Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Alastor's vision was darkening. One hand remained clasped to his bleeding chest while the other leaned on his cane for support, the metal tip bent from the force of his grasp. His eyes were wild with panic as he hurried through the dark forest.

Stop the bleeding. I need to stop the bleeding.

His legs gave out, slamming his knees into the cold, wet ground. The pain went all the way through his chest and vibrated through his head. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself back onto his aching feet.

He could still feel the dangerous magic crawling after him, searching for his black soul. The old buildings loomed miles overhead and the trees provided a thick canopy to hide his bright red coat—which was thoroughly stained with mud.

It wouldn't matter if they found him. He was likely going to bleed out first.

The ground gave way. His teeth jutted shut as his chin slammed into the ground. Gravity took his body sideways over an edge, his claws digging into the wet earth. He left only lines in his wake as he failed to grab anything solid.

His injured chest hit a rock sticking up and it was sheer dumb luck that his face missed it. He scrambled at the smooth stone but, like before, he left little lines as his weight dragged him down.

It wasn't a straight drop -- his feet hit stone, dirt, and roots on the way. He grabbed for the root but the angle pulled on his finger awkwardly, merely prolonging his fall.

When he finally hit the bottom, he found his limbs unresponsive to his demands. His breathing came in short gasps and his injury was like a knife, gradually opening further and further. His skin burned from the slide, as did his face. His finger throbbed with every beat of his heart and his chin felt like it was on fire. Where had he dropped his cane?

His last sigh was shaky. His limbs, heavy with fatigue, remained motionless in whatever tangle they had fallen in. His eyes didn't even react to the occasional patter of rain on his cheeks. So he closed his eyes.

This was a far more peaceful death than anything he could've imagined.

****

My wings sliced through the wind as I beat towards home. I knew the difference between abnormal lightning and magic-induced lightning. There were mages near my home.

The sand turned to dry grass then to a lush green. Trees spotted the flat landscape until it turned into a tall, proud forest. Massive buildings from the Old World towered in a semi circle with a thick forest nestled in the middle. The greenery stretched upwards in cracks of the concrete, providing stability for the crumbling towers.

My hands clung to my bags as I flew closer to the ground along the edge of the oasis. I couldn't see anyone but that meant they were hiding somewhere in the forest. I didn't want them to see me coming up.

I tilted my wings upward and perched myself on one of the upper levels of an old building. I pushed my hair out of my face with one arm while the other dug into my satchel for the scope. I ran across the empty floor and peered down at the forest through the glass. I scanned the area until I saw quick movements of bright clothes. They were white.

Shit.

I watched them move closer and closer to home. My limbs itched to move, my instincts urging me to draw blood in defense of my home, but my training told me to sit still until I knew they had discovered its location. If I confronted them then they would have reason to believe my home was nearby. If I stayed hidden, they might continue on.

I switched to my other eye as they threaded through the forest. They were getting dangerously close. I ran through the same phrases my mother used to tell me but they were having little effect.

It's protected. It's guarded. It's hidden. It will not be found unless they scowl the oasis with a team of a hundred.

My scope squeaked under the pressure of my hand. My view jerked left and right as they stopped appearing in pockets of the greenery. Where were they? Had they found it?

Relief filled my chest when I saw their white coats further ahead. I lowered the scope and scanned the area with my naked eye. No one else. Then I looked up at the buildings, scolding myself for not checking them first.

More white.

The person wasn't watching me. They were hanging off the edge of the building, agitated and ready to fly down at a moments notice. I waited a while longer to see if they would leave. When they didn't, I ran backwards to the other end of the floor and nosedived to the ground, spreading my wings when I came close. The air cupped under my feathers and practically ziplined me the rest of the way down.

I stumbled my landing and ran straight into the woods. My dark colored wings would keep me hidden under the watchman's eyes. I knew this forest and gauged it would take me four minutes to reach home. I would feel much better when I was safely tucked away and ready to defend it.

Branches that I usually avoided were smacking me in the face and catching my sleeves. I could care less so long as I stayed up on my two feet.

I came upon my opponents' track, noting the broken branches, flattened grass, muddy bootprints, and the faint buzz of the magic trail they were leaving behind. I tucked my wings away in my back tattoo so I could move even faster through the shrubbery. The air resistance lessened considerably.

A gunshot made me drop to the ground, hands covering my head. My chest rose and fell as I tried to catch my breath while also listening for signs of someone nearby. They had guns. That was a problem.

When danger didn't present itself in my vicinity, I started forward again. My face was soaked with sweat and rainwater from branches. I noticed my usual trail marks and came upon my alcove. Well, it didn't look like an alcove. A large collection of shrubs, linked by roots, stretched over the opening to make it look like normal forest flooring.

But there was an opening.

A bush had been removed.

I creeped over, footpaws never once making a noise, and peered through the opening. The red immediately caught my eye and I thought the man was covered in blood. No, he was dressed in red, black, and trails of white. His eyes were closed and his body lifeless. Was he dead? Or just pretending?

My eyes saw the lines, ruined moss, and upturned roots. He had fallen. Regardless if he was searching for my home or not, he had stumbled upon it by accident. I withdrew my knife and readied myself to climb down when another gunshot went off. My whole body flinched, as if expecting it to make its mark on me, and looked around for the bright white. Were they looking for me or for him?

I sneaked into the alcove to grab the shrub that had been torn from its placeholder. I used my peripherals to find it so my eyes never left the red still body in the center. I crawled back up, slipping once on the mud, and put it back in place. I used magic to make the roots tangle and the little branches lengthen to cover the lost space.

Another gunshot.

Then another.

They were getting closer, making their way back around.

I drew near the unconscious man and scanned his whole body, taking in every little detail. His black boots were coated in mud and...was that his blood or just normal red on the tip? His black pants were torn and equally streaked with dirt. I could see more cuts on his fair skin where the material had been ripped. He wore a burgundy colored shirt underneath a long coat that matched his blood.

This guy likes red, huh?

His face was the most interesting part. Putting scratches and bruises aside, he had sharp cheekbones, streaked red makeup on his eyelids, red hair with black ends that framed his sharp face, and two little antlers that looked like they were once much taller before his fall. I glanced around the mossy carpet, quickly noting the small antler pieces that had broken off and lay scattered about.

The most concerning part of his appearance was the large gash in the center of his chest. His red coat was an even darker red from soaking up his blood. It was a huge cut, as if by an axe or a similar weapon.

I thought he might be dead until his fingers twitched. They were long, boney red tipped claws. I kept my knife near my chest as I leaned closer, putting my ear close to his mouth to listen for breathing. He was indeed breathing, however uneven and ragged they were.

Another gunshot.

Now I could hear yelling in the distance. They had to be looking for him. If he was this battered and cut up—and I had a collection of White Angels in my forest—then he had to be their target. I couldn't enjoy the relief it brought me because now I had a moral and ethical dilemma sitting at my feet...quite literally.

I could attempt to save this stranger, who's clearly being hunted, or I could pull him back up to the surface and let the White Angels find him. If I saved him, I would be breaching my personal safety and the location of my home. I had no idea who he was or why he was being hunted in the first place. It would be easier to leave him on the surface. It would be easier to let the White Angels finish what they had come here to do instead of continuing to hunt in my territory.

But I didn't.

I found myself dragging him to the entrance of my home. This wasn't the first time I had involved myself in something I didn't understand for the sake of keeping someone alive, and it obviously wouldn't be the last. I chalked it up to my mother and grandmother's fault. They had been the ones to instill my moral compass since I was old enough to speak.

The man, being as slim as he looked, was heavier than I had expected. I dragged him through the thick curtain of vines until his feet were out of view. The talking had gotten louder and I sat with my hand covering my mouth.

They were uncomfortably close now. My hand gripped the handle of my knife until my knuckles were as white as the hunters. Sweat dripped down my neck and dampened my shirt, my heart pounding in my ears as if they were knocking on my door.

Their chatter, overlapping each other and in a language I didn't understand, gradually quieted. They moved further and further away until I couldn't hear them anymore. I removed my hand and let out a sigh of relief.

I took the opportunity to open the heavy metal door and struggled to drag the man inside. The door didn't stay open so I had to shuffle him in awkwardly. He had ridiculously long legs.

The door slammed shut and I collapsed to the ground, completely spent. I took a moment to catch my breath then reached for a lantern. It had been left exactly where I put it, along with the fire steel. The small light adorned nearly half my home in a pale yellow glow. I brought it over to the kitchen where I lit another lantern, one that hang from the ceiling. I took it off the hook and placed both lanterns on the open space between my floor and the kitchen.

The bunker dated well before the Great Downfall. A couch, patched throughout the years with mismatched leather, took up one side of the bunker. Small wooden tables stood on either side with lamps that no longer worked and served a decorative purpose. Two similar chairs sat adjacent to the couch, surrounding a short coffee table that had been replaced once between my great grandmother's generation and mine.

The carpet underneath the living room was ancient. It was gently cleaned once a year, but I had failed to do that since my mother's death five years ago. Thinner carpets that my grandmother had bought from nearby communities lined the rest of the cold, metal floor. Once my mother was old enough to complete chores and put my grandmother in a seat for hours, the older woman started to rethread and fix up the carpets from our short footclaws. That, too, hadn't been touched since my mother's death.

The kitchen was nearly just as metal as the rest of it. Old humans thought metal would last mother nature for generations to come. They were right to an extent. The surfaces stayed pretty intact but the hinges for doors rusted and fell apart well before my generation.

So, my predecessors tore the metal off and replaced them with wood ones. The only metal door that remained was the entrance and the hidden staircase. Both had to be oiled frequently. It was one of the few tasks I had managed to maintain since it greatly affected my every day life. Lastly, the bedrooms were off in a separate, smaller section.

I grabbed towels and the healer's kit and went back to the center of the room. The only thing that 'separated' the two rooms aside from the open space was a shelf of books, rare artifacts, and other family collectables.

I dragged the man to the center of the room in between the two lanterns I had placed. I listened for his breathing again and when I confirmed that he was still alive, I began to underdress his top half. I unbuttoned the coat and pushed the fabric to the side. I did the same with his long sleeve and discovered the gash to be longer than I thought. I managed to get his arms through both layers of clothes and tossed them to the side, careful not to hit the lantern.

I used the towels to press against the wound to stop the bleeding. His body twitched, then a second later he grabbed both my arms, eyes wide open. I screamed and pushed against his chest. I could feel the static of magic prickling along my skin. He was a mage.

In the next moment, he let go and flopped on his back. Then his hands fell limply at his sides. He was unconscious.

Standing on shaky knees, I scrambled to the sink. I used the fire steel to start the stove and placed a kettle on the top, all the while trying to calm my racing heart. As I waited for it to boil, I filled a bowl of water and started cleaning the area around his wound. I was shocked to see the wound stretched from his left collarbone and nearly all the way to his belt. The deepest part was right over his sternum.

The water still hadn't boiled yet. I decided to move him onto a blanket and wrap it around his arms and hips. I used his belt on top of the blanket to further secure my makeshift restraint. I could remember doing this to my brother when he broke his knee. I wondered if he still had a limp to this day.

Finally, the water had boiled. I dropped some chamomile herbs into the water, then using a cloth so as not to burn myself, lowered the bowl into the sink so the bottom of it touched the cold water. I counted two minutes then tested the temperature. I did it one more time until I felt it was cool enough to use.

I set it on the coffee table then dragged him to the wall where I propped him against the shelf so it would keep him upright. I placed another towel--bless my ancestors for always collecting towels--in his lap then poured half the water on his chest. He stirred but didn't open his eyes. I then used a small cloth to dab closer to the wound. I repeated the process but with a new towel to dry the area. Through it all, I had come to discover that his torso was covered in short fur.

Now, the hard part.

I pulled out the healer's kit from the shelf, noting the small amount of silk in the case. I would need to buy more from a community to replenish the supply. For now, I threaded the line through the needle then carried both items to the stove. I withdrew a half burning plank and held the needle over the flame. Once the tip had darkened, I threw the wood back in the stove and knelt beside the man's torso.

Please don't wake up, I prayed. I found a sleeping cream from the shelf and put a layer under his nose.

I took a deep breath. I had practiced stitching on dead animals but I had yet to actually do it on a person. I swallowed then started at the top of the wound. I had to double up on each line because of the size of the injury. He woke once, striking red eyes looking over me lazily, then dropped his head against the wall again.

I continued my work for awhile. I shifted several times to better thread the needle as well as for my aching back. Every now and then I would hear a nearby gunshot and paused my work to listen. My home was hidden but it wasn't impossible to stumble upon either, just as this man had done.

Eventually, I finished. I knotted the end, leaned back to examine my work, then promptly fell on my back. I felt little cracks and pops in my neck as it realigned with my spine. I flexed my fingers too, feeling the edges of stiffness creep in. Once I had rested enough, I sat up to finish the procedure. I removed the blanket then wrapped the wound in fresh cloths. These were specifically cleaned and set aside for medical conditions.

I leaned in close to his face to listen for breathing and to check his pulse. Once I felt he was steady enough, I carefully lowered him down to the floor. I used the last puddle of warm water to dab at the cuts along his neck, shoulders, and arms. I faced another moral dilemma when I noted the cuts on his legs.

I let out a short exhale then removed his pants, leaving him in just his undergarments. I hoped he didn't have injuries underneath that portion of clothing and examined the dark bruises and other cuts. There was only one really bad cut on his thigh but that was a simple one to disinfect and wrap in fresh cloths. 

When I was done, the towels I didn't use were put back in the floor cabinets. I moved all the cushions from the couch and chairs to the floor, covered it with a blanket, then pulled him onto it. There was no way I could lift him onto the couch so this was the next best thing.

I grabbed a blanket but, before laying it on top of him, I examined his whole body with an appreciative eye. As discovered before, his chest was covered in short fur that matched most of his skin, which was neither dark nor light. It turned to a smokey gray then a pitch black from his elbows to his fingertips, and respectively from his knees to his red tipped hooves.

He was finely toned and his arms revealed a lean but sturdy set of muscles. His legs, too, seemed of a sturdy build despite all that leg room. My eyes found his face which was by far the prettiest part of him. His lips rested in a pained smile, his eyes gently closed with smeared makeup, and his eyebrows rested rather high on his face.

I laid the blanket over him, making sure to lift his feet up on the chair to help with blood flow, then shuffled close to his face. I used the last traces of remaining water and gently wiped away the red makeup. His hair was sticking to the sides of his face so I tried to dry them with the front of my shirt. I didn't need more towels to clean and dry.

Resting my hand on the ground on the other side of his neck, I used my other hand to thread my fingers through his bright hair. I had met two, maybe three, people with exotic hair like this. They were usually travelers and never stayed put for very long. I could remember begging my mother to find a dye so I could do the same thing to my hair. I quickly grew out of that phase when I realized how expensive certain dyes were.

His hair was grainy but I credited that to the dirt and mud he had picked up. I then gently touched his antlers, thumb rubbing over the cracked edges. Would he be upset when he discovered they had broken? Were they important to him?

Eventually I pulled my hand away and gathered the dirty towels in the entrance outside the door. I washed my hands then went into my room to change my clothes. The bedroom of the bunker had been originally been made for four, but there were more of us as years went by, forcing us to dig into the earth to make more beds. They were dug into the wall so the ground could provide a kind of stability. Leaves and moss separated us from the cold dirt and harsh metal. It was the perfect place to cool down.

I changed, rested briefly, checked his pulse, then started making dinner. Since I couldn't go out to the chicken coop until I was certain the White Angels were gone, I resorted to a vegetable soup. Working through the stored ingredients helped give my mind something to focus on, with an occasional glance in his direction. My anxiety was still high about the predators parading up top but steadied the longer I went without incident.

I checked his pulse every few minutes. At one point he started shivering and I wrapped his legs and torso with another blanket. I had a feeling that he might wake up when he smelled the food so I kept a knife within reach at all times.

My eyes checked him more than I checked his pulse.

I really hoped he wasn't some terrible, murderous person that would try to kill me. All that hard work on his chest would have been for nothing.

I cranked the radio and kept the volume low while I cooked. By the time I finished, there wasn't even a crackle of the Radio Demon's voice. I glanced out the door to check the time of day. Usually he made his ridiculous, threatening broadcasts around this time of day. I had actually been looking forward to hearing what other stupidity he spewed about Humanity's false past. It would've helped me distract myself from the potential threat on the surface.

And yet, he made no presence.

I cranked it again, guessing that maybe he was late, but let it run out of energy once I had finished eating my dinner. He was likely busy doing his evil things to some poor unfortunate community.

The Radio Demon was part of--or likely in charge of--the Collectors, a fleet of floating ships in search of a poor community to take over. They kidnap the residents, take what resources they want from their homes, then take them back to Pentagram City. I had no idea where this city was but I had heard the Radio Demon mention it numerous times.

His broadcasts usually covered who the unfortunate souls were, how they were integrated into the city population, then rambled on about Humanity's past or shortcomings. He did all this in between music which was the primary reason I even started listening to him. Well, and because I enjoyed yelling my arguments back at the one-way communication. It made me feel like I was having a conversation with someone. It made me feel like I wasn't alone.

The man groaned and I snatched up my knife in an instant. His arm shifted under the blanket as he touched his chest. I noted the claws moving slightly as he felt the stitches. His eyes opened and he peeled his head off the ground to look at himself. He pulled back the blankets to get a better look, gently touching the injury as he examined my work.

"I'm alive?" he croaked, his voice was dry and rough. He cleared his throat then traced his eyes around the small bunker, eventually coming to settle on me in the kitchen. I made an obvious show of my knife.

"You probably wouldn't be if I hadn't found you," I said.

"Where am I?" His voice sounded like it hurt to speak. He tried to sit up but hissed at the pain in his chest. He looked over the bunker a second time.

"In my home."

"Where...where's my staff?"

"Your what?" I didn't remember seeing anything else around him.

He dropped his head against the cushion and covered his eyes with his hand. "My staff. It's...it has sentimental value."

I didn't believe him but I didn't know why else he would want it. Trying to keep him as calm as possible, I offered, "I can look for it tomorrow. Your friends are still up there looking for you."

I heard him mumble a curse. "That would be kind of you."

He speaks really formal, I noted. I stuck the knife in my waistband as I crossed the room to him. I offered to help him sit up and he accepted, gritting his teeth through the pain as he pulled on my entire torso to sit up. I leaned him against the couch and brought a glass pitcher of water while he positioned the blanket over his legs. I could tell how disoriented he felt.

Once he had drank most of the water, I finally pressed a warm bowl of soup into his hands. His breathing was shallow and a slight whine at the end of every breath. I could only imagine the pain he was pushing through. So while he ate, I boiled another pot of water to make tea that would help manage the pain.

"What's your name?" I asked.

There was a long moment of silence. "Al." He took a spoonful of the soup. "What is yours?"

I revealed my name as I put some of the cushions back on the furniture. I found myself compelled to sit beside him on the floor and listened, my legs stretching under the table and leaning my back against the couch.

"Why were you running from the White Angels?" I asked, subtly removing the knife from my waistband so it could rest on the floor beside me for easy reach.

His lips turned upward in a long smile. "I insulted them without speaking their language."

"How did you insult them?"

A red eye found me. "I beat them at their own game. How did you find this place?" His eyes briefly looked around before falling to the meal again.

"I was raised here," I admitted, seeing no harm in slipping that truth. "What were you fighting the White Angels for?"

"They've harbored a hatred for me for a long time," he answered. Then returned a question, "How far back does your home date to?"

"Before the Great Downfall. Why did they follow you all the way out here? Their colonies aren't this far out."

"I had an old artifact they wanted. I separated from my group to give them time to run. Unfortunately for me, the angels caught up." He took another bite while I thought of another question, but he beat me to it. "Why did you save me?"

I shrugged. "It was the right thing to do." My eyes were watching the way his jaw moved, permitting my rude way of staring since he kept his eyes closed or on the warm meal.

"Well, I will have to find a way to repay you then."

"Heal faster so I can get rid of you faster." I was relieved when he accepted the joke, humming a small laugh so as not to injure himself further.

"That all depends on how well you fixed me up." He touched a red finger to his stitches.

"Well, what do you think?" 

He pretended to examine them longer before pinching the spoon. "I suppose it'll do."

I chuckled at the response and pulled my legs up to wrap my arms around them. I continued to stare at his face while his eyes were closed.

"Are you alone?" he suddenly asked.

My eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"Merely trying to understand you more," he replied. "You don't need to answer if you don't want." I opted not to answer but it likely was an answer in itself. So he asked another question, "What animal are you?"

"A Griffon." I flexed my footpaw even though I knew he wasn't looking. "What are you?"

"A stag."

"What's that?"

"A large deer," he simplified. I chose not to tell him about his broken antlers yet.

"Did you dye your claws like your hair?"

"No. These are natural," he tapped his claws on the bowl, "but the hair is not."

"You must like red."

He cracked open an eye to look at me. "Why do you say that?"

"Because of the red claws, the hair, the coat? Lots of red."

"Well, I do enjoy bringing brighter things to this dull world."

Our conversation continued for several minutes until his yawns broke it up too much. I took the bowl from his hands, slide the knife under the chair with my foot, and helped him move to the couch. His massive hands covered my entire shoulder as he leaned on me for support. Upon his request, I went into the bedroom to find an old shirt that my brother used. It was a pass down from other male family members.

Al let me pull it over his head and carefully over the injury. Finally, he laid down and fell asleep within seconds.

----------------

Alastor woke drenched in sweat. He tried to put himself back to sleep, unable to know what time it was except that you remained asleep. He had been surprised to see you sleeping on the floor in an entrance to another room.

You had been watching him.

He had noticed the knife you carried around, no matter how short a distance, but chalked it up to you being cautious. The sleeping on the floor to keep an eye on him seemed...out of the ordinary.

He groaned and shifted for the umpteenth time. His tail was sore, likely from your unconscious neglect, but was relieved that you didn't seem to have noticed. His stitches itched, his skin prickly, his muscles sore, and his hair kept scratching his face. He was just plain tichy.

Unable to go back asleep, he forced himself up to a sitting position. He kept a claw on his chest and his back as straight as possible. He took a minute to catch his breath, eyes scanning the near pitch black space. A single lantern on the coffee table was the only source of light and his animal gene didn't seem to want to help adjust him to the darkness beyond it.

He knew about bunkers dating centuries old--well before the Great Downfall of Humanity--but he had never seen one in person. Most were ancient and forgotten, mere time capsules to Humanity's last desperate attempts at salvation. He had yet to see someone occupying it and occupying it well.

He noted the sink with a pump, the lanterns about, the Old World furniture, and the little artifacts on the shelf. You had revealed that you had lived your whole life here, so why were you alone? He suspected a graveyard of family members to be somewhere nearby.

He decided to tire himself out with difficult walking. He used a small bit of magic to keep his stumbles quiet so as not to waken you. He found himself lost in the soft features of your sleeping face until his tight chest pulled him back to reality.

He walked over to the shelf to examine the artifacts. All the objects were ones he had never seen nor knew what they were. Some were metal and rusting to bits while others were plastic with mold sprouting on the corners. There was a small collection of poorly strung books and discovered them to be journals written in a language he didn't know.

He walked around the kitchen, using the center table to keep his balance, then finally padded back over to the couch. On his way, however, he caught sight of something under one of the chairs. He carefully lowered himself to his knees then sat completely on the ground. He snuck his foot underneath to push it out so he didn't have to bend to retrieve it. He got back up on his haunches to alleviate the stress on his chest from trying to sit up.

This book was much older and properly binded. The glue on the hinges was yellow and the edges of the paper had been lost to time. Inside he found the same language he didn't know but in printed text. He flipped through the pages in search of images to tell him what it was about. Alas, there were none.

He flipped to the last page and small sheets of paper floated out. He stacked them together and went to put them back in the book when he noticed the handwriting. This time it was in the language he knew. His eyes scanned the lines with such intensity that he might've actually burned them.

These were summaries of each page, complete with the exact page number.

He looked over his shoulder at your sleeping figure on the ground. The hidden bunker, proper amenities, Old World furniture, basic first-aid skills, high suspicion of a stranger, a woman who lived alone with a translation of an ancient textbook.

You weren't an ordinary person.

You were an Archivist.

Chapter Text

Alastor revealed as little as possible about himself and, to his amazement, so did you. For someone who had spent their entire life with the same two people--mother and grandmother whom you spoke of often--and now lived entirely alone, you were deceptively untalkative. He would have found it strange had it not been for the translation he found under one of the chairs a few nights ago.

You were an Archivist. Breaking you was not going to be easy.

He carefully broached the topic of Humanity but you were clever enough to turn it around, expressing a strong curiosity for how he viewed Humanity, which he was very much not inclined to share. So, he started asking you about your chores. You were certainly talkative about those.

Despite having been through worse, Alastor felt this experience topped them all.

For the first day, he could barely sit up on his own. He slipped in and out of sleep, his temperature went up and down, and everything felt uncomfortable. You forced him into a sitting position while you completed chores outside, occasionally slipping in to gently shake him awake. He wasn't allowed sleep until your chores were done and you were back in the bunker to watch over him. Admirable but oh so annoying.

The second and third day weren't much better and he was practically losing his mind. He could handle pain. He could handle discomfort. He could handle having to consciously breathe. What he couldn't handle was the absolute boredom.

Fortunately, you had a few puzzles and a crank radio to help him occupy this dreary life. He used the radio to play with the frequencies, hoping to reach someone. He could tune into the frequencies his team used to communicate but, without his staff, his words would fall in the depths of white noise.

He was confident the White Angels had taken his staff, and that would likely come back to bite him in the ass one day. It certainly would when he returned to Pentagram City.

Sleep brought little relief. His moments of sleep were shallow and short, often interrupted by a pain in his chest, shoulder, hip--everywhere. Then he would slip back into exhaustion only to be woken up by the same issues. It wasn't until the fifth day that he was finally able to fall into a deep sleep. And he hated it.

~*~

I scribbled in one of my journals at the coffee table with a blanket draped over my shoulders. Al was asleep on the couch, both hands clasped over his stomach and his ankles resting over the armchair of the couch. He looked so incredibly long whenever he laid flat like that.

It amazed me how much of him was made up of legs and long arms. His torso was all lean muscle and fur, speaking of an agile life and maybe one where food was scarce from the look of his waist and stomach.

I dragged my eyes back to my journal. I wanted to sketch him. Committing him to memory wasn't enough. I wanted a picture of him to hold onto forever, even after he left my bunker. The thought made my heart sink.

His ear twitched against the pillow. Then his arm. Then his leg. His breath quickened and his eyebrows furrowed, his lips pressed tightly together as his limbs continued to twitch and jerk. He was having a nightmare.

"Al," I whispered, setting my journal down and creeping closer. I sat on the edge of the coffee table. I tried calling his name a few more times but when that did nothing, I leaned forward to touch his shoulder.

I barely grazed the brown fur before his eyes snapped open and his hands snagged my shoulders. The buzz of magic touched my spine as his lips pulled back in a snarl, exposing his sharp canines.

I pushed against his chest but he didn't let go. His eyes were wide and wild. He wasn't registering me.

I tried to drop to one knee but he followed. He arched off the pillows and dug his long nails into my shoulders, an animalistic, high-pierced shriek escaping his throat.

My hand on his chest curled into a fist and slammed upward into his chin, abruptly clamping his jaw shut. He reared back with a cry and I pushed him back onto the couch, tripping over his foot as I scrambled away.

I crawled back on my elbows as he shook his head, eyes returning to their normal state--something more human. He covered his mouth with one hand while the other gripped the back of the couch. He was trying to sit up by the pain from his chest injury was finally reaching him. He looked around then found me on the floor, my eyes wild with fear.

"It's...you," he croaked around the blood in his mouth. He looked around again before the pain rendered him useless and dropped him on the cushions. His eyes looked for me over the edge of the coffee table. "I didn't mean to--"

"I know," I said quickly, pushing myself to a sitting position. His partly pinned ears and sorrowful expression conveyed what he wanted to say.

I rolled to my knees and reached into a floor cabinet for the first aid kit. I approached him carefully, as if he would jump at me again. I sat on the edge of the coffee table as I pointed to his chest where blood seeped through the shirt. I had found the piece of clothing from a closet buried deep in the bedroom.

His jaw clenched, both in an attempt to swallow the blood from his bitten tongue and from the shame of attacking his one and only savior. Then he glanced away, unsure how to act next for the first time in his life.

"It wasn't you fault," I coaxed gently, moving to sit on the edge of the couch in effort to show I wasn't afraid anymore. He still didn't return my gaze. "Let me fix you."

Eventually, he relented and moved his hands off his chest. I grabbed the hem of his shirt but noticed the way his entire body went rigid and he drew in a sharp intake of breath. His ears fell further and the look on his face was...complex. I stopped and his shoulders relaxed a fraction.

Screw it. The shirt is done for anyways.

I grabbed the scissors from the kit and cut a straight line up the center of the clothing. He didn't tense this time but his eyes watched the scissors carefully. Not once did he look me in the eye as I cut through the soiled bindings to reveal the torn stitches. I was amazed at the stillness in my hands, even as adrenaline continued to pulse through my veins.

"Well, could be worse," I said on account of nothing else. "But maybe try not to levitate off the couch anymore."

He swallowed a mouthful of blood. "Noted," he muttered, a shadow of his usual humor slowly showing through. He kept his eyes evaded as I redid most of my work, cleaning the wound and restitching it in the lantern light.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I offered in the silence.

His face twitched when I pulled a stitch a little too tight. "No."

I was quiet for a few minutes, until the tense silence was a little too tense for the delicate work I was trying to complete. "Do you always bottle everything up?"

"Yes."

I sighed at the one worded answer. "Was it a memory?"

He glanced at me but when I tried to meet his gaze he looked away. Another short answer, "Somewhat."

"It's not like I have anyone to tell," I encouraged gently, eyes back on my work. "I wouldn't mind listening."

He grimaced at another prick of his skin. "What are you expecting from me? To unleash my demons onto you?"

"Well you did already," I said offhandedly.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" The gentleness of his tone, compared to the sharpness of his previous words, made me pause. I looked up. This time he was actually watching me. His eyes were intense but not unkind as they surveyed my figure.

"No," I said after a moment's hesitation. "Just...scared me a little."

"I didn't mean to attack you. I shouldn't have--"

"I know," I interrupted just as I had done before. "Fear makes us do crazy things. Blame it on the nightmare."

I finished my work then threaded the bindings around his torso like before. My hands began to sweat as I leaned closer to him so my arms could wrap under and around his back. His breath brushed my forehead, adding to the warmth already in my cheeks. It took everything in me to keep my eyes forward and focused on nothing in particular.

Thank heavens he's covered in fur.

I finished his wrappings, putting distance between us, then gathered all the remnants of the mini procedure. I stood but was stopped by a hand on my arm. I met his gaze and those beady red eyes pushed through my shields like they were nothing.

"Thank you," he said softly.

I gave him a small smile. "Try to sleep again. I'll sit at the coffee table for a while longer." For a moment, neither one of us moved. His eyes were like rubies glowing in the lantern light and I wanted so desperately to get lost in them. But alas, he peeled his fingers off my arm and watched me put everything away.

~*~

Death by boredom is a torturous fate, Alastor thought to himself.

He entertained a game of cards despite being unable to read them well without his monocle. It was a strategy card game and he was quite pleased to see your high level of thinking. He didn't think someone who copied books for a living would have good strategy skills.

Speaking of which, his eyes scanned the bunker once again in search of a clue or hidden door.

You were an Archivist, a rare and dying breed of historians. Long ago, during the Great Downfall, Humanity had built bunkers with hundreds of books stored away. A small collection of people were sealed inside with it, surviving for generations to keep the books safe.

As time went on and resources went thin, some of them resurfaced. When news got around that Old World books and technology might exist, they were hunted down all over the land. Some took the books for themselves, yet unable to read the ancient handwriting, while others burned the knowledge to erase a dark period of history.

You were one of the last surviving Archivists. But where was your library?

~*~

"You're stalling," Al said, his usual smirk growing the longer I took to make my next move. A card game was sprawled across the coffee table, as was an abandoned plate of apples.

I was on my knees at the table, eyes jumping between the board and the stack in my hand. My fingers had been jumping from one card to the other in an effort to look like I wasn't stuck on what to do next. Clearly, it didn't work.

"I'm strategizing," I replied. I didn't dare look up at that knowing smile I had grown accustomed to seeing. "Not that you'd understand Mr. play-the-first-move-that-comes-to-mind." I finally picked a card and put it down. We had taught each other different card games and this was the one I could never beat him in--even by a single stroke of luck!

Al hummed in place of a chuckle so as not to hurt his chest. "It's not my fault you can't predict brilliance." He picked out a card and tossed it onto the table, using magic to righten it in place. Such a show of magic wasn't uncommon for me to see. After all, I had some as well.

"Seems more like dumb luck if you ask me," I retorted as I scanned my cards again.

"I wasn't asking."

I let out a huff of annoyance. He rested his cards in his lap, completely unbothered or worried about the game. I tried to watch his eyes like before but he had caught onto my trick, fixating his eyes on me whenever he finished his play so he couldn't give any hints away. So, with another huff, I slapped a card down and feigned confidence. "How's that Mr. Walking-Ego?"

His red tipped fingers tapped his cheek a few times. "Not bad. However..." He withdrew two cards and floated them to their rightful place. I dropped my cards face down with a groan, smacking my forehead on the table.

"Come on," I whined, lifting my chin to look at him.

"Don't hate the player. Hate your lack of foresight." He reorganized his cards then settled them in his lap. Even with a gash in his chest he was still able to sit in a way that could only be described as elegant.

"You're insufferable," I grumbled. I lifted my cards to see if there was any hope of turning things around.

"And yet you keep playing me."

"For selfless reasons." I leaned back and put my hand on my chest dramatically. "Clearly my card games are not entertaining enough for you and so I suffer for your sake to keep you from dying of boredom."

He raised an eyebrow, smile widening. "How generous. But I will admit, I do enjoy it when we play this game. Not only am I slightly less bored, but I can also watch you suffer at my hand."

I scrunched my nose at him. "One, that's concerning. Two, you've really got this ego and self-confidence thing down, don't you?" I placed a card on the board.

He shrugged with his good shoulder. "Call it a gift, my dear. Though," there was a mischievous glint in his eye, "if you're jealous, I can teach you a thing or two." He put two cards down.

"No thanks. You're not exactly someone I want to take after." I put two down.

"What's there not to enjoy?" he returned the jibe. "You seem to enjoy my company quite a bit." He placed his last card down. He had won.

I dropped my cards face up on the table then leveled him with a half-hearted glare. "Until your ego shines through." I rolled backwards and sprawled out flat on my back. He mimicked me, carefully positioning himself on the couch and staring up at the ceiling.

"I am truly amazed you have survived this long. The boredom would've--"

"Would've killed you," I finished for him. "With so many chores to do after my mother passed, I haven't really had a chance to be bored." I turned my head to look at his bright red hair contrasting the dark, brown couch. "What was your mother like?"

A soft smile spread across his face. "Where do I even start? She was as kind as my father was cruel. She showed me the world and quickly became my world."

There was a heavy air of silence.

With as gentle of a voice as I could make, I asked, "Has she passed?"

"I'm afraid so," he admitted. "But her spirit lives on inside me."

"I've been meaning to ask, where did you learn to speak like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like...you speak very formally. Eat," I added, sitting up and moving the plate of apples on top of the card game. His ear flicked in annoyance but he used magic to drop a slice into his palm.

"I could say the same about you."

"Really?" I eagerly leaned on the coffee table, chin on my hands.

"Of course," he nodded. "You may use basic terminology but your speech is eloquent, intelligent even." After a moment he said, "And I find it quite refreshing."

I felt my cheeks warm as I smiled. "Oh...well, thank you. But you didn't answer my question."

"Which was?"

"Where did you learn to speak like that?"

His eyes pretended to scan the ceiling in representation of his mind. "I suppose you can credit it to the amount of books I read as a child. When I wasn't with my mother or taking lessons, I was in the library."

"A library?" I picked my head up.

"Indeed, my dear. My city has a communal library and I was eager to devour their words."

"What kind of books?"

"Some novels, some textbooks, and maybe two or three from the Old World." His eyes scanned my face for a reaction but I hadn't noticed, too wrapped up in his words. "I could never read them," he chuckled at himself, "but I enjoyed holding them. As if I were holding a piece of history."

I suddenly became aware of my display of interest. I collected myself and responded in a more subdued tone, "That's pretty neat."

Had I not been messing with my fingernails, I would have noticed the sharp glint in his eye. It dulled a moment later as he changed the subject, "What of your father?"

"I never met him."

"Ah, that's unfortunate."

"Yeah. But my mother says she chose carefully that night and I should still be proud of who I am."

The answer scratched his brain in a funny way. He rested his hoof on his knee. "How did she meet your father? Did he stumble upon your bunker like I did?"

I shifted uncomfortably and tried to force myself into a relaxed position at the table. "She uh...she went...she went out to find him."

There were several heartbeats of silence. He noted my tone and posture. "I take it there is an implication?"

I breathed out through my nose. "Yeah...she uh...it's a family tradition to uh...find a suitable person to...father the child. Then...come back to give birth alone." A spot on the coffee table was suddenly the most interesting thing I'd ever seen.

"That's rather...unfortunate." He examined his claws as his mind pieced things together.

After a minute of awkward silence, I lightly slapped the table and stood up. "You could use some fresh air and a bath."

"Is that an insult I'm sensing?" he teased.

"If you take it as one." I opened one of the floor cabinets to pull out a few towels and a bar of soap in a cloth bag. There were still three more and I hadn't even used half this bar yet. The oils and roots had been perfectly blended by my mother before she passed. "But eat first."

After I successfully forced him to eat the apple slices, we made his first trek out of the bunker. We stood in the center of the alcove for several moments to let our eyes adjust to the bright afternoon light, even with the brambles overhead.

Al accepted my help as we climbed the hidden footholds to the surface. Once he was up, he allowed me to tie a ribbon to his eyes, never once making a complaint about it. I carefully touched his hands and let them curl around my hand. His grip was strong yet kind, and the muscles under his skin and fur felt firm. The feeling made my heart skip and a beat.

"Shall we be going?" he prompted. I stuttered an apology then started walking, telling him when an obstacle required him to pick up his feet. He easily stood a head taller than me and his arms and legs were ridiculously long. A single step of his required nearly three of mine.

The White Angels had long disappeared from the abandoned city, meaning I didn't have to worry too much about any unwanted visitors. So I brought him to a small river that eventually lead into a larger one which marked the end of my land. We were up on a hill which gave me a birds eye view of the land beyond my borders.

I kept my back to Al while he undressed and splashed the cold water over himself. I could hear his grumbles about the temperature and kept my giggles to myself.

My eyes scanned the treetops for any signs. I couldn't see their white feathers nor a smoke signal from their campfires. Had they left this oasis? Had they explored further? Were they being discreet on purpose? Were they waiting for him to come out? If they couldn't find a body than that meant he was still out there. Had they given up or were they pursing to a degree I wasn't expecting?

"My dear," Al called quietly. I turned my head just enough to show that I had heard him but still gave him privacy. "I'm afraid...I may need your assistance."

"Oh that's terrible!" I put the back of my hand to my forehead. "Whatever shall you do?"

"Quit your antics," he snapped. "I can't reach my hair. I would prefer to leave it be but my scalp feels like there's things crawling in it."

I laughed. I definitely knew that feeling. "Of course. Mind if I turn around now?"

"You may."

I turned around and forced my eyes to latch onto his, ignoring the way his fur dripped and stuck to his chest, as well as everything lower than that. Fortunately, he had a towel over his lap.

He held the bar of soap and I took it, feeling the burn of his palm on my knuckles. I helped him onto his back with his head on the edge of the grass like my mother used to do for me. I splashed water onto his hair and used my other hand to keep it from falling into his eyes.

He kept a hand on his chest as he breathed, a habit he had developed since I stitched him up a second time. I suds the soap in the water then gently scrubbed at his hair.

Why is my heart racing?

Several times I had to wipe the back of my hand on my cheeks so the cold water would cool the blush. It didn't help that he was obviously staring at me. I leaned back at one point to figure out where he was looking and was surprised to find them locked on my eyes, not my breasts. He made some kind of funny comment but I didn't respond, going back to rinsing out the soap.

It was more difficult to wash around his broken antlers. Hair tangled around the bone and it wasn't soaked enough for the soap to actually be useful. He tensed when I reached his ears. I was gentle as I rubbed the tufts between my fingers, amazed at the muscles I could feel under the black and red fur. Every time I let go of an ear, it flicked.

I felt less embarrassed about the whole ordeal when I noticed his eyes were closed. Was he enjoying this?

What would my mother think?

I squeezed out the water in his hair then helped him sit up. I told him to get dressed then quickly went back to my lookout spot, crossing my arms and digging my nails into my arm.

Al would need to leave as soon as he could. But...what about before that? My mother had picked my father because he was intellectually smart and known for getting out of difficult situations. He likely had good genes and I was the product of that. Al...he was smart, funny, and careful with his words. There was plenty he wasn't telling me that I didn't want--didn't need--to know.

I covered my mouth.

My mother had had plenty of conversations with my brother and I about continuing our legacy. He had been the lucky one because she spent more one on one time with me explaining pregnancy and birth, two things that sounded absolutely dreadful to handle alone. I hadn't even considered it since she died. It was supposed to be a process that involved at least one other person to help. It was supposed to be her but then--

"Are we ready?" Al asked. I turned to find him dressed in more unfamiliar male clothes from storage, a towel draped around his neck to keep his damp hair from soaking the new shirt.

With my mood promptly soured, I tied the ribbon over his eyes and led him back through the trees. I held his wrist this time, opting to avoid his warm hand. He was quiet during the walk, not even daring to give a tease. He was likely reading into my subtle cues. It was both a blessing and a curse that made things even more upsetting and complicated.

Once inside the bunker, he promptly fell asleep on the couch, completely spent. I crept into the bedroom and dropped my head in my hands, fingers pulling at my hair.

I didn't want to be the one making the adult decisions. I didn't want to make any decision with consulting my mother. It had taken me a full year just to drag myself out of my grief to fly to the nearest community for supplies.

She was supposed to be here to guide me.

But she wasn't.

I grabbed the quilt my grandmother patched up and curled up on the floor so I could keep Al in view. I let a few tears fall then did what I always did when I was grieving: sleep.

~*~

Alastor waited another two days before attempting anything.

He had noticed your sudden mood change and wondered if he had done anything particularly wrong or if it was something more internal. He was quiet the following day before attempting jibes, teases, and innocent questions the next. He was relieved when you gradually came out of that quiet--almost depressive--shell you had put yourself in. You were back to your normal self by the third day.

How long had it been since he arrived? A week?

One late morning, after you both had breakfast and another game of fuzzy cards, Alastor feigned exhaustion. He laid down and pretended to sleep, keeping his body still and his breathing as even as possible. He had hoped you would unlock whatever secret door that lead to your library but you instead left the dark bunker to finish more chores. He waited a few minutes before standing up.

He ran his hands along the walls of the bunker, waiting for his claws to catch some kind of latch, lever, or dip in the metal. He was running out of time.

He gave the bunker one more look over before giving up and laying on the couch. Maybe you were a division of the Archivists? Or maybe you just happened to know the Old Language and found Old World texts to practice on?

That wouldn't explain the tradition of your mother going out to get pregnant and not invite the father back to the bunker. You often spoke of your mother and grandmother, so maybe this was a female Archivist group? That still didn't explain your lack of Old World books.

He put himself to sleep this time. The frustration was making his chest hurt as much as his head.

~*~

I stoked the logs in the stone fireplace in the center of my alcove. The sun was setting but there was still enough daylight left to finish cooking dinner. When using the dinner fire, I had to be mindful of time so the smoke from the fire didn't turn into a fire signal at night, though the brambles and trees helped keep that from happening.

I set a pot to boil on the stones then went back inside to dice everything up. Al was laying on the couch, hands resting on his stomach but playing with a piece of yarn he'd found in between the cushions. It must've been from when grandmother used to sew our clothes on the couch.

I washed my hands in the sink then quickly rinsed the vegetables. I turned to dice them on the counter but nearly jumped out of my skin when Al suddenly appeared in front of me. I lost a few carrots and scrambled to pick them up.

"My apologies, dear," he suppressed a laugh, "I hadn't meant to scare you." He picked up two carrots by his magic then placed them on the counter with the rest. "Might I help?"

"I-It's okay, I can handle it." I reached for the knife but he placed a hand on the handle of the blade. Our eyes met.

"I fear boredom will kill me first before my chest does," he pleaded. I tried to answer but my eyes were too busy trailing up the length of his arm and up to his ear that twitched slightly when he caught me looking at it.

He picked up the knife and reached for one of the vegetables, and I stepped aside to let him stand closer to the counter. He held my gaze for a little longer, that smug smile making my cheeks flush, then finally looked down at his work. His movements were slow but not inexperienced--telling the tale of someone who had some amount of practice.

"You've done this before?" I asked.

Without looking up, he replied, "Do I appear as the type to have a maid?"

"N-no, I just...I was...no," I finished more firmly, then held my sweaty hands behind my back.

His smile widened a touch. "My mother taught me. She was adamant that I know how to feed myself. Even if it went against my father's wishes."

I nodded silently, watching from my corner spot between the counter and the sink. My eyes roamed his figure from hooves to antlers. A smile cracked on my lips at the sight of his red tail. He had snapped at me last time I mentioned it, so I never said anything about it after that—clearly a sensitive topic for him. Part of me wanted to touch it but that just might kill him.

He had healed surprisingly fast for someone who had as severe a chest injury as he did. Though there were a few times I could feel him using magic and guessed he was trying to heal himself. It always made the hairs on my arms stick up and sent a fuzzy feeling down my spine. I wasn't well versed in my small amount of magic but I could tell he had a lot of it.

His red eye glanced at me. My breath caught in my throat and I ushered myself out of the bunker to check on the pot. I dropped in the chicken meat then crossed my legs, chin in hand. I poked the fire with a stick as my mind started to wonder.

My mother had told me I needed to find someone to father my child before I reached twenty-six, the age where childbirth became complicated. I had three years left and I was already scared about giving birth alone.

There was the option of finding another Archivist for help but I didn't know where to even begin looking for one. We all kept our bunker locations a secret, even from each other to keep the archives more secure.

Another option was to give birth in a community. I wasn't sure if I would even have the right materials to trade for such a service, unless another woman gave pity on me.

Or...

Our legacy would die with me and the books would need to be burned before my passing.

I fell on my back and stared up at the bramble. During my teenage years, I had dreamt all the time about going on my own adventure; I dreamt of traveling the world and speaking to hundreds of people; I dreamt of sharing knowledge to help Humanity rebuild itself to its glory days, and this time it wouldn't fall.

However, once my grandmother died and my brother was no longer with us, those dreams promptly died. Life grew rather dull as I worked beside my grieving mother. She was lost without my grandmother and the dreams in her died too. There were a few times when we forgot about our grim destiny, and were able to enjoy a fun filled day in the woods. But every night, the cold bunker reminded us of our job.

There was a strong part of me that was curious to know more about Humanity's past through my translations—I wanted to know more and piece history together. The other part, however, wanted to give up and burn the books with me inside. Surely the afterlife would bring more relief; if only I could die without the guilt it brought.

I had three years left to continue my legacy. Did I want Al to be the father or risk searching for another one? He fit all the criteria. Was I ready to do such a thing?

Most books made it sound like a chore to complete, meanwhile others—novels I had first practiced my translations on as a kid—made it sound like something intimate and sweet. Did he know how any of it worked? Surely he did if he came from the outside world.

Speaking of whom, the man brushed through the vines to the bunker carrying a cutting board of diced vegetables. I accepted the board then brushed them into the pot.

He sat across from me with his back against the wall as I placed the lid over the ancient pot. I started playing with the fire again to give my eyes something to do other than stare at him. Though that didn't stop me from trying.

"Is there something you wish to say?" he prompted, drawing his eyes from the fire to look at me.

"What?" I stiffened. "No. Why?"

"You've looked at me thrice in the past minute." His smile turned smug as my eyes widened.

"No. I'm just...bored."

"You're bored?" he teased. "Great heavens, I knew it was possible."

I scrunched my nose in response. I went back to the fire, lighting my stick under the hot logs then blowing it out, only to do it all over again. My brother and I used to come up with secret games before our mother snapped at us not to play with the fire.

Eventually my neck hurt—and he caught me staring a few times—so I abandoned the stick in the fire and sprawled onto my back. I ran my fingers over the mossy carpet and took a slow, deep breath. My mind wouldn't turn off. And it made his presence even more apparent the more I thought things over.

"Why do you stay here?"

The question caught me off guard. I turned my head to look at him, finding his eyes downcast at his hands.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"I mean what I said. Why do you stay here?"

I was silent for a long moment. "Because it's home?"

"You could have a far more interesting life." This time he met my gaze. "You could be around people. You wouldn't be cooped up in an old bunker. You wouldn't have to ration your own food and craft everything you need. Yet you stay here...alone."

I gave a light scoff. "And go where?"

"Anywhere." With you.

I looked up at the brambles. "I wouldn't know how to survive or how to even start a life out there. Down here, I know what to do." It wasn't a genuine answer but it was the closest I could get to the truth without revealing it.

"I could help." One of his ears quirked sideways in a way that only happened when he was awkward or uncomfortable. "It's not nearly as hard as you may think."

I rolled over on my stomach. "Sounds like you're trying to convince me to run away."

His smile turned less awkward. "Maybe I am."

I smiled softly, then glanced at the moss. I rubbed my fingers across the earthy carpet, my mind spinning in all different directions. Then, without thinking, I asked, "What if you stayed?"

He seemed surprised. "I suppose...that's an option. Even if it is incredibly boring here."

"My apologies," I mocked, "I didn't realize I was so boring to you."

His chuckle was deep and I suddenly didn't want him to stop. "Now now, I didn't say you were boring, did I?"

"No," I answered, flipping over on my back again, "Just the way I've lived for the past twenty-two years. And mind you that you're the one who barged into my home uninvited." An air of silence hung between us and I feared I had insulted him.

I didn't hear him move.

One moment he was sitting against the stone wall and the next he was leaning over me, one hand on the other side to keep him propped up. His red eyes glowed in the dim shade his hair had created, curtaining down the side of his face in an unruly—but attractive—way.

My breath grew shallow. "What?"

I flinched when his fingers brushed my cheek. "You've spent so much of your life hiding away," his voice was as gentle as the thumb rubbing the top of my cheek, "Building walls and strapping spears on them so no one could get close." His fingers crossed over my eyes to brush aside a loose strand of hair. "Would you ever allow anyone to get close?"

My hands fisted my shirt as I shook my head mutely.

He shifted closer so our hips were touching. His eyes roamed my face, taking in every curve and imperfection.

"Would you let me?" he whispered.

I nodded.

The edges of his smile lifted, and he moved so he was resting his forearm just above my shoulder, leaving nothing but an inch of space between our chests. I could feel his breath on my cheeks.

"I could take you with me."

My heart skipped a beat. "I...I have to stay here."

His fingers traced my eyebrow. "Then perhaps you could take a vacation." He traced the other eyebrow. "I could show you the world. And bring you back before curfew."

My throat felt dry as I swallowed. "I...don't have a curfew."

He trailed down the bridge of my nose. "All the better."

His fingers reached my lips. They parted slightly at his touch and he ran the pad of his finger across the soft skin. He did the same with my bottom lip, eyes flickering up to mine to read my expression.

The heat in my cheeks was nearly as hot as the fire. I curled my toes and squeezed my shirt until my entire hand turned bright white.

He leaned closer, our chests finally touching and making it even harder to breathe. His eyes were so pretty—pretty like a red ruby; a jewel; a rare prize. He radiated heat all over, from his chest to his breath, and my body eagerly sucked it in. Could he hear my heartbeat? Or was that his?

"May I?" he murmured. I barely nodded, as if fearing he would suddenly draw away if I moved too much. I didn't even know what exactly I was agreeing to but it felt right.

He finally closed the last of the distance and, with infinite care, pressed his lips to mine. The kiss was soft, like nothing I expected, and my senses were flooded with the taste of smoke and cinnamon. His lips were just as soft and perfectly big, wrapping me in a warmth that seeped into my lungs and down my legs.

When he pulled away, he rested his head on my forehead. Our eyes met again. I tried to keep my breathing under control but it just sounded like I had been running for hours. My hands hurt from my holding my shirt so tight.

"Am I convincing enough?" he asked softly, humoring seeping through his words.

I pressed my lips in a tight line and swallowed on nothing. My voice wavered as I said, "You...you really have this self-confidence thing down, don't you?"

He lifted his head and it felt like he was pulling my soul with him. "It served me well, did it not?"

Before I could answer him, the fire singed from the pot boiling over. I scrambled under his arm and removed the pot from the fire, grateful to have something to do. I put it on the stone next to the fire so it didn't burn the soft moss.

"I'll get us bowls," I tripped over my own words as I hurried into the bunker. I pulled the heavy door open and slipped inside. I grabbed two bowls but had to put them on the counter before I practically collapsed on the ground, arms wrapping around my legs and pressing my mouth into my knees.

I couldn't breathe, the pounding of my heart shook my body with every beat, and my lips burned. I bit down on the fabric of my pants as I struggled to understand if I was excited or afraid of what just happened.

Chapter Text

Alastor sat stiffly on the couch, long hooves tapping the old carpet while his fingers played with the string he found in the couch the other day. Rain pelted the forest above but little of it reached the alcove thanks to the trees and brambles protecting this hidden secret. You had barely completed your chores before the rain forced you inside for the remainder of the day.

The normally self-assured mage was at a complete loss at how to proceed. He stole glances at you from where you sat on the opposite end of the couch. Since the kiss you'd shared the night before, you had grown quiet and reserved again. You hadn't pulled away, not exactly, but you weren't leaning into him or striking up a conversation like you usually did. It unnerved him more than he wanted to admit.

He tied the string around one of his fingers until it cut off circulation. He shouldn't have kissed you. He was going to leave soon and trying to involve himself with a woman so cut off from the rest of the world, so far away from his home, and an Archivist no less, was not exactly the most ideal candidate for his affections. To be frank, he didn't know he even had it in him.

But then...

What if he convinced you to come with him? What if he convinced you to join him at Pentagram City? What if he convinced you to share the books with him? If you were as invested in him as he expected, would you be willing to bend your oath?

The idea was outlandish, he knew that, but still crossed his mind. Archivists were well known to be unbreakable. There wasn't a single known Archivist to have given in and shared their books or knowledge. They either burned the books, were killed in interrogations, or committed suicide before anyone could question them.

Alastor knew you had resilience. That much was obvious given that you continued to live alone for five years after the passing of your grandmother and mother, even if it was painfully obvious that you were lonely. Could he entice you out of your little cave and into a world full of colors and excitement?

Then there was the matter of...him.

How often had you used the old crank radio? Did you listen to his broadcasts? Did you know who the Radio Demon was? Even if you didn't know who he was, what would happen when you did find out? Would you seal yourself off forever, falling back on that stupid oath on default? You already had a tendency to lock down when something...tense happened.

He uncoiled the string from his finger then roughly raked his fingers through his hair. Serves him right for being interested in an Archivist of all people. He had only met one other Archivist in his life and the man shouted his oath on repeat until his dying breath.

Granted, Alastor's meeting with the Archivist had been thirty-seconds at best but it was plenty for him to want to know more about this hidden group. He knew he would meet at least one more on his conquest, but developing...feelings was something he hadn't planned for.

He stole more glances your way. You were sitting on the other edge of the couch, your legs tucked up neatly, as you sketched away at the kitchen scene before you. Your shoulders were visibly tense and it was usually you who wouldn't stop staring, not him.

He let out a sigh and dropped his head against the back of the couch cushion, a hand coming up to rest on his stitches. Even though it was boring, this life style was a sanctuary he hadn't been expecting. Perhaps, until he could find a way to communicate with his team, he could enjoy this a little bit longer.

He lifted his head and gently called your name. You gave a hum in response, eyes not moving from your sketch. He dug his heel into the carpet. "You seem...distracted."

~*~

"I'm not," I mumbled. I continued to shade in an area on the floor, accidentally darkening it too much as my attention split.

"You've been...quiet."

I shrugged. "Probably the rain. I'm not a fan."

I heard him shift on the couch and spared a glance his way. He was watching me closely, those beautiful crimson eyes weighing on me with an intensity I wasn't prepared for. I looked back to my sketch.

"I don't often find myself at a loss for words but..." He pulled at the collar of his shirt like it had just shrunk a size. "I must admit you seem to render me speechless at times."

"Your humor says otherwise." It was meant to be a jibe but it failed...miserably.

"My dear..." his tone grew more serious. "I can't help but wonder...did I overstep?"

My hand stilled over the drawing. My heart started to race as the silence grew, the intensity with it. I wanted to look but not at the same time. I had been hoping he wouldn't bring up yesterday but that had been a far-fetched hope. All he ever did was talk.

"No."

I went back to sketching. I continuously glanced in his direction, as if worried he might move too quickly for me to react to something. I could tell he had a quick temper from our previous exchanges and I had to remind myself that I barely knew him. I knew what he was like in the given circumstances, but I didn't know him.

"Then...what is it?" he ventured.

Of course he put it back on me. I drew the same line repeatedly as I brewed over how to respond to a question like that. How was I supposed to answer a question that I didn't even know the answer to myself?

"It's nothing," I mumbled. I could never explain the inner turmoil I was facing.

"Perhaps I misread the room," he said with a sigh. "It hadn't been my intention to make you uncomfortable."

"No...you're fine." Pencil in hand, I dropped my forehead into my palm. "I'm not...it wasn't...uncomfortable."

"Would you prefer it if I...didn't do it again?"

"No. I wouldn't." My face grew impossibly warm as I went back to my sketch. My knees were starting to ache from keeping them bent so high and tight. My fingers, too, from clutching the pencil so hard.

The silence continued to drone on, the faint sound of rain drenching the forest above. The lines in my sketch were starting to blur and my head throbbed softly from the adrenaline rush still running through my veins.

Al shifted to lay down and dropped his feet directly in my lap. My glare met his smirk. "What are you doing?"

"Getting comfortable," he articulated. "That way at least one of us is."

My mouth opened and closed twice, words failing me until I shoved his hooves off, only for them to return a moment later. "Absolutely not. You're just at fault."

"Then relax a tad, my dear." He fluttered his fingers and a gentle breeze pushed against my shoulders in an effort to push me back into the couch cushion.

"It's a tad hard to when you're a footrest." I tried pushing his feet off again but they suddenly wrapped around my waist and gave a quick pull to dislodge me from the armrest. "You're impossible." I dropped my sketchbook on the table then attempted to pry his feet off once more. He locked his ankles on the other side of me.

"Oh come now, I'm the one whose injured. Surely you wouldn't begrudge me this small comfort." He placed a hand on his chest and feigned an innocent smile that made me want to do nothing but stare at him for hours.

"Perhaps I would if you actually took care of your hooves." I wiggled the footclaw by the tip of its point. I smoothed my thumb down the inner edge until I reached the furry spot between the hooves. "These things look like they haven't been--"

He jerked his leg sharply and let out a choked, undignified snort. Our eyes widened at each other, mouths slightly agape while his leg hovered in the air between us. It lasted only a moment before realization hit me.

It was my turn to smile mischievously. "You're ticklish."

"I'm not." He sat up and tried to pull his other leg free but I leaned back into the cushion and grabbed his ankle, effectively pinning it behind me.

My grin grew wider. "You totally are." With the leg still trapped behind my back, I reached down and lightly gripped the bottom of his foot. The reaction was immediate and glorifying. He cursed my name with a barely contained laugh. The break in his usual calm, composed, and prideful demeanor melted all the tension away in an instant.

"Stop that!" he cried through another burst of laughter. He gave a harsh pull of his leg, dragging me with it until I was within reaching distance. I let go and sprang off the couch but he was faster, arms grabbing my waist and pulling me back down so my back was against his healing chest. "You don't know what you started, my dear."

His fingers moved along my sides and under my arms as I burst into laughter and tried to pull away. It took one arm on my waist to keep me trapped to him while the other moved around my flailing arms.

"Al no! I can't--stop! Al! I don't...I don't wanna hurt you!" I finally grabbed hold of his wrist but he was unnaturally strong, still reaching under my arms and pulling more fits of laughter. I could hear softer laughs behind me as I failed to free myself. "Okay okay! I give up! Please!"

At once he relented. I scrambled to the other end of the couch, giggles trailing off as I tried to catch my breath. Al bore his smug smirk as he, too, took a moment to breathe. A red tipped hand splayed over his chest as he did.

"Are you okay?" I asked, my own smile still pinching my cheeks.

"Let that be a lesson to you," he said instead, "Not to mess with me again."

I laid down to mirror him and draped my feet over his legs. "You're in my home. You should be lucky I tolerate you."

He shifted lower and extended his ridiculously long legs to rest by my shoulders, warily watching my hands in case I were to test him again. "Ah, and tolerate me you do."

{|}

"You're being awfully cryptic tonight," Al said. The forest was quiet save for the gentle gust of wind through the trees and the crunch of sticks and leaves under their feet. Never did he go anywhere without his boots but since his arrival at your bunker, he had yet to actually put them back on. The soft earth felt too good under his hooves.

"It's called a surprise," you replied, hand gripping his and dragging him through the trees with his blindfold still on.

"It feels more like you're testing my endurance." The tips of his hooves grazed over a rock. You were surprisingly upbeat and chipper since the tickling match the day before. It was refreshing.

"You'll see."

"That's hardly an answer."

"It's the only one you're gonna get."

He furrowed his eyebrows but didn't venture further. Instead, he let you guide him through the forest in a twisted pathway that left him more disoriented than when he first left the alcove. He wasn't sure if that was done on purpose or by accident from the sporadicalness of your nature.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, his blindfold was removed. They stood before one of the old buildings that surrounded the forest, towering several flights overhead. The stone was chipping and cracking away but the vines and other natural elements seemed to be gluing everything together.

"You know I've seen one of these before, right my dear?" he teased.

"Save your breath. You're gonna need it." Without another word, you disappeared into the dark entrance of the building. He let out a sigh with a shake of his head but followed.

A single lantern in your hand led the way up the broken stairs. He was slower, thanks to his injury, and he felt a trickle of magic from the floor above before he clambered up. When there weren't any stairs, thick vines and brambles took their place.

You had magic.

Little, by the feel of it against his own magic, but magic nonetheless. You were just one big puzzle piece he enjoyed putting together.

Eventually they reached the roof. His hair was sticking to his forehead with sweat and he welcomed the cool gust of wind. He barely had time to catch his breath before it was promptly taken from him again as you blew out the lantern, revealing a sea of stars before his very eyes. He lost his balance on his knees but continued to stare up at the night sky.

He had seen this same sky before but it somehow felt different this time. It expanded well beyond everywhere he looked, blanketing him in its navy pastel canvas. The stars felt so close yet so distant. Perhaps he had hit his head a little too hard on his fall into your alcove.

Your giggle broke the trance as you laid down, hands behind your head. He joined you, situating himself so there was barely an inch between your shoulders.

"I didn't take you for the stargazing type," he commented.

"I used to come here all the time as a teenager," you said softly, almost wistfully, "It was the one thing I could count on. Even if there were clouds, I still knew the stars were shining behind it, just waiting to break through." You extended a hand into the sky and pinched the air, like you were trying to pluck one of the crisp stars from its spot.

He turned his head to look at you, his chest welling with something he couldn't quite place. "I didn't think there was much to...be concerned about in your life."

You were quiet for a moment and he mentally berated himself for the comment. His scolding was silenced when you spoke up, "No, but there's always something to stress yourself out with. My mother and grandmother didn't always see eye to eye, and neither did my mother and I. Once my grandmother died...things were really tense between us."

A moment passed while Alastor tried to think of what to say next. "And you brought me all the way up here because...?"

You shrugged. "I thought you might like it. You don't seem like the stargazing type, either." You turned to look at him too, now realizing how close his face was to yours. He could've sworn he saw a blush in the starlight. "But...also because I wanted to share it with someone."

His fingers twitched, then reached out to carefully, uncertainly, rest over yours. He watched a smile creep across your face and he took that as a green light, covering your entire hand and threading his fingers with yours. "Beautiful..." he murmured.

A soft giggle. "Me or the stars?"

"You."

He lifted your hand to press a gentle kiss to the back of it, deep crimson eyes never once leaving yours. It made your smile grow and your curled towards him on your side. "That wasn't very subtle of you."

"I wasn't trying to be." His smile mirrored yours as he lowered your clasped hands on his chest. You shifted closer so your shoulder was finally touching his, warmth seeping through your bones and up to your cheeks.

~*~

As the minutes stretched, the silence grew heavier, but not uncomfortably. The wind whistled softly up here and the stars shone down on us. It was a peace I had never known. It was a peace I didn't want to let go. It was a peace I was so afraid of losing.

I had grown used to letting things happen to me. I had grown used to going with the flow, of doing what I was told. I had grown used to so much in my plain, simple life. For once, I didn't want to let something just happen.

I pulled my fingers out of his grip, earning a worried look from Al as he let me pull away. I shifted and propped myself up on my elbow so I was leaning partly over him, just as he had done to me the other day. His smile, though slightly wary, grew as I laid a gentle hand on his stitched chest. His other hand came to rest on my lower back.

"Do you ever wonder what's out there?" Al asked, a slight shake in his tone. His hand covered mine that was covering his stitches.

"Sometimes."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Well, a lot," I corrected. "I used to imagine what it would be like to escape. To leave everything behind and be...whoever."

His fingers trailed up my arm softly, raising goosebumps in his wake. They touched my shoulder then tucked my hair behind my ear, giving way for him to rest his palm against my cheek. His smile was sweet and wide enough that one of his canine teeth poked through his lips.

"But...lately," I went on, voice softer now as I leaned closer, "I find myself appreciating what's right in front of me."

His fingers on my cheek and back tightened just a smidge, but I had been anticipating a reaction and noticed. My hand fell off his chest to hold myself up on the other side of him, replicating the exact stance he had pulled with me.

"Do you, Al?"

He didn't answer right away, eyes drinking in every inch of my features in the darkness. One of his red ears twitched again. It brushed against the stone and made me giggle softly. It seemed to help him find his words. "There's many things I don't appreciate. However...I think you've shown me a new kind of appreciation for things."

I leaned closer. "That's good."

His eyes reflected the starlight, making it appear as if the universe was looking back at me. In that moment, he was my universe.

His lips parted to say something but nothing came out. He tried twice more with the same results. His star-filled eyes continued to look at me, searching and vulnerable. It was a look I had never seen on anyone, least of all him. We may not know each other's past, but somehow it still felt like we knew everything. It felt raw and soul-deep; a mutual understanding that the stars were aligning just for us.

Before I could think better of it, I leaned down to kiss him. It was just as gentle as the first, and even a little shaky. His hand moved to the back of my head and his other one pressed into my back.

The stars and the universe faded to the back of my mind. There was only him. The strength of his arm, the beating of his heart, and the warmth of his lips.

I pulled away. Not very far—just enough that the tips of our noses brushed against each other's. His eyes fluttered open, reflecting the stars once more and the outline of my silhouette. There was only me. Nothing else had his attention, not even the gorgeous sprawl of stars behind me.

The press on my back pulled me in. Heavy breaths filled my lungs as the intensity grew in a split second. His arm climbed the rest of the way so it hooked on my shoulder, keeping me pinned against his mostly healed chest. I hooked my foot around both his knees to bring him closer as my lips burned against his.

His breath fanned my upper lip through the kiss but I had yet to take another breath. I had to push against his grip until he let go, cheeks flushed and lips glistening in the blue light. "Breathe through it," he instructed, pulling me back down before I could catch my breath.

His tongue gently touched my lips before slipping inside. I stilled at the new sensation but he was quick to keep going, dousing me in scents of leather, smoke, and cinnamon. Breathing deeply, I gave in to temptation.

My hand threaded through his hair, and I slowly reached up for his ears as his fingers dragged all over my back. I touched the base of his ears and his hand fisted my hair, making me whimper from the sting.

Almost instantly he moaned and the vibrations ran down my throat and in my chest. I returned the moan, one hand gripping his ear that was unnaturally soft. He'd never let me touch them.

He moved down my spine and grabbed my ass. I yelped, momentarily breaking the kiss, but he was quick to lure me back with a guiding hand on the back of my head. Our bodies shifted against one another and hands gripped at clothes like we starved for touch. We were.

Then it happened.

A soft ruffling broke the stillness. I pulled away sharply, leaving Al to stare wide-eyed at the new display above him, breath uneven. A pair of delicate, white tipped feathers shimmered in the dim light, the stars licking the edges of my wings in a soft glow.

"No! I'm sorry!" My hands struggled to keep my shirt over my chest while the other tried to shove them back into the tattoo on my back. They weren't listening!

"Don't." The softness of his tone made me freeze, and I glanced over to see him sitting up. His eyes jumped between my face and the wings I was failing to hide behind my smaller frame. "Don't hide them."

My wings had pulled my shirt up and I covered my slightly exposed chest with both arms. Al shifted closer. "I-I'm sorry," I apologized again, leaning back on my heels as he drew nearer. "They—it sometimes happens when I'm...overwhelmed." I bowed my head as embarrassment bled through like an open wound.

"Overwhelmed, huh?"

My glare was half-hearted at best. "Don't start."

He chuckled but his eyes were drawn back to the still visible wings. Tentatively, he reached out. "May I?"

My wings stuttered as I drew them back to their normal position, directly in front of him. His dark fingers brushed one of the feathers, eyes lighting up in awe. "They're...gorgeous."

"You're not upset?"

His red glazed flickered to me. "Why would I be upset?"

"That I...didn't tell you about them?"

His smile softened but his eyes remained on the feathery veil. "There is a lot that we aren't telling each other." His fingers reached further up to touch the lean muscle that carried the feathers. I flinched and he retracted his hand, then slowly reached again. His fingers moved along the soft muscle and sent a funny feeling down my spine.

When was the last time someone had touched my wings?

A chill ran through my body when he moved closer to my back. His stupid smirk returned, though not as intense as it usually was. "Sensitive, hm?"

"Okay, you don't get to touch anymore." I pulled my wings out of reach and turned to face him completely. He chuckled and crossed his legs in front of me, red tipped hooves grazing the old concrete.

"You're really something, you know," he said sweetly. He rested his chin on his hand and just...looked at me.

~*~

Alastor watched the way your wings curled inward and successfully hid you behind a blanket of brown and white feathers. "Are you hiding from me?" He shifted closer, yet again, until his knees touched the feathers.

"No," you mumbled.

Was that a...tail he saw behind you?

He reached through the soft wall and found your knees. His fingers moved lightly up and down your thighs, finally able to feel the strong muscles you had built from your lifestyle. Your wings shuttered at his touch.

"They're very expressive," he said with a gentle squeeze on your thighs.

"So are your ears."

As if on cue, they both flicked. They twisted backwards as he grumbled. He rarely gave them much thought since they rarely did anything other than stand up straight, but then again, you elicited a lot of different things in him.

He graced over the comment. "You don't need to be shy, my dear."

"I'm not shy," you said as if you weren't still hiding behind a veil of feathers. He found your arms and moved down to grasp a hand, gently pulling it out of the feathery cave and placing a kiss on your knuckles. Your wings fluttered again.

He gripped both your thighs and gave a quick, sharp pull towards him. Your wings sprung open in an attempt to keep your balance and he moved quickly, snaking his arms under your legs and pulling you to sit on his lap. Your feet crossed behind him while your arms latched onto his shoulders, his hand pressing into your back—in between the joints of your wings—to bring you closer.

His tail wagged softly as he coerced you even closer, finally able to feel your slightly exposed chest against his. He briefly closed his eyes as he rubbed the tip of his nose against yours.

He wasn't thinking. He was acting. He wasn't strategizing. He was running with the wind. He wasn't floating. He was falling deeper and deeper in those beautiful eyes, sweet scent, and soft skin. He was falling deeper in a place he never believed was possible.

I'm done for, was all he could think as he kissed you.

His hands moved along your bare back and gripped the base of your wings. It made your whole body shudder, wings ruffling behind him and encasing both bodies in a protective, feathery circle. Perhaps, just for once in his life, he could indulge in something without thinking it through.

He hungrily ate your every moan, shiver, whine, and heated breath. He held you tight, afraid to lose you, afraid that you would suddenly disappear. His fingers tangled in your hair as his tongue slipped into your scalding mouth. You were warm. You were calm. You were strong. You were steadfast. You were everything he wanted.

He sucked in a breath through his nose, a slow, deep breath to draw in your earthy scent. It was as if he had known that scent all his life. It was as if he had known you his whole life.

Your fingers clasped behind his head while your legs held onto him, pulling you even closer than you already were. But it wasn't enough. He wanted to lose himself in the starlight of your eyes, in the glow of your wings, in the warmth of your kiss, and in the gentleness of your touch.

Nothing could pull him from this moment. Not the way his stitches constricted, not the way his pants felt a size too small, not the way your teeth clanged frequently against his, and not the way you gripped his ear a little too hard. You were all he wanted.

In the distant future, he knew the nature of things would make it rough, but this time—this time—he would actually fight for something he truly wanted.

Little did he know how much of a fight he would actually have to face.

{|}

Next update: Wednesday @9:00am EST

Chapter Text

"Stop it." I smacked Al's hand away from his arm.

"It itches," he hissed. He went to itch it again but I caught it in a tight grip.

"Suck it up or it's going to itch more."

His ears turned away in response as he stuffed down a growl. I released his hand and went back to the kitchen sink. I had an itch cream but it had been difficult to get it underneath his fur, so there had been a few places I missed. We had fallen asleep under the stars and woke with an array of mosquito bites.

I soaked a towel in water and draped it over the handle of the kettle. After it had warmed enough, I wrapped it around the arm he was still itching and told him to lay down. I then left him alone as I went out to continue my long list of chores.

I made my way to the little creak that ran along the edges of the oasis. I scavenged for berries and other herbs to store for later use. It was one of the most mind-numbing and time-consuming chore, and it was also the one that took me furthest away from my alcove.

However, I could no longer contain myself. I dropped the old basket and sprouted my wings. My claws dug into the nearest tree as I climbed up and jumped through the branches. My wings were slightly open to help me glide from tree to tree. I laughed like a kid, even when I missed a branch or two and smacked my face into a trunk.

I hung my legs on a branch and swung upside down, stretching my arms and wings as far as I could. My own laughing was contagious. When was the last time I felt this way? When was the last time I felt happy? The last time I felt hopeful?

Would he actually take me to see the outside world? Where did he live? How far was it? Would he actually want to come back after he's been back in his own, familiar world?

The thought sobered me. I shouldn't get too hopeful. He could already have a partner or someone he's interested in. He could be saying all these things and not actually follow through. I wouldn't be surprised if he got caught up in the outside world and completely forgot about me.

I grabbed the branch and unhooked my legs, but froze when something caught my eye. I lowered myself to the ground and peered through the tangle of roots, catching a glint of something red. Using magic, I pulled the branches away to find a strange, metal, teardrop thing. I turned it over, noting the metal rod that was bent at a 90 degree angle, and found a microphone sitting in the dip of the teardrop.

Was this his staff?

It hadn't gotten taken by the White Angels?

Something about this staff made the hairs on my arm stand up. I could feel the magic from this simple tool, magic that tasted oddly like Al. I didn't even know magic had a taste until that moment. There were faint lines along the teardrop shell, strange markings and symbols that represented him—his power, his life out there, his magic, and the truth I didn't want to face.

I idly walked back with the damaged cane and old basket in hand. What would happen if I gave him the staff? If he needed it to get home, would he up and leave me without a word? Would he take back his promise on showing me the world? Technically he didn't even promise that to me. But...it went against my moral code to keep something, with obvious importance, a secret.

Had our time finally come to an end?

I found myself back at the alcove sooner than I wanted. I raked my hand down my face, mentally braced, and slid through the bramble. I found Al messing with the string again. When he turned to look at me, his eyes immediately went to the staff in my hands. He went eerily still. Then abruptly stood up.

"You found it." He crossed the room slowly, gaze zoned in on the staff.

"It was—uh...stuck in some roots." Head lowered, I extended my arm. "Sorry that it's broken."

"Nothing a little magic can't fix." His claws wrapped around the metal and, when I let go of it, his other hand grabbed my hand before I could pull away. It wasn't a tight grip but a tense hold I wasn't expecting. He leaned down in my ear and said softly, "Thank you."

He removed the cane, and his grip, and I wrapped my arms around myself. "G-glad I could help."

He looked me over for a moment. "Is something the matter?"

"'Course not." I quickly slipped out of the bunker.

~*~

Alastor sat on the worn couch, the staff resting on his lap. His fingers traced the carvings on the back of it, as though reacquainting himself with a piece of his soul. Despite the damage, it bled magic into Alastor's veins and reinforced the amount he had been born with. It made his leg tap with a funny feeling of adrenaline.

