them, the door ground to a close once more, sealing itself from the outside with a loud, angry hiss. They came to the end of the antechamber and passed into a well-lit hallway, fluorescent lights buzzing from the ceiling as identical metal doors lined the hallway heading deeper into the Vault. Whites and off shades of gray, the hallway was reminisce of a doctor's office and the air grew noticeably cooler as they went further in.

"How did you find this place?" Anders found himself asking as they walked. He squinted in the unnatural light, growing increasingly uncomfortable with the strangeness of the facility and how very out of place he seemed. "How did any of this even come to be?"

"No idea," Wash returned simply. "It was here before any of us got here. Nobody knows how old it is."

"It's weird," Sokka added. "Nobody could even open the Vault when I first got here. There were so many people trying to figure out a way to get inside because they thought this might be their way home."

"It wasn't, though."

Sokka met Remus' gaze. "No. When they finally cracked it, it was abandoned. We've had to start over from scratch."

Anders perked his ears up. "How many of you are there?"

Wash slowed to a stop, her hands hesitating over a the knob of a door marked 'POWER.' "Too few," she sighed. "You must have come through the town to trigger that trap?"

"Yes," said Remus. "It looks as though no one has been there for a hundred years."

"I wish that were true," Wash muttered. "We had a settlement there for a few years, or, rather, it was already there and people just sort of populated it. But one by one people were killed or abducted. None of us knew when we arrived about the balverines, mostly due to the fact that they left us alone for the longest time. Occasionally, people would disappear—but the things out there in the woods? Everyone could understand the danger of going out alone. The balverines knew we were there, but they didn't often attack. They were just waiting. ...If they don't hunt you for food, they take you. You become one. Before we knew it, whole families were gone. We abandoned the town because we had to. By chance of luck we cracked the seal on the Vault and the few of us who were left managed to stay protected inside. The forest took over as we retreated; the last of it advanced so fast that we couldn't even bury our dead. It was unreal.

Wash paused, her jawline swaying left and right as she fought for her words. "You destroyed one of our perimeter traps during your search. You made us more vulnerable. And," she said, her black eyes hard and fierce, "we can't afford the resources to keep you, under our circumstances. We were out hunting when we found you, and we lost good game because of this. I have no problems with you staying provided you can pull your own weight where it's needed. We could use people. But if you can't, then you need to leave."

At that, Wash plucked a ring weighted with multiple keys from her belt and unlocked the door. She slung it open with an aggravated tug, disappearing beyond with a look colder than the steel with all eyes following her wake.

"We've lost a lot of good people," Sokka offered slowly, after a shocked pause. "Wash takes it really hard. She helped build the town when there were hundreds of people here.  But we're at war, and she makes a lot of the hard choices that come with it. Don't take it personally..."

None of the others dared speak themselves. But before the grim nature of the moment could consume them, Wash reappeared, stuffing the jangling key ring back into one of her belt loops with an annoyed glare when it didn't work the first time.

"Come on," she said smoothly.

At the end of the hallway there was a wide, arched opening that lead somewhere Anders couldn't quite see. Hanging from the crest of the arch, however, was something more worthy of the eye: brown and black, with a pair of long, ragged scars down the center, the pelt of a balverine waved only sightly in an artificial breeze from the ventilation system. Expertly prepared and hung with clear intent, the message was powerful. The minimal scent of smoke and iron wafted into the hallway from the room ahead on the backs of unintelligible voices murmuring.

"Naoya!" Sokka called as he lead the way through one archway and into the chamber, and his now triumphant voice echoed:  "Hey Naoya! Look what we found!"

"Was it a restaurant, so you can stop trying to feed me that gross warm white stuff?" Naoya's almost too-cheerful voice responded casually.

"'Gross, warm white stuff'...?" Anders whispered through a sour grimace.

"Yeaaah," Sokka gave an idle stretch. "I tricked him into eating some bugs. They're good protein." He nodded, smirking lightly. "He thought it was rice, it was hilarious."

Naoya was waiting for them when they reached the central chamber, sitting beside a boy on a circle of couches set into the floor. But rather than looking relieved, Naoya's eyes widened and his cheeks paled. His surprise was forced into an awkward smile as Mabel ran forward and yelled his name.

"Naoya~!"

"Mabel!" The boy beside Naoya went equally as pale, and he threw himself over the couch and began to climb up to her.

Mabel stopped sharply in her tracks. "Dipper?"

"Naoya!" Anders demanded, stepping forward largely unaware of the siblings. "What happened? Why didn't you come back?"

"Uh," the teenager began, but his gaze was fixed on Mabel and her look of pure tension.

"Naoya?" Before the teen realized it, Remus had come to his side down on the couch effectively cutting him off from the others.

"Sokka!"

There was a sudden pause in which everyone stopped and all eyes pinned the warrior. Sokka's cheeks turned slightly pink.

"I thought we were saying names," he said, rubbing the back of his neck and trying to make himself smaller.

"Dipper," Mabel said, carefully backing towards Anders. "What are you doing here? I thought you were going away with Grunkle Ford!"

Dipper's sneakers slapped against the concrete as he rushed to her, stopping just shy of where she stood beside the mage who towered over them both. "I came looking for you! Mabel, there's no way I would ever leave you behind, okay? You don't know what's happened in Gravity Falls while you were gone—Mabel, I'm so sorry! When I came through Bill's bubble to look for you, I had no idea that this is where he sent you. I've been here for two months, Mabel, and I—"

"Two months?" Mabel's gasp was quiet and horrified. "Dipper, I—I just got here a week ago! After I ran away I fell through a crazy space portal and these guys found me in the woods. I haven't even been here that long!"

"But—," Dipper blurted, his fists grabbing at his white and blue baseball cap, "—but... how is that even possible? I don't understand, I"— he glanced wildly to Naoya, who stared back at him as if to confirm a point—"This is totally weird... I... I'm just really happy to see you, sis," he said, his voice breaking. "I'm so glad I found you!"

"Bro-bro!" Mabel cried, rushing forward and embracing her brother. Tears flowed freely down her face. "You really mean that?"

Dipper broke away long enough to look her in the eye. "Yeah," he said. "I guess I got a taste of what it meant to be by myself. I don't want to lose you over something stupid like that again." He paused long enough to squeeze Mabel as tightly as he could, before glancing up and addressing Anders: "Thank you... for, uh—for saving my sister," he said.

Anders smiled. "I don't think it was us who did the saving."

But Anders' head turned sharply as Remus made a disturbing observation: "Surely this is not all of you?" he said, looking between Wash and Sokka. "Just three survivors?"

"Four," Sokka corrected him, mentally rehearsing names against his finger count. "You haven't met Renkotsu yet. He's our mechanic."

"I don't believe it," Anders breathed. "I saw the maps—all the fires surrounding the Oasis; and the power of your traps, the size of the town—this is all that remains?"

Wash's black ponytail reflected overhead light as she turned headlong to Anders. "What do you know of the fires? And what map are you talking about? You know about Reaver?"

Anders glowered. "Know about him? We barely escaped him with our lives!"

"Then you have information we need," a cold voice broke through the dialogue. "And none of you are going anywhere until we have it."

When the new arrivals turned to look, they spotted a man watching intently in the mouth of another grand archway. He was of Asian descent, with a shaved head and a pair of royal purple tattoos running down his face. His silk kimono was royal blue patterned with circles of a grey-blue and bordered with white.

"Ren," Sokka blurted. "We found these guys—"

"Burning one of our traps," Renkotsu said, his eyes narrowing to near nothing. "I know. I saw the smoke. For the damage they have caused, I certainly hope that they have information of note. Especially for their sake."

"No," Wash said sharply, coming to stand between Renkotsu and the others. She pointed at the newcomers. "Look—you pull your weight here, or you leave. That's the deal. If you stay, tomorrow you can reassemble one of the apartments on the lower level," she finished loudly, looking around at each of them in the room, "For now, we have to worry about what happens when Reaver realizes that you're with us."

"Right now I don't think Reaver will do anything," Naoya said, and all eyes turned to him.

"What are you talking about?" Renkotsu demanded.

"The balverines turned on him." He spoke clearly, each syllable well-formed, as his strange amber eyes flicked to meet each of their faces. "For now he shouldn't be a problem."

"For now," Renkotsu blithely reiterated, obviously doubting the teenager's words.

"How do you know this?" Wash couldn't hide the surprised disbelief from her voice. "How can three people come out of there, unturned, and survive the woods long enough to find us? What makes you so special?"

"Nothing. They let us go," Naoya said with a shrug that betrayed his innocent expression. "Sort of."

"Enough with the mysteries!" Renkotsu stepped forward, his eyes fierce and his face drawn. "The balverines do not 'let people go.' You are hiding something from us all, and we will have it before the night is through or I will make certain that you never see the light of day again!"

Wash pushed herself between Ren and the others, her arms outstretched. "Hey!" she shouted. "That's enough!"

"If you would just give me two seconds," Naoya pouted, glaring at Ren, "I would have told you."

"You would do well to tell us now," Ren practically snarled. His hands were drawn into fists, and though they were each given the distinct impression that he was not a man of close physical violence, there was a cost to being on his bad side.

"We would not have escaped at all if we were not able to strike a deal with them," Remus finally said, his hands up. "The balverines sought to turn on Reaver, and we were able to work with their alpha and come to an arrangement."

"The big fluffy white one?" Sokka had gone pale.

"Everyone, sit down! We have to talk this through and I'm not going to stand here and babysit, so everyone better move quick or else!" Once Wash had finished shouting, she pointed to the central ring and watched as each of them reluctantly gathered there under the low hum of the chimney ventilation. "There," she breathed. "Everyone just shut up and we'll take turns! Is that okay with you, or are you going to keep acting like a bunch of kids?"

Mabel and Dipper looked at each other, but remained silent.

Wash took a moment to collect herself before turning to Anders, Remus, and Naoya, who had seated themselves together on the opposite side of the circle. "Look: it's been a long road getting here. Renkotsu has... a right to be demanding, but not to demand," she finished, glancing at him.

"We can provide you with whatever we may know that would help," Remus replied. "Though I daresay our time there was less than productive."

"And we have questions of our own," Anders put forth, an idea to which Wash reluctantly agreed.

"An exchange," she said. "Information for information. That seems reasonable, under the circumstances. And we'll go first. What do you want to know?"

The Trio exchanged looks. Anders was the first to speak.

"For only the four of you to remain, there must be something about this place that's important. Have you been able to work out a way for us all to return home?"

The answer could be seen in their faces.

"Do you think we would be here now if we knew how to get out?" asked Renkotsu.

"Not with Reaver and his balverines in our way," Sokka said. He crossed his arms, his eyes seeing things much father away than any of them could know. Longing pulled on his features, and he suddenly seemed older.

"Our fight with Reaver comes first," Wash said. "We can't do anything with him in our way. Those fires you saw on the map were our attempts to circle his Oasis, to burn the trees surrounding it so that the balverines couldn't use them to jump us. And we hoped that they would continue into the Oasis itself, and maybe burn the thing to the ground. We scattered them out strategically, hoping Reaver would think that we would never set fires so close to home."

"That's how we found you, though," Naoya said. "We cut through the center of the fires. We figured we'd either meet you when you started the next one, or we'd find you some other way."
"Not entirely," said Remus. "We ended up primarily lost. We could never have found this place on our own, not for another while at least. We were lucky to have found someone in the woods who told us where we might find you, Naoya, and then we stumbled across the trap by accident."

Renkotsu stared. "Outside help?"

"A merchant," Mabel suddenly perked up from where she sat kicking her dangling legs against the couch she shared with Dipper. "He took four cat stickers, and told us which way to go."
Wash pursed her lips, an act which did nothing to help her look less stressed. "This 'merchant.' Did he have a cat mask, or one that looks like a frog?"

Mabel gasped. "How did you know?"

"That's the creepy guy who knocked on the Vault door last week," Sokka said doggedly. "He tried to sell us wire cutters and a saw. ... And he had a really cool knife that I wanted, but in no way was it worth my boomerang."

Both Wash and Ren gave a startled glance his way.

"What?" Sokka shrugged with a nervous laugh. "I thought it was cool."

"You would have traded for a useless knife?" Renkotsu scathed.

"You only say that because you never go outside," Sokka retorted, and Ren's frown deepened.

Wash rolled her eyes. "That man is dangerous," she said. "I don't know how he survives in those woods alone, nor how he seems to always have exactly what we need. I wouldn't trust him if I were you. There's something very off about him. Now—our turn: how did you survive Reaver?"

The three of them recounted the tail of Reaver, of his Control Crystal, and how Alastor brought them to the Oasis to help him perform a coup. They described their theft of the Crystal and it's deliverance to Alastor, and how they ended up fleeing the city under attack from the balverines who were still loyal to the Lord. Remus listened intently for the last part, for he still had only his memories of Nadine and the tug of the moon on his bones. To hear the tale like this was horrifying, and a sense of guilt strummed hard against his insides. The other two conveniently left out everything about werewolves, psychics, and mages—werewolves in particular, despite that being the foundation of the alliance with Alastor. And Remus breathed a sigh of relief he hadn't been aware he'd been holding.

"So Reaver is dead," Wash breathed. "He's really gone."

"We can't know for sure," Anders corrected. "We never determined whether he was dead or just unconscious on the floor."

"That's good enough," Ren said, and for the first time all night he looked—pleased. If he could look pleased. "Even if the leader did not end up killing him, those balverines probably ate him, or worse."

"So what will you do now?" Remus asked, leaning forward. The air was cool in the room, and in his simple shirt he found it difficult to sit still.

There was something of a drawn silence, as if the others had never considered that this day would come for real.

"I guess... we work on trying to go home," Wash said with a sigh and a hand to the back of her neck. "I don't know. I wasn't prepared for this kind of news. Is your alliance still in place? We know that Reaver had a huge library in it, and that would be a good place to start if we were going to even contemplate beginning researching a way out of here."

But Sokka stood up then. "You've got to be kidding. We're not making friends with the big, fluffy, white monster who tried to eat me! Four times!" He held out four fingers for emphasis.

"What would you have us do?" Wash asked. Her voice was not angry, but her shoulders were tense. "We can't survive in the wilderness for very long as it is now. We stayed here because we have no place to go, this could be our way to get answers."

Ren snorted, a bitter sound splashed with skepticism. "That is awfully idealistic of you, Lieutenant."

"I would think you would be the one to jump at an opportunity like this, Renkotsu. You are the most vocal of us about wanting to leave this place."

"But I do not want it so badly that I walk into a potential trap willingly," the mechanic breathed, and each of them felt how low the blow had been. Sokka visibly cringed.

Ren continued: "We don't even know who these men are. We can't confirm their statements. They could be agents of Lord Reaver who have been sent here to destroy us. It was incredibly convenient for the yellow-eyed boy to stumble in, supposedly injured, a week before the men—men who he claimed were all destroyed by balverines—destroy one of our traps in an attempt to bring us out. And now they are here, inside the Vault, with access to all of our supplies... and to us. And it is because of an idealistic notion that there are good people out there who want to do the right thing, when we have seen over and over again that if we do not take care of ourselves, Lieutenant, no one will."

Remus expected Wash to round on Ren for the look on her face. But although she stood to full height to face him as he sat, she did not approach him. "We tested them with the silver. They passed. They're not one of Reaver's."

"They may have passed your test," Ren stated, "but they have not passed mine."

Wash put her hands on her hips with a loud slapping sound. "And just what is your test? How would you possibly test them? What could you do better here, Ren? Because I'm the one who leaves the Vault and risks her neck getting you information for your tests."

Ren snapped to his feet and for a flash of a second the two stood at odds, Wash glaring up at him as if daring him to fight her. She continued staring after him as he turned and stalked down the hall in a broody cloud. Once he had disappeared, Wash put her hands over her face, masking some sort of snorting hiss that was only revealed as a strangled laugh when her palms slid gently over her forhead and over her scalp. She blinked at the ceiling, turning in place for a half-second as she absorbed everything going on. "Alright, look," she said finally, her hands coming to rest on her hips, "there's clearly a lot that needs to be discussed. I'm not doing it all tonight. Let's get you some place to sleep for tonight, and come back in the morning. I have a splitting headache.

"I'll get some blankets," she said to Sokka. Her footsteps echoed into the towering ceiling as she left.

"You can have my bunk, Mabel," Naoya offered. "I was sleeping with Dipper and Sokka in their room."

The twins took the hint, immediately disappearing down the hall without so much as a sound. Both Remus and Anders stared: they had forgotten all about the children in the heat of things.

Sokka held himself by his elbows, frowning. "Sorry, guys. They're not usually like that. When we work, we make a good team."

"I believe you," Remus replied, standing and brushing his front despite nothing present. "Tensions are unusually high. This is our fault, if anything."

"Speak for yourself," Naoya chirped. "I was already here a week and doing fine without you." He had a cheeky twist in his lips that lightened the mood, but no one smiled.

Ten minutes later they were lead down another hall, to a whitewashed office with desks pushed to the walls on either side of the room. It had clearly been filled with cubicles once upon a time, though only a single one remained in the farthest corner. A water cooler that would never be privy to white-collar hearsay sat nearest the door, and Wash stood beside one of the desks to the left and waved them in when they arrived.

"Sorry about the accommodations, but on such short notice this is the best we could do."

Naoya looked around the room and scrunched his nose. "Can't we sleep on the couches? At least they're off the floor."

The Lieutenant sighed. "I would, but Ren is at least partially correct. This is safer," she said. "For everyone. We lock the door until morning so you can't do whatever Renkotsu thinks you might do, and maybe this blows over in the morning. Maybe we actually get to do something productive." She began to distribute military-looking, olive-green blankets and white pillows. There were thin foam mats of the same green color rolled up next to the water cooler. And next to them, a small box with a hastily scrawled "M.R.E." in black letters written on the front.

"But there's no bathroom...?" Naoya's voice rose as he spoke, turning the statement into more of a concerned question.

Wash pointed to the cubicle. "That's the best I can do. There's a bucket behind there."

Naoya looked appalled. "I've spent enough time using one of those. You actually have toilets—I don't think I can go back."

"Then hold it," Wash shrugged. And with that, she excused herself, taking Sokka with her. The door clicked as it was locked, and they were left alone in the silence.

"They can't do that," Naoya half-whispered, his face cross. "It's not right!

Remus turned to him, patting the side of his waist where his wand rested against his hip. "You know I can unlock the door?"

"And I can blast it down, but it's the principal," Naoya groaned.

"After what you put us through, I think perhaps you deserve something less than this." Anders folded his arms across his chest.

"I missed you too, Ando," Naoya said after a moment of silence, a sheepish smirk coming to his face as he looked up at Remus and Anders. "So let me guess: I'm grounded, right?"

"What do you think?" was all the mage replied.

"You sound mad," Naoya said. "But when you frown like that, I'm not sure."

"You left us no sign!" Anders snapped, his hands swinging out beside him. "For all we knew, you were dead! No warning, no word, no sign that you were alive! Why?"

Naoya shrugged. "If I hadn't let them 'save me', we would never have discovered them. I knew you guys would come after me, and I was right!"

"You could have told that boy that you were with others," Remus noted.  "You could have brought him to the Windmill rather than going with him."

"I... guess I didn't think about that," Naoya said, pressing himself to one of the white walls, his arms folded tightly across his chest. "It was kinda spur of the moment. I saw an opportunity and took it, okay? It worked, just like I knew it would."

"You can't just take risks like that, Naoya!" said Anders. Anger pressed on his lips, but the mage found himself biting back the sensation of hurt over anything else. He hated to admit how worried he had actually been, and to see it so casually thrown aside... "We need to be a team to survive here. We were worried. We lost hope. If Mabel weren't with us, if she hadn't spotted Zacharie, I don't think we would have come for you. You need to understand how close this came to disaster."

"Well, it's not a disaster, is it," Naoya closed his eyes and let his head fall back. "And whose life did I put in danger, yours or mine? Besides, it's a risk I took to protect everyone. Now we're all here. Everyone's together, everyone's eaten, and everyone has a bed... or at least half a bed." He leered at the rolled-up mats. "I'm sorry if you wanted to keep wandering around in the woods for another month or two, Anders."

"And what if we hadn't found you in time?" Remus countered, coming to stand beside the teen.

Naoya glanced at him out of the side of his eyes. "In time for what?"

Remus twisted to lock eyes with Naoya. "How is your scar?"

Naoya's jaw tightened as his teeth clenched involuntarily. "It hurts," he hissed. "But I did get hung upside down in a tree, I think that would slow the healing process."

"You were healed completely before the trap," Anders replied, his tone once again gentle. "I don't do sloppy work. It shouldn't hurt anymore."

"And you've been here a week, away from danger. You look pale. If I had to guess, you're having trouble sleeping. You feel sick. And it is getting worse, isn't it?." Remus held his hands woven in front of him and he leaned forward. "You don't have to tell me that I'm right."

At his words, Naoya lost some more color. "S-so what?" he breathed. "I already told you, I'm not human. I'm fine."

"If you were fine, you would not be getting sick. We don't know the extent of the injury until the next full moon, and if you were here on that day, if, Merlin forbid, you do end up turning—Naoya, everyone here would die, or they would kill you as soon as look at you! Or worse—you could turn someone else!" At this last part, Remus himself lost color and he turned away slightly.

Naoya felt a pang in his gut that he couldn't identify. He hesitated, his mouth twisting this way and that as if he couldn't decide at which degree to rest his frown. "It's just stress," he finally said, shrugging. "Okay? This hasn't exactly been a vacation. I haven't been infected. I'm not a werewolf."

Remus sighed, looking haggard and tired. "You cannot take the chance that you might be wrong."

Naoya let out a frustrated moan, letting his knees drop and bringing them to his chest as he rested on the floor. "I am so glad you guys found me," he moaned.

Wordlessly, the other two set up the cots near the bare wall where Naoya sat so that their feet would face the door. They took their own seats on the new beds, testing the cushioning. Nobody was surprised—but all were thankful—when Remus was able to make them thicker and softer with the wave of his wand.

"You really ought to teach me those," Anders laughed. "We could carry things like these on our backs and just prepare them with magic."

"If we had a tent it would be better," said Remus. "Some of them are two floors and have running water, and they fold up into nothing."

Now it was both Naoya and Anders who looked impressed.

"I wish they had left us food," the mage murmured. "I think I could eat a horse."

Naoya strode to the box beside the cooler, jostling the contents with a small kick. "They did. This is military food," he explained. "You know, MRE? 'Meals Ready to Eat'," he added with a frustrated sigh after observing their blank expressions. "It's taped shut, though. Anyone got a knife?"

"The Lieutenant still has my dagger," Anders said, shaking his head. He patted his staff, which he had laid across the floor beside his bed. "I guess she doesn't have mages where she's from, or she would have realized this is more dangerous. She even saw us using magic."

"Muggles have a hard time understanding what they see when magic is involved. Not to mention, with everything going on, she may have forgotten. I can open the box, Naoya, give us a second." Remus made to stand, pushing away from the furniture only to hiss sharply and shake his hand.

Anders looked up urgently. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," Remus replied immediately, but Anders stood up and extended his palm.

"Let me see."

"It's just the cut from her dagger," Remus tried, waving him away. "I almost forgot about it until I pushed on it. It's nothing to lose sleep over."

But Anders took Remus' wrist, turning over the other man's hand in his own. The wound was a red line surrounded by blotched crimson and purple as inflammation and bruising fought for control. The skin was angry and raw, and towards the deepest section small blisters had welled to the surface. Anders couldn't help but look at his own wound, a simple red scab in comparison.

"They said silver burns balverines," Anders said with a frown, glancing pointedly up at his friend.

Remus nodded uncomfortably. "I'm not surprised. It might even kill them. I don't know. The Muggles in my homeland think silver kills werewolves," he went on, "only it doesn't. traditionally, it's only use is to 'seal' fresh werewolf bites—meaning it burns the open skin of the afflicted in high enough concentrations. In essence it cauterizes the wound. They mix powdered silver with dittany, a healing herb, and together they close the wound that normally wouldn't close using traditional healing because the wounds are cursed. I can use silver cutlery and such perfectly well, but the pure silver dagger opened the skin. It's just a burn."

Anders wanted to tell Remus how barbaric that sounded, though Thedas was no better. "Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you let me help you after full moon? You were sick for days. You don't need to suffer!"

Remus drew away, his instinct to flee pushing on his legs. But he held himself in place. "I simply didn't want to draw attention to it around the others," he said. But that did not appear to dissuade the mage, so he added weakly: "I'm used to going it alone, I suppose. It didn't feel right to ask."

Anders frowned. "I offered. I'm offering. No more of that—I'm going to heal this," he told Remus instead. The wizard made to say something but thought better of it. He simply opened his fingers, allowing Anders clear access to his wound. "What about you?" Anders asked Naoya as he worked. Pale blue light bounced off of his cheeks as he searched the boy's face.

"What about me?"

"You must have gone through their test, too. Is it alright?"

Naoya pulled up his pant leg to expose his ankle, where his cut from the silver blade just a small, residual line. "It's not infected, if that's what you mean," Naoya replied with a frown. He yawned, stretching like a cat before rolling onto his other side with his back to them. The implications of Anders' question were not lost on him. His cut had healed. That was a good thing, though, right?

Anders finished healing Remus' hand with a small sigh. The other man offered a small 'thank you', flexing his palm to test for residual hurt. Without speaking, he made for the box of food and ran his wand across the tape which split open at it's touch. Inside, there were plastic-wrapped packs with instructions on how to heat the meal.

"Hardly dodgy," Remus murmured, peeling open his chosen poison and sifting through. "There are M&M's in here, though."

Anders frowned. "Is that some sort of food?"

Remus tossed him the unopened candy pouch. "Try one."

"Mine's got a Snickers," said Naoya. "They all have a sweet thing in them, I think."

Suddenly Anders made a face. "It's—soft. But the outside is crunchy? It is... very sweet. People eat this regularly?" He made another face, as though he had bitten into a lemon, and he swirled the piece of chocolate across his tongue. "Maker's breath, I think—it melted? Is that supposed to happen?"

Naoya snorted and Remus bit back a very amused grin. "Do you like it?"

Anders shook the bag, rattling the candy inside as he eyed the contents suspiciously. Then, he popped another one into his mouth.

"Naoya," he said quietly, not looking at the teen. The hand that was not holding the pouch pressed against his temples, trying to force words to form in his head. "I just—did you really think that that was okay? You wandered off on your own. What if you had been seriously hurt?"

At first, Naoya's mouth had opened with another snarky comment. But the expression on the mage's face made him reconsider the message in the words. "Are you trying to tell me that you were worried, Ando?"

"Not at all," Anders said with a shrug. "I didn't carry your bleeding body out of Reaver's mansion because I cared about you."

Naoya smiled, repressing another smirk. "I would never assume that about you."

"Good," the mage said seriously.

"Though I think you ought to apologize to Mabel," Remus added.

Naoya pursed his lips. "So, what do we do now?"

Remus sighed. "We keep asking ourselves that question, don't we? But this is uncharted territory. And we don't have a plan."

"Maybe we don't need one," Naoya mused. The others looked to him. "I've been here for a week. These guys are pretty good. They want to meet us in the morning, so maybe we should just wait."

It was not an idea they liked, but they could think of none better.

"You've been gathering information on your vacation," Anders nodded thoughtfully, seeing Naoya smile from being given recognition. "Alright, but as much as I love going into things unprepared, I feel like this time we have to start off right to avoid another Reaver situation. Tell us what you know."

Chapter Text

Red. Dark. Cold.

Fangs. White, slick with venom, chewing on the rusted bars of his cage.

The balverines waited. Moonlight scored the ground between the bars and he couldn't catch in his breath. His vision swirled and he felt himself twitch. There was nothing he could do to stop this from happening. He knew that. He knew, and it made it no easier to bear with the eyes boring into him.

They inched closer to the cage. He could hear them now. With each step towards him his thoughts became less focused. They surrounded him. Waiting. Waiting. And a man split their masses, his teeth gleaming and his eyes like fire.

In the cage, he started to shiver. To shake. To convulse. Not this, not this--

The roar of the balverines was deafening as the white light seared flesh from bone and he--

"Oh, fuck--" Remus bolted upright, drenched in cold sweat and shaking violently. He seized the blankets wrapped around his legs and tore them from him, crawling from his mat to hold himself on hand and knee as he fought for breath he couldn't quite catch between his heart in his throat and the residual gleam of fangs in his eyes. "Fuck," he breathed, over and over, and his elbows bent against his weight. Remus pressed his forehead onto the carpet and his fingers set to tapping the floor, to tapping his scalp, to tapping each other.

This is real, this is real, I'm okay, breathe, please breathe...

After a while the shuddering faded, but the cold echo remained in his blood. On shaky hands, Remus pushed himself back onto his rear. His mind spun wild with thoughts both chastising and terrified, and he felt his neck pop painfully as he looked to his right. Naoya was still asleep and tucked up in a little ball completely under his blankets, looking much like a caterpillar in some sort of nocturnal cocoon. And then to his left, Anders was--

Remus jumped. Anders was still lying down, but his body was bathed in a soft blue glow. His eyes were open, but they were not the shade of brown Remus had expected when he caught them staring directly at him.

"You have had a nightmare," Justice observed through a lightning blue stare. "You have them increasingly often of late."

Remus scooted around to properly face the man--spirit. "Ah, yes," he replied. He coughed. "I suppose? But it was nothing. They're nothing. You can go back to sleep."

Justice continued to look his way, and Remus watched a crackle of white shoot across Anders' nose as he  blinked. "I do not sleep. Mages of Anders' world go into the Fade when they dream, and as I share this body I watch over it until he returns."

"You mean to tell me that Anders is--he's asleep? Dreaming?"

Justice made no expression. "Correct."

"Oh. How is that even, er..." Remus swallowed, taking a deep breath that threatened to turn into another cough. The back of his head was wet with sweat, and he sorely wished for a glass of water. But he suddenly felt awkward.  "I suppose I should introduce myself," he said.

"It is not necessary," Justice replied, nonplussed. "Since joining with Anders I have experienced everything that he has, including the entirety of this journey. You are Remus Lupin. Anders thinks of you often."

Remus blinked. He wasn't sure what to say to that, so he flexed his fingers. "If you've been watching all night, you would be the first to notice something amiss. Have you noticed anything unusual tonight?" he asked instead. "Do you think we can trust these people?"

Justice considered his words. Remus watched Anders' chest rise and fall with the heavy throes of sleep. "They are all motivated by something different. They would not have been together by choice if it were not forced, though they work together now out of bond. They are interesting to observe. Their habits are... strange. But show no sign of dishonesty. I do not trust them, but I do not believe that they are undeserving, with time. It has been a long journey, and you are right to be wary."

Remus' heart had finally slowed back to a pace that was close to normal. He let his arms relax. "That's good news, at any rate," he sighed.  "Maybe this time we've met people that don't seek to kill us."

"Hm," the spirit returned. "We will see."

Indeed, they would. Time was nothing if not a revealer of truths. But that thought was hardly comforting. They were desperately short on allies, even if the Firestarters had tentatively accepted them as new blood. The Vault was nearly impenetrable from any balverine attack, and it was clear that this was the safest place for them to be. But were they to squat here as well, numbers dwindling daily, for mere survival? The last thing they needed was to be caught in another war with the balverines, when they had barely escaped last time.

Remus shuddered to think of it, but if it weren't for Nadine, he might not be here at all. With no control over his actions, she was the only reason he had  made it out of the tunnels. Her presence had provided his wolfish self with a distraction and prevented him from enacting the tradition of ripping himself apart - which in turn did him the favor of allowing him to function the next day enough to get through. He owed everything to her and to Alastor, and the thought sent ripples of uncertainty and disgust through him. He remembered that night, sometimes. He saw it in his mind: the bars of his cell, auburn fur in his hands, the way the balverines howled excitedly as he writhed on the floor and he began to convulse--

Remus wanted to throw up. His hands had clenched into fists at the memory and he pushed fervently to unclasp his fingers. There was a place inside him, just under his ribs, that seethed. But he pushed it down, hard. He couldn't. He couldn't do this now.

His head swiveled and he turned back to Justice.

"You have remained silent for most of our journey. Why talk to me now?"

But the glow that surrounded Anders' form had faded. The mage shifted against his pillow, drawing the blanket up with his hands. He stirred, bits of blond obscuring his forehead as Anders--the real Anders--blinked sleep away to look at Remus with eyes that were once again their normal shade.

"You alright?" he asked, voice coarse with sleep, and Remus had to nod rather than speak and give away his frustration.

"Trouble sleeping," he tried, shrugging in a way that felt more mechanical than fluid. But Anders didn't seem to notice.

"Ah," Anders replied, rubbing his eyes. He sat up, allowing himself a yawn he only half covered with his palms. "So nothing to lose sleep over."

"Very amusing."

It was then that footsteps could be heard heading down their little hallway, footsteps that stopped abruptly at the door. Their owners appeared cautiously, opening the door slowly before flicking on the blinding overhead lights. The two of them were fully geared and ready to face the day, though Wash was visibly more relaxed than she had been yesterday and Sokka was droopy with residual sleep.

"Good," Wash said upon seeing the two of them sitting up. "You're awake. Then we won't have to wait to get started."

"Get started?" Remus repeated.

"That's right," she nodded. "You two, come with me. Sokka, you handle the other one."

Sokka's shoulders were slumped as his head turned to find Naoya still quite asleep, balled up in a cocoon of blankets so thick he was completely lost to it. "Fine," he stated flatly, dragging his feet towards Naoya's cot and slinging his boomerang from it's holster on his shoulders.

At her direction, Remus and Anders had gathered themselves as quickly as possible and were already halfway down the hall on Wash's heels. In another minute, an irate shriek carried it's way to them.

"STOP POKING MY ASS WITH YOUR BOOMERANG!"

"I COULDN'T SEE! I THOUGHT IT WAS YOUR HEAD!"

Wash sighed, and the ghost of a grin gave an amused glint to her eye. "I'll never understand that boy," Wash said with a smirk.

In this light, she appeared more personable, far more approachable than the strict stone wall she had appeared to be yesterday. But as she walked, her spine was straight and her shoulders squared. Anders didn't need to guess at her history with a posture like that. There was something about the warrior's lifestyle that left it's mark even after the battle was over. There was a soldier in there, watching them carefully.

She lead them down through a few hallways until they reached the mess hall. It resembled a cross between a 50's-style diner and a high school cafeteria, though all of the chairs had been removed from tables that were mounted into the floor, and stacked across the far wall leaving only the booths available. The counter-space immediately inside the door was where Wash stopped to pour herself a black liquid that made Anders' nose burn. The scent was robust, yet somehow acidic in that it brought the last tinges of sleep in his body to its knees.

He asked, "What is that?"

"Coffee," she said without looking at him. "It's instant, but it's not bad." She reached into the cabinets above the coffee machine to snag him a cup with a VaultTec logo on the side, offering another one to Remus who shook his head.

"I only drink it when I'm ill," he said. "Otherwise it's a little too strong. You haven't got tea bags?"

"Maybe," Wash replied. "Take a look in the cabinets. These folks had years of supplies, anything's possible." She handed Anders his mug of coffee, pointing out the sugar and cream packets on the far end of the counter.

Anders could see his reflection in the black depths of his mug. He had more than a five o'clock shadow, and his hair, while tied back into his traditional half-pony, was messier than he liked. His cheeks were somewhat gaunt as well, having hiked miles each day to search for Naoya while subsiding on a diet of dried rice and other foods with a long shelf life in the Windmill. The last decent meal was at the mansion, and that seemed ages ago. Though he wasn't starving by any means, he was not well-fed. None of them were.

He needed to fill the vast space of silence. "What was this place built for?" he asked, sniffing his drink cautiously.

"Looks like nuclear war," said Wash. "A really powerful weapon that could have destroyed the world," she added, for which Anders was thankful. He couldn't help but feel very out of place. It was easy to understand that this was technology far beyond anything in Thedas, and he only had to be shown things like the faucets or light switches once to understand. But still, the longer he was here the less competent he felt. And he was not used to feeling so useless.

"There used to be a nuclear powered reactor that generated the electricity to this facility," she went on. "But when the Vault was brought here it was cut off it's foundations like the top of a cake." She made a horizontal slicing motion with her free hand. "We've had to try and collect rain water, filter sea water, that sort of thing... And power was a bastard. This is the result of a lot of hard work, and hopefully you'll be able to help make it better with your skills."

Remus had pulled a box of tea out of the cabinets with a strange look on his face. "There are quite a few supplies here," he said. "And this facility must be enormous. The people this was made for never made it here, did they?"

Wash stirred her coffee before responding, taking a long drag from the cup. "Doesn't look like it," she said. "All their belongings are here, but no people. Down on the lower level, where you'll be staying, the apartments are already fully furnished. It's almost too lucky a find, this place."

Anders dared to try his drink finally, taking a cautious sip. Immediately he felt himself recoil as his palate exploded with bitter, earthy shock. But if the smell had done anything to wake him up it was nothing compared to the sensation of the drink itself. He must have made a face, because Wash was grinning and Remus was trying to bury his amusement behind his mug. "It's... strong," he said, and his tongue scraped against the back of his teeth. But he cleared his throat, desperate to move the topic on while Remus showed him how he took his own coffee. "You said something about getting started?"

"I did," Wash nodded, once again serious. "I'll be blunt. As I said, we're hoping for improvement at all times. You have skills we could find useful. For better or worse you're here now, however long that's going to be. And you're consuming resources. So you have to earn your way. None of us gets a free ride, especially when said resources are few and dangerous to come by. So what can you do?"

"I'm a doctor," Anders offered. "I fight as well, but I specialize in healing arts."

"No offense," Wash noted, indicating Anders' robes, "but I think maybe we need someone more... modern."

"I'm a mage," said Anders, "not a butcher."

Wash looked at him. "A mage. As in, magic?"

Anders nodded. "Remus, too."

"I could see it with the staff," she said to Anders, but she turned to Remus next. "But not the stick."

Remus wrapped his fingers around his wand almost defensively. "It's a wand," he said. "Staves aren't very common where I come from, but they exist. This is more discrete."

Wash looked to Anders, and then to Remus. And then, from Remus to Anders. Her brow gave a disbelieving tilt.

"You're fighting creatures that can turn men into monsters," Anders said, "who live in an Oasis that exists under magical law and you're having a hard time believing we are mages?"

Wash shrugged. "I've never seen anyone become a frog here. No enchanted castles. For all I know, the Oasis is technological. I like to see for myself. After all the weird stuff here I'm definitely inclined to believe you, but first you have to show me something."

The magi obliged; Anders, with a white-blue fireball contained in his hands, and Remus with a curt wave. A white-blue mass shot from his wand and galloped on four legs across the kitchen tables before evaporating into mist.

She stared at the air where Remus's patronus had just been, before blinking away any strong opinions she had creeping onto her features and responded with a simple: "Huh." Wash lifted her cup to her lips, snorting lightly before she drank.

Anders squashed the fire and blinked. "You've never seen magic before, and that's all you have to say about it?"

"I'm not awake yet." Wash took another long drink of her coffee. "So you're both magic. Okay. Now, is Naoya magic too? He's got"-she motioned to her eyes-"something going on. I can't think of many other reasons a seventeen-year-old would have yellow eyes and a thousand yard stare."

Anders and Remus exchanged another look, each debating to themselves whether they should divulge certain hard truths. They met each other's eye, reluctantly appearing to agree.

"Naoya is... not magic," Anders began.
 
"He's something else," Remus added, trying to feel out the best way to say it. "He's not a normal human."

"You don't say," Wash snarked. "Not a human with those eyes, but also not a balv. So what is he?"

"It isn't for us to say," Anders said. "That's his to divulge. You'll have to ask him yourself."

Wash frowned, but did not press further. "I guess that's fair. I can deal with that. I mean, Ren goes on about demons all the time, and Naoya is no stranger at this point. Naoya's not entirely a bad kid, whatever he is..." She sighed. "What a mess this place is. Every time I think I've seen it all, something else comes out of the woods."

Anders hesitated on the word 'demons,' but said nothing. For a woman from another time and place, Wash was taking the news rather well indeed. Either that, or it hadn't hit her at all. He wondered what sort of things she had seen in this world to make her so lax about something as grand as magic. They sat in something akin to a silence with only the occasional slurp of a drink to disturb them for a few tentative moments.

"So you do plan to stay more than a few days," Wash said finally.

Remus and Anders could only look at one another, both unable to find a fragment of certainty in the other.

"It is difficult to say," Remus offered slowly. "For the time being, we have nowhere else to go. An offer of extended shelter would not be unwelcome and we will of course work for our keep. But with Reaver removed from power there is a chance that we may all go home, though it will not be found here."

Wash nodded once. "We'll have to travel for answers. We've been stuck here for so long, trapped here by the balverines. But you've seen the woods. Where the hell would we even go? Ah-one thing at a time. Although... I don't think that's really hit me yet. I'm almost upset by it."

"Why would you be upset about your enemy's defeat?" Half of Anders' face was hidden by the underside of his cup and his voice was muffled.

"Because..." Wash crossed her arms. "Because after all the time we've spent and all the people we lost, to just hear of his defeat by three complete strangers who just arrived on our doorstep is..."

"Anticlimactic?" the mage offered.

"Bullshit," Wash corrected. "It's hard to hear, as glad as it makes me. I wanted to see that bastard go down myself. I wanted to make sure we got justice. That we got something. I don't know. I wanted to at least get that after all the shit we've been through, but at least it's over..."

There was another awkward pause punctuated by the slurping of their beverages.

"May I ask you something?" Remus was the first to speak.

"Sure," Wash replied simply.

"You were hardly interested in our plant trails during our initial walk to the Vault," he said. "Why?"

Wash rolled her brow. "It isn't something new. I've seen people with them before, though I have no idea why."

Remus nodded into his mug, taking a thoughtful drink of tea. "Which of you has the amaranth plant? Sokka?"

"Beg pardon?"

"Naoya told us about how he was brought here," Remus explained. "He said there was a trail of amaranth flowers in the woods just before he was found."

