As morning began to break, he’d open that Arcanum Hollow once more. Pulling out a few things that made travel light and useful for meal prep. His hands, deft and practiced, pulled out a few basic tools—a knife, a small pan. The wildness of the forest was ever present, and he had been taught how to live off the land as most elves did.
A hunting trip had yielded a small rabbit, which he skinned and began to prepare with swift, careful hands. A couple of mushrooms he’d foraged along the trail, their earthy smell filling the air, were chopped and added to the mix. Fresh greens, small roots, and wild berries rounded out the light meal. The scent of it simmering over the fire was oddly comforting, grounding him to the present moment, far away from the complexities of his inner turmoil.
As the rabbit cooked over the low heat, Arc set to work making a rudimentary sauce out of herbs and berries, the tang of crushed leaves mixing with the sweetness of the fruit. The smell curled around him like an embrace, and for a moment, he allowed himself to simply exist in the act—no magic, no demons, no pretensions. Just the rhythmic tasks of preparing food, the hum of life around him. Never thought he would be grateful to Eleanor’s teachings of how to live in the wilds but here he was. Practically able to feel her eyes on him with awe.
A soft breeze stirred the forest again, and he looked up as the sun broke free from the last clutches of the trees, its light spilling down into the clearing. Arc closed his eyes briefly, letting the warmth bathe his face.
When the meal was ready, he carefully placed a portion on a small leaf. Taking an example from Calia’s work yesterday. Setting it aside for when she would wake. The rest of the food was enough for him—simple, filling. It was enough to keep him going, just like everything else in his life. Simple.
He took a deep breath and sat back, resting against the trunk of a nearby tree. The forest felt alive today, in a way it hadn’t for a long time. And for that brief moment, Arc felt a sense of calm he hadn’t realized he was missing.
Maybe it’s just the light.
But for now, he could breathe easy. And as the sunlight finally broke through the dense forest canopy, he felt a sense of connection to something greater than himself, a fleeting peace in the simplicity of the morning.
The day had begun.
It was a little more difficult than anticipated to fall asleep than it usually was for Calia. Generally she felt perfectly safe out in the natural forests, and it hadn’t been a problem when she traveled with Rhelic or with Renus’ men. Leaving her to the conclusion she was still just a bit nervous about Archimedes himself. Not as a danger, just the lingering awareness that he was there. Bond, magic, whatever it was about him that made him such a solid figure in her perception.
Sleep did eventually come, however, as one could not mess around with borrow magic all day and not the rest after. Even when she’d been frivolous with her own magic, Calia needed a good night of sleep and a good meal to replenish herself, so it was natural in her exploration of his that the same was true. Being far too akin to a cat when she slept, for she did a lot of rolling, flipping, flopping and contorting into all sorts of different arrangements during the night until come dawn she had legs draped over a root and blanket balled up in her arms to hug and bury her face into.
Impossible to say how she managed to sleep in a fae tree before without falling right to the ground with all that flopping!
Calia could’ve slept in late too had the wind not shifted just enough to send the savory smells of roasted rabbit and sweet fruit wafting through the air. Spurring a small hmphing sound and a single eye opening to lazily peer out to see just what the demon was up to and this was indeed a nice little surprise.
Something else they held in common? It smelled good! Without shifting from her cozy spot she at least loosened one arm away from her blanket to reach out and flick a finger towards that leafy plate. A little line of magic zipping it’s way past the moss to land like a hook on the edge of the green leaf.
She could have just tugged it over then. But he was being kind this morning and she wanted to give him a spectacle since he did seem to enjoy the free use of magic so much. So it was a little tap of her fingers to the mossy ground and that leafy plate sprung out spindly twiggy legs underneath it. Rising up and beginning it’s scuttle as if the meal had decided to grow it’s own legs and run away.
It scuttled to her instead, where she still hadn’t bothered to sit up properly. Rising on an elbow only when it was close enough to her for getting a look at.
“This looks very nice,” she greeted.
Creeping feet was enough to pull his attention. Turning to watch the makeshift leaf plate grew legs to scamper its way along. Momentary concern pulling at his features that dulled away almost immediately when gaze set to look at the woman. And the spin of arts that had it serving her rather than herself getting up. Such a thing probably made it pretty easy to self serve when one didn’t feel like getting up. Making the plate do the work. It was inventive.
“Just takin’ a page from yah from yesterday. Ain’t nothin’ grand. Prolly the only thin’ I can make with recollection to the old teachin’s. Anythin’ else, yer liable to keel over from just bad taste alone.” Arc flashed a crooked smirk with fang all a glinting. Proud and smug once more. “Found a narrow creek too, if yah need water or what not. Ain’t much for washin’ but it’s clean.” The demon rested arms shortly behind his head as he rested to the trunk of the tree. Letting lids shut with a whistle and a bob of foot that had been lifted to cross over the top of knee. Dipping easily into the rattling one sided conversation that was familiar.
“We should see the mage tower by late morn—maybe a little later if the trees decide to be difficult.” His voice carrying that easy, conversational lilt he always defaulted to when he was trying not to sound like he cared too much.
“Elven mage towers are somethin’, I’ll give them that. Tall, dramatic things that look like they were grown straight out of the ground instead of built—because, well, they were. Everythin’s pristine, elegant, glowin with just the right amount of enchanted light to make you feel like yah’ve wandered into the middle of a self-important fairy tale. It’s like they saw the concept of ‘humility’ once and decided it wasn’t aesthetically pleasin’ enough to keep.”
He smirked to himself, shaking his head before popping the bite of food into his mouth.
“Of course, the inside is even worse. Expect the kind of architecture that makes yah wonder if elves have a thin’ against straight hallways. Windin’ staircases that go up and down at the same time, bookshelves that rearrange themselves just to spite you, and the ever-present hum of we are smarter than you magic in the air. Oh, and don’t get too comfortable—most of the towers have opinions about visitors.”
He gestured vaguely to the sky, as if the looming presence of the mage tower could hear him from here.
“Last time I stepped inside, a floating scribe desk decided I wasn’t ‘a person of scholarly worth’ and tried to shuffle me out the door. Never mind that I could probably outmatch half the mages inside.” He sighed dramatically. “But sure, go ahead, ancient enchanted furniture—tell me I’m not good enough for yer hallowed halls. Yah ought to have a real ball, lass.”
Perhaps it was a good thing that Calia herself was not one to talk and blabber, unless she was deep in her feelings about something and it all had to come flooding out. As Archimedes was still a chatter box, just as much as he was when they first met. She’d remember saying he talked too much then, and now… now she was actually glad for it. Something about having someone chat at her was soothing.
…even if he was very unintentionally letting it be known he was nervous about today.
Of course he wasn’t saying so directly. While Calia sat up, reaching over to pickup a twig from the ground and using the means of magic to shape it into a nice smooth wooden spoon, it was there in the tiny details he mentioned. The condescension of mages and that even the tower itself and the contents within it might have opinions. She could bet that it wasn’t about him as a former mage, but him as he was now. A demon that they used to have in the clutches, that now could walk free as could be.
Distracted for a moment, as if this meal was nothing grand, then he was certainly was full of shit! There was a sauce and balance of flavor and texture. He could actually cook things, which meant they were going to have so much fun getting make meals together. Sharing multiple interests instead of just having a few traumatic events and wild magic in common. And well, being slutty.
“I just want to go and get it out of the way so I can stop worrying about it,” she confessed. Then it was a bite of breakfast and a happy little sound. “…and steal their butter and few other things, so I can make you something nice for dinner. If the furniture doesn’t catch wind of our shenanigans, anyway.”
Arc lounged on the thick, gnarled root of an ancient tree, one leg stretched out, the other bent so he could rest an arm on his knee. The forest around them was slowly waking with the dawn, golden light spilling through the branches in soft, shifting beams. Dust motes drifted lazily in the air, catching the glow as if the world itself was stirring from slumber.
“Well, they ought to be curious enough to let yah inside,” he remarked, tipping his head back against the bark with a lazy smirk. His voice was light, but his gaze, half-lidded as it was, still carried something sharper beneath it. “Mages are gossipy sorts, and havin’ the former Master of Research knocked back down to a novice? With a check-in from the royal family, no less?” He let out a low, amused hum. “Oh, they’re gonna be nosy.”
He absently twirled a twig between his fingers, snapping off the brittle ends and flicking them into the dirt. “So yah’ll get inside,” he continued, casting a sidelong glance at Calia. “And yah can steal whatever it is yah want.” He wasn’t clarifying, and truthfully, he didn’t much care. Knowledge, power, dinner—didn’t matter.
Instead, he let out a dramatic sigh and pressed a hand to his chest. “I’m gonna stay outside.” He stretched, rolling his shoulders like he was getting comfortable, his smirk widening. “Not goin’ in, ’cause truthfully, I’ve had many hours to think, to plot, to devise all sorts of grand ways I’d love to just—” he spread his hands apart, fingers splayed in the air, “—reduce the entire place to rubble.”
The smirk remained, but his fingers twitched slightly, a small tell that was easy to miss. He tilted his head, watching the sky through the breaks in the canopy. “Not just because of the tortures, mind yah, but also because I just feel like it.”
He let that settle for a moment before shrugging, his voice taking on that same easy drawl. “Plus, I don’t think Starlin’ will be too pleased to see me. Nor anyone else, really. And, well—” his smirk sharpened as he let his head fall back against the bark again, “—funny thing, I feel the very same.“
The distant silhouette of the elven mage tower peeked through the trees, its woven stone and living wood reaching skyward with an elegance that felt almost smug. Arc flicked the last bit of the broken twig away, watching it disappear into the undergrowth.
