Bezel sunk into the wooden basin until his chin rested at the surface of the tepid water. If it had ever been warm, Bezel didn't know but it certainly couldn't be now. He had scrubbed at his flesh until it risked peeling and had tugged at his hair until it had risked pulling, but he couldn't be sure it was enough. The filth of the pit was bone deep. A sickening acidic scent on the surface of him that he was sure would remain for the rest of his near-eternal life. 

The wooden tub was cramped. Made even smaller by the fluttering organs attached to his spine. They seemed to operate under different rules than the rest of Bezel's husk. Each time the water reached for them, they splashed in panic. Until Bezel had enough of the display and had pressed them into the wall of the tub, stifling with the broad of his back. 

"Devil," A woman's voice called softly from the other side of the privacy canvas. The tub was inside of the one room cabin, only kept hidden by a thick white blanket hung over a fraying rope. "Clothes here for ya. I had nothin' for ya wings so I had to make some adjustments."

"Thank you." Bezel replied, forcing his tone higher to convey what he hoped seemed like genuine gratitude.

"Aye," Vahn said in a clipped way that told Bezel he hadn't quite nailed his intentions. "Hurry an' eat. Or the gals'll be licking out the pot before ya have boots on." 

"Noted." Bezel nodded to himself--or because the shadow of him was clear on the canvas and he had a never ending performance to uphold. "And, uh, again. . . thanks." 

Vahn's form on the other side of the blanket was still for awhile before she breathed out softly and exited the cabin, closing the door firmly behind her.  Bezel lifted himself from the lukewarm water and swooped to pull free the drain plug. With a gurgling sound, the water began to flood down a short pipe that unceremoniously dumped it into a patch of grass behind the cabin. Vernvalt had explained the process of bucketing in fresh water and disposing of it into the lawn when Bezel had first been asked to crank the well. It seemed he had looked disturbed by the man-made effort required and she had been attempting to sooth him. It was harder than he anticipated to suddenly shed the image he had been crafting for himself in New York. One of a well made man who would never dream of bathing in cold ground water. 

With a towel that must have been three flour sacks stitched together, Bezel dried the chilling droplets from his body. The material was rough with frayed strings that scraped at his skin, but the pain was as unfeeling as the discomfort. His sharp golden eyes traced the skin the towel glided down. The dirt, smoke, ash, mud, and New York lake water was gone. Wiped away as if had never occured at all. Leaving only olive-toned skin that was dull and lifeless. Corpse like. 

Bezel scrubbed at his skin as thoroughly as he had when he had been filthy, until he was dried but unsatisfied. Something was different. Something still clung to him, no matter how much skin he shed or soap he wasted. There was a shifted sense of difference in the back reaches of his skull. 

Bezel exhaled forcefully, as if trying to clear a bug from his lungs, and reached past the white canvas to claim the clothes Vahn had left for him. They were simple but well kept. There was no fast fashion or luxury brands in Avernus. Everything was handmade and passed down for generations. The Faun that had made the journey to Eden, Bezel's club in the Meatpacking District of the city, always stuck out at first because of it. Luckily, it was New York. So very few people ever cared to stop and ask what a gaggle of Pioneer enactors were doing on the bank of the Hudson river. 

Bezel stepped into the brown tweed pants. They were rather featureless. With no branding stamped along the waist, no pockets to either side, and no fanciful stitchings. They only had a single silver button that Bezel clasped together to rest over the mid-way point of his stomach. The legs were just a touch too long--which seemed nearly impossible. Bezel had always known he was tall. Taller than almost all Faun--at head level, he had seen horns that made him seem five feet smaller. And taller than most Heimrians. The thought came with the glimpses of blond hair and ice-cold blue eyes trained on his throat, as if preparing to rip it out. Bezel pushed the notion away and rolled the pant legs to cup around his ankles. 

The shirt was much the same. Simple, loose-fitting. A snow-pure white button-up with sleeves that puffed up each time they were moved. He turned the shirt around, staring at the flat back. The fabric had been ripped. Two identical slits that ran the length of his shoulder blades. They were a little uneven but tolerable. Vahn must have done it in a hurry. 

Bezel slipped the soft material over his arms, carefully twisting and wincing until his wings aided him by shifting into the openings on the back of the blouse. He gave a testing flap. The wings hardly obeyed, buzzing with a couple more than just a testing flinch. He tried to still them but they kicked up dust and wind, a mind of their own. 