 Wash wore an expression of stone. "The only one of us with a trail is Dipper," she said. "He's got some sort of pine. Are you sure it was a trail?"

Remus nodded. "That's what he said."

"That's... unusual. We haven't seen anyone new in these woods for months before you, and it was winter until not too long ago. I'll have to talk to Renkotsu about that. But come on," she added quickly, "let's walk and talk. There are still things we have to get done today."

They set their empty mugs in the dishwasher (after Anders had asked several questions about it) and followed her back out into the rest of Vault 17. The florescent lights above radiated a uniform glow onto the metallic floor and the air smelled of stone dust. They traveled down several hallways and another length of parallel doors before arriving at a large set of swinging doors marked with a blazing, red cross. They shuffled through in single file, though noses began to twitch as the vastly different scents of this room collided with those of the hall. The lights flickered and hummed as Wash turned the switch for the first time in a long while.

They were met with alcohol, cotton, and something vaguely floral but unidentifiable: the universal scent of medicine. It all seemed overly clean and yet the room itched with the undertones of a secret filth, as if one unwashed hand would doom a thousand. Even sparsely used, this clinic was no different from the billions of its siblings. On the far end of the room a simple desk rested facing the two rows of beds on either wall. Next to it a nurses station, and towards the front of the room a private bathroom waited for an occupant. But across the door, two lines of yellow tape crisscrossed the width.

"No running water down here," Wash explained with the idle point of her thumb. "We're working on it, but just getting it to the toilets and showers in the locker room was hard enough. We have a stockpile, but it's only in the jugs for now." She looked between the two magi. "I don't suppose your magic might help with that?"

"It's possible," Remus said. "Though there is surely an easier alternative than rebuilding an entire plumbing system."

Wash listened to him explain for a moment about charms and various spells that might enhance their living situation further. Then, she nodded. "I didn't understand a word of that," she said. "But you'll be the handyman. You seem to have a lot of this figured out."

Remus nodded slowly, not entirely satisfied but accepting. "I have had a lot of miscellaneous work over the years. Just don't ask me to use a hammer, if you wouldn't mind. It took six months for my thumbnail to grow back."

The Lieutenant gave him an amused smirk.

In the unnatural light of the hallway behind them, a shadow flickered across the doorway. Anders turned sharply, feeling Justice confirm: he had seen it, too.

"What's wrong?" Wash asked. Both her and Remus were looking at him.

Anders hesitated. Maybe it was the coffee, but he felt--agitated. Maybe it was nothing. The newness of everything, the stress of the st few weeks; perhaps it was his body complaining for more rest and a sturdier meal than liquid breakfast. Maybe it was nothing. It was probably--

"Nothing," Anders said, feeling his lips press tightly together. "Nothing."

"This is it," Wash said, pointing to the darkened end of the hallway.

The stench of dust and the stillness of the air made Anders' hair stand on end.
 
"It's not much," Wash went on, but the closest one we could think of was this one. Unless you want to stay in your office...?"

Both of the men shook their heads. But the feeling of foreboding didn't go away, and Anders swallowed. They approached the metal slap blocking their way with increasing trepidation. The bulkhead was adorned with a rope from which hung many white, zig-zagging paper streamers, and more rectangular strips of paper on which very delicate Japanese words had been written in deep, black ink.

"These are magical wards," Remus noted. "I've never seen them before, only heard of them. They look ceremonial."

"Renkotsu put them up," Wash explained in a tone that said she didn't exactly understand it either. "We put the bulkhead up to save on heating energy, but Ren put these seals up after muttering something about demons." She shrugged. "I haven't noticed anything, but who am I to judge after all the shit we've been through here?"

The metal groaned as all three of them lifted the slab and leaned it up against the wall. Icy air billowed Anders' coat by his knees, and he shuddered.

"Lumos," Remus whispered, holding his wand up above the three of them, and Anders pressed his staff hard onto the ground. The head of the dragon adorning Freedom's Call lit up as a white glow radiated from between dual rows of fangs.

"Show offs," Wash shot. "Don't worry, well get some lights down here soon enough." She pulled out a small box from her belt loop and put it to her lips. "Go ahead and hit it, Ren."

There was a snap and a kick as electricity flooded the floor with power and light. She lead them just a few steps down the hall before pausing at an unassuming door marked "B Level, 10A".

"Here it is," she said, offering out a small, rectangular piece of plastic with an enlarged black stripe. "This is your keycard. Slide it into the box on the side of the door, like this." As she did so, there was a small whooshing sound as the doorway in front of them slid into the wall to allow admittance.

"I don't know why a door knob isn't just as useful," Anders murmured, arms crossed. But he stepped into the room after the others nonetheless.

"This is the first time I've actually been in here," said Wash, as she too busied herself with careful examination of the apartment. "God, these places are ugly, though."

Anders couldn't have agreed more. It was small, though perhaps that was to be expected when building with such limited space. It was far more luxurious than any "apartment" in Darktown, or even in the elven Alienage by comparison, though the way the striped and floral wallpapers appeared crudely slapped onto metal sheets to form walls Anders sorely wished for some wood or brick surrounding him now. The walls were dotted with strange protruding boxes that Wash explained were probably meant for communication from room to room, or even from apartment to apartment. Like a 'comm system,' or a 'walkie-talkie', or a 'telephone' system. Maker, he was starting to think the damn woods were a sight better. At least he knew what was going on. Eating poison berries on accident was far more appealing than winding up lost in a metal box because he couldn't ring for help without a detailed tutorial.

There was a large, velvet couch in the center of the room that faced a wall with a television on a stand. Behind the couch, a round table and four chairs rested next to the other wall with plates already set up for the next meal. A wall clock that had died long ago at four to midnight was mounted on the wall above it, and dead flower petals crusted the tabletop with a soft layer of mold. Where there weren't Comm Boxes, pictures of a smiling family dotted the walls. There was a teddy bear waiting on the arm chair beside the couch with a silk ribbon around the neck that had never been touched.

"There's a little kitchen," Remus observed as he passed through the small door beside the table. Wash opened the one at a right angle to the kitchen door, and Anders spotted a toilet and a small sink. Wash temporarily disappeared and returned with wet hands.

"Your shower works now, anyway," she said, wiping her hands on her pants. "Though I'd run it for a little before anyone gets in. Water's a little brown. And there's no heat."

"We'll manage," Anders said.

On either side of the television, there were two more doors.

"Bedrooms," Wash said. "But it looks like Renkotsu was correct: there's only two."

Remus emerged from the kitchen. "That should do just as well. I don't mind sleeping on the couch."

"No, you can have one and Naoya can have the other," Anders said, feeling his brow knit. "I'll sleep in the infirmary. There are plenty of beds in there. Besides," he added, "that was how I was set up back home. You never know: I might like it."

"You really want to sleep on the other side of the Vault?"

Anders shrugged. "I don't care either way. I just thought to avoid the fight."

"Just give Naoya the couch," Wash said with a crooked grin. "You're better off that way."

"This... is true," Anders smiled. "Maybe I'll reconsider."

"Whatever you do, just let me know. Renkotsu will want to know."

"I take it you don't care for him."

Wash put her hands on her hips. "He's a challenge, but he knows what he's doing. And he's a hell of a mechanic. Anyway, here." She handed Remus the keycard before making her way towards the door. "I'm going to go check in on Sokka and the others. I haven't heard from them in a while, and knowing them that means neglected chores."

She waved as she left, and the mechanical door sealed behind her.

Anders turned on his heels, really taking in the new room for the first time. It was small. Much smaller than it had seemed just moments ago. Clammy hands reached to run across the back of the mage's neck. Was it always so hot in here? Anders' honey-brown eyes began to scan he walls, looking for the 'thermostatic' or whatever it was they called it. His fingers flexed, one single knuckle refusing to crack. For half a second, Anders caught himself contemplating what the damage might be and how much mana it would cost him to snap that joint himself. His breath caught in his throat.

"I'm going to walk about a bit."

"You don't want to explore the apartment further?" Remus asked with a quizzical expression.

Anders had the keen impression that the wizard had been watching him closely, and he swallowed. In fact he did want to look around, but not with--not yet. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and he suppressed a shudder.

"Not immediately," he said. "We can do that later. We have yet to see this Vault for ourselves, and I, er, I would rather see it for myself before getting comfortable. You're welcome to walk with me, of course."

Remus tapped his wand thoughtfully against his palm as he considered this. "Very well," he nodded. Though he handed Anders the keycard, explaining quietly that he did not trust the flimsy pockets of his current clothes. "I hope fully furnished means fully stocked, as well," he muttered, looking longingly at the master bedroom where a wardrobe was sure to be.

The door opened for them with the push of a button, and Anders checked either end of the hall before stepping one toe beyond the threshold. Though the warmer air from the main hall was slowly seeping in, the colder air formed currents across the floor that they could feel scattering in their wake against their fingers as they walked. The hallway was unadorned, though spaced every now and again with another door just like theirs. The lights on each of their card readers was red. Locked.

"Looking forward to some new clothes, are you?" Anders tried to fill the silence. He glanced to Remus, looking him up and down. The brown trousers were well worn after such a short while. The vile forest had a way of exhausting everything seeking to break through it.

"Hopefully," Remus shrugged. He held his wand steady in his hand as he walked, something Anders could appreciate. "These were servants clothes, I'm certain. Not meant to last. And my coat is still back at the Windmill. When we go back--

"'When', is it?"

Remus looked around. "I'm not staying here for a full moon," he said quietly. "I can pick up our  belongings when I return to the Windmill, and hopefully that will help."

"So we do plan on staying here," Anders frowned. "For the long run."

They kept walking, but Remus slowed. "Anders, are you alright?"

Anders let out a rather sharp sigh. "I'm just... thinking, I suppose," he replied.

Remus said nothing while Anders paused. One of the lights overhead flickered on and off with a loose connection. "What brought this on? You've been acting odd since this morning."

Anders only offered an irritated, Fade-tinged shrug. "Probably just one of my 'moods' again," he muttered bitterly. But there was more to it than that this time. "I can't sense anything," he said louder, "but there is something down here. I'm going to find it."

"Alright," Remus said casually, and Anders refused to meet his eye. Could it really be so simple? The mage's tongue pressed against the back of his teeth without words to share, pushing for more.

"I know what you're thinking," he said before he could stop himself.

Remus merely cocked him a brow. "Do you?"

Anders cursed under his breath. He swallowed again, though it was tacky this time. "You're thinking that I'm crazy."

"Hm," Remus replied mildly. "I was actually thinking about getting something to eat shortly, but you were very close."

"You're an ass."

"You're agitated," Remus replied. "Does the underground bother you?"

"Of course it does," Anders grimaced. "It reminds me of the bloody Deep Roads. I half expect a hurlock to throw itself at me whenever I round a corner. But more than that, I feel confined. Like the mountain could collapse on top of us at any moment, like the earth is pressing in on us. I was fine upstairs. I could forget about the mountain in the open halls. But this? It's so enclosed, so confining. It's hard to breathe. Don't you feel it?"

Remus shook his head. "I hadn't given it much thought," he admitted. "But we can try to make it bearable."

"That's just it," snapped Anders. "We're all acting as though this is our lot, this is the long-term. Like this is our future, here in this Vault." He locked eyes with Remus now, and there was a mixture of emotions in his gaze that left Remus pinned to his spot. "We're acting as though we're not going home."

"No." Remus stopped completely now, and Anders turned to him. "We're going home, Anders. We are here for now, it is true. But there are others now who are stranded like us, and each of us shares the common goal of returning to our homes. We have not had more motivation between us now, and they may know of resources; things Reaver would have refused us. We're not staying here forever."

"I... I know," Anders replied. He crossed his arms, biting the inside of his cheek. "We have to be prepared for them to turn on us, though. We have to know how to escape this place before we are trapped inside."

"Hence the reason for our walk, I assume."

Anders nodded slowly. "I--I apologize. I find that my mind will not slow down. From the minute I woke up this morning, I was on edge. You probably think I'm paranoid."

"Wrong again," Remus said, and he suddenly broke away and turned the corner, forcing Anders to follow. When Anders saw him again, he was staring at a map colored with differently shaded lines. Like blueprints, each room was marked and labeled and the words "YOU ARE HERE" indicated their current position with a black X. "This is for maintenance personnel. It will be useful," he said quietly. "Though I can't duplicate it. Perhaps Naoya could take a picture of it later tonight with his phone."

"I just keep thinking about Reaver," was all Anders offered in response.

Remus felt his stomach tighten and the nightmares returned acutely to memory. He turned back to Anders slowly. "Oh?"

"I don't know if we would have made it out of there if it weren't for you."

Remus could not suppress a tight, sarcastic laugh. "You barely made it out because of me."

"That isn't so: Alastor only helped us because of you, Remus. When I was--when he--" Anders swallowed "-I was ready to take his place. He tortured me. He tortured all of us. I would have taken his place so that you two could go free. Remus, I accepted his offer. In the moment before Naoya appeared and freed me, I accepted Reaver's offer."

"As I would have to save you both," Remus said, watching Anders' expression carefully. "I expected fully to be left behind after moonrise. But we were looking out for each other. We were trying to do what we could."

Anders nodded meekly, turning away. "Yes," he said, "but it wasn't good enough. The only reason we made it out of there at all was sheer luck. If you weren't a--well, if Alastor weren't inclined to work with you, if Naoya hadn't come the moment he did, we would not be here right now. We don't know what we're doing. We're very out of our element here. Remus, what if everything that we aren't--what if it isn't enough?"

"Where is this coming from?" Remus asked, searching Anders' face with green eyes that flickered back and forth. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that out of the three of us, I had the least part to play in our escape from the mansion! I'm saying that I don't know where we're going and that thought is more terrifying to me than I thought it would be, and in light of what's happened to us all I question my ability to face it. I have faced archdemons and broodmothers, but this realm is a total unknown and I can't--"

Anders was breathing very fast, and Remus had to say his name several times before the mage looked at him.

"Anders. Anders, take a breath. Anders!"

Anders saw Remus' mouth moving, but the voice in his ears were disembodied and far away. His heart was going to break his ribs, and imagined himself watching through another man's eyes as he fell back somewhere inside his body. The expression of the person in front of him changed from concern to something far worse, and the grip he held on his wand tightened. The skin stretching across this body's bones began to tingle with electric light, and the hairs on the back of Justice's neck shot up like quills. His breathing was rough and ragged, and he could smell something wrong in the air--something was wrong, and the air was full of sick--

"YOU!"

Justice hollered like a storm, and the dust of many years' disuse was sent hurtling through the air in an explosion of magical energy. Remus took several steps back, not daring to remove his wand from his belt but not finding it in him to let it go. Anders' robes and hair billowed as the energy swirled in hot winds around the confined space.

"YOU LEAD US TO DESTRUCTION," Justice roared. The lights above flickered and the stench of ozone rose up in waves.

Remus stared, covering his mouth and nose with his elbow. "Justice, please! Tell me what's happening!"

But the spirit howled in rage and sent a fist pounding into the wall, leaving a crater in the bulkhead. "YOU WOULD SEE US TRAPPED! THIS WORLD IS FOREIGN AND UNNATURAL, AND WE HAVE DONE NOTHING TO FURTHER OUR CAUSE! WE CANNOT DELAY! WE CANNOT AFFORD FRIVOLITY, WE MUST ACT!"

"I want to go home as much as you do!" Remus yelled back. "Please, stop this! Stop!"

Justice snarled, and Remus felt something primal inside him go very cold. As the spirit stepped towards him, the lights above them began to explode in both directions in a shower of hot glass. In an instant, the darkness that had been forced out came flooding back and they were plunged into black.

"Anders!" Remus cancelled his shield charm, fumbling through the dark for a wall to get his bearings as his shoes crunched over broken glass. "Anders!"

But when he heard no response, Remus finally took up his wand. A sphere of white light bounced across the pieces of glass on the floor as Remus swung his hand about. There, on the ground and covered in shards, was Anders. He was curled into himself, tears pouring down his face and mixing with the fresh cuts to form pink rivers down his cheeks. Remus made to step towards him but Anders' bloodied hands shot out.

"Don't! Don't come near me!" He took a swallowing breath, continuing to pant on the floor.

Remus watched him helplessly. "I don't understand," he begged, and more glass crunched under his heel.

Anders shook his head. "I almost--we almost--"

Remus did not think. He approached Anders, holding the light above them both. "No. No, listen to me: try and relax. Listen to me; my breathing, my voice."

"I can't," Anders muffled voice came through beneath his elbow. "I can't do it. I can't do anything! And all I've done--look at what I've done, can't you see?!"

"I don't care about any of that," Remus replied, controlling his voice with measured breaths to hide his pulse. "I care about this. I care about you, and what's happening. And you told me to go, but I'm afraid that's not going to happen, and you'll have to live with that."

Anders said nothing, either because he had no words or could not speak. They sat together in near-darkness for countless minutes, the shadows constantly threatening to devour them.

"I.. I'm sorry," he said meekly, once he was able to lift his head and wipe his face. "I'm sorry, Remus. That should never have happened."

Remus offered him a hand to pull him up. Even more bits of glass tumbled out of the folds of Anders' robes. "What did happen?" he asked softly.

"I... Justice--," Anders swayed. Between his panic and the spirit, his body was brutally exhausted. "Before me, I think, ah... I don't think Justice felt emotions. Living emotions. I am occasionally... overwhelmed. And Justice is not--not used to that. He was acting in self defense," Anders finished, his head bowed. He took to examining a cut on his palm where a shard was wedged between the lines. "I should have been more in control," he spat. "I should have control."

"It was a panic attack," Remus replied. "Not something to be ashamed about."

Anders huffed. "You don't become a danger to others when it happens."

"Though I do become a danger to others," was the reply, causing Anders to sigh.

"I don't understand you. You are supposed to treat me like garbage."

"Nonsense." Remus wiped his hands on his trousers. "You do enough of that yourself. Now come on, let's clean this up."

"I'm exhausted."

"I expect you would be after going through that," Remus said quietly. "We don't have to go."

"Remus," Anders asked, "what if... what if, during something important, all of this-what if I can't-"

"We will work through everything that comes our way. Isn't that what you told me?"

Anders sighed, a faint smile forming on his lips. "Maker take you, Lupin."

Remus smiled back "I believe that after what we've already done, we are capable of meeting the challenges that await us. We'll find our way home, or we'll die trying."

Anders sighed. "Are those our only options?"

Remus caught the mage's gaze and suddenly both men snorted, erupting into quiet chuckling.

"You are a good friend," Anders said. "Better than I deserve, I suspect."

"In for a knut, in for a galleon. We outcasts must stick together."

"Oh, yes. So that we're all in one place when the world goes to shit," Anders laughed bitterly. "Let's get on with it. I'm sick of sulking. We ought to find out what the others are doing."

Making sure the twins had actually gotten up and hadn’t gone back to sleep had taken a little longer than Sokka had thought it would, partly because he wanted to go back to bed just as badly - but no lecture from Wash was worth ten extra minutes of napping. By the time the three of them had made their way to the dining hall, Wash had taken the two new men off to set up their own quarters. Tying his dark hair back into a loose bun as he walked in, Sokka saw that Naoya stood quietly behind the counter, leaning back on it as he sipped from a white mug cupped in his hands. Beside him were three plates, two with servings of eggs and one that appeared to have been eaten off of.

Sokka motioned to the empty plate. “You ate already?”

“Mmhm,” Naoya sounded, pulling his coffee away from his lips. A sleepy smile greeted the warrior. “I ate already. You forget that I’m a quick eater.” He set the mug down on the counter. “Breakfast is ready for the rest of you guys, though.”

“I didn’t know you could cook,” Mabel said, pushing past Sokka as she approached the counter. “You always let Remus or Anders do it.”

“Cook better than Sokko, I don’t burn the eggs,” Naoya lightly chided, disappearing back into the kitchen after flipping his hair.

“Hey!” Sokka huffed.

“Don’t be so mad,” Naoya continued, the sounds of dishes clanking in air the for a brief moment, “I worked in a kitchen for a little while. If I didn’t know how to not burn stuff, they would’ve fired me.” He reemerged with another plate, a modest slab of grilled venison steak on it, and set it down in front of another seat.

Dipper sat at one of the counter seats that Naoya had placed a dish of eggs in front of, Mabel was quick to sit beside him. “You worked in a kitchen?” he asked.

“You worked?” Sokka half-echoed, somewhat sarcastically, as he sat at the plate with the steak.

Naoya’s head tilted ever-so-slightly to the side, his bony shoulders falling, as he seemed to give it some thought. “When I was fourteen I started working in a cafe kitchen after school, though the owners were pretty quick to stick me out front.”

“Why? You bragging about making eggs drove all the real cooks crazy?” Sokka scoffed, taking a bite of the venison steak in front of him.

Naoya smiled and winked at him, amber eyes half-lidded vainly, then blew a kiss in the warrior’s direction - which only made Sokka press his lips together in a stubborn pinkish frown. “I’m a people person,” he explained, straightening his posture and placing a hand on his hip. “Plus, all the girls coming in to talk to me? It would’ve been stupid to keep me out back where no one could see me. Drummed up a lot of business for them.” Seemingly satisfied with making Sokka uncomfortable, he turned to the twins with a bright smile. “Four to eight at the cafe, then I went to my second job at an electronics factory - usually nine to one, sometimes two. And after that, I’d spent an hour or two helping an acquaintance of mine sell some things to people who’d be getting out of the bars about that time.”

“And by ‘sell’, you mean…?” Sokka wearily questioned.

It was Naoya’s turn to scoff. “Drunk people do stupid things, like perhaps buy crappily made wind chimes or severely overpriced cheap candy that tastes like sawdust.”

“So you sold marked-up things to people who weren’t capable of knowing better.”

“Capable of drinking means capable of knowing you’re going to do something you’ll regret, Sokko,” Naoya defended himself, lightly shrugging.

Mabel waved a hand excitedly at them both, dropping her fork on her plate. “But wait,” she interrupted, swallowing the eggs in her mouth, counting steadily for a moment on her other hand’s fingers, “If you worked until about three or four in the morning, and schools usually start about eight, then that means…” She gasped. “You only slept maybe two to three hours every night!”

“Sometimes even less, if I had a hard time getting around.” Ambushes and fighting, even sometimes adrenaline hours after the fact, were certainly reasons he didn’t sleep at night much. Naoya swallowed, his jaw stiffening. He had almost forgotten… “Getting around one of the biggest cities in the world in the middle of the night is a little hard,” he said, blinking, smile flickering back across his face as he leaned one hand on the counter. With his other hand, he picked his coffee back up and drank from it again, averting his gaze to the floor.

Dipper prodded his eggs, trying to figure out how to word his next sentence. “Didn’t it mess up your school life or something?”

“School’s boring, it’s kind of a h-” Naoya caught himself before he said 'human thing’. School was most certainly a human construct, where they taught human things. Naoya hated it - and it wasn’t just because he was a poor student and skipped whenever he had the chance. He bit his lower lip, defined brows knitting as he tried to think of a way to cover up his almost-words; after all, one person at breakfast wasn’t privy to the knowledge that Naoya was not a human. “A hard thing. I’m not good at it.” He gave a gratuitous shrug. “Math and history? I don’t need to know some exact date of some guy that died a century ago. I don’t need to know how to calculate triangles or whatever. I just need to know how to count money.”

With a haughty chuckle, Sokka folded his arms across his chest and leaned back, grinning. He waved his fork at Naoya. “You ditched, didn’t you.”

“Yup,” Naoya admitted with no hint of shame.

“And you didn’t get in trouble for it?” Mabel asked.

“'Course I did,” Naoya said. “And I served my time in detention almost every time. Almost got kicked out once or twice.”

“Well, that sounds like you,” Dipper commented, holding back a nervous laugh.

“So Wash making you clean the bathrooms is the only real punishment that you’ve actually served,” Sokka snidely commented. It was meant to be a little more biting, but instead he paused. “… You washed your hands before making breakfast, right?”

“I think I did,” Naoya feigned thought. “Then again, I might have also confused your steak with a scrub brush…”

“Ha ha, very funny.”

“Hey,” Dipper interrupted the banter before it began, “Speaking of Wash, where is she? Or the others?”

Naoya gave a large yawn and sleepily rubbed one eye. “She’s getting Remus and Anders set up with some real beds,” he repeated, picking up all the empty plates at the counter. “Which means after we finish what we have to this morning, we can have a little free time.” He offered another smile before disappearing back into the kitchen.

Mabel tapped her chin in thought. “Yes,” she hummed, as if trying to make an important decision that would effect hundreds of people instead of the three before her, “But how to spend it? We could go outside. But what would we even do out there, there’s just trees and all the plants that follow us.” She suddenly snapped her fingers. “We can use our plants to spell out words on the ground!”

“I don’t think that’s very wise, Mabel,” Dipper sighed, clearly used to her suggestions.

“We can spell out bad words,” Mabel tried to convince her brother. “Like 'waffle’.”

Sokka looked between the two of them. “How is 'waffle’ a bad word?”

“Oh, it is in our family, trust us,” Mabel gave a dismissive wave of her hand as she grinned. “Grunkle Stan swears with not-bad-words because he’s trying to be polite.”

“Okay,” Sokka accepted that. “Well,” he said after only a short pause, “How’s about fishing?”

“Mm,” Naoya lightly hummed in disapproval, returning from the kitchen, “I don’t know how to fish. Plus, fish are all gross and slimy.” His nose wrinkled and he stuck out his tongue.

“But yet you’ll eat them,” Sokka pointed out, scoffing.

“After someone else has done all the gross stuff to them, yes. I don’t want to eat it if it’s still got eyes and skin and stuff. Makes me feel guilty.”

“It’s just a fish. There’s a million more of them.”

“To you, maybe, but maybe the fish had a wife and, like, a million kids. You don’t know who you’re eating.”

“I don’t know if we should go fishing with you, man.” Flicking his hat up, Dipper turned to Sokka. “Last time you said you were going fishing, you brought home him instead” He jutted a thumb at Naoya.

Ignoring Sokka’s reddening complexion, Mabel slammed her hand down on the counter. “That’s because Naoya is a catch!”

“Thank you, Mabel,” Naoya agreed, practically preening.

Mabel then used both her hands to point at herself. “But I, for one, think fishing sounds like fun. And we are all in serious need of some fun.”

That was how the four youngest residents of the Vault ended up leaving just after noon had rolled past, with their assigned duties done and a check-out with Renkotsu. The mechanic briefly glanced up from the schematics he had been studying - checking to see that one of them at the very least was carrying a weapon - and a quick “mhm” were the only signs that he’d acknowledged their good-bye.

Given that there were only two of the makeshift fishing poles, Sokka carried one pole and a fishing basket while he headed the group and Mabel trailed behind him carrying the other and her pink and purple bag; Dipper was more content to have his hands stuffed in his pockets, and Naoya brought up the tail end. Naoya was fine with being the last in line; after all, Sokka knew the way to this stream or whatever better than any of them - even if Naoya felt like Sokka was leading them the long way, with extra trees and rocks and brush.

“Like, all I’m saying is that I just don’t understand how everything gets so dirty when I’m, like, totally cleaning it every day,” Naoya complained, crossing his arms over his chest as he walked. He ducked under the, what was it, fifteenth branch he’d almost been smacked in the face with. “I just want the bathroom to stay clean for like five minutes.”

“Well you can’t always get what you want,” Sokka shook his head, shrugging and rolling one of his hands in the air. “I mean I’d like to go home and see my family, back in my own world where something only tried to eat me maybe once a week instead of every other day. But instead I’m stuck here, listening to you complain about toilets.”

“Same here,” Dipper agreed. “Minus that part about the toilets. I had that job, and it was kinda gross.”

“But you didn’t get almost-eaten by a monster every week, Dipper,” Mabel’s voice came from between them. “You got eaten two times a week, hey-o!”

“Being eaten implies that he was digested and died.” It was nitpicking but Sokka wasn’t going to let that slide. “Maybe not in that order, but…”

“Man, I hope not,” Dipper grimly agreed, though he smiled.

The warrior stopped, turning on the ball of his foot, ready to prate: “No one is dying on my watch,” he said proudly, pressing a bronze hand against his sternum. Greeted by Naoya softly giggling, a quick move to accusedly point at him with the fishing pole lead Sokka to discover that the hook had come loose and embedded itself in his hair. “Oh, of course.”

“Hold still, Caveman, I’ll get it out,” Naoya said, coming closer and swatting one of Sokka’s hands away as he carefuly worked the hook out.

“I thought I told you not to call me that- ow! You pulled my hair on purpose!” he whined.

“I said to hold still, jeez,” Naoya frowned, finally picking the hook free of Sokka’s bun. “And I was going to call you 'Ponyboy’ today, but you decided to go with a bun instead of a ponytail.”

“I am not going to dignify that with a response,” Sokka stated, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Oh,” Naoya sighed, as if disappointed. “Then what was it you just did?”

“He’s got you there, Sokka,” Mabel pointed out, obviously taking Naoya’s side. They then high-fived.

Sokka only grumbled, turning to move onwards. It took everything he had to bite back the comment about how if Naoya hated fishing then why had he come to begin with? But that stupid, girly, annoying pretty boy would somehow find a way to flip that around on him too.

The stream wasn’t too far ahead, and as it came into view, it was just as Sokka knew it would be - calm, flat surface, clear water, and a bottom lined with rounded glacier-carved stones. Odd muddy-colored fish darted in and out of the shadows of the blueish and gray rocks, the sun peeking through the branches overhead making it hard to pick out just where the bigger grouping of fish was hiding. Small gnats buzzed along the surface, and a few surface skaters fled as the four of them drew closer to the edge.

Naoya had taken one glance at the water, lips pulling to the side in an unsure manner. He found a nearby tree with a decent clumping of green grass beneath and plopped his body down underneath it, clover spreading around his form. His eyes shut, he could hear the others starting to cast the lines out or whatever

“You know, if you’re not going to fish then you can at least watch our stuff.”

When Naoya cracked one eye open, Sokka stood over him with his hands on his hips. The brunet dropped the fishing basket next to Naoya, and began to undo the straps for his weapons. The older teenager was fine when the boomerang was set down next to him but when Sokka began to unfasten his sword…

“What?” Sokka asked, catching Naoya’s worried gaze.

Naoya eyed the sheathed blade as if he had never seen anything like it before in his life. “I forgot to mention that I don’t like swords,” the words came out of his mouth with such timidness that Sokka could have sworn that it wasn’t Naoya speaking at all. “Don’t really have a great history with them. Someone waves one at me, I get impaled… it’s just not a fun time if me and swords are at the same party.”

Sokka exhaled deeply. “Look,” he started, his tone softer. “You don’t have to touch it or pick it up or anything. I’m just going to put it here, not touching you, and you just have to not lose it.” He slowly set his precious black blade down in the clover, keeping eye contact with Naoya the whole time to show that it was important to him.

Naoya frowned at Sokka’s sword, and scooted away from it ever so slightly, before making himself comfortable again and closing his eyes. It hadn’t bothered him before, but now something was tugging at his senses. Something that was beginning to set him on edge, which was never good. And he couldn’t pinpoint where or why.

Two hours and seven moderately-sized fish later, the group of teenagers had shifted around. Time had Mabel get bored with out-fishing her brother and Sokka - Mabel’s five fish, to Sokka’s two, to Dipper’s zero. She had moved over to join Naoya in the grass - happily sitting cross-legged in front of the hazel-haired boy, who was in the midst of seperating her long curly, chocolate hair for braiding.

“I used to do this for my sister all the time,” he said, smiling fondly. “You and Haruna both have really long hair. I’m jealous.”

“You should totally grow yours out!” Mabel suggested.

Naoya sighed. “I might not be able to handle having super long hair, I’d be too good-looking and no one would ever leave me alone.” Mabel nodded in solemn acceptance. “Plus I’d look exactly like my sister, and people already mistake me for a girl now and then from the wrong angle…” He smirked as he worked with Mabel’s hair and cast a knowing glance at Sokka, who obstinately returned his attention to the river. “I’m jealous of your long dark hair, too, Sokky, so don’t feel left out.”

“I did not feel 'left out’,” Sokka commented. He stood in calf-deep water and did his best to ignore any further comments from the shore.

Naoya only shrugged off the rebuttal and finished braiding. “There we go.”

Mabel excitedly snatched her braid from Naoya’s hands to inspect the tail end. Satisfied, she stroked her smooth braid a few times before hopping onto her knees and giving Naoya a big hug. “Thank you~! There’s just something about having somebody else do your hair for you that’s so cathartic.”

Naoya gave her a quick pat, before his bony form went lax for all but a second. He then sat straight up, eyes seemingly more of his amber irises than pupil or whites, turning his head and staring out at the forest.

Mabel froze. “Naoya…?”

“Dude, are you okay?” Dipper whirled around, one-handing the fishing pole in his grip and fixing his hat with the other. Noting the oldest boy’s expression, he came closer to the shore. “Do you… Do you sense something?”

Sokka turned to face them, wrinkling his nose as if there were some kind of joke he wasn’t privy to. “What do you mean 'sense something’?”

The twins exchanged worried glances, before both looking back to Sokka and giving awkward shrugs - trying to brush off any accusations on their behalf.

“No, no, no,” Sokka shook his head rapidly, pointing a finger at Naoya, “Do not tell me that after all this time he’s actually a- that he’s actually one of the 'magic people’.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Mabel scolded him, huffing and putting both her hands on her hips - the straps of the bag Remus and Anders made her firmly in her grip. “Naoya’s not magic.”

“Yeah,” Dipper added. He nervously gripped the rim of his blue baseball cap, tugging ever-so-slightly over his eyes as he was unable to meet Sokka’s eye. “Naoya’s a-” his lips hovered ever-so-closely to saying 'mutant’, he even briefly debated equating Naoya to a 'bender’, but he changed his wording at the last second: “Naoya’s a psychic.”

Sokka gave a slow, disbelieving, blithe blink as he frowned. “Psychic, really?”

“Naoya will deal with all your insults later, right now we’ve gotta go,” Naoya urged, getting to his feet. With a quick bend and snap, he bent down and picked up Sokka’s weapons. He half-way met the warrior at the shore and held them out to the taller boy, clearly relieved when Sokka traded the fishing pole for his gear.

As Sokka got himself re-strapped, he avoided looking at the others. The Naoya-is-a-psychic, why was Naoya’s hand trembling when he handed him the sword, why everyone had appearently decided all this business was something to keep from him… Whatever questions he had would have to wait, but he would get answers.

“What is it and where’s it coming from?” Sokka asked in a defeated tone, stepping out of the water he had been standing in.

“Animal of some kind,” Naoya softly replied. He pointed a long finger in the direction he sensed it. “Large. That way, coming this way.”

“So it’s between us and the Vault,” Sokka bit his tumbnail in thought. “Any chance it’s a nice animal?”

“No, it feels… territorial. And bitey.”

“'Territorial and bitey’ describes everything out here, Naoya.” But Naoya only shrugged in reply. “Can your 'psychic-ness’ be more specific?”

“It’s too far away.”

“Of course,” Sokka half-groaned, half-sighed, running a hand across his forehead and resting it on the top of his skull. He scanned the forest in the direction Naoya had pointed in but he couldn’t see anything, only tree trunks and leafy brush. “It’s between us and the Vault,” he murmured, trying to figure out a good strategy.

They had more of an open field by the water, which was easier to fight in. But if they somehow circled back to the Vault, then they would have the support of everyone else and shelter… But could the four of them make it that far in time?

Tree boughs shaking and leaves rustling broke Sokka from his thoughts as Naoya grabbed his shoulder. They exchanged glances, eyes hovering on each other just long enough for the message to come across: time was up. And for but a moment a secondary though ran through Sokka’s mind: the time spent thinking could have been spent on time running.

“Okay,” Sokka breathed, shoulders tensing. He turned around and motioned towards a large ovid boulder half-submerged into the shore and half into water. His intent was clear: it was big enough for them to hide behind, if they ducked down. The four of them quickly made for the cover and waited for any sound of the approaching creature.

It was a low hiss that came first, followed by a light chirping noise and the unmistakable sound of flapping wings. Carefully, the older boys peeked over the top of the boulder - spotting a feathered reptile, sans front legs, that had a head shaped like a four-pointed star. About the height of a meduim-sized dog, it hopped along on the ground, investigating the basket of fish they had forgotten to take with them.

The memory of what Alastor had called the beasts came to the psychic’s mind. “Bioraptor,” Naoya quitely half-hissed, bunching the ends of his sleeves in his hands. “Those things almost killed me when I first came here.”

“Well it’s not going to get the chance to this time,” Sokka said as shifted his weight on his feet, drawing his black blade from its sheath on his back. “It’s just a baby one. If we get it quickly it won’t attract any others.”

Sokka emerged from their hiding spot, each step surely planted before he moved again so as to not make any noise. When he was close enough to strike, he did it just as he had been shown: go for the nape of the neck on the small ones; and with one swipe and a quickly silenced cry of pain from the small creature, it was over.

The warrior looked around, checking his surroundings, before turning back to the others: “It’s clear.”

He was expecting looks of gratitude, maybe awe and some admiration; not the wide-eyed stares he got. It was like they had just witnessed a murder or something!

“What? Even the babies are dangerous!” Sokka threw his arms out to the sides, giving up on pleasing anyone at that moment.

An odd, low, whistling chirp came from behind him as something that was clearly not wind blew across his back. Turning, he saw that there was the mother: the dark blue, featherless, angry mother. She would have been eye-to-eye with him, if she had eyes. She reared back on her two limbs and flapped her skin wings ferociously, knocking Sokka back a short distance. He scrambled to his feet just in time to avoid her striking her hardened maw down with the force of a sledgehammer, right where he had been, and dirt and small rocks were forced into the air from her impact.

He tried to keep his thoughts on her movements, on keeping the others behind him and on keeping her attention solely on him, but he could only think of one pressing thing… What was she doing here? The bioraptors never strayed so far south and so close to the ocean!

She charged him while his attention broke, leaping for him with her talons outstretched - and again whipping her pointed head as he pressed back against the rock and again maneuvered out of the way at the last second. He slashed at her maw, but it only drove her backwards a few paces.
When she prepared to lunge again was when an audible SPLASH was heard from the river. Split tails whipping, she snorted and turned her attention to the water, where a decent-sized rock was hurled out over the river only to splash down below the surface. The mother angrily took a stance against the sound, rearing and letting out a low whistle that sounded more like an offended whale.

Sokka watched her confusion, equally confused himself. Was the rock more threatening than the guy who just killed her baby?

“Sound,” Naoya breathed, practically in Sokka’s ear, placing a hand on his shoulder. Mabel and Dipper were behind him, rocks in their hands as Mabel chucked another into the water. Sokka rubbed his ear, frowning and pretending that his cheeks weren’t red, his expression saying it all: Sound? All that time and it was sound that they didn’t like?

Naoya tugged on his sleeve, motioning the opposite direction that the mother bioraptor had come from. It would take them much longer than they daylight they had left to circle back to the Vault the long way but there was no telling how many other monsters were nearby. Giving in, Sokka nodded, and followed them, throwing a rock himself now and then, as he stayed at the end of their short line; not once did he move his sword away from the mother. Clear of the clearing, they threw one last rock before bolting.

“Where are we going?” Sokka asked, but was only met with the sight of Mabel leading the way.

“This way!” was all she answered, a pink blur darting through the leaves of low branches ahead of them.

Behind came the sound of crashing branches as the mother gave chase, and the obvious sound of someone falling. Before Sokka or Mabel knew it, Naoya had skidded to a stop and turned on his heel - going after Dipper, who had tripped in some of his sister’s witch hazel trail.

“NO!” Sokka cried out, stopping and almost slipping on damp leaves.

But something happened, something that Sokka had never seen before - or the twins, from their expressions. Naoya stood between Dipper and the mother bioraptor, and beween Naoya and the mother there was an odd… something… spread out between Naoya’s outstretched arms - rippling in the air as if a stone had been thrown into water. A soft light that rippled more when the mother whipped her head at it; it rippled when she beat at it with her wings and clawed at it with her feet. The light was translucent, giving it the appearance of some kind of clear liquid - but as the bioraptor assaulted it, it appeared solid.

The mother jumped back after another failed attempt to claw through Naoya’s barrier, and that was when Naoya made his move. The round ripples in the air disappeared, and he shoved his arms out in front of him - fingers slowly gripping something in the air, and the mother acted as if she was being held in place by her maw.

“Now,” the word came out of Naoya’s mouth with some force, as if speaking was something he’d forgotten how to do, and it was commanding. It took a moment for Sokka to realize that Naoya had directed it at him.

He approached the squirming creature, drawing up his blade for a slash at the weakest spot, the underbelly, and did his best to ignore the muted screech from the bioraptor as her pale innards spilled out on the ground.

“Dipper, are you okay!?” Mabel cried, almost diving to her knees as she went to help her brother up.

Dipper picked up his hat up from where it had fallen beside him. His fingers flexed in the ground pine that grew around where he rested, watching the way it blended with Mabel’s witch hazel and Naoya’s clover. “Yeah, I think so,” Dipper replied, slowly getting to his feet with Mabel’s assistance.

With nostrils lightly flaring and a heavy frown set on his face, Sokka turned to Naoya, who stood rigid as his hands reached up to massage his temples. “What was that,” he demanded.

He was met with a childish pout and an amber gaze sorely looking him up and down as Naoya rubbed the sides of his forehead. “I could ask you the same thing. Couldn’t find a way to do that quickly?” It wasn’t an instant death like the smaller bioraptor; Naoya had felt the mother die.

“Alright, you two, break it up!” Mabel commanded, clapping her hands in an reprimanding manner as if she were scolding dogs, practically scowling at them. “Save the bickering for after we reach the Windmill!”

There was barely enough light to see their feet set down on the leaf litter underfoot by the time they made it to the outskirts of the ruined village. After Mabel’s charged order to quit fighting, no one had - thankfully - said a word.