“We’ll walk there,” he murmured, lazily shifting his weight against the root, “but I ain’t goin’ inside. Yah’ll just have to tell me if yah punch someone. I think yah might have more fun doin’ it anyways. Let them fear yah without a demon lurkin’ at yer shoulder.”
This casual nonchalant game he was playing… easy to see through, even if Calia wasn’t calling him out on it. The man had plenty to be wary of, so she really couldn’t blame him for having all manner of bitter feelings and not quite trusting himself to enter the place and stick to his best behavior.
Calia wasn’t really sure they should be trusting HER to go walking into the mage’s tower either, but she’d done what she’d done and she needed to see it fixed. Although if he kept talking like this, he was going to get her anxious and freaked out about it. Overthinking something that should be simple enough. Even if it did go wrong, worst case scenario of fires and mayhem and attempted murder, it was still going to be Calia who walked out alive.
…she really needed to work on even her own thoughts from sounding so threatening. No wonder she scared people to death.
“I’ll be trying my best to stay out of trouble, but if I do have to punch someone I’ll be sure to make it spectacular so the re-telling will be nice and spicy,” she offered. “Maybe even punch them right out a window so you get to see the aftermath?”
Anxiousness was going to be a problem until it all got sorted, so Calia did her best to ignore it. Not wanting to rush through eating her meal, except it was actually very good so it was polished off in quick moments, with mental notes of what she liked the best about it so she could replicate for the future. Her little wooden spoon pulled and twisted back into a normal twig again and the leafy plate itself…
…a soft giggle under her breath, Calia rolled up the leaf and gave it a rotund potbelly shape. Little leafy ears to go around with it’s many twiggy legs, and then back off to Arc she sent it.
Then she was climbing to her feet, shaking out the borrowed blanket to get it free of leaves and twigs so she could fold it up neatly.
“I’ll hardly be complainin’.” The idea that she could smack someone out the window really ought to be more of a concern but at the same time, it was well within his devious nature to be blasé about the means of violence. He was in no way her conscience. Nor was he about to take up residence to do so.
Arc let out a slow breath, stretching his arms over his head before rolling his shoulders with a casual shrug. “Well, when yer ready to brave the den of gossipy mages and their ever-so-holy academia, just say the word.” His tone was light, but the smirk tugging at his lips carried its usual edge of dry amusement.
He pushed off the root of the tree with a lazy motion, brushing a few stray bits of bark from his coat. “Not rushin’ yah. I could sit here all mornin’, enjoyin’ the fresh air, ponderin’ my deep, unresolved hatred for the place.” He smirked, tossing her a sideways glance before nodding toward the path ahead.
“But since I reckon neither of us want to drag this out longer than necessary, we can get goin’ when yah like. Yah get through yer business, I get to avoid mine—it’s a real good system we got here.” His gaze flicked toward the little pig now sitting where a leaf had been just moments before.
He didn’t say anything. Didn’t so much as raise an eyebrow.
But there was a slight pause in his movement, a barely perceptible hitch in his breath. His fingers twitched at his side, like they wanted to gesture, to point, to confirm that yes, he was, in fact, seeing this. Instead, he just blinked, slow and deliberate, his expression an almost masterful display of neutrality.
The corner of his mouth might have twitched, just slightly, as if suppressing some mixture of amusement, exasperation, or the faintest hint of bewilderment. But then, as if deciding this was simply another absurdity in a long list of things he refused to comment on, he resumed dusting himself off. “So, after yah deal with the tower and whatever scholarly nonsense they wanna throw at yah… what’s the plan?” His tone was casual, but there was something measured in it, like he was weighing the question more than he let on.
His gaze flicked toward the distant silhouette of the mage tower, still barely visible through the trees. “Yah get what yah need, yah shake whatever hands yah gotta shake—then what? We skippin’ town? Burnin’ it down?” A smirk tugged at his lips before he added, “Not that I’m suggestin’—out loud.”
He stretched his arms behind his head, his posture deceptively relaxed. “Just wonderin’ what comes next. For yah.“
These were a lot of words for a simple and plain I hate we’re going there and wish we weren’t. Truthfully, if he wanted to stay out here safe in the woods, Calia would have been perfectly fine with that! Archimedes didn’t need to go anywhere near the bastards and it was her own mess to cleanup, after all. None of this she said, however, having a feeling he’d start thinking she didn’t want him with her. That he was the problem because he was a demon.
One would think she’d hate all demons for everything that’d happened. That just seemed so nonsensical to do. Did she hate all snakes? All spiders? Should she be hating all mages, because they sure as hell were crazy.
Maybe there was a part of her that believe if she was the one who summoned demons into this realm and held the reigns, it’d wouldn’t be brimstone and murder that followed.
In the meantime, she couldn’t be certain if he’d seen her little leafy piglet, though she suspected he did with the smallest hitch of breath, but he’d asked her a new question. To which she was happy to have, as it would set them forward instead of having her trying to run over scripts in her head of what she was going to do when she got to the tower.
“I’d like us to go visit a seaside town to actually spend a day or two of real rest. To… regroup? Recoup? I guess just to shake off everything, so we can start fresh. Figure out what our life is going to look like. Not trudge off like an idiot pretending like I know what I’m doing. The planning stuff.”
Shrugging on and belting her sword harness back where it was supposed to be, she brought him the folded blanket to offer in arms.
“Thank you, for this and for breakfast.”
It seemed important to ask where they were going after this whole mage tower uninvited visit. To determine just what the plan was and apparently it was to go to the place that he had originally been working his way towards after coming through the mountain pass and being poisoned by that bastard dryder.
Well then it had sounded brilliant. To get to a place that called his elven blood as a qualn elf but now? Now that he was able to remember everything, the idea was probably more akin to a burn of his skin. Internally despising the means of having to stay longer in Edelguard because this place was rife with people knowing what he looked like, who he was and by the damns, it would not be unfeasible that Calia likely had a reputation too. It wasn’t like the royal family hosted humans all the time, add on the refugees that were coming through said mountain pass and the whole damn thing sounded like he’d rather stick blazing hot fire pokers into his eyesockets!
Instead, he grinned. A broad easy going thing that would surprisingly be hard to see through as he was melding back into his former nature of nonchalance and general didn’t give a fuck to keep thoughts to himself. “Ah Tír Élas.” The pronounciating coming strong to give each word its thickened teer ay-lass. “Town of the shinin’ waters. Curious place, wonder how much it changed.”
The man stepped down from his root then, “Yah’ll love it. Ocean views, salty air. Taverns of sailors and nonsense clean up to one’s eyeballs.” And he would avoid it like the plague at this point. Knowing he could just glamour the whole time but there was no fun or desire to do so. “No marbled spires, no towering palaces. A place built by the sea for the sea. Yah prolly like the elves in the area too. The sort that work hard, ships to sail and storms to outrun. Deals to make,” Arc grinned brightly, “And break, if the price is right.”
Brushing off arms from any clinging moss or bark from the tree, he tilted to look at her offering the blanket to him. Motioning easily the means of pulling the hollow open. Throwing the blanket in with not a singular care in the world, “Least I could do. Ain’t done for thanks or gratitude. As I said, don’t get used to the breakfast thin’. I can’t make anythin’ else. Kinda of a one trick pony.” Hands clapped together. Pointing momentarily forward towards the direction he knew to go, “Shall we?”
If she’d known what was going on in that head of his, Calia might’ve altered her plans. Outside of that singular want to see what an ocean looked like, the mountain princess no longer had any reasons to visit a port town. Originally it meant to be a way for her to seek out travelling companions that’d be hardy enough for a trek through the mountains. No soft, silly forest hunters, but well travelled sorts who’d know what it was like in the wider world and had enough mass in them to defend themselves.
She’d not had any magic either, so partially it was to help keep herself safe too. Even for as skilled as she was with a weapon, trying to fight demons without the magic to back her up hadn’t exactly gone well.
Now the intent was to seek out that balance as the sparkling fae tree had suggested. If she needed rest, she should rest. Not just attempt to go hard and full speed and effort all of the time. While her body wasn’t bruised, beaten, and battered, everything had changed so quickly that her heart and mind hadn’t caught up yet.
Likewise, there was Archimedes to be concerned with as well. He said he was alright now, but how could he be? Surely a little deviation would be good for him too. A chance for them to settle into this partnership before she had to start stepping fully into the role of a future queen. Figuring out who they were together as these entirely new kinds of people.
With a quick nod she agree it was time to get going, falling into an easy step to head on their way. Giving the tiniest look over her should and a little blow of breath, before facing forward again with that slow, mysterious smile.
A little green leafy pig rose up behind them, now flying with leafy green wings. He had to acknowledge it eventually, and it was delightful good fun to see how long it’d take.
Arc walked at a steady, unhurried pace, his sleeves pushed up as the cool morning air drifted through the thinning trees. The scent of damp earth clung to the ground, but beneath it, faint on the wind. Though his mind was heavy now with Tír Élas.
Already he could picture it in his mind—the wooden walkways built along the twisting roots of ancient coastal trees, their branches forming a natural canopy overhead. The sea pressed close to the town, creeping into every crevice, the brackish water lapping at the piers and weaving through the city’s lower levels. No rigid roads, no neat little stone paths—just bridges, platforms, and shifting docks that rose and fell with the tides.