Even so, he felt the gravity of his situation fall upon his shoulders. The quiet was too quiet. The shadows too dark and closing in. He had expected this moment to happen but he hadn't expected it so soon, but he knew he was only fooling with himself.

He dropped his cane on the table then buried his face in his hands. All he could think about was the look on your face—the forced smile and the flicker of pain behind your eyes. You had tried so hard to mask it and push him away, for his sake or your own he had no idea.

His staff glared back at him, a reminder of his life outside this sanctuary and of his responsibilities he'd been neglecting. He could only imagine what his district must be like if they learned of his sudden disappearance. Perhaps Vox finally made his move to step into Alastor's role, but even he knew that was entirely impossible. His mages—while they didn't exactly like Alastor all the time—would never accept a non-mage. If anything, Zestial was the one who took over.

His magic pulsed. He closed his eyes and reached out, his heightened magic seeping through the cracks and invisible wavelengths to where you sat crouched in the alcove. Crying. Wings wrapped tightly around yourself.

He opened his eyes to the red staff. For all his power, all his cunning, and all his control...he was utterly powerless in this moment. You had pulled him out of his element in every way and it reminded him why he had spent so many years crafting and chiseling himself into who he was—he never wanted to feel this way again.

And yet...here he was.

Another ripple through his magic. He ran his hands through his hair, pulled on it, then finally stood. He yanked the heavy door open and stepped into the afternoon light. Birds chirped overhead as a breeze flowed through the trees and bramble protecting the sanctuary.

You recoiled your wings back to their spot on your back and turned your head away, arms holding your knees to your chest. He silently sat beside you, making sure to keep enough space. His long legs stretched out in front of him as he leaned back against the stone. He had hoped he would come up with something to say by the time he sat down. But he hadn't. He was at a loss for words.

You sniffled softly. "I guess this means you're leaving soon."

He clasped his hands together so he didn't risk touching you. "Think me eager to leave your charming company so quickly?"

You shrugged, refusing to turn your head in his direction. "You have your staff back. You've got...some mission or job to do back home. I just figured..."

"That I'd forget all about you the moment I left?" he finished.

You didn't reply immediately. You wiped your eyes with your sleeve then turned your head to stare straight ahead. "The world is full of temptations. It's easy to get lost."

The words sounded like a recitation. Was it something you'd been told as you were growing up? That the world is full of dangerous temptations that could distract an Archivist—that could pull them away from their work? Could some of the world's long lost Archivists have given up their way of life in exchange for a blissful world of temptations?

"Well...the temptations become far less inviting the longer you live with them." He was hurting his hands with how hard he was gripping them. He wanted to touch you, to provide some sort of comfort. The him before your sanctuary would've been appalled at him now. "But yes...the world doesn't stop turning even if I've found a temporary reprieve here."

You winced at the word temporary and more tears started to build. You turned your head away again, sending more ripples through his magic.

Blast this magic. It was trying to adapt to his new mindset and it wasn't a smooth transition.

"I'm sure your...team or whatever will be happy to know you're not dead."

"Not yet."

Your body froze, then you wiped your head around, finally meeting his gaze with those beautiful eyes, albeit a little red and swollen from crying.

"I'll stay one more day," he continued, fingers finally unlocking and settling on the grass between you. "Perhaps two. I'd hate to leave you without properly overstaying my welcome."

Finally a crack of a smile on your lips. You shifted closer, accepting the arm that wrapped around your back and guided your head to lean on his shoulder. You took in a slow, deep breath of his natural scent and he did the same, soaking in that earthy scent like the day after a spring storm.

This is going to be painful.

Luckily for Alastor, he was accustomed to pain.

{|}

Alastor let two more days pass before he accepted reality.

It was time to return to the world.

He had been gone for...two weeks? Three weeks?

He waited for you to leave for a chore, giving it two minutes to ensure you weren't coming back for anything. Then he sat up, grabbed his staff, and cranked the radio on your counter. He cracked his neck then brought the wounded staff up to his mouth. He tuned the frequencies to him and his voice fizzled through.

"Good afternoon, my dear listeners! It is said that even the mightiest can fall. That the wind may tear them down, that the earth may swallow them whole, or that their enemies might, by some stroke of luck, strike them down. But legends—true legends—don't fall so easily."

He glanced over his shoulder to ensure you hadn't opened the door.

"And I've heard the rumors. I've heard the whispers in dark alleys, in the busy markets, and in hurried prayers that I may have met my demise. I would find it rather aggravating if I didn't find it so amusing. You had hoped, maybe even believed, that the storm had passed and you could continue your broken ways of living off scraps. But here my voice now—" he was really starting to get into it, "as I assure you that I remain unshaken, unbroken, and...unkillable."

He hoped Husker was listening to the radio by this point. "I have gone to the edge of the world and returned, standing before you very much alive and whole. A beacon in these dark times. For who else possesses the capability of guiding you through the chaos and uncertainty? Who else can bear the weight of Humanity's future? Of your future?"

Please get my hints, Husker. He couldn't imagine the hint passed over the feline's head. He was an alcoholic but he wasn't incompetent.

"Let this be a reminder to those who dared to raise a hand against me, to those who posses the stupidity to even consider such a notion, that their act of foolishness was just that. Foolish. I'm still here. I'm still alive. And I will remain here while there's breath in my lungs and magic in my veins."

He cleared his throat away from the microphone and changed his tone. "Now, to my faithful...worry not. I am closer than you think and watching over you as I always have. The winds have carried me to great heights and the ground beneath my feet is unfamiliar but not untamable. Trust your instincts, follow the trail of the stars to Orion's Belt and you will find me.

"This is Alastor, the Radio Demon, reminding you all that there is no hope for the future without me. Sleep well...if you can." The frequency jittered then went to white noise. He lowered the volume and let out a huge sigh of relief.

That had felt good.

"You're him."

His heart dropped and he whirled around to find you at the entrance. Your face was pale and your eyes as wide as he'd ever seen them. Why hadn't he heard you walk in?

He didn't know how to answer. You had caught him. Plain and simple. His secret was out.

~*~

"I should've known," I whispered. Al was short for Alastor. The microphone on his cane was how he tuned into the radio. The complete silence from the Radio Demon for the past three weeks while Al was here. And his voice? How did I not recognize it?

"My dear, I had planned to tell you but I—"

"You needed to tell everyone that you were unshaken, unbroken, and unkillable?"

His rubbed his fingers together. "You weren't meant to hear that. It wasn't...it was about ensuring the world knows I'm still here to keep everything in control."

"Control? You talk about guiding people through the chaos but all I hear are lies. You're not a guide. You're a conquerer." I spat the word like a bad taste in my mouth. It was.

His chest swelled with upset. "You think it's easy, what I've done? What I'm still trying to do? You think it's easy trying to keep this fragile world from descending into chaos and being devoured by their own stupidity? They don't know any better."

"And you think ruling with an iron fist—" I snapped back, "—ruling with fear as a mystic monster that everyone's too scared to defy, will save them? That's not living and that's certainly not saving Humanity."

"What would you know about saving Humanity? I've had to make sacrifices. Sacrifices that you could never understand while you sit upon a mountain of knowledge that could change everything. But you refuse to share it, giving out only slivers of that knowledge that you deem necessary for Humanity to know."

My blood ran cold.

"That's right. I know what you are. You're an Archivist." He put a hand behind his back as he crossed the room until he had backed me against the door. "A prideful legacy of manipulative hoarders who think they're higher than everyone else. All in the name of some ancient, outdated oath."

My anger returned just as fiercely, adrenaline putting aside that this was a dangerous man standing inches from me in my own home. "That outdated oath is what's keeping the last shred of Humanity safe from conquerers like you. You want to manipulate, you want to control, you want to use everything in that archive for your own gain. Not for the safety of Humanity but to secure your power above them. And I won't let that happen. I won't let you twist the past to fit your twisted future!"

"You," he jerked his head forward so I flinched back, "don't understand what's at stake. Those archives could save us from extinction but you're too stubborn to see that. You—"

"I'm keeping them so that we don't go extinct!" I interrupted. "Humanity had the Great Downfall for a reason. Those archives exist to keep us from going through another one." My hands were moving on account for my fear. Tears were rising.

"But Humanity will not know how to avoid it if you refuse to share that knowledge."

I stumbled over my words as my hands threaded through my hair. "That's not...where do you think all those pictures and articles about the Old World come from? They come from the Archivists. Our job is to share the proper knowledge so—"

"So you know better than the rest of Humanity?"

"I...well...I have all the information," I said more firmly, "and not even that because I'm not done translating everything."

He leaned back, looking down his nose at me and fang poking out of an evil smile. "You lecture me about taking control of Humanity because I know what's best for them, yet you stand here believing the same thing about yourself."

"It's different!"

"Enough of this." He turned his back and walked to the center of the bunker. "I don't need your permission. I'll do what needs to be done for Humanity's sake."

I let out a maniac laugh. "You think you can force me to give up my archive? My oath demands me to die before I give anything away to the wrong hands. And even if it didn't, I won't let you control me. I won't be your pawn, Alastor. I won't let you or anyone else use me to keep this twisted nightmare alive. I won't let you!"

There was silence as my voice reverberated off the walls. My chest heaved from the adrenaline rush, my heart racing with the anticipation of his next move. I was outmatched. I would not survive this if he chose to attack me.

His back was still turned to me, but his tone shifted as he said, "You're right. I don't control you. But you're sorely mistaken if you think you can stand against the tide alone. The world is bigger than you, my dear. One way or another, I will have my hands on those books."

"I should've let you die," I muttered.

~*~

His eyes widened and he slowly turned around.

"I should've let you bleed out," you went on. "I should've listened to my instincts and let you die alone. None of this would've ever happened and I would've spared Humanity from the Radio Demon."

His eyes narrowed and his shadow seemed to darken in the lantern light.

Your voice dropped, hands reaching up to hug yourself. "I should've known it was too good to be true. That someone...that someone would want to actually...want to be with me." Alastor's anger abated as quickly as it had surfaced. More softly you added, "I would've spared myself, too."

He didn't see an Archivist. He saw you. Scared, unsure, alone, and wanting someone to just spend time with you. It made his chest tighten uncomfortably.

He opened his mouth to say something but you beat him to it. "Well, you can stop the act now. You're no longer welcome here." His teeth ground together. "I'll take you to the edge of the forest where you'll wait for your people to find you."

"So that's it?" he growled. "You're going to pretend like nothing happened?"

"You tricked me!" you practically screamed. "You pretended this whole time just to get close to me so you could have access to my archive."

"And so did you!" he returned. "Keeping your true nature a secret."

"But you didn't tell me you were the Radio Demon."

He looked away. He had been the one to hide the most secrets, but none of them weighed as much as the single secret you held onto. He hadn't wanted this conversation to go this way. He had wanted to introduce it to you slowly, gradually. Instead, he had ruined it.

No.

The Archivists had ruined it. Them and their secrets and stupid oath. If it wasn't for that oath then you wouldn't be fighting him to such an extreme.

You dragged the door open and withdrew the ribbon from your pocket. "I will take you to the edge of the forest," you repeated.

He was the Radio Demon. He had the power to confine you to this small space. He had the power to twist your bones until they snapped. He had the power to see just how far you were willing to follow your oath.

And yet...he didn't.

{|}

My arms tensed before swinging the axe down. The log splintered in half straight down the middle. I wrenched the tool out of the stump and placed another log on it, repeating the process several times more.

It had been a few weeks since Alastor left and he still hadn't shown any signs of returning to light my forest aflame. Perhaps he was still preparing.

"It's protected. It's guarded. It's hidden. It will not be found unless they scowl the oasis with a team of a hundred."

My mother's words echoed in my mind day-in and day-out. Three times a day I flew to the highest building to check the horizon, sometimes even more if I was paranoid enough, but there was nothing I could do if I saw his ship. Eventually, he would find it.

I was wracked with guilt so intense it left me horribly sick. My chores were sloppy and I came down with a cold left and right. However, there was a small part of me that was grateful. I could meet my demise as I fought for my Archive, rather than feel guilt over committing suicide. It was a honorable death for an Archivist, and I could burn my archive before he returned so his victory would be hollow.

I pursed my lips. I could still remember the feeling of our last kiss. I could still remember the feeling of his fingers interlocked with mine. I could still remember the feeling of his arm wrapped around my waist, of his teasing remarks, of him squinting at the cards in an effort to read them, of the feeling of his hands touching my feathers and messaging the muscles of my armwing.

Most of all, I could remember the stark difference between Al and the Radio Demon.

"You're right. I don't control you. But if you're sorely mistaken if you think you can stand against the tide alone. The world is bigger than you, my dear. One way or another, I will have my hands on those books."

I held the axe behind my back and swung it with a scream. Birds flew out of the treetops as I fell to my knees, still screaming. My wings sprouted and flapped once to push me quickly to my feet.

"Fuck you!" I screamed into the open air, arms swinging at nothing. "Fuck you! How dare you trick me into thinking you cared about me. How dare you manipulate me!" I fell back on my knees and pounded my fists into the grass. I grabbed the nearest log and threw it at a nearby tree. "How fucking dare you!"

My screams suddenly turned into ugly sobs. I wrapped my arms around myself as I sunk to the ground and curled up. My body shook with every sob, eventually leading to vomiting what little breakfast I had forced myself to eat. Twice.

Tears streaming down my face and snot dripped out of my nose. I tilted my head back to look at the clear blue sky. My lips quivered as I mumbled, "Fuck you for abandoning me like everyone else."

I was alone all over again.

He had made me feel happy. He had made me forget about my grim destiny. He had made me enjoy the present. He had made me feel...not alone.

Then suddenly ripped that all away, leaving me feeling even more alone than when he first found me.

Chapter Text

Finally, I ditched the radio.

I listened to his broadcasts every night for weeks that followed his abrupt leave, anxiously waiting for him to mention me or my archive...but he never did. He continued his tyrants without a syllable about me. It stung as much as it was a relief. So, satisfied that he wasn't outing me to the rest of the world, I dropped the radio in one of the floor cabinets. 

I didn't need a reminder of him.

I grabbed the Old World textbook, and a lantern, and made my way into my archive. A small ladder was hidden directly underneath one of the floor cabinets and I had to use my teeth to hold onto the lantern as I climbed down the ladder. The archive itself was one big winding staircase. The shelves were indented into the walls, their labels long lost to time, as were the books gradually becoming. 

The archive used to run on electricity but that obviously went out well before my grandmother's time. Since there was no electricity to keep the books safe from dust, temperature changes, and bugs, it was even more crucial for an Archivist to translate the books onto fresher pages. It was a practice every Archivist was doing since the very beginning.

"That's right. I know what you are. You're an Archivist. A prideful legacy of manipulative hoarders who think they're above everyone else. All in the name of some ancient, outdated oath."

Al's—I mean Alastor's—words had poisoned my mind. I couldn't believe the man I had come to care for would say something like that. Though, I had known from the start that we didn't know everything about each other. It shouldn't surprise me, but it did anyways. 

It hurt above anything else. 

"That outdated oath is what's keeping the last shred of Humanity safe from conquerers like you. You want to manipulate, you want to control, you want to use everything in that archive for your own gain. Not for the safety of Humanity but to secure your power above them. And I won't let that happen. I won't let you twist the past to fit your twisted future!" 

I was proud of my own words, even if the truth still stung. He was Alastor, the Radio Demon. He wanted to use my archive for evil. He had made me believe, just like all his other listeners, in a brighter future, then took it all away in a matter of seconds.

I shook my head and shelved the old textbook, and its translation, into a slot. I scanned the surrounding books, mentally translating their titles in my head as I did, until I found one about medicine. I wasn't very fond of or skilled at translating science and medicine books, but I thought, perhaps, it would distract me from my sad reality. The growing weight on my chest was becoming too much.

Pinching the lantern between my teeth, I climbed back up. I put the cabinet back in place then settled at the coffee table. I took the new pristine sheets of paper and dipped my pen in the ink jar. I would need to buy more ink the next time I went to the community, and would need to bring something of equal value for trade. 

I sat cross legged as I worked, but my eyes continuously glanced up at the couch, as if expecting Al to be lounging there, his legs stretching too far over the armrest and his smug smile watching me as I worked. I could still picture his bright red hair against the dull, earthy colors of the bunker.

"Enough of this. I don't need your permission. I'll do what needs to be done for Humanity's sake."

How was it possible to fight for the same thing but in two vastly different ways? Guilt started to gnaw at me. Would things have been different if we had just talked? Could things have been fixed if we had just had a civil conversation? Instead, we threw insults at each other as if that would convince the other to heed our perspective. 

I dropped my head against the book. I wanted to apologize to him. I wanted to apologize, make up, and actually hug him. How come we never did that? We could kiss but never once hugged? Pathetic.

"I should've just slept with him," I muttered. A moment later, I snapped my head up and tried to squish my head between my hands. "No! Have the Radio Demon father an Archivist child?" I yelled at myself. "That's the stupidest thing you've come up with yet."

I attempted another page before completely giving up. The words weren't making any sense. I slammed the book shut (as much as I could without damaging it) and slid it under the chair. I took a fly out to my usual spot to look for an airship in the distance.

I saw none.

{|}

The sound of my bunker door opening was the stuff of nightmares.

I snatched my knife from under my pillow and jumped to the doorway of the bedroom. I peered around the corner as a bright flashlight searched the entire bunker. I pulled back just as it came near. It briefly lit up my entire room. My heart pounded in my ears, yet I could still make out the sound of multiple sets of footsteps walking around my home.

I raised my hand with the knife and waited, muscles coiled and ready to spring into action as soon as someone stepped close enough. Footsteps neared, as did the flashlight, and my room was lit up as if the sun itself were shining through. I bristled as the shuffling came closer and closer, finally revealing a set of cat ears. 

I swung. 

My knife hit a shoulder and the creature stumbled back with a cry. The lantern fell from his grasp and shattered on the ground. All lights snapped to me, temporarily blinding me, then scrambled closer. I yanked my knife from the cat and swung at the nearest figure. I swung and swung until I was able to run behind the counter.

Hands grabbed my hair but I blindly thrusted the knife over my shoulder. Their grip instantly disappeared and I dove between two shadows. I sprouted my wings in an instant, jamming them into the figures and sending them flying sideways. They crashed into shelves and shattered glass and wood. 

An arm wrapped around my neck and their hand stopped my blade from reaching their face. I furiously flapped my wings in hopes of slamming their back into a wall but they dropped their weight on me entirely, slamming my chest into the floor and pinning me to the ground. They grabbed my hand and banged my knuckles against the metal ground until my fingers dropped the knife. 

I threw my head up but there was no nose or mouth to hit. Pain stabbed my wings as something hooked onto them and dragged them backwards. A moment later, a rope squeezed my wings together. More hands grabbed at my hands and legs, trying to tie those together, too, but I wouldn't let them. I caught skin between my teeth and connected my foot with a face with a satisfying crack. 

The same arm hooked my neck and squeezed too tight. It cut off my airflow and my vision darkened at a terrifying speed. I reached for their eyes but they pulled their head away, arm still clamped around my windpipe and bending my spine in the wrong direction. I dug my claws into their skin and pushed against the floor but it did nothing.

I was out.

A moment later, I came to, face down on the ground with my hands, feet, and wings bound tightly and uncomfortably behind my back. The room was as bright as day and the people in dark clothing tore apart my home. They weren't breaking anything on purpose—to my surprise—but they were aggressively searching for something.

Alastor. 

These were his people. He was back. This had to be his doing.

I shifted but a hand shoved my head down, cutting my cheek into the metal. A dark, unfamiliar voice breathed in my ear, "Where is the library?"

"What library?" I asked, knowing full well what he was asking.

"Your archive."

"I don't know what you're talk—" The man fisted my hair and slammed my face into the floor again.

"Listen Archivist," he hissed, "I ain't playin' no games. Where is your library?"

Tears fell down my face. "I won't tell you."

The voice came closer. "I don't think you want things to get ugly. We still gotta make things even between us after you hit my shoulder." He was the cat. No wander his fingers stung my scalp like they were claws.

The familiar words my grandmother had spoken—words she said over and over again—came to mind and I voiced them, "I'd rather die an Archivist than live as a traitor."

"We'll see about tha—"

"Found something," one of them called. They shoved the shelf aside to reveal a hidden door. The man abandoned his grip on my hair and walked over, white paws tapping on the floor. His red tipped tail swayed behind him as he hooked his claws on the indented handle. 

I shuffled and brought my legs around to sit up, wings pulling uncomfortably in their restraints. I looked around for a knife or something sharp to cut the ropes but nothing presented itself. One of the figures stepped beside me and gave a nasty, warning glare.

This is really happening. I'm going to die today. I found it was a strange mix of anticipation and dread. 

The hidden door opened to a forgotten bathroom, once able to run on electricity. They had found the decoy. And they weren't happy about it.

I was aggressively shoved back on the metal ground and whimpered as claws drew blood from grabbing my hair. They began pulling handfuls of feathers from my wings and I screamed. Their demands to reveal my archive fell on deaf ears.

They were a few handfuls in when someone called, "Husker?"

The blurry, white paws in my view shifted as the people behind me stopped their plucking. Everyone went quiet as the leader padded over to his teammate and looked over the lackey's shoulder. A moment later, I heard metal rattling from one of the floor cabinets and the pain from my wings instantly flew out of mind. 

No.

I thrashed. Bit. Screamed. Kicked. I did anything and everything, not caring for the pain it caused me. So many of them grabbed at my limbs and put all their weight onto my back, pushing me further and further into the ground. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't move. Tears streamed down my face, making it twice as hard to breath. 

A moment later, my nose and mouth were covered with a painfully strong scent. I tried not to breathe any of it in but it was too late. My muscles were giving up on me, my vision too. The last thing I could remember was the men getting off me as I watched them remove the cabinet from the floor and descend the ladder to my archive. 

{|}

The dull hum of large engines filled the room, vibrating the thin walls. My head pounded as I groggily rolled over, peeling my eyes open and trying to blink through the haziness of sleep. The sheets were unfamiliar and my stomach churned with every slight tilt of the airship. 

Airship. 

Realization hit me like an axe. I bolted upright and immediately regretting it as the room swam and my headache turned into a splitting migraine. My hands gripped the cold railing of the narrow bed I was on, my legs as heavy as lead when I attempted to swing them over the bed's edge. I couldn't tell if the ship was tilting or if it was my muddled perspective.

My knuckles turned white the harder I gripped the railing. My eyes searched the small room I was currently occupying: a simple wooden desk at the foot of the bed, a small stool tucked safely behind a metal bar underneath, a narrow closed-door closet beside it, and drawers built into the wooden base of the bed. There were no windows. A single door stood adjacent to the head of the bed. 

My feet finally woke and I pushed myself to shaky legs. One hand stayed on the railing while the other touched the opposing wall as I stumbled towards the door. I sprouted my wings to help keep my balance in the small room but they didn't come out! Dread creeped in my chest as my head cleared, finally able to process my terrifying, cold reality. 

Footsteps preceded the jiggle of the handle. I tripped over my feet and jammed my back into the wooden desk as the door creeped open, and Alastor stepped into the room. 

He wore a deep red coat that reached his knees, white embroidery and stripes at his chest lapels and the cuffs of his sleeves. He wore a very dark gray button up vest underneath the jacket, and his jet black pants had the same red stripe at the hem as the pants he had first met me in. His red tipped fingers clung to his cane, now perfect, smooth, sharp, and emanating a static of electricity. 

His hair was a much brighter red and in pristine condition; not a single hair out of place and sharply cut. A red monocle sat on his right cheek and his antlers had grown several sizes bigger than last time. They stretched as wide and as tall as his ears. He looked every bit the Radio Demon.

His smile...it wasn't friendly.

"Bastard," I hissed, pushing myself off the desk and using the wall to keep me upright. I had yet to feel steady and the pounding in my head wasn't helping.

His red eyes, which had once regarded me with a softness, now looked me up and down with scrutiny. "I see you've woken up in a delightful mood," he said. He stepped further in the room and closed the door behind him with a soft click. "I was hoping we could speak like two civilized adults."

"The hell did you do to my wings?" I demanded, not bothering to hide the animosity in my tone.

"Ah, you needn't worry." He placed his cane in front and rested both hands on top of it. "I've temporarily...concealed them."

"You what?" 

"I assure you it's only temporary. I had to ensure you wouldn't act rash and attempt to fly off the airship without your precious archive."

I took a step forward. "Where is it? Where is my archive?"

"Safe," he answered. "You have quite the collection so some are on this ship and some on another."

"You had no right!" I pressed a hand to my head when my yelling amplified my migraine. I widened my stance and leaned all my weight into the wall, tears threatening to close my throat. 

He lowered his tone and said more evenly, "I did this to protect you as much as Humanity. If you can stop behaving like a feral cat for five seconds, I can explain it to you."

I glared up at him through my fingers. "Don't condescend me."

He blinked at me, but made no comment on it and carried on to explain, "You are vital to what comes next. Your archive—your knowledge—could reshape humanity and save Pentagram City. Together, we can build something new and better than the chaos it's currently drowning in. We could build something extraordinary."

I let out a short, abrupt laugh. "You think I care about your city? The city that you steal people away to against their wills? The city that's just one big collection of unwilling communities that are scared into submission by the Radio Demon?" I shook my head softly, wincing at the pain it caused. "No. You took me from my home, you stole my archive, you....you...you made me trust you just to serve your sick vision. You violated me, Alastor." His name was a bad taste in my mouth.

He leaned his cane against the wall then took two steps closer. The smell of smoke and cinnamon reached my nose and I took a step back to lean against the desk. He followed, invading my personal space to breathe in my face. "And I will spend the rest of eternity making it up to you if I must. But you must understand, my dear, you are too important. Too important to be left in that bunker wasting away." 

He reached up to gently brush his thumb across my cheek where I had a cut from the scuffle. I watched him closely, my whole body tense but I didn't pull away. Softly, I said, "So I'm just a tool to you. Another piece in your puzzle."

His smile wavered slightly. "In some way, we all are. But to me, you are far more than just a piece. You just don't see it yet." He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and his eyes softened, as did his smile. I saw Al staring back at me, but then I caught my reflection in the red glass of his monocle. 

"Let me go home."

His smile turned sad and he finally stepped away, taking his warmth and smell of cinnamon with him. "I can't do that. But in time, you'll understand. I'll make this work. For both of us."

"You're delusional if you think I'm going to help you." I straightened up. My hand gripped the edge of the desk as I gave him a leveled glare. "Even if it wasn't in my oath, I would never help the man who betrayed me the way you did, let alone the man who the world fears."

He swung his cane behind his back and the Radio Demon sneered back at me. "You may not forgive me, but someday you'll thank me when the world sees you for what you truly are." He opened the door but, before leaving, he said over his shoulder, "I'll send someone down to help you dress appropriately." Then he closed the door behind him with a loud clunk of a lock. 

I stared at the door for several heartbeats, unable to move as a swirl of emotions filled me. Eventually I fell to my knees and curled up in a tight ball, hot tears soaking my clothes and making my head hurt worse. It felt as if my entire lineage of ancestors were standing in the room, staring down at me with disapproving stares. 

No. I glared up at the empty space. This wasn't over, not by a long shot. I was an Archivist. Alastor thought this was going to be easy because of our shared time in my bunker but he was wrong—so very wrong. If he made me regret ever saving his life, I was going to make him regret it too. 

{|}

I spent three more days trapped in that tiny room on the airship. A woman had come in to help me dress in plain, simple clothes. They were finely stitched and softer than anything I'd ever owned. The top was a cream long sleeve and had small, red stitching on the high collar. It fit snuggly but not too tight. It was topped with a wide, tan belt across my hips. The black pants were nearly the same as Alastor's but, fortunately, lacked the red stripe at the bottom. 

Every day he made an appearance in an attempt to meet me on middle ground. And every day I snapped at him and demanded he take me home. Neither one of us got what we wanted. 

I sat on the edge of the desk drawing on a small slip of paper I had found in the desk. I made simple circles and sketches to fill the entire page. I had already gone through another page the day before since I had nothing to do. Perhaps it was Alastor's thinking of punishment—since he had made it apparent how much he hated being bored—but unfortunately for him, I was accustomed to boredom. 

A knock came at the door and, though I didn't answer, opened to reveal the Radio Demon once again. His staff glinted faintly over his shoulder, his pristine red coat hugging his figure perfectly. His sharp eyes and even sharper smile found me. "Come with me, I have something to show you."

My first instinct was to tell him to shove his command up his ass. However, my curiosity tugged too firmly on the back of my mind, reigning in my sharp tongue before I made a response. Instead, I pushed off the desk and followed him into the hallway. 

The hum of the engines were much louder here and the vibrations shot directly through my paws. They were the only sign of my griffon appearance—feet covered in short, thin fur and long talons scratching the floor lazily as I followed Alastor. I glared holes into his back. 

The airship's main deck was cold and the wind whipped my hair around viciously. It was tied back with the ribbon the woman had given me on the first day, but even so, the wind still whipped flyaways in my eyes. I held them back with both hands as I looked around the airship.

It was just as I had heard in my community. The wooden base was tied to a massive white balloon, ropes and nets held taught and being climbed by the sailors. They moved with hurried precision, avoiding each other by an inch and even moving around Alastor and I as we walked across the deck. 

I followed him to the front edge of the ship where he came to a stop and glanced over the railing. He looked to me then gestured with his hand to look over. I hesitantly stepped up beside him, making sure to leave a decent amount of space between us. My mouth hung open upon the sight miles below us.

"We are about to dock in Pentagram City," Alastor explained over the sound of the furious wind, "I thought you might like to see it from the deck."

I didn't answer and reigned in my facial expressions. The city was nestled in a large, expansive ravine that stretched across the land like veins in a hand. There were islands in the large open spaces, some from actual stone and others man-made. Behind this massive city was a white-topped mountain that poked through the clouds, seemingly miles away but yet filled my entire vision. 

"Impressive, isn't it?" Alastor prompted, tone softer than expected. He stepped near and rested a hand on the railing uncomfortably close to mine. 

Again, I didn't answer. The city grew bigger the closer we descended. I could see the movements of the inhabitants moving along the streets—no, they were bridges. There were bridges all over and pulley systems to transport both people and resources. The people wore all kinds of exotic colors and my eyes jumped from one color to the other. I couldn't figure out where to look—there was something new and exciting everywhere I looked.

I heard Alastor chuckle as he rested his arms on the railing beside me, our shoulders almost brushing. The wind wasn't as strong anymore and he could speak normally. "Pentagram City is not without its flaws," he admitted, "but it's full of potential. Minds from all over the land are brought together for a common cause: survival. There's chaos, but there's also order." He turned to look at me, crimson eyes holding mine steady. "It's a place you could thrive in."

My eyes narrowed before turning back to the scene before me. "A place your tool can do the most damage," I muttered. 

He let out a sigh and straightened up, hand gripping his cane from where he'd propped it against the railing. "I didn't bring you here to imprison you, my dear." His tone was gentle but with a certain kind of firmness to it. "I brought you here to give you a chance. To let you continue your life's goal as an Archivist."

I shook my head, eyes lowering as much as my spirits. "No, Alastor, you want me to continue in the way you see fit." I turned to face him fully and straightened my back, hand gripping the railing to keep my balance. My tone was flat and without the usual bite as I said, "Don't dress it up as something noble. You didn't give me a choice."

His jaw tightened, as did the grip on his staff. "I admit, I took certain...liberties," he said carefully, "But it is because I see something in you that I don't often see in others, let alone an Archivist of all people. Something that could save this city and put Humanity back on its path to redemption. And I'm not the only one."

I glanced down at the city that was much closer now. I had never seen a city before and certainly never seen as many people in one place. I looked back at Alastor in all his dark red and imposing stance. "I don't care what you see in me. You lied to me. You betrayed me. You kidnapped me from the only place I've ever known. And you stole my archive. Why should I want to help your city?"

He tilted his head slightly as he surveyed my oddly calm and unemotional manner. "Because deep down, you care. You care about people and Humanity as a whole. You want to create something better. And that," he pointed a claw at me, "is the entire reason why Archivists even exist. You can hate me all you want but you can't deny the nature of your being: to rebuild Humanity better than before. And you and I will accomplish exactly that."

I opened my mouth to retort but the words got stuck in my throat. I couldn't deny that he was right, but that didn't mean I was happy about my predicament. He was twisting my oath around to serve his 'greater purpose'.

And yet, as my eyes drifted back to the city and the docking on the edge of the ravine, the weight of his words touched more than my mind. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't stop the warm feeling sprouting in my chest. 

I muttered a curse under my breath.

Chapter Text

Alastor left me at the edge of the airship and moved about the deck giving orders. I watched with astounded curiosity as the men and women threw ropes twice their size over the edge and pulled the ship into dock. Magic lifted the heavy crates over the railing and piled them nearby. 

The sudden realization that those crates held my old books was like a new hit to the head.

My angry eyes searched for Alastor's red coat a moment before he planted a hand on my shoulder. I jumped at the contact and he was quick to take a step forward and lead me off the airship. I followed, ignoring the urge to itch my trapped wings.

The stone was more solid—obviously—and my knees weren't ready for it. I stumbled off the ramp but kept walking, cheeks burning from the chuckles of the crew. It was then I noticed the cat leader from the attack was walking close behind me, arm carried in a makeshift sling from the injury I had caused. His yellow eyes met mine and I didn't dare look back a second time.

Alastor walked to one of the pulley systems for passengers and held open the small door. I casted him a wry look as I stepped into the funny contraption. I stayed in the corner and did my best to avoid accidentally brushing elbows. 

At the center of the ravine was a large stone castle. It had several attaching gray structures and looked more like a fortress than a castle. The surrounding buildings were bright, beautifully designed, and as exotic as the people.

Is that...electricity? I noted different lamps and the static of radio music coming from several buildings. They did have electricity.

The pulley system stopped at a platform right at the fortress. The cat, with his crazy red wings, was already waiting for us. He moved so quietly—too quietly—and the look in his eyes unnerved me. He stayed close behind as we walked up the front steps and through the large wooden doors.

The inside of the massive building was uncomfortably cold. I folded my arms over my chest as my footpaws took on the brunt of the cold stone. The huge windows helped, though, and I made it a point to walk into the sun-soaked stone. Alastor looked over his shoulder but said nothing.

Eventually we came to a door that looked like any other but the inside was much larger and more extravagant than the door suggested. The floor was lined with red and brown rugs, the wall coated in dark wood, and various yellow trinkets were scattered across any available surface.

My eyes scanned the bookshelves and trinkets before discovering a second half to the room, a half that was occupied by comfortable furnishing, a crackling fire, and a short man dressed in white and red. He turned upon our entrance.

His coat was whiter than anything I'd ever seen. He wore a light pink vest with gold buttons and a red long sleeve underneath. There were red ruffles at the ends of his sleeves, around his chest, and at his waist where the pink vest met white pants. He was so strikingly different than his surroundings. His short, bright blonde hair added to his ethereal appearance.

Movement in the corner caught my attention, and I turned to find another person. I immediately noticed the family resembled in their blonde hair and puffy red cheeks. Her colors were inverted compared to her father.

She wore a red, sleeveless crossbody coat and black pants. Underneath her coat was a pristine white long sleeve which ruffled at her wrists and chest, topped with a beautiful red pendant in the shape of an apple. Her brown boots were knee high and her hair braided behind her back. She somehow managed to embody both femininity and masculinity, and it made me feel all the more awkward and plain.

"Lucifer," Alastor spoke, gesturing to me with a single hand, "may I present the most brilliant Archivist of our age."

I fought the urge to roll my eyes as he placed a light hand on my lower back and guided me closer to the important pair. Their eyes looked me over just as much as mine had. It took every ounce of effort not shrivel and curl inward on myself.

"It's an absolute pleasure to meet you." Lucifer gave a small bow and stepped forward with an outstretched hand. "Though I wish it were under different circumstances." He was only an inch or two shorter than me compared to his daughter who stood an inch or two taller than me. 

"Me too," I said curtly, ignoring his hand. He cleared his throat with the rejected hand and straightened up. I kept my face as neutral as possible despite the shaking in my legs.

"I'm sure she will come around," Alastor said in response to my rejection. "She's proven to be...resilient in times of hardship, but not beyond my ability to persuade."

"I won't be persuaded to do anything." I crossed my arms and took a step away from both men, eyeing the young girl standing behind Lucifer. "I'm bound by—"

Lucifer held up his hand and I fell silent. "I know you're bound by an oath. And I understand your anger, truly. But I hope you see this not as an act of malice but an act of survival." His cheery smiley was contrasting his true intentions.

"Your city seems to be doing just fine."

"On the surface," Lucifer explained. "We have worked hard to keep our looming demise hidden from the public. A demise we hope you'll be the key to preventing. The people...our people," he looked over his shoulder at his daughter, "are counting on us. They're trusting us to make the hard decisions."

"Hard but necessary," Alastor added, finding my eyes. "You've kept those texts hidden for too long, letting them gather dust while the rest of the world falls apart. It's time to put them to use."

"If your city is dying then it's your own doing," I said carefully. "There are plenty of communities doing just fine on their own. Yet you conquer and kidnap hundreds every year in the name of what? Power?"

"Survival," Lucifer corrected gently.

"That's not survival." My smile contrasted my true feelings, just as Lucifer's had. "You want an empire to control in the name of survival. I hate to tell you, but that's how Humanity fell."

"Which is why we want your help." Lucifer didn't seem to be losing patience, compared to Alastor who seemed to be building in impatience. "We need to know Humanity's history so we don't repeat it."

"Most people know Humanity's general history, thanks to my people," I argued. "What you're asking from me is Old World technology and weapons."

"No weapons," Lucifer put his hand up again as if to banish the notion. "That's something I am personally against. But yes, we are also looking for Old World technology. It can protect our city, it can duplicate our resources, and families won't have to go hungry because we don't have enough food to feed them."

"We don't wish to take anything from you," he went on. "You'll have access to your archive as well as our own collection. We are asking for your help. We're not just a city, we're a refuge. And your knowledge—"

"A refuge from what?" I interrupted, arms finally unfolding so I could talk with my hands and point at Alastor. "Communities fear the day the Radio Demon comes to collect them and trap them in this city."

"In time," Alastor spoke before Lucifer could, "you will see the glory of this city and the peace it brings to families who were on the verge of death in their community." His words held firm but the underlying tone showed a glimpse of the level of irritation he was withholding.

I took another step back. "But apparently so is the city."

"Nothing is without fault," Lucifer interjected when white noise got caught in Alastor's throat. "But we are a better chance than what they had. Regardless of how you view our city, one fact remains: the knowledge you hold can save hundreds of lives and, later on, the entirety of Humanity. You hold that power."

Alastor moved silently and laid a surprisingly gentle hand on my shoulder. He leaned down so our faces were close. "This isn't about the past. This is about saving the future, the very thing you also want to save. You have the power to help build it bigger and better than our ancestors. You can be a part of that," he straightened up and donned the Radio Demon, "or find yourself on the other side of history. The world is moving on and if you don't adapt, you will be left behind."

"I don't think you realize what you're asking of me." I stepped away again so his hand would fall from my shoulder. "You're asking me to betray everything I've known. You're asking me to go against my predecessors and the oath we live by."

"Not necessarily," the girl spoke up.

"Charlie..." Lucifer whispered.

She ignored him. "Your oath says it can't be used for bad, right? That it's meant for the rebuilding of Humanity? Well, that's exactly what we're trying to do. You have knowledge--insight into Humanity's old ways. Farming techniques, materials for reinforcements, and even ways to survive against natural disasters. They're not weapons. We're just trying to survive like everyone else."

"And what about him?" I gave a terse nod in Alastor's direction without looking at him. "He spends half his time ranting and mocking the Old Humanity. Calling them weak and pitiful and whatever other derogatory terms you can think of. Why does he suddenly care about Humanity's legacy and its future?"

Lucifer and Charlie both looked to Alastor, whose grin faltered slightly. He recovered and stepped forward to circle behind me. "You judge too quickly, my dear." His voice was laced with feigned innocence. "I may have my strong opinion of Old Humanity, but that does not make me blind to progress. It's their strengths we need, not their weaknesses."

"Old Humanity used to think they were invincible," I replied. "In taking all their strengths, you will think yourself invincible too. In fact..." I looked him up and down with a wrinkle of my nose, "I know you believe you are."

His grin widened. "Such harsh words from the woman who was so gentle when she stitched my chest." He laid his long fingers across the lapels of his coat.

For the first time since my kidnapping, I smiled. "I'd love the opportunity to gently unstitch them for you."

"Enough," Lucifer grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Alastor may not express himself well--"

"I find that many people understand me quite well," Alastor enunciated.

"--but he does understand what's at stake," Lucifer went on, ignoring the comment. "We all do. This isn't just about Pentagram City. It's about Humanity as a whole, which you are oath-bound to protect. With your help, we can build a future for Humanity. But we have to start small. One city at a time."

I shifted my weight between my feet. For years I had loathed my destiny; I had loathed the weight of Humanity's fate on my shoulders and now it was being increased ten fold. What they were saying made sense but my instincts were telling me this was wrong. I wanted to trust my instinct. "And if I refuse?"

Lucifer's lips dropped into a sad smile. "Then I'm afraid you'll find even the strongest wills can be broken." He glanced at Alastor still standing off to the side of me. "Alastor brought you here because he sees potential in you—a rare notion in itself."

"And for other reasons," Alastor added more quietly, glancing over me from head to toe.

"And I happen to agree with him just from this conversation. Most Archivists are blindly stubborn and see nothing past their oath. You know there is a way to save Humanity. Your region has known more about our past than any other region in the last ten years. Working with us, not for us, you'll find what you've been protecting will finally serve the purpose it was meant to."

My tone held no bite. "You're twisting my oath around to serve your purpose. If you really thought this to be a noble action, why kidnap me? Why steal my archive? You could be asking me for specific information then leaving me alone in my bunker. Yet you didn't."

Lucifer chose not to answer me directly. "If there was another way, I would take it. But we're running out of time and options. I know what I'm asking from you is a sacrifice, but one that could save the fate of Humanity."

Alastor's hand came to rest on the back of my neck, the pad of his finger brushing my skin. His tone was gentle and it sounded like Al was talking to me, "This doesn't have to be a battle, my dear. You're no longer alone. Allow us to work together."

All of them went silent for a long time. My gaze was rooted to the floor. I couldn't do what they were asking me; I couldn't translate those texts and allow them to use it how they wanted. There was no telling what they would do with it, no matter how small or insignificant the information might seem.

After my internal conflict went on for too long, Lucifer said, "Think about it."

Alastor's hand slid down to my lower black and led me out of the room. Charlie looked like she wanted to say more but thought better of it, folding her hands politely in front of her and watching the two of us step through the doorway and back into the cold hallway.

The sound of Alastor's boots on the stone echoed in my head. My mind swirled with all kinds of emotions--doubt, anxiety, resentment, fear, hurt, and even a glimmer of curiosity.

I wanted to trust them. Lucifer was obviously the ruler, even though I thought Alastor was, and what he had said made sense, along with his daughter. The city was in a type of danger thanks to Mother Nature and was looking for a way to survive; a way that I had hidden in my mountain of texts.

Yet I couldn't ignore the probing thought in the back of my mind: what happens if I help them survive their looming threat? They dragged me and my archive all the way back here, which likely meant they were looking for more than just a rain shield. They would want more.

"Care to share your thoughts, my dear?" Alastor's voice snapped the tense silence.

My shoulders stiffened. "Why? So you can twist them around for your benefit?" The hair on the back of my neck stood up as I felt a presence behind me. I spun to find Husker walking silently behind me, sharp eyes glaring up at me. Why could I never hear him?

"Such venom," Alastor chuckled, continuing his stride down the hall. "I would've thought you'd have seen the bigger picture by now."

"Oh I see it just fine," I walked after him. "You trick me for your benefit and then expect me to save your precious city in the name of saving Humanity. All because you suddenly decided Humanity is worth saving. Please."

Alastor glanced over his shoulder. "I admit my methods are...heavy handed."

I let out a short, bitter laugh. "You put a spell on my wings, threw me and my archive on a ship, and presented me to your ruler like some trophy. I'd say that's a little more than heavy-handed."

He came to a stop and so did I, eyeing him carefully as he turned to face me fully. "You cannot deny it achieved results. You are here. You are safe. And despite your protests, I think you're starting to understand just how important you are."

I took a step back, fists clenched tightly at my sides. "Don't flatter yourself, Alastor. The only reason I'm not 'hissing like a feral cat' and attempting to throw my life away is because Lucifer's words have some merit. At least he has the grace of making me feel like part of the bigger picture and not some pawn on a chessboard."

His eyebrow twitched as he leaned down, voice lowering with him. "Lucifer is an idealist. He'll sugarcoat everything to make you do his bidding. But me? I won't coddle you. I'll do whatever it takes to keep this city from falling. Even if it means being the villain in your story." His words soaked into my skin as those red eyes bore in mine. This was the Radio Demon.

He straightened up, back to glaring down his long nose at me. "I trust you'll make the right decision, for yourself and for all of us."

{|}

We passed two guard towers at the entrance to a ravine and stepped into a world of unworldly things. People dressed in bright cloaks and shawls hustled about, spirals of dusty air flew overhead, and a bright green light pulsed through the ground beneath my feet like a heartbeat.

Buildings were carved into the stone wall and carpets hung over their edge, paints of red, oranges, and browns outlined their designs. All kinds of sights, smells, and noises pummeled my senses. It was hard to focus on one thing in all this chaos. It was amazing but...overwhelming.

We came to a fork in the road. The stone buildings and makeshift stands and tents continued onward. How much more of this was there? How long was it? How many more people lived here?

My questions remained unanswered as we approached a building sitting at the corner of the divide. It was a tower of some sorts and dressed in reds and blacks. The colors were so bright and demanding that I instantly knew this was where Alastor lived.

"Fetch Rosie," Alastor ordered, and the cat slid off without a word or a sound.

Alastor opened the door and gestured inside. My eyes looked him over as I carefully stepped through the threshold, a heavy weight settling in my lungs. It was dark for only a moment before a fireplace sparked to life in an instant, followed by lanterns on the ceilings and curtains drawing apart to let in natural sunlight. The motions made me jump.

The room was rather simple but, in my eyes, it was by far the most luxurious place I had ever seen. To the right was the grand fireplace surrounded by a simple couch and chair. The cushions looked soft and in perfect shape—not a scratch or patch in sight.

Bookshelves leaned against the staircase directly in front of me with trinkets and other things on display. Directly behind the couch was a standing cabinet. Both pieces of furniture were made of finely sanded dark wood. At the end of the room was another threshold that looked like it lead to a kitchen and dining room.

"Welcome to my home, my dear," Al said from behind me. I had shown him my home and now he was showing me his. "You may go anywhere in this house. What's mine is yours."

My cheeks burned at the realization that my bunker had probably looked shabby to him. It was dark, rusting away, and cold. Everything had been made to withstand time and life, not to impress. Despite everything that had happened, I wished I had made the bunker more presentable for him.

Then I heard a lock click and everything came back. I stepped forward, turning around to face him with my arms crossed and face set. He let out a sigh through his nose. "What is it?"

"I suppose you want me to be thankful you're not tossing me in a cell?"

He smirked, passing me and withdrawing a glass canter from the standing cabinet. He poured two cups of a reddish-yellow liquid, placing one at the edge and picking up the other. "You're not a prisoner here, my dear. At least, not in the way you think." He moved to the single chair by the fire and motioned for me to sit. I remained standing.

"You brought me here against my will," I reminded him firmly. "I call that imprisonment." Curiosity made me glance at the drink still sitting on the cabinet.

"I've brought you here because you're valuable and because despite everything—" he swirled the liquid around in his glass, then glanced up at me with those ruby eyes, "I still seek your company."

"Valuable?" I ignored the glass and moved to stand in front of the fire. "I suppose that's how you've always seen me and just tricked me into thinking it was something more. I expect nothing less from the Radio Demon."

"It's not that simple," he said. "I have responsibilities. I have an entire city to protect from the inside and outside."

I crossed my arms. "And I'm just the tool to fix all your problems."

He sipped from the glass then placed it on the small table beside him. His eyes seemed to glow in the firelight looked at me. "I will not pretend like this is ideal for you. But you are here now. Safe and with access to more knowledge than your ancestors could ever dream of. But in order for this arrangement to work, there are rules to follow."

I scoffed and walked in a circle. "What makes you think I'm interested in following your rules?"

His tone dropped. "You should be." He deposited the glass on a small side table and stood. "For your safety and for your books. Archivists have been hunted down and burned alive with their archive on this side of the region for centuries."

I backed up when he came too close.

"Firstly," he began. "You will continue your work translating your archive as well as any others I present. I expect progress and will not take kindly to any attempts of sabotage or withholding information. Am I clear?"

I crossed my arms, taking another step away. "If I refuse?"

He looked at me as if he was persuading a child. "You won't refuse. Not if you want to protect your books, live by your oath, and still get to live a life no Archivist has ever dreamed of living."

A single step put him in my personal space and I had run out of room, the wall practically pushing me in the direction I didn't want to go in.

His tone softened with his eyes. "I do not want to be your enemy, my dear. But my devotion to Pentagram City must come first, just as your devotion to your oath does. I hope you will come to understand this and we may once again have what we did in that forest." His hand came up to brush his knuckles on my cheek.

Had it not been for his appearance, I might have fallen into that trap. But his unfamiliar, bright red coat and monocle under his eye reminded me of the reality I was being forced to live.

I swallowed on nothing, voice struggling to speak at a normal volume. "Are you expecting me to just forget who you are?"

He blinked. "I don't follow."

"I have spent the last five years listening to your broadcasts. You're not Al. You're the Radio Demon, the man I've sworn would never touch my books. The man who laughs at Humanity's downfall but uses only the good parts for his benefit."

He pulled his hand away and the Radio Demon came back in a very jarring way. "Secondly, you may go anywhere in this house but you're not permitted to leave. My district is full of life but the streets are very dangerous, especially for someone who has not grown up in such an environment. If you step outside without me, you're putting yourself and the fate of Humanity at risk."

My hands pressed into the wall as if to ground myself. "What do I get out of this? A gold cage is still a cage."

"You'll have my protection, my resources, and my company."

"I don't trust you nor want your company."

A knock on the door drew our attention. Alastor didn't seem at all concerned about it, calmly approaching the door as he continued the conversation. "Consider this a new start, then. A way for us to...coexist and discover if there's any hope of reestablishing our connection. But I remind you, your work is vital and I need you focused."

I shifted my weight. "So I'm stuck in a fancy cage with a man I don't trust. I'm not so sure this is any better than my previous circumstance."

His smile was...complicated. "I hope as time goes on that you'll see more of this city and the wonders it holds. And I hope that one day you'll come see this place isn't as terrible as it seems. Maybe...you'll come to find I'm not so either."

Chapter Text

The woman, by the name of Rosie, arrived shortly after my conversation with Alastor. I had remained rooted to my spot in the corner of the living room, unwilling to go anywhere near him as we waited.

She was tall and thin, and her pale skin contrasted her black eyes. Her white hair was pinned in a tight bun but allowed a few curls to poke around her cheeks. She wore a flowy maroon dress with black accents on the side. A black belt cinched her waist and the dress continued over her chest and down her arms. Clearly she also enjoyed the shades of red like Alastor.

I wondered if he forced his people to wear colors of red. I certainly wouldn't let him put me in those awful colors.

"Pleasure to finally meet you, dearie," she greeted with a polite handshake. Her fingers felt boney. "Alastor hasn't stopped talking about you since he came back. We owe a lot to you for keeping our lovely cactus alive."

Rosie's wide smile and cheery attitude coaxed a nervous smile on my face. "Cactus?" I asked.

"A rather bothersome plant in this region," Alastor said as he came to stand beside the woman. "My dear, this is Rosie. The most darling, delightful, and dangerous woman in the whole city." He then introduced me, placing a red hand on my shoulder despite my effort to avoid it.

Rosie clapped her hands together. "Everyone is very excited to have an Archivist again. You're the hottest news of the century."

Great, I thought grimly. How many other Archivists would learn that one of their own is in Pentagram City?

"Come come, we have much to discuss and a lot of work to do." Rosie gently pulled at my borrowed clothes.

"I will leave you to it." Alastor bowed his head to her, casted a small smile in my direction, then swiftly left the tower.

Rosie watched and waited for a moment, then turned to me again. "Now, dear, I want you to be honest with me..." Her tone grew very serious as she said, "I'm sure you've seen a lot and had some pretty tough conversations. But I can see something happening behind those pretty eyes of yours." She paused, letting the silence weigh on the seriousness of her question. "Are you okay?"

The question caught me completely off guard and my own reaction to it, as well. My mouth tried to form words, moving around but letting out not a single word or syllable. Tears suddenly crawled in my eyes and dripped down my face. I touched at my wet cheeks, utterly stunned at whatever reaction I was having.

"Oh you poor thing." Rosie gently pulled me into a hug and I instantly reciprocated it. It had been so long since I last hugged anyone—since I was last hugged by someone. If I kept my eyes closed I could imagine my mother squeezing me and planting a kiss on my head.

My temple felt like it might explode from trying to keep my cries silent. My fingers grabbed at the soft fabric of the woman's dress. How had she known? Was it a magic thing? A woman thing? Did she have children of her own?

She eventually pulled me away and I hurriedly tried to wipe away my tears, avoiding a look at her shoulder that was damp from my tears.

"Come sweetheart, let's get you a warm bath, some fresh clothes, and hot food. It'll cheer you up." She put her hands politely under my chin and gave me a gentle smile. "And you can tell me all about what has happened to you. Alastor may be a friend but I'm not blind to his antics. Who do you think keeps the men in line around here? Us women do."

That last part brought a smile to my face.

She giggled at my reaction and took me to the bathroom on the second floor where I met Niffty. Rosie confirmed that she was the housemaid, always eager to clean anything and everything for a pretty penny or unique bug. The bathroom was lined with stone tiles and the ground was at a slant leading to a drain at the center.

"Undress while I start the bath," Rosie instructed. With a twist of a handle, hot water steamed out of a pipe from the ceiling. It touched the bottom of the bath and began to fill the tub with steaming hot water. My mouth dropped open at the contraption.

I wiped my nose on the back of my hand before Rosie gently pulled off the white long sleeve. I wasn't overly comfortable at being bare in front of someone strange but she was acting as if this was a daily occurrence for her. Perhaps it was.

I didn't want to draw attention to it if she was unbothered so I let her help me undress the rest. Fortunately, her questions distracted me as she helped me into the hot water.

She asked about the bunker, asked about the forest, asked about the communities in my region, and asked about my family. I revealed only my mother, opting to leave out my grandmother and brother for the sake of withholding information. She used a tough sponge to scrub away the years of mud, sweat, and build up. Her nails painfully scratched my scalp when she worked on my hair. She had a comb that she repeatedly tried to pull through the knots.

The conversation took a more somber turn when she asked about the time I spent with Alastor. I gave short, curt answers and nothing more. She read the cues and switched the topic around to talking about the city.

Pentagram City started as nothing more than a large community hiding away in the safety of a ravine. Storms were deadly in this region and the rock faces saved them from high winds, pockets of lightning, and dust storms. Rosie said there was a lot more history between that time and when Lucifer took over, but it was lost to the sands of time. She remembered the 'turning of tides' when the community turned from just that—a community—and into a city. Districts were formalized and trade deals were made between them.

The current districts were as followed: agriculture, technology, entertainment, military, and magic.

Alastor was Lord of the Magic District and Rosie the Lady of Agriculture. She and Alastor met as children before the districts were made. They were good friends until their fathers became the first leaders of their district. Years later, when her father passed, she became the first female leader of a district.

I had to stuff down my extreme interest in learning more about the city's history. I shouldn't care. I wanted to leave anyways.

Rosie let me dry myself off while she grabbed some things. She returned with a small bag and sat me on the edges of the bath. She combed through my hair again, silently noticing the way I closed my eyes at the more comfortable sensation.

She moved to my nails next. She had a metal stick with a small hook at the end. It pulled out a shockingly large amount of dirt from under my fingernails. Then she used a flat item and rubbed it against the tips of my nails. I watched as the white on my nails grew smaller and smaller.

She used her hook on my footclaws to get pieces of dirt that had been stuck in the grooves of the bone. Luckily she left that more sensitive part of my body alone and didn't try to file down my claws. Her next task was trimming my hair, claiming that removing the dead-ends would make it more healthy. So long as she wasn't cutting it all off, I didn't mind.

Once she was done, she brushed through it once more. When I opened my eyes again, I found my hair completely dry. She winked at me and put her tools away. I followed her out of the bathroom, still holding the towel around my chest, and up another set of stairs to a different room. This one seemed like the top most room of the entire tower.

The stairs we came up on were on the far side of the room with a railing to prevent any missteps. A beautifully carved desk sat under a round window, sunlight beaming through the glass and warming the small room. To the left of the desk was a bed built into the wall. My eyes immediately recognized my grandmother's quilt folded at the foot of it.

A small fireplace sat on the same wall and stacks of books covered the rest of the room. All my books were put in crates, but I could tell there were a lot missing. Where was the rest of it?

Rosie pulled me into the center of the room then went to the wall opposite of the round window. I finally noticed a closet behind the book stacks as she walked back with a couple different fabrics in hand. She first gave me fresh, white undergarments. The material was soft and far more supportive than what I was used to—than what was handed down through generations.

"I suppose you don't take well to dresses?" Rosie asked as she laid the clothes on the bed.

"I uh...we never really needed them."

"Then we'll start with something you're comfortable with."

The first piece of clothing was a black half skirt, half pant. The pants were sewn to the skirt that covered the whole thing. The pants cinched at my shins and a leather belt hugged my waist to keep them from falling down. There were strange patterns and symbols etched in different shades of red at the bottom.

The second piece was a loose, maroon long sleeve. The edges hugged my sleeves and waist. The collar was a small, narrow V-neck that had little black ropes that could loosen or tighten it. She topped it off with a small clip to hold my hair out of my face.

"What do you think?" She pulled me over to the closet and opened the door, revealing a mirror hanging on the inside. I had never seen a mirror that big and the person that stared back at me was someone I didn't recognize. I rubbed the soft material between my fingers, unable to fork any words. I was stuck between shock and politeness.

Then, turning around, I looked around at the room again. It was covered in wood planks and little bits of my home had been strategically placed.

"Feels like a dream," I said softly. What I really wanted to say was nightmare. I looked at myself in the mirror and felt...wrong. I turned my gaze away and grabbed my own arms.

"Dearie, what's the matter?" Rosie asked so gently, so carefully, as she closed the closet. I felt the tears building again and had to cover my mouth. "Sweetheart, what's happened? What else is there?"

I didn't want to trust her. I didn't want to tell her. I didn't want to be anywhere near her. And yet, when she touched me with a gentle hand and caring tone, I couldn't help but think of my grandmother, like she was possessing this woman to help me.

I fell to my knees and curled inward on myself. Rosie put her long arms around me and let me cry in the bend of her arm. Her fingers moved in circle on my back—exactly how my grandmother used to do it—and whispered that everything would be alright.

"How do I even make sense of this?" I mumbled into my hand. "It's all gone. It's all...I've lost it all. My family, my home, my freedom. I've lost it all."

"Oh sweet thing, you haven't lost it all. You still have that clever mind and that fighting spirit. Archivists are strategic people, are they not?" Her words were taking over my mind and distracting me. "Your people are known for turning the worst things around. Hell, you know how bad Humanity's shortcomings are but you've been finding ways to keep it alive."

I was quiet for a moment as I processed her words. Niffty appeared out of the blue with a box of tissues and Rosie handed one to me.

"I just...I thought...I thought I was doing the right thing," I admitted. "I couldn't just let him die in front of my door and not do anything. I thought I was doing a good job at preventing him from knowing where my bunker was and still heal him but...clearly I didn't."

"It wasn't your fault, dear." Those simple words dared to lift a generations worth of guilt off my chest, but reality pushed it right back down. "Once he knew what area you were in, he wasn't going to stop until he found you."

"I should've just let him die," I said firmly, not caring for the look on her face. "I should've covered his body with branches and let him bleed out. But I was stupid enough to heal a dangerous stranger bleeding at my feet."

"You saw a man in need and you helped. That's not a weakness, dear."

"Sure feels like it."

"Come here." She helped me to my feet then sat me on the bed. She pulled the chair from the desk over and sat across from me. "Alastor may know how to charm his way through just about anything and make you believe in him wholeheartedly. But that doesn't mean your trust in him was misplaced."

"He's the Radio Demon. I've listened to his broadcasts for five years. He's a ruthless leader and I'm just his tool."

Rosie sighed then took my hands. "Alastor may be complicated and a bit cynical at times—trust me, I know. I've known him since he was a boy. But...he's drawn to you for more than just your knowledge. He's bound by his duty to the city but that doesn't mean he sees you as just a tool. Just like you're bound by that oath of yours."

She patted my hands then sat back in the chair. I looked at the unfamiliar clothing over my legs. "I...I don't trust him. Not after he tricked me like he did. Not when he's asking me to just forget my oath."

"Well, sounds like you two need to talk more. Your expectations of each other are a little different than you might think." After a moment she added, "And don't hesitate to ask for me. I'm here for you, dear, even if it's just an ear to listen. Understand?"

I nodded mutely.

~*~

Deep in the heart of the city, in the protection of the stone walls of the palace, a meeting was taking place to determine the fate of everyone's lives. The room was far underground and closed off to the rest of the world.

A round table sat in the middle with a map spread out in the center of it. Sitting at the edges of the table, each in their respective chairs and adorned in their colors, were the Lords and Ladies of each district. Lucifer, the king of Pentagram City, sat at the head of the table with his daughter beside him.

Rosie was the last to enter. She expertly avoided the lanterns hanging on the ceiling from being naturally tall. She sat in her brown and green chair beside Alastor. She gave him a knowing look and he growled softly, ignoring the look that referred to the woman in his tower.

"Now that we're all here, it's time to discuss the elephant in the room," Lucifer began. He didn't look as small as he actually was when he sat in a chair level with the rest of the leaders. "We have our first living Archivist who holds ancient knowledge that may save our city."

"Remind me why we need a historian to 'save our city'?" The woman who spoke, Velvette, was filing her nails from her criss-cross position on the chair. She was the co-leader to the Entertainment District. Her co-leader who sat beside her, Valentino, seemed just as bored with this. Their chairs were decorated in flags of red and pinks.

"Because the Old World was more advanced than us," Vox answered her. He sat on Velvette's other arm. He was technically a co-leader as well but his main priority was his Technology District. His flag was an electrifying blue just like his claws.

"But they died off," Velvette flapped her hands out in a shrug, not bothering to make eye contact with anyone.

"They made some amazing things before they did," Vox replied. "All the electricity in your District? Came from them. All the pipes and steam engines for bathhouses and factories? That's from them too. And any rumor you hear about some mysterious, massive invention is probably also true."

"Which is why we believe her Archives might have the answers." Lucifer drew their attention back. "But we have to decide where her efforts need to go first."

"Am I ever gonna see this Archivist? Or does Alastor get her all to himself?" Vox asked, looking pointedly at the Magic Lord.

"Until she's adjusted and cooperative, she'll remain with me," Alastor returned cooly.

"The people's well being should come first," Rosie kickstarted the debate. "So we should focus on securing our resources."

Vox, naturally, argued first. "Old tech should be prioritized. We can revolutionize how we manage and maintain our resources."

"Our people are dying of starvation above all else," Rosie countered. "Our crops are always struggling as much as our livestock. I've heard stories about manmade greenhouses that can grow food without soil."

"What about our borders?" Carmilla voiced. She carried professionalism and power in every room she walked in. She was the Lady of Military, her colors a bright white and dark black. "The White Angels keep pushing through and sneaking around the edges. We believe they're using Old World weapons and it would be helpful to know how to combat those. Otherwise they'll get through and tear our city apart."

"I don't really think the people are itching for another speech about rationing and defense tactics," Velvette remarked. "All this doom and gloom is making people want to join your district less and less."

Carmilla narrowed her eyes and opened her mouth to make a remark but Alastor beat her to it, "While it's charming to see you so concerned about morale, we need to keep our priorities straight and the threats as real as possible. People want truth and solutions."

"Like you old wizard?"

Alastor was unfazed by the bite. "You seem to forget that my district has been solving everyone's little problems for years now. Wood and oil are saved for warming homes and cooking meals instead of wasted on lanterns and bathhouses."

"The stability of the city is paramount," Lucifer added himself. "Our ravine is crumbling and that landslide last season is only the beginning. Alastor's people are already stretched thin and they can't keep reinforcing our walls forever. The storms will reach us soon and we'll be worse off than before."

"But we can't ignore the needs of the people either." His daughter, whose hair was as blond as his, put her hand on his arm. "Maybe we can find a way to address all these issues together. We don't know what knowledge the Archivist has or how fast she can decode them."

"We don't have time for her to decode them all," Vox argued, arms crossed like the two beside him. "The longer we wait to discover Old tech, the more we fall behind. They were advanced because of their technology."

"We all want what's best for the city," Rosie said gently and professionally. Alastor could see her underlying impatience from the way she held her hands on her lap. "So maybe we can find a compromise that satisfies everyone. Charlie's right, we don't know what kind of knowledge the girl has."

"Maybe we can do a little of each," Charlie offered, "You know, have her decode bits about agriculture, bits about old tech, things like that?"

There was silence among the leaders. No one had any arguments.

Lucifer met Alastor's eyes. "Do you think she can do that?"

Alastor straightened a fraction more. "I have no doubt. I'll make sure she knows what's at stake."

"Very well. I trust you'll see those texts translated. I want weekly updates sent to all of us."

There was a reluctant nod of agreement, each leader mentally preparing their secret agenda and the challenges it would present. The decision made was setting the stage for the city's future, the risks and challenges hiding just beneath the surface.

Chapter Text

"Darling, wake up."

For a moment, I thought I was on my bunker floor and Al was kneeling beside me in the dusty old short sleeve. His hand was warm, gently rubbing his fingers along my scalp in a soothing way. I didn't want to open my eyes yet. I wanted to savior this brief moment of contact.

Eventually, I blinked open my tired eyes and registered the unfamiliar room. My stomach rolled when I looked up at him dressed in all red, his hand gripping his red cane, and red monocle sitting on his cheek. All the muddled feelings came rushing back, and I pushed his hand off my head.

"Get dressed, dear. We have some things to discuss before I leave for the day." His tone was as gentle as his hand had been. His boots and cane tapped the floor as he left the room. Each one was like a rock being piled on my chest. It made my back--where my wings were locked away-- start to itch again.

My whole body was stiff and sore from sleeping on the floor. I couldn't bring myself to sleep in a bed softer than my own from the grief and guilt of my actions. I didn't deserve to sleep comfortably.

I dressed in the outfit from yesterday and brushed my hair, sparing a quick glance in the closet mirror to ensure everything was in order, then descended the stairs as slowly as I could. Alastor was sitting in a small dining room that connected the living room and the kitchen. I could see Niffty jumping and running about the stone kitchen. The amount of luxuries I saw made my head swim.

Alastor sat in one of the dinning table chairs with a cup of coffee in hand. At first I found his features soft in the morning hue of the window. But when I saw his attire again, I was reminded of who exactly was in front of me.

"Have a seat. Niffty is making your breakfast." He had a large piece of paper in his hands though he quickly abandoned it when his gaze took in my appearance. "You look lovely."

"What did you want to talk about?" I asked curtly, sitting in the chair across from him instead of the one beside him.

He folded the paper and tossed it on the table. He brought the mug slowly to his lips as he said, "I want you to start by making a list of all the titles in your archive. It'll help me decide what to prioritize."

"A list?" I repeated. "That's a rather hard thing to do. I have nearly a hundred books and not all of them are in that room." I wanted him to know that I, too, could notice the small things.

"The rest of your books are in one of the rooms on the second floor," he said over the rim of the mug. "Niffty will show you."

"I'm not I'm sure comfortable giving you a catalogue of everything I'm sworn to protect."

He placed the mug on the table, a small, fake smile spreading across his face. "Comfortable? This isn't about comfort. It's about necessity. We need to know what's there so we can make an informed decision."

"Part of my oath requires me to keep those ancient texts from falling into the wrong hands. They're not just another resource." My gaze hardened. "Just like I'm not another one of your tools."

He leaned forward and rested his elbow on the smooth surface. "I'm not treating your archive lightly. It is very valuable and holds danger as much as potential. But you must understand the stakes are higher than your personal attachment and comfort. This city's survival, and in turn the rest of Humanity, depend on what you know."

"And my books in the wrong hands could lead to Humanity's second downfall. One we might not be able to recover from. You can't possibly understand the weight of responsibility that has been on my shoulders since I was born."

His eyes darkened with the rest of the room and his tone turned aggressively sharp. "Don't you dare try to lecture me on responsibility. You're here because you're needed. Regardless of how things go, you are responsible for Humanity's extinction or survival." He leaned back in the chair. "Write the list."

I wrung my hands, willing my legs to stop shaking. "What if I don't? What if I decide Humanity's survival rests on those dangerous texts being left untouched?"

He abruptly stood and towered over me in seconds. The room around us had gone pitch black. "You won't like the consequences if you refuse. I've been understanding because of our shared past. But make no mistake: your cooperation is not optional."

He removed his hands from the armrests of the chair and returned to his side of the table, the warm morning light returning to the room. One hand behind his back, he used the other to drain the rest of his coffee. My arms buzzed with adrenaline and it felt like I couldn't breathe in all the way.

"So this is the real you," I said softly, going for the personal venue. I took a steadying breath. "The charming man in the forest who promised me a brighter future was just an act."

He looked at me sideways and abandoned the mug. He straightened his jacket and grabbed his cane. "I am many things, darling. Above all, I'm a man who gets done what needs to get done, regardless of what it takes." He stepped close again, but this time the room stayed the way it was.

My eyes were attracted to the green glow of his hand as he put his palm on the table. When he lifted it, he left behind a small bottle of black liquid. Beside it was a wood stick with a metal point.

"What is that?" I asked, trying not to gawk at the magic.

"Ink. To write the list."

"I don't understand."

He quirked an eyebrow, genuinely confused. "What do you use to write your translations?"

"Charcoal."

"Ink is slightly different but I'd rather you work with something you're familiar with." He flicked his wrist and the objects melted into the table. He made the same motion as before and revealed a thin, small box.

I opened the box to find four pencils sitting snugly in a fabric lining. A small knife for sharpening them was held at the bottom by a small rope. Gently, I lifted one of the pencils to examine it. It was coated in smooth paint all around and the bottom quarter was covered in thin, gold metal. At the tip of it was an eraser that looked like it had been used already.

"I ask that you be careful with these. They belonged to my mother."

I blinked up at him.

His smile dropped as he carefully touched my chin and tilted my head up. "Please don't make this harder than it needs to be."

My gaze dropped to the pencil box, and I slowly returned the pencil to its rightful place. My hands hovered over the closed box. "Fine. I'll make the list," I mumbled. "But I won't blindly translate everything you ask. I'm bound my oath just as you're bound by your city."

He moved past me and stopped at the threshold. "Just remember, darling, this isn't a game. Our decisions here shape the future. Whether we like it to...or not." He spoke softly at the end, then left the tower just as quietly.

You don't think I know that! I bit my lip as a few tears fell down my cheeks.

I couldn't tell if Al was somewhere in there or if he was running with that persona for the sake of getting what he wanted. Sometimes it felt like I was talking to Al and other times I saw nothing but Alastor, the Radio Demon. It made my head and heart hurt.

Part of me still held out hope that he actually did care about me and what we had in the forest, but each conversation seemed to remind me that it was an act, a facade. I was facing the Radio Demon alone. He's an adversary far more complex and dangerous than I ever imagined; that any Archivist had to face in a long time.

~*~

"What did ya say you were draggin' me here for?" Husker prompted. Alastor had told him to follow and follow he did into the basement of Lucifer's castle.

Alastor was tapping his feet and swinging a ring of keys on his finger. He was playing a funny jazz tune through his staff. He had purposefully kept quiet about his intentions to play with Husker, all in good fun of course.

Husker had belonged to the first community Alastor claimed at the beginning of his reign. The Lord's father had been attacking smaller communities before him, but Alastor was different in that he saved and captured the lives from those communities. His father hadn't.

However, Alastor was far from what one would consider a saint. His methods after taking the communities were harsh to the say the least.

So, it was to Husker's extreme unluckiness that the Mage Lord used physical punishment in the castle's cells to beat Husker into submission. Years later, he became Alastor's second in command.

Husker would never admit it, but putting up with Alastor for so long had earned him a respectable title and more freedom than anyone else who worked for the Radio Demon. Though he was expecting that the Archivist might top him just from seeing how the two of them interacted.

"There's something I'm looking for and I'm told the storage rooms might have it," Alastor explained. He glanced over his shoulder with a wicked smile. "Something the matter, Husker dear?"

"No, 'course not." Husker put his hands in his pockets and fell silent. The hallways narrowed and turned into plain smooth stone. It was easy to do with magic and far more convenient than building and setting stone bricks. The doors had normal locks but the keys were enchanted and would mold to fit any lock on the door.

Alastor picked a random door and lifted a ball of light in the middle to see the contents. His red eyes searched the collection of furniture, crates, and other random things covered in cobwebs and mold. He locked the door behind him and went to the next one. He did this several times over until he came to a room that looked like someone's personal storage for a deceased family member.

"Here," Alastor nodded with satisfaction. "Start looking."

"For what?" Husker huffed out a sigh at the physical labor he would have to do in order to get to certain areas.

Alastor's smile broadened.

~*~

I found myself bonding with Niffty as we worked through the large amount of books. I started in the attic (I refused to call it 'my' room) and she was happy to take the books out of their crates for me. I was gentle with the pencil and refused to sharpen it so I could prolong its life.

I knew Old English well enough by now that a quick glance at the title was all I needed. However, some didn't have a title on the cover and others were so worn that I had to look in the first few pages for the title. They were flimsy and ready to tear apart, but that was nothing new.

Some of them lost their covers when Niffty moved them and she always cried, terrified that I would be angry. But I reassured her that they were just old and worn down.

Some had already been translated and had a newer version in the Archivist language. Sometimes it was a challenge to balance three languages: Old English, Archivist language, and Common Tongue.

Every single Old World book had been or would be translated into the Archivist language to further keep the integrity of their contents.

After we finished the ones in the attic, Niffty made us a late lunch so we could take a break. I sat in the kitchen to watch her work, grateful to watch something other than ink on pages. She moved with so much intensity and precision that I didn't dare try to help for fear of getting in her way.

Lunch was basic but the most flavorful thing I had ever eaten. It was bread with butter, salt, cheese, and garlic all melted together. We split half a loaf but I could've eaten a whole one by myself. I was licking my fingers afterwards.

After the much needed break, we tackled the stacks of books which quite literally filled the entire room on the second floor. My knees hurt from being on the hardwood floor all day and it made me miss my soft green earth and squishy, comfy moss of my clearing. I missed the cool breeze. I missed the sun on my neck. I missed it all.

Eventually, Niffty had to start making dinner. We had gotten through most of the room so I wasn't too upset about losing the helping hand.

I hated myself for enjoying the process of learning every title of every single book. I had 250 titles in total. Most were 300-400 pages each. There were survival guides, medical procedures, Old World technology how-to's, lots of research papers about anything and everything, plain old history, and a bunch of others. To be honest, I wasn't quite sure why we didn't have a catalogue of our own in the first place.

Then Alastor walked in.

My hands froze and stomach lurched. I was almost done with my last stack but would he be mad that I hadn't finished it by the time he returned? I waited and listened intently for his footsteps up the stairs. But he never walked in.

I half expected him to suddenly appear out of nowhere just to spook me. When he made no appearance, I continued with the last stack. Once I finished, I stretched out flat on the narrow pathway between stacks. My back itched again.

With my victory properly soured, I grabbed the list and trudged downstairs to the kitchen. Alastor was nowhere in sight so I waited at the threshold and watched Niffty again. The aroma of dinner made my mouth water.

"Good evening." Alastor's voice directly behind my ear made me jump. He was smiling but I felt like doing anything but smile. "How did things go?"

"Fine." I lifted the paper up to his face and fixed my gaze on Niffty. She was a spectacular cook, though, I didn't have much to compare it to.

I glanced over my shoulder for Alastor's expression. His smile was a placeholder as his eyes scanned the titles. He flipped it over to look at the rest. "Why are there so many question marks?"

"Some of them are in a different language."

"What do you mean?" he asked, still standing partly behind me.

"Most of them are in English but some of them are in a language I don't recognize."

"English?"

"It's the term for Old World language," I explained, keeping my tone flat and matter-of-fact. "Back then there were hundreds of languages, but a majority of the texts were written in English. It's their version of our Common tongue."

"So you can't decode those?"

"Not really. I don't have a book that teaches the language and even then learning an Old World language is complicated."

He hummed in understanding and sat at the dinning table to read through the list again. I turned just enough to keep him in view, heart thundering against my lungs. I had lied. The texts which I felt were too risky for him to know had been written down as ???