But that didn’t stop Sokka from thinking up some; thinking up questions he wanted answered as he marched behind the twins and Naoya with his arms crossed. He glared at the back of Naoya’s head. He made sure no one tripped and got left behind or attacked. He paused as he thought about how familiar but different some of the overgrown buildings looked. Then he continued glaring at the back of Naoya’s head. When Mabel started leading them towards the windmill, she and Naoya passed through some sort of invisible curtain. With some hesitation, Dipper followed. Sokka stuck out his arm, testing the strange veil and wiggling his fingers as his skin tingled and the air around his blue sleeve wavered like heat from the sun.

“They’re magic barrier things, that Remus set up,” Mabel explained to the two of them. Dipper seemed to accept and be fascinated with the answer, while Sokka’s frown only deepened as he glanced skywards in an attempt to see how far up the “barriers” went. “They go around the whole windmill. Keeps the monsters out. Also, it makes them explode.”

The last part was said with such a casualness, they all looked to her as she turned on her heel and headed for the front door. Dipper and Sokka both looked to Naoya, who only gave a clueless shrug - he had nothing to do with Remus’s spell, and so he had no answers.

Mabel threw open the front door after jiggling the handle, rushing in and urging the others to follow. "Nice place, right?" she boasted, though Sokka's expression did not mimic her pride.

"It's cold," he said. "And dark."

"There's a fireplace," Mabel pointed, and Naoya tapped Dipper on the shoulder.

"Help me load the wood," he said, turning away from the door.

"How did you know this was here?" Sokka asked Mabel. "How did you even know where to go? I thought you guys were totally new here."

Mabel gave an innocuous shrug, tapping her temples. "'Mable-senses," she replied. "I had a hunch about the stream, is all."

Sokka removed his gear piece by piece, setting his sword down with care beside the couch upon which he threw himself. He watched the other boys set the fire without speaking, his jaw getting tighter with every passing minute. Just before he thought his teeth  might chip, he spoke:

"I want answers." He pointed directly at Naoya. "I want answers, from you."

Naoya nodded. "You're right. You deserve answers."

But Sokka, who had already puffed out his chest and held up an accusing finger, let out a weak noise and his shoulders dropped. "... I wasn't expecting you to agree." He regained his composure after a few deep breaths. "But you're the ringleader in this, this secret keeping. And that's got to stop."

Naoya feigned shock. "Naoya? Naoya's not a ringleader. Naoya is the hot secretary." But he laughed when Sokka made that cross expression for the hundredth time that day, and decided to sit himself down beside him. "Alright, so: I'll give you answers."

"Come on, Dipper," Mabel whispered then, dragging Dipper up the stairs before Sokka had the chance to ask.

 Sokka frowned, sighing in a way that made his spine very straight. He took a deep breath. "I just--" he began, "I don't even--why would you keep this from me?"

Naoya bit his tongue, holding back several comments detailing thick skulls and stubbornness. "I guess because you were fighting against things that look human, but aren't. And I hear that things with funky, yellow eyes are very prone to getting attacked by people who start fires."

"But you passed the test," Sokka objected. "You passed Wash's test! We knew you were safe. And you told everyone else! Everyone but me!"

Naoya smiled apologetically. "Naoya was going to tell you. Naoya was waiting for the best time to tell you. But it's hard to find the time to drop the whole 'I'm not human' bomb."

Sokka's head tilted back and he made a frustrated noise. He burried his face in his hands.

“So you’re not human,” the words coming out of his mouth were supposed to be a nonchalant comment, but instead Sokka found himself sounding more exasperated and concerned than he had wanted. “I-I mean, you look human. Y'know -” he pointed to both of his own blue eyes for emphasis “- except for the eyes thing.”

Side-eyeing him, Naoya placed a hand on his hip and cocked a fine brow. “You didn’t question that? Not even once?”

“Of course I did. Who wouldn’t question a person with bigger-than-normal irises?” Sokka folded his arms tight across his chest and slumped forwards slightly. “I just figured that maybe it was just a birth defect or something.”

A short, amused giggle escaped Naoya. “A birth defect?”

“Yes, unlike some people I was trying not to be rude to the first person I came across out here that wasn’t a monster.”

“Oh no, was I being rude?” Naoya pretended to be appalled with himself, coyly placing a hand to his lips in faux-shock. He scooted over on the couch until he was directly next to Sokka. “How should I behave around you, so as not to offend you?”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about.”

But Naoya only strew his thin body across Sokka’s lap, an arm draped across his face in the most dramatic fashion possible. “However will I make up for my behavior?” He prodded Sokka’s shoulder with a long, slender finger, cracking a playful smile.

Sokka couldn’t help the way his cheeks heated as he caught Naoya’s stare or how his lips curved into a sheepish smile of his own. “Okay, okay,” he brushed Naoya’s hand off his shoulder, trying to play it off, “You’re laying it on a little thick.”

“You act like I can’t make it up to you. I know, like, hundreds of girls our age,” Naoya said pointedly, winking and tapping Sokka’s nose with his finger. He sat up and pulled himself back onto his side of the couch. “Better yet, if you find one that doesn’t want to gnaw your bones in the bad way, I can help you.”

Sokka only rolled his eyes, severely doubting that Naoya knew “hundreds” of girls. “Yeah, and what help would you be?”

“Oh, it’s easy,” the psychic practically chirped. “Every girl is my friend.”

“Naoya-”

Naoya pointed accusedly at Sokka in a sassy manner. “Look, my people are mostly girls, there’s almost no guys at all. So if you’re trying to say that you know more about girls than me…?”

Sokka’s lips drew up as his brows lowered in thought, trying to wrap his mind around what Naoya had just said. “How can there be more girls than guys?”

Naoya groaned, throwing his head back against the the couch just as Sokka had. “You’re focusing on the wrong details.”

“No, you brought it up.” Sokka had a point, though Naoya frowned as it if didn’t matter. “So you can at least explain whatever 'your people’ are. I think with as long as you’ve been hiding it from me, you owe me that.”

Even with the dim lighting from the moon outside, Naoya looked as if he had been struck with a large slap of guilt. With a defeated sigh, he nodded twice - Sokka was right. And so he explained the best he could about being from a near-human species; how there were, indeed, far more girls than guys; and how the EGO had particlar sets of senses and abilities, telepathic or psionic wise. Naoya, himself, was primarily a psionic-type of psychic.

When he was finished, he had snatched the blanket from the back of the couch and Sokka looked as if Naoya had just told him that he had a secret second head on his right big toe.

“Okay.” Sokka had started, then stopped; trying to find his words. “Okay. No. I get it now. I think.”

Naoya didn’t make any remarks, only let a ghost of a smile come to his features. “So, other than the ripply-barrier-thing… what can you do? You sensed that bioraptor earlier.”

“A lot of us have sensing abilities; my sister’s a straight up telepath, but I’m an empath.”

“Like, empathy? Having compassion for other people?”

“No,” Naoya shook his head. “More like I can feel emotions-”

“How is feeling emotions a power,” Sokka scoffed, though Naoya could sense the confusion lying underneath. “I can do that.”

“Well, Sokky, I have more emotions than hungry, grumpy, sarcasm, and checking-myself-out-in-the-bathroom-mirror-when-I-think-no-one’s-watching,” Naoya retorted, and Sokka shrugged as he conceded. “I can sense the emotions of other people.”

Sokka stared at him for a moment before folding his arms across his chest. “Yeah, I’m not really convinced that having tons of feelings is a power. I mean, like you said, I only have four emotions - hungry, grumpy, sarcasm, and looking better than you - and I get by just fine. Anything more than that is just… excessive.”

Naoya cracked a grin and started laughing.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Naoya smiled. “Told Dip a while back that I knew that our conversation would turn out something like this.”

Sokka eyed him, his lower lip stuck out. “You mean you had a feeling.”

Naoya’s smile only grew. But before it had grown too large, it suddenly faded and Naoya looked to the ceiling as if something were terribly off.

Sokka sat up rigidly, at the ready. “What’s wrong, is something out there?”

A small noise escaped the psychic, who only shook his head as he snuggled back down into the cushions of the old couch. “No, no, it’s nothing. I think I’m just tired.”

The warrior studied the psychic for a moment, before returning to ease himself. “So that stuff you did with your barrier,” he started, twiddling his fingers together.

“Psi,” Naoya told him. “It’s mental energy, sort of.”

“Right, right,” Sokka nodded. “But… does it hurt?”

Naoya blinked in surprise, shifting underneath the blanket. “Me or others?”

“Both, I guess.”

“It doesn’t hurt me when I do it, but it’s hard when I have a headache or can’t concentrate,” Naoya explained. “And as far as hurting others, it depends on what I need it to do.” He then peeled the blanket down from his shoulders and slipped his hands out, tapping them together invitingly. “Give me your hand, I’ll show you.”

Naoya was met with a skeptical glance and cocked brows, before Sokka’s curiosity got the better of him and he gave in, sliding his hand between Naoya’s. His bronze skin had only a few minor scrapes and cuts, remnants of days past and the present day’s events. The first thing Sokka felt was the brushing feeling against him, as if whisps of air were pressing against the top and bottom of his hand; the second thing he felt was a numbing tingle in his muscles. By that point it was hard to ignore the gentle warmth that the rippling, liquidy air pressed into his skin. Then, there before his eyes, all his cuts began to fade and disappear.

Sokka watched numbly, thinking of everything that he had experienced in a day; thinking of the wall of information he tried to process now, and of the fact that they didn't even get to keep their fish. When Naoya was finished, he said his thanks and got comfortable again. No creature made any terrible noises and the building was secure enough, but a thought came to Sokka then that twisted his core worse than any Bioraptor ever could.

"Oh, man," he said, staring at the fire and the now-darkened windows. "Wash is going to kill us."

Chapter Text

Knock knock.

The sound seemed foreign as it rang through the silent and still inside of the Windmill. It was that sound that caused Naoya to crack open his eyes, and he spent a good minute or two staring exhaustedly at the rickety boards of the ceiling - briefly wondering just where the hell he was before the memory of the previous day’s events slowly reminded him that he was, in fact, still right where he had been. The early sun’s light peeked through the dirty glass of the windows - and Naoya had no idea what time it was, or how long they’d been gone, other than a day; other than long enough for the fire in the hearth to die down to some red embers - which was certainly enough time to ensure they’d probably all be in trouble.

With an irate glare at the general interior of the Windmill, he stubbornly pulled the blanket over his head rolled over so that he was curled into the back of the couch, trying to snuggle as close as he could to the warmest part.

“Nna, stop that,” the warmest part groaned, half slurring from disturbed sleep.

Naoya tried to further nudge himself into the couch cushions when the knocking came again. And then a voice from the other side. Who could possibly be knocking on this door, all the way out here?

“Nao-” Sokka yawned, uselessly swatting twice at the covered psychic’s head, “Naoya, go get the door.” He rolled his head to get his eyes away from the light.

“You get it,” Naoya sleepily mumbled into the couch.

“No get, only sleep.” Sokka tried one more time to push Naoya out from almost being nestled between him and the couch, but gave up in favor of shifting onto his side and resting his head on the couch arm. It smelled like must and stale air, but it was a luxury pillow in that rare instance he was able to sleep in. If they were going to get in trouble, might as well enjoy it while it lasted.

But when the door unlocked itself and started to push open, Sokka was upright in a heartbeat - practically slamming his hands down on the couch and trying to be ready for whatever came through the door. However instead of an enemy, he saw only Remus peeking his head through the front door.

“Hey,” Sokka said, somewhat accusedly, as he sunk back into a less tense posture and obviously tried to shake the vestiges of sleep from himself, “You’re the stick guy.”

“Tell him we don’t want any,” Naoya mumbled, starting the stretch out the full length of the couch.

"Naoya? Sokka?" Remus' voice was worse than an alarm clock. "What happened to you? Where are the twins? Is everyone alright?" He stepped inside and closed the door behind him, craning his neck to look around.

"Upstairs," Naoya pointed with half-limp fingers. "Sleeping, still. Maybe. With all the noise you're making, I doubt it."

Sokka had leaned back against the couch, but was quickly losing the battle for any remaining space to one hazel-haired psychic. "How did you find us?"

"And what time is it?" Naoya added.

"It's half-seven," Remus replied dismissively. He was already halfway up the stairs, was silent for a moment, and then crept back down. "Naoya, what's happened while you were gone? Why are you out here? We've been looking for you since dawn!"

Naoya frowned, trying his best to melt into the couch but without success. He just wanted to sleep. Was that so much to ask? He opened his mouth to say something, but a yawn came out instead. He tried again: "That's comforting, considering we went missing yesterday."

"We went out on a fishing trip," Sokka said. He pushed himself up, visibly lamenting the loss of the soft cushions beneath him. "We told Ren before we left where we were going. But we were attacked by a bioraptor, and we couldn't make it back in time for sunset."

"A bioraptor?" Remus repeated. "Those winged reptiles?"

Sokka nodded. "Mabel lead us here, and we spent the night to stay safe. How did you find us? ...How did you even get here if it's only seven-thirty?"

"Apparition," said Remus. "I almost didn't come here at all. I thought that perhaps it was too far away. But now that I have, we need to go back immediately--Wash and the others are waiting."

"Wait, they're not with you?" Naoya perked up. One golden eye was left open. "Where's Anders?"

Remus pursed his lips. "Anders is... not fit for travel."

Naoya blinked. "If you came here by yourself, you could let us sleep. Just tell them you had trouble finding us. We were attacked by a bioraptor. We need our recovery sleep. Tell them you had trouble finding us."

Remus watched Naoya burrow back into the couch. "Naoya," he said slowly, crossing his arms.

Naoya didn't reply.

"Naoya," Remus said again, only this time he sighed quietly and his brow rose with impatience. Then, he had an idea. "Sokka, will you rouse the twins, please?"

As Sokka disappeared up the stairs, Naoya still refused to move. And he was completely unaware that Remus had begun to draw his wand.

The morning mist continued to melt away as the five of them began the slow trek back to the vault. The early air was cooler and the wind was calm, though the smell of the sea continued to grow as they approached the ocean nonetheless. Thousands of birds sang sacred tunes for miles around, filling the forest with the essence of life. It was something they would have appreciated if they were not grating on one another's nerves.

"Why couldn't we have Appeared?" Dipper whined, adjusting his hat over sleep-crusted eyes. "Why do we have to walk all this way?"

"We walked this whole way like fifty times when we were looking for Naoya," Mabel rubbed her eyes, keeping even pace with Remus. "It's not that bad. You've just been cooped up in the Vault."

Remus sighed, secretly wishing that he could have used magic. But, "I would have needed to Apparate each one of you individually," he explained. "And being as you're all physically exhausted and very hungry, it may have been too much of a toll on your bodies." Merlin forbid one of them accidentally slip in transit and become Splinched.

"Now you're worried about the toll of magic on someone's body," Naoya spat, arching his brows.

"You're just mad because he got you out of bed with magic," Sokka smirked.

Naoya returned the speech with a haughty look. "Magic is cheating."

"And what are your powers?"

"A natural ability that I don't need any hocus pocus for," Naoya grumbled. His hands were stiffly in his pockets as he walked, and his eyes traced the ground for roots popping up in between the multiple trails.

Sokka had taken the lead from Remus after quite some time with no conversation. It was clear by the way he held his shoulders and head that he knew the area thoroughly. He strode with purpose, and it threatened to leave the others behind if they did not work to keep up. By late morning, they were nearly halfway there.

"We're going to be in so much trouble," Sokka moaned to himself. "And we don't even have a catch to show for it. It was a completely pointless trip."

"You're the one who suggested we go," Naoya mentioned beside him, leaning close and beaming a cutesy smile.

Sokka glared.

"They already know that I've found you," Remus mentioned idly. "And I've made them aware of your situation. Perhaps that will help ensure that they won't be in such a state when we arrive."

"How did you tell them all that?" Dipper asked, quite curious. "We don't even have phones out here."

"A patronus," Remus explained. "I sent one ahead with a message."

"What does it look like?"

"It depends on the person," Remus said. "Each one has a different manifestation, though they take the form of animals."

"Can I see?"

"My patronus?"

Dipper nodded a little too excitedly. "I heard you're magic, but I haven't seen it yet. I haven't seen the other guy do any magic either. How cool is it, though, y'know?"

Remus' brow gave a small, thoughtful roll. "I could cast the spell, though you might be disappointed. They don't necessarily manifest as an animal every time. It may be more of a... well, a mist."

"I want to see!" Mabel bounced.

"Yeah!" Dipper echoed.

Remus quelled a sigh, taking up his wand again and thinking of an appropriate memory. "Expecto Patronum!"

As anticipated, a blue-white form shot from the tip of his wand and galloped through the forest on agile legs--four legs, with a swishy tail that fell behind it like that of a comet and disappeared into nothing. The twins' eyes were alite with stars.

"It's a fox!"

"Are you crazy, Mabel? It's totally a dog!"

"No, it's--it's a unicorn!"

"It was too short to be a unicorn," Dipper replied, tossing his hands up. "You would know, right?"

Mabel giggled. "Oh, yeah," she laughed. "But she deserved what she got."

Remus stared. "I'm sorry?"

"Mabel beat up a unicorn." Dipper rolled his eyes as though this were average dinner talk.

Naoya let out a hearty laugh at the look on Remus' face.

"I had fun, though," Mabel sighed, smiling. "Other than the monsters, I think the trip was worth it. This is nice."

From the front of the party, Sokka made a noise of complete defeat and threw his hands up. He let his stride lengthen and once more tried to separate from the group. But he didn't make it far before stopping completely.

"Hello, friends!"

There, just to the side of a crossroads between animal paths, was a very familiar, very unexpected figure wearing a cat mask. The leaves made a game of light and shadow across his white sweater as Zacharie waved them over to him with a hand that firmly gripped a navy blue comb. He was facing precisely their path, leaning nonchalantly against an elm as though he had been expecting them.   

Mabel ran forward with a smile. "Zacharie!"

Zacharie reached up to touch the cheek of his mask, where sat a rainbow sticker kitten holding a ball of twine. His voice was as soft and empty as ever. "Buenos dias, Mabel."

Remus drew in beside her with caution. "No stand today, Zacharie?" he asked.

The cat mask turned in a motion so fluid it seemed unnatural. "No. I am waiting here to have my fortune read."

Sokka snorted, brushing his shoulder. "You've been waiting all this time for someone else to come along? And who's going to tell your fortune out here? The trees?"

"Not the trees," Zacharie replied, nonplussed. "You are."

Sokka crossed his arms, incredulous. "Me? Yeah, no. I'm not telling any fortunes. Fortunes aren't even real, first of all, and second, I'm not a seer."

"But it has to be you," the voice of the mask explained. "It has to be the first person that I see on this crossroad. Or else this particular method of fortune telling-" he held up the blue comb "-will not quite work."

"It's not going to work anyways, because it's fortune telling!" Sokka looked at the others as he said this, expecting the others to offer affirming nods.

"But Sokkaaaa," Mabel whined, latching onto his arm. "Humor him. What if it works? Pleaseeee?"

Sokka groaned, staring at her puppy dog eyes as long as he could manage to hold out. Finally, he broke, and looked back to Remus and Naoya. "Really? The wizard and the psychic don't want to do the fortune telling?"

Naoya put a thoughtful finger to a cheeky smile. "I'm not that kind of psychic. But my cousin is, though."

"Fine!" Sokka crossed his arms, managing to look both highly cross and very uncomfortable at the same time. "Fine! I'll tell you your fortune." Then he eyeballed Zacharie up and down with narrowed eyes, stopping abruptly when he spotted the pack laid carefully beside the merchant and up against a tree. A devious grin took root.

"Your fortune," he said, "is that you're going to give me those knives you showed me a few weeks back. And," he added quickly, "you are destined to give me them for free."

Remus, Naoya, Dipper, and Mabel all turned to Sokka, dumbstruck. But Zacharie merely  shrugged, his palms up.

"I suppose cannot argue with that," he said pleasenly, striding back to his bag and beginning to sift through to find the weapons in question.

"Me!" Mabel jumped in the air now, her earrings swinging wildly with her hair. "Me! Do me! Somebody read my fortune!"

Dipper grabbed her hand before she could jump again. "But Mabel, he said he had to wait for somebody to come here. We don't have that kind of time, y'know?"

Mabel's shoulders dropped, and Zacharie paused. "Do not worry. Because you have technically come across me as well, I can also read your fortunes in return."

Mabel's smile was full of sunlit braces. "YES! DO ME! DO ME FIRST!"

"I am afraid, dear Mabel," Zacharie's hollow tones conveyed, "that I must return Sokka's fortune first. If he wants one, that is," he added, turning to him.

Sokka's face was a deep frown, forming actual creases in his youthful face. He glanced to the others and sighed. "I hate all of you," he murmured.

"Yay!" Mabel grinned, hugging him excitedly. "Fortunes, fortunes!"

Zacharie passed the comb over, making a brushing motion with his thumb. "You must brush the tines of the comb three times," he explained, "and then cover your face with something cloth. Perhaps a blanket, or a coat."

"But Zacharie," Mabel said, "you didn't cover your face!"

The merchant's only reply was to slowly reach up with his oddly pale fingers and touch the mouth of his cat mask.

"Alright, let's just get this over with," Sokka grumbled. He dragged his fingers over the comb's teeth, and then covered his face with his hands. "Mredy," he said through muffled lips.

"Hm." Zacharie circled the warrior for several interrupted minutes, trailing anticipation thickly in his wake. "Hm. No peeking," he told Sokka, who flinched.

Then, after one more complete circle, Zacharie knit his fingers together and placed them upon his chin. "I have a strong feeling that you will get a stern talking to," Zacharie chuckled lightly, and Sokka let his hands drop into tight fists as he let out a frustrated growl.

"That's not a real fortune!" he snapped. "He probably heard us in the woods, and knew just what to say!"

"Now me!" Mabel said again before Sokka could go on. "My turn, right? Right?" She snatched the comb from a still-fuming Sokka, bouncing on her heels.

"And Dipper," Zacharie said. "As twins, your destinies are so closely linked that I can read your fortunes together."

"Here!" Mabel shoved the comb into Dipper's open palms and her bag into his face. "Hurry, hurry!"

"Okay, okay!" Dipper cried, swatting her away. "Sheesh!"

Once they had both strummed their fingers along the comb and hidden their faces, Zacharie went on. "I regret to inform you that summer does not last forever," he said sagely. "Also, someone shoots your uncle."

There was a ghostly silence in which Mabel and Dipper both paled. "...What?"

"Yes," replied the merchant, and his mask gave a thoughtful tilt to the side. "It will not be as fun as you would wish for summer's end. But then, change rarely is."

"What are you even--Which one?!"

"I do not know, Dipper," Zacharie shrugged, indifferent. "They both look the same. They are twins."

Mabel grabbed Dipper's arm, and the Pines both looked at one another, horror-struck.

"Now you," Zacharie continued, plucking the comb up and handing it to Naoya.

Naoya stepped back, glancing over to the twins. He hesitated. "Uh.."

Zacharie made no motion of his body, continuing only to stare at Naoya with false, unmoving eyes. Slowly, very slowly, Naoya took the comb and followed the instructions.

Now, like a shark, Zacharie circled him as well. The forest was green and yellow in the noonday sun, but the air had grown cold and the shadows between the trees were deep and dark. In the silence as they waited for the fortune, there were no birds nor insects singing in the woods to keep them company.

"Your fortune is interesting," Zacharie said suddenly. "I see two paths in your future: a forked path, depending on one choice you will make here, on your journey. You already know what awaits on one path, though, and that path is the one you will choose to stop short."

Naoya looked as though he had had the wind knocked out of him, and the hand that sent the comb along was shaking slightly.

It was now Remus' turn, and he stared at the comb in his hand as though it were a hot piece of coal. "I'm not certain I want to," he said slowly, meeting Zacharie's gaze.

"It is not necessary," Zacharie shrugged. The wind jostled the strings of his mask as they hung beside his ears. "But you will not get this chance again. And you cannot put a price on the future--believe me, I have tried."

But Remus read the expressions on the faces of the others. He did not need to see any more to know something was wrong. "I don't think--"

"There is much blood in your future," Zacharie cut him off, pacing around Remus with hands held carefully behind his back. Had he always been so tall? "It is under your claws. There are coffins under the snow, and they burn in a black fire."

"Take it." Remus held the comb out. The teeth bit into his skin. "Take it. I think that will do," he said, but there was a break in his tone, a quiet shattering behind his words, and though his hand was quite steady everyone could see that the man himself was not.

Zacharie took the comb and tucked it back into his pocket without another word. He bowed, scooping up the dual knives that he had put to rest atop his bag, and handed them to Sokka. "You are a good fortune-teller," he said. "Perhaps one day you will consider giving it a try."

And then, with a delicate wave, he saw himself down the path that the others had come from without so much as a goodbye. After his shadow disappeared around the corner, a robin began to sing somewhere in the canopy.

"... I want to go home," Mabel whimpered softly.

Roused by her voice Remus swallowed, stiffening his shoulders. "Yes. Yes, let's--let's go," he said, ushering each of them on and leaving the crossroads far, far behind.

"You didn't even tell anyone you left!" Wash's tone was harsh, and none of them would look her in the eye. "You went out on a trip for supplies, and that can be appreciated--but you left without warning, without permission, and without protection!"

Their voices echoed in the high, arched ceilings of the main chamber. The four children sat in a neat row on one of the sunken couches, and in front of them the four adults stood over them like a panel of judges.

"We told Ren," Sokka tried, holding his arms out in defense. "We told him just before we left. We walked right past him, and he saw us leave!"

All eyes turned to Renkotsu, who did not flinch at the spears of their gazes. "I do not remember any such conversation," he stated.

Wash set her hands firmly at her hips, turning back to Sokka with an ever deepening scowl. But Sokka backed down--not from her fury, but from Renkotsu. There was hurt in his eyes. The twins would not look the adults in the face, and there was a brutal, aggravated pause.

"I want to know why," Wash said. "Why you didn't ask for help! Why you would think that going out alone was acceptable, even if your intentions were good! You know what's out there. You know what we've all been through. And still, you went alone."

Sokka could see in the faces of the adults that they agreed with this. It was in the way they shared knowing glances, and in the way they held themselves over the children like absolute figureheads. His fingers clenched into fists: they were not figureheads in this, not in the least. Two of them hadn't even been here long enough for Sokka to know their names, and they were standing over him, judging him?

"You say that like we're just kids!" he retorted. "But Wash goes out hunting with me every week! She knows I'm a skilled warrior! And Naoya has his... his powers! We weren't just being stupid kids, okay? It's fine when you go out, but when we do it then its suddenly crazy?"

No one dared move. No one dared speak.

Wash stared him down, her eyes burning like fire. On either side of her jaw, the muscles clenched as she ground her teeth.

"It was my idea to go," Naoya interjected, his voice cutting through the tension in the air like a knife. "It was my idea." He stepped towards Wash, Ren, and the others, his mouth set in a line. "I figured it would lighten the mood."

Wash's head turned towards Naoya, her mouth set in a snarl. Her eyes were narrow and hard, and she absorbed the sight of the lanky form before her as though debating whether such an admission was even worth tearing apart after everything else--as though debating whether this was audacity, or stupidity. Powerful shoulders squared up and she stood over the four of them like a mountain.

Then, she put a hand on her forehead.

"Go," she half-growled. "Just go. We'll talk about this later."

Sokka was the last to get up as the others scooted by him. The four youngest residents disappeared down the residential corridor without another word.

"We really ought to do something about that problem."

Wash let out a frustrated sigh, turning to the monk. "What problem?"

Renkotsu frowned, as though it should have been obvious. "The inhuman boy," he said. The words slithered from between his lips. "This was not his first offense. He should be confined to his quarters before he does something even more reckless."

"Now hold on," Anders blurted sharply, stepping forward. "This was purely an accident! You heard them! You can't just confine Naoya to his room for something all four of them decided to do!"

"But you cannot deny that Itsuki is a primary instigator," Renkotsu replied without a skip. His gaze was trained on Anders, sizing him up.

"Confinement is not the answer," said Anders.

"Then what would you do about this problem? We let creatures like him run freely around the Vault, and soon we'll be overrun with balverines."

"Naoya is a boy," Anders growled. "He's a person, not a creature!"

"And I do not think," said Remus slowly, "that Naoya would be the type to suggest such a trip at all."

"So you suggest that he lies," Renkotsu countered. "Why?"

"Wouldn't you, to protect your friend?" Remus gesured to the hall where the children had just disappeared. "The decision to go out was one they made together. It was written on their faces. But Sokka stood up, dared to speak--and only when he did that did Naoya dare even to move. I do not suggest that punishment be avoided altogether, but there are other things going on. Naoya is not solely responsible, Renkotsu, as much as you wish to think."

Renkotsu straightened, crossing his arms. "Itsuki is seventeen. He may be a boy, but he is technically a man. And he claimed responsibility. As such, he must face the consequences."

"No." Wash was not quite as red as before, but her eyes were still backlit by flame. Even so, as she flexed her fingers in and out of loose fists, her demeanor was shifting. She tilted her temple to one side. "They all get confinement. Remus has a good point: they did this together. They're all responsible. They stay in their rooms until we decide what else to do."

"I do not think that will solve the problem, Lieutenant," Renkotsu scathed. His hands swung out to his sides.  "We need a more permanent solution!"

"What else would you have me do, kill him?" Wash shouted at him. "They're the first real people we've seen in a long time, Ren! I realize that's how mercenaries like you do it, but we can't go killing everyone that's not trying to kill us for once!"

"If you show compassion when faced with demons," Renkotsu hissed, "they will rip you apart at the first chance they get."

Anders once again broke silence. "There are no demons here," he said. "I've fought more demons than you can count. I think I would know."

Renkotsu simply stared. "Then you know nothing."

 "Enough, both of you! This is getting us nowhere!" Wash turned in a small circle, one hand on her hip and the other on her head. "You"--she pointed to Anders and Remus--"you take care of Naoya and the twins. I'll handle Sokka."

There was not so much an agreement as there were two affirmative nods. Beside them, Rekotsu was silent, but grave. In the fallout, the tense air tasted like ozone. One by one, each of the adults went their separate ways. The air continued to ring noiselessly with the echo of their fight after they were long gone.

"Remus?"

Anders knocked on the bedroom door before entering. It would have been just as easy to think of it as "their" bedroom, but somehow that didn't feel right. Years of community living made Anders indifferent to sharing spaces. The Wardens had shared tents, shared rooms. And before them, the Circle apprentices all shared large rooms full of bunk-beds. Even the baths were not private, nor even the graduated mage's quarters. There was never privacy in the Circle, so the idea that he and Remus share the master bedroom had not crossed Anders' mind as strange. But he was not blind, and he could tell that Remus was not as comfortable with the arrangement. Regardless of whatever Remus said about shared living quarters at his old wizard school, the fact was that Remus was now no longer used to living with another. It was clear in how he made sure to never change in front of Anders, not even just a shirt; in how he split the queen bed down the middle, and arranged the halves on opposite ends of the room and as far away from each other as possible. And it was evident in the way that he spent as little time in the room as possible--especially if a certain mage was present.

If he was so put out by two beds in a single room, the least Anders could do was knock before walking in.

"Remus? I have those supplies you wanted. Remus?"

Anders waited another few seconds before the silence permitted him entry. When the mechanical doors split apart to admit him, Anders still paused before stepping through. Part of him still feared them closing on him, or some other gruesome mishap. Once inside, he set a small pouch on the foot of his bed and threw himself down beside it. The springs in the mattress had him bouncing for a second. Anders still needed to get used to that.

"Maker take that man," Anders muttered to the ceiling. The overhead light was hidden behind a glass shade, but that did not prevent it from giving him a splitting headache. He wondered what would happen if Remus came back and he had shattered the bulb.

He couldn't blame his headache on that, though, not really; not when the two of them had foolishly remained awake. The fight swam in and out of Anders' every other thought, keeping him from finding peace. He was lucky to have been given something to do, lest he focus on it completely. But even that had come to an abrupt end. Why would Remus ask for supplies, and then disappear? What were they even for?

A rattling sound broke him of his thoughts. Lifting his head to stare beyond his body, Anders saw nothing out of the ordinary. He sat up, feeling his limbs tense.

"Did you..?" he asked, but immediately Justice indicated otherwise. No, neither of them sensed anything. So then, what?

The rattling came back, and Anders' head tilted. It was coming from--Remus' bed? Black boots hit the metal floor and thumped across the room. Laying at an angle across the half-folded blanket was a dusty, tan and brown messenger bag that shook slightly as he approached. Anders stared at it, imagining some strange creature living inside a bag deep within the Vault for all these years.

Justice bid him open it, to face what was inside. Anders reminded him gently about the value of individual digits.

The debate was ended for them, however, when the flap at the top of the bag suddenly burst open with a heaving twitch, and a hand emerged from within.

"Andraste's fucking tits!" Anders cried, staring at Remus as he climbed out of the bag as though it was completely normal, day-to-day mundanity. "Are you trying to give me a heart attack? What on earth is this?"

Now half-laying on the bed, Remus kicked the bag off of his shoes to finally be free of it. "It's a tighter squeeze than I like," he said with a sigh, "but it should do."

Anders gawked at him. "Do what, exactly?"

"Whatever we need," Remus replied casually. He swung his feet to the floor and ran his hands through his hair. Once he finished, he stuck his wand behind one hear and stood to observe his work, taking it in his hands.

"Within reason, of course," he went on. "It's just a bag, obviously, but this should help us as we travel. No more of this 'never having what we need' nonsense. I found it in one of the closets. With this, we can carry more and it won't be a burden on us."

Anders' gaze fell on the bag, which from the outside looked as normal as ever. He held his hands out, and as soon as Remus handed it over he could feel a small, magical residue on the cloth. He felt Remus' eyes on him as he opened the top of the bag and put his arm inside. And then, his elbow. Then, his entire arm.

"It's cold," he said, and his body gave an involuntary shiver as he withdrew his arm.

"It's just the inside of the bag," Remus replied, as though it should have been obvious.

"You... expanded it?" Remus nodded, but Anders wasn't satisfied. He opened the bag again, this time holding it open and scanning the inside for the bottom. But the inside was nothing but blackness, and Anders was met with a sensation near the base of his spine that whispered that the space went on forever. But that just wasn't possible... was it?

"You just crawled out of a bag," he said, and the words still sounded wrong to his ears. "How deep is it? And how will we hold everything inside? Won't it be too heavy?"

Remus indicated with an idle hand that Anders should sit down. "First, it's only wide enough for one person, maybe two. It's just a bag, you see--it can't be expanded very much before the magic begins to warp the contents and it becomes unstable. Second, we charm everything to make it near weightless, as best we can. I don't imagine we'll ever fill the space entirely, but a supply of rations and some water would be invaluable. And perhaps a tent..."

Anders turned the bag over in his hands again before tossing it back to Remus. "How did you even think of this? It's marvelous."

The answer was a curt roll of green eyes, and a bitter smile. "Would you believe that I slept in a suitcase more than once?" Remus asked.

"I wouldn't have before now," Anders replied, rubbing the back of his neck. "I can't imagine it's comfortable."

"Not at all," Remus laughed sadly. "But sometimes I had nowhere else to go, and the rain and snow are rather uncomfortable. But the idea truly did not occur to me until one night some years ago, when I was trying to find work in a small town in the north of the country. I had persuaded the owner of the inn to let me stay a night or two, provided I pay as soon as I found work. As you might predict from my retelling it did not bode well, and I was swiftly evicted. This was, of course, on the cusp of the full moon. I was desperate, and that will drive a man to do some very, er, interesting things. I don't think it would have occurred to me otherwise."

Anders imagined a travel bag writhing in the woods under the moonlight, and almost couldn't suppress what he hoped was a laugh. "I believe you," he said with an apologetic smile. "That's too good to end up in a story."

"In any event," said Remus, "there is enough tension here that there is no harm in being prepared to move on."

And there it was. They were both thinking it, of course they were. But to hear it said out loud like that was not quite the soft blow Anders was hoping for.

"You think what happened with Naoya and Sokka will sever the alliance," he said quietly.

Remus signed before answering, considering his words with care. "Not necessarily. But as yet the Lieutenant is the only one willing to work with us. The only common ground we all have is the need to go home, but that does not necessarily mean that we do it together. One mistake should not endanger us, but it does not help us."

"Renkotsu is wrong," Anders replied. "He's wrong about Naoya. He's wrong about all of us, all of the others. But I don't think Naoya was truthful, either. You made a good point before: can you really see him touching a dead fish with a ten-foot staff?"

The corners of Remus' mouth gave a slight turn upwards at the image. "No," he said.

Anders let himself lay back against the mattress, covering his face with his hands. "Shit," he sighed. "Oh, and"--he reached behind him, tossing the pack of supplies across the room--"you wanted these."

"Oh, yes, thank you." Remus turned the pack over, spilling the contents across the sheets. "Bandages, rubbing alcohol... Oh, and even a pair of tweezers. This will start a fine kit. I hope it wasn't a bother collecting these?"

"It's never a bother if no one notices them missing," was all Anders replied. "Besides, I am the most experienced medic here. If I need supplies for whatever reason, nobody will miss them. Has Naoya come out yet?"

Remus was suddenly quiet. "No," he said softly. "Although the news of being confined to quarters tends to make some people upset. I'm not surprised he hasn't come out."

Anders watched him count packets of alcohol wipes for a moment. But before he could reply, there was a strange buzzing sound that made both of the men jump. After a moment, it rang out again.

"Is that"--Remus went to the doorway and poked his head into the living room--"a doorbell?"

"Listen," Anders said, following him out into the apartment at large. The sound of bare knuckles rapping on the front door was unmistakable.

The magi strode to the door, but hesitated.

"How do you--?"

Remus held his hand out. "The keycard?"

"No, no," Anders said. "It locked by itself after ten. I thought the card was only for--isn't there a button? There always seems to be some sort of button."

"Got it," Remus said, pressing his thumb firmly against a red "LOCKED" button. The doors spread open, and in the center of the archway was a familiar teenager in blue.

Sokka jumped slightly, as if he hadn't expected the door to open at all, before stiffly straightening his posture. "Uh," the sound came out of his mouth as he looked between the two of them. "Is this a bad time?"

The magi exchanged perplexed looks.

"No," Remus replied slowly. "Is everything alright? Do you need something?"

"I, uh," but it was clear that he gave up half way through the sentence, based on the way he defeatedly sighed. Even he couldn't believe he was there, looking for who he was looking for. "I'm just looking for Naoya. But I see you two are busy, sooo..."

Sokka turned to head back down the hallway, but Remus stopped him. "Naoya has been in is room for some time," he explained, backing up to invite Sokka in. "I don't know if he's interested in visitors, but please, come in. I suspect you would not want to be caught out of bounds."

Sokka looked at him. "You don't... care?"

"On the contrary," Remus replied. "I care very much. I see that you are concerned about Naoya, but it's an incredibly dangerous risk after earlier. However, since you are already here, I can at least allow you to talk to him now."

Biting his lip, he briefly considered leaving anyways; but it wouldn't do any good, he had to ask something important and Sokka knew he'd be up all night until his curiocity was sated. He took a step and came inside in much the way someone would dip one foot in water to see if it was cold, before the door closed behind him. "Oh, uh... Thanks. I'm just... gonna go find his room now," he pointed to the hall, moving past the older men.

"That way," Anders pointed to the dual doors surrounding the television. "On the right."

His lips did not curve one way or the other, not really, but something in his expression made Remus certain that beneath his exterior, Anders' wheels were turning. His eyes tracked Sokka until he reached Naoya's door and knocked just as quietly as he had before.

When the teen answered it was obvious that he had been sleeping: as he opened the door, he was wearing nothing but an old white shirt that was much too big on his frame, and black boxer briefs.

"It’s my first night in weeks sleeping in an actual bed so this better be good,” Naoya growled, expression seeming more like an exhausted toddler, before seeing who was at his door and turning a bright shade of red.  "Oh. Um, sorry, Sokky.“

He stepped aside to allow Sokka to pass, glancing briefely at the magi before the metal door sealed the rooms once more.

Unlike the room Sokka shared with the twins, Naoya’s room was sparce for decorations - nothing was hung up on the floral walls, no trinkets lined the end-table or dresser. Least to say the lighting in the room came only from a lamp on the metal end-table beside the bed, along with Naoya’s wallet and that oval "cellphone” thingy he carried with him all the time. A small pile of dirty clothes on the floor in the corner and the messy blankets that looked like something had emerged from a cocoon were the only things that felt like someone actually lived in the room - otherwise it seemed like Naoya was ready to grab his important things and run out the door in a heartbeat should he need to, and that didn’t escape Sokka’s notice.

Sokka had wanted to ask Naoya why he did what he did for hours, but other questions came up in his train of thought. Why did Naoya take the full blame? Why did he let Naoya take the full blame? Dipper and Mabel were there too, why didn’t they say something? It wasn’t right on anyone’s part, especially Sokka’s own; but he was distracted by Ren’s distant dismissal, so distracted that he didn’t see Naoya step up until Naoya was mid-sentence and all eyes were on him.

But now Naoya was right there before him, flopping back on his bed with a small yawn. Sokka wracked his brain for what he wanted to say; there were so many things that tumbled around in his head, but when he opened his mouth all that came out was: “Why?”

Naoya sleepily rubbed an eye and looked up at Sokka. “Why why?”

“Why did you say it was your idea to go fishing?” Sokka ploughed on, shaking his head. “You didn’t even want to go.”

“Oh. That.” Naoya rolled his eyes, mouth scrunching to the side in a small frown. “Well, they were going to blame me for something anyways, right?” He flashed a quick smile and brushed a few stubborn bangs behind his ear, shrugging. “Besides, you’re always so worked up about Wash being upset with you.”

And Sokka eyed him, realizing that it made sense. “That’s not- You didn’t have to-” his mouth set tightly in a confused frown. “She’s still kind of upset.”

“Right,” Naoya pointed at him. “But not at you. She’s mostly upset with Naoya, but she also knows the whole getting attacked thing was circumstance.” Sensing that he still wasn’t getting it through to Sokka one hundred percent, he went on: “She might like to charge, but she stops and listens to reason sometimes too.” Naoya looked Sokka right in the eye, starry amber meeting icy blue, in a soft glance that did not downplay what he was saying. “She’s never as mad as you’re afraid she’s going to be.”