Lanterns hung from the trees and wooden beams, their soft gold light swaying in the sea breeze. Not the kind powered by fire, but by old elven runes, their glow pulsing faintly in rhythm with the waves. The scent of smoked fish, spiced cider, and salt-stung wood lingered thick in the air, mixing with the more familiar musk of damp sails and dockside labor.
And the people? Loud, quick-handed, and sharper than most would give them credit for. The elves there weren’t like the polished nobles of their inland cities. They moved with the tide, bartered with the same ease as they breathed, and could swindle a man blind before he knew he’d even made a deal. Half the town was built on trade, and the other half on well-placed lies.
There had been a time when he knew every winding back alley, every hidden passage between the sprawling docks, every name worth remembering. A time when this place had been familiar—had been his father’s home. He’d visited it often when he was younger. For his father had friends there and they were absolutely the sort that a mage advisor wasn’t supposed to have. Eleanor herself had frowned at the mere mention of them. And it still to this day, made him privately chuckle.
But not anymore.
Arc exhaled slowly through his nose, rolling his shoulders, pushing the thoughts aside. He had no desire to step foot there again. The sea could keep its tides, its lantern-lit streets, its crooked deals whispered between sips of rum.
Ahead, the road stretched on, the Mage Tower still far in the distance. Behind him, the little leafy pig wobbled uncertainly in the air, its wings fluttering to keep pace. Arc barely spared it a glance. He wasn’t going to comment, now curious to see how long she would let him keep ignoring it before she grew impatient. Or made it outrageously large or something else hard to ignore. Just kept walking, leaving the silence for Calia to fill—if she wanted to.
While the demon was deep in his thoughts, Calia was doing everything she could to stay out of her own. Nothing seemed to be her worse enemy more than her own self, with the way she kept playing out every single mistake she’d made to lead up to now. Scripting out in her head how she wanted to go about it without seeming like she was there to murder everyone in the tower, and then winding her stomach up into knots with that wish to just run and go disappear into the forest.
Almost wishing to draw him into a new conversation just so she didn’t have to listen to her own thoughts, and then finding herself in a loop of how one even started such things. Calia was never one for the art of small talk. Hi, how are yous. The weather is nice. Whacha been up to lately. They both knew exactly what the other had been up to, and none of it was really that pleasant. Even asking him about himself seemed like a tricky road to walk, as there was much to send him into quiet broody state. She could offer up little gems of facts about herself, but little about her life had been interesting.
Calia loved that simple life. Yet here she was turning the pages looking for something worth bringing up and it all seemed a little sad and lackluster now. No freedom with her magic, no close friends, secrets from her family… Did she even really miss it? She missed her family, but her life…?
When that eventually became more than she wanted to deal with in the here and now, Calia turned her focus to the world around her instead. The warmth of the morning sun coming down in golden rays between the few breaks in the giant redwoods. Summer would be around the corner, she could practically smell it in the air. Where flower blossoms were starting to form into sweet fruits or seed. She could pinpoint familiar bird calls and a few unfamiliar that she’d never heard before.
Magic was in the air too, though it started to feel a little different the closer they drew to the mage’s tower. She’d forgotten the name of it, something ostentatious, that some elder mage thought was apt, most likely. Whatever it was in the air, it made her skin feel crawly and itchy like being wrapped in a damp winter wool sweater. When she’d visited the wizard’s tower in Caeldalmor, it too had weird feelings in the air just of a different caliber, so all Calia could assume was that in these places of high magic usage, there was going to be vibes. Residual magic? Her lack of knowledge and experience was coming in loud and clear.
Calia also hated to admit, that when they were close enough she actually got a good view of the tower, she wasn’t so keep about having to go in on her own. Nearly asking him if he could just be in his buggy form and hide in her shirt if he was so worried, but she really shouldn’t do that to him just because she was such a social dungfire. At least he’d have the leafpig as company in her absence!
“Where will you wait for me?” she finally asked, at least hoping having a small plan of expectation was goin to make this less harrowing.
The Bladerift Tower loomed ahead, nestled within the heart of the ancient redwoods, a relic of arrogance and artistry in equal measure. Unlike the cold, gray fortresses of human mages, or the looming black spires favored by darker practitioners, the elves had shaped their tower to mimic the trees around it—or so they liked to claim.
Arc knew better.
The structure was seamless, unnervingly so, its smooth white stone twisting upward like the trunk of some impossible, vine-wrapped tree. The base of the tower was thick, almost blending into the massive roots of the surrounding forest, its walls marked with delicate, swirling etchings that pulsed faintly with magic. No mortar. No sign of construction. Just the unsettling, perfect craftsmanship that only elven magic could achieve—like the place had always been there, grown rather than built.
Further up, the structure narrowed, spiraling in elegant, almost unnatural curves. Open balconies jutted from its sides, latticed with delicate archways, their edges shimmering faintly with protective wards. No windows, not in the conventional sense—just gaps in the stone where no rain would fall, no wind would bite, yet the view remained perfectly unobstructed. Light from within flickered in soft golds and silvers, ever-burning lanterns casting an ethereal glow against the pale walls.
And at the very top, a great woven canopy of glowing runes hovered above the highest spire, shifting and reshaping as though caught in a constant, silent conversation with the world around it. A beacon, a warning, a crown of power laid bare for all to see.
Arc rolled his shoulders as he walked, exhaling through his nose. Mages always had to be so damn dramatic.
He didn’t need to step inside to know what awaited—hallways lined with enchanted tomes, corridors shifting in endless spirals, scholars wrapped in their own importance, whispering secrets they thought only they were clever enough to understand. He could already imagine the scent of parchment, the faint hum of layered wards pressing at his skin, the ever-present air of superiority that clung to every elven mage who stepped through its doors.
Not for him.
Not anymore.
Arc slowed just enough to glance at Calia, his expression unreadable, his voice light but edged with something sharp. “Well, there it is. The pinnacle of magical brilliance.” His smirk twitched at the corner of his mouth, dry and wry. “Hope yer feelin’ inspired.”
He had fully stopped now. Eyeing it looming there in the near distance. Having no reason to spare his twisting glowers. Lingering in that one sided staring contest as he heard her question. Narrowing eyes till the red lines that framed the eyeline threatened to take up the whole, “Where do yah want me to wait for yah?” He forced his gaze forward.
The plan had been simple. He would walk her here, let her deal with whatever she needed with Starling, and stay the hell outside where the air was clearer. That was still the plan.
But—
Arc hesitated, just for a beat, the briefest pause before he glanced to her. His smirk wasn’t quite as sharp as usual, his voice quieter, lacking its usual flippant edge.
“…D’yah need me in there?”
There was no humor in it. No sarcasm. Just a simple question. One he hadn’t planned on asking. One that had practically asked itself.
This might’ve been the first time in her life she’d seen a place that reminded her of a specific type of person. Dressed to the nines in something beautiful, serene, absolutely fairy tale magical… but somehow still seeming pretend. Even a little sinister. That’s what this gorgeous tower of white stone, green vines, and elegant spirals put into her mind. That it was meant not as a pretty happy place, but prison to put princesses in! There ought to be a dragon around here too for good measure, spouting fire at anyone noble of heart.
Calia ought to be excited at this chance to see a guild of nothing but magic users. Where they worked and studied their craft, learned how to manipulate magic in interesting new ways. Only, having seen how it could be twisted and tainted, it soured her perceptions and opinions. Another bad first impression, to go with all the rest.
A wrinkle of her nose was her response to whether or not she was inspired. There was no warmth here. For such a stunning place, it seemed colder than any tower of ice she could rise out of the ground.
She stopped when he stopped, asking his question of where she wanted him to wait and Calia took a glance around to see where she’d most likely go running if she needed to flee fast. Only for him to ask a new question.
There was no hiding her thoughts on that one, even if she had tried.
“…I am legitimately afraid to go in that place,” she admitted, leaning forward to say so close to a whisper, as if she’d thought the jerks in that tower could actually hear her. Even subtly pointing a finger at her side towards the tower. “The last time I walked into a sorcerer’s lair I lost my heart. If I need you I can call for you and I do not want you to have to go in somewhere dangerous to you. …but I am afraid to be in there by myself.”
Calia could’ve just told him she’d be fine and sucked it up. Truly, regardless of what happened she knew she would come back out. There was no reason to lie about it, either. She didn’t expect him to come with her, but he needed to know so when she inevitable reacted to something with her usual emotional chaos he could duck and cover.
“Calia,” Arc spoke her name unusually sweetly. It had no edge, no syrup twist. It was just plain and open and, “It’s not dangerous for me. It’s treacherous for them.” Placing his hands to his hips, his expression darkened. His sharp violet eyes narrowed, a glare settling deep, weighted with something colder than annoyance—something bitter, something old.
The tower stood unnervingly pristine, its pale stone twisting upward like a thing that had no right to exist here, forcing itself into the heart of the redwoods with all the quiet arrogance of those who had built it. The glow of its woven runes pulsed faintly, layered with spells so old they practically hummed in the air. A beacon of knowledge. A fortress of intellect. A place for the gifted.
His jaw tightened.
He’d spent enough time inside to know exactly what that meant. “I hate this place. I hate its purpose, its reasonin’ and the bullshit excuses that they use to make it seem like it’s for good purposes when it ain’t. But,” Arc’s gaze softened, his lips pulling into a small, almost imperceptible smile as he watched Calia for a moment. The harshness that had clung to him around the tower seemed to fade, replaced by something lighter, something more tender. Without thinking, he stepped closer to her, his hand gently reaching up to rest on the top of her head.
His fingers brushed through her hair, a simple gesture—more instinct than anything, but it felt… right.
