Completed Justice for the Three

[Thorne]

“Once my abilities manifested I was named Ania at the academy."

So she had had another name. Those bastards had even stripped this poor girl of her own name. Everything about the thought of that made Thorne seethe, but he didn't show it. Now wasn't the time for anger. Of all the things he had ever imagined expressing to a dreadlord, he had never thought that compassion would be among them. Yet here he was, treating this one with the kindness he had only ever shown to his own goddaughter.

"It doesn't have to be that way. I...I could work with you. Make things better. Help get you back on the right track. You can be so much more than what Vel Anir wants you to be." There was a sadness in his voice. He had only briefly known Ania, yet he was willing to change everything for her, much the way he had for Autumn. If even one soul could be saved from the hell that was the Dreadlord society, he would stake everything for it. Forsake his convictions, even.

The graying man gazed into her eyes, tired orbs of dull green staring back at her under rough, arched brows. He didn't want her to slip back into the delusion. To have to meet her again one day as enemies. To know that he had failed.
"It doesn't have to be this way..." He repeated, quieter this time.

 

[Ania]

Kindness was a rarity within the society of dreadlords. Proctors didn't dare show it, lest the apprentices give in to weak emotions such as compassion or pity. The nobility in some houses may extend the occasional gesture of good will but House Weiroon certainly didn't. And her fellow dreadlords were all singularly focused on accomplishing their own selfish goals or serving the Anirian state to spare a moment of generosity.

At one time Ania had been a kind person. She was eight, her friends were the same age as she. Polly and Daniel. It had been over a decade since she last gave them a thought. They weren't as talented as the other children within the academy but when her abilities began to be known to her they provided an opportunity. Shift the perception of the proctors to hide the weaknesses of her two classmates. Alter the flavors of the slop they were fed to trick their taste buds into thinking it was a succulent meal. Extend a brief bit of humanity among the utter inhuman conditions of the dreadlord academy. The ruse worked well for a year or so until the proctors realized what she was doing. When the reflections and the self delusion began.

"It does have to be this way," she spoke back after a long pause. "Vel Anir is where I belong. You cannot rob me of my abilities every day of my life. I can't provide for myself without killing or torture. I would be a burden on anyone if I ever left my duties."

There was a part of her, however small, that contemplated life like this. A clear head free of the muddled drug-like state she was used to. Though even with her mind freed of the illusions she had grown up believing to be true she remained steadfast in a few things. Vel Anir was still a bastion of humanity. It was still the place she called home. She couldn't dream of betraying it even if she could admit its faults.

She looked at the man who cared for her. Really looked at him. He seemed to be in pain over this, as if he was trying to correct the past by fixing her future. "You can come home with me. Or you can leave Alliria. Otherwise they will keep sending dreadlords like me until they bring you back. Or worse."

 

[Thorne]

Thorne hung his head. It wasn't the answer he wanted to hear, though somehow he knew it was coming. He had looked after Autumn all this time, kept her powers in check when she lost control...but that was such a rarity. Usually he could talk her down, negating her magic was only a last resort. Ania, on the other hand, had apparently been abused to the point that her magic was always turned on. That meant, as she said, he would have to suppress her power daily.

Caring for Ania would be intensive. Would he even be able to use his negation every single day? He hadn't endured such constant pain since Ordo put him through the rituals. He didn't know if his body could even take the stress. He might die, and then who would look after Autumn? The girl he'd promised a better life to...

"Ania, I...I can't go back. You know as well as I do that they'd just torture me until I died. But I won't leave..." He looked back up to Ania, meeting the intensity of her gaze. "Let the dreadlords come. Four have fallen before you. More shall fall after."

The man searched his person for a few moments, trying to remember where he kept one of his most treasured mementos these days. After a few seconds of searching he shoved his hand into a pocket on his belt.

"I can't make you stay, and I won't try. But I have a request," He pulled a small, silver pendant on a chain from his pocket and held it before her. It bore the symbol of House Whispergrove. "Please, just...try to remember. The only way Vel Anir is ever going to become a better place is if people like you can make a change."