And those words made Sokka pause for some thought. “I… I know,” the words came out gently, as if he had opened his mouth and they had just fallen out. He knew that she wasn’t ever as upset as he kept fearing she would be. “It’s just… sometimes she’s so-” and his voice trailed off, unable to think of the right word. Commanding? Demanding? Neither felt right.

“You just want to make her proud, there’s nothing wrong with that,” Naoya shook his head, pulling his bare knees up so he sat in a small ball.

The brunet’s blue eyes kept going back to Naoya’s slender bare legs. He licked his lips, his throat suddenly dry for some reason, going back to Naoya’s face. “This conversation would be a lot more meaningful and a lot less weird if you had pants on.”

Naoya arched his fine brows, pouty lips curling into a small smile as he settled on his side and propped one leg up, positioning himself centerfold style without breaking eye contact. “Meaning is derived from experience and substance,” he said, before breaking into a grin. “And it’s only weird if you make it weird.”

“Pretty sure you’re the one making it weird.” Sokka waved his hands out at Naoya, motioning for emphasis.

“Pretty sure you’re the one in my room at two in the morning,” Naoya haughtily retorted and slid a hand from his hip down the outside of his upper leg, to draw attention to his appropriate attire given the time. Something seemed to click in his head, and his expression changed to an innocently curious one. “What are you doing awake right now anyways? You’re usually out cold by this time.”

Sokka crossed his arms and shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t figure out why you did what you did. But now I know.” His fingers curled into his palms. “So… thank you.”

Naoya watched him for a moment, eyes widening in the most subtle way, before rolling onto his stomach and burying half his face in the crook of one of his elbows to hide the pink dusting his cheeks. He looked like a sulking house pet of some kind. “Yeah, well. Everybody gets one, Sokky,” he managed to mumble through his arm.

When Sokka left - left Naoya’s room, left the apartment, left the whole second floor - Naoya finally let out a short groan, his head falling back against the door as his body slid down onto the floor. He idly pulled at his shirt collar to fan himself as his cheeks reddened. His mouth pulled into a solid, miserable little pout.

Naoya  knew exactly what was happening.

But there he was, almost tripping himself up because some cute guy said that Naoya was on his mind all day; some cute guy genuinely thanked him, with a genuine emotion that wasn’t negative; because for that split second, Naoya could sense that it wasn’t his face that was being looked at.

This is getting too hard to ignore, Itsuki, he tried to coax himself. He’s your friend. Just friends. That’s all anybody ever wants to be with you. Friends.

Anything to try to stop what he knew was happening; anything to stop himself from having feelings of his own. He’d learned his lesson for good after Kaname and Mana; Naoya’s own feelings messed everything up for everyone else, so it was just better to not have them. At least that way he didn’t do something petty.

But reasoning with the physical evidence wasn’t enough.

He’s been out here for, like, a year with almost no one else around. If there was anything, it’d be “for the stay”. Can’t you ever pick out a good time to like someone? Or just stop all together, you know they never like you back in the same way. He stopped fanning himself with his shirt collar and his shoulders sunk, and he sighed very, very deeply.

“I need a smoke,” he miserably moaned, clenching his eyes shut burying his face in his hands.
It felt like forever sitting on the floor, deep breathing and trying to stuff his emotions back into a bottle, before he could feel his own feelings ebb back to a controllable state. Well, mostly controllable. He still felt like kissing somebody.

He knew more than anyone that Naoya Itsuki did not listen to Naoya Itsuki.

Chapter Text

Time in the Vault passed very slowly. In the cold of the underground, with the regulated temperatures and airflow, time may as well not have passed at all. These conditions were the sort for preserving books, not for preserving life. And yet the concrete fortress was the only thing keeping them alive. In the three weeks time since they had settled here, the world seemed to progress into the future without them. The sun rose and set, as it was wont, and the daytime stars became the nighttime stars despite never changing their places. The moon was the only true change from day to day. The moon, which by now had grown very, very fat.

And with it, the ambient stress.

"I still want to go with you."

"No."

Anders paused. He felt electricity on the back of his neck, and his throat felt tight. He knew he was treading on thin ice, but that was a risk he felt willing to take. The mess hall was empty, and they could talk as freely as they wanted. He had been on this for weeks now with no success. This was his last chance, and the sense of urgency pressed heavily on his lips.

"Remus, please. You know that my only wish is to help."

But Remus said nothing, continuing to nurse his late morning tea and looking positively green. There was a ritual to the full moon days, he had explained; a way that he liked to prepare himself, or ease each passing hour. The tea was a critical part of that, he said. It helped relax him and keep him alert, and when his senses began to feel hyper-aware, the scent of a well-prepared black tea could bring him back home.
But this was not home. And, judging by the look on the wizard's face, Anders guessed that this tea was not having the desired effect whatsoever.

Remus had a small breakfast of poached eggs and re-hydrated beans that he continued to pick at with a fork though it had long gone cold. "And I have already said no, Anders. Please respect that."

Anders opened his mouth several times to respond but without any words in mind he looked more like a suffocating fish than a man pushing a point. Finally, he cleared his throat. "And why not? At least give me a good reason. We have had this conversation enough times before today, though now the time has come and you still turn me away. I don't understand!"

"There is nothing to understand. I merely do this alone," Remus said simply, though he stabbed his plate a little harder and the lines around his mouth twitched. "I appreciate your offer, Anders, truly I do. And as I have said, with enough time I will come to you. But this is not the time."

Anders frowned into his own mug, flinching when the string from the tea bag tickled his cheek. He twisted it into a knot around his finger and held it aloft, plopping it onto a napkin. He sighed.

Why, why wouldn't Remus allow this? Why would he not want someone there to ease his suffering? Someone who might reduce his pain and his recovery time--someone who was not afraid? Someone who cared. A friend, for Andraste's sake. After all they had been through, Anders liked to think that he had earned Remus' trust. So then why in all creation would Remus still choose to go it alone?

A frustrated noise stopped halfway out of his throat. What if something happens, something serious? Anders watched Remus bring his cup up to drink; how the mug could cover his nose but not the scar slicing across the bridge and beneath his eye. Last month was a fluke, he said: running through the wilds kept him free from harm, but was a fatal mistake that could  never be allowed to repeat.

Did Remus think Anders was blind? They shared sleeping quarters now.  Anders could insinuate all the jokes he wanted about it, but the fact remained that they never even changed in the same room. But Anders had seen the scars last month when Remus came out of the woods. And it was not hard to spot them under rolled-up sleeves and on his stomach when he reached for something high on the shelf. It did not take a Grand Enchanter to surmise that they covered his flesh. What did it take for one sharp claw or fang to sever the wrong vein? Or worse?

Anders put his mug down with a loud clunk. "Remus, please. All I am asking is for the chance to help! Allow me to try! Why won't you let me do this?"

"Because I do not need help, Anders," Remus replied sharply, warningly. "Nor do I want it. I am more than capable of doing this alone."

But perversly, Remus' defensiveness made Anders want to push harder. "But you won't be alone," he pressed. "Naoya is accompanying you. And he won't be of any help like I would."

"He won't be helping me. Naoya is coming for reasons we all understand."

Anders hated how Remus could punctuate his sentences with sips of tea. "That's not good enough. Look at yourself--it's nowhere near moonrise and you look terrible! I worry for you. I worry about Naoya. I don't know what's going to happen, Remus, and--and I suppose I'm just frightened of that. This is new to me, as this situation must be to you--can you not understand? What if something happens while you're gone?"

Remus sighed, his face tired. "We are all afraid," he said. "But that does not change the fact that you must remain. Someone must stay behind to keep the peace while we're gone. Tensions are high enough as it is, and it looks suspicious if we all go together. I would not have Naoya accompany me at all if the choice was ours. And I'm more than capable of dealing with myself. I know exactly what needs to be done. Anders, it is only one night."

Only one night? Did he truly believe that, Anders wondered? Did he truly believe that this would all be over in the span of twenty-four hours, when everything they have tried to do thus far has ended in catastrophe or worse? Of all the ridiculous, nugshit reasons to stay behind, "looking the part" was the last thing Anders wanted to do when people he cared about were involed. This wasn't about them keeping the peace with the Firestarters--this was about his friend! His friend, who was about to leave and engage in a ritualistic period of agonistic suffering that there was nothing Anders could do about because the damned man was too prideful to let someone else into his life and help him through suffering he need not endure--

"Enough!"

Anders' eyes widened and his mouth went slack as abruptly derailed thoughts piled across his tongue. The sound of his voice echoed in his ears, and cold shards ripped down his spine as he realized what he had done.

Across the table, Remus' gaze was caustic. "I have tried to be complaisant. I have tried to be amiable. How many times must I say it? I don't owe you an explanation," he said, and his knuckles were white on his mug as he struggled to maintain the appearance of calm. "Yet you continue to demand them as though there were a chance that anything could change."

Anders felt Remus' glare like knives. He swallowed. "Remus, I-"

But Remus put a hand up, silencing him. "No. No, you wanted an explanation, Anders, so let me explain a few things to you now. First, as I have said, as we have all known, Naoya will accompany me because due to my fear and irresponsibility he may now be a dark creature, like me."

The mage opened up his mouth to protest, but was once again cut off.

"Second, what happens to me is suffering I must endure--and I endure it dutifully, month after month, because there is nothing I or anyone can do to stop it. Nothing. And I endure it alone because I am fully capable of dealing with my affliction on my own, thank you very much. I have been doing this for twenty years, and I know my body. I know my affliction. I do not need your company or your comfort, and I won't risk breaking free of my confinement and attacking you while you sleep.

"Third," he breathed, "I appreciate what you are offering, Anders, as I have said. But the last thing I need is someone to watch over me. Let me be clear: I do not require an audience."

Anders glowered, his face burning. Some part of him realized that this anger was unbecoming of Remus, but a deeper part of him seethed. Justice was somewhere in the background urging caution, but he may as well have been the wind. As it was it took everything the mage had just to keep the snarl from his tone.  

"Is that what you think this is?" he spat. "You honestly think I want to go with you out of some tasteless desire to watch? My interest in this is solely concern.  This is hardly a fucking inquisition! You know I'm capable! You know I'm skilled! And you know that I'm your friend--or, I thought you knew. But you still go on as if I view this as a medical curiosity rather than something terrible happening to someone I care about!"

"You have no experience," Remus protested in that cool, level tone that made Anders' teeth grind. "You don't know the danger."

"Why would I put myself into a situation I didn't think I could handle, Remus?" Anders demanded, dropping both of his elbows onto the table with enough force to send droplets of tea spilling from his cup. "If I can take on broodmothers and survive hoards of darkspawn I can certainly handle one werewolf. But what if you break out while Naoya is there, hm? What happens if he doesn't change, and you two are locked in together? What would change? Tell me, Remus! Tell me why you insist on doing this alone when you don't have to anymore! Tell me why you think I want to watch, when I have only offered healing and shown only love for a friend! And this saintly duty that you feel you have to your illness will only end in you gravely injured and alone! You think I want to watch like this is some sort of sick performance, when you are sitting here before me looking like you're walking into a war and my only wish is to--"

With a jolt Remus stood, fingers wrapped around either end of the table. He leaned forward dangerously.

"You are offering me to--to what, to learn how to face each month with something other than dread? A speedy recovery and a few less days of ill health? For how long, Anders? How long is it going to take for me to become dependent on that? To become accustomed to it, accustomed to you-to having someone around, someone there to make it more bearable? What happens when everyone is gone and I am suddenly alone with this once more? I can't go through that again, Anders! I won't! Now, enough of this!"

By the end his voice had petered out into more ache and loss than anger, but it was not the driving tone. Remus vanished the last vestiges on his plate and strode with it to the dishwasher, slamming the door harder than he intended.

Behind him, Anders stood with a hard scrape of the chair against the floor. He rubbed his fingers against his palms, smothering the fire that threatened to erupt. "Alright-I don't care anymore. I won't even bother. It's as you said before: we might be doing this for a very long time. So why should I try and make things better when you are clearly doing fine on your own?" His hands were growing hotter than was safe, and they started to ache. Anders seethed. "And if you decide you want to stop wallowing in self pity long enough to come to your senses, then you know where to find me!"

Black boots strode hard against the linoleum as Anders tore himself from the hall, leaving Remus as he so clearly wanted to be: alone.

"You'll have to cut through the brush to find your way back," said Wash, and for a split second she thought of pulling out a machete for them to carry with them. But something about this "magic" business told her that they probably wouldn't need it. So she said instead, "Do you expect any trouble finding it again? We don't have maps."

"I don't expect it will be a problem," Remus said, giving a thoughtful tap to the soles of his shoes. "Once we hike back the way we came to the Vault, we can follow the plant trails through the woods."

Wash observed him and his minimal supplies, standing beside the exterior door and looking ready to drop. A supply run this may be, but the dead don't carry anything back. "You're sure you don't want more hands?"

"Oh yes," he assured. "We'll be more than fine. The supplies we're looking for aren't heavy at all. And if we do find something heavy, it will be easy enough to bring it back." He added this last part with a wave of his wand through his fingers.

Wash frowned, leaning against the  door mechanism. "I still don't like this. You should take someone with you."

Naoya's sneakers slapped against the metal stairs as he came to meet the others by the door. "Who can we take? Aren't most of us still grounded? And is it such a good idea to send me and Renkotsu out into the woods alone?"

Wash pointed to Remus. "You won't be alone."

"I think Renkotsu sets fires to feel joy. Does it matter if I'm alone or not?"

Wash slapped Naoya with an unamused stare. "You are lucky to be going at all. But apparently Remus needs you on this mission. Something about 'psychic senses," she said with an unsatisfied eye roll. "But don't think that when you get back that you have any privileges. After your excursion to the river you four are lucky you are still allowed to see the sun."

Naoya rested his chin against curled fingers, giving Wash an audacious look. "Yes, ma'am," he said lowly, defeated.

"You know what?" Wash paused suddenly, her brow creasing. "I'll go with you. I want to see what's left of that old town."

Naoya watched Remus visibly pale as he scrambled internally for something to say. If the situation weren't so serious, it would have been kind of funny. But Naoya felt something within him change after a span, something that Naoya struggled to identify.

Remus straightened. "Lieutenant," he said slowly, "there is... something you should know."

The psychic turned his head, looking to Remus with a look of shock, confusion and concern. Was he really...?

But if Remus saw Naoya, he made no show of it. His mouth was a hard line as he allowed himself a second to breathe, standing on a precipise inside his head. Remus swallowed. Every word was contradictory to his very existence, but he had come to terms with it long before.

"I haven't been entirely honest with you. We are not going out on a supply run."

Wash's dark eyes narrowed, and Remus was well aware. "You must understand," he said very quickly, "that this does not endanger you or the Vault in any way, and is an entirely personal matter."

"What is it?" Wash demanded, her gaze still fixed and turning wary. "Just say it."

"I--" Remus flexed his hands, unconsciously bringing them to cross over his chest before realizing and forcing them down. "I am a werewolf," he said slowly, finally. "I have prearranged a place for myself to go whilst transformed, and that is where Naoya and I intend to go. You understand why I cannot allow anyone to accompany us."

"...A werewolf," Wash deadpanned. "You're a werewolf."

He was staring fixedly on the point between Wash's eyes, and his stomach was churning. Everything in him screamed against this: this, which was an act of stupidity beyond anything Remus had ever seen. "I understand if you do not wish me to stay. Please allow me this time, and I will collect my things in the morning. I can establish myself where I'm going, and live outside the Vault."

Through all of this, Naoya stared at Remus in utter disbelief. He was speechless. He tried to meet Remus' eye, but the man was unmoving. Remus' anxiety was giving him a headache.

"A werewolf," Wash said again. "Of course you're a werewolf." She shook her head, the end of her ponytail swaying with the motion. Then she sighed, a long and discontented sound, and her shoulders shuddered with the depth of her exhaustion. "I hate this place."

"As I said," Remus jumped in, stepping forward, "I will understand if you want me to leav--"

"Not you," she grumbled, waving him off with a frustrated jerk of her elbow. "You're a wizard, Anders is a magic doctor, I don't know what Naoya is but he's apparently not human, and there are talking monsters in the woods. I mean, I should expect this sort of shit by now."

Remus remained frozen in place, his mouth hanging slightly open as he stared. "I apologize," he said. "I know that this is... unexpected. It is not something I enjoy telling anyone."

"Then why did you tell me? Why didn't you just make something up?"

Remus pursed his lips, and there were several clicks as his jaw worked from right to left. "I knew that at some inevitable point you would need to be informed. It cannot be hidden forever, not living as we are. You deserve to know. You deserve to be safe. By choosing to tell you now, I want to avoid... past mistakes."

Wash raised her brow, scrutinizing Remus up and down. Her features softened. "I'm not going to kick you out," she said.

Remus' face barely changed, and yet the smallest furrow of his brow gave him away. "Thank you," he forced quietly. He watched her as though she might change her mind in the next second, but when nothing happened, Remus actually smiled. "This is--this is not what I was expecting. Thank you."

Realization overtook Wash's feminine features then. "But wait: I cut you," she said, licking her lips and waving a finger at Remus. "I cut you with the silver knife. Isn't that supposed to do something to werewolves?"

"Ah, that's pure myth," Remus replied. There was still a residual tremble in his voice. "At least for the werewolves where I come from. I can't speak for the balverines, though. You were right to check."

"There's no werewolves where I come from," Wash half-grunted dismissively. "Got dinosaurs, though. Real big ones that'll eat a man whole, if he's lucky."

"And if he's unlucky?" Naoya questioned, head tilting slightly.

"The smaller ones like the Slashers will gut you and eat you while you're still alive, and they're smart enough to get you alone," she explained, point blank. "Might leave you alone, though. You don't look like much of a meal."

"Why does everyone keep saying that," Naoya mumbled and crossed his arms with a tight pout. "I'm not that underweight."

"Regardless," Remus said, carrying over the other two, "we need to be going. We are on a schedule."

Reality embraced them all once again, and they each returned to their previous positions.

"Right. Ready when you are," Wash said, going to stand by a raised control panel.

When Remus nodded, she took hold of a large lever and began to push it upwards. From behind Remus, the monstrous door was released from seals with hissing puffs of air and began to roll backwards into a track only slightly more visible from this side than the outside. From the door, piercing beams of sunlight burst through the open space until a solid sliver of yellow gave way to a stream of gold. Particles of stone dust and waves of fresh pollen swirled in the ocean of light as the scent of fresh air mixed strangely with the sterile atmosphere within the Vault. The doorway appeared now to split the natural world and the artificial, quite literally.

Remus and Naoya stepped out. With a last glance over their shoulder as the door rolled back to a close and sealed the Vault off once more, the two of them were now entirely on their own. And that was exactly what was needed. Remus was lucky to get Naoya at all in light of the events past, but the event had been bittersweet in a way: as Naoya had taken such a fall and been weighted down with mistrust, so had Remus and Anders been rewarded with more responsibility, more trust. Three weeks ago this mission would not have been possible without a third party. A third party which would have endangered everyone.
"Nice bag," Naoya commented, glancing to the tote bag Remus wore over his shoulder.

The pouch rested against his hip, and Remus shifted its weight. "Supplies," he said before Naoya could ask about before. "Sterile bandages, that sort of thing. In case we need them."

In case you need them. The words died in Naoya's throat. He didn't need to be psychic to tell Remus was upset. He held his body stiff and moved with the grace of an unlubricated robot. The shortened sentences were forced out of jaws that were clenched far too tightly to be effective whatsoever in the delicate areas of life like problem solving. Naoya wanted to say something about it.

"Tell me we're not walking that entire way," he moaned instead.

"I thought about it," Remus replied, looking out across the forest and paths within quite seriously. "Though I'm not sure we'll have time. No, I thought that perhaps Apparition might do us one better. That is, if you think it agreeable. Don't worry, I'm fully licensed."

The look Naoya gave Remus could only be equated to that of displeased feline. "I can't say I'm a big fan of magic teleporting. I'm not even a fan of EGO who can teleport." His mouth dragged to the side, and his eyes narrowed somewhat bitterly, at the memory of one of the few other males of his kind that he'd met - a teleporting psionic who liked to show him up.  "And besides, I thought you couldn't when someone was sick?"

"Would you rather walk?"

Naoya pouted. "...No."

"Then," Remus replied, once again adjusting the pack, "whenever you're ready."

"Let's just get this over with."

Remus nodded, holding out an arm. "Take it," he said. "And, you will want to hold on tightly."

Naoya continued to frown, reaching to take hold of Remus' forearm. The next thing he knew, everything was black. There was the sensation of being crushed from all sides and in the nano second it took for the image of the black sea bottom to form in his mind the air was being squeezed from his lungs. Everything was being pushed deeper: his eyeballs were being pushed into his skull, his eardrums were pushing into his skull; his teeth, his clenched fists, his arms, were sinking into ribs wrapped in iron bars and in the nothingness there was no hope of gasping for breath--

And then as quickly as the nothingness took him, it released. Naoya gasped at the return of the air, at the sudden wave of sounds assaulting his senses.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake. Careful, there." Remus lifted his right shoe and pant leg out of the stream, shaking off what water he could and drying the rest with his wand on the shore.

But Naoya had fallen to his knees, half-way draped across the shallow water and the rocky shore, reaquinting himself with the eggs he'd eaten for breakfast.

"Oh, yes, that usually happens the first time you Apparate. I'm sorry, I should have mentioned..."

"You think?" Naoya spat on the ground, bitterly eyeing the wizard over his shoulder.

But Remus was already striding up the embankment, and for a moment Naoya was too dizzy to follow. He rinsed his palate with stream water and wiped his mouth, running after the man who was rapidly earning his way to a large "I told you so" speech when all of this was over.

"Why did we end up so far away?" Naoya asked once he caught up.

"The wards Anders and I set when we first arrived here," Remus explained, indicating the area at large with his wand. He caught sight of Naoya's sopping wet clothes and frowned, pausing long enough to clean them up. "It prevents anyone from Apparating directly inside, even me. The stream was an accident," he added quickly.

"Yeah, well, maybe you should renew your license," Naoya muttered.

The Windmill looked much the same as they left it, though it had begun to become overgrown again in just the short couple of weeks since the kids had slept there. The properties of the forest continued to instill a sense of corrupt wonder in them, even now. After several moments and thorns to bare skin, they had once again freed the front door of debris and turned the knob. Other than a small, delicate layer of dust, the inside remained unchanged. Remus thought he could even smell the lavender soap from the tub upstairs that Mabel had used just prior to their departure. Though, this traditionally calming scent only unnerved him more: his head had begun to pound, and scents were overwhelming. Ashen dust from the fireplace. Rice and flour from the kitchen, stored in the burlap that made his skin itch with just one wiff. His coat still hung against the back of the couch and when he went to move it he knew he would smell the balverines on it still, weeks later, like they were hanging over him.

Naoya closed the door behind them, and Remus could still hear the birds. He could hear the wind. He thought he could hear his own heart in his chest, and the blood in his veins hissed in each capilary snaking through skin that had begun faintly to ache.

The moon was going to rise soon. He needed to work.

Remus had expected a lot of work, but perhaps he had been overly optimistic. He removed a pair of cups from the counter and placed them in the wall cabinets filled with untold other odds and ends and then charmed the cabinets shut. Blankets, books, candles, kitchenware--all of it was destructible. A werewolf trapped in here would raze it to the ground and then move on to itself. Remus vanished everything he could; woe be to the werewolf who played with shattered glass. A few Reparo charms was more than enough for most damaged property. But the worst thing for the morning after would be tossing up something swallowed.

"You forgot the salt shaker," Naoya voiced, and Remus sighed. He was right. The wizard shoved it into the drawer with the silverware and sealed that, too.

Naoya was laying down on the couch in the living area. Remus couldn't see his face--only his sneakers, dangling over the arm on one side. But he knew Naoya was watching him. There was the sound of fabric against fabric, and the teen sat up as if he'd been summoned.

"You look like you're puppy-proofing an apartment."

Remus gave Naoya a tired look, and Naoya couldn't help a sheepish grin. "Sorry."

"We're lucky to have this, either way. Though, this house has so many dangers to it. Once you transform, you'll start to destroy everything in this room."

Naoya nodded slightly, tilting his head. "Where did you go before?"

"It depended on my situation."

"That's very vague."

"Yes, it is."

Naoya frowned. He made a face so Remus wouldn't see. He watched Remus begin to circle the space now, muttering spells and drawing sigils in the air. Window panes glowed briefly as they sealed shut. Remus closed the curtains on each of the windows before moving on, charming them shut as well. Did that really matter? The air began to feel thick and oddly cold, and Naoya thought he could taste something he couldn't identify the stronger the sensation became. Across his entire body, his skin itched restlessly as though at any moment a feather would grace his flesh. The magic was palpable.
But when Remus paused for over five minutes on the door, Naoya could not sit in silence any longer.

"Why not just close the door? Not like you'll have thumbs to open it."

Remus' face darkened. "By the time I was seven, I could break down my bedroom door. There needs to be more security."

"So you used to lock yourself in your bedroom, huh?"

"My parents did, yes. Is there something you would like to ask, Naoya?" Remus still had not turned to face him, but Naoya thought he could sense the annoyance that would be there in his eyes.

"...No."

"Then, if you wouldn't mind, I need to concentrate on this. This building may be isolated, but I'm not going to count my owls before they've arrived."

"So this is what you do, every month? All this work?" Naoya spun his legs down to the floor and then pushed himself onto the arm of the couch so that he could swing his legs.

"Not normally," Remus explained, though he wasn't sure why. Perhaps it helped him just to talk. Perhaps it was nothing of the sort. "Normally, all of this is already done and only requires a touch up. These circumstances are extenuating. I did not want to risk the suspicion by disappearing each day to prepare it bit by bit. This is harder, but better overall."

"You don't want any help at all?"

"No, thank you," Remus replied again. "It is easier if I do this myself."

"Suit yourself," Naoya said, more than content to let the wizard do the heavy lifting. If Remus was so sure he was going to transform with him then it served him right to at least secure the fort. Plus, he would at least know what was safe and what was not. Right?

But that wasn't all it was with Remus. Not really. Naoya paused.

"I heard Anders muttering to himself earlier," he said. "You two had a fight, didn't you?"

Remus sighed sharply through his nose, but said nothing.

"He just wants to help, you know."

Remus did not reply immediately, focusing only on the tasks at hand. The work was not progressing as fast as he liked. "I know," he said eventually, the syllables taking forever to form.
The locks on the front door gave a jolting shudder before going completely stiff. Remus tried opening the door-first with his hand on the knob, and the second with his weight and a hard shove. The door remained solid, and the lock immobile. He sighed. Check this one off the list. Onto the next thing.

"I'm gonna go out on a limb here," Naoya's voice trickled from the couch. "You probably don't know many people who you can say that about. People who want to help you, I mean."

Remus still did not look at him, continuing to the windows and beginning to set even more charms. "You're right. I can't." He felt Naoya's eyes on the back of his head, and he fought back a wave of self-consciousness that might affect his magic.

Naoya kicked his ankles against the couch with an agitated pout. "So why are you refusing his help?"

"I can take care of myself," Remus said simply. "I am not some fragile thing. I have done this for years on my own. His offer is meant well, but it is unnecessary."

"He's not going to do miracle work," Naoya replied quickly. "He's just talking pain management. What's so bad about that?"

"Nothing. But as I said, I don't require any aid."

"So you're going to let yourself be in pain because you think you deserve it, is that it?"

Now Remus stopped. His shoulders slouched, and he turned to face the teen. "That is not-"

"Before you go and lie," Naoya interrupted, tapping his temples, "remember that I'm psychic."

"I'm done discussing this," said Remus, returning to the window. "We only have so much time left, and I have work to do."

"You mean you only have so much time left," Naoya corrected him.

"You don't know that."

Naoya seemingly paused, the silence itself dripping with some kind of dark haughtiness. "So why do you want me to be a werewolf so badly?"

Remus twisted sharply. "I would never wish that on anyone," he said, keenly aware of the bitter sting in the tone he tried hard to control.

But Naoya didn't stop. "Really? Because I keep telling you over and over again that I'm not human, that I'm not going to transform, and yet here we are, in the middle of the woods, and you're locking me in. And soon, we're both going to be naked-"

"And I have told you, Naoya," said Remus with disdain, "that this is a precaution. Your situation is unprecedented. No one knows what will happen to you once the moon rises. This is precautionary, and it is a step that must be taken!"

"....... Hey. Say 'precaution' one more time."

Remus closed his eyes, groaning. He could see swirls of color when he closed his eyes, and the room was beginning to spin. Somewhere inside his sinuses there was an odd pop.

"So let's look in the mirror," Naoya went on. "I may not have slept, but you're the one with the worsening complexion. You're the one looking sicker by the minute. Don't you think I would be feeling it too if I were going to turn?"

"Naoya, please," Remus replied desperately, "I need to finish this. I'm running out of time."

They both caught the slight tremor that worked its way through his wand arm. But Remus cursed as his nose began to pour, staining his shirt with blood. Pinching his nostrils he made for the couch and sat down, leaning forward as he groped through his pockets for a handkerchief. Naoya ducked as he gave up and summoned the hand cloth from the kitchen sink, pressing it to his face.

Now, as Naoya watched Remus so close to him, it was brutally evident how badly he was trembling. Naoya wondered if the other man wouldn't lose his supper at any moment if he hadn't refused anything after breakfast.

"I'll make a place for you upstairs," Remus sighed. His voice was muted by the cloth. "I can't secure it as well, I don't have time, but if you don't change then--"

"That's fine," Naoya said quietly. "That'll be fine. Don't worry about it."

The sun was still relatively high in the sky when they had arrived at the Windmill, though the slices of warm light through the stained glass swiftly becan to climb towards the ceiling as it began to descend. The shadows of the many trees began to elongate with the passage of time, and for a long while neither Naoya nor Remus did much speaking at all. As soon as he could Remus returned to his work. And eventually, after multiple tests and retests, Remus finally grew satisfied. With nothing left to do but wait, he resigned to joining Naoya and took a seat beside him on the couch with a tired sigh.

"You know, I think it makes me look kind of manly," Naoya said, pouty lips cracking a half-smile. "The scar. It was a little jarring at first to see it on me in the mirror, but I think it makes me look a little more 'masculine'."

Remus had put his head against the back of the couch, and he gave Naoya an exasperated look. Naoya returned it with a widening, cheeky grin.

"Come on," he said, smiling. "You know you like me."

Remus closed his eyes and leaned back. "You are very annoying."

Naoya only grinned wider. "You say that like I've never heard it before."

"I'm sorry, Naoya" said Remus suddenly. "I'm sorry that you're here. I never wanted this."

Naoya's smile drooped. His sleek features scrunched, and he inspected his thumbnail as if it were far more important than the conversation at hand. "Don't be sorry. If I was going to turn, it'd be way more my fault than your own. I got careless. Didn't think what happened the whole way through."

Remus just shook his head. "That may be so, but I bear the brunt of the fault. I maintain that should have told you all before. Had you known, had I not been so secretive about it, perhaps we would have found another way out of the mansion. None of this should have happened."

"Is that why you told Wash?"

"...Yes," he said. Remus leaned forward, covering his face with his hands.

"Hey, we all have our secrets, okay? And you took a step forward telling Wash. You did good. You're not him," Naoya said quietly. "The one who did this to you."

Remus did not respond. Perhaps he couldn't.

They said nothing for another while, Remus getting progressively worse. Towards the end, he spent his time doubled over in pain, holding fistfuls of hair. Naoya had the impression Remus had allowed him to stay this long out of a sense of obligation more than desire. But eventually, something had to give.

"You should go now," was all Remus said when that time came. And Naoya did.

Hours passed. In the forest, the nocturnal creatures were at their prime. Glowing eyes that matched the unmoving stars flitted in and out of the branches, howling and screaming into the air. Bats circled overhead in groups of a thousand and more, pegging away only a small percentage of the insects that thrived in an untamable forest. In the trees surrounding the Windmill, there were mushrooms that gave off a faint blue glow. But there were no human eyes to behold them.

The morning was long in coming, but eventually, it did come.

Naoya lay curled in his traditional cocoon of blankets on the double bed, but his eyes were open and he watched the sunlight turn from soft purple, to pink, and then to what could barely be described as a yellow. There hadn't been any sound from downstairs for some time.

When full golden light once again streamed through the stained glass windows, Naoya dared to get up. He stretched, craning his neck as he did and glancing upwards to observe the immobile gears of the mechanism that once turned the blades outside. They were covered in years of dust, and he would not have been surprised to hear horror stories of the spiders that lived high up.

The floor groaned just a bit as he stepped onto the old boards. The room was circular like the rest of the Windmill, and there wasn't much room to distribute personal belongings. Nor amenities it seemed, because the claw-footed tub and a bucket for water were just a few feet beside the bed, separated by a delicate, woven barrier in a frame. Across from that, a small dresser and a stand with a mirror. The only signs of recent use were a few small strands of brown hair on the pillows and the traffic patterns in the dust from both him and Mabel.

Naoya went to the door. It was painted a pallid yellow, and around the edges the paint was cracking from natural aging and use. A cautious hand hovered over the handle and he thought he could detect the residual flicker of magic like the last drips of snow in spring. But with the rising sun, time had worn away the charms set upon them and the door opened freely when prodded.

Curiously, Naoya took his first step down the staircase. He trode lightly, only a couple steps creaking under him. With the curtains still drawn the room was left in a half-glow from the stained glass forming muted copies of themselves across the floor. But the fire was still lit, albeit very low. Probably enchanted. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, Naoya looked around the room and followed the faint tugging on his senses.

Remus was motionless and he lay face down on the floor in a pool of dried blood. Just one of many, by the look of it--there were splotches of browning red across the wooden floor, and the furniture bore wounds from tooth and claw. But the damage to the room was nothing like the damage done to the body, and Naoya's eyes searched up and down the scored flesh and winced.

The last time he had seen someone that messed up, he had been the cause of it. Naoya quickly shook his head, trying to shake away and stave off that memory.

Each one of the stairs creaked now as Naoya ran upstairs, sliding the blanket from the bed and dragging it back downstairs. With some clever work of his psi, Naoya had light pouring in from the windows as the curtains peeled back of their own accord. He set the blanket aside as he knelt next to Remus, wiggling his fingers as he eyed some of the more nasty-looking wounds. The air began to ripple and distort around his fingers, glowing softly with lights like small stars. Though Remus might have forbade Anders from doing anything, he had given Naoya no such orders. He just hoped he wouldn't awake before he was finished. He pressed his hands gingerly over the deeper gashes - the angry red fading away to a dull pink as open wounds healed to scarred flesh. Satisfied with his work, and certain that he had left enough cuts so that Remus wouldn't suspect any help had been given, Naoya wiped his forehead and then tossed the blanket over him.

It was not long after that when Remus opened his eyes. Pulled by the pounding of his head, the aching of his bones, and the more acute, raw anger of his wounds, Remus would rise and fall on waves of awareness for most of the morning. His eyes shone as if with fever, and he blinked to clear his vision. Even now, his exhaustion pulled at him, tempting him back into the abyss. He doubted that he would be awake very long. He tried to shift, feeling the weight of a blanket on top of him and scratchy fabric below. He took in a sharp breath.

"Hi," came a voice from his left. Naoya, waving his fingers in feminine fashion.

Remus blinked again, and the circles under his eyes were very dark. Licking his lips, Remus tried to take in his surroundings. The blanket was not familiar, and it smelled of dust. And under his head, a soft cushion that smelled faintly of dust and home. His coat? The sun spilled softly through the stained glass windows behind his head, and there was a colorful patchwork crossing the stitching of the quilt.

"How did...?" Remus' voice was coarse.

Naoya shrugged innocently. "The less you know the better. You okay?"

Under the blanket, Remus shifted. He took mental stock as his body gave a quick shudder. "...'m cold."

Naoya strode to the fireplace and tended to the fire. He came back with a small grin and a cheeky glint to his eyes. "You know, most people go to jail for being naked in front of someone under eighteen."

Remus was suddenly aware of exactly how much contact the scratchy fabric had with his skin. He clutched the blanket tighter, but his fingers went limp. Suddenly quite dizzy, Remus let out a low, rattling breath that ended in what sounded like half a chuckle. "Ah, shit," he breathed, the ghost of a smile on his lips before he passed out once again.

"What are you doing?"

Naoya glanced to the couch to find Remus awake again. There were rings of deep purple under his eyes as he watched Naoya, who waited for the book to finish levitating and carefully balanced on top of the others before answering.

"Being bored."

"Mmh," he heard Remus reply. He sounded more like himself now that he had rested some. "You might try reading one of those."

"Oh, I would. I just wish I could read whatever language this was. Or that one. Or, any of these."

Remus let out a dry laugh. "And so you built a tower?"

Naoya looked away to admire his book-castle. The Windmill may have been a good shelter for werewolves, but it certainly held no regard for teenage psychics. The night may have been long for Remus, but it was even longer for Naoya. "Yeah, just don't tell Sokka. He might be upset that I'm 'abusing books'."

Remus closed his eyes as another wave of tiredness fought him. He was very still in it's wake. "Right now, I'm not doing much of anything. Is that what you did all night long? You didn't sleep?"

It was sort of impossible to sleep when there's a big wolf growling at the door whenever it caught his scent. Naoya bit his tongue on that thought, though. "I had a wild party. Got a massive headache, though. Must have drunk too much moonshine."

"Clever. Is that all? What about the jitters, the sleeplessness?"

"I thought you could be right for a little while. But when I heard you change, and I didn't, I got to thinking about it. I was smoking maybe half a pack a day, and Wash made me quit cold turkey as soon as I got here. I think it's just starting to go away. Still want a smoke really bad, though."

Remus swallowed, his throat exceedingly dry. "So--nothing?"

 "So, nothing," Naoya nodded. He had to let out a steadying breath as Remus' relief hit his empathic senses like a tide. "Hmph. Told you so."

"And I am very glad to be wrong," the werewolf replied quietly. He closed his eyes again and Naoya thought he might fall back to sleep. But he suddenly asked, "What time is it?"

"Uh," Naoya grabbed his phone out of his pocket, flipping the screen open. "It's one thirty."

Remus groaned. "Half one? Ah, slept too long," he muttered, pushing himself up. The dark rings were now lined by red, and Naoya raised his brow.

"We can stay," he offered. "There's forks you forgot to put away in the drawer over there. I can make a tower out of those next."

"Not necessary." Remus rubbed his eyes, pushing the blanket off of him and revealing his bare chest. It was a patchwork of scars, the old meeting the fresh. He looked himself up and down, turning a shade darker. He'd forgotten about that. "Though I might need clothes," he said uncomfortably.

"Only might?" Naoya joked. He stretched as he finally got up off of the floor in what felt like eons. "Where are they?"

Remus pointed to one of the hanging cabinets, and Naoya fetched his things. He remained upstairs playing exhaustively with the teeth of a comb against his thumb while he waited for Remus to dress.

"You have been very patient with me," Remus told him once he was allowed back downstairs. "Thank you."

Naoya blinked, and then responded only with a soft smile.  "Let's go-"

That was when they heard a terrible scratching coming from the front door. A thud, a crack, and a great heaving as the wooden door rattled on it's hinges. Under the foot of the door, flashes of yellow light from one of the enchantments streaked across the floor. Remus and Naoya exchanged looks.

"What is-" Remus started, but Naoya was already at the door, the smile he had moments before gone as he reached for the handle.

Fiddling with the handle, he yanked it open and sunlight assaulted the interior of their shelter - a large, reddish form blurring by as it barged inside. Claws turning hard on the wood floor, Nadine whirled around, alternating between baying and frantic hissing, going back and forth between Remus and Naoya. On her shoulder, her auburn fur was deep red with blood.

Chapter Text

"And that should do it," Anders said, stepping back from the red-orange panel to inspect Renkotsu's scowl. The mechanic took to the metal with a large hammer and shaped it back into something resembling... well, what would probably be something useful once it was finished. The truth in the matter was that Anders didn't care a lick for whatever was going on here, but it was conveniently close to the entrance and he had yet to see any sign of Remus or Naoya. It was reaching late afternoon, now - very late, too late for comfort. Anders crossed his arms, waiting for the man to indicate that he needed to heat the sheet the metal up once more.

"You are not heating this side properly," Renkotsu stated. He used the tail end of his long, pale-blue bandana to wipe a bead of sweat from his cheek.

"Is that a compliment?" Anders replied, and Renkotsu made no indication that he heard the mage whatsoever. How was he supposed to get under the man's skin when evidently it was made of the iron he loved so much? He had all the humor of a dead man.

"Over here," Ren said, pointing with his finger, and Anders rolled his eyes before acquiescing.

"That means you're helpful," Sokka said from across the antechamber. "I think. It's hard to tell."

Ren huffed past a small scowl, saying nothing. A bead of sweat fell past his tattooed jawline as he pounded the sheet metal further.

Anders felt himself frown slightly, turning to watch Sokka in the gap between instructions. For most of the morning, he had been sitting in silence. Sokka's body was lax, but in his eyes there was a cold tension and his hands were stiff against the small whetstone he used to sharpen his boomerang.

"I'm rather surprised that you aren't doing that in the workshop, Sokka," Anders said quietly. "Wouldn't you have better tools there?"

Sokka paused, shifting his weight where he sat. He put the boomerang down carefully, and his lips curled left, then right. "Yeah, but there's nobody up there. I mean, it's alright to do it by myself, but why, when I can do it with company?"

The way he looked at the floor after speaking made Anders bite his tongue. He paused. "Are you waiting for N- "

"Here. Over here," Renkotsu demanded, turning both heads. "Quickly."

Anders obliged, though he carefully rolled up his sleeves before summoning much more flame. Maker forbid a quick spark catch if he were going to be here a while. He was grateful that the sound of the fire covered his muttered cursing. It was frustrating being here. It was frustrating waiting for Remus and Naoya without knowing anything about what was happening. Maker only knew whether everything was alright, and there were so many "what-ifs" that Anders was sure that at least one of them would require significant healing upon return if not both. It wouldn't be like this at all if he had been able to see to things directly, but that was a bruise still tender to the touch and objectivity was only so helpful if he wasn't careful.  