“Alright, alright,” he muttered softly, his tone warmer than it had been all morning. “I’ll go with yah, if it’ll keep yah from feelin’ like yer walkin’ into a hornet’s nest alone. Don’t need to put up with any of their smug faces either.”
His hand stayed for a moment longer than expected, giving a brief, almost playful pat before withdrawing, but the smile lingered in his voice.
“Yer not on your own with this. Yer not the only dangerous one after all..” There was a quiet sincerity there—something unspoken in his usual sarcasm. The words were simple, but the action felt like more than just a promise. “They don’t get to mess with and piss yah off without me present to get a few good beat downs in. Shall we go give them the razzle dazzle, then, love?”
Where did he get off, saying her name like that. So foreign, so unheard of that it stopped her brain for second. He had that look of a storm coming, though, so she was quick to snap back to attention. Giving a bit of a dubious hum about it not being dangerous to him. At least understanding when he explained how he hated the place that it went so much deeper than just him being a demon and the recent events.
This clearly went much farther back to when we was a fledging mage himself, still learning the craft under the guidance of his father, the man Omal, and the mages that worked here in the tower.
…and if he didn’t stop patting her on the head, when she was too tall for that sort of nonsense!
There was an immediate scoff and her leaning away from his hand to give him a light swat. At least not appearing annoying, simply grateful he was going to come with, even if it did make her stomach turn upside down a little. There wasn’t any time to really examine the whys, as she was already nodding and taking the lead of walking.
Apparently letting that leafy piglet continue flapping after them.
“Soft razzle dazzle. A little dabble of intimidation. A splash of a potential of violence if necessary,” she tried to at least set some limitations on themselves, or really mostly just for herself. A little pep talk as she rolled her own shoulders and straightened up her spine. “A little thievery if inspiration strikes. We are reformed and refined.”
It was a much too bad thing that she was going to have to get accustomed too, with him patting her head. She might be tall but he was probably one of the very few men that were taller than her. Meaning, it was his way of being gently affectionate and that meant having to suffer through it. Even if she lightly swatted at him. Looking the part of batting cat rather than anything frightening. At least she wasn’t annoyed cause they didn’t need them both being pissed off when going up to the ivory eyesore.
Cracking neck. Shoulders and knuckles alike, a muttering of some sort of expected cursing at the very sight of the embellished spire. Following her as the sound of flapping wings from the veggie hog and he was already thinking of ways of making that into a bombardier. To drop fiery leaf shits on the very place!
Listening too as she expressed sort of boundaries. Accepting them till she said they were reformed and refined. “Yah can’t polish a turd, petal.” Arc stated in his ever so adoring way, which was just a very fancy way of saying they were absolutely not either of those things. But they were the sort of souls that others really ought to be mindful of. Untold magical prowess and creativity was quite the combination that people really, really did need to be more impressed with. Who was to say that Calia couldn’t made a mountain float as her new domain and he was set to rain down spears of molten earth on those below!
With his thoughts cluttered, the hum of ancient magic grew louder with each step. The air seemed charged with the weight of the place—every crack in the stone, every pulse of light from the runes, filled with an oppressive, ancient energy. There were a few mages standing outside, some clad in the traditional robes of their order, others with less formal attire, watched them warily.
The moment they saw Arc, their expressions shifted—eyes darting nervously, whispers rising like a quiet ripple through the air. The tension was palpable, their hands twitching toward their staffs, clearly uncomfortable in his presence.
Arc knew the feeling all too well.
A former Arch mage. A demon. To them, they were a pair of enigmas, a figure of both awe and terror. They had seen what had come from his choices, his actions! The fall from grace, the destruction he’d left in his wake. Betting some of the fear was from dark magic he wielded, others for previous his vast knowledge of spells that could unravel even the strongest of wards. But mostly, they feared the demon he’d become, the shadow that lingered beneath his skin. Add on that they were likely fearing the very woman that not only had demoted their former Master of Research, but had brought the demon to rear. They didn’t know just how truly terrifying Calia could be and right now, that was best. He could be the villain and he didn’t care.
He took slow, deliberate steps, his gaze sweeping over the mages. Giving Calia a soundless motion that he would start this show and dance. Lips barely curled into a smile, but it was all teeth. The sort of smile that made you wonder if he wasn’t about to bite.
“Do go ahead,” Arc’s voice rang out, a sharp command cutting through the tension. His tone was imperious, a clear reminder of who he once was—and still was in some ways. “Go fetch the door for the princess here. Don’t make her wait out here in the dust.” His words were clipped, the sharpness making the mages flinch ever so slightly.
There was a flicker of hesitation, but Arc didn’t give them a chance to protest. He stepped forward with a casual air, the weight of his presence undeniable, and turned his gaze toward the doorway to the tower. “And Starling—” he said the name like a command, with a bite that made the mages visibly stiffen. “Yah tell him the princess needs to speak with him. Immediately.”
His stance was unwavering, and his eyes locked onto the nearest mage, whose hands were now wringing nervously at his staff. Arc’s gaze bore down on him like an immovable force.
“Now go,” Arc demanded, a low growl underneath his words. The mage nodded quickly and scurried off toward the entrance, the others following suit, all eager to comply, to avoid drawing any more attention to themselves.
His posture didn’t shift—still commanding, still imposing—but his words cut through the air again, sharper this time. He didn’t know it took so many to do a one man job.
Before the mage could even reach the door, Arc’s voice rang out, low and unwavering. “Hold it.”
A mage froze, half-turning, a flicker of dread across his face as he stood still, rooted to the ground by the weight of Arc’s command.
“We don’t just walk in there, do I?” Arc’s words were smooth, but underneath was an unmistakable edge of menace. He stepped forward, closing the distance, his gaze never leaving the other mage.
“Get one of yer own to escort us,” Arc continued, his tone hard, unwavering. “I’m not interested in wanderin’ this tower like some lost dog.” His smirk was faint, but it was all fang—a reminder that his past still carried weight. He wasn’t a visitor here; he was someone who demanded to be treated as more than just a passing curiosity.
“Get us to the meetin’ chamber. Now. Before I decide to make my own path in, and trust me, I’m sure yer master’s wouldn’t want that,” he added with a casual flick of his hand, as if his words were a simple, idle threat. But his gaze was intense, demanding action. The mage swallowed, clearly unsure how to respond to the calm, autocratic demand. Arc’s presence, the air around him, made every movement feel heavier, as though the very world was bending to his will.
Making sure Calia stood beside him, hopefully be paying attention. He would make sure nothing—and no one—stood in their way. Not today. Not now. The less time they had to spend here, the less time he was about to level the place and rebuild it in the most fitting shape of a giant dick it deserved to be!
Calia was used to making herself seem invisible and unassuming, as when she didn’t people tended to think her… well. An ice cold bitch. In her small humble little kingdom, she’d learned the perfect ways to be in each situation. Adjusting how she presented herself to limit those unwanted reactions. At court, she stayed quiet and to the walls, interacting as little as possible so she wouldn’t risk saying the wrong thing and getting those rolled-eyes sighs. In weapons training, she never fought to her full skill as some of the men would get so pissy and make up excuses about their losses at her expense. Even out in the kingdom, she made sure she was unrecognizable and forgettable so she could have her moments of joy without all the baggage that came with it.
And that baggage she still carried out of Caeldalmor, with every person she’d met. Trying not to say the wrong things, to sound arrogant or mean. To be something acceptable and proper. Floundering at every turn.
…except with Archimedes. He’d gotten see her right from the start. Everything she could be, from volatile to vicious. Big and loud and every bit of dangerous and powerful. Broken and shattered and weak.
And he was making such a gods be damned scene now, that if she didn’t dig all of that out and actually keep pace with him, she was going to look like some yapping puppy at his heels! He was forcing her to rise to the occasion of being one hundred percent temperamental fae witch menace, else he was surely going to get himself shot at by spells cause they’ll think he was free to terrorize everyone!
Calia looked the part at least. Hair in a loose messy braid instead of the circlet she usually worse it in. These black assassin leathers and an enchanted, demon killing sword at her back. Strapped head to toe with weapons hidden in fun places.
Aside from the floating green pig behind them, they really did make an incredibly frightening pair.
Since this was the way they were playing it, Calia made sure to put it in her mind to be as imperious as possible. Not hard, really, she was the most dangerous person here. Already softly wiggling fingers to touch at whatever this arcane magic was that imbued everything around them to the point of soaking into the air. She was of royal blood, and freshly known fae. Not really wanting to terrorize an entire tower full of mages, but it did have this wonderful appeal to those parts of her that liked to stayed buried in the shadows. Not having to stomp and squash herself down inside her own skin just to make others feel safe and comfortable, she was getting to just BE.
…even if it was a more dramatized version!
“Not quite the dabble I was going for, but you do have a way with words, don’t you,” she surmised with amusement. Reaching to gentle give his arm a squeeze to at last gesture she was still on board. It was one way to get things done quickly!
The squeeze and her words, he leveled a look at her. “Did yah think I was just a clown that had no power?” Not sure if he was insulted she might think that he hadn’t been commanding and authoritative in his own right back in the day. Or if he was amused she thought really and truly that he was really just nothing at all but a hound at her side. Whatever it was, Arc shoved it down. She was going to have to acknowledge at some point that he wasn’t without his own thorns, barbs and true dangers.
Shortly a different mage approached and motioned for them to follow. Arc’s eyes never left him, his smirk sharp as he started forward, his pace calm and measured, though his every step carried the air of someone who didn’t need to be led anywhere. They weren’t guests here—they were a force.