He trained his fingers on lacing together the front of the shirt, working along the silver fixtures that ran parallel to the pink skin carved along the center of Bezel's chest. The scar was older than most Heimrian empires and had been forgotten all the same--just a relic of a life that felt more and more imaginary each passing day. 

The top button rested just beneath Bezel's clavicle, making a large neckline that drifted lazily across his broad shoulders. The jagged tip of his raised scar was visible where the buttons met. Bezel slung a stiff black cloak over his shoulders, tightening it with a ribbon until he was sure it rested over his folded in wings. They seemed to go dormant as the fabric moved over them, lulling them into a settled state. 

There were no socks--Fauns didn't need socks. He was lucky they even had boots. In fact, it bordered on curious but he chose not to think too deeply about the suspicious amounts of helpfulness and jammed his feet into the worn leather, lacing them up over his ankles. There was no mirror to inspect himself in--perhaps for the best. Bezel ran his fingers through his black hair, using the residuals wetness to keep it flattened off his face. If it had been up to him, he would have let it grow endlessly but Heimrians were incredibly vain and they had ideas about how business men were to look. So, with the help of only twenty-two fashion magazines Mayvalt had curated what she claimed to be the perfect look for him. His hair had been shortened around his neck and ears but left longer and gelled along the top. Gel--well, that was another thing they didn't have in Avernus. 

Bezel sauntered out of the dim dirt floor hut, joining the large family of Faun in their humble outdoor kitchen. Vahn was stooped over the steam-producing cauldron, a large wooden ladle stirring the bubbling brown broth. The oldest girl, Tuli, was holding a carved wooden bowl. Her mother filled it with watery broth and Tuli passed it obediently to Vernvalt, who was sat on a stump with a grin across her face. Tuli grabbed another bowl and held still as her mother filled it again before passing it to the other girl, Wen, who accepted it with a murmured word of thanks and plopped down on a rock a couple paces from the heat of the cooking fire. The second eldest Usil, he guessed because she stayed near the fire as the youngest were served, accepted a serving from her mother but stayed nearby as Vahn turned her attention back to the pot.

Their eyes turned to Bezel as he neared them. Tuli seemed weary of him, Vernvalt giddy, Wen indifferent, Usil curious, and Vahn impressed. She huffed loudly, placing one curled fist on her hip. "Well, devil. Ya clean up, aye?"

He looked down at his second--or third, or seventh--hand clothes and shrugged. He didn't know what was so special about his appearance. He did appreciate the lack of visible filth mucked to his skin and stiff in his hair, though. "Thank you for the clothes. I don't have a way to repay you now but-" 

"Oh, hush, devil." Vahn snorted. She filled another bowl for Tuli who seemed lost in thought, her eyes reflecting on the surface of the thin soup. "This is what we do." 

"Your family?" Bezel asked, head tilted. 

"Faun." She corrected softly. She didn't call herself a Satyr, he noted. So despite her place along the forest's edge and with the heavy lit of her tongue, she still felt Faunish enough. "We look out for each other. When ya the smallest around, the only way to get big is to stand on someone else's shoulders." 

"I'm not a Faun." Bezel said. 

"Aye," Vahn smiled warmly, "but ya got that look, devil. Like ya've had ya shoulders under quite a few hooves." 

Bezel shrugged. Tuli crept closer, skittish as a newborn fawn, and held up the bowl of broth to him. She kept her eyes trained on her skirts, a pink flush of alarm set in her cheeks. "F-for you." 

Bezel accepted it carefully. "Thank you, Tuli." 

She flinched upon hearing her name in the stranger's mouth before dashing back to her mother's side. Vahn smiled warmly at her daughter, pulling her in close to place a proud kiss on the space of hair between her two pronged horns. She served one more bowl for her eldest who accepted it with murmured gratitude and took a seat on the grass beside Vernvalt's wooden stump. 

Vahn gestured at Bezel to come closer. She pointed her finger at a large enough rock along the border of the cooking pit. He nodded and walked over as ordered. As gracefully as he could manage, he balanced himself on the gray stone with the hot wooden bowl nestled between his legs. Steam rose from the brown liquid, it filled his nose and warmed the skin of his cheeks. 

The Faunish family all seemed to be waiting for something. As Vahn took her place across from Bezel, perched on the side of a log nestled beside Usil, they settled into contentment. Their bowls were nearly ignored, placed on the grass or held in laps, as idle chatter filled the air. Usil spoke softly about her progress in their garden. Vegetables on the cusp of production, few beetles, and good weather if the scent of the wind was any indication. Tuli added commentary about rumors she had heard from town--whisperings that the only general store in town would be closing soon. She sniffled nervously, casting eyes at Bezel before adding that the family had been ordered by their patron to stop working. 

