"Get up."

The harsh, deep voice came with the rattling of bars, awaking not one presence, but two. However, the second was far weaker, and quickly squashed by the first as Tachir' raised their head from the cold, dungeon floor. After all, she had no need for the boy right now, nor did she ever, really. Like most Humans, he was a hindrance at best, good only for a body to finish out her mission.

Speaking of missions— Hands with long, sharp nails pushed up to sitting, and she crossed the boy's legs to look at the haggard Cearte before them, unkempt and unshaven despite his status. "What do you want, Cedric?"

The man's grey eyes narrowed. "I wish to speak to my son."

"Hmm..." She pretended to consider it, swishing a dog-like tail behind her. Then she stopped, raising her brows to give the Cearte a smirk. "No. Now is that all you wanted, because if so, I'm returning to my nap."

So saying, she rolled onto her side to face the same, bleary walls as always, and closed the boy's eyes. One day, she'd get out of this place. One day, she'd find that Basilisk and tear him to shreds like she should have so long ago. The thought shot panicked fear through their chest, but that too, she ignored. She could agree with Cynwrig that the Human boy would indeed be a sorry loss... but again, he was Human. He would be reincarnated, as he was supposed to.

It was the other who needed to learn to stop doing that.

"If you give me a moment with him, I will let you out."

Her fluffy ears pricked up at that. "Oh?" She flipped herself around once more, tipping her neck to try and work out the kinks there. If she was going to be let out, she needed to make sure she was in peak condition to slaughter the heathen. "Why the sudden change in heart? Did you finally realise that I'm far more efficient at this than you?"

"No." The man sounded frustrated, but his pale face remained blank. "Our goals simply align now, and I'm giving you a mission. Complete it successfully, and your freedom will be permanent."

Tachir' only laughed. Free. What a silly, stupid concept. "I don't get to be free, mortal. My task is to kill the one who makes a mockery of death. Over, and over, and over until they learn their place. For however many bodies that takes, however many lives that takes, I will never be free, and will be forced to continuously live in this cursed, wretched form until that task is finally complete."

Then she waved a lazy hand. "But I still would like to enjoy the sunshine while it lasts, so if you really wish to speak with the boy, then so be it."

It was actually more difficult to pull back than it was to come in. It was like choosing to drown as the subconscious came to claim its prize in waves. Fitting, considering that Cynwrig's were a soft, hazy blue, much like the ocean used to be, back before the Basilisk had begun their reign of terror. But now the rage was subsiding, falling away into nothing as the thoughts of another washed over, rising to the surface. A sharp, bitter sensation passed by, but in a slowly numbing body, it lasted for only a moment, and then that too, was gone.

An empty hollowness sat in their lungs, and the first thing Cynwrig did was desperately try to fill them as he flung open grey eyes. He frantically scanned his surroundings, but it was the same cells as ever, the only thing different being the tall silhouette of his father before him, standing in bloodied, white robes.

The sight of them made his cheeks burn in shame, and he cast his gaze to the floor. "Did... Did I do that to you?"

His father drew in a deep breath, turning to grab a stool which he dragged over to the cell's edge. He looked tired, worn in a way that made regret dig claws into Cynwrig's stomach. "No. You've remained locked here the entire time, so don't worry about that."

His tone was flat, but that was hardly surprising. Cynwrig hadn't heard joy in it since the day he'd killed his own mother.

The thought didn't have to stick in his mind long for the image to stain his thoughts with shredded clothes and blonde hair matted in crimson. A warm, sticky feeling coated his fingers, and he hastily scratched them on the floor, ignoring its grating burn. Perhaps his own blood would wash away the feeling of another. He could only pray.

But his father had said that he hadn't caused the marks upon his clothes, which only raised more questions. "So then, who did all of that?"

He sighed, clutching at his arm. "The same guard who let you escape back in Ulnter, but he isn't important." He shook his head, tossing dark brown hair limp with sweat. "Cynwrig, I need you to listen to me very carefully. He's working for Gavin."

"Gavin?" Cynwrig flung himself forward, though his legs instantly crumpled beneath him from atrophy, causing him to stumble into the bars. He gripped them tight, hope shining in his eyes even as worry tore at his breath. "He's still alive? He's here? Where is he?"

"Cynwrig," his father warned, and he tried not to wince. "As I just said, the Demon was working for him. He's doing it again."