Unfortunately, I couldn't make half the titles question marks so I had to give up some.

"Come sit." He pulled out the chair beside him and summoned the pencil box from upstairs. I sighed softly and sat in the chair, careful not let our arms or knees touch. "These texts here...here...and here are the ones you'll start with first. I'd like you to switch between them, translating them bit by bit."

I glanced at at the titles he had circled. "Why do you want to know about geosynthetic material?"

"The ravine walls are decaying with each storm that runs through here. My district has been using magic to keep them as stable as we can but we're growing thinner every year. We need a way to reinforce them so they don't cause more landslides and kill families."

I was quiet for a moment, eyes jumping between him and the list. "Do you even have the technology to do that?"

"We have a district dedicated to technological developments. We have factories and other materials that can be substituted."

His staring was intense. I tried to ignore it as I looked at the other circles. "What do you need a book on chemical properties for?"

"We have scientists here. If Humanity is to rebuild itself, we need to know more about our world."

I shook my head slightly at first. Then I really shook it and curled in on myself, bracing for him to get angry again. "I won't translate that one. Chemistry is...dangerous."

"I wasn't asking for permission."

The air grew thick. I kept my eyes downcast at the list to avoid his sharp red eyes. "I'm sworn to risk my life over this," I said softly.

"I know." He reached in the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a scroll case. I immediately recognized the symbols and felt my blood run cold.

"Where did you get that?"

"I told you we had an Archivist in this region once upon a time," he said simply. "He was killed, as are most Archivists, but his items were kept. This was a part of that. And if I'm not mistaken..." he twisted the cap off and unraveled the scroll to read a section of it. "You're also sworn to allow access 'only to those who prove themselves worthy and who understand the weight of the knowledge they seek.'" He lowered the scroll and looked at me. "As someone who provides safety and stability to as many people as I do, I think I rather fit that criteria."

The scroll was my archivist oath. The very scroll I had in my bunker which I was forced to memorized and reiterate my entire life. Hearing him repeat some of those words felt...wrong.

I quickly stood and backed away from the table. "Don't you dare try to twist my oath!"

Alastor didn't seem bothered my sudden aggression, instead looking back at the scroll. "Don't you find it interesting that they leave it up to the Archivist to decide who's worthy and who isn't? I mean, not that I believe you'd hand the texts over to the White Angels, but how can all Archivists have the same view of what's free to give out and what's not?"

"We're trained," I answered sharply. "We've grown up reading Humanity's history. We've grown up reading those sacred texts. We all feel the weight of the world's future. It becomes common sense which ones are to be shared. And I will not share knowledge about chemistry when it's the very reason the Humanity's downfall even started."

He thought for a moment. His eyes trailed over my figure with a uncomfortable slowness. Then he stood, straightened his jacket, and invaded my personal space. I backed into the wall and his boots stepped on either side of my foot, the cold leather pulling at my fur.

"I also find it interesting," he went on, "that you're required to risk your own life or burn your own archive if you're unable to keep those books safe. And yet..." He lifted his finger to graze the bottom of my chin, and it made me flinch. "You are still here. Breathing. And your books are still upstairs. Unharmed."

His eyes bored into mine, the silence following his words acting like a seal to my worst fears and insecurities. His red monocle glinted in the orange light from the kitchen. His words...they had a point to them.

He stepped away and I sucked in a mouthful of air.

"You aren't blindly following your oath--you're being strategic about it. Something I quite admire. You see, everyone who has come across an Archivist have all said the same thing. The Archivist refuses to even talk about anything. They remain mute or recite their oath until they're beheaded."

He walked past me and stopped, hands clasped behind his back and gaze on Niffty. His cane practically stared at me from where he left it against the table.

"You are different." The phrase made me turn my head. "You aren't just translating. You're soaking in information and thinking about how to share the information in the right way at the right time. My men brought me the articles you posted in the communities. You've been trying to convince people to work together towards something greater. It's why you find this city so fascinating despite how it came into existence." He looked over at me and I turned away.

"I won't share anything I think could harm Humanity," I said definitively.

"Exactly." He moved to stand in front of me again, less imposing this time. "You're thinking about it. So I want you to think about this city. You may not approve of how we've built it, but we've done exactly what you tried to convince others to do: come together for a single purpose. And we have. Your plan is already in action."

I crossed my arms. "You're twisting things around. It's what you do. It's what your known for."

"You like my results, not my methods," he stated. "We both want the same thing." He rested a warm hand on my shoulder. "You'll begin your work tomorrow morning. I expect to see beginnings of the translations I picked."

I wanted to see Al hidden beneath that expensive, powerful exterior. I wanted his touch to burn with desire, not hatred. Yet all I could see was the cold, calculating, and demanding Radio Demon, eater of souls and commander of life.

I saw a flash of myself in his monocle, and hated what I saw.

Chapter Text

Warm sunlight streamed from the window over the small desk and the only sound came from the scratching of pencil on parchment. Peace and quiet was familiar company, but it was the peace that was missing.

I sat haunched over the desk, trying to absorb myself in the mindless work set before me. My eyes scanned the pages until I was sure my own gaze would burn a hole in the paper. I couldn't concentrate, but it wasn't as if I wanted to anyways.

Alastor sat at the edge of the desk, chair tilted back and legs crossed as he sifted through and marked various papers. He appeared unbothered and uninterested in me, almost as if I wasn't in the room, but I knew better. For the first few days, I had been left alone to translate and showcase my work when he returned.

However, he recently made a maddening habit out of sitting at the edge of the desk, facing me and resting his arm on the lip of the table, for several hours at a time. He rarely said much, but his eyes spoke volumes of the unsaid.

I sighed as I repositioned myself. The usual headache was forming between my eyebrows and I wasn't accustomed to sitting in one position for this long. In my bunker, translations were usually broken up by chores to give both my mind and body a break from the work. With Alastor here, I was afraid to even put down my pencil.

I scowled at the piece of wood in my hands. On my third day, he had given me a box of new pencils to use. I was grateful I wouldn't have to ruin his mother's pencils, but the idea of using something he had 'gifted' made my stomach churn slightly.

My eyes glanced at the ceramic mugs sitting on stone coasters in the back corner of the desk, nearest to the wall so neither of us accidentally bumped them with our elbows. Alastor had been sipping on the blackberry tea periodically but I had yet to touch mine, as I often did. It wasn't so much that I believed he had some special concotion to make me more compliant as it was that I didn't like accepting his kind gestures.

I feared I would fall compliant through his little gestures alone--attempting to make things feel like they had been in my bunker and allowing my guard to drop. I wouldn't let that happen.

"You've been on the same page for the past hour," Alastor said suddenly, breaking the stiff silence.

I stiffened but kept my eyes glued to the page. "Translating takes time." I forced another three words out just to make a point. I wanted to add, Not that you know anything about that, but didn't.

Alastor's voice was smooth and laced with subtle warning. "You have translated the other two with relative ease but this one seems to be taking you exponentially longer."

"Greenhouses and rebuilding ecosystems are one thing. Chemistry is another," I argued mildly. It was true. The books on greenhouses and ecosystems had been simple and easy to translate. I wasn't sure if the knowledge was true since they were written during the Great Downfall, but I had faith in my ancestors. However, that meant I had faith in what their chemistry could do and the damage it could cause. I was keen on providing that kind of information.

"I hardly see a difference," Alastor said. He hook a red finger around the handle of the cup and watched me closely.

"Chemistry is complicated and dangerous," I explained, eyes on the book to avoid his gaze. "And rushing a translation could mean losing important information. After all, you know that I'm required to translate with honesty and integrity." It was a pointed remark that referred to the day in which he brought a scroll of my oath and read out a portion of it to justify his means.

"Is that so?" He didn't sound the least bit convinced as he placed the cup down. A paper fell from his lap and he leaned over to pick it up, the very tips of his ears brushing the edges of the desk.

"Yes," I replied firmly. "English is a hard language, Chemistry is a difficult topic that I don't understand, and some of the pages are missing or worn away."

He straightened up and furrowed one of his eyebrows. "English?"

"Old World language," I corrected.

He fell silent and I thought, for a moment, that I would have a break from his prodding questions. I was wrong when he finally asked, "The markings are different in some of your books. I've seen Old World, Common Tongue, and something else." He shifted ever so slightly to lean further in the corner of my vision. "Is there something else?"

I clenched my jaw. I forced air through my nose and sat up straighter before meeting his eyes. "Yes. It's called Archivist Code."

His eyebrows quirked up, shock and interest evident on his expression. "I take it that's another precaution of some kind?"

I nodded then let out another sigh. I returned to the page and pulled the chair closer to the desk. "Every Old World book is translated into Archivist code. Then, when we want to share information, we translate the code into Common Tongue. I've never translated from Old World to Common Tongue so forgive me if it's taking me a little longer to juggle the languages."

"That means you can speak three languages," he suggested. I shrugged in response. "Impressive."

I paused, my pencil hovering over the page. The compliment had done exactly what I didn't want it to and make my stomach curl and cheeks redden. I turned my head away to hide my reaction and pretended to scratch my face.

Alastor allowed us to lapse in silence again. I purposefully translated to the end of the page then flipped to the next one. I usually never paid attention to him, but this time something caught my eye.

I'm not sure if it was the way he did it or if it was a gut feeling, but I suddenly felt like the shift in papers was in response to my action. He made a mark on his paper then slipped it behind the others, as if he had just marked down when and which page I had just finished.

He caught me watching and I turned sharply back to the page.

I wasn't far in the new page when he broke the silence again. "I find it curious though," he drawled. "Your progress has been...methodical. Too methodical. A page and a half a day for two days, then two on the third day. Then repeat." He fixed me with a look that felt like he was seeing right through me.

I gathered my resolve as best I could and answered, "I'm not stalling if that's what you're getting at."

"That's exactly what I'm getting at." His voice suddenly turned sharper. "I don't need to know Old World language to read you."

I leaned back against the chair and tossed the pencil on the desk, meeting the challenge. "If you think you can do it better, by all means. Have at it."

His eyes narrowed. "Don't get smart with me."

I held his gaze for a moment, heart thundering in my ears. "You kidnapped me, Al." My voice rose with the mixture of fear and anger. "You're forcing me to work for you, for a city I've never seen and for people I don't even know. And you expect me to happily go along with it just because you found a loophole in my oath?"

His expression didn't change, but the temperature in the room seemed to drop. The papers in his hand disappeared in a green flurry as he rose from his chair. "What exactly do you think stalling will achieve?" He moved slowly, deliberately, and placed one hand on the desk and the other on the back of my chair. "A show of rebellion? A quiet protest?"

I swallowed around nothing as his shadow loomed over me, those crimson eyes faintly glowing in a way I knew only magic could do. He was doing it on purpose. "You can't force me to care about your city."

"No, but I can force you to fulfill your purpose. I want two pages a day."

I curled my hands into fists. "I can't do that. Chemistry is twice as hard."

"Two pages, Archivist," he hissed, bringing his face daringly closer.

Instead of scaring me, it spurred me on. "I will kill people if I translate this book wrong. Then I will be doing the exact opposite of my purpose, as you so eloquently put it."

"Then stop stalling and actually focus. We both know you're more capable than this."

I took a steadying breath to prepare myself for my next response. "I shouldn't expect you to understand. You're so used to having blood on your hands that you don't care if people die from my translation."

"Careful, darling." His tone was jovial but the weight of it was squeezing the breath out of my lungs. I didn't realize I was breathing heavily until I tried speaking again.

"I'm taking longer to translate because...because I don't want that blood on my hands. Perhaps you're the one who doesn't care about the city."

For a moment, he was silent. The air between us felt charged, like static electricity sticking to our clothes and lifting our hair. Then, to my surprise, he stood and threw his head back in laughter. I took the opportunity to finally get up from the chair so I would be close to his level.

When his laughing subsided, he fixed me with a wide grin and a tap on his cheek. "Oh darling, and you say I'm the manipulator." I attempted to respond but he cut me off, "I would admire such a skill if it wasn't directly inhibiting my timeline."

He crossed the short distance, backing me up until my spine hit the wall, and leaned down to speak directly in my ear. My hands hovered just above his chest, afraid to touch but wanting desperately to push him away.

"Stop dragging your feet like a child and translate two pages a day. Do not force me to revisit this conversation again."

As his footsteps receded and his presence slipped from the room, I found myself clawing at my chest. I pulled at the soft fabric and paced the room, desperately trying to wear off the unnerving amount of anxiety, as well as the boiling anger I hadn't felt since I was a teenager being locked in her bedroom.

~*~

Alastor had been dreading this meeting. It had been three weeks since he brought the Archivist under him. The first two weeks had been slow and the third week had only progressed slightly better after their conversation. Lucifer requested a meeting with him and he already knew who else would be there making demands and laughing at his lack of process.

Vox was already sitting at the table when he arrived, a smirk as wide as the scar on his forehead. They were meeting in the same room as before but the flags had been stored away. Vox sat in the chair closest to Lucifer as he watched his old friend. Alastor, posing calmness and authority, closed the door behind him and sat in the chair directly across from Vox.

"What is the meaning of this meeting?" Alastor got right to the point.

"I'm sure you already know," Lucifer began gently. "Progress has been slow."

Alastor didn't hesitate. "She's one person with three texts to translate. It's not going to be fast."

"It's her life's purpose to translate those books," Vox immediately jumped the gun. "After doing it for what? Twenty-some years she's not able to do it fast? Unless...you're having trouble."

Alastor's smile quirked uncomfortably on one side of his face. "She is...difficult but not impossible." He decided to go with a certain approach to give up pieces of the truth. "She's been deliberately dragging it out but you've seen the progress grow this past week."

"Yeah, but by a slight margin," Vox replied. "We're running out of time. Storm Season is right around the corner."

"I'm well aware of the seasons," Alastor said slowly, pointedly. "But in case you forgot, Archivists are the hardest nuts to crack."

Vox barked a laugh. "Yeah, and she's cracking your nuts and you're letting her."

Alastor's shadow grabbed his neck but Lucifer's magic dispersed the shadow in an instant. Alastor turned sharply to the king. "Out of all of us, I am the one who best understands the stakes. Progress may be slow at first but my methods will yield more information." His claws were leaving behind tiny little wood curls in the table.

"We need results, not excuses," Vox said, rubbing his neck.

Alastor reigned in his emotions and sat calmly back in his chair. He rested a hand on his cane as he met those cold blue eyes. "She is not someone that can simply be cracked with brute force. Have you forgotten that the Archivists are raised to throw their life away for the sake of these books? You push her too far and she'll lay her life down rather than give you the information. She requires...finesse."

"Finesse?" Vox half laughed. "Sounds to me like you got attached to her. She fucked you once in the woods and now you—"

"Watch your next words carefully," Alastor threatened. Unbeknownst to Lucifer, Alastor's shadow had crawled up Vox's legs and were pushing needles all along his skin. They were dangerously close to his crotch. "My devotion remains to Pentagram City first and foremost. It always has."

Vox cleared his throat and tried shifting in his seat. "It's been three weeks and she's translated too little books that we can't reasonably do anything with it. Except Rosie's district. I'm just saying it might be time for a new approach."

"Rosie's district will fair the best because of her connection with the Archivist. She is prone to persuasion if done correctly. Mishandling her could mean losing our one and only chance at solving our problems."

"Unfortunately, we are still running out of time," Lucifer interposed. "We need time to prepare or invent whatever we need for Storm Season. If we don't have that soon, our population may drop by half and our walls become a landslide."

"I am working on it," Alastor said through gritted teeth. "Her progress will speed up once she gets in the rhythm, which I expect to be soon."

"You have until the end of the week, Alastor," Lucifer declared. "You have until then to show us substantial progress. If you fail, Vox will have a turn to get results."

Alastor was cleaning his jaw so hard it was eliciting a migraine. "If you give her to him then we risk losing any chance of having an Archivist work for us. His methods are...crude...and won't work on someone like her. He'll destroy her."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Vox grumbled. Alastor's shadow had returned to its master.

Lucifer's eyes narrowed at the Mage Lord. "You've always been confident Alastor. But confidence without results is just arrogance. If you can't show more progress, I have no choice but to hand her over to Vox. Consider this your last warning."

A smirk splayed on Vox's face and he crossed his arms. "You've had your chance, Al. Don't think for a second I won't enjoy proving you wrong."

"I'll get what we need," Alastor declared. "You won't even have to lift a finger, old friend."

Vox's smile quirked up even more. "We'll see."

~*~

I didn't want to be caught doing nothing so I sat at my desk for most of the day and waited until Alastor returned. I jumped in my chair when the door slammed so hard it rattled the floorboards. I stayed rooted to my spot and turned only when his loud footsteps came up the stairs.

His eyes were glowing an inhumanly bright red when I turned around. I stood quickly but he shoved me right back into the chair, jaws snapping dangerously close to my face.

"We need to have a serious discussion about your progress. Or rather, lack there of," he growled.

"W-what? I did what you asked. I've done two pages—"

"For someone who was raised to translate those texts, you're taking an awfully long time to translate a couple pages. You have no other chores or responsibilities and this is all you can provide?"

Something happened to make him suddenly so angry but I wasn't sure what. I couldn't think past the danger within inches of my face and the hands pressing my arms painfully into the wood of the armrests.

"I-I...I'm not...I wasn't...I can go faster with certain books but that chemistry one I—things can explode if I don't translate the right thing to a T."

"You've been dragging your feet like a child." He let go of my arms and straightened, still standing close so I had to lean back in the chair to look up at him. "You've been wasting time."

My legs were shaking. With a gentle tone in an effort to deescalate the situation, I said, "Alastor I promise I haven't been dragging the chemistry one on purpose. You said two pages a day and I've done that. But it's a very dangerous topic. If I make a mistake it could kill people."

"You claim I'm a manipulator." He walked away and glanced through the mountains of books, my catalogue in his hand but out of my view. "But you are no better. You translate the same amount of pages, the same amount of words, in the same given hours. It's too methodical. You're sticking to your pattern which means you could be doing more and you're choosing not to for the sake of prolonging the inevitable."

I swallowed, hands gripping the edges of the chair as I watched. He picked up a seemingly random book and turned to face me. It was small, the leather cover worn, and the rope binding coming apart. I recognized the stamp on the front. It was a complete history collection of the events of the Great Downfall. My grandmother had been the one to copy it after the last one was growing too old. The stamp meant it was of high importance, but Alastor couldn't possibly know that.

"I've done what you said," I said carefully, slowly pushing myself from the chair.

"I have been kind and understanding. But I have run out of patience." From his fingertips sparked a flame.

"No!" I screamed. I barely made it halfway across the room before he threw it in the empty fireplace. I dove for the book but his arm snatched my waist. More flames sprouted from the wood and started to eat away at the dry pages.

I slipped under his arm but his other hand came around. I pushed, jumped, dropped, and clawed, but it was useless. I reached for his face but something cold and smooth caught my wrists, yanking them away. I picked my foot up to dig my footclaws into his leg but they were rooted to the floor by the same inhuman force.

"That's history!" I cried, lurching my body towards the burning book.

"And so will you be if you don't produce better results," he hissed directly in my ear. I caught his cheek between my teeth and he reared back, an animalistic noise escaping his throat.

"You don't know what you're doing! I don't have that book anymore! It's irreplaceable." Even as I spat, fought, and screamed, I knew it was too late. The book was already too far gone to save it. The pages were burning before the leather.

"What I do know is that you're hellbent on testing my patience. You're prolonging the inevitable and I won't have it. This—" he grabbed my jaw and forced my head sideways to look at the fire, "—is what happens when you waste my time."

I didn't realize I was off balance until he let go and my knees hit the floor. I grabbed a stoker and pulled out the more than half eaten book on the stone slab. I waved my hand over it to snuff out the flames with magic, but I knew it was too late.

Only the edges of the bending and a quarter of the pages were left, barely legible. My shaky hands hovered over the ruin as tears fell down my cheeks. Slowly, I looked up at him. "How could you do this?"

"I am not playing around anymore."

"I wasn't either!" I stood and pounded my chest with my hand, voice wrought with anger and grief. "You're asking me to translate information that could kill people if I don't do it right."

"Then do it right at a faster pace."

I stared at him, dumbfounded. There was no reasoning as there had been before. I was talking to a brick wall. "What is wrong with you?"

"You have pushed my patience." He stomped bis foot near mine. "This is the consequence if I don't see better results tomorrow." He turned on his heels and tapped towards the stairs.

"You really think this'll make me work faster?" I challenged, making him halt. I wiped my face with my sleeve to see him better.

Without even sparing a glance over his shoulder, he answered, "I know it will."

Chapter Text

Rosie walked through the dark bedroom to where Alastor sat on the balcony. She didn't even need to announce her presence, knowing he had sensed her as soon as she walked through the front door. She sauntered to the edge of the balcony and folded her arms over the railing, watching as the fading sunlight creeped up the ravine wall. 

The air was gentle but dry. It was the only time of the day when the temperature was pleasant. Families had their windows open to let the air flow through their stuffy homes and couples enjoyed dinner on the open platforms higher up. There were no children who ran through the streets in this dangerous district, but the young apprentices who occupied their master's home were grouping together to chat after a long day's work. 

Rosie waited awhile longer to see if Alastor would say anything. She noticed the mistblower—a type of incense container—sitting on the outdoor table. It was in the form of lantern and the fragrance smoke waved through the top. She recognized the scent as Herbal Morning, with its hints of thyme, rosemary, sage, and a shrivel of mint. It was meant to help clear one's mind.

The incense wasn't a surprise, but what shocked her was the smoke in his hand: Cloudy Twilight. It wasn't a secret that Chamomile and Lavender were the two big ingredients in it. It was heavy and often used to wind down after a long day. It clouded judgement, tired the senses, and generally made one feel like they were floating through the clouds. It made people delirious and it was often used as a way to have fun on their rest days.

Alastor had always been against it for as long as she had known him. He would never take something that would cloud his senses or impair his judgement. Then again, that was probably why he had the Herbal Morning one in a lantern; in a more larger form to balance it out.

"When was the last time you ever smoked something?" she asked over her shoulder. 

He inhaled the sweet scent and blew out the smoke before he answered her, eyes staring straight ahead. "Three years ago, I believe."

"Yes, I remember that night. You couldn't stop laughing even if your life depended on it," she mused gently. 

He quirked his eyebrows in response. After a few more moments of silence, he let out a heavy sigh. "I suppose you're here to lecture me."

She turned around to face him completely and lean against the railing. "Honey, what were you thinking? You might as well have just stabbed a knife in her heart."

"She needed to know the stakes," he said flatly. "She's been slow on purpose and I'm running out of time."

"Did you really need to burn the book?"

He turned his head away and looked at her sideways. "Yes. Her progress has increased his week."

"At what cost? She may never trust you again."

"This isn't about trust." He took another breath of the smoke.

"What's it about then? Control? You have plenty of that."

"The survival of our home." He casted a dark glare in her direction, but it did little to effect her.

"You betrayed her once then burned something she loves. You're pushing her too much. You'll—"

"And Vox is whispering in Lucifer's ear about how I'm not pushing her enough." His ears pinned backwards as he leaned forward in the chair. "Vox wants her if she can't produce enough translations."

Rosie blinked at him. "I wasn't aware." Her mind started to turn as she realized the weight of the looming threat over all their heads, especially their precious archivist. "Why didn't you just tell her that?" 

He gave her a look that said 'Really?' 

She returned it with a flat stare and sat down in the open chair beside him.

"Letting her know what my pressures are would only give her something to use as leverage. As much as she loves her books, she could burn some of them rather than be forced to translate them for me. I suspect she may try to do the same with her current work in progress."

Rosie laid a gentle hand on his arm. "But if she understood the threats that she will have to face, she may be more understanding."

He rubbed his eyes in frustration. "No. She's not ready to hear it and I'm not ready to lose that kind of control. Not when we're the closest anyone has ever been in decoding those books."

"Alastor dear," her tone was still gentle, "you're blind to the damage you're causing her and your connection with her."

"There is no connection," he glared through his fingers, then leaned his unscratched cheek on his knuckles. "Not anymore."

"Is that you talking or the Radio Demon?"

He rolled his eyes. "I'm one whole being. I don't know why you—and her for that matter—insist on seeing it as two different people."

Rosie shifted in her seat so she could cross her legs and lean on the table. "Because Alastor is kind, sweet, maybe a little shy, and notices the tiny details about the people he cares about. The Radio Demon is cruel, commanding, and will stop at nothing to get what he wants."

"Those are both me," he said.

"No, they're not. I've known you for a long time and the Radio Demon didn't come out until you murdered your father."

He leaned his head back against the chair and took another smoke. "What is your point?"

"Deep down you care for this girl and I think you should show that side of you more often." She barely finished her sentence before he started laughing.

"Care?" he spat. "I may present it like I care but 'deep down' I desperately need her to translate those texts."

"How can you say that after everything that happened in that bunker?"

"There's nothing that happened. It was a product of circumstance. Two people trapped together, trying to survive. I was injured, just lost a battle to the White Angels, and we were the only two in that bunker. That's all."

"I don't believe that for a second." Her tone grew more serious. "I know it was real just from the way you talked about it when you came back. It's not just some fleeting spark or a one night stand. It was the first deep connection you made since your mother passed."

He growled after taking another breath of smoke. "No. It was nothing more than a moment of weakness. I was on the brink of death, vulnerable and alone. She happened to be there. The same thing would have happened it if was someone else." After a moment of tapping his claw on the chair, he mumbled, "I don't connect with anyone."

"I think you're not giving her enough credit, or you for that matter."

"It doesn't change the fact that if she doesn't produce results, I will be forced to hand her over to Vox. And he will break her."

"You need to be honest with her, Alastor," Rosie pressed again. "Tell her the true stakes and she may want to actually help."

"I don't know if I trust her not to use it as leverage. But what I do know is I can't trust Vox. And..." he looked away. "I'd rather be the one to break her than let him do it."

"Alastor..." Rosie gently squeezed his arm.

"I'm done with this conversation."

Rosie knew it was useless to argue further when he said that. She would have plenty of chances to badger him some more, and many more chances to encourage and subtly warn the archivist to keep translating. She just hoped nothing bad would happen in between those times.  

She quietly stood and left him alone, but not before taking the smoke from his hand and flicking it over the railing. 

~*~

A month and a half.

That was how long I had been here. And it was starting to show.

I was having trouble concentrating, I was pacing my room, I was scratching at my back, and I was accidentally snapping at poor Niffty over useless things. Every time I did, I went to find her and apologize. And each time I sat on the floor in her room as she showed and explained all the dead things she collected.

Alastor always seemed to be pissed off, so it wasn't a surprise when he snapped at me for the little things. For example, my constant tapping.

"Dear, stop tapping your foot," he said firmly. We were eating dinner and Niffty had practically inhaled her plate already. I was still picking at mine. Everything tasted so...chewy.

"Sorry," I mumbled. I hadn't even realized I had been doing it.

Not even a minute later, Alastor's fork clanked on his plate. "Now you're tapping your finger."

I gripped my sleeve to stop myself, once again failing to realize my repetitive behavior. I didn't realize I began tapping my foot on my other one, but fortunately, he didn't seem to notice that one.

What he did notice, however, were my mistakes in translations. There were several instances where I mistranslated a phrase and had to cross it out; I misspelled one too many words; some were completely ineligible as my letters blurred into one another; and sometimes I flat out forgot to translate it to Common and just wrote it in Archivist code.

Alastor scolded me for wasting paper and I promised to do better. Unfortunately, I failed to uphold that promise.

Then came the biggest problem.

My insomnia. I cried myself to sleep every night, then woke halfway through from a nightmare. I often felt too sick to fall back asleep and merely waited until I heard Alastor leave for the day.

I started forgetting things. I couldn't remember any of the information I translated nor anything Alastor told me. He claimed we had certain conversations but I couldn't even remember being in the room for it, let alone what was actually said.

I tossed and turned for another night, unable to fall asleep from the feeling that something was watching me. My back itched and my chest felt sore, so I tried to sleep on the floor like my first night and had little results.

I was reminiscing about times with my grandmother. I was deep in the memory where she was arguing with my mother over something related to me, when I realized I was breathing fast. Too fast. I rubbed my face and found my hand cover in sweat. My eyes widened in the dark. It was happening again.

I tried to push it off--tried to ignore it--and hope I could put myself to sleep before it came. But the more I tried to force myself to sleep, the more I focused on the way I couldn't breathe; the more I focused on all the fights with my mother and all the gentle, but fake, moments with Al. 

My legs were shaking as I ran a hand through my hair. I took deep breaths but they weren't deep. They came in pathetic wheezes. I tried to summon light to do the five senses trick but my magic wasn't working. It casted horrifying shadows that made my stomach drop. I needed to run. I needed to fly. I needed to do something.

I heard footsteps. There was no one. 

I heard whispers. I didn't recognize them.

I abandoned my failed light and scrambled under the desk. I curled in a tight ball and pressed my forehead to the wood. When that didn't work, I dragged my nails down my face in an effort to ground myself with the pain. I knew what this was--I had had plenty of panic attacks when I was a teenager. But now it was coming back. Why was it coming back? Why weren't my tricks working?

My teeth chattered like I was cold. I scratched at my back but it did nothing to relieve the constant itching. I wrenched my shirt off and dug my nails in harder. Still, nothing. I couldn't reach the spot very well but I tried so desperately. I reached under my arms and raked my nails repeatedly just to get the itching to stop. I was sweating all over, making my skin slick and harder to itch.

I pressed my head into the side of the desk again until it practically bruised on the spot. My footclaws were scratching the floor as I pressed my shoulder into the corner of the desk. Pain. Pain could bring me back. Pain could calm me down. Pain could put me in survival mode. It could make me think; make me strategize.

Blinding light filled the room. I covered my eyes with my hand and slammed my head into the floor. I heard footsteps come up the short stairs and begged a higher power to grant me my wings so I could hide behind them. 

The ground vibrated as the footsteps came closer. I pulled my lips back in a snarl, hand still covering my eyes. Spit drooled out of my lips as I tried to see past the bright light.

"What's wrong?" Alastor rest the lantern on the floor in the corner of my vision. 

I tried to answer, but nothing but garbled nonsense came out. My chest heaved with every breath, whimpers died inside my throat, and my nails continued to claw at my back as though tearing myself apart would set me free.

"Stop that." Alastor grabbed my hand but I snatched it away, teeth bared and spitting out a hiss. I sputtered more nonsense and kept my face shielded behind my shoulder. My claws pushed against the floor to keep away from him as much as possible. 

My neck was starting to hurt.

Then he called my name. He said it softly, sweetly, and in the most gentle way he had ever spoken to me since my arrival at the city. It made me pause, and my breathing began to slow. 

Al knelt down all the way and repositioned the lantern. "You're tearing yourself apart." He spoke tenderly, comfortingly, and it undid me completely. Tears began to fall down my face and I sucked in bubbled gasps of air. 

"I can't--I'm not...I don't..." I slammed my shoulder into the corner of the desk again, the jarring pain grounding me for a split second before the panic returned. "I can't...make it stop. I just want to go home. Make it stop!"

"You're spiraling."

"I don't care what it is!" I snapped, my body trembling from the cold. "Just make it stop!"

For a moment, he was silent, calculating like trying to figure out a puzzle piece. Then he reached forward slowly, brushing his fingers along my ankle. I flinched violently and growled, glaring at him over my shoulder. But that's when I saw him--when I saw Al. 

He was wearing a dark long sleeve and his hair was slightly tussled. Even his monocle was missing. Had I woken him? Was I being that loud? 

"I can help you." He tried touching my ankle again and I still flinched, but not as bad as before. His fingers were light, gentle, and smoothed the fur down. I choked on a sob as I buried my face in the bend of my elbow. "Easy, darling. You'll be okay." 

His hand trailed up my leg, over my back, and wrapped around my torso. I resisted as he pulled me out from under the desk, settling himself against the wood drawers and holding me against his chest. My hands fisted his shirt as each sob shook my whole body. 

"This will pass," he whispered soothingly. I pressed my face into his shoulder with enough force that was likely hurting him as much as me. I repeatedly fisted his shirt and my legs were pulled up tightly to my chest. Everything hurt. 

"Who taught you how to use magic?" he asked. 

The question was jarringly unrelated. "My mother," I mumbled. "Why?"

"I can sense you have a small amount of magic in you, but I didn't think you would know how to use it."

"I do," I muttered into his shirt. His hand rubbed my shoulder while the other one held me close. I could feel his breath on the top of my hair with every rise and fall of his chest. 

"Has it ever backfired on you?" 

I thought for a moment, tears still streaming down my face. "When I first learned. Sometimes...something when I lit a fire...it would be too much," I said in between chokes. He chuckled and the vibrations rippled through my upper body. I closed my eyes as his warmth engulfed me, easing my chattering teeth. 

"I accidentally lit a tent on fire when I first learned," he admitted. 

"You did?" 

"I did." His hand moved to stroke the back of my head. "Learning to control water was the worst, and it always left me completely drenched by the end of it."

I huffed a laugh. "Water was the easiest for me."

"I imagine. You're flexible yet resistant."

I quieted at that last remark. It brought back the uncomfortable memories of our arguments and the burning of my book. Al seemed to recognize this and straightened up. 

"I'll draw a bath for you. That way you can clean up." 

Before I could ask him what he meant, he removed the arm around my back and I felt something sticky. I glanced over my shoulder to see his sleeve and hand covered in blood. I reached for my back and realized I hadn't been sweating but bleeding. It was then I realized I was still shirtless, having torn off my shirt in my fit to get under the desk. 

I dropped my head and hid it against his shoulder. "I'm sorry."

He didn't respond. Instead, he slipped an arm under my legs and lifted me off the ground. Tears of humiliation fell and I covered my face with a bloodied hand. 

"You should have called for someone," he said carefully. "For me."

I swallowed a sob. "I didn't think you'd care."

His expression darkened, but not from anger, and his squeezed me closer. He swallowed first, then muttered, "I care."

I wasn't sure I believed him, but it didn't matter to me in the moment. He used magic to turn the pumps on and sat me on the edge of the tub. 

"Do you need help?" he asked.

I shook my head. 

Keeping his eyes averted, he pulled my hair back with a small rope, then summoned an incense lantern to put in the middle of the room. He kept his back to me as he said, "Call for me if you need. I'll hear." 

Then he closed the door behind him. 

~*~

Alastor's magic surrounded the bathroom as he changed his bloodied shirt for a new one and made his way downstairs. Niffty was still asleep--the sweet girl could sleep through the roughest storms--and he didn't want to bother her. 

His ears were pinned as he sorted through the kitchen, the bubble of the tea kettle and soft groans of the floorboard the only sounds he made. His eyes darted between tasks in an effort to busy himself from the guilt clawing up his throat. 

He plucked a tin from the cabinet with his long claw and checked the label. It was a tea form of Cloudy Twilight, and Alastor was grateful Rosie hadn't attempted to sort through his cabinets to toss this batch out. He scooped the tea leaves into the cup with absent grace. He suspected you were having trouble sleeping, considering the growing bags under your eyes, and this was the best thing for you after a panic. He just hoped you would actually drink it.

His claws were deft as he began to slice fruit, his mind elsewhere. The wild, feral look in your eyes had unnerved him. He had seen your anger, seen your sadness, and seen your desperation, but he had never seen that look before. It made his stomach twist and a sharp pang touch his chest. 

He placed the bowl of fruit and steaming cup of tea on a tray and carried it out of the room. He let out a tight sigh as he climbed the stairs. Guilt. It wasn't an emotion he entertained for very long, but there it was chewing on him and coiling around his throat like a snake. 

His ears flicked at the sound of the water receding from the bathroom. He took the last few stairs to your room and put the tray on the desk. For a moment, he debated on staying...then thought better of it. 

You likely didn't want to see him. Not when he was the cause for your suffering. 

So he slipped out of the room and waited, listening and feeling for your movements. Everything you did was slow and with the utmost care. You padded softly past his room and curled up on the little bed, hugging the quilt he had brought from your bunker. You took a few sips of the tea but that was all you had managed. 

He continued to pace his room until he felt you settle, drifting off into a light sleep.

Chapter Text

Alastor stood beside me as he flipped through the pages of the chemistry book. My fingers were having trouble holding onto the pencil and my leg wouldn't stop bouncing. I knew exactly what he was looking for and it was making my heart race.

"Something's off. This book feels...lighter."

I pretended to stop my translation on the other book to look at him quizzically. "Well, some of the pages fell out. They're in the back of it."

"Even with these pages there's still...something wrong."

"Well it's an old book," I turned back to my work, "so some of them are worn out or crumbling away." I bit my lip at that last word.

"Crumbling away?" he repeated, skepticism heavy in his voice. "Have you been careless with it?"

I glared at him where he sat in the chair beside my desk. "I'm never careless with my books."

There was a pause in the air. Heavy, stiflingly, and charged like the air before lightning strikes.

Then he closed the book with a solid thunk, placed it on the desk, and stood. He leaned on the edge of the desk and placed another hand on the back of my chair, red eyes boring into my soul. The smell of spice and cinnamon pinched my nose and small jewelry dangled from his crimson coat. "My dear, you're not being entirely honest with me."

I huffed in frustration, though it was mostly for my nerves. "First I'm not translating fast enough and now you're claiming I did something to my book. What's it going to be next? I'm not breathing properly?"

"Did you do something to the book?"

My stare hardened. "No."

"Then what happened to the rest of the pages?"

"I told you," I said carefully, "some were worn. Others were ineligible. Books get damaged."

"Damaged or destroyed?"

"Does it matter?" My heart pounded relentlessly against my eardrums. "I translated everything that was readable."

"It does matter if you're intentionally hiding something from me." His mouth twitched like he wanted to say something more, and I had the distinct feeling he had been about to mention my panic attack last week.

"Like you don't hide things from me?" I mumbled.

He moved closer, nose brushing mine and making me flinch. "If I find you've been tampering with these texts--"

"You'll do what?" I interrupted. "Burn more books? Destroy more history?"

He straightened and slid his hands in his pants pocket. "Do you want that?"

A beat of silence. "You forget what I'm sworn to do. If you push things too far, I might not think there's anything in here worth saving."

He regarded me for several quiet moments, the gears in his head obviously were turning. I noticed a small twitch of his ear. He summoned the catalog with a flick of his wrist and placed it on the desk. He took the pencil from my hand and circled another title, then made purposeful eye contact with me. "Your next translation."

As soon as he left the room, I punched the air and cursed his name. The stark difference between Al and Alastor hadn't lessened in the slightest after my panic attack, which had prompted my burning of the remaining third of the chemistry book he had questioned me on.

——————

Rosie pattered around me as she tailored a new outfit. It consisted of pale greens and soft pinks, paying homage to my background while highlighting Alastor's colors. I came to enjoy the woman's company just as much as the clothes she had sewn for me.

This particular outfit had a fluffy long sleeve, a skirt that went down to my shins, and form fitting pants underneath it. She had tried to convince me to wear a dress like her but I didn't like the feel of it. Not to mention, I felt it constricted my ability to move around, meaning I would be even more helpless against Alastor.

The day after he burned the Archivist-coded history book on the Great Downfall, I had asked if he still had the books from the old Archivist that had once been captive in this city. He said he did but that I wouldn't have access to them until I showed substantial, steady progress in my translations.

Fair enough. I didn't need them, but the loss of that book was no longer so great. All Archivists were required to have a coded and translated version of the Great Downfall. My family never got around to translating our version to a newer book.

I was having no problem translating the new ecosystem book. I thought of it as a way to repay Rosie for her kindness. She, of course, heard about my panic attack and brought natural remedies to curb anxiety. For a reason known only to her, she began telling me a story about Alastor.

"I think he was ten years? Maybe eleven or twelve." Rosie said around a pin held firmly between her lips. "He had been reading about storms and electricity and decided he was going to catch a lightning bolt."

"A lightning bolt?" My dubious tone made her giggle.

"Oh yes. His ambitions always led him to greater dangers the older he became. He climbed all the way to the top of the ravine with a metal rod in one hand and a glass jar in the other. Mind you, it was during Storm Season so it was a miracle he didn't fall from the wind and rain."

Equally intrigued as I was horrified, I urged her to go on.

"I ran for help," she said. "He dragged me up there without telling me what he was doing, so I found the closest person I could reach and they sent someone up who had wings. They had a tough time in all that wind and he didn't help since he was trying to run from them. But, eventually they caught him and brought him back down before he was electrocuted.

"And then?"

She fell into a fit of laughter and I couldn't help but laugh, too, waiting for the end of the story. She wiped a stray tear form her eyes and said through stifled laughter, "He got the scolding of his life from me, his parents, and Lucifer's father. Though Alastor had to bear the brunt of it from his father in the privacy of their home. But even after all that, he kept going on and on about how he would improve his lightning trap."

"Did he?"

"In a way." Her face relaxed and her hands paused on the hem of my skirt as as she recalled the fond memory. "When he truly became a mage apprentice, he first learned how to control lightning. That stubbornness...it's always been a blessing and a curse. It was just extreme curiosity, always determined to find the answer. The truth. And it was less about...ruling Humanity."

The atmosphere properly sobered and I glanced at the closed book and neatly stacked papers on my desk. When I first met Al, I had viewed him as someone who seemed very intellectually sound. He seemed like he had a good head on his shoulders and a mind for understanding...people.

It just proved how dangerous, clever, and manipulative he was deep down. I wasn't clever enough to face the storm of the Radio Demon. Not yet.

Rosie seemed to notice and placed a hand on my arm. "He's always had that fire in him. But deep down...he cares so deeply for those close to him. He just...forgets how to show it after all these years." She stood to her full height, coming a few inches taller than me. "Sometimes, when he's at his most infuriating, I have to remind myself that under all that ridiculous amount of red..." She and I both laughed. "Is still the boy who wants to catch lightning in a bottle."

————————-

"Are you coherent today?" Alastor asked as he came up the stairs. I had been staring at one of the books, unable to force myself to even pick up the pencil. When I heard his steps, though, I instantly grabbed it and pretended to be translating.

"What is that supposed to mean?" I quipped over my shoulder.

"Exactly what it means. Are you capable of having a serious conversation?"

"What do you want to talk about?" I shifted the chair to face him.

"I'll take that as a yes." He walked further into the room but kept his distance. "I have something to handle at one of my crystal mines. Without crystals, my district is practically useless so it's important for me to handle this." He paused, checking to ensure I was indeed listening and processing his words. "I'll be gone for three days. That is why you'll be staying with someone else."

"Who?" The fact that he didn't say Rosie told me it was someone I hadn't yet met.

He tapped a finger on his cane in an irritated fashion. "Vox. He's the Technology Lord. I've been told he has Old World objects with directions on the back that he needs translated."

"Why...why can't I translate them here?" I asked. Was he worried I would run? I would. Was he worried I might burn more books? It was a thought. Was he unable to keep the barriers up—which I tested—while he was gone?

"Because you're vulnerable here. Husker is out on another expedition—" which meant capturing smaller communities, "—and my district is a dangerous place when I'm not round. You'll be in Vox's stronghold until I return. And return quickly, I will."

"You don't..." I fiddled with my words. "You seem upset about it," was all I could say. I didn't know how else to explain the gritted teeth, flat tone, and rigid body posture he was expressing.

His eyes flickered with something I didn't quite understand. "I...would prefer to wait for Husker to return, but I may lose the entire mine if I don't sort it out now. Vox can be...pushy. He's stupidly headstrong and doesn't always see the error in his ways."

Sounds like you're describing yourself, I thought silently.

"I don't trust him," he said firmly. "Which is why I'm warning you to be cautious when you refuse him."

Alastor was warning me. He seemed genuinely concerned about this arrangement and the thought made my stomach uneasy. It sounded like his hand was being forced, but I suppose that's how it would feel if the only other person he trusted to protect me was away. Rosie was a trusted friend, so why was I not being sent to stay with her? Was it because her district was a more peaceful one?

By midday I had packed a change of clothes in an unfamiliar bag and followed Alastor out of his tower. I was wearing a pair of 'shoes' that Rosie had left for me. They had a thin platform on the bottom and were kept in place by straps that wrapped up my shin. "People with claws like that chew away the inside of normal shoes. So these work better," she had explained.

It felt strange, for sure, but it practically flew to the back of my mind as my eyes took in my surroundings. After a month and a half of being cooped up in an attic, I was finally breathing fresh air. Then I was breathing mouth watering smells and sweet aromas from smoke lanterns and cooking fires.

The late sun beat on the back of my neck as we walked. I noticed a lot of people stepping out of Alastor's way and watching me closely, their heads turning gradually as I passed. I stepped a hair closer to Alastor.

I couldn't imagine that I was being kept a secret. Niffty had a radio in the kitchen but I rarely spent my time on the first floor so I wouldn't hear his broadcasts.

We came to the end of the Magic District and walked along the wall of the ravine. There were several stone bridges that cut through the buildings or ran along the wall itself. Each jagged corner revealed more and more homes, many stacked on top of each other. People made quick glances then moved out of our way. Their glances lingered on me but it wasn't anything more than curiosity. It was a very different look than the ones from the Magic District.

I was already sweating. I marveled that Alastor didn't seem to be breaking a sweat. Was he using magic or was he simply used to this temperature? My home was far cooler in the safety of the forest and crumbling buildings.

Eventually the warm stone gave way to a finer, flatter, and smoother one. This part of the ravine was much wider and nearly perfectly straight. I could even see the far end of it from where we were walking. There were no buildings here, only archways that led to large fires, clanging metal, and huge fumes of smoke. There were far fewer people on the street and anyone who passed wore dirty overalls and were covered in soot from head to toe.

The end of the ravine was a huge, open stone gate with two guard towers on either side. Alastor didn't acknowledge the archers pointing their arrows at us, nor the foot guards on either side of the entrance. The one of the left stepped forward and walked a few paces ahead of Alastor, a long metal staff in hand.

The ground curved downwards to reveal a huge cavern. There were all kinds of different colored fires, smoke, platforms, buildings, and wooden cranes lifting materials from one level to another. There were all kinds of chatter, curses, banging, and sizzling. It wasn't until we were walking down a set of stairs and platforms that I noticed the string of lights along the walls. There was a lot of electricity down here.

I pulled at the collar of my new shirt. I was having a really hard time with this heat. My whole body was sweating and making my clothes stick uncomfortably. It made my back, and the small injuries, prickle and itch. Alastor remained completely unfazed, cane tapping the floor and gaze set straight ahead.

We were funneled into a hallway that was made entirely of metal. Bulbs attached to a wire were spread far apart and ran along the pipes in the ceiling. Steam rose from random places and the smell of sulfur and other metals filled my nose. It was suffocating.

We climbed another long set of stairs in single file. The guard opened a metal door and announced that Alastor had arrived. Alastor brushed past the guard, not waiting for a response, and I quickly followed, glancing nervously at the guard who was very obviously annoyed. The door creaked shut behind me.

"Look who decided to grace me with their presence." Vox spun on the stool and leaned his elbows on the counter. The man's hair was jet black and pulled back by a pair of dirty goggles. His shirt was a deep red and tucked into his tight, black waistband. His shoes were a shocking bright blue. The contrast didn't look right until I noticed a blue striped jacket on a nearby desk. "I didn't expect you to bring her yourself."

"Let's get one thing straight, Vox," Alastor launched his attack. "I'm only doing this because Lucifer ordered it and because Husker is still out on his expedition."

So it his hand was being forced.

Vox put the back of his hand to his forehead dramatically. I noticed a weird, jagged scar behind his fingers. "Oh Alastor, you wound me. Don't you trust your old friend to take care of our most prized Archivist?" His eyes found me and I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand straight up.

"You've pushed my trust on numerous occasions," Alastor pointed out. His hands were clasped elegantly over his cane but I noticed the tension beneath them.

I glanced around at the small room. It was filled to the brim with all kinds of Old World objects and technology, as well as some random metal things that I guessed Vox made himself. There were wires along the floors and one of the walls was covered by papers, sketches, and string connecting them all. The wall behind Vox's desk had different shaped clocks that didn't work.

"Well, the way I see it," Vox stood and crossed the small room, "You've made it even, especially after this past month. Claiming there's progress when there isn't. Claiming to have a handle on things but failing to show results. And--" he turned to look at me, eyes roaming every curve of my body from head to toe, "neglecting to tell me how beautiful she really is."

I subconsciously took a step back and Alastor moved to block his view. "She's here for two, maybe three days, Vox. No more. And when I return, I expect her to be in the same condition as when I left her."

"Relaaax, Alastor." Vox fanned his hand in front of his face dismissively. "She's perfectly safe down here. As long as she cooperates, of course. Isn't that right Archivist?" He leaned around Alastor's shoulder, awaiting my response.

When Alastor didn't say anything, I answered, "I'll...do what I can."

"That's the spirit!" Vox moved around Alastor to stand beside me, placing a cold, heavy hand on my shoulder and pulling me into his side. "We wouldn't want to make things difficult, now would we?"

"Remember Vox..." Alastor pulled the man's attention back to him as I struggled uncomfortably against Vox's side. "She's not yours. If anything happens to her, you'll answer to me. And there won't be anything Lucifer can do to stop me."

"Don't worry, old friend. She'll be returned to you better than before. Maybe even more cooperative." The hand on my shoulder tightened.

It seemed to light a fire under me and I forcefully pulled away. "I'm not a tool. I'm not an object in some transaction. Nor am I pet to be trained."

I didn't notice the way Alastor's smile widened behind me because I was too busy directing my anger at my new captor. He seemed slightly taken aback but, to my extreme alarm, it appeared to only spur him on further.

"What a fire you've got in you. I would've thought Alastor got rid of that within the first week. But I suppose--" he glanced back at the red man, "--he's grown soft after you pieced him back together."

"Don't mistake my methods for softness," Alastor hissed. "If you want to stomp on the embers then you're welcome to try. But don't be surprised when you can't start a fire from it anymore." The analogy was lost on me as the two men stared each other down.

"Well...I'm sure we'll find common ground if you cooperate." Vox looked at me and clapped his hands, making me jump. "But! We should stop wasting time. Good luck with the riot, buddy. Try not to die. It would be a shame if I had to keep her for good."

"Don't push your luck, old pal." Alastor's words were laced with venom. "I'll be back soon. I expect her to be in one piece when I return."

"Cross my heart and hope to die." Vox made a cross over his heart.

Alastor stared at him a moment longer. Then his eyes fell to me for several heartbeats. It almost seemed he was debating this move, as if he was debating taking me with him to the mine instead of leaving me here. But eventually, he moved for the door and left with a loud creak of the metal door. It took everything in me not to wince when the door slammed shut.

"Now then, Miss Archivist." Vox put a hand on my shoulder again. "Why don't we get to know each other a little better? I have a good feeling we're going to make great progress while you're here..."

Chapter Text

The temperature in the room dropped. "So," Vox's voice was smooth but with an edge to it, "tell me about your bunker? Is it the exact same as our old Archivist?" He guided—pushed—me to the desk filled with loose metals and strange objects I didn't understand.

"I wouldn't know," I answered calmly. "I've never seen another bunker. Just mine."

He lifted his eyebrows. "Really? Then how'd you become an Archivist?" He leaned his hip against the counter and cross his arms over his chest.

My words were careful and deliberate. "I was raised as one. I grew up reciting my oath."

"How many people were in the bunker? Rumors say it could sustain ten people."

"Maybe once upon a time, but not anymore. All the technology died well before."

He hummed in response with a nod of his head, then stared off into the distance to think about his next question. It gave me time to look around the little room. I could see old batteries, fans, wires, and even computers that were working. This guy...he was an inventor.

"Al said he found you alone." Vox pulled my attention back to him. The use of his nickname wasn't lost on me. "Must've been a tough life. Spending your existence with dusty old books, preserving ancient knowledge for a future you can't even imagine...seems rather lonely. No one to share those heavy secrets with?"

I knew the coming implication. "It's my family's legacy. I wasn't very keen on sharing it."

Vox chuckled and leaned a hand on the counter. "And now here you are, sharing it. With Alastor no less. How's he been handling things with you? Everyone knows he's not the patient type."

I swallowed, reading well into what he was trying to learn. "He...has his ways. But...I think he understands why I need to take things slow." Despite Alastor's transgressions towards me, I wasn't keen on painting a bad picture of him, especially considering the warning he gave me beforehand.

"Taking it slow..." Vox repeated. He straightened up and brushed a blue claw along my hair. "You must be the first person to ever slow him down. Impressive, really. But I wonder what else you're good at...influencing."

I stepped back, eyes falling to the floor. "I-It's just the nature of the work. Texts get old and worn out. They have to be handled carefully and translating an Old World language is really complex. It's just more—"

"Of course—" he cut me off, "—I can't help but wonder if there's something else to it. Al is a determined man, but is it the work that's slowing him down or is he...distracted." He touched the edge of my jaw and pulled it up. It was then I realized his blue claws were actually metal.

Every single muscle in my body turned to stone as he leaned in close to my ear. "It's quite a feat to have a man, such as Alastor, so wrapped around your pretty finger. But you're not here because Al couldn't find someone to guard you. You're here because of your lack of progress."

He pulled away to look at my stunned expression. His smile wasn't as sharp as Alastor's but it made my skin crawl nonetheless. "...What?"

"Oh, he hasn't told you?" He stepped backwards and sat on a stool by his desk, resting his chin in his hand.

"Told me what?"

"I originally asked to have you in my district. I've got all kinds of Old World tech that just needs quick translations. Tech that could make life easier and more comfortable for the people of Pentagram city. And tech that could actually save it."

I waited for him to go on. The puzzle pieces were on the table and now I was putting them together.

"But everyone believed that Al, of all people, could break an Archivst the fastest." Vox tilted his head further and looked me up and down. "Until he failed to produce results."

I shifted my weight between my feet. My legs were on the verge of visibly shaking.

Vox's smile widened. "For someone who grew up reading Old World language, you're really bad at it."

"My pacing is the same as when I was in the bunker." I hated the way my voice began to shake. "It's very hard to read it and translate it into our language. There's so many factors at play, not to mention some pages are really worn and I have to—"

"Al may be willing to give you time," he interrupted again, "but I am far too excited to have so many of my questions finally answered. And...well...I prefer a more hands on approach." He tapped his claws on the counter to enunciate his point.

He suddenly stood and fixed his shirt. "We've only got a few a days together. And I'm sure you know this will go by much faster and smoother if you cooperate. For now, I'll show you where you'll be staying."

I followed him down the short hallway to an empty room. It had a small bed, a moldy desk, and a closet that looked like it was falling apart.

"I'll be back to take you to dinner. You can start your work tonight."

Then he shut and locked the door.

————————-

I found myself having less of a moral and ethical debate regarding the translations Vox asked of me. They were simple objects with directions on the back that posed no real threat to Humanity's future. At least, I thought so.

Some of the objects were things like a mechanical box to reheat food, a charger cable, a speaker, and a thermal scope among other things. I took my time on each, writing on the small pieces of paper he gave me and pretending it was difficult to read some of it. Vox liked to ask similar questions as Alastor did about the art of translating. I was grateful translating languages wasn't a widely known skill because I was able to convince them it was far more difficult than in actuality.

Vox sat next to me tinkering on a device while I translated a manual. He had a magnifying glass on a movable stand to help him see the smaller things, such as wires and tiny screws. He was picking apart a solar panel from a solar powered lantern. He was deathly quiet but obviously watching me whenever he took a break.

I, on the other hand, was having a much harder time with the manual he had given me. The cover showed two little mechanical orbs on the front. The title said "Airpods" and the first few pages told me they were wireless headphones.

The problem, however, were the immense amount of words I didn't understand. I usually had a dictionary with me but I wondered if these obviously coined terms would be in it. It made the translation a challenge to decipher and I didn't bother to write any of it down yet, trying to read through it to get a better grasp on how it worked. It would also allow me to gauge what I should and shouldn't translate.

"You've been quiet, Archivist," Vox broke the silence. "Very focused. Maybe something Alastor would find interesting that you don't want to tell him?"

I ignored the jibe, looking at him with a neutral, rather bored expression. I had learned rather quickly that Vox enjoyed drawing out my emotions, whether that be scared, frustrated, or even curious.

"It's nothing Alastor would care about," I said with a sigh, turning the page. "It's just a user guide. It doesn't talk about the mechanics of it at all."

"I'm surprised you're still reading it, then." He went back to his solar panel. There had been numerous guides and manuals Vox had provided that were practically useless to him, so he didn't ask me to translate them.

"It just...amazes me that our ancestors were able to create such incredible objects, but they weren't able to create anything on a large enough scale to save them. But then again," I flipped past two worn out pages, "the damage had already been done generations before."

"What do you mean?"

Something pleasant flickered in my chest. "Well, it wasn't just one big catastrophic event. The world had been slowly dying and society was just...a mess. No technological advancement could save a race that couldn't even come together to save itself. Their sense of community...it just wasn't there."

Vox was quiet for a moment. He had stopped working to look at me but my eyes were on the manual. It seemed his usual air of smugness and authority were amiss today. "I wasn't expecting an Archivist to have that spark. A spark like mine about...fixing the world."

I looked up, meeting his gaze that wasn't sharp or invasive, and saw an opportunity. "You mentioned before that you just started tinkering with Old World tech. What got you into it? Was it plain curiosity or something more?"

Vox saw right through my guise but, not to my surprise, went along with it. "Curiosity, sure. I mean you have to have it if you're going to spend hours in a metal box trying to fix broken things. But...it has always been something more."

I was silent so he would continue. I didn't even close the manual for fear of drawing his attention away from the memory.

"I lived on the outskirts of the community here. Back when it wasn't a city. I was...well, I didn't always get along with everyone. I tried but...I just wasn't interested in the things everyone else liked. I was always bored. Once I found Old World objects, not even tech necessarily, but just objects. Once I found those and started piecing Humanity's past together, nothing could interest me.

"And then...one day..." He took a breath and looked down at his device. "One day a storm caused a landslide. I don't remember why I wasn't at home but...my parents were. And they didn't make it."

The silence hung thickly in the air. I saw the way his fingers dug into his sleeve. Carefully, I said softly, "That must've been awful to experience."

"Yeah well...most people lose a parent or two when they're young. My neighbors took me in and tried to get me to eat but nothing worked. Then," he laughed to himself, "fucking Alastor came by with a radio. He said he found it and thought it might interest me. I hadn't found anything new in the past month so it was like candy. I started eating again and obsessed over that thing."

"So then...you're the inventor of the radio."

"Eh," he bobbed his hand in the air, "I didn't invent the thing but I did fix it. I learned about electricity and power but the thing was just static. A horrible constant noise of nothing. I thought I had botched it. But then...Alastor had gone out on one of his expeditions and said a community was using radios to talk to another community. It was the first one we absorbed since Lucifer came into power. I learned how the radios worked from those communities and we started building the radio towers.

"Alastor...he uh...well, he supported me," Vox continued. "He convinced Lucifer to let him build towers in regions we hadn't absorbed communities yet. He spread it so far out and...well, you know the rest." He began poking at the small wires again.

"So...Alastor saved you in a way."

Vox shrugged. "Eh. The radio was my first big project and I felt like I was actually contributing to the community again. He was there to convince Lucifer to start building the Technology District and...one thing led to another."

I was piecing bits of their history together in my big puzzle. "This whole district...you built it from the ground up?"

He casted a smile my way. "Quite literally. The communities we absorbed had their own little secrets that we learned. I learned how to mine for resources and how to melt them into something useful. It always amazed me what knowledge Humanity has managed to hold onto."

This city was fairly new, that much I had gathered, but it seemed like the kind that should've existed for generations. Somehow they had managed to do it in less than the span of my lifetime. And it all came from curiosity and survival. They had taken the information from smaller communities and put it to use for a greater good.

But no. I had seen glances of the workers in Vox's district. They were just that: workers. They didn't live or enjoy life. They were there as physical labor and I had a feeling that's where most communities ended up.

"Sounds like you and Alastor were close," I broached the topic carefully, "but not so much anymore."

He gave a dry chuckle. "I suppose you could say that. We were just two lost souls trying to make a difference in a world that didn't give a damn. But things changed. They always do. And this Old World tech? It never does. Everything's consistent and you just have to be willing to go the distance to piece it together."

"What uh...what happened between you two?"

Just like that, the walls went back up. He lolled his head to the side with a smile and said, "That's not a story for you, Archivist. Some things are better left buried."

Sensing the closed door, I decided not to push. I went back to the manual and flipped the page. "Thanks for telling me. About your parents and everything. I know...that it's difficult to keep living without them."

Silence hung over our heads, his eyes not yet leaving me. It felt like he was searching for something, or maybe for something else to say. In the end, he turned back to the solar panel with a simple, "You're welcome."

~*~

I wondered when Alastor would return. I was feeling a strange mix of emotions about it. On one hand, I hated being kept in a dark, damp place with no access to sunlight; and Vox made me feel on edge most of the time. On the other hand, I was nervous to go back to that stuffy attic and forced to play Alastor's mind games.

However, I still had at least a day left to prod Vox for information. He had given me far more information that Alastor ever let slip. Not to mention, translating the simple direction tags on old tech wasn't complex or unethical. He seemed pleased with my progress whereas Alastor was never satisfied.

He had explained that his stronghold was held within an Old World cargo ship. It instantly made sense how he came across so many random items and so much technology. At one point he let me wander around for awhile. I let my hands glide over the walls as I pictured men and women walking around to complete their tasks. To think we had once been able to sail huge bodies of water in metal boats.

"So, do you mind if I ask a question?" Vox asked at breakfast. We were sitting at an old table in a very old, metal room.

The fact that he asked me for permission made me wary, but curious. "Sure," I answered, not looking up from my plate. We were sitting in the kitchen and dining quarters of the ship. Eggs, bread, and cheese were the staple breakfast food in all districts. The leather of the comfy seat sank and tore at random places to reveal the ancient cushion that didn't quite work anymore.

"Alastor never struck me as the type to be kind to strangers. And yet rumor around the city is that you two shared a moment at your old bunker."

My hand stilled and I glanced up to meet his penetrating stare. It was rare for him to bring up Alastor directly, especially in a context that wasn't revolving around their hatred or competition for one another. It brought up the several moments Al and I had shared, but I stuffed those down. "He was different. Less of the Radio Demon, I suppose."

His lips curled into a smile as if I had confirmed something for him. "Really? More uh...more human maybe?"

I took a bite of eggs to push silence. Where was he trying to go with this? "Yeah. He was less intimidating because he was bleeding all over my floor."

He chuckled and leaned forward on the table. "It seems the time spent away from his radio and fans allowed him to drop his mask for once. You must've pulled out a side of him that very few actually get to see."

The eggs felt chewy in my mouth. There was something in the way Vox spoke that hinted at an ulterior motive. He was tricky, like Alastor, but a little more obvious about it. And yet, I still couldn't figure out what he was trying to get at.

"I don't really think that was another side of him. I think that was just a man who was a victim to circumstance. He nearly died, was sick because of it, and bored out of his mind."

"I don't think you give yourself enough credit, dear Archivist. Alastor has hit his lows before but he's never revealed a softer side. His walls are impenetrable. And yet...you managed to break through them."

I sighed and leaned back, placing my fork down. "What are you getting at, Vox?"

"You clearly have a talent for more than just books. You can soften even the hardest hearts and make them...connect with you through vulnerability."

I was growing more concerned with every word. He made it sound like I had manipulated Alastor, not the other way around; as if I was stringing him along with some hidden agenda.

"But Al refuses to see that," Vox went on. "He keeps burying those feelings and pushing you to the brink of insanity to prove you're nothing more than a pawn in his game."

My stared hardened. "What is your point?"

"My point—" he stood from his side of the table and sat right beside me, "—is that your worth is seen here. You've made incredible progress and answered so many of my dying questions. And I've seen the way you appreciate the Old World. So many people laugh at it and even pretend it didn't happen. But you..."

He placed his hand on top of mine and it took everything in me not to pull it free. "You appreciate it. Not just your books and their knowledge, but the things they've created. You appreciate my work, even if you don't want to admit it."

My throat was uncomfortably dry. My feet were rooted to the floor but my torso was leaning away from him. It was hard to hear his words over the sound of my heart drumming.

"You think you don't have a choice over your life, and Alastor has done well to make you think that, but...you do. You can choose to stay here. To work alongside me. The things you would translate...you would make this city come alive and pull the people out of poverty. And..."

His eyes went to our hands. He slowly moved up my arm, light as a feather, until he reached my shoulder, briefly removing it so he could tuck my hair behind my ear. I felt unnaturally hot.

"You could stay with someone who values your independence. Someone who could give you access to all the Old World information we've been collecting for years. Someone...who may feel just as lonely as you."

My mouth hung open, unable to form words. My limbs felt heavy and stuck in place. He was offering something dangerously close to freedom. I could play into it. The more I cooperated with him, the more freedom I would have. The more freedom I had, the easier it would be to make my escape. Maybe even with my archive.

And yet...there was a feeling I couldn't describe. A feeling that this...just wasn't right. A feeling that said I was being lured straight into a trap all decorated in gold and empty promises.

"Think about it," Vox said, as his hand trailed down my shoulder. He stood and left the room without another word.

I stared at the empty space where he had been. My heart wasn't slowing down. My blood felt cold and my skin scalding hot. I thought I was breaking out in hives from where he had touched me.

I fisted my shirt as I fought the rising panic. I pressed the pads of my fingers into the cold table and counted my breaths, goosebumps running along my arms.

This was bad. This was very bad.

Chapter Text

My fingers hovered over the fresh parchment, ink glistening in the artificial light of Vox's lab. He sat on a stool beside me and watched with a quiet intensity as I read over the words. At the bottom was a big line and my name in print. It was a contract.

"All it takes is a signature." Vox said simply, nonchalantly, and gestured calmly to the parchment in my hands. "Lucifer himself could seal it with magic. No loopholes, no threats, no demands. Just a contract binding us as equals, all for the pursuit of knowledge."

Equals.

I swallowed around nothing. I didn't believe him for one second, and yet, here I was staring at the evidence. I had read over the contract ten times over and still nothing jumped out as a red flag. There didn't seem to be any loopholes like Vox suggested, but there had to be something I was missing. Right?

I had spent weeks fighting Alastor and his demands. Now, here was Vox offering me equality and a sense of freedom. He was providing me with a choice. Something that had been stripped away from me so cruelly and unforgivingly by the man whom I had once cared about.

Part of me wanted to sign the contract out of pure spite against Alastor.

But the other part was my self-preservation, warning me that there was something amiss with this proposal.

I looked over at Vox, finding him resting his arm on the table and watching me with a soft, lazy smile. "Why didn't Alastor try to make me sign one of these?" I questioned. Alastor was the Lord of the Magic District, yet this was the first time I had ever heard of a magic-binding contract.

Vox shrugged in response. "Not sure. He keeps telling everyone that he has a plan or a method to make you translate more texts but he's never actually shared it."

I looked at the paper again. It felt heavy and stiff in my fingers, so I laid it down to put distance between it and myself.

"You don't have to answer right away," Vox said gently. "You can think it over. We still have at least another day before he returns. I won't pressure you into deciding now." He stood from the desk and grabbed his dark blue coat from a random machine he had draped it over.

I felt a dangerous emotion rising in my throat.

Hope.

Vox was attempting to fill the void in the cracks Alastor had left, and he was filling them with false hope. But hope nonetheless.

I turned around completely to face Vox. "And if I refuse?"

"Then you refuse." He shrugged then slipped on his coat. "But how much longer do you think you can last against Alastor?"

The way he said it wasn't a challenge, more like concern and genuine curiosity.

"We might not know his exact methods but he's wearing you down. I can see it." For once, his eyes glazed over me in an non-predatory manner. "And he'll wear you down even more until you truly believe you don't have a choice." His gaze flickered to the parchment behind me.

I slowly turned back to the counter with a quiet sigh. "I don't have a choice is any of this," I said somberly. "You're only giving me the illusion of control."

"Technically speaking, yes." He waltzed over and leaned agains the counter, arms crossed. "You don't have a choice about translating those texts for Pentagram City. But you do have the choice with whom you work with and what texts you want to translate."

I tilted my head up to meet his steady blue eyes. They shared the same intensity as Alastor's but there was coolness to them.

He pushed off the desk and held out his hand, blue claws and all. "Decide later. Let's take a walk around the city and show you what good your translations would do for us."

I ignored the gesture but stood nonetheless, chewing the inside of my lip as I followed him through the metal, narrow corridors. The temperature steadily grew the closer we climbed to the surface. The noises of large machinery and mining echoed faintly beyond the walls until Vox opened a heavy door and the sounds pierced my ears.

We walked along metal bridges over fire pits, mining drills, and numerous blacksmiths. There was hardly any chatter, only the clanging of heavy work. The air was tight with steam and sweat, and it was a refreshing breath when we finally left the mouth of the large cavern. It was then I noticed three guards following a few paces behind.

I made a mental note and said nothing.

Vox and I walked side by side into the central hub of the entire city. Here, homes were stacked on top of each other and bridges connected the higher levels together. The same aromas, chatter, and laughter from before buzzed around me. Vox had one hand in his pocket and the other hovering just behind my back to keep me close and out of people's way.

My eyes scanned the area with quiet and intense curiosity. I hadn't looked around much when I was with Alastor—I had been far too nervous about meeting Vox and too busy trying to keep up with him to notice much. But now I had the time.

I felt a faint hum. Not magic. It was steady and grew in intensity here and there. I glanced up, squinting through the bright sun, to see black wires running underneath the bridges and snaking through small holes into shops.

I was right.

They did have electricity.

Vox noticed my staring and smirked. "Impressive isn't it?"

"I don't know any communities who've harnessed electricity," I admitted. I started noticing all the wires and the small lights or refurbished technology in the back corners of shops.

"The key is efficiency. We only send power where it's needed, when it's needed."

As if on cue, a metal door between two shops swung open and two workers, dressed in dark blue that matched Vox's coat, carried a large crate through. The doors closed behind them as they stepped into the flow of traffic. I kept an eye on them through the multicolored heads, watching as they went a few shops down and placed the crate in front of a particular shop.

The shop owner shook hands with the two workers and opened the crate. I idly stepped closer to catch sight of what was inside the crate. The shop owner lifted out a package of batteries. Not Old World batteries, but a close replica. He nodded in satisfaction to the workers and disappeared into his shop. The workers picked up the crate and moved on to the next one.

I suddenly became aware of the whispers and stares around me. Some were filled with curiosity, others with caution, and some with scrutiny.

"That's the Archivist?"

"Thought she'd be taller."

"Alastor's pet."

"How long do ya think she'll last?"

"I heard the other one didn't last a week."

"How is a history nerd going to help us?"

"Look at those claws."

"Did you see her ears?"

"They dug her up from an ol' bunker."

"They dressed her up to make 'er look civilized."

My jaw tightened and my footclaws dug into the leather pad they were strapped to. Rosie had made it sound as though there were plenty others who had feet like me. But as I looked around, I noticed most had elongated features, nothing animal-like.

"They're not used to outsiders," Vox said in my ear. "Especially one caught between two powerful men."

I scowled over my shoulder. "I'm not caught between anyone."

"Aren't you?" He gently pushed me to continue walking.

"I thought you integrated people into the city," I challenged, careful to keep my voice low. The guards walked closer behind and it was them who seemed to draw people's attention first before they spotted me. Alastor had seemed to command terrified respect wherever he walked, and people had stepped out of his way before noticing me trailing behind.

Suddenly, the comment 'Alastor's pet' made sense. My face burned with humiliation and frustration.

"We do," Vox answered my statement. "They have roles in different districts but the Main District is mostly people who were born here. They don't really venture out to the other districts unless they have to since this is a sort of state hub."

The explanation sounded rehearsed.

People continued to move about, smoothly and efficiently, and without the desperation I had been expecting. The way Alastor and Lucifer spoke made it sound as if the city was barely getting by, yet here they were moving in crowded union. Many laughed, joked, and smiled at one another as they bartered and traded. This wasn't scavenging. This was progress.

"You don't have to be in Alastor's shadow if you don't want," Vox said softly, letting the weight of his hand settle on the small of my back. My hair stood up on the back of my neck as his breath brushed against my ear. "Work beside me and we can do more than translate the past. We can build a better future for everyone."

I stopped walking and took a step back so his hand would leave me. "Everyone seems just fine."

Vox slid both hands in his pockets and turned on his heel to face me. The crowd continued to buzz past us, giving only passing glances and whispers. They blurred out of earshot as I zoned in on the blue man in front of me.

"Because we've made sure to keep it that way." His expression was empty, methodical, and factual. "Humanity fails when it panics. We have worked very hard to create a stable balance between all districts and among the everyday people."

"A balance that you control," I said more firmly. "That all the Lords and Ladies of their districts control."

"I would call it guidance."

It was jarringly close to something Alastor would say.

"It's not guidance if people don't have the right to choose."

"Take a look." He gestured to the crowd passing by. "Do they look like unhappy people? Do they look unhappy that they don't have a choice about the way of things?"

"They were born here. They don't know any better."

"Exactly. They don't know any better." He took a step closer. "Would you crucify a mother for keeping her daughter from walking off a high ledge because she didn't know any better?"

"That's different."

"No it's not."

I spun in a circle to work off the amounting frustration. My back was starting to itch again. "What do you even need me for? You have the controlled balance you want. What do you need me for aside from a pretty trophy on your shelf?"

Vox gaze me a puzzled look. "Don't you know of the storms?"

"No," I grumbled. "What storms?"

"Alastor hasn't said a word about Storm Season?"

"No."

Vox's lips widened into a grin. "Storm Season is the exact reason why you're here."

"Care to elaborate?"

Vox stepped up and put a hand on my shoulder, guiding me into a walk again. "Storm Season happens once a year between Summer Season and Winter Season. They're aggressive storms that tear half our city apart. It destroys our resources and wears away the ravine walls. We've been looking for an Archivist to help us find a way to protect us from the storms or rebuild faster at the end."

I was silent for a moment, lost in thought. Even the usual stares and whispers didn't quite reach me. I had heard rumors of big, violent storms but that's all they had been—rumors. My region had few storms and they rarely did any damage to the communities.

"Why didn't Alastor tell me?" I asked, my tone no less gentle than before.

"Because that would mean admitting he doesn't have control over something," Vox pointed out. "Not even his powerful mages can control the big storms like they can the normal ones."

"So I'm a tool to fix your biggest problem."

"Everyone's a tool, Archivist," he sighed, annoyed. "Even the Lords and Ladies. In order to survive, everyone has to play their part."

His words made sense—too much sense. Humanity had fallen because they couldn't come together and work as community; because they couldn't submit to a single system that utilized all of their skills like gears in a clock. Some were bigger, some were smaller. But everyone had a part to play.

"You don't have to fear me," Vox murmured, voice dipping into something softer. "We can work as equals. You can decide what gears to turn and when. You're at the pinnacle of Humanity's return and you get to have a say about how it goes."

I looked around the bustling market, felt the hum of electricity overhead, and watched the ordered chaos of a functioning society. My articles never had much sway in the communities around my home, but here, they would have a profound impact that could change the course of Humanity's Rise.

We came back to the intersection that led to Vox's Technology District. The ground opened up and the press of bodies and their judgmental whispers faded. I was both relieved to be free of the crowd but apprehensive to return to the dark walls of Vox's stronghold.

We walked in silence down the near-empty street. I glanced into the openings of each blacksmith to find them making small tweaks to large metal boxes, all with a large V on the front. Workers then took the big boxes and disappeared into small, almost hidden doorways in the back corner.

The typical sounds of mining and other blacksmithing preceded our entrance to the cavern. We barely took a few steps past the guard towers when a man, barely older than myself, was dragged past us in a hurry.

The man's feet scraped against the ground as he fought the two guards hauling him off. They had long, sharp, fin pointed tails with which they used to punish.

"I didn't mean it like that!" the man cried. "I swear I didn't! We just want to go home. We've been—"

He was brutally cut off as one of the guards slammed their tail into his stomach. He grunted, doubled over, and began to wheeze.

Our eyes met, and the wild desperation and silent plea for help brought me to a cold stop.

My heart hammered in my chest as I watched, my mind screaming to do something while my body stayed rooted to my spot. What could I do? I wasn't a fighter. I had no friends or allies. I was just as helpless as he was against the guards. Against Vox.

He was dragged to a narrow door buried in the wall and it slammed shut behind him. His cries were swallowed by the stone, no longer reaching anyone.

"Archivist."

Vox's voice sliced through the air, but with a level of softness that could be deemed as coaxing. I was afraid to look at him.

When I did finally face him, I expected a cold, knowing, and striking glare, much like the one Alastor often wore. Instead, I saw ease and a carefree smile. He gestured for me to follow and I numbly obliged.

"You're more than just a tool." His hand settled on my lower back again. "You're our equal."

I imagined Al's smile and the banter we had shared in my bunker. Then I imagined Alastor's sharp grin and even sharper words. He pushed me, manipulated me, fought me, and twisted everything I knew and lived by.

Never once did he offer me to be his equal. From the moment the Radio Demon made himself known to me, I had been anything but his equal.

I met Vox's gaze and felt it again—the creeping sensation that something wasn't quite right.