"Patron," Vahn scowled. "Such a mockin' word." 

Bezel's ears twitched. His mind filled with imaged of white-feathered Ely and brown-robed Heimrians. The sort that were more common in the days of war, the Heimrians who called themselves saints and prophets. "Patrons?" He poked.

Vahn tilted her head curiously at him, her lips pursed. "Devil or not, how 'ave ya no idea of patrons?" 

Bezel forced a light shrug to his cloaked shoulders. "I'm not from around here." 

"He fell from the sky!" Vernvalt chirped. Her sister's eyes grew wider at the declaration but Bezel didn't elaborate and so they fell back into curious listening, not pushing any further. 

Vahn eyed Bezel suspiciously before blowing a sigh from her nose and shaking her head. "For some reason, I believe that. Patrons are-" 

"Sap-suckers." Wen snapped. Vernvalt giggled, Tuli flushed, Usil widened her eyes, but Vahn just nodded her humble agreement. 

"Aye, indeed." She shrugged. She glanced down at her bowl. The steam had stopped curling from the broth and she dipped her spoon into it. Seemingly waiting for that signal, her daughters began to sip at their own bowls of cooled broth. "When the Trammel began to fade an' Beasts started comin' back up from the pit, Fauns were defenseless. We 'ave never been the fighting back sort, ya hear? It was. . . very bad. For very many nights. Fauns lost. Homes wrecked." 

"What about the Fifth Prince?" Bezel interrupted, his mock surprise flying up on stage more easily than some of his other feigned emotions. "I was told the Fifth Prince was here-" 

"Aye." Vahn growled out between her clenched teeth. "The Fifth Prince is down there." She gestured with her chin stiffly, casting a hateful look down the rolling hills to the center of Heneth's bubbling town square. "Sittin' all pretty in 'er little castle." 

"You mean--she did nothing?" Bezel echoed, his tone too lost for his liking. 

Vahn nodded, her face grim. "Says it ain't 'er place but that did nothin' to stop 'er from takin' so many Fauns into her castle. For. . . well. Likely much of the same reason the patrons take Faun." 

The patrons again. "So the patrons?" 

"Devils." Vahn shuddered despite the heat of the cooking fire. "They came and started pickin' off Faun--not killin' 'em. Though, some days I think that would have been easier. They want control. To keep Faun like pets. Ya sign a contract with a patron and they protect ya from Beasts--for everything ya have. A place in yer home, the food in yer stores, the right to command yer dress, walk, speech, the way ya consume air." 

"A contract?" Bezel puzzled. He realized that all the Fauns were half way into their soups, so he filled the body of his spoon and brought it to his mouth. It was tasteless, nearly water. Whatever made this a soup--it wasn't in Bezel's bowl. He saw a few mushroom stems floating at the top of Vernvalt's bowl. Usil nibbled on the head of a mushroom, Tuli lapped at her watery lunch bleakly. 

"It was the Fifth Prince's command." Vernvalt piped up between mouthfuls of thin broth. 

Bezel eyed Vahn wearily. To his surprise, she agreed with a huff. "Thought she was doin' us a mercy, suppose. Contracts are the only way a patron can seize yer life. An' it is at the whims of the Faun. The Faun can break it at any time, for any reason. . . but-" 

"They can't." Bezel guessed. "Not really." 

"Not without becoming defenseless again." Vahn muttered darkly. 

"You don't have one of these patrons--you seem alright." Bezel said, perhaps a little less than wisely but he had never been accused of overwhelming empathy. 

Vahn smirked ruefully, petting Usil's brown curls absentmindedly. "My pride prevents me. Some days, that pride is all we 'ave. I imagine a devil in mine home, control over mine gals, and my heart can not take it. Life would be kinder to us with a patron. My husband would not have been in the forest, seeking medicinal herbs for us when the Beast came. For example. Mine gals would not have mushroom broth for three meals a day, for another." 

Tuli set her bowl aside and rushed to her mother's side, wrapping her arms around her thin shoulders. Usil curled closer on the log, her eyes heavy with unnoticed tears. Wen and Vernvalt joined in her seconds, finding placement at her hooves leaning on her skirts. 

"It'll be okay, mama." Vernvalt said forcefully, as if her little voice held all the power to make it true. 

"It will, gals." Vahn agreed bravely. Her hands roamed from daughters to daughter, tangling into curls and stroking their pronged antlers. 