"Over here," Ren said again, pounding against the metal that was slowly taking shape.

Anders just sighed.  

"Ando!"

His insides went rigid. "What in the - ?"

"Hey," Naoya said, striding casually down the steps. The steps from inside the Vault . The steps that Anders had been sitting on the entire night , waiting.

And here he was. Alone. Without Remus.

"Naoya, did you not-?"

"Oh, I went along," he said. His hands were in his pockets, and his spine was very straight. He smiled. "Did you not see us come back?"

Renkotsu peered over his work with a stoney, dismissive glance. "Hurry up and heat this metal, mage."

Anders waved him off, opening his mouth to speak. But Sokka beat him to it.

"We were sitting here all morning," he said. "We didn't see anyone go in or out. When did you come back? Why didn't you tell us you were back? I could have had this done two hours ago if I hadn't taken my time!" He swung his hands as he spoke, pointing to the boomerang still in his lap.

Ren glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. “Where are the supposed supplies you two went for?”

Naoya took a step forward. "Uh, yeah. Actually, that's what I wanted to talk to Andy about. Mind if I borrow him for a bit?"

"You will have to wait your turn." The mechanic had turned to face all of them now, slapping the side of the mallet against the palm of his hand with impatience. "In case it has slipped anyone's notice, I am trying to make very important repairs and actually do something productive today."

Naoya pointed towards the wall, where sat a small row of blow torches lined up against the stone. "What's wrong with those? Why can't Sokka help you for a little while?"

Ren snorted. It was the closest thing to a laugh they had seen yet. "Sokka is banned from using those. I suspect that if you look, his left eyebrow is thinner than the other."

Sokka went very rigid. "It was an accident!"

"No matter," Ren replied stiffly. He returned his bandana to his head. "I need the mage."

Naoya caught Anders' eye, and the look pinned Anders’ legs to the floor. Something cold trickled down the back of his spine. Something had gone horribly wrong. He knew it, he knew something would happen! By Andraste's holy fucking pyre, he knew something would go wrong and no one listened! Anders took a sharp breath, and his fingers flexed at his sides.

"I'm sorry," he blurted to Renkotsu, pointing to Sokka and then to the torches and pleading with his eyes as he followed Naoya back out towards the main hall. Once they were out of earshot, he could contain himself no longer. "What is it? What's happened? I told him something would go wrong, I knew!"

Naoya was walking fast, but still managed to cock Anders a sly grin. "Don't worry, Ando, it's much worse than anything you're thinking of."

"That's not funny."

"Alright, alright. But it is true that you’re needed for medical attention."

Anders kept having to slow down to keep pace with Naoya. Did he not sense any urgency? Was he going just shy of Anders's pace on purpose? "How bad is it? How bad is he? And - and how did you get in here? I waited there all night long. I would have seen you come back!"

Naoya took Anders's arm to slow him down, a small touch that was quickly aborted. On the underside of the mage's forearms, Naoya barely caught the sight of many burn scars that wove across the skin. "Look, I know you're worried. I can feel how worried you are. But you can't rush in there and bust the door down like a lightning bolt, although I know that’s your usual style. One thing at a time. Remus is okay. He's okay. I healed him, so you don't have to worry about that too much."

Inwardly, Anders balked. "He allowed you to help him? He told me he didn't need any help."

"Yeah," Naoya went on. He made sure to gesture with his hands as he talked. "He had that conversation with you, not with me. But it's probably better if he doesn't know I did anything, either, so don't tell him - ‘cause I’ll take you down with me, Andy."

Anders growled, and pushed past Naoya without knowing where he was going. At this point, he just needed to be moving. Naoya caught up with him and stepped in his path, cutting him off.

"Take a breath. You're giving me a headache with your tension, Andy. Tension headache, ha."

Caught between terror and fury, Anders felt like he was about to explode. "You aren't going to move," he said through his teeth. "Are you."

Naoya shook his head. "Nope. You need to relax before I finish telling you what's happening."

Anders sighed, clenching his fists. Then, sighed again. And then, again. But try as he might, he could not release his tension. He stared somewhat helplessly at Naoya, an unmovable obstacle in the archway despite his size.

"Just tell me."

Naoya pursed his lips, looking Anders up and down. He inhaled sharply. "So our furry little problem has become three little furry problems."

Anders' nose scrunched in confusion. "And just what is that - "

Naoya pointed upwards, and Anders followed his finger. He hadn't realized how far they had come. They were standing directly below the tattered hide hanging from the main entryway in the central chamber. The very tattered - very balverine - hide.

Anders went very pale. "What are you saying? Naoya, what's happened?"

"It’s not Remus who’s hurt," Naoya said, quite serious.

They made it to their quarters in hardly any time at all after that, practically running through the maze of hallways with desperate breaths. Anders slid the keycard through the slot and nearly burst through the door as soon as it rolled open.

Remus was there, holding a crumpling form on his shoulders and stumbling to the couch. The white mass was smeared with blood that dripped in red clawprints across the metal floor. Alastor was breathing heavy, his golden eyes barely open. His legs started to give, and Remus pitched forward, unable to support the weight on his own. In an instant, Nadine was on Alastor's other side. Together they placed him gently down across the couch. Nadine's ears swivelled back and forth and her hairless, wispy tail was stiff. She panted heavily, and her nose was working the room in massive puffs.

"Here," Naoya breathed, passing swiftly by Anders and into the center of the room with the others. He pointed back towards the mage. "Found him."

"Anders," Remus said at once, locking eyes and stepping to meet him. But Anders' breath had caught in his throat. Naoya said he had healed Remus, but the man in front of him looked beaten beyond exhaustion. There was blood on his fingers and on parts of his clothes, and Anders saw the white balverine fur practically soaked with it as well but to whom all the blood belonged didn't matter anymore -

"Remus-"

"Help him," Remus interrupted, pleading with a voice that was quite hoarse. "Anders, Alastor is dying."

Nadine whined, a pained and desperate sound. She panted, through the air deep underground was quite cool. Her eyes were wide, and the whites were clearly visible.

Anders swallowed, taking his fears deep within. He breathed out a wave of anxiety, letting it go; assuming his role. Objectivity. Objectivity.

He swung his staff from his shoulders and leaned it against the door, striding over to the now unconscious balverine. "Can you clean up some of this blood, Remus? I can't see worth a damn."

Remus' hands were shaking as he took up his wand and carefully went over the snow-white fur. He glanced up to Nadine, waiting for a rogue snarl, but she remained stoic though ever present.

"Hurry," Anders pressed, though his hands were already illuminated with a pale violet glow. Remus doubled down on his efforts.

"He's been hit at least once," Anders announced to no one. "And there are so many claw wounds - Maker, they had better not be cursed."

He dared to touch one of the wounds and Alastor flinched, letting out a sharp noise that faded back into the darkness with him. Nadine barked, growling fiercely. She scored her claws down the length of the wall in a fit of restless energy, leaving shavings behind.

Across the room, Naoya flinched. "It'll be okay," he said loudly enough for them all to hear. "It'll be okay. He fixed me up, and he'll fix big ol’ Al. Don't worry." He continued to reassure her, coming to stand by her and whispering it like a mantra.

"I need a little space," said Anders. "Remus - help me, here." He lowered his voice just as Remus came to his side. "He was shot through the chest. Here. I need you to put pressure."

"Can you do something about the pain?" The words were Nadine's, not Naoya's, even if they came from his lips.

"Yes, but - Maker, there's bubbling from this one. Don't move - he has to lie still!"

Anders pressed his hand directly over the largest patch of blood towards the left side of Alastor's chest. Swaths of light bored out from the spaces between his fingers. He had tended to arrow and the occasional bolt wound, but this was something else entirely. They did not feel like cursed wounds, not all of them. But in the deepest areas of bleeding Anders sensed something like oil in water, seeking veins like poison.

"Can you spot an exit wound from there?" he asked, and Remus leaned cautiously over the back of the couch to examine Alastor's massive torso.

"Yes - yes, here. There's massive bleeding."

"Just put pressure on it until I can get to it, and if you hear any air - "

"I'll let you know," Remus nodded. He didn't need to be told.

"Hey, Remus, you have those bandages in the pack," Naoya added, and Remus summoned them at once. "And don't you know healing spells?"

"Not for this," replied Remus quickly, "this is far too - "

"If you can help," Anders said, "do it. I've got the big one." He snatched a handful of bandages and sunk his teeth into the plastic VaulTec wrapping. He lifted his hand slowly, slipping the cotton over the wound briefly to soak up the excess blood. “There’s something inside here,” he spat. “It’s poisoning him.”

“A bullet,” said Remus. “It’s got to be.”

“Can you get it out?”

Remus hesitated. “Yes, but--”

“It doesn’t matter,” Anders demanded. “Just do it!”

“It’s going to hurt,” Remus finished, glancing to Naoya and Nadine. “ Accio!”

Nadine continued to whine. Even Anders could taste iron on his tongue. He didn't want to imagine what the balverine's round nose was telling her. But through patient effort, eventually the bleeding stopped. The worst of the wounds was sealed. But it was still the better part of another hour before anyone let out the breaths they had held.

Now, with two half-dead balverines in their living room, the time for pause had come. But there was hardly one.

Anders resisted the urge to press on his throbbing temple, keenly aware that his hands were still sticky with fresh balverine blood. "He'll live," he said. "But that silver… it will likely be a while before he's going to be up from this couch."

Nadine, if she had heard him, gave no motion. She was pressed at Alastor's side, sniffing and examining Anders's handywork as though half expecting the skin to break open once again. She nuzzled the red patches in his white fur and continued to make small noises, like soft whispers. It was the closest thing to affection any of them had ever seen from one of their kind.

Anders sighed, turning.  "How did this happen?"

"Reaver," Naoya said. He was watching Nadine intently, and Anders wondered what he could be getting from staring at her back. "Somehow."

Remus emerged then from the bathroom, offering a damp hand towel to Anders. "Perhaps we ought to let them rest," he said, pointing with a jerk of his thumb. "And I'd, er, like to sit down..."

"Oh - " The memory of the night came back to Anders then, and he saw Remus again as if for the first time. The bruising, the red lines tracing dark undereyes, his pale complexion; the anger over it all came back, but his doctor's objectivity swallowed the smoke. "Yes," he blurted, "yes - let's sit. I'll fetch some water."

Remus and Naoya headed into Remus and Anders' chambers, the only place with a door between them and the balverines with enough room for all. Anders came in shortly thereafter with a glass of water for Remus, who accepted it with hands shaking strongly enough that it nearly ended up in his lap. As Remus let his weight settle onto his bed, he felt every part of him craving sleep like a toothache. He made sure to press his back firmly into the wall to keep himself straight up, and uncomfortable. Every bone in him told separate stories of ache, and his stomach churned. The room spun briefly.

Across the way, Naoya had seated himself cross-legged on one side of Anders' bed, allowing enough space for the mage who was about to wear a trench into the floor with his rampant pacing. He kept looking to Remus, who fixated on his drink.

"What happened at the Windmill?" Anders asked. "How did this happen?"

When Naoya finished recounting the tale of what happened at the Windmill, Anders stared.

"We need to tell Wash," Remus croaked in summary.

Anders turned to him, a little too quickly. "Look at your hands shaking," he retorted loudly. "You need sleep, that's what you need!" Anders stopped, biting the inside of his cheek and running his hands over his face. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm sorry, this is so much to - we can't tell her! 'Oh, we only snuck the leader of the your enemies in here under your noses without explicit permission, is that a problem?'"

"It's not like we have some other choice," Naoya said, his thin brow arching. "It's not like we can hide a large body and an ocean of blood. Believe me, I've tried."

"I know," Anders said, but still he paced. "I know. You're right. But this will not go over well."

"I'll tell her," Remus said quietly, and the others turned to him. "I think I need to."

“So let me get this straight,” Wash began to reiterate. “In order to get out of Reaver's mansion, you made the deal with the balverines. That’s what you said before. But now you say that Alastor was only willing to make the deal with you at all because you're a werewolf. And now, through some horrible series of events we know next to nothing about, Alastor is here, in this Vault, and he gets to waltz in here like nothing and stay?”

Wash looked torn between rage and confusion, and her cheeks had darkened several shades. But beyond the rage in her face was the fear that set her to summarize the events in the hopes that she had gotten at least ninety percent of it wrong. But it wasn't wrong, was it? And that realization burned into her eyes and into the way her jaw set in a razor sharp angle. It burned into her shoulders and her neck as she stood like the wall years of war had built inside of her. She knew they had struck a deal with Alastor when she had let them in, but for something to come of it on their end… She stared at them.

“If it wasn’t part of the deal before, it is now,” Naoya mumbled quietly, biting his thumbnail. He resisted the urge to rub at his temples, resisted the basic need to try to soothe away the migraine that was building up with the tensions.

“No,” Remus said, swallowing something tacky in the back of his throat. He coughed, hoping to clear his vocals, but it would take some time for his voice to return properly. “Whatever has happened to him, Alastor was gravely injured. I brought the two of them here to save his life. Believe me, I would under no other circumstances bring Alastor Grienwulf here of all places."

Sokka had his arms tightly crossed over his chest, his mouth changing angles as if he couldn’t settle on how deep a frown to give, and he shook his head. “Great, he’s healed, right? Isn't that what you said? Now he and his balver-wife can go.”

“They’re not going to go,” Naoya pointed out, “Because there’s nowhere to go."

"You think he's going to get a welcome from us?" Wash nearly snapped. Waves of tension almost made Naoya squint as he looked to her. "After all that monster and the rest of his kind have done to us, he's lucky we're even talking about it right now!"

"I understand your feelings," said Remus, stepping forward and claiming all eyes. He stood firm, but he tried to appear as neutral as possible. Anders had lent Remus his staff which now bore the brunt of the wizard's weight, and Naoya saw sweat dotting his temples with the effort just to stand. "But you must also understand that whatever we decide to do with them after he recovers is less important than what we do right now. When we left, we thought Reaver would be powerless. Something has happened - something that we need to discover, and our only hope to find answers is him! We need him!"

“Then you should have made certain that the Lord Reaver was actually dead before you attempted to trick your way into our base,” Renkotsu calmly sneered from his place in the doorway. His fossil-brown gaze was unwavering as he silently placed his blame.

"The balverines needed Reaver alive," Remus retorted desperately. "Otherwise, Alastor would have become..."

Naoya let the conversation slip from his senses as Remus once again explained what he knew of Guardianship and Oases. He leaned one hand on the metal table between himself and Remus, and Wash and Sokka - keeping empathic tabs on everyone in the room, but most importantly he eyed the bandanna-wearing man who loomed by the entryway.

Wash could go on about Alastor being there, and Sokka could complain about the “giant white fluffy monster” who had tried to personally eat him four times all he wanted; but it was Renkotsu that Naoya needed a reading on the most. The archaic mechanic always felt muddled to Naoya’s senses, like everyone else was color and Renkotsu was monochrome.

Wash and Sokka would wear down eventually, neither of them were the type to burn more than the occasional metaphorical bridge - but for one reason or another, Naoya got the distinct impression that Ren would burn the metaphorical bridges, the metaphorical castle the bridges led to, and then salt the metaphorical earth behind him. And he had a hunch that the mercenary wouldn’t stop with the metaphorical, either.

And when Ren silently fell away from the conversation and left down the corridor - no more verbal accusations, no more aimed logic - Naoya felt his stomach drop slightly.

“We trusted you!” Wash said, her hands curled tight. “And you let them right into our base, led them right to us!”

“They have no idea where this is,” said Remus. “Both of them were Apparated here; they have no way of knowing where we are.”

“Then how did they find you?”

Remus hesitated. He had no way to answer that, because he didn’t know himself. “It’s possible that-” he swallowed “-perhaps they saw our plant trails, the ones we left behind while we searched for Naoya.”

“Or,” Sokka offered pointedly, “he used you. He let you go, and he waited until you found us because he knew you’d come looking for us. They’ve been trying to find us for months! Even if he did turn against Reaver, what made you think he’d be honest with you? Just because you’re like him? He used you to get at us!”

Remus felt the wind leave his chest. “I doubt he’d self-injure to the extent that he’s immobilized-!”

“I’m tired of this,” Wash said, and she headed for the door. “I want to see this for myself. Let’s go downstairs. Naoya, you need - ” she halted, half-turned on the heel of her boot.

Somewhere in the slurry of accusations the teenager had vanished.

Renkotsu didn’t exactly prefer hunting. Some hunts could be calculated, others could not; there were too many factors to consider and the mercenary disliked uncertainty.

He gathered his gear quickly, checking behind his shoulder now and then when the sensation of eyes drew close on his neck. But there was never anyone there, and Ren made his way down, deep into the Vault. His destination was waiting.

The hallway on the lower level was empty, and the motion lights were dark. The hallway was lined with red lights as the empty apartments sat locked and waiting. His footsteps echoed with purpose as he headed toward the only one with a green light - the only one with any life inside, checking his shoulder one last time. The open space made it all the easier to move with the weapon of his choice - a repeating cannon, or, as some of his vaultmates had known it as from their own worlds, a gatling gun. Ignoring the few comments of how his invention wasn’t supposed to have been invented in their version of the world during his time period, he was proud of it; it would make this hunt easier.

“That looks safe.”

At those words, Renkotsu’s posture went rigid. He stiffly turned back, half-gloved fingers gripping the leather strap that held the primitive gatling gun onto his back. The motion lights above kept the hall fairly dim, and there, stepping out of the unlit half, was the brat who’d started all this.

Naoya had his hands shoved casually in his coat pockets, chin held high as his inhuman eyes stared through his bangs - his eyes flickered to the weapon on Ren’s back for a split-second before going back to meet the other’s even gaze. “Big gun in a confined area,” he quipped, shaking his head, “That’s overkill. Afraid you’re going to miss?”

But Ren’s disdainful frown only spread and the violet markings that lined his face made his expression seem darker. The fingers of his free hand played with the leather that lined his palm, purposefully playing with the metal wires that criss-crossed his hand and crawled up his custom-crafted vambraces.

“You know some purifying arts, you have this weird array of knowledge on demons and magic,” Naoya started to list, shifting his weight to cross his arms. “Normal monks don’t give up their religion to become mercenaries, fight demons head-to-head, or craft weapons of war.” When Renkotsu didn’t answer him, he shrugged. “You know, most people get really defensive when they’re hiding something. And you have been defensive... haven’t you?”

At that comment, Ren’s deathly-still face twitched - his jaw pressing tighter. His free hand slid inside the upper silk hem of his dark blue kimono, fingers clenching into a fist as he seemingly grabbed something.

Naoya arched his manicured brows, motioning with a hand towards the obvious reach. “For someone who’s supposed to be really smart, that’s really no-”

Ren pulled his hand out and threw a small knife at Naoya’s legs - it didn’t take much for Naoya to catch the knife with his powers. But no sooner had Naoya caught the knife did Renkotsu flick his wrist for a second attack while the teenager was distracted - quickly whipping the thin cables off of his forearm and tangling the psychic’s upper body in his trap. He moved to do the same with the wires from his other vambrace, though Naoya was only partly successful in fending off the third attack as his legs soon became ensnared as well.

Renkotsu violently jerked on the wires, yanking them tight and pulling the bound psychic onto the ground.

There was a teetering anger in his dark and narrow eyes, raging but contained - and it was an anger the man had apparently known before.

“I am sick of reckless brats like you, barely turned of age, thinking they can toy with me!” Renkotsu spoke lowly, menacingly. “No more! I am done following unquestioningly into unwinnable fights; this time I am prepared!” He stamped a boot down onto Naoya’s side, yanking at the cables fiercely and grinning darkly when his prey obviously was in pain. “These cables are covered in a special oil, which is now all over your clothing and skin,” he said, suddenly calm, leaning closer. “You call out for help, and I’ll spark my end of the cables and set them - and you - ablaze.”

“Isn’t that your plan already,” Naoya muttered, he hissed as the wire dug into his skin when Ren pulled it taught again.

Winding up his boot, Renkotsu kicked his captive’s stomach as hard as he could - smirking darkly when he managed to curl Naoya’s body into the very door he was aiming for. “Maybe I should just set your pyre here, you insufferable little shit.”

But before he could make any headwind on his threat the door slid open with a hiss, and through the frame a gust of blue-white ice shot across. It hit Renkotsu in the center of his chest, and Naoya flinched as chunks of ice broke apart from impact and fell around his frame. Anders’s sturdy Warden boots stepped over him as he stormed out of their home.

Renkotsu held himself on hand and knee, gasping for breath. The wind had been knocked out of him only: his unimposing frame could surprisingly take a hell of a punch. But Anders did not care, and took him by the collar to drag him to his feet.

“Explain yourself!” he yelled into the monk's pale, white face. But he received only a hateful glare in response. Not taking his face from Ren’s, Anders asked: “Naoya - are you alright?”

“Anders-!” Naoya shouted, just in time for Renkotsu’s punch to line up with Anders’s jaw.

With himself freed, Ren backed up a few paces and again reached into his attire once again - this time withdrawing a slender closed tube with a string, a small metal ball no bigger than a bead attached to the end. “I am here for the balverines,” he said threateningly, “Let me pass and I may let you keep the brat. If not…” His voice trailed but the stick of explosives in his hand was held in front of him.

“You can’t be serious!” Naoya shouted, squirming to try to get up as he called the mercenary’s bluff. Wires dug into his skin where his clothes had failed to protect him entirely. He had partially been able to free one foot, but that wasn’t enough. “You wouldn’t blow us all up-”

Ren’s eyes narrowed in defiance before he bit the small ball on the end of the string, yanking it hard and sparking the end of the fuse to life. He then spat the ball out onto the floor. “Do not think I won’t!” He gestured in a chopping motion with his other hand, brow creasing . “I have survived worse things than being buried!”

“You would throw away all of our lives for your stupid vendetta!” Anders shouted through a bloodied lip.

But he never got a rebuttal. A horrific snarl began a sight that they would remember: an auburn flash, the slap of flesh against metal, and a pained shout.

Renkotsu was on the ground, Nadine on top of him. Her clawed fingers pierced his chest and blood pooled around the beds, but did not grow. A maw of razors sank into Renkotsu’s arm just below the shoulder and he cried out. Tearing, ripping of flesh - with a quick thrust of powerful neck muscles Renkotsu’s arm was torn from his body in a hail of dark blood and muscle. But Nadine dropped the limb nearly as quickly as she took it, dragging her claws from Ren’s chest to paw at her muzzle and gag. Her ears bent low and her quills distended along her spine as she growled down at the mercenary monk, exposing bloodied fangs. It looked as if she had tasted something terrible.

“Andy, get the dynamite!” Naoya shouted, struggling to point.

Anders tore his gaze from the balverine to search the floor. He needn’t look far: still held in the severed hand, the fuse was hissing with sparks. Anders snatched it up and extinguished the fuse with a wisp of frost, deathly aware of just how little time there was left on the string. He wiped his mouth, tasting nothing but copper, and turned back to the scene unfolding.

“Naoya,” he said, rushing towards the teen as he pulled his dagger from his belt and took a fistful of the wires wrapping around the boy. “Ah, they’re covered in something - hold on. It smells like some kind of oil, I don’t want it to spark.” Anders returned his dagger and undid one of the cloth bindings on his wrist, clutching it in his hand for better grip as he uncoiled Naoya by hand. “Naoya, are you hurt? Are you alright?”

“Yeah, thankfully you used an ice spell, if you had used fire I’d be toast ,” Naoya flashed something close to a tired but proud smirk.

“I’m going to leave you tied here,” Anders warned.

“Step away from him!” Wash’s voice, hard and angry, snapped all heads towards the hallway entrance. Wash had set her eyes squarely on Nadine over the top of her sonic pistol. Sokka was right behind her, but stopped still at the sight - and stood at the bottom of the staircase, as if anchored.

Renkotsu struggled to get up across the tiled floor, but when he pushed himself up he coughed up a splurt of the same deep brownish-red, and he leaned back down. A few of his chest wounds bubbled as he looked at the others with almost shameful discontempt. Wash seemed to see him clearly for the first time, and paled.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t shoot you right now!” she yelled, and Nadine backed towards Anders and Naoya with her ears flat against her head, quilled hackles raised. “Look at what you’ve done!”

A hand shot out from behind her and wrapped around her elbow, gentle but firm.

“Look at the ground,” Remus said quickly, imploring with his other hand and pointing with his wand at Naoya still ensnared on the ground. “This is not the whole picture!”

“You are the reason these monsters are here at all!” Wash snapped back at him, wringing her arm free from him to stare at him with incredulity. “Look at this!”

“It’s true -” Anders stood from the ground with the wrappings still in his hands. “Renkotsu attacked Naoya! He was going to set this hall on fire! Look at the canon beside him, look at Naoya - these are coated in oil, and he was going to--!”

“Shut up, all of you!” She pointed at Anders. “Help him, do something!”

Anders was kneeling beside Renkotsu in an instant, hands glowing with the familiar blue. Ren tried to fight, to push him away with what remained of his arm.

“I do not need your aid!” he tried to shout, but it came out as a garble as he spit out more blood.

“You’re delirious from blood loss,” Anders muttered, trying to view the most grievous of the injuries. But as he pulled the sleeve away from Ren’s shoulder to view the jagged amputation, Anders felt his innards begin to go cold. “Where is it...?” he asked, to no one in particular. “You’ve lost an arm, there should be more blood than this…!”

At these words Renkotsu jolted, urging himself up suddenly and bringing himself to sit on his knees. The severed arm was not far, and he was able to reach it with little strain. As each of the others stared at him, Renkotsu collected his arm and maneuvered it bloodied-end-first into the torn sleeve of his robes. With a sick squelching sound and a sharp snap of bone, Renkotsu’s face contorted with pained concentration and the fingers of the arm began to flex. It was as though the arm had never been severed.

“Magic?” Anders heard himself ask, though he was still in shock. “Blood magic?”

Renkotsu spit the rest of the blood in his mouth onto the floor, wiping his mouth with his reattached limb. “I told you that I did not require aid,” he growled. He turned to Wash, glaring with fury burning in his eyes. “After all the work it has taken to get this far, you would throw it away. And look at the chaos that’s been wrought!”

“We are not your enemy,” Remus said, stepping forward. “Reaver is our enemy, our common enemy - and these two risked their lives to bring us the news that he is still a threat!”

“You’ve brought an unwinnable fight to the doorstep!” Renkotsu’s face was livid. “And you’ve let head agents of the opposition into the base!”

“Can’t you see that they mean you no harm?” Anders yelled, with one arm flung out at his side in front of Nadine.

“Wait a minute!” Sokka’s head poked out from behind Wash’s shoulder, and he scooted around her. “You just popped your arm back on like it was nothing! I don’t like the balverines either, but, I mean, doesn’t anyone else think that that might need discussing, right now?” He threw an obvious look at Ren.

Fresh claw wounds from Nadine were still wet on Ren’s chest, though they no longer bubbled, and Wash stared at him.  “What are you?” the words came out edged with betrayal.

Renkotsu looked to Sokka and Wash as though he was seeing something for the second time in his life. But he sighed, albeit angrily. “A dead man walking,” he muttered. “A bourei.”

Sokka’s eyes edged wider and he threw his arms out to the sides. “You’re a zombie?!”

“That answers a lot,” Naoya said, and heads turned to him. He was still getting untangled from the wires. Sensing the confusion from all but Ren and Sokka, he added: “It’s Japanese. It means ‘spectre,’ but I guess you could translate it as ‘undead’. I thought he felt funny to my senses, but I didn’t know why… Still, never would’ve guessed zombie.”

Sokka opened his mouth to speak again but a new voice came into the conversation, an even one that gave everyone chills: “So you’re the one who smells like grave dirt.”

A tall form lingered in the doorway, standing just behind Naoya. Shifted into his human form, Alastor did not look well. One hand gently held his chest, and the other he kept pressed discretely against the doorframe in which he was standing. There was a slight, nearly invisible slouch in his shoulders, and though it seemed impossible Alastor had visibly paled with the stress of simply standing. His golden gaze was marred with bloodshot veins, and the multiple slashes that covered the visible sections of skin and remainder of his clothing told a terribly story of  his attack. It was a wonder he was standing. And yet the way he glared down at Renkotsu, it was not weak. Rather, it was unyielding.

“Demon,” Renkotsu breathed lowly, narrow eyes becoming almost slits on his tattooed and bloody face. “Finally come to show yourself now?”

“You wanted to face me so badly, corpse,” Alastor explained, towering over Ren. Their gazes seemed to exchange an endless challenge, both cold looks with neither side quite winning.  “Here I am.”

The infirmary air was cold. The airflow from overhead sent cool, underground air circulating through the room and the dead flowers by the desk shuddered in the draft coming from directly above. It was the only sound in the room, and the tension could not have been pierced with a knife.

Three of the infirmary’s dozen beds were occupied. Closest to the door, Renkotsu sat upright in his bed still wearing his bloodied clothes. But Wash stood over him, her arms crossed and her eyes dark. The trust was lost.

A few beds down, Alastor lay across the mattress but remained fully awake. His expression was less pained now that he was off of his feet. But his mouth was still set into a faint snarl after Anders insisted on bedrest. Nadine was curled up on the bed beside him, and on her shoulder a fresh wrapping had been fixed to her wounds from the day before. Nearly forgotten until now, Alastor watched carefully as Anders tended to her and made sure it would not become infected. The two would not leave each other’s side.

In the bed across from Renkotsu, Remus was fighting sleep. He held a glass of water in a shaky hand, nursing his drink and tapping his wand against his leg. Anders had tended to each of them and stood breathing heavily beside him, his mana depleted, though neither of them would comfortably meet the other’s eye.

Though he had been attacked, Naoya was not seriously injured. Or he assured them all he wasn’t. “Just bruised!” he’d said, right before going on about needing a shower, and Sokka promised to come to them right away if it turned out the psychic had been less than truthful about his condition. Last thing they needed were more bodies in the sick bay.

In a small window of time, the room became bloated with unease. Wash’s head was pounding. She needed a drink badly, a high-proof drink.

“So I'm going to ask some questions,” she said slowly, looking around with venom. “And I want answers. Real answers, no more of these bullshit half-truths or someone will be sleeping outside . Is that clear?”

Though there was no vocal response, the very air in the room seemed to shift to attention.

“Good.” Wash crossed her arms. “What happened last night, Remus? I see your wounds - I believe you; that you're a werewolf and that you were indisposed last night. But look at it from my point of view, and tell me that you didn't bring these balverines here. I need you to tell me that.”

“I swear to you that I did no such thing,” Remus replied simply. He looked at her with a steady gaze, trying to impress his sincerity upon her.

“Then how did they find us?”

Still flat on his bed, Alastor's reply was nonplussed. “It is not hard to track those who leave behind a trail to follow. Before you conclude the worst, know that we worked hard to pick up that trail. If it had rained, it would have been nigh impossible to follow any trace scents. But your escape was not followed: only luck allowed us to find you. Your ‘Vault’ is undiscovered, for now.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

Alastor glanced to Renkotsu out of the side of his eye. “It means that for now, your Vault is not known to Reaver. Or should I repeat myself once more?”

Ren went white with rage, a snarl catching in his throat as Wash and Anders stepped towards him in warning. He looked as though he wished both of them would spontaneously combust.

“But the barriers,” Anders said. He stood now at the foot of the monk's bed, much closer to Alastor. “Remus and I, we set barriers to prevent intrusion.”

“Conditionally,” Remus offered from behind him. “Barriers of upwards strength could kill almost anything - wild birds, animals. So the spells don't react to peaceful intent, just as Naoya and Mabel were able to walk through on their own. The magic is not perfect.”

Wash pursed her lips, carefully considering the words ‘peaceful intent.’ She turned to Alastor so abruptly that Nadine lifted her head with a soft, deep noise from her throat that was not quite a growl but not quite something else. Wash kept at a cautionary distance.

“You’ve killed more of our people than I can name,” she said darkly. “There used to be a town; there used to be people. Children, families. We’re all that’s left! Your people - your kind, slaughtered them! You turned some of them into monsters! And you expect me to allow this to go on any further? I’ve wanted to blast your skull open and mount it on my wall.”

At her words, Ren frowned deeply, wringing his hands in his lap tightly, stiffly nodding once in agreement. But she did not notice the dead man’s frown and instead glared long and hard at Remus, and then at Anders, before turning back to Alastor.

“But... I believe them,” she said. “I believe that you made a deal, and I believe them now. What I don't understand is why in the hell would you think you could come here and ask us for help after everything you've done?”

Alastor hardly made a face as he sat up now, though the pain was clear in his eyes. Nadine made to help, but ceased at the raising of his palm. The sheets hardly shifted beneath him. He slid his legs across to the floor, fine black boots silently touching the linoleum. In balverine terms, this was a generous pause.

“Not you nor your charges personally, Lieutenant,” he said. “I came seeking them-” he motioned vaguely at Remus and Anders “- quid pro quo. Mr. Lupin owes me.”

“‘Quid pro quo’!” Anders wrinkled his nose. “You’re mad if you think that any of us owes you a life debt. I would have thought that was settled when we left you in charge of ‘your’ hive!”

“Then you thought wrong,” Alastor camly blinked, his steady stare carried with it some kind of warning. He looked to Remus, who turned to Anders.

“...Yes, it’s true.” Remus paused. He remembered that night: Give me your word that you will protect Anders and Naoya, even from me. Keep them safe, and you shall have my trust.

“The arrangement as it was struck was only for your safety, Anders,” he said. “You and Naoya. I fully expected to be left behind. The fact that he and Nadine saved me and brought me to you was not part of the deal. By rights, I suppose that I do indeed owe them for my life.”

Anders stared at Remus, his face seemingly unable to settle in one emotion or another. He turned away.

Beside him, Wash’s dark eyes narrowed. “You can’t be serious. You’re in charge of the balverines, yet they tore you apart?”

Alastor gave a tired semi-snort. “Most of them cannot help it,” he explained. “It is Reaver’s doing, thanks to the Control Crystal.”

“Has he gotten hold of the Crystal again?” Remus asked, visibly paling.

“No,” Alastor sounded lowly. “I destroyed it before he could have it again. I would see my kind extinct before traded back into the ancient Heroes’ slavery magic.”

“Then what causes the other balverines to be loyal to him?”

“A few higher-breed loyalists. He’s killed off all but a handful of the ferals and lesser breeds, trying to bolster what little actual support he has. Some of them know nothing else, and choose to follow for that reason. But it is not only that…” his voice trailed off, square shoulders sinking solemnly. “Do you recall, Mr. Lupin, when I told you that in order to take control of the Hive as he did, Reaver had help when he slayed Lugaru?”

Remus nodded. “You said that he arrived with the Crystal, but that it was not enough to take complete control.”

“Correct. Our hive, our packs - they all function based off of a hierarchy of breeds. Some breeds are older than others, closer to our great mother, the Balvorn. They are the leaders. But now and then, however, there are those of us created by specific circumstance that can… circumvent the hierarchy of our own breeds; they become alphas of alphas--Phenotype Alphas.” He held up a hand when the slightest breath was made to interrupt him. “As I mentioned before, my breed is what made me immune to the effects of the Crystal. But I was not alone. For many centuries, it was myself, my friend Lugaru, and one other: Barry.”

“Wait-- Barry ?” Wash crinkled her nose, crossed her arms across her chest as her features dipped sharply in disgust. “As in, Barry Hatch ?”

Alastor almost looked surprised. “Ah, you know of that ginger little rat-hobbe?”

Wash's hair was loose and wavy and it bounced when she shook her head disapprovingly. "I only know of one balverine named Barry, and he's not a credible threat. He's a lone, greasy weasel who's not even worth hunting down."

"How do know of him?" Remus asked.

"He's a little ginger creep," the Lieutenant summed up, frowning only the way a woman who had dealt with an unpleasant man was capable of. "He thought he could try and make an easy go at some of our supplies a few years ago. Tried masquerading as a human, but then someone saw a balverine hunting in the woods outside camp. That’s what gave him away in time for us to see right through him.”

Anders looked to her. “How did that help?”

“His eyes,” said Wash, pointing with her middle and index fingers to her own coal-like pair. “Barry’s eyes don’t match, not even as a balverine. There’s nothing right about him. He’s a womanizing cretin--not worth your bullets.”

“Tactfully and accurately put,” Alastor agreed with a grimace. It was the first common ground found. “And I thought the same for many decades. I tolerated Barry as one of our own for far too long. It was he who helped Reaver take control of the Hive--who betrayed us, and who allowed Lugaru to be slain. Before the dust fell on Reaver’s new reign I drove Barry out of the Hive and into the wilds. He was so badly wounded that I made the mistake of thinking we would never hear from him again.”

“But he came back.” Remus nodded slowly as he pieced the new information together.

“Isn’t that always how it goes?” Anders said, sighing in annoyance. “It’s like these people never learn to just stay dead.”

“As the Lieutenant's encounter confirms, Barry did not flee the area as I had hoped. I do not know how he evaded my packs for so long, and I intend to find out. Evidently, Barry is not as incompetent as he portrays himself to be. He was watching and waiting. When your group came along and we enacted our coup, Barry slipped into the Oasis using the chaos as a cover. He helped Reaver escape his cell. And together, they tried to kill Nadine and myself.”

“That is far too convenient.”

All eyes turned to Renkotsu, almost surprised at his presence.

“Reaver is a ‘Hero of Skill’ - a supposed master marksman. He never misses, or so he said as he executed our members.” Renkotsu glared across the way at Alastor, searching the man’s torso as if disbelieving the wounds truly existed at all. But the blood on his clothes was very real, if dried. Ren pursed his lips. “That a figure that has been banished for centuries would choose now to come back - now, when there are three newcomers to these woods who leave a wake of chaos - is far too convenient. You are Reaver’s right hand, a balverine at the top of the hierarchy and power to match. Reaver does not miss .”

Alastor’s yellow gaze was suddenly alight with an internal fire, and he stared at Renkotsu as though he wanted nothing more than to spread his blood across the walls. Behind his lips, Alastor sent his tongue darting across teeth which threatened to become daggers. “You are once again mistaken, monk . Reaver does not leave survivors who challenge that claim. The fact that Nadine and I are alive is more dangerous than any of you know. Reaver will stop at nothing to find us, and to find you three now that he has escaped,” he added to Remus and Anders. “Make no mistake if you wish to survive: Reaver is coming.”

“How can he?” asked Wash. “He’s the Guardian of that Oasis. He’s trapped there, isn’t he?”

Alastor’s face darkened, but he did not answer. The small, defeated sigh he gave was all the answer they needed.

Chapter Text

Naoya felt like he was running on fumes. After all he had dealt with a werewolf, a zombie, and balverines all in less than forty-eight hours, and with no sleep at that - it was up there with some of his busier days.

Under the stream of lukewarm water in the tiny shower stall, the psychic’s stomach hurt when he took in too much of a breath, as if breathing too deeply was a fresh kick from Renkotsu’s boot. In time it would bruise and go away, but at the moment exhaustion plagued him and he was in no rush to heal himself.

Still, Naoya started to feel queasy. It was a good thing he hadn’t eaten before being kicked. The last few days were a blurry whirlwind, too much to process and too worn to think of any possible moves to make. Windmill, Remus, werewolf ; Nadine and Alastor, covered in blood; the apartment was covered in blood; Renkotsu’s rotting blood painting the floor instead of Naoya’s …

He wanted to get all the oil cleaned off of him. He wanted to go to sleep so badly, even if he knew that he wouldn’t be able to; there were some things that wouldn’t change, there was no way he could just relax after seeing all the red, he would get nightmares if he went to bed. Coffee. As always, coffee seemed like a reasonable middle ground. He wanted to stop feeling like he was about to puke in the shower, so that he could have coffee. And he wanted a goddamn smoke.

At the thought of a cigarette, Naoya ran his long fingers through wet strands of hair, gripping handfuls tightly as he exhaled. He wanted a goddamn smoke. It wasn’t fair. He couldn’t drink here. He couldn’t smoke here. He couldn’t-

“Naoya, are you still alive?” a male voice called, echoing slightly, sounding like it came from the entrance to the locker room. Adult male, strange accent, sounded possibly late twenties; Naoya’s mind tried to assess whose voice it was, before it finally clicked that it was Anders. “You’ve been in there a while.”

Naoya’s eyes snapped open - how long had he had them closed? - and was briefly assaulted by the dingy white tiles and harsh lighting of the locker room showers. Confused, he let go of his hair to turn towards where the voice came from and knocked over a couple small bottles - 2-in-1 shampoo and castile soap - which clattered needlessly loud on the wet tile..

“What was that? Are you okay?”

That’s right , his mind snapped back to his present reality. The bathroom in the apartment downstairs was still clogged up with the towels and sheets they’d used to mop up Alastor, so he’d come to the locker room to get washed up. Public space. No lockable doors. Vulnerable.

“I-I’m fine!” he sounded back, trying to sound flustered - which wasn’t hard. After a quick glance around, and he saw no one coming in, thankfully, he bent to pick up what he’d knocked over. “Just… dropping everything.”

After carefully, but not too carefully, putting the bottles back on their tiny shower shelf, Naoya turned off the water and grabbed the white towel that he had hung outside his stall. On any other day he would have complained about the Vault’s bath towels - no bigger than hotel pool towels and twice as scratchy - but he only quickly dried himself off before sliding on a pair of gray athletic shorts. Locker rooms, in any world, had no privacy, and the Vault was no different; he had long learned to dress at least part-way before leaving the shower area, else he end up like a certain Eraseri boy he once took the clothes of.

He made his way to his preferred locker, stepping over the pile of his oil-soaked clothes on the floor. A spare shirt or two was crumpled on the bottom of his locker, a small assortment of personal grooming products and a comb sat on the top shelf; he chose and slid on a clean black shirt that was just a little too big on him. Naoya picked up what wasn’t dirty and hung them on the hooks, then stuffed his oily clothes and shoes in their place and closed the locker.