I didn't trust Alastor, but I did know him.

I didn't know Vox.

Chapter Text

WARNING! Dark themes.

The lab hummed with steady buzz from white desk lamps, which gave an occasional flicker. Vox and I sat side by side, as we had been doing for the past two days. But today, something was different. His eyes were steadfast on his work, but his elbow repeatedly brushed against mine whenever he shifted on the stool. There was a calming tensity, as if he was waiting for me to say something. In a way, he was.

The contract remained rolled up in the corner of the desk, awaiting my signature. I had spent all last night thinking about it. Vox had gone to bed before me and left one guard outside the door. I had found several manuals hidden in towers of machinery, wires, and other junk. They were manuals of much larger machines and technology, things that would enhance Vox's mining and distribution facilities. I was surprised he hadn't asked me to translate those, but part of me had a feeling he was waiting until I signed the contract.

I glanced at the ink still stuck under my fingernails and the smudges barely visible on my skin.

In terms of words, I had translated roughly about the same as I had translated under Alastor's watchful eye. In term of objects, I had translated many more floppy books, pages, directions, and more. They were simple translations, ones that either gave Vox a slight insight to the inner workings of technology or none at all. Not every translation yielded helpful information, such as the wireless speakers.

"You know," Vox began, pausing his work and placing the melting rod down, "it's been nice having someone to work with. It gets a little lonely down here, which...I'm sure you can relate to."

I shrugged, keeping my eyes on the small booklet before me. "I think I was so busy with my chores that I forgot what it was like to be lonely. Until I tried to sleep." The confession had slipped out with ease but, for once, I didn't chastise myself. Despite my suspicions of Vox, he had been easy to relate with on a few occasions. If only Alastor could do the same.

Vox shifted slightly on his stool, watching me with an expression I couldn't quite decipher. "Sleep is always the hardest. Just you and the thoughts that decide to crawl out of the dark to torment you."

I hummed in response and ran my fingers along the old, smooth paper. Old World texts either came in thin, rough paper or smooth, plastic ones. Much of what Vox gave me was the latter, and I found most technology texts followed that pattern. I rubbed my fingers on the paper again. It was much easier to focus on the texture than the--almost vulnerable--moment Vox and I were sharing. The amount of times we had these moments in the past two days was a little concerning.

"Why are you being nice to me?" I asked suddenly, gently though. Vox blinked back, trying to register the question. "You could've thrown me in a cell the moment Alastor brought me in. Why are you offering me the chance to work with you?" I gestured with my pencil to the contract on the desk.

Vox's lips curled. "Who says I'm helping you? Maybe I'm just trying to see what you're made of before I decide if you're worth it."

I gave him a flatline stare. "Comforting."

He chuckled and leaned forward. "Or maybe," his eyes caught mine, "I just like having someone around who isn't entirely incompetent."

"Sounds like a compliment," I returned.

"Even a great Archivist isn't immune to compliments."

"We don't get them very often."

"Maybe if you actually spoke with another human being, you just might."

"That would require socializing," I reminded playfully. "Which I do not like doing."

"Why? You're very good at it."

A blush colored my cheeks. "You only think that because we're working on a mutual task. I've been told I'm very stiff and awkward."

"Well, who can blame 'em? You've lived your whole life around stiff books."

I rolled my eyes with a shake of my head. Vox's smile widened in return, wrinkles appearing in the corner of his eyes. I smiled back and, for a moment, the tension I had been feeling vanished, making the room feel much lighter. His eyes lingered on mine, but I saw the brief downward movement in them. The temperature in the cold lab suddenly rose, as did my nerves and the hair on the back of my neck.

I wasn't sure when he had moved.

One second he was sitting there smiling at me and the next he was brushing his fingers along my cheek. His skin was smooth from years of working with hot technology, and the inherent warmth from his palm spread through my skin where he touched me.

Then he kissed me.

It wasn't uncertain or hesitant, for Vox never did anything without confidence. The thumb on my cheek moved down to apply a small amount of pressure underneath my jaw, encouraging me to tilt my head back further. His other hand rested on my wrist to hold me in place, even pulling me closer.

I didn't move. Didn't pull away. Didn't lean in. I just existed beneath him, feeling the weight of his lips on mine, of the pressure on my wrist. He was carving into my mind, something I would never be able to take back.

Alastor.

My mind jumped back to the nights we had shared under the stars. The smell of spices was faint, replaced instead by a metallic, coppery taste. Alastor had kissed me differently, firm hands pulling me close with gentle passion, as if he needed me as much as he needed air.

Vox was different.

Vox was controlled, pushy even. He operated the kiss much like his district: tight and controlling. His hand was bigger and stronger where he grabbed my wrist, firm but not bruising. Meanwhile his other hand reached further behind my head in another attempt to coax into lean against him.

I didn't.

A hollow feeling crept into my chest and filled my lungs.

I pulled away first.

Vox's gaze was unreadable as he studied me, his thumb absentmindedly rubbing the space just beneath my ear. His blue eyes glowed in the fake light. "That was...interesting."

I swallowed, my heart pounding in my ears.

He looked as though he wanted to kiss me again, so I shied away to glance at the abandoned text on the desk. He didn't seem the least bit deterred, hooking his leg around his stool and dragging it close. His hand left my face--not before tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear--and the other moved to wrap my hand in a gentle hold.

"I guess the contract is also a little self serving," Vox said quietly. His eyes glanced at our interlocked hands. "I've enjoyed your company. Really, I have. And I was hoping you..."

His words trailed off as his eyes narrowed on something behind me. His stool scraped against the floor as he reached past me. I turned just in time to see him withdrawing an old manual that had been stashed between two machines on top of each other. As soon as I saw the cover, my stomach dropped.

Vox's hand still trapped mine against the counter as he placed the manual down and furiously scanned through the pages. The ink had been smudged, bleeding through words and seeping into the next page, and other pages were missing entirely, with only jarred edges in the binding to hint at its previous existence.

Ruined. The book was ruined.

His grip tightened.

I stifled a whimper from the pain as his eyes scanned the room. His broad shoulders tensed and he finally let go of my hand. I massaged the fingers that had been pushed into the cold counter as he moved quickly around his lab. I watched with growing horror as he pulled various manuals from their hiding places and flipped through their ruined pages.

He stilled. Slowly, he raised his head to meet my eyes.

My muscles coiled on instinct.

Then I bolted for the exit.

He was fast, catching my wrist as I reached the door. I barely slipped out of his grip and lost my balance, slamming my shoulder into the hallway wall. I ducked as his claws hit the wall where my head had been a moment before. I jumped down the first few steps before his hand caught my hair and yanked hard. My feet slipped off the step and everything but my head cut into the edges of the metal stairs.

He dragged me up by my hair, then wrapped an arm around my torso to drag me the rest of the way. The pain dimmed enough to regain control of my limbs but, by then, it was too late. He hauled me across the floor and slammed the door shut with his foot.

I clawed at the hand still pulling sharply on my hair as tears fell down my face. He knelt over my waist to tower over me, caging me to the floor. "What did you do?" he demanded.

I clenched my jaw, refusing to answer. I had been so close. Alastor was expected to arrive today and he would've taken me back to his district before Vox had the chance to uncover what I had done. But now?

"Why did you do this?" His fingers grabbed more hair and I yelped at the sting. "Why!"

My feet slid against the floor as I struggled to push him off. He slammed his hand onto my bicep and leaned his weight on my hips so I couldn't wriggle free. Drops of spit hit my cheek with every heated word.

"I trusted you." He leaned closer. "I brought you into my lab and let you work beside me. I offered a freeing contract to be my equal and this is how you repay me?"

I forced myself to meet his gaze, firm but pleading. "I had to."

"Why?" He brought his face closer. "This knowledge is impossible to come by. It took me years to collect all of them. Years."

"You wouldn't understand," I mumbled.

"Then make me understand." He leaned away, still towering over me and pressing his weight on my stomach. "Because right now, all I see is betrayal."

"We were warned..." my voice shook with every word. "Humanity has to...has to evolve naturally. It can't cheat with Old technology."

"That is not your call to make, Archivist." He lifted my head, straining my neck and snapping bits of hair in the process. "Your job is to preserve knowledge, not hide it."

I narrowed my watery eyes. "My job is to protect the knowledge, so that it's not misused."

"You think you're protecting it?" His voice dropped to a more controlled—more dangerous—tone. "No, Archivist. You're hoarding it. Keeping it away from the very people it could save and bring Humanity back. And for what? You can't control how Humanity will evolve and you shouldn't control how we evolve. The old Humanity fell for a reason."

"I'm trying to keep us from following in their footsteps," I argued. I dug my nails harder into his arm, right on the underside of his wrist, and he let go with a hiss. He jumped to his feet, away from me, and ran a hand over his face in an effort to compose himself. I slowly got to my feet.

When he finally faced me, his anger had cooled into something akin to ice. Something calculating and unemotional.

"Fine," he said flatly. "You want to play gatekeeper? Let's make a deal."

He snatched my arm and dragged me to the back corner of his lab, where he proceeded to dig through carefully placed machines, wires, and plating to pull out an old book. It was large, thick, and covered in dust, but for all that, it was in good condition.

He didn't give me a chance to read the title as he pushed me towards his desk. He shoved me forward so I tripped on the stool and braced my hands on the table. He dropped the book right on my hand and I recoiled.

"Translate this," he pointed, "and I'll forgive what you did with the manuals."

I took one look at the title and felt my soul drain out of my mouth. My fingers went cold as the blood rushed to my ears. The title was worn, but not entirely ineligible--a marvel really. I was staring at a detailed manual that I had been raised to burn upon sight. The title read: The Rebirth of the Internet: How to set up and access

My mind raced as I tried to come up with a lie, a distraction, anything to divert Vox's attention from this text. But my mouth ran dry. All I could do was stare at it and feel dread spreading through my chest.

This...this was going to lead to my death.

My predecessors had fought to keep this book out of history, yet here it was right in front of me, asking to be brought back.

Vox's eyes darkened at my silence. "You recognize it." The air in the room grew stiff as he crept behind me, lips coming close to my ear to whisper, "You've been doing so well. We've been making so much progress. You wouldn't want to ruin it all now, would you? You wouldn't want to ruin your chance at freedom, would you?" His fingers gestured to the contract still rolled up in the corner of his desk.

I swallowed thickly as I struggled to maintain my composure, but the fear was too great. My legs were trembling and I had to lean on the counter just to stay upright. I sidestepped in a desperate effort to put distance between us. But he followed, pressing his chest against my back and putting both hands on the table on either side of mine.

"What is it?" he purred in my ear. "Forget how to read, Archivist?"

"It's...it's nothing," I stammered. "Just...just way outdated stuff I've only ever heard rumors about." I knew he could see my distress but I had lost complete control of...everything.

"You know, you're really bad at lying."

I turned in an effort to force space between us, but he moved faster. His hand snatched my shoulder and spun me the rest of the way to face him head-on. I lost my footing and he returned to his previous stance, hands on either side and his body pushing my back into the edge of the desk.

His face came horribly close as he spat, "What are you hiding? What is it?" Then he lowered his voice again, and his eyes hardened. "I've treated you like an equal, haven't I? I promised you a life of freedom, didn't I? Yet you've destroyed knowledge and now you're keeping secrets from me."

"I...I can't..." My voice was barely above a whisper. "It's...I'm not allowed to translate it."

"Why? Because it's too dangerous?"

My silence was his answer.

"You Archivists are so proud and believe so stubbornly that you know what's best for Humanity. You play god in a world so broken, not caring about the hundreds of lives that are lost every day because of your broken tradition."

He let out a sigh. "Now, listen carefully..." He pressed his hands on top of mine and a gasp escaped me as he pushed them painfully into the metal. "I'll forgive the manuals. Every single one of them. No punishment and no consequences. Just translate this book and all is forgiven."

My lip trembled. "I...no."

"No?"

"No. I...I can't."

He leaned in close. "You can't or you won't."

I swallowed and looked away. "I'm forbidden to."

"By who? A dead society? By the ghosts of the Archivists long gone?" His breath was hot on my cheek despite how far back I was leaning away, forgoing all pain shooting up my spine. His tone softened. "I thought you were smarter than this. I thought you, of all people, would understand that knowledge should be used, not buried."

I pressed my lips into a tight line, and averted my gaze.

He struck like a snake. I panicked as his hand enclosed around my neck, right under my jaw where it mattered most. My eyes shot to the ceiling as I scratched at his hand, choking on my own spit with every gasp for air. I felt his lips touch my ear and his grip loosen just enough so I could breathe properly. "You're going to translate it or so help me, Archivist, I will make sure you follow your oath all the way."

New tears fell down my face. "No."

The world spun as he pulled me from the desk and dragged me into the hallway, his grip like iron. I tripped down the stairs after him, his unyielding grip the only thing keeping me from splitting my head open.

"Vox, I—wait!" I dug my heels into the ground but the leather of my shoes just caused me slide alongside him.

"Stop!" I twisted and pulled but he was stronger, angrier. No amount of struggling and writhing could loosen his grip as he dragged me down colder halls, dimmer lights, and fewer salved technology. He was taking my deeper into his stronghold.

"The way I see it, Archivist," Vox's voice bounced off the stone walls, "you're too scared to do what needs to be done. You cling to an ancient oath made in a time of despair. You have the chance, you have the power, to save Humanity and guide it to a greater future. But you refuse to take the risk of trusting in the current Humanity. You're content to sit to the side and watch us all fail."

I dropped my weight and slipped under his arm, but his hand was locked around my wrist. "You don't understand!" I pulled harder but he just yanked me back and glued me to his side again. "What you're asking—it could destroy everything!"

He turned a corner and my eyes widened at the sight of stone cells. He attempted to my push me through one of the doors but I clung to the threshold, digging my shoulder into his ribs. He grabbed my hair but my hand shot up to rake my nails across his face. He flung his head out of reach and I squeezed past him, only to be tripped and dragged inside by my foot.

He stood in between me and the door as I scrambled to my feet. "Alastor has been far too lenient with you. His feelings have clouded his judgement and now look where we are. If he had dealt with you properly from the start, we wouldn't be in this mess."

"This isn't about feelings," I snapped, practically hearing Alastor's voice in my head. "This is about doing what's right. Even—even if you can't see it."

"You think you know more than I do?" His cold shadow loomed over me. "You're nothing but a scared little girl who spent her life hiding away from the real world. You should be kissing my boots for the chances I've given you." He took a slow, deep breath to calm down. Then met my gaze, his voice jarringly soft and gentle. "Last chance. What was the book? What did it say? You can still walk away from this."

I inched out of his shadow. "I won't translate it for you."

His shoulders sagged with a sigh. "Fine." He closed the door with a loud BANG, flipping a switch and drowning me in utter darkness.

~*~

Vox dropped his head in his hands with a deflating sigh. He had run out of time. Alastor was coming back and the Archivist—his Archivist—would run right back to him. And Vox had no one to blame but himself.

A sharp laugh interrupted his thoughts. "Gods, you really are an idiot."

"Not helping, Val," Vox mumbled.

"You let your anger get the best of you." Valentino purred and pranced over to where Vox sat at his desk. "You were supposed to make her like you. Instead, she got you to like her." He sat on the edge of the desk and crossed his ankles, stretching his long legs out. "Now what do you think she's gonna do? She'll run straight. Back. To. Him."

Vox slammed his fist on the counter. "Is there a point you're trying to make?"

"How did it feel when you kissed her? Having her so close and hesitate to push you away? Imagine how Alastor would feel when he finds out."

"He can't hurt me. Besides—"

"No." Valentino interrupted and leaned forward. "How do you think he'll feel about her? She'll be tainted to him. Disloyal. Unfaithful." He gave a slow, knowing smile. "And then, she'll have nowhere else to run but here."

"She'll hate me," Vox argued. "She'll just keep finding ways to destroy more knowledge and slow our progress. She doesn't care about anything other than her precious books."

"She already hates you." Valentino circled him and placed both hands on Vox's shoulders. "But hate and love? They're closer than you think."

Vox didn't reply, only burrowing his face further in his hands. Valentino leaned down so he could speak directly in his ear. "She's slipping, dear Vox. You got in her head and now? She's torn. Confused. And once Alastor finds out? He won't want her back."

"It won't matter," Vox muttered. "Alastor will just break her. She won't get the chance to run back to me."

"Alastor is still bound by Lucifer's command just like the rest of us. Our sad little 'king' may step in to keep him from killing our only Archivist. He might even give her back to you because of all the things she translated for you."

Vox tried to shrug off Valentino's hands but the tall man didn't let go. "She'll fight. She won't ever trust me again."

"Let her fight." Valentino pulled on one of Vox's shoulders so he would look at him. "That's the beauty of it. She'll fight and struggle and resist, but in the end?" He cocked his head to the side. "She'll break. They always do."

Vox swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth. He had tried to coax her into staying with him, he had been so close, but his anger had shoved her in a corner.

"You're hesitating." Valentino finally released Vox's shoulders and strolled to the center of the room. "Let me handle it. You've done your part. Let me make sure she never wants to crawl back to him." He glanced over his shoulder, red eyes meeting Vox's steady blue ones. "Make her see that you're the lesser of two evils."

Vox blinked at him. He knew what Valentino was asking of him—what he was suggesting. The problem was that he wanted to agree with him. Valentino had a way with coercing his underlings into being blindly loyal to him; terrified to do anything against him. Could he do the same to the Archivist?

His sigh crackled through the still air. "Just...don't go too far."

Valeninto's grin sharpened. "Don't worry."

~*~

I sat curled in the corner, knees tucked under my chin as I forced steady breaths through tight lips. Footsteps echoed down the empty hallway for several heartbeats, then a blinding light flashed in the cells. I shielded my face in my arm, but the sound of the cell door swinging open made my head snap up.

The lights dimmed to a single overhead light in my cell as a man—tall, lengthy, and with two pairs of arms—strode towards me. I jumped to my feet and bared my teeth as I readied to fight. But he stopped in the center of the cell.

"Poor little Archivist," Valentino crooned. "Left all alone in the dark." He wore a long, red coat with striped animal skin around his collar. His hat, with a matching feather, added more to his height.

He propped a hand on his hip as his bright red eyes glared at me through pink-tinted glasses. "Do you think he's coming for you?"

I narrowed my eyes and shifted sideways along the wall. He remained where he was and merely turned his head to watch me.

"Alastor," he clarified. "The most feared Radio Demon. Your savior."

He tsked.

"You think he'll storm in here, slaughter us all, and take you back in his open arms?"

My eyes flickered to the door that had been left slightly ajar in his haste to enter.

"You did kiss another man."

I stopped.

My stomach twisted as he turned to face me. His grin made my blood run cold. "You let Vox touch you. Let him taste you." He took a step forward. "Alastor doesn't strike me as the forgiving type."

I pressed my fingers to the rough stone in an effort to ground myself before my panic took over. The sickening feeling in my stomach worsened.

"And what about all those texts you translated?" he kept going. "Think about how much knowledge you handed over to the man Alastor hates." He tilted his head to the side. "Do you think he'll be grateful?"

I glanced at the door.

"Or do you think he'll look at you as the traitor you are?" His voice turned silky smooth. "Face it, Archivist. He'll never trust you again. You can never go back to him. But if you surrender now—"

I bolted out of the cell and slammed straight into someone. Cold, slimy hands grabbed my shoulders and shoved me back inside, forcing me to trip on my own feet. My head hit the stone as the cell door locked soundly behind my new interrogator. His pointed noise and tail were a trademark of Vox's sharkmen.

"Now, now," Valentinoo crooned. "Let's not make this any harder than it needs to be."

The shark moved too fast. He was on me in an instant, pinning me to the ground as I snapped and snarled at his face. His tail hammered my legs into the ground as Valentino appeared above me, settling his weight on my chest and grabbing my arms. One pair held my shoulders and the other pair pinned my wrists to the stone.

"All you have to do is sign the contract Vox graciously gave you." Valentino's breath smelled sickly sweet.

My own breath hitched at the sight of something sharp and shiny—a set of metal clippers, far too thick and heavy for my fragile anatomy. Panic finally spilled out. "Wait—don't—"

My own cry cut me off as one of my footclaws was severed. The pain was immediate and white-hot. It sent shockwaves of sharp, prickly pain up my leg and singed my nerves. I jerked my foot but the lackey had a strong grip on my ankle and his weight on my legs.

Another clip.

My back arched off the ground as I tried to throw my weight sideways. Valentino chuckled deeply in my ear as I writhed beneath him.

Another clip.

"Such a delicate thing," he mused after my scream died down. "And yet so stubborn."

Another clip.

Tears streamed down my face and my muscles contracted. I was helpless against them as they leaned their weight on my limbs.

"Just agree, Archivist. And all this pain will come to an end."

Another clip.

This wasn't about joining Vox. This was about the Internet. The contract had been a way to bound me to Vox so I would translate the Internet. He didn't actually want me as an equal—it had been a ploy that I played right into.

Another clip.

The ground became slick with my own blood.

Another clip.

I mumbled.

"What was that, Archivist?" Valentino leaned closer so his teeth came uncomfortably close.

"...do solemnly swear to uphold the duty of the Archivist—"

"What the...?"

"...guardian of Humanity's collective knowledge. I v-vow to protect my Archive—"

"Stop that."

"...preserving the truths of the—of the past from corruption, d-destruction, and misuse. I shall remain steadfast in my duty—"

"I said stop." He grabbed my jaw as the lackey snipped another claw. He leaned away as I let out a shrill scream through my broken throat.

"...e-ensuring that...that this knowledge...is kept safe, e-even at...the cost of my own...my own life, or those I care for." My words slurred together with trembling lips.

"It takes one word, Archivist. And this all goes away for good." He tried to sound convincing, but his frustration was the only thing that came out. His bruising grip tightened on my jaw. "All you gotta say is yes."

Another clip.

Another scream.

More tears.

More blood.

"...I p-pledge...to seek truth...above a-all. To disting—distinguish fact from f-falsehood—"

Another clip.

Vox, who had been waiting around the corner with cold detachment, finally stepped up to the door. "Val, that's enough."

"She's out of claws anyways," Valentino grumbled. His weight lifted from my chest at the same time as his hands disappeared from my arms. The lackey followed and the sound of the door swinging open scratched my ears like nails on a chalkboard.

I sniffled, twisting over on my stomach and dragging myself across the floor away from them.

Vox knelt beside me but I slashed for his face, missing by a hair. Pain pulsed through my legs as he pressed a cloth to my bloodied feet. The pain reached all the way through my tailbone, up my spine, and across my shoulder blades.

I heard shuffling and muffled voices as the world began to spin. I swallowed the growing nausea but failed, emptying the contents of my stomach on the cell floor.

I sucked in a gasp of air and blinked through tears. The cell was empty, but I could hear shouts down the hall. I chanced a look at my feet and was almost sick again. There was blood everywhere.

I fell in and out of consciousness several more times. I could remember the burn in my feet, my body seizing inward, and my limbs shaking uncontrollably.

I used my aching arms to pull myself to the wall, lifting my feet just enough so they wouldn't rub against the ground. I put my shoulder to the stone wall so I could see the entrance, then curled in a tight ball.

A long trail of blood smeared the floor.

The cold was the worst part. I couldn't feel my fingers as I cried, my teeth chattered and my body shaking. Despite the pain I had suffered, both physically and mentally, I had done my family proud. I had done my heritage proud. I had done my ancestors proud. When faced with pain and evil, I had prevailed, even if not very well. That was the way of the Archivist. That was what made me an Archivist.

But the scared, hurt little girl inside wished she had lived a different life.

She wished she didn't have to hold the weight of the world on her shoulders. Wished she could have grown up in a community with other people. Wished she could have lived a life completely oblivious to that of the Archivists.

But she couldn't. Her life has been chosen for her and now she was paying the price of her lineage.

"You did what?"

Alastor.

Panic made me almost vomit again, but there was nothing I could do about him. I watched and waited with sickening anticipation through the bars.

"It—it was just meant to scare her, that's all," Vox stuttered.

"You told him she needed to be in one piece," Valentino said calmly, despite the danger staring him down.

"I said she needed to be in the same condition as when I left her." It sounded like the Radio Demon, not Alastor and certainly not Al.

"You should've seen what she looked like when I pulled out the old manual. The thick one. The one that we found in—"

"So you declaw her because she refused?"

"They'll grow back!" Vox tried.

The shadows warped as Alastor came around the bend and peered through the bars. I covered my face as I felt his eyes looked me over. I could feel the prickle down my side and land on my feet. Every heartbeat sent a pulse of burning pain through my knees.

For a moment, there was silence.

Then there wasn't.

"You can't kill me!" Vox screamed. The sound of claws on stone, sparks flying, and flesh meeting flesh reached my ears. "Our deal is still on! You'll leave her with no one."

I could't see what was happening. I only saw half shadows of Alastor towering over Vox with stretched outlines of antlers protruding from his head. Valentino's back was just barely visible at the corner, and he looked ready to run.

"You can't kill me." Vox's voice cracked, and he stuttered out a cough of blood.

Alastor was quiet for a moment.

"No," he admitted slowly. "But I can make it even."

The sound of bone snapping was overpowered by Vox's scream. Valentino made a run for it but Alastor moved lightning quick, slamming into the man's back and taking him to the ground. Something dark wrapped around Valentino's foot and in one swift motion, jerked it at a disgustingly wrong angle.

I covered my ears as their cries bounced off the stone, and soon, I joined in. I cried against the stone knowing he was coming for me next. My breath fanned my face against the floor where I cowered. I couldn't stop shaking, couldn't stop crying, couldn't stop panicking. My feet stung so bad.

A light hand touched my leg and I flinched violently with a yelp.

"Darling," Alastor said gently. "It's me."

I continued to tremble, arms locked firmly around myself as I tried to make myself as small as possible. Any slight shift made my feet slip on my own blood. I clung to my sleeves, bracing for something worse.

"Darling," he tried again. I flinched at his touch on my arm but he didn't recoil, instead gently rubbing my shoulder in an effort to coax me out of my tight ball. "I need to get you out of here."

I shook my head and sniffled. My muscles refused to let go as I choked on a sob.

"I'm not going to hurt you." His hand continued to draw gentle circles on my back.

I shook my head again. My body convulsed a few times when I tried to speak and consciousness slipped from my grasp a few other times. I just wanted to sleep, to make all the pain go away.

You let Vox touch you.

Let him taste you.

He'll look at you as the traitor you are.

Valentino's words reverberated in my mind, curling around me like poison ivy.

Cheater, I thought to myself. Traitor.

I had made it even between us—Alastor had betrayed me and now I betrayed him. Yet somehow, I still felt like the bad guy.

Alastor sighed and his hand came to a stop. "I'm taking you home."

Home—

—was miles away.

I lifted my head just enough and cracked one eye open. His smile was strained, his eyebrows furrowed in an attempt to be gentle. He looked like the Radio Demon—he had all the right parts from the jacket, to his monocle, to his sharp hair—but it looked like Al was staring down at me, wearing all the wrong things.

He wedged his hand between my cheek and shoulder while the other carefully reached under my knees. I let him reach behind my back and finally hoist me off the ground, and the cold air on my feet caused me to hiss.

"I've got you," he whispered.

He was so warm.

I dropped my head on his shoulder and pressed my face against his neck. I didn't want to see what had happened to Vox. I could hear his groans and whimpers, muddled with those of Valentino.

I continued to shake. My body couldn't get warm.

I slid my hand under the flap of Al's jacket and clutched the fabric underneath, searching for more warmth. He tensed for a moment, then shifted his hold, cradling me closer as he stepped past Valentino.

"I know, darling," he murmured, "I know."

He walked with careful, deliberate steps, as if afraid any quick movement would shatter me. It just might.

He'll hate you.

My breath hitched. I swallowed a sob and Al's arms tightened ever so slightly. "You're safe, my dear."

Was I?

The air outside Vox's stronghold was colder than I remembered, a cruel contrast to the warmth radiating from Al's chest. My feet throbbed at the chill and I whimpered into the collar of his coat. It would take weeks for my claws to fully heal. If they even healed properly at all.

The thought caused another choked sob.

"We're almost home." His chest hummed as he spoke.

Home.

I didn't know what that meant anymore.

But I clung to him anyways.

Chapter Text

Alastor watched silently from his spot on the stairs. Sunlight streamed into the dusty little attic from the small, round window on the wall and paint the room in a gentle, almost cozy, yellow glow; all except for one corner of the room where a lifeless body lay curled on a small bed. 

You hadn't gotten out of bed in two days. He was convinced you hadn't even shifted positions for those two days. 

You were on your side facing the wall, away from the rest of the room, and curled as close to it as possible. A thin blanket was draped over your shoulders while you clung to your grandmother's quilt, burying your face in the fabric until you could convince yourself that she was actually there with you.

Your feet, meanwhile, were wrapped in white bandages up to your ankle. They were originally propped up on a pillow but you had since slid them underneath it, as if you were afraid something--or someone--would try to touch them again. 

You hardly spoke. Hardly blinked. And barely breathed. 

A plate of food sat untouched on the desk beside the bed, as well as a full glass of water which had now turned lukewarm. Alastor tried smaller food portions on the plate, but that did nothing. Even when he presented two slices of warm garlic bread, your favorite, you still didn't move. 

His shoulders sagged as he quietly left the room.

He swallowed with a tight throat as he descended into the living room where Rosie waited, standing by the empty fire and arms folded neatly over her stomach, beady-black eyes etched with worry. 

Alastor shook his head. Then dropped his eyes to his feet. 

Rosie moved silently across the room and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. Her dress whisked around his ankles as she climbed the stairs. Alastor let out a tense sigh, collapsing in his chair near the fireplace, head in his hand. He tried to breathe around the upsetness in his chest and the prickling fury in his fingers. 

At first, I thought Alastor had come back to convince me to eat again, but the softness of the footsteps on the floorboards told me it wasn't him. A spike of panic passed through my lungs and I looked over my shoulder. I was greeted with a sweet smile and a wave of relief as I recognized Rosie.

"How are you feeling, sweetie?" she asked softly, coming to sit on the edge of the bed. I gave her a sorrowful look then turned back to the wall. I wasn't in the mood for talking. 

She leaned sideways to steal a glance at my wrapped feet under the pillow. Alastor had tried to change the wrappings yesterday but I didn't let him. It didn't matter if they were supposed to be changed every day, every two days, whatever--it didn't matter. No one was going to touch my feet. No matter how much they throbbed, pulsed, and ached. No one was going to touch me.

Something sparkled in my peripheral and I lifted my head just enough to see Rosie holding out a glass of water. "At least take a drink, sweetheart." After a beat, "That's all."

I blinked back at her, trying to register what actions it would take. I would have to peel my hand away from my grandmother's quilt, squeeze the glass enough to hold it, bring it all the way to my mouth--it was too much. I dropped my head back on the mattress, having long forgone the pillow near my head. 

Rosie reached forward and snugly fit the glass in the folds of my grandmother's quilt a few inches from my face. Her long fingers then disappeared out of view, leaving only me and the water. 

I stared at it for several minutes. The object simply would not register in my brain. I watched the little droplets of condensation trail down the side of the glass for who knows how long, my mind blank like a sea of nothing. I didn't pull myself out. It felt too good, too simple, too safe. 

Eventually, though, my eyes did start to focus in on the foreign object. Everything else around it was cream or brown. It had a slight shine from the sunlight stretching behind my back and small blue tint along the edges. 

I extended my finger and touched one of the droplets. It latched onto my skin and melted under my fingernail. 

I touched another one. 

Then another. 

I drew a circle. Then waited for more droplets to form. I drew a triangle. A ninety degree angle. A weird looking S. Then a T and R. 

I extended the rest of my fingers, the small muscles creaking as I did, and wrapped my whole hand around the base of the glass. The water soaked into my skin as I rubbed my thumb along the smooth surface. 

Slowly, I brought it closer to my face. I tipped it slightly and lifted my head just enough to touch my lips. My first sip was small, but soothed my dry, cracked throat. I took several more, all through tight lips and barely breathing until nothing was left. I was shocked to find it empty when I pulled it away. 

I glanced over to find Rosie still sitting with me with that sweet smile of hers. Her movements were slow as she reached for the glass and placed it on the desk for me. "Would you like some more?"

I shook my head and she simply nodded. 

Next, she offered a slice of garlic bread. I pursed my lips together and turned back to the wall. I might've been thirsty but I still wasn't in the mood to eat anything. 

"Just one slice. Then I'll stop pestering you." Her tone was light and teasing, yet it didn't make me feel better. I wasn't so sure anything could make me feel better. 

But Rosie was patient. She wasn't pushy, wasn't demanding, and wasn't angry. I felt guilt surfacing as I realized she had walked all the way over here to check on me and help me feel better. The least I could do was make it less difficult for her. 

I moved to uncurl my fingers from the blanket, but stopped. If I accepted it, then she would leave sooner. She would go back to her district and leave me alone with Alastor again. At least if she was here, Alastor would stay away for the time being. 

Unfortunately, my guilt won. 

With trembling fingers, I reached out and accepted the piece of bread. I took a small bite and forced myself to chew. At first it tasted like nothing, all rubbery with no flavor. Then the juice leaked onto my tongue and coated it in buttery garlic. It was warm, rich, and familiar somehow. 

That's when it clicked. 

My grandmother used to make garlic bread when I was younger. She used to make it a lot during the winter days when the earth was so cold it created frost on the edges of the bunker. We would all curl up on the floor, sitting on couch cushions to stay off the metal plating, and sit around an upside-down clay pot with a small candle in the center. The garlic bread was an easy treat to contrast the hard, stale bread that usually lasted us through the cold weeks. 

The moment I swallowed, I crumpled into a mess of tears. I took another watery bite, then another, until I reached the crust and gave up. Rosie took the piece and, a moment later, was combing her hands through my hair. I hugged my grandmother's quilt tighter and silently screamed into the old fabric--not a single sound left my mouth. Not even when pain pulsed through my knees from shifting my hurt feet under the pillow. 

Rosie stayed with me. I let her touch me, let her gently tug on some of the knots in my hair, and let her braid a few strands. 

She didn't say a single word. 

She didn't hush me or try to tell me it was alright. She just sat quietly beside me, hands gentle on my scalp, and said nothing. Soft and steady. 

I wasn't even aware I had fallen into a deep sleep until I woke up to the dim, morning light of the next day. 

~*~

Alastor could not be kept away for long, no matter how much I willed it. 

I could feel him hover at the bottom of the stairs, at the entrance to the room, and hear him shift his feet on the creaky floorboards. I could sense the way he stared at me every time he left a new plate of food I barely touched, before finally walking away. 

Nights were the hardest. I felt more alone. The tower was quiet, the room was dark, and my thoughts ran rampant. It was only during the day, when I could hear the soft murmur of chatter from the outside world, when I could hear Niffty rummaging about downstairs, that I could finally sleep. 

My back was starting to hurt and I was shifting uncomfortably every few minutes. Yet I still didn't have the strength to sit up, let alone stand. I stared at the ceiling and lifted my hand to trace the lines. My translations remained stacked in their piles in the other corner of the room. 

I heard Alastor climbing the steps again. I shifted to face the wall and pulled the quilt close to my chest, head finally resting on the pillow. His boots tapped on the wood as he crossed the room and placed a new plate of food on the desk. 

I thought he would do what he always did--stare at me for a moment then leave. But he didn't.

"You should eat more," he said quietly, afraid the volume of his voice might send me spiraling. "You'll feel better and might even sleep through the night."

I wasn't sure how he knew I wasn't sleeping, but it didn't matter. I didn't answer him and kept my eyes glued to the wall. I didn't want to talk to him. Not yet. Every time I heard his voice, all I could think about was the day Vox had kissed me. No matter how I tried to think it, guilt and dread just crept right back in. 

Alastor let out a heavy sigh. "Darling...it's been a week."

My answer was only more silence.

"I need to change the bandages."

My whole body tensed, and he saw. My heart began to race, my palms became sweaty, and I had to crack my lips to breathe quietly.

"I normally would ask Rosie," he said, "but she's busy preparing for Storm Season at the moment." He spoke slowly, slower than I had ever heard him speak, but that was all I could register before the painful throb in my feet took all my attention. 

"You may not heal properly and there's a risk of infection if I don't change them," he went on. "I was supposed to change them a few days ago but...I wanted to give you more time."

I fisted my grandmother's quilt in a white knuckled grip and tried to breathe through the rising panic. My chest was heaving, up and down and up and down, only the blanket was muffling my erratic breathing. 

But Alastor knew. He could see the way my shoulders moved with every shallow breath and faintly hear the winded panic with every inhale. 

He started to panic, fearful of what another debilitating panic attack might do to me. He searched around the room, unsure, until he thought of something. 

"But before we try that..." He mastered his voice to come out steady and calm. "I have something for you."

I picked up the sound of magic as he summoned a book in his hand, the tension in my shoulders relaxing as I turned slightly over my shoulder to see what he was presenting. 

"I found it not too long ago. Before we met, actually." He stepped closer to the bed so I wouldn't have to crane my neck as much to see the old book. "It's obviously different from your texts because of the binding but I thought...well...perhaps you might find it interesting." A breath later he added, "You don't have to translate this one. It's just for your pleasure."

He glanced unsurely at the dark brown book. 

"That is...if it's even interesting. I'm afraid I don't know what it's about."

I stared at the book. It was different. It had no title cover but the name was likely inscribed on the binding. Its pages were yellow and the cover was made of a hard material that was gradually falling apart. It looked like a novel.

Alastor's heart quickened as I looked ready to accept it, but then my hand fell short and pulled at the old quilt instead.

"Why?" I asked, eyes gradually making their way up to his. I held his red gaze briefly before glancing away.

The question caught him entirely off guard and he found himself unable to answer right away. He blinked a few times until he found his words. "I suppose," he started slowly, red claws tapping the underside of the book, "I suppose, in a way...it was my fault for what Vox did to you. Lucifer might have ordered it but...I probably could have found a way if I had given it some more thought." He rested his arm on my leg, book still in hand. 

It was my turn to blink at him. Was this an apology? Or a cover? Was it both? It was still the first nice thing he had done for me since...well, since our time back home. I thought back to those sweet, fun-filled days in the forest, in the bunker, and on the roof. He made me want to live for something. He made me happy for the first time in a long while. And then took that all way in the blink of an eye.

"You don't have to read it, either," he insisted. "If you don't want to."

My eyes stayed on the book, the weight of everything settling in my chest and stretching up my neck to where tears began to form. I blinked them away and, hesitantly, reached out for the book. I wanted to trust Alastor. I wanted the persona in the woods to be the real side of him that maybe only I could see. Everything was telling me to trust him but my mind was reminding me of my oath and his betrayal. It gave me a headache.

"Okay," I whispered.

Alastor nodded, relief washing down his back as I lifted the book from his hand. He rested his arm briefly on my leg--almost too briefly for me to notice--then sat down on the edge of the bed. I slowly moved my legs further away from him, still hidden underneath the pillow. 

I tried to ignore him. I tried to ignore the warmth traveling down my neck and my arm as I opened the book to the first few pages. It was indeed, a novel, but there was no summary. That was fine. A mystery might keep my mind busy at night.

"May I change your bandages now?" 

My feet tensed on instinct and I glanced uncertainly at him. I didn't want his hands on me, didn't want to see the damage, and didn't want to feel it again. But I knew I would have to. I knew changing bandages on a wound was important, especially after the accident my brother had. 

Finally, after a long minute of awkward silence, I withdrew one of my feet painstakingly slow and rested it on top of the pillow. I placed the book between me and the wall where I could see it, then gathered up my quilt. 

Alastor's fingers, which felt small compared to Vox's, carefully peeled away each layer. 

Every touch sent sparks of pain racing up my knee, bringing a burning sensation with it. I flinched nearly every time and bit down on the quilt as hard as I could, silencing my cries and hiding my tears.

But Alastor noticed. 

He always did.

His jaw clenched, as did his fingers, before forcing themselves to be gentle again. He had never felt such a strong mixture of sorrow and anger since the night his mother died. It didn't help that this time, it was his fault. 

Finally, the bandage was off.

I heard another whisk of magic before something warm touched my footclaws. I hissed and jerked my foot away, yelping into the fabric from the pain the motion caused. I held my leg tight to my stomach, away from his touch, until the pain subsided. Slowly, I lowered my foot back onto the pillow and let him try again with the warm wash cloth. 

I hugged my quilt even tighter, refusing to look down at the damage. I didn't want to see the blood and open space where beautiful claws should be. 

He tried to clean as much as possible but the warm, rough fabric on raw flesh was too--

"Stop."

I hadn't realize I had said it at first, my voice muffled in the quilt. But the moment the word left my mouth, Alastor stopped. He placed my foot down and removed his hand. 

I turned slightly, blinking through tears at him. For a moment I saw the Radio Demon, all clad in bright red and black with sharp, jagged features. But then I saw Al. In a simple red long sleeve, his monocle low on his cheek, and eyebrows lifted as he stared at me with those cherry-colored eyes. 

I saw the man I saved that rainy, stormy night from the White Angels. And the man who beat me at nearly every card game on the couch. And the man who kissed me on the roof underneath a sea of stars.

I swallowed with a tight throat. 

"...okay," I whispered. I lowered my head and braced for the sting. He lifted my foot with a firm, gentle grip, confident that he knew what he was doing and determined to cause as little pain as possible. His fingers were soft where he touched me, and I finally let gave in, trusting him to finish the task as best he could. 

We took a break after he finished one foot. He paced the room as I tried to recover, wiping stray tears and taking long, steadying breaths. 

After a few minutes of controlled breathing, I mutely motioned him back over to do the other foot. Again, I told him to stop when he attempted the warm wash cloth on my nails. When I was ready, he dabbed at the surrounding area before touching the injury again. 

Finally, to my sweet relief, he finished wrapping my second leg. 

I was sweating and my throat was painfully dry from the crying and panting. He reached under my legs and carefully put them back on the mattress and placed the pillow on top, the exact way he had found me. 

He moved out of my vision as I tried to get comfortable. My mouth opened in a wide yawn right as he held a glass of water in front of my face. I accepted the gesture, careful not to let our fingers touch, and drank the whole thing. 

The last thing I remember was the clink of the glass being placed on the desk, and nothing more. 

~*~

"Hello sweetie," Rosie greeted quietly from the stairs. I looked over my shoulder as she sat on the edge of the bed and placed a whicker basket at her feet. She noticed the distant look in my eyes and the worn book by my pillow. I had stayed up all night reading.

She didn't say anything for awhile, gently rubbing my shoulder while I stared at nothing and tried to bring myself back to my body. I wanted to disappear in the book for good. I didn't want to come back to the world where I had to fight every day just to exist.

After some time, I managed to focus on her. Her smile brightened as she saw the adjustment and reached into the basket at her feet. "I brought something for you to try," she said, voice as soft and gentle as ever. In her palm was a small red collection of fruit. "I know you haven't eaten much, but I thought these might be a good for you. I picked them from our strawberry patch before I came over. My friend said they're the best batch she's managed to grow in a long while."

Rosie could see the exhaustion in my eyes. Not just from the all-nighter, but from everything that had happened to me. My arms felt heavy and my head full of water. She had seen the scared little girl behind my walls, but now she was seeing the worn, defeated woman.

"I'm not hungry," I rasped, turning my head back to the wall. 

She laid a hand on my shoulder. "I understand sweetheart. I know everything seems impossible right now. And I know you don't feel like anything's worth trying again. But...you've got to take care of yourself."

My lip trembled as tears filled my eyes. The sudden arise of strong emotions was shocking and I covered my face with my quilt. "N-nothing matters anymore," I cried.

"Oh dearie." Rosie put the berries on the desk and reached over to wrap her arms around my shoulders. She threaded her fingers through my messy hair. "It does matter. You've survived so much. You don't even realize how strong you are."

"I'm not...'m not strong," I sobbed. "I've given up knowledge, and--and...I've translated texts, I've been declawed, f-fought over, and...trapped in this stuffy attic, and I've--I've been tricked since the very beginning." Pressure formed around my head in a preemptive migraine. My coughing didn't help either. "My family would be--would be...so...so...disappointed." It came out as a whisper, rocked by a horrible, long sob out of my throat.

"Oh no, not happening." Rosie shoved her arm further under my shoulders and dragged me up to a sitting position for the first time in over a week. I pushed against her but she didn't relent, pulling me tight to her chest so I was leaning half my weight on her. "You're not a disappointment," she said over my head. "They never had to face what you're facing. They would be so proud of you."

"I'm giving up precious knowledge and because of what?" I wiped my nose with my shirt so I didn't get anything on her. "Because I'm scared? Alastor never did anything except burn a book. I should've been fighting tooth n' nail against him."

"No dear," she argued gently. "How can you possibly know what your family would think of you if they never had to face the same problems as you?"

"I just can."

"Nope, not possible." She pulled me away and held me by my shoulders. Gently, she lifted my chin with a pointy finger. "You have been betrayed, taken from your home, tricked into giving up information you're not sure you want to give, and now tortured. You have suffered enough."

I couldn't understand how she could say that when all it points back to her friend: Alastor.

She moved wet, sticky hair out of my face and continued. "You have fought tooth and nail. You have stuck it out because you believe in saving people. You believe there is a right way to do it in order to save as many lives as possible. That is something to be proud of. Don't let anyone, not even what you think your family would say, take away your spirit."

She reached for the berries again and held one up to me. I hadn't realized I had grown used to her dark eyes and wide, sharp smile until that moment. How did this woman know so much about me? How did she know what I was thinking and feeling? How did I know if she had an ulterior motive? She knew Alastor for crying out loud. But she had yet to give me a reason not to trust her.

"I'm scared." I looked up at her through wet eyelashes.

"I know sweetie. And that's okay. You're not alone anymore. The longer you're here, the more you're gonna find your own people."

The thought was striking, but in a good way. The possibility of having friends was...so far fetched. I didn't even know the first step in making friends. I wouldn't...I didn't know anything about keeping them. I hadn't even thought of the possibility of being able to have friends now that I wasn't tied down to my bunker's safety.

I looked at the strawberries in their red delight. My stomach pinched and, hesitantly, I reached up to take the one from her palm. I examined it for a moment, as if I had never seen a strawberry before, then put it in my mouth.

The overly sweet taste shocked my nervous system. My jaw briefly locked up until the taste subsided. The sweetness was addicting as soon as it went down my throat and I found myself reaching for another one. Rosie's smile was filled with warmth and encouragement.

"It all starts with one bite. Then we go from there," she reminded. "Say, why don't we sit on the balcony? Get you some fresh air after being cooped up in here for so long." The thought of fresh air and new sights was enough to coax me out of bed. But were my feet ready?

Slowly, carefully, gently, softly, I placed one foot on the wood floor. It stung for several heartbeats, then subsided a bit. I tried my other foot. Same thing. I waited for the burn to fade before trying to stand up, using Rosie and the desk for support. I waited for the pain to go away and took my first step. Then another.

I shuffled on the heels of my feet, leaning heavily on Rosie as we made our way across the room. Each step was a battle, a reminder of that dark cell and of what had been taken from me, but each one brought me closer to fresh air and new sights. 

I could almost hear my screams bouncing off the stone and quickly shook my head, banishing the thought before it festered too long. I wanted to feel the sun again. 

Rosie was surprisingly strong for someone of her stature. Her arms were wrapped securely around my waist while I clung to her shoulder. "That's it, dear. Nice and slow."

The stairs were surprisingly easy if I took them sideways. I clenched my jaw as I concentrated. One step. Pause. Another step. Pause. Two steps. Pause. 

We finally reached the bottom of the stairs and I felt victorious. Rosie guided me down the hall a few paces then turned into a room I had never been in. The smell of cinnamon and smoke filled my nose a moment before I realized where I was. The red sheets, heavy curtains, and polished desk in the corner of the room were undoubtedly Alastor's.

My hand shot out for the doorframe and I wrenched myself from Rosie's grip, whining at the pain it caused in my feet as I clung to the threshold. "This is Alastor's room."

"It's alright, dearie." She returned to my side. "The balcony is just on the other side."

My nails scratched the wood as I leaned away from her. "I can't...I'm not...he wouldn't want me in here."

"Nonsense," she waved her hand. "You're just walking through it. Besides, he asked me to get you some fresh air."

"He...asked you to?"

She nodded. "Sure did. He said it was perfectly fine to take you on the balcony."

My eyes finally dared to look into the room. The medium sized bed sat between us and the doors to the balcony. It didn't seem right. Alastor was so particular about things, about himself. Even back in the bunker he tried to carry himself a certain way, sit with posture, and was hesitant about touch at first. Now, having been in his tower, he was definitely the kind of person who liked things to be just 'perfect'. 

But...if he had asked Rosie to take me outside...perhaps it was alright.

"The balcony is right there," she said encouragingly. "Fresh air and warm sunlight."

I hesitated for another few heartbeats. Then let her pry me off the wall. 

I kept my eyes locked on the doors as I limped through, too afraid to look at his room. It felt invasive. And part of me was afraid I might catch sight of him standing the corner somewhere. Luckily, I made it to the doors faster than I had taken the stairs.

The smell of fresh air filled my nose and sent a thrill of adrenaline through my arms. The large hum of chatter from the crowd below was a welcome sound, and the aroma of cooking fires reinstated my hunger. Happy tears squeezed at the corner of my eyes as Rosie helped me into one of the chairs. There was already a plate of bread, cheese, and fruit on the table.

I picked up a slice of bread and popped an occasional fruit in my mouth. My eyes watched the bustling crowd below through the twisting bars. My mind briefly thought of the dark cell, but all the sights, sounds, and tastes distracted me. 

There so many bright colors, long capes, dark hoods, bright sparks of magic, and weird animals. I wished I was able to walk down the street completely invisible, just to hear conversations and learn more about the city. 

Rosie talked about nothing in particular as she sipped on a light green tea. She revealed the latest gossip, talked about her farms, and debated political nonsense that didn't make sense to me. It wasn't until she said something particular that caught my attention.

"You know, the Agriculture District has really come alive thanks to your work."

"My translations?" I asked, meeting her eyes as she set her cup down.

"Of course," she nodded. All of the crops are doing so much better and we don't even need a lot of magic to do it. This fruit is from our first successful batch and everyone is in love."

I glanced at the mix of blueberries and strawberries. "I don't...I didn't really do anything, though."

"Nonsense! Getting soil from somewhere else to give the old fields a chance to recover? It makes so much sense now. And the vertical gardens? I can already picture how much more space we'll have." She was usually chipper to fight off my seriousness but now she was overly chipper. I didn't think I had ever seen her so excited.

"I...I'm glad I was able to help then." I smiled softly, for the time in over a week, and she returned it in reassuringly.

"You've done more than help, dear. Our food shortage might get solved before Storm Season, but..." She let out a sigh and took on a more somber tone. "It may not do anything if we lose half our people in the storms."

"How bad are the storms?" I asked. I took another slice of bread.

"Bad," her voice pitched really low for the single word then came back up to its normal one. "And this year is going to be worse. We've already got reports about big clouds and strong winds from the coasts. If it's as bad as we think...there could be flash floods, terrible wind currents, and our walls are known to cause landslides." She tilted her head back to look at the ravine wall towering above us. "We usually repair damages every year but I worry that we'll have to actually rebuild the entire city after this season."

I was silent for a long while, finger tapping absentmindedly on the metal armrest. My eyes were looking at nothing as I scanned through my memories. Rosie waited and watched carefully, curiously. She could see something was happening in my mind and didn't want to risk interrupting it.

"Hasn't...Vox built something to help that?" I spoke slowly, fearing the man would manifest just from speaking his name.

"Oh, he's tried," she replied with a heavy sigh. "But the storms destroy everything we put on the surface. The debris has killed several families."

"Oh." I fell silent again. I picked at my nails and gently pressed my feet to the floor. The warm stone seeped through the bandages, providing a soothing balm like no other.

"Well, enough of that depressing talk." Rosie picked up her tea cup. "You've changed the moral in my district too. Everyone feels a little more hopeful. It draws kindness out of even the most grouchiest of people. Like Susan."

It brought a smile back to my face. I couldn't explain the warm feeling in my chest or the way it elicited hope. My work finally had an impact on someone? On multiple someones? All those years in my community had brought nothing but two months in this city changed an entire district?

"You should see it for yourself," she said. "Maybe we can get you over to see my district and all the work you've done."

I looked over at her. "You mean..?"

She nodded. "You deserve new sights and fresh air. Trust me, it's much fresher on my side of the city," she added with a wink.

"I..."

"Only if you're up to it, of course." She pointedly looked at my feet. "I know it's hard after everything but, you know, it's your work too. Maybe seeing the results of your labor will bring your spirit back." She paused for a moment, letting her words sink in. "It would just be a walk. You don't have to talk to anyone. Just you and me walking about. You can see it all with your own eyes."

I chewed on my lip. I wanted to get out of the stuffy tower and see new things—see the rest of what this city had to offer—but the other part of me was too afraid to leave the brief bubble of protection Alastor was providing. What if I ran into Vox? What if I ran into someone who actually wanted me dead or wanted to do worse? I couldn't exactly run and my wings were still trapped under a spell. 

It all felt too fresh.

Alastor stood behind me, leaning against the doorframe and not yet making his arrival known. His face was impassive as he debated the idea in his head, having heard the tail end of the conversation. Eventually, he stepped onto the balcony. "You're suggesting a walk, Rosie?"

His voice made me jump and nearly fall out of the chair. He pretended not to notice as he stepped up to the table from behind. Fear flipped in my stomach but abated at the sight of him. He wasn't wearing his long coat and his monocle was missing from under his eye. He wore a plain, red long sleeve that was a slightly darker red than his hair, which also seemed slightly unkept. My eyes widened as I took in his appearance.

"A walk, yes. It could do her some good to exercise, get fresh air, and see the fruit of her labor," Rosie answered. "I think it would be good for her to see she's more than just a translation tool. She's a member of our society, now."

I quickly looked down at my hands when he turned his attention to me. I crossed my ankles together and held my hands frozen in my lap. He studied me for a few heartbeats, eyes taking in my healthier appearance as the wind picked up. Part of me expected him to refuse or lecture us for such a ridiculous notion. What I wasn't expecting was what he said next.

"Do you want to go?"

My eyes widened. Did he just...ask me? My head gradually turned in his direction, but I didn't meet his eyes yet. 

"You're...you'd allow it?"

"You wouldn't be going alone," he amended, moving around us so he could lean his back against the railing. "Husker is back so he'd accompany you."

Rosie smiled, watching the way he intensely, but gently, tried to meet my eyes. He had one ankle crossed over the other and his hands resting on the railing. She also noticed the way I was trying to take in his appearance without having to look at him directly.

"Just a walk. We'll keep it simple," she said.

I glanced at her, who gestured at Alastor with just her eyes, and took a sip of her tea to keep her lips occupied. I folded an arm over the other so I could grip onto the armrest, using it as an anchor as I finally lifted my eyes to meet his. It made my stomach flip and I looked back at the ground. He looked like Al. No coat, no monocle, no cane, no imposing stature. Just Al.

"Only if you're feeling up to it," he offered. The weight of his stare was intense, but not in a suffocating way. He was offering. He was being compliant. He was being kind. I wasn't sure I wanted to risk denying this brief truce.

"Okay. I'll go," I said softly, looking over at Rosie. She smiled and winked at Alastor.

He nodded, a slight smile always present on his lips, but this one felt a little different. "Very well. Remember, Husker stays with you."

"He'll be like our little shadow," Rosie laughed.

I nodded, feeling a mixture of anxiety and anticipation. The ache and weight of everything still sat in my chest, but perhaps this was the first step at healing.

I stiffened when Alastor stepped closer. He reached for one of the slices of bread, red claw plucking it up with ease and distracting me from the one that suddenly touched my opposite shoulder. The pinch of cinnamon filled my nose as he said in my ear, "Good job today." 

He pulled away and swiftly left the balcony, taking the smell of spice and smoke with him. I touched my hands to my cheeks in an effort to cool them down, then took a slow, deep breath, failing to notice the way Rosie looked between me and Alastor's back. 

Chapter Text

Every step was taken with the utmost care and concentration as I followed Husker, the cat captain, through the winding ravine and city streets.

Earlier that morning, Niffty had helped Alastor bind my injured feet in a slightly tighter wrapping with cotton padding on my nails. It was surprisingly effective in dampening the sharp pain that usually pulsed up my shin.

After walking the distance from Alastor's tower to the center of the city, my feet had grown used to walking once more and the pain dulled to the back of my mind. My eyes lifted to observe the vibrant and bustling city, air filled with mouth watering aromas and the sweet smells of incense burners.

Husker walked ahead of me with his hands in his pockets and an extremely bored look on his face. I had overheard Alastor speaking quietly and firmly to his second, though his exact words didn't quite reach my ears.

The air felt awkward as I followed the cat hybrid. I flinched from pain when he changed directions and tried to stay out of his way. I wanted to defuse the tension but I didn't even know where or how to start such a feat. He had a scowl and said nothing—not very approachable. So, I suffered in silence as we weaved through the ravine arms and towers of buildings.

I heard him huff in annoyance and ruffle his wings to straighten the red feathers. Out of the blue, he said, "Will you quit draggin' your feet and walk next to me? My neck hurts from constantly checking on you."

"Sorry," I mumbled, stepping up to walk beside him without bumping into someone. My eyes had been busy scanning faces, clothes, and everything else under the hot sun with extreme interest.

"Didn't take you for the timid type after the way you stabbed me," he grumbled. Then he added more lightly, "And after all the hell you've been through."

The last part drew a different side of me and, without thinking, said, "Didn't take you for some old cat still sour about a scratch."

The look he gave me was a cross between a glare and amusement. "Either you're humble or stupid because that wasn't no scratch. You almost punched my lung." He rubbed the front of his shoulder where he had once sported the injury.

I cracked a smile. "I wasn't exactly aiming."

"Then consider yourself lucky. Not many people can get a hit on me and get away with it. Though you did have a handicap because Al said we couldn't hurt you."

I scoffed quietly. "Now you're not giving me enough credit."

He regarded me for a moment, then leaned forward to draw my eyes to him. "There's the fire I've been warned about."

My cheeks burned and I looked away to clear my throat. "So you're not still mad about it?" I asked, reverting the conversation. I slid behind him to let someone pass then stepped back up beside him.

He huffed a laugh from his chest. "Nah. Al and I have been through far worse than a mosquito bite to the arm. Hell, I woulda done the same thing if I were in your shoes." He actually smiled as he gave a sideways glance in my direction. "But don't think you're off the hook. You owe me after that."

I fell quiet, my eyes representing the internal search taking place in my brain. "You want an apology or a deal?"

"How about you don't stab me again and try not to make my job difficult. Sound fair?"

"Yeah. Fair." I unfolded my arms and walked more comfortably through the busy street beside him. People were stepping out of our way as we passed, but only at the last minute if they were paying attention. It made me feel more blended into the crowd compared to walking with Alastor or Vox.

I pursed my lips at the memory.

Luckily, Husker pulled my attention back. "Which means you can't stab anyone else."

I tried for a joke. "Does that include Al?"

He barked a laugh. "Nah. You're his problem if you do that."

"My my, I haven't heard you laugh like that in a while!" Rosie appeared from the press of people, coming up to latch onto Husker's arm. He rolled his eyes and adopted his grumpy personality again, but allowed the woman to squeeze his arm. She stood a head taller than him.

"I suppose she ain't half bad," he remarked, gesturing to me with his head.

I rolled my eyes but didn't have a retort this time. He and Rosie chatted as we walked through the rest of the city. The edges of my toes were numb and I didn't limp anymore.

The Agriculture District sat lower than others, so when we came up to it, I was able to see over a large part of it stretching out in front of me. The sight made me come to a stop, mouth agape, as I looked over each and every little detail.

It was like an oasis. It was like my forest. It was like home.

Before the large curve at the end were all kinds of wooden huts, tents, and stone platforms hanging on the sides of the wall. These were patches of farmland with people actively tending to them. I could see other workers rolling wheelbarrows and leading livestock. There were trees sticking out between farmland.

We first passed through a market section. These were small tent like structures to provide shade for both the seller and the buyer. It was all very open and everyone was more spread out. The looks I received were...welcoming? Their stares felt more curious than intimidating, like I was just a newcomer not some great, dangerous Archivist.

The smells were just as many and mixed as the Magic and Center District. Only here, everything smelled...was natural the right word? The scents were simple but not any less than the other districts. It felt far easier to soak in the sights, sounds, and smells compared to everywhere else in the city.

We came out of the market on a slant and walked a narrow, twisting path through the rest of the ravine. There were all kinds of gardens and farmland, offering a wide variety of fruits and vegetables. Everyone we passed waved to Rosie then, shockingly, nodded with a smile to me. They actually...acknowledged me.

Nothing could've forced me to remove the smile on my face.

Further along, we came to livestock. There were a lot of chicken coops and huge herds of sheep. Rosie waved to a woman showing her son how to sheer a sheep's coat.

A little ways down, there was a group of elderly women seeing and fitting outfits on their young models. They greeted us, too.

I didn't see the 'fruit of my labor' until the third bend. This area was clearly residential from the balconies and homes stretched far overhead. I had to crane my neck all the way back to see the top most balcony, and even then it was hard because of the afternoon sun.

I saw vertical gardens on every balcony and even more on the ground where we walked. It was more narrow so farmland was unthinkable here. The vertical gardens, however, had no problem fitting alongside the pathway. There were little fans and windmills on each roof, likely generating power to the homes.

There were shallow caves at the base of the walls where people crowded together to chat. Most were older folk, but there was a mix of mothers, children young and older, men, and friend groups. It was a shelter from the hot sun and many of them had something in their hands to do, like sewing or preparing food.

Rosie led me to one of the empty caves and I was grateful for a cushioned seat. The walls were lined with wooden benches, furnished with blankets and pillows, and tables of some kind. The floor was hard stone but covered in a weird dust layer that made it soft. Air flowed in through the open entrance, allowing fresh air to constantly circulate.

The roof was uneven and lanterns hung from ropes in the little cracks. Other greenery cascaded down alongside it.

**not my artwork

It was with a sudden realization that I asked, "Is this your home?"

"Sure is," Rosie replied with a cheery smile. Husker sat on the same bench as me while Rosie went to a stone stove engrained in the wall to put on a kettle for tea. I could see a small entrance on one of the walls that likely led to more inner rooms.

"It's gorgeous," I complimented, still registering the overwhelming sense of welcome I had received. This place...everything was so open. It felt like the opposite of everywhere else—it felt safe. Everyone seemed so trustworthy of each other.

I pulled my feet up and massaged the bottom of them, careful not to touch my toes. I was starting to sweat through my clothes from the long, hot hike from Alastor's tower.

A single pillar in the center of the room kept the roof from caving in. There were baskets of plants and jars of herbs scattered around. I saw a book lying on one of the tables and faintly saw sketches of the vertical plants and other farming structures.

"You know, you can lay moss on the floor of the ravine," I offered, eyes looking at all her other plans. "It's a natural carpet and it's resilient. It can cool the floor and soak in extra water. You can actually put it vertical too. If you put it along the walls that also cools things down and can harbor plant life easier."

"You could also put trees on the walls," I went on. I wiped my forehead with my sleeve. "They would provide shade, circulate the air, maintain a balance temperature, and start to cultivate more plant life. They could even provide stability to the walls. They're likely crumbling from drastic rainwater and sudden droughts, making it go from being super soft and pliable to suddenly dry and crumbly. Trees could help maintain its stability while you build a whole ecosystem from the ground up."

I turned to say something else but pressed my lips together, silencing my next words. Rosie was staring blankly at me and Husker had his arms crossed over his chest. I pulled my feet closer, trying to curl in on myself. "Sorry. That was...I shouldn't have said that."

"Shouldn't have? Heavens child, you don't even realize how thoughtful and selfless you are." She crossed the wide room to rest her hands on my shoulders and stare into my soul with those big eyes. "You jump right into helping without even batting an eye. Not everyone does that."

I glanced up at her, unsure. "I-I shouldn't have...just rattled like that. This is your home and your district—"

"This is also your home. I want to hear everything that goes on in that little brain of yours. What you know can save our people. It can build a better community."

"Your community is lovely already. I wouldn't—"

"Every community has its ups and downs, my dear," she interrupted again. "There's always room for improvement." She led me back to the bench and pressed a cool teacup into my hand. Husker waved her off. I didn't expect him to be a tea person.

"Heya Sweets! Heya Whiskers!" A lanky person with two sets of arms sauntered in. They wore a sleeveless top that hugged their chest and exposed the skin between their arms and hips. White leather edged the pink fabric, leading to a section around their hip where a knife nestled in each side. The shirt ended in a skirt like fashion—a little too short in my opinion—and exposed more skin between it and the tall black boots.

"Angel? The hell are you doing all the way down here?" Husker had uncrossed his arms and sat forward, nose curled slightly and eying him suspiciously.

"Val gave me the day off and I needed some fresh air." Angel strolled in with a casual demeanor, not at all put off by Husker's gruff greeting. "Plus, I ran out of Rosie's headache tea." He nodded to me, booped Husker on the nose, then kissed the back of Rosie's hand.

Rosie laughed with a pat to his wrist. "No worries, I'll get that wrapped up for you."

"I'm in no rush! I want to meet the lovey lady whose name has been whispered about in every corner of the city." He pushed his way between Husker and I, stretching his long arms behind us both. "So tell me Bookie, where do ya come from?"

I gripped the teacup tightly and shifted a hair away from him. "I uh...the northern region?"

"Is it true? Did ya really live in a bunker your whole life?"

I nodded and took another sip of the tea. I could immediately tell he had a flirtatious personality, and I also immediately noticed the hand that laid on Husker's thigh.

"Seriously? I couldn't imagine living like that all cooped up with no one to talk to. And no one to have sex with."

"Angel!" Husker and Rosie both scolded as I choked on my tea. He pretended to be oblivious and patted me on the back.

"Whaaat? I'm just being honest."

"True," I answered after I stopped coughing. "Almost pulled the Radio Demon though, didn't I?" I felt utter horror as soon as the words left my mouth. My eyes nearly bugged out of my head as I slapped a hand over my mouth.

Angel cackled and fell over in Husker's lap, and the cat hybrid shoved him off so he fell on the floor. I kept my face downcast and hand clasped tightly over my mouth, too ashamed and embarrassed to even dare to look at the other two.

"You didn't...you didn't...no one told me you had...a sense of humor!" Angel said through his laughs.

"I don't know if I should be proud or horrified," Husker mumbled, scowling down at Angel. Rosie was covering her own smile and wiping a stray tear in the corner of her eye from holding it in.

"I think horrified works fine," I muttered, using my hand as a wall between them and my face.

"Nah, nah, you gotta tell me now," Angel finally recovered from his laughing fit. "Tell me how. I want the details, sis. How'd you do it?"

"I didn't! We didn't!" I snapped, keeping my hand up to Husker and Rosie. "I said almost."

"Okay. Then how did you almost?" Angel pressed. I shrunk away, pressing my legs together and lowering my head until my chin touched my chest. I was so embarrassed.

"Leave her alone, will you." Husker stood and literally dragged Angel by the foot out of the spacious room. The lighter, skinnier man protested but didn't fight the manhandling, letting Husker pull them to the far side of the entrance where Angel's questions quickly targeted him instead.

Rosie sat beside me with her own cup of tea and crossed her legs. "Well!" she started, "I'm glad to see you're more relaxed here. Your true personality is shining through."

I lowered my hand and looked at the remaining liquid in my cup. "I'm sorry, it just...just came out."

Rosie shook her head, still smiling. "No worries, sweetheart. It was quite funny. And it got a kick out of dear Angel."

"Where's he from?" I asked, eager to change the subject.

"The Entertainment District. You best make sure you don't go there alone. They can be just as ruthless as the Magic District. But if you're with someone, it's not so bad. I keep trying to find ways to coax Angel out of there and closer to where Husker can reach him."

"Why's that?" I questioned.

"Just watch them for a moment. Husker seems annoyed but he really likes the attention."

I looked past Husker's scowl and noticed the relaxed shoulders, the easy off balance stance, and occasionally lift of his lips in a hidden smile. Angel circled him whenever he tried to shift his focus away on something else. Their banter was flirtatious—mostly from Angel—and bit by bit, Husker's tense demeanor melted away.

"Between you and me," Rosie said quietly, "Husker looks forward to their little visits. Angel is flirty, but it's different around our special feline."

"It's...sweet, actually." I watched them for a moment longer, wrapping my head around the idea of two men being together. In a city so populated, it made sense that such a thing was possible. They didn't need to worry about keeping up their population.

"I'm really glad to see you relaxed," she repeated. "It's been rough for everyone this time of the year, but it's the little moments that really make a difference."

I finished the last of my tea. "Yeah...that's starting to make sense."

"Oh! I almost forgot." Rosie quickly stood, deposited her cup on the counter, then pulled out a wooden crate from underneath the bench we were sitting on. She hoisted the thing up and started pulling out jars of different plants, teas, and herbs. They were in small portions, barely filling two-thirds of the jar.

She then pulled out a necklace from her pocket with a crystal at the end for a charm. "We can't take many baths here so we make do with incense necklaces. They help cover up the day-to-day grime, you know."

I smiled and nodded, letting her place the necklace in my hand so I could examine it more closely. The crystal wasn't overly thick and was a beautiful cloudy white. The rope followed its jagged lined edges to keep it secure to the necklace.

"I was wondering what the necklaces were for," I said, recalling all the times I had seen some kind of crystal over someone's neck. Including Alastor.

Rosie nodded. "Every district likes to use their own scent. But you really seem at home in my district, sooo...you get to pick your scent." She waved her hand over the jars. "Lavender, sage, mint, cinnamon, amber, vanilla, you name it. Try a few and see which one you think fits you."

I looked excitedly between the jars and the necklace, failing to notice her smiling at my obvious shock at such a gift. It made my throat tight as I rubbed my thumb over the crystal.

Today had been the first day since I felt like I belonged here. I wasn't even sure that I had wanted to belong here in the first place, yet all those waves, those kind smiles, the nods of acknowledgment, had made me feel like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.

"Are...are you sure?" I asked tentatively.

"Oh, don't be ridiculous hun. I had them sent over this morning just for you. And besides, you've earned it." She winked at me. "You've done so much for this district and, hell, you've even made me rethink more than half my layouts. It's the least I could do for you."

I swallowed the rising tears as I unscrewed jar after jar and took a brief sniff of each. I narrowed it down each time around until I came between vanilla and lavender. Both scents brought out a sense of nostalgia and loosened some of the muscles in my shoulders. I asked Rosie for her opinion, completely unsure of which one I wanted to pick.

"How about Vanilla?" she offered, taking a quick sniff of the sweet scent. "I've always loved how soft and comforting it is. The scent is strong and doesn't fade easily."

I smiled. "Then vanilla it is," I declared, closing the lid to the other jar and putting them all back in the crate for her. Rosie gave a slight shake of her head, noting the perfect combination between vanilla and cinnamon.

Chapter Text

I was surprised to learn that Rosie didn't have magic. She had Husker attach the scent to the crystal, then she placed it over my head as if bestowing some great honor. To me, it certainly was an honor. The scent of vanilla immediately filled my nose and relaxed the muscles in my neck that I hadn't realized were so tight. Husker, Rosie, and Angel watched on with smiles on their faces.

I was shown through more curves of the ravine, once again passing kind groups of people who shared a smile or head nod in my direction. I noticed Husker's strong scent of amber--like inhaling a scent of recently chopped firewood--and Angel who smelled like sweet sugarcane. I still preferred Rosie's gentle aroma of soft roses.

I was shown through more curves of the ravine until we came to a communal dinning space. It was buried in the rock, as was everything else, but the floor and walls were lined with polished wood. Stretching down the center of the long hall was a shallow pit of embers, racks and racks of cooked food sat over the embers which people picked from. There were more tables at the end filled with bowls of brightly colored fruit and vegetables. 

It wasn't until Rosie led us inside that I noticed little pockets in the rock wall that had lanterns and incense burners.

"This is the busiest it's ever been," she said in my ear over the loud chatter. "With more food from those vertical gardens, we have more food to put on the table." People noticed my presence, but it was nothing more than a glance before turning back to their conversation. It was...comforting. However, it quickly become uncomfortable as we pushed through the press of bodies.

I pulled at the collar of my shirt as it became harder to breathe. More than once someone had nearly stepped on my foot, sending spurts of pain up my shins from suddenly jerking my feet out of the way. I soon found myself breathing heavily, as if I had been running.

Without warning, tears swelled in my eyes. 

I hurriedly wiped my cheeks as I tried to follow Rosie's bright red dress, but I soon lost her as the crowd grew even thicker. I came to a full stop before two large men who were completely unaware of the smaller person in front of them. 

I backed away and accidentally stepped on Husker's foot, making both of us hiss in pain.  I apologized and spun around twice, and likely would've done it several more times, had Husker not put his hands on my shoulders. He turned me sideways and guided me towards the wall. When I turned around, both Husker and Angel were looking at me worryingly. 

"You okay, kid?" Husker asked. He and Angel positioned themselves in a way that served as a wall between me and the crowd. 

I rubbed my hands together and stared down at my wrapped feet. "I don't...I don't know what's wrong...with-with me." My back was starting to itch where my wings should be and I could feel sweat soaking into the fabric there.

"Maybe yer not a crowds person, Bookie," Angel yelled over the noise. "Rosie and I will grab food. You take 'er out." He looked at Husker then pushed through sea of people before anyone could argue. Husker let out a sigh then took the lead through the crowd, a secure hand on my wrist as he created a temporary divide for us.

I sucked in a huge breath of air as soon as we stepped outside. We stood to the side of the communal entrance and wiped my sweaty palms on my pantleg. "I-I'm sorry," I muttered.

He leaned back on the stone wall and propped his foot up behind him. "Don't worry 'bout it, kid. Angel's right. You've been cooped up all your life so crowds probably isn't good for you."

"But I walked just fine this morning," I said, rubbing my hands up and down my arms.

"It wasn't as packed this morning. That—" he jutted his chin at the dinning space, "—is packed."

"Still. I'm sorry."

He looked at me out the corner of his eye for a moment, then scrunched his nose. "Stop apologizing for being human. We've all got our problems. Even Al."

I paused. "Like what?"

He gave a wry chuckle. "Not my place to tell if I want to keep my tail. But..." His yellow eyes met mine. "I'm sure he'd tell you if you ask him."

I crossed my arms and stepped into the sunlight to get warm, which was strange considering how much I was still sweating. "He wouldn't," I mumbled. "He wouldn't want anyone to know about a weakness in the Radio Demon."

"Yeah well..." Husker thought for a moment. "I think it's high time you start manipulating him."

"It doesn't matter anymore." I picked up my scent crystal of vanilla and twirled it between my fingers. 

Silence hung in the air until Rosie and Angel emerged from the space with small plates of food. I apologized to them for the inconvenience but they brushed it off. We stood in a circle chatting and eating, though I was mostly eating and not paying attention to the conversation. I forgot what it was like to enjoy new food again. Everything melted in my mouth perfectly and the berries brought a lovely tang to it all. 

Angel continued to 'bother' Husker as we made our way back to Rosie's cave. I asked her if we could keep walking and she agreed, letting Husker trail further behind with Angel in tow. I wanted to explore more of the residential area of her district, having already fallen in love with the overhangs and platforms overhead. Ropes hung between houses with clothes pinned on them to dry and I could hear children laughing somewhere in the distance. 

Rosie looked as if she wanted to say something, then thought better of it. "What is it?" I asked.

"Oh it's nothing dear," she said. "I didn't want to stir up any complicated feelings."

"I'm doing okay, now. Is something wrong?"

She was quiet for a long while. I busied myself with looking around the landscape again and straining to hear tail ends of conversations. 

Finally, she spoke her mind. "I've been wondering what your oath says. You've been so determined to follow it. I was...well, I was a little curious to know what exactly it says."

I was surprised. I would've expected Alastor to tell her or share the scroll from the previous Archivist. Then again, Alastor always had a secret agenda. So, hesitantly, I recited the whole thing for her, the words flowing with ease after twenty-two years of reciting it every morning. I started with my full name:

"...do solemnly swear to uphold the duty of the Archivist, guardian of Humanity's collective knowledge.

I vow to protect my Archive, preserving the truths of the past from corruption, destruction, and misuse. I shall remain steadfast in my duty, ensuring that this knowledge is kept safe, even at the cost of my own life or those I care for.

I pledge to seek truth above all, to distinguish fact from falsehood , and  commit to maintaining the sanctuary of my Archive, allowing access only to those who prove themselves worthy and who understand the weight of the knowledge they seek.

I vow to resist any force that seeks to exploit my Archive for power, manipulation, or destruction. Should I be unable to protect my Archive, I shall ensure their contents are hidden, encrypted, or destroyed, rather than fall into unworthy hands.

Finally, I promise to pass on this duty to a successor who shares these principles, ensuring the unbroken lineage of the Archivists for as long as there is knowledge to maintain.

In taking this oath, I bind myself to the service of knowledge, history, and--above all--truth until my dying breath."