"I'll do something." Bezel said, spurred on before he could stop himself. Vahn's lips curled into a humored smile, her head shook and her laughter filled the outdoor kitchen. 

"What'll ya do, devil?" She asked. Her daughters turned in their spots, eyes finding Bezel with fragile hopes in place. 

"I'll. . .well," Bezel hesitated. This wasn't Eden. Whatever had gone wrong from Heneth and it's citizens had clearly been happening for awhile. The system had grown roots--and the problem was nearly unsolvable. Not without placing a new Trammel over the top of the pit. Something only the First Prince came close to having the power for. Power that had been eroded and weakened. "I. . . I haven't gotten that far yet. But, don't worry. I'll speak to the Fifth Prince." 

Vahn looked at Bezel like he was a fawn with his hands in the family's pie. She sighed and scowled. "Don' be silly. How will ya speak to the Fifth Prince?" 

"I was going there anyway." He said honestly. 

"To find ya friends, Mister?" Vernvalt squeaked. 

He nodded. 

"The Fifth Prince won' listen to ya, Bezel." Vahn lectured carefully. He was almost surprised that she remembered his name. Almost. "Don' waste ya time. Whatever ya came to this dark place for, it would be best to leave as soon as possible." 

Bezel stared down into his soup. "Honestly, I know you're right. She won't listen to me--she probably won't even want to see me. But I can't just do nothing." 

Vahn quirked an eyebrow, her motherly senses more keen than Bezel had anticipated. "Sounds bitter. Ya know the Prince, don' ya?" 

"We have history." Bezel agreed. "But I haven't seen her for centuries." 

Vernvalt's eyes popped wide, her mouth dropping. "Ya sister, Mister?" 

Vahn smiled lightly at her youngest, dragging her fingers through her hair. "Don' be silly, Vernie. If the Fifth Prince was 'is sister that would make 'im-" 

"The Third Prince of Hell." Bezel suggested with a well timed shrug of surrender. "Yes, it would." 

Vahn's look of astonishment spread across the little faces of her daughters. He set aside his cooling broth, prepared to be promptly banished from their home but the order never came. Neither did the fear or disgust he often found in the eyes of Faun. Vahn cleared her throat, flawlessly recovering from her shock. 

"Well," she laughed in disbelief. "Hostin' a Prince is not how I imagined my day goin'." 

"Yer really a Prince?" Wen gasped, looking interesting for the first time since Bezel had stumbled into their home. 

"For better or worse." He said, adding a playful grimace. "Mostly for worse." 

Vernvalt giggled in wild excitement and clapped her little hands together. "I found a Prince, mama! I'm picking berries there for the rest of my life!" 

Tuli leaned across her mother's lap and placed an affectionate flick across her little sister's pink nose. "I don' think Princes are gonna keep falling there, Vernie." 

"Ya never know." Vernvalt muttered sheepishly. 

Usil seemed skeptical about the declaration, her eyes narrowed and body pressed into her mother's dress. "If yer a Prince, why are ya here?" 

Bezel had to admit the question had merit. He forced up a theatrical sigh and crossed his arms over his chest. "Well, I won't bore you with my life's story. The short of it is that I think my brother is getting into trouble--and I guess I'm going to stop him." 

"The Second Prince." Vahn guessed, her eyes dark. 

Bezel nodded. "So you've heard about it, then? He sent an army into Heimr last summer."

Vahn tightened her lips, a grim expression taking root across her kind features. Tuli was the only daughter to mirror her look, the youngest three squinted up their eyebrows in confusion and tossed wide curious looks at their mother.

Vahn caught their questioning glances. "Last summer in Heimr. To us, that battle was long ago. Most mine gals were still little fawns. You suspect he could be up to somethin' again?"

Bezel shrugged weakly. "He's not the sort to give up--and since I've been volunteered, I'll do what I can to find out."

"Volunteered?" Vahn echoed, a ghost of a smirk across her lips.

"I sort of got roped into stopping it last summer--and ever since I've been getting dragged along. Honestly, I don't know what he's planning. It unsettles me to think he's been dormant all this time in Avernus but I know he won't give up until he sees Elysium pay for tossing us out. So, I'm going to fight him. Or. . . something." 

"That's honorable of ya." Vahn said. 

Bezel snorted his amusement and shook his head. "It's nothing like that. It's just. . . easier." 