The tower’s interior was just as Arc had remembered: grand, but cold and sterile in its perfection. The high, vaulted ceilings were wrapped in thin silver threads of glowing runes that seemed to breathe with a pulse of their own, casting the vast chamber in a soft, eerie light. Wide, sweeping staircases led upward to levels unseen, disappearing into a maze of high halls and endless corridors.
As they walked deeper into the heart of the tower, Arc couldn’t help but notice the mages that passed them. They shuffled along the wide corridors, casting furtive glances in their direction. The fear was palpable. There was no mistaking it. Their faces were tight, eyes avoiding his—silent whispers flowing through the air like a breeze. It was clear that Arc, with his past as both a former Arch mage and a demon, had left a lasting mark on these halls. Only now there was a woman that was something of a curiosity that they were likely wanting to talk too but felt a terrifying fear that she was hardly anyone ordinary.
They passed through open spaces where the faint smell of parchment and magic lingered, but even here, the air felt heavy. Wards shimmered along the walls, glowing softly with protective runes, and Arc’s sharp gaze swept over every inch of the place, noting the defensive measures in place, though none of them were designed to stop someone like him. That had to be implemented after the whole fuck up.
At last, they reached a large, imposing door, its surface inlaid with intricate patterns that Arc knew all too well. The mage at the front reached for the handle, turning it with exaggerated care, his hands shaking slightly. The moment the door opened there was only one mage seated at the long table, an older elf with gray-streaked hair, his posture unnaturally rigid. The mage stood quickly as Arc entered, his hands twitching at his sides in clear nervousness, his robes simple compared to the grandeur of higher-ranking mages. He was clearly trying to exude an air of calm authority, but the slight tremble in his hands betrayed him.
“Archimedes,” the mage greeted, his voice faltering slightly as he forced the name out. “Princess Calia. Starling was informed you are looking for an audience, he—he will be here shortly.” His words were tentative, careful, trying to maintain a professional distance while his eyes flickered anxiously to Arc. For good reason. As of all the masters in this damn place, this was the one Arc had not expected to see.
It was Master Thalern.
Arc’s chest tightened, though his expression remained cool. The recognition was immediate, and it triggered a rush of memories, none of them pleasant. Thalern, an older mage, had been a figure of authority in the circles Arc once walked. He was a man of reason, logic, and unyielding belief in the grand scheme of things. Arc remembered the cold, dismissive way Thalern had spoken to him all those years ago—when he’d told Arc that his efforts to save Eden had been in vain, that one child didn’t matter in the grand picture, that there were more important things to focus on than chasing false hopes.
The words had been like poison in Arc’s mind, and the sting still lingered. “Focus on your work, Archimedes,” Thalern had said, his voice dry and indifferent. “You’re chasing illusions. Save yourself from this wasting precious time when your efforts should be going to more important things.”
Arc’s jaw clenched, and he could feel the old anger rising up, that same sense of betrayal, the same burning rage he’d felt all those years ago. Wholly blaming this man as one of the reasons he had become so god damn desperate!
Without hesitation, Arc’s feet moved him toward the mage.
Thalern looked up, startled by Arc’s sudden approach, his eyes widening with horror and a flicker of disbelief. His hand moved slightly, almost as if reaching for something—perhaps a spell, perhaps a weapon—but before he could react, Arc was on him. A blur of motion, quick as lightning, and Arc’s fist collided with Thalern’s nose, the impact sending a sickening crack through the room. The mage reeled back, his face contorting in pain as blood poured from his broken nose, splattering onto the table.
“You.” Arc’s voice was low and dangerous, a hiss as he stood over the crumpled mage. His breath was steady, though his chest heaved with the remnants of old fury. “You had the audacity to tell me one child didn’t matter? To tell me that Eden—the only thing Lyra cared about—was a waste?”
Thalern staggered backward, hands reaching up to clutch his face as if the pain would somehow make the past go away. His breath was quick, shaky, and for a moment, Arc could see the fear in his eyes, that same fear that had once flashed in Arc’s vision when he had been told to stop fighting for Eden.
“Yah told me,” Arc continued, his voice quieter now but no less venomous, “that I was chasing false beliefs. And you told me to forget Eden. Forget. Yah didn’t think one life mattered, did yah, Thalern?”
Thalern attempted to speak, his words muffled by the blood dripping from his nose. “You’re mad, Archimedes…” he rasped, but his voice was weak, the confidence he once had drained away by Arc’s fury.
Arc’s gaze remained cold, unblinking. “I’m not the one who’s mad,” he growled, stepping back with a sneer. “But yah’ll will learn, yah old fuckin’ fossil, that it’s not the children that get forgotten. It’s people like yah who fade away.”
Arc turned sharply, his eyes flicking toward Calia for a brief moment, as if to reassure her that nothing had changed. He wasn’t here to negotiate with this man. He was here to make sure Thalern understood: there were consequences for telling Arc that the world didn’t matter. “You’re lucky that she holds control of my binding,” Arc said, his voice low, dangerous.
Thalern, still clutching his bleeding face, could do nothing but tremble as Arc’s words hung in the air, a threat more menacing than any spell. Arc didn’t need to say more. The message had been sent. The door creaked open, its hinges groaning in protest as the figure of Starling stepped into the room. His white hair fell in soft waves around his shoulders, and his bright blue eyes scanned the scene with a mixture of calm detachment and professional curiosity. His elven ears twitched slightly as he took in the sight before him.
Arc stood poised, his posture casual but with an unmistakable air of authority. The bloodied mage, Master Thalern, was still clutching his nose, clearly dazed from the punch Arc had delivered. Thalern’s eyes were wide, his expression one of pain and shock, but also something else—fear. Fear that had been stoked by the force of Arc’s presence.
Starling raised an eyebrow, his gaze flicking from Arc to the injured mage and back again. His voice was smooth, even, as if this were just another day in the life of an elven mage dealing with the unpredictable nature of demons and their chaotic personalities.
“What is going on here?” Starling asked, his tone deceptively calm. There was no anger, no real concern in his words—just a quiet, steady inquiry as he glanced from Arc’s still form to the crumpled mage at the table, to Calia. “I don’t think it was just to stop by for a cup of tea by the way things appear. Master Thalern, I think you may want to see the infirmary about your nose.”
“That’s not-” Calia didn’t even have a chance to insist that she in no way thought he was a clown, or even powerless! For fuck’s sake, she had access to his entire well of power, both demon and arcane. Calia knew how powerful he could be. Damn that stupid mage for his ill-timed quickness, for she wasn’t about to argue with the demon where anyone was going to see it. She would not make him look less in front of these people, who likely did not appreciate him for what he was back then. And likely did not understand just how afraid they should be now.
Calia might hold his leash, but it didn’t mean she was going to use it.
At least her annoyance went well with this mask she had to wear. Looking stone faced and inconvenience and all manner of already being done with this place. Keeping in quick step even as she herself was eyeing the magic that penetrated every surface of this strange mage’s tower. Arc hadn’t been kidding that even the furniture seemed to have it.
Being surrounded by magic so thick, Calia would’ve thought she’d feel thrilled and invigorated, yet it felt more and more like that princess prison she was imagining before. Restrictive, controlled, contained… If anything was on a leash here, it was the magic and she did not like the way it felt like it was trying to push her. Perhaps as he had said, she was not worthy of such a place an it all wanted her OUT!
Meeting an ancient old elven master was not on the agenda, but they were there. Apparently to meet Starling in this space, and Calia pulled in a breath to say- something! Not that she had even the slightest chance when Archimedes was at the man in a heartbeat.
She had some quick decisions to make. Hold the demon in check or not. Let him do as he pleased, or at least temper him in some way so this all did not go sideways in the worst possible outcome.
Calia did nothing. That a choice in itself, as she clasped her hands behind her back and let him have at it. Likely to be cathartic to him – and she was proven right in the words that followed. An elder mage that had the audacity to tell someone not to try their hardest for a beloved child? The old bastard was lucky a punch was all Arc had for him, Calia would’ve let him toss the man right out of these enchanted windows. Chances were, that poor little girl wasn’t the only casualty of such a lack of empathy.
Speaking of…
Why did it feel so icy when the man stepped into the room. Starling looked fine. Perfectly fine! Not even shocked and appalled at his elder being a bloodied mess! It turned her stomach upside down and for a split second she didn’t know how to react. To ask him what the fuck was wrong with him? Throw Starling right out the window?
“How have you been sleeping?” she asked instead, directly. Debating very seriously on whether or not she was going to follow Arc’s example and start swinging punches too, yet not wanting to land herself into some new debacle that she was going to regret immediately after!
Thalern, still clutching his nose, hesitated for a moment longer, as if considering whether he should have the last word. But whatever he saw in Arc’s cold, unblinking stare made him think better of it. With a sharp inhale through his bloodied nose, he straightened as much as his dignity would allow, turned on his heel, and wordlessly left the room. The door shut softly behind him, a stark contrast to the tension still thick in the air.
Arc didn’t move. He remained where he stood, his broad frame casting a long shadow across the room. He didn’t speak, didn’t fidget, didn’t even look toward Calia. His presence alone was enough—a quiet, looming force, watching, waiting, ever unreadable. His gaze was fixed on Starling, but there was no immediate aggression, just a steady, piercing observation.
Starling, in contrast, was perfectly composed. He stood with an effortless poise, the kind that only came from a lifetime of discipline and self-assurance. If the sight of Thalern bloodied and humiliated bothered him, he did not show it. If Arc’s silent, imposing presence unnerved him, it did not touch his expression. Instead, he exhaled softly, adjusting the sleeves of his pristine robes before turning his full attention—curiously, not to Arc, but to Calia.