I blinked back to the world and glanced up at Rosie. Her expression was complicated so I fixed my clothing and looked at anything other than her. It was then I noticed small wires running along the indents in the walls. They led to a group of windmills at the very edge of the ravine arm where the buildings finally came to an end. A group of workers sat on the ledge taking them apart and carefully securing the pieces to wagons.

"Do you use electricity?" I asked, making an obvious look to the wires leading away from the construction.

"No, but we get a lot of wind down here," she explained. "We had Vox install windmills to send electricity to the heart of the city."

I looked up at the workers again. "So...why are they taking them down?"

"Storm season is closing in sooner than we thought. The strong wind currents will destroy them."

"Will the city be without power then?"

"Oh yes," she said casually. "We usually cut power from all the windmills throughout the city. The wind and rain will tear them apart and we'll have to rebuild them rather than simply reinstall them."

I carefully shifted my weight. "So...have you tried putting trees along the top or on the walls here? They're good against wind."

She shook her head. "They get ripped out of the ground. That one—" she looked over her shoulder at a medium sized tree sticking up from the ground, "—likely won't be here after the season. Not to mention all the runoff rain that floods this area and kills the crops and plants.

I continued to think, reaching into the archive of my mind to retrieve old information. The book I was translating for her never said anything about fighting off big storms. It was simple gardening techniques to sustain a large community, but...

"I...I think I might have a book," I said slowly.

She slowly looked at me. "What do you mean?"

"I...storm drains. No...storm barriers," I corrected. "I think there's a book about fighting off hurricanes or other big storms."

"Hurricanes?" she parroted, unfamiliar with the term.

"Just a big storm. But...I might have a book about it. I remember reading about Old World technology that was being designed to prevent coastal flooding in cities and keep buildings from toppling in the wind. I remember seeing designs but I never translated it."

She tapped her chin. "Would that work for a place like this? In the ground?" 

I shrugged. "I don't see why not. We're protecting a hole in the ground, not a tower that stretches miles in the sky. I'd have to finish translating it, though, to see if we could even build it. I'd..." My voice quieted. "I'd have to know what things Vox makes and how fast he can make them. But...it might be a start."

"Sounds like a shot in the dark, but one nonetheless." She stepped in front of me and placed gentle hands on my shoulders. She was a little taller than me so she bent down to be at my eye level. "You don't have to translate it, dear. If you want to, well, I'm not going to stop you. But if you translate it and it works...it could change everything for our people."

Our people. It was a phrase I never felt connected to yet...the way she said it made it feel like I was a part of something greater, like I was part of her little community down here. 

The whole point of being an Archivist was to protect Humanity. Translating that book would preserve Humanity by getting them through Storm Season. These people were just trying to survive, even if their rulers had a twisted way of doing it.

I took a deep breath as the familiar weight of the world settled back on my shoulders. Only this time, it didn't feel as heavy. I lifted my chin some more, squared my shoulders, and said, "I'll translate it. Getting everyone through Storm Season takes priority."

Rosie's soft smile returned. "You've already done so much for us. Whatever you need, we'll make it happen. I trust you."

That single phrase made it all worth it. I stepped forward and hugged her tightly. It caught her by surprise but she was quiet to return the embrace, running her hand down the back of my head in the way my mother used to do.

"I'll do my best. I just hope it works," I whispered.

She gave me another squeeze then released me. "It's the best shot we've had in a long time. Come on, let's keep walking and you can tell me what other grand ideas you have."

As we walked back through the district, the dangers of Storm Season lingered over my head, but so did a feeling of hope and new determination. I was taking control of my life and my translations. This was what an Archivists true job was meant to be and I was going to do it to my very best.

Unfortunately, I eventually had to leave Rosie's little safe haven and return to Alastor's district. I said goodbye to Rosie and Angel walked with us until he went his separate way to the Entertainment District. He made sure to say his goodbye dramatically, forcing Husker to catch him from falling. Which, after making a sexual joke, earned him a quick drop to the hard floor.

The evening sun beat on the back our necks as Husker and I made our way to the Magic District. I was starting to get a better understanding of the layout of the different districts every time I walked through the center of the city. I knew Magic and Technology were across from each other and Agriculture and Entertainment were the same. Though I had yet to know where the Military District was in all this.

Husker and I were mostly quiet, but it wasn't an awkward quiet. His scowl was less and his shoulders weren't so haunched. It occurred to me that our dynamic had drastically changed since we first walked this way earlier. So, feeling a sense of closeness with the cat hybrid, I dared to broach a topic I had been thinking about in the back of my mind.

"Husker? Can I ask a question?" 

"If it's a touchy-feely one then no," he answered.

I debated if my question fell under that category. "How did you...become Alastor's second in command?"

His steps faulted for a moment. He shoved his hands in his pockets and started walking again. I tried to tell him he didn't need to answer but, to my great surprise, he didn't shrug out of the topic. "Why the sudden interest?" he asekd.

"I just...I don't know. I guess...I guess I just wanted to know how someone like you—so strong and independent, and not afraid of what people think—ended up following someone like Al--astor." I choked out the rest of his full name, not wanting to use the familiar nickname. It wasn't lost on Husker, but he chose not to press it. 

He let out a sigh and stepped a hair closer to me as we entered the Magic District. "Well, it wasn't by choice, that's for sure," he began. "I was one of the first communities the city captured. A small town, nothing fancy. Then Alastor waltz in with his talk about unity and a better future and all that crap. No one believed him at first but...he didn't really give you the option not to."

"So...how did become...his?"

Husker's features darkened and he kept his gaze set in front of him. "He picked me. I didn't volunteer and I even fought him on it. But...something about the way he talked. Not just his fancy words and charm, but the way he knew people. He took one look at me and it was like he already knew every screw-up I ever made and every weakness I ever had." His tail flicked firmly against the stone behind him. "Alastor has always had a way of breaking people in, forcing you to see his way and only his way. You can resist but, in the end...you just give in. Everyone does."

I felt something cold reach up my spine. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Lately, I've actually been grateful for it." He ruffled his wings as a gust of wind blew down the ravine. "I'm stronger now. I'm a leader taking care of my own men and I learned how to do it. I've got a purpose and I've never been more free."

I furrowed my eyebrows, reading into the little subtleties I had picked up on earlier. "Are you still bitter?"

"Oh, absolutely." His smile was humorless. "Alastor ain't some hero and I sure as hell ain't pretending he's perfect. But bitter or not, I can't deny what he's done for me. I'm a better leader because of him. And in his own twisted way, he's given me more than I ever could have done on my own."

I nodded slowly, processing the weight of his words. I had already seen and heard of all the ways Alastor bent people's wills. I had experienced his manipulation first hand but hearing Husker's story...the mix of resentment and gratitude...painted the situation in a different light. It made me wonder if I had been bent in some way, too.

"I guess I didn't really expect that from you," I said. "You don't seem like the type of person who can break."

His gaze softened as he met my eyes. "We're all breakable, kid. Some of us just rebuild ourselves better after it. So that begs the question...will you?" 

As I stepped in time beside him, I already knew the answer. I was rebuilding myself and it started today in Rosie's district.

I felt the comfort of Husker's presence now. We were different, and we had hurt each other, but we both came from the same place and had come out on the other end. I wasn't the same scared little girl hiding away in her bunker and grieving alone. She was still in me, but I was becoming someone different. I was becoming someone I wanted to become. 

And Alastor was going to have to deal with it.

"Thanks, Husker," I said.

"No problem, kid."

The walk through the Magic District was walked in comfortable, content silence. I was starting to realize that I was finding pieces of my family in those around me. I found my mother and grandmother in Rosie and found my brother in Husker. The entire day's events made the return to Alastor's tower less daunting, even if it still made apprehension fill my lungs.

Husker made sure I made it through Alastor's wards on the door before disappearing to who knows where. Niffty greeted me with a quick hug, an estimate time for dinner, and Alastor's whereabouts somewhere in the district. I thanked her then went upstairs to my--the attic and started sorting through my books in search of what I was looking for. I found it difficult to move on my knees since it hurt to use the palms of my feet.

I sat carefully and lifted each book with extreme care to look at their titles on the binding or on the first page. I spent almost an hour sorting through this collection and came up with nothing. I went to the room on the second floor and started the long, draining process again. 

I was about two stacks in when I heard Alastor return. My skin prickled with anticipation as his footsteps climbed the stairs, echoing off the walls.

"Looking for something?" he asked curiously.

I wiped my nervous palms on my pant leg and picked up another book. "A book. Something to help Rosie."

Alastor stepped onto the narrow pathway carved by the stacks. "What about?" His brows furrowed with curiosity as he stepped towards me, silently so as not to disturb or scare me, and sniffed softly. "Why do you smell like vanilla?" The question left his mouth before he could shut it. He physically recoiled, jaw clenched and mind reeling to find a way to change the subject.

My hands froze, clutching to a book. "It's...Rosie let me pick my scent so I did. I didn't think it would be a problem."

"I'm not complaining," he said a little too forcefully. I kept my gaze averted and looked through the books again. "It's better than dust and ink."

I huffed and picked another book. "Well, that's what happens when you spend your life surrounded by dust and ink." I was surprised at how easily I was able to answer him. 

"So, what book are you looking for?" he prompted.

"A book about storm barriers."

His ears perked with interest. "Storm barriers?"

"Yes. I remember it being something like...something like...an unbreakable wall or...maybe shielding cities? Something like that. I know I have it here somewhere." I carefully placed the book down then moved to a different stack, taking the lantern with me. "And I remember it being on this half of the room. I thought it was upstairs but then I remembered the light coming in from a window on my right." I rambled as I started the new stack.

"What does the book look like?" he asked.

"I don't remember. They all look the same anyways."

I hissed loudly when I stubbed my toe on one of the crates. I used the stack for balance as I held my injured foot off the ground and tried to breathe through the pain, tears poking through the corners of my eyes. I lowered it back to the ground once the throbbing subsided.

I flinched when Alastor's red hand suddenly came into view and took one of the books. I looked up and found myself unable to tear my gaze from his, intense as it was but with no malice behind it.

He blinked. Then again. Until he regained control of his body and stepped away to put some distance between us. He cleared his throat as he summoned a pencil and paper and let it rest on one of the nearby stacks. "If you write the title in Old World language, I can help look for it," he said. He pretended to look at the book in his hand, suddenly very interested in its blank cover.

I stared at him.

He looked like the Radio Demon but sounded like Al. 

I wrote down possible titles in Old World language and handed him the paper. He took it, careful not to touch my fingers, and started somewhere else in the room.

We worked in companionable silence for several minutes. His long, red tipped fingers touched the books with care, and I found myself occupied with watching him work. 

Chapter Text

I knew I would be giving myself away by translating as fast as I did for Rosie's district. I had been stalling for weeks ever since I was brought to Pentagram City, periodically taking long breaks and pretending the translation itself was difficult, but now I was moving as fast as a hawk diving for its prey.

My back itched where my wings should be, but I shoved the feeling to the back of my mind. 

My strategy in translations wasn't linear and it clearly puzzled Alastor, who was too busy preparing his district for Storm Season to properly ask me about it. I had various textbooks spread out on the floor for easy viewing and in a manner that would least damage their flimsy bindings. I scanned their table of contents and only translated the sections that I needed--such as hurricane barriers, tree species, and food storage--all of which were in different books. 

I spent three days translating everything I needed, rarely sparing even enough time to eat or sleep. I wanted to give Rosie my findings as soon as possible to give her and her district enough time to make the necessary changes. It was only when I nodded off in between translations that I was forced to take a break from my work. 

Things started to feel alright again. The weight on my chest wasn't so heavy, my heart didn't ache as much, and my grief wasn't so suffocating. My feet still burned under the shielding of the bandages and occasionally throbbed when I leaned on them too heavily, but it was obvious that they were healing. It gave me hope that maybe everything would be alright again. 

I was deep in the middle of another translation when Alastor's footsteps on the staircase made me pause. I looked up from my huddled spot on the floor to see his bright red ears through the banister, the furry tuffs darkened by the nightly shadows of the room. His eyes met mine through the bars and didn't look away as he rounded the post and came to a stop at the edge of my bookish circle. 

As his eyes surveyed the landscape, mine surveyed him. He wasn't wearing his red coat and it left him in a red long sleeve, black suspenders, and thin sleeve garters. I noticed his staff wasn't anywhere to be found as he balanced two plates of food in his palms. 

His eyes lifted to meet mine again. "Niffty told me you hadn't eaten dinner yet. Or yesterday," he pointed out. He placed both plates on the abandoned desk as the girl in question came sprinting up the steps to hand Alastor his staff. He thanked her as she twiddled back down the stairs and leaned the staff against the side of the desk. 

He glanced over his shoulder. "Come eat. It'll do you no good if you collapse while translating." He used magic to spawn another chair and position it the same way he had done a few weeks ago, back when he monitored my slow progress to see if it was feigned or real. 

I hesitated to listen on the sheer principle of disobeying. I didn't like it when he ordered me around, even if it had been quite some time since he last went to that extreme. Even his words just now had been softened around the edges. It made him sound indifferent, perfectly masking his true feelings and intentions. 

My stomach twisted as the prospect of food and noted that I hadn't eaten anything since earlier that morning, which had been simple butter and toast. Begrudgingly, on account for my stomach, I stood with the lantern, careful not to hurt my feet as I stepped over the books. 

My nerves churned around in my lungs as I sat at the desk, waiting for his questions. But they never came as he presented a scroll, sealed with a wax signature I immediately recognized as Rosie's. I reached for the paper but Alastor quickly pulled it away before I could even touch it.

"Eat first," he commanded. "You may be able to evade Niffty, but you can't pass me on this." He let the scroll rest in his lap as he took a bite from his own plate. I kept my expression schooled and forked a collection of peas and mashed potatoes. I saved the tender meat for the end, letting the mashed potatoes soak up all the juices. Since my arrival, I found I had a certain liking for any kind of meat that wasn't chicken. 

I was so focused on eating the delicious meal, having forgotten how wonderful of a cook Niffty was in my obsession to translate, that I flinched when Alastor's hand came into view again. He placed the scroll on the desk between us and continued eating. 

I abandoned my fork and immediately opened the letter. It took me a few moments to hold it at the right distance between my face and the lantern, but even then it was difficult to read her fluid, flowy handwriting. Once I finished read, I rubbed my eyes and put the letter down. She was excited to see me again and said she would have a collection of people ready for whatever plans I would bring her next time. 

"Why do you do that?" Alastor asked, breaking the silence. 

I dared a glance up at him. "Do what?" 

"Read like that. You're going to give yourself a headache from all that moving in and out and sideways." He was referring to the way in which I had tried to read Rosie's letter. 

I sat up, straightening my shoulders and grabbing my fork. "I...just do?" 

He finished eating, huffed a sigh, then flicked his wrist. He held out the object in his palm, offering it to me. "Here. Try these."

I stared at the object. "Glasses?"

"Do you detest them?" he asked with a mixture of curiosity and sarcasm. They were small, black, simple nose glasses.

"No. I just...I don't really believe I need them."

He shrugged, hand still extended. "Maybe not. But humor me. I'm farsighted as well." He leaned his elbow on the desk and nudged his red monocle for emphasis. 

Something about the way he said it made warmth spread through my chest. He was offering his glasses. I didn't even know he had them aside from the little red monocle he always wore. When we were in the bunker, I had a feeling he needed glasses from the way he would squint at the cards in his hand. Having not known him at the time, I figured he either lost them in his scuffle with the White Angels or simply made do with his poor eyesight, as many people did in my surrounding communities. 

So, I did humor him. I took the glasses from his hand, ignoring the warmth on my knuckles from where they brushed his palm, and peered through the leans. The words from the letter, which were once fuzzy and distorted, were now crisp, clear, and bigger. I could even see the texture of the paper.

"Whoah...I...that's...what?" I pulled my sketches of the hurricane barriers and examined them, still not yet believing that all this time I actually needed glasses. It made my head feel funny to see this clearly but now I didn't want to remove them. 

Alastor chuckled, the sound humming in his chest. "Make a difference?"

I acknowledged his amusement and collected myself, glancing back at the textbooks laying across the floor. "I suppose." He shook his head at my obvious effort to snuff my surprise. "I thought..."

"That you wouldn't need help?" he supplied, turning his head away. "We seem to have that in common."

I removed the glasses to look at him fully. He was still dressed like the Radio Demon, but the man sitting in front of me wasn't the him. It was Al. It was the same man I met in the forest. The same man who gave me hope for a brighter, more interesting and promising future. The same man I wanted to entrust everything to. He was here, even if he didn't always show himself.

"Well..." I pushed away the mixture of emotions and tried to lighten the mood. "So long as no one sees me with these on then it's fine. They make me look three times my age." I put them on again and looked at the mirror in the corner of the room. 

Alastor jumped at the chance for a tease. "Implying something, are you?" 

"Well, they are your glasses."

His smile widened. "Well, you are an Archivist. It fits your occupation."

"Maybe if I reach the age of seventy."

"Then let's keep you alive until then." He looked at my nearly finished plate. "So eat your dinner." 

~*~

Alastor and I made our way to Rosie's district, my translations carefully pressed between two books in my satchel. The wind was stronger than during any of my previous walks and the temperature had dropped a considerable amount. I could sense approaching storm. 

The crowds parted with far more ease this time compared to when I walked with Husker, though part of that was likely from the group of hooded mages following close behind. 

The sight of the Agriculture District made my shoulders drop with relief and I subconsciously took a deep breath. I noticed the construction of the wind barriers had already being put in place here. 

When a storm came through, the ravine was essentially funneling the wind through itself, increasing in speed and danger as it went. The barriers were ramps of stone and machine, secured at the very top of the ravine walls, and helped the wind currents. They weren't overly tall because the sporadic change of wind currents might slip underneath and wrench the barriers free. 

Luckily for me, a copy of my barrier translations had been sent to Vox by a casual messenger. He immediately began construction of the barriers in the Agriculture District on orders from Lucifer and Alastor. Now that it was almost done and he wasn't needed to supervise anymore, Rosie sent her letter informing me it was safe to meet her. I couldn't praise the woman enough for her sensitivity. 

As we walked through the winding path of the Agriculture District, people gave nods to Alastor or--if they were close enough--a short greeting without expecting one in return. When they noticed me behind him, their smiles widened a tad more and offered a wave. I vowed to learn as many of their names as I could.

"There's my two lovelies!" Rosie exclaimed when she caught sight of us. She hugged me tightly then proceeded to examine Alastor for anything out of place. She fussed over the small things just to fuss, like a stray hair or a crease in his jacket, but he made no protest nor moved away. After she was finished, she lead us to her home and the group of mages waited patiently just beyond the entrance.

"So, whatchya got for me?" Rosie asked excitedly, placing a kettle on the stove then coming to her workbench to see my translations that I spread out. I showed her the drawings of the moss along the walls, the canals to pick up excess rainwater, and different types of trees.

"You'll want stability everywhere until the walls can get used to a steady temperature," I explained and pointed to one of the sketches of a tree. "You'll want to use a sycamore on the ground floor. They're really tall and good against strong winds. If the barriers don't stop the wind, the branches can lessen the impact on the stone."

I flipped the page to another one. "You'll want to have Cypress trees in the water runoff caves. They'll can survive in water and soak up most of it when the storms hit. Oaks should be higher up on the walls where they can evolve against the wind."

"If I plant some between the balconies, it should protect the homes then," Rosie added. "I don't think anyone will be upset about a tree being in their view."

I went on for another while then quieted to allow her a chance to read through my notes. Alastor brought over a tray of tea and handed one of the warm cups to me. The surrounding stone was surprisingly cold and the warm tea was much needed. I avoided his gaze as Rosie continued to flip through the pages and make her own notes on the side.

"So where do we plant the seed, then?" she asked, and I thought for a moment. Where did we plant the seed? How did the tree get through the stone? Would the roots make too large of a crack and cause a landslide?

"Tree seeds work like any other," Alastor offered, stepping closer behind us to look over our shoulders. "So it won't flower until it reaches air. Planting the seed at the bottom would allow it to stretch through the dirt and stone."

Rosie nodded, scribbling it down on the side of the one paper. Alastor's eyes blinked slowly as he glanced down at me. I dropped my eyes and busied myself with drinking the rest of my tea.

"Alright, let's get to work!" 

She rounded up her group of people and paired a mage with each small group. She explained what we were trying to accomplish and gave specific locations for each project. Alastor added something here or there to his mages. And I remained silent through the whole exchange.

"Now!" Rosie looked overly happy as she turned to face me again, the groups now properly dispersed. "Time for those sycamores." Her gaze shifted to Alastor who straightened and grinned widely. 

Rosie guided me away as Alastor walked into a bend of the ravine. Alastor made sure to check we were a safe distance before turning back to the ravine wall. He dug a hole where the ground met the wall and dropped a single seed.

He slammed his cane on the ground and opened his hand, claws curling inwards as he slowly lifted his hand higher and higher. The ground gave way for a seedling to sprout and it thickened as it weaved into the sky, stretching branches out until they brushed the walls. He took a few steps back and repeated the process until the tree was a fully fledged adult, towering over us in all its spotted white beauty. 

Alastor looked over his shoulder, eyes blazing and a wicked smile on his face. He closed his eyes, tilted his head back, and took a deep breath.

My amazement dulled at the sight and I stepped back so the rock partially hid me from view. Rosie noticed but said nothing, giving her usual praises and Alastor responded lightheartedly, eyes flickering to me as I hesitantly followed her.

"It's so nice to see green instead of all these boring creams," Rosie laughed. "I suppose you need a break after that."

I stepped behind her so she was blocking his view to me and stared up at the beautiful tree. I almost felt like I was back in my forest, hearing the birds chirp and the stream trickle nearby. Almost.

"You insult me, dear Rosie," Alastor jibed. "A simple tree is nothing." He leaned to the side in an effort to catch a glimpse of me.

"Well then you've got lots of work to do!" Rosie sidestepped, revealing me as I stared longingly at the green branches. I noticed her movement and immediately collected myself, avoiding his gaze as I stepped closer to Rosie—my anchor.

~*~

"Great to see ya again Bookie!" Angel held out his double pair of arms to greet me with a hug. It felt like everyone here was twice as tall as me. "What are we fitting ya for?"

I looked uncertainly to Rosie. "The Clear Sky Festival, of course," she answered. The sun had turned the sky orange when she brought me over to the Entertainment District. Where the other districts had a pattern and order, this one had none of that--all chaos. 

Alastor stood annoyed and bored in the doorway. We were in a large studio and this particular room had all kinds of fabrics, materials, and jewelry along the walls. A large mirror spread across an entire wall.

"The what?" I asked.

"The Clear Sky Festival happens when Storm Season has officially passed," she explained. "It's our way of celebrating and lifting morale after we fix all the damages."

"It's one of the biggest festivals we have." Angel looped his lower arm around mine and pulled me towards the mirror. 

"And when your plans work, that's even more of a reason to celebrate," Rosie added. "People will want to meet you."

The notion sent an uncomfortable coldness through my stomach, but I tried to play it off. "None of those wonderful outfits you made for me will do?"

"Oh heavens no!" She coaxed me onto a boxed platform as Angel searched through his drawers. "This is an important festival and everyone puts on their best dresses. We're going to make you stunning."

A sobering thought crossed my mind. "What if my plans don't work?"

"They will," she said, lifting my hand and lightly tapping the back of it. "They will darling. Now! Let Angel do it his work while I take the grumpy one next door."

Alastor's ears straightened and he narrowed his eyes as Rosie approached him. "You will not be trying to fit me into anything."

"I haven't done anything for you in a while Alastor." Her tone hardened as she said, "You'll indulge me this time." Then she whisked past him and into the other room. He huffed in annoyance and peeled himself off the wall.

The other room was just as filled as the other one, though without an occupants. He left the door partially cracked for my sake and let Rosie pull his cane out of his grip. She leaned it against the counter then pulled out a box of different fabrics and...shirts?

"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded. He stayed rooted to his spot near the door, unwilling to go any closer.

"You're going to try these on." She gave no further explanation and waited, a hand firmly planted on her hip. He moved slowly, as if she might pounce on him, and glanced through the collection.

He gave her a flat stare with slightly pinned ears. "Rosie...what is this?"

"Clothes."

His ears went all the way back now and she giggled. "I will not wear these," he announced.

"You most certainly will," she said with a stern, motherly tone. She grabbed his coat and pulled it off his shoulders.

"Why?" He let her take the jacket off but crossed his arms, waiting for an explanation.

"You're going to be stuck in your tower for Storm Season and I'd like the poor girl to survive you."

"Survive me? I have done her no harm." After an uncomfortable pause he amended, "Since her visit with Vox."

"Alastor will you please try them?" she asked, tugging at his sleeve. "The poor girl jumps every time you walk in the room."

"She's not that skittish." Though even as he said it, he could recount numerous moments where you had flinched or visibly tensed in his presence. Thinking about it now brought an ugly feeling in his chest.

"She's tense, she's uneasy, and she's skeptical of you. And who can blame her when you stomp around in that blood red coat of yours? Don't you know the rumor going around is that you used to wear white but all your victims' blood stained your jacket?"

Alastor couldn't help but crack a smile at that one. "Sounds like a lovely rumor to me."

"That," she poked his cheek, "is what we're trying not to show her. Take off your shirt."

"What exactly are you trying to show her?" he questioned, unbuttoning and shrugging out of his red long sleeve. 

Rosie eyed the long scar across his chest but made no comment. "You." The way she said it made him go still. "She sees the Radio Demon but she remembers Alastor. She met you on the brink of death and nursed you back to health in basic clothing. You didn't have a facade to hide behind. She got to see the real you."

"This is the real me," he said, though none of it was laced with any aggression—it had something lighter, something softer, something sadder behind it. "This is who I've been for a long time."

"Then maybe it's time to bring out the other side of you. The one she remembers. The one she feels safe around." She grabbed one of the shirts and held it out to him. He slipped on the loose material and let her fiddle with it.

"This will be no different than what we've been doing. She's going to keep translating and I'm going to keep listening to my radio twenty-four-seven," he pointed out.

"True, but she's not comfortable around you yet. And you need to make the first step."

"What am I supposed to do?" His voice took on an accusatory tone. "I won't change my style just for the sake of her feelings."

Rosie rolled her eyes as she backed away to give him a look over. It was a deep cream—almost brown—so that he wouldn't vomit at the sight of a 'soft color' on him. "You're not changing your style, hun. You're just changing your at-home clothes since you'll be at home twenty-four-seven with her. Only she needs to see you in these outfits."

He removed the shirt and let her put another one in his hands. This one was a more orangey-brown open sweater with a white undershirt. "I don't understand how my dressing will have any profound effect on her."

"When you dress less imposing, less intimidating, less deadly, less—"

"I get your point," he hissed lightly, pulling off the hideous shirt.

"If you dress more like a normal person and less like the Radio Demon, she'll feel safe with you. You do want her to feel safe, right?" She lifted an eyebrow, hands holding onto the material as she waited for his answer.

To his surprise, it got stuck in his throat. Of course he wanted you to feel safe. Of course he wanted to feel the snip of your sarcasm and radiance of your smile. Of course he wanted to entice you to touch your cool hands to his burning hot skin. Yet he found himself choking down his immediate response in favor of something more...defensive.

"Naturally." He focused on putting on the next sweater. "The more comfortable she is the faster she translates." He wanted to add that the memories of her flinching from him were always eating at him. He wasn't accustomed to feeling guilt.

"You don't want her to fear you like Vox, do you?"

"She doesn't!" he snapped. His response triggered a surprise in both of them. He blinked at Rosie, dumbfounded at his outburst, then looked away with a mumbled apology. "She's not afraid of me like that."

Rosie's eyes softened. She came to stand behind him so he would look at himself in the mirror. He wore a red sweater with a white button down collar poking out at his neck. Their eyes met in the mirror. "No, she's not," she agreed. "But she's wary. And it's up to you whether that changes." She reached up to remove his monocle.

Alastor practically frowned at his appearance. He couldn't deny the sweater, paired with his slightly disheveled hair, did make him look softer. He no longer carried the air of command that he spent years crafting. He looked less intimidating and less dangerous. He looked less like the manipulative Radio Demon who kidnapped you and more like the man who you had bonded with in your little corner of the world.

The edge of his mouth turned awkwardly. "This is ridiculous."

"Nooo," she turned more playful. "What's ridiculous is that it's taken me this long to get you into these clothes and I won't even be able to reap the benefits."

"If she chatters as much as you do, I'm sure you'll reap just enough, dear Rosie."

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

I stared out at the ravine full of broken branches and torn roots. Parts of the ravine wall had crumbled away, covering the floor in sharp, jagged rocks and the plots of farmland were completely gone, their soil now coating the ground. It was a mess.

People had crawled out of their deep caves to start the clean up. The next storm was coming tomorrow but the more they cleaned up in between storms, the less they had to do and the easier it was to clean at the end of the season. Women were sawing away at branches while the men lifted heavy rocks to make a path for carts to come through.

"What's the matter, sweetheart?" Rosie asked, stepping up beside me.

My shoulders sagged further. "It didn't work."

The words added another layer of weight just from speaking them. I had never been good at handling failure. Usually I would get recklessly angry, but this time all I could feel was disappointment and an entire lack of motivation to do anything.

"Didn't work? Didn't work?" Rosie came around to stand in front of me. "This is the least amount of damage we've ever experienced."

"But the trees and the farmland...they're all—"

"Better than any previous Storm Seasons," she interrupted, bending down to be level with my eyes. "The farmland always gets washed away. Our walls are constantly crumbling. And yes, there's branches all over the ground but this is so little compared to years past, dearie."

"You saw the Middle District on the way here. This is nothing," Husker supplied from behind. His hands were in his pockets and he wore his usual scowl. I had seen the damage of the Middle District. The houses were all wrecked like a tornado had swept through. There was barely anything left.

Alastor had been standing at the edge of our viewpoint, surveying the damage. His bright red coat contrasted the gray atmosphere. He kept his back to me as he said, "You haven't experienced Storm Season before."

"That's right," Rosie agreed and put a hand on my shoulder. "You haven't seen what a normal Storm Season looks like. Trust us when we say this is the best kind of damage we've seen in ages."

I surveyed the destruction in the ravine, but it still looked anything but a success.

"So now what?" I asked. I knew I was struggling to hide my disappointment.

"Now we rinse and repeat." Everyone turned at the sound of Lucifer Morningstar's voice.

The short ruler was flanked by his cheerful bright-eyed daughter, his cane tapping on the stone as loudly as his heeled boots. He came right up to me and my neck sent a silent Thank You to him for being the same height as me.

"You are the catalyst for something great," he said with a grand gesture. I'm sure it was meant as a compliment, and I originally took it as one, but the rational side of me remembered I was helping a dangerous city.

No. The city wasn't dangerous. It was just a collection of people trying to survive. Their leaders were the ones taking over smaller communities. Everyone else was just trying to live. I was saving their lives, wasn't I? I was saving humanity, right?

"The wind shields are a huge improvement!" Charlie stepped forward, her grin as wide as ever, and moved like her father with wide gestures. "The Middle District is a mess but it always is. Everywhere else is so much better!"

I picked at one of my nails. "The shields are working?"

"Yep! They're going to be even safer the more we improve them," Charlie went on. I noticed her father watching her with an approving smile. "Vox is already making improvements and fixing the ones that are broken."

I tensed at the mention of his name but, fortunately, no one seemed to notice. No one except Alastor. He saw the stillness in my hands and the tension in my shoulders.

"What kind of improvements?" I pushed out.

"I'm not sure," Charlie answered. "But he said he's experimenting with ways to protect the Middle District better."

I eased at the response. I didn't like the idea of Vox meddling with a project of mine, nor being close to the Agriculture District, but if he was experimenting with a desolate and unpopulated district, then I had no reason to worry. I wouldn't have to worry about him unless I was moving between Districts, and even then I had Alastor or Husker with me.

Lucifer cleared his throat. "Make any changes you need here. When you think you've got a good enough plan, we'll do the same to all the other districts."

I baulked at the sudden authority over a serious project. My plan was originally meant to 'brace' Rosie's district in a way of saying Thank You to her for her kindness. I had expected, but hadn't really accepted, the idea that my work would be used for the rest of the city.

This was actually happening.

"Lucifer." Alastor stepped forward to lean down in the king's ear, "a word."

Lucifer glared up at him and was ready to snap back, but Alastor had already stepped away. Charlie continued to talk to you and Rosie about the new plans as he followed the Radio Demon.

"What is it?" Lucifer demanded once they were far enough away, arms crossed.

Alastor rested his hands on his cane and sneered down at the smaller man. "I expect not to be pulled into meetings regarding her work anymore."

Lucifer scoffed at the second command. "You most certainly will be pulled. Just because she does better work with you doesn't mean you get free rein of her assignments."

Alastor wasn't bothered. "It stands to show that she does exceptional work with a goal she's passionate about, as well as when she's finessed and not maimed."

Lucifer winced at the reminder. "Regardless of what happened, Storm Season is just one of our many problems. If we're being brutally honest—"

"Then everyone should be bowing to me," Alastor interrupted. "Coaxing a suicidal Archivist into working again is not an easy feat."

Lucifer's lips pulled up into a devilish grin. "My sources tell me Rosie is to thank, not you."

"She deserves credit, of course," Alastor replied smoothly, despite the sting to his ego. "But the dynamic between me and our lovely Archivist is also to thank. I found, delivered, saved, and convinced her to work in our favor. Truly I am a man of great magic."

Lucifer rolled his eyes. "Once Storm Season is over, you're getting pulled into a meeting about what we need to take care of next."Alastor's lips curled into a snarl but before he could say anything else, Lucifer continued, "And since you're so 'full of magic' you can convince her to translate this."

A swirl of gold pulled Alastor's hand into an upright position. A flimsy book appeared in his palm, one that Alastor instantly recognized. His red eyes found Lucifer's hard stare, a stare that dared Alastor to push his luck and place on the food chain.

{|}

Alastor asked me again to join him in the living room. I decided to do a show of good faith and bring down a book to translate. He noticed, of course, but said nothing. I kept the book open on the couch cushion beside me and my translation notepad in my lap. It took only a few minutes to feel comfortable and I breezed through my translation better than ever before.

Tonight Alastor wore a simple red long sleeve with pale red lines. It mimicked his coat but the small, white collar that was undone by at least two buttons made it causal enough. Every now and then I caught a glimpse of his chest fur poking through.

I could still remember what his chest looked like during and after his injury. I could see the blood staining his clothes and clumping his fur together. I could also remember the softness of it after I had changed his bandages.

My mind then drifted to the day he bathed at the stream. His fur had been pressed to his body with water, dripping off him like a wet animal. Well, he had been a wet animal. He had looked anything but the well-composed, cruel, and terrifying Radio Demon.

Then I remembered when he asked me to help wash his hair. My cheeks burned and—

Bright light flashed in the room followed by a large clap of thunder. My body froze, muscles braced, then eventually eased down when there was no sign of danger. The fire continued to crackle, emitting warmth to fight off the cold draft that sneaked in. The temperatures had dropped significantly this time around.

Niffty had spent most of her time lying in front of the fire until she dozed off. Alastor attempted to coax her into going to bed, but when she didn't comply and fell into a deep sleep, he gently lifted her off the carpet and carried her upstairs. My mouth nearly dropped open at the sight.

Another bright flash and crackle of thunder. The storm was worse this time around. The wind shrieked on the other side of the stone walls, thunder shook the floors and shelves, and lightning was frequent. I was too ramped up to focus on my work anymore, so I sighed heavily and flopped on the floor like I used to do in my bunk.

I shifted closer to the fire as another clap of thunder shook the tower. Storms at the bunker were never this bad.

"Have you finally achieved boredom?" Alastor asked as he came down the stairs.

I quickly sat up. "You say that as if I'm incapable of being bored."

He practically glided to his chair with his long legs and I shifted around to keep him in view. "You lived in that bunker without going insane. You must be invincible to boredom."

I smiled despite myself. "That must be why I'm still alive then," I met his eyes, "after knowing you for so long."

He scoffed, clearly not insulted, and crossed his legs. "I find myself rather entertaining. Your work, however, meets the criteria." He reached for his glasses and book. The gentle smile on his lips spoke volumes.

I remained were I was for a few moments, debating with myself, before finally stretching out again. I stared at the ceiling and clasped my hands together over my stomach. I drew in a slow, deep sigh. "You were the first time I didn't feel bored."

Silence hung between us.

I dared a glance in his direction to see if he was annoyed by the comment. The only expression I got was a blank stare. I wasn't sure if that was a good or bad sign, so I looked back at the ceiling and wrung my hands. "Sorry," I mumbled.

In a way, I had gotten my wish for a more entertaining life, albeit a very challenging and scary one. And painful. Alastor had promised to show me more of the world. It wasn't in a way I liked, but there were moments when it looked like he was trying—really trying. Maybe things would turn out okay.

Alastor watched you from his chair. He had gone very still, stuck in decision paralysis. He wanted to lay beside me, to touch my skin again, to watch me give in to his touch rather than flinch away. Ever since Vox, Alastor wanted nothing more than to make you seek him for shelter. But the cavern between the two of you felt far too wide.

You were the first time I ever felt calm, he wanted to say in return. Why he kept quiet, he'll never know. Perhaps because it was easy to be open around you, and that fact unnerved him. You had very little magic yet could pull out a forbidden side of him with ease.

He lifted his hand to his lips, pressing the cool tips of his claws to his cheek. The memory of your first kiss had chased him in his dreams for weeks after you had banished him. They had subsided when he brought you here, but now? Now it was something he couldn't stop thinking about. It didn't help that it had been the first kiss he initiated; the first one he had actually wanted.

Your eyes found his again and his chest tightened. He wanted to lay beside you like that night on the rooftop. He wanted to feel your hands running through his hair, firm but gentle, and with all the care in the world. He wanted to feel the heat of your words when you were pushed too far. He wanted those gorgeous eyes on him at all times, your focus on nothing and no one else other than him. He wanted to pin you to the floor and have another kiss just so he could feel the buzz of electricity that zipped under his skin.

There were a lot of things he wanted but couldn't have. Acting on any of those wants would damage the weak bond he had managed to piece back together with you. He always had a plan. He always knew what to do and when to do it. He always knew.

And yet, he could do nothing but sit in that chair with your eyes on him and his hand over his mouth.

{|}

The storm eased up the following day. The inside of Alastor's tower remained the same—dark, gloomy, and moist. The air felt thick and I worried the books would be damaged, though there was nothing I could do about it.

After translating a few more pages of the plumbing and electricity texts, I finally wandered downstairs. Niffty was on the couch crocheting something—probably a bug—and Alastor was in his usual spot near the fire and his radio. He wore a dark long sleeve, halfway between black and navy, and his bright eyes were already glancing towards the stairs as I came down.

How the hell was he not sweating?

"Wonderful of you to join us," he greeted. I nodded and quietly went to his bookshelf for the novel I had been previously reading, feeling his eyes on me the whole time. Niffty showed me her crochet project—indeed it was a bug, a cockroach no less—and let me sit beside her.

I tucked my legs up and leaned against the armrest as I began to read. The silence was comforting—the crackle of the fire and hum of radio static were the only things that permeated the peace; aside from the constant rain just beyond the walls. I recalled the long winter nights with my family in the bunker, huddling around a small clay pot and candle, and playing several rounds of card games.

When my brother left it was just me, my mother, and my grandmother. We handled everything just fine by ourselves, but my brother had left a hallow, quiet, irreplaceable hole that was felt by all of us.

Once my grandmother passed away, things took a nosedive from there. My mother couldn't do much of the heavy lifting chores anymore and she spent most of her time sleeping away the hours of the day. I felt her grief as heavy as my own and it nearly crushed me had I not been too busy trying to keep us alive. She stopped translating altogether after she began making too many mistakes, ones I was fortunate enough to catch.

It wasn't long after my grandmother's passing that my mother became ill. I watched as my mother succumbed to her grief. She stopped cooking and could barely make it from her bed to the couch without running out of breath. And when I tried to play cards with her on rainy days, she couldn't concentrate. She would slip in and out of sleep until one day, she didn't wake up.

I spent a week trying to dig her grave. My crying and screaming got in the way, and my usual chores were just as demanding, somehow more so. For that entire week I kept her body wrapped in a blanket on the couch. Once I had finished her grave, right beside my grandmother and her mother, I carefully lowered my mother's body into the grave. It was raining that day.

Niffty suddenly shifted off the couch and it pulled me back to reality. I took a deep breath and my throat loosened as I remembered where I was, the ambience of the tower filling my ears once again. As confusing as Alastor's presence was, I wasn't physically alone anymore.

Niffty scurried into the kitchen to make a light snack for lunch. Alastor let out a heavy sigh then removed his glasses and placed his work on the side table. He stood to his full height and stretched out his long arms, giving me a chance to run my eyes along the muscles pushing against the dark fabric.

"Would you care for anything?" he asked, meeting my eyes as a blush surfaced to my cheeks. I looked away.

"Sure."

I waited until he walked into the kitchen before sagging against the cushions. Things weren't as tense as they were before, but the awkwardness seemed to follow me everywhere I went. Did he feel it too? Probably not.

I stood up and stretched out my arms and legs, and twisted my torso in an effort to relieve my usual back pain. I glanced at Alastor's chair, at the indent in the cushion from his weight. His leather-bound journal was filled with various papers and his round glasses sat atop it. What was even on those papers? What did he spend all his time reading?

I wandered closer, nervously checking around the corner in the kitchen. Would Alastor be bothered? Would he get mad at me for not asking him instead? Would he answer truthfully if I asked what his notes were about?

I figured a small glance couldn't hurt. I carefully pulled one of the pages further out and felt my hands go cold. It was Old English.

I pulled it out the rest of the way and examined the note. It was plain and simple and written in his handwriting. Where did he read this? Did he know what it meant? Has he been trying to decipher my translations and learn how to translate himself? Was that even possible?

Footsteps came up behind me. I turned, bracing myself, and looked up to meet his eyes. They blinked back at me. "I see you found something."

I gripped the note tighter. "Wha—what is this?"

He stepped past me and lowered a plate of bread and cheese on the side table near the couch. "A White Angel prisoner carved it into the floor of her cell." He moved back to his chair and I stepped out of his way. "So I copied it down."

I glanced at the paper, then back at him. "Were you going to ask me to translate this?"

He tilted his head slightly, the dawn of a question on the tip of his tongue, but then he suddenly closed it, eyes widening. "You can read it."

I nodded and looked at the paper again. "It's Old World language. Old English," I explained. The handwriting was crude and clearly a copy of someone else's writing, but unmistakably Alastor's.

Now he was leaning forward in his chair. "Can you tell me what it says?"

His sudden interest sent a prickle of fear along my skin. I felt compelled to deny him, but then remembered this paper wasn't from my archive. I could technically freely translate this. And considering what the paper said, I felt he most certainly should know.

"It says: When the waves are calm, more will come."

Alastor stared at me for several moments, lost in his own mind.

"It could be a warning," I suggested.

He rubbed his chin. "Or a threat."

I read the note to myself again. "Do you think they meant literal waves?"

"Perhaps."

Feeling comfortable enough, I moved closer to him to put the note back on his side table. He watched me intensely as I did, though I avoided his eyes. They were as hot as the fire on my back.

"Do you think..." he began gently, making me stop in front of him. "...that you might be able to translate what the angel says?"

My mind was split. One half of me wondered if it was possible to translate something other than text, while the other half realized that I might be used in an interrogation if I could. Another tool.

"I...I'm not sure." I shifted uncomfortably and glanced into the small fire. It burned away the mist that clouded the room but made my clothes stick to my arms with sweat. "I've never tried," I murmured.

Alastor gestured towards the couch. "Consider it. We have plenty of time thanks to this storm."

His offer gave me an out and I took it, settling on the couch and pulling the book into my lap. But I couldn't focus. The note still burned in my thoughts and I silently repeated the phrase over and over again.

Was it a threat? More had to mean more White Angels. That much was obvious. But the waves didn't make sense. Was it used in a literal sense? A metaphor for chaos? Waves of people? Storm waves? Ocean waves?

Then it hit me like a lightning bolt.

I stood suddenly, clutching the small book to my stomach.

"The coast."

Chapter Text

It's hard not to feel insignificant when you're sitting at a table with three of the most powerful people in the entire nation. Lucifer sat to my left, Alastor to my right, and Lady Carmilla directly in front of me. We were in a small, gloomy gray room in Lucifer's castle.

Lady Carmilla, head of the Military District, was the spitting image of feirce feminine beauty. She had two long, white horns protruding from her head and her large claws were folded neatly over each other on the table. The way she talked and held herself spoke of a level of elegance and intelligence that rivaled Alastor.

She had a perpetual glare that looked me over with a combination of scrutiny and curiosity. It made me wonder what people expected an Archivist to look like. Did I live up to that expectation? Or was I a downgrade? A small, scared, female Archivist without her wings or magic, and a novice in the world of social etiquette.

I expected Lady Carmilla to be intense, sharp, and all business. And while she was certainly the latter, there was also a surprising gentleness to her. I couldn't quite explain it, but it didn't feel condescending. It felt as though she genuinely saw me as someone who mattered in the conversation.

She gave me a rundown of everything they knew about the White Angels. They had a large camp just north of the city, directly on the coast, and traversed the land with stolen airships. Alastor seemed particularly upset about it, if the rough static catching in his throat and strained smile were any indication.

The White Angels had been a problem for the past five years, travelling with terrifying speed and wiping out communities within range of their camp and even beyond. My bunker, which was hidden in an oasis in the desert region, was often used as one of their temporary camp. Luckily, they never realized I was there.

The broadcasts Alastor—The Radio Demon—had sent out, made it sound like he, and Pentagram City for that matter, were defending these small communities from the White Angels. But he wasn't. He was racing against the White Angels to capture remaining communities before they could wipe them out. If the White Angels killed off all the communities, then Pentagram City wouldn't have people to conquer.

I glanced sideways at him, wondering if he could feel my confused animosity towards him.

"This particular angel," Carmilla said, referring to their recent prisoner, "didn't carry a gun. She had a spear and immediately surrendered when we found her."

"She was by herself?" I asked shyly.

Carmilla nodded. "She was injured, too. We believe she might have been outcasted."

Guns weren't common but they did exist. Alastor's men used them and so did Carmilla's soldiers, yet from what I was hearing, they were somehow inferior to the ones the White Angels used. Carmilla didn't go into detail about it.

Lucifer was oddly quiet during the whole conversation, dare I say uncomfortable even. He leaned against the armrest of his dark chair and repeatedly looked between me and Carmilla, attempting to gauge my reaction to something. His fingers tapped an unsteady rhythm on his cane as he did and I found myself bracing for an intervention of some sort...but it never came.

Carmilla went over the questions she wanted me to ask the angel if I could understand them. My apprehension grew with every passing moment. What if I couldn't translate? It somehow felt like a failure; a disappointment. I lived and breathed Old World language but speaking it was an entirely different thing.

And what if I could translate? What then? I would be an interrogation tool. I could be used in intense interrogations if the angel didn't willingly give up information. Could I handle something like that?

No. I wouldn't.

I wouldn't stand by and let them do something like that and use me as just another tool in their great conquest. I was still a prisoner–maybe not in the way Vox's people were–but it seemed I was able to get away with certain things. Although, I wasn't sure how lenient or brutal Lady Carmilla could be.

The height difference between Lucifer and Lady Carmilla was painfully evident from my viewpoint as we walked down the winding hallways of Lucifer's castle. The tap of his cane echoed loudly off the stone walls and Carmilla walked with her hands folded behind her back.

Alastor walked unusually close to me. The hairs on my arms stood up from the static electricity his magic was emanating off of him, making me wonder what he was using his magic for.

The hallways grew dark and colder the further we walked, until we eventually came to a seemingly random door. My heart lurched at the sound of metal jingling together as Lucifer withdrew a ring of large metal keys from his pocket. As he did, Carmilla opened a small slot on the door and peered inside. She slammed it shut and used Lucifer's keys to unlock it.

But she didn't open it.

Everyone turned to look at me and my heart skipped a beat. This was it.

I tried to swallow around the fear in my throat but that almost made it worse. Instead, I fisted my pant leg in a tight grip and took a moment to breathe, fighting to calm my nerves.

Alastor leaned down in my ear. "I'll be right behind you. You have nothing to fear."

It wasn't the angel I feared. It was them. It was him. What would happen if I couldn't translate? What would happen if I could translate? There was so much in the air, so much unknown, so much uncertainty. I just might get sick.

I took another deep breath then stepped up to the door. Lady Carmilla pulled it open with a loud creak and entered first. I moved around the corner, braced myself, and stepped into the cold cell.

My stomach churned at the sight before me. A woman, maybe my age, was huddled in the corner of the room. Her wrists were tightly bound in her lap and a metal chain was looped around her neck that connected to a random spot on the floor.

She wore nothing but white pants and a short sleeve. Her short, silver hair was disheveled and her face was spotted with dried blood from an injury on the other half of her face, now covered in dirty bandages.

Her remaining eye slowly looked up. Her head lifted slightly at my presence, confused but wary. What kind of interrogation had she already gone through? I should've asked Carmilla.

Silence stretched for several heartbeats. Was I supposed to initiate the conversation? I didn't know how to pronounce any Old English words. I could make a guess but I didn't know if it would be accurate. I had hoped the angel might say something first but, based on her physical state, I feared she wouldn't speak at all. I couldn't blame her, either.

I could feel everyone's eyes on me, awaiting my word. I felt a familiar prickle of fear crawl up my spine.

But then I realized something. I looked over my shoulder at Lady Carmilla. "Where are her wings?"

Carmilla first looked at Lucifer, then at Alastor, before answering. "Their wings aren't real."

"Aren't real?" I questioned, glancing back at the angel huddled in the corner. "What does that mean?"

"They developed technology that allows them to wear metal wings strapped to their backs," she said.

I slowly turned back to the angel. They were flightless.

Yet once again their technology surpassed anything Pentagram City had developed. It was no wonder I found Alastor half dead on my bunker doorstep that fateful rainy night.

The angel and I blinked at each other. I really wanted her to try speaking to see if I could understand something as simple as a greeting, but she did nothing but stare directly at me.

I felt Alastor step up behind me and I stuttered forward. I went as close to the angel as comfortably possible then knelt down so I was at her eye level. She shrank away from me–it was a subtle gesture but was enunciated by the heavy chains wrapped around her neck. I offered a small, sympathetic smile, hoping it would coax her into saying something.

It did.

She said something–asked something–and I immediately found that I couldn't understand her. She said something else but that too was garbled nonsense I didn't recognize.

I took a steadying breath and glanced over my shoulder at the awaiting leaders. Alastor stood closest, his eyes wide with an eagerness that made my stomach turn.

"I can't understand her," I finally said. Their shoulders sagged and their disappointment washed over me in a cold wave. I lowered my head, ashamed, then glanced at the angel. She looked between all of us, confused, and mumbled something else.

Alastor placed a tight hand on my shoulder.

I stood up but froze at the sight of writing on the floor. It was the phrase Alastor had copied down: when the waves are calm, more will come.

"Wait–" I pushed Alastor's hand off my shoulder and pointed to the angel's inscription, "—she can write." I looked between the three of them. "Do you have paper or something I can write with?"

Their eyes lit up in understanding and Lucifer used magic to withdraw a roll of paper from inside his coat. I grabbed the paper and pencil from him and sat in front of the angel again. I spread out the roll and wrote: can you understand this?

Her eye widened and I immediately knew she could read it. She shifted closer to the paper, the metal clanking obnoxiously against the cold stone, and accepted the pencil from my open palm. Her fingers were bruised and shaky, and it looked like she might have chewed or broken her nails at some point. She was cold to the touch.

You know English?

I took the pencil from her. I can read and write it. Not speak it.

She narrowed her good eye and I leaned away, unsure where the sudden animosity had come from. She took the pencil from my hand again and hurriedly scratched one word:

How?

Uncertainly, with a glance in Alastor's direction, I shifted closer to sit adjacent to her and the paper.

I'm an Archivist.

She spoke incoherently and it sounded like a curse or an expression of shock. She took the pencil. I thought you were extinct.

Not extinct. Hidden. Very few left. We exchanged a strange look, a feeling of confused understanding. I wrote again. What happened to you?

She was much more gentle when she took the pencil this time: Outcast. When I pointed to my eye in reference to her injured one, she wrote: my people did this to me.

I took the pencil but Alastor cleared his throat before I could write more. "What are you discussing?"

I glanced up from where I knelt beside the angel. "She was outcasted. Her own people hurt her." I leaned down and wrote my next question: Can you tell me about your message? I then pointed to the area on the floor where she had written her original message.

She nodded. When the waves are calm, more of us will come. They want to kill everyone on this side.

I furrowed my eyebrows. This side?

This side of the ocean.

I don't understand.

She thought for a moment, debating how to best explain it to me. There is more land on the other side of the Atlantic.

I quickly took the pencil. With people on it?

Yes.

My mouth dropped. Is that where you came from?

She circled Yes.

My grandmother had been right–people had survived on the other continents. All the textbooks in my archive said everything had been wiped out on that side of the world by weapons and war and famine.

My texts had been wrong.

Clearly I wasn't the only one who had been misled because the angel wrote next: we didn't know people were still alive here.

I pushed away my burning questions and asked the one we've all been waiting for: what do you mean by calm waves?

She winced from one of her many injuries as she shifted to write easier. Storms make ocean travel dangerous. When ocean is calm, more will come from my homeland.

"What is she saying?" Alastor pressed. I looked up to find him and the other two leaders inching closer, eagerly waiting for my translation.

I first looked at the angel, then met Alastor's sharp gaze. "When Storm Season is over, more White Angels are coming from across the ocean."

"That's not possible," he snapped. "No one has ever been able to cross the ocean."

"Their technology is obviously more advanced than ours," I argued gently.

"The angels we know are likely scouts," Carmilla declared. "They were probably sent ahead to secure a base of operations." She gestured to me–to the paper–in a silent command to ask the angel for confirmation.

Alastor continued to argue while I translated. "The angels have been around for five years. If they were a scout then the rest of them would've already arrived."

"They've been arriving in small groups," I explained, reading off the angel's writing. "They've been building a larger ship to take more of them over this time."

Lucifer paled and stared at the ground. I understood his panic after spending so much time working on the Agriculture District. The city would barely recover from Storm Season before more deadly White Angels arrived on their coast. If a small batch of scouts could cause as much damage and struggle as they have been doing, then an entire civilization of them could wipe out the whole city—and even the entire nation.

I turned the paper over and wrote: what kind of technology do you have?

She took the pencil. Radio. Guns. Electricity. Solar Power.

I leaned back against the wall and rubbed my face, completely distraught. "They have solar power."

"Not possible," Alastor hissed.

"Well it is!" I stumbled to my feet. "Nothing we know is true. There weren't supposed to be people over there. For all we know, the entire world could be perfectly fine but our nation is the only one destroyed and cut off from the rest of the world. Old Humanity didn't even use solar power very heavily and now the White Angels have revolutionized it."

Carmilla gave Lucifer a look. "We can't stand against an entire nation of White Angels. Their technology and manpower would outmatch us."

Lucifer didn't respond, instead rubbing his face and turning away from us. My eyes fell on Alastor and so did the words that were about to come out. I wanted to tell him my texts were skewered, biased, wrong even, and that my whole life might have been devoted to a lie.

But Alastor wasn't there anymore.

It was the Radio Demon.

The three leaders fell into discourse over the next plan of action, forgetting all about me and the angel in the corner of the dark cell. I met her eyes. She was afraid, too.

I carefully took the pencil from her dry, cracked fingers and wrote: What is your name?

A small smile finally broke through her tough, scared exterior.

Vaggie.

{|}

Alastor and I walked in silence back to the Magic District. The wind whistled and howled loudly over the storm barriers above. The first few drops were beginning to fall, signaling the downpour was moments away.

I stayed a pace behind Alastor so I could watch him closely for any change in mannerisms. He was tense, angry, and his magic occasionally pinched my skin, like a small shock when you touch metal after getting off the couch.

Walking into his tower felt like walking back into a cage. My arms felt heavy and a subtle feeling of dread crawled into my lungs. I immediately went upstairs, ignoring Niffty's cheerful greeting, and wrapped myself up in my grandmother's quilt. I heard Alastor go into his room and close the door behind him.

I stayed that way for awhile, listening to the rain drum against the single window. I stared at nothing and thought of nothing. The only sign of the world continuing on without me was the dimming of natural light in my room.

Finally, when the world was dark and the thunder loud, I managed to peel myself off the bed. I lit a lantern and carried it to the corner of the room, surveying my tower of books—of my life's work. Was any of it true? How much was biased? The texts about herbs, about technology, about science—all of those were fine. But the other ones?

I knelt down and peeled open the loose floorboard. I pulled out one of the massive books, carefully setting it on my lap. I ran my fingers over the archivist insignia on the front.

History.

Propaganda?

I slowly flipped through the pages my grandmother had written. Every two generations, a new copy of the Archivist Timeline needed to be made. My daughter would've been the next one to rewrite it.

The timeline said the world fell apart. Every country was at war with one another, slowly killing each other off with bombs, machinery, famine, and diseases. Eventually, the entire right side of the world simply ceased to exist.

The left side of the world had also suffered losses, and it never fully recovered after the war. Human pollution suffocated what little resources were left and Mother Nature took over what was once hers through storms, flooding, and landslides. It was by some miracle that a handful of people managed to pull through.

And yet that wasn't entirely true.

The White Angels were living proof that there was an entire civilization on the right side of the world. Their technology was advanced, so did they not suffer a Great Downfall? What was their history like? Did they have Archivists, too, or historians of some kind?

But Vaggie knew about the Archivists. She thought we were extinct. How did she even know we existed if she couldn't speak our language? How much of our history overlapped? What else did I not know? What would my grandmother think? Or my mother? My brother? My ancestors? Why was I left with all the hard decisions? Why was I left alone?

Why was I alone?

A water droplet fell on the yellow page. Then another.

I sniffled and gently pushed the book off my lap. I pulled my knees to my chest and wrapped my arms around them, resting my chin on top.

Why was I alone?

I stared at the Archivist insignia. There was no way to prove that any of what I believed was true. I couldn't fact check any of it. How was I supposed to move forward? Did my oath hold any weight to it anymore?

The creaking of floorboards drew my attention, and I looked up to find Alastor standing at the top of the stairs, his hand resting on the railing. He wore a red long sleeve but his monocle and staff were missing.

I turned my head away and wiped the tears with my sleeve. His steps drummed against the floorboards as I repositioned myself to sit crisscrossed. I didn't bother trying to hide the books again—it wasn't like they mattered as much anymore.

I expected him to put a hand on my shoulder, but he didn't. Instead, he sat beside me, one leg bent and resting his arm across that knee, the other hand propping him up as he leaned slightly my way.

For a few minutes, we said nothing.

The storm continued just on the other side of the stone walls, howling and whistling like the world inside my head. I could feel him watching me.

"What upset you?" he finally asked.

My eyes stayed glued to the open book in front of me. "Nothing. I'm just thinking."

He fell quiet again, eyes glossing over the book. They drifted back to me but I turned my head away from him.

"Had something been left out of your history books?" he chanced.

I scoffed quietly. "You mean the entire damn thing?"

"I fail to see how the prisoner could cause such a—"

"They came from across the ocean!" I threw my hands out in front of me. "No one is supposed to even exist over there. If my timeline is wrong about that, then what else could it be wrong about?"

I pulled my legs up again and punched my cheek into my knee, staring at the empty fireplace. I shouldn't have yelled at him but I didn't feel like watching my tone. My world was falling apart again.

He didn't respond right away. Silence prevailed as much as the storm. I wiped away tear after tear until the cuff of my sleeve was soaked.

"My oath was supposed to be a framework," I mumbled. "All my decisions were based on that oath but that might not even be true." I glared at him over my shoulder. "I suppose you're happy to hear that."

He knew the needle was on purpose—he'd have to be deaf not to—but his reaction was one I wasn't expecting.

"Logistically speaking, yes. But I'm not happy to see you so distraught over it."

I turned back to the empty fireplace, completely without a comeback. He let out a heavy sigh. "Perhaps before you condemn an entire lineage of archivists, you should speak with the prisoner some more."

Before we left Lucifer's castle, it had been decided that I would continue to question the White Angel under Carmilla's supervision. Vaggie seemed open to conversation and I guessed it had to do with being outcasted by her own people. Though I couldn't understand why they had let her live instead of killing her. That seemed like something they'd do.

Alastor's words had some merit to them. History wasn't perfect—nothing ever made by humans was—so I didn't need to question my entire life's work based on a small detail that might've been overlooked. After all, how was anyone supposed to know what was happening on the other side of the world when the Internet and power grid went down?

"Alright," I muttered. Despite myself, more tears fell and I wiped my face in a desperate attempt to keep my sniffles quiet.

But he knew.

He placed a gentle hand on my back and it made something break inside me.

I choked out a sob and hugged my legs tighter, my body jerking with every gurgled inhale. I tried to be quiet—I did—I even tried crying into my shoulder so my wailing wouldn't be so loud.

I wanted him closer. I wanted to rest my head on his shoulder and feel his arms hold me close. But he didn't like touch. The most he ever did was put a hand on my shoulder. Even in my bunker he had been particular about his personal space.

I curled even tighter into myself.

His hand slipped from my back and the cold rushed to replace his warmth. I lifted my head, expecting to see him walk away, only to flinch when I found him moving closer instead. My tears stilled as he wrapped his arm fully around my back, leaning in just enough for our shoulders to touch.

"What are you doing?" I wiped my nose on my sleeve. He stiffened, his grip loosening a fraction, like he wasn't sure if he should be touching me.

"...Comforting you?" His tone was uncertain, like he wasn't convinced he had used the word correctly.

I sniffled. "Why?"

He furrowed his eyebrows. "Because you're distraught? Why else?" It sounded as though he was annoyed that I needed him to explain it at all. The irritation in his voice nearly masked the concern beneath it.

"I didn't think you'd care."

He sighed heavily. "You say that a lot. And yet this is the third time I've cared for you when you're..." He struggled to find a word. "Emotionally spiraling."

I wiped my nose with my sleeve and struggled to hide my smile. "I figured by now you'd be a master at comforting me, then."

The corner of his lip curled slightly upward at the jibe. "Perhaps if you were more open." He tilted his head forward slightly, catching my eyes. "You rarely speak your true thoughts unless we're arguing."

I glanced away at the forgotten book and mumbled, "Says the one who isn't very open, either."

He squeezed my shoulder--not in an angry or threatening way, but more like a comfort. "Well, I was stuck in a secret bunker with a woman who threatened to undo my stitches if I didn't bathe."

I met his gentle, ruby-colored eyes. "You did that all on your own," I said, referring to the night he had accidentally pulled out his own stitches because of a nightmare. "And used up the last of my bandages."

He glanced at my wrapped feet for several heartbeats, silently debating on making his remark. "We'll call it even, then."

I rested my head on my knee and basked in the warmth his body was emanating. "We're very much not even."

His ear flicked once. "How so?"

"I still have three more wins to even the score." I recalled the numerous card games we had played on my couch when he complained of boredom.

"Four, my dear," he corrected. "And I fear we may never be even. You have much to learn." He flicked his wrist and in a swish of green magic held an ACE between his fingers.

"You cheated twice."

He narrowed his eyes playfully and vanished the card. "That is slander."

"I caught you red handed!" I leaned into him. "You were using magic and I called you out on it."

"I recall no such thing." He draped his arm over my shoulder, leaning more of his weight against me. His cheek nearly brushed mine. "But I do recall someone sneaking glances at the next card in the draw pile."

"Well, if you weren't going to play fair then I wasn't either." I wiped my face clean of tears.

His smiled widened. "Aren't Archivists supposed to be pillars of integrity?"

"Please," I scoffed. "I was trapped in a metal box with a man who thought he was indestructible, instead of bleeding all over my floor. Integrity died on day one."

He laughed—actually laughed—and the sound vibrated through my chest from our close proximity. I giggled in response, letting him push his cheek against mine. "I guess we both have our faults, don't we?"

"One more than the other." I stretched out my legs and rested my head on his shoulder. His hand moved up and down my arm methodically as he leaned back on his other arm, keeping us both upright.

"Correct," he replied. "For instance, your fault lies in your ability to be bored for hours on end." His chest hummed with every word he spoke, lulling me into a half sleep.

"And yours is that you're unable to be bored for even a second."

"A fault that was remedied thanks to your boring bunker life."

I yawned. "Rosie's right. You could do with some boredom in your life."

"And why's that?"

A smile stretched across my face and I pressed my forehead into the side of his neck. "Because you do things like this."

He was quiet for a moment. Then he let it stretch further. His hand continued tracing a gentle path up and down my arm, our steady breathing replacing the distant howl of the wind. I could feel the rhythm of his heart through his chest, syncing with mine in quiet tandem.

Feeling brave, I wrapped both arms around his torso and rubbed my cheek against his shirt. He smelled like cinnamon and leather with a tinge of smoke. He smelled like Al.

My heart skipped a beat as he rubbed his cheek against the top of my head, drawing in a deep breath that lifted his chest. I wondered what he thought of my scent. Did he only ever smell vanilla because of the incense necklace I wore? Or did I have my own personal scents, like how he always seemed to have?

We stayed that way for several minutes, wrapped in each other's warmth while the storm raged outside. For the first time in my life, I truly felt the safe.

I didn't know how long it would last, but for now, I let myself enjoy it. I savored the weight of his arm draped protectively over me; the stillness in the air; the quiet truce between us; and the warmth in his chest that chased away the cold shadows of doubt.

Eventually, the soft moment came to an end when Niffty called for dinner.

Alastor sighed. "I'm afraid the little darling will be heartbroken if we let our dinner go cold," he said, though his tone held reluctance—maybe he didn't want this moment to end either.

I gave him a final squeeze before pulling away, feeling my heart grow heavier with every inch of distance between us. Our eyes met, and just like that, I was suddenly back in the bunker with him.

The smell of rusted metal and damp earth filled my nose, and the faint sound of birds chirping echoed in the distance. The lights were dim in my bunker—the only refuge being a small lantern on the floor which casted smooth shadows across his cheeks.

His expression softened, almost uncertain but still there, and my heart skipped. I returned the smile as I remembered the way he tucked a stray piece of hair behind my ear. I remembered the way he pressed his palm to my cheek and rubbed his thumb over my skin.

His lips parted slightly. I instinctively wet my own and his gaze flickered down to catch the movement. His smile deepened with quiet amusement before he lowered his head, meeting me halfway.

Our lips brushed in a gentle kiss. Our eyes fluttered shut and we tilted our heads in opposite directions. His hand moved to the back of my head to hold me in place as we took a quick breath of air.

We pressed harder into the second kiss. He wrapped his arm entirely around the back of my head, letting it rest in the bend of his elbow and pulling me even closer. My hands moved up his sides and hooked onto his shoulders to bring him further down.

I flinched when his tongue rubbed my top lip and he almost pulled away, if not for the way I pushed against him, accidentally setting him off balance and making him fall on his back.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to—"

His claws cupped the back of my head and pulled me into a rough kiss. His tongue slicked over mine as our teeth clashed and lips burned, rubbing together and trying to engulf one another.

I shifted further on his chest but he quickly rolled over top of me, his hand staying protectively on the back of my head as his lips moved along my jawline.

I sighed deeply with content as he made his way down my neck. My fingers gripped his shirt and goosebumps went up my arms as he took my skin between his teeth. He smoothed his tongue over the bite then did it again closer to my ear.

I moved my hand across his back, feeling the lean muscles working to keep him over me. His heavy breaths and the slick sound of wet kisses directly in my ear were driving me insane. My chest burned with every breath I took.

I turned my head toward him and captured his lips again. He hummed into the kiss and I felt it all the way down my toes. His tongue felt slightly colder when he pushed it between my lips, but I didn't care.

I couldn't think past the feeling of my hands in his hair, finding the base of his antlers and ears. I couldn't think past the feeling of his knee between my legs. Or his weight on my chest. Or his breath on my cheeks.

I whined when we broke the kiss. "...Al."

I blinked up at him, realization dawning on me. He blinked back. Then smiled.

My cheeks flushed even more and I crossed my arms, turning away to stare at the lantern by my feet. He chuckled and slid a red finger under my chin.

"Eyes on me, darling."

My stomach twisted wonderfully and I fisted my shirt until my whole hand turned white. I breathed in sharply right as he kissed me again, then melted into his hand, allowing my back to arch upwards so our bodies pressed together.

Then Niffty shouted up the stairs.

Both of us jumped and sat up, right as she climbed up the remaining flight of stairs, hands on her hips. Alastor hadn't been lying when he said she would be upset.

"We're coming Niffty, dear," Alastor said as patiently as he could manage. Niffty crossed her arms then trudged back downstairs.

I hid my smile behind my hand but it was pointless. He half glared at me and got to his feet, not without grazing his fingers over my chin playfully. He held out his hand and helped me up.

I moved towards the stairs but he wrapped an arm around my shoulders to stop me, leaning into my ear to whisper, "Better than I remember."

Chapter Text

I was desperate to speak—write—with Vaggie again, but my herbalism plans to keep the Agriculture District safe were now needed for the Entertainment District. So, when the storm had passed, I found myself walking through a ruined district with a crowd of mages behind me.

Well, behind us.

Alastor refused to stand more than two feet away from me at all times and I couldn't say I minded. I knew who the co-lord of the Entertainment District was, and I certainly wasn't eager to see him again.

"Are your feet bothering you?" Alastor asked a second time. I was walking carefully again, as if I was bracing for pain that had yet to come. For weeks now, I've been walking normally. But this district and the possibility of seeing my perpetrator...

The Entertainment District was by far the wildest district, and that was after two large storms had ravaged the area. It was the narrowest district but had the most ravine-arms branching away from the main street. Stone platforms crowded the overhead space, blocking out parts of the sky and giving the district intricate maze-like caverns and tunnels.

The people were just as wild as they formed assembly lines to carry broken stone out of the ravine. They were adorned in bright, exotic-colored clothes, their hairs were a variety of colors and strange styles, and their faces were coated in unnatural makeup. Their manners, too, seemed out of this world. It made Angel seem like the normal one.

Speaking of whom, he was peppering me with all kinds of questions and remarks about Husker. I had very little to say about Husker since I didn't cross paths with him very often, but Angel sure did. His questions were usually followed by a short story or scenario about the two of them. I listened with half a mind as the other half paid close attention to the Entertainment District's co-Lady, who was eyeing me up and down.

Lady Velvette was loud, boisterous, and made her dislike of me very apparent. She wore just as exotic colors as her people. Her hair, dyed red and white, was pulled back into two ponytails and her lips were a matching red that smacked obnoxiously when she spoke. The woman was stellar at making me feel off-balanced and embarrassed.

"Don't take this the wrong way, hun," Lady Velvette said, brushing past me to pluck a piece of bark off a sycamore tree, "but do we really need these things? Our caves are the strongest out of all the districts, next to Vox's district, of course." Her eyes caught mine as she said his name.

I clutched my book tighter to my chest—the one with all my notes folded in between the pages–and tried not to look unsettled. "Trees stabilize the soil," I said matter-of-factly. "It'll keep the caves from eroding and caving in."

She rolled her eyes. "Ugh, these things are so fucking massive though. Can't you use a different tree?"

"Well...I, um...these Sycamore trees are the strongest ones and their canopy can take the brunt of the wind and rain. And they can redirect runoff water."

"So scientific," she sneered. Then genuinely asked, "Would they shrivel up and die if we paint them?"

I bit the inside of my lip and glanced down at my book, as if seeking council from the wrinkly pages. "I don't think so. But the paint might come off in the rain and make all your runoff water toxic. You won't be able to use it for anything."

Again, she rolled her eyes and flicked the piece of bark away. Part of me wished her eyes would get stuck in that position. "Well, I would hardly call these things aesthetic. We're in the business of performance, here. It's why everyone wants to spend their Storm Season with us."

I wasn't going for aesthetics, I thought bitterly. "The trees keep everyone safe from cave-ins and landslides."

"Still, you should've asked me." She crossed her arms and sauntered over to me. "This is my district, after all. I get to say where these ugly trunks get to go." I shuffled back and accidentally stepped on Alastor's foot. He didn't move, but his attention sharpened. He was being uncharacteristically silent.

I shifted the book in my arms, feeling the burn of embarrassment in my cheeks. I had grown used to Rosie and Alastor's leniency with the Agriculture District. "I'm sorry," I said quietly. "I didn't think to ask. These trees have to go in particular areas in order to be fully effective."

She stopped an arm's length from me and planted her hands on her hips, her perfect curls of hair swishing against her cheeks. "Tell me, Archivist, do you really think you're helping us by playing gardener? By throwing dirt and roots all over our city?"

I gripped the edge of my book tighter, silently wishing Alastor would say something.

"I think I'm trying," I answered her. "It's working in the Agriculture District, so if all the others followed suit then no one would have to hide in the caves during Storm Season."

Velvette laughed, short and bitter. "I thought Archivists were just supposed to keep dusty old useless books out of our hands."

I opened my mouth to retort—to tell her that we also read the books to keep their integrity—but a commotion drew our attention. A group of men were arguing with a female mage and her partner came flying to her defense, aggressively. Everyone stopped what they were doing to watch or congregate around the fight.

"Some grip you've got on your mages," Velvette muttered to Alastor. More and more people crowded around as fists met faces and magic cracked walls. Alastor didn't bother with a response, instead stalking towards the mess with a zip of green static in the air.

A prickle of nerves crawled up my arms as he left my side, and I found myself scanning the area around me, searching for familiar blue eyes and a red coat.

"You and your partner," Velvette suddenly hissed in my ear as she began to circle me, "come here to my district, dig up my floor, destroy our rhythm and way of life, and expect us to be grateful for it?"

Her sharp perfume smelled faintly familiar—like a toxic flower mixed with a scent of raspberry—and it stung my nose when she leaned in close to my face. "You two really are perfect for each other. Stomping all over the place without bothering to ask the people who were here in the first place. Without asking what would happen if you broke Valentino and Vox's ankles."

Instantly, their screams filled in my head. Their distorted shadows against the stone wall flashed in front of my eyes and I could feel heavy hands pinning my arms to the ground while razors clipped my footclaws. They throbbed at the memory.

"That's the thing about men like Alastor," she continued. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure Alastor was still preoccupied. "Always ready to jump into a fight unless he has a personal attachment."

I glanced at Alastor's bright red back and stepped away from Velvette—away from the conversation—but she followed. My back pinched where my wings wanted to come out and take flight.

"Funny how he's so protective of you." She nearly stepped on my foot. "But I wonder what would happen if he ever found out who you've been kissing behind his back."

My stomach dropped. "What?"

She laughed and leaned away, swatting at the air like she had just told a joke. "It's just a rumor, hun, don't worry. Everyone loves to pair Vox with someone." Her smile turned ugly. "But unlike your little saplings, some secrets don't stay buried."

I panicked, glancing at Alastor and trying to come up with a response.

"You don't belong here," Velvette said, drawing my attention back to her. "You're fifty generations behind. This isn't your little bunker. This isn't your land. So go home."

I narrowed my eyes at her. "Don't you think I want to?"

She blinked at me. "...What?"

"I didn't ask to be dragged from my home to a strange city," I said firmly, although quietly. "I want nothing more than to go home."

She stared at me, unsure what to say next. My stomach flipped when I saw Alastor making his way back to us. The crowd had dispersed and his mages were back to work.

"Well isn't that interesting," Velvette said slowly, tauntingly. "Then why on earth are you trying so hard to protect this city?"

"Because she's the only one who understands what's at stake," Alastor said from behind her. "Unlike your beloved co-leader who thinks intimidation is a diplomatic solution."

She puckered her lips and rolled her eyes, turning back to me. "Grudges run just as deep as your tree roots, Archivist. I can't promise I won't dig up any of your saplings." She then turned on her heels and stalked away, fluffing her hair as she did.

I felt sick.

Alastor moved behind me without a sound, his hand settling on my shoulder as he watched Velvette disappear behind a bend in the ravine wall. I pressed my book tighter to my chest as a cold weight slipped into my lungs, equal parts relieved that she hadn't mentioned Vox and apprehensive at the blackmail she now possessed over me.

"Pay her no mind," Alastor said. "She's been ready to go to war since the moment she first saw you."

His hand didn't feel warm this time. I turned around to face him, making his hand drop from my shoulder. "What...did you do to Vox and Valentino?"

His ear flicked and he tilted his head slightly. "Why do you ask?"

"Can you answer my question?" I asked uncertainly.

He sighed through his nose and rested his hand on his cane, claws curling around the top perfectly. "I broke their ankles," he answered. "I clipped them like they clipped you. It was uncomfortably fair of me."

I tried not to smile.

{|}

I didn't have it in me to translate anything. The next storm had come much faster than the last one and we barely had enough time to finish planting the trees and shrubbery in the Entertainment District. Lady Velvette had left me alone after our initial conversation, but she hung around in the distance, watching and subtly reminding me of her parting words.