The words made him freeze, until all he could do was blink at him. But he was wrong. He had to be. The last time Gavin had come after the Cearte, he'd been dragged along by that Eunsi Dávoln. He'd been tricked, and last Cynwrig had ever heard, the girl had been killed and Gavin carted off to Malin, from what he'd only assumed would end with the same result. The fact that he was still alive was a blessing, but for him to be trying to take the Relics once again...

Cynwrig shook his head, giving his father an uneasy smile. "No. That can't be right. He's better than that."

"What your brother actually wants matters very little when he's got that selfish bastard inside of him," Tachir' pointed out, each thought making Cynwrig's head throb. So the Demon hadn't disappeared entirely then. Then again, why would she? As if she'd ever allow Cynwrig something as simple as control in his life ever again.

"No, he's not," his father answered, tearing Cynwrig out of his head and back into the real world. "That's what I need to explain to you. He came in here with several other criminals, including what we can only assume is a half Shar Drak'na, and slaughtered nearly everyone."

No... His heart plummeted. "Everyone?"

"Save for myself and about four others, yes." He gave a deep sigh, folding his hands and fixing Cynwrig a solid stare, made heavy with the weight of responsibility. "The point is the same as ever. He's a traitor. To us, to the gods, and to himself. I don't know what he wants the Relics for, but whether it's for his Demon, or not, he's willing to do anything to get his hands on them."

A horrid, tight feeling sunk into him, deeper than the chill of the humid, dungeon air to his bones. "Why are you telling me all this? I'm just a prisoner."

"Because we're leaving." It was then that he saw his father remove a heavy key from his pocket, moving it closer to the door.

"No! You can't!" Cynwrig cried, flinging himself against the bars. Anything to hold it shut. "I'll lose control. I'll kill people! You can't let me out! She's mad. She wants me to find Gavin and—"

He cut himself off sharply as the turn of a lock echoed in his forever wolfish ears. "... you need me to kill him."

"Aye." The man swung open a door with a cold look, one that Cynwrig had always hated whenever his brother was brought up. "There's no one left to hold you here, and I've been sent to hunt him down. So you can either come with me... or this is the end for you."

It was then that his composure broke slightly, a crack in his perfected placidity. It came as the licking of lips, the slight drooping of shoulders, but Cynwrig knew it was more than just that. It wasn't simply sympathy. No. This was worse. This was his blatant favouritism rearing its ugly head once more, and this time, he refused to take advantage of it.

Not at Gavin's expense.

Anger flashed through him, and Cynwrig straightened himself to full height, meeting his father's eyes. "Then draw your sword. I'm not killing him. He—" Tears pricked at his eyes as he remembered Gavin begging to train with him as a child, dragging out board games, demanding they play round after round together. "He doesn't deserve that."

His father's face twisted with rage. "He's going to be the death of us all, Cynwrig!"

The shout echoed across the dungeon, followed by heavy pants as his father glared at him. "Do you know why we keep the Relics apart despite that being the only way the gods have to reach us?"

Cynwrig drew back. "I assume you don't want a Dávoln having a wish granted."

The man turned, waving for him to follow, and, with Tachir's presence continuing to stay muted, he fell in step behind his father, watching the black boots find their way through the dreary halls. "The Relics are simply an extension of the gods' Wills, and the gods' do not support heathens. Even if they are collected, why would they ever lend a wish to him?"

Cynwirg bit his lip, mulling it over as they reached a trunk. Inside lay a few items: clothes, a coin pouch, a necklace, all beside a spear with a tip of pure black. Duststone: the only thing that could block magik, or– more importantly– a Dávoln's healing. All were his, but the sight of them only served as a harsh reminder of coming back to all he'd tried to leave behind. "They wouldn't."

"Exactly. The issue isn't that he's going to get whatever he wishes. It's that he's taking away the very artefacts the gods entrusted to us to keep the order. If his Demon gets ahold of all the Relics..."

A sharp breath tore through Cynwrig's lungs. "The gods' can't enforce their Will on the world anymore."

His father nodded, lifting his spear and handing it to him. "And once that happens, all ability to use magik will disappear. The world will descend into Chaos, and they'll come for us."

"And that's if the Basilisk doesn't try to use the Relics to worsen the Dust. They already brought that plague upon us once. With that much power, they could easily finish what they started."