Somehow this was almost as hard as watching the ancestral home of the Whispergroves burn to the ground. This was harder than smuggling that crying noble girl out of the city. Harder than striking down the man he looked up to most in the world. Because for once, he truly felt like he was failing.

Thorne took the girl's hand and placed the pendant in her hand, then closed his own hands around hers.
"I believe you Vel Anir can change. I believe you can change. Do you?"

 

[Ania]

Once the words escaped his lips she gave a sullen nod. She knew that it wasn't going to end with her returning with Thorne or the runaway girl for awhile now. And, for some reason, she didn't really care about completing her assignment anymore. She just didn't want to go back alone.

Ania's lips thinned and her pale cheeks, dotted with freckles, quivered a bit as he requested she remember all of this. Even as he pulled out a memento to help aid in her recollection she already knew the truth. None of this would be remembered tomorrow. She'd be focused on finding the traitors or returning to Vel Anir to report her failure. This little treasure would just be some souvenir she picked up but couldn't recall why.

He took her hand, his were rough and calloused from a life of hard work. He spoke of change and making a difference. Expressing some sort of faith in her ability to create a better Vel Anir. A better Ania.

"Yes. I'll remember. I'll try to be better," she lied.

Her fingers tightened around the medallion. Trying to memorize the lines on it, the curves of the engraving, and the subtle way a small chain was attached to it. She exhaled a long sigh and then looked at Thorne with her bright blue eyes.

She tried to form the words but failed. Nothing escaped from her mouth but a frustrated silence. She swallowed, tried again, and found success this time. "Do you have a quill and parchment? Maybe... if I write myself a note, then tomorrow I'll return home. Tell my House that you and the girl left or weren't here." It was a gambit, to lie to House Weiroon, but for some reason she wanted to help this man. And she didn't trust herself to not attempt to find him and kill him in the morning.

 

[Thorne]

He knew it was a long shot. He knew that whatever conditioning they'd given this girl was unlikely to be undone so easily. He saw it on her face: the uncertainty, the fear. Her piercing, azure eyes felt like knives in his heart and fire in his stomach. Thorne wished there was something he could do to reassure her, but he was at a loss. Why was this so damn difficult?

"I'm sure there's something you can write with around here...give me a moment."

The graying man left her side for a moment and rummaged through a nearby desk. Dust filtered into the air as he disturbed the old thing, pulling drawers open then replacing them in his search. Moments passed in awkward silence, naught but the muted pitter patter of rain as a backdrop for the interlude. Finally, he returned, a few ruffled papers, worn quill, and still-sealed container of ink for his odd guest.

"Whatever I can do to help, I will." He offered softly.

 

[Ania]

When Thorne returned Ania's eyelids felt extraordinarily heavy. It was absolutely draining to live in reality. How did the average person manage to have so many thoughts and emotions all at once?

She took the quill, rough feathers seeming as if they were about to fall out, as well as the parchment and sat it on her lap. Carefully she ripped the seal on the container of ink, emitting a strong odor as soon as the lid was loosed. The edge of the quill was dipped gently into the ink and she began to scribble on the parchment on her lap before picking it up and placing it on the table beside her. Thorne would be able to see that it was simple and to the point. It was important to keep the reminder factual and concise so as not to arise suspicion.

Traitor and girl gone. Headed west, report back to Carlisle immediately.

Ania kept the medallion gripped firmly in one hand and was allowing the ink to dry on the parchment for now. She looked up at the man who was showing her such kindness and simply told him, "you've helped enough. I think I just need to rest. Maybe if I report back that you're gone it'll buy you some time. For both our sakes I'd ask you to lay low for awhile."

 

[Thorne]

The sight of what Ania had specifically chosen to write brought a new wave of sorrow down upon Thorne's head. The message, brief as it was, confirmed what Thorne already suspected: that Ania did not expect to remember anything about this interaction. The assassin's mind was a tumultuous storm of doubt and regret. Should he kill her after all, if for no other reason than to put her out of her misery? Could he bring himself to do that at this point?