She quirked a disbelieving eyebrow so Bezel explained. "I wasn't really doing anything anyway. I mean, I was sort of trying to solve this mystery my employee had put me on. And then this Heimrian brat came out of nowhere and talked all this useless garbage about rising up--I don't know why I came this far. Because he asked me to? Because it feels pointless to resist? For centuries, I have done nothing. I've always just gone with the current, any which way it tugged me. So, now I'm here. It's not some grand heroic tale. I really didn't even stop to think. . . I think this is the first time I've even questioned what I'm doing at all." 

Vahn seemed somewhat skeptical. Bezel couldn't really blame her. It was hard for others, much harder than it had been for Bezel, to wrap their minds around the idea that he truly felt nothing. 

"So, if yer brother had found ya faster than this Heimrian brat--ya would be opposite us now?" She puzzled. 

Bezel shook his head reluctantly. "He did--find me first, I mean. I sort of. . . agreed to help him raise an army capable of crushing Heimr to dust." He winced apologetically. 

"But ya still here." Vahn said knowingly. 

Bezel groaned, guessing the trajectory of this conversation. "Don't try to paint me as something I'm not. I really meant it--I'm just going in the direction I'm pulled."

"Right, right," she agreed with an amused smirk, "ya wanna know what I see, Bezel?" 

"Something fantastical and too good to be true?" He guessed. 

"Maybe." She agreed. "But I do see good in ya, Bezel the Third Prince of Hell." 

"Then you should get your eyes checked, lady." Bezel muttered. "I can't be good. I can't be anything. . . not anymore." 

Vahn had a faraway look in her brown eyes. "The rangale." 

He almost flinched. His eyes darted to her face and stayed there, pinned. "You know about the rangale? About my curse?" 

Vahn nodded grimly. "Aye. I am descended from Satyrs, a lot less distantly than most the Faun in the town below. It was the old Satyrian shamans who devised yer curse. How common the tale in Heneth, I can not say. But it was a story my mother passed on to me. A warning--that following yer heart could never take place over duty." 

"Brothers," Bezel cursed softly, "thanks, always comforting to know I've been turned into a fairytale." 

Vahn smiled like it was humorous. "Well, it seems the fairytale is not so simple as I had thought. It seemed that heart and duty can not be so easily split." 

Bezel had nothing left to say about the matter. He frowned into his lap and narrowed his eyes. "How much else do you know--about Avernus?" 

"What is yer ask, Prince?" Vahn said. 

"I'm seeking the Ze'ev." He said. "They left the pit, didn't they?" 

Vahn crunched up her eyebrows. "I suppose they could 'ave? Rules 'ave been changing 'ere, Prince." 

"You don't know where they went then?" Bezel filled in. 

Vahn frowned and shook her head. "'Fraid, not. I keep mine mind busy on the matters of Heneth. 

"Have there been any rumors around town about what the Second Prince is planning?" Bezel tried. 

Vahn shifted nervously, casting a glance at Tuli. The eldest picked up on her mother's gentle cue and frowned down at her nearly empty bowl of broth. "There was. . . something." The Faunish girl admitted softly. "A few patrons disappeared. It was strange--what patron would willingly give up their claim? The others seemed unsettled by it. They wouldn't tell us anything--not directly, but patrons talk as if Fauns aren't brave er smart enough to listen. So, I heard whispers. . . they seemed too scared to say it full. I don't know much, Mister. But they were scared. . . I have never seen a devil scared." 

Bezel tilted his chin in thought. The last time he had been asked to find lost souls--they had been making themselves scarce on purpose. Attempting to outrun the storm. No, scared Half-Bloods was not a good thing. Bezel sighed and nodded. "Thank you, Tuli." 

The girl smiled shyly. 

"Thank you--all of you." Bezel added on. He gave a nod to Vernvalt who sat up taller under his attention. "I think it's time we part ways, but I won't forget your help. I'll do all I can to speak to my sister." 

He stood from the fire, facing the town below the green hill. 

Vahn gently detangled from her nest of daughters and strolled to Bezel's side, clasping his hand with her own. The touch was strange. Not warm, not cold. Neither pleasant or unpleasant. It was just. . . nothing. She smiled at him, her brown eyes tired in a way Bezel hadn't noticed before. 

"Don' wear so much on yer shoulders, Bezel. We Faun are stronger than ya think. Don' worry about us. Ya have a world to save--a world we all belong to. That much is plenty for us." 

Bezel forced a smile across his fangs. He knew what she meant. She didn't want his failure to convince his sister to wear him thin. He said nothing, only turning away to stroll down into the town. Because how could he explain, once again, that it would do nothing to him? If he let them down--brothers, if he let them all down and the Second Prince succeeded. Bezel would feel no guilt. He never would.