His bright blue eyes studied her with quiet interest, taking in every detail with the precision of a scholar. There was no arrogance in his gaze, nor overt reverence, but a distinct air of calculation. Thoughtful. Measured. As though weighing something unseen.
Starling let out a slow breath, his blue eyes steady on Calia, irritation evident beneath his otherwise composed demeanor.
“Are you referencing the spell that has plagued me for days,” he said, his voice smooth but edged with something firmer. “I woke up unsettled, emotions pressing at the edges of my mind that weren’t my own. Irritation that wasn’t mine, exhaustion I hadn’t earned, guilt—” his gaze sharpened slightly, “—which I knew weren’t mine.”
He adjusted the cuff of his sleeve, the only outward sign of lingering frustration. “I understand why you did it.” His tone softened just a fraction, but his words remained deliberate. “I know my actions—my choices—haven’t been to your liking. That you disapprove of my use of demons, that you wanted me to feel exactly the sort of emotions that you approve of.” He exhaled, tilting his head. “But you cannot make people feel as you wish them to.”
He watched her carefully, his expression unreadable. “Meddling with emotions is a dangerous game, Princess. You took a risk, and for what? To make me feel something to prove a point? To justify your own discomfort with me?” His voice wasn’t cruel, but there was an undeniable weight to it, the words pressing down like the judgment of someone who had spent a lifetime mastering control.
His fingers tapped idly against his sleeve before he continued, quieter now. “What would you have done if I hadn’t figured it out? If the spell had lingered, unraveling my thoughts until I could no longer separate them?” His blue eyes held hers steadily. “What if I had gone mad, Calia? And started slaughtering people because I needed an outlet to try and free myself.” His eyes moved over to Arc then as if to use him for reference. “There’s a reason mages are encouraged not to be emotional. Because when we are, we make worse choices than the ones I have made. And I’ve been punished for my actions. If you aren’t satisfied with what the Queen and Mage Advisor Omal have decided, should you not be talking to them instead of casting spells on me.”
Starling considered her again, “Let me phrase it this way, would you have appreciated it if someone had done what you’ve done to me, to you?”
The atmosphere of the room was suffocating. With her standing there so stiffly straight that he spine could crack with a breath. Calia watched the elder scurrying out just as proud as he could manage with the fear of Archimedes in him and a broken nose. Didn’t make the room any less oppressive as the demon himself practically oozed his ire outwards like a shadowy aura.
It left her studying Starling just as much as he seemed to be giving her the up and down. Holding her breath, waiting for the signs to tilt one way or another to see if she’d created some new sort of monster or if he’d managed to learn anything at all.
Something actually cracked in that exterior of his, however, and as he snapped at her in his own sharp way, Calia could finally take a breath. Letting that fear and regret ease away. Not entirely gone, but enough for her posture not to be as brittle as an icicle. To be more natural and as she shifted her fingers at her sides.
“Those emotions you are so condescending of are necessary,” she snapped right back. “Mages aren’t meant to be emotional? You’re locked in this tower out of touch with the world. Those emotions are meant to make sure you use that magic in the proper fashion – to better lives, to help lives! Not diminish them down to parts to be used in bloody discordant experimentation.”
“You want to know how I felt?” she asked in all earnestly, in all bare emotion, because emotion was good. It took her time to remember that, but emotion was paramount! “I regretted it almost immediately. I walked away realizing I did something shitty and I was so afraid that I had, that I came here to fix it. But you know what? At least I did it for genuine reasons and not the bullshit you keep trying to sell me.”
She threw her hand back to point at the menacing form of Archimedes. “He fucked up, but he did so out of love. I shouldn’t have enchanted you the way I did, but I did because the thought of you not having an ounce of empathy scares the shit out of me. You were fucking enjoying the pain and torture you were giving those demons. Do you want to tell me again that was all out of the goodness of your heart?”
Calia honestly wasn’t sure what to think now, as she was so shocked he still had the brass balls to be attempting to lecture her on what was right and wrong. Actually trying to compare her actions to his own when they were not even slightly on the same caliber of horror.
“Do you still have the enchantment, yes or no. If yes I will take it away now. Otherwise, I’ll gladly be on my way.”
Starling remained silent for a moment, his sharp blue eyes locked onto Calia as she spoke. He took in every word, every rise and fall of her voice, every ounce of emotion poured into her argument. His expression remained unreadable, but there was something in the way he exhaled—a slow, measured breath—that hinted at something beneath the surface.
When he finally spoke, his voice was calm, but not cold.
“You mistake my composure for detachment, Calia,” he said smoothly. “You mistake my knowledge for arrogance. And you mistake my choices for something as simple as cruelty. You think I don’t understand emotion? That I don’t feel?” His lips pressed together, and for the first time, there was a flicker of something beneath the surface—something just shy of frustration.
Then, a quiet scoff. His head tilted slightly, blue eyes sharp with something knowing. “And yet, you know better, don’t you? You know I feel. We spent a night together, and it was not a night without passion.” His gaze held hers, steady and unwavering. “So don’t stand there and pretend I am some hollow vessel incapable of anything beyond calculation. You know that isn’t true.”
He let that settle before continuing, his voice turning measured once more.
“You saw what I did and recoiled. Fair enough. I never expected you to approve, nor did I require your approval. But don’t stand there and act as if I simply did it for sport. It may seem that way to you and that is something I cannot change. But what I did, I thought it was the right path.” He shook his head slightly, running a hand through his white hair. “You see only what you want to see. You tell yourself that magic must be wielded in one way and one way only. That emotions should always be guiding hands and never shackles. You don’t understand what it means to bear the weight of knowledge—to be tasked with decisions no one else is willing to make because they’re too afraid of what the answer might be.”
His gaze flicked briefly to Arc, his jaw tightening ever so slightly, before turning back to Calia. “I don’t enjoy pain. But I do understand now that what I did to those demons was cruelty.” He said it plainly, without evasion or excuse. “I will not dress it up in noble justifications or pretend it was something else. But neither can I change what has already happened.” There was no remorse in his tone, nor defensiveness—just a simple statement of fact. “You may not agree, but you do not get to decide what I do going forward. You do not get to dictate the terms of my choices, nor enforce them.”
Then, after a beat, his voice lowered, quieter now. “And I do understand why you did what you did. You’re not wrong to fear what I am capable of. But you cannot fix me, Calia. And you cannot force understanding through magic, no matter how noble you believe your reasons to be.”
He let that truth settle between them, his stance as composed as ever, yet his words carrying the finality of someone who knew exactly where they stood. This was the impasse—the line neither of them would be able to cross. Emotion and intellect, conviction and pragmatism. Two minds fundamentally opposed in ideology, neither capable of conceding without betraying the very principles they stood for.
And yet, for all that, he did not look at her with hatred. Perhaps a touch of regret, though it was impossible to tell whether it was for her, for himself, or simply for the fact that this was a debate that could never be won by either side.
“As for your spell,” he continued, exhaling lightly, “no, it has long since faded. I don’t need you to take it away. And I don’t need you to justify yourself to me.”
His head tilted ever so slightly, watching her closely. “So. Now that you’ve said your piece, do you still wish to be on your way? Or is there more you need? Or to let a beast abuse other people as well?”
“Yer fuckin’ lucky I’m not tryin’ new spells out on this place, asshole.”
He brought up their night like it was some sort of revealing of emotion, when she damn well knew anyone with the right amount of charm and good acting skills could’ve made a real convincing scene of passion. It wasn’t even worth the breath to hiss at him about it!
“Don’t you dare suggest I am self righteous, when you are not righteous enough,” she did growl out. It was the same as before. Excuses for something that even little children knew was all kinds of fucked up and no one should do! Saying she only saw magic in one single way, when his own deranged self could’ve chosen any of the thousands of different ways to use magic that didn’t involved torturing live demons!
Realizing her whole enchantment was flawed, it had to be. It’d been spur of the moment and messy. Or maybe it was that no one could be given something so vital through an enchantment. It’d been done for nothing.
Worse, he was managing to wriggle in doubt that she’d been wrong from the start. That somehow she was the one that made the huge mistakes in judgement. Overreacted. Leaned too much on emotion and was being too judgmental in the moment when she herself had clearly been willing enough to kill and cast magic to uphold her own sense of justice instead of acting on what was a fundamental truth of life. How else could he be so calm and perfectly accepting.
Now that you’ve said your piece.
Calia’s vision went black for what felt like forever, when in reality is wasn’t even close to a second. In that moment there was no sound, no light, just this building sense of pure, bitter rage.
She took in a deep breath. Archimedes spoke. She let out a long, long, slow breath.
Closed her eyes and repeated. One breath in. One long, slow, shuddering breath out.
With a single hand she made a very sharp get out gesture, and it was very clear by the way she was grinding her teeth, she was very literally meaning GET OUT of her sight before she opened her eyes again or there were going to be some ugly consequences.
One would have to be pretty damn blind not to see how this conversation was going. Poorly wasn’t even the correct word for it! Almost feeling the very tower itself shaking with the clash of ideologies within itself. Wanting to flee for the hills because whatever was happening, was not what either side expected to happen! It was truly the clash of horns and born being so obstinate to move for the other. Both sides had points, even he could see that. But that didn’t mean this was good or correct or worth the effort. Peace was said and the gracious thing to be done was to leave it.
Starling hadn’t gone mad.
Calia hadn’t gotten him to be better.
Neither of them were going to win and was this something one ought to win? He highly doubted it.