Having cleaned the locker room had led Naoya to a lot of details about his compatriots.  Renkotsu never came in the locker room, or at least that Naoya had ever, thankfully, recalled. He reflexively mentally recounted the content of the lockers as he passed them: one was Wash’s, she somehow had a small supply of lavender soap, but hers otherwise contained nothing out of the ordinary for a bathroom; Mabel had claimed a locker between Naoya and Wash, some clothes and some of Wash’s lavender soap; another locker or two Remus and Anders liked to keep towels in for the few times they came up, Naoya had never seen them both present; and Sokka and Dipper had each claimed an assortment of lockers filled with an assortment of things ranging from trinkets to clothing and Naoya had long stopped trying to guess who owned what.

Then there was, of course, the suspicious collection of 1950’s-esque co-ed swimwear catalogues and, oddly, one anatomy textbook that had been “hidden” inside the dispenser of one of the toilet stalls. Just before he reached the corridor, Naoya made a small mental note to come back and move the poorly-hidden stash someplace else, just to see who would freak out first, at a time when he didn’t feel like his mind and body were both mush.

Rounding the corner, Naoya jumped back when his face collided with a mass of feathers. The lights flickered for the second or two his powers leapt out, but he quelled himself when he saw who it was.

“What the hell, Andy!” Naoya let out a tense breath and his stance laxed. “You scared me half to death!”

Anders looked surprised himself. He took an apologetic step back, brushing down either pauldron with his free hand to smooth the feathers back down. “Sorry,” he said quickly.

Naoya shook his head, wet bangs shaking with the motion, and brought his right hand up to rub at his temple. “What are you even doing up right now,” he exhaustedly grumbled.

“You've been in there a long time,” Anders said, swiftly dodging the question with ease. “It's very late. Remus has long gone to sleep--everyone has. When you didn't come back to the apartment, I thought perhaps you were trying to drown yourself.”

This last he said lightly, coolly. A bit too casually, as though the book Naoya was trying hard to close were splayed wide open. The word shot across Naoya’s thoughts again: vulnerable.

“You can’t drown yourself in a shower, Andy.” Stiffly, Naoya crossed his arms low across his front, a loose, swaying attempt at mimicking his usual posture. Anders hadn’t moved, he hadn’t stepped closer, he only gripped the cylindrical container he held in his off hand. Keeping distance, respectfully, though it did little to make Naoya feel less on edge. “Maybe drown someone else, though.”

“In any case,” Anders went on slowly, “I thought maybe something was wrong. So I brought you something to drink.”

At this, he held out the cylinder: a small thermos - though the cap was on crookedly. For a brief moment the thought of Anders fighting to get the cap on came to Naoya, but the lid used for a cup was missing.

“Tea?” he assumed, because the only thing he knew either of the magic-wielders to drink hot was leaf juice.

“Coffee,” Anders corrected. “You have been… very quiet. And normally I would say that I enjoyed the silence, but I would be foolish. That isn't like you.” He paused. “Look, I'm not doing this for some sort of moment, or some cheap feeling. We aren't that sort. I don't expect you to detail to me everything going on for you. But I have seen this… behavior , before. I know it. And... I worry. You won't sleep,” he finished grimly. “Will you?”

Naoya stared intently at him, quiet as he had been, and bit his upper lip. The jig was almost up, but not entirely. His weight shifted as he changed his footing, and he idly scratched at the side of his neck to itch an itch that wasn’t actually there. “No.” Naoya swallowed.

Anders nodded. “When I don't sleep, I work on my manifesto--or, I did. Before all of this. I don't know enough about coffee to guess how long it will help, only that it will. And that staying busy helps.”

Naoya stared at the thermos offered to him with suspicion, as if he considered it a joke before quickly dismissing that notion - as if he had to remind himself that he trusted Anders. He finally took the thermos with a shaky hand. “Thanks,” the word came from him, grateful but inflected low and soft.

And, after Anders had gone back to the infirmary, that was how Naoya had ended up wandering the lower-level, sipping half-brewed coffee from a thermos. It was dark, cool, and a little musty in the untended parts of the floor, and here and there doors that barely functioned due to neglect left just enough space for Naoya to slip through - leaving footprints in the dust that settled on the metal panels of the floor. It almost reminded him of some places in the mental realms...

As he rounded a corner, that was when he saw it.

It was a large rectangular shape with rounded edges and a glassy front, at one point it had been tan in color but there was too much dirt on its sides to tell; an old vending machine, plus dust coating, that had long been out of commission. It was in an odd place, tucked neatly away from the sight of anyone that would have been passing by in the hallways. Curious, Naoya balled his hand and wiped the dirt off the glass.

All the air left his lungs as soon as his eyes caught sight of what was inside.

The first top half of the shelves were stocked with booze; from the small nibs on the tippy-top ranging down to the decent-sized bottles of what he could only guess was whiskey and rum and some other brown liquor, the clear stuff obviously being vodka. The bottom half of the shelves were stocked with various cigarettes; 100's, 72's, the slender kind that got stuck in those fancy holders, menthols, unfiltereds, lights, ultra lights, and golds. He didn't need to be able to read the language, the colors and shapes of the boxes were all he needed.

Every molecule in his body was burning. He wanted a goddamn cigarette. Without a second thought he stepped back and blasted the vending machine with telekinesis; he cleared away the broken glass from in front of the cigarettes. He didn't know how old they were, but they were still wrapped - and there wasn't anything in him that cared if they had gone stale. He shakily grabbed for a pack of regular 100's and ripped the plastic off, he took one out and stuck it in his mouth - the end lighting up with an all-too-harsh snap of concentrated psi.

Deep, deep breaths. Held in for what felt like many heavenly minutes before he let it out, the burning in his body going away as he took in the smoke. Naoya had finished two cigarettes before his mind finally came back to what he was doing, now sitting on the ground and surrounded by broken glass - fingers cut and bleeding from the smaller splinters had leaned on. He looked in the box in his hand; they didn't taste stale - but they didn't taste great, either. The plastic had probably kept them from going completely stale for however long they had been stored in the Vault.

He was supposed to be in his room and instead he had broken into a retro vending machine for a pack of smokes. Not the lowest thing he'd ever done - that honor belonged to that time he invited an awkward and clueless fourth wheel to a party where a couple had made Naoya into the unrequited third wheel. Sometimes he did things without thinking because sometimes he'd stuffed away his own emotions for too long - he knew he'd feel bad about it later, though.

For now, he had to come up with a way to hide the evidence. If he left it here, eventually someone else in the group might come down this way - it'd be obvious that someone had broken into the machine recently. Naoya knew exactly how that would look. And he wasn't going to throw away a find like this, but he couldn't walk out with his pockets overflowing with booze and cigs, either…

So cramming his pockets with small boxes and cradling tiny bottles in the loose fabric of his shirt would have to do, he decided.

Wash had slept, but barely. There were too many things happening at once, too many variables to account for. But she left her quarters the following morning with only one thing on her mind.

After the attack, Ren kept mostly to his workshop - or at least the parts of his wing that he could access. While there had been no agreement on what to do with the dead man as far as reprimand went, there had been a silent agreement to keep him away from his tools and toys. And so, upon request, Remus had set up a few barriers that barred Renkotsu from certain areas; he was banned from the lower level entirely and kept clear of his metal-working tools and personal artillery.

Not that it did much good--Wash knew that he could macgyver a weapon from string and a teacup if he absolutely had to.

But it stood that since the incident - he hadn’t . He apparently knew how to combat demons and other supernatural shit, but he hadn’t tried to put together something to go around Remus’ barriers; and he could make guns or saws out of boxes of scrap in a cave, but he hadn’t scrapped anything to build any weapons or tools, either.

Now that she wasn’t seeing red, Wash had finally been able to put more thought into the incident. It hadn’t occurred to her on the fly, but after so much time together in the Vault it struck Wash just how strange the whole thing had been. Ren showed no signs of snapping before. On the contrary, aside from some grim comments or gallows humor now and again, he was almost annoyingly level-headed. Based on what Naoya had said of Ren’s behavior it seemed more like something had resurfaced rather than snapped.

And so she stood outside the door to his office, soaked in the red glow from the protruding wall light that indicated it was locked tight. When it opened with a slight lurch, Wash spotted Renkotsu across the room. He lifted his head up in surprise, as if he had been sleeping at his desk. The blood from the night before had been washed away hours ago, and his torn top attire was replaced with a dark blue button-up shirt. She entered without asking.

“Oh,” he breathed, leaning back in his large chair and blinking blearily. “It’s you . How did you-” he started to ask, and Wash waved the master keycard at him before he finished. His gaze narrowed. “Ah, yes. That. ”

Wash eyed him, crossing her arms across her chest as she approached him. There were no books or schematics open across the desk surface; nothing to indicate that he had been working whatsoever when he fell asleep. The room was nearly bare, save for the desk and chair and an odd filing cabinet or two. A wall clock was the only decoration on the walls whose decorative paper had begun to peel in spots, revealing the iron panels beneath. The lantern was where it always was, in the corner beside a handful of books.

“You knew I’d come eventually after that stunt you pulled. I know that you're not stupid,” Wash stated finally. “What you did, it was never about Naoya or the balverines. Was it?”

A somber sideways glance as all she got for an answer, but it was a confirmation nonetheless.

Wash nodded. “I thought so. I've had some time to put it together.”

He turned his chair so that he barely faced her, pressing his fingertips together as he stared at the crank lantern. “And what is it that you’ve gleaned, exactly, Lieutenant?”

Wash squared her shoulders. “You were backed into a corner. You were going to get rid of the balvs before they outed you for being a zombie. Naoya 'conveniently' got in the way.”

He snorted, insulted--and yet, amused. “He put himself in the way.”

“And made you think about something else entirely,” Wash countered. “That wasn’t about him. It wasn’t about them. It was something else.”

He took in a slow, stiff breath. “Yes.”

Again, Wash nodded, but this time, her gaze was hard. “You were going to kill them,” she said. “And it wasn’t even about them. You were going off about being led ‘unquestioningly into unwinnable fights’ and getting tired of ‘reckless brats’-”

“You will at times speak of your colony, of your Terra Nova,” Renkotsu interrupted her, “But you do not speak about it.”

Wash pursed her lips, mouth sliding into a frown. “You don’t have to talk about whatever happened to you,” she said. After all, he had been forthcoming enough about certain topics, like mercenary work and war craft. She had not. Some topics were harder than others, and they all had things they wanted left buried. Sometimes it was for a reason. “But that’s not going to cut it after trying to kill people on our side over shit that they weren’t part of.”

“I await my execution, then.” Ren laced his fingers together, his face like a mask that his eyes were watching out from behind. “But you will not get far into your conflict with Reaver without me, mark my words-”

Wash shook her head. “You say that like offing you is the first thing that comes to mind.” The slight way he turned his head in surprise didn't go unnoticed. “Sokka's confused, but he doesn't want you dead; I know why you did what you did, and I think the same thing he does.” The Lieutenant shrugged. “Hell, I think at worst everybody else wants you to stop lurking around taking pot-shots. I think that whatever happened has passed.”

“I know of someone who was in the same position as you are now, and would think otherwise; call me a traitor.”

Bitterness. Wash could see it in his eyes, though his face hadn’t changed. She made a small noise in thought. “You’re an asshole sometimes, but I’m not entirely sold on the word traitor just yet. Especially here. But that's a difference between where our lines of work ended up.”  Wash turned on her boot heel, so she was fully facing the interior of the office. Her shadow was elongated from the corner lamp and she caught it out of the corner of her eye. “That colony that I was second-in-command of, the one I 'barely' speak about? It was a place for a lot of second chances.”

Ren’s quiet mask cracked, stony eyes narrowing in confusion. “Are you so soft that you would willingly-”

“You get one more chance, Ren,” Wash's tone raised slightly, signalling no room for debate. “ One. Pull anymore shit and you’ll get close to what you expect.”

At first he sneered, hands tightly gripping the arms of his chair; not sure whether to be angry that he was being ordered around, dismissed, or to be relieved that he was spared. “What else do you want of me, an apology? ”

“Wouldn’t hurt,“ she replied coolly. With a smooth motion she headed toward the door frame, throwing in a light shrug. “But we all know you don’t apologize. Have some explaining to do, though.” Whirling around, she left his door open as she walked away. “And I’m not one of the people you owe an explanation to.”

“I need to see your wounds,” Anders said loudly. His arms were crossed as he stared down at Alastor like a cross parent. Alastor was much taller than most and his feet dangled off the end of the bed a little, while he was sitting up.

“I see no reason to,” he replied stiffly. “They will finish healing on their own.”

“Not if they're infected or poisoned,” Anders retorted. “The bullets were silver. You aren't healing as fast as expected, so I need to look you over. So take it off.”

But Alastor remained silent, clutching the collar of his tattered button down shirt and seething. Anders rolled his eyes.

“Don't worry, you aren't my type,” he said. “And besides, you’re taken,” he added, with a nod towards the next bed over.

Nadine picked her head up at the mention, exhaling a short breath--a sort of monstrous laugh.

Alastor looked softly insulted. “You’re enjoying this,” he said to her, and his tone almost betrayed his composure. Anders had no idea that the man had that much emotion in him.

Her yellow orbs narrowed slightly, sparkling in such a way she appeared as if she were smiling. She gave another dry snort and shook her head.

“You ‘like me alive even more’?” Alastor rumbled as he paraphrased, clutching his shirt collar some more as ice crackled on the seams.

Anders could only guess what else had been exchanged in whatever snorty, growly, prickly communication the balverines used; something raunchy, if he had his bet. He wondered how an icicle like Alastor ended up with someone like Nadine.

Someone knocked on the infirmary doors.

“Morning Anders,” Mabel greeted, slowly peeking her head in. “Are you busy? Who are your friends?”

Anders turned, glancing quickly between her and Nadine as the latter's quills shifted as she adjusted her body to view the girl. Mabel was… not afraid? Anders cleared his throat.

“Hello, Mabel,” he said. He pointed, “This is Alastor, and his wife, Nadine.”

Mabel brought her hands up to her face as she gasped. “Oh no, she's beautiful!”

Alastor had raised a single brow, surprised at being addressed by this... child . He glanced to Nadine, who suddenly had a sparkle in her eye. Her lips had pulled back to reveal several slick fangs. She rose from the white sheets of her bed, stretching quickly on all fours. Her claws tapped on the spotless floor as she climbed down and walked over to Mabel, circling her with raised ears and nose puffing. Out of her throat came a short burst of snorts and whines before she headed back to the bed, staring expectantly at Alastor.

The white balverine just raised his other brow, giving her a skeptical look.

Nadine leaned forward with a small, barking noise. An insistence. Alastor issued a heaving sigh.

“She says you smell of witch hazel and lavender. She likes it.”

Mabel practically beamed. “I used lavender soap this morning! Nadine, your nose is perfect!”

Nadine rested her head on her arms, puffing with satisfaction.

“Well, now that we’ve had floral-scented introductions,” Anders said quickly, “did you need something, Mabel?”

“Oh, yeah, but I mean it can wait.” Mabel pointed with her thumb. “Wash just says she wants everyone down in the meeting room when you’re done.”

Alastor glared as all eyes fell back onto him. He sighed, his jaw stiffening as he frowned.

“Well?” Anders insisted.

“I am not undressing in front of a child ,” Alastor growled. “Even Reaver did not do that .”

“It’s only your shirt I need removed,” Anders said.

“I do not care,” Alastor flatly shot back. “I want the child gone.”

“Turn around, Mabel,” Anders sighed, waving her to the corner of the room behind a divider.

“ Gone,” Alastor snapped again.

Nadine let out a short roar, insisting that the two of them stop. She was on her feet, eyeing the both of them in a way that was not harsh but not approving either. She snorted, then turned and began to nudge Mabel out of the room, careful not to use the part of her skull where the quills began.

The white balverine sighed; he only reached for the first of the buttons hesitantly when Mabel was clear out of view. Slowly, with great care and with eyes fixed on Anders’s demeanor the entire time, Alastor finally removed his shirt. The damage beneath was clear: though the wounds had been sealed and tended to, Alastor’s extremely pale skin had become a canvas of black, purple, and red. Veins spiderwebbed visibly from each bullet hole, now nothing more than scars but nonetheless ugly and painful still. As Anders watched Alastor remove the shirt, he saw the Alpha balverine wince more than once; a sight which, for Alastor, was well beyond any kind of normal.

“It still hurts,” Anders remarked casually.

“How astute, Doctor ,” Alastor replied, folding his shirt and setting it rigidly in his lap.

“I expected bruising and pain,” Anders went on, “but not this kind of residual damage.”

He reached to touch Alastor, but stopped.

“I'm not going to do anything, you know,” he said. “You can put that arm down.”

Alastor watched Anders, golden eyes taking in everything he was doing. The only sounds in the room were the buzz of the overhead lights and the hum of the air vents. Slowly, he let his arm down, but did not relax. He sighed sharply, angrily, through his nose.

“Do it quickly.”

Anders nodded, moving with purpose and making sure Alastor knew where his hands were at all times before making contact. Saying things like, “I'm going to touch your shoulder now,” were all well and good. But for the first time Alastor did not seem as dangerous as he had for so long in Reaver's mansion. For the first time, he seemed… uncertain. Only when Nadine came back and sat directly beside him did he relax at all, and then only just. Aside from the wounds he had now, Alastor was physically fine. In fact, he was well. But the Oasis was not just Reaver’s prison. There were things in the two balverines that Anders had not seen since he left the Circle: the movement of the eye to the floor, the careful way Alastor spoke... Anders wondered what Reaver had done over the centuries to try and break the balverines.

“Maker, I wish I had just a few leaves of elfroot,” Anders muttered as he continued his poking and prodding. “I could make a drink, or better yet a salve so that you could lay down without so much pain.”

“It is just as well,” Alastor replied. He had one hand clutched on the shirt in his lap and the other on the top of Nadine’s head. “We do not have the time to lay about.”

Anders looked up. “Do you really think Reaver will find this place so soon? Last I knew, he had yet to even know it exists. I saw his map with all the fires. I thought he had no idea where we are.”

“You underestimate him. He is more than a man of wit, or skill. He is a man of wrath. He was defeated by us, and barely missed his chance to kill me. We are unwelcome spots on a long record of ‘no survivors’.”

“The silver did quite a number on you,” Anders replied quietly. “There is a lot of bruising, but I don’t notice any signs of swelling. But the little bit of poison that did get into your system needs to work it’s way out before you can get a pass from me.”

It was then that Mabel poked her head back in the room. “Is it safe to come back in?” she asked, coming back in without an answer. Whether she was unaware or just ignoring the strained, unpleasant frown Alastor had from her presence was unknown, and she decided to stand behind Anders while Alastor attempted to put his shirt back on.

Anders tried to turn to face her, but she held onto his coat. So he spared a quick glance between himself and the balverines before nodding. “Yes, we’re done for today.”

From behind, Anders heard her earrings jingle as she nodded. But she didn’t move.

“Is there something else, Mabel?”

“I was bored,” she replied flatly. Mabel stood on her toes, trying to peek around Anders at the unfamiliar faces. “And I heard there were new people. Had to come say hello.” She beamed a quick smile up at him, waving her hand.

Nadine snorted contentedly at her in reply. Alastor merely observed her. Mabel was not dissuaded.

“Sooo,” she went on, stretching the word, “did you maybe need help with anything else before we go?”

Now Anders was able to turn enough to see her, and he took his coat back to turn all the way. “You want to help?”

“Well, yeah!” Mabel looked fondly around the room, to the empty beds and the dead flowers in the corner; to the dusty vents spewing chilly air through the room, gently billowing curtain dividers. “This place could use a little more life.”

Anders looked at her.

Mabel hesitated, her smile fading. “I--I want to do real things. Like, helping people things. Everyone--” she paused, holding one arm with the other and glancing to the floor “--everyone has helped so far. Everyone can do things. Even Dipper has his thing with weird magic stuff and his journals, and I’m just-- I mean, glitter stickers are magical, but stickers can only do so much. This meeting later is a big deal, and I feel like things are changing. I just--I don’t know.”

Anders’ head tilted and he frowned. “Mabel…”

“I get it,” she said quickly, turning to the door.

“No, you misunderstand, Mabel--I’d be very pleased to teach you.”

Mabel paused, her hand hovering over the knob. She looked back to Anders. “What?”

He nodded. “Mabel, I think you would make a wonderful assistant, in truth. You’re very compassionate. You think on your feet. You’re not ‘just Mabel’, especially when you’re the reason we found the Vault at all. Give yourself more credit.”

Her soft brown eyes lit up at the praise. “More credit?”

“We all have something to contribute,” Anders replied. “If you want to add a little of this to your belt, far be it from me to stop you.” But Anders gave her a knowing look: “I knew about the meeting,” he said. “You didn’t come down here for that at all, did you?”

A smile, which she obviously tried to fight, crept onto her features, and she shyly ran her fingers through her hair. “It’s half and half.”

“Well,” Anders chuckled, “then we had at least get on with things.” He turned once more to the balverines. “You should be well enough to walk without any severe discomfort,” he said to Alastor. “But you haven’t been out of this bed much yet, so take it slow.”

Alastor let a single brow rise slowly, his stare frigid. “Thank you,” he forced, though only after he had stood to full height after a moment. “I do not wish to appear entirely ungrateful.”

“Coming from you, that’s a shower of praise,” Anders replied, savoring in Alastor’s very unamused expression. “Let’s go, then.”

Dipper was waiting for them a few hallways down, and Anders was again interested and surprised at his lack of reaction to meeting balverines for the first time. What sort of place did they come from where meeting such beings was hardly worth note? Dipper gave regular glances to them out of the side of his eyes, but otherwise remained relatively passive. But his shoulders were hard set, and Anders couldn’t help but wonder if he were not as calm among the balverines as he wanted to appear--until they came to the corridor leading to the main chamber, and Wash was waiting for them.

“You called for us?” Dipper asked, approaching the end of the corridor with caution. Beyond Wash, the hallway opened into the main chamber.

Wash crossed, then re-crossed her arms, her eyes dark with contemplation and her face quite serious. Without speaking, she gestured to Anders, Alastor, and Nadine: keep going. They disappeared through the archway and down into the ring of couches, where the others were already seated, waiting. Wash waited until they had taken places within the circle.

“Mabel, Dipper,” she began, turning to them, “you know about Reaver enough to know that if he’s after us, it will end badly.”

They both looked at each other, then back to Wash, nodding.

“I’m not sure what’s going to happen,” the Lieutenant went on, “but you both deserve to be a part of this. Whatever happens now, it’s going to affect you, too. I'm not asking you to fight,” she said, “but I know Dipper has had some combat training under me and he can handle a weapon. Mabel, I'm sure you can do the same with some time. You're both old enough to make your choice whether or not to fight. No one will look down on you, and if you say no we'll do our best to protect you.”

Again, the twins exchanged a look, this one longer than the last.

“Don't worry,” said Dipper.

“We’re with you,” finished Mabel.

Wash hesitated. She wanted to tell them that they were too young, but the reality was that they were beyond the safety net and had been for some time. Remus, Anders,and Naoya had told her the name of this place: Astriferous; the name of the monster that had taken so much from them already and still wanted more. Dipper wasn't a hunter. He wasn't a fighter. And Mabel was a total unknown. Barely in their teens. They were just kids. But… kids who would need to fight to stay alive. Kids who were old enough to make some hard choices. Kids who deserved the chance to make those choices for themselves. They either fought now or later; this world they were in now, it didn’t give second chances and it certainly didn’t offer mercy. Wash had seen enough to know that. At least now, they had the choice. She focused on the two of them for a hard, long minute.

“Okay,” she said through a slow, sighing breath. “Then, come on…”

The Vault had never witnessed a meeting quite like this. As the twins took their place around the firepit in the center chamber, the smoke from the flames rose softly through the pipe chimney and out into the late night. Every face was expectant.

“We’re all going to be here for this,” Wash announced to the rest, indicating for the twins to take their seats.

And they did, beside Sokka, who had his arms crossed as he sat back against the couch. He, in turn, was seated not-too-distantly from Naoya, followed by Anders and Remus on the next couch. Farther still was Nadine, carefully laying beside Alastor, who was quite rigid and held his abdomen with care. But the surprise came at the sight of the last attendee: on his own, seated across from all of the others, was Renkotsu. Anders felt himself watching him out of the corner of his eye, flickering back and forth between him and Naoya. But Renkotsu’s attentions were firmly fixed on Wash.

“You are bringing the children?” he frowned, tracking them with his stony eyes as they sat.

“I'm bringing everyone who's at risk,” Wash replied bluntly. “And you can consider yourself lucky that you’re part of this meeting at all. So,” she went on to the room, “let's just get one thing straight: either we all fight together or we're not going to make it once Reaver finds us.”

“ If he finds us,” Remus began, pressing his hands together. He looked much better than he had yesterday (albeit exhausted), having slept and eaten a bit. There were a few scratches visible on his hands, and long sleeves were a convenient cover for any bandaged wounds. When he held still, there was a slight tremor in his hands. But his tired eyes were quite focused. “Alastor, you mentioned that Reaver doesn't know where the Vault is, not yet.”

“That is true,” the white balverine replied coolly. “However, Nadine and I were able to find you at the village. Do not be so foolish as to think it is impossible.”

“Then we ought to prepare for him,” said Anders, shifting one leg over the other. “You three would know the Vault better than anyone,” he said pointing at Wash, Ren, and Sokka. “Are there any defenses?”

“No,” Sokka frowned. He leaned forward, talking with his hands: “Whoever built the Vault was only concerned about explosives. That's why the door is so thick. It’s all we have. And unless Reaver’s found a big, huge bomb out there then he's not getting through.”

At this, Alastor made a noise of disapproval. “He does not need to break into the Vault,” he said stiffly. “He need only break the people within.”

Sokka offered a skeptical, slightly offended brow. “Do you have to word it like that?”

“He would camp at the door and starve us out,” Renkotsu added, nodding in what seemed like a rare moment of agreement.

“Isn’t that just what you would do,” Naoya half-asked.

“Given the circumstances, yes,” Ren replied without hesitation. “Of course, I would find a way to blow off the door eventually. But I cannot say I haven’t been in the position of trapping people in a cave before.”

“Oh, yes, I’m sure that’s routine hazing where you come from,” said Anders.

Renkotsu ignored him, visibly drawn into his thoughts. “I routed them into a cave next to a river, dammed the river so it would rise to them, then set the river's surface and surrounding forest ablaze.” After a pause, he added: “I then threatened them with explosives.”

The group was quiet, but it was Sokka who eventually spoke up with: “You really wanted to make sure nobody got out of that one, didn't you?”

“They killed G-” Ren quickly stopped himself, swallowing the name that had stilled his tongue, “They killed my brother , so, yes, that was the intended plan. It went as I expected until unaccounted variables intervened.”

“Those ‘unaccounted variables’ will get you every time,” Naoya muttered into his palm, and Renkotsu fixed him with a sour frown.

“The tactic you described sounds... needlessly ruthless,” Dipper commented. When attention turned to him, he paled and looked as if he wanted nothing more than to sink into the couch and disappear. “I just mean that there are probably more straightforward ways to do what we want.

The mercenary sighed deeply, side-eying the Lieutenant briefly as if he were weighing the consequences of how he were to reply to this child. “Reaver will be no less ruthless in his own plans, I assure you,” Ren curtly answered. “Given that he is ‘immortal’, I would reason that he is moreso.”

Naoya frowned, arching his manicured brows high and rolling his eyes. But he held his tongue, keeping quiet about whatever comment he had brewing.

“Well, if that’s true, he’ll have the time to kill,” Anders offered, snorting darkly.

Dipper turned towards Remus. “What about your Apparition spell?”

Remus shook his head. “No, it can’t be done safely. Not with so many people and not without knowing where we’re going. A portkey could work, but again, we would need some place for us all to appear. And Anders, Naoya, and myself can attest: there’s nothing in the woods for us. There is nowhere for us to go, certainly not with the protection or resources. If we lose this Vault, we lose everything.”

“Well why don’t we make another door and sneak around Reaver?” Mabel suggested. “We can just use magic and dynamite and BLAM!”

“And cause a cave-in,” Sokka flatly dismissed.

A short sigh escaped Alastor. “Even if we were to leave somehow, Reaver would only begin hunting us.” Nadine nodded in agreement with him.

“I’ve had enough of being hunted in my life,” Anders sighed. “It really isn’t as fun as it sounds. It isn't all campfires and bonding moments. One person could hide from the Templars for a good bit, but a large group is almost certainly doomed. They’re much easier to track, and also easier to catch. So then, the only way through is to face him directly.” He sighed again. “Why does it always end up like this? You’d think just once it would work out some other way.”

Renkotsu was unmoved: “We face him directly and we may perish.”

Remus turned. “I don’t think we have much other choice,” he said. “Anders is right: there is no other way. There’s nowhere else to go, and he’ll find us eventually.”

“I think Ren is right, though,” Sokka replied. “We don’t know directly what we’re up against, other than ‘ruthless man with a gun’. We couldn’t take him head on without risking more than just the Vault.”

“He is not alone.” Alastor brought one leg to rest across his knee. “There are loyalists with him.”

“Oh, he’s got a force. Not important,” Anders groused, waving his hand. “Just an afterthought, not important to mention at all!”

“No--no one’s fighting anyone if we pull this off right,” Wash said quickly, sternly. She was the only one who had yet to take a seat, and she paced around the circle as the meeting progressed. “No, the Vault’s too precious to lose. But it has no defenses, so right now the only thing we have going for us is surprise. Reaver still has no idea where we are. We can use that. And we didn’t set the traps in the woods for show.”

“Regardless, he will find us,” Renkotsu remarked coldly. “It is an inevitability. They were designed for a stray patrol, not a full pack. Our traps will not hold forever.”

“Thank you. I’m aware of that,” Wash replied.

“Alastor,” Remus remarked suddenly, “when we were at the mansion, Reaver said that the Firestarters had been causing him grief for a while. He sent you to find them, and until now you had no reason to let them live if you did find them. Why couldn’t you find them before?”

“Home field advantage,” Wash answered, glancing to Alastor. “Reaver never sent the balverines into the woods too often. We know our way around just as well as them, and we know the places the balverines can’t maneuver well. When we set fires, it was always someplace far away from here.”

Alastor nodded. “Had there been more of you, your efforts would not have succeeded.”

Wash hesitated, going slightly red as though she wanted to say something back. But she thought better of it. “Guerilla tactics are all we’ve got and it’s what Reaver’s expecting,” she said instead.

“Then what do we do? We’re at square zero .” 

As soon as Mabel finished asking, an uncomfortable silence settled over them.

“This need not be a total loss.” When everyone turned, Ren folded his arms across his chest, shoulders laxing. “We could lure Reaver into the Vault. Give him what he wants. Entice him,” he went on, calmly and unphased. “Let him in. Tell him he’s won. Then, bury him.”

“ Bury him ? That’s insane,” Sokka said. “We need the Vault! We can’t just blow a hole in it!” He suddenly stopped, eyes wide as parts of a plan seemingly formed and were dismissed in his mind all at once. “... Can we?”

Alastor frowned. “You assume Reaver would fall for such a mundane trap.”

“What about his mansion? You did say he had a mansion, right? Er, right?”

Again, Dipper flinched under the sudden attention. He pressed his hands to the back of his neck. “I--I mean he’s not there now, and you guys-” his eyes quickly flickered between Wash and Alastor “- said that this guy Barry was a pushover, right? Why can’t we just--you know, take the mansion? Blow the Vault with Reaver in it, and swoop in and take it.”

Wash’s eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly. “I don’t remember telling you about Barry-”

“Such a plan would require us to have an exit of our own, one that Reaver would not potentially be watching,” Ren commented.

Mabel began to jump in her seat, earrings jingling with every bounce. “We’ll make a door!Just like I said!”

“We’re not blowing anything up, Mabel!” Sokka argued. “At least not yet, anyways.”

“No, we’re not blowing up anything!” Wash suddenly barked, enough to gain control of the sea of voices. “The Vault is the only thing that’s kept us going this long. We lost too many good people getting to this point, and you’re talking about blowing it to hell without considering what happens after that! It’s too important to just let it go!”

“Well, we can’t just stay locked up in here forever!” Anders urged, leaning forward. “We can’t hide away from this, and if we stay here and do nothing we may as well welcome Reaver in. But the mansion--that library alone has the resources we all need to find our way home. ...I think it’s worth the risk by itself.”

“Mysterious libraries guarded by something really old and angry usually have a lot of game-changing information in them,” Sokka hesitantly offered, glancing up at Wash as she paced. “Even if it’s not direct information, it could show us the right way to go. He’s right.”

She seemed to briefly consider what was said, visibly calming after exhaling a frustrated breath. Survival had been their goal for so long, the thought of going home seemed outlandish almost. It left her uneasy.

“The risk is enormous,” Remus said slowly, rubbing his hands together in thought. “But… Anders and Sokka make good points. The resources available to us there, we just don’t have them here. I think we may have to try. Ultimately, if we want to go home. If we want to stop running.”

“I know how much this place means to you,” Sokka spoke up softly, holding Wash’s gaze. “But maybe it doesn’t have to be a bad thing to let it go. Yeah, it took a lot to get here. But now we can use it to do something good instead of hiding. It can still be the thing that saves us.”

Wash visibly swallowed. Her arms were wrapped around her chest, and she licke her lips as she glanced between Sokka and the others, then back. Then, again. She pursed her lips, hesitating. But finally, she could only sigh. “...You’re right,” she said. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

Once more, the door to Renkotsu’s office slid open and Wash stepped inside. But this time, so did Remus, Anders, and Sokka. In the dim light from the lantern, their shadows competed for space along the walls. There wasn’t enough room for all of the vault’s occupants, and some had understandably elected to stay away from Ren’s personal lair.

“Wait there,” Ren instructed, striding past the tangle of limbs to his desk. He sat down, beginning to search for something. Only Wash did not look the least bit curious.

“Ow!”

“Sorry,” Anders said quickly, stepping carefully around Sokka's foot this time. “Sorry, tight spaces, I--sorry.” He pressed himself to the wall by the door.

“This was originally supposed to be a secretary's office,” Wash explained. “That's why it's cramped.”

Remus stood beside her, watching Ren pull a key from his person and insert it into one of the desk drawers. “Secretary to whom?”

“The Overseer.” A quick turn of the key and the drawer popped open. “The person in charge of the Vault, and who would conduct the experiments.”

“Uh, experiments?” Sokka’s brow rose. “What experiments? No one told me about any experiments.” He paused, adding in: “Except for the mechanical-slash-weapons stuff we did together.”

The sound of buttons being pressed on a keypad. “The Vault was not designed to be a safe haven,” Renkotsu said, without looking up. “It is deceptive.”

“VaultTec, the company who built these,” Wash explained, “they didn't do this for free. They had secret contracts with the government to run tests on their captive subjects while the world outside went to hell.”

“That's horrible,” Remus murmured.

“Wait, so that means that this Vault--the Vault we live in--it's supposed to experiment on us?” Sokka stared. “How do you know that?”

A section of wall behind Renkotsu’s desk hissed as a seal was popped free, and the metal panel retracted an inch from the wall before catching on a track somewhere unseen and rolling aside.

“Because this is his office,” Renkotsu said, standing up from his desk and turning to head further in. “And we have his computer.”

The tiny secretarial room opened up into a much larger, wider room. By far, this room was much grander and was obviously designed to be a seat of luxury and power. Instead of floral patterned wall paper spread along metal sheeting, the walls of this room were made of cherry wood paneling that carefully concealed any signs of metal infrastructure. A proud, leather chair sat behind a horseshoe-shaped, solid wood desk, on top of which sat a large terminal whose back panels glowed nuclear green with power cells. Over the top of the desk could be seen several shelves where collections of books--the only books in the Vault--were resting, waiting to be read. Along the opposite wall a spherical window bubbled out into a dome that may once have looked down onto large swaths of people below, but had since been speared by jagged, red rock like giant fingers stopped in time. On either side of the window, two long-dead potted plants curled into dusty skeletons of their former selves.

“Do not enter yet,” Renkotsu warned, watching Remus take a step. He bent down, pointing to a near invisible tripwire. He rounded the corner out of sight.

Several mechanical clicks issued from where the monk had gone. When he called to them with permission to enter, the reason became clear: a bed had been built in the far corner of the room, facing the door. Surrounding it, various apparatus were placed above, around, or directly beside the bed, and not all of them were clear in purpose. Some looked like cannons or guns, as Renkotsu’s weapons of choice. But even they appeared only partially complete at best--prototypes, or failures, perhaps? Still others were obviously for intruders: a small tank marked with a diamond was attached through a series of pipes to a pair of spouts. Renkotsu was carefully taking the wire from the floor and setting it beside the trigger switch on this handmade flame trap.

Perpendicular to the bed, a floor-length mirror was inlaid into the wall. It reflected Wash’s back as she took a seat in the leather chair, spinning around to face the terminal.

“You didn’t change the password, did you?” She asked.

“No,” replied Ren. “Not since the last time.”

Wash grunted in response, tapping the enter button until the display warmed and then typing in a few characters. “Gotta find it…”

Sokka stopped in front of the mirror, only half-admiring himself for a moment. “Password for what?”

“An idea,” Wash explained. She motioned to the mirror. “Unless you’d like to go with Mabel’s plan to dig a new tunnel.”

“Uhh, no,” Sokka frowned, matter-of-factly. “No, I wouldn’t.”

“Then give me a second,” Wash continued, still searching.

Her fingers tapped away on the keyboard, dark eyes scanning the green stream of numbers and letters as she carefully picked out the correct sequence. Finally the screen defaulted to an English menu of sorts, the only thing Sokka had enough time to glance over in time was “TRIAGE 5150” - which was the thing Wash highlighted and selected, prompting the screen to turn black.

The mirror lurched back in the same manner as the door to the Overseer’s office had, hissing in protest and squeaking on a rusted track as it rolled into the wall and exposed a short, stony corridor. At the end was the unmistakable glow of sunlight. The smell of salt carried in on a cool breeze, accompanied by the soft static of waves.

And Sokka’s posture knowingly sunk and he shuffled towards the tunnel in utter disbelief, his boots scuffing on the rough stone underfoot. “No way...” he practically whispered.

“Is that…” Anders squinted at the open doorway. “Is that the sea?”

Wash nodded. “It’s here in the logs--whoever this “Overseer” would have been, he had instructions. And this is so that he could escape when things turned from bad to worse.”

“Which, I’m sure, is exactly what would have happened, especially after an apocalypse.” Anders sighed. “That seems to be how things go. This is sensible, though.”

“And fortunate for us,” Remus added, taking a few exploratory steps beyond the wooden panels and into the tunnel. “Even if the tunnel was cut short upon the vault’s arrival to this world.”

The narrow mouth widened slowly from where the Vault ended and the rock began, opening slowly into a great blue mouth bathed in bold colors across the middle and bottom: dark red shattered into a fiery orange hue as sunlight splashed against a stone lip which protruded into the horizon a few yards before dropping off sharply into nothingness. Beyond that, the dark blue of the sea and the lighter tones of the constant star-filled sky competed for the eye. Scattered throughout the water were small, rocky islands, some with pine trees and others barren. And in the sky flocked towers of clouds racing across the endless expanse.

Sokka had gotten down on his knees in order to peer over the edge, squinting as a blast of icy sea air blew his wolf tail hair about in all directions. “This goes nowhere,” he said, almost vacantly, “We can’t go up and we can’t go down.” His head whipped around when the other approached, looking hard at Wash and Ren - his brows pulling down into a hurt frown. “How long has this been here?”

Wash folded her arms and huffed, almost shamefully avoiding Sokka’s eye. But it was Ren who answered: “Since the beginning.” It was a plain answer. “It wasn’t much use in the colder months. The sea spray cased most of the cliff and pathway in ice.”

“But that would mean-” he stopped, putting pieces together in his mind. “Man, was that why your room was always so cold?” Something seemed to strike him. “Was this how you got frostbite on your foot?!” He took in a deep, steadying breath, but still muttered: “And you were fine after because you’re a zombie… Of course .”

“So this is how we get out ,” Remus said slowly, stepping carefully around the ledge and examining the rock face. “But not how we get away …”

Anders turned, brow raised. “Is that an idea I hear?”

“I’m not sure,” Remus replied, pausing seriously. “I just know that we don’t have to stop here, at the cliff. We can still use this.”

“How do you figure?” Wash asked.

“Do you remember the idea of a portkey being tossed about earlier?”

“Vaguely,” Ren sharply said, his tone implying an explanation was warranted.

“In the simplest terms,” Remus obliged, “a portkey is any inanimate object that, when touched, will transport the handler immediately to a prearranged destination. If we set one up here, we could have it waiting for us when we set the trap for Reaver.”

“Any object?” asked Anders.

“Any object,” Remus nodded. “A newspaper, an old boot--practically anything. It needn’t be significant. Though ours will need to be one that all of us can be in contact with at once--and, preferably, with handles. If you let go before you arrive, you could end up anywhere, or worse.”

Sokka waved a hand dismissively as he got to his feet. “Let me guess: death!” He waved his arms out to the sides. “What? It’s always death!”

“It’s always death,” Anders agreed. “Though that does sound like a solid plan.” He turned and followed the others back inside. “At least it’s a start.”

“I would not be so certain,” said Renkotsu then, issuing the mirror-door closed with a small push and sealing them inside the Vault once again. “For one who has been lost in the forests here, you are quick to forget that there is nothing out there. Even if we were to use this portkey, we still have nowhere to go.”

“The only place we could go is that windmill,” Sokka suggested, turning to Remus and Anders. “You guys put up defensive magic-thingies around it, right?”

Remus made a slight noise of discomfort. “It--it isn’t quite the same as you left it,” he said. “But, yes.”

“Would it house all of us?” Ren rubbed his chin.

“Uh, yes and no,” Sokka answered him. “I mean, yes, because we could all fit inside. But, no, because there wouldn’t be a lot of space. It was a little cramped with just four people. Figure in six more people, plus supplies? We’d have to rearrange the entire place.”