I paced the length of my room, gnawing on my nails. My feet ached unless I kept moving, and even then each step came with a dull, persistent throb. The alternative was lying in bed and letting the pain drag me into a spiral again.

Not that I wasn't spiraling already.

My mind replayed everything with Vox from the very moment we met to his screams in the dark prison cell. I could feel his cold hands on my wrist, on my cheek, and his lips on mine. I furiously shook my head and rubbed my lips on the back of my hand in a desperate attempt to will the memory away. It made my skin crawl every time yet I was unable to think of anything else.

The hair on my arms stood up.

I spun around to find Alastor watching me through the stair banister. The sight unnerved me, especially because he was as still as a statue. Had I been talking to myself? Did he hear something? Could he read my thoughts?

We blinked at each other for several heartbeats, neither one daring to move. Until finally, Alastor spoke first. "Is everything alright?"

"I'm fine." I crossed my arms, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. "Was there something you needed?"

His eyes flicked down to my feet, then back up. "Dinner's ready."

"Okay. I'll be down."

He gave me one last glance, surveying me from head to toe, then went back downstairs without another word. I sank to my knees in a shaky mess, clutching a fistful of my shirt over my heart. What was wrong with me? Was I on the brink of another panic attack?

I held out my hand up to the firelight. It trembled, but not nearly as much as I felt inside. My heart thundered in my ears and every breath was shallow and unsatisfying. It felt like I was sitting on the edge, not fully calm but not panicking. Just caught in the middle.

I slowly pushed myself to my feet, gripping the railing for support, and inched my way down the first set of stairs. I was oddly off balance and my feet were more tender than usual.

I reached the bottom of the second stairs but didn't let go of the the bottom post. I felt queasy, like I might get sick, and wiped my sweaty forehead. Something was wrong.

"Darling?"

I looked up to see Alastor crossing the room, ears ramrod straight and concern etched in his eyebrows. He wore his black long sleeve again but my eyes were focused on his bright red hair. My vision pulsed and chest hummed with every heartbeat.

I lowered myself to the bottom stair and dropped my head between my knees. Alastor moved quickly beside me, rubbing circles on my back in a calming effort, but I shooed him off. Touch made it worse.

"What's wrong?"

"I don't feel well," I managed. I pressed my palms into my eyes as I tried to swallow the urge to vomit. A migraine was starting to erupt in my temple, and my racing heartbeat wasn't helping. Suddenly, my mouth began to water.

I hurried up the stairs, ignoring the pain it caused my feet, and barely made it to the toilet in time. Tears squeezed out from my eyes as I vomitted over and over. I didn't even comprehend Alastor holding my hair back until my retching had calmed down enough for me to breathe properly. I gasped for air, relaxed back on my heels, then got sick again.

Even when I had nothing left in my stomach, I still managed to throw up bile. My muscles were as tight as could be, my nails scratched from gripping the stone so hard, and my throat raw and itchy.

Eventually, though, it came to an end. I sagged against the wall and closed my eyes, ready to fall asleep. Then something cold touched my lips, jolting me awake as Alastor encouraged me to rinse my mouth out with water.

I leaned over the sink and splashed my face with cold water, letting Alastor pick me up and carry me upstairs. I remember touching the soft cushions of my bed and nothing else.

{|}

Ambience-Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4wnBpsbruw97bzClrF6fGV?si=bfkKl5UHRjCtOPkyKi19VA&pi=W4dG_nkOTxKtJ
Ambience-YouTube: https://youtu.be/6bPN0JyGfA4?si=LHJ_TyPtflktmLOV

I woke with a raging migraine and a sore throat. My stomach muscles felt funny, like they were being tickled with a feather from the inside. Rain pattered the window and I looked up to find Alastor sitting in a chair at my desk. He lifted his gaze and quickly put his work aside to kneel beside my bed.

"How do you feel?" he asked, gently brushing away hair from my face. The gesture was sickly sweet and I almost lost myself to the warmth in his palm.

"Alright," I croaked. I tried to take a deep breath but my stomach muscles were too tight. "What time is it?"

Natural light was always dim thanks to the storms, making it near impossible to properly tell time these days.

"Late afternoon," he answered. His hand lowered to my wrist, gently brushing his finger across my skin. It was a small and subtle, but unmistakable to me.

"I've been asleep that long?" I used my free hand to rub my face, yawning away the sleepy tears in my eyes.

Alastor's smile softened. "Indeed, darling."

He helped me sit up and propped an unfamiliar pillow behind my back. My grandmother's quilt lay over my lap, the orange and brown tones clashing with the white cotton sheets. I pulled it closer.

I accepted a glass of water and surprised myself by downing the whole thing in one gulp. I nibbled on plain slices of bread as Niffty returned with a pitcher of water and curled up at the foot of my bed, legs crossed.

"It felt like food poisoning," I thought aloud. "But I didn't eat anything aside from bread and cheese yesterday."

"I thought so, too," Alastor nodded.

Niffty rolled forward onto her knees. "And I never let anyone get sick from my food."

Alastor patted her softly on the head. "That you do."

I took another sip of water. "So it must've been from Lady Velvette's perfume."

Alastor pulled his chair against the side of my bed. "What do you mean?"

"Her perfume is a toxic flower. I'll bet it's Oleander," I surmised. "There's a shrub of them near my bunker."

"Have you gotten sick from it before?"

"Not as bad as this," I said. "They're not ornately toxic like that but in large batches and mixed into a perfume I guess can be pretty bad."

He nodded. "I imagine she's built an immunity to it. Which is why it made you sick."

"My thoughts exactly." I sipped more water. I had no clue as to whether or not Lady Velvette had purposefully wore that perfume to make me sick or if that was her natural preference and my sickness was happenstance.

"You know, some toxic flowers are edible if you prepare them correctly," Niffty supplied.

I finished half the plate of bread and handed it to Alastor. Niffty scurried off to make me ginger tea to help keep my stomach settled. Thunder rumbled in the distance, rain pattered the window, and the crackle of fire created a soft atmosphere.

I felt Alastor staring and glanced over to meet his gaze. We stared at each other for several moments, blinking and silent. He wore yet another red long sleeve and I had to guess it was the one he usually wore under his jacket, yet today he didn't look so scary.

His hair was longer than normal by only a few inches. His ears shifted constantly, twitching at minor sounds left and right, a habit he had developed in my bunker.

I took a deep breath, finally able to inhale all the way, and settled back into the cushions. A question sat on the tip of my tongue, but I was afraid to break the peaceful silence between us.

However, it felt like I could only obtain truthful answers from him during these sparse, peaceful moments.

Green magic swirled around his hand and a book appeared in his palm. He held it out to me and could immediately tell that it was another novel written in Common Tongue. I accepted the book and felt a rush of adrenaline from where our fingers accidentally grazed each other.

Heat filled my cheeks and I fiddled with the corner of the book while he grabbed his work from the desk. He was sitting directly beside me in his chair, ankle resting on his other knee and old glasses sitting perfectly on his nose. His beady red eyes moved smoothly as he read stacks of paper and made little etches in the margins. He looked entirely like Al.

I bit my lip and looked away, heart racing. I willed my nerves down but that only made them worse. It took me several minutes before I felt safe and calm enough to speak without my voice shaking.

"Hey, Al? Can I ask a question?"

He went very still.

I hadn't used that nickname since our time at my bunker, not counting the intense kiss we shared the other night. How did he feel about the nickname? Did it bring back memories? Was he used to other people calling him Al? I didn't think anyone was allowed to call him that. Did it bring up bitter memories of his betrayal? Of him capturing me that fateful night?

"You may ask anything, my dear," he said at last. His answer felt stiff, but not unkind or disingenuous.

Still staring at the corners of my book, I tried to muster the courage to ask my question. My pulse danced through my fingers and down my throat, along with my courage. Instead I asked, "What exactly do you do?" I pointedly looked at the papers in his lap.

His red-tipped fingers curved around the pile, perfectly holding them all in place. His hand looked slim and made for delicate work—for something gentle—unlike Vox's whose were large, boney, and sharp. I clenched my jaw as the bitter, unfriendly feelings of betrayal rose to the surface.

"A few things," he replied. "Believe it or not, I am one of the record keepers for the city." He handed me one of his papers and I scanned his elegant, curvy handwriting. It was much better than my sharp straight-edge handwriting. "During Storm Season, I receive word from the other districts about what happens in their caves and keep a record of it all."

I wanted to hold onto the paper forever, to keep it safe in my drawers so I could frequently look at it, but forced myself to hand it back. "So you're an archivist," I said slyly.

He took the paper, playfully narrowing his eyes. "We are not so different, you and I."

We fell into comfortable silence again, though my mind was anything but silent, my question still lingering in the back of my mind. I had opened the novel but I wasn't comprehending any of the words, instead watching Al closely.

His shoulders were broad yet his torso was lean—skinny but not quite—and my mind referenced old memories to conjure the feeling of his muscles.

When I first cleaned and stitched his chest wound, I thought him to be very skinny and to have lived a privileged life that didn't require physical labor. However, after his nightmare and the day he nearly tickled me to death, I realized he had more strength then he let on. Where he got that, I had no clue.

"What is it, darling?" he asked.

It had been perfectly quiet and I hadn't noticed my own obvious staring, so I nearly jumped out of my skin when he broke the silence. I stammered over my words a few times, "I wasn't—I was just...I just noticed something, that's all."

"And what would that be?" He finished whatever he was writing then looked at me over the rim of his dark glasses.

I pulled my knees up and gently ran my hand over the cover of my book, eyes focused on the texture. "Your hair. It's longer."

He reached up to thread his fingers through his hair. "Indeed. I allow it to grow during Storm Season, then cut it back to its original length."

"You should keep it this way," I mumbled. "Your hair looks good that long." I finally opened the book and tried reading the first page. When at last the words made little sense, I closed it and settled it on my lap. "I have another question."

"Ask away," he said without looking up.

"What do people know about me?"

His pencil paused midair. "Elaborate."

My heart skipped a few beats and not in the good way. "I was just...I was wondering what the people of Pentagram City knew about me. About...what your broadcasts said about me."

"Ah," he nodded, grasping the concept of my question. He removed his glasses and met my eyes. "They know I found you in the far region and that you reside with me, translating old texts to further the city and their livelihood."

I avoided his gaze. "Did you say that I had come willingly?"

He pondered the question for a moment, then replied, "I don't believe I specified." He watched you closely, his fingers gripping the edge of his papers as he sensed your line of questioning was far from casual. His answers would matter deeply to you.

He watched you tug on a random string of your hair. "So...they're unaware that I was taken."

"They simply know you are here."

"Do they know what I've given you? Anyone outside the Agriculture District, I mean."

He paused before answering, weighing the different options. "They know our city now as access to ancient knowledge," he said at last. "That I have an Archivist at my side as we figure out how to prolong our livelihood."

You continued to keep your gaze averted. "But they don't know what exactly I've translated? The texts?"

"That," he answered, "is left intentionally vague."

"And if they knew I hadn't come here willingly?"

"It wouldn't change what you've uncovered." He leaned forward slightly, trying to catch your eyes. "It wouldn't make your contributions any less important."

"But it would make them understand that I'm not doing this out of devotion to their city." You glanced warily at him out the corner of your eye. "That I didn't choose to be their historian."

He felt a flicker of annoyance but did well to keep it hidden from his voice. "Do you want me to tell them that I brought you here against your will?" he asked. "That their savior doesn't actually care about their wellbeing?"

You didn't answer.

He sighed through his nose and closed his workbook. "My dear, you are becoming a symbol to these people. Is that not what the Archivists have always wanted?"

"Sure it is," you said quickly. Then slowed your next answer. "But I...I'm afraid I'm failing to uphold the integrity of my people."

His ear flicked in confusion. "I don't follow."

"Archivists have always been known to be fiercely protective. We don't share our knowledge unless we think it's safe to share. Yet here I am, working with the most powerful settlement in the region, handing out pieces of history like chicken feed." You paused, letting the words settle on your own shoulders. "What must they think of me?" The air turned brittle as you whispered, "That I betrayed them?"

There it was. The deep rooted fear, the gnawing shame, that has been pushing the two of you away like the opposite sides of two magnets that refuse to touch.

He sat very still.

"You fear what other Archivists might think of you."

He saw the way you curled inward on yourself. He watched you turn from a fierce, smart, brave Archivist to a scared woman who held the weight of a thousand generations on her shoulders.

He wanted to reach out, to pull you close to his chest so nothing could hurt you, but he knew this was a threat he couldn't scare away. This was something that came from within you.

You picked at the corners of the book. "Not every Archivist has a radio, I know that." Then you smoothed your palm over the cover. "But some do. Some listen to the empty radio frequencies. There might even be some in regions further than me, still working in their bunkers. They spend their whole lives reciting the oath and protecting knowledge that could be dangerous if it fell into the wrong hands."

You paused again, tracing the binding of the book with your finger.

"And then they hear about me," you said more softly. "About an Archivist...one of them...who willingly gives up that knowledge. And to the most feared man of all things."

He leaned closer. "You didn't betray any of them."

"You don't know that," you muttered bitterly. "You weren't raised as one. You didn't grow up reciting the oath. You don't know what it means to break it." You sniffled and turned your head away.

His eyes widened slightly. "...do you think you've broken it?"

"I don't know."

He barely heard your answer, but he knew you well enough to know what it was.

"I may not have been raised on that oath," he said slowly, "but...I do know that the world changes. Whether we want it to or not." He tried his best to soften his expression when you finally turned to look at him, eyes red from the threat of tears. "That oath was written in a time of crisis. In a time when the world was at each other's throat."

A single tear fell and you quickly wiped it away. "So what?"

"Here in this ravine of hell," he tried at lightheartedness, "we've come to discover that as the older you grow, the less in touch you are with the world." He held onto your eyes, savoring the way they looked at him with complete openness. "Your oath is a little old. Maybe it, too, needs to get with the times."

"I'm not saying to change it," he hastened to add. "But I'm suggesting that...it may be time for a few adaptations."

He opened his book and settled into the stiff chair. He should ask Rosie to make seat cushions for you. "Blindly following an oath is one thing, understanding it is another. You can't expect all Archivist's to understand what you're doing immediately." He met your eyes again. "Stop asking for permission to make the world a better place."

Niffty came up the stairs with a steaming cup of ginger tea.

Chapter Text

I didn't have an overtly high opinion of Princess Charlie, Lucifer's one and only daughter, but she got a few points from me when I was brought in to translate for Vaggie, the White Angel.

Charlie had convinced her father to allow the White Angel to have a bath and basic clothes. My palms had clammed at the sight of the plain white shirt and pants that I had worn when I first arrived on Alastor's airship. How long had it been since then? How many months? It felt like a year.

Vaggie's hair was no longer matted and dirty, her skin was free of blood, and she sat a little straighter. She was still as mute as a mole and continuously looked up at the three daunting figures sitting around her.

This meeting—interrogation—was taking place in a small meeting room in Lucifer's castle. Lady Carmilla sat closest to Vaggie, ready to jump at a moment's notice should the White Angel attempt anything. I sat on Vaggie's other side, Alastor beside me, and Lucifer and Charlie across the table from us.

This time I had not been given a set of questions to ask. This meeting was an open table discussion, allowing for anyone to ask a question. I could feel Vaggie's nerves, but there wasn't much I could do for her.

Charlie first began by summarizing our findings from last time, having come in late on the situation. "So we know the White Angels came from across the ocean and are waiting for more of them to come after Storm Season."

Lady Carmilla nodded. "That's correct."

"And we know her people hurt her. So how did you find her?"

"She was hiding in an underground cave in the desert plains. My people found her on patrol."

Charlie nodded and hummed to herself, tapping her rosy red cheek with one finger. I had spoken to her only twice before, once when I first arrived at the city and once after the first storm. She was very chipper and smiley, probably on account for her father's anxious depressive bubble, but she had a serious side to her as well.

"Why did her people hurt her?" she asked. All heads turned to me.

I picked up the pencil and pulled the sheet of paper closer to me. Why are you an outcast?

Vaggie stared at the words for a moment, seemingly debating how to answer. Was she afraid to share her answer or was she trying to overcome the trauma of being betrayed?

Eventually she took the pencil and wrote: I disobeyed an order.

I relayed the answer to the table and wrote back: What order?

To kill all foreigners.

"Foreigners?" Alastor hissed beside me. He was clad in his red suit as usual. "They're the foreigners here."

"She says she let a child get away," I said, reading off her next answer. My shoulders sagged as I read the rest, "But they killed the child anyways. And disciplined her."

The word discipline brought back memories of Vox. I could hear the buzz of his overhead lights and the cold metal stairs I had been dragged down. I could feel his blue claws touching my wrist, trying to trap me and hold me down.

Blood pulsed in my toes.

At the same time, I recalled Alastor burning one of my books. I remembered the way he held me back from the fireplace and forced me to watch the paper curl up in flames. All because I wasn't translating fast enough.

I subconsciously moved closer to Vaggie in my chair, further away from Alastor. I hated being around him after the storms. I hated seeing the Radio Demon when I knew—when I experienced—the side of him that was kind and thoughtful. The side that was Al.

"Why do they want to kill everyone?" Charlie asked. It took me a moment to pull myself out of my memories and write down the question.

Vaggie answered: To cleanse the land.

I furrowed my eyebrows. Cleanse of what?

Hybrids. Humans should not have mutations.

My wings itched where they were magically hidden. I glanced at Alastor and Lady Carmilla, who had the most obvious 'mutations'. Charlie shared my confused concern.

Why  are hybrids  bad?

It's unnatural.

I frowned. Anything humans made was unnatural. Why did it matter how we looked? But even as I asked these questions, I knew it was likely religious or political propaganda.

How many humans live overseas?

Many. All in different towns.

"Ask what their technology development is like over there," Lady Carmilla instructed.

I let Vaggie finish writing her full answer before I voiced it. "They have working electricity. Enough to power their subways."

"What's a subway?" Charlie asked.

"It's an underground railroad system," I answered. "Every major city used to have them for public transportation."

"Well why do they need to be over here then? It sounds like they're doing just fine over there."

I asked Vaggie and read her answer, "They're at war with nearby nations and they're running out of resources."

Lady Carmilla narrowed her eyes. "Resources like what?"

I asked Vaggie the question, but a burning thought plagued my mind. I made sure to keep my words close together so it looked like I wrote a long question instead of two:

What kind of resources? Do you have access to the Internet

Vaggie responded: Copper. Iron. Oil. Zinc. You name it. What is Internet?

I sighed through my nose, barely containing my relief, and relayed her answer to the others.

"If they're here for mining," Charlie said, "why do they need to go and kill everyone? What does it matter if we have mutations?" Charlie seemed to still be frustrated and saddened about the child's story.

"Religious maybe?" I offered. "Propaganda?"

"They're not here for drilling," Lady Carmilla declared. "We would've seen or heard their mining machines."

"If we don't know much about their technology, then maybe we might not be able to hear it," I ventured carefully. I expected the warrior general to glare at me, but she did not.

I glanced at Alastor and felt my stomach tighten. He was looking at me funny—and not in a good way. Did he suspect I asked a secret question? He shouldn't have been able to tell. I purposefully didn't include a question mark.

Either way, he said nothing.

They asked Vaggie more questions about the scout camp. They asked the kinds of questions one would need to know before striking an attack. I could tell Vaggie knew this, but she answered the questions anyways.

But then she asked me a question:

Why are you here?

"What did she ask?" Lady Carmilla prompted.

"She asked why I'm here," I said honestly.

"What will you tell her?"

I blinked at the taller woman. What was I going to say? That I had been dragged here against my will? That I was translating for a group of people I didn't even like or trust? Vaggie already knew I was an Archivist, so it seemed only natural for her to wonder why I wasn't in hiding anymore.

"I guess...that I'm..." I struggled to find my words. I wasn't sure what the right answer was, let alone how they would want me to answer.

"Maybe you should tell her the truth," Charlie suggested, saving me. "Maybe she'll feel safer about talking to you if she knew how you got here." She glanced at Alastor, waiting for his reaction, as was I.

When I looked over at him, he just shrugged.

He's annoyed, I realized. From what and at what, I wasn't exactly sure. It made my lungs feel heavy knowing I would have to deal with it after this meeting.

Lucifer nodded at me, confirming my reply. So I wrote: I was taken from my home.

You translate for them?

Certain things.

Why?

I didn't answer right away. I could feel Alastor's intense stare on my back.

Some texts may help Humanity rebuild. Just like your people  did . Because I'm afraid.

She looked up from the paper and stared at me, long and hard. I had never felt animosity towards the White Angels more than any other intruder in my oasis, so it didn't take much to feel an odd sort of kinship with Vaggie. We were both alone and in a strange, scary city with very scary people asking us for critical information.

I repeated my answer, but made sure to leave out the last bit. Alastor seemed slightly appeased. I noticed he and Lucifer had been rather silent during this whole exchange. If Lucifer hadn't been sitting in front of me, I would've forgotten that he even existed.

"So what now?" Charlie asked in the silence. Lady Carmilla looked at Lucifer, but he was staring at the table, head down.

"Nothing, for now," Lady Carmilla said. She leaned back into her chair thoughtfully. "I will discuss with my generals about a plan of an attack on the encampment near the end of Storm Season."

Charlie glanced nervously to Vaggie, who seemed to understand what was happening around her. She looked at me out the corner of her good eye.

"Is it official that she's not one of them then?" Charlie voiced my thoughts.

Lady Carmilla gestured to me. "Ask her."

Do you wish to return to your people?

Vaggie took a slow breath. She touched the wrapping around her eye as she stared at the words on the page. Eventually, after what felt like several minutes, she reached for the pencil.

No.

Lady Carmilla was about to say something but Charlie jumped in first. "So then we should make her a citizen!"

Pops and crackles emanated from Alastor. "I beg your pardon?"

"Well, she was outcasted by her own people and gave us a lot of good info. She deserves something better than a cold cell at least."

"She's dangerous," Lasy Carmilla said firmly, her gesture making Vaggie lean away. "We can't trust that she's not attempting something else."

"But we trust everything that she's said so far?"

"We trust half of what she says," Lady Carmilla explained. "We can't trust that she doesn't have an ulterior motive. She may have answered willingly so we would lower our guard."

"I happen to agree with Lady Carmilla," Alastor said. "She has showed us only one act of good faith."

It made me think of all the 'acts of good faith' I had made towards this city. It made me uncomfortable to think about.

"But she deserves the chance to prove herself. Just like you." Charlie looked directly at me. Now I really felt uncomfortable.

She then looked to her father, seeking his approval. "Please, dad? There's still more to learn about the White Angels. And she's already given us really good information."

Lucifer watched her for a moment. "I don't know, Charlie. I...we...she can't even speak our language."

Charlie turned to me again. "You could teach her, couldn't you? How to talk like us?"

The hair on the back of my neck rose. Teaching Vaggie how to speak Common Tongue would destroy the whole point of the Archivists. If she could speak both languages, the city would no longer need an Archivist to translate old texts.

They wouldn't need me.

I slowly turned my head towards Alastor. Would he keep me around if that happened? Did his interest in me only go as far as obtaining sacred knowledge? Would he send me back? Keep me here? Drop me off at Vox's doorstep again?

Alastor's sharp red eyes stared back at me. I could see my reflection in that stupid monocle. I could see the way I stared up at him, almost unemotionally, but with a hint of panic. Did he understand the implications of such an ask?

Finally, my mind found a loophole. "I don't know how to speak their language," I said, turning back at Charlie. "I only know how to write it."

A guard knocked on the door to inform them that the next storm was fast approaching.

"It's a possibility to consider," Lady Carmilla said, rolling up the parchment with the sketches of the White Angel compound. "For now, I can arrange better conditions for her."

She stood and everyone quickly followed. But Vaggie had a look of panic and grabbed my arm, moving away from Lady Carmilla. Alastor went to snatch her hand but I blocked him with my shoulder.

"Can I have the paper again?" I asked. Vaggie still held my arm, eyes jumping wildly between Alastor and Lady Carmilla as I wrote:

All okay. More talks and better conditions for you.

Vaggie looked like she wanted to ask more questions, but mutely nodded instead. She peeled her hand off my arm and followed Lady Carmilla out of the room.

I needed a way to speak to Vaggie without the pressure of the others. I could tell there was more she wanted to say, not just questions. And I wanted to ask her more in-depth questions without Alastor watching over my shoulder. But how could I do that?

My only hope rested in Charlie Morningstar.

{|}

Alastor and I walked quietly back to the Magic District. Not a word was spoken.

I picked at my nails as my mind ran down a rabbit hole of all the different things that could happen as soon as I walked through that front door. Was he mad at me? Did he know I asked a secret question? Was he going to ask about me teaching Vaggie how to speak our language?

The dark shadows yawned before me as he opened the door for me. I pulled at the collar of my shirt and walked straight for the stairs. My strides lengthened just a hair to get me away from him without being obvious.

"My dear."

I froze with one foot on the third step. I tried to steady my breathing and turned my head to acknowledge that I had heard him. I was too afraid to look at him; too afraid to meet the stare of the Radio Demon.

"Is there something you want to share?" he asked.

"Should there be?" My voice shook and I knew he heard it. My feet were throbbing and my back started to itch again.

He was too quiet for too long. I turned further to find him still standing near the closed door. One hand rested on his cane and those sharp eyes met mine, causing a hitch in my throat. I braced, ready for him to jump at me.

Instead, his shoulders lowered and he turned away. "I suppose not." Then he walked through the living room and out of sight.

Nerves buzzing in my fingers, I hurried up the stairs as quietly as I could. I wish I had a door of some kind to close, to feel more secure, but I didn't. So I moved my towers of books around and curled up in the center, hidden from plain sight.

I rested my head on my knees and tried to breathe through the growing panic. Tears stung my eyes and clogged my throat. I grabbed a fistful of my hair, hoping to use the pain to ground me, but it only pushed me further.

Nothing happened, so why was I spiraling?

Part of me wanted Alastor to find me again, to put a gentle hand on my shoulder and distract me from the panic. The other part made me pale at the thought of seeing him dressed in all red; of seeing the Radio Demon so close to me.

I curled tighter in my little ball of protection, wishing I had been present enough to grab my grandmother's quilt from the bed. I didn't dare move now. I wasn't sure my feet could take it.

{|}

The next storm wasn't so aggressive. Niffty lit fewer candles and did her knitting project in the dining room. Sunlight poked through the boards of the window there, making it better lighting for her work.

Alastor remained in his room for most of the day. I wasn't sure what he was doing but I didn't want to find out. I brought down a few books and spread them on the table next to Niffty.

Trees and shrubs would only last for so long. They needed animals and insects to help sustain them. I had a list of all the greenery we had used in the other districts and searched for the species that thrived off them.

I brought a single technology book down, one that was filled with basic survival aid information—like how to make compass or magnify glass. If Alastor came down, I hoped the textbook might appease him from whatever had upset him yesterday.

Niffty and I snacked on fruit and cheese while we worked quietly beside each other. I was growing rather fond of her company. She was like a little sister, if this is what it felt like to have one. My brother and I were twins, so I wasn't quite sure what having a little sister was like.

My heart sped up at the sound of floorboards creaking from the second floor. The words on my pages became distorted as I focused solely on where Alastor was walking.

My heart beat twice as fast with every step he took. Luckily for me, I had chosen to sit on the other side of the dinning table where I could easily see into the living room. Though I didn't dare look up as he crossed the threshold into the dining room.

"Good morning, ladies," he greeted with a relatively chipper tone.

"Morning Alastor!" Niffty replied heartedly. "Coffee is on the stove."

I kept my tone level and my eyes trained on my paper. "Good morning."

He lingered near the edge of the table. "Pray tell, what are the two of you up to?"

"I'm knitting another cockroach for my collection." Niffty cackled, holding up her half finished project.

"Oh to understand your twisted little mind." Alastor patted her on the head, then turned to you. You had yet to look up from your work. So he waited, letting the prolonged silence force you to lift your head.

He watched the way your eyes looked him over intently, analyzing every bend and curve in his bright red coat. Every day proved that Rosie was right—you were far more at ease when he wasn't clad out in his usual attire.

He raised his eyebrows expectantly.

"I'm working on new translations." Your voice was stiff and factual, not at all like the emotional one he was used to hearing.

You had been distant since yesterday. He knew it had to do with the White Angel's second interrogation—you had seemed particularly rattled when Charlie asked if you could teach their prisoner how to speak Common Tongue, which likely conflicted with that damn oath.

He spent all night devising a plan. He just hoped it didn't backfire on him.

First things first: coffee.

He went into the kitchen and poured himself a tall cup of coffee that Niffty had roasted for him. He briefly tucked his ears back as he crossed the threshold into the dining room. Everything had been made according to his height except, for some reason, the area between the dining room and kitchen.

"My dear," he called gently. He waited for you to look up from your work. "I have something to show you." He purposefully didn't wait to see if you followed and walked slowly to the stairs. It wasn't until he reached the post that he glanced over his shoulder.

You padded softly after him, hands held close to your stomach and eyes averted. He rolled his eyes and climbed the stairs as he tried to ignore your little ball of anxiety. Over the past few weeks he had been noticing your spurts of anxious energy, particularly when he was around. It rubbed him the wrong way.

He walked into his bedroom and placed the red coffee mug on his desk, as far away from the cables and his old radio. He moved a few papers around before he realized you were not behind him. He looked over his shoulder to find you standing at the entrance to his room, practically clinging to the doorframe.

He opened his mouth to make a snarky retort but stopped a breath short. He remembered Rosie saying it had taken some convincing to get you onto the balcony after the incident with Vox and Valentino.

He let out a calming sigh before approaching you. "Care to join me?" he said, offering his hand.

Your eyes jumped between him and his hand. "Aren't you mad at me?"

He quirked an eyebrow. "Whatever for?"

You didn't answer. You shifted your weight between unwrapped feet and glanced around at nothing in particular. He pushed away a tug of impatience and made a dramatic bow so he was level with your eyes.

"Will you see what I have to show you?" he asked, hand still outstretched. "I guarantee it'll be interesting to your bunker-brain."

He saw your personality poke through as you half-scowled at him. He couldn't help smiling when you finally accepted his hand, his fingers curling gently over your skin and tugging you towards his desk. He used magic to summon one of the dining room chairs.

He pulled the chair close and sat in his desk chair beside you. He enjoyed the way you scanned his desk with careful intensity, your Archivist brain making sense of all the wires and paper.

Another breath of magic closed his bedroom door and he reached for his red cane tucked safely to the side of the desk. His eyes finally left you as he turned the radio dial on. He needed to start immediately before you ran away.

My heart got stuck in my throat as he reached for the radio. A pale orange light lit up the small dial screen at the bottom and a little red stick jerked underneath the numbers. He spoke immediately.

"Good morning wayward hearts of Pentagram City,m. The storm is light, which means we're halfway through Storm Season. Fear not, for I, your gracious host, am here to instill hope in your souls.

As I'm sure some of you have noticed, the Agriculture and Entertainment Districts are looking a bit green. No, they're not sick. In fact, they're even better than before. They've undergone a new experiment—one I believe will change the course of our future...permanently."

I felt unnaturally cold. I wasn't hearing the Radio Demon's voice through a muffled wind up radio. I was right beside him, listening to his every word so hard that I could hear the breaths in between.

I felt far too close for comfort. But I was too afraid to move.

"All those pesky trees and dense shrubbery are actually making themselves quite useful. The trees brace against the wind and rain, the shrubbery prevent flooding, and on a whole, all the roots keep the walls from crumbling. I dare say, we are on a path to sustainability!"

He glanced at me out the corner of his eye. My hands were in my lap, tight and shaky.

"And who do we thank for such a feat? Well, our lovely Archivist of course! She reads ancient texts and forgotten theories, breathing new life and new ideas into them. She's the very reason you have enough food to last you until the end of the season. And she will be the reason you have a home to return to."

My breaths were shallow. I was stuck between joyful pride and terrible dread. Archivists have always longed to be helpful, to share their knowledge, and maybe even be credited for their work. Yet hearing the Radio Demon say it? It felt wrong.

"The Archivist claims she's no hero. That she's broken some ancient rule from a long lost civilization."

Not entirely true, but not entirely false. He was being honest yet evading the truth.

"But what do you call someone who walks into our crumbling wasteland of a city and brings new life with her? Someone who unearths the past and amends it to better our future? You tell me, dear citizens. For I can think of no other."

I flinched when his finger touched my arm. His red tipped claw glided softly down my wrist as light as a feather. My hand turned open on instinct, allowing him to thread his fingers and squeeze my hand.

"Remember, change isn't all for naut. We are taking steps in a new direction. A new future. A better one. So remember, you wayward souls, I'm still here. And so is she."

He leaned his microphone against the desk then turned off the radio. He took his time putting his microphone on the other end of his desk, out of sight from my vantage point, and slowly turned to me.

My lungs felt hot and tight. His fingers were still firmly gripping my hand, his thumb now grazing gently over my skin. His eyes were intense, but not in an invasive way. He was just looking at me as if for the first time. There was a gentleness to it, a quiet curiosity.

I tore my gaze from his and stared at our clasped hands. Were we actually holding hands? Or was it a figment of my stressed mind? Why was he doing it? Why did he say all that?

"I thought you might like to know how I think about your work," he said lightly, breaking the silence. "How I think of you." His grip tightened slightly, as if afraid I might run off.

We were quiet for several minutes. The only sound was the beat of my own heart and the rush of adrenaline in my ears. His red sleeve contrasted the green of my outfit and the brown of the floorboards. It made his hand look bigger, stronger, and not in the least gentle.

But his thumb moved over my hand gingerly, impossibly slow. Heat had formed between our palms and I began to worry if my hand was beginning to sweat.

"You didn't like it," he deduced quietly. His hand loosened, ready to pull away, but my fingers stiffened to prevent him—not quite holding but not letting go either.

"It's not that..." I said faintly. "I was...I'm just...I'm..." I took a deep breath, praying he would give me the extra few seconds to think through my response. "I can't see past the Radio Demon."

It was a surprisingly raw, truthful, and vulnerable statement. It suggested I was trying to see more of him, to see past the facade, and reach for Al. That I wanted to see more.

He didn't speak right away and I was too afraid to look up. I was on the verge of crying from being on an adrenaline rush for too long.

"And what would you prefer?" he asked slowly, his voice low and gravely. "That I unweave the very fabric that makes me who I am? Strip me of everything until I'm so plain and unrecognizable?"

I didn't respond. I swallowed around the growing upsetness in my throat and turned my head, blinking away tears. My fingers relaxed so he could pull his hand away, now deciding I didn't want to touch him anymore. But he didn't let go.

"You fear my presence yet enjoy it. You confide in me but shut me out. You fear me in my red suit but are at ease when I'm dressed in anything else." He breathed in deeply and let out a long sigh. "I don't always know how to approach you, and it's creating friction between us."

"What else can you expect from me?" I said cautiously. "I met Al in the forest and nursed him back to health. Then I met the Radio Demon who twisted my oath and burned my books."

Alastor didn't have an answer. What else did he expect from you? In the greater picture, he had secured an Archivist and the future of Humanity. But in the smaller picture, he had betrayed his savior, dragged her from her home, threatened her livelihood, and forced her to translate texts she was not ready to give.

He lifted his hand from your lap, but let it rest on the arm of your chair, not yet wanting the distance. The clock ticked away on the mantle beside you. He didn't bother counting the minutes, for he was lost in his mind until he heard you sniffle quietly.

His other hand drummed the wood of his armchair once. "I meant what I said," he tried. "Every word was me. Sure it had my Radio Demon charm but the core was me." He stared at the side of your head, desperately wishing you would just look at him. "I am one and the same."

You pretended to lean your arm on the chair but he could tell you were wiping your nose or tears—probably both—on your sleeve. Carefully, as careful as he ever could, he reached up and touched his hand to your shoulder. He moved painfully slow and marveled at the way you didn't flinch this time.

Just as slowly, he moved his hand further up the side of your neck until he could tenderly grip your chin and pull your attention back to him. Your eyes, red and filled with water, stared up at him. He moved his thumb across your chin, steadily holding your gaze.

"You do not have to be afraid of me."

Tears spilled over your cheeks.

"We may have argued," he said. "And yes, I burned one of your books and was harsh on you at first. But..." He studied the coloring on your cheeks, taking a moment to compose himself and calm his beating heart. "I want this to be a partnership."

He let go out of your chin and reached for your hand, feeling the way his heart skipped a beat when you returned the gesture, hands now clasped firmly together.

His smile inched up. "Do you think we could?"

Your lips moved without sound for a few heartbeats, fingers subconsciously shifting around his hand. You blinked away the tears and cleared your throat. "We...we can...try."

Good enough, he thought. Then he leaned down to capture your lips in a sweet kiss.

Chapter Text

Vox was on my mind as I gazed into the labyrinth of the Military District, neighbor to the Technology District. I expected him to saunter around a corner with Valentino in tow, but neither of them made an appearance. Then again, how much have they healed since Alastor broke their ankles?

I pushed the horrid memory away.

Lady Carmilla wasn't thrilled to have my trees in her district, but we had come to an agreement on where they would be placed and how. She had asked Alastor and I if it was possible to shape the trees, roots, and shrubbery to our own liking, and we said we would experiment.

The Military District was narrow but had deep caves, much like the Entertainment and Technology Districts. However, there were many more twists and turns here with very limited space. Bridges had once connected the ravine walls to each other, but the storm had since blown those away.

So, we first tried to make bridges with the trees. Alastor and his mages used magic to twist the branches towards the tree opposite of the ravine, widening it just enough for two people. The branchy-bridge looked stable enough, but the next storm would test its sturdiness.

Next, we placed trees and shrubbery higher up on the walls, attempting to create a leafy overhang to shield from wind and rain. Vox's men were up on the surface repairing the wind barriers. It felt like many of them were watching me.

Alastor never strayed far from me, though it didn't feel like out of protectiveness. He frequently caught me watching him, often touched my shoulder, or accidentally brushed his hand against mine when he walked past. It was strange, but not unwelcome.

I still saw the Radio Demon. I saw his sharp smile, heard his manipulative words, and felt the static of his charged magic. However, the mask he wore seemed to be more shallow; more see-through. On occasion, when he looked at me, I saw Al.

"Excuse me, miss," a woman said politely, marching past me with a crate in her arms. She aimed for Lady Carmilla and set the box down, withdrawing a clipboard and pen from under her arm.

The people of the Military District were uneasy and even hostile towards the mages yet they kept it in check behind barely contained fists. No fights broke out. They were strict, disciplined, and always looked to their superior before acting. Lady Carmilla clearly ran a tight ship here.

Their hostility didn't extend to me, though. In fact, some of them went out of their way just to walk past me and murmur an excuse or a thank you. If they didn't have strict rules to follow, I imagine they would've tried starting a conversation with me.

What was different about me compared to the mages? I was technically at the head of the magic-tree additions with Alastor, so shouldn't they hate me too? Unless it wasn't the trees but the mages themselves. Magic wasn't practiced during Old Humanity's reign. It was frequently suppressed in favor of math and science — things Humanity could measure.

Perhaps that was happening now between the strong and disciplined fighters, and the chaotic and ruthless mages. I was not a mage. I was an Archivist. Did these military folk see me as valuable? Useful? Even as I planted trees in their space? The idea made me smile softly.

A hand touched my shoulder. "Where has your mind gone?" Alastor asked, tilting his head and catching my gaze.

"Nowhere in particular." I turned back to the scene before me. People were adding metal framing to the trees and their bridges while others were running supply wagons within and beyond the district.

I glanced upward at the men working on the wind barriers.

"He won't reach you." Alastor said in my ear, moving his hand to the small of my back.

"I know that," I replied. I shifted my feet and lightly scraped my new footclaws against the stone. "Have you gotten word from Rosie?"

"I have," he nodded. "She's eager to show you the progress. But..." He placed his staff down and draped a red arm on the top. "I have something I'd like to show you instead. We can visit her after the next storm."

I felt a twinge of disappointment, followed immediately by apprehension. "What do you want to show me?"

"It's a surprise, darling." He whipped his cane behind his back and strode away without another word.

I stepped to the edge of the platform and looked down the many levels. It was much darker with the trees blocking the dim sunlight now. A breeze pushed through, rustling the overhead leaves, and I closed my eyes. I was briefly transported home and soft buzz of summer bugs hummed in my ear. Then my back started to itch again.

When was the last time I had flown? How long had I been in Pentagram City for? Had the community near my bunker been captured and integrated into the city?

I was afraid to ask Alastor, so I had been hoping to ask Rosie instead. Based on the amount times I had my Bleeding, I guessed roughly four months. However, it could be much more than that considering I didn't Bleed when under immense stress, and I had been under an incredible amount of stress when I first arrived.

My grandmother said it was a survival instinct. Though she made sure to remind me that an irregular Bleeding pattern could also mean pregnancy, illness, or simply a shift in hormones. Luckily, my Bleeding had been consistent for the past four months, meaning I was physically healthy. Though mentally was still up for debate.

After we had finished our work, Alastor's mages returned to the Magic District while he and I passed through the Middle District. Curiosity mixed with apprehension as I walked side by side with him. I glanced around the ruined mounds that had once been a bustling market, marveling at the idea that these people rebuilt their homes every single year.

I made mental notes about certain areas that would be good for planting trees. Lucifer had said we needed to wait until the end of Storm Season before we attempted anything with the Middle. The builds and my trees would have to work around each other to keep the flow of things.

It didn't take long for me to realize we were headed for Lucifer's castle. What could Alastor possibly want to show me in there? What was there to show me? From what limited areas I had seen already, it seemed like a mostly empty structure. The rooms were plain or empty, the halls scarce, and boarded windows took up a majority of the wall space.

Was there something about Vaggie? Perhaps he or Lady Carmilla had found something in her belongings or maybe technology of some kind. Was there something he wanted me to translate, just how Vox needed instructions translated?

He conjured a lantern and led me down a set of stairs in what seemed like the direction of the prison cells. I fell further and further behind, unsure where exactly we were going. Why was he bringing me down here? Had I done something to upset him? I couldn't remember doing anything to anger him—rather, I think the exact opposite had happened.

Then again, he was the Radio Demon.

He withdrew a set of keys on a ring and fiddled with them as I slowly approached, hands tucked firmly to my chest. My footclaws scraped quietly on the smooth, uneven stone. The hallway was narrow but I stood with my back against the opposite wall, directly behind Alastor. I had an image of him pushing me in a cell and locking the door behind me.

He found the right key and pushed the door open with a groan. He stepped inside and gestured for me to follow. I barely took a step before I was wafted with the smell of ink and paper. My eyes widened at the sight of towers and towers of books stacked from floor to ceiling.

"Is this..." I ran my hand over a dusty old cover and stepped between two towers. "Is this the other Archivist's books?"

"It is," Alastor answered. He hung the lantern on a ceiling hook and peered around a tower at me. "I thought you might want to take a book or two."

I glanced over at him. "Really?"

He nodded. "Granted, I know you can't possibly know all the titles but...maybe pick one that catches your eye. Preferably one that may be of assistance to us in some way."

I turned back to the towers, suddenly overwhelmed with the choice and simultaneously touched at his gesture. Though I couldn't ignore the creeping sensation along my back as if the Archivist's soul was still clinging to his life's work.

My eyes first searched for the title that Alastor had burned. When I couldn't find it with a simple glance, I figured it might be out of view at the bottom of one of these stacks. So I continued to peruse the titles, waiting for something to catch my eye that wouldn't advance Pentagram City too quickly.

Alastor waited quietly by the door, watching. He fell to the back of my mind as I got lost in the sea of books, running my hands over their deteriorating spines and covers. I had never met another Archivist nor been in a bunker other than mine. There were some cross over texts but many of them were ones I didn't have in my own archive. More knowledge—new knowledge.

I left science and advanced medicine alone, so I searched for any books on architecture. My family's bunker had only two basic architecture books that wouldn't be overly useful for the scale of Pentagram City. Architecture was a safe topic to share.

My eyes repeatedly drifted to a certain book in the corner until I finally gave in and carefully removed it from its stack. It read: Español para maniquíes

I skimmed the first few pages under the dim lantern light. It was a translation textbook, filled with vocabulary and practice sheets. When I was younger, I had learned that Common Tongue was a mix of multiple languages that had merged together over time. So it wasn't a surprise when I recognized several words in the dusty pages.

I lifted my head, mouth agape as an idea came to mind. I nearly dropped the book then clung to it tighter. I eagerly began to search for any other textbooks.

"What did you find?" Alastor asked. "You're scuttling about like a mouse."

I jumped over a small stack. "I have an idea."

"How dangerous."

"Very funny," I replied, not sparing him a glance as picked up book after book as carefully and as quickly as I could. Eventually, I managed to find one other Spanish textbook and decided that was the best I would find at the moment.

That's when I saw the title I had originally been looking for—the history book that all Archivists must have in their bunker; the one Alastor had burned. I picked it up and refrained from hugging it, lest Alastor knew how happy and relieved I was to find it. I didn't want to risk having it burned again.

"These four." I stated and put the history book and an architectural book on top of the other two. Alastor strode over, briefly examined them, then picked all four up. He snatched the lantern from the ceiling hook and led us out of the dusty room, making sure to lock the door behind us.

"Pray tell, what is this grand idea of yours?" he asked as we walked up the hallway. I silently prompted for my books and he obliged. It felt much better to have them safely in my arms.

"Princess Charlie wants an easier way to communicate with Vaggie," I explained. "So I thought the three of us might learn an entirely different language, that way we're all on the same page. No irony intended."

"Intriguing," he hummed. "What language is it?"

"Spanish. It's actually one of the primary languages that merged to make Common Tongue."

"How many languages are there?"

"Oh, too many to count," I waved my free hand. "But the primary ones were English, Spanish, Chinese, and French."

"Those mean nothing to me but how intriguing," he said lightly. "I had an inkling Common Tongue might've been a collection of different languages."

"It should make it a little easier for us to learn Spanish. We'll be able to recognize some of the words. Even Vaggie might, too. She would understand the English directions on the pages."

I breathed in fresh air as we pushed through the main doors of the castle. Our arms brushed against each other.

"I must ask," he prompted, "wouldn't it take longer to learn this language rather than teach one of them our existing one?"

I sighed, having expected this question. "English is incredibly complex. I can translate it just fine, but creating my own sentence is hard. Not to mention I can't speak it." I shifted the books in my other arm and accidentally bumped into him.

"And what about teaching the White Angel our language?"

"I could, but it would still take a while for her to understand it. And Princess Charlie speaks so fast, Vaggie would have a hard time keeping up. If we all start on the same level, we'll share the same vocabulary. It would be much easier to speak in simpler terms when we all know the same words."

He hummed again, not very convinced. Though he said nothing else on the matter.

I didn't want to teach Vaggie how to speak Common Tongue. That would mean she could be a translator—a translator that didn't have an oath to weigh them down and get in the way of things. As much as I wanted to go back to my old life, I wasn't eager to find out what Pentagram City did with people who became useless...

...what the Radio Demon did with people who became useless.

{|}

I was happy to see Al walk down the stairs. He wore his red long sleeve that went underneath his usual jacket and went without his monocle. His black reading glasses framed his face wonderfully as he sat down to work in his chair by the fire.

I had translated the architectural text all day yesterday, and now moved on to translate a book on natural medicine. Alastor had said they had mediocre medicine practices - nothing life-saving but enough to keep most of the population healthy and alive.

I recalled my grandmother telling me that Old Humanity had lost their way in the medicine world. For all that had advanced in their time period, they had forgotten to look to Mother Nature for help. Well...that and the fact that they unknowingly ingested poison and plastic at every turn.

So, I thought what better way to rebuild Humanity than to start with the most 'naturalistic' way possible. They could expand further on their own and my books on more advanced medicine could be used when they've neared that level of advancement.

The storm barreled on, this time with more aggressive wind. It whistled annoyingly loud and the rain pattered obnoxiously on the walls. It was hard to concentrate.

I moved from the couch to the floor, then sat up against the couch. No amount of repositioning could put me at ease. I put my pad down and pressed my fingers to my forehead, tired and exasperated.

"Care for a drink?" Al asked, putting his work aside and walking into the kitchen.

"Just water, please," I called. My head felt full and it was as if there was a wall in between me and my own thoughts. Back in my bunker, I usually got up and did something else or completed a chore I had been procrastinating. I didn't really have much else to do here.

"Here, darling."

I opened my eyes to a glass of water. Al put his own cup down on the table beside his chair as I drank the whole glass of water. Had my issue just been a lack of water? It wouldn't have been the first time I neglected to drink enough water.

I rubbed my face, attempting to loosen the tense muscles from squinting, when Al sat on the couch directly behind me.

"What are you—ow!" His hands gripped my shoulders and pushed on a rock hard muscle.

He lowered his head next to mine. "You ought to take better care of yourself. You're as stiff as a stick."

I frowned. "Says the one who literally looks like one."

He leaned closer and I thought he might kiss me, but instead he said, "Feeling jealous of my height, are we?" He rubbed his thumb over the tight muscle again, stifling my sharp retort. I tried to crawl away but his ridiculously long legs crossed over my stomach and pinned me to the frame of the couch. "Stay still, darling."

"It hurts," I whined, shifting around in an attempt to dislodge his hands. My face felt hot.

He cupped a hand under my chin and lifted my head all the way back so I was looking at him upside down. "You should fix your posture then," he teased, referring to the conversation in my bunker about posture. I opened my mouth to reply but he once again interrupted me—this time with a kiss.

The angle felt strange, but I loved it nonetheless. His warm lips were like an embrace, sending more warmth down my spine and into my fingertips. But he pulled away too soon. "Keep still and I'll kiss you again," he whispered. His breath fanned my cheeks and the smell of coffee was very faint.

The first kiss was enough to keep me still, but the promise of a second one was very appealing. I grimaced as his fingers pressed and dragged across multiple tight muscles. He dug his knuckles into large knots until they slowly undid themselves and it didn't hurt anymore. I was starting to get a headache from clenching my jaw so hard.

He moved his thumbs up the back of my neck, directly along my spine, and rubbed circles at the base of my scalp. Then he threaded both hands through my hair and my mouth dropped open. If only he had done that first because everything in my body loosened at the sensation. I practically melted into the couch as he repeated the motion, drawing from my shoulders and up my neck.

I was almost asleep when he stopped and pressed his cheek to mine. "You seem to have enjoyed that," he mused softly.

"Why'd you stop?" I mumbled.

"Because my hands were getting sore."

I yawned. "You're not bad, I suppose."

"Suppose? I'm insulted, my dear."

"Good," I smiled. "That's what you get for stopping." For good measure, he tugged firmly on a strand of hair.

"I did make you a promise," he said. I glanced at him out the corner of my eye but his hand came around to turn my head all the way. I smiled just before he kissed me and savored the taste of his lips once more. I kissed him a second time. Then a third.

I shifted my whole body sideways, moving my knees under his long leg and he cradled my head in the bend of his elbow. His other hand wrapped around my back. I reached up and thread my fingers through his hair, pushing his head harder into our kiss.

His tongue slipped past mine as his hand moved up and down my back. My lips burned as I fought with him, and I already knew I was losing.

I sighed into the kiss as his hand slid under my shirt, pressing his fingers firmly against my skin like he had done on my shoulders. My other hand came up to grab his neatly folded shirt collar and I was delighted at the reaction it caused. He growled into the kiss, the vibrations filling my head and spinning in my stomach, and he pulled me closer.

I couldn't breathe, couldn't think—didn't want to.

Everywhere he touched left a blazing trail along my skin. His hair brushed my nose as our kiss turned bruising. Our teeth clashed accidentally but that didn't stop us. Our hands were moving all over each other, even in the awkward angle.

I smelled nothing but smoke and cinnamon, tasted nothing but faint coffee, and felt a slickness between my legs. I chased the fervor, ignored rational, and enjoyed every bit of it. The feeling of his attention solely on me was a drug I didn't want to share.

I pushed up on my knees and he helped me all the way up, leaning back into the couch cushion as I climbed onto his lap. I was very aware at what I had caused between his legs and it only seemed to spur me on.

But then his hands gripped my thighs too tightly and his mouth stilled.

I froze.

I slowly leaned away to find him staring at me, but it didn't feel like he was actually looking at me—more like a memory. I waited, unsure what to do and afraid to even move. His hands were painfully tight on my legs.

Niffty suddenly called from the stairs and her little steps pattered down the wood steps. Alastor and I both jumped up and I tripped over my book on account for not stepping on it. Alastor reached to help me up but I waved him off. Niffty rattled on to him about something with bugs as I gathered up my book and pad and hurried upstairs.

Chapter Text

Vox.

In the flesh.

Thank heavens I was sitting down.

My feet stiffened under the large meeting table and I dropped my gaze, eyes staring holes in my lap. My clothes felt scratchy and the moisture in the room seemed to grow by the second. I could feel my heart pulsing in my wrists uncomfortably fast. I would not have a panic attack in front of everyone.

The muffle of conversation passed over my head as I painfully followed Vox's every move. He walked—limped—to one of the chairs on the opposite side of the table, two people down from me. Lucifer and Princess Charlie were my buffers.

A cold breeze brushed my ankles, followed by a faint buzz of green static that made the hair on my arms stand up. Alastor's magic.

I lifted my gaze just enough to peer past Vaggie and meet Alastor's sharp eyes. Only they weren't sharp this time. He gave me a silent, almost subtle, nod of his head before turning his attention to Lady Carmilla.

"Now then, let's begin," she said. She pointed at the expertly hand-drawn map on the table. It showed Pentagram City to my left, complete with roads and pathways that had once existed before the storms, and the White Angel outpost to my right. "We can't take on their entire operations yet. We need time to ready the troops and rebuild our crafts. But we can stop them from communicating with the rest of their people overseas."

Her eyes fell on Vaggie. Then me.

"Ask her where their center of communication is."

I used a pad of paper and wrote the question, forcing myself not to chance a look at Vox. At first, Vaggie didn't answer and looked between the paper and the map. I wasn't sure if she was debating on answering or if she was trying to discern where the building was on our map.

Eventually, though, she reached across and pointed to a random building in the encampment. Lady Carmilla made a mark on the paper.

Next she turned to Vox. "Have you developed the canon yet?"

"Of course," he said simply, "but we won't have enough electricity to run the damn thing."

"I thought we use wind power," Charlie spoke up.

"Yeah but I can't store it," he clarified. "I don't have a way to store that large amount of energy. And if we build a wind turbine the storm will just destroy it."

While they discussed other possibilities, I asked Vaggie more questions. Alastor watched out of the corner of his eye.

What in communication building?

Packed with radios. There's a tower inside.

How does tower work?

I don't know. But the tower rises when we send a message home.

How many messages can you send? How often?

Not often. It takes a long time for message to go home.

What mean by it rises?

My English felt broken today. Thankfully Vaggie could still understand me.

The ceiling opens and the tower rises to send a single message.

What energy do it use?

Everything runs on solar.

How do you live in Storm Season?

Vaggie paused, seemingly confused, but then understood what I was asking. Clearly they didn't call it Storm Season like we did.

We store energy before storms arrive.

My heart skipped a beat.

Where?

She paused again. Her good eye looked up at me and I realized she didn't want to share this information. She knew what we would do with it. She knew she was giving us the keys to destroying her people.

Well, they were her people.

I purposefully glanced at the bandage around her eye and watched her expression soften, depressingly so. I gently touched her hand in her lap and tried to convey, without words, that I knew what she was feeling -- a feeling of betrayal for the greater good.

The room fell silent.

I glanced over at Princess Charlie, taking extra effort not to look at Vox, and caught the sad expression in her eyes. She understood what was happening too, even if the other four didn't. They waited silently, patiently, for me to say something.

Slowly, Vaggie reached over the map and pointed to a collection of squares on the complete opposite side of the outpost. I met Lady Carmilla's eyes and explained.

While Lady Carmilla made more marks, Vaggie tried to ask me the same question. But I didn't know where anything important was in the city, whether that was on purpose or simply because I was still new.

"Even if we destroy their energy storage," Alastor graciously pointed out, "they can still generate new power with their solar technology."

"Can they still send a message without their stored energy?" Vox asked.

Eyes still averted, I wrote the question to Vaggie. "She doesn't know," I read. "She wasn't in that department."

"Of course," Vox mumbled. I glared up at him but quickly looked away when he tried to meet my eyes.

"Either way we need to destroy that tower," Lady Carmilla said. "And we can't build a ship fast enough and send it on a suicide mission in between storms."

"Aren't you working on solar energy?" Alastor demanded of Vox. I easily recalled seeing Vox work on a small solar panel on his desk.

"They're tiny," he answered, glaring at his former friend. "I don't have the resources to make big ones."

"We may still be able to use wind power," Lady Carmilla interjected. "The storm will destroy the wind turbine but you can harness the energy before the storm hits."

Vox thought for a moment. "It'll be a waste of resources."

"It won't be if we succeed in destroying that tower."

He nodded. "I guess you're right. Alright, I can finish the canon and when we have a break in the storms we can build a wind turbine. I'll need your people for that." He looked between Alastor and Carmilla.

They nodded.

"How productive." Vox's eyes fell on me, and I finally stomached enough nerves to stare back.

{|}

After the meeting, it was time for Charlie, Vaggie, and I to practice Spanish again. We had all written separate sheets of vocabulary words and practiced on our own, then completed the worksheets from the book together. We had the rest of the day to practice before the next storm, meaning I might have time to pop over to see Rosie in the Agriculture District for a quick chat.

The three of us walked out of the meeting room and down the hall.

"Alastor. Carmilla," Vox called quietly. "Can I talk to you?"

I caught the annoyed roll of his eyes as Alastor faced the Technology Lord. Lucifer joined the little huddle quietly as I walked with Charlie and Vaggie around the corner. Charlie was rambling to Vaggie even though the ex-White Angel had not a clue what she was saying. But she nodded and pretended to understand anyways.

I touched Charlie's shoulder and said, "I'll be right there. I need to ask Alastor something." The princess nodded and accepted the textbook and pads from me. She walked into one of the meeting rooms with Vaggie while I crept back to the hallway corner.

"There's a strange noise emanating from the city." Vox told them and looked at Alastor. "Have you heard it on your radio?"

"What are you talking about?"

Vox furrowed his eyebrows. "What? How are you not hearing it?"

Alastor narrowed his eyes.

"I hear it on the radio in my lab," Vox explained further, annoyed with Alastor's silence. "Every now and then it comes on.  I thought you could hear all your frequencies."

"I can," Alastor growled. "But I have not heard anything abnormal."

"What does it sound like?" Carmilla prompted.

"It's just a series of beeps." Vox caught Alastor's sigh and hastened to add, "The tone and timing repeat a few times then a new one comes on and does the same. It's structured and deliberate."

"You think it's intelligent," she clarified.

"I think it's a conversation."

Alastor scoffed. "Do you even know what a conversation sounds like anymore?"

Vox glared at him. "I know when a machine is acting funny. That thing has been dead silent for years and now it suddenly works?"

Lucifer looked up at Alastor and spoke for the first time that morning, "If it's on the radio, how come you can't hear it?"

Alastor placed his cane down and audibly sighed, clearly annoyed at his skills being called into question. "Because it must not be on the frequencies I use."

"How's that possible?"

Alastor turned sharply to Vox. "Which radio is it?"

"The silver one in the back corner."

"That thing hasn't worked in ages."

"Yeah well, I fixed it." Vox shifted awkwardly between his feet, wincing quietly.

"Well then, there's your answer." Alastor waved his hand dramatically. "We already know that radio doesn't use the same frequencies as I do. I can't connect to it."

Vox turned back to Carmilla. "Which is why I wanted to ask if the prisoner has been under constant surveillance."

"We have a guard posted at her new cell twenty-four-seven," Carmilla replied calmly. "There is nothing electronic in that room."

"And nothing on her?"

"Lord Vox," she said politely, though her words were laced with pressure, "what exactly do you take me for?"

"Just confirming, Lady Carmilla," he returned politely. Then he looked at Alastor again. "And what about the Archivist?"

Alastor practically hissed. "What about her?"

"How closely are you watching her? Your tower is filled with radios and she has access to ancient knowledge."

"She's not an engineer."

"She can be if she has the right books," Vox said firmly. "Don't forget what she did to all my manuals because I wasn't watching her closely."

"I do not mirror your lack of awareness."

Vox tightened his hand into a fist. "Your feelings for her are getting in the way."

"My feelings for you didn't get in the way when I broke your ank—"

"So what should we do about the signal?" Lucifer interrupted, pinching the bridge of his nose. He looked at Vox. "You said it's coming from the city."

"And going to," he said. "It sounds like a conversation but I don't know what it is or who's sending it."

Lady Carmilla touched her chin. "I'll add a guard to the White Angel's cell for the next forty-eight-hours to ensure she can't try anything. Inform me if you hear the communication during that time frame."

Vox nodded. He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a floppy book. He looked uncertainly at Alastor. "Have you shown her the other book?"

Alastor hefted a big sigh. "What is it you want from her?"

"I'll take that as a no," Vox muttered. "Can you have her translate this? It think it's the manual for the silver radio. Maybe she can figure out why you can't hear its frequencies."

Alastor held out his hand and snatched the book from him. "I'll see that she translates it. Have one of your men bring the radio to me."

"I don't want to unplug it," Vox argued carefully. "I'm not..." He glanced down the hall, but when everyone followed his gaze, nothing and no one was there. He began again, "I don't know why the old thing started to work all of a sudden. What if it's positioned exactly where we can hear the signal? Your tower could be out of range—"

"That is a poor excuse to get the Archivist back in your lab."

"Come with her then, I don't care!" Vox flung his blue claws around. "Or make her translate the book and have a messenger run it back to me. It doesn't matter how but that book needs to be a top priority. It's a security risk!"

Lucifer pointedly met Alastor's gaze. "You haven't brought up the other book yet?"

"Things are delicate," Alastor told him. "I thought I made my case apparently clear on how she works. Being maimed and locked in a dark cell set us back quite a lot." He and Vox shared a glare.

"Can you get her to translate the radio manual or not?" Vox challenged.

"Why don't you ask her yourself?" Alastor turned on his heels. "You can come out now. Your sneaking isn't very good."

I flexed my hands in a nervous tick and stepped around the corner, eyes downcast. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop. I just heard my name."

"Tuned to him like an antenna," Vox muttered.

"How much did you hear?" Lady Carmilla asked.

"Stop hovering," Alastor instructed, "and come closer."

I shuffled forward, eyes locked on Carmilla. My heart pounded in my ears and my cheeks were hot from being caught. "I heard Alastor say you were trying to get me back into the lab."

Vox rubbed his eyes. "That wasn't the point."

Alastor stepped closer to me and held out the manual. "Can you read this title for us?"

I took the manual. "Autosound. User's Manual. Slidebar radio. Then there's a bunch of bullet points about the various features it has on the bottom."

Unsure where to look, I picked the set of eyes closest to the ground—Lucifer.

"Can you translate the rest?" Vox asked. I glanced down at the manual and flipped through the pages to give me something to look at.

"Yeah."

"How quickly?"

I shifted uncomfortably. My feet felt like they had pins and needles in them. "Quicker if you were looking for something specific."

Alastor hummed amusingly, but it was soft enough that no one had heard it. A cold breeze brushed against my ankles again. Did he know I had been listening for longer? Why did he wait to call me out then?

"I have a radio in my lab that suddenly started working," Vox explained. "There's a series of beeps every now and then. I think it might be a conversation between two people."

"Sounds like morse code."

I glanced up, looking between every single one of them, but not lingering more than half a second on Vox. "Morse code was used in the military," I said, realizing they didn't know what it was. "Like when you flash a light repeatedly in a certain pattern."

"I didn't know there was an audio version of that," Lady Carmilla said to herself, glancing at Lucifer.

"Could you translate what's being said?" Vox eagerly asked.

I shook my head and stared down at the manual in my hands. "I don't know morse code and I don't have a code breaker text on it. Not to mention it could be any number of morse code languages."

Vox sighed dejectedly and rubbed his face.

"Could you follow the signal?" Lady Carmilla asked him. "To figure out where and who's transmitting it?"

"I don't know how to do that."

"And I can't trace it if it's not on my frequencies," Alastor added.

"So have her translate that manual and figure out why you can't hear it," Vox quipped.

Alastor snarled at him. "She's not your errand runner."

"This isn't about me!" Vox gestured wildly. "This is about the city. You're making it about her."

I shuffled back, not liking the turn of the conversation. Both Lucifer and Carmilla glanced sympathetically in my direction as I continued to back away. It angered me that they were fighting over me like an object again, but I suddenly had an off, uneasy twisting in my stomach.

"Because this is about her," Alastor said, attempting to loom over Vox. "She's the first ever Archivist to work with anyone. She's translating important documents and saving our city from devastation, and what do you do? Let Valentino have a go at her."

"Don't act like you're some savior," Vox snapped, undeterred by his antics even though he still had a bad limp. "You dragged her from her home and manipulated her. You still are!"

"I've held this city and her fragile mind together while you play with your toys and lure her into your experiments."

"I didn't lure her!" Vox fumed. "At least I was being honest when we—" He slammed his jaw shut.

Alastor's eyes widened. "When you what?"

Vox shifted on his tender ankles and glanced at me, now several paces away. Warmth vanished from my body as Alastor whipped his head around to stare at me. I knew he could read it in my face. I started to shake.

"What. Happened?" he demanded.

My mouth moved but nothing came out. He looked like he was about to charge at me and squeeze the answer out himself, but his foot stuttered as if he had lost his balance. He whipped back to Vox. "When. You. What?"

I backed away quickly and froze whenever his head swiveled to me again. He couldn't decide who to look at—who to be angry at. One of my hands still clung to the manual while the other fisted my shirt over my heart. I couldn't breathe properly.

"A-Al..." Vox stammered, unsure what to say. "It wasn't...I didn't...we didn't do anything—"

Alastor took a predatory step towards him as I scrambled back towards the hallway corner. "What. Happened?"

Lucifer watched intensely, muscles coiled and ready to spring into the fight.

"We...we didn't...I-I wasn't..." Vox stumbled over his words as he hobbled backwards on half-healed ankles. He glanced at Lucifer for help.

"Vox, so help me—" Alastor hissed, chasing after him, "our deal doesn't stop me from torturing you. I will hunt you down and string you on a wall—"

"W-We just kissed. That's all! It wasn't even serious."

What little air I had left in my lungs disappeared entirely as Alastor slowly looked over his shoulder at me. Fear-filled tears rose to my eyes and spilled over. I thought I saw his darken.

He looked back at Vox.

A loud screech and the popping of bones echoed through the air as Alastor lunged at him. I didn't wait to see what happened and bolted down the hallway, nearly running into Charlie as she jumped out of the room to see what was wrong. The manual fell from my hand as I flew down the dim corridor.

Lanterns whisked as I ran by and a swoosh of my magic snuffed them out completely. The shouting and buzz of Alastor's magic faded away as I tried to find the exit. Luckily the layout wasn't too confusing and the snuffed lanterns made it easy to find the foyer of the castle.

I summoned my magic again and pulled stones from the wall and ceiling. They cascaded onto the guards standing at the door and I hurried past them before they could stand. I practically flew down the steps and made a beeline for the Agriculture District. I wished for my wings now more than ever before, but they only itched in response until it became painful.

I ignored the feeling as I raced through the barren landscape and through the bright green Agriculture District. I was amazed to find it not at all how I had left it. It was full of trees, bushes, and moss—it's very own forest.

But I didn't have time to appreciate it. I heard the echoes of shouts against the ravine walls and disappeared into the green forest. I tried to rely on muscle memory as I weaved through the worn down pathway between trees and hedges. Farmers and workers watched me past but no one stopped me.

Get to Rosie. Get to Rosie. Get to Rosie.

My lungs burned and I could taste blood. I was getting lightheaded from my panicked wheezing but I couldn't stop it. I needed to take these wrapped shoes off to run faster but I didn't have the time to stop. I couldn't find Rosie and I started to worry I had missed her somewhere in the thick greenery. She wasn't in her cave or in the communal dinning area.

The hair on my arms stood up. Alastor was getting closer.

A stitch formed in my side but I pressed on, whining from the pain. But then I saw her. In all her red, brown, and maroon glory—I saw Rosie.

She was speaking to a group of farmers when she caught sight of me and smiled, though it quickly vanished. I slid to a stop mere inches from her and clung to her arm, tears filling my eyes. "He's gonna kill me."

"What? Who's going to kill you?" she asked, gripping my arm in return.

"Alastor," I cried. "He's going to kill me."

"Why? What happened?"

I felt a shift in the wind and a few parrots squawked as they fled their branches. I spun, searching for the Radio Demon's red coat against the green backdrop.

Rosie laid a sickeningly gently hand over mine. "Sweetheart, what happened?"

I tried to explain, tried to form words, but nothing came out. I didn't want to tell her. I didn't want to tell her that I had kissed Vox; that I had betrayed Alastor and that was why he was angry. I didn't want her to hand me over to him.

Static touched my spine.

I ripped my hand from her grip and ran further down the ravine. Rosie called after me but I didn't listen. The ravine grew more narrow the further I went. I ran and ran until I had nowhere else to run. I had reached the end of the ravine where the forest was much thinner.

I desperately searched for a way out. I climbed the nearest sycamore tree, my shoes sliding against the bark, but even then I knew I wouldn't be able to reach the top of the ravine to the surface. Even if I did, what would I do? Alastor would surely catch me on the flat landscape with his magic. And without my wings, I would die of dehydration or starve.

Static filled the air and I froze.

I scrambled to the closest branch and clung to the tree's stem, willing myself to merge with the bark. Then everything went quiet. Mother Nature seemed to be holding her breath, too, for there was no wind.

I heard Rosie's voice in the distance. She was shouting. So was the Radio Demon.

"This has nothing to do with you," he snapped.

"Of course it does!" she shouted back. "What exactly are you planning to do to her?"

"We're going to talk."

"And how do you plan to do that? You've terrified her."

"Rightfully so," he barked. "I have been patient with her for long enough."

They came directly beneath the tree but I couldn't see them through the branches. Was Alastor looking up? Was he trying to find me?

"She was traumatized, Alastor," Rosie said. "By Vox and by you."

"No matter. My patience has been worn through."

"You don't even know the full story."

"Which is why we're going to talk."

Dark shadows creeped up the tree stem in a race to find me. I hurriedly scooted towards the end of the branch, careful not to shake the leaves, and wrapped my arms and legs around the entire branch. I waited until the shadows almost reached me before summoning my magic and pushing the cold draft away with moist post-storm air.

I heard Alastor curse my name.

"Take a moment to calm down before you try talking to her," Rosie said more evenly. She didn't sound as panicked anymore and took on a stern, motherly tone. "You will lose all your progress with her."

Alastor nearly dented his staff from the grip he had on it. "I have tried over and over again but nothing has worked! And I'm tired of stepping on eggshells around her. She will always be afraid of me and I just have to accept that."

"No. You don't." Rosie placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "Use this to solidify it."

He firmly shrugged her hand off. "Solidify what?" he hissed.

"Solidify that you're not going to hurt her. Show her that you won't hurt her like Vox did, even when you're this angry."

He turned away. She was right, but the anger and hurt in his chest was an ugly feeling. Lucifer had stepped in, meaning Alastor hadn't been able to work out his anger on Vox. It left his hands feeling empty, his nerves feeling pinched, and his rationale frayed.

Rosie stepped around to stand in front of him. She spoke softly this time. "Go up there. Sit with her. And show her that you're different from him."

He wrinkled his nose and tilted his head back to look up the tree. "I'm not going to climb a damn tree."

"You climbed a damn cliff to catch a lightning bolt," she deadpanned. "So you can climb a damn tree."

He narrowed his eyes at her but she glared right back. She always meddled when it was most inconvenient.

He looked up the tree again.

Then sighed.

"This is stupid," he muttered. He gritted his teeth and removed his coat, handing both it and his staff to Rosie.

He walked to the stump and gazed up its tall, winding arch. He couldn't see you, but he knew you were there. Likely paralyzed with fear. Good. He had been nearly paralyzed with fury and pain, so you were even now.

He glanced back at Rosie. She inclined with her head up the tree.

He rolled his eyes and looked up. He was going to climb a damn tree for you.

My adrenaline had finally slowed. Mother Nature began to breathe again and I wondered if Alastor had walked away. I prayed he did, but I wasn't about to come down anytime soon. At least, not until Rosie called up.

My back still itched and I clenched my jaw against the annoying pain. Itching the area would do nothing but make me more upset. I rubbed my cheeks against the bark to wipe away the tears on my cheek.

Then I heard it.

I heard the ruffle of leaves and looked down to see Alastor's red arms snaking through the branches. Panic squeezed my lungs and I inched further away from the tree stem, but I couldn't go any further unless I wanted to risk snapping it. The branches below me would break my fall but I would likely suffer from a broken bone or two.

Without my wings, I suddenly felt too high up.

I squeezed my eyes shut and clung to my branch. I listened to the snapping and mumbled curses as Alastor climbed up. Tears slipped out the corners of my eyes, soaking the wood under my cheek. I resisted the urge to squeak every time the tree vibrated as he climbed closer and closer.

The leaves quieted and my branch shook as he finally lifted himself onto it.

Silence hung in the air.

My arms ached from holding on so tight and my legs burned. I was so tired.

After what felt like an eternity, I cracked open my eyes. Alastor was leaning back against the stem, legs dangling on either side of the branch, and arms crossed. I barely read his expression but it was one I didn't like.

I squeezed my eyes shut again.

"Sit up."

I flinched, but didn't let go of my branch.

"Sit. Up."

I unstuck my hands from the branch and used them to push myself to a sitting position. I shifted clumsily so both legs were on one side of the branch but I was still facing him in a slightly more comfortable position. My eyes were locked on the branch where my hand gripped it for balance.

"Look at me."

I grimaced. I tried looking up at him but his scowl sent a wave of panic through me.

"Look at me."

More panic. I tried to breathe through it. I hurriedly wiped away my tears but they just kept coming. I expected him to yell at me for taking so long, but he didn't. He sat quietly this time, seemingly waiting for me to get a hold of myself.

Eventually I did, after realizing how embarrassed I was to be sniffling and crying even though he had done nothing to me yet. I slowly lifted my eyes.

He held my stare for a long moment. I saw anger, above all, but I also saw hurt and disappointment. It made my chest tight. What was he going to do?

"Care to explain?"

I wrung my hands and lowered my gaze.

"Look at me when you speak," he said firmly.

It took several tries to form a coherent answer, and several more to meet his stone cold stare. "Vox already said it."

"That wasn't what I asked," he said unkindly. "I want to hear it from you."

Again, I wrung my hands. "I...it's...he and I...w-we kissed. Once."

"When?"

"W-When I was in his lab...while you were away." All I could think was how typical of me to pull something like that while he was away.

He tapped his fingers on his arms. "What else?"

"Nothing else," I mumbled. "It only happened once."

"Why?" he asked. "Why did you kiss him?" I heard the venom, heard the hurt, heard the betrayal in his voice. It wasn't as if I had kissed the nearest guy closest to me. No, I had to go and kiss his nemesis.

His hurt was as plain as day, but he covered it with anger. I was staring at a mix between the Radio Demon and Al.

"It just...it just happened." I rubbed my arms in a self-soothing manner. I wanted to tell him that I hadn't enjoyed it, that I hadn't wanted Vox to kiss me. I wanted to tell him that I enjoyed kissing him much more. But it felt like it would come across as lying to appease him.

Several beats of silence passed.

Finally, his voice much softer than before, he asked, "Did he try to push himself on you?"

My brain stuttered. Had Vox pushed himself on me? It wasn't as if he had pinned me to the ground and forced me to kiss him. It just happened. But I hadn't rejected Vox on instinct. I had let him kiss me. 

But I wanted an out. I wanted an excuse to make Alastor less angry at me. I could blame it all on Vox and say he had been pushy and unkind, and had forced me to kiss him even if I didn't want it. And yet, lying felt worse somehow. 

"Do you know what I mean by that?" Alastor questioned, interpreting my silence as confusion. 

"He--he didn't...he didn't push himself on me." I said carefully and played with my fingers. "Not really." I lifted my feet just enough to peer at them over my knees. It still felt like they had pins and needles in them. 

I chanced a glance up at him. It looked like he was trying to form his next question. I stared at my feet while he did, feeling dread fill my chest the longer the silence went on. I sat with it like a deserving punishment. 

"Did you enjoy it?"

I jerked my head up, appalled, then tried to snuff my expression by looking at the branches around us. "No." Then dropped my head and picked at my nails. I could feel the heat of his stare, though it wasn't as intense as before. 

"I'm sorry, Al," I said quietly. I swallowed around the tightness in my throat.

Tone subdued but still tense, he asked, "Did anything else happen that I should know about?"

I thought for a moment as I tried to remember anything that Vox might've left out on his original report about my cooperation with him. It seemed so long ago, yet not at the same time. How was that even possible?

"I uh...he offered me a contract to stay with him?"

He tilted his head slightly, arms still crossed. "Why do you phrase it like a question?"

"I wasn't sure if you knew about it."

"I didn't."