So when Starling asked if this was all while slipping in a snide little jab, Calia had gone deadly silent. Practicing breathing techniques that seemed to be warning enough that even the reduced mage of white hair noticed. A look of gentle pity was there but ultimately Starling had some wisdom. For he didn’t offer a last word, biting or attempting to struggle through a peace that was not meant to come. He just tipped his head and pulled the door open.
Once his body left the space, the tower barely lessened its palpable anxiety. Clearly out of all the things in this place, he could scare the mages, Calia could scare the tower. It was unclear if that was good or amusing.
Instead he made a move of hands to reach out. To hold to either one of her shoulders. Not tight –certainly enough that she could pull away- but it was an action he was giving to try and ground her. Without words. He didn’t actually need to say anything and that could be a very problem with people. Always wanting to say something to fix or correct or whatever have you. In this moment, he didn’t need to do any of that. Just to give her a centering presence that while he was very unconvinced she needed him outside his own uses like a tool, he did have that very thing that Starling seemed to lack. Empathy.
An odd thing for a demon. But still there.
Squeezing lightly before he hummed and released. Stepping towards the door to push it open and look at her as if to say, lets get the fuck outta here.
What was wrong with her? Because there had to be something for her to not understand why the man was like this. There was a disconnect or some piece of missing knowledge. Calia was broke or delusional, just… something. As no matter how much she tried to arrange it in her head, it still fell scattered and confusing.
If she could not handle an obstinate, stubborn, clueless man like Starling, how was she supposed to manage a royal council. A whole kingdom of people. Potential allies and social contracts, and actual hard choices that were going to affect so many people. When her first instinct was to throw a man out a window and destroy everything this stupid institution stood for, because clearly it was creating generations full of uppity mages with no common sense!
That’s if it was them that was the problem and not Calia herself, because now she wasn’t so confident about acting on the right side of things.
So deep in her inner world of thoughts, it took her a long moment to even realize there was that gentle squeeze to her shoulder. Struggling to cast all those frenzied thoughts aside to glance towards him as he rounded to open up the door.
That stupid leafy pig had landed on his back to give it’s leafy wings a break and the juxtaposition of being so furious, to then seeing something so ridiculous was enough to at least get her to breath again.
Escape was good. Calia didn’t want to think about these mages ever again. Quick to lead the way this time, with the sort of expression that warned it was she that might be flinging and roasting any mages that got in her way!
There was a unspoken agreement that the very place wanted them out as well. Offering no obstacles, no sudden change of the walls or what have you. Rather it seemed like it was practically bringing the outside door too them rather than having them walk through the entire halls. As if the place could tell that Calia was liable to do some serious damage and the tower wanted nothing of an exploding kind within itself or outside of itself.
The halls were pointedly void of life. Furniture that could be partially sentient, acting the part of wood or clay or whatever have you that it was made from. Even the magic that flowed freely felt restricted and cautious. As though hiding itself so it couldn’t be grabbed. He did recognize the sensation after a few beats of feet and a stoop to grab the damn leafy pig so he might properly acknowledge it. The place was preparing itself with wards. Protective wards that were intended to keep itself, its occupants and whatever else safe from potential threats.
Settling itself into a fortress mode so it could in fact, try to withstand whatever explosion or eruption or implosion that could happen. Seemingly calculating that the probably of danger was higher than not.
He wasn’t sure to be insulted or amused. Probably neither.
Once the front door was within sight, it had flung itself open. Even stretched to make the gap even wider as though to say they couldn’t miss it. To get out! Much of the same feeling that she had given Starling. Of course a strong part of his mind was contemplating leaving a little bit of magic behind to cause problems like a trap but decided surprisingly against it. He hated this place for a variety of reasons, today was just a bit of an add on to an extending list. Truly, if he could have gotten away with leveling this place sooner, he would have.
Unfortunately, his father had known that not all the mages were this pompous, arrogant, head in the clouds, and lacking technical emotions. There were ones that wanted to learn, to experience and did in fact train their pupils with morality. But they seemed to have gotten fewer. Or he had just gotten properly jaded and hateful since the past century. Both were highly likely.
With a low breath to pull the forest air into lungs once they stepped through safely, the door slammed shut. Sound of exaggerated bolting and locking resounding out behind them. With a glance back, the door was entirely gone and the tower itself thickened its portrayal of brambles rather than vines. Expressing loudly that they were not welcome here. Budding vines across the ground to form a barricade in case they weren’t clear about the lack of invitation.
Releasing the pig to fly or walk or whatever, Arc glanced at her. Still saying nothing as well, what could he say?
As soon as Calia had stepped outside and fresh air hit her face a lot of that oppressive heavy weight dissipated, she took several steps more even until it was no longer clawing against her skin. Then she whirled around, facing the tower with a sort of focused intent while she wriggled her fingers at her side. Taking those deep breaths and debating, actually debating while she watched the tower practically board itself up and attempt to guard itself right in front of her eyes.
Calia could take this whole tower down and force Queen Ashera to build it back up again, change the way her guild of mages operated from the very ground up to remove all those festering awful parts that’d become tainted and corrupted.
She could be hateful about it. Put a dark enchantment on the place that made it practically a monster in it’s own right, to teach these crazy mages that there were in fact far bigger and scarier dangers than themselves.
Or perhaps just petty with something as simple as a plague of unlucky stairs, weird smells, little inconveniences that irk them in their day to day.
All of this was so tempting as who the hell could stop her, and why the hell shouldn’t she just do to them what they very likely did to others. Not caring about how their use of magic was affecting people beyond their tower. Why not be righteous and cruel and show them what a real powerful monster could actually look like. All that ambition and power ought to be knocked down several pegs and brought back down to the earth.
So, so tempting to just not care anymore.
She gave a small side glance to the demon waiting silently nearby, setting loose that leafy pig back to the air and Calia sighed. Soon to have a different sort of determined expression when she crouched low to the ground and tapped her fingers to the dirt.
A simple spell, and plague of it’s own. Shooting across the dirt and grass until everywhere in fresh green sprigs, fragrant sage of all manner of types crawled and grew and blossomed in an outwards stretch around the tower like a beautiful green garden moat. Sage for the wisdom all these damned mages seemed to severely lack. Sage for protection from evil. For themselves, for others. Ever growing, everlasting sage that was perfectly harmless but would be a good reminder of what they actually should be working towards.
Complete with her rising back to her feet and giving the tower both her middle fingers, having no doubt they were watching in some way or another.
“Get me out of here before I do something I regret,” she turned back to Arc, dusting off her hands. Unsatisfied and still angry, but there really wasn’t going to be anything to help that.
There was no telling what Calia was going to do. Would do. If she should or not.
Of course as a former advisor, he knew she shouldn’t do anything. It was not her cross to bare. She could not enforce, demand and impose her will on people that were not her subjects, unless she wanted to break the tentative contract that she had cultivated with the elven lands. That functionally, that a reaction of cruelty or self invoked discipline had more consequences than good. It was something he knew very well. Better than anyone else likely seeing as well, the results of his actions had killed many. Harmed more and was still active to this day.
But it was not his place to tell Calia what to do or not too. Doubtful she would listen anyways. That was something anyone could see. She had a streak of self righteous tendencies that she did believe were just but in the long haul, they were actions she decided for others. Taking away their modes of choice. Wrong or right, she could not tell or control or make people do what she wanted them too. As much as she believed she knew better, people were always going to make their own choices. It was the way of a mortal.
There was no reasoning with her and he wasn’t going to try. Sometimes, mistakes had to happen for someone to understand just how much their action had been a tipping into something so much worse.
As she bent and her brow was pressed, he watched as she set forth an eruption of growth. Fragrant sage.
He wasn’t entirely sure that her subtle suggestion would make a difference but at this point, maybe that was good enough.
Leading the steps away to distance themselves from the tower of well… nonsense. It wasn’t the word he wanted to use but it was the most fitting for right now. Till he was able to think of something worse. Letting the forest once more engulf them as though its arms were trying to beckon and coddle and cool tempers that had been flared. Idly brushing at knuckles that were sore from the abuse but hardly worth a verbal complaint, not that his own sense of justice had been properly satisfied. Doubtful it ever would. But he knew well enough that sometimes, one had to really announce to themselves a large and resounding who cares!
Sometimes, you had to be okay with being a villain in someone else’s story. That was quite a struggle.
He led for a while. Unspeaking. Not about to interrupt the pregnant silence as it was weighty and liable to pop in its own time. Settling in for the moment as to let her think as she needed, or run off in whatever direction when something pulled and she didn’t have the desire to ignore it.
Thankfully the farther they got away from the tower, away from that imposing, oppressive kind of magic and weird enchanted building, the more that tense fury faded off. Granted, there were still things sitting and percolating in the dark corners of her empty chest. Bitterness and anger was becoming this burden that she could not seem to shake. She’d never even wanted the responsibility of others. This kingdom and the people in it weren’t even hers to look after. So why then did she have this compulsion to fix problems that were not hers to fix!
If she got derailed by every self righteous inclination she had, Calia was never going to get anywhere. Was she going to fight evils in every village she came across. Butt into the problems of other kingdoms and clans, because she’d decided they weren’t doing things right and it needed to be corrected?
That had to be a form of insanity. Perhaps she was insane and this was just the beginning steps to her rising up as some sort of mad queen out to conquer and fix the world into the image she wanted to shape it into. Calia could do it, she knew she could. It was so tempting too, as surely everyone in the world was as tired as she. Tired of evil deeds and madness and carelessness.