“Well,” Wash said slowly, “we’d better get started, then.”

“What do you mean, ‘the scent just ends ’?”

The balverine, Boots, kept his head low, not daring to look Reaver in the eye like an equal. “It just--ends, Reaver, sir. Over there, by the river. It’s just gone!”

Reaver felt his lip curl into a snarl. “Then find another way,” he growled. “They leave plant trails in their footsteps--how can it be that no one can find them? You have eyes last I checked!”

“Yes, sir--Reaver, sir!” At once, Boots had abandoned his human skin for more natural white claws, vanishing into the trees with four other shadows, leaving only a few fallen leaves in their wake as they hunted for prey that would not be caught so easily.

Not that Reaver expected that it would go easily--on the contrary, it would have been foolish for him to expect anything less than a struggle for all the damage they caused him. The three strange guests, who had allied with his butler... Cliche, and disappointing. But nonetheless, whatever well of luck they had then had long run dry. While finding them would not be easy, it would not take long. A Hero of Skill could always find his target.

Which at this moment was the back of his neck. Black leather gloves gave a muted slapping sound as Reaver swatted at a mosquito with an undignified growl. The goggles over his eyes were the only things keeping the blasted bugs from irritating him further. It had been so long in that Oasis that the woods had become almost foreign to him. He had abandoned his grand white, fur-trimmed attire for a crimson-and-gold cubbing ensemble, suitable for his hunt. His black boots had long lost their polished luster in the mud from the forest floor, and none of his loyal servants dared mention the stray twig in Reaver’s hair. After hours of walking, the forest had not been kind to Reaver since his departure from the Oasis. But he had not been attacked by any of the more dangerous creatures lurking in the dark, though he had not expected to run into a civilized creature, either.

And yet, perched on the top of a rather tall stump there was the familiar form of a stocky, dark-haired man wearing a large, white sweater, black jeans, and a rather unbecoming, cheeky toad mask. His legs were crossed where he sat, looking across the path at the ex-Lord with hungry expectation.

“Buenas dias, Reaver.”

“If it isn’t the merchant,” Reaver muttered indignantly, coming to a halt no more than a few steps from him. “It certainly has been a while. You aren’t here to try to sell me anything, are you? I’m not quite in the mood for talkative shopping and I’m down to counting bullets. Unless you have anything that would substitute for a dragonstomper .48 round?”

“ Dios, no . I’m afraid that I’m sold out at the moment,” Zacharie cheerfully said in his soft voice, observing as Reaver scoffed with a toxic roll of his eye, brushing a patch of dirt from his coat with disgust. As Zacharie’s head tilted unnaturally on stiff shoulders, his mask morphed to its grinning cat form. “I do not usually see you out and about. Taking a vacation?”

Reaver clicked his tongue in disappointment, reaching for his holster. “Shouldn’t you already know?” His hand rested delicately - yet threateningly - against the butt of his signature revolver. “We held similar positions, except your job allows you to travel.”

“I'm the traditional items merchant that's necessary in every grand tale. I'll always find myself in places you're going to visit before you arrive.”

“Yes, but some merchants set up an actual shop.”

Zacharie laughed, a short, deep, light sound. “But how would I do my job then, is the question.”

“Simple, quit your job.” Reaver studied him. “I suppose if you are out of wares, your information is still for sale?”

Zacharie hummed, correcting the angle of his head so that his chin rested on wrists hidden by sleeves. “Certainly. What can I do for you?”

“I am looking for two escaped hounds,” Reaver replied. “Or three escaped prisoners, or firebugs-- whatever you can point me to so that I can sate my wrath and be on my way.” These last words he crested with punctuation, standing still in a splinter of sunlight like a dagger in a restless hand.

“You are in luck,” Zacharie said. “They are all in the same place.” He waved his hands out and then rolled them back together in a smooth motion.

“Oh, goody ,” Reaver got out through gritted white teeth, upper lip curling back. “I would urge you to give me specifics. I am paying for information, not vague hand gestures.”

“I suppose I am being rather unreasonable, even if there are those who are amused with it.” Zacharie tapped the bottom of his mask in thought. “If you look along the base of the red mesa, you may find them. But, if I may ask, why are you so determined to find them? You are free from where Scythe trapped you all those years ago; is that not what you wanted? You could let bygones be.”

Reaver paused, for a moment overcome more by curiosity than his warpath. “Are you attempting to dissuade me, of all people?”

“I fair a greater chance of being paid.” It was said quickly and matter-of-factly, earning a praising chuckle from Reaver. “And you have the information you desired, so you fair a greater chance of finding them. What do you plan to do when you get there? Even when the door opens, you cannot drag around the relatives of old friends, that is not wise.”

“Sara’s grandson? Yes. If he doesn’t come to reason with me, I have no trouble shooting him.” Reaver chuckled darkly. “Oh, trust me, I have no issues shooting that rude little esper .” With a vain, wicked grin spread across his porcelain face, Reaver licked his lips. “Yes, the oasis told me of him; keep an eye on him, he’s going to impact my fate in a grand way, all that cryptic nonsense. Told me that Sara’s dead, too. Shame. She was so pretty, as all her kind are bred to be, but now I no longer have to worry about her temporally mucking about in my affairs or. presently, getting miffed about offing her grandchild.” Once again, Reaver paused. “But you said ‘old friends’, which is plural. Who else is there that I should be aware of?”

“Why, Reaver,” Zacharie said, almost sounding admonished, “You kept his journal.”

The immortal seemed puzzled, as if the thought had never occurred to him before. Reaver’s brows knitted. “Children related to Stanford Pines? How - oh, nevermind. I suppose picky statistics had to favor Ford one of these days.”

Thick, pale fingers clasped neatly in Zacharie’s lap. “But enough blether. I’m not one of those protagonists you need to listen to for hours. So, let’s see the color of your credits.”

BANG.

Reaver stared over the end of his bejeweled gun as Zacharie’s body fell to the ground from his seated perch of the high stump. He marched over, firing off several more shots into the body of the merchant, and huffed in frustration when it was time to reload. “You should have just stayed in that bloody theme park, Mr. Bismark .”

If he had gotten the chance, Reaver would have kicked off that creepy, little mask. But from beyond the smoke of the barrel Reaver watched Zacharie’s head turn to face him, and then the corpse that should have been simply got back up.

“You knew that wouldn't work,” Zacharie emotionlessly chuckled as he got to his feet. Aside from the bullet holes that riddled his sweater, he held no signs of damage - no flinching or injured body parts, instead of blood dripping from his “wounds” there were only faint trails of black smoke. It was enraging.

“I still hoped,” Reaver shrugged, frowning his distaste. “Though I suppose for creatures like you, there are checks in place. Otherwise you would be long dead.”

“It is much the same for you, dear age-thief,” the merchant replied pleasantly. “As much as the Luke Cage style is all the rage in some places these days, I do not think it looks very good on me.” He brushed his fingers over his holey sweater, then held out his hand with a grabbing motion. “I’ll have to charge a premium for the attempt, though. Ahora, mi créditos, por favor, Señor Marksman.”

Chapter Text

There were so many hallways in this Vault; so many places that had yet to be explored, or that would never be explored, simply because they lacked the time. Much of the infrastructure had been sealed off by the same type of metal barriers as the one which originally sealed off the hallway where their apartment was, likely to keep people from getting lost. Whatever supplies used to be down there had probably already been plundered in the process of making the Vault livable again.

That was what brought Remus to the ‘Recreation Center’, as the sign in the hall so loudly proclaimed in ugly neon letters. It was a small room, split in two by a metal and glass divider. On one side, the Firestarters had amassed a collection of mannequins with numerous wounds to their chests and faces.  Their clothes were burnt in some places and missing in others, but they smiled at him as he walked by despite all their hardships. Stored along the walls beside them were various weapons ranging from bows to guns, and some which Remus could barely recognize as something to be held in the hand. He remembered Wash’s face as she talked about losing members, and Remus wondered who these tools used to belong to. He kept walking.

Passing several sets of weights and a treadmill, Remus headed through the doorway of the dividing wall to the other side of the room. Here, a selection of shelves had been stuffed with books collected from the apartments. There was a mint green title shining in the iridescent overhead light as Remus passed by that read, “You’re S.P.E.C.I.A.L.!” And still another that detailed a barbarian saving a cliche blonde from a tentacled monster. Some others had illustrations on their spines, and one was stained brown with long dead blood. But Remus gave them no mind. He strode purposefully under the automatic lights to the far corner where sat a desk and a large personal computer.

Remus sighed. He turned his head, checking to make sure he was alone. And then, he sat down.

“Now, how do you…”

He tilted his head, examining the monitor. He looked back over his shoulder again before giving it a quick tap with his hands. He hoped the sudden movement might wake it up. But nothing happened.

“I hate these things,” he muttered, staring at his frowning reflection on the still-black screen. At least no one could see him failing so miserably.

“Uh, hey..!”

Remus flinched. “Hello, Dipper,” he said. Were his ears actually burning?

Dipper had poked his head through the doorway, and now he stepped completely inside. One hand held the brim of his blue and white baseball cap as though he weren’t sure if he should take it off. And under the other arm, a small, blue journal was clutched firmly to his side. He visibly swallowed.

“What is it, Dipper?” Remus asked. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, o’course,” Dipper replied, but he held his book a bit closer. “I was just wondering if I could… um, I mean I was hoping to--to ask you something, Mr. Lupin.”

Remus turned himself in the wheeling chair to face Dipper. “Remus is fine,” he said.

“Oh, okay, yeah. Remus.” Dipper cleared his throat. “I was just-wait, we're you trying to use the computer?”

Damn it . “Er, ...yes. They’re rather new, you see. Back home.”

“It isn't even on,” Dipper said, pointing.

Remus looked down at the computer with difficulty. He didn't even think he could see a switch. “Oh,” he said, hoping he didn't also sound like a fool. He stood up, inviting Dipper to continue.

Dipper took the seat and reached to the side of the monitor. Remus heard a little click and the black screen began to hum and warm with bright green letters. A blinking cursor hovered over several options listed in an orderly fashion down the left side of the screen.

“This computer is weird,” said Dipper. “I mean it looks ancient, but it's obvious the technology is advanced. It just doesn't seem right for the time. You've never used one before?”

“I have,” Remus replied, crossing his arms and thinking back. “Once, or twice. A few times. They, er, had a BBC Micro at the library…”

Dipper paused, his brow dropping sharply. “A what ? No, nevermind, just--what were you looking for?”

“Information, mostly,” Remus said as he bent down to look at the screen. “The Lieutenant said that this terminal had the logs of the other Firestarters who lived with them in the beginning. They might provide something useful to us; information about what sort of things we’re going to have to face once we move on from the mansion.”

“Like what?”

Remus tilted his head as he thought. “Other settlements, perhaps. Medicinal plants. I’m hoping to find information on the creatures, personally,” he said. “After all the trouble the biorapters have caused us, and the balverines… Though, plants can be just as deadly. Venomous tentacula, Devil’s Snare… And those are from my homeworld--Merlin knows what else these woods could hold. Click there, would you?”

Dipper did so, and for a moment there was a pause as they scrolled through a wall of words that meant nothing to the younger of them. He switched seats with Remus, jotting something down in his notebook.

“You think there's anything on other Oases in there? Or towns?”

“It’s very possible. The forest here regrows so quickly I'm almost surprised a town was here at all. But I don't believe we few are the only people to have become trapped in this realm. There are certainly more settlements out there.”

“Somewhere,” Dipper added, and Remus nodded.

“You know what I find kinda weird?”

Remus finished reading his next paragraph before responding. “What's that?”

“That this Vault isn’t haunted or something. No, really--everything else I’ve seen in this place has been creepy, or tried to kill me, or was just really unpleasant. But the Vault is borderline nice. It’s just empty, and I kind of expected there to be something off here, too.”

But instead of responding, Remus paused. Dipper felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. “What?”

“Ghosts?” Remus asked, turning away from the screen. “You can see spirits?”

Dipper looked up quizzically. “Well, yeah. Why? Is that bad, or something?”

“No,” Remus replied, shaking his head, but not looking away. “No, it’s more--surprising. Mabel has mentioned before that neither of you have any magical ability.”

“Anyone can read an incantation,” Dipper replied with a shrug. And then, he saw Remus’ expression. “Can’t they?”

“And have the spell work ?”

“Yeah?” Dipper’s voice cracked slightly, scrunching his frame to appear smaller. “I mean, Great Uncle Ford didn’t really label some of them, so it’s a gamble, but so far everything I’ve tried has worked. Summoning entities both malicious and benign; wards; banishing the dead… I mean, this one time I accidentally raised a horde of zombies and then had to save the whole town. It was kind of a disaster. Had to utilize certain sound frequencies that can ‘disable’ the undead.”

“Dipper,” Remus started with some hesitation, “where did you learn how to handle the undead?”

“Oh, uh...” Dipper shyly scratched the side of his neck, averting his eyes for just a moment. “I guess you could say that it runs in the family?” His voice cracked upwards, and he attempted to find the best way to explain it. “Uncle Ford is an expert on things like that. I’ve been studying his work for a while now.”

“Have you, now?” Remus was impressed. He sat back in the chair that squeaked against his weight. “It was my father that inspired me to study those sorts of things. Is that what you're doing with your book?”

Dipper stood straight again, pulling the pen out of the book and sliding a finger between the pages instead. “Yeah, I thought that--well maybe it'd be useful to have some kind of documentation while we're here, y’know? I have a page on the bioraptors, the balverines… Naoya’s got a page in here, too.”

“He does?”

“Well, I mean, he’s not a human, and Uncle Ford didn’t get much documentation of mutants.” Dipper let out a small, shaky laugh. “At least not willing ones.” He shook his head, trying to forget about a certain incident with an angry Shapeshifter.

“Oh,” Remus said. He considered Dipper for a moment. “Hm. If you like, I could waterproof the pages. You never know what might happen.”

Dipper’s shoulders eased, and he looked almost relieved. “Yeah, that'd be great, actually, I would never have thought of that. You study this stuff, you said?”

Remus nodded, taking the book and reaching for his wand. “Not actively, not like I used to. I'm certainly not an expert in the field, but I know enough to keep myself safe. I know enough not to go wandering into the mists towards any lights,” he added with something of a grin.

“Why not?”

“Hinkypunks,” Remus said, and Dipper snorted at the ridiculous name. But when Remus returned his journal and Dipper caught sight of Remus’ expression, it became obvious that he had been quite serious. Dipper composed himself.

“...Right,” he said, coughing as he slid the book open to the first empty page. He jotted down something that he thought looked vaguely correct. “...‘mist lights’. There. ...So, uh, anyway, this brings me back to my original question.”

“Of course.”

But Dipper tensed again, and clutched his book a bit tighter. “I wanted to ask if… well I mean, Mabel and I heard things. We don’t exactly get told everything, and we have to fill in some gaps on our own.”

“Yes,” Remus said quietly, smiling almost knowingly. “Wash was more than a bit surprised.”

“But I noticed you and Naoya were gone a couple nights ago. And--well, it… it was a full moon, wasn’t it? And I didn't think so, but then you came back and you had scratches and you just look so tired and I was wondering if… maybe, you were a…?”

Dipper’s head sank into his shoulders and he wore a small, apologetic smile.

Remus sighed, resting his chin on his knuckles. Suddenly, he was so tired. Existentially tired. He brought his head back up to look at Dipper, sighing again. “Yes,” he said, his voice slightly strained.

Dipper’s eyes widened. “Really? That's so cool! I thought my friend Wendy's dad was a werewolf once, but I think maybe he's part sasquatch or something now. I mean if you saw the guy, you’d understand,” he added with a chuckle of embarrassment. But he stopped, seeing Remus look at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” Remus said quickly, shaking his head. “Nothing. I suppose I continue to be surprised. Thank you for your help with the computer, Dipper.”

“Oh, pfft, no problem.” Dipper waved it off. “But hey, before I go… is it cool if I talk to you some more? About the creatures I'm cataloging, I mean. Later? You said you knew a bunch.”

Remus blinked. “Of course. Any time. And I'd like to look at what you have so far. You're probably the closest thing to an expert on the native creatures here we have yet.”

Remus watched his words take effect on Dipper immediately. He stood a bit taller, and he held his head slightly higher. The hand holding his journal relaxed and Dipper smiled. “I mean I'm not really an expert-expert , but… thanks.”

“These are the last of our reserves,” Sokka asked, dropping the last of the boxes at his feet with a winded huff.

Renkotsu’s head turned as he examined the boxes. “Be careful with those,” he said first, “or else it won’t simply be the earth that suffers the explosion.”

Sokka crossed his arms, muttering a small apology before raising an expectant brow at Ren. “This place was lucky it made it to Astri-whatever in one piece, so it’s probably not going to take all of this.” He paused, looking over his shoulder at Ren. “Right?”

“It never hurts to be certain,” Ren replied. “Especially when dealing with something you aren’t certain can be killed.”

“You really think Reaver’s actually immortal?” Sokka asked.

“If he were truly unable to die he would not fear death,” Ren mumbled a bitter reply, moving on to a new strap.

Several questions all ran through Sokka’s mind at once, colliding in his thoughts in a way that gave him the impression that some things were probably left unasked for the time being. “Think maybe you could teach me how to do that?” was the least-mangled question he had. “I know how to a do a little, but not… good.”

Renkotsu quietly glanced at him, seeing the teenager motion to the fuses. He sighed. “Perhaps another time.” When Sokka’s eyes began to light up, Ren quickly added: “But at that time you are to sit still .” Taking a strip of adhesive and biting the end with his teeth, Renkotsu finished his latest bomb by working the ends of the fuses firmly into one. “For now, please leave this to me.”

Sokka sighed. That was abrupt. But not unlike Ren at all, so he simply saved his groan until he was far enough down the hall that the monk would not see. Ren didn’t want help with the bombs right now? Fine. Sokka had stuff to pack, anyways. Important stuff... and essential things, too!

Not everything in his collection was appropriate to pack. There was only so much room, even in the weirdly bigger-on-the-inside leather satchel that Remus had “charmed”, and as much as Sokka wanted to hold onto some of his loot, the logical parts of his brain reminded him to pack what he knew was essential.

Clothes were essential, right? He had a small stockpile he had discerningly picked out based on how useful the garment was or how good he looked in it, or both. Two extra bags that matched a few shirts; he liked his clothes to match - and he tried not to get tripped up on the thought of storing bags in another bag. Essentials also included only three quarters of the books and scrolls scattered around his half of the room, especially the small navy-colored book he kept next to his bed - which he would pack last.

The gear he wore out hunting would go in the bag, too. He had made the decision that the blue armor neatly displayed on top of his dresser would be what he wore for this risky business. The white-fur trimmed, painted with the symbol of the moon and waves, navy blue armor was all that he had left to remind him of home; it was what he fell into this stupid, dumb world wearing, and it was only fit that he was going to wear it when he left.

Some extra whetstones, screwdriver, a few different-sized wrenches, a cool glowy cube-thing he’d found, leather pliers… he’d have to wait until later to clear out some of his stash in the locker room, for sure-

And that was when his stomach growled, and he wasn’t able to focus on anything else but the aching pit in his stomach. He surveyed his half of the room, and satisfied with what he’d done so far, reasoned that it was time for a well-deserved snack break.

But as he approached the cafeteria, the hairs prickled on the back of his neck - he had the strangest feeling that he’d find Naoya there.

Which was completely unfounded, who just had a feeling that someone else would be in a certain place? It didn’t matter that he did, in fact, find Naoya in the mess hall, sitting sideways in a booth, next to a small stack of empty plates, and sipping coffee - from a soup bowl , Sokka had to do a double take. It was probably just a coincidence that the other teenager was there.

Naoya looked over his bowl. He seemed content in his now-clean baggy sweatshirt - (it had taken a while to get all the oil out, even using “magic”) - with his drink in his hands. His eyes narrowed in the slightest way and he cracked a faint smile.

“The magic people used all the cups to make tea,” Naoya explained, fully aware of the unasked question and how his answer sounded, and Sokka snortled. He set his bowl down, chin tilting up in a curious manner. “You’re not packing yet?”

“Almost done, right now I’m hungry.” Sokka hesitantly sat across the table in the same booth.

Naoya quietly watched Sokka dramatically slump forward, face-first, against the table top. “Oh!” the EGO softly gasped. “Is this the part where you want me to make you food?”

Sokka didn’t pick his head up. “Yes.”

“Too bad,” Naoya snubbed, picking up his coffee again. “I ate it all.”

Sokka rolled his head so that he rested on his cheek, giving him the perfect angle to childishly glower up at Naoya. “ I trusted you. ” His tone was accusatory and hurt, and Sokka was sure if he kept it up he would win. “And now I’ll starve!”

But all Naoya did was place his elbow on the table and rest his chin in his hand, nonplussed.

Oh, he was good.

Maybe if Sokka threw in a few fake sniffles- which turned into a sneeze, courtesy of an odd, burning scent catching his attention. “Hey, does something smell… I don’t know, kinda smoky?”

Naoya’s spine went rigid and he spluttered into his bowl-cup. “N-nope!” He quickly set his drink down again and scooted to the end of the booth bench, standing up and putting his hands on his hips. “Jeez,” he huffed, heading for the kitchen, “You’re lucky you’re kinda cute or else you’d just end up starving.”

Sokka’s head snapped up. “What-?” But Naoya kept going to the kitchen. Sokka was hungry… maybe he had imagined it?

Yeah.

That had to have been it.

It took maybe twelve hours - no, maybe twenty minutes? Sokka looked at the nearest clock. Twenty-four minutes - before Naoya came back with the food. It wasn’t anything super special, a cooked canned steak and some rice, but at least he didn’t have to cook it himself.

Naoya went back for another bowl of coffee, and when he returned he did three things: he sat, and then he took his fork, and he swiped a piece of meat off of Sokka’s plate .

“ Hey! ” Sokka warned through a mouthful, his brows drew low.

Naoya skillfully stole another piece and ate that one, too, all in one quick, smooth motion. “Service fee,” he stated. He then stole a fork’s worth of rice. “Naoya Itsuki-services are expensive today. You can’t just dine-n-dash, Sokky.” And then Sokka glared as Naoya put that fork of rice in his mouth.

In order to properly defend his food from the inhuman threat facing him, Sokka hunkered over his plate and fended off any attempts to get near his meal. He wasn’t even convinced by the sad, hurt look Naoya tried to give him. Nope. Not convinced at all. His victory was assured when Naoya gave up and seemed more focused on staring at his own reflection in his coffee.

“You know,” Sokka started, his food finally finished, “I’ve been thinking.”

"Oh no, he's been fed and now he's thinking ," Naoya joked, smirking lightly into his drink.

Sokka leaned his elbows onto the table, eyes widening. “We might get to go home soon."

Naoya paused, then swallowed a quick sip. "Still have one last thing to do before that, though."

Sokka thought that, unlike everybody else, Naoya always seemed much less concerned with going back to wherever it was that he came from. Naoya barely talked about his home - he was terrible at math and had no respect for school or books, worked a lot, and something about a twin that Sokka doubted existed. (One Naoya was enough, thank you .) But that was as much as Sokka or anyone else knew.

Sokka eyed him. "Don’t you want to go home?"

"I have to go home, like everybody else," Naoya too-sharply affirmed, and for a moment Sokka thought he might have been glaring - but the facial expression was too brief to tell for certain. "The way it is now, we have this one big fight we have to worry about before any of us can really think about that. And..."

" And? "

Naoya fiercely pouted, shaking his head as if he were dismissing what he was about to say. “Nothing,” he sighed, resigned. He stared down into his empty bowl-cup. “Think we’ll end up right back where we came from?”

“There’s been a war going on for a hundred years now. I’d just be getting dropped back onto a big battlefield.”

“So... from one fight to the next?”

“More like from one fight to this one, then back to the original one, yes,” Sokka primly said. He looked down at his empty plate. “I haven’t had to think about it in so long, because I’ve been here. It’s going to be weird going back now that all this time has gone by...”

"You kinda feel like, in the larger picture, everything is kinda pointless?" Naoya practically finished his thought. "That the war's been going on for longer than you, or your parents, or even your grandparents, have been alive - what effect could you possibly have on something of that scale? What is peace even like, and does the world even want it after fighting for so long?"

"Yeah," Sokka breathed, frowning. He then looked right across at Naoya. "Also, you reading my thoughts like that is getting really creepy."

"I can't read your thoughts, just emotions," Naoya corrected, shaking his head. "Those are my thoughts. On my world." A soft, knowing, almost apologetic frown came to grace his sleek features. "You're not the only one from a world long at war."

"Well, home might be full of fighting, but you know what I hate the most about this place?" the tone of Sokka's voice evened out, not hiding any of his disdain.

"Outside of the large hungry predators and immortal hosts?"

"Outside of the monsters and Reaver, yes," Sokka rolled his eyes. With one hand, he motioned to the ceiling in a vague gesture. "It's knowing that back home, people are looking for me. And I'm... stuck here. Unable to do anything about it."

Naoya's form laxed, then stiffened. Under the table, his sneakers pressed together. "You're really sure about that, huh."

"I know them. It's been a little over eight months now, but I know them. They wouldn't have stopped looking if there was no evidence saying I was - y’know, gone . Especially Katara."

"Travelling the world, worried sibling; sounds like you've got quite the life to get back to," Naoya dryly chuckled.

"And you don't?" his tone was somewhat incredulous.

Naoya frowned and shook his head. "People disappear all the time in my world. And thanks to the war, chances are that you won't find them - at least not alive. I've seen plenty of that outcome," the psychic let out a flat sigh, his chest falling. "My friends and family probably searched a few days, maybe a week or so, but nothing more than that. Not if they were smart. I’d… want them to be smart."

Sokka leaned on his elbows, staring at the smaller teenager as several pieces finally came together in his thoughts. "That's... really grim and messed up," he said.

"Yeah, your story was better," Naoya agreed. Letting out a half-laugh, he smiled; though he seemed more weary than anything else. "Had a happy ending."

Sokka paused. "What kind of parents let their kid work on the streets until four in the morning in an active war zone?"

"Similar to the kind who lets their kid travel around the warring world, unsupervised, with a high-priority target," Naoya replied, and Sokka shrug-nodded as he conceded to the point.

" Parent ," Sokka sighed. He settled back down into booth bench and rested his hands behind his head. “Singular.”

"Same here."

"Dad, my sister, and my gran-gran. You?"

"Just Mom and my sister, Haruna," Naoya said. "Gran-gran is 'grandmother', right?" When Sokka nodded, Naoya went on with listing his family: "My grandmother died last year, never knew her, but I have two aunts and two cousins still around. Though, we try to stay away from the rest of the family."

"Crazy?"

Naoya shook his head, his expression hardening - and for only a second he seemed far older than seventeen. Sokka couldn't tell if Naoya looked frightened or annoyed. "Might as well be."

"What about your dad?" Sokka asked.

“Never knew him. Only that he’s from another country. But it's not too bad,” he shrugged, “There aren't a lot of my kind who have a ‘dad’ in their lives.” Naoya’s head tilted to the side. “Your mom...?”

"Mom's... gone," Sokka admitted, glancing away for a moment. "She died when I was nine." He was trying to sound unperturbed, but Naoya calmly looked at him, understandingly - like he already knew that something about the death had been violent.

"The war took her?" Naoya gingerly asked.

Sokka was quiet for a minute. "Yeah."

"I’m sorry.”

"Don't be. It... happened a long time ago."

“Y-”

Both heads looked up abruptly. Anders hesitated in the doorway to the greater mess hall. “Sorry,” he said. “Would you like me to come back later?”

Sokka and Naoya looked back to each other, the table suddenly seeming wider than it had before.

“U-uh, no, it’s fine, Andy,” Naoya moved to get up, sliding the dishes to the edge of the table. “We were just finishing up.”

“Yeah,” Sokka tried to agree. “Gotta… get back to packing.”

Anders watched in silence as they put away their things, neither making eye contact with the other. Sokka mumbled a quiet, “Excuse me,” as he left, and Anders stepped aside for him. The mage felt his eyes instinctively track Naoya’s steps across the room, to where the dishwasher lay open and waiting for the used dishes. He waited one more moment before allowing himself to pass completely inside.

“That’s odd,” Anders said quietly, watching Naoya out of the side of his gaze. “Usually when someone’s cooking is bad they run off without staying for the entire meal.”

Naoya rolled his eyes. “Usually when someone’s not clever they shut up.”

But Anders was already elbow deep into the refrigerator. He pushed aside a tray of odd-looking fruit, frowned, and then closed the door. “Typical. This miraculous machine will keep food cold, but there’s nothing good inside. Anyway, Naoya, did you say something?”

“You’re not actually hungry.” Naoya loaded the last dish in the washer as if it were the most laborious thing he had ever done.

“No, I came to sift through the supplies for my own amusement.” Anders’ hand hesitated over one of the cabinets. “Where do we keep those--whatevers, with the M&Ms?” He caught sight of Naoya’s face and sighed. “It was worth a try. What is the saying, that the best way to a man’s heart is through his stomach?”

Naoya suddenly found his fingernails to be of extreme importance. “Now, Andy, whatever could you mean…?”

“Nothing,” Anders said through a crooked grin on the side opposite Naoya. “Nothing. Just a man looking for his lunch.”

Another moment passed where Anders ruffled through the cabinets.

“So you and Sokka, hm?” he said suddenly, not turning towards Naoya or showing any sign of hostility. He found a box labeled “Dandy Boy Apples” in the cabinet and made a face. “So much sugar…”

“What are you getting at, Andy?” His mouth tucked into a tight pout, Naoya folded his arms loosely across his chest, shifting his body as he leaned weight more on one foot.

“Oh, I think you know,” Anders replied, unable to contain his grin. “But I don’t think Sokka does. He’s a nice boy.”

Naoya’s eyes widened for just a split-second before his face was overtaken by a soft reddish hue. “Sh-shut up,” Naoya muttered. “Are you saying that Naoya Itsuki is not a nice boy?”

“Nice must have a different meaning where you’re from,” Anders smiled. He wasn’t condemning, nor was he poking fun. Naoya was almost certain he was being serious. “You’ll have to show him, then. All you have to do is just not be yourself. Easy, right?”

Now Anders did smirk, but it was not unkind. He finished scrounging a small assortment of food together onto a plate, and bade Naoya a small “goodbye” as he left the psychic alone with his thoughts.  

Down in the infirmary, Anders had plenty of his own work to do. It was easy enough for the rest of them to pack what they needed: clothes, personal effects, perhaps useful tools, some food… But Anders pushed aside the swinging doors and entered the ward with a sigh. There was so much that still made no sense to him.

It didn't help that he had no experience with most of the equipment in this room. There was a tall, white tube with a pair of lenses like those on binoculars. A microscope, it was called; for looking at things smaller than the eye could see. Anders had played with it, sliding one of his hairs across the tray as Wash had instructed when asked, and then a sample of blood. It left him speechless with awe.

Digital clocks were in a category on their own. Time is an inexact science in Thedas. Most people know what day it is, especially when any sort of major holiday is involved. But to meet someone at any particular hour is a challenge, considering only the dwarves had any clocks and even they were on the rarer side. For some reason, it was important to keep track of time when you lived underground where it's dark all the time. Surface-side, they were a novelty; something fancy Orlesian nobles used as a bragging right during one of their hundreds of flaunting, unnecessary parties. Either way, Anders wasn’t sure whether he liked knowing what time he really went to sleep nowadays. He studied the red numbers displaying the exact time on the desk clock, and he wondered vaguely how long he could hold his breath.

Worse still were the things that Anders almost felt like he should know about just by rights. He was a doctor, for the Maker’s sake. But so much of the medical equipment here went over his head. He had gone over the infirmary more than a few times just before lunch, scouring up and down for useful supplies to take with them when they abandoned ship--if ships could be subterranean superstructures from other worlds. He had collected all the bandages, all the ointments whose labels he could read (and it helped that Wash stopped by again and confirmed the most useful products, because it turns out that Mentats and Jet sound like good medicines in theory, but in practice were more… recreational), and had taken to piling a ridiculous product called RadAway on the bed in the corner because there was just so much of it. Honestly, why someone would use a product whose side effects included hair loss, stomach pains, and a constant need to pee… There were better ways to get an ass kicking, no medicine required.

Still, Anders picked up the most curious item yet: a syringe, full of a thick, red fluid on top of which was a round pressure gauge. A stimpak, it was called. Or so it said on the body of the syringe in bright, white letters. And it appeared to be fairly simple in design: push down on the head of the gauge and dispense the mysterious drug straight into very important vital organs. It was the simplicity that made Anders suspicious. Either this was a terrible product, or the best one of the bunch. But without a manual, Anders had no idea what exactly it did. And while it was easier to test it and find out, as a doctor he had certain oaths to obey. So he threw himself into the wheeling desk chair (another item he greatly enjoyed) and scooted forward, sliding open the drawers of the desk and hoping for some sort of miracle.

That was how he knew it was 1:34 when the first of his appointments wandered in.

“Hullo, Mabel, Dipper,” Anders said over the clock as he watched them come in. “Take a seat.”

And so it was that one job was put on hold for another, but such is life. Now was the time to ensure everyone was in good health, while they had the chance. The twins were fine, as they could be. Dipper had a bump on his head and kept jotting things down in a notebook whenever he asked Anders about his magic. Mabel looked tired. He offered her time time under his teachings while he checked the others, but she said she and Dipper were busy elsewhere.

After them Renkotsu came down, and together he and Anders agreed to do nothing and say that they had. Anders wasn't sure if he could accurately assess a dead man anyway.

Wash came and went in a hurry. She looked stressed, her mouth stuck in a thin line as she answered his questions. Like both Remus and Naoya, she too bore cursed scars: a triple set of score marks ran down her left shoulder where she'd been grazed on an excursion to the village and been ambushed by balverines. And there were wounds from her time in a place called Somalia, gunshot wounds and stabbings that told less of a story than she did with her silence; a couple rugged shoulder scars from her more recent post in Terra Nova completed her collection.

Both Sokka and Naoya came down, but not together. Sokka was thin, but toned, a young lifetime of training and war and many months here, far away from home. Naoya was thin, too, but not in the same way. Underweight was more like it, and that had been the story since the beginning. Anders remembered how thin he was even at the mansion; that kind of thin came from long bouts of not having enough food to eat.

“You know can eat more here,” he told Naoya as he left, but the teen turned away as if he had already heard it. Anders just sighed.

Then came Nadine, who Alastor insisted was in perfect health. Not that Anders could tell otherwise, so he was grateful for the fact. As for Alastor himself, he had been healing slowly but over the last few days he had felt better, stronger. Although weak and sore, he complained much less when asked to move and twist his torso. Progress was good, especially when it seemed like nothing good ever happened in this world.

Remus was the last one to make his way to the infirmary. Anders’ limbs stiffened as he gazed over the top of the digital clock, watching him enter. They hadn’t spoken since Alastor’s return. Well, they had--but not really . Anders was struck suddenly with the realization that he had no idea what to do with himself: whether he should remain silent and look brooding, or whether he should just crack some sort of joke that served as an icebreaker to some sort of larger conversation that he wasn't sure he even wanted to have. After a few moments’ contemplation, he decided he would simply act normally.

“Hullo,” he said, and his brows knit together as some inner voice debated on whether that was at all appropriate.

“Hullo,” Remus replied quietly. He still looked bruised and exhausted, though he had a healthier complexion after getting what Anders guessed was at least 14 hours-worth of sleep the night before. And a solid meal never hurt, either.

“I see you’ve been busy,” Remus said idly. He turned his head, taking in the entirety of Anders’ mess. He saw the pile of IV bags full of RadAway on the far bed and his brow gave the smallest quiver.

“Yes, well,” Anders replied with a shrug. “Packing supplies. In between the appointments.”

Remus nodded slowly, and Anders wasn’t sure if it was to him or to himself. “What is that?”

“It’s a stimpak,” Anders replied matter-of-factly, glancing down to his forgotten quest laying on the desk. “So, I have no idea.”

Remus smiled, and Anders felt something shift in his stomach. Relief?

“If I didn’t know better I’d say it looks like a potion,” Remus said, coming over to the desk and taking up the stimpak. He held it up to the light. “It doesn't look like any Muggle medicine I'm familiar with. But I don’t think I want to volunteer to find out what it does.”

“Maybe try it on one of the balverines that Reaver will bring.”

“And if it’s medicine?”

Anders chuckled softly through his nose. “Well, then, we’ll have one healthy, incredibly dangerous balverine and one solved riddle.”

“Or those books could help,” Remus offered lightly, pointing down at the open drawers.

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Anders replied sarcastically, bending back down and resuming his search through the drawer. There were two books on anatomy, one file with the names of people Anders assumed would have been assigned here at some point, and an inch ruler. But nothing helpful about stimpaks.

“I’ll have to ask Wash,” he resolved, straightening with a sigh. “I found it in a drawer that was half full of them. The other half must have gone somewhere.”

Remus nodded, and Anders noticed he seemed to hold himself stiffly.

“I'm not going to make you strip,” Anders said, hoping his tone was light enough to alleviate some tension. But Remus just made a noise in response.

“Let's just get on with it,” he said.

“We don't have to, you know.”

Remus sighed, shaking his head. “No, but it is--maybe it’s better this way, to do it while we can. We don't know when we're going to have this chance again.”

Anders hesitated. “Alright. Stand up straight, would you?”

Several moments flowed by like molasses in which Anders asked questions and had Remus touch his toes, then tested his reflexes followed by his eyes and ears.

“You need to be so thorough?” Remus asked. “I promise you, when I'm dying you'll know.”

“Well, if I have to be honest,” Anders said slowly, “yours is the one whose health I worry about the most. Certain, ah, pre-existing conditions.”

“My allergies?”

“Maker, Lupin! You're going to be the death of me, and then where will everyone be?”

“I’m sorry,” Remus grinned. But he sighed again, falling back into his stress. “Anders, I--There is something else, something on my mind. I… I’ve been meaning to talk to you. I suppose I wanted to apologize. For before.”

Anders frowned, shaking his head immediately. “You have nothing to apologize for, Remus. You were under duress. You had every right to turn me away. I was wrong to act as I did.”

“But that does not excuse me,” Remus replied quietly. “I should not have been so hard on you. Your intentions were--and remain--benign. I didn't mean to insinuate that you had some other motive, and I apologize. It was a mistake brought on in the stress of the moment," he finished.

Anders blinked, looking away briefly and nodding. "I suppose I could see that. I was coming on a bit strong. I shouldn't have pushed."

An awkward silence filled with avoidant stares. They could hear one another breathing.

Remus frowned. "You remind me so much of them.”

“Your friends,” Anders said without needing to guess.

“Yes. They, ah” -Remus cleared his throat- “They helped. After they figured it out, I mean. They were the first and only ones, outside of my parents. After what happened to them," he said, his face going neutral and his jaw stiffening, "I realized that I had made--a very costly mistake. Part of me wants your help, Anders, I do. I don’t enjoy this, as you probably expect. But we plan to go home again, someday. I don't want to grow… accustomed, to that aid. I don't want to relearn how to survive again, how to survive without people. I can't.”

Anders swallowed, taking a slow breath. Again, he nodded. “I understand.”

“...Thank you. I do appreciate it, though. I want you to know.”

Anders grunted, arms crossed. “I understand, but I don't agree.”

“Anders.”

“Remus, I understand that you don't want my help. I understand why. But you're not really so oblivious as to think you're on your own, are you? We have been relying on each other as a group--all of us--since we arrived in Astriferous. Whether you like it or not we depend on one another now to get through this. See reason: what good are you to us if you're deathly ill, or mangled by some injury your pride won't let me heal? I'm a doctor, Remus, privacy is my business. I couldn't eat if I spilled the secrets of every noble who came to me for a salve to stave questions from the missus. And who is to say that this will end badly for you? We would devise something, somehow, to make sure that you had what you needed to go home. I'm not just going to abandon a man under my care, and certainly not a friend.

“Now,” Anders breathed a heavy sigh, “that being said, I owe you an apology as well. Justice has been so dutiful in reminding me of how wrong I was for how I behaved. I let my past, let my fear get the better of me. I was wrong, too. And, I'm sorry.”

At this last, he lifted the gaze he hadn't realized he'd lowered. Remus did not look angry, which Anders had expected. But he did not appear pleased, either. Rather, he was standing very still as though he'd been stunned by a spell. He didn't speak for a moment, focused on the floor. But he glanced up after a minute, observing Anders briefly. Then, he extended a hand. “I am, too. And… perhaps you're right. I just… need time. To think about it.”

“I know you’re reluctant. And I want you to take the lead with this. Besides, we have a whole month before we have to worry” Anders replied, taking the hand, and Remus nodded.

“Just under,” he murmured in reply.

The infirmary doors slammed open as Wash burst in, her face hard and her words breathless: “He’s here,” she said. “Reaver’s here.”

By the time Remus, Anders, and Wash reached the Vault door, a crowd had formed. Had they been the last ones to be informed?

“What’s going on?” Remus asked urgently, rounding the group to stare at the door as though he could see Reaver on the other side.

“He’s here,” Naoya said, and it became clear then that it was Naoya who was the center of their circle.

“You sense him,” Remus stated, and the teen only nodded.

“I was heading up this way and I felt it,” he said. “He’s angry.”

“Surprising,” Anders muttered.

Sokka glanced to Naoya with narrowed eyes. “What were you doing up here? You smell like smoke, and you don’t weld.”

“I was keeping watch,” Naoya replied quickly.

“Naoya,” Wash interjected, “how many are there? Can you tell?”

Naoya’s mouth pulled to the side as he tried to concentrate. “It’s kind of hard to tell, exactly. He’s right there. He’s like there’s a huge, very annoyed light flashing in front of my face. But if I had to guess, more than twenty but less than fifty.”

“That is a terrible estimate,” Renkotsu and Sokka both said at the same time, though both in entirely different tones.

“But still much less than it should be,” Alastor broke through. He appeared genuinely concerned. Beside him, Nadine’s ears gave an unhappy twitch as they locked eyes.