After a heavy silence, his father continued, "So I don't care if your Demon is violent. It doesn't matter anymore. We either stop Gavin's now, or you're willing the entire planet to death." He brought the spear higher, voice cold as steel, though Cynwrig could barely register it over the pounding in his ears. "You can either take it or have it be plunged through your heart, but just know that doing so only puts more blood on your hands."

"The choice is yours."

☽◯☾

Warm sunshine beat against his eyes, and Gavin opened them to find himself sprawled out against a log, in a small, forest clearing with the others lying asleep around him. Everyone but Talus, anyway, he noticed as he continued to glance around. Perhaps the Shar Drak'na was alleviating himself, or blended with the shadows again. Either way, Gavin supposed it didn't really matter, so he didn't know why he was continuing to think about it. He had things to do.

The first was to cough as he finally tasted the dry, ashen flavour of Dust forming a flaky coating along the roof of his mouth: courtesy of spending a night sleeping outdoors for the first in a long time. Rumbling the back of his throat, he spat the black gook out, running his tongue over his teeth to hopefully clear the rest of it away.

We really ought to have asked Róhain if he had masks before leaving.

Not that he was all that concerned about the Dust killing him. He still had quite a few years before it built up enough in his lungs to instil the Black Death, especially given the lifespan of a Dávoln, but he still hated the taste. Then again, Aoife was Human. He felt as though she should've been given the same, long, bird-like mask wandering apothecaries wore. Magik or not, he doubted she lived longer than any other Human. Róhain should've cared enough to supply her that much.

Well, whatever. It wasn't his problem, and much like Talus' disappearance, he wasn't sure why he was wasting so much time being concerned about the others' well-being.

And so he turned to his side where his quiver lay attached at his hip, most of the arrows nestled inside. One was missing, bringing what had once been ten and two arrows down to ten and one, but Gavin supposed so long as he had more than nine, that was a good sign. He eased one out of the quiver, lining the cold, metal tip with one of his fangs, tail curled behind him as he clamped the notch between his boots and placed his fingers at his temples.

It ached slightly, massaging at the venom glands nestled there and at his cheekbones, but it was only because he'd missed keeping up with what was meant to be a daily routine for nearly a week now, leaving them stiff and overfilled. At least that meant it flowed out of him easily enough, the other side left to drip on the grass. He watched the violet liquid hiss as it ate holes through the leaves there, much like the black rain after a good storm. A wet sensation brushed against his tooth, and he pulled the first finished arrow away, wiping off his mouth with his hand, where it had no effect. One done, several more to go.

"Oh wow! You poison the arrow yourself? That's so clever! Did you come up with that?"

Gavin jolted at the sudden voice behind him, heart leaping to his ears. Sure enough, behind him, sitting in the shade of a tree, was Talus. In his claws was a simple knife and half-carved branch, the shaved pieces of which lay around him, meaning he'd been up and at it for quite some time.

I just... didn't hear him? Perhaps Eldrazi was right about his hearing. Not that he could see a wandering apothecary even if they did come across one. The second they let his blood to fix it, he'd heal and be caught for sure. So the ailment would most likely continue to pump through him for the rest of this life until he reincarnated. But that was a far off future. He still planned to live for a good while.

"Um, yes?" Gavin finally managed to answer, although he'd forgotten most of the questions already. With a flick of his tail, he pushed himself up, bringing his things with him so he could take a seat in the shade closer to Talus. It was cooler there, a feeling that instantly settled in his blood, but it wasn't enough to freeze it in his veins, and so he stayed, mustering up the energy to give the Shar Drak'na a smile. "My father designed these for me when I was little. I've been doing it my whole life."

"Genius." He nodded before angling the knife back into the wood, shaving off another strip. "Wish my father had thought of doing something creative to channel the poison. That's far more useful."

Gavin had stuck another arrow in his mouth by this point, but could hardly take it out with it only half done, forcing him to do his best to speak around it. "Whut d' y' mean, p'son?" It was then that he felt the arrow top off, and he unhooked his face from it for the rest of the question. "I thought you said Shar Drak'na didn't actually have that."

"What?" He paused carving to give him a confused look, before it seemed to hit him. "Oh! You mean back when I shook your hand. Sorry, maybe I explained it badly, but I'm still half-Human, so the markings aren't poisonous to touch for me." He held up the dark, pointed tips of his fingers, letting a pitch black ooze leak from them. "It's only if I scratch someone." He shrugged. "But my father's entire body could be poisonous if he chose. So I guess if you can kill people with a touch, you don't really need a weapon at that point."