"Right." I picked at a new nail. "Well, he offered it. And I said no."

His ears perked up slightly. "Why?"

I glanced through the branches of green leaves right as the wind blew gently through. It felt like a touch of home was trying to reach me and I took a deep breath, a greater sense of calm settling on my shoulders.

"Because I—well, I...because I wanted to be with you instead." My voice trailed off at the end and I picked at the flimsy bark of the branch.

Something in his expression softened and emotion returned to his voice. "Why?"

I gave a weak smile as I glanced up at him. "Because I like you?" I watched him open his mouth to comment on my making the answer a question again, so I rephrased it, "Because I like you."

His shoulders relaxed and a small, seemingly proud, smile tugged at his lips. He extended his hand. "Come here."

I looked uncertainly between him and his hand. Was he actually calm or was he just pretending to be calm?

He must've read my thoughts because he said, "I just climbed a damn tree for you. I'm not going to hurt you."

Despite everything, my smile widened into a genuine grin. I shifted along the branch until I was close enough to place my hand on top of his, watching the way his claws curled carefully around mine.

He then tugged a bit harshly and snaked his other arm around my waist, dragging me closer and holding me firmly against his chest sideways. He pressed his palm to the side of my head and rested his chin on the top of my head.

I sat there frozen. It seemed so entirely out of character for him, yet still felt natural. Shouldn't he be mad? Shouldn't he be yelling and cursing me out? Shouldn't he be disgusted with me for betraying him? Or burning a book or—

He threaded his claws through my hair and squeezed a little tighter.

"Alastor?"

His chest rose as he took a deep breath. "So...you don't like him?" he asked. It sounded so painfully like Al.

I closed my eyes and breathed in his scent of spice and smoke. I pulled my arm out from between us and looped it around his back, bringing us even closer. "No," I answered. Still sitting sideways on the branch, I wrapped both feet around his one leg. "Not the way I like you."

It felt so strange to admit it out loud. I liked him. I liked Al. I liked Alastor. This wasn't fake or manipulation. Our time together in the bunker had proved it. He never had to kiss me, never had to tease me, never had to marvel at my wings, and never had to sleep under the stars all night and wake up with mosquito bites.

And even now, he never had to kiss me the way he had, never had to dress differently for my sake, never had to gift me that novel, never had to calm me down from a panic attack, and never had to be patient when he was changing the wrappings on my feet. 

I squeezed him a little tighter and sighed into his red shirt. I could hear the beat of his heart in his broad chest. It sounded fast, really fast, yet so strong. I closed my eyes again. I was going to be okay.

He shifted awkwardly and cleared his throat. "Can we get out of this damn tree now?"

I chuckled softly. "Yeah, we can get down now."

Chapter Text

It didn't take long to figure out why Alastor couldn't hear the morse code messages coming from Vox's radio. A few pages into the manual revealed two types of radio frequencies: AM and FM.

We sat at the dinning room table with a couple of his radios scattered across the surface. I used his screwdriver to remove the back ends of the radios and found that some of them had information engraved on the inside flap. I translated them on a small piece of paper and within half an hour we had concluded that Alastor used FM to make his broadcasts. This meant the morse coder must be using AM.

I sat quietly in the dining room chair as Alastor closed his eyes and played with his magic. Every now and then the radios would sputter, crackle, then fizzle into silence as he tried to switch his frequencies. I watched him closely, now able to observe his features.

His eyebrows were slightly knit together in concentration and his ears frequently flicked or shifted, as if trying to hear the frequencies that were immune to my own ears. His cheeks were smooth but structured, his jaw line defined, and his eyelashes rather long. His hair was straight and perfect today because he wore his red button-up instead of pulling a sweater over his head. It was a little disappointing.

My eyes traced down the lining of his shirt until his arm obstructed my view. He was leaning on the armrest of the chair, fingers hugging the edge of the wood perfectly, while his other hand nestled perfectly in the crook of his elbow.

He had one leg crossed elegantly over the other and, to my dismay, wore his usual black shoes to hide his deer hooves. Though I didn't pay much attention to them as my eyes traced the fabric lines hugging his thighs.

He had always seemed very thin and elegant, even when I had healed him from his chest wound. But there was strength behind those lean muscles, and it only made my mind wonder how strong his legs were, too.

I jumped when a single radio crackled to life in the middle of the table—the only one tuned to AM. It struggled for a moment before a series of beeps began to fill the air.

"There you are," Alastor hummed, eyes still closed. It made the hair on my arms stand up, a reminder of who I was sitting next to.

We listened to the ryhthm. Just as Vox said, it repeated the same ryhthm twice, paused, then changed. It was intelligent. And it was definitely morse code. Did the archive in Lucifer's castle have a book on morse code?

The radio coughed and sputtered. Then fell silent.

I looked over at Alastor as his eyes opened. His smile turned devilish. "This is going to be a wonderful surprise for dear old Voxy."

I leaned back in my chair. "Why?"

He lowered his chin and looked at me through his long eyelashes. "Because the signal is coming from his district."

It should've been off-putting, the way his lips curled in a smile that could only mean trouble, or the way his eyes lit up at the idea of confrontation, or the way his teeth seemed to glow in the dim morning light of the storm.

But it wasn't.

It made my stomach turn, yet not in a bad way, and I couldn't help returning his smile. I watched the small movement in his eyes as he observed me this time.

He unfolded his arms and held out his hand. I placed mine on top and, once again, watched his fingers curl perfectly around my hand, squeezing gently. I loved the way his thumb moved across my skin and left a burning, invisible line in its wake.

He took it one step further and raised my hand to place a gentle kiss where his thumb had just been. His lips felt cool on contact, but it quickly spread heat across the rest of my hand. My lungs tightened. I clenched my jaw, unable to look away from his steady gaze.

"You are a miracle, my darling." He shifted forward in his chair and leaned his lips against my fingers and stayed there, searching my eyes. Goosebumps ran along my arms and I had the sudden urge to kiss him. But I was too nervous.

The radio in the living room revived itself and deep voices called for Alastor's response. He grumbled against my hand and the vibrations reached up my shoulders. With a roll of his eyes, he kissed my hand then carefully let go.

I busied myself with screwing the backs of the radios back on in a desperate attempt to ignore the heat in my cheeks. But then I froze when his hand touched the back of my neck as he passed behind me, light enough that it could've been an accident, but we both knew it wasn't.

I waited until he was seated in his chair in the living room, then reached up to rub the area he had touched. My cheeks burned as much as my hand and neck. I quietly hit my forehead with my fist then furiously screwed the radios back together.

{|}

Alastor was determined to keep you out of Vox's district as much as possible.

The storms let up long enough for Vox to build a windmill to charge that ancient canon of his from the underground fortress-ship. It required the labor of his men, Carmilla's people, and the magic of Alastor's people.

He decided to take you along as well—for good reason. Vox's district was the last one to receive your naturalistic care against the storms, but Alastor had devised a plan to keep you from spending too much time in that district.

While he demonstrated his anger-management skills by supervising his mages in Vox's presence, you and Husker walked around the smaller district and made notes of where the necessary trees and shrubbery were needed. This meant he and his mages needed only to follow your written directions, keeping you out of Vox's claws and giving you some much needed time with Rosie in the Agriculture District.

Husker and I walked the rather empty-looking surface of the Technology District. I carried a pad of paper, a pencil, and the district's roughly drawn map in my arms. I made small sketches and notes as we walked the platforms and narrow streets.

"Hey Husker? Do you think Alastor will ever give me my wings back?"

I had been watching the way Husker's red tipped wings swayed and rustled in the wind every time he turned at a sound or approaching figure. He was on high alert.

"Well kid," he said. "He uh...he's..."

"A paranoid freak?"

Husker smiled. "Yeah, that's a good way to put it." He rubbed the back of his neck and smiled down at me, though it quickly shifted to one of sympathy,

"Eventually," he answered my previous question, though the hesitation in his voice wasn't very comforting. He saw the way my head fell and hands made a pointless mark on the map.

He sighed. "When he first brought me under him, he took my wings away, too."

My eyes widened, though I shouldn't have been surprised. "He did?"

Husker nodded. "After awhile, when we were in a bad spot, he brought them back." We slowed to a stop as he lost himself in the memory. "It really was a risk on his part. I could've flown away right then and there. I could've left him to die on that ship with the rest of his crew. But...the way he said it when he gave my wings back...it made me...it made me want to stay. It made me want to use them to get us out safely..."

I waited patiently, hanging on his every word.

Finally, when he came out of the memory, his yellow eyes found mine and he gave a twisted smile. "Alastor likes his theatrics. He might be ready to give your wings back but he's waiting for the right time to make it count."

Ever the manipulator. I sighed internally, ignoring the itch in my back. "When do you think that'll be?"

He shrugged and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "My guess? After Storm Season."

It felt like a million miles away, but we were already more than halfway through the season. Could I wait that long? It's not like I had any other choice.

Why wasn't I more upset about my wings? It was annoying, sure, but I didn't feel nearly as upset as I had been over other things when I first arrived in the city.

My feelings, I realized.

My feelings were getting in the way. They were a buffer.

Spend long enough dealing with something and it becomes normal.

His manipulation was becoming normal.

Yet I still couldn't get myself to be upset. I just felt...tired.

I directed my gaze upwards and caught sight of the figures moving about on the surface to build the windmill.

I really needed that talk with Rosie.

A flash of light. Then a clap of thunder—in the ground. My entire body vibrated for a split second as something exploded overhead.

I looked up as fire and smoke bellowed over the ravine's edge. Husker tackled me into the wall, using his wings as a shield. The fire sailed right past us and collided with the ground on the level beneath us. It shook the ground on impact.

Husker peered up through his wings but there was only a fading smoke trail. He looked sharply around, nose twitching and ears swiveling as he furiously scanned the area for danger. He then grabbed my hand and yanked me down the pathway, back towards the center of the city.

"What happened?" I asked, frantically looking over my shoulder. Deep smoke rose into the air, darkening the already gray sky. I could hear people start to scream.

Husker abruptly stopped, swiped me off my feet, and took off. He stayed below the surface of the ravine but just high enough off the ground without crashing. I hung onto his shoulders and stared over his back as the smoke climbed higher in the sky.

Had the White Angels attacked us? Was it a malfunction? A sabotage?

All I could think about was Alastor.

Husker dropped me off at Rosie's then immediately flew off again. I paced the length of Rosie's cave, bitting my nails and ignoring her attempts to calm me.

Trees and bushes crowded the opening to her cave, as was with every cave in her district, but I still couldn't focus on anything other than Alastor. What had happened? What was happening? Was he alive? Was he hurt? Was there a fight going on? How many people had been hurt? Killed? Died?

My footclaws rapped the stone floor as I continued my pacing. Rosie waited by the cave entrance, just as anxious, but more experienced in hiding it. She stared up at the sky, waiting for word about the explosion. She had ordered her people to remain inside their own caves until further notice.

Those thirty minutes felt like hours until Rosie caught sight of Alastor and called out to him. I ran over and accidentally crashed into him as he walked in. He gripped my shoulders hard and pulled me away.

His clothes were singed—barely hanging on him and revealing bright red, blistering skin underneath. My mouth dropped open at the sight.

"Are you hurt?" he demanded. He grabbed my chin and jerked my head up, searching for wounds on my neck and shoulders. I yanked my face away to examine his injuries.

"Are you hurt?" he repeated more forcefully. He patted me down at all the vital points of my body, and that's when I noticed the way my clothes stuck to his hands slightly.

"I'm fine." I snapped and grabbed his wrists to look at his palms. They were just as blistered and bleeding as the rest of his arms, but it was obvious which side had taken the brunt of the impact. "My god, Al—"

"Rosie, send some of your people to the center," he ordered. "Lucifer has already rounded up the healers but they need more help. There's too many injured."

"Right away." She whisked away in a matter of seconds.

Alastor turned back to me, the light in his eyes dimming. His shoulders sagged and he suddenly looked exhausted. The thick smell of smoke that clung to him had clogged my nose and was making my eyes water.

"Sit down," I said, pushing him backwards to the bench. His legs stuttered but he managed to sit, grimacing as he did. My eyes surveyed him from head to toe. I grabbed a knife from Rosie's sewing drawer and began cutting away the remains of his clothes—only the bits that were loose and not sticking to the blisters.

"What happened?" I asked and raced around Rosie's home in search of a damp wash cloth to cool his burns.

"An attack," he said thinly, "from the White Angels."

"What kind of attack?" I moved quickly but carefully, dotting his face, arms, neck and chest with a damp wash cloth. He hissed through the pain and I was grateful his adrenaline rush had not yet slowed because he would've been spitting and fighting me against the pain. But he will soon, though.

"An explosion," he answered. "It's...they've never done this before." He swayed a little. "It must be a new weapon."

"How do you know it was them?" I knelt beside him and started cutting away at his pant legs to expose the ugly blisters, clenching my jaw at the sight.

Alastor's silence made me look up. His eyelids sagged, as did the rest of his body, and his hand fell limply from his lap. I panicked and grabbed his shoulders to wake him, only to be met with the snap of his sharp teeth mere inches from my face. I could see in his eyes the moment he recognized me.

"M-My dear..."

"Stop. I know what you're going to say." I went over to the counter and filled an empty clay mug with water from a nearby pitcher. "Just stop talking and let me handle this." I lifted the mug to his lips and he quietly drank. Though he did attempt to do it himself but the pain in his fingers had finally reached him.

I forced him to drink the entire cup then helped him lay down on the bench. Luckily the front of him took the brunt of the attack, meaning he wouldn't be in pain while lying down. I set aside the cup then tended to his legs in the same manner as the rest of him.

"How bad is it?" he croaked, then coughed. "And don't lie to me."

I debated on listening, then decided to give him the truth. "Bad."

I searched around Rosie's home for bandages or pieces of cloth to use. I came back with a few towels and brought the pitcher to the floor with me. I tore the cloths into smaller strips and soaked them in water.

I started at his legs and glanced nervously at him. He was starting to nod off. "I'm sorry, Al. But you'll hate this part." I laid the damp bandage over a spot and his whole body seized. His hand hovered over the bandage, fighting with himself not to remove it.

I gently touched his arm where no blisters and charred fur were present, and marveled at the way he almost immediately relaxed.

His head dropped back onto the bench. "I'm such a fool."

"What happened up there?" I asked, hoping to distract him from the pain. I propped his leg up and started wrapping the different areas.

"I heard...morse code...they were—" He groaned against the pain. "I heard them talking on the radio. Soon after...soon after they attacked."

"Someone warned them?" I prompted, moving to his hands.

"Yes," he breathed out through his teeth. "They're...in Vox's district."

"So it's not Vaggie then," I said. "She's not the spy."

"We don't know that. She could be...involved somehow."

We continued to talk and theorize as I bandaged him up all the way to his neck. His magic had saved him from the blast, unlike so many others, but the biggest blow had been to his ego. He didn't say anything about it, but I could tell it was chewing at the back of his mind.

I poured the last of the water into his mug and sat on the edge of the bench. I gently raised his head just enough to help him sip from the cup. I had gone nose-blind to the smell of charred fur, clothes, and hair.

His poor hair. It was horrifyingly dry. It fell away at the smallest touch.

I lowered his head but kept my hand where it was, waiting for him to build more strength to finish the last sip of water. He sighed deeply and whispered my name.

"No," I said. "Don't try to say something dramatic. Just focus on me." I offered a small smile. "You'll probably go into shock soon, so try to stay awake."

He surprised me by smiling, as if the situation was a joke. "If I do," he said with a shallow breath, "will you kiss me awake?"

I smothered my own smile and glared down at him. "A slap will do better."

He hummed his amusement but it made him cough instead. "Then...won't you..." His breathing was getting heavier and faster. "Won't you...give me a kiss...for good luck?"

My heart twisted at the genuine way in which he asked. I smiled fully and carefully leaned down, hovering just over his lips. I saw his eyes close in anticipation and felt his breath on my cheeks as he tried to pause his breathing.

I lightly kissed him, enjoying the feeling of his lips moving against mine, but fought the urge to cough from the strong smell of smoke. He sighed through his nose and he visibly relaxed in a matter of seconds.

I leaned away with a smile, then lifted his head so he would drink the rest of the water.

{|}

I knew from past experiences that confining Alastor to one spot was a bad idea to say the least.

He was miserable within the first twenty-four-hours, even though he slept for most of it. His hands had suffered burns, but Lucifer had been kind enough to heal his hands after hours of healing the rest of the injured. I had never seen the short king look so worn and exhausted.

I sat in the hallway just outside his room while he slept, occasionally glancing in to make sure he was still breathing.

But once he woke up later that afternoon, I hurried downstairs avoid him. Now that he was stable, he had plenty of time to think. Which, in this particular situation, wasn't a good thing.

I could feel his tense magic in the air, even in the far corner of the kitchen where I helped Niffty make dinner. He was angry, of course. Disappointed, for sure. And bored. The man could hardly survive fifteen minutes of being bored.

On the second day of his confinement, he had enough.

Niffty and I were working peacefully, quietly, beside each other in front of the low fire. Some storm days were cold and drafty while others were hot and sticky. Today was a weird mix between the two.

Niffty was binding one of my finished translation sheets into a book when she abruptly stopped, stood up, and climbed the stairs, as if in a trance. Alastor's magic crackled faintly in my ears and I waited with bated breath for him to attempt whatever he did on Niffty to me.

Luckily he didn't, as Niffty came scurrying downstairs as right as rain and said Alastor wanted to see me.

I told myself I didn't need to be nervous. He wasn't angry with me. I didn't do anything wrong. He was just frustrated at his predicament. Still, it did little to ease my racing heart as I slowly climbed the stairs.

I peered around the doorway. He was sitting upright, dressed in loose maroon sleeping clothes, and his recently healed hand rubbed at his temples. I could see the new bandages under his sleeves and around his neck.

He looked tired and exhausted, but entirely like Al. It was as though we were back in the bunker...especially with the disheveled look of his hair.

His poor, dry, fried hair.

I cleared my throat. "Al?"

He instantly looked up and the exhaustion faded from his features. He set aside the book he had been attempting to read. "Come in, my dear."

I braced for nothing and took a few steps inside, holding my hands behind my back. "Did you need something?"

He gave me a feigned look of exasperation. "Is it such a crime to want your company?" One of his ears flicked.

My cheeks colored and I traced the lines in the floor with my footclaw.

"Come closer."

Gaze still averted, I approached his bed and stood roughly an arms length from him. But he expertly snaked a hand around my waist and pulled me closer so my knees bumped the wooden frame.

My eyes couldn't decide where to look—at him, the bed, the book, his desk, the boarded doors, the drapes—

He touched a finger to my chin and pushed up, drawing my gaze to him. He smiled and the sight made my heart skip a beat. Why wouldn't my heart slow down?

"Beautiful," he murmured.

I blinked. "What is?"

"Your eyes."

Heat rushed into my face and I shied away, but he grabbed my jaw with a firm hand and hugged my waist tighter, refusing to let go. My one hand grabbed at the arm around me while the other fisted my pant leg until it hurt.

He chuckled softly, amused at my reaction.

My face burned brighter as he tried to meet my eyes. Unsure what to do, and uncomfortably shy at our close proximity, I reached up to touch his hair. He quieted as several strands of hair fell away. It was amazing more hadn't fallen out already, but I suppose his magic was trying to keep him stitched together.

He suddenly leaned into my touch, eyes closed. His cheek, partially covered by more bandages, was warm to the touch—and dry. I rubbed my thumb over his painfully dry and cracked skin and thought of how I might help. I could only imagine the pain and discomfort he was in, further enunciated by his confinement.

His chest expanded as he took a deep breath and pulled me closer. I used both hands to cup his face and gently touch the bandages. The smell of smoke still clung to him, though not as strongly, and the crackle of fire in my little alcove came to mind.

A cool, summer evening breeze swept through the forest and the birds chirped overhead. My knife made loud chops as I diced the vegetables on the cutting board. Al's hand came into view to take the knife from me, giving me full view of his black and red deer tail.

I stared up at the dimming orange sky through the bramble and tree leaves, only for my view to be obstructed by a pair of bright red ears. He leaned down to kiss me, fitting his knee between my legs and lowering his weight on top of me. He was warm. He was gentle. He was kind.

"Darling?" Alastor brushed the back of his fingers across my cheek, bringing me back to reality. I blinked the memory away and withdrew my hands and apologized.

"You should shower," I said, attempting to step away but failing to do so on account for his arm still wrapped around my waist. "Your hair desperately needs it." I gently pushed a strand near his neck and watched it sway stiffly.

"An excuse to see me undress?" he teased.

I firmly, but carefully, plucked his arm off my hip. "I've seen you naked enough times, thank you." For good measure, I added, "Twice is plenty."

He caught my hand and pulled it to his lips. "You wound me, my dear." He placed a kiss on my knuckles, light and feathery. "But I won't shower for some time. These blisters hurt far too much."

"I can't imagine your scalp feels any good." I reached up and threaded my fingers through the chalky strands. He instantly closed his eyes and hummed deeply.

"It does when you do that."

I giggled quietly. "Would you like me to take care of your hair again?" More softly I said, "Like back then?"

He opened one eye. "Perhaps."

I stepped closer and he lifted his head slightly, licking his lips in anticipation. I did the same, hovering mere centimeters over his lips, until I finally kissed him. My heart pulsed through my fingertips as we kissed a second time, and before we could get lost in more, I pulled away.

In the bathroom, I situated a stool close to the tub's edge and sat him down so he could rest his head backwards on it. His injuries were mostly on his front side, meaning he could lean back and move relatively normal. But his grimacing still expressed a high level of pain from the healing skin.

With a towel supporting his neck, I began to cut away the strands that were too far gone, burnt to a crisp and falling apart on contact. It should've been done sooner, preferably the night of the attack, but Alastor had been too lethargic to even sit upright.

I asked Niffty to change Alastor's pillow as I sorted through the collection of oils under the sink. I perched myself on the tub's edge, close to his head, and started combing the oils through his newly cut hair. It wasn't pretty, but it would grow back.

He was doing that thing again. I didn't even need to look to know he was staring up at me, searching my face and trying to catch my gaze.

"So what now?" I asked. "We still need to disable the White Angels' communication system."

He sighed when I massaged a certain area on his scalp. "I'm not sure," he admitted. "Vox's canon requires energy we don't have."

"I thought it was destroyed."

"The windmill was," he explained. "The canon is underground."

I furrowed my eyebrows. "Where?"

"It's attached to his fortress."

My hands stilled. "Vox...fixed a battleship?"

"I'm afraid I don't know what that means."

I went back to massaging his hair, for no other reason than an excuse to keep touching him. "A type of military ship. There were different kinds but those ones had big canons." I recalled the rooms and hallways I had walked through in Vox's fortress. I knew it had been a ship, but his furnishing made it appear like something non-militaristic.

A thought came to mind. "How did he make it work?"

Alastor peered up at me, but didn't voice his thoughts. "Trial and error, I suppose."

"Why haven't you used it before?"

"From what he told me, it wasn't positioned correctly. He had to carve out more stone in order to move it in the right direction."

"So how does he know it'll even land where he wants it to?"

Alastor tried to shrug but grimaced. "He doesn't. But it was the best thing we could think of."

I mindlessly combed through his hair in silence, enjoying the intimate moment, as was he, until my hands grew tired. I helped him up and led him back to his room. I sat on the edge of his bed and talked with him some more until Niffty brought his dinner up.

He grabbed my wrist when I went to leave. "Won't you stay? It's positively boring up here. All alone~," he dramatized. I gave in.

Niffty joined us for dinner and sat cross legged on his bed while I pulled up his desk chair. We talked further on the White Angel issue, particularly on how to find the traitor in Vox's district and if Vaggie had any ties to it. It seemed impossible for the ex-White Angel to be involved when she was under constant surveillance.

The tone of conversation turned lighter as Niffty detailed her imaginary war of her crocheted bugs. Alastor watched me as I listened to her, fully aware of what he was doing. His gaze left a hot trail wherever he looked, and it wasn't because of his magic.

After we had finished eating, I pulled the chair back to his desk and offered to take his plate from him. He looked at me with surprisingly big, round eyes and soft features. "Will you work some more or do you plan to sleep soon?" he asked.

I thought for a moment. "I'll probably translate a few pages before I go to bed."

"Then do them here." He gestured to the empty side of his bed. "You do know how much I loathe boredom."

I smiled and took his plate. "I knew I was just entertainment for you."

He scrunched his nose at me in response.

While Niffty cleaned up the kitchen, I brought my text and pad of paper to his room. I clumsily sat on his bed and shifted closer, but not too close. My hands were shaking slightly as I opened the text and tried to find the page I had been working on.

I shouldn't have agreed to stay.

My heart was racing again and for no reason. He wasn't upset at me—he was actively searching for my presence. It took twice as long to translate a single sentence knowing that he was sitting less than an arm's length away.

My mind couldn't get around the fact that I was sitting on his bed, on his sheets, in his room. Could he feel my anxiety? Was I making it obvious?

Alastor repeatedly glanced over at you. He could see the way your shoulders hunched tightly, your hands moved statically, and could faintly hear your erratic breathing. He was having difficulty understanding what sprouted these random anxious moments. He originally thought close proximity, but you had been perfectly find when you were taking care of his hair and you had initiated a kiss.

Regardless, he was going to test out another strategy of his. The only problem was that it included waiting.

He metaphorically dragged his feet through his work, half listening to his radio frequencies in the back of his mind as he sifted through orders and journalists' records. The easiest thing to do in his current state was to continue compiling the play of events from the different caves. Rosie's caves, by far, had the least amount of difficulties.

Finally, finally, you started to nod off.

Your head repeatedly dropped as you fought sleep and gravity simultaneously. He waited, desperately hoping he could time it correctly.

With your elbow propped on your leg and your head in your hand, you drifted off longer than usual. He used a touch of magic to pull your textbook and his work off the bed, then slowly but surely shifted further down the bed until he was laying flat on his back. He ignored the stings from his injuries and reached over to pull your paper off your lap.

You startled awake but your eyes were still droopy as you looked over at him. He blew out the lantern on his bedside table and dropped the paper on the floor next to the bed.

"S-Sorry, I'll go now."

His shadow pushed against your knees to bring you close enough that he could wrap an arm around you. Your eyes suddenly widened as you realized what he was trying to do. But instead of running and panicking, you let him pull you against his side and drape his red sheets over your shoulders.

Uncertainly, you rested your head on the edge of his pillow and set your arm on his chest where there were no injuries. You were as stiff as a board but he knew he needed only to wait a few minutes for you to grow tired again.

And right he was.

You shifted closer and brushed your feet against his hooves. You brought your face closer to his neck where he could feel your steady breathing on his fur. Somehow your head, arms, neck, and legs were touching all the areas on him that were safe and free from blisters.

You were perfect.

He knew this bliss might not come again once Storm Season was over, but he savored the way you leaned into him, the way you melted against his side. As much as your fear of him still lingered in ways he couldn't understand, he knew there was a deep desire to seek his presence, his company, his passion.

He turned his head and nuzzled his nose into your hair and took a deep breath.

But maybe, just maybe, he could have something real with you. Forever. 

Chapter Text

I woke slowly, pulled out of my sleep-coma by gentle caresses on my shoulder. They move to my hair and I nearly fell back asleep if it wasn't for a deep voice calling for me from the distance.

I became faintly away of my body placement—arm draped over a chest, head resting on a soft pillow, cheek touching soft fur, and one leg propped against more fur. A gentle kiss to my forehead reminded me that it was Al.

Eyes still closed, I stretch out the soreness in my limbs, then drifted off again.

"Darling," Al called softly.

I groaned and inched closer so I could bury my face in the crook of his neck. Tough smoke still clung to his fur, but his usual scent of spice and leather lingered just underneath. I could feel the beat of his heart against my cheek.

He lightly ran his fingers through my hair again and moved it all aside to expose my neck, before gently but firmly rubbing his palm along my skin. It loosened the surprisingly tense muscles in my neck and had absurd success in helping me wake further.

"Leave me alone," I mumbled into his neck. I ran my hand over his chest, threading his fur through my fingers and marveling at the comfort I was in while doing it. In any other situation, I would never have the confidence to do it. But here, half asleep, I did it anyways.

"We need to get up, darling." He placed a kiss on the top of my head.

I hooked my foot around his leg defiantly, careful not to touch any of his blisters. "Why?"

"The storm is thin today. And Lucifer has called on all the Lords and Ladies to discuss the next plan of action." He chuckled at my attempt to bury myself further under the sheets. "I thought you were a morning person," he teased, brushing his fingers delicately along my forehead.

"I am..." I blinked one eye open to see a stupid smirk on his face. I reached up and carefully pushed his injured face away. "But you're usually not a morning person."

He wrapped his red claws around my wrist and kissed the inside of it.

That woke me up the rest of the way. His ruby-colored eyes twinkled knowingly at me as he placed another kiss. Then another on my forearm. Then near the bend of my elbow—

I pulled my hand away and turned on my back. He snaked his arm around my shoulders and pulled me closer, grimacing when I accidentally brushed the blisters on his side. I traced my finger around the bandages on his arm.

He felt so warm, so comforting, and so normal.

My heart began to climb as my mind registered the reality of the situation. I tried not to tense.

"When will you be back?" I asked.

"You're coming with me."

"I am?" I tried to look up at him but remembered his injuries.

"Indeed." He opened his hand and let me trace the lines on his palm. "I would have insisted if Lucifer hadn't already requested your attendance."

"Why me?"

He gently poked my forehead. "Your way of thinking, my darling. It's unique."

I batted his finger away and dropped my hands over my stomach. "I'm useful," I stated plainly. "Because I have historical texts."

He shrugged, still smiling. "Precisely why you're unique. You operate from dusty pages and ancient texts. Everyone else operates on personal experience."

That was...an interesting way of saying that.

I wanted to settle further into the warmth, comfort, and tranquility that had been bestowed on us, but Alastor reminded me that the storm wouldn't remain thin for much longer. Against my will, I forced myself out of his warm bed.

Once the two of us had dressed appropriately–Alastor having an exact replica of his usual red suit that had been burned in the fray–and his hair lengthened with a temporary spell to cover the singed holes, we made our way through the empty ravine streets. It was still raining, but lightly enough that we could see where we were going.

Alastor gently took my hand and placed it on the bend of his elbow while his staff melded into an umbrella. My cheeks heated at the touch, trying not to make a big deal out of it.

My steps were light but deliberate on account of his limping. His back was stiff and rigid with pain, and he hid his discomfort behind a tight smile.

I rubbed the material of his sleeve between my fingers.

We eventually reached Lucifer's castle and took the front stairs even slower. My concern lingered on my lips and stayed there as he pushed through the pain and past the men standing guard at the front doors. Voicing my concern would achieve nothing, as this meeting was needed and he would probably take it as an insult to his ego if I said I was worried about his ability to sit upright in a chair.

I let go of his arm before we entered the meeting room. Every single head turned towards us. I felt my heart skip a beat and stuttered to a halt. I would have stayed there frozen in place if not for the hand on my back that pushed me forward. The Lords' and Ladies' heads followed us as we walked down the length of the table to the last two remaining chairs.

Lucifer sat at the head of the table, unlike during the conversations with Vaggie and Lady Carmilla. Charlie sat directly beside him with Lady Carmilla adjacent to them, followed by Vox, then the Entertainment co-leaders. Rosie, two seats down from Lucifer, greeted me with her charming smile as we passed. Alastor gestured to the chair beside her while he took the remaining one closest to Lucifer.

I avoided looking at anyone across the table aside from Lady Carmilla.

"We filled them in on what happened," Lucifer told us, referring to Rosie, Velvette, and Valentino, who had been unaware of the proceedings before the White Angel attack. "Now we need to decide what to do next."

"We finish what we started," Lady Velvette quickly spat, clearly riled up. "We can build another fucking windmill." I detected a faint, tangy, and flowery scent and immediately recalled my allergic reaction to her toxic perfume. I leaned back in my chair.

"And risk more lives?" Lady Carmilla challenged, leaning forward to look past Vox. I didn't need to look at the Tech Lord to know he was staring at me. And Alastor at him.

I chanced a look at Valentino, feeling my heart race unnaturally as I prepared myself, but found him staring down at his lap. He was fiddling with a handheld gun, clearly a new remake based on the bright copper engraving that glinted in the light. He glanced uncertainly—angrily—in Alastor's direction.

"So we build it fast enough," Velvette snapped. "Or down in the city instead of on the surface for them to see."

"We don't know what weapon they used," Lady Carmilla said, trying to quell her growing impatience with the woman. "For all we know they could destroy the windmill just as easily and kill even more lives and destabilize the structure of our walls."

I glanced at Lucifer. Not too long ago we had a brief conversation about allowing me to grow a forest in the center of the city, but it hadn't gone further than that. Based on how well things were going in the Agriculture District, I wanted to push for the idea to become a reality.

"Well what's your great plan, then?" Velvette threw back at the military leader. "Another failed assault on their camp?"

"Vox's weapon is the only thing strong enough to deal some real damage on that compound," Lady Carmilla said evenly. She looked at the man beside her. "It is still operable, right?"

Vox scoffed, though lacking all of his usual smugness. He seemed exhausted and the bandages were obvious under his dark jacket, especially around his neck. "Of course it is. It's underground."

"So we need a lot of power to actually operate it?" Velvette clarified.

"Yes."

Velvette's eyes found me and I mentally braced, knowing exactly what she was going to say next.

"I'm sure our fossil ancestors have some wicked weapons they used back in their day."

"I won't translate a weapon for you," I said firmly, arms crossed.

"You know, Archivist, saving us means saving your own life, too." Velvette dragged her eyes down my chest.

"I would rather sacrifice myself to preserve–"

"Ugh," she groaned, leaning back into her chair, "we get it! You'd rather be tortured to death than give up your stupid archive." She deliberately leaned forward with a smug look on her face. "I thought Archivists were supposed to save people."

"W-We do," I said. "But I'm not going to translate something that could kill them."

"More people will die because of it, you know." She leaned back and propped one leg up on the chair, arm draped over her knee. "So many people in one spot? One bomb from the White Angels and you've killed hundreds of our people."

Vox looked over at her. "The White Angels are to blame here."

"Vox is right." Lucifer said and rested his arms on the table. "And I will not allow us to bring those sick weapons back. We'll find another way."

I observed Lucifer for a moment. How much did he know about Old Humanity? He spoke like he had extensive knowledge about its history. Or at the very least about the weapons our ancient ancestors had used. I pushed it to the back of my mind to ask about it later.

Vox spoke up again. "We have one weapon and that's good enough. We just need enough power." We met eyes and I glanced away to look at Rosie. She patted my leg gently under the table.

Alastor spoke next. "I believe our first priority should be uncovering the mole hiding in your district." He pointedly looked at Vox.

Vox crossed his arms but hissed when he brushed a hidden blister. "I can't read the radio like you can and my district is filled with new arrivals who hate me. I don't even know where to begin looking."

I had learned that new arrivals from recently captured communities were given to Vox as labor workers. It wasn't until they had spent months, even years, breaking their backs that they were able to climb a metaphorical ladder and be integrated into Pentagram's society.

According to Alastor, it was to establish authority and claw out any memories of freedom from their old life. They would remember only the hardship of working in the mines and Pentagram's good graces for allowing them into society.

"Who knew about the windmill?" Lady Carmilla prompted.

"All of my workers?" Vox shrugged with his hands. "I had as many workers and laborers working on the windmill as I could get." Laborers was another way of saying new arrivals to help differentiate between Vox's district members and workers, and the imprisoned arrivals.

"So you have a mole in your district and not enough power for the canon," Velvette surmised. "Why do we even need that big canon? Can't we just toss one of our own bombs at their comms tower?"

"We can't get close enough without being detected first," Lady Carmilla explained, having regained a handful of patience. "And they can easily rebuild that tower in between storms. If we attack, it needs to be big enough to last us the rest of Storm Season."

An idea was forming in my mind. My eyes wouldn't keep still and I tapped my fingers on my leg, trying to figure out how to voice my idea. Was it even a good idea?

"What if we made a decoy?" Valeninto tossed out. My mind came to a screeching halt at the sound of his voice. "Make them look in one way while we built the real deal somewhere else?"

My hands felt cold; cold as if they were touching the stone floor of that dark cell while he held me down and clipped my footclaws. My cheeks felt hot where his breath had touched me. My arms were stiff where he pinned me down.

Do you think he's coming for you? The most feared Radio Demon. Your savior.

You let Vox touch you. Let him taste you.

Do you think Alastor will be grateful?

"You look like there's something on your mind." Vox's voice was like a cold chill down my spine, but it dragged me back to reality and I looked up from my lap. "Did you have an idea or something?"

His tone brought back the quiet, kind conversations we had shared before everything went so horribly dark. Was he doing that on purpose? Was he trying to get on my or Alastor's good side? Had Vox seen me on the verge of panicking? Was I that obvious?

"I-I just...it was just a thought. Nothing robust."

"Can't be any worse than anything else we've brought up."

I rubbed my arm when I felt the static of Alastor's magic. "I just thought...why one big windmill? Why not a hundred of them in different places around the city?"

No one had been talking when I voiced my thoughts, yet the room had somehow gone even quieter.

"There's still a lot of different wind tunnels even with some of the trees I've planted. We could find those and build smaller windmills. I'm not sure that's even possible..." I trailed off, still rubbing my arm. I glanced up at Alastor but he slowly looked at Vox, awaiting an answer.

Vox just stared at me.

"Can it be done?" Lucifer pressed.

Vox cleared his throat. "Y-Yeah. It probably could." He shifted in his seat and grimaced when he rubbed a blister on his back. "We still have all the materials from the normal windmills we put up after Storm Season. I could probably build a few more if I pushed my people."

"Then do it," Lucifer ordered gently. He glanced briefly at Valentino, then at Alastor. "Once we have those windmills up, we'll build a fake windmill as a diversion to distract them from the canon. We'll probably need illusion magic."

"Easy as pie," Alastor replied cheerfully, and created an illusionary pie in the middle of the table.

Lucifer rolled his eyes and turned to Vox again. "Let me or Carmilla know if you need additional resources or manpower."

"Will do," Vox nodded.

Meeting adjourned, everyone stood to leave. Charlie snuck around the edge of the wall to tell me about the few conversations she's had with Vaggie, the White Angel prisoner. Apparently they've been trying to talk with their limited Spanish knowledge and have had decent success in casual conversations. It made me feel like I was falling behind.

We spoke for a while longer until Alastor urged us to leave before the storm worsened. We left Lucifer's castle the same way we had arrived, only this time it was harder to see through the rain. The wind had picked up, too, drenching us before we were even halfway home.

I held onto Alastor's arm and shielded my face with my other hand. We hurried through the front door as a strike of lightning blazed over the ravine. Alastor's magic sealed the door before a clap of thunder shook the walls. We stood frozen, dripping on the carpet, and staring at the floor.

A small, barely audible whine reached my ears. I glanced up and saw the twisted, uncomfortable look on his face. He was in a lot of pain. It had only been three days since the attack and having soaked bandages would do more damage than healing.

He was as stiff as a rock, unable to move. Was he shaking?

I slowly reached over and touched his hand. He was cold. Not warm like usual.

"Come on, Al." I lightly pulled on his hand and guided him to the staircase. "Let's get you knew bandages."

He left his cane against the wall and gripped the railing with a suffocating grip, but the one in my hand was careful not to squeeze too tight. He climbed the stairs like he had glue on the bottom of his shoes. He winced the whole way.

"You're getting water everywhere!" Niffty cried from the top of the stairs, arms crossed and a pout on her face.

"It's okay, Niffty," I told her, giving her half my attention while I continued to pull Al up the stairs. "I'll take care of it later. Can you boil a pot of water and bring it to the bathroom?"

"What for?" Al wheezed, looking up at me through his singed hair. His illusion spell had worn off.

"To treat your blisters before I put new bandages on. Niffty--"

"On it!" Niffty zipped between our legs and into the kitchen.

Alastor and I finally made it to the top of the stairs and down the hall. His ears were flat against his head as he used my shoulder and the wall to keep himself up. I was getting all kinds of flashbacks to the bunker when I first saved him.

That one single act had turned my life around.

I pulled the stool out and eased him down. He was out of breath and horribly pale. I expected him to vomit from all the pain he was enduring, but somehow he didn't.

I gently pulled off his heavy, water-soaked coat then started on the buttons of his undershirt. My fingers slipped on the wet buttons and I quite literally peeled the fabric off his torso. He leaned back against the side of the tub, exhausted.

Lightly, I reached out and touched my palms to his cheeks. He blinked up at me...then smiled.

"You're delusional from the pain," I teased.

"I must be dead," he said through a heavy breath, "because there's an angel standing over me."

I rolled my eyes.

With many awkward glances and weird, strenuous silence, we managed to get his pants off and drape a towel over his lap. It wasn't until I was cutting and unwrapping the bandages that my cheeks had cooled to their normal temperature.

"Feels familiar," he mumbled.

"Maybe you should stop getting hurt so often."

"It's been years since I was hurt this bad." He took a few deep breaths. "Then you walked into my life."

"Then I saved your life," I corrected. I peeled off soaked gauze and tossed it in a pile behind me. "And you quite literally fell into mine."

"I suppose you could say I fell for you."

I moved to his other side and peeled off more bandages. "Now I know you're really in a lot of pain. You've been making stupid jokes all day."

"On the contrary..." He lifted his arms so I could remove a bandage wrapped around his stomach. "I'm merely in a delightful mood."

"Oh?" I said absentmindedly. "Why's that?"

His arm came to gently rest on my back, hand hooked perfectly on my shoulder, and I looked up. Smiling, he said, "Because I started my day with you."

I blinked at him, unsure how to respond. Was he being genuine? It sounded like it.

My fingers started to go cold again. I turned back to the task at hand and finished unwrapping the drenched bandages, painfully aware of his hand still resting on my back. I waited for him to make a comment about how loud my heart was beating, but he stayed quiet.

I moved to the bandage on his shoulder, ignoring his intense stare. He was doing it on purpose to get me to look at him. I could feel his breath on my shaking hands, grateful that he wasn't able to notice.

"You're shaking."

Damn.

"I'm not," I replied. My attempt at nonchalance came out more flat and unemotional. I carefully pulled off the bits of fur stuck to the bandage so it wouldn't hurt him.

He put his hand over mine to stop me. I forced myself to look up and meet his gaze, feeling my lungs constrict as I did. Al stared back at me, intense but gentle.

"Do I make you nervous?"

"No." I said too quickly, then cleared my throat. "N-No, you don't."

He tilted his head to the side a little. "I don't mean in that sense."

I tried to pull my hand away but he pressed down harder so I couldn't. I looked anywhere but him. "What do you mean?"

"Allow me clarify," he said kindly. "Do you fear me in this moment?"

"No."

"Are you nervous in this moment?"

"N...no."

"It's like a dagger to my heart when you lie to me," he jibed. I instinctually made a face at him and he successfully caught my chin with his other hand. I opened my mouth to make a retort but he spoke first, "You make me nervous."

My words fell short.

That wasn't possible. Nothing ever made the Radio Demon nervous. Nothing ever made egotistical Alastor nervous. Nothing ever made eloquent Al nervous.

And certainly not because of me.

His thumb rubbed my chin where he held it. His other hand slid up the length of my back and down again. He felt warm, leaving hot trails along my skin despite the shirt in between.

"A-Al...I'm--"

He pulled on my chin and pressed a hot kiss to my lips. Our eyes fluttered shut as his hand felt for the space behind my ear. His other arm looped around my waist and pulled me against his side, nearly pushing off the towel in his lap.

He kept pulling and pulling, trying to get me closer, as our lips burned and pressed against each other. I leaned my arm against the side of the tub so I wouldn't hurt him, boxing us in. We breathed the same air in between each kiss and he acted as if his entire front side wasn't covered in blisters, still trying to pull me ever closer.

His tongue reached into my mouth and I felt warm all over. Our teeth hit as I slipped my tongue over--

"I have the hot water!" Niffty called from the other side of the door.

I immediately pulled away but Al gripped me tightly, partly failing to keep me close. I glanced at the doorway, expecting Niffty to slip through without waiting for a response. I looked back at Al.

His chest heaved and he glared up at me through his disheveled, ruined hair. "Once I've healed, you'll never be able to pull away." 

He unstuck his hands from my neck and I hurried to the door, heart stuck in my throat, to take the pot from Niffty. I then tended to Al's injuries in silence from then on, grateful for the distance his long legs provided as I wrapped new bandages on them.

I braced for something when I re-bandaged his arms and torso, but he did nothing other than stare at me again in complete silence.

My lips still burned.

Chapter Text

I pulled my hood tighter around my face and tried to peer through the onslaught of wind and rain. Vaggie, Charlie, Rosie and I were working side by side to build one of the last few windmills in the Agriculture district. 

Vox's replicated blueprints had long been ruined and we were working entirely off memory—we had already built four. Fortunately, the windmills themselves were mostly built and just needed assembling and connecting. 

Thunder crackled overhead, making everyone jump.

The storm served as cover to build the windmills all around the city before the White Angels caught on. We had a small opening between the end of the storm and when it passed, where the wind was just strong enough to power the windmills. If we waited too long, the wind would die down and the White Angels might see what we were trying to do. We still had yet to know the extent of their technology. 

The rain was starting to let up.

One of the wings of the windmill nearly slipped out of my grasp. Vaggie and I clung to it and the wall for dear life. If the piece fell, this windmill was useless. I cursed Alastor for binding my wings. 

Vaggie and I barely managed to lock it in place before sliding down the slick wall. Rosie dug through the dirt and pulled up the underground wire to connect it to the windmill. An orange light flickered in the base of it, meaning it was connected to power. A moment later, it turned green. 

But then the storm picked up again. The wind whistled loudly through the ravine and fought with the trees. We took shelter in one of the caves and waited, wishing and hoping that the windmill remained intact. The propellers spun faster and faster. 

Alastor was somewhere near the surface, waiting for the storm to clear before starting his illusion of building another giant windmill. The diversion would hopefully distract the White Angels long enough before it was too late.

Rosie's small radio from her personal cave sparked to life, and the angry voices of Vox and Alastor broke through. I was about to roll my eyes at their petty argument when I heard my name. 

"What do you need her for?" Alastor demanded, though the wind on his side was making it hard to hear him clearly.

"Nothing's working like it should. I need her to translate what's on my screen," Vox snapped back. "We have to hurry before we lose the storm."

There was silence, likely from Alastor trying to find a workaround. Knowing we didn't have the time, I pressed the button on the side of the radio and said, "I'll make my way over."

Alastor's voice barely crackles through, "I will meet you in the center."

Rosie leaned forward. "Alastor you have stay there to be the diversion. I will go with her."

"You have a district to protect," he argued. "I can create the illusion just fine."

"I'll go with her," Charlie offered.

Rosie frowned. "Your father won't like that."

Charlie lifted her chin. "My father will live. Come on, let's go." She grabbed my hand and turned to address Vaggie in Spanish, telling her we would be back soon. 

Then, with our hoods pulled tightly over our heads, we hurried into the storm. 

It was like trying to open my eyes underwater. Everything was blurry and my eyes burned. The wind simultaneously pulled at our clothes and pushed against us, trying to keep us from our destination. 

We were already soaked but now we looked like drenched rats by the time we reached Vox's underground fortress. We were out of breath from the ten minute run but we couldn't slow down yet. The wind and rain might let up any second. 

We ran past the guard towers and followed Vox's men over the many bridges. I heard someone shout my name and skidded to a halt, and Charlie slammed into my back. 

I searched for the source, but I couldn't see or hear it anymore. I chalked it up to my stressed mind and caught up with the guards. 

They brought us through the maze-like ship, buried deep in the ground, until we came to a control room. The entire thing was on a slant and the room was illuminated by orange candles and the bright blue and white of different screens. Wires ran all over the floor, walls, and other computers. 

Vox hovered over one of the screens, hands scrambling with a makeshift keyboard in Common Tongue. He looked up as we entered and quickly gestured me over. 

Still trying to catch my breath, I swallowed my fears and went over to look at the screen. 

"Everything was fine," Vox explained, "but then it suddenly stopped working. All the power just stopped building up."

My eyes searched the screen, trying to understand the issue. I didn't know how computers worked, but surely there was an alert or something that I could read. 

"Show me what you normally do from the beginning," I instructed. Vox stepped up beside me and started moving a little white selection box around the screen. I saw four columns filled from green to red. But then the screen changed. Then again. 

I reached across his arm. "Wait, go back!" 

The screen went back to the previous page. I saw red alerts on the tops of the columns. Then I saw another alert at the top right. I pointed to it and Vox selected it, creating a drop down textbox of more words. 

Excess charge detected. Primary capacity at 92%. Bypass code must be entered to activate emergency reserve. 

Vox paled. "We don't have a code!"

"Is there a captain's log or any other papers left here?" I asked.

"You really think any of it survived?" he retorted.

I narrowed my eyes. "Is there?"

"Nothing that was readable. It was either torn to shreds or the ink faded."

I mumbled a curse and turned back to the screen. Without a code we couldn't bypass the primary capacity. A code could be any collection of numbers and letters, and they probably wouldn't have written it down anyways for safety reasons. Was there another screen—

"I got it!" Vox pushed past me and ran to another computer. His touch on my shoulder was brief, but my mind lingered on it. "I just need to stop sending so much power."

I joined him at the mobile computer sitting atop the old tech. It was all in Common Tongue, meaning he had created it himself, but instead of touching the screen he began to unplug wire after wired to the large box. 

I ran back to the old screen and watched the percentage drop down to 80% and come out of the red zone. The alerts went away.

"That's it!" I shouted. "We're good now."

Vox ran over, again touching my shoulder as he passed in the small space, and moved the selection box around. I could tell he was moving entirely off of muscle memory and wasn't actually reading the Old language on screen. How many test runs had he done on this canon? How many had caused casualties?

He jumped to another large desk—this one controlled the canon itself. "Alastor put the illusion up! I need a test shot."

The radio was silent, save for the crackle, then Alastor suddenly spoke, "It's up."

Vox twisted a wire beside the console. 

The ground shook. 

The walls shook. 

There was a loud hum in my ears and my lungs vibrated as the canon was fired. I stood there awkwardly, waiting for something to happen—at the very least to cause me to fall—but nothing did. 

A new voice joined the radio. "Miss! Move forty degrees northeast."

Vox messed with the console again. "Load another test."

His fingers tapped the rusted metal impatiently and his foot wouldn't sit still as he waited. Finally, one excruciating minute later, the voice said, "Loaded. Ready to fire—"

Vox twisted the tip of the wire again. The room hummed and this time I heard a distinct POP of the dummy shot spinning out of the canon. 

The room was silent. Thickly silent. 

Muscles were tense. Ears were strained. Eyes were frozen.

"Miss! Fifteen degrees northwest."

"Load the real thing," he ordered. 

"But sir—"

"We don't have time!" Vox barked. "Load the real bullet."

"Yes sir."

Seconds later, the ground shook. But it wasn't from us. 

Vox looked over his shoulder at me and I realized from the look on his face that the White Angels were attacking. 

Attacking the diversion.

Attacking Alastor. 

I ran for the door but Vox caught my wrist. Panic shot through my throat as he pulled me away from the door. "What do you think you're doing?!" 

"I...I'm..." I looked at the door. What was I doing? What could I do to help against giant canons? Alastor was a mage—a good one at that, albeit an asshole—and I was just an Archivist without her wings. I would just be getting in the way. 

Vox slowly let go of my wrist and returned to the console just as the radio informed him the canon was loaded. I glanced over at Charlie, now realizing the sad, uncomfortable expression on her face. 

The ground shook harder this time as the real bullet left the belly of the underground boat and out the canon's nozzle. 

Then we waited. 

The air was stale with age and anticipation; a mix of rust and anxiety. 

I wished I could see what was happening, but I was also grateful that I couldn't. We were undoubtedly killing people in the process of destroying their communications tower. They were cruel murderers, as Vaggie testified to, but what if there were some like her? Some who were trapped in a civilization they were born into with no way out?

"Holt shi—it's a hit! A hit! We hit 'em!" 

"YES!" Vox cheered. 

Relief lowered my shoulders and I looked at Charlie, seeing the same expression. We had delayed the White Angel's plan, but at the cost of a few lives. 

Soon to be ours, too, as explosions rattled directly overhead. Something reverberated through the stone and made all three of us fall. The makeshift lights flickered then went dark, plunging us into complete darkness. 

I scrambled for nothing as my ears suffered the sound of the explosions and metal tearing directly above me. They were attacking where they had seen the canon fire from. Which, if I had to guess, was right next to us. 

I didn't see it, but I felt it. I felt something large and metal fall on top of me. The force knocked the wind out of me and slammed my forehead into the ground. I must've lost consciousness because the next moment I was blinking unfocused eyes to a few flickering lights along the floor and Charlie right in my face.

I tried to get up but a bone-hollowing zip of pain shot through my leg and I cried out. My ankle was stuck but I couldn't see where or how, too flattened by the metal sheath to be able to see. 

I heard Charlie yell something but I didn't register her until she was touching my arm and pushing against the metal sheet. 

I breathed through tight lips and wished my adrenaline would block out the pain in my ankle. Tears started to fall and breathing became difficult. From the sound of Charlie's coughing, it wasn't just my crying that was making it hard to breathe. 

Vox bumped into my shoulder as he slid over. He was bleeding from his head somewhere—a solid stripe of red flowing down the side of his face. He gritted his teeth as he pushed up and against the metal sheath with his feet. 

I tried to use my working limbs to help push it, too. I expected another explosion to finish us off, but nothing ever came. It was eerily silent save for the blink and buzz of Vox's broken lights scattered around. 

"On three," Vox said. "One. Two. Three!" 

The sheet lifted off but I was dragged back with it. My foot must've been wedged somewhere. They tried again with the same result. 

"Let's try—" Vox coughed, "—try from the side."

He and Charlie moved to the side of me and reached under the sheath.

"One. Two. Three!" 

My ankle was loose. I dug my fingers into the rusted ground and dragged myself as far and as fast as I could. Vox and Charlie dropped the metal and it clattered loudly.

I chanced a look over my shoulder at my foot but it looked surprisingly normal—except for the fact that I couldn't move it. 

"Come on, let's go!" Vox grabbed my arm and looped it over his shoulders and Charlie did the same. We stumbled through the near-pitch-black corridors that were equally in shambles.

Several times Charlie had to go first and drag me awkwardly behind while Vox tried to lift me through the narrow slit. I hobbled through each twist, pushing through white pain and trying to breathe through a tight throat. 

The walls were getting tighter. The air getting thicker. The light dimmer. Were we even going in the right direction?

Static touched my ears.

Alastor was looking for me. 

I mentally followed the signal and felt a tug on my mind, growing stronger the further we walked. I waited for his stupid red coat to make an appearance any minute. 

We broke out into Vox's underground district and immediately took a big deep breath of fresh air—as fresh as his mining district could be. Alastor teleported in front of me with not a scratch on him.

My knee buckled and I nearly took Charlie down with me had Vox and Alastor not managed to catch us. 

Alastor hooked his arm under my legs and I instinctively grabbed onto his shoulders. He held me tight to his chest and turned to leave, but Vox called, "Al wait! What's happening up there?"

"The mission was a success," Alastor answered over his shoulder without slowing down. I bit my lip to keep from wincing at the pain in my foot. He smelled like burnt cotton. Was he using an illusion? Was he hiding a new injury?

"They stopped firing?"

"Yes. You destroyed their canon."

Vox stumbled after him. "We have to debrief with everyone."

"I will be there soon," Alastor said flatly.

"Alastor it can't wait."

"Yes it can."

"My dad can heal her," Charlie said, successfully bringing him to a halt. "But we have to debrief first."

Alastor glanced down at me and I nodded. I wanted to be a part of, or at least hear, the discussion. My foot did not. 

{|}

"You got lucky," Lucifer told me as he lightly moved his dark fingers over my foot. Apparently my entire foot had been shattered, which I wouldn't exactly call lucky.

The other Lords and Ladies hurried into the usual meeting room, significantly less drenched than the rest of us. Rosie was immediately at my side, warning me of the pain of healing magic. Little did she know I had been on the receiving end of such magic twice before—one by my own hand and one by my grandmother. 

Lucifer sat in his usual chair but had my foot propped up on his lap. Charlie watched over his shoulder. 

Lady Carmilla remained standing at the table. "The diversion worked and we successfully destroyed a large portion of their camp."

Lucifer began healing my foot and I immediately bit my sleeve and screwed my eyes shut. Alastor put his hand on my other arm in a silent offer of support. He stood between me and the table, meaning he was blocking me from view of the others. It was a good thing too since tears streamed down my face not even a full minute into it. The conversation continued on.

"Which means...?" Velvette asked impatiently.

"The migration of the rest of their people has been postponed. We have more time to get rid of them."

"We don't have the canon anymore, though," Vox said, dejected. "They destroyed it. And it will take months just to rebuild it."

"We won't need it," Lady Carmilla said firmly. 

Velvette rolled her eyes. "How? It's been five years and the military district hasn't done jackshit to the White Angels."

"We've never had a reason to destroy them," Lady Carmilla said evenly. "We've been racing against them to capture other communities, but we've never needed to destroy them to save our own livelihood."

I choked on my tears and gripped the chair arm until my knuckles were bright white. I forced my breath through tight lips directly into my sleeve to keep from audibly whining. 

Velvette crossed her arms. "It would be easy if we had a translator for Old Humanity's weapons." Her insinuation wasn't lost on anyone.

Lucifer paused his magic and glared across the long table, giving me a brief respite in the healing process. "No weapons," he declared. "We will not bring back those weapons of horror."

The room fell uncomfortably quiet.

Lucifer turned back to my foot and Lady Carmilla picked up the conversation again. "We've given ourselves a buffer period. We can discuss the next course of action as Storm Season comes to an end. In the meantime—" she looked at each of the Lords and Ladies, "—you should run routine patrols and keep guards posted at every entrance. We don't know what the White Angels will do now."

Velvette's eyes narrowed and she leaned on her hip. "So you blew them up and now we don't know if they'll try to attack us again? You poked the bear and thought 'let's just see what happens'?"

Lady Carmilla curled her nose at the younger woman. "In case you forgot, Velvette, we had to destroy their communications tower unless we wanted their entire hive to sail here and overtake our city. We've destroyed their canon, as well, so retaliation shouldn't be severe." 

She gave a subtle but deliberate nod to Vox, who had built, tested, and fired the old canon that had just given Pentagram City another season to live. 

"Well you're the military district," Velvette sneered. "Aren't you supposed to protect us? Isn't that why you even exist?"

I was getting frustrated. I was in so much pain and the two of them were fighting for no other reason than to fight. Velvette especially was being pitiful and annoying on purpose. 

"Almost done," Lucifer whispered. He reached my toes and I grabbed Alastor's arm in a death grip. I thought I heard him wince but I soon became too focused on the sound of his voice directly in my ear. 

"You're almost done, my dear." His hair brushed my sweaty forehead. "Just a little bit longer."

"My soldiers," Lady Carmilla argued, "will be stationed everywhere, as they always are. But every district needs precautions if something worse happens."

Rosie stood from her crouched position at my side and spoke before Velvette could find another factor to argue about. "Understood, Lady Carmilla. We will set up our own patrols."

The military Lady nodded.

"I need more men to fix my fortress," Vox said from his chair, still looking exhausted and dejected. "The one side is completely destroyed and caved in, and it's my central hub of powering the city when Storm Season passes."

"Perhaps the other districts can offer help," Lady Carmilla said. "I want our army ready for anything should the White Angels attack."

Lucifer finally finished and I let a huge sigh of relief. I rubbed away my tears with my sleeves and tentatively put my foot down. It felt funny, but it didn't hurt as bad. A migraine started to form at the base of my head. 

"I can send some folks," Rosie offered. Then she glanced at Alastor, who grumbled at the look. 

"I suppose I can send a few mages, as well."

Then everyone looked at Valentino and Vevlvette. The female co-leader threw her arms around Vox's shoulders, causing him to wince. "Of course we'll help you out, Voxy."

"Great!" Alastor fake-cheered. "Glad that everything is settled." He took my hand and helped me to my feet as Lucifer called the meeting to an end. 

My foot was sore and still caused a funny limp, but was otherwise in near perfect condition. Pain and adrenaline still pulsed through my legs from the intense healing. 

I managed to thank Lucifer before Alastor gently—impatiently—pulled me out of the room. 

We managed a decent pace in the dwindling rain until we reached the usual halfway mark. Alastor attempted to carry me again but I pushed him away, determined to walk on my own. 

That didn't stop him from walking just slightly too fast in an effort to make me either feel guilty or run out of energy on my newly healed foot. 

My migraine only got worse. My head pulsed with every beat of my heart and the rain didn't help either. The only relief was in the vanishing light as dusk came. 

Alastor got impatient again and picked me up, not caring for my protests—which were quickly silenced when I realized how comfortable I was laying my head on his shoulder and closing my eyes. My migraine remained but dimmed with the scent of wet earth and smokey wood filling my nose. 

It felt like he was carrying me through the woods back to the bunker. It felt like the city was nothing more than a bad dream and that he had decided to stay with me in the little oasis.

My illusion was interrupted by the sound of the tower door creaking open. He closed the door with his foot and started up the stairs, still carrying me. 

"Am I heavy?" I asked in my haze of a migraine. 

"You are quite short, my dear."

"That didn't answer my question."

"No." He held me tighter. "You are not."

My heart skipped a beat when carried me into his room instead of going to the attic. I saw my usual night clothes—which I had folded and put on my bed—were now sitting folded at the foot of his bed. 

"I need to take care of something," he told me as he placed me on the edge of the bed. "So I will join you when I am done." He lightly touched the back of his finger to my cheek and smiled simply, sweetly, and softly down at me. "I won't be long."

His heavy footsteps descended the stairs, leaving me staring at the wall, trying to think past my migraine. 

When I found that I couldn't, I changed into my night clothes and slipped under his red covers. The rain picked up outside and tapped on the stone wall and boarded up windows. 

When had I gotten comfortable being in Alastor's bed? 

The thought made my heart skip a beat. 

I laid on my stomach and positioned my foot carefully so as not to tweak it or put unnecessary pressure on it. I then took a long, deep breath of his scent engrained into the sheets—smoke and spices and all. Classic. 

I dozed off for who knows how long until the bed shifted, Alastor climbing in beside me. His arm found my waist and pulled me close, allowing him to place a light kiss on my forehead. 

I draped my arm over his side and savored the feeling of his soft night clothes and equally soft fur against my cheek. 

He placed another kiss on my cheek. Then on my nose. 

I smiled and giggled sleepily. Al was being sweet again. 

Then he kissed me. It wasn't hot or intense. It was kind and gentle and with the utmost care in the world. It was almost shocking coming from him, the way he gently kissed me again. 

He was warm. And it was seeping into my damp, cold bones from all points of contact. I wanted to keep kissing him—not in a hurried and intense way, but slow, thoughtful, and deliberate.

But sleep and my migraine had a different plan. 

The last thing I remember was Alastor lying on his back and threading his fingers through my hair.

Chapter Text

"Alastor, dear. You're staring."

Alastor's ear twitched as he turned back to Rosie, scowling. "I am not."

She pushed her finger in her cheek and gave him that 'I don't believe you' look. He gripped his cane tighter as he fought the urge to turn his head, instead forcing him to hold Rosie's gaze just to prove her wrong.

"She's not going to disappear," Rosie teased gently. "What are you so worried about?"

"Nothing," he said. He puffed out his chest and eyed his collection of mages standing around waiting for instructions from their Archivist. He added, "I am merely watching. I do that quite a lot."

Finally he looked at you. It was bittersweet as Lucifer's obnoxiously bright white outfit stood out from the dull orange stone beside you. He and Charlie had your full attention as each of you pointed and nodded over the sketches you had drawn.

It normally wouldn't bother him much, but it was the way you let Charlie touch your shoulder or laughed at one of Lucifer's pathetic jokes. You were being friendly, happy, and dare say cheerful. Yet when you glanced over your shoulder at him, that smile dropped a fraction.

He took a deep breath to ease the tightness in his lungs.

"Is something the matter?" Rosie persisted.

"I'm as fit as a fiddle!" he said a little too forceful and eyed at his mages once more. They had formed their own groups to talk and kill time, but they frequently glanced upwards, as if afraid another White Angel attack would come any second.

But Alastor knew the White Angels were in no shape to attack, not with their communications tower and large canon blown to bits. He despised Vox but the crackhead was a genius when it came to revamping old technology.

"You don't seem fine." Rosie touched his elbow lightly. It was a gesture that had taken him a long time to grow accustomed to when they were younger. "You seem a little...tense."

"Well, I'm not."

"Oh, bother!" She crossed her arms and abruptly turned on her heels. "I'll hear about it next time I talk with her." 

Alastor's ears stiffened. "Has she?"

"Has she what?"

"Spoken to you?" he clarified.

She faced him and canted her weight on one hip. "Depends. What about?" Her lips then stretched into a devious smile and Alastor clicked his tongue, annoyed, and looked away. She giggled in response. Then her tone grew more serious, "Did something happen?"

He stared silently at your back for a long while, his grip tightening until he almost dented his cane. "Nothing happened is exactly what happened."

"Was it something you said?" 

He glared at her. "Everything was perfectly fine. Then one day she just...she became...sour. She's been grumpy for days and hasn't--" he cut himself off before he finished.

"Hasn't what?"

Alastor clenched his jaw. He didn't want to admit that you had stopped sleeping in his bed. That one day you woke up under his sheets and never came back. You stayed in the attic, lying on your small bed with a couple books and translations around you. He had tried to ask what was wrong; had tried to ask if he had upset you, but you never answered truthfully.

You brushed him off with I'm tired or I don't feel well or something similar. He tried to help--really, he did--but any and all attempts were refuted. All you wanted was to be left alone in bed in the little attic. It aggravated him, so he left you alone during the last storm and only sent Niffty up with food.

Rosie continued to stare intently in an effort to pull out the rest of his sentence. He shifted his weight between his feet and fixed the flaps of his new jacket. "She hasn't...initiated anything." He leaned on Rosie's ability to read between the lines, but not too much. "She won't let me come within a hundred feet of her."

Rosie looked over at you, puzzled. She touched her thumb to her chin and thought for several minutes. Alastor savored the silence and focused instead on the chatter between you, Lucifer, and his equally bright-eyed daughter.

Lucifer had finally pulled the Lords and Ladies together to discuss the state of the Center District. After the successful planting of vegetation in every single district, Lucifer felt their dear Archivist should be given the chance to try her plantation in the large open space that was once the Center District. Rosie, Alastor, and Carmilla had all voted Yes, but Velvette and Valentino had voted No.

The tie breaker was Vox.

Now, Alastor and his mages had been pulled from their caves to plant more expansive trees and shrubbery in the Center District. The entire floor and desk in the attic was filled with drawings, maps, and translations. It was entirely possibile that he was reading too much into things, and that you were stressed over this task and thus didn't want Alastor around to distract you.

However, he couldn't place the exact feeling on his lips, but the past few days felt more like you had a bone to pick with him.

Rosie's eyebrows lifted as a thought came to her mind. "What if you let her spend a few days with me?" She saw the initial flicker of panic in those sharp red eyes, but he covered it in a split second—practically unnoticeable to anyone who wasn't Rosie.

"What for?"

She placed a gentle hand on the bend of his arm. "Just until the festival. Give her a break from that stuffy tower for a bit."

"She'll be just fine."

"Alastor," Rosie warned with a gentle squeeze, "Vox can't and won't harm her in my district. Give her some breathing room while she works on her new project. Even you know how much she appreciates being surrounded by nature."

He huffed a sigh of resignation. 

It took him several more moments before he muttered, "Fine. I'll allow it."

She patted his arm affectionately. "Good job."

{|}

Rosie's invitation to stay with her for a few days was a relief I didn't know I needed. Alastor was clearly unhappy, if having Husker take me to the Agriculture District and barely bothering to look in my direction before we left was any indication.

No matter. He would just have to get over himself.

I stayed in the spare room in Rosie's little cave and spent most of my day working on the Center District. Any breaks were spent walking through the Agricultural District and trying to figure out which areas needed a certain type of ecosystem. Lucifer let me into the old Archivist room where I found a larger collection of nature and environmental books than my own archive had.

Of course, in all this busy-ness, Rosie hadn't failed to notice that I was having my monthly bleed. She would fix a cinnamon tea for my cramps whenever I was translating or about to go to bed for the night. When I was moving around and busy, I never really noticed my cramps, but it wasn't until I sitting down that it made itself painfully known.

Fortunately, it only lasted a couple days since staying with her and my mood leveled out considerably.

About a week after my stay, everyone began preparing for the Clear Sky Festival. Homes were rebuilt around the trees and shrubs, and festive garments and decorations were hung on the ravine walls. I eased up on my readings to help with preparations and it ended up being the best thing.

I was accustomed to curious stares and polite hellos, but I had never experienced such inclusivity as the kind everyone was showing. I even made a few friends with a couple women my age. They didn't ask too many questions about my bunker or Archive and instead focused on including me in their conversations. 

I was even invited to a dance practice.

"How exciting!" Rosie cheered when I told her. She finished pouring the green and gold tea then sat down to eat dinner. I took a forkful of the steamy mashed potatoes and vegetable dish. It was a customary meal that even Niffty had prepared a few times, as well.

"I don't really want to go, though," I admitted.

"And why not?"

"Because I don't know how to dance."

She waved her hand dismissively and smiled wider. "That's why it's a practice. How do you think everyone else learned?"

"I might embarrass myself." I mumbled and took another bite.

Rosie smiled consolingly. "And everyone will move on. It's part of the learning process. Trust me, no one will remember." She took a sip of the tea. "Besides, everyone will be more focused on themselves."

I wasn't convinced, but there was nothing I could do. I had agreed to go for fear of rejecting my newfound friends. Perhaps it was a mistake because they could quickly become ex-friends if I messed it up badly enough.

The following evening, once the sun had set on a cloudy but dry sky, I met my new friends in one of the ravine alcoves. Lanterns were strung everywhere on all kinds of platforms, ledges, and branches to provide enough light for everyone. The bramble overhead created a soft, comfortable, and cozy little space.

It almost felt like home.

Pushed to the corner of the alcove was a small band with instruments I didn't recognize. A decent crowd of people had formed in the center of the space and their joyful chatter bounced off the walls. Luckily it wasn't too big of a crowd to incite another panic attack. 

Still, it was a lot of people to watch me mess up.

"You'll do great," Abba said over my shoulder, clearly reading my mind. She was ridiculously tall with her long, elegant legs and equally long bunny ears. Her fur was a soft brown that almost matched the stone around her, but she had these glowing, bright green eyes that caught everyone's attention.

My mind drifted to Alastor whenever I tilted my head back to meet her eyes. But I always pushed him out of mind as best I could.

Amber, a young fox-hybrid who made a habit of pulling me around, dragged me down the short hill into the little alcove. She looped her arm with mine as she chatted with different people she knew. I tried to keep a polite, passive face but felt perpetually awkward as usual.

Eventually the band finished their tuning. I noticed at least one younger person beside each player with a similar looking instrument. So I wasn't the only one learning something new tonight.

The first song was easy to follow. After about a minute of stumbling, I finally found my footing and moved smoothly to the upbeat music of strings, wind instruments, and animal skin-drums. I found myself enjoying the dance more than I thought, and my worries floated from my mind as I focused on the steps, swings, and claps. Moving around never felt so incredible.

Then the dances grew faster and more complicated. I quickly ran out of breath and out of time with everything as I stumbled to keep up. Amber refused to let me leave until the musicians took their first break.

Dripping with sweat, I accepted a cup of chilled water from another friend, Sheba. The woman was a few years older than me and carried a sense of mystery and wisdom with her wherever she went. She had sleek black fur, perfectly round panther ears, and strong black hands with long claws that were the length of my finger.

"Take a break from the next few songs," she laughed, and guided me to sit on a carpet with her. Amber scampered off to talk to more people while Abba went to get a drink of water herself.

I drank the rest of my water then leaned against the cool stone. I wiped my forehead with my sleeve and took a deep breath of the fresh evening air.

"Are you having fun?" Sheba asked. Her black tail idly tapped the carpet between us.

I nodded. "More than I expected."

"How often did you dance before you came here?"

"I didn't really dance," I said. "My family would dance if we managed to catch a radio frequency with music on it, but that was it." I stopped myself before I revealed that my brother and I had tried to make our own music when we were younger.

"What about other communities?" Sheba questioned. "I heard that Archivists would post their stuff in communities where people could see it."

I smiled and picked at my sleeve. Sheba was one of the few people who wasn't afraid to ask questions about me or the Archivists. "I loved listening to their music," I answered. "But that was it. I would stay around to listen and watch everyone dancing, but I never joined."

"Were you ever lonely?" she asked gently.

My smile dimmed and I kept my eyes on my sleeve. "Yeah, but...there was nothing I could do about it."

The music started again but I didn't get up. Luckily, Amber didn't try to drag me this time and instead danced to her heart's content with Abba who towered over everyone around her.

"Why did you have to stay in the bunker?" Sheba asked next. The music faded away and all I could hear was the swish of her tail between us.

"I...well, I...you know...archivists...we...we're not..." I frowned, not liking that I didn't have a concrete answer. I sat up straighter and said, "That's just the way it was."

Sheba hummed in acknowledgment then fell quiet. We idly watched the dancing for another song before the she tried again. "I'm sure it was a shock to come here."

"It's a lot more people than I'm used to," I said lightheartedly.

"I'm sure being stuck in the Magic District painted the city in a bad light."

I shrugged and continued watching the crowd. "I didn't really see much of the district for awhile. I was always in Alastor's tower." I realized what my admission sounded like aloud and bit my lip.

"Well...I'm sure you were busy with all your translating," she offered.

I ran with it. "Yeah, translating takes a lot of time."

I watched her out the corner of my eye and she looked like she wanted to ask something else, but Amber and Abba came over to pull me onto the dance floor again. They managed to convince Sheba to come, too, and we all stepped into the upbeat rhythm of a group dance.

The world quite literally fell away again. Our bare feet tapped the floor together as our hands clasped tightly together and we sung the words to the chorus as loud as we could.

It felt like I was in a fairy tale.

The musicians took another break after a few songs and began tuning their instruments differently. I watched curiously from the side as their tones mellowed out to something deeper and slower.

Amber, Abba, and Sheba all exchanged a silent conversation I couldn't understand. I waited patiently, not wanting to intrude on whatever it was, and rubbed the back of my ankle with my other foot. 

Finally, Amber grabbed Abba's arm and told me to take a longer break from dancing. I looked at Sheba and she guided me back to another carpet. It felt like I had done something wrong but couldn't find it in me to voice my worry.

I watched the dancers and noticed that everyone was in a pair, most of them with the same-gendered partner. The music was slower but not without fervor. Everyone still moved quickly, spinning with their partner and moving to the beat of the drums.

"These kinds of dances are usually for partners," Sheba said slowly, "or people with an interest in each other."

I squeezed my hands. "Oh, okay."

"We weren't sure how you felt."

Of course Alastor had his way of worming back into my mind. I watched the dancing with a new vision, suddenly picturing us dancing together. It made my heart race for both good and bad reasons, so I pushed the whole thing out of my mind.

"Thank you for being considerate," I said. I ran my finger along my sleeve and watched everyone dance.

{|}

Vaggie had been granted time outside with Charlie and the two chattered in Spanish together on the side while I stood with Lucifer and watched the mages spawn new trees in the Center District. Alastor was off growing one of the large sycamores and Rosie had stayed behind to take care of business in her district.

"Some of the plants are dying in Rosie's district," I admitted to Lucifer, sifting through my stack of sketches. "They're not being pollenated because there's no bees, bugs, or birds or anything. It would be smart to have some kind of ecosystem to keep itself alive. Otherwise the mages have to come through again and again to revive them."

Lucifer tapped his cane with one finger. "When Storm Season is over, we could send ships out to gather whatever insects or animals you think would help. So long as they don't disturb the people, of course."

My hands stilled. "You...would allow it?"

He shrugged. "It's worth a try."

The sun barely managed to poke through the calm, grey clouds. I turned so my cheeks could soak in the warmth and seep into my bones. Weeks of grey, rainy weather and cold stone houses had made me long for the brutally hot sun. I wanted nothing more than to lay on the ground in the sun and soak it all up.

A shadow crossed over and I looked up to see a brand new sycamore tree reaching for the sun, too. I normally would've enjoyed the sight but saw Alastor's red jacket at the base of the tree and turned away.

"If you don't mind me asking..." I prodded Lucifer, "why do you insist on keeping Old weapons away?"

Lucifer blinked at me, surprised. He cleared his throat and fixed his coat. "Well...that's how Old Humanity fell isn't it? All the stories I grew up with were about all the horrible technological advances that ended in their demise."

"Then why did you allow Vox's canon?"

He grimaced. "I didn't think he would actually be able to bring it back. He was good with trinkets--you know, small things--but I...I never thought he'd rebuild it. By the time he had, it was too late."