At least she hadn’t grown so mad that she felt killing everyone in the world was the best option. Though, she wasn’t sure if she could trust herself not to go there. Calia did not know what to do with her anger and it was going to come out somehow.
And why did it have to make her feel so damn small and alone.
Resisting the urge to throw herself down in the grass and refuse to get back up again, she instead took in another few deep breaths. Setting her attention to the one that had remained completely silent since leaving the tower. He had to have his own thoughts rattling around in that head of his. All manner of anger and resentment, and he too could’ve done whatever he damned pleased at that tower. Calia wouldn’t have stopped him. He’d chosen not too, though, and that was impressively something, wasn’t it?
Calia reached out a hand to squeeze his arm before giving a playful shove. Feeling far too stupid about attempting a hug and settling on the simple means of quiet, supportive affection.
Had she asked, she’d learn. The amount of ire he possessed about that place. About its denizens and how after so many years, it really hadn’t changed. To be able to express how it seemed like it had successfully stopped time so they would have more of it to become snooty, self absorbed idiots that failed to understand the magnitude of magic at their fingertips. This was probably why there was a drastic decline in mages. Someone out there, some deity or whatever understood that magic was no longer safe in hands that could not see the grander picture. Couldn’t look past their own nose!
He could only hope that when Liriel took the throne, she would control or manage it better. Her husband had magic so maybe the clown could do something too.
It wasn’t in his court anymore and a good part of him was pretty grateful for it. Because, if it had been… there was no telling what he would have done. All the teachings his father gave him would have been thrown out the window to be replaced with fire, vengeance and a cruelty that would easily surpass those of the mages within their ivory tower!
Let it go.
One couldn’t change the past. Or other people. They could only influence and make their own decisions. Being autonomous to one’s self rather than everyone else.
No wonder he had a strong distaste to the idea of royalty and managing. Because it was so much damn work and not everyone was going to be happy. That was something one had to understand. No matter what you did, someone was going to bitch. Complain. Place rumours and whisper about it. Unless you could handle that with grace, it was best not to be the one in control.
He’d been pretty decent in his own thoughts that when she squeezed only to shove him, Arc came out of that bubble rather stunned! Hopping a bit to keep his balance with a look at her as if to say what the hell! Sure he hadn’t exactly been well behaved in there but he hadn’t nuked the place either like he had thought about. So was she about to take her ire out on him now?
Violets made their up and down over her to determine that this was probably just Calia being herself. Bad with that whole statement of socializing and she was very much a raw, rough and tough person that was probably more akin to picking on people in her way of trying to say she was okay with someone. The sort that elbow checked someone in her form of support. It didn’t translate well. At all. And quietly he had this horrible image of her climbing up on a bedpost to power bomb some poor guy she had gotten into bed, to express she was pleased with the performance.
That was best to keep inside.
This girl was so god damn afraid of gentle affections that honestly, maybe he should be careful that she didn’t just open a pit of spikes to say good job! “So…” He started then, “Tír Élas then?”
There were a thousand things she could’ve said and somehow she could not seem to dig up the right words. Glancing to him and looking for… well, Calia didn’t know. At least they came away from that task successful, even if it wasn’t satisfying. No one had been murdered, nothing destroyed. From here on out everything could begin brand new and taken in whatever direction she wanted to take it.
“If that is a good place for me to see the ocean, then Tír Élas it is,” she agreed. “I am in your hands until we leave for the mountains and then we’ll be discovering new roads together.”
Speaking of hands, she shifted enough to grasp his, the one he’d so easily busted the nose of his former elder. As a demon he probably healed up faster than anything else, but Calia still brushed her thumb over those bruised red knuckles with the faintest of healing magic. It was nothing really and the least she could do, considering she couldn’t destroy all the people that did him dirty in the first place.
“As long as it’s comfortable and out of trouble, I won’t mind the wheres.”
“Yah said yah wanted to go to the port town. That would be it in Edelguard. Otherwise yah would probably have to go around to the Imperial lands or further towards the other region connected to the elves. Which, I have not a clue who is actually over there.” He’d never been invested and when he was part of the royal ensemble, the land had been considered savage. People lived there but they weren’t friendly and hadn’t made any attempts to try to start war, so they were generally left alone.
“The port town is deep towards the south. We can walk. Yah could use yer fae travel or if make a blood stone from my blood, I can cast a warp spell to the place since I’ve been there before and know it’s general topography.”
Colour him surprised –and slightly nervous- when she took his hand. Almost expecting her to do something again in that aggressive means of showing her sort of affection. Like grabbing a finger and hauling it straight backwards till it broke or something! In his defense, she hadn’t exactly been known or shown how to be particularly gentle! It was loud, it was rough and it was showy for how she did things. So when she was being unusually gingerly, he could feel the hairs on the back of his neck standing up.
Only to zip with a sharp short lived stabbing sensation that came from healing magic.
There was a reason he didn’t heal with magic, for it generally bordered on the line of divine and that stuff did not go well with his anatomy! But he didn’t say anything about it, just kept it to himself as she was clearly trying to be nice. “I mean the place is as touristy as it can get. And if yah’ve never seen the ocean, then it will scratch the itch. And for trouble, I don’t know if there is any place in the world that doesn’t have a sense of trouble to it. Yah are a fae witch princess with a mage former elf and now demon. Seems like trouble has probably tied its boat to our rears.”
“I guess it is true that we’ll find trouble no matter where we go,” she admitted, not looking pleased about it, yet what else could be done.
Hide who they were? Squish herself back down again to something unassuming and force him to always have some manner of glamour or disguise? No more! Calia was done hiding, it was high time she got used to being seen. Even if the reactions were awful and uncomfortable. This was something she would have to learn how to deal with if she ever wanted to live any sort of authentic life. As a queen, as a wandering vagabond, either way it was over due to learn how to live in her own skin.
For now Calia considered which avenue of travel was going to be best. She had no issues with walking, but she honestly wanted to be anywhere else right now as quickly as she could. His mention of a warp spell did pique her interest in a way that had her biting into her lip, only this idea of a blood stone was more than she wanted to wrap her head around at the moment.
In the end, she just wanted to touch on her own skill to see if that means of her own travel was part of her own natural self or her stolen magic.
“Let us see if I can take us there without having an animal friend,” she suggested, lifting up her hand to gesture with her fingers that he was going to have to shift. “Unless you want me riding on your back, pocket sized you’ll need to be.”
“It bodes well for my chaotic nature that yah understand that.” Arc offered even if she didn’t look thrilled at the reality that chaos and trouble were absolutely their uninvited guests. Not about to leave any time soon, but rather to put on some helmets and tell them to gun it. Of course he wasn’t overly pleased about it. However he also didn’t care too heavily either. The balance of elf and demon moralities were going to eventually have to work with another and right now, they were no more than two people with their arms crossed and blowing raspberries when they thought the other side wasn’t looking.
In the meantime there was a way of travel to the grand port. Which all came down to Calia wanting to try her own means.
Which was fair but immediately he was crossing arms into an X. “No way.” Arc expressed with a change of hands pressing to himself. “It won’t matter how small I got, who is castin’ it or what loopholes yah try to wiggle through. It’s not about strength or skill either. It’s about nature.” He made a motion to indicate to the very forest around them. The trees, the world. “Fae travel works ’cause it follows the flow of the world. The natural world. Unseen path’s, spaces in between. It’s about fae’s harmony, their movement and balance. Which is the exact opposite of what I am.”
His hand dropped, “I don’t flow. I don’t harmonize. It’s like trying to shove a chunk of rusted iron through silk – either the fabric tears, or it just won’t let me through at all.”
A beat of silence stretched between them before he rolled his shoulders, giving her a sidelong smirk. “So, yah’ll have to try this out solo and expand yer wings. I can either be summoned when yah think yah made it or I’ll just catch up. I do think it would be good for yah to explore yer own magic.”
That motion he did with his arms, the X shape… for a split second her hands moved up like she was going to mimic it. A little quirk at the corner of her mouth until she realized she was doing it and put a stop to it immediately. Mimicking the vocal ticks, the sounds, the motions, the facial expressions of others… that was such a bad habit! Granted it was likely some base instinct that helped her try to chameleon her way through life pretending to be a human person… but it was also fucking weird, and she knew it.
“Then I will meet you there or close enough,” she answered, avoiding the whole argument that she could’ve piped up about. That she was certain demons had their own kind of harmonies. Even if they didn’t, that didn’t mean she couldn’t find a way they balanced each other.
Granted, that wasn’t something she could do right now in a single night. They were still getting to know each other, to learn each other’s habits and styles and everything in between. So arguing it would be a waste of time.
“Okay,” she breathed under her breath, giving her arms a shake and a trying to both be aware of the touch of magic in her, or from him, or whatever little spark it was that helped her move between spaces. While not thinking too hard about it because that sure didn’t do her any good. Without having a pretty horse to ride, it felt a little strange to take those first few steps of wandering on her own. Having never done so with her own feet flush to the ground.
But she could! With a thrilled, delighted realization that it did in fact work! Disappearing her off into the redwood forest in the direction he’d pointed her. Picking up her feet until she was running just as fast as she could through trees, brush and grass. Not caring a whit what the world looked like around her as she was free to run as she pleased.
When she did finally stop, slowing and skidding to be stationary she could already smell the heavy scents of salt and fish. She could hear the roar of ocean waves even if she were not near enough to see it. Invigorated and so pleased with herself there was a slight bounce on her feet.
Then the fatigue came rushing in so quickly all she could was an irritated well fuck, when the sky tilted upside down and she fainted dead away!