The very concept of dying that easily made Gavin shudder. "Your father sounds like a terrifying man."

He gave a soft, sad smile, jagged teeth opening and closing, but nothing coming out for a while, and when he did speak, it was quiet. "That's how they saw him, yes."

"Oh." Gavin immediately snapped his own mouth shut. Right. They were all a bunch of heathens barely managing to dodge the Cearte's reign. Why would any of their parents be anything but a touchy subject? "I'm... sorry. I meant it out of respect."

Talus only chuckled. "I know. I'm not taking it that way. I just..." He tipped his head back, his bright, blue eye looking up at a grey sky that could only manage to be anything but. "I don't know. I guess I just miss him."

With the arrows finally finished, Gavin slid them into his quiver, giving Talus a glance over. Usually when people got like this, they either very much wanted someone to talk to, or needed to be left alone, and with Eldrazi's obnoxious snoring echoing in the back of his mind, he had no access to his empathy at the moment. So instead he was left to figure it out on his own. Right now, the boy was reclined back, one leg out with the other propping up a single, bent arm, all the while, the same regretful, yet wistful look on his face. It seemed open, and so Gavin decided to press. "What was he like?"

"Father?" He turned to Gavin, giving him another small laugh. "He was my best friend, my teacher, my- my Veki." He circled a hand, trying to find words. "He helped me take my first step into the shadows, always found me whenever I hid from mom-" That time the laugh sounded more genuine. "-and he was always there for me whenever I needed him. Well, they both were, really."

The idea brought a smile to Gavin's own face, and he curled up his knees, resting his head on them to give Talus a sideways look. "They both sound like wonderful people."

He nodded happily, returning to shaving the branch, the end starting to form into a fluffy tail. "They were the best."

Gavin watched him continue to work at it, glad that he was at least able to cheer him up. The ache of losing a parent like that always weighed heavily, and if he could help ease that pain from another, even for a moment... It was worth it. He went to change the subject, eyes landing on Aoife and Selatan still curled up, asleep. "So, how long have you known the others?"

His face instantly darkened, the knife suddenly shooting out until the end lodged deep into the pad of his left hand. "Ever since Róhain killed my father."

"What?" The question tumbled out of Gavin's mouth as his attention darted to the other problem. Before he could think, he was grabbing the knife out of Talus' hand, inspecting the wound. His skin, the black blood leaking out, it all felt cold to the touch, but Gavin ignored it, grabbing at the edge of his cloak to press it tightly over the cut in panic.

"Hm? What's the matter?" Eldrazi asked with a small yawn in the back of his mind. "Why are you all wound up for once?"

Gavin didn't say anything, far more concerned with holding Talus' hand tight. "Are you all right?"

"Oh yes! I'm fine! Completely!" For some reason, there was a blush behind his usually pale cheeks, his dark blood turning them a greyish tone all while his black boot frantically tapped on the ground. "Thank you."

"Oh. I see."

Gavin gave a deep sigh, eventually letting him go. He couldn't tell why Talus would be so embarrassed from such a small cut. Things like that happened. "Keep the pressure on it, and watch the direction you're cutting next time."

"Mhm. Will do." He took hold of it, pressing the fabric in further. "... Sorry to stain your cloak."

Gavin scoffed. "That's hardly an issue." He lifted the other end, both the green exterior and brown lining covered in long faded patches of red. "It wasn't washed in the four years I spent in prison, and I've long since given up on it ever looking nice again." Then the smile fell off his face, and he hated what he was about to ask. "But... about what you said before. About Róhain—"

"Oh, sorry." Talus waved it off with an apologetic grin. "He's not going to kill you, if that's what you're worried about."

It actually had been exactly what Gavin was worried about, but he was hardly about to admit that to him. Instead he cocked his head. "No, I just... He really did that?"

He turned his head away once again, the dark patterns snaking across his skin, closer and closer to his face. "I mean, I assume so. He's never said it before, but sometimes, when I ask about it, he gets this horrible look in his eyes. I-I think he believes I'll never forgive him for it, but—" He shrugged. "At the end of the day, he did everything he could for me. I can't hate him for that. He's the reason I'm still here."