Sokka scoffed. “Who cares how many there are? He still has a huge pack with him!”

“As we knew he would,” Alastor snapped, his eyes hard and his gaze fixed savagely on the hallway leading to the door. Fangs pressed on the corners of the inside of his lips. Nadine's ears lay flat now, and she growled.

“Now hold on,” Wash said quickly. “We open that door before we're ready and we get our assess handed to us. Ren, are you almost done rigging?”

“Nearly,” he replied, “but I will still need time.”

“Sokka, you go and help him.”

Sokka nodded, disappearing with Ren back down the corridor to the workshop.

The air hung heavy and still between the remaining group, no one person wanting to admit to holding their breath in anticipation of what would happen next - what this unexpected but still anticipated visit would mean from then on out.

Ping. Ping. Ping.

It was faint, but the sound rung crisp through the air. The sound of something hard striking metal. Coming from outside the Vault.

All eyes went from the door to Naoya, as if expecting a detailed translation of the sound, but he only sighed. “He’s knocking on the door.” Naoya paused. “With a rock, if I had to guess. I think he wants to talk to someone in here...”

“Does he think we’re daft enough to answer the door?” Anders scowled at the door. “‘Hello? Who is it? Oh, it’s death!’ Bastard.”

“We need to keep him stalled until we have those charges set.” Wash frowned. “I need to go find Mabel and Dipper and make sure they’re ready. You .” She pointed a commanding finger at Naoya. “Can you do anything to him from this side?” When Naoya nodded, she headed for the hall. “I’m going to overlook what’s in your pocket if you stall that immortal pile of shit as long as possible.”

Naoya paled, swallowing a sudden lump in his throat as Wash’s ponytail disappeared through the doorway.

“Naoya, how exactly do you plan to stall him?”

“I could try to knock him around a little,” Naoya bit his bottom lip. “Normally I’d have trouble with something I can’t see, but he’s worked up enough that I can’t miss him.”

“That would only serve to anger him further. He would jump straight to the more drastic measures, you would never get the chance to stall him.” Alastor sighed, exhaling a frosty-looking breath.

Naoya nodded. “He’s angry. Frustrated. But there’s something else, too. I don’t know what it is. It’s like… pulling? Urgent. It’s important. He wants something in here.”

“Of course he does,” Anders spat. “Three escaped prisoners, the people who keep trying to burn down his house, and two balverines; we’re all on his list.”

“Naoya,” Remus started, “What do you feel this pulling feeling is aimed at?”

The teenager shifted uncomfortably, his mouth drawing into an undefinable but miserable shape. “He feels it’s a means to an end. If he doesn’t get his means, he’s prepared to make someone else end.”

“Naoya, that doesn’t answer the question-”

A low, barely audible growling rumbled from Alastor’s chest. “It’s you ,” he said coldly, realization coming over him and yellow eyes glaring. “He’s looking for you .”

Chapter Text

“Reaver is afraid of you,” Alastor craned down, mouth becoming more teeth than not, “Yet he seeks you out.” Towering over Naoya, Alastor seized the front of his jacket and shirt, jerking Naoya upwards. “He would not run towards danger unless there were a significantly bigger reward in it for him. And you claim that you have no idea why he is interested in you?”

Naoya kicked his feet helplessly in the air, looking to Remus and Anders for some kind of help. Anders had taken a step forward, but was held back by a hand on his shoulder.  Remus’ wand was half raised.

“You were let in here because we vouched that you wouldn’t turn on anyone in here,” Naoya pleaded, his eyes shooting back to Alastor.

The words hit the bullseye of their target, and Alastor’s face soured. Slowly, Alastor set Naoya down with heavy restraint. Naoya didn’t wait.

“I had never met Reaver before I came here,” he said. “The first time I even saw the guy was when you introduced us at the mansion that day - honest !”

Alastor growled. “That does not answer the question.”

“I don't know why he's afraid, or what he wants,” Naoya insisted. “He's a crazy, old man who was stuck in that Oasis for centuries! The only one who seems to know anything about it is you!”

There was another trite knock on the door. From so close, the noise was far more imposing.

Anders scoffed. “Does he really think we're going to answer that? We know he would shoot us as soon as see us.”

“And he knows that, too,” Remus said. “And Reaver is no fool. But this behavior--it's unusual. What’s his game?”

“If we do nothing,” Alastor warned, “he will simply seek to end this. I have no desire to find out what he thinks he will gain by talking; he knows as well as we that there is nothing. It is a delay, at best. But one we need until the charges are set.”

“Like I said, I can knock him around from this side no problem, but I agree with what Al said-”

“From you I prefer Alastor ,” the balverine corrected the EGO.

“I agree with what Al said,” Naoya went on. “That it might just make him more angry and he’ll skip right to the big finish. And if any of us face him head on we’ll get short-distance sniped.”

“So then what do you plan to do,” Anders scoffed, “sweet talk him out of his guns?”

Naoya pointed to the eye-level slat in the door. “I mean, I was planning on talking to him. Through that.”

“He could stick his gun through that.”

Naoya shook his head. “Not if it’s open just a crack, only enough to let sound through and nothing else. Besides, my powers or maybe your magic could keep a bullet out. We have to try, Andy.”

Anders frowned, shaking his pounding head. He knew they had no choice, they all did, but Maker, it was a stupid plan. A silent plea to Andraste for mercy would not help. “Be careful.”

Naoya reached out and grabbed the latch of the slat. He closed his eyes, trying to stuff back the way he could sense the other's skin collectively crawl. Biting his lip, he very carefully slid the slat open - barely enough for a fly to squeeze through. “What do you want, Reaver?”

“Well I was hoping we could talk, you and I,” Reaver could be heard saying, followed by annoyed muttering under his breath about manners.

“You tried to kill just about everyone in here, including me. Tell me why I should bother.”

“I feel as though you and I have some unfinished business.”

“You feel wrong.”

“Oh, but I don’t,” Reaver chuckled, a vain and darkly amused sound. “I know that people in your - what do you call them, bloodlines? Pedigrees? I know people in your family have some rather… interesting abilities.”

“No more-so than other EGO lineages,” Naoya answered. He was well on his way to joining the others in having that sickened, faintly fearful feeling nestled in his chest.

“Don’t be so coy! Your kind would be nowhere without the Itsuki’s.” A silence answered, and to anyone but the socially-trained the silence would have seemed skeptical instead of surprised. “Please, you think you're the first psychic from your world that I’ve dealt with? The first Itsuki at that? Don’t be so selfish.”

Naoya swallowed back the lump in his throat. “I’ve... never heard your name mentioned before.”

Naoya sensed the man’s anger flare and Reaver muttered something inaudible under his breath before his tone went amicable again. “Well then I'm very surprised at that,” he said, trying to maintain his smile but Naoya could hear his voice straining to sound pleasant. “But not too surprised, I suppose. After all, Sarashina never struck me as the gossiping-type-”

With a quick motion Anders slid the opening shut with a burst of magic. “This is dangerous territory,” he warned. “He's trying to get to you. We don't know if anything he's saying is true! The Oasis speaks to its Guardian--he's goading you!”

But Naoya shook his head. Of course it was a ploy to get him to do something, any idiot could see that. But even knowing that, Naoya couldn't shake the squelching sensation in his gut. How could Reaver of all people--even with the Oasis? How could he know the one Itsuki--

Naoya opened the slat as before. “How do you know that name?”

The feeling of satisfaction radiated through the Vault door. “Why, my dear boy, I met her. Some-odd hundred years back or so.”

A soft clinking sound accompanied his words, his voice sounding as if he were leaning against the blast door - closer to the opening.

“I must say, you do have her eyes,” Reaver said mildly, “And some of her more graceful features. You're far more interested in having a good time than she ever was-” clink clink “-so good for you. Only took a bloody century for the Itsuki’s to learn to lighten up.”

“If you knew my grandmother, why wait to tell me?” Naoya twisted his tongue inside his mouth. Reaver was setting him up, and each time the clinking noise disturbed the conversation waves of anxiety from Remus and Anders and Alastor made his breath catch in his chest.

“Why, I was planning on it. It is a rather lengthy tale. But you were rather antsy to leave, and you were gone before I could figure out the right way to put it. Most tend to get rather uncomfortable when I say I’ve had dealings and close encounters with their grandparents.” They could hear the smile in Reaver’s voice. It was only offset by the scraping soft clinks that permeated the air between his words. “I told you before that plenty end up in Astriferous. But so very few ever leave.”

“Stop stalling,” Naoya demanded, ignoring Anders’ eyes boring into the side of his head. “Give me a straight answer or this conversation ends right here. You don’t know what we can do. We’re not afraid of you.”

Reaver laughed. “Oh, but you are. As well you should be.”

“I'm not. In fact, you're afraid of me. ”

The soft metallic clinking paused, as did Reaver's voice, and Naoya could sense his surprise.

"And you know exactly why that is, don't you?" said Reaver, his tone suddenly less jovial. "The same reason why people from your own world are afraid of those like you. But I'm willing to look past all that, playing with something that takes and takes is nothing new to me. But where there's a take, there's also a give. And I am willing to let you take from me for you to give to me."

The psychic's mouth went dry at the exact moment all the air left his lungs. "I don't know what you're talking about," Naoya answered, the words automatic and hard. "And I'm broke. I have nothing to give you."

"Oh? Nothing? Not even if I were to leave your little band of mismatched misfits alone?" the smugness had returned to the immortal's voice. "All you have to do is come with me and they'll all be safe. You have my word - after all, you'd know if I were to break it, correct? And if it's time that's an issue, I know of a few exotic substances that can make the months and years seem to pass like minutes and days-"

"Naoya, don't do it" Anders warned quickly, shutting the slat just as fast. “He'll kill you. No one pampers what he fears.” A flash of blue behind his eyes was enough to explain exactly who he was thinking of.

“We stick together,” Remus said, stepping closer to Naoya. “Whatever it is Reaver is promising is not worth it.”

Naoya bit his lip. It felt more like Reaver’s life was on the line, not all of theirs - though that would be the case if anyone stood in the way. Reaver wasn’t terrified of him - it was anxiety that tugged at Naoya’s senses, not outright fear. Which meant that whatever Reaver wanted with him was a means to an end and not an outright endgame goal.

Naoya frowned. “You think?” His eyes flicked between the two of them. A tiny smile crept up on his face, still shaken from what Reaver had said to him. “If you think that after being held prisoner, knowing my friends were tortured, and almost dying that I don’t know that you can’t trust Reaver, you’re both more dense than this door.”

“One would hope so, but you do seem to be full of surprises,” Alastor dryly remarked, earning him an insulted look from Naoya. Nadine snorted in playful agreement.

Anders smiled. It was half-relief, but also pride. “Don't be a hero,” he said. “It doesn't suit you.”

The slat was opened one last time, and Naoya delivered his answer: “Stop picking the lock and you have a deal. The door opens at sun-down.” His final word in, the slat closed for good. The horrified, disbelief of the three older men and Nadine swept across him, but he turned to them with a knowing smirk. “That’s our deadline. Now we just need a plan.”

A flock of ravens scattered when the door ground against the hinges, steel screaming against steel as it opened. Their irate caws were the only sound that broke save the soft wind and the constant hiss of waves from somewhere below the mesa. In the fading light, the forest appeared dark and still. The door to the Vault opened painfully slow, rolling back into the groove of the wall and opening into a dark antechamber. Reaver stood at its foot, watching with anticipation as it admitted him. In the shadow of the red mountain, he appeared very small.

But he was not alone: behind him, the trees contained galaxies of hungry, yellow eyes. Thirty-six pairs in total, and one lonely yellow orb belonging to a balverine whose eye had been clawed out. He had thirty-seven balverines total at his disposal. The feral lower breeds in the catacombs had been more numerous than Reaver had remembered - Alastor seemed to have been keeping a collection before he turned traitor and, honestly, when was the last time Reaver had stopped to count the bloody things? Balverines multiplied terribly quickly for things that didn’t rely on sexual reproduction. A good pruning of the ranks had been long overdue - and Reaver had eliminated most balverines unable to shapeshift. He didn’t need a massive army. Just a strong one.

Looking up at the Vault door, the teeth of the gear-shaped opening gave the antechamber the appearance of an overly large mouth. Reaver repressed a soft grin. He knew this game.

He turned to the closest, hulking, dingy form. “You there.” With a wave of his gloved hand he pointed to the open vault door. “Report.”

The balverine stared absently at the door with his one good eye. “Uh,” his warped, inhuman voice began, “It’s open, sir.”

Reaver took in a deep breath, arching his finely-manicured brows. With one fluid motion he had withdrawn his dragonstomper .48 and blown the balverine’s head half off.

A balverine was terrible at doing a Hero’s job.

Right. Thirty- six balverines now.

With an indignant huff he turned to the rest of the pack. “Well don’t just stand there like hobbes!” he shouted. “I want that hole cleared before I set foot near it!”

A flood of shadows broke from the still forest as the balverines swarmed the opening with singular purpose. Several sets of claws scored the steel paneling above and around the central door as they swung in from the top and bottom in a mass of fangs and talons. Several wild shrieks and howls passed in a moment of otherwise silence for Reaver as he waited, tapping impatient fingers against his elbow as he held his arms across his chest.

Another balverine approached him. Her fur was white, and her form especially stocky, but she moved with the same grace as the other alphas.

“Lilith,” he said, his voice calm and light. The gun in his off-hand was ready to fire.

“My Lord,” the balverine replied, her voice like razors and her pronunciation worse. Fur gave way to skin, gave way to a plump-looking woman in common clothes with her pale hair held up in a beehive fashion. Lilith was reliable but Reaver always thought she could be a little less gaudy in the makeup department. “There are no traps,” she said. “It smells of humans and blood. But the boy is there, as he promised.”

Blood? That meant there had been a scuffle, and it was likely that the people Reaver had been planning on using for target practice would be even more evasive now. Reaver had hoped something exciting would come of this after all. He had wanted to shoot something, anything.

Oh, he so enjoyed shooting his frustrations away.

“Guard the entrance, Lilith.”

He replaced his dragonstomper .48, brushing off a stray patch of dust ruining the crimson of his cubbing coat. He stepped into the Vault. Immediately, the air grew colder. But Reaver almost didn’t notice. His gaze was drawn to the center of the room, to a sight that sent a wolf’s grin to his face.

Naoya was waiting for him. Amber eyes hardened as if they were orbs of the stone they matched in hue.

“Itsuki, my boy,” Reaver smiled, clapping his hands together in front of him. “How nice it is to finally see you again, in person, after you locked me in my own dungeon.”

Reaver walked around Naoya in a predatory circle. He looked much worse than when the Lord has seen him last, though traipsing through these paranatural wilderlands would do that to anyone. Dark shadows under Naoya’s eyes spoke of long bouts of sleeplessness, and there was a shake in his breath--exhaustion, paired with a sweat-dotted brow. It had been decades since Reaver had last dealt with his kind, it was either exhaustion of mental power, or a hangover, or withdrawal symptoms - probably all three, Reaver decided. The boy did like to self-medicate, after all; something Reaver understood well.

When Reaver’s gaze sank to the floor, his smile only widened.

So this had been the source of the blood. Behind Naoya, Remus lay facedown in the dirt, his wand hand outstretched towards Naoya--who, to Reaver’s immense delight, refused to look at him.

“And, Mr. Lupin! What a pleasant surprise,” Reaver spoke, turning Remus’ chin up at an angle with his boot. A large streak of dried blood from his forehead coated part of his face and he was badly bruised. Reaver smiled again. “I’m pleased to see he hasn’t gone completely moon-eyed and eaten any of you. Ah, Itsuki, my boy, I expected they would try to stop you. But this is positively foolish of them, going up against something like you,” he added with a flourish of hands.

But Reaver’s demeanor faded into something cold again. The balverines had collected around them in a circle, and Reaver pointed to one of the doors.

“Search the Vault. Leave nothing unturned. I know there are more of you than this,” he said to Naoya, waving his hand over the unconscious werewolf as the balverines darted into the darkness beyond. “Where are they? Nurse Anders, my traitorous butler, the Firebugs…?”

Naoya shrugged, a casual move that only made him look stiff. “They’re in the Vault. Unconscious, like him. I made them hallucinate until their claustrums were overloaded.” Naoya pointed to Remus. “They didn’t exactly like the idea of me going with you.”

“Smart,” Reaver replied. But he still eyed Remus’ limp form with suspicion.

Naoya frowned. “They’re really unconscious.” His shoe collided hard with the side of Remus’ chest, and when nothing happened, Reaver grinned.

“I admit to being surprised at your willingness. After all, our last meeting went rather poorly.”

“You wouldn’t have come in here if you thought I was going to do anything to you.”

“Astute little thing, aren’t you,” said Reaver, again circling Naoya. But his expression had become near fascination. “Try that with me and you’ll be food for the balverines.”

“I guessed as much,” Naoya surmised.

“Now,” Reaver stopped, the heels of his boots clicking together, “How does this work?” When he received a bleary-eyed look from the teenager, he rolled his eyes. “This ability of yours. The Oasis told me that for you to give, you have to-”

“Not be exhausted?” Naoya huffed. He folded his arms loosely across his chest, shifting his weight as he prodded Remus’ limp hand with his tan sneaker. “The process isn’t pretty. You really wanna know how this works?”

“It works something like this,” Remus said suddenly, hand shooting to grasp Naoya’s ankle. “ Flipendo !” he shouted, pointing his wand above Reaver where a switch was waiting in shadow. At once, the ground began to tremble and rocks fell loose from the ceiling as a massive explosion rocketed the Vault. Behind them all, couch-sized chunks of iron and rock blew out from above and sealed shut the only way out. In the flashing, red emergency lights of the antechamber, Reaver looked positively demonic.

“You betrayed me,” Reaver fumed, his sculpted features shadowing over, “And right when I when I was in the middle of betraying you!” One last, teetering, but strangely proud chuckle escaped him, dark ocean eyes locking in a piercing stare at Naoya.

Whatever Reaver had said, or planned to say, next was lost to the loud rumbling of the earth shaking as the makeshift charges on the lower level went.

Anders paced. Back and forth, back and forth, across the floor and back again, as though he were hitting a wall every few feet and abruptly veering course. Not that he had much room to move, what with the living room full of people and everything they had packed. Anders kept his gaze fixed on the couch--to the dozens of score marks from werewolf claws--then to the window, where the colors of the stained glass slowly lost vibrancy as the sun went down. Eventually, like candles, they went out.

That’s when the ground trembled slightly below their feet.

It wasn't strong, not from this distance. But Anders opened the front door nonetheless, craning his neck to see if he could spot anything over the wall of trees surrounding the Windmill. In his hand, he played uselessly with an empty glass bottle of Nuka-Cola: the portkey; their escape. Seeing nothing but the accursed forest, he shut it behind him in a whirlwind of anxious frustration.

“They did it.” Sokka’s voice trickled from the head of the couch. He wasn’t speaking to anyone in particular. He knew what it meant. They all knew what it meant. Even if Naoya had volunteered, it had been his quick plan to use Naoya as bait with Remus on standby, and to set the scene with thawed blood from the last of the frozen meat stock. But whether it had actually worked remained painfully unseen.

Every pair of eyes focused on the door.

“Come on,” Wash muttered to herself. Not a prayer, but perhaps the closest thing to one.

Off towards the kitchen, Mabel sat on the floor by the island, knees to her chest, all tucked inside her sweater. She chewed her lip, firelight reflecting gently off her braces. Beside her, Dipper glanced around the room at the others. He tried to stay out of their way, but he felt their anxiety, too, pounding on the back of his neck and head, pinching a nerve in his shoulders.

And still, they waited.

“It shouldn’t have taken this long,” Anders hissed, pacing some more. “They should be back.”

“I’m sure everything is fine,” Sokka said, but his words were measured and Anders stifled a retort.

Alastor was positioned next to the window, yellow eyes trained on the vague outline of smoke out on the dark horizon. He cracked his jaw, avoiding gnashing his own fangs or biting his tongue. Nadine softly growled with every small aftershock that shook under her claws.

The only one who was not pacing or cracking or holding their breath was Renkotsu. The bourei had his back to the rest of them, facing the fireplace as he tended to it. Statistically, there was a chance that the night would end with their grouping losing two - but he kept that to himself, instead trying to formulate how to handle the morning.

“I’m going back,” Anders said hastily, grabbing his staff from its perch next to the doorframe.

“You can’t go back!” Wash called after him, just as his fingers reached for the door. “The portkey was one-way.”

“I know that,” Anders snapped, turning back. “But something has gone wrong, I know it!”

“Give it another minute,” Sokka pressed, putting his hands up. “I’m worried too but we don’t know anything yet, so let’s just wait a second before we jump to conclusions.”

Anders hesitated, but did not put his staff back down. Instead, he leaned against the wall, muttering something about Andraste under his breath as he fiddled with his hands.

In those short moments, time passed cruelly slow.

Suddenly, Nadine’s ears perked. Her nose gave a small twitch, and she sent her tongue gliding over her slit-like nostrils. Following her ears, her head swivelled towards the door. Drawn like insects, everyone watched as her auburn form silently padded over towards Anders--no, towards the door, awkwardly gripping the handle in her gangly inhuman fingers before throwing it wide open.

There they were. A little dusty, and shaken. But alive.

Naoya reached the steps first, stepping awkwardly into the ring of smiles and waving stiffly. “Hi,” he said. He rubbed his cheek absentmindedly, smearing some blood from a bullet graze across his right cheek.

“It worked!” Sokka climbed off the couch as fast as he could. “You’re okay! What happened?”

“You were right,” Remus answered, stepping into the Windmill himself and closing the door behind him. Nadine made way for them both, returning to sit beside a relieved Alastor. “He sent the pack into the Vault to look for the rest of you. They should have been crushed.”

“Should have been,” said Renkotsu. “I still would have liked to have seen it in person. To be sure.”

“He almost didn’t come in,” Naoya said. “It almost didn’t work.”

“Good work, Sokka,” Wash said, rounding the furniture and patting Sokka on the shoulder in passing. Sokka had never looked more pleased. Wash strode over to Naoya and carefully tipped his chin up as she wiped away the blood and inspected the wound. “Looks like it was a close call.”

With a light eye roll, Naoya gently swatted her hand away. “It’ll heal. Not like I haven’t got shot at before or anything.”

“Yes, are you both alright?” Anders asked quietly, not wanting to take away from the air of victory.

Remus nodded, confused. “Oh,” he said after a moment. “That’s right.” Sliding his wand from his pocket, whispered, “ Tergeo ,” and Anders watched as the false blood was siphoned neatly from Remus’ forehead. Then Remus tapped the wand to the blotched, purple bruises. They faded like morning fog. “Oh, but Naoya,” he added with a faint grin, “next time try not to kick quite so hard.” He pressed his hand gingerly against his ribs.

Naoya grinned back, albeit deeply apologetic.

“You’re back! You’re back!” Mabel burst from the wall of bodies to tackle Naoya to the floor with a pouncing hug. “You did it!”

“You’re gonna kill him!” Dipper laughed, but he held himself back. “Mabel, you’re hurting him!”

Hooking his arm around Dipper and pulling him down as well, Naoya laughed. “If I’m going to go out, hugs are, like, the least worst way to go.”

“As joyous as this occasion is,” an icy voice came from behind them, “we still need to take the Oasis on the morrow. We still need to defeat Barry.” The smiles died from each of their faces as Alastor’s words struck. He stood in front of the fireplace, making his front appear much darker and his white hair haloed. “We cannot stop now, not even to celebrate. We do not know for certain if this is truly a victory.”

“I dunno, I think Reaver’s dead,” Sokka shot. “We did just drop a mountain on top of him.”

Alastor’s eyes narrowed. “That man has escaped from situations far worse. I agree with the corpse - until we see Reaver’s corpse, we assume nothing.”

Sokka shook his head, rolling his eyes. “I don’t know how you plan to get to it under all that rock.”

“No, Alastor is right,” said Wash quietly, and the tone of her voice sent several heads turning towards her. “Until proven otherwise, we should be on guard. Barry skulked around for centuries when he was assumed dead, so we should do the same for Reaver. For now we worry about taking the Oasis. We have to leave by sun-up, so we should try to rest in the meantime.”

And so they did. The youngest of them, lead by Mabel, collected up the stairs and headed into the private bedroom. Their chattering could be heard, purposefully muffled but still audible in the cramped space. Renkotsu had migrated away from the fire and seated himself next to the bag of supplies he had brought. Nadine returned to Alastor’s side, standing on two legs while she brushed her hands through his frizzy ghostly white locks. Wash, her eyes dark and solemn, wrapped her arms around herself and stood by the fire to keep warm. It cast her form in silhouette as Remus approached her.

“You alright?” he asked her quietly. He measured the space between himself and her with his eyes, wondering if it was too much. He didn’t want to crowd her.

Wash made a face: what do you think? But it wasn’t mean. She shrugged. “It’s hard,” she said. But of course, they all knew that.

“I’m sorry,” Remus offered, though none of this was solely his fault nor would his words bring back a home . He didn’t know what to say. Instinctively, he looked down at his feet. A small splotch of red tainted the otherwise smooth coloration of the hardwood floor beside the couch--a splotch of blood. His blood. The carpet had been dragged over the top of it to hide it from view at some point, likely when supplies were being brought in. And on the couch, Anders lay with his feet resting on a tower of books one young psychic had made not more than a few days ago while he waited for Remus to wake. Remus brought a hand to his lips, coughing unexpectedly as a wad of something unsavory lodged in his throat.

“This isn’t the best place,” he said slowly, thinking even as he glanced with disdain at the rest of the room. “But for now, everything you wanted to protect is safe. And once we’ve dealt with the Oasis, we will find better things. Do better. You’ll make a home somewhere else.”

“It’s going to be a change,” Wash sighed. She stared hard into the flames, as though trying to read into their depths. “But I guess the Oasis is just as good. Assuming it does fit to this ‘Guardian’ person’s needs.” She ran a hand through her loose, black hair. “The needs of whoever offs Barry first, I guess. I’ve been here for a few years and this is honestly still sounding like a load of fantasy shit to me.”

“It does sound like that, doesn’t it?” Remus agreed. “But it is happening regardless. We’ve no idea how much the Oasis may have changed now that it’s in Barry’s care.”

“Not like we have anyone on the inside.” But Wash paused, a thought lighting her eyes. “Grienwulf.”

Alastor’s head half turned to them, but his gaze remained locked outside and he did not stir any more than that.

“Do you still have anyone left in the hive?”

“Anyone who would be loyal to me is surely laying low for the time being, as I instructed them to.”

“Any names you know for sure that could possibly help us with some intel?”

Alastor turned back fully to the window. Whether he was simply thinking or the thought of how little true support he had left had finally struck him, it was unclear. “Lilith, Connor, and Sykes,” he finally said. “Lilith is a…” Alastor seemed to be choosing his words carefully. “She is a robust woman, both in balverine form and not. Very enthusiastic about eyeshadow. Connor is one of the ones I told to remain hidden, he is competent and a good leader; I would rather not risk exposing him.”

“And this Sykes?” Remus asked.

“Sykes,” Alastor said. “He dislikes the form given to him through the balvorn’s blessings, so he’s not often out full as a balverine. It has had some effects on his more human form, however. He has quills and fur on his shoulders, back, arms, and legs. Hates footwear.” He sighed. “Just- just look for the bouncy, hairy fellow with no shoes.”

“First things first,” Sokka threw himself down on the only bed in the entire Windmill, “I’ve got the bed.”

“That’s fine,” Dipper said, pointing. “I think we beat you to it.”

Sokka looked. Blankets had been brought as part of the supplies from the Vault, pale gray-blue and emblazoned with a large, yellow 17. As quickly as they could, the group had spread them out on the cleaner parts of the floor. As it stood, Dipper and Naoya were on one side of the bed, Mabel on the other - or so Mabel explained, as she had motioned to her side, which was clearly stocked with extra blankets.

“No one was going to fight you for it,” Naoya said to Sokka. “There’s a spring that pops out on the lower left side. You’re going to be sore and cranky and maybe have tetanus in the morning.” Besides, after spending an entire full moon night on that old, beat up mattress, Naoya actually thought the floor looked better. But a thought seemed to strike him, because he added: “On second thought, maybe you shouldn’t take the bed. I mean you’re already going to be wearing all that blue armor tomorrow, I don’t think we could be really stealthy if you’re also complaining the whole time.”

Sokka’s face scrunched into a frown. “I don’t complain that badly!” He turned his head to Dipper, who was busy getting his own sleeping arrangement on the floor set up. “Do I, Dip?”

Hands caught mid pillow-fluff, Dipper froze like a deer caught in headlights. “U-uh, no?” He gave a stiff shrug that was entirely unconvincing. “You complain the right amount, sometimes.”

Naoya covered a smirk with a coy hand. Sokka’s expression sunk further. “Thank you, Dipper,” he said sarcastically, “That was incredible backup.”

“You’re welcome?”

“That,” Sokka breathed in disbelief, “That was sarcasm.”

“Oh.” He looked away dismissively, continuing to prepare his space. His singular pillow was firmly tucked beside him.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Dipper frowned, just a bit. He turned to face Naoya. Right. Empathic senses. “Yeah.”

It wasn’t exactly a lie. Things just kind of… were. The idea that they were going to invade some kind of semi-sentient, magical bubble in space-time, or dimensions, or whatever it was… the idea of invading the Oasis period, fighting Reaver, the balverines? It was all still a big, partial fantasy to Dipper that he just wanted to wake up from. Sure, they’d faced big threats at home. But instead of defeating the mind demon Bill, they both wound up here. What happened to Gravity Falls? What happened to Grunkle Stan, Uncle Ford, their friends... What happened to the world?

And what would happen to them ? What happened if they died here? The concept rattled Dipper’s bones. Ford had once told him to be brave, even if things seemed impossible, because it was the right thing to do. The right thing to do , he repeated to himself. No extra lives. But still. Some part of Dipper, some part was whispering over the fear. The part of him that was glad that things were moving, that something was happening, after all this time. The part of him that sounded more like his Uncle. The part he wasn’t sure he liked. Be brave even if things seem impossible.

“Yeah,” Dipper said again, after a moment. “I’m fine. Just thinking about tomorrow.”

“You worried?” Naoya tilted his head.

“No,” Dipper replied, scooting onto his butt as he fixed the last of his blankets. “I mean, Mabel and I have faced some pretty crazy things. Have you ever been dragged through a mountain by a thousand year old UFO? No, I'm not worried. I am, but… we've got Wash, and Ren, and now Anders and Remus. I guess Alastor and Nadine, too? Mostly I'm just… I dunno. This is it. This is really happening. You know?”

“One step at a time, Dip,” Naoya sat down in the blanket space.

“You don’t sound like you have your hopes up.”

Naoya shrugged. “In my experience, nothing’s ever simple.” He cracked a smile, highlighting the bags under his eyes. “The Oasis could be an answer… Or the answer could be in the Oasis itself, sealed off in some random room or tucked away in Reaver’s personal library.”

Dipper wrung the hem of his shirt. “But answers can lead to more questions.”

“Mhm!” Naoya hummed in agreement.

“Well, in my experience,” Sokka placed a hand to his own chest, “Libraries guarded by angry, immortal things usually contain instructions for an endgame of some kind.”

“Or curses,” Dipper mentioned. “Demonic entities.”

Sokka waved him off as if he’d personally done more, but Mabel jumped up: “Or government conspiracies about false historical leaders!”

Naoya blinked as if he could piece together what they were all talking about by briefly staring at a blank spot on the wall. “Naoya doesn’t want to go to libraries where you guys are from.”

“You don’t seem like the type to go to libraries anyways. Maybe fall asleep in one.”

Naoya turned his head to throw a surprised half-leer up at Sokka, who beamed smugly down at him.

“You don't… you don't think we'll have to actually kill anyone, do you?” Dipper’s question made the room feel uncomfortably cramped.  “I mean, I know we're gonna get rid of this Barry guy, and I know we already killed a bunch of balverines and probably Reaver. But tomorrow, I mean. Up close. I don't think I could.”

“Not even if they were going to get you first?” Sokka asked. “Self defense?”

“Well, yeah,” Dipper agreed, but his eyes sank to the floor and he pulled at a loose thread on his blankets. “But that doesn't mean I want to.”

“Well… I mean, sometimes you just... have to,” said Sokka. “This is a battle. It’s what happens, isn’t it?”

“I know that ,” Dipper snapped. “But that's the sort if thing that stays with you, your whole life! And Wash, Remus--none of them act like that's a big deal!”

Naoya had been listening in silence, disturbingly straight-faced. “That's because they already know what it's like,” he said slowly. “It’s not because they don't care. I know this isn't what you want to hear, Dipper, but there's no way to be ready for that kind of thing.”

“How do you know?”

“You know, you don't have to go all the way to the Oasis, either,” Naoya added quickly. “I bet if you wanted to, you and Mabel could stay here, stay safe. Watch our stuff.”

“No way,” Dipper replied, his fists bunching. “Not after everything. I want to help!”

“Yeah, me too!” Mabel chimed in

“Then focus on resting right now,” said Naoya seriously, only a loose shrug betraying his tone. “The other stuff is just details.”

“Speaking of details,” Sokka said, half whispering, “I didn’t get the chance to ask before because we were in a hurry and Reaver was right outside the door, but…Why was he after you?”

Naoya’s mouth pressed out into a wide, flat frown. Sokka's volume meant he was at least trying to be discreet, but in the small space it was as impossible not to hear. He stiffened. “He said my grandmother came here before me. He said he knew her.”

Naoya flopped back into the blankets. He hoped it was enough of an answer to sate Sokka, and he would drop it.

“It doesn’t bother you that Reaver seemed to know your grandmother,” Sokka half-demanded, not at all interested in taking the hint, half-hanging off the side of the bed.

Naoya eyed him distantly, the put-out glimmer in his eye clearly asking Sokka not push the subject further. But he didn’t reply.

Sokka groaned. “You said no more secrets,” Sokka pointed to the floor, to the room below them. “Right here. You said it!”

Their eye contact broke next when Naoya lightly rolled his eyes, boney shoulders rising as he drew in a breath. “My grandmother was not a nice, sweet old lady, okay?” he frowned. “My grandmother did a lot of sketchy, shady stuff. I’m surprised she was here - in Astriferous - but I’m not surprised that she kept it a secret or that she associated with someone like Reaver.” He sighed, deep and weary. “Not at all.”

“Hey!” Mabel jumped up onto the bed, scrambling over to peek down at her brother and Naoya. “If he knew your grandma, do you think the reason he’s trying so hard to find you is because he’s secretly your grandpa?”

Naoya’s spine went completely rigid and he looked as if he had tasted the world’s sourest lemon. “W-well,” he cleared his throat, “Considering that I have no human ancestry in my immediate family, I’m glad that isn’t the case.” Rolling over, he buried his face in his pillow. “I’d hope she had better taste in men.”

“ Hah! You can hope!” Sokka broke out in a mile-wide grin.

“That’s... not going to go away anytime soon, is it,” Naoya sighed.

“No,” Sokka chuckled, shaking his head, “No, it’s not.”

The entrance to the tunnel was nigh impossible to spot. Anders reckoned it was supposed to be that way, though if Reaver was responsible for the Oasis’ structures he didn't want to take too much credit from nature. But there were a few telltale signs along their approach that helped Anders find his way.

And since he escaped at night, in a chaotic sprint for their lives, he needed that help.

“I remember this,” he said, patting a tree trunk fondly where an animal had rubbed most of the bark off. “I thought it was a Templar of some kind; it looked like a shield in the moonlight. Certainly gave me quite a fright.”

“I… don't see it,” Sokka frowned, trying to squint past the rim of his wolf-shaped helmet.

“I thought it was farther,” said Naoya, trailing along beside Mabel. The contents of his canvas shoulder bag softly clinked as it bounced against his hip with each step.

“That's because you missed half of it,” Anders replied. “You know, being unconscious and ruining my coat with your blood.”

“The feathers were already starting to fall off, Andy. You can't blame me for that.” It was part of a verbal jab, yet the punch behind it was missing from Naoya’s tone.

“We are close,” Alastor issued, negating the need for comment. Nadine had disappeared from his side long before now to scout the trees. Leaves fell in odd patterns as she followed them westwards along a less than trodden path. “And we will not be going back that way. The other tunnel is more secluded, and will leave us in a much securer way upon entry.”

“Into the pens?” asked Anders, looking quickly at Remus. “Where did it come out? And how far does it lead?”

Remus shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t remember.”

“There,” Alastor pointed, and just around the bend, a small cliff of broken shale protruded like skeletal ribs from an underbelly of brush. At the crest a small trickle of water dripped down the face, each drop shining momentarily in a beam of sunlight streaming from the canopy before disappearing into the sea of green.

Sokka squinted. “I don't--”

Branches cracked up above and a cascade of flowers followed Nadine down as she landed atop the cliff with a hard thud. In her jaws, a small bioraptor, probably adolescent, struggled against its fate. Nadine snorted hard, and there was a quick crunch. The bioraptor went limp.

Mabel covered her mouth.

In less than a few bites, the bulk of the bioraptor slid down Nadine's throat. And in the next instant she swung her body over the edge of the cliff with the skill of a gymnast and promptly disappeared. She offered a roar, which sounded both amplified and muffled, echoing out into the woods.

Sokka frowned. “Oh.”

But what emerged from the mouth of the cave with her, nudged hastily along by her muzzle, left several mouths agape. It was a man--or half of one--with frizzy, auburn hair and freckled skin. As he was exposed to the sunlight, what initially appeared to be a coating of fur along his back was revealed as a grotesque collection of quills that lifted his skin like a tent in several places, making quick work of the shirt he wore. On his front, he wore a beaten, leather chestpiece, and beneath that a patched pair of simple trousers. But the most noticeable feature was the man’s gait: he wore no shoes, and his calloused, only partially human feet did not entirely connect with the ground. He walked on the balls of his feet, and he held his arms out at a fair distance from his sides to maintain balance.

“I’m goin’, I’m goin’,” the man eventually managed to walk faster than Nadine’s snout, moving with a speed that seemed unnatural for his bizarre half-shifted form. “Coulda saved some for me, yeah?”

Nadine snorted at the man, nudging him again.

“None reason to give me that kinda language, Lady.”

“Sykes,” Alastor greeted expectantly.

“I stood guard in the tunnel like you asked ‘fore you left,” Sykes said. As he came closer, he was no taller than Sokka, though it was hard to tell from the way he kept shifting his weight from foot to foot. “A good thing too, I think I mighta been on Reaver’s lista things to clean up. You know he don’t like seein’ me none much.”

“What do you mean ‘clean up’?”

Sykes’ demeanor immediately became less spirited. “En’t good news, is what.”

Dipper hung back with Sokka, who was still trying to make sense of how a barkless tree could look like a shield of any kind, before taking note of the way Naoya seemed to stare in more ways than one at the mouth of the cave. “Hey,” he swallowed. “You went through there once, right? It’s just going to be like going backwards and fighting balverines along the way. Probably.”

Naoya shook his head. “No, it’s not that.” His mouth pulled to one side, trying to look less caring, but his posture was stiff and he held his bag close to him. “I’ll never understand how you humans can survive with only five senses.”

“Why, what do you sense?” Dipper perked up, more interested than he probably should have been. “How many senses do EGO have, anyways?”

Naoya rolled his eyes, wordlessly waving off the latter question. “It’s more like… I don’t sense anything.”

Alastor froze mid-step, turning back. “What do you mean?”

“Well, the last time we came through here, the part I can remember anyway, the baby balverines all gave off these… primal feelings. It’s like… they were this big mass.” Naoya made a gesture with his hands as if he were patting a ball of snow. “But now? There’s nothing. There’s actually less than nothing. I sense, like, negative nothing . There’s a hole where that mass used to be.”

“Which means we’re walking into what, exactly?” Wash asked.

“If I’m feeling it from all the way out here,” Naoya swallowed, “There's a lot of bodies .”

Mabel gasped, hiding the lower half of her face behind fistfuls of sweater sleeves. “H-he killed all the baby balverines?”

Several pairs of eyes pinned instinctively to Alastor, but the alpha’s back was to them all. His shoulders were stiff, and for a moment Alastor’s many years were ghostly apparent against his form. But he kept walking.

“I already seen the old Lessers’ chambers,” Sykes admitted, playing with the quills poking out of his forearm. “”M gonna keep guard here, ‘less the big fella says otherwise.”

The mouth of the tunnel was narrow enough for two people to stand facing one another, but it didn't allow for any stretching. Or any comfort, for that matter, when jagged blades of shale were the only handholds to get to it.

Dipper stepped wrong and cut open his shin, hissing quietly. Anders was well ahead of him, so he opted to just deal with it. It stung like crazy, though.

Sokka nearly fell into a face-first into an outcropping of rock, quick thinking brought his boomerang to bear, pressing and hooking into the stone as a climber’s tool.

Alastor was the last of them to reach the cave, having climbed up and waited, and he eyed it with deep disdain. He had to bend over nearly double just to fit inside.

Together, they began the trek. It was single file, and slow going: Nadine let her nose work furiously in the dark, searching out potential traps. They didn't dare speak or light the way, lest something dangerous get wind of their coming. The fact remained that they had no idea what forces awaited them now, even with the success of the Vault explosion. Stealth was their only protection now.

Remus was behind Nadine, one hand tracing the cold stone and the other already clutching his wand. He listened to Nadine’s nose work. The deeper they went, the faster it went. But then, it stopped. She growled--or whined, Remus wasn't sure--but the pain in the undertone was more than enough to know what she'd picked up. The sound of her claws clicking on the damp stonework rushed ahead of them, as if she had crossed a room as quickly as possible.

“Eugh,” came Sokka’s voice. “I stepped in something!”

“ Silence ,” Renkotsu hissed, somewhere towards the rear. “Do you want to be discovered?”

Then, it was Mabel who sounded: “The wall over here is wet!”

“Alright, I’ve been in a situation like this before,” Sokka explained. “ Nobody lick the stuff on the walls.”