I scrunched my eyebrows. "Too late?"

"The White Angels were a problem and everyone thought it was good to have the canon in our back pocket." He looked down at his boots. "I guess they were right."

"But you're the ruler. The king, aren't you? Couldn't you have just ordered him to stop?"

He scrunched his face at the term. "I'm not a king. And no, I couldn't have just told him to stop. We're a council. I would have needed support from at least someone before I could make any orders."

"Alastor? Surely he'd do anything to go against Vox."

Lucifer shook his head. "Alastor has been on the front lines when it comes to the White Angels. As much as he doesn't like Vox, he hates the White Angels more."

"Rosie?"

"She didn't have an opinion. She saw the benefits to having that canon as a fail safe, but also knew about its danger."

I nodded then let the matter rest.

My ears crackled with static and the hairs on my arms stood up. I had to force myself not to look over my shoulder.

Chapter Text

As soon as the Center District had been pathed out, buildings framed, and my natural element added in open areas, everyone immediately began preparing for the Clear Sky Festival. Most districts usually held their own festival with their own customs, but this year they were all coming together to work on one large festival in the heart of the city. 

All the while, I hid away in Rosie's cave. 

I wouldn't say I felt lonely. After spending five years on my own in the bunker, I simply couldn't get lonely. However, time after time after time I kept thinking about Alastor. 

So, to keep myself distracted, I hid away in Rosie's bunker to plan out what types of bugs and animals would be safe to introduce into the Agricultural District. It was an incredibly difficult task but one that kept me thoroughly occupied.

Luckily, my new friends also helped keep me busy. Every so often, when they had chores to do in the district, they would pull me out of Rosie's cave to work alongside them. Sometimes I would help with their chores and other times I would keep working on my own projects but under a nearby shady tree. Being around people was oddly comforting at times. 

Then, one day, Angel reappeared. 

"Hey bookie!" He spun me around and examined me from head to toe, then grabbed my face. "How's your eyesight? Can't imagine what all that reading has done to your eyeballs."

I thought back to the pair of reading glasses sitting on one my books, the same pair Alastor had given me. 

"Well, they're still in my head aren't they?" I teased back and pulled Angel's hands off my face.

He hooked his lower arm around my shoulders. "Ready to play dress-up with me?"

A pair of large, brightly colored men dropped a leather chest just inside the cave entrance. Angel left my side and placed a delicate, feathery hand on each of their shoulders, thanking them in a rather seductive voice and promising to reward them later tonight. The gruff men in their poisonous-colored clothes smiled greedily then disappeared out of sight.

"What's inside?" I asked, coming to stand over the chest.

"Your festival dress!" He threw it open and pulled out a collection of fabric. "It's not done yet 'cause I have to do all the finishing touches, but ya technically get to see it for the first time. Come on! Try it on."

Rosie was out doing business—never said what—so I was left to the whims of Angel.

I somehow managed to pull the dress on without tearing anything or getting my limbs stuck in the fabric. Meanwhile Angel set up a foldable mirror and flipped a box upside down for me to stand on. I caught my reflection as I stepped up and stared dumbfounded in the mirror.

The dress was gorgeous.

It was a sleeveless, deep maroon dress with a dark green underskirt and gold stitching in the shape of vines hugging my waist and at the hem of the skirt. Angel began attaching more things to the dress and I soon had green vines circling my hip and draping down the front of my legs.

I immediately saw it for what it was:

A combination of mine and Alastor's colors.

Angel chatted away while he cut, pinned, and tightened different parts of the dress so it fit snuggly to my body. He told me it was longer in the back and shorter in the front to help with dancing but still provided an elegant look.

It didn't go unnoticed that the fabric wrapped around the small of my back, exposing a majority of my back and shoulders.

Was he going to give my wings back?

The thought made my heart race.

Finally, after avoiding being poked by a needle, Angel carefully helped me out of the dress. I put my own clothes back on as quickly as possible and buttoned and tied everything slightly tighter than usual. Angel didn't notice the discomfort as he carefully folded the dress back in the chest.

We spoke for a few minutes longer until he decided it was time to scour the Magic District for his favorite feline captain. I went back to my project but I just couldn't focus. My mind drifted as my imagination cooked up all kinds of scenarios, and my eyes repeatedly looked over at the chest containing the maroon dress. 

I firmly closed my notebook and stormed out of the cave.

I needed to clear my head.

{|}

Sheba found me later that evening sitting in a tree.

I was in the middle of a meltdown when she appeared. I barely managed to get a hold of myself before she expertly climbed the branches like a fish in water, slithering and swaying around each branch. She pulled herself up on the branch next to me and waited in silence.

I watched the line of the orange setting sun and the ravine shadow lift higher and higher on the stone wall, until eventually the orange disappeared. A cold chill swirled through the ravine and I shivered and rubbed my shoulders.

For a minute, I completely forgot Sheba was still there. I stared at the wall blankly as I lost myself in memories of the oasis around my old bunker.

Then Sheba finally broke the silence. "Do you want to talk?"

I flinched at the sound of her voice. I hugged my knees closer and rested my chin on top of them. "About what?"

"About anything." Sheba's voice was deep, yet so silky, smooth, and comforting. "You've been a little distant."

"No I haven't," I mumbled against my knees. "I've been hanging around you all when you're doing chores."

"That's not the same as being emotionally distant."

"I'm not really an emotional person."

"Says the one frowning at a wall."

It just made me frown harder. I shivered again and wished I had my wings to block the wind. My back started to itch again.

"Are you...worried?" Sheba tried next.

"About what?"

"The festival."

"Why would I be worried?"

The woman had patience as deep as the ocean. I could feel her looking me over. "Have you...talked to anyone? About him?"

I felt my throat tighten. "Yeah. I talked to Rosie plenty of times."

"Right," she said slowly. "But I mean...really talked."

"Now I really don't know what you mean."

Sheba fell quiet for a while, seemingly unsure what to say next. So I let the silence hang for as long as I could while my heart raced with apprehension about what she was going to say next.

She lifted herself to a higher, thinner branch that was almost level with mine and balanced on the little twig. Being level with me gave her question a sort of intensity I wasn't expecting, nor comfortable with: 

"Have you talked about what happened to you?"

I turned my head away and curled tighter in my ball, eyes brimming with tears. It felt like I was in a spotlight; like I was in the center of a large crowd of one and everyone was staring at me.

It made my gut twist and without thinking I snapped, "Clearly Rosie has been sharing more than she should."

"Rosie only ever hinted at things," Sheba said calmly. "I figured out the rest myself just from being around you."

"Then you're an awfully nosy person."

Sheba moved with the gorgeous grace of a black panther and squatted on my branch directly in front of me. I turned sideways and leaned my shoulder against the trunk of the tree.

"If you don't want to talk now, I get it," she said. "But I think you need to talk at some point before the festival."

I glared over my shoulder at her. "Why?"

"Because he'll ask you to dance."

My eyes widened.

"And you need to know what your answer will be."

{|}

The preparations for the festival were almost done.

I could see most of it through the newly grown trees and first layer of rebuilt houses from my vantage point. Rosie and I had walked out of Lucifer's castle from another session with Vaggie, the ex-White Angel.

At this point, Vaggie had nothing left to share that was useful to us. She had been our prisoner for several months now and simply didn't have any new information to give, only the dark culture of the White Angels.

I could tell Vaggie and Charlie were fond of each other. Charlie had advanced in Spanish a tremendous amount and the way they looked, spoke, and sat near each other spoke volumes of the bond they were forming. I wondered if I was the only one who noticed or if everyone else assumed it was because of Charlie's innate friendliness. 

Rosie took a detour into the festivity preparations for a quick errand. I was half tempted to meet her back in her cave, especially after learning that she had shared a certain amount of information with Sheba, but I didn't want to upset the only person who had given me sanctuary.

The Center District certainly wasn't anything like the Agriculture District, but it was still nice to walk beneath a row of trees and see people bustling to and from. What would life be like if my family had been bigger? If we had been our own little community in the bunker? Once upon a time it could've supported seven or ten people. 

It made my heart sag unexpectedly and I immediately pushed the thought away. I glanced around the scenery while Rosie spoke with someone in one of the buildings beside a large oak tree.

I caught sight of people dusting and preparing a large open space and I realized it was a dance clearing. My heart skipped a beat in an uncomfortable way.

He'll ask you to dance.

I curled my nose at the thought and looked away, only to look directly at the very source of all my inner turmoil.

Alastor was staring at me. He was dressed in his usual red suit and looked every part the Radio Demon, just as I knew him to be. But his expression—that look—was Al.

There it was. 

The contradiction I didn't want to deal with.

I gave a low smile for the sake of pleasantries then turned away, tearing my eyes from him no matter how much I wanted to keep staring. I prayed and braced for him to approach. I could practically hear his voice and the slyness of his tone, always thinking everything around him was amusing.

But he didn't approach me.

I glanced over my shoulder and he was gone. Disappointment, as well as relief, filled my lungs. I waited impatiently for Rosie to finish talking.

{|}

Finally, I gave in. I had tried to figure things out on my own but I just ran in circles in my own head. And admitting that Sheba was right felt like a burn to my ancestral ego.

I was an Archivist.

I didn't need people.

I didn't need to talk.

I just needed to survive and translate.

But I wasn't exactly a good Archivist anymore. I was the weakest of my lineage. So what did it matter if I disappointed them more and sought out friendly help? 

I found Sheba walking back from working in the Center. It was a cloudy evening with large gray clouds hanging over the city. Everyone feared it would rain on the day of the festival, but the watchmen claimed it would pass over. Either way, the festival would just be move to the next day after the rain had passed.

Sheba purposefully waited for me to climb down from my watch point in a tree and to voice what I wanted to talk about. She didn't fill in the blanks; didn't break the silence. Just waited.

"Can we talk?" I asked.

Silence. 

"About...before?"

More silence.

"About Alastor?"

Then she smiled and immediately melted my anxieties away. "Of course," she said. "Let me change then we can talk."

My shoulders sagged from the weight of admission being lifted off my shoulders. I waited outside her cave then we walked back to the sycamore tree at the very end of the ravine arm. She climbed much faster and more elegantly up the tree than I did. I was quick, but she was far more agile and didn't seem to possess the fear of falling. I didn't used to have that fear until my wings had been taken from me.

We settled on a pair of thick branches. They were positioned so that we would face one another head on, legs dangling in the middle. I kept my head down, avoiding eye contact. 

"It was brave of you to come to me," Sheba said. "I was starting to worry."

"Sorry," I mumbled.

"It's alright." She settled against the trunk and pulled her leg up.  "So, how do you want to start?"

I shrugged and stared down at my feet. They were wrapped in their usual footpads and my claws had finally grown long enough that I would need to clip or shave them back. It was uncomfortable to walk but I wasn't looking forward to trying to clip my claws.

The silence grew thicker by the moment until I was practically suffocating from it. I didn't know where to start, how to start, or what I would even say. If it hadn't been for what Sheba said, I wouldn't even be having this conversation in the first place. But maybe that was the point.

Sheba gently brushed my foot with hers. "Why don't you start with how you've been feeling these past couple days? Have you talked to him since you've been over here?"

I shook my head. "I saw him earlier today, but...we didn't say anything to each other."

"Was there a reason you came here?" she asked. "Did he send you away or...did you guys have a fight, maybe?"

I shook my head again. "We didn't really have a fight. I just...things felt off." I started rubbing my shoulder, using my other hand to keep me balanced on the branch.

"What feels different?"

"I don't know," I muttered. "I just...I wasn't..." I stuttered over my words, not yet coming to terms with the idea of sharing personal information with someone I knew only mediocrely. Granted, I had done the same with Al, but that had proven to be the bad decision. Hadn't it?

I curled up into a ball and leaned my back against the trunk. I hugged my legs and glared through the green shrubbery. Everywhere that Alastor was concerned was always complicated. Why did it have to be that way? Why couldn't he have just--

"--been the same from the start?" I mumbled. Sheba tilted her head, confused. I dug my nails into my arms until it hurt. "He's so different all the time. Why can't he just be the same person?"

"I'm not following."

"He was so nice and kind and thoughtful and funny. Then as soon as he got his cane back and healed, he turned into the Radio Demon."

"Ah," Sheba nodded. "What has he been like when you came here?"

I burrowed my face in the bend of my arm, angry. "He switches. He's cruel and unforgiving, but sweet and understanding. I can't--I can't follow his switches. One minute I'm the most important thing in the world and the next I'm just a stepping stone to ruling the world."

"That must be confusing."

"And hurtful," I muttered.

Sheba thought for a moment. "You know...you're allowed to not chose him."

My stomach dipped. "I can't."

"Can't or won't?"

"Both."

"That's not true." She shifted on her branch to be closer to me. "You're practically a citizen now. You can go where you want, when you want."

"Not without an escort of some kind," I said.

"Only when you move between districts, which is understandable given your role. And I know Rosie would make room for you here if you chose to leave him."

I tried imaging what Alastor's reaction would be, and found that I couldn't. How would he react? Would he flip out and wreak havoc? Would he trap me in the attic again? Would he mope for a few weeks then come out of it? Pretend like there was nothing between us?

I simply didn't know and that was the scary part.

Sheba leaned closer. "Have you tried talking to him about any of this? About what he did to you?"

I glanced uncertainly over my arm. "Do you know what he did?"

She shrugged. "Only rumors."

And before I knew it, I was spilling all of it. I told her about how he trapped me in the attic, burned my book, methodically watched my translating to make sure I was actually working, and tried twisting my oath around.

But I also told her of his kindness, of his thoughtfulness, of giving me the glasses and my own set of pencils, of wanting to read beside me, of trusting me, and of wanting to be close to me. I told her how he asked for a partnership.

How could one person be both mean yet kind? Selfish yet thoughtful? Manipulative yet caring?

It didn't make any sense.

The sun had long set and Sheba's black fur made her blend easily with the darkness around her. I had finally stopped crying my heart out and wiped my eyes with my sleeve and sniffled. 

"I think you need to talk to him," Sheba finally said. "Not about what's going on right now but...about what happened."

I unfolded myself from my ball and looked away. "It wouldn't achieve anything." I sniffled again. "It would just bring up bad memories and get us worked up."

"I don't think so," she said gently. "I think you need a little validation for what he put you through. You don't need to keep sweeping things under the rug."

"Well...it's too late now."

Sheba touched the back of her hand to my shoulder to encourage me to look at her. "It's never too late to talk it out."

I wiped my nose with my sleeve. "And if he doesn't want to talk?"

"Then maybe you need more space from him."

We sat in silence for awhile longer. My mind was in a swirl and Sheba was there beside me, dragging me back to reality whenever I went too deep. I kept thinking on repeat, even as we walked back to where the lanterns lit up the pathway in a gentle orange glow, and even when I was laying in bed in the guest room at Rosie's cave. I couldn't stop thinking about it.

I really really wanted Alastor to talk to me.

Chapter Text

I closed the door behind me and clung to the handle behind my back. The familiar walls felt cold and stuffy despite the warm fire in the hearth. It was almost as if the entire tower was tense; waiting to see the outcome of this conversation.

"Come sit." Alastor gestured to the couch while he took his chair by the fireplace. He fixed me with a steady, indifferent look. "We are civil creatures."

I stepped into the cold room with unsteady legs and perched myself on the edge of the couch cushion, hands clasped in my lap and my back as rigid as his cane, which he had leaned against the other side of his chair. We met eyes again and I felt my confidence slip.

He gave me his best performance smile. "So! You treat me like a stranger then disappear for two weeks. Care to explain yourself?"

Shame flooded my cheeks, but anger soon followed. I squeezed my hands tighter in my lap. "I needed time to think," I answered. "And I deserved the space to do it."

He rested his cheek on his knuckles. "Time to think about what, exactly?"

"Time to think about my situation," I said firmly. "And...about us."

His eyebrows lifted, taking the mask with it, but then it came back a second later and his smile widened. "And pray tell, have you come to a conclusion?"

I frowned at him. "Why are you being like this?"

"Like what?"

"Why are you being the Radio Demon right now?"

"Well, my dear, I am the Radio Demon."

"But you're also Al."

He rolled his eyes and plucked an invisible piece of linen on his pant leg. "Your desire to separate me into more manageable pieces is quite insulting. Don't you think?"

"Not when those pieces flip like a coin depending on the day."

He scowled and opened his mouth to say something, but I beat him to it, "You said you wanted a partnership. Was that true? Do you actually want an equal partnership? Or was that just a way to make your Archivist trust you more?"

He didn't respond, just continued to glare at me and gather more anger beneath that mask.

"I'm the city's Archivist. Not yours. I could stay with Rosie in the Agriculture District or in Lucifer's fortress--"

"So this is what you bring me?" he snapped. "Threats?"

"I'm trying to ask if I matter to you!"

"Of course you matter," he said, albeit angrily. "I wouldn't have indulged you this much if you didn't."

My mouth fell open for a full second. "Indulged? Do you even know what an equal partnership is?"

His smile disappeared as he really glared at me, and I felt my nerves spike with a mixed fight or flight response. He gripped the edge of the armrest and leaned forward as he demanded, "You seem hell bent on painting me as the villain, here. Was there a point to you coming back here?"

I took that moment to breathe rather than respond. My hands were shaking, as were my lungs, but I was mostly trying to quell the hurt and anger. I closed my eyes and took a few more deep breaths, hoping that Alastor would be patient enough to let me find my next words.

Finally, I opened my eyes. He was still all sharp teeth and jagged edges, but there was something softer behind his eyes.

"Were you going to ask me to dance at the festival?"

It seemed to slow his brain down. He stared at me for a several long heartbeats, then settled back in his chair. His eyes never left me when he said, "It crossed my mind."

I tried not to scoff at the lack of an answer that was. Keeping an even tone, I asked next, "If you decided to pair with me...were you ever going to tell me what the Pairing Ritual was?"

He sat further into his chair and moved his hands to his lap. "It's a very popular ritual. Someone would have told you eventually. And clearly they did."

That time I did scoff. "Of course you did."

"I fail to see the point of this conversation."

I picked at my nails while I tried to form my next train of thought. "I'm afraid we'll go back to the way things were."

He stiffened. He looked at me out the corner of his eye and asked, "What way?"

"Huh?"

"You're afraid things will go back to what way?" he clarified.

"Oh, uh...when you--when you first brought me here."

Relief seemed to flood his eyes. Had he been worried I would say I feared going back to our time in the bunker?

I swallowed down a wave of a tears before they reached my eyes. "I've been fond of you since we  met," I told him. "Back when you were barely able to walk and made so many jokes." I smiled softly as we met eyes. "And I've been fond of you these last couple  months, too. The way you make me smile and look out for me and make me actually think about everything rather than blindly translate and believe in what I was told. You taught me to think for  myself."

I took a moment to breath and swallow before the tears spilled over. "I don't want that all to go away as soon as the festival and the season are over," I finally admitted. "I want you to be Al when you're with  me."

For a while, he said nothing. I stared into the fire while he collected his thoughts and wished some of its warmth would reach me; that some of his warmth would reach me.

"You want Al--" he cleared his throat, "--but Al and the Radio Demon are not masks. They  are both me. I am the man who admires your dedication to your work and enjoys your presence. But I am also the man who commands and threatens the citizens of Pentagram to keep them in check." He glanced briefly down at his hands then back at me. "I am both."

I sniffled once and blinked the tears away. "I know you're both but...I just..." I shifted further back on the couch and leaned into the cushions. "When you're with me...I don't want to be another citizen you scare into obedience. I  want to feel like I matter to you. That I'm not a tool." I took a deep  breath. "I'm not just your Archivist. I'm your partner."

"But I have tried." He pressed his hand to his forehead. "Every act of kindness, every gentle word, every allowance, every—" He curled his fingers into a fist than gradually lowered it to the armrest. "Every word you speak and every action you take is a reminder of the things I did to get you here. Yet you do not acknowledge the things I have done to make up for it."

"I'm just saying--"

"Does nothing I've done matter to you?"

The vulnerableness of that single statement filled my chest and pressed me into the couch. He was right. He had been trying. It wasn't just him following the motions or trying to be manipulative. He had been making an active effort to repair the bond we had formed in the forest.

I was looking at Al. He was hiding behind that Radio Demon mask--hiding behind it like a shield--but reaching out all the same. He was offering me his hand and I was complaining about the dirt on his fur.

My throat tightened and I stared at my lap with a blurry vision.

I thought he might try to say more, but silence prevailed, even as the fire burned low. I managed to compose myself and lifted my head, as heavy as a rock, and met those shining red eyes. Yet despite the dam I had just managed to build, it all came spilling over.

The scratch of his radio faded into the distance, the glow of the fire dimmed, and the room darkened until I saw nothing but him. He stared back at me, but it wasn't a stare. He was looking at me. He was searching me. He was seeing me for me.

Then he surprised me. He stood from the chair, knelt in front of me, and offered me his hand. I placed my own on top and let him curl his red claws delicately around my hand. His eyes were open wide as he stared at me, as if he was trying to drink in every ounce of me that he could. Worry etched his eyebrows.

"My dear," he said slowly, softly. "I am...unaccustomed to equals. That is no shock to you. I command, scare, and demand. That is all I know." His grip tightened ever so slowly, like he was afraid I would run. "But I have been trying. Each day I try again. Every moment I try again. For you...I have tried."

I didn't bother hiding the tears which fell steadily now. He reached up with his other hand and wiped one of them away with his thumb. My lip trembled as many more fell in its place. The intimate, sweet gesture was almost too much. I leaned into the warmth of his palm.

He waited for me to meet his eyes. "I will keep trying. If you let me."

Maybe I was wrong this whole time. I had only seen him as a manipulative dictator who was trying to dampen his own feelings for me for the sake of ruling the world. I hadn't seen the quiet, little gestures he had been making to show me that wasn't the case. I used his mask as my own mask to hide behind--too afraid to really give in.

I touched his wrist and pressed more into his hand, closing my eyes and letting his warmth ground me in the moment. It had been weeks since we last touched. There was no malice, no manipulation, and no greed.

I gripped his other hand tighter and felt him respond the same. I sniffled. "Okay," I murmured.

"Look at me," he said gently, and I opened my eyes. "I promise to keep trying, if you promise to do the same. Stop doubting every step I take towards you. Believe me when I say you're not a tool. Believe me when I say you matter to me. Believe the words I say to you are not out of manipulation, but out of genuine care."

I sniffled again and tried to look away but he held me firmly in place. His eyes held onto mine as he desperately awaited my response.

I nodded. "Okay. I promise...I promise to try to believe you."

His breath hitched, just slightly enough that I almost didn't catch it, and he gave me a small smile. Then drew me into him.

It was slow and with an uncertain gentleness, like he was waiting for me to refute him. But I didn't. He wrapped his arms further around me and let me bury my face in his shoulder. My body jerked with every sob and all he did was run his fingers through my hair and let me cry. He didn't say a single word.

We remained that way until I had soaked his shirt all the way through and exhausted myself. I pressed my forehead to his chest and he rested his chin on my head. "An agreement, then," he said. "I will treat you as my equal and you will grant me your trust."

"Okay," I breathed. I wiped my face with my own sleeve and took a shaky breath. "It's a deal."

{|}

The sound of knocking woke me from the deepest sleep I had been in for weeks. I tried to ignore it, to fall back into my blissful slumber, but the knocking was persistent and Alastor shifted beside me. He rolled onto his back with a groan and I stretched out my stiff arms and legs. Luckily, I didn't get a leg cramp doing so.

"What is it, Niffty?" Alastor croaked. His voice was gravely from sleep and the lowest octave I'd ever heard it. He must've been in a deep sleep, too.

"Rosie sent a letter," Niffty answered from the other side of the closed door. "She'll be here in the next hour."

"Of course," he grumbled. Then louder for Niffty to hear he said, "Thank you, Niffty. Make sure there's tea ready for her."

"Of course! I'll start making your coffee." Then she scattered away.

I rolled onto my stomach and stretched again. "Why is Rosie coming here?" I was mid-yawn when Alastor wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me closer. My back pressed against his chest and his other arm slipped under the pillows beneath my head.

"For the festival," he mumbled into my hair. He threaded his legs with mine and held me tighter. "She'll take you back to get properly dressed for it."

A thought came to mind and I leaned more into him, feeling the beat of his heart and taking a deep breath of his spicy, leathery scent. "Did she make an outfit for you?"

I felt him smile against my hair. "Indeed."

"What does it look like?"

"That would spoil the surprise, my darling," he mumbled. I huffed and he chuckled in response. I felt it through my shoulders and up my neck, causing a tingle in the tips of my fingers. "You will see soon enough," he promised.

We fell into comfortable silence for several minutes, enjoying each other's company and the stillness of the morning. It felt so good to have slept so deeply, and it felt even better to be on good terms with Alastor. I started replaying our conversation from last night and what it meant, but I kept pushing it away. I wasn't ready to deal with that just yet.

Niffty's little knock brought our peaceful morning to an end. "Your coffee is ready!"

"Thank you, Niffty," he answered, then gave a heavy sigh that I reciprocated. He leaned over and placed a sweet kiss on my cheek. I shifted on my back so I could get a good look of him. The way his messy hair fell around his face and the gentle sag in his eyelids from sleep was endearing in a way I couldn't describe. Luckily, a kiss sufficed.

I climbed the cold stairs to the attic and pulled out one of the plain outfits I had left in my closet. By the time I had dressed and brushed my hair, Alastor was already downstairs with a cup of coffee and the radio playing in the background. He wore his usual outfit but without his coat, which was a relief and and successfully unwound any lasting nerves I had.

The three of us ate breakfast in relative silence. My attention was focused on the radio and listening to the woman give a rundown of the festival preparations and other general district information. Occasionally I glanced over at Alastor who had his eyes closed. The only tell that he was focused on something was the small twitch in his fingers on the table. The hair on my arms stood up, meaning he was using magic to do something. I guessed it had to do with radio.

It wasn't long before Rosie appeared on our doorstep. She walked in with an air of caution that suggested she was trying to read the room. A smile from me was enough and instantly she was her chatty, chipper self again. She fussed over Alastor's hair and nails, but Alastor was completely unbothered. Apparently he purposefully let his hair and nails grow out so she could style them easier.

He caught me smiling at their banter and winked. I rolled my eyes and took our plates to the kitchen to clean them. Rosie spent the next hour treating him while I sat on the couch and read a novel from the bookshelf. It was meagerly bound and written in Common Tongue, not Old World. I didn't actually read any of it, though, as my mind finally forced itself to think about last night's conversation.

Did that make us partners?

A single stroke of panic swam through my blood, followed by a confusing warmth. It made me excited to think it was possible, but the other part was...what? Chastising? Furious? Scared? I was still an Archivist and he was still the man whom humanity feared. What would my mother think? My grandmother? It was almost easier to pretend like that part of my past didn't exist or was somehow separate from today.

I could feel myself waiting for a punishment of some kind--consequences of my actions for working with and wanting to be with someone like Alastor.

Rosie pulled me out of my head as she finished up with Alastor. The two of us left the mage alone and walked side by side back to the Agriculture District. The Center District was a buzz of activity of the likes I had never seen. It made me excited to experience my first community festival as an active participant.

Rosie's cave easily fought off the hot, spotty sun as it weaved between the straggling storm clouds. She rambled about nothing as she tended to my hair and makeup, then helped me into a dress.

"What do you think, dearie?" she asked, stepping away and letting me turn in the mirror. It was a different dress than the one Angel had made for me. That particular dress was meant for later tonight but this one was meant for the first half of the festival.

It was a short, deep green dress that was snug at my hips but loose around my knees. The skirt came down in layers and a thread of pale flowers and green vines had been stitched around my hips. It felt like me.

"It's lovely, Rosie." I tried to sound grateful, to sound excited, but I was perpetually nervous about the festival for a multitude of reasons. Luckily, Rosie was never in a shortage of understanding.

She held out her hand and helped me step off the box. "You have nothing to fret, dearie. Go have fun. Go be young," she instructed with a motherly tone. "I'll see you back here after sunset."

"Are you ready yet?" Amber called from the cave entrance.

"Be patient," Sheba warned kindly.

Rosie fixed the clip in my hair then gave me a gentle push. I padded out of the cave to join Sheba, Amber, and Abba who were all wearing different colored dresses but in similar fashion to mine.

Abba, the rabbit hybrid, wore a bright red dress that had been designed for her long legs. Her shoulders were bare but the fabric was tight around her torso to show off her elongated body. Her usual scowl had softened today.

Amber was dressed in black to contrast her bright orange fox fur. Her dress was a bit shorter than the rest of ours, which was primarily because she was a bit younger than the rest of us.

Sheba looked the most outstanding. Her dress was a glittery yellow—almost gold—and hugged her curves in all the right places. Her ears had gold piercings and her tail had thin gold rings all up and down the length of it. She was stunning.

Before I could shrink into my self doubt, Amber hooked her arm around mine and pulled me down the tree covered path. We barely reached the end of the district before we could hear and smell the festivities in the Center District.

The festival went from the late afternoon and and lasted well into the night. The first half of the festival was spent eating, dancing, playing games, catching up with relatives, and more. The second half of the festival happened once the sun had set. It was slightly more subdued with easy, joyful music and smooth dancing and relaxed chatter. It was deemed the 'adult' version of the festival since the young children would be sent home for the evening.

That was when the serious dancing took place.

I tried to push it out of my mind and focus on enjoying my time with my new friends. It felt wonderful to be included; it felt wonderful to be a part of the festivities rather than watching from afar.

And the food was the best part.

As much as I didn't like the leaders of the Entertainment District, they were the ones who brought the most exotic and mouth-watering food to the stands. I had never tasted anything like it and knew I would have to wait a whole another year to taste it again. Luckily, my friends seemed to feel the same way and savored every bite.

It amazed me how much I was able to eat. It really shouldn't have been a surprise given how much dancing Amber and Abba pulled me into. Sheba joined in a few times, too. I especially loved the slightly more complex group dances. I didn't always get the timing or footing right, but the girls made up for it and didn't give me the chance to fester over my little mistakes.

The world disappeared as the day went on and the sun smoothed over the tall ravine walls. It seemed nothing could ruin my newfound carefree joy. Even my crumbling legacy couldn't dampen my spirits.

Abba had only been joking when she had said I was a 'trend-setter' for being the first Archivist to come out of hiding. However, the thought had nestled itself somewhere comfortably in my head. I was the first Archivist to re-enter society. Instinctively, I thought that to be a bad thing. But really, Archivists were always meant to share knowledge with the public. I still had control over which books I shared, which meant I was still fulfilling my duty as an Archivist. My oath never stated that I needed to stay in my archive, just that I needed to protect it. All my books were stored in Alastor's tower, so technically I still had my archive.

"Where did your mind go off to?" Sheba asked and took a sip of water from a clay mug. I cleared my throat and swirled the water around in my own mug.

"Nowhere, really."

She watched me a for a second more, trying to decipher if it was something she needed to address, then decided to let it go. Abba broke away from Amber and sat on the other side of me, also with a cup of water. The only tell of her exertion was her heavy breathing and tiny patches of sweat-soaked fur.

"Amber's really trying to use this time to her advantage," Abba remarked with warmth in her voice for our youngest friend.

Sheba smiled as she watched Amber find a new, random partner. "The elders always tell us to hold onto the friends that have too much energy than they know what to do with."

I looked at her. "Why's that?"

"Because they'll keep us young as we get older."

I smiled. I accepted the cloth from Sheba and handed it over to Abba to wipe her face down even though most of her fur soaked up the seat. I reached down to rub my feet through the tight wrappings. Rosie had helped me file down my footclaws so it wouldn't be painful to dance, but it had still been a horrible feeling to experience.

After another few dances, the music began to slow and the younglings began to dwindle, forced home by their parents or loved ones. Though Sheba informed me that children often grouped together in their newly built homes or one of the caves with fewer people to continuing the festivity in their own way.

The four of us walked back to the Agriculture district to say goodnight to Amber and to change for the next portion of the festival. Waves of nerves passed through me as Rosie helped me into the dress Angel had prepared. Speaking of whom, came prancing in to help with last minute touches.

The man himself was dressed in what could only be described as a dress-suit combination. He was wearing a thin, light pink material that hugged his waist and hip, and split down one of his legs. His chest was practically bear with an even thinner piece of white material draping over his shoulders like a shawl. Every inch of him sparkled. The word elegant came to mind.

Rosie had dressed in a longer, more elegant form of her usual attire. It puffed widely at her hips and fell loosely around her feet. The maroon color blended into a shade of black further up her body. Her torso was covered entirely in black fabric but it gleamed and sparkled like the night sky when she turned this way and that. My eyes subconsciously stared at her as she moved around me to make adjustments.

"There ya go!" Angel stepped away and planted his hands on his hips in the upmost un-elegant-like style. "What do ya think?"

I slowly turned towards the full body mirror. It looked the same as before but my hair had been pinned up and more makeup added to my face, making me look almost twice my age. I rarely saw my own reflection before coming to Pentagram City.

"It looks lovely," I said softly, and turned a little to make the dress move. My back was noticeably bare and another spike of anticipation pulsed through my arms. I brushed my fingers over the tight vine stitching on my hip. I almost asked, what will Alastor think? but caught myself before I said it aloud.

Angel hooked his arm around mine and pulled me out of the cave. My vanilla scent charm hung around my wrist like a bracelet but I couldn't find Angel's. He smelled strongly of burnt sugar and smokey woo, which was a very strange combination.

I didn't say that aloud, though.

Rosie followed close behind but quickly got caught up in conversation with other adults making their way back to the Center District. The chatter was quiet but excited, adding even more to my nerves.

"Jeeze Bookie, take a breath will you?" Angel tugged on my arm to pull me out of my thoughts. I tried to laugh but it came out dry. "What's got you in a twist?"

"Nothing, I'm just..." I smoothed the fabric of my dress down. "I'm just nervous, is all."

"Which part are you nervous about?"

I finally managed to take my arm back and fiddled with the skirt. I stammered over my words for several heartbeats. "Everything?"

Angel just smiled at me. "Are you worried about the dancing part? Or the Alastor part?"

My heart lunged in my throat at the mention of Alastor's name. "Mostly the dancing," I said. "I don't...I don't want to embarrass myself." Or Alastor.

"Relax, Bookie. There's a bunch of new people who are just learning these dances, too. You'll do great. Besides," he elbowed me gently, "everyone's too focused on their footing to watch what you're doing."

I genuinely smiled at that remark, but it didn't ease my tension very much. Fortunately, Abba and Sheba found me and hurried over to join us. My eyes widened as I took in their beautiful outfits.

Abba wore another red dress but this one was much longer and loser and long-sleeved. She looked positively gorgeous with the way the underlying fabric hugged her curves and the overlay fell perfectly over her shoulders and hips.

Meanwhile, Sheba was positively extravagant. Her gold dress was the same style as Abba's but for some reason Sheba looked jaw-droppingly gorgeous. Her dress made her look like the epitome of feminine beauty and elegance. I couldn't believe she was my friend.

Fortunately, the two of them did all the talking as we walked in the Center District where the savory smell of food and cheerful, steady music hung in the air. My eyes scanned the crowd for Alastor's obnoxiously bright red hair. However, everyone seemed to have extravagant hair color. I tried not to make my searching obvious, but Angel's side smiles were telling me that I was failing at it.

"Alright you two," Sheba said, touching mine and Abba's shoulders. "Do a practice dance with each other."

Abba and I both exchanged an uneasy glances. We weren't opposed to dancing with each other--we'd danced together plenty that night--but it was the prospect of our first night dance that made us unsure. Sheba was having none of it, though, and gently pushed us towards the closest dance floor. Fortunately, it was obvious that at least half of the dancing crowd was also new or nervous.

Abba and I couldn't stop apologizing for stepping on each other's toes. It didn't help that she was several inches taller than me and had ridiculously long legs. Eventually we got the hang of it but were so entirely grateful when the song came to an end.

As soon as the dance was over, my eyes searched the crowd for Alastor. He was still nowhere to be found. Nerves turned to worry. Why wasn't he here? Had he changed his mind about us?

I listened with half an ear to Rosie and Angel. They were talking about Husker but I was too busy watching Sheba talk to another panther-hybrid. He wore an all white suit and jacket that contrasted his dark fur beautifully. He repeatedly rubbed his arm or the back of his neck, and Sheba likewise fiddled with her fingers behind her back and tapped her tail repeatedly.

I smiled to myself. For all of Sheba's wit and wisdom, even she was helpless to romance.

Angel nudged me to bring my attention back to the conversation. He grinned down at me, his gold tooth glinting in the lantern light, and indicated with his head. I followed his gaze--

My breath caught in my throat.

Alastor stood a few paces away and the crowd dispersed before him, revealing his frozen state and wide red eyes that were locked entirely on me. He wore a matching maroon coat with ends that reached all the way to his heels. Stitching of gold branches curved around his hips, arms, and the cuffs of his pants. His usual black pants had been replaced with more snugly-fitting ones that made him look twice as tall and skinny.

The closer he came the more I could see small flowers and greenery embroidered on his coat lapels. I couldn't imagine the amount of hours and weeks the seamstress must've put into those designs. His coat sleeves were just as snug as his pants and I could just barely see a gold charm on the collar of his black undershirt.

Finally, I noticed his antlers. They had grown thrice their size and stretched wide over his head. Beads of gold jewelry hung between each prong, swaying with his movements and glittering in the light as he came closer. His hair had been combed out but it was then I noticed that the back half of it had been pulled behind his head in a small ponytail.

"It's good to see you, too, Alastor," Rosie teased behind her hand. Alastor blinked and forced himself to look at the woman, making the jewelry on his antlers swing. But his head had moved before his eyes, making it appear as if he was trying to look at me for a fraction longer.

"Yes, it's always a pleasure to see you too, Rosie dear." He held out his hand and she placed her pale fingers in his palm so he would place a light kiss on the back of her hand. His eyes fell on Angel and he nodded once, begrudgingly. "Angel."

"Alastor," Angel returned, indifferent. "How's Husker doing?"

"He will join you in an hour."

I finally stopped staring at Alastor and glanced at Rosie so we could share a knowing smile. Angel tried to play it off before stalking off into the crowd. Rosie touched Alastor's arm and he leaned down a fraction so she could speak in his ear. He gave an acknowledging hum before straightening up again.

"Well, I'm off," she said. "But I'm always easy to find if you need me." She gave me a gentle pat on my shoulders then whisked out of sight, which left Alastor and I alone.

I shifted my weight between my feet uncomfortably and pretended to find interest in the people around me. After months of being trapped with him, both in the bunk and his tower, and sleeping in the same bed, it suddenly felt like we were meeting for the first time. I couldn't think past the loud drumming in my ears. The dress was suddenly itchy and I felt unnaturally hot despite the cool evening breeze that was shifting through the ravine.

"You look lovely," he finally said.

My head swiveled back to look at him. "So do you--I mean you look...I mean--I wasn't expecting...you're very...you're...you look amazing." I turned partially away and rubbed the back of my ankle with my foot, mentally berated myself.

"Might we find somewhere to sit?" he suggested. "I have something I'd like to discuss with you."

When I turned I found he was holding his hand out for me to take. My chest swelled and I subtly wiped my palm on the fabric of my dress before placing it in his hand. As always, he curled his red-tipped fingers carefully around my hand until his warmth was seeping into my bones.

He gently pulled and I followed as he led the way through the buzzing crowd. I noticed everyone's turned heads in our direction and swallowed tightly.

Alastor picked an open table against a wall and sat me down before disappearing again. I fiddled with my dress and watched some of the dances nearby. It made my stomach flip. I tried to think of my wings, but that also made my stomach flip. Was this a sign that I was making the wrong choice? Or was I just nervous?

Alastor returned with a caterer carrying a pitcher of water and two plates of food. He sat across from me and gestured towards the steaming plates of meat being placed down in front of us. "Rosie tells me you danced a lot this afternoon," he began. "How have you enjoyed the festival?"

"I didn't realize how much I liked to dance," I admitted truthfully. "It's nice to have footwork. Makes it feel purposeful but fun." I wanted to hurry through the smalltalk to hear what he wanted to discuss, but he was a master at taking the long way around.

He had me talking about the different dances and food and conversations I had that night. He seemed to have a certain level of respect for Sheba, which surprised me since I wasn't even aware that he knew her. Maybe circles were a lot smaller than I thought.

I became engrossed in the conversation and began asking him about previous festivals since this was the first time all the districts had come together for one festival. He said he thought it was rather successful and went into detail about the how the districts differed in their own festivals, including his own district. My history-hungry mind kept asking him more questions in an effort to know more about the city and where they borrowed their culture from. Apparently the Clear Sky Festival only came into existence less than a decade ago. Lucifer had been the one to spawn the idea.

The longer we talked, the easier it became. Everything felt right in the moment and I wasn't planning to disrupt it. Naturally, Alastor couldn't avoid teasing me and every time I made him laugh, even just a chuckle, I watched the jewelry swing between his antlers. My nerves dwindled and I felt at peace, surrounded by cheerful music, chatter, and a cool evening breeze.

Eventually though, our conversation drifted into a lull. The chatter of the crowd and music continued around us, providing a pleasant backdrop, and everything felt as real as it had ever been. I stared off into the distance for several minutes and Alastor let me.

He didn't say a single word until I blinked back to reality and looked up at him. "Where did your mind run off to?"

I shrugged and gazed around at the mingling crowd. "I was just...thinking about everything."

"That entails quite a lot," he quipped lightly. "Care to specify?"

I smiled at him out the corner of my eye. "I was thinking about everything that happened this year. It hasn't even been a full year but so much as happened."

"So is the life in our city. A lot does happen here." The reference to our conversation back in the bunker wasn't lost on me.

"It makes my old life seem so...boring," I admitted.

"Now you understand why I was losing my mind."

My cheeks hurt from how much smiling I had been doing, but I smiled nonetheless as I gave him a look. "I think the quiet did you some good."

He snorted and propped his arm on the table to mirror me. "I think it un-threaded my sanity."

I looked him over appreciatively. "I think it made you reflect." And when he lifted a single eyebrow, I felt the tension in that stare tighten pleasantly. I kept going, "It made you reflect on your past and your future. And we can all learn something from our past."

He slowly leaned back in his chair and tilted his head slightly. "Are you attempting to make a point?"

"Not really." I rubbed my hand over the other. "Just...I think we've done a lot of reflecting. The two of us."

He tapped his finger on the table. "I think it's caused plenty of issues, if you ask me."

I half scoffed and said, "I've been told it's not meant to be comfortable."

He stared at me for a few heartbeats, seemingly trying to discern something. After a long while of silence, he asked, "Have your views on your oath changed?"

I dropped my gaze to the table. "A little." I tapped my finger on the back of my hand and glanced uncertainly at him. "Have your views on Archivists changed?"

His beady red eyes looked me up and down. "A little."

We held each other's eyes for the entirety of a song, quiet and comfortable. There was nothing tense about it—just the simple act of observing. It was as if we were looking into each other's souls and feeling around, wrapping ourselves like a blanket and waiting for the soul to seep into our bones.

The thread of silence finally broke when he said, "Tonight, when most people are off the streets, I will give you your wings."

My heart stuttered and my mouth dropped open. The corners of his smile twitched and I clamped my mouth shut. "Thank you."

I saw his real smile in his eyes as he reached across the table, avoiding the empty plates, and offered his hand. I accepted the gesture and watched him rub his thumb gently over my skin. He turned his attention back to the crowd and we fell silent again, refusing to let go of each other.

I watched the people in peace. I was part of a community, not observing it. I was their Archivist. The person who dug through dusty old yellow pages to keep them safe. I was the first Archivist to resurface and join a community; to help it for the better. Maybe Abba was right: I could be a trend-setter.

Alastor called my name and let go of my hand. He rested his arms on the table, making me instinctively lean back as I sensed the shift into a more serious topic. Perhaps the very topic he originally wanted to talk to me about.

"I've asked you twice now if you'd like to be partners," he began slowly, almost uncertainly. Alastor never did anything without a purpose, but his words seemed thin and unbalanced this time. "Twice you've said yes." His eyes looked me up and down, just as uncertain. "Are you willing to say yes a third time?"

I hesitated. The seriousness of his tone meant there was more—some underlying current that I couldn't quite see. "What do you mean?"

He swallowed first. "Are you willing to commit to me?"

My heart got stuck in my throat for the umpteenth time that night. This was serious. Very serious.

The familiar weight came to rest on my shoulders: the weight of a heavy decision about to be made.

He turned his hand over and placed it on the table, palm up. We met eyes as he said, "I am ready to commit to you. Just as we promised last night." He swallowed and plastered on his smile to hide his nerves that were now so obvious to me. "You are the only person I've considered committing to. And I would be a fool not to ask."

I looked between his hand and his eyes. I knew what my answer was; I knew what I wanted to say. Yet I was having trouble saying it. I was afraid to say it. Commitment was a big deal. Commitment to him was a big deal. Could this really work?

I looked him over. For the first time ever, I saw Alastor. I saw the Radio Demon with his fake smile and clever words, but also Al with his charming smile and asking for my willing commitment. I was looking at Alastor, the man who could be both.

I must've hesitated for too long because he began to withdraw. I quickly took his hand before he could pull away and watched his eyes widened a fraction.

It was my turn to swallow around nothing. My breath shook as it left my lungs and I was sure he could feel my hand shaking, too.

"I..."

I felt tears threatening to rise to the surface and I swallowed again to keep them down. He stared down at me, excited and nervous all the same.

"You..."

I squeezed his hand tighter. So much was trying to shove its way to the forefront of my mind that I struggled to push it all away. I had made my decision already. Nothing could change my mind now.

"I'm ready to commit."

Alastor let out a breath he had been holding and squeezed my hand. He stood and pulled me to my feet with him, his other hand reaching up to brush the back of his fingers along my cheek. "Are you positive?"

I nodded. "I-I'm positive. So long as you hold your promise."

He smiled sweetly at me and his red eyes gleamed in the lantern-light as he kissed the back of my hand. "I will commit to you and treat you as my equal."

I took a deep breath. "I will commit to you and put my trust in you."

He smiled wider and leaned down to kiss me. His warm lips were gentle but with a sort of excitement behind them. It sent little bits of static down my spine, almost as if magic was sealing the pact, and I squeezed his hand tighter.

His hand left my cheek as he straightened up. The only word I could use to describe the look on his face was fond.

He pulled my hand up and placed another kiss on my knuckles. Then he let go and took several steps away from me, lifting his arms wide open. "And so it is made."

A group of young women suddenly surrounded me, congratulating me and laughing. The crowd thickened around us and I felt like I was being corralled backwards. I stood on my toes to look over their shoulders for Alastor but his red ears ducked out of sight.

The women tugged on my shoulders and put their heads together, deciding who should go first. The music tone suddenly shifted into something more upbeat and I turned around to see the crowd had parted into a winding path that led to a polished dance floor.

The Pairing Ritual.

The girls quickly ushered one of them forward and she twirled off down the winding path. The crowd clapped to the beat and helped her stay on track. One after one the group of women spun down the path and joined hands in a circle. One of them grabbed my shoulders and waited for the right beat to push me forward.

I spun on shaky feet and followed what the rest of them were doing. I hadn't practiced this dance. I didn't know what I was supposed to do. I didn't realize the dance was happening now.

But it was too late to go back. I spun uncertainly to the center of the dance floor and joined hands with the other girls. We spun in two separate circles: an inner and outer that went in two different directions. We jumped and skipped to the beat of the music, then switched circles. I moved to the inner circle and danced the other way, trying to match the other girls while still searching for Alastor.

The girls threw their hands up in the air and spun around aimlessly. I did the same but kept watching them out the corner of my eye. One by one their partner jumped onto the dance floor with them and caught them mid-spin. I slowed my spinning and looked for Alastor but I couldn't find him.

Panicked, I turned again and he was there, arm around my waist and hand catching mine. We spun together and stepped in time with the other pairs in a wide circle on the outside of the dance floor. The crowd kept clapping to the beat and cheered and whistled.

Alastor grabbed my hips and lifted me into the air in a spin. My feet touched the ground the next second and we kept moving in a circle. He did this several times more to the high string of the instruments.

Then he pushed me away and spun me around. "Keep going," he said. I kept spinning, hanging onto his hand over my head for dear life. His other hand guided my hips to keep me close. Then he pushed me off balance. I clung to his hand and shoulder, ready to hit the ground, but he didn't let me. He held me just a few inches above the floor, smiling.

The music had stopped.

The crowd erupted into cheers.

My chest heaved with every gasp as he pulled me back up, but not all the way. I was still leaning on the backs of my heels and his arm firmly around my back. He let go of my other hand to hold the back of my head and kiss me. It was quick and firm, but with all the love and care he had for me.

A few tears fell out the corners of my eye and he gently wiped them away before letting me stand up all the way. A new song came on. A song that was a bit slower but with enough energy to keep everyone bouncing on their feet. The newly committed pairs danced together, each doing their own thing.

"Just follow my lead," he said in my ear. I let him take my hand and put the other on his shoulder. He moved in a steady pattern and I fell in time with him, neither of us taking our eyes off each other except to avoid bumping into a pair next to us.

I had done it.

There was no going back now.

Chapter Text

Alastor and I walked hand-in-arm away from the warm lantern light of the festival. I had caught sight of Sheba dancing with the same panther from before and she and I exchanged knowing looks.

The air felt colder the further we walked away. It made me grateful for my leather shoes because I could feel the cold stone trying to seep into the pads of my feet.

A soft gust of wind tugged at my hair and made the jewelry on Alastor's antlers jingle. A shiver trialed across my skin and I pressed closer to Alastor's side. To my brief dismay, he detached my hand from his arm and the warmth he was providing. A moment later he shed his maroon jacket and placed it over my shoulders.

I finally saw what was under his big coat: a black vest that hugged his torso paired with a thin, almost see-through red long sleeve that stopped just short of his wrists. I was so caught up in staring at him that I probably would've stood there for hours if he didn't place his hand on the small of my back and gently pushed me onward.

"I'll get it dirty," I stressed, trying to grab at the ends of his jacket that were specially designed for his outrageous height. My shorter stature made the ends drag along the stone.

"It's nothing that can't be cleaned." He reassured me and grabbed my hand to stop me.

"What about you? Aren't you cold?" I tried next.

He just rolled his eyes. "I have fur, my darling. I'll be fine." He let go of my hand and put his arm around my shoulders to draw me closer against his side. I smiled out of view and pulled his jacket tighter over my chest. The warm smell of spices and cinnamon clung to him like usual, but there was a stronger smell of something else. It almost tasted like charred oak or burnt sugar. He wasn't wearing a scent charm, so where had the scent come from?

My trail of thoughts ended as we walked through the mostly deserted streets of the Magic District. Windows from the cavern homes were either dark or reflected orange lantern light from inside. Subtle chatter could be heard from inside and even a note or two from a stray instrument. I rarely saw families in the district, but that didn't mean they didn't exist. Though if I had to guess, it was most likely friends and partners who were staying up this late still celebrating the night of festivities.

A sudden churn of anxiety swirled in my stomach at the sight of the tower. Not because of anything bad, but simply because a certain thought hadn't occurred to me until that exact moment. It made my feet stutter and Alastor glanced down at me, confused. I forced a smile and continued on. I loosened my grip on his jacket but didn't let go for fear of giving more of my nerves away.

"Is something the matter?" he asked.

"No," I said too quickly.

I could feel his stare on my check and exploring what little he could see of my face from his viewpoint. His grip on my shoulders had lightened, as if he was afraid he had done something to cause my unease. I swallowed tightly and gripped the loose fabric of my dress with my free hand.

Alastor was still watching me curiously as he opened the door to the tower. The fire was out but a few lanterns had been left burning low to provide some light. I stepped to the side to let him in and we made eye contact, though I quickly turned away and pretended to look at the familiar rooms as if it was my first time walking in.

"Come, darling." Alastor had one hand on the stair railing and one hand open for me to take. "I have something for you." His smile was sweet but with a hint of coaxing to it. He was trying to be overly kind on purpose.

I smiled through my nerves and accept his hand as he led me up the dim stairwell. Luckily my eyes had nowhere else to look except the steps to keep from tripping, meanwhile my other hand held onto his jacket so it wouldn't fall off.

The top of the stairs came too soon. He let go of my hand and brushed his bedroom door open. I sucked in a small gasp as my foot became rooted to a single floorboard in the hallway. He must've not heard because he walked through his dark room and pulled back the curtains over the balcony doors. Moonlight immediately streamed through and filled the dark space well before he opened the doors.

He looked over his shoulder at me. "Stop hiding," he teased lightly, "and come here."

I let out a soft sigh of relief and pealed my feet off the floorboard, picking my way through his room while avoiding a look towards his bed. He held his hand out and waited for me to take it before stepping out on the balcony. The moonlight was stronger here and eased the starkness of his red hair. It made everything about him look softer. My eyes trailed over his whole body again, taking in every curve of his long legs, hips, chest, and shoulders.

When I reached his eyes, he smiled.

His other hand came up to brush a few flyaways from my forehead. "You were amazing, tonight." The smoothness of his voice was like a soothing balm for my tired feet. Any subtle pain from the endless amount of dancing had vanished in a split second as pride swelled in my chest at the thought that I hadn't embarrassed him.

"I wish I could've seen you dance more," I said. "You're very good at it."

Something shined in his eyes and he smiled wider. "I don't dance in front of others." He lifted our enclosed hands and kissed the back of my hand, then looked at me through his long eyelashes. "Tonight was the only exception."

He removed his jacket from my shoulders and draped it over the railing. He then took both my hands and lift them over his shoulders so they clasped behind his head. He then wrapped his own arms around my waist and pulled me against his chest so our faces were just inches from each other.

"I prefer to dance alone with my partner."

I chuckled a second before he leaned all the way down to kiss me. I curved my body into his as I gave in to the kiss that sent warmth through my whole body. The wind didn't even both me anymore as his warm hand splayed across my bare back and reached up between my shoulders--

There was a snap and the static of his magic bit along my skin. I pulled away just as my wings sprouted from my back in a flurry of fluff and feathers. They extended on their own and I was pulled into an involuntary stretch that went through my whole body. It was the best stretch I had ever experienced and had to have lasted a full minute.

My body sagged under the new yet familiar weight of additional limbs. I looked over my shoulder to see their beautiful white and browns. Memories of Alastor touching my wings on the abandoned rooftop came flooding back and I turned around to face him. He was watching me with one of his fake smiles, but his eyes were taking in every inch of my wings with extreme interest. What was with that complex expression?

"Go on," he said, jutting his chin up and glancing towards the sky.

I followed his gaze and stared up at the star-filled sky. The ravine walls lined my vision but didn't take away the sudden thrill that filled my lungs. I could almost taste their cosmic freedom on my tongue.

But I lowered my gaze back to Alastor. Why was using a fake smile?

"Are you sure?" I asked. I reached up to my wring my hands but he stepped forward and took both in hand. He lifted them to his lips again.

"So long as you always return to me," he answered. There was a hollowness to his words, like he was afraid I would fly away for good. I opened my mouth to reassure him but he dropped my hands and stepped behind me to lift me onto the railing.

I struggled to keep my balance through the leather shoes and my wings immediately snapped out to catch me. They cupped the air and wind rushed in my ears as I glided towards the ravine floor. I went with the momentum and waited until the last second before turning skywards.

I waited for the harsh press of the air to slow before beating my wings in a circle to get above the ravine walls. I chanced a glance back at Alastor and saw his shrinking figure watching me from the corner of the balcony.

I felt the open air before I even realized I was above the ravine walls. My attention shifted and I landed on the flat surface. My eyes widened as I took in the huge expanse of the flat desert that touched the star-filled night sky. It was as if a blanket of them had been draped over me and I was waiting for the fabric to finally touch my skin and remind me it was all an illusion.

But it wasn't an illusion.

I was back on the surface. I was by myself. I was free.

The wind was stronger up here. I closed my eyes and took one long, deep breath of the fresh air. The force of the wind rushed up my nose and filled my lungs with crisp new air, making me giddy with excitement. I turned around and jumped over the ravine. I never would've reached the other side but the little gap gave me enough room for my wings to catch more air.

The tips of my wings brushed the stone as it rushed past me. I let the wind carry me further and further away. I couldn't stop laughing as the wind beat against my face and touched my feathers that had been dormant for so long. It felt so good to fly again. It felt so good to feel the wind biting my cheeks. It felt so good to watch the ground rush beneath me just inches away.

I turned skywards and started beating my wings as high as I could go. The cold didn't bother me, didn't even reach me, as I climbed higher and higher. I kept going until my wings were too tired. I leveled out and glanced down to see how high up I had gone.

Not enough.

I climbed again.

The wing muscles weren't used to flying anymore and had weakened during their paralysis state. It forced me to take a few breaks mid flight before climbing again. I pushed through the burning pain, determined to get as high as I possibly could before they gave out on me.

I reached for the stars even though I knew I would never touch them. The stars were always there. Even when the sun overwhelmed them, they always came back. Perhaps they were the reason I had kept going even when things felt hopeless. Perhaps, deep down, I had always believed that I was like the stars. Even when someone overpowered and outmatched me, I had a way of coming back. I had my own way of shining.

My wings finally gave out. This time I let them and just fell. The wind howled in my ears and pushed through my wings. It was like being dunked in a cold pool, only it wasn't suffocating but exhilarating. No matter how far I fell, the stars never faded or shrank away. They stayed their same size even as I fell miles and miles through the frost-tinted air.

Yes. I was like the stars.

Persistent. Calm. Shining. Encompassing. Gentle. And beautiful.

I turned over and waited for the ground to come closer. I could see the bright lights of Pentagram City's festival at the heart of the giant ravine. I could also see all the districts and their winding ravine-arms that stretched for miles. The warm, colorful lights glittered in the dark night, equally as beautiful as the starry landscape surrounding it.

I knew my wings wouldn't be able to handle the force of snapping open to stop my free fall. So I waited until the ground came closer. Then I slowly opened my wings. I glided at an angle until my nosedive became horizontal.

My wings were fully extended but I didn't need to flap them. The momentum carried me as I sliced through the opposing wind current. I thanked Angel's outstanding sewing skills as the dress still hugged my body. It had been designed for dancing so the tight fabric hung onto me perfectly despite the high power winds I was slicing through.

Eventually my momentum began to slow. I wouldn't reach the ravine opening in time so I flapped back up and made another angled dive to gain more momentum. I did this several times both enjoying and suffering the burning pain in my wing and back muscles. I gritted my teeth and pushed through the fighting wind, determined to get back to Alastor.

My wings were almost ready to give out as I came over the ravine-arm. I was much further down than I thought and could barely make out Alastor's dark figure in the shadows of the stone. I made another dive and whistled past homes and balconies. I neared the ground then tilted up and sideways.

My hands and feet stretched out as I came almost straight up to the balcony. Alastor had his head tilted back, staring up at the stars and waiting for me to return, so he didn't see me until the last second.

My feet smacked the railing first and my momentum lifted me over it. I grabbed onto his shoulders and he stumbled back into the wall. I leaned in and pressed a hard kiss onto his lips. He made a startled noise that vibrated our lips.

I finally lost my balance completely and hopped down before I face-planted. I straightened up and turned around to face him, out of breath entirely and probably looking insane. My chest heaved as my wings drooped behind me utterly exhausted. I planted my hands on my hips and smiled like an idiot.

Alastor blinked back at me with those startled red eyes. They barely glinted in the dim light but they were looking at me differently this time. I could see the way his shoulders rose and his eyes widened a touch, but he forced away his immediate reaction of joy upon seeing me return. I didn't have time to deicpher why he did that before he had an arm wrapped around my waist and a hand buried in my hair as he kissed me.

The smell of charcoal was overwhelming and I realized it was his hair that smelled like that. It was almost too purposeful to be remnant of the White Angel attack when he had been injured in an explosion. So was it a different kind of scent charm like mine? I had caught whiffs of that same scent throughout the entire festival.

Alastor quite literally pulled me from my thoughts as he straightened up and kissed me again. The fervor of his kiss and the tight grip on my hair made me want to return it just as much. I grabbed his shoulders and used my tired wings to jump up and wrap my legs around him.

He licked into my mouth and left a scalding trail over my tongue and lips. I hugged his neck and pushed harder and deeper into the kiss, feeling everything inside me burn. It didn't matter that my wings were tired or my lips were sore or that it was hard to breathe. All that mattered was Alastor.

He pulled on my hair until it hurt too much and I pulled away. I narrowed my eyes at him but the expression he was giving me was...vulnerable. His cheeks were as red as his hair and his mouth hung open as he tried to catch his breath.

"Lay with me."

I knew what he was implying. A cold churn of both excitement and apprehension filled my gut. Of course I had been thinking about this for a long time, but it still made my nerves run high. After everything I had gone through, after everything I had suffered and upheld, I deserved to be selfish just this once.

I pressed my forehead to his and looked into those big, gentle eyes that reflected his entire world in them. "Okay," I whispered, and leaned in for a gentle kiss.

He closed his eyes and accepted it, tilting his head and making the jewelry in his antlers faintly chime. His breath was warm on my cheeks and all I wanted to do was melt into him.

His hand smoothed up my back then pressed the tips of his claws in the soft spot between my wings. I moaned into the kiss and felt him chuckle in response. He switched to the pads of his fingers and firmly pressed down the length of my spine, making me arch into him. He placed a kiss on my exposed chest and I glared down at him, only to see him smiling smugly back at me.

I would've normally been petty enough to detach myself and refuse any further attempts to kiss me, but I was enjoying his attention too much. He cupped the back of my head and pulled down so quickly that our teeth clanged together. I returned the intensity and opened my mouth to deepen the kiss, happy to feel his tongue slide over mine and make my mind all fuzzy.

His hold on me tightened as he stepped back into the room. I heard the doors close on their own just half a second before my back touched the bed. The position of my legs made me feel suddenly vulnerable but I pushed through, allowing Alastor to press all his weight on top of me.

He left a trail of heated kisses along my jaw as he pulled his arms out from under me. He gripped my chin with his fingers and pulled my head away from him to further expose my neck. His hair brushed my cheeks as his lips touched the sensitive skin. It made me shiver and he moaned against my neck as his body responded.

"My love," he whispered, seemingly out of breath. "Are you sure?"

I waited for him to pull away then cupped his face with both hands. The intimate gesture made his eyes widen and I said, "I'm sure, Alastor. I'm ready."

His smile was soft, the softest I'd ever seen, and he leaned into one of my hands. His hand came up to press mine against his cheek, and he kissed my palm. Then he kissed the inside of my wrist. He went all the way down my arm until he found my lips once more.

He suddenly lifted his weight off me and I fought the urge to whimper at the lightness in my chest. But he held out his hand and pulled me back to my feet. His eyes held mine as he reached behind my back to feel for the secured string of my dress. He placed feathery soft kisses on my cheeks as his searched for the ends, until finally he pulled them loose and I felt the give of the fabric.

I instantly crossed my arms to keep the dress up and felt my cheeks burn brighter. My throat had gone tight and I felt a stinging of tears building behind my eyes. I tried to breathe through it, tried to focus on something that would root me back to reality.

He hooked his finger under my chin and brought my attention back to him. "We can stop," he said, as he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.

"N-no." I looked away and shuffled back, feeling the edge of the bed behind my knees. "Just...I'm just not used to it." I suddenly felt very small and he felt very big. Big and powerful and confident and strong and dangerous.

He gently pried one of my hands away and placed it on his chest, directly over his heart. Meanwhile his other hand brushed the back of his fingers against my cheek in that way he always did. He searched my eyes, and only my eyes, as he said, "You're beautiful, my love."

The comment rooted itself deep in my chest and twisted around my bones. Of all the gorgeous women we had seen tonight, he was saying that to me. It didn't feel right, but I couldn't ignore the genuine way he had said it. Why did hearing it from him sound different than Rosie? Than Sheba and the others? Than my mother and grandmother?

He held his hand out, waiting me to take it and forcing the dress to fall to the floor. He held my eyes and waited patiently, never allowing me to look anywhere but him. Eventually, I clenched my jaw and took that little leap of faith--his hand. The fabric fell past my hips as I gripped his hand tightly, but his eyes never left mine.

Without looking anywhere else, he guided both my hands to the collar of his shirt. He unclipped the gold antler charm on the collar of his shirt while my shaky fingers began working on the buttons. I felt his gaze on my face as I undid each button of his dark long sleeve. I didn't once feel the burn of his stare anywhere else until I pushed the dark fabric over his shoulders. He helped the rest of the way by pulling his arms out of the sleeves and dropped the shirt at his feet.

The injury on his chest had long since healed but a scar remained. It was small and barely visible unless one was standing as close I was to him. His fur covered most of it but a thing, white line crossed over his chest and made some of his fur lean in the wrong direction.

Finally his gaze looked me over, searching every inch and curve of my body, still wearing my undergarments, before coming back to my eyes. He gave a short sigh which I mirrored. His next smile was kind and delicate as he guided my hands to the waist of his pants. My hands froze as my mind screeched to a halt. But Alastor was quick to lean down and place a sweet kiss on my forehead.

"We may stop at any time," he said softly.

I swallowed on nothing as I stared not only at the dark leather hugging his waist, but at the bulge just beneath my hands. I took a slow, steadying breath and swallowed again. Alastor began to place a few more gentle kisses along my forehead, light and gentle. It eased the tension in my shoulders by a fraction and I began to undo his belt.

Once I did, he saved me the embarrassment by removing his pants himself. He dropped them on top of his shirt. When I realized he had taken everything off, I quickly looked anywhere else in the room. But, of course, he wasn't about to let me do that. He turned my chin back to him and leaned down to reach behind my back.

"May I?" he asked.

I rubbed my fingers together at my side and nodded. He found the ends of my undergarment and loosened the threads. This time I kept my hands firmly at my sides and watched his reaction. He dropped the fabric with the others and briefly looked me over. He gripped the edge of my waist just over my lower undergarment and asked again, "May I?"

He hooked his fingers over the edge and knelt down, dragging the material down my legs and letting me step out of it and my dress. He stood up and found my gaze, noting the avoidant tension behind them. So he pushed on my chin, encouraging me to look downwards, and I fought him on it for a few seconds, until I gave in.

Of course I knew male anatomy, but seeing it for myself in such an intimate way was a very different experience. I knew he was looking me over in a similar way, which seemed to ease some of the stiffness in my spine.

Finally I tilted my head back up to meet his eyes. His hand cupped my cheek and he leaned down for a kiss. This time we didn't pull away. His arms came around my back, against the muscles of my wings, and pushed us both onto the bed. He lifted me further up the bed then settled his weight on me again. I felt his interest firmly against my stomach.

My lips began to ache from our kissing as our hands roamed each other. He was mostly covered in short fur, fur that I had already touched on numerous occasions, but this time was different. I felt the tight muscles in his back and felt along his broad shoulders. Meanwhile his hands smoothed over my chest and stomach, until he finally decided to grab one of my breasts. His hand fit perfectly and I let out a content sigh at the feeling.

He chuckled softly and began kissing along the side of my neck. He massaged my breast while he sucked and bit at my neck, causing goosebumps all over my body. Then he pinched my nipple and I let out a startled moan. We froze. My cheeks burned with embarrassment and I covered my face with my hand.

He leaned into my ear so his lips purposefully brushed against it and said, "I knew you liked my touch."

"Shut up," I grumbled. He laughed to himself and went back to my neck, pulling my hand away from my face before pinching my nipple again. My legs wouldn't stop moving against his as he continued. Then he switched sides and did the same with the other. I sighed heavily with my eyes closed, savoring the feeling of his utmost attention.

I dropped my head back against the pillow as he flicked his tongue over my nipple while he played with the other. I grabbed a handful of his hair and kept shifting in an unconscious effort to create fiction.

But he wouldn't allow that either. He pushed more of his weight on my hips, settling his leg perfectly between my exposed legs. I whined as my other leg rubbed up and down the back of his in a fervor.

Eventually he pulled away, and I fought the urge to grab him to prevent from going anywhere. He propped himself up on his elbow and reached into the bedside table. I felt something sticky on my stomach between us as he moved.

While he searched the drawer, my eyes roamed his chest, his shoulders, his face, and his antlers. Was he really interested in me? The great Radio Demon had found someone like me to be gentle with? To sleep with? To partner with?

He closed the drawer and, before I could see what he had grabbed, gave me a firm kiss. "Are you sure?" he asked once again.

I pushed a loose strand of red hair from his cheek and met his eyes, which somehow glinted in the dim light. "I'm sure," I answered. "I'm just...scared."

He touched his forehead to mine and took a deep breath, making me do the same. "I'm not...unaffected, either." He touched his nose to mine. "So we'll do this together."

My shoulders relaxed. I leaned up to kiss him and ran my hands over his shoulders, marveling at the sleek strength beneath all that fur. I heard the sound of him breathing through his nose as he tangled his hand in my hair.

Finally he let go and trailed his hand down my chest. His touch was painfully too light but I didn't  dare complain when I realized where he was going. My breath caught in my throat as he rested his hand on the inside of my thigh, just inches from my heat.

His eyes watched me, searched my face for any sign of panic and regret, but all he would find was excited nerves. He leaned further over and kissed me deeply, then cupped his hand between my legs. I squeezed him tighter around his back and made a startled noise into our kiss.

Then he slid a finger in.

I gasped but Alastor kept pressing into the kiss. I clung to him even tighter and dug my heels into the mattress. Of course I had done it myself but having someone else do it was so much better. 

"Breathe, darling," he whispered against my lips. "Relax your shoulders."

I forced myself to listen. My grip on him remained tight but I loosened my shoulders and eased myself into the mattress again. He pulled out his finger then added another, pushing deep inside me and curling upwards a few times. The sensation made my stomach roll over a few thousand times.

He kissed my forehead, then my cheek, then that spot right behind my ear. "Spread your legs," he ordered, his voice an octave lower than normal, and I listened. He began pumping his fingers and sucked on my neck with his teeth, leaving me breathless.

My feet curled every time his fingers did, and the weird sensation had me almost thinking I needed to use the bathroom. But it went away every time he moved his hand in and out without curling them. He added another finger until he was at four, and the slight pain was somehow just as pleasant.

He abandoned my neck and rubbed his face against my cheek, whispering, "Are you ready?"

I swallowed tightly and nodded. But he leaned up to look at me completely. "Give me verbal confirmation, my love."

My love.

I loved the way he said that.

"I-I'm ready."

He touched our foreheads again. "We can stop at any point," he reminded me.

"Okay."

He kissed me again, firm but not as intense, then sat all the way up. I finally saw what he had grabbed from the drawer and couldn't help but watch him put the condom on. My historian brain tried to figure out what it was made of to avoid the fact that we were one step closer to completing our partnership.

Part of me was slightly disappointed, knowing that I still wasn't continuing my legacy, but the other part told me there would be plenty more times to do so. For now, it was just about us.

He leaned over and began placing kisses along my stomach. He reached my thigh and lifted my knee up so he could bite the inside. I jumped but that just made him smirk.

He put my leg down and smoothed his hand over my stomach. His shimmering red eyes lifted to meet mine as he lifted my hips up. I grabbed the pillow behind my head and nodded.

He gave me a smile then finally pressed in. I watched him sink the head of his cock in before throwing my head back and squeezing my eyes shut.

"Just breathe, darling," he instructed. "Breathe through it."

Stars danced behind my eyelids as he gradually pushed further and further. It felt like forever until he was flush against my crotch. I could feel him everywhere.

"Darling," he called softly, though his voice was rather husk. I didn't respond as I was too busy fisting the pillow and trying to breathe through the pain. "Darling, relax your body. The hard part is over."

I tried a few more breaths before I finally managed to relax my grip on the pillow, then my shoulders, and finally my legs. He leaned down and kissed my chest directly between my breasts.

Then he started to move. His breathing became ragged and I finally opened my eyes to look at him. Seeing his hair sticking to his face and neck, and seeing the way his mouth hung open, suddenly made all the pain go away.

He grabbed my hand and threaded our fingers, still thrusting into my hips and causing wet sounds to echo off the walls. My own breathing became erratic. I squeezed his hand as my back arched off the mattress.

I became aware of the sounds I was making and tried to dampen them into breathy, quiet moans. Alastor rolled his hips then paused, hilt deep as kissed me and slid his tongue along my lips.

"Don't do that," he said through his heavy breathing. "Let me hear you."

"But you're not," I countered. He rolled his hips again and growled in my ear as he did. It made my stomach twist. 

"Oh, but I can."

He bit right above my collarbone then began thrusting again. He breathed in my ear as I started to moan. Every time he growled, I squeezed him tighter.

"Use your nails." He said in between thrusts. "Draw blood."

I did as he said and he moaned long and loud in my ear. I did the same as I locked my legs around his waist and changed the angle. His other arm was still holding my hips up but I could tell he was getting tired.

"Alastor," I whispered.

I felt his whole body shiver. "Say that again."

"Alastor." I dug my claws in his fur and he moaned against my neck, sending vibrations all the way down my body. "Alastor," I whined.

"Keep saying it."

"Alastor."

The jewelry on his antlers swayed with every thrust that went deeper and deeper. He let go of my hand to prop himself up better. My voice pitched higher the closer I reached my climax.

"L-Love," he stammered. "I'm...close."

"Almost," I whispered back.

His breath brushed my face as he focused solely on continuing. He was getting tired and sloppy, but the intensity didn't let up. I savored the feeling of his hips connecting with mine and of his gasps in my ear.

"Alastor." I grabbed a fistful of fur then dig my nails in his back again. He moaned louder than before and his hips stuttered. "I'm close, Alastor."

He pressed his teeth in my neck.

"Right there," I whispered. "Right there. Oh right there. Alastor...please...don't stop."

My head tilted up and my back arched into him. He straight up growled in my ear as I reached my climax and cried his name. I lost the ability to breathe as my mouth hung open and my legs convulsed on their own.

He reached his climax a moment later and fell over it with a long, husked moan. I felt him twitch inside me and the warmth of his seed fill the condom pressing against my walls.

Tears pricked at the corner of my eyes as the heat dwindled with my climax. I managed to take a few deep breaths before Alastor collapsed on top of me, his arm bent in a way to keep some of his weight up.

We laid like that for several moments just trying to catch our breath. My mind was entirely blank as I stared up at the ceiling and savored the feeling of him on top of me.

Eventually our breathing began to match, and we blinked back to reality. He propped himself up on shaky arms and we looked at each other. Then smiled. He kissed my sweaty forehead and then my lips.

He carefully pulled out and I tried not to whimper at the empty feeling. He leaned back on his heels and removed the condom. His other hand gently rubbed one of my legs before he stood off the bed.

My eyes locked on his red tail that kept twitching as he walked across the room to drop the condom in a wastebasket near his desk. He glanced over his shoulder and caught me looking, so I turned away and curled up so I didn't feel so exposed.

He walked around the other side of the bed, the side I was facing, and looked down at me. I ignored his stare and focused on the drapes just barely covering the doors. There were no other balconies this high up, but it still left me worrying if anyone had seen in or heard us.

Alastor sat on the edge of the bed and pushed hair out of my face. I continued to stare into nothing as his hand trailed over the dips of my body.

He propped his arm behind me so he could lean closer to my face. "Stop hiding from me."

"I'm not hiding," I mumbled. Something in my tone must've given away the flood of tears I was struggling to suppress because he slid his hand underneath me and pulled me up to a sitting position. He shifted behind me and leaned my back against his chest. He wrapped his long arms around my crossed ones and held me close, chin resting on the top of my head.

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't stop the tears. I was confused and embarrassed and upset. I shouldn't be crying. I had wanted to have sex with him. I shouldn't be crying.

"Let it out," he said softly. That just made it worse. I covered my face with my hands as more and more ugly sobs escaped me.

Somehow he managed to turn me around so I could cry into his chest, my fingers pulling on little strands of fur. He kept one arm around my shoulders while the other smoothed down my hair.

Finally, after what felt like an hour, I had calmed down enough to take a deep breath. Alastor breathed with me and the rise and fall of his chest was incredibly therapeutic.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled into his fur.

"You have nothing to apologize for."

"I don't...I don't know why that happened."

"It doesn't matter." He kissed the top of my head and gave me a gentle squeeze. "Let's take a bath, shall we?"

The idea of a warm bath was very very appealing. Taking in the suddenly cold temperature of the room, I nodded. "That would be nice."

"Good." He hooked his arm under my knees and stood up. I dropped my head on his shoulder and threaded my fingers through his fur as he carried me down the hall.

I smiled to myself but he must've felt it because he said, "What is it?"

I debated not saying anything, but then I ignored that impulse. "Does this mean I can touch your tail?"

He let out an annoyed sigh then gently placed me on the flat edge of the tub. I winced at the pain while he turned on the hot water and ran his hand under it until it was warm enough.

He stepped in first then lowered me into the hot water. It took me a minute to adjust to the scalding temperature, but then I leaned back against his chest in contentment.

He rubbed his face against the top of my head and ran his hands over my thighs. "You're wonderful," he murmured.

I closed my eyes and let my head rest on his shoulder. Our magic was dancing in the air and melting with one another as we tried to wrap ourselves in each other's soul.