"So then what happened?" Gavin asked, propping himself to sit in a more comfortable position besides Talus. The only thing he could remember him mentioning was that Róhain had taken care of him since he was a child, nothing more, so anything besides that...

"Well, I suppose nothing too out of the ordinary." The carving was back in his hands, the bleeding having stopped enough that he could flip it around again and again. "I'm a Halfbreed, and Mom did her best to hide both me and Veki for years. Of course, it got hard at times, when he would go out and cause trouble, but we moved around a lot, and were fine. But, eventually, I guess the itch built up too much and, well—"

"And what?"

He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "Remember how I've said before that Shar Drak'na have eaten infants to alleviate the Chaos?"

The phantom feeling of a knife against his skin returned, making Gavin shrink. "...oh!"

Talus hummed a bit before continuing. "The Cearte caught us that time. I was incredibly little, but I remember three of them breaking into our house. I don't know which was which because I immediately went to the shadows, but one of them stabbed Veki, Mom was grabbed by the hair, and the- the sword went through her throat."

He paused to take a deep breath, and Gavin pretended not to notice him rubbing at his face. "I tried to attack them, but I couldn't speak Tðna then, and the one grabbed me and snapped my wrist over her knee before I could control the shadows anyway. Then another scooped me up, dragging me out the door and saying he'd take care of me."

He shook his head, the blank smile returning. "I thought I was going to be killed, but when he brought me out, he just whispered 'sorry' in my ear and started running. He didn't stop until we were out of where we'd been staked in Ulnter, and all the way in Human territory. I haven't been out since."

Everything fell quiet after that, save for the small stirring of Aoife and Selatan getting up in the distance. Gavin stared at his shoes, at the blades of grasses poking out around them. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's not your fault the Cearte's laws are so strict."

Gavin winced. "But it is! If I hadn't caused Tachir' to incite a massacre, things wouldn't be like this! There wouldn't even be a war!" He whipped his head to look at Talus, regret flooding through him before it was reeled back by the same strange, apathetic force as ever. "It's all my fault."

Talus sat there, looking at the carving in his hand one more time. "Well, maybe it is but..." He paused, seeming to choose his words carefully, gaze drifting to Aoife in the distance. "Don't you think that we've all done things we're not proud of? Don't you think we deserve to forgive each other and move on? That's why we're on this mission, right? To make new beginnings for ourselves. After all, it's not like you can't fix the past, only the future."

Gavin bit his lip, mulling his words over. It wasn't just him, he supposed. Róhain had regrets, and with the way Talus spoke, he could only assume he had several of his own, and he agreed that both in the end should be forgiven, no matter the act. So was Talus right then? Was he supposed to forgive himself and cast aside the plan, using the Relics for exactly what he'd claimed he would?

"You can always do that, ya know."

His heart softened a bit at the Demon's voice, a wince pulling at his face as his shoulders relaxed. "Talus, if I'm being honest, I—"

"What are you two chatting 'bout over here?"

And again, someone had managed to sneak up on him, this time Aoife. His head snapped up, and he gave her a smile, though this one was much harder to plaster on his face than the last several. "Oh, nothing. What do you need, Aoife?"

"Don't even get me started," Aoife said, before immediately getting started. "A shower, new clothes, an entire new kneecap would be nice, and oh yeah, breakfast." She stopped counting on her fingers, head drooping in disappointment. "Gods. Adventuring always seemed a lot more fun in the stories."

"Well, we can help with the breakfast part at least!" Talus cut in, eager to push himself off the ground.

"We?" Gavin asked, tilting his head at him. He hardly remembered signing up for anything.

"Yes, we!" Talus laughed. "We're still in Durne, and I'm sure the forest has plenty of things to eat in it. Besides, we're a team now, so if we do anything, we do it together."

Together. The word echoed in his mind, bringing that soft feeling back.

"I agree!" Eldrazi announced, apparently awake enough to finally start talking for the day as Gavin's cheekbones itched once again. "I always said two's better than one for 'untin', and now we got three!"

"Great, so then I expect plenty of food when you come back, and I'll cook it. Sound good?" Aoife asked, and strangely Gavin could hardly be bothered by the sudden volunteering on Talus' part.

"That sounds great." He nodded at her, turning to face the forest where Talus was heading, jumping from shadow to shadow to get a good head start. Already, Eldrazi was filling their body with energy, readying him for whatever lay ahead of them next. All of them.

"We'll be back soon."