"For both our sakes I'd ask you to lay low for awhile."

He balled his fists. How frustrating this was. How infuriating! Fury began to boil up within him, each bubble a different aspect of this mess to curse at. Curses to the gods for bringing him into this situation, only for him to realize he could do nothing. Curses to Vel Anir for allowing this to happen, for allowing this girl to become what she was. Curses to the proctors of the Academy for whatever sickening shit they had done to her.

Thorne hung his head, staring at the floor, hands shaking.
"For the sake of my goddaughter and you, I will go silent for the time being." His voice was eerily calm and cold. Twelve years of festering hatred was made manifest in one declaration. "But know this: when the heat has died down, I will be coming for those who did this to you. I will find your proctors and flay them alive. As you have not known mercy, they shall not know mercy."

Enough had been said. It was time to leave. He stood and turned about, brushing the cape of his cloak aside as he did so. He opened the door and gazed into the night rain, now a downpour, and stopped. Why did he hesitate? Why did it feel like his soul was being crushed by the force of Autumn's magic? He wrenched his eyes shut and sighed deeply, rainwater seeping through the doorway and onto the floorboards of the room.

"You may feel free to sleep it off here. I will not be returning." He offered her one last look in the eyes over his shoulder, his hand on the door frame. "I pray that you may one day find clarity, and that our paths do not cross again. I will not likely spare the other you."

He didn't give her time to speak again before he closed the door behind him. His heart couldn't take it.

 

[Ania]

Ania sat in silence as Thorne spoke. He had promised to hide away, if only for a time. That was a good thing as it may help lend credence to the lie she was going to tell upon her return. Maybe it’d spare her torment from her house and possibly even this kind man’s life.

His next words though, of vengeance and violent justice against the proctors like Norris who had tortured her. It seemed foolhardy and reckless but Ania held her tongue. There was a piece of her that wanted to defend the proctors, defend the practices of Vel Anir, but in her gut she knew he was right. They deserved whatever they received after what they did to her. To the other children.

As he stood in the doorway and spoke his final piece the pale dreadlord longed to say something. Thank him again, wish him good luck, but she couldn’t bring herself to words before he left in a hurry. Once he was gone she debated her options once more. Were she to bolt from the shack right now she could likely catch up with him. Beg him to aid her.

But, no, she would not become a burden. That was the only fate worse than losing the brief clarity she had been gifted with this day. It would be best for everyone if she slept it off. Returned to Vel Anir in the morning as if nothing had happened.

She found a softer corner of the shack, pulled a light fabric around her as a makeshift blanket, and felt the tears run down her cheeks.

---

Sun shimmered through the cracks of the rundown hovel as dawn came and went. Once Ania arose she was greeted with a splitting headache and a sense of disorientation. What had happened last night? Where was the traitor and his runaway dreadlord?

Exploding out of the thin excuse for a blanket she examined her surroundings. She must of taken refuge in this abandoned hut. Likely to get out of the onslaught of rain from yesterday. The last thing she recalled was the tavern, a barkeep, then nothing. A gap. A blank hole in her memory.

Her azure eyes caught sight of the note, she understood that her prey must’ve fled town. The note spoke sense, she had no leads to go on and reporting her findings back was the smartest decision. With any luck the Anirian Guard had already caught the mongrels fleeing Alliria.

That was when she felt it.

In her pocket. Something heavy, rounded, attached to a chain. Her thin fingers retrieved the item and she examined it thoroughly. It had the engraving of House Whispergrove. A home of treasonous rebels that was extinguished for their grave crimes. Were she to be discovered with such a possession it could mean trouble. She was duty bound to discard it, destroy it, or turn it in.

But that was the not to be.

Though her thoughts were still hazy, head still pounding, she had one instinct that resonated above the rest. Ania would need to keep this trinket, hide it away from any others within Vel Anir, but hang on to it for certain. Protect it and keep it close for some reason. Why did she need to keep it? The silver jewelry shimmered in the sunlight from outside as a few fragmented words rang out in her memory. Faint as they were.

”...try to remember… you can change…”